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The Guardian
6 days ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
‘A whole spectrum of hatred': women face increased violence in Milei's Argentina as rights are eroded
In the week before her murder, Fernanda Soledad Yramain lay awake at night listening as a motorbike circled the house where she was hiding. 'She kept saying 'it's him',' remembers Daniella Viscarra, Soledad's sister-in-law with whom she had sought refuge in the Tucumán countryside. 'She was scared all of the time.' A month earlier, in September 2024, 29-year-old Soledad had ended a relationship with her boyfriend, Francisco Timoteo Saldaño. They had been together since she was 14 and he was 35, and shared three children. In the final year of their relationship, Saldaño had turned violent. 'She started coming round with bruises on her arms, crying. He held a knife to her throat and said he would kill her,' says Sandra Yramain, Soledad's aunt. Together, Sandra and Soledad went to the police station to request protection. 'They said that 'these things take time',' Sandra says. 'But nobody ever called.' Over the ensuing week, Soledad returned to the police station three more times. 'She was certain he would kill her,' says Daniella. 'So she kept trying.' Less than a day after her fourth – and final – visit to beg the police to protect her, Saldaño stabbed Soledad to death with a butcher's knife, before killing himself. 'Soledad did everything she was meant to do,' says Sandra. 'But, because the police did not care, she was cut in half.' We are living with a global femicide crisis across the world today, with a woman or girl killed by their partner or a close relative every 10 minutes, according to the UN. The 'She counts' series will report on stories behind this epidemic. While Argentina was once celebrated as a bastion for women's rights in Latin America, now, amid a rise in populism under far-right leader Javier Milei, protections for women are quickly being eroded. Women's rights groups warn that more women like Soledad could die as a result. Soon after taking power in December 2023, Milei dissolved the undersecretariat for protection against gender violence and closed the ministry of women. 'For the first time in nearly 40 years, Argentina has no dedicated institution to prevent, punish and eradicate gender-based violence,' says Mariela Belski, executive director of Amnesty International Argentina. The administration has also slashed funding for programmes aimed at combating gender violence. The Acompañar programme, which provided financial and psychological assistance for victims of gender-based violence, has been drastically defunded, while the 144 emergency hotline lost 42% of its staff by July 2024. 'The government is turning its back on women facing violence,' says Belski. In November, Argentina was the only country to vote against a UN general assembly resolution to prevent and eliminate violence against women and girls. Two months later, Milei's administration went further, pledging to strike the aggravating factor of femicide, defined as when a woman dies at the hands of a man on the basis of her gender, from the penal code – a move that drew swift condemnation from human rights groups. Belski says removing the legal definition would 'weaken the state's ability to prevent and punish such crimes'. Now, human rights experts warn that Milei's rhetoric is gaining traction nationwide. In Tucumán, a conservative province, lawyers and advocates say that legal protections for women are already being dismantled. 'Tucumán is one of the places where the situation is worsening,' says Myriam Bregman, a socialist leader. 'It follows the political line of the national government, of cutting women's rights protection programmes, which were already very scarce.' Soledad Deza, the Tucumán lawyer supporting Yramain's family and the president of Fundación Mujeres Por Mujeres (Women for Women Foundation), shared data showing a sharp drop in court-issued protection orders since Milei took office. Sign up to Global Dispatch Get a different world view with a roundup of the best news, features and pictures, curated by our global development team after newsletter promotion Between January and September 2024, according to information obtained from the authorities by Deza and shared with the Guardian, family courts in Tucumán issued 4,856 protection orders, while criminal courts issued 754. By comparison, across the whole of 2023, those figures were 7,549 and 2,448 respectively. Deza says that women in the province have struggled to access support because of funding cuts, and that the justice system is failing to investigate their reports. Law enforcement agencies have also been slow to respond, says Sofia Quiroga, of international women's rights organisation Equality Now. 'Worryingly, the police in Tucumán have stopped investigating why protection orders are needed in the first place,' she says. Luciana Belén Gramaglio, a feminist lawyer from Tucumán, says that the provincial government had embraced, 'the regressive and stifling policies promoted by Milei'. At the start of 2025, she says, the Tucumán government reduced the number of prosecutorial offices dedicated to investigating cases of gender-based violence and sexual abuse from seven to four. Gramaglio suggests almost half of the cases that enter the judicial system are linked to violence against women. 'How then, is the reduction in prosecutorial offices justified?' The weekend that Soledad was killed, two other women in the Tucumán province were murdered; both cases officially classified as femicides. Official data from the National Ombudsman's office found that 295 cases of femicide were reported nationally between 1 January and 31 December 2024, or one every 30 hours. The MuMaLá women's organisation reported a 15% increase in femicides in the first four months of 2025, compared with the same period a year earlier. Lawyers and advocates also warn of a growing narrative that women are fabricating claims of gender-based violence. In 2024, senator Carolina Losada, with the support of national justice minister Mariano Cúneo Libarona, introduced a bill to increase penalties for false accusations of gender-based violence. 'The credibility of the victims is being challenged by the narratives of the Milei administration. These narratives have unlocked a whole spectrum of hatred and obstacles,' says Deza. 'This is simply an indirect threat, to discourage women from reporting crimes.' Mariela Labozzetta, head of the specialised prosecutorial unit on violence against women, says that despite funding cuts, the justice system and the public prosecutor's offices across Argentina continue to function. But, she adds that 'to prevent the risks faced by victims from worsening, support programmes are necessary, and these have been eliminated'. Deza says that because Argentina 'has stripped away gender violence prevention programmes' women are left with little recourse but to remain 'hypervigilant'. She has filed a complaint against the police in Tucumán regarding Soledad's case, and hopes that the criminal justice system investigates why her calls for help went unanswered. The Tucumán state and police did not reply to requests for comment, nor did the Milei administration. For Soledad's family, the government's proposal to eliminate femicide from the penal code came as a fresh shock. 'I only hope that her death was not in vain,' says Sandra. 'And that no other woman is killed because the authorities didn't take control.'
The Guardian
7 days ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
‘A whole spectrum of hatred': women face increased violence in Milei's Argentina as rights are eroded
In the week before her murder, Fernanda Soledad Yramain lay awake at night listening as a motorbike circled the house where she was hiding. 'She kept saying 'it's him',' remembers Daniella Viscarra, Soledad's sister-in-law with whom she had sought refuge in the Tucumán countryside. 'She was scared all of the time.' A month earlier, in September 2024, 29-year-old Soledad had ended a relationship with her boyfriend, Francisco Timoteo Saldaño. They had been together since she was 14 and he was 35, and shared three children. In the final year of their relationship, Saldaño had turned violent. 'She started coming round with bruises on her arms, crying. He held a knife to her throat and said he would kill her,' says Sandra Yramain, Soledad's aunt. Together, Sandra and Soledad went to the police station to request protection. 'They said that 'these things take time',' Sandra says. 'But nobody ever called.' Over the ensuing week, Soledad returned to the police station three more times. 'She was certain he would kill her,' says Daniella. 'So she kept trying.' Less than a day after her fourth – and final – visit to beg the police to protect her, Saldaño stabbed Soledad to death with a butcher's knife, before killing himself. 'Soledad did everything she was meant to do,' says Sandra. 'But, because the police did not care, she was cut in half.' We are living with a global femicide crisis across the world today, with a woman or girl killed by their partner or a close relative every 10 minutes, according to the UN. The 'She counts' series will report on stories behind this epidemic. While Argentina was once celebrated as a bastion for women's rights in Latin America, now, amid a rise in populism under far-right leader Javier Milei, protections for women are quickly being eroded. Women's rights groups warn that more women like Soledad could die as a result. Soon after taking power in December 2023, Milei dissolved the undersecretariat for protection against gender violence and closed the ministry of women. 'For the first time in nearly 40 years, Argentina has no dedicated institution to prevent, punish and eradicate gender-based violence,' says Mariela Belski, executive director of Amnesty International Argentina. The administration has also slashed funding for programmes aimed at combating gender violence. The Acompañar programme, which provided financial and psychological assistance for victims of gender-based violence, has been drastically defunded, while the 144 emergency hotline lost 42% of its staff by July 2024. 'The government is turning its back on women facing violence,' says Belski. In November, Argentina was the only country to vote against a UN general assembly resolution to prevent and eliminate violence against women and girls. Two months later, Milei's administration went further, pledging to strike the aggravating factor of femicide, defined as when a woman dies at the hands of a man on the basis of her gender, from the penal code – a move that drew swift condemnation from human rights groups. Belski says removing the legal definition would 'weaken the state's ability to prevent and punish such crimes'. Now, human rights experts warn that Milei's rhetoric is gaining traction nationwide. In Tucumán, a conservative province, lawyers and advocates say that legal protections for women are already being dismantled. 'Tucumán is one of the places where the situation is worsening,' says Myriam Bregman, a socialist leader. 'It follows the political line of the national government, of cutting women's rights protection programmes, which were already very scarce.' Soledad Deza, the Tucumán lawyer supporting Yramain's family and the president of Fundación Mujeres Por Mujeres (Women for Women Foundation), shared data showing a sharp drop in court-issued protection orders since Milei took office. Sign up to Global Dispatch Get a different world view with a roundup of the best news, features and pictures, curated by our global development team after newsletter promotion Between January and September 2024, according to information obtained from the authorities by Deza and shared with the Guardian, family courts in Tucumán issued 4,856 protection orders, while criminal courts issued 754. By comparison, across the whole of 2023, those figures were 7,549 and 2,448 respectively. Deza says that women in the province have struggled to access support because of funding cuts, and that the justice system is failing to investigate their reports. Law enforcement agencies have also been slow to respond, says Sofia Quiroga, of international women's rights organisation Equality Now. 'Worryingly, the police in Tucumán have stopped investigating why protection orders are needed in the first place,' she says. Luciana Belén Gramaglio, a feminist lawyer from Tucumán, says that the provincial government had embraced, 'the regressive and stifling policies promoted by Milei'. At the start of 2025, she says, the Tucumán government reduced the number of prosecutorial offices dedicated to investigating cases of gender-based violence and sexual abuse from seven to four. Gramaglio suggests almost half of the cases that enter the judicial system are linked to violence against women. 'How then, is the reduction in prosecutorial offices justified?' The weekend that Soledad was killed, two other women in the Tucumán province were murdered; both cases officially classified as femicides. Official data from the National Ombudsman's office found that 295 cases of femicide were reported nationally between 1 January and 31 December 2024, or one every 30 hours. The MuMaLá women's organisation reported a 15% increase in femicides in the first four months of 2025, compared with the same period a year earlier. Lawyers and advocates also warn of a growing narrative that women are fabricating claims of gender-based violence. In 2024, senator Carolina Losada, with the support of national justice minister Mariano Cúneo Libarona, introduced a bill to increase penalties for false accusations of gender-based violence. 'The credibility of the victims is being challenged by the narratives of the Milei administration. These narratives have unlocked a whole spectrum of hatred and obstacles,' says Deza. 'This is simply an indirect threat, to discourage women from reporting crimes.' Mariela Labozzetta, head of the specialised prosecutorial unit on violence against women, says that despite funding cuts, the justice system and the public prosecutor's offices across Argentina continue to function. But, she adds that 'to prevent the risks faced by victims from worsening, support programmes are necessary, and these have been eliminated'. Deza says that because Argentina 'has stripped away gender violence prevention programmes' women are left with little recourse but to remain 'hypervigilant'. She has filed a complaint against the police in Tucumán regarding Soledad's case, and hopes that the criminal justice system investigates why her calls for help went unanswered. The Tucumán state and police did not reply to requests for comment, nor did the Milei administration. For Soledad's family, the government's proposal to eliminate femicide from the penal code came as a fresh shock. 'I only hope that her death was not in vain,' says Sandra. 'And that no other woman is killed because the authorities didn't take control.'
Associated Press
31-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Associated Press
Afro Mexican actors fighting racism celebrate their heritage through their plays
TICUMÁN, México (AP) — There was something about her body, but Mexican actress Eréndira Castorela couldn't quite put her finger on it. Some casting directors told her she was 'too tall' to play a Mexican woman. Others insinuated her features weren't sufficiently 'Indigenous.' 'It wasn't until later that I discovered what it means to recognize oneself as Afro,' said Castorela, who subsequently confirmed her African ancestry. 'We are a diverse community which, perhaps due to discrimination, doesn't identify as such.' Her life changed after she joined Mulato Teatro, a theater company that empowers actors of African descent who are eager to forge a career despite racism. However, like most Afro Mexican activists, Castorela believes that nationwide recognition is still a long way off. 'If we look around, we'll see curly hair, high cheekbones, full lips or dark skin,' the 33-year-old said. 'But there's a wound that prevents us from recognizing ourselves.' The Afro Mexican lineage Unlike the United States, where there have been concerted efforts to boost awareness of the Black history, acknowledging Black people in Mexico has received little support. 'The concept of mixed race denies the cultural diversity that defines us as Mexicans,' said María Elisa Velázquez, a researcher at the National School of Anthropology and History. 'We are not only Indigenous, but also European, African and Asian.' It is well known that the Mesoamerican lands conquered by the Spaniards in the 16th century were inhabited by Indigenous people, resulting in mixed-race marriages and births. Less noted is the fact that some mixed-race Mexicans are partly descended from enslaved Black people. According to Velázquez, the evolution of communities incorporating Black people depended on their geographic location. 'Much of the Afro-descendant population established relations and coexisted alongside different Indigenous groups, resulting in very heterogeneous communities,' she said. Official figures from 2024 estimate the Afro-descendant population in Mexico is 3.1 million, mainly residing in the states of Guerrero, Morelos, Colima and Quintana Roo. While most identify as African Mexican, nearly two-thirds also perceive themselves as Indigenous. Finding her true identity Castorela — born in Morelos, a state neighboring Mexico City — recalls looking through family photo albums after first wondering if she had African ancestry. The features of her relatives left no room for doubt. 'I also realized we had created a narrative that concealed our origins,' she said. 'There was always someone saying: 'But there was a blond person in the family,' or 'Grandma had finer features.'' Castorela may not have curly hair and her skin tone may not resemble that of other Afro women, but she said her body never lied. When she was a young actress taking ballet classes, she felt constrained and uncomfortable. It wasn't until she joined African dance classes that the choreography was ideal for her height, weight and soul. 'I feel much freer because there's openness and movement,' she said. 'Identifying as African Mexican has given me the mental and spiritual peace I needed to realize there is a place where I can reflect myself.' A struggling career The theater company where Castorela and two dozen other artists collaborate was founded in the early 2000s by another Afro woman who struggled to excel as a Black actress in Mexico. Born in Colombia, a South American country where around 10% of the population is Black, Marisol Castillo said she had no clue her physical features would hinder her career. But after falling in love with Mexican playwright Jaime Chabaud and moving to his hometown, everything changed. 'Some want to force us to fit a mold, a white mold,' Castillo said. 'And when we differ, we're told: 'You're a bad actor, you're out of tune.' But we're just different.' Casting directors mostly offered Castillo roles as prostitute, exotic dancer, maid or slave. So she teamed up with Chabaud, and 'Mulato Teatro' was born. 'There was very little openness and awareness,' Chabaud said. 'So I started writing plays for her.' Tales of African and Mexican heritage The themes of Chabaud's plays are as diverse as the actors who bring his characters to life. 'African Erotic Tales of the Black Decameron' draws inspiration from oral traditions, fusing the worldview of African communities. 'Yanga' portrays a real-life 17th-century Black hero who is considered a liberator in the Mexican state of Veracruz. Among the topics inspiring Chabaud are not only African legends or characters, but stories closer to home. 'Where are you going, Mr. Opossum?' tells the tale of a 'Tlacuache,' an ancient creature from Mesoamerican mythology. In Chabaud's play, the Tlacuache steals fire from a goddess to save humanity from hunger and darkness. The creature has no divine powers, but his ability to play dead enables him to sneak past the Jaguar, a deity safeguarding the flames. 'Jaime always tells us that we should all worship Mr. Tlacuache instead of other deities,' said Aldo Martin, playing the leading role. Martin, 28, does not identify as Afro, but feels the company's work successfully portrays Mexico's diversity. 'Our ancestors are not only Indigenous, but a fusion, and these mixed heritages have resulted in a very distinct society, made of all colors, which shouldn't pigeonhole us into just being Afro,' Martin said. Diversity is welcomed at Mulato Teatro Castillo and Chabaud primarily encourage Afro-Mexican artists to work in their plays, but they also welcome amateur actors and LGBTQ+ performers. One of them is transgender actress Annya Atanasio Cadena, who began her career in plays addressing topics such as suicide, alcoholism and drug addiction in marginalized communities. 'In my (LGBTQ+) community, we know what it's like to fight against the world,' said Atanasio, who plays a trans woman in one of Chabaud's plays about gender violence. 'I'm very moved to have been given the chance to become part of this space, which also heals me,' she added. 'We can show that we exist and we are more than just a story. We are bodies, desires, feelings, and the pain we carry.' Dreams of an unknown land There's a special play written and directed by Castillo: 'Dreaming of Africa.' Although she has not been able to trace the exact roots of her ancestry, her work and community make her feel closer to a long-lost home. 'When we, people from the same ethnicity meet, we call each other 'brother,'' Castillo said. 'After all, we came from the same ports.' She said she'll never forget a presentation of 'Dreaming of Africa,' when a girl from the audience approached her. 'She could barely speak, so we hugged,' Castillo said. 'Then she said: 'Thank you for telling me I'm pretty, for making me feel my worth'.' Castillo, too, learns something about herself as she acts, writes and directs. It's like peeling an onion, she said, taking layer by layer to reveal what's underneath. 'I grow with each play,' Castillo said. 'I feel prouder of my roots, knowing that I can move away from stereotypes like playing a prostitute or a witch. That I, too, can be a queen.' ____ Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP's collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
