Abstract
When social workers discuss the lives of Latinx individuals, it is often in the context of cultural values such as marianismo. Marianismo is linked to Catholicism and patriarchal values that reinforce traditional gender scripts for women. Although Latina feminists have challenged these values for decades, it continues to be paramount that social workers deepen their understanding of the lives of Chicanas and Latinas through critical theories. From this perspective, mujeristas and Chicana feminists who emphasize liberative work often use the term comadres, or comothers, to explore Latinas’ roles and relationships. The distinction between the traditional motherly role of marianismo and the collaborative and empowering role of comadres was evident in our feminist-informed study about the lived experiences of trans Latina immigrants who are activists and agents of change in their Southern U.S. communities. Our goal as Latina feminists is to include these women in the theoretical conversation as their experiences allowed us to expand our knowledge of these concepts. By reconceptualizing the mutually supportive role of Latinas in their communities, trans Latina immigrants and Latina feminists encourage us to see Latinas beyond the traditional and stereotypical gender script of marianismo.
Introduction
In many ways, the field of social work is considered among mental health practitioners and service providers as leaders and advocates for social justice and culturally attuned services. What continues to remain challenging, however, is that many social workers, in an attempt to be “culturally competent,” often overly rely on a general understanding of Latinx “values” when working with Latinx communities. These values often include familismo, personalismo, espiritualismo, marianismo, sense of hierarchy, and fatalism (Falicov, 1998; Garcia-Preto, 2005). Within personalismo, the heteronormative and patriarchal gendered constructs of machismo and marianismo have garnered great attention among scholars and practitioners.
First coined by Stevens (1973), marianismo has been considered the female counterpart to machismo (D’Alonzo & Sharma, 2010). Marianismo is linked to patriarchal values and Catholic beliefs that prescribe women's roles and gender scripts within their families and society (Cofresi, 2002). According to Comas-Diaz (2013), in this gender script, the ideal Latina sacrifices her individual needs and desires, always putting the needs of her family before her own. Values, beliefs, and actions informed by marianismo have been found to affect traditional gender role socialization and enactment among immigrant and nonimmigrant Latinas from North America, Latin America, and the Caribbean (D’Alonzo & Sharma, 2010; Garcia-Preto, 2005; Mendez-Luck & Anthony, 2016). According to Carranza (2018), marianismo is rooted in colonization due to the imposed patriarchal views and practices of European Christians on Indigenous people. She challenges scholars for portraying marianismo as a specifically Latin American “cultural” practice that views Latinas as a racialized “other,” rather than values, beliefs, and practices stemming from patriarchy, colonization, and capitalism.
In general terms, marianismo reflects the belief that women should be virtuous and self-sacrificing for the wellbeing of others. From this perspective, Latina women are frequently seen as submissive and passive, especially in relation to men. However, outside of academic writing, the empowered lives of Latinas often contradict overgeneralized misconceptions of their abilities to care for each other, while generating change for themselves, their families, and their communities. This is especially true when looking at the work of trans Latina immigrants in the Southern United States.
Using critical Latina feminist-informed ideologies, our goal in this paper is to expand the understanding of marianismo by including the concept of “co-mothering” or Latinas in relationship with each other as comadres. We explore our understanding of this concept by sharing our conversations with trans Latina immigrants who are agents of change in the Southern United States and who often engage in co-mothering and comadre relationships. Although the narratives from these women were collected as part of a larger research study, we will present the reader to these women as a way to contextualize our conversations specifically to topics of motherhood and comadrazgo within the larger interviews. However, our goal as Latina feminists is to include them in the theoretical conversation as their experiences allowed us to expand our knowledge of these concepts. In this paper, we decolonize the lines that dichotomize theory/data. Rather than reducing our conversations with these women to qualitative themes, we share the mutually liberative and caring experiences of trans Latina immigrants through the lens of Chicana/Latina feminisms by inviting the reader into our verbatim pláticas or conversations on the topic of motherhood and the comadre relationships.
In Conversation With Trans Latina Immigrants
We utilize our conversations with trans Latina immigrants to explore the meaning of m(other)work and the comadre relationships among Latinas. We engaged in conversations with these women in a larger study where our main research question was “What are the lived experiences of trans Latinas generating change for their communities in the Southern United States?” Participants met criteria for this study if they were adults over the age of 18 who (1) self-identified as a trans woman; (2) self-identified as Latina/x/e, Hispanic, Chicana/x/e, or other identities that refer to their sense of belongingness to Latin America; (3) were identified by others in the community as a generator of change in their communities; and (4) were living in the Southern United States at the time of the interview. “Change” in the context of this study refers to (1) direct support to others (e.g., some participants provided health education, housing, etc.) and (2) activism and advocacy for their communities (e.g., some participants organized rallies, mobilized their communities to demand social justice, spoke at international human rights venues in favor of trans-inclusive policies). Moreover, southern states included Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and Virginia. The study considered these eleven states due to the lasting effects of White supremacy in these states, their current sociopolitical climate, and the fast growth of Latinx individuals in the last decade (Noe-Bustamante et al., 2020). Although the participants did not explicitly label themselves as feminists, nor was this part of the inclusion criteria, their work reflects feminist values and embodiment.
A purposeful sample was utilized through snowball sampling recruitment. Community leaders and other trans Latinas generating change connected us with other trans Latinas doing similar work. That is, the community was the one to identify whose voices reflected change in their communities. A total of six participants from Georgia, Louisiana, North Carolina, and Texas were part of the study. All participants identified as women or trans women. Their ages ranged from the early 20s to the early 50s. Although being an immigrant was not a criterion for being part of the study, all participants had migrated from Latin American countries to the United States. Most participants were originally from Mexico, and one participant was from Honduras. Participants reported working with their communities from less than 5 years to over 30 years.
We employed qualitative research methodologies since it has allowed social work researchers to explore the experiences of trans and gender nonconforming communities (e.g., Alessi, 2016; Alessi et al., 2016, 2017; Capous-Desyllas et al., 2021). Six participants were part of the study. The first author conducted semi-structured interviews with the use of testimonios. Testimonios are discourses of solidarity that go from oral statements to written forms. These written forms of testimonios seek to denounce oppression and serve as liberation and healing tools. “What is certain is that testimonio is not meant to be hidden, made intimate, nor kept secret” (Blackmer Reyes & Curry Rodríguez, 2012, p. 525; italics in original). Hence, testimonios go from oral to written form as a way to make the oppressive experiences of the narrator, as well as their empowerment and resistance, visible, widely shareable, and tangible. Trans Latinas describe their experiences as their truth as they construct knowledge. Upon receiving IRB approval, initial and follow-up Zoom interviews were conducted in Spanish in 2021. Participants received a research incentive of $50 for their time.
The semi-structured interviews were all audio recorded and conducted and transcribed verbatim by the first author. An interview guide was utilized. After conducting the first interview with the first participant, the first and second authors edited, collapsed, and reorganized the order of the interview questions. The final interview protocol was divided into three main sections for inquiry, with a total of 10 main interview questions and five sub-questions. The three main sections were the following: (1) self—who are you?, (2) community—who is your community?, and (3) experiences as generators of change—what can you do (are you doing) for your community? These sections were based on Cotera's (1977) call for Latinas to engage in action in their communities (p. 30). The main study was analyzed using interpretative phenomenological analysis to explore how the participants experience every day and major life events, the significance of these events in their lives, and the meaning that is made of these events (Smith et al., 2009). However, the purpose of the current manuscript is not to engage in data analysis but to bring the voices of the participants into the theoretical constructions of motherhood and comadres. The narratives in this manuscript reflect the lived experiences of trans Latinas fighting for justice and social change in the southern region of the United States. They provide essential support to others and are strong advocates for their comadres and communities.
In the conversations with the six trans Latina immigrants in the study, three specifically expressed that their support of the community has led them to be perceived as “mothers” by members of their communities; hence, they are the focus of this manuscript. One of the participants embraced this term (although from a nontraditional stance) while the other two, not so much. In these maternal roles, some participants saw themselves as the caregivers that many members of the LGBTQ+ community did not have. Other participants saw themselves as equals, friends, and mentors. In all instances, these women engaged in guiding others through the negative experiences they endure in the Southern United States. However, these relationships have persisted throughout time and have crossed many borders.
Researcher Positionalities and Expanding Conocimiento
After having these conversations with the participants, we (the authors) discussed the connection between their experiences and ours, and our theoretical understandings of Latina feminisms. At times, the locality of our experiences challenged our preconceived ideas and experiences of what it means to experience, be, and become gender, ethnicity, culture, class, community roles, caregivers, comadres, and so many other intersections. As the first author, my experiences with belongingness as a cisgender man, academically educated, bilingual/bicultural queer Brown scholar shaped how I co-constructed knowledge in this study, especially in these conversations. As an outsider in trans and gender nonconforming spaces, I strived to comprehend what it means to live gender-expansive lives while embodying Brownness in Latin America and the United States. As a result, during this study, I found myself on the thresholds of the academic and mi gente (my people), as they are often not allowed to cohabitate in the same space. I utilized my personal and professional experiences as a starting point for data gathering and analysis while trying to recognize and note biases, assumptions, and gaps in knowledge through reflexivity and trustworthiness-related exercises. Some critical questions I considered included, “Can I be a Latina feminist?,” “What does it mean for a cisgender queer Brown man to engage in comadrazgo?,” and “How can I be a source of support to the participants in a way that is non-hierarchical?”
As the second author, I come to this work as a White, hetero-cisgender, able-bodied, bilingual/bicultural Latina who is an immigrant from Honduras. Hearing these women's narratives of the violence, trauma, and stress they endured due to their immigration status was especially painful for me. I immigrated as a child to the United States with my family as US residents, back when it was much easier to do so. My privileges have paved the way for me to be academically educated, and influence others on multiple levels. As a feminist-informed scholar, I am fully aware of how intersectionality and context shape our lives, affording advantages and disadvantages, even to the extent of shortening and taking our lives. I also traverse multiple borders as an insider/outsider, holding contradictions as a divorced and remarried Catholic, mother, comadre, academic, and “comadre therapist.” I embrace motherwork as a way to move forward, “juntas en la lucha,” as one of the participants in our study said. Some critical questions I ask myself are, “How can I leverage my institutionalized power to be an agent of systemic and structural change and support the women in our study, and all women, in the ways they identified as being necessary and important?” and “How can I take what they have taught me about comadrazgo and apply it to all my spheres of influence?” Ultimately, I ask myself, “What is it that I have learned about being a woman, comadre, madre y luchadora, but do not have the paradigm for this conciencia/understanding or the words for explaining it?”
We (the authors) then wondered how our understandings of gender roles, the Latina feminism theoretical literature, and our participants’ experiences expanded our conocimiento about marianismo, comadrazgo, and m(other)work. What did we already know? How did these conversations with trans Latina immigrants contribute a non-cisnormative perspective to Latina feminisms? How were these women reconceptualizing gender roles through the potentially liberative role of madres and comadres? Their relentless support of others, guided by these caregiving roles, seemed to break the patriarchal framework for caring—a framework where men traditionally have been the ones expected to generate social change that centralizes and prioritizes the needs of men. These trans Latina immigrants did not need the colonial permission of the Catholic sacraments to be madres or comadres. So, we returned to the literature and theoretically engaged our pláticas with the participants in conversations with the Latina feminists that, like them, have been relentless in using the power of women for collective liberation. Next, we provide an overview of the literature and the feminist theoretical concepts as a starting point for our epistemological journey. These sections will be followed by our weaving between specific Latina feminism ontologies and our conversations with the three trans Latina immigrants that talked with us about their caring roles, such as those reflected in madre and comadre relationships.
Latina Feminisms and the M(other)work Collective
Essentialist conceptualizations of feminism and gender have been met with criticisms due to their lack of attention—and often discrimination—toward racial and ethnic groups, and their experiences with class, sexuality, and nationality (e.g., Anzaldúa et al., 2012; Anzaldúa &Keating, 2015; Collins 2004, 2014; Collins & Bilge, 2020; Crenshaw, 1989, 1991; Davis, 1981; hooks, 2000). Historically, one of the criticisms of “mainstream” feminism has been its omission of the experiences of Black, Indigenous, Latinx, and other people of color with discrimination and marginalization based on racism, xenophobia, sexism, classism, and homophobia, among other structural oppressions. In the United States, Latina feminists have expanded on this criticism.
Many Latinas and Chicanas in the United States and Latin America have denounced the lack of focus on ethnicity, culture, migration, colonialism, and sexual orientation by mainstream feminist scholarship. For example, Anzaldúa (2012, 2015), Chicana lesbian and feminist writer and philosopher, included her own intersectional identities in her analysis of gender as a form of reclaiming feminism. Moreover, other scholars such as Latina philosophy professor Martín Alcoff (2020) have denounced the relationships between colonialism, imperialism, and feminist theory. Imperialism exercises ontological power on the ways in which women from colonized backgrounds understand their reality and limits their epistemological inquiry to one rooted in the colonizer. In this imperialist system, White Europeans killed and displaced Indigenous women, and White Americans enslaved Black women and took the land of Mexican women. Currently, many of the methods for understanding the lives of women of color continue to be grounded on imperial notions of generalizability of knowledge that neglects women of color's intersectional experiences. Imperial feminism epistemologically neglects the experiences of Latinas by criticizing notions of gender performativity and calling for eradicating the concept of gender (Martín Alcoff, 2020). If gender and its performativity are eradicated, so will identities and embodiments of culture and ethnicity.
Latina Feminisms
We use the plural, Latina feminisms, in this manuscript to highlight the multiplicity of feminist thoughts and approaches among scholars (i.e. Chicana/Xicana feminism and mujerismo). Latina feminisms have its roots in the work that Mexican mujeres (women) did in Mexico during the 1910 revolution. These mujeres fought alongside men for the liberation of their country from a dictatorship that oppressed poor, working people. Many mujeres and feminist organizations, such as Hijas de Cuauhtémoc, Juana Belén Gutierrez de Mendoza, the Liga Feminista, and Las Soldaderas, became leaders in the social and political movements of the time (Garcia, 1997). These mujeres forged the path for other Mexicanas (Mexican women) and Chicanas, to continue fighting for liberation from patriarchal and elitist structures inside and outside Mexico (Pérez, 1999a). The efforts of these mujeres and the Latina feminists that followed them can be seen throughout the efforts and scholarship of Latina feminists in the United States.
Chicana M(other)work Collective
Motherwork is a term coined by Patricia Hill Collins (1994). According to the Chicana Motherwork Collective, Collins’ theorization of motherwork centers race, class, gender, and other intersectional identities and challenges Western ideologies of mothers’ roles. Motherwork goes beyond the survival of the family by attending to the survival, empowerment, and identity of each individual's racial and ethnic community, as well as the protection and survival of the Earth for future generations. The Chicana m(other)work collective are Chicana scholar–activists in the United States. They borrow the term “mother” from Patricia Hill Collins (1994, Collins, 2000) by modifying it and embracing the term “other.” They perceive Chicana m(other)work “as being inclusive to women of color (trans and cis), nonbinary parents of color, other-mothers, and allies because mothering is not confined to biology or normative family structures” (Caballero et al., 2019, p. 5). Their aim is to demonstrate the ways in which their labor is layered, and they honor motherwork in multiple ways and settings. As a collective, they also actively practice self and community care. They holistically value themselves, each other, children, and communities.
Trans Latina Immigrants in the United States
Trans Latina immigrants in the United States who are changing their communities often find themselves navigating their roles as madres and comadres. They are often defining and redefining their roles in their relationships—seeking liberation while engaging in caretaking experiences. This constant negotiation and renegotiation are vital in a context like the United States, especially within certain cultures. Why is this constant negotiation necessary? Trans Latina immigrants often face adversity in their work as agents of change.
Transgender, or trans, and gender nonconforming (TGNC) Latinx individuals living in the United States experience high rates of violence and discrimination (Alessi et al., 2016; James & Salcedo, 2017). These experiences often lead to high rates of mental health issues, homelessness, and health disparities (James et al., 2016). Moreover, TGNC Latinx individuals who have these experiences and related needs are repeatedly met with barriers such as more violence and discrimination by the state and other community members; a lack of financial, housing, educational, and healthcare resources; non-affirming governmental and healthcare services (e.g., inability to change names and gender markers in IDs, discrimination in healthcare settings); and a deficit of culturally appropriate social and healthcare services (Loza et al., 2017). These barriers are even more pressing in the Southern United States, where Latinx, Hispanic, and immigrant communities are relatively new to southern states (Alabama, Arkansas, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, Texas, and Virginia), compared to established communities in California and New York (Kochhar & Tafoya, 2005). The Southern United States is known for proposing anti-immigrant and anti-LGBTQ+ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, and queer) legislations that foster hostile social environments (Bauer, 2009; Human Rights Campaign (HRC), 2018; National Center for Transgender Equality, 2017). These barriers and challenges affect the wellbeing of TGNC Latinx individuals, particularly in the Southern United States. Nevertheless, TGNC Latinx individuals in the Southern United States are addressing these needs and challenges by utilizing their strengths.
The strengths of TGNC Latinx individuals exist at the individual, relational, community, and systemic levels (Caraves & Salcedo, 2016; James et al., 2016; James & Salcedo, 2017; Pulido & Salcedo, 2019; Salcedo & Padrón, 2013). These strengths include their engagement in advocacy, service delivery, and the overall support of other TGNC Latinx individuals (Alvarez-Hernandez, 2019). TGNC Latinx individuals in the Southern United States have also identified their ongoing work in their communities and their motivation and support as strengths (Alvarez-Hernandez, 2021). By actively utilizing their strengths, TGNC Latinx individuals are improving their lives and the lives of others in the face of sexism, heteronormativity, transphobia, colonialism, and xenophobia.
Trans Caring Roles
Trans and gender nonconforming people have experienced oppression, marginalization, and violence for decades. However, TGNC individuals have always cared for each other in the face of these ostracizing experiences. For example, Sylvia Rivera, a trans Latina in part responsible for the 1969 Stonewall riots in New York, created with other trans women of color like African American Marsha P. Johnson, the Street Transvestite Action Revolutionaries (STAR) shortly after the riots. Rivera and Johnson served as house mothers in STAR by aiding queer and trans community members with social, housing, and advocacy support (Stryker, 2017). Being house mothers was common during this period as many trans women of color cared for others in the LGBTQ + community, mostly connected to the context of ball events aimed at building community and self-expression (La Fountain-Stokes, 2021), due to increased experiences of homelessness, poverty, and later the HIV/AIDS epidemic (Stryker, 2017). These house mothers (and in some instances house fathers) enacted traditional motherhood roles of caring for younger LGBTQ + individuals (e.g., providing housing and basic needs) while serving as comadres of sorts by serving as mentors who had endured similar hardships (e.g., how to survive in the streets and respond to racism and transphobia). In a sense, these women embodied—and continue to embody—the cultural gendered roles of caring for others while confronting their unique intersectional challenges with machismo, the Latinx patriarchal structures, and their experiences as people of color in the United States.
Latina Feminisms and Research With Trans Latinas
Two aspects of Latina feminisms make it especially important for incorporating it into research with trans Latinas—its focus on liberation and its phenomenological approach (Ortega, 2016). First, Latina feminists concern themselves with understanding their intersectional experiences and addressing their circumstances to obtain liberation from colonial, patriarchal, sexist, and heteronormative forces (Anzaldúa, 2012; Comas-Díaz, 2008; Garcia, 1997; Isasi-Diaz et al., 1992). Second, Latina feminists have engaged in ontological and epistemological processes that ensure that research based on their lived experiences and relationships becomes a form of liberation.
Despite the noted challenges and strengths, there is a lack of literature on the lived experiences of TGNC Latinx individuals engaging in grassroots efforts by providing basic needs, resource education, and advocacy to their communities. If the work that TGNC Latinx individuals do for each other is beneficial to their wellbeing, particularly in Southern United States, how are these individuals experiencing their efforts? How can the relationships of trans Latina immigrants generating change in the Southern United States be understood through the lenses of Latina feminisms? What can trans Latina immigrants teach us about the empowering role of Latinas? One cannot just add the experiences of Latinas to a colonized conceptualization of feminism. As said by Martín Alcoff (2020), “the corrective is not simply to incorporate analysis of Latina lives within feminist theory but to empower Latinas as theorists themselves” (p. 21).
Trans Latina immigrants in the United States are paving the way for empowered relationships among Latinx women. Many are activists, positively affecting change in their communities. By defining and redefining their roles and relationships as madres and comadres, they are seeking liberation as trans Latina immigrants, as they do m(other)work and care for those central to the movement.
Trans Latina Immigrants and Latina Feminisms: Madres y Comadres
Three of the participants—Ale, Lucy, and Paloma (pseudonyms)—explicitly discussed the significance of their caring roles. In this section, we introduce each of these women along with our theoretical, epistemological, and ontological connections and constructions based on extracts from our pláticas. A significant part of the work of Latina feminists has been to break through the generation of knowledge dominated by Latino men in their communities and academia. As a scholar, we have no intention of replicating their struggles with our writing in this section. To honor the liberation practices of Latina feminists, this section will include multiple direct quotes (some extensive in length) to provide space for the participants’ voices. The goal is to include the reader in our conversations, rather than providing a list of qualitative themes, which we have identified elsewhere (Alvarez-Hernandez, 2021). Like Anzaldúa and other Latina feminists, we are decolonizing this section, in a way, by providing more direct quotes than a “typical scholarly paper” would. All conversations have been translated from Spanish to English. Some edits have been made by first author for clarity.
A Conversation with Ale
Ale (pronouns: she/ella) is a heterosexual trans woman in her late 20s. She is originally from Honduras and had been in the United States for less than 5 years. Ale resided in the state of Louisiana, where she had been working with the community for less than 5 years. Ale did not attend college and was self-employed. She was in a relationship and lived with her partner and other trans women. Ale supported the LGBTQ+ community by providing housing, support services, and advocacy.
The work you do there is so important. Do you think you could give me an example of how your work has impacted the mental health of someone you’ve helped?
Well, mental health, the example that I can give you would be something very big in which we were helping. Well, I helped a gay guy that I met through other trans peers that told me [about him] through social media. He is living in Texas. He is a gay guy and his mother died of cancer. So, when he arrived here, I was always looking out for him. Moving around, accompanying him to the immigration meetings and all that procedure. So, for me, it was a great joy to do what I did for the simple reason that we were in a Christmas meeting, and they started to ask—the question of that Christmas meeting for trans people was who your heroine is, who is the person that motivated you to be here, to continue standing. So, it was an honor for me that he referred to me and started to tell me, “Well, my person, my heroine for me is Ale. […] Because when I was on my way here [from Honduras] there were always those constant messages [from her], always giving me that word of support. Giving me that motivation to keep moving forward by opening doors for me and helping me to enter this country. The truth is that she has been my hero. It's like, she is practically like my second mother here. That love, that affection, that attention. I feel that in these moments, I was going to miss my mother. The truth is that I could say that in my heart my mother in heaven has supported me, but my second mother here has been Ale and she is my inspiration.” So, it was a great joy for me because in that transitional journey for him, I was practically like a healing, like a support, maternal support for him. But I was also healing many things that he brought. He came with that pain inside that he was leaving his family and that he wanted to return. So, I always gave him that motivation, that strength.
Just like another colleague who also arrived here, she was also devastated. And she also said, “Well no, the truth is that when we were in Honduras,” she said, “We said that if one or the other arrived in this country, we were going to try to support the other. And she is my example to follow, my heroine, because even though she arrived here her mind did not change at all. She is still the same humble, simple person that she was in Honduras. She is the same here and she helped me to get here. She has supported me to this day. I have never lacked anything. Everything she could and everything she has had in her hands she has given us, and the truth is that she is also my heroine.” So, these are things of which you feel proud, and it gives you the strength to continue, to continue in the fight, to continue working in this process of supporting this community.
Maybe not everyone is grateful. Maybe there are some that are going to bring you problems, but that is something that we as activists are going to go through because it is a process. It is a process, and it is a battle of which there are obstacles that life puts in your way to see if, ok, maybe with that you break down or you become stronger and continue working more. So, this is something that gives you motivation to continue fighting, to continue in this constant battle day by day to continue supporting [the community]. And maybe you don’t expect gratitude from them, or you don’t imagine that at some point they will recognize it, but you know that all the good things that come into your life are because of the good things you have done, for the good things you’ve worked for, for the good things you’ve accomplished to support your community.
How powerful to hear that someone else considers you a second mom, their hero, isn’t it?
Actually, yes. That's something very strong, very powerful. You feel like there are many times, in many ways, they can tell you, “Oh, no, because you’re like that, you’re never going to have children. I mean, no shit. You’re going to have to adopt and maybe they don’t give you the adoption papers or maybe they don’t allow it.” But you don’t think about the support that you are giving to the rest of the community or those who are attached to you, and you helped them. And those who practically become your children are the ones who recognize it, not all of them, they are few but with those few who recognize it you feel powerful, you feel virtuous, you feel that you have done things right and that you don’t have to stop but maybe you still have to improve and be better for those who are on the way or those who are going to come to your door and need help. So, it's really wonderful. Well, that is what also motivates me, it gives me strength to continue on this same path and in this same way of thinking to continue supporting our community. So, that is what ties me down and tells me that you have done this, you can do more. Maybe not here, in other states. So that's what motivates me every day.
During the second interview, Ale notified [first author] that she had been evicted from her apartment for being unable to pay rent. She stated that the community was helping her as she had helped them. Part of her support system was the young Honduran gay man she had helped. But of all those people that, I went to all of them, but many of them had told me that they couldn’t [help me] for the moment, because of the pandemic and the situation and this and that. Then I think I also mentioned [to you] about the boy who had lost his mother to cancer in Honduras. He was the last person I approached, and he told me, “Yes, of course. Don’t be afraid, don’t worry, in the afternoon we will talk. How do you think I am going to leave my trans mother to wander the streets? In the afternoon we will figure it out to receive you in my house. No problem. I will see how I can help you to get a job so you can settle down again.” So, it is something that makes you feel so good, so grateful with life for being able to do good deeds, because we have the fruits and results. And for me, this is a very fruitful thing because he knows that I met him practically when the [migrant] caravan was coming. I was already here, and he was introduced to me by other friends. They were in Honduras, they told me, “Can you help that person?” So, without seeing if he was from the community or not, I decided to help him. It turns out that he was from the LGBT community because he is a gay guy. And now that I need help, he is already telling me, “Don’t worry. How I am going to leave you wandering in the street. The doors of my apartment will be open. In the afternoon we will arrange to see when you are coming, and I will receive you.” And that is what I am referring to when I say that everything you work for in your life's journey, at some point you are going to have the fruits. And you are going to feel grateful and amazed of the fruits of the seeds that you sowed, you are seeing the fruits, you are seeing the harvest.
Ale: A Madre, Comadre, and Madrina
Often referred to as compadrazgo, or co-parenthood, this family system involves reciprocal relationships formed by adults’ mutual commitment to their Catholic faith and collectively raising their children (Lopez, 1999). For many Roman Catholics, being asked to be a godparent is an honor and a commitment to upholding the sacraments and ceremonies such as baptism, confirmation, first communion, and marriage. Specifically, among women, according to feminist and Latina psychologist Comas-Díaz (2013), “the term comadre describes the relationship between the mother and the godmother of a child. The comadre relationship strengthens the special bond between women who are intimate friends” (pp. 63–64, italics in original). Hence, comadres are co-madres or co-mothers. The concept is grounded in a gendered role with an expectation of certain performativity and embodiment. Yet, this formal relationship between mothers and godmothers does not need to exist for Latinas to call each other comadres.
Latinas who have a strong bond may call each other comadres. For Comas-Díaz (2013), the comadre relationship has therapeutic properties as it generates healing, provides spaces for support, and affirms the “gendered cultural identity” of other Latinas (p. 69). A comadre therapist, for example, is a practitioner that engages in the processes of liberation, empowerment, and transformation of other Latinas (Comas-Díaz, 2013). This relationship of support and change in many Latinx cultures uses womanhood and motherhood as a tool for mutual support and affirmation for each other, their families, and building coalitions.
Ale welcomed the motherhood role from a healing stance. As a “comadre therapist,” (Comas-Díaz, 2013), Ale provides supportive and affirming spaces to empower LGBTQ+ individuals. Ale engages in this process of healing and transformation from a liminal space—a willing nepantlera in-between spaces as a trans Latina and an immigrant in her own healing journey (Anzaldúa and Keating, 2015). By navigating two languages and cultures, Ale is able to conceptualize social categories (Hurtado, 2020) and navigate literal and metaphorical borders (Anzaldúa et al., 2012) in service of personal and social change. In a way, Ale's enactment of conocimiento, or deep awareness, is through a combination of material support for the generation of change (e.g., providing housing and accompaniment to others) and spiritual activism (e.g., uplifting others through words of support and hope) (Anzaldúa, 2015). However, for Ale, motherhood and solidarity are intertwined. Ale becoming a virtuous madre, a maternal figure to a gay immigrant, in addition to other trans Latina immigrants, is an act of solidarity toward other members of LGBTQ+ communities. In a way, Ale also becomes the comadre of the young gay man's mother. This young man's mother did not meet Ale, nor asked her to co-mother her son in her absence after death. Yet, Ale steps in, being a comadre without the Catholic ritual that would formally attribute her that caring role. By being this young man's madrina (godmother), Ale cared for him—taking the baton from his deceased mother. Ale understands that liberation is not possible by just healing herself but by collective healing and action (Moraga & Anzaldúa, 2015).
A Conversation With Lucy
Lucy (pronouns: she/ella) is a trans woman in her mid-40s. She is originally from Mexico and had been in the United States for around 20 years. Lucy resided in the state of North Carolina, where she had been working with the community for less than 5 years. Lucy completed a technical degree after completing her GED in the United States. She worked full-time at a healthcare services organization. She was in a relationship and lived with her partner. What or who gives you the strength and energy to continue doing the work? What or who? Well, I think my coworkers because sometimes I want to throw in the towel because well, one, because […] I suffer from […] depression, anxiety and sometimes I can’t find a way out and my coworkers, my family helps me. Even the community itself helps me. When we have those groups in messenger, the girls [write], “No, Lucy, wake up, we have faith in you, look at this, do this, we know Lucy can do it,” is what they tell me. I feel like they give me support when I’m already throwing in the towel, that I say no. That whole group tells me, “Keep going, keep going. Things are going to change for the better.” Yes, because sometimes I say you know what, no more. I mean, I’m not going to keep doing it because no, no, I said “no, no, no, no.” But someone came up with something and told me, “No, I have to keep doing it.” Yes, one of them called me the mom of the trans people (laughs out loud). That's the funniest thing those women have said to me (laughs). What does it mean to you to be called the mom of trans people, what does it feel like? I felt older than I am! (laughs loudly) But it made me laugh (laughs loudly). Well, most of the ones I have more contact with are young, they are younger than me, less than 36 years old. Girls my age, we already have our own world, we see each other, we greet each other, but that is it. So, you don’t consider yourself a mom of trans people then. No (laughs), no, I don’t consider myself a mom of trans people. So how would you define it if you are not a mom of trans people? Well, I think it would be like, I would consider myself like, well I just, I feel like I’m part of them. I feel like just another girl in the transgender group here in North Carolina. I’m just another one. I don’t feel like the mom (laughs). I don’t feel like that, but the girls know that if they need anything they can count on me. They know that even though I’m tired I do it because I know the need here in North Carolina. I know that we need a lot of help. Sometimes I am tired because sometimes the girls, the guys, at the same time they tell me, “Lucy I need this, Lucy I need this information, about lawyers, about clinics. Lucy, I had discrimination problems in my job.” And then sometimes it fills my head too much because it is just me. I wish, I wish there were more girls who would say, “No, I’m going to do this Lucy, I’m going to do this, I’m going to support in this.” Because sometimes it's too much for me and sometimes I don’t have the information. Sometimes I am oblivious to [different topics]. […] And yes, sometimes it's too overwhelming because girls and guys come to me (laughs). I think that's why they call me the mom of trans people. But I wish there were more girls in the community.
Lucy: Leveling Relationships and Embodying La Lucha
Mujerismo emerged from the work that Black women forged into developing the concept of womanism. In fact, mujerismo is the literal translation of womanism into Spanish. For many Black women philosophers and writers, the use of womanism allows for an analysis of race and gender that explores the relationships among Black women and their environment (Collins, 1996). Alice Walker, a Southern U.S. Black woman, writer, and activist, is credited with the first use of womanism. Walker (2004) connects womanism to spirituality, considering spirituality a form of healing and a connector of Black women's relationships (Coleman et al., 2006). The role of womanism and spirituality in the liberation and wellbeing of African American women (Banks & Lee, 2016) is also a tenet of mujerismo regarding Latina women.
Mujerismo is also based on theology. Mujerista theology was originally developed under the name of “Hispanic Women's Liberation Theology.” In this liberative praxis, Latina theologists should seek radical change without further oppressing other groups, resist adapting to and participating in existing oppressive structures, decolonize knowledge, highlight subjugated knowledge of those disregarded by power structures, and strive for and be active in the pursuit of justice and peace (Isherwood, 2011). For Isasi-Diaz, praxis is more than an action and a form of embodiment, “la lucha—the struggle—is never-ending. That is why we have to see it as a way of life and not something we do: it is part of who we are” (Isherwood, 2011, pp. 11–12, italics in original). This struggle involves mujerista theologists’ work to include women—particularly Latina women—in the functions of a church that reinforces sexist, racist, and classist social norms (Isherwood, 2011). This sense of liberation and solidarity is mentioned by Comas-Díaz, who discusses the role of mujerismo in the comadre relationship. Comas-Díaz (2013) also positions mujerismo as a response to marianismo. Mujeristas seek women's liberation from patriarchy, racism, imperialism, and other oppressive structures (Comas-Díaz, 2013). Mujerismo connects the empowerment found in feminism to the crossroads explored by Anzaldúa's borderland theory, the spirituality inherent in womanism, and the liberation aspects that are the focus in liberation pedagogy, psychology, and theology (Comas-Díaz, 2008).
Lucy sees herself as “just another girl in the transgender group.” Lucy does not see herself as a mother but as an equal to the other women in her group. Moreover, Lucy wants to learn from others and for others. Similarly, as a “comadre therapist,” Lucy sees her growth as an opportunity to empower others, to offer them accurate information, and to liberate themselves through new knowledge for the transformation of other Latinas (Comas-Díaz, 2013). In a sense, Lucy is decolonizing knowledge and leadership by also including the other women in the leadership of the group. Lucy stated that she receives support from the same women who call her mother. Lucy does not present herself as immune to the daily struggle of surviving and thriving—she presents herself as a woman in need of equal effective support. In fact, Lucy models how la lucha—the struggle—is never-ending. Hence, like Isasi-Diaz embodiment of la lucha, Lucy embodies the never-ending struggle of change as part of who she is (Isherwood, 2011).
A Conversation With Paloma
Paloma (pronouns: she/ella) is a woman in her early 50s. She is originally from Mexico and first arrived in the United States more than 30 years ago, occasionally living in other countries. Paloma had been working with the community in the United States and other countries for over 30 years. She resided in Texas. Paloma did not attend college and worked part-time, besides being self-employed. She was a widow and lived with a trans friend. Paloma provided social support, education, and mentorship to other trans women in her community, across the United States, and in other countries. Yes, it's very nice, really. Very nice. And then you open your Facebook and there are girls, for example, I scold them—look (shows her cellphone screen to [first author]), the first one says, “Hello mother,” since I started talking with you. And I tell them, “Don’t call me that, don’t call me mother” (laughs). Why not? Nah, I tell them, “I’m your friend. Don’t look at me like that, share everything with me.” And they laugh, they laugh. When I scold them, I tell them, “No, mother, no. What if I want to fuck a boy you know?” (laughs). “Oh no,” they say, “No, then no.” But it's very nice. It's really nice to be able to work with them.
Paloma: Reconstructing the Borders Between Bodies of Care and Desire
Being Chicana (also spelled Xicana) goes beyond nationality and cultural heritage. Being Chicana is a matter of social constructions and reconstructions of identities—of histories, experiences, and subjectivities (Anzaldúa, 2012). Based on constructivist ontology and epistemology, what it means to be Chicana—and Latina for that matter—is grounded on the relativist and subjective lived experiences of the individuals embodying, or not embodying, these identities. Similar to the emergence of Black feminism, due to the need for more gender-conscious work within the Civil Rights movement, Chicana feminism emerged from the machismo (a patriarchal ideal that upholds hegemonic masculinity) that they encountered in the Chicano movement during the 1960s and 1970s (Garcia, 1997). Chicana feminists work to denounce and dismantle the patriarchal structures inherent in society. Nieto Gomez (1997) stated that “the [Chicana feminist] movement is one that supports social, economic and political issues in regard to the position of women—bettering the position of the Chicana. The Chicana is a woman and she cannot separate herself from that” (p. 53). The positionality of these mujeres has been intellectually and philosophically addressed by multiple Chicana feminists, including Cotera, Anzaldúa, Moraga, and Hurtado.
Cotera, a feminist Chicana writer, librarian, and activist, published the seminal book The Chicana Feminist in 1977. Cotera's book serves as a manifesto of Chicana feminism by explaining the theoretical and philosophical underpinnings of the movement (Hurtado, 2020). In this text, Cotera explored Chicanas’ feminist heritage from their Mexican ancestors, the legacy of Chicanas to feminism, and issues of power, roles, identities, racism, and classism. Cotera (1977) spoke about concientización (consciousness) in this manifesto: We need to assume conciencia completa de nuestras necesidades [complete consciousness of our needs]. You’re not a sacrificial victim to your children and your husband. When you get up in the morning and look at yourself in the mirror, it's still you. That's important. What do you want to do? What is your conciencia? Where do you want to get to? And the next thing is, what can you do for your community? How do you identify with yourself as a person, first of all? And then, how do you identify with the community? (p. 30)
In this statement, Cotera contends that Chicanas should thoughtfully examine their needs, identities, hopes, and sense of belonging. Cotera is calling Chicanas to action—to reconsider themselves as active agents of change and as contributing members of the larger community. Her work opened new explorations for other Chicanas, including Anzaldúa.
Anzaldúa discussed Chicanas’ experiences with positionality and identity through her frontera or borderland theory. Anzaldúa (2012) explored and explained the dynamics of oppression that Latina women experience due to their identities as women, Latinas, mestizas (mixed race), and immigrants living on the U.S. side of the U.S./Mexico border. In their introduction to Anzaldúa's book on borderland, Cantú and Hurtado (2012) discussed Anzaldúa's borderland concept and stated: Living between two countries, two social systems, two languages, two cultures, results in understanding experientially the contingent nature of social arrangements […] The basic concept involves the ability to hold multiple social perspectives while simultaneously maintaining a center that revolves around fighting against concrete material forms of oppression. (p. 7)
Anzaldúa (2012) conceptualized this process of being, becoming, and liberation from an epistemological and ontological standpoint. For Anzaldúa, the border was indeed a physical materialization of the divide between identities and experiences. Nevertheless, she also analyzed the border as a philosophical representation of the construction of identities bound by Chicanas’ experiences in the United States (Anzaldúa, 2015).
Hurtado, a Chicana feminist scholar, also explores issues of intersectionality within Chicana feminism. More specifically, Hurtado (2020) explores the role of sitios (places) and lenguas (languages) in the development of Chicana feminist thought. Hurtado (2020) asserted that in exploring the roles of place, language, culture, sex, gender, sexuality, class, and ethnicity, the writings of Chicanas have always been about intersectionality.
Paloma dismissed her maternal role within the community by engaging her sexuality in the conversation. Often, the literature about the roles of Latinas in their families and society limits them to a maternal role. Many Latina feminists (e.g., Pérez, 1999b) have reconceptualized the cultural bodies of Latinas and Chicanas beyond being maternal ones and into bodies of desire and resistance to Latinx patriarchal social and gender scripts. For Paloma, caring for others did not invalidate her sexual needs and desires—she centers being a woman. Paloma leveled her position with other trans Latinas by reminding them of her body as a source of pleasure and self-determination. She challenges the machista expectations for her body by being conscious of her needs and not being a sacrificial victim to her caring role in the community. While living in the border or liminal space between body of care and border of desire, Paloma becomes a form of liberation that transforms who she is and how she is perceived, even by using direct sexualized language with other women.
Re-conceptualizing Latinas as Liberation
The caring relationships of Latinas are often perceived from a marianista perspective. Given that these relationships are embedded in a traditional context of cisheteronormativity, little is known about how trans Latina women may or may not enact traditional gendered expectations for caretaking. This nuanced knowledge is important to note, especially when considering the many challenges trans Latina immigrants face in the United States.
The realities of gender-expansive and trans individuals are based on the common lived experiences of everyday life (including their gender performativity) or the cotidiano, which are important units of analysis for Latina feminists’ epistemology (Martín Alcoff, 2020). Concientization has been happening among Latinas for centuries. As can be seen by a brief synopsis of their testimonios, these women are expanding what it means to do m(other)work that serves to empower their comadres y mamás, their communities, and to advance the rights of trans Latina immigrants living in the United States. What remains to be seen is if social workers will allow themselves to see beyond essentialized and prescriptive notions of gender roles and values among Latinx cultures. The time has come for social workers to decolonizing their understanding of the experiences of Latinas and embrace a critical Chicana/Latina feminist lens. Many Latinas fill our classrooms, work and research alongside us, and thrive in our communities. If social workers and other practitioners are going to help advance their work alongside them, then we will need to sit, listen, and center their testimonios.
The complexity of people's realities should be approached holistically to understand the lived experiences of those living at the margins due to their social location. The lived experiences of a trans Latina, for instance, cannot be fully understood without accounting for their gendered, racialized, and sexualized multilayered experiences. Hence, the viewpoint of mainstream feminism of focusing on an essentialized notion of gender (in this case of women) has been criticized as a racist and homophobic stance that upholds White, colonizing, and heteronormative conceptualizations.
Cotera (1977) asked Latinas: “What can you do for your community?” (p. 30). The participants of this study responded, in many ways, to this question by mentioning their roles as connectors, educators, activists, and supporters of others. For the participants of this study, being perceived as the “mother” of younger trans women was received with mixed feelings. Lucy and Paloma did not want to be called “madre” (“mother”), and Ale embraced the term from a decolonizing perspective. In a way, all three women moved from a marianista position in which they care selflessly for others to a more mujerista perspective of being comadres who equally care for each other (Comas-Díaz, 2013). As comadres, they serve and care for others as equals, not as devoted caretakers. For all participants, their relationships were reshaped depending on the context in which they generate change and others’ perceptions of their identities and roles.
Latinas have always been and will always be agents of change. As Cotera (1977) said, Latinas are “not a sacrificial victim to your children and your husband” (p. 30). Latinas have been called to service, not submissiveness. We think Anzaldúa would agree that the women in our study are valiant nepantleras, “threshold people, who move within and among multiple worlds and use their movement in the service of transformation” (p. 35). Nepantleras don’t struggle in the liminal space as a sacrifice; they use their concientización (consciousness) and positions to transform and liberate wherever they are. Their acts of love and commitment to their comadres and their communities is their way of life, their form of praxis and collective liberation. As Lucy said, they are “juntas todas” (everyone together) en la lucha (in the fight/struggle). Using Chicana/Latina feminisms, we hope others will expand our work to move beyond marianismo to understand the significance of comadre and co-mothering relationships. These mutually liberative and caring experiences of trans Latina immigrants can serve as a model for m(other)work for everyone, irrespective of one's identity and social location.
Footnotes
Acknowledgments
The authors would like to acknowledge the trans Latina immigrant leaders who provided their testimonios for this study. Their work is invaluable to our communities’ liberation and the ways in which we theorize our experiences. We also want to acknowledge our madres, comadres, and madrianas for continuously showing us how our relationships can serve as a tool for collective liberation. Finally, we are grateful to the reviewers who, by providing their insights, engaged with us in the theorization of the concepts and experiences explored in this manuscript.
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
