Share

Share

Share on FacebookShare on Facebook TweetShare on Twitter Share on WhatsAppShare on WhatsApp

SUBSCRIBE TO THE NEWSLETTER

By Carolina Balderrama

Photos: Ariel Gutraich

We, women, lesbians, trans men, non-binary people, intersex people, pregnant people, have abortions. We have disobeyed binary grammars, and in doing so, we have created another symbolic and linguistic corpus. Because what is not named does not exist, we already know that. And transfeminist communication is expressed because we exist and we are this struggle. 

What makes the fight for the legalization of abortion so broad an umbrella that shelters generations of pioneers, those in their eighties and beyond? Those of us in our late forties live with teenage children and nieces and nephews for whom this right is already a reality.

Long gone are those years when silences and secrets, or hushed conversations, would reveal a stigma or label about a schoolmate, a neighbor, a relative near or far. Because when you come from a province other than "the capital"—like the person writing these lines—the fear of what others will say draws a line of domestication and alienation, leading only to discipline. Not only of bodies, but also to the meek acceptance of an inescapable destiny: motherhood.

Lesbian activism and public media

Getting to know the organization Lesbians and Feminists for the Decriminalization of Abortion almost a decade ago, and therefore the Abortion Line: More information, Less risks; and accessing the book "Everything you want to know about how to have an abortion with pills", undoubtedly marked a before and after in my feminist activism regarding the fight for access to legal abortion.

In 2012, the "Equal Access to Safe Abortion" Congress was held. It was a two-day event, and I participated, along with Luciana Peker, Amanda Alma, Lucía García Itzigsohn, and Agustina Díaz, in a panel titled "How Misoprostol Changed the Political Landscape: The Power of New Discourses on Abortion in the Media." We were journalists working for the public media system and publications that were committed to communicating these rights when it wasn't as easy to do so as it is now. I emphasize this because the visibility of sexual diversity in this struggle hasn't always been present and remains a point of contention even today. 

Covering abortion workshops 10 years ago at the Women's, Lesbian, Transvestite, Trans, Non-Binary, and Intersex Encounters—now Plurinational Encounters—for the news agency where I worked involved a constant strategic planning process. This included processing testimonies, gathering supporting images, keeping the issue on the agenda, and coordinating with other colleagues to ensure the story didn't get dropped. 

Overcoming those barriers required intelligence and – above all – network building. Because if there's one thing to value, it's that great communication rhizome we've built together to shake things up wherever it's needed. 

Today, there is no place in the country—and this extends to the region and beyond—where there isn't a trans-feminist journalist willing to expose human rights violations. We are not alone; this is no longer something that happens to us simply because of who we are. It happens to an entire community that has patiently, yet with unwavering conviction, resisted and seized control, fought back, and created narratives for this new era.

We learned from the tensions

We have built a landscape of struggle that is spoken by a language that houses women who have abortions and those who accompany lesbians who have abortions, creates devices to share information and remove fears and prejudices, to transvestite comrades, to trans masculinities, to non-binary identities, to intersex people, all in a corpus that is present with particular experiences that are (we are) in community. 

We learned from the tensions. And we know that the cry grows louder and more powerful the more we broaden our horizons in the present, confront and grieve the origin, and build other families of affection that perhaps began with a presence in that solitude that comes with breaking free and making a sharp turn, when we exercise autonomy over our bodies and desires. Broadening our perspective and understanding that this was a matter of public health, of access to rights, but also of autonomy and freedom over bodies, pregnant bodies. 

Building on the experience of 2018, the fight for the right to legal, safe, and free abortion has transformed into a cross-cutting conversation among grandmothers, mothers, aunts, children, and grandchildren. The common denominator is a complex affective language that, for the first time, offers a space for encounter and intersection between personal experience, public health, and social justice. 

As I write these lines, I'm accompanying someone to an abortion. I listen and send messages, offer reassurance, share information, and search for it, all while reflecting on everything that has happened in the last 31 years since that scene, and of course, on the historical perspective of the encounters and intersections with others that open doors for us and contribute to the struggles. These struggles extend into our workplaces, and for those of us working in communication and the right to information, occupying these spaces had the added benefit of bringing these demands to the forefront. Far from remaining on the periphery, we made them the very center of transfeminist synergies. It took time. It will take time to effectively implement these rights, but what we have built now has an unshakeable foundation.

In this year that is ending, marked by the pandemic, the loss of loved ones, and abrupt farewells, while building new worlds, we don't just give thanks for this right. We demand it and cherish it because it is ours.