top of page
Image by NASA
Writer's pictureAnnaflavia Tarullo

A Minute, or a Lifetime, of Uproar.

Updated: Jan 23

Giulia Cecchettin's funeral took place on Tuesday, December 5th. An estimated ten thousand people gathered in Padova to mourn yet another victim of gender-based violence.

Abuse.

Destructive obsession.

Femicide.


Her boyfriend was perceived as the typical "good guy" who could never dare to harm anyone. Yet, on the night of the 11th of November, he dared to assault his 22-year old girlfriend, force her into his car, and drive away to the place where her life would end.


"He could never harm anyone", yet he stabbed his girlfriend repeatedly, until her last breaths.


Giulia would have graduated in biomedical engineering only a few days later, to then pursue her passion in design and cartooning in Reggio Emilia. Her boyfriend still needed to complete his studies, and could not come to terms with the fact that she would leave him to chase her dreams. Her intrinsic freedom.


"Giulia was only mine, and she could not be anyone else's."


These were some of the first words that Filippo Turetta pronounced after being arrested for his girlfriend's murder. These are the words that are used too often by too many men who cannot acknowledge women's prerogative to free will.


From January 1st until November 19th of this year, 106 women have been murdered in Italy. 87 of them were killed in the context of their private sphere. 55 of them were killed by their intimate partner or ex partner. To better place these numbers into perspective, one woman is killed every 72 hours in Italy by someone close to them. Usually, the murderer is a partner or ex partner.


Many tend to compare these numbers to total populations, finding refuge in thinking that only a small fraction of women are victims of gender-based violence. Yet, I would like to ask them how it would feel if it was their daughters, sisters, mothers, or friends.


 

Femicide is the deliberate killing of women and girls because of their gender. It is also one of the most despicable expressions of patriarchal norms. Norms that begin to reveal themselves through apparently minute and innocuous actions.


Imagine a pyramid.


At the bottom, there are women whose bodies are continuously objectified, little girls who are taught to scream if their intimate parts are touched by older men. There are also men who make inappropriate "locker room" jokes about women's figure, men who listen and laugh in validation, men who support hierarchical gender roles and sexist stereotypes.


"She's asking for it dressed like that", "A women's place is in the kitchen", "Don't be so sensitive". And to a woman's angry response, "It was just a joke, calm down".


This is gaslighting. This is internalised misogyny.


Towards the middle of the pyramid, there are women being catcalled on a daily basis, women who are abused verbally by their intimate partners or bosses, women who are threatened if they dare to misbehave.


As we reach the top of the pyramid, there are women and girls who are physically and emotionally abused, women and girls who are sexually assaulted by strangers, friends, family members, or intimate partners. There are women and girls that are raped, treated like objects whose sole purpose is that of pleasing the male ego and perverse desire. There are also men who choose to stand by this violence, without caring enough to confront their friends' or colleagues' detestable behaviour.


This is rape culture.


A culture in which rape and abuse are justified not only through heinous jokes and comments, but also through the silence of men who think they are better than that. Yet, if they really were better than that, why won't they speak up?


Imagine a pyramid, whose looming peak reflects the limits of misogyny, sexism, patriarchy. This peak is the cold-blooded murder of women and girls perceived as possessions, likely by men whom they once trusted, held hands with, loved.


Once again, I ask. How would it feel if one of the women in this pyramid were your daughters, sisters, mothers, or friends?



"For Giulia, for all gender victims, we will make nothing but noise."

- Elena Cecchettin, Giulia's sister.


I remember not being able to leave my house without my mother telling me to never accept a lift from a stranger, telling me to enter a store if I felt like someone was following me, telling me to come back home early to avoid walking a lone at night.


This is internalised fear.


As a young girl, I was taught not to smile at male strangers or accept gifts from them. Whether it be a hand-picked flower or candy. The one time I smiled at a man on a crowded bus, thinking I was being polite, he started following me until I pretended to call the police.


I have never been sexually assaulted, but I know that it could happen to me any time I leave my house. At night I walk, turn back. Hold my keys and take off my earphones. In case it is my turn. Because in 2021, almost one in three women across the globe have experienced gender-based violence. Because, sadly, all of my female friends have experienced some form of sexual harassment.


Parents teach their daughters to cover up to avoid getting violated. But how well are sons taught to never touch a girl without her consent?


Mothers beg their daughters to let them know if their partners are violent towards them. But how well are sons taught to always treat their girlfriends with respect?


Girls text their friends when they reach home to let them know they are safe. But how often do boys stand up to other boys who make one too many misogynist comments?


"Not all men" is not an acceptable defence. It's merely an excuse to avoid examining deeply rooted values of toxic masculinity.


 

Fight for your wings, those wings that cut me off. Fight for them, so that they can be free to fly higher than me. Fight so they can scream louder than me. So that they can live without fear, mother, just like I lived.

Mum, don’t cry my ashes. If tomorrow it’s me, if I don’t come back tomorrow, mother, destroy everything. If it’s my turn tomorrow, I want to be the last.


- Final verses from a poem written in 2011 by Cristina Torre Cáceres in homage to all the victims of femicide in Latin America.


141 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Comentários


bottom of page