“One, two. I count the women I pass on Avenida Insurgentes as I walk to the roundabout. I also pay attention to the men, but that count is different, more rushed. There are lots of them, and to keep up, I have to skip over some numbers, counting in twos or threes. One–three–six–eight. Since I turned off Milán Street to here, I’ve seen so many (it’s impossible to keep the mental count) men who are alone; the women, on the other hand, are in pairs or in groups. Grandmother, mother, daughter. Two friends. Very few walk alone: three, if I include myself.
I know that when I arrive at the roundabout it’ll be different: there will be women, women smiling everywhere, an incredible and immense majority of women, and among them I’ll feel completely safe . . . but for now, I need to cover a few more streets.”
On August 16, women in Mexico City marched in protest of the impunity enjoyed by perpetrators of violence against women, the complicity of the government and law enforcement, and the fear they feel daily due to all of this. A writer named Sandra Barba attended the march and wrote an excellent crónica of her experience for Letras Libres, explaining how and why the women are coming together in solidarity in the streets of the capital. I got to translate this essay for World Literature Today‘s blog, and I’m very glad to be able to bring Sandra’s words to more readers.
I translate literature because I believe in it—I believe in the power of language—I believe that we desperately want to communicate with each other through language, in spite of language, across and beyond language. And I know that as a translator I can do my small part to make that happen. But literary translation often doesn’t feel as immediately important as, say, the work that human rights activists and immigration lawyers and civil rights organizations are doing. That’s why this project felt special to me. Translating this essay felt immediate and powerful; it feels like, perhaps, I’m helping people understand something that’s happening now, helping people see the women who are fighting for good now. I’m grateful for the feeling, and for these women, and for anyone who reads Sandra’s essay—in English or in Spanish.
Read “We Will Not Let Each Other Go” here. You can read it in the original Spanish here.
“Years ago the man got married and years ago the man became unhappy in his marriage. The man lives in Buenos Aires and he passes his time, or tries to make time pass, thinking about the Aztec Empire . . .”