The act of femicide is the culmination of a long process of annihilation that sustains in the impunity and silence over the cases. With
Chicas muertas, Almada aims to rescue the hidden stories of the murdered young women and add them to the collective memory of the country. Actually, Almada starts her story by declaring her ignorance on why a woman could be killed for being a woman. She writes: ‘I had heard stories that, over time, made sense to me. Anecdotes that had not ended in the death of the woman, but had made her the object of misogyny, abuse, contempt’.
1 Spanish original: ‘había escuchado historias que, con el tiempo, fui hilvanando. Anécdotas que no habían terminado en la muerte de la mujer, pero que sí habían hecho de ella objeto de la misoginia, del abuso, del desprecio’; Chicas muertas, p. 18. In this way, she presents femicidal violence as a process that manifests first in the patriarchal mentality that paralyses girls and women with the belief that they are inferior to males. Girls and women are thus represented in the book as victims of hegemonic masculinity,
2 For a detailed account of the notion of ‘hegemonic masculinity’, see Robert W. Connell and James W. Messerschmidt, ‘Hegemonic Masculinity’, Gender and Society, 19.6 (2005), 829–59; Demetrakis Z. Demetriou, ‘Connell’s Concept of Hegemonic Masculinity: A Critique’, Theory and Society, 30.3 (2001), 337–61. which essentialises men’s power over women and relegates women to males’ desires and interests.
Hegemonic masculinity becomes institutional when, as pointed out in the previous section, relevant State forces neglect the families of the victims, leave the perpetrators free and discredit the victims. This situation is represented in
Chicas muertas when, for example, María Luisa’s family are left so abandoned by the relevant authorities that they look for the support of a tarot reader: ‘The Quevedos, after reporting their sister’s disappearance to the police and being answered as usual: wait, that she would surely have left with a boyfriend and that she was coming back, they decided to consult with a seer’.
3 Spanish original: ‘Los Quevedo, luego de denunciar en la policía la desaparición de su hermana y de que les respondieran lo de siempre: que esperaran, que seguro se habría ido con un noviecito y que ya iba a volver, decidieron consultar con una vidente’; Chicas muertas, p. 41. Sarita’s sister, in the privacy of her interview with Almada, confesses some information that did not appear in the court case: an official showed her a couple of bare bones and some dental pieces and made her sign a note that said that that was her sister’s body. Years later, a negative DNA test showed that that body was not Sarita’s: ‘there is another dead woman who nobody claims or whose family is still looking for her; that little bundle of bones that they buried with the name of Sarita’.
4 Spanish original: ‘hay otra mujer muerta a la que nadie reclama o a la que todavía su familia la sigue buscando; ese atadito de huesos que enterraron con el nombre de Sarita’; Chicas muertas, p. 128. By exposing the irregularities in the investigations of the many murders of girls and women in the area, the book reveals how corrupt legal dynamics sustain the negative approach to women to the detriment of their safety and wellbeing in rural Argentina. In this regard, the femicides in
Chicas muertas can be interpreted as a form of political violence.
Almada uses Susana Thénon’s poem to introduce the novel, indicating that the starting point for her investigation is that women and girls live trapped in silence and oblivion. The poem reproduces a dialogue between those who want to know and those who act as if nothing has happened: ‘that woman, why does she scream? / who knows / look at the pretty flowers / why does she scream? / hyacinths daisies / why? / why what? / why does that woman scream?’
5 Spanish original: ‘esa mujer ¿por qué grita? / andá a saber / mirá que flores bonitas / ¿por qué grita? / jacintos margaritas / ¿por qué? / ¿por qué qué? / ¿por qué grita esa mujer?’ This poem prefaces the book. The poem highlights a repressive rural environment that silences and normalises the derogatory treatment of women. Almada expresses her frustration over society’s complicity with the government in silencing the violence against and killings of women and girls in the area. Almada wonders: ‘Are parents not aware of it in a community that claims to be organised? […] Why are the different sectors of the population not able to raise their voice for more effective action?’
6 Spanish original: ‘¿Es que no hay conciencia de padres en una comunidad que pregona ser organizada? […] ¿Pero los distintos sectores de la población no son capaces de levantar la voz de protesta en procura de una acción más eficaz?’; Chicas muertas, p. 154. For Almada, society would become aware of the seriousness of the issue if the government engaged seriously with it by, for example, ensuring the education of the population on gender matters, providing proper resources and creating policies against violence against women and femicides. She said in an interview with
El País: ‘My mother was upset with these issues, but there was no political discourse around that’.
7 Spanish original: ‘Mi madre se indignaba con estas cuestiones, pero no había un discurso político alrededor de eso’; Víctor Núñez, ‘Selva Almada, la escritora rural que sale al mundo’, El País, 17 September 2015; http://cultura.elpais.com/cultura/2015/09/16/actualidad/1442421506_312787.html [accessed 22 November 2020]. Almada’s mother rebelled against the system that constrained women, but, the narrator tells us, there was always someone who ‘made signs for her to speak more quietly, pointing to the children and saying: be careful,
there are clothes hanging’.
8 Spanish original: ‘hacía señas para que hablara más bajo, la que nos señalaba a los niños diciendo: cuidado que hay ropa tendida’; Chicas muertas, p. 56. Cursive is mine. This is an idiom meaning that there were children around. In
Chicas muertas, violence against women continues to be mainly approached with shame and fear, addressed mainly by women ‘in a low voice, as if they were ashamed of the situation of the poor wretch or as if they were also afraid of the hitter’.
9 Spanish original: ‘en voz baja, como si las avergonzara la situación de la pobre desgraciada o como si ellas también le temieran al golpeador’; Chicas muertas, p. 56. This is because violence against women has become a taboo theme, and women suffer public shame and fear by declaring themselves victims of violence and at risk of being killed by their partners, ex-partners and the like: ‘I don’t remember any specific talk about gender-based violence or that my mother ever warned me about the subject specifically. But the theme was always present’.
10 Spanish original: ‘No recuerdo ninguna charla puntual sobre la violencia de género ni que mi madre me haya advertido alguna vez específicamente sobre el tema. Pero el tema siempre estaba presente’; Chicas muertas, p. 53. Rumours, idioms, double meanings and silence thus transmit a clandestine pedagogy for women to deal with males’ violent behaviour. This is part of a disciplinary normativity that dictates the proper conduct for women in the frame of self-protection and lack of trust in males. Almada explains:
Since we were girls we were taught that we should not talk to strangers and that we should protect ourselves from the Satyr. […] He could rape you if you were alone at odd hours or if you dared to go through neglected places.
11 Spanish original: ‘Desde chicas nos enseñaban que no debíamos hablar con extraños y que debíamos cuidarnos del Sátiro. […] Era el que podía violarte si andabas sola a deshora o si te aventurabas por sitios desolados’; Chicas muertas, p. 55. Taking care of themselves thus seemed to be an obligation for women only. There was no normativity that instructed males on how to treat girls and women.
In
Chicas muertas, violence nests within apparently idyllic families who, in reality, hide secrets and harbour resentment. Almada proposes an opposite vision of the family nucleus as a context that offers security to girls. In
Chicas muertas, all families, both idyllic and dysfunctional, are presented as hostile places and sources of silence and stereotypes. Almada explained this in an interview with Garrido: ‘In small towns everything is known but nobody takes responsibility. Either because they don’t want to get involved in others’ business or because they don’t want to take care of others’ problems because they have enough of their own’.
12 Spanish original: ‘En los pueblos chicos todo se sabe pero nadie se hace cargo. Bien por no avasallar, bien por no meterse en donde no los han llamado, bien por no hacerse cargo de otro problema porque bastante tienen con los suyos’; Chicas muertas, p. 55. Almada is therefore quite critical of the popular image of the Argentinean middle-class family, mainly built on the pillars of Catholicism: ‘broken families and single-parent families with a single mother in charge of everything are the most common ones. […] It seems to me that this is why I have a certain distrust of the idyllic image of the family’.
13 Spanish original: ‘son mucho más comunes las familias quebradas, destrozadas o las monoparentales con una madre soltera encargada de todo. […] Me parece que por eso tengo cierta desconfianza hacia esa imagen idílica de la familia’; Carmen Garrido, ‘Selva Almada’, Viaje a Ítaka, 8 December 2014; http://viajeaitaca.net/selva-almada/ [accessed 17 November 2020]. To Almada, Catholic morality is more of a problem than a solution because it promotes male power over women and children and can be used to excuse the shameful acts committed by men. She says: ‘They never told us that your husband, your father, your brother, your cousin, your neighbour, your grandfather, your teacher could rape you. A man in whom you put your trust’.
14 Spanish original: ‘Nunca nos dijeron que podía violarte tu marido, tu papá, tu hermano, tu primo, tu vecino, tu abuelo, tu maestro. Un varón en el que depositaras toda tu confianza’; Chicas muertas, p. 55. Almada therefore wonders: how can girls feel safe at home when male relatives can be their aggressors?
This approach is crucial in the investigation of the case of Andrea, in which there is an indication that she was a victim of paternal violence. The medium, known as ‘la Señora’, speculates that Andrea was subjected to verbal, physical or sexual abuse by her stepfather: ‘There were knives, made by him, throughout the house. […] But after the night of the crime one was missing. Maybe the same one used to stab Andrea’.
15 Spanish original: ‘Había cuchillos, hechos por él, en toda la casa. […] Pero luego de la noche del crimen faltaba uno. Tal vez el mismo que usaron para apuñalarla a Andrea’; Chicas muertas, pp. 121–22. Despite the evidence, the community took the mother’s calm towards her daughter’s killing as proof that she, not the stepfather, stabbed the girl after a fight. We learn that Gloria led the life of an automaton. She repeated the same story in each interrogation, ‘without skipping a point or a comma, as if reciting a script’.
16 Spanish original: ‘sin saltarse un punto ni una coma, como si recitara un libreto’; Chicas muertas, p. 121. She was deprived of feelings, and yet the townspeople took her resigned attitude as evidence that her daughter’s death did not move her. Almada reflects on the way that mothers are perceived in society: ‘We hope that the mother of a dead daughter will tear her hair out, cry in dismay, and shake her arm for revenge. We cannot stand her calmness. We do not forgive resignation’.
17 Spanish original: ‘De una madre con una hija muerta esperamos, al parecer, que se arranque los pelos, que llore desconsoladamente, que agite el brazo pidiendo venganza. No soportamos la calma. No perdonamos la resignación’; Chicas muertas, p. 120. The townspeople were expecting that Andrea’s parents would follow a traditional behaviour pattern that explicitly endorses a set of social norms for men as providers and for women as home and family carers. Therefore, Gloria was expected to perform her desperation and sorrow for the loss of her daughter in front of the community. Her differing behaviour raised suspicion among the townspeople. Later, we learn that Gloria was criticised for not taking any action to seek justice for her daughter, not going to a mass organised in her daughter’s memory and not urging the relevant authorities to solve her daughter’s case.
To Almada, Gloria’s mute reaction to her daughter’s assassination demonstrates her inner despair towards her husband’s violent conduct, with tragic consequences for the daughter. In Almada’s words, Gloria’s attitude was ‘a way to distract herself from the nightmare she was experiencing’.
18 Spanish original: ‘una manera de distraerse de la pesadilla que estaba viviendo’; Chicas muertas, p. 120. Almada implies that Gloria committed suicide, as the two women died on the same date: 16 November.
19 Spanish original: ‘Curiosamente las dos murieron en la misma fecha, un 16 de noviembre’; Chicas muertas, p. 121. However, this death is also approached briefly and without details.
Almada wonders about the most effective mechanisms that would help girls and women to liberate themselves from the repressive system. This is a controversial question because it would imply a challenge to the ideology that grants males power over women and girls. Any attempt to empower women, Almada says, must happen in the personal sphere first. Sarita Mundín’s sister referenced the start of this process in her comment to Sarita: ‘Never let anyone run over you. You have to assert yourself. Never let a guy put a finger on you. If they hit you once, they will always hit you’.
20 Spanish original: ‘Nunca te dejes atropellar por nadie. Vos tenés que hacerte valer. Nunca dejes que un tipo te ponga un dedo encima. Si te pegan una vez, te van a pegar siempre’; Chicas muertas, p. 57. This is a formal feminist claim for women to exercise their female power against male repression. Yet, the many cases of girls and women addressed in the book show the difficulty of making this a reality due to the lack of social support for the victims of gender-based violence. Particularly revealing is the account of the killing of Bety, a lady who hanged herself in a little shed at the back of her house:
The whole neighbourhood said that her husband hit her and that he knew how to hit her well because her marks were not visible. Nobody ever reported him. After her death, word spread that he had killed her and covered up everything by passing it off as a suicide. It could be. It could also be that she had hanged herself, fed up with the life she had.
21 Spanish original: ‘Todo el barrio decía que el marido le pegaba y que le sabía pegar bien porque no se le veían las marcas. Nadie lo denunció nunca. Luego de su muerte se corrió la voz de que él la había matado y había tapado todo haciéndolo pasar por un suicidio. Podía ser. También podía ser que ella se hubiera ahorcado, harta de la vida que tenía’; Chicas muertas, pp. 54–55.Bety’s story shows the extent to which violence against women and femicides are embedded and normalised in everyday life in rural Argentina. Male–female relationships are thus entrenched in a machista socio-legal space. For example, the neighbourhood commented that Bety’s husband had beaten her well because he had not left marks on her. This occurred because what happened within the family was – and still is in many places – perceived as a private issue of the couple. Thus, no one dared to interfere and denounce Bety’s husband for being violent with her. As with Gloria, there is an indication that Bety’s husband had killed her and passed her death off as a suicide. Thus, her death did not need to be investigated. Almada briefly reviews many other cases in Chicas muertas in which the husbands exercised coercive force over their wives, showing how normalised this type of conduct is in everyday life:
[M]y friend’s mother who didn’t wear makeup because my friend’s father wouldn’t let her. My mother’s colleague who gave her full salary to her husband every month to be administered. The one who could not see her family because her husband thought they were not worth it. The one who was not allowed to wear heels because they were for bitches.
22 Spanish original: ‘[L]a mamá de mi amiga que no se maquillaba porque su papá no la dejaba. La compañera de trabajo de mi madre que todos los meses le entregaba su sueldo completo al esposo para que se lo administrara. La que no podía ver a su familia porque al marido le parecían poca cosa. La que tenía prohibido usar zapatos de taco porque eso era de puta’; Chicas muertas, p. 56.This excerpt leads us to another crucial issue in the book: male control over women’s bodies and sexuality. This is because violence against women and femicides are often linked to sexual abuse and other attacks against the integrity of female bodies. Almada tells us about the case of Cachito: ‘he was jealous and very often he would get annoyed with his girlfriend because she put on makeup or wore tight clothes or he saw her talking to another boy’.
23 Spanish original: ‘era celoso y dos por tres la puteaba a su novia porque se pintaba o usaba ropa ajustada o la veía hablando con otro muchacho’; Chicas muertas, p. 55. This case is one of many in which the man exercises legitimate control over the woman, treating her as his property. I use the term ‘legitimate’ because males’ behaviour towards women is consented and normalised in rural Argentinean society.
The sexual objectification of girls in the rural setting is a crucial issue in the book. In this regard, Almada narrates her experience at the Villa Ángela carnival, where girls of 10 or 11 years old and even younger queued to enter the bathroom in the sight of men: ‘The girls, budding teenagers, dressed in little shorts and tight sleeveless t-shirts that pressed against the buttons of their teats that were already beginning to rise, tried little steps in the place, moving their wrists like the older girls’.
24 Spanish original: ‘Las nenas, adolescentes en ciernes, vestidas con shorcitos y musculosas que se aprietan contra los botones de sus tetas que ya empiezan a leudar, ensayan pasitos en el lugar, quebrando las muñecas como las chicas mayores’; Chicas muertas, pp. 84–85. These teenagers are described as objects of desire for men while simply queuing for the bathroom. From the men’s perspective, the girls were tempting their manhood.
Next, Almada narrates a terrifying scene in which a girl must defend herself from male sexual predators. She narrates the fight between a girl of about 12 years old, ‘morocha, flaquita’ (‘brunette, skinny’), and a group of boys: ‘I am struck by a still childish voice that shouts: he won’t catch me, what does he think, fucking nigga, fucking shit’.
25 Spanish original: ‘me llama la atención una voz todavía infantil que grita: vó a mí no me va a cogé, qué te pensá, negro puto, puto e’mierda’; Chicas muertas, p. 85. Young female bodies, Almada tells us, are perceived as sexual and productive subjects from whom males and others can make a profit. In this line, the impunity over the violent dynamics against women in the area relates to how female bodies and identities have become a site of struggle.
We said before how anti-femicide organisations, such as Ni Una Menos, have blamed neoliberalism for the structural poverty that leads many girls and women to join the sex industry. For many poor young women, sex work has become a way to earn a living. Such is the case with Sarita, who prostituted herself to support her son, her sick mother and her younger sister. María Luisa worked for Gómez, whose employees brought girls to him in exchange for money.
26 Chicas muertas, p. 76. Gómez, like other entrepreneurs in the area, uses his financial power to satisfy his sexual desire.
There are other anonymous sexual predators of girls in the book. Almada recounts the scene of a man who was eating with a 12-year-old girl at the bus terminal: ‘They were not father and daughter. […] That guy was paying in advance, with a quick meal, for what he would take next’.
27 Spanish original: ‘No eran padre e hija. […] Ese tipo estaba pagando por adelantado, con una comida al paso, lo que tomaría después’; Chicas muertas, pp. 76–77. The initially idyllic parent–child scene actually hides a fairly common scenario of child prostitution in impoverished settings.
28 See the chapter on Lydia Cacho, in which I review child sexual exploitation as a form of political violence. In this deprived environment, the sexual exploitation of girls works as another efficient weapon for males to exercise control over girls and women. Only a few females can find the mechanisms and strength to challenge the various coercive forces operating at the interpersonal, familial, social, legal and political levels.
Chicas muertas reveals not only the structural violence against women in rural Argentina, understood as a prelude to their femicides, which we approached above, but also how such violence continues in the irregularities in the investigations, the institutional silence over the victims, the impunity for the perpetrators and the abandonment of the victims’ families. In this regard, the narrative on violence perpetrated against anonymous people adheres inevitably to the testimonial novel tradition.
I asked at the beginning of the chapter: what does the impunity over femicide represent for the victims in 21st-century Argentina? Almada’s investigation of the murders of the three young women shows evidence that the repressive and corrupt mechanisms from Videla’s dictatorship are somehow still in force in the country. For example, the silence of the community concerning violence against women, sexual exploitation and femicide, as well as the legal impunity over these acts, can also be seen as a mechanism that perpetuates the inheritance of Videla’s repressive State apparatus. The book therefore attempts to locate itself within the corpus of testimonial and memory literature. However, we shall see that Almada does not fully succeed in this.