Image Source: https://lopezdoriga.com/nacional/recomendaciones-para-la-marcha-8m-en-mexico/
By Daniela Díaz Azcúnaga
DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of the KCL Latin American Society or El Cortao.
*Warning: violent explicit content
Mexico is living a gender violence crisis. In the last five years, the country has faced unprecedented high rates of feminicides – defined as a hate crime based on the intentional act of killing a woman simply because she is a woman. Just in 2019, more than a thousand women were brutally murdered, thousands more have been reported missing and still remain accounted for. Being a woman in Mexico means living with the harsh reality that 10 women are killed each day, knowing that one day that woman might be you. The crimes are poorly investigated and 90% of them go unpunished or unresolved by authorities.
I was born and raised in Mexico. I am a proud Mexican woman who loves going home every holiday. But when I go back, it is in fear. Being a woman in Mexico means perpetual vulnerability, it means modifying your daily activities, so you are ‘safe’. Stopping your chores or hobbies at a particular hour of the day so you don’t have to go back home alone at night. Sending your friends and family your live location when you are out in the streets, ‘just in case something happens’. Being afraid or not allowed to take any form of transportation because many women don’t make it to their final destination. All these have become banal, a day in the life of a woman in Mexico, just as brushing your teeth or having dinner. We live in fear and in a prison of its own making. The ongoing gender violence crisis is shameful and even more infuriating because women are speaking, crying, dying and no one is listening. And still they ask why we are so angry? Why do we protest, perform, shout and take the streets?
In March 22, 2019 female Mexican writers took Twitter to share incidents of sexual harassment in their workplaces and file complaints under the hashtag #MeTooEscritoresMexicanos (#MeTooMexicanWriters). The outpouring of testimonies rapidly spread to other professions in the creative and media industries and soon hundreds of journalists, academics, artists, writers and filmmakers shared their experiences of being sexually harassed and abused by colleagues and bosses. What answer did they get? None. Their complaints and experiences were disqualified for being anonymous.
In July and August of that same year, the first complaints against police officers for sexual harassment were filed. The night of August 3, Yolanda, a young girl of only 17 years-old, was walking back home in Azcapotzalco (a district in Mexico City), when she was approached by four police officers who raped her inside their patrol car. Her parents filed a complaint and yet the case went unresolved and the perpetrators unpunished. Hundreds of women took the streets of Mexico City, voicing their anger at the situation –shouting ‘they don’t protect us, they rape us’. What was being asked was simple: justice, punishment, respect.
Instead, women were accused of promoting violence in public spaces. How can a space be turned violent when it is already there, such that not even a young girl can reach her home?
Claudia Sheibaum, ironically Mexico’s City first female mayor, called it a ‘provocation’. Yes, glitter was thrown, and walls were can-sprayed, but what else could be done for women to be heard and get answers? People showed indignation for the painted walls, streets and doors, but none for the bodies of women that were abused and scarred for life. The government tried to shut women protesters down, they promised a solution, but yet again, rapes, harassment and feminicides continued. On November 25 – International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women– Abril Perez was murdered in front of her children. ‘File a complaint’ the authorities said, do not use anonymity. Abril filed one in January against her husband for family violence and murder attempt. No one listened.
It seems like in Mexico, the means do not matter. If we file or do not file a complaint does not matter. Only 1% of the cases on sexual abuse are filed, and how can they expect more women to raise their voice when authorities do not give us a reason to trust them, and even worse, when they themselves are the perpetrators. Our surfeit for the exposure and vulnerability of our bodies does not seem to matter. If we keep silent, cry or die does not seem to matter. Days after the death of Abril Perez, thousands of women gathered in el Zócalo (historic centre of Mexico City) to perform Un Violador en tu Camino –a Chilean feminist piece protesting violence against women. The words echoed on the streets, universities, and other public establishments. Women stood up there to say ‘no’ on behalf of every woman –it’s not our fault to be raped, killed or harassed.
‘And the fault was not mine,
nor where I was,
nor what I wore.
The rapist is you!’
Through social media, protests, complaints, can-sprayed painting, glitter and performances we have demanded justice and an end to gender violence. Ingrid Escamilla was murdered earlier this year in February. It was not enough that her life was taken in a brutal and degrading manner, the photo of her body was leaked by police officers and then published by the media. This shows the lack of respect for the female body, even when it is dead. And then as if nothing could be more shocking, Fatima Quintana, a 7-year-old was tortured, raped, and murdered. She was found inside a plastic bag with signs of violence. No human being–regardless of gender, race, sexual orientation, or anything– should be treated like beasts.
Andrés Manuel López Obrador, Mexico’s president, still neglects the real problem and blames ‘the neoliberal politics’ for the gender violence crisis consuming the country. He even asks feminists ‘with all due respect, [to] please stop painting doors and walls’. Mr President, do not ask for respect to the institutions if there is no respect to life. The decalogue published by the State, after protests increased, is an empty pointed list of cliched promises with no explicit public policy to approach the crisis.
Do you still ask why? Why are Mexican women taking the streets? Why are they so angrily shouting and painting walls? It is to ask for justice, for our bodies to be respected and not revictimized. We ask for an end to feminicide, gendered violence, aggressions and normalised misogyny. This why we keep protesting, because we refuse to be part of a system that brings its citizens to its knees, so it grows tall. To stop protesting, painting and performing would be to understand the erasure of ourselves as ordinary, and it is not. It is enough of respectability politics. Why should we protest as our oppressor sees fit? It has been tried and the State still did not listen. Mexican women are exhausted, unhappy, angry, but most of all united. American black feminist writer, Audre Lorde calls it “a symphony of anger”, an orchestration of all disappointments, frustrations and furies to use them as strength, force and insight in our daily fights.
The aforementioned events that happened this last year have led to exactly this symphony, to come united and speak up, no matter where we are, and scream: IT STOPS HERE! That is why on the 8th of March Mexican women marched again, because the privilege of forgetting does not exist. If we forget we do not give justice to Yolanda, Ingrid, Fatima, Abril, Marisela, Ruby, Mara, Adriana, Marisela, Silvia or any of the 10 women who keep dying every day. The 8th of march was to remember and demand justice for those who do not have a voice anymore, for those who have been sexually abused but are scared of speaking up. The 9th of march, the day of the national strike, was show the impact of our labour, economic and social force –to demonstrate that women and girls in Mexico do matter. It is hoped that this was not just a fleeting demonstration, but that it would turn into concrete action. That it would make the situation so real and uncomfortable that it would inspire a national conversation and broader shifts in the future of women’s rights in Mexico.
Daniela is a Mexican student, currently in her second year of BA in Liberal Arts with a major in Politics at King’s College. She enjoys writing about environmental and social justice affairs, especially those concerning minority groups such as women, children or indigenous groups.
