Being a feminist organization is quite a challenge in Riohacha

By: María Mercedes Acosta (*)

Ana Teresa Puente, an economist, was born and raised in Riohacha, the capital of La Guajira. One of the memories that comes to mind most often when she thinks about this city, now that she lives in Barranquilla, is the discomfort she felt at 13 years old when leaving her house. She knew that without fail the neighbors would say: “bye, my love,” “see you, pretty,” and another series of phrases typical of street harassment. She felt intimidated, nervous, almost unable to walk.

As she grew up, she understood that this was a common practice for many men on different blocks in her city. In the neighborhood where she lived and in others, it was also common for some men to touch women without anything happening, just as it happens in so many other cities in Colombia. Those who saw the situation would only say: “so-and-so touched so-and-so’s butt.” And they would laugh. “I grew up in a city where many men feel they own women’s bodies. And they get indignant if you tell them that’s not the case,” says Ana Teresa, who also remembers seeing her friends, neighbors, and relatives saying: “you have to attend to a man and have his food ready to avoid problems.”

Riohacha, the same city where a good part of the authorities do not talk about “gender-based violence” but about “domestic violence” and try to make conciliations with the complainant because they are the victimizer’s friends. According to UN Women figures, in 2021, 472 cases of gender-based violence were registered in this city, 151 of which correspond to foreign women, mostly Venezuelans, due to prejudice and difficulties in accessing services. The predominant violence is physical, followed by sexual.

According to the gender equality observatory of the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC), between 2019 and 2022, 325 sexual crimes were documented in La Guajira, ranging from verbal harassment to forced penetration, with most of the violence perpetrated by people close to the victim such as partners, exes, family members, friends, and acquaintances.

In addition, according to figures from the Colombian Institute of Family Welfare (ICBF), in La Guajira, since 2019, at least 250 cases of sexual exploitation of girls, boys, and adolescents have been attended to: 45 percent migrants, 14 percent indigenous, and 88 percent girls. One of the causes associated with sexual exploitation in this area is high migration, which is taken advantage of by illegal groups that control criminal activities such as human trafficking.

According to Ana Teresa, the issue is not that Riohacha has more or less machismo, gender-based violence, or sexual exploitation than other cities in Colombia—in fact, it is not one of the cities that tops these lists—but there are certain particularities, in addition to migratory processes, that make daily life difficult for women, children, and LGBTQ+ people. For example, in this city, so-called “pasquines” (pamphlets) still circulate. Years ago, these were printed and photocopied and disseminated in schools and other closed spaces, but now they are viral through WhatsApp. These are documents that describe, with names and surnames, the alleged sexual life of the women in the city.

Since her adolescence, Ana Teresa has been involved in volunteer work and jobs related to sexual education and human rights. For this reason, as soon as she learned about a citizen initiative led by Fabrina Acosta, a psychologist with whom she had worked at the Atlantic Department’s Secretariat for Women, she did not hesitate to join. Fabrina, like Ana Teresa, felt a deep discomfort with many inequalities in La Guajira, so one day in 2012 she decided to lead campaigns such as “think about your vote” and “talking on Wednesday,” coordinating the content on children and gender.

Over time, Fabrina decided to write about the “recipes” or “formulas for life” that, supposedly, women must follow. From there, her first book was born: “Mujeres sin receta” (Women without a recipe). Then came the second one: “Evas culpables, Adanes inocentes” (Guilty Eves, Innocent Adams), with which she sought to express that neither Eve is guilty nor Adam is innocent, in response to the belief that Adam was manipulated by Eve.

For Ana Teresa Puente, the best part of these citizen initiatives, which included forums and reflections around Fabrina’s books, was meeting professional people from La Guajira interested in working for the department. “It often happens that since there is not much professional training available in La Guajira, those who have the resources study elsewhere and do not return to work for the territory.”

Seeing that the initiatives and campaigns were gaining momentum and that there were not many related to feminism in the region, in 2015, Fabrina, Ana Teresa, and others decided to formalize their work for gender equality and non-violence against women, under the name of Asociación Evas y Adanes. Over time, they have begun to define themselves as an organization that contributes to social change through pedagogy and communications.

The name of the organization is inspired by a book by the Uruguayan writer Eduardo Galeano, which, to paraphrase, would be: if Eve had written Genesis, the first night would not have been as Adam tells it, and she would not give birth in pain either. “Those would be lies that Adam told the press,” says Galeano. “Evas y Adanes” also seemed to them a controversial name for a feminist organization.

One of their first achievements was having a live space on the University of La Guajira’s radio station to talk about gender. Subsequently, the program began to be broadcast as a podcast. Since then, entities such as the Prosecutor’s Office, Legal Medicine, and various media outlets have started to consult them frequently.

Among their most popular events is the “Weaving Hopes for La Guajira” forum in Bogotá, which brought together influential people from this department. For many people, the Evas y Adanes events are transformative. For example, the case of the accordionist María Silena Ovalle, who despite her multiple commitments and her more than one million followers on Instagram, says: “For me, going to an Evas y Adanes forum is a priority on my agenda.”

On one occasion, while the Vallenato Legend Festival was taking place in Valledupar, Evas y Adanes organized a parallel agenda at the Guatapurí Shopping Center with women accordionists. In the end, a moved man took the microphone and said: “I’m going to buy an accordion for my daughter because I was one of those who said she wasn’t going to turn into a tomboy.” Today his daughter is one of the city’s talents. One day, a man told the members of Evas y Adanes that he used to shoot into the air every time he got drunk, but that since he started attending their forums, he had given up both practices.

Fabrina even considers herself an indicator of the organization’s success because it allowed her to reconcile with her sexual rights, have the firmness to say: “I don’t want to be a mom,” be able to talk openly with her family about topics that were not discussed before, and stop feeling pressure to be heterosexual and instead be able to identify as queer or pansexual.

To a large extent, its founders affirm, the growth of Evas y Adanes lies in the fact that it has subtly permeated spaces and people, avoiding polarizing speeches. “If the organization’s initial tone had been stronger and more imposing, we would not have achieved what we have. That subtlety has been the entry door to conquering scenarios. But now it is necessary to be more daring, not only to share knowledge but also our vision of the world and to be clearer about our position. To make it clear that human rights are not matters of opinion or agreement, but something inherent to all human beings,” says Ana Teresa Puente.

The organization currently has three lines of action: an academic one in which they have participated in events and in the research and formulation of public policies and booklets with the United Nations. They have also worked with the faculties of Ethno-Education, Tourism and Hotel Management, and Social Work at the University of La Guajira, where it was not easy to talk about gender.

The second line is the pedagogical one which includes the podcast, educational workshops on gender and rights in schools and indigenous communities, and the organization of events such as TED X Riohacha and forums such as “weaving new realities for La Guajira.”

The fact that a feminist organization like Evas y Adanes has been in Riohacha since 2015 has been a testament to persistence and resistance. However, among the organization’s challenges is becoming economically sustainable to continue being that oasis of hope and transformation in La Guajira.

(*) Editor of Sentiido and collaborator of Dejusticia

(**) This article is part of the special #TejidoVivo, a product of a journalistic alliance between the Dejusticia study center and El Espectador.