In recent years, public discourse has placed increasing emphasis on diversity, equity, and inclusion. Governments, institutions, and social movements alike have pushed for recognition of groups whose lives challenge traditional notions of gender, sexuality, and identity. Yet, despite these shifts, large segments of society remain misunderstood, invisibilized, or reduced to stereotypes. Among them are transgender women, particularly those who migrate in search of safer and freer lives.
It is precisely this intersection of gender transition and migration that shapes the heart of Yo soy mi género: testimonios de mujeres trans migrantes (I Am My Gender: Testimonies of Migrant Trans Women), a book authored by Chilean academics Pedro Reyes García and Fabián Coutiño Cortés.
Published by Editorial Ril with the support of the University of Santiago, the book combines ethnographic inquiry with a deeply human, almost literary narrative, allowing readers to step into the lived experiences of four Latin American trans women who now call Montreal, Canada, their home.
The origins of the project stretch back to a summer day in Montreal. As Dr. Reyes recalls in the book’s introduction, he and Coutiño were walking along the vibrant Sainte Catherine Street when they encountered a striking figure: a middle-aged trans woman performing at Sky, a well-known gay bar, during its Saturday Latin Night. That performer was Liberia, a charismatic artist who would become a central figure in the book and a gateway to meeting other women whose stories would later shape the project.
What began as a fleeting impression grew into a research commitment. Four years later, Reyes and Coutiño formalized an agreement with Liberia to participate in a project that would combine photography and in-depth interviews. These conversations, carried out mostly in 2014 during Reyes’s postdoctoral stay in Canada, became the foundation for the book.
Unlike many academic works framed within rigid structures of methodology, Yo soy mi género embraces the openness of qualitative inquiry. Reyes himself admits that the project is closer to ethnography than to conventional communication studies research. Rather than imposing a theoretical scaffolding, the authors opted for attentive listening, acknowledging that to understand these women’s realities, they had to put aside their own preconceptions.
As Reyes notes, the book represents “a struggle against our own prejudices, an attentive listening to the perceptions that they have of themselves, of others, and of us, a conversation without makeup, offstage.” This approach results in a text that feels intimate yet rigorous, literary yet grounded in lived reality.
The testimonies of Liberia, Johana, Cristina, and Tamis unfold across three interconnected dimensions: childhood, transition, and migration. Each chapter reveals both the personal battles and the systemic forces that have shaped their paths. Growing up in Latin American countries marked by machismo and rigid gender roles, the women recount experiences of rejection, discrimination, and, in some cases, brutal violence. The threat often came not only from society at large but also from state institutions themselves, such as police forces that treated them as disposable.
Migration to Canada, while offering relative safety and legal recognition, did not erase the scars of the past. Instead, it opened new struggles: adapting to a different culture, negotiating language barriers, and facing the challenges of building a new life far from family. Their stories illuminate the complexities of “migrating twice”, first across borders of geography, and second across the boundaries of gender.
One of the central themes running through the book is dignity. For Reyes, dignity is not only about material rights but also about recognition of one’s humanity and freedom of expression. In this sense, the testimonies resonate with current debates in Chile and across Latin America around the Gender Identity Law and broader movements for trans rights. Yet the book insists on an intersectional perspective: discrimination against trans women is compounded when factors such as migration status, race, class, and age intersect. As Reyes emphasizes, these are “accumulated subordinations,” layers of marginalization that demand nuanced approaches to justice and social policy.
Although the first interviews were conducted in 2014, the book did not materialize until 2019, almost a decade after that first summer encounter in Montreal. Support from the University of Santiago’s 2018 Operational Plan enabled its publication, marking a significant step for both authors. Reyes admits that he might not have dared to release such a book at the beginning of his career, but time and shifting social climates made it not only possible but necessary.
The book’s official launch, originally planned for late 2019, was delayed due to widespread social unrest in Chile. Nevertheless, its relevance has only grown, as global conversations about migration, gender identity, and human rights continue to intensify.
Yo soy mi género does more than document lives; it challenges readers to rethink categories of belonging, citizenship, and gender. By presenting testimonies that are both raw and reflective, the book amplifies voices too often silenced or misrepresented. It positions these women not as victims but as agents of resilience, survival, and creativity.
At a time when trans women, particularly migrants, face violence and marginalization across the Americas, the book contributes to both scholarship and activism. It reminds us that research can be more than data collection; it can be a vehicle for empathy, recognition, and social change.
With Yo soy mi género: testimonios de mujeres trans migrantes, Pedro Reyes García and Fabián Coutiño Cortés invite us into a space where academia meets storytelling, and where marginalized voices are given the central stage they deserve. Through the lives of four remarkable women, the book paints a portrait of courage in the face of adversity, and of the ongoing struggle for dignity that transcends borders.
In doing so, it challenges us, scholars, activists, and everyday readers alike, to listen more carefully, to question our assumptions, and to recognize that gender, like migration, is a journey that reshapes not only those who undertake it but also the societies in which they seek belonging.
Available via rileditores.com
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