Being a mother in Venezuela

It’s Mother’s Day in Venezuela and I can’t help thinking about how all the mothers living on this land north of South America might be spending their day. Yes, I am thinking of all of them. Or at least that’s what I try to do.

I think of the mothers who were set apart by the necessary social distancing brought by the Covid-19, and the confinement that keeps many of these vulnerable women safe, whether due to their age or health condition. Being a click away sometimes is not enough, but we have each other and that is a privilege.

I think of those mothers who left us during the quarantine. Because grieving with your support group, at a time when you long for an eternal farewell, was no longer possible.

I think of those mothers who were separated from their sons and daughters because of this situation, without being sure of what is happening or what is going to happen. Facing complex psychological processes due to the nature of the action: Where is my baby? Will she be okay?

I think of the mothers who are enduring situations of violence and have nowhere to go and no means to file a complaint or defend themselves.

I think of them and their fear, how they summon strength with each breath at the sight of their aggressor. Of how the day to day is both relief and torment for them.

I think of the girls who assume or are about to assume a role that changes your life forever, that stops their dreams, aspirations and opportunities. I think of how we could have helped them with timely education, access to contraception, a law that decriminalizes the early termination of pregnancy, and more education for men on consent and responsibility.

I think of the mothers from across the country, in Zulia, Barinas, or the Orinoco Mining Arc; each of them living very different situations but with the common sign of cruelty and defenselessness. Without electricity and adequate food for them and their children; vulnerable to crime, sexual and labor slavery, and other kinds of violence.

I think of them and I feel frustrated for not being able to do more from my privilege than to write these lines.

I think of them and feel that this profound debt must be settled even if time passes by. That they will not be forgotten, that many of us here still want to work for all of them.