El Salvador / Impunity

Groping little girls is (not) a crime (in El Salvador)


Thursday, February 27, 2020
Valeria Guzmán

 

Hundreds of protesters gathered before the Isidro Menéndez Judicial Center demanding that magistrate Jaime Escalante be jailed for sexually abusing a little girl. Photo by Carlos Barrera
Hundreds of protesters gathered before the Isidro Menéndez Judicial Center demanding that magistrate Jaime Escalante be jailed for sexually abusing a little girl. Photo by Carlos Barrera

Over the past few years, El Salvador has become complacent. That’s not to say that things are going well. On the contrary: complacency has come only as a sense of resignation in the face of so many challenges.

Following its civil war, El Salvador has won, several times, the sad title of most homicidal country in the continent. We’re talking about a country with barely 6.5 million inhabitants that, on average, allows the death of two women at the hands of their partners every month – a country that ignores the statistics that speak of twelve sexual harassment complaints a day. Yet, in November, this conformist country so defeated by violence did not consent to the following: the conclusion provided by a criminal court which found that touching a ten year old girl’s genitals over her clothes does not constitute a crime.

For those of us born after the Peace Accords of 1992, protesting in the form of demonstrations has not ever been a way to address our civic discontent. We are barred, generationally, from these activities, given that we grew up with mothers who would count their dead relatives and who still recall the sound of bullets from the 80’s, when thousands of Salvadorans took to the streets to protest state repression.

With the traumas of war still unresolved, those born in the post-war state, and especially those from working class neighborhoods, have learned to keep quiet. We learned this primarily from the gangs, whose self-imposed rule is written on the streets and passages of countless communities under their control: 'Ver – to see, Oir – to hear, Y Callar–- to keep quiet' is their mandate. In general, that mandate is obeyed. When Salvadoran families speak of the gangs they are never named as such. They'll speak of “los muchachos” – the boys. When someone within a community dares to talk about the latest extortion or beating from the boys, they'll tell the story only in whispers. Fear transforms complaints into murmurs and silences. In El Salvador, it is unthinkable to protest gang killings – by part of either the Mara Salvatrucha or Barrio 18 – in the form of a march or demonstration. Everyone knows that to voice your discontent could cost you your life.

Last November, the overall silence in the face of violence was broken, following the fissures caused by sexual assault. In the Salvadoran courts, only one in ten accusations of sexual abuse towards a minor will ever reach a sentencing. A total of 90 percent of sexual abuse accusations remain in impunity. On November 4, 2019, however, hundreds took to the streets united under one slogan: 'Groping a little girl is a crime'

The crowds started to seethe back in February, which is when Eduardo Escalante, a magistrate of the Judicial Authority, drove up to a working class neighbourhood and, according to the prosecution, groped the genitals of a ten year old girl who was playing by a tree with a neighbor. The man took off running when the girl’s family members became aware of the situation. He was identified by the car that he left behind. Escalante was then accused of sexually assaulting a minor, a crime that is punishable with eight to 12 years in jail.

Nevertheless, the judicial court that handled this case, composed of two magistrates, concluded in November that the accused magistrate’s conduct was, at most, an offense that may be punished with a fine equal to the ten to thirty days worth of salary.

This verdict poured down like hot water over people so used to ignoring other’s problems. This time, they burned. And so, this Central American country, which normally accepts all forms of violence, reached a boiling point. A certain businesswoman, owner of twenty-five taxi cabs, ordered all her drivers to write 'groping little girls is a crime' on the windshield of every car. Banners with the same slogan could be seen throughout the city, and the president echoed the call in his tweets. The feminist movement took it upon themselves to make sure that no politician could twist this matter to their own interests. There was an awakening, a mobilization, in defense of women and girls in a society that has been silent for decades.

When Katya Miranda, a nine-year-old girl, was raped and murdered in a family ranch back in 1999, there were no public protests to let her aggressors know: “We’re here, and we’re watching.” Her case became a symbol for the impunity that allows girls to be groped, raped, and killed in El Salvador. When Ana Chicas was murdered by her former partner in 2013, when she was eighteen-years-old, no one took to her defense, not even on the streets of her dusty district in Usulután in the east of the country. In 2016, when Karen and Andrea – twelve and fourteen years old at the time – disappeared in Cojutepeque, no efforts were made to look for them. Outside of the feminist movements and organizations, the topic of violence against women has served only as, if anything, a temporary hashtag.

The northern triangle of Central America is a region that has grown too used to violence. The indicator by which we measure the failure or success of public policies to curb that violence are the deaths we count each day. When we speak of violence, we generally think of gang related activities, clashes with police or clandestine cemeteries. Rarely do we include the rape, harassment, or humiliation experienced by women and girls.

We need only look at how the court that took on the case of magistrate Escalante does not consider – according to their verdict – that grabbing a ten-year-old girl by the shoulders and lowering a hand down to her genitals is an act of violence in and of itself. After all, no bullets, blood, or screams were involved, just a girl frozen in fear. Since Escalante’s actions were brief and “over the clothes,” the magistrates reached the conclusion that this does not constitute a lewd act. According to the law, an act can only be labelled as such when someone takes advantage of the “carelessness” of a victim in order to touch her while in a public space. This definition seems to place the responsibility on girls, ordering them to be careful and alert should a man in a suit approach them with the intention of groping them.

The protests that hit the streets in November are a small victory for a country so tolerant of harassment, aggression, and abuse. In 2018 alone, Salvadoran police received 4,304 complaints of sexual assault. The general consensus is that this number is but a fraction of the actual assaults. Even though these recent protests have opened the gates for a larger social movement to form and reclaim justice for women, our response is delayed.

No march will ever be enough to restore this ten-year-old girl’s trust to play in the streets again without a sense of fear. No protest will bring back Katya Miranda, Ana Elizabeth, Karen or Andrea. It’s been comforting, though, to know that, even for just a moment, this society that reeks of murdered victims, appeared to have some sense of justice.

logo-undefined
Support Independent Journalism in Central America
For the price of a coffee per month, help fund independent Central American journalism that monitors the powerful, exposes wrongdoing, and explains the most complex social phenomena, with the goal of building a better-informed public square.
Support Central American journalism.Cancel anytime.

Edificio Centro Colón, 5to Piso, Oficina 5-7, San José, Costa Rica.
El Faro is supported by:
logo_footer
logo_footer
logo_footer
logo_footer
logo_footer
FUNDACIÓN PERIÓDICA (San José, Costa Rica). All rights reserved. Copyright © 1998 - 2023. Founded on April 25, 1998.