Crossings: Narratives of Venezuelan trans+ migrants in Manaus, Brazil

By Thi Bogossian 

Artwork in the gate of Casa Miga, the only LGBTQ+ shelter in Manaus. Photo courtesy of the author, Thi Bogossian

Venezuelan trans migrants speak about displacement, violence, and networks of support. You can read the piece in English (below), or Spanish, or Portuguese.

Over the past decades, Venezuela has made limited progress on LGBTQ+ rights compared with other countries in South America. Although homosexuality is not criminalised, same-sex marriage is not permitted and there is no legal recognition of gender transition, making it a challenging environment for gender and sexual minorities. Moreover, since 2010 the country has faced a severe economic collapse, along with political violence, prompting many Venezuelans to escape. It is estimated that 6.95 million of Venezuelans (around 20–25% of the population) have been displaced to other countries in Latin America and the Caribbean. While Colombia (currently hosting 2.85 million Venezuelans) and Peru (currently hosting 1.64 million Venezuelans) are the top destinations, Brazil ranks third, hosting over 10% of the Venezuelan diaspora (or 760,000 Venezuelans).

Between 2010 and 2023, the Venezuelan population in Brazil grew by almost 100 times, making it the largest immigrant group in the country. In response to this large-scale arrival, the Brazilian government mobilised a major initiative at the border and other sites. Named Operação Acolhida (Operation Welcome), led by the Brazilian Army and supported by UNHCR and community and religious organisations, its efforts include running camps, providing vaccinations and documentation, and managing a voluntary scheme to relocate Venezuelans from northern Brazil to further south. 

In contrast to Venezuela, Brazil offers a relatively advanced legal framework in terms of LGBTQ+ rights and protection. Same-sex marriage is legal and trans people can change their gender on official documents through self-certification, without the need for a medical diagnosis (as is the case in only 23 other countries across the world). When birth certificates have not been updated, official documents can include a “social name”. Brazil’s National Health System (SUS) is constitutionally universal and, in principle, provides free access regardless of nationality or immigration status. However, access depends on registration within the system and referral through local services, and waiting times vary widely across the country. Gender-affirming surgeries in particular can involve waiting times of up to 10 years in some regions. The country also often ranks highly in cases of violence. While there is no official count, Grupo Gay da Bahia, an organisation that has monitored such violence since 1980, estimated 257 violent deaths in 2025 due to LGBTQphobia – the highest reported figure in the world.

Within this context, I spent two weeks in Manaus, in Northern Brazil, where I met seven Venezuelan trans and travesti* women. They told me the lack of access to LGBTQ+ or trans rights was not the primary reason they left Venezuela. They were displaced due to the enduring violence and deepening economic crisis, which made it difficult to meet basic needs such as food and medication, while their gender identity only had an indirect effect on their opportunities. Most participants were openly trans in Venezuela and some were accepted within their families; however, one came out as trans on the day she left home and began her migration journey, while another began her transition in Brazil. In the host country, they often engaged in informal labour particularly in the hair and beauty industry or were self-employed, including sex work. Despite this, the economic situation in Venezuela remains so dire that many participants supported their relatives by sending money back home, while others paved the way for family members to follow them to Brazil. 

As it might be expected, violence and vulnerability were commonplace in many Venezuelan trans women’s experiences, particularly during their journeys, but some also before migration and after settlement. 

So a truck driver showed up. Hey, brunette, where are you going? ... But you know the conditions, right? Today truck drivers don’t give you a lift for free. You have to give me something back. (Adriana)

Adriana’s account illustrates how mobility can become conditional and unsafe, shaped by coercion and sexual exchange. Some participants also reported temporarily living on the streets or in bus terminals, as well as experiencing hunger, abuse, and transphobic and xenophobic violence. Currently, while many have more stable lives despite precarious employment, they still experience microaggressions and verbal abuse, which are simultaneously minimised and resisted.

While violence was common, Venezuelan trans women also reported receiving help from a wide range of social actors. These included civil society organisations such as Caritas, Hermanitos and Casa Miga, which, despite funding constraints, provide information, professional development, links to employers, Portuguese language education, shelter, and social and emotional support. As Paloma explained:

I received several benefits like that from such institutions. I got my first hair dryer with the help of Caritas. I still have my hair dryer. (Paloma)

Beyond civil society organisations, the Brazilian state was also described positively, with Venezuelan trans women sharing that they receive Bolsa Família, the country’s main national cash transfer programme, and praised the ease of document regularisation and vaccination provided by Operação Acolhida. Strangers who offered food or car rides during the migration journey, as well as local parishes, also provided relief in moments of extreme vulnerability. Other migrants and friends from the LGBTQ+ community often offered support and, in some cases, institutional recognition of trans identity directly shaped access to protection, as indicated by Catalina:

I went into the shelter because I'm a trans woman, they gave me priority, yeah. It was the first time I felt... I said to myself … it's so good that I'm trans, right? (Catalina)

After living in Brazil for five years or more, most of these women are now sources of support for their families. Their lives reveal remarkable leadership, resistance, resilience, and a powerful desire for self-reinvention, despite all the challenges they have faced. Many of these women expressed aspirations for personal and professional improvement, such as  stable employment, a secure income, onward migration to Europe, or a return to university. At times when the global far-right discourse positions migrants and trans people as the evidence of national and civilisational decay, trans Venezuelan women in Brazil show how their very existence is already a political act.

*Travesti is a specific gender non-conforming identity in Latin America, historically linked with marginalisation but reclaimed by some people.

Thi Bogossian 

Thi is an interdisciplinary social scientist and currently a Teaching Fellow at the University of Warwick, UK. They will begin an MSCA Postdoctoral Fellowship on trans+ migration in Brazil at the University of Porto, Portugal, in October 2026.