The women on the front lines of Mexico's COVID-19 crisis
Doctors, nurses, police officers, telephone operators, vendors, factory workers and photojournalists. These are just some of the women who put their own health on the line each day to help others during the Coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic. For them, staying home is not an option. Yet these women are more likely than their male peers to experience precarious wages, have no social security, and be discriminated against or even attacked.
The COVID-19 crisis is a reminder of the essential contributions of women at every level of society. For this reason, as part of the work of UN Women in the framework of the EU-UN Spotlight Initiative and in coordination with the Government of Mexico, we share the stories of eight brave Mexican women who represent just some of Mexico’s many pandemic heroines.
Illustrations by Adan Vega
Brenda Abad
Nurse
On her first day working for a public hospital in the State of Mexico, Brenda Abad was assigned a role in respiratory screening, the Ministry of Health’s protocol to detect those infected by the COVID-19 virus.
Ms. Abad is one of almost 500,000 nurses in Mexico with a technical or specialized degree – 79 per cent of whom are women.
During 12-hour night shifts, three nights a week, Ms. Abad wears extensive protective gear to check on patients who arrive at the hospital with symptoms of the virus. "At the beginning I was very scared to catch it and go on spreading it," she says, "but in the end you have to do your job and you are qualified to do it."
Suspected cases are referred to specialized hospitals for admission or testing but as the epidemic progresses, finding a bed for these patients is increasingly difficult. Worse still, the State of Mexico has the second highest number of cases in the country.
Ms. Abad, 25, is the sole provider for her 6-year-old son and her elderly grandmother. She is forced to avoid hugging them both for fear of infecting them.
She says that walking the streets in her white uniform was never a problem before, but this changed after a state of emergency was declared. Ms. Abad was travelling from Coyotepec to her night shift at the hospital when a bus driver refused to let her board. Another time, she was wearing an N95 mask while waiting for the bus when some boys drove past and abused her. "I think they were drunk and from their car they yelled at me, 'You bring the COVID!' and spat at me," says Ms. Abad. “When I realized what had happened, I wanted to cry.”
Reports of assaults on nurses have risen in Mexico during the health emergency. The National Council to Prevent Discrimination (CONAPRED) reported that between March 19 and May 19, 288 complaints related to COVID-19 were filed. Fifteen were filed by nursing personnel, 19 by doctors and 35 by workers in health centres.
Despite the difficulties, Ms. Abad believes that fighting the pandemic has presented an opportunity to learn new skills and that the situation has made her value her colleagues even more. “I chose this profession to contribute to and change the lives of many people. If I had another opportunity to choose, I would do it again,” she says.
Original text by Eugenia Coppel
Dr. Ana Gabriela Mena Rodríguez
Doctor
Dr. Ana Gabriela Mena Rodríguez began following the COVID-19 outbreak in early January. As Coordinator of Epidemiological Emergencies and Disasters in the Jalisco Ministry of Health, she made monitoring information a priority from Day One.
"We entered a state of alert on January 22, when the first suspected cases were registered in the state,” says the 40-year-old doctor. When the virus’s arrival in Jalisco was confirmed on March 11, Dr. Mena Rodríguez had already been promoted to her current position as head of the Office of the General Directorate for Prevention and Promotion of Health. Today, she has 75 people in her charge.
Dr. Mena Rodríguez says her work has become "more strenuous" both physically and mentally since the pandemic began. As the mother of a 10-year-old boy, she struggles to balance family responsibilities but says she draws great satisfaction from contributing to the fight to end the pandemic.
In fact, Jalisco is one of the states with the lowest rates of infection because preventative measures were taken so swiftly. By 25 May, the federal government had recorded 1,180 cases and 107 deaths in a state with 8.3 million inhabitants.
Although the majority of high-ranking positions in the Jalisco Ministry of Health are held by men, Dr. Mena Rodríguez believes that this is changing. She has been promoted twice since the end of 2018. Her promotion during the current health emergency is a tribute to her 15 years of dedicated service to Jalisco residents.
Original text by Eugenia Coppel
Julia*
Factory Worker
Julia* describes the first time she heard about Coronavirus as "super apocalyptic". Even so, she didn’t realize just how much her life was about to change.
Julia works in a factory that makes the tubes that connect to respirators, a critical life-saving piece of equipment in the battle against Coronavirus. “There are two hoses, one green and one transparent… We put a filter on one that connects to the machine and at the end we put the cannula, which is the part that goes in the nose,” she says.
Although she is prone to developing asthma – considered a risk factor for COVID-19 complications – Julia continues to go to work each day. She doesn’t know how many lives she has saved, but she’s been told that the Juárez plant where she works is the main supplier for Mexico.
The socioeconomic effects of the pandemic are serious for everyone, but women have been especially hard hit. Julia says that they have had to cover many extra hours to meet the increased demand for respirators. “This week, almost everyone complained because we worked so much overtime and were not paid,” she says. The company told them that they could stay home if they wanted, but that they would not receive any pay after 30 days.
Women earn less than men overall and are more likely to work precarious or casual jobs, limiting their access to security such as health insurance, unemployment benefits and other social protections.
“I like to believe that I am doing something for other people's lives, but it scares me,” says Julia. “My mom is asthmatic... If I get her sick, I don't know if she is going to make it. I don't know if I could forgive myself. Is it really worth exposing her to that risk for the minimum wage?”
*Name has been changed to protect privacy.
Original text by Ciela Ávila.
Linda
Cashier
Linda spends only one night a week with her children. For almost four years, she has spent every other evening from 10pm to 6am standing in front of a cash register. A single mother, she works in a 24-hour supermarket in Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua to support her family.
Before the pandemic, she would walk home from work to prepare breakfast for her kids. “I would come and wake them, clean them up, get them in their uniforms,” she says. By 7am, they were at school and she would sleep for five hours before doing domestic work or chores.
Now that schools have closed to prevent the spread of the virus, however, her two shifts have grown to three -- she must also act as teacher for her children.
Linda’s “third shift” is one of the invisible burdens that more heavily impacts upon women than men during the pandemic. Women are far more likely to be primary care givers and many are now left to care for children during the day, when kids would normally attend school. In addition, women are more frequently responsible for children’s education, performing domestic work, and organizing and running the household.
Because cashiers are essential workers, Linda has no choice but to keep working. “It is scary to continue working because one does not know which client could have symptoms,” she says. “You have their money in your hands and you don't know [who could be infected]. I go to work and ask God to keep me healthy because I must support my children. A mom is everything."
Original text by Ciela Ávila
Jessica Natividad Torres Barrera
Photojournalist
Before leaving home, Jessica Natividad Torres Barrera puts on a mask and plastic gloves, packs a homemade sanitizer and, as always, grabs her camera.
Ms. Torres Barrera is a photojournalist for the newspaper ‘El Sur de Guerrero’. The only woman among the newspaper's four photojournalists, she spends six days a week reporting from the front lines of the fight against COVID-19. She mainly works in the General Hospital Raymundo Abarca Alarcón, a clinic of the Mexican Institute of Social Security (IMSS), the Institute of Security and Social Services of State Workers (ISSSTE) and private institutions.
Working in a hospital environment worries her. “You should tell the story, not become the story,” she says.
Despite the risks, Ms. Torres Barrera is one of hundreds of women journalists in Mexico who see it as their duty to document what is happening in health centres across the country and to keep the public informed.
Original text by Scarlett Arias
Violeta Castillo
Police Officer
Violeta Castillo is one of the highest-ranking female police officers in the Jalisco Public Security Secretariat. As Head of Operational Planning, her most recent mission has been to oversee the ‘Violet Code’, a new mechanism to prevent gender-based violence during lockdown.
Ms. Castillo explains that the system streamlines the process for authorities to deal with calls from women experiencing violence. When dialing 911, women just need to say they are "Code Violet" to activate the protocol. Then, municipal and state police immediately deploy a specialized team to the house.
"The police have to have an awareness [of gender-based violence]," says the chief commissioner. “In cases of violence or abuse, we try to ensure that the majority of the first responders are women… That facilitates the flow of information, which is essential to any kind of investigation."
Violence against women in the home has increased during lockdown globally. According to the National Shelter Network, calls for help in Mexico increased by 80 per cent during the first month of lockdown. In March, the Executive Secretariat of the National Public Security System (SESNSP) reported 115,614 calls for help to 911 for violence against women, which represented an increase of 22.3 per cent compared to February.
Though she is at the top of her field, it has not been an easy road for Ms. Castillo. When she entered the police academy after studying and practicing law, she was one of just three women in a group of 35.
"It has been a great challenge to gain credibility, especially from men," she says. She hears the same questions over and over: "How is a woman going to come and tell me what to do? What does she know about security?” But Castillo is clear. "I have learned through experience. Little by little, you create space for yourself," she says.
Original text by Eugenia Coppel
Diana Macías Santos
Psychologist
Diana Macías Santos speaks softly and calmly - it’s part of her job. Ms. Santos works for the Women and Family Line, a hotline that assists women who are experiencing violence. Her work has tripled over the past weeks as lockdowns and travel restrictions have left women trapped at home with their abusers.
“We know that a case is more serious when women change the conversation, a sign that they are unable to speak,” she says.
A psychologist based in Mexico City, Ms. Santos has been working for the CDMX Citizen Council for Security and Justice’s Woman and Family Line for seven years. She’s part of a team of 102 psychologists and 85 lawyers who work around the clock to ensure help is available 24 hours a day. Together, they answer hundreds of calls each day from women reporting psychological, sexual and physical violence. In March 2020, when lockdown began, calls rose 70 per cent when compared to the same month the previous year.
A few days ago, she helped a 25-year-old survivor of violence and her two young children escape violence. “Many women will tolerate violence toward themselves, but when the attacker touches their children, they will decide to report,” says Ms. Santos. “We went to a Justice Centre for Women in Iztapalapa and they directed her to a shelter because she had no support networks in the city. She was there for several days until she could be transferred to Oaxaca with a family member.”
“At this moment, many women are with their aggressor all the time and they do not have support networks," she explains.
Ms. Santos knows that for those experiencing violence, reporting is not easy. "Reporting a criminal who stole your bag is not the same as reporting a partner that you chose at some point, who has now become your worst enemy," she says. In Mexico, 43.9 per cent of women have experienced violence from a current or past partner.
In Mexico City, Locatel and 911 calls to report violence are channelled to the Women and Family Line. UN Women, the Ministry of the Interior and the National Commission to Prevent and Eradicate Violence against Women (Conavim) have also launched a campaign at a federal level to share information on violence against girls and women, and publicize the support and services available.
Spotlight Initiative launched #NoEstásSola (you are not alone) in Mexico, a video to make at-risk women aware of the organizations that can help them.
"What I like the most [about my work] is being able to support women and accompany them to make a complaint,” says Ms. Santos. The biggest reward is when I see their faces and they say, 'thank you, I already feel more secure’.”
Original text by Cristina Salmerón
Martha Leyva Reyes
Vendor
Martha Leyva Reyes inherited her chilate recipe from her mother. Today, it’s her livelihood – selling the beverage of cocoa, rice, cinnamon and sugar seeds at the markets in Chilpancingo is her only income.
"The government tells us 'stay home,' but they don't tell us to stop buying food," she says. As an informal merchant, Ms. Reyes does not have insurance or social security. She has little choice but to continue making and selling chilate. These days, business is slow, and she pours almost 50 per cent of what she makes down the drain.
"Wow, it has been a very drastic change… Because people don't go out, they don't buy from you. You are going bankrupt and your debt is accumulating. You feel like you are not going to keep it together," says Ms. Reyes.
"I’m afraid but unfortunately, we are a very poor state. Here, we all work and live with each other.”
Aside from earning less money than men, women are more likely to have short-term, precarious and informal work. Economic support for women and girls is essential for sustainable development and COVID-19 recovery, as well as the achievement of the Sustainable Development Goals.
Original text by Scarlett Arias