Get Up, Stand Up: Women in Leon Stand up for their Rights

A reflection on León's 2013 women's rights march, held on March 6th in anticipation of events in Matagalpa and Managua on March 8th, International Women's Day. Note: this post isn’t meant to make some kind of normative judgment that gender inequality is more problematic in Nicaragua than elsewhere, nor to bash all men in Nicaragua, rather to shed some light on the general situation.

Nicaragua: A Masculine Space

"A rapist is not a sick person,
but a healthy son of patriarchy"

Blatant stares, inappropriate comments, hissing noises, unwelcome physical contact. These are just a few of the overt signals men use in public space to single out and display dominance over women living in a deeply machista (chauvinistic, paternalistic, male-dominated, presence of over exaggerated forms of masculinity) society like Nicaragua. Such signs of deep gender inequality surface in everyday life here, as women go about their daily lives, and they elicit feelings of frustration, anger, and even fear among local and foreign women alike. As a woman and a feminist living in Nicaragua, I've tried to be attentive to the modern currents of a century-long conversation about how to best confront and overcome machismo in Nicaragua (for Spanish speakers, here is one good blog). However, as blatant as some of the symptoms are, both the causes of this social ill and its possible cures are complex and difficult to pin down. This post will only touch on the tip of the iceberg.

Stilt walkers add some color
to the day.

Exaggerated expressions of masculinity in Nicaragua's machista culture convert what sometimes feels like the entire country into a masculine space. For instance, walking down the street a woman is barraged by the abovementioned actions and comments like "Adios linda, preciosa", "Chelita bonita", or a poorly enunciated "Oh baby, I love you!" In commercial spaces like the shop where I've frequently needed to copy keys I always feel acutely conspicuous among the male employees and clientele. I've been essentially proposed to by more than one taxi driver, who had a few minutes before been trying to overcharge me, and have likewise had intriguing political conversations on buses that later turn into an attempt at swapping personal photos via e-mail. And I am by no means special or alone. 

A couple activists waiting for the
march to begin.

On a personal level, sexual tension seems to preside over or at least flow under the large majority of male-female conversations. Age, education level, marital status, and other potential boundaries provide no guarantee that the response to a question like, "Do you feel like the Sandinista party has maintained its revolutionary principles?" won't be something like, "Oh no, they're a bunch of crooks... So do you have a boyfriend?" As a foreigner, this problem is compounded with the automatic assumption about your level of wealth. I find I am often reticent to enter into conversations that I don’t initiate for fear that the ultimate motive of the individual is to elicit material resources (more often the case with women) or sex, and seeing this attitude toward others in myself is deeply disturbing.

Finally, gender-based violence in public (especially at night in the city or in/around bars, but also in places of employment, schools, and universities) and especially private spaces (primarily the home) are identified by many women I've talked to as chronic. Ending violence against women seems to be the primary subject of many women's rights groups, and indeed it is probably the most basic barrier women's social and political awareness and participation in changing gender roles. Compared to widespread domestic violence, the occasional bike-by butt grab (yes, this has happened to me and a few others I know) seems harmless.

The Paradox of Confronting Gender Issues

Everywhere you turn in this masculine space there seems to be a paradox. A woman must put on armor just to walk down the street, ignoring or laughing off the unwanted attention for her own sanity, and her silence or good humor is in turn interpreted as consent. Likewise, a reluctance to go out of the house and engage with strangers as a result of the discomfort and danger of the streets confines her to the traditionally domestic sphere — where she has fewer opportunities for education, economic independence, and social networking — and which can too often itself be a space of violence. 

The woman in the middle was marching for her
friend, a victim of abuse in her workplace.

Furthermore, many women face discrimination and sexual harassment in the workplace that they must tolerate or lose their job (despite laws against this, which are apparently poorly enforced). This was the main reason one woman I talked to was attending the March; her friend had gone through such an experience. But at the same time, employment and economic independence often appear to be one of the most obvious indicators of women's empowerment (and indeed perhaps these are more growing pains as women increasingly move into the workplace).

As a person that is largely free from a serious threat of violence, I find the most difficult thing for me is the internal battle that results from being in such an intensely masculine environment. In spite of myself, there are moments in which I get a surge of pleasure from being an object of apparent widespread desire, despite my deep objection to the practice and the realization that it’s a completely impersonal interest: I'm just that, an object. Likewise, as noted I am reluctant to interact with people because I often have preconceived notions about their motives. Surely one of the best ways to overcome the widespread objectification of women and foreigners is to create more human connections that can facilitate empathy, but the effort of trying to overcome the barriers to entry into such relationships can feel futile. 

Local activist Sarita works with New
Yorker Gabriella putting up posters. 

What follows these internal struggles is that most disempowering of human emotions: shame. Shame can be deeply damaging. It plants the seeds for the self-doubt that can undermine one’s autonomy, and may be one of the ingredients that silently works to repress half of the population. At risk of projecting a little too much of myself onto the highly heterogeneous population of "Nicaraguan women", I can see how shame could be one of the more significant underpinnings of machismo on a larger scale. 

It is clear that women can be made to feel shameful for stepping out of the house and expressing their (especially sexual) independence. And dynamics of producing shame in a domestic environment (especially one of economic dependence) could be one of the factors that prevent women from leaving violent homes. Likewise women may be made to feel ashamed for not dropping out of school to work for the family, or ashamed for an unwanted pregnancy for which the man bears no personal or social responsibility. 

That men's verbal, physical, and sexual abuse of women should result in the abused experiencing a sense of shame is the most problematic paradox of all. 

The 2013 Women's Right March in León

Challenging the male-dominance of
Leon's city streets.

Ok, enough with the struggles and extrapolations, let's to turn to concrete evidence of how some women in León are responding to machismo: by taking to the streets!

León's 2013 women's rights march was held following a series of solidarity and morale building events in the square of the San Francisco church in the city center. There were short speeches by various women's groups, music, a video in homage to a recently deceased local leader, and public denouncements of the government's lack of action on women's rights. Though a number of laws have been passed by the Sandinistas, many feel that they are not upheld. Furthermore, the party is accused of not taking action against one of its male members on the municipal level in a recent case of sexual assault in a prominent university. 

Local artist Carola speaks to the fragility
of women's rights in Nicaragua

There was some excitement as the crowd of activists gathered, but it wasn't until a performance by local artist, business owner, and outspoken women's and gay rights promoter that energy levels hit a high point. She spoke to the fragility of women's rights in Nicaragua, and the importance of educating one's children, especially male children, about the respect that should be given to women and all people.

The march that followed the performance was intense but peaceful. With loud music, megaphones, whistles, and chants the women made themselves heard as they marched through the city's center, blocking traffic and drawing attention from all sides. I walked along the edges, taking photos and filming the march.

Banners question the government's inaction
on women's issues.

Some of the women's chants included incendiary rhetoric like, "The people ask themselves, 'who are they?' We're the feminists making a revolution," and, "we're going to burn the national assembly." But a deeper message was the democracy does not exist until women have rights. On that basic point, all citizens are a part of this struggle. The problem may be that in Nicaragua its a struggle that's often experienced silently, personally. So while the March clearly did not result in a revolution, what it did do was, at least for a day, crack the issue wide open, converting Leon's male-dominated city streets into a space of possibility and hope.