September 30th,
2019
2:01 P.M. Montevideo,
Uruguay
I’ve been living in Uruguay for exactly one month, and there
are so many incredible things I could talk about, but the one I want to share
is something I’m super passionate about: diversity. And more specifically,
diversity in gender and sexuality.
In the United States, pride month is celebrated in
June, but in Uruguay, it’s celebrated in September and called, “el mes de la diversidad”, and what
an incredible time to arrive! I have been so impressed by the progressiveness of Montevideo, and it has made my first month here so easy. I don’t feel like I have to diminish my voice or my opinion.
Let me begin by saying this: I
understand I have an immense amount of privilege. I’m white, able-bodied,
middle-class, *cisgendered, heterosexual, and have had higher education. I also want to acknowledge that
there are individuals without these identities that might feel differently than
me, and possibly, they might not have the same opinion. It’s difficult to
compare the two, but for me, I find the discussion around the LGBTQIA+
community in Uruguay to be better than in the United States. (Or maybe I should just stick to talking about Nebraska!)
I also want to acknowledge that this topic is extremely complex, and these are thoughts from my own experience in the short time I've spent in this community.
Greta Thunberg has been in the news a lot recently, and she
did an interview with Trevor Noah (whom I absolutely adore) in which she was
asked about the difference in attitude toward climate change in the United
States versus Sweden. Her reply was that in the United States, it’s a topic that
people think is debatable, whereas in Sweden, it’s just known as a fact.
Firstly, this made me laugh (because when you’re facing a crisis and people don’t
believe it, what else can you do?), but secondly because I could relate it to
my own experience when talking about gender and sexuality. I’m going to
continue this point, but I’m going to go off on a tangent first. (I promise it’s
related, so hang tight.)
I’ve been in Uruguay for a month. A question I often get
asked is, “Are you homesick?”
And I always say, “Aside from trying to grasp the concept of Christmas
in summer, no.”
Why?
Let me put it this way. Reader, I want you to imagine a time when
you've gone on vacation, or maybe when you were younger and would stay at a friend’s
house. It was fun, right? It was awesome. There were new things to do, you were
surrounded by people you enjoyed, and it was a great way to spend your time.
Now I want you to remember when you finally went home. Back
to your own bed, your own space, your own routine, etc. It’s not like you didn’t
have fun on your trip, because you did, but there’s a certain comfort about being in
a space that is yours. Your shoulders physically relax, you can let them down, and you don’t feel any pressure.
I’m don’t feel homesick because living in Nebraska, it felt like I couldn’t say what I wanted, at least not fully. Of
course I enjoyed the people I was with, the things I was doing, and there were certain places where I could share my full opinions. But Uruguay is like taking off the pressure. I don't have to worry about people opposing my opinions (which can be a good thing, but there's a time and a place and that's for a different blog post). In my experience conversing with people in Montevideo, when discussing the LGBTQIA+
community, it’s not a debate; it’s like Greta said, it’s just a fact, and I feel like I can let my shoulders down.
When I was a freshman in college, I was sitting at lunch
with another student. I’m not exactly sure how the topic came up, but it did, and I
was told I was going to hell because I didn’t believe homosexuality was a sin.
After lunch, I went back to my dorm room, and I cried. But I didn’t cry because
I was told I was going to hell, because heck, I’m probably driving that bus.
But I cried because I didn’t understand how someone could be so heartless about another human being. (Another moment to recognize my privilege: I realize
I am a *cisgender, heterosexual, white woman that didn’t have to experience
this particular type of discrimination until my 18th year of living
while many before me have and many after will experience this and much worse.)
The point I’m trying to make is that my experience has been nothing but positive in Montevideo concerning the topic of gender and sexuality. It's been undebatable, as it should be. This is not to say that there
aren’t great strides being made in Nebraska and that there isn’t opposition in
Montevideo that I've just not experienced yet, but in general, it’s much easier to “let my shoulders down” here. Something
that I also find particularly incredible, is that not only do the churches I’ve come
across tolerate the LGBTQIA+ community, but they join in on the celebrations.
One of the most exciting things I get to do is work with the
LGBTQIA+ community at my job at a Methodist affiliated high school. Because this is “el
mes de la diversidad”, literally translated as “the month of diversity” but
more colloquially “pride month”, I was able to help plan a dialogue with an absolutely phenomenal student. While the dialogue discussed both gender and sexuality, we focused on what it meant to be trans and live in Uruguay. This was also an awesome learning experience because I am neither trans nor Uruguayo, and he was both of those things.
He and I planned this dialogue for the other students, and while I was
super excited about it, I was also very nervous. This was my bread and butter,
but I didn’t feel I had enough vocabulary in Spanish around this topic to fully
contribute.
However, that was when the magic happened.
At first, I was a little disappointed that during the dialogue I
couldn’t jump in and add my two cents. But then I realized this is the kind of
space we have always needed. While it’s good to acknowledge the privilege we have,
often it still gets in the way and is used to speak for those that don’t have as much. Rather than
speaking for this student, I was forced to step down
and let him step up. He was given that space to converse with his peers about living as a trans individual in Uruguay. If you
want to call it a blessing in disguise, that’s exactly what it was.
Now, I would by lying if I said I understood every single
word that was said during the dialogue. (My Spanish is SLOWLY getting better!) However, while planning for this
dialogue (it’s easier for me to communicate one-on-one for obvious reasons), this student told me not only his ideas for the dialogue, but how he feels Uruguay is a model of sorts for the rest of Latin America.
Even though Argentina is often compared culturally to
Uruguay, he expressed that as a trans individual, living there would not be as
easy. Not only is it becoming easier to change an individual’s name or gender
on an identification card, but it’s becoming easier for youth (over age 12) to
do so. He and his parents work with different organizations that assist trans
individuals, as well as their families, and they're making huge progress.
As I was listening to this student talk about his own
experience (not to say that it wasn’t challenging at times), I wanted to cry
again. But this time it was because I was just overwhelmed with utter bliss. To
hear him talk about how Uruguay was making it easier for trans individuals to live
made me ridiculously happy. The kind of happy where you can’t help but want to cry and have to
take deep breaths in between wide grins.
It was beautiful.
There's still work to do. But at least here the LGBTQIA+ community can let their shoulders
down a little.
And it’s about damn time.
Terms used that might be unfamiliar:
*cisgender = my gender identity matches the sex
I was identified as having at birth
The following photos were taken at the Marcha por la Diversidad:
