They couldn’t prevent my mother from winning thirteen elections. However, the men didn’t give up.
“Elena needs to know what it’s like to work,” commented Don Isaac. “That crazy lady manipulates others because she has nothing else to do,” added Don Luis.
“She’s a big kurveh,” continued Don Samuel. “What she needs is a good ‘potz’ (dick),” concluded Don José.
The latest aggression was to ruin her cultural activities. Since they shared the same community center, the card players would sabotage her cultural events.
Despite begging for silence, the woman had to endure a Chopin concert amidst the shouts of fellow countrymen demanding cards, a drink, or to be paid for the last poker game.
Nothing would intimidate her. She told me they called her a whore because they didn’t know what to do with her ideas. Through enduring humiliations, I learned to respect her and realized how unfair it had been for Elena not to study and how the system worked against women.
I became aware that they had a liberation agenda, but I struggled to understand why my mother couldn’t break free from her women’s ghetto and look at a more serious oppression happening under her own roof.