Tag Archives: feminism

Their anti-rape performance went viral globally. What next for LASTESIS?

LASTESIS was part of a progressive movement in Chile. Then voters rejected the country’s new constitution. So now what?

Sibila Sotomayor, Dafne Valdés and Paula Cometa, members of LASTESIS, in Valparaiso, Chile | Courtesy of Maca Jo

This article was written by Naomi Larsson Piñeda and published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International licence.


Back in November 2019, a group of women took over the streets of Valparaiso, Chile. Moving their bodies in unison, they chanted words that would go on to resonate with hundreds of thousands of people across the world.

This performance by the collective LASTESIS (The Thesis) became a global feminist anthem within days. Blindfolded and wearing the green scarves of the Latin American abortion rights movement, they called out patriarchal and state violence against women. “It’s not my fault, not where I was, not what I wore… the rapist is you. It’s the police, it’s the judges,” they cried.

These words are “absolutely global”, LASTESIS tell openDemocracy over a blurry WhatsApp call. “When people asked us why we think this performance went viral, we say we don’t know, but probably because patriarchal violence, and specifically the sexual violence that we denounce in this performance, is everywhere.”

‘Un violador en tu camino’ (‘A Rapist in Your Path’) spread across Latin America and very soon the rest of the world. Performances took place in Poland, Kenya, to the UK, even outside the trial of convicted sex offender Harvey Weinstein. It’s believed that it was performed in about 200 cities globally, with the countries translating LASTESIS’ words into their own languages.

They add: “It’s incredible for us to see, despite our cultural and linguistic differences, that we can always connect.

“The way of approaching the subject may be different, or how we relate, but the problem is the same. On the one hand it makes you feel part of a much broader, transcultural, cross-border, underground community, but on the other hand it is very depressing to see that the work needs to be done everywhere.”

‘Un violador en tu camino’ performed in Valparaíso in November 2019 | Courtesy of Camila R. Hidalgo

In the wake of ‘Un violador en tu camino’, and while shut inside their homes as the pandemic closed the world down, LASTESIS wrote their first manifesto, ‘Quemar el miedo’ (‘Set Fear on Fire’). It is a fierce, raw testimony of what drives them as a collective, but also an angry account of the violence and struggles they face as Chilean women, as Latin American women: they are daughters of political refugees, they have had illegal abortions, they have raised children alone, they have been abused, they have been persecuted for speaking their minds. But like their viral performance, the manifesto speaks to an intersectional, cross-border struggle.

“[We show] that there’s a feminist network with its own causes and its own fights, but also with common causes. We can communicate in different ways but we can work together to solve things together,” they say.

LASTESIS are speaking to me as they sit together in a corridor between panel talks at a New York University. Daffne Valdés Vargas, Paula Cometa Stange, Sibila Sotomayor van Rysseghem (a fourth member, Lea Cáceres, left the group a few years ago) are in the United States to celebrate the launch of ‘Set Fear on Fire’, the new translation that will bring their feminist writing to the English-speaking world. As a collective, Daffne, Paula and Sibila prefer to speak as one. In their book, they write as “we”, not as individuals, which backs up their call for a unified feminist struggle.

They’re all close friends, having met years ago while studying; but their relationship feels exactly as you would define ‘collective’. It is one of mutual respect and love, but they also have a level of understanding and ease between one another that feels deeper than many familiar relationships.

All artists and creatives, they formed LASTESIS in 2017 to engage feminist theory and activism through art and performance. Their work is based on feminist thinkers such as Silvia Federici, who critiqued the joint forces of capitalism and patriarchy that feed off oppression. ‘Un Violador en tu Camino’ builds on the work of Rita Segato and Virginie Despentes and their exposure of sexual violence as a political issue.

“We chose this way of expressing ourselves and working because we believe in art as a tool for social transformation,” they say, adding that the medium of performance “allows you to transmit ideas, transmit demands, but also pass them through the body. Not all people can relate to words in the same way, but the language of the body… is another form of communication.”

The performances (which can be most simply explained as the expression of themes and ideas through lyrics and movement) are clear and powerful, dissecting issues such as police brutality, to the complexities of abortion and fight for reproductive rights.

‘Set Fear on Fire’ includes the lyrics of past performances, and although every word written then is still relevant, so much has changed. The world of 2019 feels very distant – especially for many Chileans.

LASTESIS first performed ‘Un violador en tu camino’ within the context of a historic social uprising that saw people of all ages and identities across the country protest against inequality.

Read also: ‘The Violator Is You’ Women In Chile Perform A Protest Chant

For a time, millions were trying to erase the neoliberal and violent hangovers of its past dictatorship. There were glimmers of hope: the right-wing billionaire president Sebastián Piñera was replaced by leftist millennial Gabriel Boric. The protests demanded the rewriting of the country’s Pinochet-era constitution, and the proposed alternative was viewed as one of the most progressive in the world. But it was rejected by 62% of the citizens last year.

“We’re in a much more depressing time now, but the ideas in this book are still topical,” they say.

“There’s a whole chapter dedicated to the abortion rights that the new constitution was going to guarantee. But that was then rejected, and now we’re starting again at ground zero.”

This month, Chile launched a fresh attempt – less inclusive and with an expected more moderate outcome – to come up with a new constitution, with a group of experts appointed by the Congress to work on a preliminary draft of 12 constitutional bases within the next three months. This document will set the groundwork for a 50-member constitutional council to be elected by popular vote in May. The council should achieve a final text for a vote of approval or rejection in December.

Since the 2022 repeal of Roe v Wade, the ruling that had enshrined the right to abortion in the US, “we’ve seen more losses of rights than gains… As feminists we have to always be alert,” they add. “On the other hand, in Argentina, for example, abortion was legalised. So we’ve also had an important victory, but it derives from a very powerful level of organising they were doing for almost 15 years.”

The book’s English version acknowledges this international, shared struggle; the group’s calls for safe and legal access to abortion and their criticisms of the capitalist structures supporting patriarchal violence resonate beyond borders. But the movement of these ideas has another level of significance. As they write in the updated prologue: “Our bodies remain in the South, but our convictions and many of our uncertainties migrate to the North.”

“With all the criticisms we have of the English-speaking colonial linguistic hegemony, it’s equally a reality that this [book] will allow our ideas to migrate north… when most translations come from the North to the South,” they say. “So this movement also seems important for the feminist struggle in the South.”

The fact that they were invited to New York to celebrate the launch of ‘Set Fear on Fire’ feels especially significant, particularly as Latines. “Our ideas travel here but in the meantime there are many people who are physically emigrating and are not well received – they’re received with precisely all of this violence that we denounce in this book,” LASTESIS say. “So it is a bit of a statement knowing that this book was going to reach the north and reminding them of the policies of exclusion and violence that are happening at this very moment on its borders.”

LASTESIS want to leave open the “invitation for people to get a bit more angry”, as indifference sustains the status quo, they argue. “The lack of empathy allows everything to continue as it is, reproducing this violence and oppression that have simply been normalised. And thanks to rage we can mobilise ourselves, and also mobilise the world.”

The First Record Label By Women, For Women, In Mexico, Releases Its Debut Single

The first single to come from the house of Jueves, Mexico’s first record label founded and run by women, is a soft-sounding, powerful single that focuses on the liberation and independence of all women.

The goal of the label, founded by Leiden and Adryana Marroquín, is to show the world the music created by Latin American women and be a force that empowers women and gives them an opportunity to publish their music.

Besides the before mentioned creators of the label, the women that participate in the song, titled Bruja, are Ximbo, Michelle Anzo, Lúa Jenn, Tyna Ros, Fernanda Elío among others. It is fitting that the first single is a collaboration between all the women represented by the record label.

Follow Jueves on Instagram for updates about the awesome music these women are creating.

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“Destroy what hurts us, solidify what unites us” – Sisterhood and Solidarity in Feminist Reggaeton

The following article was originally published in Varsity, the independent newspaper of the University of Cambridge and republished here with permission of the author, Inés Cropper de Andres.

Blasting from any Hispanic shop, restaurant or bar, you are sure to meet the bewitching rhythms of Reggaeton. Once singing of violence and gang life, with lyrics describing graphic sexual acts and music videos featuring scantily clad models (hello Pitbull), Reggaeton has moved far from the underground, anti-colonial movement from which it started. Inspired by the Argentinian pro-choice “Ni Una Menos” movement, the reclamation of Reggaeton by Latinx feminist groups in the past 5 years has come as a surprise to many. Even mainstream Reggaeton artists are now joining the trend, with Bad Bunny (net worth $16 million) pushing the musical movement from underground Soundcloud demos into stratospheric Hollywood heights with his song ‘Yo Perrero Sola’. Being photographed in skirts and publicly criticising machismo culture, he is the first big male artist to join the movement. In light of the recent lift on abortion in Argentina, what does it mean to be a feminist Reggaeton artist? Can Reggaeton return to its political roots? How is Reggaeton being used to bring women together intersectionally?

“To be on the dance-floor as a gay woman, to have fun, to exist in spaces that heterosexual men have traditionally ruled, is political.”

Sporting mullets and brightly dyed hair, Kumbia Queers are not your average Cumbia band. With an impressive discography spanning the past decade, this Argentine six-piece, self-proclaimed tropical punk band combines the island sounds of Cumbia and Reggaeton with punk rock, anarchist philosophy and queercore. Their music sings of freedom and liberation and is ultimately a rally for women to get up and dance. Their most catchy song, ‘Puesta’, is a tongue-in-cheek dance track, the kind that urges you back on the dance-floor and away from your drunken (and probably dissatisfying) Cindies hookup. Classically carnival, the claxon opening hints of the fun that is infused throughout. “I wanted to write a protest song but to be honest I’m too high” repeats the chorus.

Closing your eyes to the looped rhythmic backing track, you’re transported to a beach party, dizzy after one too many tokes, with glitter smudged across your cheeks. In countries where homophobic slurs are a part of everyday vocabulary and being openly gay is frequently met with hostility, existence is resistance. To be on the dance-floor as a gay woman, to have fun, to exist in spaces that heterosexual men have traditionally ruled, is political. The irony in Cumbia being a traditional heterosexual love dance, and its fusion with Reggaeton as the site of female exploitation, uses the genres to situate queer women in positions of power. 

Don’t be fooled. This is not an exclusionary political movement. Like the riot grrrl movements of the 90s, this new feminist Reggaeton is a safe space for all women-identifying and gender-queer individuals.

Take Krudas Qumbensi, an afro-Latinx hip-hop duo from Cuba who represent “Womyn, Immigrants, Queers, and People of Color”. Their early albums with songs like ‘Horizontalidad’ push a pro-socialist message, but it is in their 2014 album Poderosxs that they begin using their lived experiences to craft their message.

“Whose bodies? Our bodies” they cry in their hit single ‘Mi Cuerpo es Mio’, an exploration of the intertwining of Church and State. The music video features the duo dancing, superimposed onto protest photos. If the electro-soul synth backing hadn’t already made it clear, the message is obvious. Their revolution will be danced. The track is in Spanglish, calling in their American Diaspora. This is not a battle that can be fought by them alone, it requires unity.

Sisterhood is recurring on this album, with the spoken word track of ‘Vamos Juntas’, an ode to solidarity through subverting the traditional forms of the Catholic hymn. “Destroy what hurts us, solidify what unites us”. Is this a prayer or a battle-cry set to lo-fi? The listener is left to decide.

Sisterhood and solidarity become the focus of their latest release, their 2019 album LNL. These themes are the foundations of their exploration of afro-liberation, gender liberation, and queer liberation. Relying more on spoken word, beat-boxing and acapella than on heavy production, this album is musically complex while remaining emotionally raw. The human cry heard in the background of ‘Un Dia’, a lament to lack of safe abortions, is overlaid with ominous humming. Is it a woman crying? Who is she? Remaining nameless, she could be anyone. She could be you. Naked. Harrowing. Intimate. “Who looks after us?” questions the album, and the answer never comes. This is a worldwide system failure. If we don’t care about each other as sisters, who will? 

“One thing is clear: the revolution may not be televised, but it can definitely be danced.”

In a world where women are divided through issues as banal as whether they’re a hi girl or a bruh girl (Buzzfeed has multiple quizzes addressing this clearly important matter), music is a cultural force to be reckoned with. Asserting themselves as non-conforming, queer women of colour, bands like Krudas Qumbensi and Kumbia Queers are entering, reimagining, and restructuring the space that was built upon actively excluding them. The call to arms for sisterhood, not one based on patriarchy, but one based on a recognition of intersectionality, is an act of defiance against a structure that profits from female competition. Female and queer existence is resistance; how better to showcase that than through taking control of the music? One thing is clear: the revolution may not be televised, but it can definitely be danced.

Cover photo credits: Montecruz Photo

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