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Five essential women

2020-08-27T23:10:30.978Z


Ana, Juana, Andrea, Susana and Patricia are migrants in Buenos Aires and have become an essential support to feed the residents of impoverished neighborhoods. A solidarity and voluntary work in search of recognition


In the midst of the pandemic and a quarantine that has been in force since March 19, migrant women such as Ana Gamarra, Juana María Matos, Andrea Murga Gutiérrez, Susana Huallpa and Patricia Saavedra put themselves at the service of their community, in Villa 1- 11-14 of Bajo Flores, one of the largest and most populated in Buenos Aires. With the health crisis, the residents of the neighborhood realized the value of social organizations. "What the Government does not do, we do," Ana sums up. They are the eyes and the hands in an enclave where the State sometimes cannot cope and, other times, it simply is not there. The solidarity and voluntary work of these women seeks to be recognized with the cry of "we are essential."

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Juana Maria Matos

Juana runs to arrive before noon at the corner of Cobo avenues and Curapaligüe, in the Buenos Aires neighborhood of Bajo Flores. She is 51 years old, is a health promoter for the organization Frente de Organizaciones en Lucha (FOL) and has lived in the village 1-11-14 since she arrived from Peru 20 years ago. At twelve o'clock, neighbors, social entities, residents and doctors of the Piñero Hospital organize a court to denounce the situation and the lack of health resources in the area due to the progression of covid-19. Nothing new. The virus only highlighted the pre-existing and daily problems of many inhabitants of the popular neighborhoods of Buenos Aires in terms of housing, work or health.

Quarantine means staying in homes. But when these become a dangerous place due to the lack of water or due to overcrowded conditions, it is urgent to take to the streets. Of course, with social distancing to report without being reported. There are no channels or major media, only neighbors watching from the queue of the pharmacy or the greengrocer. Cobo Avenue is one of these invisible borders that separates the city from itself. 

Juana María Matos is 51 years old and has been in Buenos Aires for 20 years, in the Bajo Flores neighborhood. She is a promoter of community health in the Front of Organizations in Struggle. A single mother, she has not been able to continue her studies, between work and her daughter, but her activism has allowed her to grow and develop as a woman and a citizen. After years of volunteering, the neighborhood state dispensary (CESAC) has just hired her. During the pandemic, she has been on the front line identifying people at risk in her neighborhood. Anita Pouchard

- There should be the Police, look what they are doing, in full quarantine. Let them go to work! I've been in the neighborhood for 50 years, they are thieves! , Shouts a man of about 70 years at the corner of Puan and Cobo while watching from afar the protest.

"I made that criticism at one point, before, from outside the organization," says Juana, and remembers when, from her cleaning job in the downtown area, she saw protesters cutting the streets. Upon entering the FOL four years ago, she discovered "what it means to mobilize for a claim, to fight for others."

Juana belongs to the dining room of the FOL Berta Cáceres. It is on Francisco Cruz Avenue, which delimits the East of Villa 1-11-14. From eleven thirty in the morning, residents of the neighborhood form a line that goes around the block. This has been the case every day since the quarantine began. One hundred families signed up to receive their food rations Monday through Friday, another hundred were left on the waiting list. Juana walks down the queue, alcohol in hand, hands out information, talks to people, answers their questions and tries to detect risky situations and potential cases.

Patricia saavedra

At the door is Patricia, 43, responsible for the people who come to get their rations enter one by one. She came to Argentina from Bolivia four years ago. Her sister lives in the neighborhood and participates in the FOL. For her he entered the organization. Today he even represents her in the Migration is not a crime campaign , which defends and fights for the rights and regularization of migrants. Every Tuesday she has to do community hours in the dining room, fulfilling the tasks that are necessary for the solidarity machine to work: cooking, receiving merchandise, serving ... Since the covid-19 entered the neighborhood, she has worked twice as much to cover her companions who had to isolate themselves or who were infected.

Patricia Saavedra is 42 years old and has been in Buenos Aires four years ago. She joined the organization thanks to her sister, a neighbor of the neighborhood. Participate in the Berta Caceres dining room, where every day a plate of food is delivered to 100 people. She takes care of them entering one by one at the door. Anita Pouchard

An unemployed woman, a young man who asks for some food, a family that comes to bring something to their children. Patricia says that there is always a partner willing to divide her personal ration to share. But it is not only about giving, she clarifies, but about explaining why that food arrived on her plate and what the organization does beyond the dining room and that vital delivery. Explain that it is not magic or punterism (patronage), that it is fighting and ant work since long before the pandemic.

One hundred families signed up to receive their food rations from Monday to Friday, another hundred were left on the waiting list

In these queues there are families who have never set foot in a dining room. But with the savings exhausted and many difficulties in collecting the Emergency Family Income (IFE), they had no other option. According to the survey of the Migrant Agenda 2020 - a collective made up of other organizations by Amnesty International, the Center for Legal and Social Studies and the Migration is not Crime Campaign - 58% of the migrants surveyed in April 2020 were left without work, without source of income and therefore without food.

Ana Gamarra

- Before they treated us as bums, as planeros.

Ana, 35, says so, a reference to the FOL of the Riestra sector who arrived from Peru 10 years ago. With the pandemic, the local residents realized the value of social organizations. And also that, from one day to the next, you can be in the place of the one who was once prejudiced.

Ana Gamarra is 35 years old and it has been 10 years since she arrived in Buenos Aires from Peru. She has been in the organization for eight years and participates in the Las guerreras del FOL dining room. Her personal experience, crossed by gender violence, put her in the front line to accompany colleagues and neighbors who go through the same thing. Anita Pouchard

As a health promoter, Juana participates in the community posts of the El Estado en tu barrio program , where information about covid-19 is shared and chinstraps are distributed, among other things. As it is a voluntary job, Juana refuses to put on the program's official shirt to keep that of her organization, with a large red cross on her chest and the initials FOL.

Women like her, coming from different social organizations, are the eyes and the hands in the neighborhood of a State that sometimes cannot cope and other times is disconnected from the realities on the ground. Ana sums it up precisely.

—What the State does not do, we do.

A few weeks before the pandemic, Ana and other colleagues were about to open a new dining room called Las guerreras del FOL, in the Riestra sector of Villa 1-11-14. The authorization process to receive food and cook it was suspended due to the crisis, but faced with the urgency of meeting local needs, the militants, historical or recent arrivals, decided to open it. It is a large room with light walls, a ground floor at the intersection of several dark and narrow corridors, where social distance is impossible. On one of the walls, a small window lets in daylight that is more symbolic than effective.

What the State does not do, we do

Ana Gamarra

As they still could not receive the provisions, the women in the dining room looked for another solution to be able to help. They spoke with their teammates from Berta Cáceres, physically separated by 1.6 kilometers, and got their support. To get the food they cross the entire neighborhood from Monday to Friday: the journey begins with a difficult walk through the corridors, with monkeys (supermarket trolleys) whose wheels fight against the uneven floor of the village, and then jump from position to position of Gendarmería.

Andrea Murga Gutierrez

"We avoid going for Perito Moreno, it is more dangerous. Once all the cargo and their personal belongings were stolen from the companions," says Andrea, a 22-year-old Bolivian migrant, one of the youngest members of the organization. Despite not living in the neighborhood anymore, she continues to militate and collaborate. In the Berta Cáceres dining room, the food corresponding to the families registered in both spaces is distributed. Later, at noon, they are delivered in bag format. It is not a ride, it is a race. They have to go fast because there is no time. Fast, because two monkeys of food in times of a pandemic are a treasure that must be taken care of and the guards are no more than five, of all ages, who push with their own arms the daily rations for 100 people.

Andrea Murga Gutiérrez is 22 years old and it has been six years since she arrived from Bolivia. Leaving your country was not a personal choice, but one of your parents. After a stage of adaptation, she felt in her place in Argentina. For a few months she has been participating in the Las guerreras del FOL dining room, as well as studying to be a nurse, working in a sewing workshop and making pastry. Anita Pouchard

Across the block two is Ana's home. In the eight years that she has participated in the organization, she has seen how many companions grew up as women and became empowered. Herself too. In her house, the first she has with a dining room and rooms for everyone after many years of renting a room to share, she re-analyzes moments of her life, from her childhood in Peru to her early life as a couple.

“I grew up with a macho mentality, I didn't realize it. Treat man like a king, pay attention to him ”. She is reluctant to reproduce what she saw at home, she does not want to relive what made her escape from her home country. Ana found her space of freedom in the movement, a space where as a gender delegate, she was able to accompany other colleagues for many years from her own experience. With a smile on her mouth and in her eyes, she remembers the shyness of some, and how today they take the floor, both in the organization and in their own homes. Migrant women like her, who for various reasons came to Argentina. Migrant women like her, who today are at the forefront of the pandemic in the village 1-11-14.

Susana huallpa

Susana is 49 years old and is one of the women who participate in the Berta Cáceres dining room. In mid-2001 she wanted to migrate from Bolivia, her homeland, to Argentina. But due to delays in the processing of her documents, she arrived in the spring of 2002, in full political, social and economic chaos. The pandemic is not the first crisis in the country.

-Harvest! Garbage collection! Harvest!

Her voice and that of her cleaning crewmates echo through the hallways of block one. Three days a week, between 8:00 a.m. and 10:30 a.m., they tour the area to collect garbage and disinfect the hallways. Before leaving, they prepare in the workshop for a room that they rent to a restaurant on Perito Moreno Avenue. The dress ritual includes work pants, protective gloves, chinstraps and glasses, at least for the sun, because they were not given any other type of protection despite providing an essential service that depends on the Government. Before they go out, they store alcohol and bleach to protect themselves from the virus and contamination.

Susana Huallpa, 48, arrived in Buenos Aires from Bolivia 18 ago. It is part of the organization's cleaning cooperative that, on behalf of the State, provides a neighborhood service collecting garbage and disinfecting the hallways of the village. During the pandemic, she became infected and spent time isolated in a hotel in the capital. Later, she returned to her family and resumed her job, which also includes communication work for the organization. Anita Pouchard

On June 5, after working with her crew, Susana returns to the dining room to do press work, her other activity in the organization. Record every detail, every effort of your colleagues and share it on social networks and WhatsApp groups. This day is important: a group of social organizations installed seven popular pots in the neighborhood to claim and make the emergency situation visible. The FOL participates in three of them. With leftover bags, donations and part of their own rations, they cook a hot dish for those who do not fit in the dining rooms.

In each pot, each person has a defined task. It's a greased mechanic: one distributes bread, another hangs up banners, the rest serve rations of food. Meanwhile, Susana moves between the neighbors and the narrow sidewalk to find the best angle to record her companions. Suddenly, she doesn't take any more photos: they warn her that she was infected by the virus. As a front-line worker, like many women in popular organizations. Susana will have to isolate herself in a hotel room made available by the State for minor patients. "The best thing that can happen to him," commented some present. Going to the Piñero Hospital, the one that corresponds to the neighborhood, is one of the biggest fears of the inhabitants of 1-11-14.

A few blocks further on, in the roundabout of Perito Moreno and Riestra, the FOL warriors stir what remains of their popular pots. One is already empty. With the cell phone they show the photos of an endless queue that formed an hour before. While they laugh and lift their belongings, they push their faithful monkey that, as well as the bags, will make them clumsily walk the sidewalks of Varela Avenue until they return to their base, to clean, disinfect and order everything for the next day.

On the way, the companions sit and rest. They draw conclusions from the activity, discuss what can be improved and what remains to be done. The older ones share experiences and ways of doing with the newer ones. Although another topic is on everyone's lips: the interventions of Horacio Rodríguez Larreta, head of the Government of the Autonomous City of Buenos Aires, at a press conference.

"He talked about the neighborhood and about us, but he said anything," says one. None of them saw the cleaning kits that Rodríguez Larreta mentioned in her speech arrive. They know perfectly well that the words before a camera differ from the realities in the neighborhood. The IFE charge, for example, continues to be a matter of concern within the community. According to the decree, migrants with at least two years of residence had the right to collect 10,000 pesos (about 115 euros) of the exceptional subsidy. However, many had their request turned down for no understandable reason. Each one shares their administrative experience, what they heard or know. Let's see if together they can solve the problems of their community.

Andrea says goodbye to her colleagues, leaves the dining room and walks a few blocks to the 50 stop, which is at the door of the Piñero hospital. She divides her time between studying, activism, the sewing workshop and participating as a delegate of the organization in the Migrar es no Delito campaign. Before the group arrives, he tells that he migrated to Argentina as a teenager, by decision of his family. He didn't know much about the country when he arrived. Her father, who already lived in Buenos Aires, assured her that it was like anywhere in the world, where "there are good people and bad people." And she decided she wanted to be one of the first.

This project was supported by the Pulitzer Center and Revista Anfibia.

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Source: elparis

All news articles on 2020-08-27

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