This post is by guest researcher and Texas State University Alumni Hector Aguayo.
A year ago, I embarked on a long-awaited road trip through Texas, retracing the footsteps of Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca, a Spanish explorer whose survival story stands apart from the conventional narratives of European conquest. As a proud graduate of Texas State University with a degree in Spanish, my studies had introduced me to Cabeza de Vaca’s journey. What struck me most was his empathetic view of the indigenous peoples he encountered, making him different from many of his contemporaries.
I always wanted to visit the historical sites related to Cabeza de Vaca’s travels. Yet, it took me 18 years to actually start. As a result of my small journey, I’ve become even more connected to the region I’ve come to call home. This adventure has taken me to Galveston, Houston, Austin, San Marcos, Seguin, Riviera, Brownsville, Peñitas, Victoria, Goliad, Edna, Edinburg, and Devine so far, and there’s still a handful of sites I would love to visit in east Texas in the future.
As a student, I became fascinated by Cabeza de Vaca’s memoir, La Relación, which documents his survival after being shipwrecked on the Texas coast in 1528. The book touches on a range of topics, from the harsh realities of survival, the enslavement of the explorers, shocking episodes of cannibalism, the first recorded instances of an African-descent explorer in the region, the early practices of indigenous medicine, shamanism as well as local trade and commerce. But what drew me to the manuscript—and what continues to inspire me—was its mention of same-sex relationships among the indigenous peoples, an often overlooked and marginalized aspect of early American history.
As I walked through the familiar halls of Texas State, I was struck by the depth of my personal connection to this place, despite the painful memories I had left behind. Many years ago, I was the victim of a hate crime while a student on this campus, an experience that made my time as a student difficult but just to clarify, the good times, the laughter, and friendships I made as a student outweigh the difficult times I experienced.
I returned to Texas State in 2024 to explore La Relación – this relationship once more. Among the treasures of The Wittliff Collections, is a rare copy of the manuscript, available for viewing under careful supervision. Touching the book brought on an emotional wave I wasn’t expecting. I cried. Staring at the manuscript, I thought about Cabeza de Vaca’s 500-year-old words, “In the time that thus I was among these people, I saw a diabolical behavior, and it is that I saw one man married to another, and these are effeminate, impotent men. And they go about covered like women, and they perform tasks of women, and they do not use a bow, and they carry very great loads. And among these we saw many of them, thus unmanly as I say, and they are more muscular than other men and taller”
It’s a small but significant detail that speaks volumes about how the history of LGBTQ+ individuals have always been written out, erased, and demonized. But for me, this manuscript was a powerful reminder: We have been here from the beginning. The indigenous peoples he encountered were “diabolical” in the eyes of the Spanish, yet he also acknowledged their humanity. For LGBTQ+ people, a history of erasure and marginalization often makes it difficult to see our place in the world. But as I held that centuries-old book in my hands, I felt a profound sense of belonging.
That moment, standing in the presence of history, gave me a sense of closure I didn’t know I needed. It was as if the pages of Cabeza de Vaca’s manuscript had bridged the gap between the past and my own experience. I realized that the truth was always there, in the past and in the present: We are not going anywhere. We’ve always been here.
For those of us who have felt forgotten or pushed aside, history offers us a reminder that our existence is not a new thing, nor is it something to be ashamed of. This is a lesson I took with me as I continued my journey, not just through Texas, but through my own life—a reminder that, no matter the challenges, we are human beings, worthy of dignity and respect.
To learn more about Cabeza de Vaca’s journey, visit The Wittliff Collections online exhibit.