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Un video del un protesta y más explanación

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Un video del un protesta y más explanación

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Siete años del movimiento Ni una menos en Argentina

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lee el artículo y piensa sobre

¿Cuál ha sido el impacto del movimiento? ¿Qué cambios reales se han producido en el gobierno o gobiernos?

¿Qué cree que debería hacer el gobierno y la gente para disminuir la violencia de género y los feminicidios?

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Six years ago, the brutal murder of 14-year-old Argentinian Chiara Páez sparked a movement.

Páez, who was pregnant at the time, allegedly wanted to keep the baby. But her then-16-year-old boyfriend didn't. And so, he beat her to death.

Her death, along with other similar high-profile murders of young women in Argentina at the time, was a breaking point for women there.

Latin America is home to 14 of the 25 countries with the highest rates of femicide in the world, according to the United Nations. In Argentina, according to the Women's Office of the Supreme Court of Justice, one woman is killed every 32 hours.

In the weeks following Páez's murder, tens of thousands of women in Argentina took to the streets in protest. Holding signs reading Ni Una Menos, or Not One Less, women young and old came together to demand systematic change.

Ni Una Menos started out as a slogan, merged into a viral hashtag used online, and eventually a regionwide movement. The message spread and has continued to expand in the years since. Other women-led demonstrations also erupted in Brazil, Bolivia, Chile, Mexico, Peru, Paraguay, Uruguay and El Salvador - areas that also suffer high rates of femicide.

Years later, "this massive mobilization was also able to draw attention to another longstanding fight which was reproductive health and rights," Ximena Casas tells NPR. She is an Americas Researcher for the women's rights division at Human Rights Watch in Madrid.

Activists in Latin America that emerged from this Ni Una Menos groundswell have successfully pushed for access to abortion in a traditionally conservative region, while continuing the work of the movement's original mission.

"In the past, regions such as North America and Europe have been at the forefront of movements to expand sexual and reproductive rights," Mariela Belski, the executive director for Amnesty International Argentina,told NPR. "However, it is currently the trans feminist movements in Latin America that are advancing discussions that place reproductive autonomy and gender justice at center stage."

Activists gain success in Argentina on abortion rights

In 2018, the #NiUnaMenos movement transitioned into the Green Wave demonstrations, which call for legal and safe access to abortions in Latin America.

That year protestors again took to the streets in Argentina decked out in green clothes and waving green flags and handkerchiefs. This time the overarching message to their government was: legalize abortion.

And last December, marking a historic shift, the heavily Roman Catholic country made the elective procedure legal.

The Voluntary Interruption of Pregnancy Bill permits an abortion to take place throughout the initial 14 weeks of pregnancy. An abortion is only legal in Argentina if the mother's life is jeopardized or if the pregnancy is a result of rape. Women who fall outside these provisions and get an abortion can still face criminal charges.

More work remains, according to María Florencia Alcaraz, an Argentine journalist and one of the founding members of Ni Una Menos, who spoke with Women Across Frontiers.

"The abortion law is a starting point, not an ending point," she said. "Now comes a moment of feminist pedagogy about this right to be able to speak about and explain to as many people as possible that this is a right that we have and that we are citizens who can make our own decisions about our bodies."

Other countries follow Argentina

Women going out into the streets to share their experiences, helped break down the stigma tied to abortion and reproductive health, said Casas, with Human Rights Watch in Madrid.

"Women started talking about their experiences or experiences of a friend. Families started talking about it at the dinner table. Everybody started realizing that they knew someone who had an abortion or they themselves had an abortion," Casas said. "This opened the door to start talking about these issues, that are a health issue, that for many many years was seen as a taboo."

She said the major legal victory for abortion rights in Argentina has since launched a domino effect in the region.

Since, activists in Mexico havealso held rallies and marched in the streets wearing the symbolic green bandanas.

And in September, Mexico's Supreme Court ruled it's unconstitutional to punish abortion as a crime. The landmark ruling clears the way for the legalization of abortion across the country.

This year, the Mexican state of Veracruzapproved the decriminalization of abortion up to 12 weeks of gestation. The Mexican state of Hidalgo also joined Veracruz this year in recognizing this right.

Chile is also moving toward decriminalizing abortion for the first 14 weeks of pregnancy. In September, the Chilean Chamber of Deputies approved a bill that could be passed by the Senate.

The progress in the region isstarkly at odds with efforts in the U.S., Belski, with Amnesty International Argentina, noted.

This year,Texas passed a law that bans abortions as early as six weeks into a pregnancy. Meanwhile, the U.S Supreme Court is about to hear a case from Mississippi that could challenge the right to an abortion in that state.

The pandemic made violence against women worse

In February, 19-year-old Úrsula Bahillo filed the latest of more than a dozencomplaints to authorities about her ex-boyfriend's abuse and threats.

Two days later, she was murdered.

Bahillo was brutally stabbed to death and her body left in a rural area near Rojas, Argentina.

Her death, like that of Chiara Páez's six years earlier, again sparked demonstrations across the country.

It's a case that highlights how the COVID-19 pandemic has made violence against women in Argentina, Brazil, Bolivia, Peru and other countries worse, according to Beatriz Nice, a program assistant for the Wilson Center's Latin American Program.

Nice, who spoke to NPR, co-wrote an essay examining how the pandemic has worsened gender-based violence in the region.

In Bahillo's home country of Argentina, in the first week of the pandemic, there was a 120% spike in calls reporting domestic violence cases, Nice said.

"And those are the ones that are reported," she said. "Many go unreported because of the specific situation of the pandemic where you were in your home with your abuser and you wouldn't necessarily be able to report everything."

But this time feels a bit different, some activists and human rights watchers say.

The way in which these cases are being talked about is shifting and policymakers have started to view these incidences as what they are: a serious, violent problem that requires public policy fixes, Nice said.

Following Bahillo's death, Argentina's President Alberto Fernández said, "We must end these events definitively in Argentina. We must be inflexible with the perpetrators of these cases."

Nice said the work that remains and the barriers that still exist for women is a reminder that the Ni Una Menos and its sister Green Wave movement is a "success story in progress."

"Women see that it is working," she said. "That the protesting, reaching out to their authorities and now having a sense of belonging - not so much as a Mexican, an Argentine, or a Chilean, but as Latin American women - I think that has given women a lot of power."

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How #NiUnaMenos grew from the streets of Argentina into a regional women's movement

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Ni Una Menos, or Not One Less, started out in Argentina as a slogan chanted by thousands protesting the murders of young women. It eventually spawned a women's rights movement across Latin America.

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¿Por qué crees que se utiliza el color morado como símbolo? ¿Cuál es su significado? ¿Cómo ayudan los símbolos a promover y apoyar un movimiento?

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El movimiento creció gracias al impacto y el poder de las redes sociales. ¿Puedes pensar en otro movimiento social que se hizo popularizado gracias a las redes sociales?

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Ni Una Menos movimiento también ha organizado protestas grandísimos a difundir su mensaje. Algunos tiempos había más de 200.000 personas.

¿Conoces alguna protesta en Estados Unidos u otros países que haya utilizado grandes protestas para difundir su mensaje?

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Argentines rally for the legalization of abortion as the Senate debates a bill in Buenos Aires at the end of last year. (Agustin Marcarian/Reuters)

Early on Dec. 30, Argentina became only the second democratic country in Latin America to legalize abortion. The Senate's 38-to-29 vote on a bill passed by the legislature's lower house was celebrated by masses of green-clad activists in the streets of Buenos Aires. In recent years, these activists have been mobilizing in larger and larger numbers for reproductive rights.

Abortion legalization failed in 2018. What changed?

In 2018, a similar bill was passed by Argentina's Chamber of Deputies but came up short in the Senate. By 2020, advocates for legalization had President Alberto Fernández on their side; Fernández had defeated antiabortion incumbent President Mauricio Macri in 2019.

As two of us (Smith and Boas) argue in a new paper, efforts to reform abortion laws, even if initially unsuccessful, bring the issue to public attention and encourage politicians and voters to take sides.

For years, abortion had been considered politically untouchable. But the legislative debate in 2018 made it one of the most important issues in the 2019 presidential campaign. Each candidate weighed in, and when Fernández opened the new legislative session in early 2020, he promised to introduce a bill that would legalize abortion.

Research finds that countries are more likely to lift or loosen restrictions on abortion when a programmatic left party is in power. That would include Argentina's Peronist party, the center-left anchor of its governing Frente de Todos(Everybody's Front) coalition. Many journalistic accounts documented the government's attempts to influence undecided senators, against countervailing efforts by Macri and leaders of the Catholic Church.

But abortion decriminalization passed in Argentina for reasons that go far beyond the president. While his coalition of supporters was more likely to support legalization than members of the opposition, the vote did not break neatly along party lines. Moreover, before 2015, Peronist governments held power for 12 years without introducing legislation regarding abortion rights.

Argentina is debating legalizing abortion - despite being a very Catholic country

So how did abortion only recently become a central political issue?

How a growing women's movement put reproductive rights in the spotlight

In a forthcoming paper, two of us (Daby and Moseley) explain that a powerful new feminist social movement called Ni Una Menos ("Not one [woman] less") spurred the abortion debate. In 2015, after several grisly murders of young women, Ni Una Menos was organized to call attention to gender violence and inspired thousands of Argentine women to take to the streets.

Linking previously scattered social movements, Ni Una Menos forged a diverse coalition of women to challenge the status quo. After beginning as a protest against machista violence, Ni Una Menos eventually broadened its claims to encompass reproductive rights. Feminist activists argued that without legal abortion, "ni una menos" would always be a misnomer, because unsafe, clandestine abortions represent one of the leading causes of maternal death in Argentina.

Ni Una Menos framed abortion as an issue of social justice and public health - rather than the United States' framing, in which it is an individual right. Further, it emphasized that poor women in particular are likely to encounter dangerous conditions when seeking abortions; one popular chant at demonstrations has been: " The rich abort, the poor die." That has changed the reproductive rights conversation.

Through persistent mobilization, female activists persuaded public officials and fellow citizens that the prohibition on abortion had failed - and that only legal access could address the serious public health crisis afflicting Argentine women, primarily those who are poor.

According to our analysis of public opinion data from the AmericasBarometer, citizen attitudes became more favorable toward legalization only after Ni Una Menos arrived on the scene in 2015, amid record rates of protest by women.

Don't miss any of our smart analysis! Sign up for TMC's newsletter.

To be sure, the abortion debate in the Americas has hardly been put to bed. Just as Roe v. Wade inaugurated the modern era of partisan sparring over abortion in the United States, this issue, and others related to gender and sexuality, may increasingly become a political battleground throughout the region.

In a working paper analyzing AmericasBarometer and Latinobarómetro public opinion data from across the region, Smith and Boas found that when abortion or same-sex marriage dominate the headlines, abortion rights or antiabortion attitudes start to matter more on election day. Traditionally, voters mostly worry about bread-and-butter issues when they go to the polls. But as candidates stake out opposing positions on new "culture war" issues, elections are being transformed. Championing abortion or same-sex marriage rights can pave the way to victory, but so can conservative opposition - as happened in Brazil's 2018 election of Jair Bolsonaro.

In Brazil, Bolsonaro's victory may mean further shifts in tolerance and moderation

Argentina's abortion legalization could have ripple effects throughout the Americas. On other social issues, significant legislative changes have tended to sweep through the region in relatively quick succession. After Argentina recognized same-sex marriages in 2010, Brazil, Colombia and Uruguay followed.

Abortion rights movements in other countries have already been buoyed by Argentina's example. That's in keeping with the country's legacy as a leader in expanding human rights through its pioneering civilian trial of a 1970s military junta that committed terrorism against its own people; passage of legislative gender quotas, which made a significant difference in abortion legalization; and recent passage of transgender rights.

Of course, Argentina's move may galvanize abortion opponents, as well. The Christian right has been jolted by the recent wave of change. And just as Ni Una Menos inspired activists in other countries, so, too, have conservative social movements. # ConMisHijosNoTeMetas ("Don't Mess With My Children"), founded in Peru in 2016 to oppose feminist "gender ideology" in schools, has been spreading around the region, including to Argentina. In 2021, Chileans rewrite their constitution - and both leftist and rightist social movements at the convention are likely to lobby on sexuality politics.

Chile voted to write a new constitution. Will it promise more than the government can deliver?

If our research on Argentina is any indication, abortion rights advocates in other Latin American countries may have more success if they focus on the public health consequences of prohibition and its disproportionate impact on women living in poverty. Ultimately, abortion legalization in Argentina won because of the persuasive power of street activism. We expect that leftist and rightist social movements will be similarly critical in determining the future of abortion laws elsewhere in Latin America.

Professors: Don't miss TMC's expanding list of classroom topic guides.

Taylor Boas (@TaylorBoas) is an associate professor of political science at Boston University and is the author of "Presidential Campaigns in Latin America: Electoral Strategies and Success Contagion" (Cambridge University Press, 2016).

Mariela Daby (@marieladaby) is an associate professor of political science at Reed College and is the author of "Mobilizing Poor Voters: Machine Politics, Clientelism, and Social Networks in Argentina" (Cambridge University Press, 2015).

Mason Moseley (@MasonMoseley21) is an assistant professor of political science at West Virginia University and is the author of "Protest State: The Rise of Everyday Contention in Latin America" (Oxford University Press, 2018) and "Life in the Political Machine: Dominant-Party Enclaves and the Citizens They Produce" (Oxford University Press, 2020).

Amy Erica Smith (@amyericasmith) is an associate professor of political science, a Liberal Arts and Sciences Dean's Professor at Iowa State University and a 2020-2022 Carnegie fellow. She is author of "Religion and Brazilian Democracy: Mobilizing the People of God" (Cambridge University Press, 2019).

Today's Headlines The most important news stories of the day, curated by Post editors and delivered every morning.

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Analysis | Argentina legalized abortion. Here's how it happened and what it means for Latin America.

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Early on Dec. 30, Argentina became only the second democratic country in Latin America to legalize abortion. The Senate's 38-to-29 vote on a bill passed by the legislature's lower house was celebrated by masses of green-clad activists in the streets of Buenos Aires.

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Grupo #3: Mujeres Indigenas por el Buen Vivir 

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Grupo #3: Mujeres Indigenas por el Buen Vivir 

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Cosmovisiones ancestrales

Romina Naporichi pertenece a la comunidad Qom. Nació en Chaco, migró a Rosario y junto a hermanas de 36 naciones originarias integra un movimiento que se proclama en contra del extractivismo terricida. "Nuestra lucha es contra las violencias a las que someten a nuestros cuerpos y a los territorios"

El Movimiento de Mujeres y Diversidades Indígenas por el Buen Vivir está integrado por mujeres y diversidades de las 36 naciones originarias que habitan en el territorio argentino. Caminan juntas, se llaman "hermanas", y se proclaman en contra del terricidio. Entienden que la lucha antipatriarcal está incompleta si no se plantea, además, como antirracista y anticolonialista. Reivindican las cosmovisiones ancestrales de reciprocidad y armonía entre los territorios, los cuerpos y los pueblos. Proclaman el "Buen Vivir" frente a la matriz civilizatoria del capitalismo, que trae muerte. "Somos un movimiento que acompaña, abraza las luchas, a los territorios, recupera identidades, recupera cosmovisión y no tiene miedo a nada", dice Romina Noelia Naporichi, que pertenece a la comunidad Qom y vive en Rosario. Fue en 2012 y en esta misma ciudad donde se forjó la organización que luego devino en el Movimiento: La Marcha Nacional de Mujeres Originarias.

Romina Noelia Naporichi pertenece a la nación Qom. Tiene 28 años, el pelo largo y lacio hasta la cintura. Nació en el Chaco, en Juan José Castelli y cuando tenía 13 años les dijo a sus abuelos que quería estudiar, ir a un secundario. "Sufrí mucho de racismo y discriminación. La ciudad de Castelli es habitada por gente de campo, gente con mucha plata. Era medio raro que una indígena llegara al secundario, y no había escuela pública para la comunidad, sólo se podía acceder al programa Yo Si Puedo, y siempre me daban lo mismo", dice.

Entonces, con el esfuerzo de sus abuelos, Romina fue a la escuela privada. Privada y católica, reservada para los criollos. "Ahí empezó la tortura para mí. Que a veces agradezco, porque si no hubiese pasado por eso no sería la persona que soy ahora. Ahí me di cuenta de las diferencias que hacían hacia nuestras comunidades las personas que habitaban el lugar. Me cobraban el doble de lo que cobraban, me daban el doble de trabajo, me exponían el doble, era todo el doble, era tortura real", cuenta.

El límite, dice, fue cuando le cortaron el pelo. "Para nuestras comunidades tener el cabello largo tiene su significado. Les pedí a mis abuelos que hagan algo, y me dijeron que mi mamá estaba en Rosario. Yo no la conocía".

Así, en 2006 emprendieron la marcha. Dejaron el territorio y empezaron un camino fragmentado que los trajo hasta el sur de la provincia de Santa Fe. "Empezamos a venir de Chaco de a puchitos, hasta donde nos daba la plata. Mi abuela era artesana, hacía canastos y los vendíamos en los pueblos. Con lo que juntábamos de dinero, volvíamos de viajar. Así llegamos hasta (la ciudad de) Santa Fe. Vivíamos en unos vagones, donde vivía gente de la comunidad. Pasamos año nuevo ahí, y un tiempo después nos vinimos los tres para Rosario".

Del territorio ancestral al territorio urbano

La historia de Romina se repite en miles de indígenas que se ven forzados a abandonar sus territorios por no tener garantizadas las condiciones de acceso a algo tan básico como la educación o la salud, o por el avance del extractivismo, que devasta los territorios y expulsa a las comunidades en pos de un mayor beneficio económico para pocos, sin generar puestos de trabajo y expulsando a las comunidades de sus territorios ancestrales. Esos mismos que la Constitución Nacional y varias leyes dicen que les pertenecen a los pueblos originarios. La historia indígena desde 1492 hasta el siglo XXI en Argentina parece repetirse una y otra vez.

"Este territorio de la ciudad no es mi territorio, porque yo vengo del campo, vengo del norte, del Chaco, una provincia que está castigada por el extractivismo, y ese debería ser mi territorio, yo debería estar allá", reflexiona Romina, mientras espera para entrar a cursar en el Espacio Educativo Secundario Travesti, Trans y Disidente que empezó a funcionar el año pasado en el Centro Cultural La Toma, de Tucumán al 1300: quiere terminar la escuela para estudiar periodismo.

Cuando llegó a Rosario, Romina se instaló en la casa de su mamá, en el barrio Qom de Rouillón al 4300. Su mamá era pastora evangélica, y la invitó a ir a la iglesia, pero ella se negó. "Eso no era lo que me habían enseñado mis abuelos": la espiritualidad indígena, las plantas medicinales, las ceremonias, los linajes, la unión con uno mismo y con los territorios.

Empezó a ir a la escuela enfrente de su casa y, cuenta, no hablaba con nadie. Toda su atención estaba puesta en entender lo que decían sus profesores, porque ella, en su territorio, hablaba un castellano mestizado con qom. "En mi comunidad de la zona oeste los chicos no hablan en qom y a mí me costaba hablar bien en castellano", recuerda.

Por eso se sintió como en casa cuando, unos años después, fue a visitar a un amigo que "había bajado" del Chaco a otra comunidad de Rosario: "la villa Zapato, que está por Juan José Paso, en lo que era una fábrica de zapatos abandonada". Ahí, una Romina de 16 años podía hablar en su lengua ancestral, y la entendían. Y fue justamente en ese barrio donde, sin saberlo, se puso en contacto por primera vez con una figura emblemática del Movimiento de Mujeres Indígenas por el Buen Vivir: Moira Millán.

Moira Millán es una weychafe -guerrera- mapuche, activista, una de las líderes del movimiento de recuperación de tierras ancestrales y hoy integrante del Movimiento de Mujeres Indígenas por el Buen Vivir. "Estábamos ahí y mi amigo me contó que los referentes de la comunidad esperaban a una persona en la posta sanitaria". Y la vieron. Moira bajaba de un auto ataviada con su vestimenta mapuche. "Llegamos a la entrada y nos cerraron la puerta en la cara. Entonces dimos toda una vuelta por unos pasillos para escuchar por una ventana: ella empezó a hablar sobre las fuerzas de las comunidades, la espiritualidad, lo importante que tenían que ser las mujeres dentro de las comunidades, los jóvenes, los niños, las decisiones", recordó Romina.

"Me quedé fascinada con el discurso que ella había dado, todas las cosas que ella había laburado en los territorios y por qué había salido a caminar". Antes de volver a su casa, habló con una referente de la comunidad y le pidió el teléfono de Moira, pero nunca se animó a llamarla. "Cuando tuve la oportunidad de encontrarme con Moira de vuelta, ya tenía 18 años. Hicieron la Marcha de Mujeres Originarias en Buenos Aires, y yo fui. Hablé por primera vez con ella y empecé a caminar".

"Empezar a caminar es pertenecer al Movimiento de Mujeres, pararme como una líder en el medio de la nada, sentir que podía hacer cosas que nunca me imaginé hacer".

Hoy Romina es una lideresa en el territorio urbano que habita. Su militancia empezó de muy chica, cuando todavía iba a la escuela y no entendía por qué lo único que hacían los pibes de su barrio era estar en las esquinas. Organizó mateadas, se ocupó de conocerlos, de entender sus vidas en la ciudad, de proponerles proyectos. El fútbol fue un punto de unión. Organizó torneos. Primero, trabajó con los varones, a los que considera más abandonados por la comunidad. Después se acercó también a las chicas. Hoy todas esas actividades terminaron de articularse en el Centro Cultural Por el Buen Vivir, que gestiona en su barrio.

Ser caminando, caminar para ser

"Somos un movimiento que acompaña, abraza las luchas, a los territorios, recupera identidades, recupera cosmovisión y no tiene miedo a nada", dice Romina. "Es un movimiento donde estamos las 36 naciones indígenas del territorio de Argentina. Somos mujeres y diversidades que nos vemos como hermanas, nos amamos como hermanas".

El Movimientos de Mujeres Indígenas por el Buen Vivir hizo su primera aparición en el escenario político argentino en 2018, como organización plurinacional que buscaba visibilizar la triple opresión de la que son víctimas: étnica, de género y de clase. Así lo explica la socióloga Marina Mendoza en su artículo "El Movimiento de Mujeres Indígenas por el Buen Vivir. Intersticios de una lucha feminista, antiextractivista y por la Plurinacionalidad".

Pero la historia había comenzado unos años antes en 2012, en un centro cultural de la comunidad Qom, en Rosario. Allí, un grupo de mujeres de diversas nacionalidades y de distintos puntos del país propuso impulsar una marcha masiva hacia el Congreso de la Nación para hacer visible su existencia y la posibilidad de promover el Buen Vivir como un modelo de desarrollo posible. La Primera Marcha de Mujeres Originarias llevó a Buenos Aires un proyecto de ley para la creación de un Consejo de Mujeres Originarias por el Buen Vivir. No obtuvieron respuesta.

En palabras de Moira Millán: "El buen vivir es el derecho a una alimentación, a una territorialidad, a una plena espiritualidad. No es una forma de privilegio que merecen o crean los indígenas, sino que es un derecho para la humanidad. Porque todos tenemos derecho a respirar un aire sin contaminación o disfrutar de un río. Y al mismo tiempo también el río tiene derecho a circular y seguir existiendo. El buen vivir terminó siendo una utopía que nos hace caminar todos los días, marchando hacia y por la concreción de eso", dijo en 2018 a la revista Al Margen.

La Segunda Marcha fue en 2016, después de una reunión masiva en Lago Puelo. Desde allí exigieron la derogación del código minero y la denuncia de las actividades de sojización, deforestación y fracking en Argentina, cuya principal consecuencia son las crisis hídricas.

En 2017, la Marcha de Mujeres Originarias organizó en Bahía Blanca el Primer Foro de Pueblos Originarios, Genocidio y Argentinización. Participaron representantes de las 36 naciones originarias con el objetivo de establecer las bases para demandar al Estado por sus prácticas genocidas contra los pueblos originarios.

En 2018, 2019 y 2022, ya constituidas como Movimiento, realizaron el primer, segundo y tercer Parlamento de Mujeres Indígenas por el Buen Vivir. El último se realizó en Chicoana, Salta. En el documento final, exigieron al Estado argentino "que se declare y tipifique el 'chineo' como crimen de odio" y que sea "imprescriptible". El chineo es una práctica colonial, machista y racista de violencia sexual contra niñeces y mujeres indígenas. Es un abuso sistemático por parte de varones criollos que aún persiste, especialmente en el norte de Argentina.

"Yo me acerqué a las asambleas que organizaban el 8M acá en Rosario para visibilizar el chineo, para que se incluya en la proclama", cuenta Romina, que este año fue una de las oradoras en el acto en el Parque Nacional a la Bandera. Desde el escenario, denunció el terricidio en nuestro país por el avance del extractivismo.

"Nuestra lucha es en contra de las violencias a las que someten a nuestros cuerpos y a los territorios. Queremos que los gobiernos y las empresas se hagan cargo de lo que están cometiendo, porque no entienden que el territorio tiene vida", dijo a La Cazadora.

Desde el Movimiento, Romina lleva adelante una lucha antipatriarcal, antirracista y anticolonialista, pero no se dice feminista. El feminismo, considera, muchas veces no se detiene a escuchar las voces de las hermanas indígenas. Y esto, sin dudas, se evidencia en la creación, en 2019, de la Campaña Nos Queremos Plurinacional, que reclama que los Encuentros Nacionales de Mujeres que cada año se realizan en distintos puntos del país comiencen a llamarse Plurinacionales, y que incorporen a la comunidad LGTBIQ+. Sin embargo, este reclamo, que cada vez gana más fuerza, no fue oído por las organizadoras y, no sin tensiones, este año se realizarán dos Encuentros: uno Plurinacional y Disidente en octubre; y otro Nacional y de Mujeres en noviembre.

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Mujeres Indígenas por el Buen Vivir: una lucha antipatriarcal, antirracista y anticolonialista

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Romina Naporichi pertenece a la comunidad Qom. Nació en Chaco, migró a Rosario y junto a hermanas de 36 naciones originarias integra un movimiento que se proclama en contra del extractivismo terricida. "Nuestra lucha es contra las violencias a las que someten a nuestros cuerpos y a los territorios"

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Grupo #1: #NoHayExcusa:  ÚNETE (Maneras para prevenir violencia de género)

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Grupo #1: #NoHayExcusa:  ÚNETE (Maneras para prevenir violencia de género)

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16 Días de activismo: #NoHayExcusa. ÚNETE para poner fin a la violencia contra las mujeres

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En 2022, cada 11 minutos, parejas y familiares mataron intencionadamente a una mujer. La crisis de violencia de género es una emergencia. Por eso, durante los 16 días de activismo contra la violencia de género, la campaña ÚNETE está llamando la atención sobre la alarmante escalada de la violencia contra las mujeres bajo el lema: “Cada [11] minutos se asesina a una mujer es asesinada. #NoHayExcusa. ÚNETE para poner fin a la violencia contra las mujeres”.

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MEXICO CITY (AP) - The streets of cities across Latin America were bathed in green Thursday as tens of thousands of women marched to commemorate International Safe Abortion Day.

Latin American feminists have spent decades fighting to roll back strict prohibitions, although there are still few countries with a total ban, like El Salvador and Dominican Republic.

In Mexico, marchers celebrated the recent decision by Mexico's Supreme Court to decriminalize abortions at the federal level. In Argentina, marchers had a more somber tone, worrying that the strength of a populist far-right presidential candidate going into elections in October could signal peril after years of work by feminists.

Abortion was the heart of the protests, but crowds of women also raised alarm about the region's high rates of gender-based violence as well as abuses aimed at LGBTQ+ communities.

Green smoke floated over a roaring crowd of thousands of women in Mexico City who waved green handkerchiefs, which have become the symbol of Latin America's "green wave" abortion movement. Signs reading "It's my decision" and "Free and safe abortions for everyone" speckled the crowd.

The march came just weeks after Mexico's Supreme Court knocked down all federal criminal penalties for abortion, ruling that national laws prohibiting the procedure are unconstitutional and violate women's rights. The move will also require federal health institutions to offer abortion to anyone who requests it.

"It's absolutely an achievement," said Fernanda Castro, an organizer at GIRE, the women's rights organization that brought forward the lawsuit before Mexico's high court. "And now we have another even more important fight - decriminalizing abortion in the minds of the people."

While 20 Mexican states still have abortion bans on the books, the decision by the Supreme Court greatly expanded access to the procedue in a country where reproductive laws were long defined by its religious and conservative roots.

Latin American feminists have spent decades fighting to roll back strict prohibitions.

Mexico City was the first Mexican jurisdiction to decriminalize abortion 15 years ago. The trend picked up speed in , which in 2020 legalized the procedure. In 2022, a highly conservative country, did the same.

Brazil may be next. Currently, abortion is a crime with exceptions for cases of rape and birth defects in a fetus, but a case before the nation's Supreme Court could potentially decriminalize the procedure up to 12 weeks of gestation.

"The green wave is going to keep growing and (Brazilian women) are not alone," Castro said.

While marches in Mexico and other parts of the region were celebratory, in Argentina's capital of Buenos Aires, the demonstration was marked with unease.

As elections loom in October, many in the crowd marching toward the Congress building fear their legal gains may soon get rolled back with the rise of right-wing candidate Javier Milei.

Now the leading candidate in polls, Milei, has spoken out against abortion, compulsory sex education in schools and free medical coverage for sex change treatments, among other issues. If he wins, he has promised to hold a referendum to repeal the decriminalization of abortion nationwide approved by Congress in 2022.

"More than winning more rights, this is about protecting them. The most important thing is to protect what's already there," said Sara Rivas, an art student. "Milei is a denialist. We've seen him deny everything from femicides to the years-long struggle that has brought us to this green wave."

Still, Rivas, who carried a sign with a drawing of Milei hanging from a green bandana, said women will turn to the same approach they have used for decades to press for their goals.

"Our answer is that we are here. We are not going to leave the streets, because these gains, we conquered them in the streets," she said.

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Rey reported from Buenos Aires.

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Thousands of women march in Latin American cities calling for abortion rights

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The streets of cities across Latin America were bathed in green as tens of thousands of women marched to commemorate International Safe Abortion Day.