Latin American woman; 'an elusive shadow'

UNESCO Courier, April, 1985 by Luisa Futoransky

LATIN American is no more a homogeneous entity than are Africa America brings to mind a jigsaw puzzle whose pieces are extremely difficult to fit together, so varied are the countries of which it is composed both as regards their past history and their present situation. Of course, we still share a common language; and I say "still" advisedly, since it is no secret that Castilian Spanish, so long a powerful bond between the countries of Latin America, is undergoing an accelerating process of differentiation, similar to that which separated the Romance languages from Latin. Language apart, the countries that comprise Latin America have developed along quite distinct lines as a result of the diversity of their geography and climate, of the origins of their populations and of their political and cultural backgrounds.

To attempt to give a global picture of Latin American women over the past decade would, therefore, be simply to add to the sum total of generalizations and prejudices. To launch into a disquisition on that abstraction the Latin American woman within the limits of this article would be more than pretentious, it would be impossible. I shall therefore confine myself to offering a few indications and pointers to those interested in pursuing this subject.

Try as I would, I could not conjure up a face, hands, legs, or indeed any kind of portrait of that disjointed doll that bears the label of Latin American woman. In the windows of the old-fashioned village shops, at carnival time, everything was much easier. There you could see Madame Pompadour, with powdered wig, a beauty-spot on either cheek and hooped shirt; or Manola (the typical Spanish dancer), her red and white spotted cotton skirt with its ruffles, fitting tightly over her hips, high-heeled dancing shoes and with carnations in her hair; or a grand lady of the past, her mantilla, held in place by a comb, allowing a glimpse of kiss-curls plastered to her temples, wearing a crinoline and holding an ever open fan--the sunshade was an optional extra.

All too quickly, life dissipated the fine certainties of carnival day, when a person could be easily identified by his or her apparel. Falling back thus on my childhood memories in search of the elusive outline of this Latin American woman, I found only a fugitive shadow, a graceful masquerade.

Who is this peasant girl from Oruro, in Bolivia, whose photograph could be slipped into a newspaper story on Tibet or Burma, without anyone being the wiser? What have a Colombian housewife, a young Mexican bank employee, an Argentine textile worker and a Brazilian sweet-vendor in common?

Were we to follow up these questions we should find ourselves enmeshed in an inextricable web of theories, ranging from anthropological studies of the first wave of migration across the Behring Straits to psychol-sociological analyses of the after-effects of slavery upon the Black populations of the Atlantic coast.

I shall, therefore, attempt the more modest task of examining the context within whic women have found themselves during the more recent past. As everyone knows, the last twenty years have been a difficult period in the history of the continent, marked by the rise of authoritarian and repressive regimes. The growth or the restriction of democracy has been closely related to the mobilization of women, since this is clearly bound up with the evolution of the labour market and the family structure.

It should be noted that, as I write these lines, at least three of these Latin American countries have returned to the democratic fold, which gives one hope that, freed from other constraints, women will be able to devote their energies to specific problems relating to the feminine situation.

The women of the Plaza de Mayo, in Beunos Aires, for example, come to mind. When the armed forces seized power in March 1976, Argentina sank into economic crisis accompanied by unemployment and repression. In 1977, a few mothers of los desaparecidos (victims of the military who had "disappeared") began to meet regularly at the Plaze de Mayo, a square near the presidential palace, demanding a hearing which the authorities systematically refused. Gradually as many as two thousand women joined this group. Various forms of pressure were applied in an attempt to reduce them to silence, to which they replied by organizing "lightning" demonstrations and meetings in churches. In 1979, they formed an association which was joined by women from all over the country and which launched an inquiry into the fate of the hundreds of children reported missing, children who had been taken away with their parents or had been born while their mothers were in prison.

The association never concerned itself with the kind of problems normally tackled by feminist movements but relied instead on the traditionally accepted role of women to sanction their message and their protest. They were united by something that transcended social differences; this was a matter of life and death--everything else could wait. Faced with a common social catastrophe, solidarity and a united front was the only answer.