Italy is one of the founding members of the EU, but it's not safe
En la madrugada de su cumpleaños número veintitrés, Jean Pierre Moreno fue atacado en una estación de tren de Roma por besar a su pareja, un acto de violencia que quedó grabado en video y que, semanas después, encendió a toda Italia. Lo que comenzó como una agresión personal se convirtió en el espejo de una contradicción nacional: un país que se presenta como seguro y progresista, pero que lleva más de veintisiete años sin aprobar una ley que proteja a sus ciudadanos LGBTQ de la discriminación y la violencia. Moreno, inmigrante nicaragüense que ya había huido de una crisis política en su país, se encontró sin buscarlo en el centro de un debate que Italia había postergado demasiado tiempo.
- Un hombre cruzó las vías del tren arriesgando su propia vida para atacar a dos personas por darse un beso, y todo quedó grabado en video.
- Durante casi un mes el video durmió en silencio, hasta que una organización LGBTQ lo publicó y en días sacudió a toda la clase política italiana, de la extrema derecha a la izquierda.
- La ley Zan, que criminalizaría la discriminación por orientación sexual e identidad de género, lleva más de veintisiete años paralizada en el Senado, y el ataque a Moreno renovó la presión para desbloquearla.
- Moreno, lejos de replegarse, exigió públicamente a los legisladores que pasaran de las palabras a los votos, recordando que sin esa ley Italia no puede llamarse un lugar seguro.
- Roma respondió con una protesta callejera bajo el lema 'Bacio chi me pare' —Beso a quien me da la gana—, convirtiendo la agresión en un acto colectivo de resistencia.
Jean Pierre Moreno celebraba su cumpleaños número veintitrés junto a su novio Alfredo Zanobio y un amigo cuando, en la madrugada del 26 de febrero de 2021, un hombre en el andén opuesto de la estación Valle Aurelia de Roma comenzó a lanzarles insultos homofóbicos. Moreno, presintiendo lo que se avecinaba, pidió a su amigo que grabara. Segundos después, el agresor —un romano de treinta y un años— cruzó las vías del tren y los atacó a ambos.
El video permaneció inédito casi un mes. El 22 de marzo, Gaynet, la organización LGBTQ a la que pertenecía Moreno, lo publicó en línea. En cuestión de días se propagó por toda Italia y arrancó condenas de políticos de todo el espectro, incluida Giorgia Meloni, líder de la ultraderechista Hermanos de Italia, y Alessandro Zan, el diputado demócrata que da nombre a la ley que criminalizaría la discriminación por orientación sexual e identidad de género, paralizada en el Senado desde hace más de veintisiete años.
Moreno se encontró, sin haberlo buscado, en el centro de un debate que Italia llevaba décadas aplazando. Agradeció el apoyo, pero fue directo: pidió a los legisladores que dejaran de hacer retórica y votaran la ley. 'Es una protección para los ciudadanos', dijo. La norma ya había superado la Cámara de Diputados en noviembre con 265 votos a favor, y solo esperaba que el Senado actuara.
Moreno había llegado a Italia en 2018 huyendo de la crisis sociopolítica en Nicaragua, que dejó más de trescientos muertos. Había vivido lo que él mismo llamaba 'momentos de microrracismo'. Pero no se consideraba un activista: era, decía, un ciudadano involucrado en organizaciones de derechos humanos. Lo que quería era que las generaciones futuras entendieran que ataques como el suyo eran crímenes, no algo que normalizar. El día en que el video se volvió viral, Roma salió a la calle con una consigna: 'Bacio chi me pare'. Beso a quien me da la gana.
Jean Pierre Moreno was turning twenty-three. He'd spent the evening celebrating with his boyfriend Alfredo Zanobio and a friend, and they were heading home through Rome's Valle Aurelia train station in the early hours of February 26, 2021, when a man on the opposite platform began hurling homophobic slurs at them. Moreno, sensing the situation was escalating, asked his friend to start recording. Within seconds, a thirty-one-year-old Roman man crossed the train tracks—risking his own life to do it—and attacked both of them.
The video sat dormant for nearly a month. Then, on March 22, Gaynet, a LGBTQ advocacy organization that Moreno belonged to, posted it online. Within days, the footage had spread across Italy, drawing condemnation from politicians across the entire spectrum. Giorgia Meloni, leader of the far-right Brothers of Italy party, condemned the attack. So did Alessandro Zan, a Democratic Party deputy and the driving force behind legislation that would criminalize discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity—a bill that has been stalled in Parliament for more than twenty-seven years.
Moreno found himself, without seeking it, at the center of Italy's frozen conversation about LGBTQ rights. He was grateful for the support, but he was also direct about what needed to happen next. He called on politicians, including Meloni, to move past rhetoric and actually vote for the law. "It's a protection for citizens," he said. The Zan law had already passed the Chamber of Deputies in November with 265 votes in favor and 193 against. It was waiting for the Senate to act.
What the law would do was straightforward: amend the penal code to make discrimination based on sex, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, or disability an aggravating factor in crimes. For a country that claims to be a founding member of the European Union and a safe space for LGBTQ people, Moreno pointed out, Italy was failing its own citizens. "It's not safe," he said. "It's not safe because this law doesn't exist."
Moreno himself had fled Nicaragua three years earlier, in 2018, when a sociopolitical crisis erupted that killed 328 people and wounded more than five thousand, according to Nicaragua's Human Rights Collective. He'd experienced what he called "moments of microracism" in Italy. But he was determined that his assault—and the attention it had generated—would push the country to finally criminalize the kind of violence he'd suffered. He didn't think of himself as an activist. He was simply a citizen, he said, involved with organizations working for human rights. What he wanted was for future generations to understand that attacks like his were crimes, not something to be normalized or tolerated. On the day the video went viral, Rome held a protest under the banner "Bacio chi me pare"—I kiss whoever I want.
Citas Notables
Italy is one of the countries that founded the European Union, which now declares itself a safe space for LGBTQ people. But it's not. It's not because this law doesn't exist.— Jean Pierre Moreno
I would tell Giorgia Meloni and others to reflect and vote for the law because it really is a protection for citizens.— Jean Pierre Moreno
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did it take nearly a month for the video to surface?
Moreno had the footage, but he wasn't trying to make a statement. It was Gaynet, the organization he belonged to, that decided to post it publicly in late March. That's when it exploded.
And the attacker—what happened to him?
The police had already identified him. He was a thirty-one-year-old Roman with a history of police contact. But the legal system's response to the assault itself isn't detailed in what we know.
Why has the Zan law been stalled for twenty-seven years?
It's been proposed and reposed, but it keeps getting blocked. The Chamber passed it in November with a solid majority, but the Senate hasn't moved. There's political resistance, especially from the right.
Moreno seems careful about how he frames himself—not an activist, just a citizen.
That's deliberate. He's been through a lot—fled his country, experienced racism, now this assault. He's not trying to be a symbol. But he's also not backing away from what needs to happen. He's being strategic about his voice.
What does he want to happen now?
He wants the Senate to pass the law. He wants discrimination based on sexual orientation and gender identity to carry real legal consequences. And he wants Italy to stop pretending it's safe for LGBTQ people when the laws don't protect them.