There's nowhere in the city where a trans person could expect to move without encountering hostility.
On Brazil's National Trans Visibility Day, the city of São Paulo released its first comprehensive survey of transgender life within its borders — and the portrait it drew was one of pervasive hostility in the most ordinary places. Of nearly 1,800 trans and travesti individuals interviewed throughout 2020, four out of five reported experiencing verbal violence: on streets, in schools, inside family homes. The study was designed not merely to document suffering, but to transform it into the foundation for public policy — a recognition that data, when gathered with care, can become an instrument of dignity.
- Eight in ten trans people in São Paulo faced verbal abuse — insults and ridicule — in spaces that ranged from public streets to hospital waiting rooms to their own kitchens.
- The harassment followed no single geography: streets, schools, family homes, churches, buses, and workplaces all emerged as sites where trans people could not move freely without encountering hostility.
- Behind the statistics are individual lives — a nurse harassed on her commute, a bartender who spent 2020 listening to others' stories of discrimination, a trans woman who found fulfillment in her identity but could not find steady work.
- Employment emerged as the community's most urgent and unanimous demand, with trans individuals describing a labor market that judged their appearance before their competence.
- The city's Transcidadania program reached only 510 beneficiaries by 2020 — a meaningful gesture, but one dwarfed by the scale of need the survey itself had just made visible.
- Municipal authorities framed the survey as a planning tool, but the deeper question it left open was whether political will would follow where the data now pointed.
On January 29th, 2021 — Brazil's National Trans Visibility Day — the city of São Paulo published its first comprehensive survey of its transgender population. The findings were difficult to look away from: of the 1,788 trans and travesti individuals interviewed across 2020, roughly four out of five reported experiencing verbal violence. They were insulted and ridiculed on streets, in schools, and inside their own family homes. The harassment extended into bathrooms, workplaces, buses, churches, hospitals, and banks — almost no space in the city offered reliable safety.
The survey was conducted by the Center for Contemporary Culture Studies under the city's Department of Human Rights and Citizenship. Streets were the most common site of abuse, cited by 42 percent of respondents, followed by schools at 26 percent and family homes at 22 percent. The data gave shape to what many in the community had long lived without anyone formally counting.
Among those surveyed were Maria Aline Emídio Alves, a 33-year-old nurse who recalled being shouted at with a slur while riding her motorcycle to work; Cláudio Galícia, a 48-year-old trans man and bartender who had helped conduct the interviews himself; and Nicole Lima dos Santos, a 34-year-old trans woman who spoke of visibility as essential to overcoming prejudice, even as employment remained out of reach. All three participated in a photo essay meant to symbolize trans people stepping into the light — but they were clear that visibility alone could not resolve the material hardships they faced.
Employment was the single most consistent request from those interviewed. Trans individuals described a labor market that registered their appearance before their qualifications, where discrimination began at first glance. The city's Transcidadania program, which offered stipends in exchange for participation in education and workshops, supported 510 people by 2020 — a real but insufficient response to the scale of need.
City officials framed the survey as a foundation for policy rather than a conclusion. The secretary of human rights and citizenship described it as an investment in protecting one of São Paulo's most vulnerable populations. Whether the city would translate that data into meaningful action remained the open question the report left behind.
São Paulo's municipal government released the city's first comprehensive survey of its transgender population on Friday, January 29th, 2021—National Trans Visibility Day—and the findings were stark. Of the 1,788 trans and travesti individuals interviewed over the course of 2020, roughly four out of five reported having suffered verbal violence in the city. They were insulted, ridiculed, and demeaned in places that should have felt safe: on the street, in school, inside their own family homes.
The study, conducted by the Center for Contemporary Culture Studies under the city's Department of Human Rights and Citizenship, mapped where and how often this harassment occurred. Streets topped the list—42 percent of respondents cited public spaces as sites of abuse. Schools followed at 26 percent. Family homes accounted for 22 percent. The violence continued in bathrooms, workplaces, buses, churches, shopping centers, hospitals, police stations, restaurants, and banks. There was almost nowhere in the city where a trans person could reliably expect to move through the world without encountering hostility.
Maria Aline Emídio Alves, a 33-year-old nurse living in the northern neighborhood of Santana, was among those surveyed. She recalled riding her motorcycle to work in Morumbi, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, when a motorcyclist shouted a slur loud enough for everyone around to hear. It was a small moment in a much larger pattern. Cláudio Galícia, a 48-year-old bartender and trans man, had helped conduct the interviews himself, speaking with trans people from across São Paulo and beyond—people who had come to the city seeking a better life and instead found themselves navigating constant discrimination. Nicole Lima dos Santos, a 34-year-old trans woman, spoke of the importance of visibility in overcoming prejudice, though she acknowledged that despite feeling more fulfilled after her transition, employment remained elusive.
The three of them participated in a photo essay released by the Department of Human Rights, meant to symbolize trans people stepping from darkness into light, becoming visible to society. But visibility alone would not solve the material problems facing the community. Employment was the unanimous request among those interviewed. Maria Aline had left sex work four or five months before the survey; she and others in the community faced a labor market that saw their appearance before their competence, where discrimination began the moment an employer looked at them. Cláudio described the workplace as fundamentally hostile to trans people, a space where capability went unrecognized beneath layers of prejudice.
The city had already begun attempting to address some of these gaps. The Transcidadania program, created in 2008, provided monthly stipends to trans individuals in exchange for participation in workshops and continued education at public schools. By 2020, the program supported 510 beneficiaries. But the scale of need far exceeded what existing programs could meet. The survey itself was designed as a tool for planning—a way to ground public policy in data rather than assumption. Claudia Carletto, the secretary of human rights and citizenship, framed the mapping as an investment in guaranteeing rights to one of the city's most vulnerable populations, those bearing the weight of machismo and transphobia. The question now was whether the city would act on what it had learned.
Notable Quotes
The trans population is one of the city's most vulnerable social groups, facing violence, discrimination, and prejudice rooted in machismo and transphobia.— Claudia Carletto, Secretary of Human Rights and Citizenship
In the job market, nobody sees your competence first. They look at your appearance. That's where the prejudice starts.— Cláudio Galícia, trans bartender and survey participant
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does a city need to count something like this? Didn't people already know trans folks were being harassed?
There's a difference between knowing something happens and knowing the shape of it—where, how often, how many people. Without numbers, it's easy to dismiss as isolated incidents. A survey makes it undeniable.
And the locations matter, I notice. Streets, schools, family homes. Those aren't fringe spaces.
Exactly. This isn't happening in dark corners. It's happening where trans people have to be—where they work, where they study, where they live. There's no refuge.
The employment piece seems to be the real wound here. Why is that so central?
Because everything else flows from it. Without work, you can't survive. Without economic stability, you're vulnerable to everything else—homelessness, survival sex work. Employment isn't just dignity; it's survival.
So the survey is the first step, but what comes after?
That's the open question. The city says it will use this data to plan policies. But planning and implementation are different things. The real test is whether anything actually changes for the people in that survey.