A Long Fight

Some people are calling this year the year of the woman, because we have decided to raise our voices to call out every abuse we suffer for being women. But women have always been calling out those abuses. Whether by pen and paper or by actions, women have long shown they have a dignity of their own that no one can take away.

Back in nineteenth century Galicia, times were bad for many, but especially for the rural poor. Between the battles with Napoleon's forces, and the disappearance of the monasteries that could be counted on to help feed the poor, the people in the villages must have felt that they were the last of the chain. Some faced injustices in their own, special way, especially one woman.

Bandoleros, highwaymen, had always existed in Spain, especially in the mountainous areas of Catalunya, Madrid, and Andalucía, but also in Galicia. The band my great-grandfather belonged to, that of Xan Quinto, has had its name spread far and wide by Ramón del Valle-Inclán, a writer of the Generación del 98, born just a few kilometers away from here, in Vilanova de Arousa. Another whose name has become the stuff of myth is Pepa a Loba.

In English, the name means Pepa the Wolf. There seems to have been an original woman from whose fame others are derived, because in many places in Spain there will be stories about her.  Little is known about her, but what is assumed to be true is a story of vengeance and fearlessness. Or, simply, a last, despairing push against a fate written by others.

Pepa was born in the province of Pontevedra in the early nineteenth century to an unmarried woman who lived in complete poverty. It was thought her father was the brother of the local shopkeeper who might have raped her mother. The mother, whose nickname was La Falucha, sent her daughter with her dog, Lueiro, to care for her aunt Dorinda's sheep. One day, the wolf attacked, and Pepa set her dog to it. Lueiro worried the wolf and killed it. From that event she was nicknamed A Loba, the wolf.  

Her mother shortly died, some say in childbirth after having been raped again. Pepa went to live with her aunt Dorinda, who saw an opportunity to garner favor with the shopkeeper, and sent her niece to him to be his mistress. The shopkeeper, however, grew fond of her as a daughter, and decided to educate her, and name her his heiress. The shopkeeper's brother, Pepa's father, saw he was being cheated of his inheritance, so he killed his brother and put the blame on Pepa. She was arrested and sentenced to life in prison. One day, she asks for a priest to come to her cell to receive her confession. He comes, she kills him, dresses in his clothes and escapes. Her next appearance is at her father's house, where she sets her dog on him and has him killed. Then, she heads for the hills.

This is the point where legend begins, the legend of a highwaywoman and her band that raid castles, palaces, and rectories, and waylay priests, rich merchants, and noblemen. The proceeds from those actions are shared with the poor peasants who give them shelter and food. She grew very feared in the area of the provinces Pontevedra and southern Coruña, where her name is still revered by the rural families. She was a feminine Robin Hood. 

Her end is not exactly known, however. That a woman with her name existed seems a reality, as there was a house in northern Lugo province that was in her name. Her name also figures on the register in the Mondoñedo prison, and in the women's prison of A Coruña. In this last prison is where the person with her name finally died. It's likely, because another woman described her meeting with Pepa a Loba to see if her conditions were bearable. That woman was Concepción Arenal.

Concepción Arenal was a Spanish feminist and prison reformer. She was born in Ferrol in 1820 and died 73 years later in Vigo. She was the first woman in Spain to attend university. It was at what is now known as Universidad Complutense, in Madrid. She first attended classes at the law school as an observer dressed in men's clothes. When she was discovered, she pressed to be allowed to attend. She aced the exams she was required to sit, and was admitted, but in solitary. She had to wait at the department door every morning for the concierge to take her to a room where she had to sit and wait for her professors to come and escort her to her classes, where she sat apart from the other students. In between classes, she was escorted back to the solitary room. She became a lawyer and married another lawyer, with whom she had two children. Nine years later, she became a widow, and her crusades began.

She did many crusades, all centered on helping the poor and those without a voice. She also fought for women to have a say in their own lives. She wrote many books, all focused on social justice. In 1864 she was given the job of visiting prisons to note the needs of the prison population, especially that of the imprisoned women. That was when she noted her visit to Pepa a Loba. 

One of her impassioned protests, however, was the double standards women of all economic levels faced, and their status as second-class citizens. She wrote, "It is a grave error...., to teach a woman that her only mission is that of wife and mother....The first thing a woman needs to assert is her personality, independently of her status, and persuade herself that, single, married, or widowed, she has rights to attend to, rights to claim, dignity that does not depend on anyone, a job to do and the idea that life is serious, and that if she treats life like a toy, she will undeniably become one." Concepción was telling women to get involved in their lives, and to become the captains of their own destiny.

That was well over a hundred years ago. Both those women, on opposite sides of the law and society, decided to take matters into their own hands. We, their descendants, should not take things for granted, and keep working so that some day, our great-granddaughters will be respected equally with the men, within society and the law. 

Marcha De Las Mujeres, Marchando

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