Transgender Politicians in Brazil Launch Campaign: Because What’s More Fun Than Elections When You’re a Death Target?

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In the dramatic streets of Rio de Janeiro, where hopes shimmer as brightly as the graffiti on the walls, Benny Briolly stepped into the limelight, wearing a stunning snow-white dress—because nothing says “I stand for my rights” quite like a gown that screams “Look at me!” while surrounded by the crumbling infrastructure of a favela. With nearly 1,000 other transgender candidates set to battle it out in Brazil’s electoral arena, it’s like the Super Bowl of political representation—just with more glitter and fewer anti-concussion protocols.

Yet, while Briolly and her drumming supporters carry campaign flags like proud peacocks, other candidates have had less glamorous experiences, one narrowly escaping a motorcycle hitman in Brazil’s biggest city. Turns out, running for office is dangerously trendy, with trans advocates reporting a record number of unsolved murders—not exactly the kind of record-breakers you’d want to celebrate.

Why, in a nation where being killed for your identity is practically a shadow behind every vote, it might seem ironic that the number of transgender politicians has tripled since the last election. It’s almost like trying to find the silver lining in a thunderstorm of bigotry—quite the dance move when your feet are stuck in quicksand!

When you have far-right lawmakers like Rodrigo Amorim and Nikolas Ferreira—who once wore a blond wig in Congress not to embrace diversity but to mock it—it’s clear that politics in Brazil is less a choice and more a game of “who can vilify trans people the best?” With such wholesome strategies, it’s no wonder that transphobia has become the national pastime, right alongside soccer and avoiding socioeconomic responsibility.

And let us not forget the shadow of Jair Bolsonaro, our favorite far-right punchline who energized the transphobic trolls under Brazil’s electoral bridge. Now, even with Bolsonaro’s departure, the sentiment remains strong—like that stubborn smell of fish at the market. Politicians, like Leonora Áquilla, have had to dodge death threats like they’re in some dangerous game of dodgeball—a sport where the only goal is survival, and everyone left standing can claim victory with a side of PTSD.

Behind this bizarre carnival of violence and defiance, Briolly coos that her very existence is a political statement. “Our bodies are revolutionary,” she proclaims, unbothered by the persistent threats to her life. Of course, who needs peace of mind when you can have the adrenaline rush of being a walking Target?

But amid this grotesque circus, some trailblazers like Indianarae Siqueira are seeing a glimmer of hope, stating that more visibility pushes others to claim their spot at the table—even if that table comes with a side of bodyguards and bulletproof vests. Isn’t it just delightful to think that in a land where death threats come with your morning coffee, the measure of success is just making it to your next campaign event?

So, let’s raise our glasses to the absurdity of Brazilian politics—a tragicomedy where the stakes are life and death, but the performers keep dancing, dressed to the nines in ball gowns, amidst swirling chaos. What could possibly go wrong?