Travesti resistance, Mapuche roots
Efri Rúa is deeply connected to her land, and studying native plants helped her get through a difficult time. August 2025, Ingeniero Jacobacci, Río Negro province, Argentina. Photo © Carolina Blumenkranc.
Interview • Natalia Concina • September 11, 2025 • Leer en castellano
In a constellation of small, windswept settlements in the province of Río Negro, Argentina, breaking the mold comes at a cost. Efri Rúa, a 23-year-old travesti born and raised in Ingeniero Jacobacci, one of those Patagonian towns, felt isolated and scrutinized from a young age, but chose to stay.
A school assignment led to her discovery of medicinal plants and her own Mapuche identity—and an understanding that she did not want to leave her land, even though trans-travesti often people face discrimination there. Leaving to larger cities was a way of seeking safety, but in staying, she told herself, she was becoming herself in community.
One Sunday, Rúa and a friend decided to plan a Pride rally in Jacobacci instead of traveling to the Buenos Aires City Pride March. On December 2, 2023—just days before Javier Milei took office as an explicitly anti-LGBTQIA+ president—her dream came true. It was the first event of its kind in the area.
The preparations for the march fostered a collective dynamic that led to the creation of the Wawel Niyeu Group, after the town’s Mapuche name. The group became a transfeminist organizing space where people of diverse backgrounds can meet, learn from, and support each other, and work on collective empowerment to be themselves.
Rúa speaks deliberately, choosing the most effective words to convey her message. Over the past year, she has been invited to speak at a June 3 event marking the anniversary of Argentina’s first Ni Una Menos march against gender-based violence in 2015. She also shared her story in a training session for the Río Negro Judiciary and represented the Grupa at the Regional Meeting of Women and Dissidents of Río Negro and Neuquén. In fact, Jacobacci was chosen as the venue for the next meeting in 2026.
While studying agroecology online and building her natural preserves business, “la Efri” made time for a lengthy video call with Ojalá. Our interview has been edited for clarity and length, and translated to English by Ojalá.
Natalia Cocina: Tell us about some of the memories you have from childhood?
Efri Rúa: I am the youngest of four sisters, and there is an eight-year age gap between me and the third, so I used to play by myself a lot. When I wasn't at kindergarten, I was at home with my grandmother. She was my partner in crime; if I messed up, she would cover for me.
I loved dinosaurs and animals, but I played other games behind closed doors. I spent hours playing with my sisters' high heels and dolls, and my grandmother let me. When my parents were coming home, she would warn me, and I would take off my makeup with rubbing alcohol and hide the dolls.
It's strange because I remember how calm I was during those games, even though I felt alert. It was as if I knew I couldn't play like that all the time, but only at certain times and with certain people.
Efri Rúa wears a munul logko, a traditional Mapuche garment. This headscarf is worn by women as a symbol of identity, protection, and cultural and political reaffirmation. August 2025, Ingeniero Jacobacci, Río Negro, Argentina. Photo © Carolina Blumenkranc.
NC: Did you ever experience any uncomfortable situations outside your home?
EF: I remember one in particular. I was 14 years old, walking past a school, and some kids leaned against the gate and yelled [slurs] at me.
That's when the truly small-town reality of everybody being a public figure hit me. And later, the realization that I had been a conversation topic for those families: I didn't know those kids, but they knew me. And not only did they know me, but they thought poorly of me.
NC: Were there trans/travesti people in Jacobacci?
EF: There was a trans woman who was often mentioned. People said she had left, but they always referred to her by her dead name [birth name], so it took me a long time to understand who they were talking about.
The closest thing to representation I got at home was through television, with [trans actress and TV host] Flor de la V or [gay dancer and choreographer] Flavio Mendoza. I liked watching them on TV, One day, someone in my family [insulted their queerness] as if to question why I watched them. So, I replied, “It doesn't matter, I love them anyway.”
NC: How did things change as you grew up?
EF: When I was 15, I started to learn about what it meant to be transgender, but I went through high school on autopilot, without really experiencing it, so I couldn't come to terms with it. At the time, I would think about finishing school and wanted to end my life or leave town with the excuse of having to study. The farther away, the better.
Sometimes I wonder what pushes us to transition, because it's very difficult. For me, there came a point when I felt more peace of mind accepting that I was transgender than not doing so.
NC: Why did you decide to stay in Jacobacci?
EF: That's part of another process. In my [last year of high school], we were asked to write a thesis, and I chose to write about medicinal plants. That's when I started to acknowledge the land. I realized that what I had always seen as weeds contained medicine, culture, symbolism, and affection, because people who know about plants descibe them with a twinkle in their eyes.
All that changed me forever because it made me value the land, recognize it, and see it as a healing force. So I began to delve into my history and realized that my parents had grown up in the countryside with a lot of this information and these practices.
I began to “weave” with the past and identify as Mapuche. I wanted to live, work, and die here, and I began to imagine myself being here, with all that that implied. So the question became: How can I make things easier, so it’s not a living hell?
NC: And how did you manage that?
EF: I don't know (laughs). When the pandemic ended, I began discussing my transition with my closest friends. That's when I met Fran [Franco Muñoz]. Actually, I'd known him forever, but we hadn't talked much before because it wasn't well-regarded for queers to hang out together. But in 2021, we ran into each other at a club and started to become friends. One afternoon, while drinking yerba mate, he told me he wanted to go to the Buenos Aires City Pride march. Then it dawned on us: what if we held a march here? And that's how it all started. Until then, there had never been a Pride march in Jacobacci or anywhere else in the Línea Sur.
Efri Rúa at the first LGBTQIA+ pride march in Ingeniero Jacobacci (Río Negro province, Argentina), December 2, 2023. Photo © Carolina Blumenkranc.
NC: And so the Wawel Niyeu Group was formed...
EF: Right, we started getting together with other compañeres and as we organized the march, we got to know each other better. We had high expectations for that day. It was very windy and cloudy, so attendance was initially low. But when we started walking, more people began to arrive. Suddenly, there were loads of us. People were grabbing the colorful placards that some comrades had made.
It started to drizzle, and the sun came out all of a sudden. We walked along the railroad singing, happy, and I think we all felt embraced by the sun.
NC: How are the connections you have with other groups in the area?
EF: Very good. We are currently involved in the campaign against the establishment of a mining company [Proyecto Calcatreu] because the Grupa is committed to protecting life, water, and land. We understand that if this place becomes uninhabitable due to pollution or the influx of outsiders associated with the mining company, it will also lead to our eviction. Our struggle is against all forms of eviction and in defense of our land.
NC: How are you living through this time of such violence in Argentina?
EF: Well, we came up against the tide [given that the first march took place the month Javier Milei took office as president]. And our relationship with the municipal government is tricky. After the second march [in 2024], they closed the local venue where we used to meet, and we couldn't fight it because it was summer and the news caught us off guard.
Plus, we've been fighting against Calcatreu, so the local government doesn't want to work with us. The lack of a meeting place is worrying because gathering outdoors here in winter is difficult due to the strong winds and cold temperatures. But we started meeting again in August. The idea is to start organizing the third march in December, but we haven't yet set a date.
NC: Do you feel that Jacobacci has changed for people of diverse backgrounds since the Grupa was set up?
EF: I think everyone knows that the space is available, that it's a supportive environment where there are other kinds of information. We get questions from moms who notice “little things” (laughs) in their children. The fears are always the same: they say they’re “afraid someone will hurt them.” We explain that exploration is natural and that parents need to create a safe space for their children to express themselves.
It's hard for me to say whether the Group changed other people's lives, but it has certainly changed ours. It's like you see yourself reflected in others, and so we become ourselves with others. That's the most beautiful thing about the Grupa.
