There are stories that refuse to rest quietly in the past, stories that demand to be felt rather than simply told, and Her Name Was Gisberta by Sérgio Galvão Roxo is one of them. Presented as a virtual reality experience, this 2023 production revisits one of the most harrowing crimes in Portugal’s modern history, the brutal murder of Gisberta Salce, a Brazilian transgender woman, by fourteen boys in Porto in 2006. Through the language of immersive technology, the film transforms the passive act of watching into an act of witnessing, allowing viewers to step into Gisberta’s fragile world, to see her joy and her sorrow, to sense both her resilience and the indifference that surrounded her. Roxo’s work is more than a documentary; it is an experiment in empathy, a fusion of art, activism, and remembrance. By placing the viewer at the emotional center of the story, the filmmaker invites reflection on why violence against trans people persists and how silence sustains it.
Gisberta was born in 1961 in Brazil, the youngest child in her family, a playful and affectionate girl adored by her sisters, who dressed her up like a doll. From an early age, she showed signs of the femininity that would later define her identity but also make her a target of cruelty. Her father and brothers rejected her, and a doctor’s diagnosis labeled her as spoiled rather than misunderstood. At fourteen, after her father’s death, she confided to her mother that she was a woman, a confession that would set her apart from her family and her society. In Brazil during the late 1970s and early 1980s, being openly trans was perilous. Under the oppressive military regime, violence against LGBTQ+ people was widespread, and many lives were lost to hate crimes that went unpunished. Gisberta sought safety and freedom abroad, accepting an offer from a dance company in France. There, she built a new life as a cabaret performer, dazzling audiences with her charisma, beauty, and vibrant stage presence. She lived between France, Belgium, and Portugal, performing in iconic venues such as the Moulin Rouge. Europe offered her a temporary refuge from the hostility she had fled, but prejudice shadowed her wherever she went.
When she eventually settled in Porto in the early 1980s, she became a well-known figure in the city’s nightlife. Blonde, elegant, and magnetic, she performed in clubs like Bustos, Syndicato, and Moinho de Vento. She was admired by many, even those who did not fully understand her, and she built a modest but joyful life surrounded by her beloved dogs, Leonardo and Carolina, who became her closest companions. Yet life as a trans woman in Portugal was far from easy. Discrimination followed her into every corner of her existence. As years passed, work became harder to find, her documents were rejected, and her identity was constantly questioned. The glamour of her performing days faded, and she faced the harsh reality of poverty and social exclusion. Losing both of her dogs devastated her, and depression set in. By the early 2000s, she was living in fragile conditions, moving from one temporary shelter to another. Eventually, she found refuge in the basement of an abandoned building known as “Pão de Açúcar.”
It was there, in that dark and damp place, that she met the boys who would later become her murderers. At first, they treated her with a strange kind of friendliness, sharing food, cigarettes, and stories. Gisberta, ever generous, spoke to them about her life, her travels, and her dreams. But the line between curiosity and cruelty quickly vanished. The boys began to mock her, then to beat her, turning her vulnerability into a game. Over several days, they tortured her relentlessly, inflicting physical and emotional pain beyond comprehension. When she could no longer move or speak, they wrapped her in blankets and threw her into a pit of water. The autopsy revealed deep wounds, cigarette burns, and bruises all over her body. Yet, when the case reached court, the justice system failed her once again. The boys were described as misguided youths, victims of circumstance rather than perpetrators of murder. The court declared that the cause of death was drowning, as if the water had acted alone, absolving the boys of homicide. Most of them received short sentences in juvenile facilities or community rehabilitation programs. The message was clear: Gisberta’s life mattered less than the future of those who destroyed it.
Roxo’s documentary confronts this legacy of impunity and silence. It does not seek to sensationalize the tragedy but to humanize it, to give back the dignity stripped away from Gisberta in both life and death. Using virtual reality, Roxo reconstructs her world through sound, imagery, and space, creating a sensory landscape that forces the viewer to face her humanity and the inhumanity she endured. The viewer stands in the basement where she lived, hears her laughter echoing from better days, and feels the slow encroachment of violence. This immersive storytelling becomes a form of activism, transforming spectators into witnesses and witnesses into allies. It is an experience that does not end when the headset is removed.
The film’s reach has been significant, traveling through international festivals such as SXSW, Dok Leipzig, and Sunny Side of the Doc. It received the National Grand Prize at Fest – New Directors | New Films Festival and a Special Mention at the MIX.XR Award of the MixBrasil Festival. It was also shortlisted for the AIXR Awards in the Social Impact category, affirming its role as both an artistic and humanitarian achievement. Behind this recognition lies a larger purpose: to educate and to provoke. By situating the viewer inside a trans woman’s life, Roxo challenges the comfortable detachment that often defines public attitudes toward gender-based violence.
Gisberta’s death in 2006 became a turning point for Portugal’s LGBTQ+ movement. Her story inspired protests, vigils, and public debates about trans rights, institutional neglect, and media representation. Yet, as Roxo’s film reminds us, memory fades quickly when it belongs to those society prefers to forget. The documentary insists on remembrance. It reconstructs not only the crime but also the beauty of the person behind it: a woman who loved dancing, who cared for her animals, who dreamed of buying her mother a house, who believed in joy despite everything. In doing so, the film restores Gisberta to her rightful place in history, not as a symbol of victimhood, but as a human being who lived, loved, and deserved better.
Her Name Was Gisberta is, therefore, more than a memorial. It is a mirror reflecting the consequences of indifference. It asks viewers to confront the violence that trans people still face, in Brazil, in Portugal, and everywhere else where prejudice thrives. It reminds us that behind every statistic lies a life, and behind every act of violence lies a failure of empathy. Through the lens of virtual reality, Roxo has built a digital sanctuary for remembrance, a space where Gisberta can exist in dignity once more. Her name was Gisberta, and through this film, her name continues to echo, a reminder, a warning, and a call to action.
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