“Trans women are not a mess” was one of the best-known quotes from Luana Muniz, a veteran Brazilian transgender activist who was considered the Queen of Lapa (the central zone in Rio de Janeiro). She died in 2017 of pneumonia at 68, after a long life of commanding respect from the people in her community. Muniz, who appeared in a 2017 documentary about her life called Daughter of the Moonexternal link, opens in a new tab, was the founder of a project that trained trans people for the job market as well as serving as president of an association of transgender sex workers. After her death, her trans goddaughter, Darla Muniz, 27, took over her legacy and all the responsibilities her godmother left behind. Much more than carry on the projects, she wants to preserve Luana’s memory.
Darla is not alone: her wife, Mirella Prado, also trans, is always by her side. Together for eight years, Darla says she doesn’t mind when people find the relationship between two trans women strange and doesn’t mind the negative comments.
Darla prefers to be called a transvestite, not transsexual or transgender. For her, it’s a reference to the pioneers in the 1960s, at the height of the military dictatorship in Brazil, when trans people were arrested or attacked simply for existing. For her, the word means resistance, and replacing the term is like wiping out the past and the history of pioneers like Luana. In general, it is common for terminology to be modified for cultural reasons over the years; while older trans women prefer “transvestite,” the younger generation identifies more with the term transsexual.
In 2021, a survey conducted by the Botucatu Medical School of São Paulo State University (FMB/Unesp) across five regions of the country estimated that 2% of the adult Brazilian population are transgender and nonbinary. This means around three million people, but the number is likely to be much higher due to the visibility of the trans community in recent years.
Social projects and laws ensure a better future for the trans community
Brazil has the highest rate of violence against transgender people in the world. In 2023, 155 trans people died in Brazil, according to ANTRA data. In a society that is still sexist and transphobic, being transgender in Brazil is a daily struggle for survival. Frequent incidents of violence against trans women happen due to the impunity of the aggressors, in the absence of specific laws. The criminalization of homophobia and transphobia in Brazil in 2019 by the Supreme Court (STF) was framed as a crime of racial insult.
In the face of this, Luana Muniz had lived in an old, 15-room mansion where she has welcomed young trans women since 1979. Now, Darla, an opinionated woman with long blonde hair and big red nails, is carrying on where Luana left off. Darla likes to say that Luana knew her before she was born: while Luana was working on the street, Darla’s mother was a stripper in a nightclub. The two women became friends, and Luana saw the birth of all her friend’s children.
Darla has a strong memory of early childhood: “When I was six, still a boy, I touched her long nails and said they were wonderful,” she recalled. It was as if that detail had awakened something inside the small, naive Darla, even without knowing what that feeling was. As a teenager, when Darla’s family didn’t understand what transsexuality was, she found support in her godmother. At 16, she left her mother’s house and soon after moved into the big old house.
Now, Luana’s successor is seen as a leader by the 17 trans women (and one non-binary person) who live in the 116-year-old mansion. In Luana Muniz’s house, tasks such as cleaning and preparing food are divided up, and rules keep things organized: “I don’t accept drugs or alcohol here, and parties only on dates such as graduation, Christmas, or a girl’s birthday,” Darla explains.
The old mansion is not just a home for some trans women, but also a family link; many have been discriminated against by their families and have lost this bond. “Can you imagine being rejected by your mother and not knowing what to do? I want this house to be a historical cultural heritage of trans women; this space represents the strength of trans women.” Every day, Darla receives requests for help with sheltering and needs ranging from food parcels to geriatric diapers or even wheelchairs from all over the country.
The big house doesn’t have any vacancies at the moment, but it is also the home of the Association of Transsexual Prostitutes Luana Muniz’s Seeds (Associação de Transexuais Prostitutas Sementes de Luana Muniz), which provides a variety of activities for the residents of the house and the 287 people of all sexual orientations registered with the association. For example, the house hosts a series of conversations with health professionals on sexual health, HIV/AIDS, and other sexually transmitted infection prevention. At night, Darla and her followers take to the streets to distribute condoms to sex workers in the neighborhood.
A concert hall donates around 400 kg of food every month, which is used to feed the residents of the mansion with the rest donated to registered people in situations of social vulnerability. “Those who are hungry can’t wait; fortunately, today we don’t go hungry here because of this partnership,” Darla told Scarleteen.
Volunteers also offer mental health and legal services, as well as make-up and sewing workshops so the women can learn skills that could help them in their future careers. She highlights one of the pieces of advice she often gives to the girls: “When you’re a young trans woman, everything is beautiful, but when you get older? You have to think about the future, save money, and have your own home because prostitution tires you out and makes you mentally exhausted, and many don’t want that life,” she says. It is estimated that more than 90% of the trans-feminine population in Brazil works or has worked at least once in their lives as a sex worker, according to the National Association of Transvestites and Transsexuals of Brazil (ANTRA).
Darla says the main objective of the association is to give them a direction, where they want to go, so they can look forward to a more hopeful future.
“We want to study; we want a job, but we also want respect; we want dignity,” she says.
Darla knows the road ahead is long, and one of her goals is to change the image of transsexuals, who are often associated with paid sex and violence. “For society, all transsexuals are the same, and that’s not the case; let’s say that 20% steal; they think that 100% are outlaws,” she said. Next year, she plans to study law in order to be able to legally support her sisters one day.
Asked by Scarleteen what the solution is to reduce transphobia in the country, Darla replies that the key word is information. She says that many trans people drop out of school because of bullying, and teachers don’t know about transsexuality, so they don’t know how to deal with trans students — she herself remembers when a teacher called her “he.” The likelihood of dropping out of school is high in the Brazilian LGBTQ+ community, especially for trans people, with the prejudice of other students and without the protection of their educators. This further reduces opportunities in the job market that are already closed to them.
Darla mentions a case she has experienced as the head of the association: “I’m trying to get a job for a trans woman here; it’s very complex to say that there is a job for transsexuals, but will she be able to stay in her job in the face of prejudice from her colleagues?” she asks. According to ANTRA, only 4% of trans people are in the formal labor market. The situation is even worse when it comes to education: only 0.02% reach university level.
The lack of job opportunities drives them into sex work, and she believes this has to change: “There needs to be training for health, security, and education; there’s no point in creating a public policy to reintegrate us if the professionals don’t know how to deal with a gay or trans person.”
Despite all the obstacles, Darla has never thought of giving up, reiterating that Luana was the only one who led a house for transsexual sex workers. “I’m continuing this social project that has existed for 45 years and always persists for this space, even though they want to make us invisible all the time, but we’re going to win,” says Darla, stressing that the 116-year-old mansion represents the history of Luana Muniz and transsexual women in Brazil.