The first three times I ever asked for help while living in an abusive relationship, I turned to my father. He was the male figure I believed was supposed to protect me from any harm in my life. But for more than a decade, every time I found the courage to ask for help, the message was the same: the blame was placed on me.
I grew up with pain, guilt, and the responsibility of caring for my siblings. When I was 10, I was sexually abused by my uncle and my grandfather, over and over again. I grew up carrying that burden alone, convincing myself it was normal. My parents’ beatings were part of everyday life. I had no one to trust.
This is the context in which Cigüeña emerged: a card game about children’s sexual health, created so that adults—mothers, fathers, caregivers, educators, and professionals—can learn first, before trying to teach. Because what most of us received as “sex education” were myths, silences, inherited fears, or confusing explanations that never really answered what we needed to know.
So much of cooking at home is viewed as part of a “woman’s” duty. An ideology entrenched in patriarchy, passed down by not just our fathers, but our matriarchs as well. “Ya te puedes casar” is the compliment one receives after making a delicious meal, usually learned by watching our mothers and grandmothers cook.
Int. 1216 would require the NYC Office to End Gender-Based Violence to create and distribute informational posters—available in multiple languages—to educate the general public on recognizing the signs of GBV and how those facing it may access support services.
I lived in a hidden world where human evil shows its most atrocious face; but I show the strength to not let myself be defeated, the love for my little son, to embrace him again, to feel his soft face against mine, to see his smile and to fulfill the promise to always take care of him.
The Violation of Reproductive Rights as Gender-Based Violence does not only include physical violence or harm, but it is a continuum of actions leading to a violation of an individual’s bodily integrity and human rights. Of these, the rollback or constraint of reproductive justice is arguably one of the most far-reaching forms of systematic oppression that targets women, especially ethnic minorities. Working for a domestic violence organization led by Latina women and in a Latinx community, I know that race and gender are involved in such oppression and domination.
I was born in a town in Sierra Norte de Puebla and grew up in a family that has always experienced violence. All the time I saw my dad mistreating my mom. My dad is an alcoholic and was always like that. I grew up self-conscious , afraid, and isolated. I wanted to be invisible, for no one to see me. That was the fear my dad provoked in me. I would cry when the sun went down, because I knew he would come back to the house.
Let’s try a quick exercise. When you hear the word “Justice” – what first comes to mind? Do you think about punishment for the person that did wrong? Or do you think about healing for the person that was wronged?
![The Miriam and Ira D. Wallach Division of Art, Prints and Photographs: Photography Collection, The New York Public Library. "Mexican market wom[an]" The New York Public Library Digital Collections. 1898.](https://www.vipmujeres.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/vip-oyeme-collage-migrant-women-made-new-york-city-300x216.jpg)
Walking the streets and trying to maneuver my way through the labyrinthic subway system, I keep encountering a woman who historically has nourished this city but has been kept in the shadows. She has had multiple faces throughout time. But if we take an attentive look at history, she’s the one always offering care: making food, cleaning, constructing, clothing New Yorkers, and much more. She is a migrant and a racialized, segregated worker. She tends to come from the Souths. She has endured low-paid, undignified, and unstable working conditions, and all her conquests have resulted from an incredible effort that ultimately has benefited all kinds of workers.
