Breathe
By Laura Carrera
What happens when women in power betray women victims? The case of Cuauhtémoc Blanco is a crude mirror of several intertwined realities: that of the popular idol turned ruler, that of a political system that prioritizes votes over ethics, and that of a power that continues to shield the aggressors, even when the victims dare to raise their voices.
Cuauhtémoc Blanco, admired by many for his soccer career, became a politician like so many others: through fame. Without preparation, without vocation and without limits. He governed Morelos with an improvised team, accumulating accusations of corruption, excesses, parties in Government House, drugs, women and alleged links with organized crime. Today, as a federal deputy, he faces one of the most outrageous cases: a complaint for attempted rape filed by his half-sister.
She - whom he himself invited to work in his government and to live in the Government House - broke her silence and denounced months after the abuse attempt. Her accusation is added to others: of corruption, violence, abuse of power. But what sparked the indignation of many women was not only the accusation, but also the reaction of deputies from different parties, including the PRI.
When the desafuero was discussed so that Blanco could be investigated by the justice system, many female deputies shouted loudly: "You are not alone". They said it as if it were about a hero unjustly persecuted. They shouted it with conviction. With complicity.
How to explain that? How to understand that women who claim to be feminists -or at least pro-women's rights- voted against the desafuero of an alleged sexual aggressor? There are three levels of analysis.
First, congruence in tatters. There is no possible coherence between declaring oneself a feminist and protecting a man accused of sexual violence. No one was asking for a conviction, only that he be allowed to be investigated. Justice cannot act as long as the jurisdiction covers it. In this case, congruence is not a luxury: it is an ethical duty.
Second, political submission. Many women deputies acted from the logic of party loyalty. They ceased to be autonomous to become cogs in a machine that protects the group rather than the victims. They chose power over truth. And that is not only serious: it is dangerously cynical.
Third, the normalization of violence. Some of these women have probably experienced violence. In their homes, in their parties, in their relationships. And from that experience, they have learned to remain silent, to justify, to survive in distortion. It is possible that their solidarity with the aggressor comes not from evil, but from an unhealed wound.
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