Photojournalist Villasana documents transgender women in Peru because “they’re true to who they are and they keep fighting”
by Natasha Kallish
In contentious times, we need to be reminded of dynamic female role models who dedicate their lives to telling stories of underrepresented communities. Enter Danielle Villasana, international photojournalist and human rights advocate who travels the globe to document injustice and spread awareness about the intersection between identity, human health and global issues. Her photo essay “A Light Inside” in The Riveter’s upcoming issue portrays the challenges faced by a community of transgender sex workers located in a very conservative Lima, Peru, over the course of two-and-a-half years.
To learn more about Villasana’s experience documenting the Peruvian transgender community, be on the lookout for the release of Issue 6 by following The Riveter on Instagram (@therivetermag).
Natasha Kallish: “A Light Inside” is a photo essay that investigates the plight faced by Peruvian transgender sex workers as they navigate a corrupt, discriminatory culture. How did you find out about Peru’s transgender community, and what about it attracted your attention?
Danielle Villasana: I’m from Texas originally, and when I was in college I did a project on the LGBT community in Texas. In that project, I met a transgender woman, and she really opened my eyes to the issues that transgender people face and how these issues are different from gay, lesbian and bisexual issues. When I was approaching my senior year in college, I decided to go to Peru for my last semester. Since I had already done some work in Texas and Argentina on the trans community, it was sort of this natural progression of things. When I got to Peru, I was interning at a newspaper, and I started asking my colleagues there, “I want to work on this project, and I want to meet transgender women living in Lima.” One colleague said, “Oh, I can take you to where they hang out downtown.” One night we walked there from the newspaper office, and 20 minutes later we were in downtown Lima, and there were lots of transgender women working on the streets. That night I saw a woman get arrested. It was a shocking moment, because I realized that what I had read online and what I had researched was true. Then I started going to hang out with these women by myself, and it took about three months before I started taking pictures because I really wanted to get to know them first and I wanted them to get to know me.
NK: As a photojournalist dedicated to exploring topics concerning global issues and cross-cultural understanding, how did becoming involved with the Peruvian transgender community both challenge and reinforce the mission behind your work?
DV: That’s a really good question. Let me just start by saying that when I started this project, I still technically didn’t have experience. It was the first project I had worked on in another country where I was there long-term, as I was in Peru for about two-and-a-half years. This project helped me learn that if you want to get images that can be moving, then you have to develop an intimacy with the people you’re photographing. I was able to do that because I had a lot of time – I lived in the neighborhood for six months at one point, and I hung out with these women in my free time for two-and-a-half years. My challenge since then has been to try to create intimate photographs when you don’t have that time to spend with someone.
NK: Your website mentions that these women are highly vulnerable to disease, sexual violence and substance abuse. Have you observed any efforts, either governmental or otherwise, to reverse these trends and to provide these women with protection? Or is their hardship continuously swept under the rug?
DV: Their hardship is continuously swept under the rug. This is why they face so many challenges on multiple levels of society. For example, in the health sector, people know that trans women are dying pretty frequently. Thirty percent of trans women in Peru are infected with HIV. It’s completely normal for trans women to die – in the course of two-and-a-half years, I would hear of someone dying at least once a week. We’re talking about women who are mostly under 30. The medical community is well aware that this is happening, and there have been talks of creating programs, but I have never seen help reach these communities. When it comes to the government, forget it. As far as schools, a trans woman is forced to wear the male uniform and be called by her male name. The only people who are really trying to make a change are the transgender activists, and that is definitely a growing movement. It’s a small group of activists, but they’re gaining a lot of traction and power.
NK: One of the photos featured in your photo essay shows two sex workers and a young child seated together on a street corner. Although the surrounding scene is dark and bleak, all three in the shot are joyfully laughing with one another, including the child. How did you see these women find happiness in their lives despite the harsh conditions that they faced on a daily basis? How are they united?
DV: I really see it in brief moments of joy. Every night these women go work on the street, and it’s not easy, and it’s not fun. It’s not safe. When they’re working on the street, there are moments of happiness, but I think it’s sometimes a form of coping. You’re there with your friends, giggling and laughing, but the next second the police could be coming down the street and you’re running.
Most of these women live together. Because of housing discrimination, a lot of people will rent these huge homes that are completely occupied by trans women. They work together at night and they live together during the day, so it definitely feels like a community, but they’re constantly around each other. It’s a very rich, dramatic and intense atmosphere. They don’t leave their neighborhood often due to fear of discrimination in the streets, so while on the one hand there definitely is a sense of community, on the other hand there is a lot of fighting and jealousy. That’s what I love about them – they really are like family. At the end of the day, you love your family and you’ll stand up for them and protect them.
NK: Your work reveals a powerful and captivating insight into the lives of women who struggle for freedom and self-expression. What kind of impact do you want these images to have on your audience, particularly women?
DV: I’ll answer that by talking a little bit about the project’s name. “A Light Inside” came to me when I was documenting the story of one woman, Piojo, who was struggling with tuberculosis and AIDS. She eventually died. Even though she was at the end of her rope – she was really not going to make it – you could still see this light inside of her. The name for the project just dawned on me. Thinking about that in the larger context of the transgender community, it meant even more. Not only was this light a reflection of a desire to survive despite all these challenges, but it was this desire to be proud of their identity. You are who you are, and nobody can put that light out – society can’t put that light out, your parents can’t put that light out, your priest can’t put that light out. Trans women are a huge inspiration because they’re true to who they are and they keep fighting. To me, that’s incredible. When everybody else wants to deny you of who you are, stay true to yourself.
Natasha Kallish is an editorial assistant for The Riveter. She is a sophomore studying Professional Journalism & Anthropology at the University of Minnesota – Twin Cities. She is a Chicago native with a taste for vegan cuisine and an affinity for listening to Frank Ocean at all times of the day. Follow her on Instagram @sashakallish.
