Peoples reached out to Familia: Trans Queer Liberation Movement, a Latinx LGBT organization, to potentially find an undocumented trans woman to interrupt President Barack Obama’s speech at the Pride Reception. Peoples and other queer organizers had formally advocated for the humane treatment and ultimate release of trans prisoners in Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detention centers since early 2013 through the #Not1More campaign, a coalition of grassroots organizations that work together on behalf of undocumented immigrants. Along with other #Not1More activists, Peoples felt that an undocumented trans woman interrupting Obama could gain unprecedented attention for the cause of LGBT detainees, especially trans women of color. When Jorge Gutierrez, the head of Familia, got the call from Peoples, he reached out to Jennicet, who had been participating in the group’s protests over the last year and fit the profile he and Peoples were looking for. When asked, Gutiérrez said yes without hesitation.

Now, Gutiérrez was determined as she neared the reception, but as soon as she caught a glimpse of the White House and felt the enormous power it held, she found herself feeling overwhelmed. Nonetheless, she tried to appear normal, took a few pictures in front of the White House gate as she waited to be let in, and made small talk with the other people in line with her. A white man who Gutiérrez assumed to be gay was particularly friendly as he chatted with her, welcoming her to D.C. and expressing pleasure that women like her were invited to the reception. She started feeling more at ease, until the man told her that he was a White House employee, and she wondered whether she had said anything that might have given him a clue about her intentions.

Gutiérrez had consulted Jorge Gutierrez and Isa Noyola, two activists with significantly more experience, about what she should do once she got inside. She was given general advice on what should happen, but few specifics about how to accomplish her goal. What exactly would she shout, and how? What time should the interruption happen? At what point in his speech? There were many unknowns, but her conviction to carry on with the plan held firm.

Suddenly, Gutiérrez found herself at a checkpoint on the White House lawn, where a guard asked her for identification. She presented her Mexican passport, which showed her male-assigned name, because her undocumented status has prevented Gutiérrez from acquiring legal identification as a woman. The guard checked her name against a list, then handed Gutiérrez’s passport back to her; she felt an enormous wave of relief. She went through another checkpoint, where she passed through some metal detectors and found herself opening a heavy door to the White House and going inside.

Gutiérrez mingled among the jubilant guests, who were thrilled to be at the center of power — a place where LGBT people had been historically unwelcome. The Supreme Court was expected to rule in favor of same-sex couples’ marriage rights nationwide in the next few days, and the crowd of mostly gay, white men were ecstatic as they laughed and smiled broadly while posing for selfies.

Among these happy guests, Gutiérrez did her best to belong. But in her mind she thought of Nicoll Hernández-Polanco, a trans woman who fled Guatemala to escape repeated physical and sexual violence, only to be housed in an all-male facility in Florence, Arizona, where she alleged that she was forced to sleep and shower with men and was the victim of sexual assault. Gutiérrez thought of Christina Lopez, a trans woman from Peru whose record of driving under the influence led to her detention in Santa Ana, California, and who was being refused treatment for hepatitis C.

Gutiérrez, who originally came to the United States from Tuxpan, Jalisco, in southern Mexico, got involved in activism because she felt that she could easily have been a woman like Nicoll or Christina, an undocumented trans woman of color held in ICE detention under uncertain conditions. But once she carried out her plan at the White House, Gutiérrez worried that she risked becoming an ICE detainee herself. She took careful note that there were guards everywhere around her, from military personnel in uniforms to Secret Service agents in suits, to the White House security team in white button-down shirts.

As these fearful thoughts swam in her mind, Gutiérrez heard strains of Spanish, coming from a small band of young LGBT singers. They were singing a song she knew, Marc Anthony’s “Vivir Mi Vida” ("Live My Life"), a song whose chorus — voy a reír, voy a bailar, vivir mi vida — emphasizes joy in the face of suffering.

The song assuaged some of her nervousness, but it also reinforced her determination to follow through, with lyrics like: