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Casa Frida, a safe space for LGBTQI+ migrants in Mexico

A shelter with headquarters in the Mexican capital and on the border with Guatemala offers a temporary home for those fleeing homophobia

Marta Saiz Julia Molins

Mexico City / Tapachula - Jan 04, 2024 - 18:00CET

Casa Frida is a Mexican organization that offers shelter to LGTBQI+ migrants. One of them is Juan (like the rest of the people in this article, he does not share his last name for security reasons). A native of Venezuela, he has a tattoo on his chest with the name of his partner, Daniel, and a medal with half a heart that his mother gave him when he set out for Ecuador. It was in that country where he met Daniel and his son, with whom he arrived at Casa Frida in Mexico City, one of the two headquarters of the nonprofit organization, which also has a center in Tapachula (on the border with Guatemala). "This project was born out of the conviction to fight, to defend sexual diversity and to make visible the defense of human rights and the search for safe spaces," says Lisbeth Suarez, director of the Integral Protection and Accompaniment Program of this center. After three months in the shelter, Juan and his partner found work and housing in the Mexican capital, always with the intention of crossing the northern border. Every day, at 10 a.m., they logged on to an app to see if their interview with immigration authorities was confirmed. A month after leaving the shelter they got the appointment, and now they live in the United States. Julia Molins

The Casa Frida project, which opened in May 2020, is named in honor of a deceased trans woman from Oaxaca. The organization, which employs some 30 people and receives funding and donations from several foreign embassies, private companies and NGOs, has helped some 1,700 people since its inception. For example, Leo and her daughter, pictured last August. In 2012, this woman and her partner were raped by a group of 'mara' (gang) members in their home in San Pedro Sula, Honduras, where they lived with Leo's daughter, only three years old, because they were lesbians. A few days later, during the night, the same group fired shots from outside the house. "My partner was wounded with four bullet impacts to the leg," Leo recounts. "There were more than 70 bullet impacts in the house." They had to leave everything behind and go to Ceiba (northern Honduras), where they tried to start a new life. But there they also suffered threats and harassment, until Leo's partner decided to leave for Mexico "to reduce the tension." Leo also decided to leave after a call from a mother at school: "Her son had heard that a gang member was trying to rape my teenage daughter." Leo and her daughter arrived three months ago at the Casa Frida shelter in Tapachula (Chiapas), where they received help to process their paperwork and reunite the family. Julia Molins

Oliver, a native of Mexico City, identifies as a bisexual man who likes to wear jewelry, earrings, bracelets and necklaces. When this photograph of his belongings was taken in September 2023, he was 22 years old and had left home a few months earlier. "It all started in the wake of the pandemic, during which I started to share more time at home with my family. That's when I started hearing homophobic comments," he recalls. When he confessed his sexual orientation, his mother took him to a psychologist for conversion therapy and forced him to go to church with her. Oliver even caught her praying in his room while he slept, asking God to turn him straight. "When I wore my jewelry, she would turn her face away from me and wouldn't speak to me until I took it off." One day she told him that if he didn't change the way he dressed, he should find another place to live. According to data from the report Los Rastros de la Violencia por Prejuicio (Traces of Prejudice-induced Violence), during 2022 there were 87 violent deaths of LGBTQI+ people in Mexico, for reasons allegedly related to their sexual orientation or gender identity and expression. The same report acknowledges that the actual figure may be closer to 200 homicides. Julia Molins

In 2018, Oscar went to a birthday party six blocks from his home near the city of Tegucigalpa in Honduras. There he met a young man with whom he felt a great connection. They went out into the street and, as they were kissing, they were hit by several bullets. Oscar suffered damage to his heart, arms, lungs, liver, pelvis... "At the hospital they thought I would not survive," he recalls, showing his scars in August last year. The alleged assailant, a neighbor, is still at large, he assures. After several weeks of recovery, Oscar decided he had to leave his country. Months earlier he had been deliberately run over with a group of friends. "The police told me not to report it, because the driver was the son of a high-ranking officer," he says. Throughout his life, he has also suffered mistreatment, sexual abuse, assault and humiliation. Worldwide, 64 U.N. member states still criminalize consensual adult same-sex relationships, according to the International Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans and Intersex Association. And 11 countries punish homosexuality with the death penalty. Julia Molins

Itzanami and Juan, pictured here, were sharing a room at the Casa Frida shelter. When the photo was taken in July 2023, Juan was about to move into an apartment. Itzanami, meanwhile, is from the Mexican state of Guanajuato and identifies as a bisexual trans woman. She claims that she suffered an attempted murder by a man who mistreated her, and that despite reporting it the aggressor did not go to prison and continued to harass her. She had to flee and seek refuge in Casa Frida. According to several organizations such as Amnesty International, the lives of LGBTQI+ people are at risk in many countries, especially trans people: between 2008 and September 2022, 4,369 trans people were murdered worldwide. Latin America and the Caribbean were the regions with the highest number of murders recorded. Figures that, according to the Trans Murder Monitoring Center, reflect only "the tip of the iceberg" of this violence.

A córdoba, the Nicaraguan currency, and a ring are the two objects that Jhonny, 26, carried during his migratory route, from his town in Nicaragua to the southern border of Mexico. "They are my amulets, they protect me. The coin has a rainbow on it, which is what gives me the strength to continue. The ring was given to me by my niece." Jhonny says that when his brother raped him, he decided to flee. Without the support of his family, who also mistreated him because of his sexual orientation, he worked for a few months to save money and leave the country. "When that last incident [the rape] happened I was admitted to the hospital for 15 days without being able to go to the bathroom. My family didn't even come to visit me. I was going to present my final-year thesis, but I missed the opportunity." When he talks about the future, his eyes shine. He is looking forward to renewing his studies in Social Work and working with social organizations. The photo was taken in August 2023.Julia Molins

Jorge's phone is full of pictures with his boyfriend Kevin. They met in Ecuador, where Jorge had migrated some time ago from Venezuela. They left the country because of the extortions they were being subjected to in the neighborhood where they rented an apartment. "Because of our identity and for being foreigners," they emphasize. They managed to reach the U.S. border. "We were told that there was no need for an appointment with Immigration, that homosexual couples had their papers fixed to cross to the other side. But it was a lie," Jorge laments. They ran out of money — since leaving Ecuador, each had spent about $5000, eating only once a day to save — and were detained. Jorge was deported to the southern border, handed a piece of paper with a supposed interview that, he claims, did not take place, and a five-year ban on entry to the U.S. Kevin was still in detention when this photo was taken last August. Jorge tried to get back on the train known as La Bestia, but the police detained him again and sent him to Tapachula, where he sought refuge at Casa Frida. Julia Molins

Quetzali, a 21-year-old from the Mexican state of Jalisco, looks at the camera in July 2023 sitting in her room at the shelter in Mexico City. She is wearing makeup from a set that her sister gave her as a present. Quetzali had gone back to her parents' place a few months earlier, but felt constrained about dressing and expressing herself. One day, she recalls, her father ran into her on the street and saw her wearing makeup, and kicked her out of the house. Not knowing where to go, Quetzali asked an acquaintance for help and the latter sent her to a shelter in Mexico City for homeless people. “I didn't feel safe there, most people there were men." She asked for help at Casa Frida, where she arrived in July 2023. She began working as a telemarketer and found a place to live. "To me, Casa Frida has been very important. They helped me psychologically, finding a job… They will always be in my heart."Julia Molins