By: Eugenia Gutiérrez (Radio Zapatista)
Who are they? Irreverent, lewd, free? They take to the streets to shout indignation, to present it without magazine poses. They make uncomfortable posters and banners: “My body, my territory”, “My belly, my decision”, “My vagina, my rules…with or without a towel”, “Remove your laws that come from above on me”.
Another International Women’s Day in Struggle, with more reason than ever, while millions organized without leaders against the growth of misogynist desire. Another year has passed and the protests continue. They organize stoppages and conferences. In the debate the necessity to reverse common humiliation is expressed. But it is in the streets where we are all equal and we are sisters. Day to day, in dozens of cities, mass marches take place, whether against femicides and sexual aggressions, or in favor of body sovereignty, of sexual pleasure, of reproductive rights and of the simple liberty to breastfeed a creature when and where our ovaries swell. In all of the mobilizations two axes cross, the critique of capitalist hypocrisy that sells the controlled feminine body and the solidarity committed to the widest range of rights on a global level, against racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and classism: “My uterus is not public property”, “The tit bothers them that they cannot sell”, “Without free women there are no free people”.
Girls and boys abound, they write or scribble, presenting their own ideas: “I like good people”, “Feminist in formation”, “My grandmother loves me, the powerful don’t”.
Boys accompany some. In many cities and in various languages, they march on one side or walk together with slogans: “Good men do no fear equality”, “Your body, your decision”. “A true man takes care of his first cradle”.
Uncontrollable and foolish. They light warm bonfires with the Manual de Carreño: “To hell with phallus-fascism”, Trump, you are a misogynist pig”, “I am a disgusting women, prepare yourself: The future is disgusting”, “I am lesbian, hetero, bi. I am a woman and I am happy”, “Make mother country. Kill the misogyny that lives in the mind”, “I am trans, I am black, I am Indian, I am atheist. I am what I want.”
Many emphasize their tenacity for life, their inventive and creative power: “Hate will not prevail”, “May power be peace”, “I am an immigrant, Latina, Muslim. I am a women, I am a human”. Others dress themselves as a clitoris or draw smiling female reproductive organ to show: “This machine destroys hate…and there are thousands of millions”.
Some girls dressed up as suffragists, clean and fixed up like a hundred years ago, hold a sign: “Another century. The same shit”. The tattooed grandmothers, the belly button and nipple pierced mothers, the women that weren’t mothers for whatever reason, painful or not, decided or not, the women that opened pathways, they cannot believe it: “Incredible that we have to return to the streets to struggle against this shit”.
The younger ones do not limit themselves. “She raised you in her belly, she fed you a tit. Think, feel, respect”. Nobody will wash their mouths out with soap. “Make a meal for babies, stupid”. If they would like, they would smile for a patriarch, but they have more important things to do. “Don’t get near my uterus without permission”, “to abort patriarchy and its market education”. Very reasonable, many also paint walls with explanations: “I can’t be the women of your life because I am the women of mine”.
“If rape would bother them as much as menstruation…” Impossible, unkempt, crazy. They pity Melanie as much as they pity Schopenhauer. “No more patriarchal virginity”. They flood the streets knocking down borders with hard blows, all borders, invisible and not. To counteract the police violence that two women experienced in the beach of Necochea for baring their breasts, topless protests in various cities of Argentina were organized. A chant continued: “If you are harassed in the street or raped, show your tits. That is how to attract the attention of the police”.
Homo sapiens, but of the Greek kind where Homo meant equal. “When the vagina counterattacks, the machos tremble”. An Argentine broadcaster dies of worry. He spreads anger. He understands nothing. If we are not victims, nor heroes, nor princesses, what the fuck are we, he says.
A Mexican writer dies of envy. From the newspaper El Pais he spreads fear. He doesn’t understand anything. He forgets that he was born in the paradise of femicides. He says that street feminism is boring, that “the free exercise of complex thought” has been replaced “by the boring right to take to the streets with posters”. And they pay him to say it. If we are not neo-epistemic hyper-ontological theorists, what bitches are we he thinks.
“March like a girl, fight like a girl. Dare yourself”, “You will not infringe on the achievement of my grandmothers”, “I march for my granddaughters and for yours”, “Our children will live better. So will yours”.
In the streets of ancestral land other women march just as strong. Without lights or pavement, they visualize what is coming. “Let’s go for everyone”. Their screams are of profound silence, of which stuns the most: “You are not alone. Your rage is ours”, “Never more a Mexico without us”.
Indefensible, insolent, fed up. Each one of them is all of us.
Translated from the original here: http://www.cgtchiapas.org/noticias/vagina-contraataca-o-insolencia-feminismo-callejero