Adriana Alcázar González, GPJ Mexico
Gabriel Amores, left, and Emmanuel Carrasco, right, are a couple who fully exercise their rights and work to ensure everyone else in San Cristóbal de Las Casas can do the same.
SAN CRISTÓBAL DE LAS CASAS, MEXICO — In 2017, Emmanuel Carrasco and Gabriel Amores had been together for a year and a half when Chiapas, the state where they live, became the third in Mexico to recognize same-sex marriage.
“We decided to get married and make our home in San Cristóbal [de Las Casas],” says Amores, 32. Until then, he hadn’t thought about getting married, but was motivated by love and by the opportunity to exercise his rights. Soon, he and Carrasco, 38, realized that, even if their marriage was recognized, it was frowned upon by some members of their community.
In San Cristóbal de Las Casas, the couple found a mosaic of ideologies and tensions, ranging from hostile to inclusive. To improve the conditions of LGBTQ+ members of their community, Carrasco and Amores have founded a collective and turned their home into a safe space for support and comprehension. They even provide teaching staff with a sexual diversity awareness and education methodology they developed based on their personal experiences with discrimination.
In 2018, Carrasco was discriminated against by the authorities of the school where he worked as a teacher after his marriage became public knowledge among staff, students and parents. Following a legal battle, which struck down a rule requiring teachers to cut their hair according to their gender, Carrasco and his husband started thinking about ways to educate others and raise awareness from a place of inclusivity.
“It was stressful and painful,” Carrasco says. “My mental and physical health were put at risk, [but] Gabriel’s support was essential to making it through this process.”
Although same-sex marriage is recognized, Chiapas is the state with the lowest level of acceptance of inclusive measures for the LGBTQ+ community among people over the age of 18, according to data from the 2022 National Survey on Discrimination. Statistics from the same year show that of the 25,533 marriages registered in the state, only 41 correspond to same-sex couples.
Amores and Carrasco’s inclusion efforts led them to found the Diversidad-ES collective in 2022. The space has gained participants through open invitations, and little by little, it has become a second home for many.
“We always begin our meetings by asking, ‘How are you?’ or ‘How are we?’ Someone tells us about their day, their joys, their troubles, and we listen attentively without judgment,” Amores says. “Being with somebody who has just come out of the closet, who sees the collective as a supportive and caring space, fills us with energy and strength.”
Luis Alberto Meza López, one of the collective members, is heterosexual. He and the other 15 members fully embody the supportive and affectionate bonds they’ve built. “I don’t like to use the word family, but that’s what we are: a family. We take care of each other, we listen to each other, we support each other,” Meza says. Being part of the collective has helped him reflect on his heterosexuality and other topics, including new forms of masculinity, other forms of love, and supportive male relationships. “When I met Gabriel, I learned that we can develop friendships based on affection and caring for one another.”
Doni Ovando, another member, identifies as nonbinary. Ovando met Amores and Carrasco at a meeting to organize the LGBTQIA+ pride march in 2023. “I’m a wallflower, an introvert. I’ve always found it difficult to make friends or participate in activism. But at the collective, I found a supportive space where I can be myself without being afraid of people judging or rejecting me,” Ovando says. “They have become family, and the collective has become a safe space for me.”
The group has promoted LGBTQ+ rights and inclusion at marches, protests, visibility and awareness fairs, parties and performances. “Diversidad-ES is the opportunity to collectively reflect on the violence and discrimination we experience and propose actions so we can live in freedom and inclusion,” says Amores, who is a chef by profession.
At their home, Amores and Carrasco sit between two framed posters: Madonna on one side and the band La Oreja de Van Gogh on the other. Holding hands, they look at each other and smile. “There are no age restrictions for being here. You just have to be open to giving and receiving while we build this space to stand up to discrimination and inequality,” Amores says.
“We take care of our home,” Carrasco adds. “We want this space to be safe for me, for Gabriel, and for other people who need backing and support to be free and loved.”
