Don't ask me to shut up

By Aideé Zamorano

Those of us who are militants of feminisms evaluate the world with violet lenses; I once heard that going into feminist purple and green is equivalent to fucking up one's life. We spend our days correcting misplaced statements, we analyze contents and, if we want, we cancel those that reproduce gender mandates. We also criticize the decisions of power and at the same time we leverage the system to make ourselves visible; we go out to march, we take the classrooms, the offices, we speak loud and direct; we use the spaces we have in the media to share our dignified rage and all this does not exempt us from becoming survivors of some violence.

Fifteen days ago I publicly declared myself a survivor of workplace violence, I pointed out my former employer as responsible for the mental health disease I am going through, today I depend on medication to sleep because of the violence I lived for twenty-nine months in my former office, that condition escalated to suicidal ideation and NO, I was not thinking of offering my life to an organization (it would have been a waste); psychological violence is the most difficult to detect, the most complex to analyze and with all my feminist militancy, it also happened to me.