Across the Americas, hundreds of thousands of people have gone missing due to past and present armed conflicts, organized crime, and crimes under international law perpetrated by authorities. In Mexico alone, according to official figures, over 116,000 individuals have been disappeared and remain unaccounted for.
In Mexico, 200 collectives of families searching for the disappeared are estimated. One of them is Hasta Encontrarte, formed in 2021 in the state of Guanajauato. This collective gather 86 families, 99% of their members are women. The collective is dedicated to the tireless work of searching for their loved ones through independent search brigades. Their efforts have resulted in the location of 23 clandestine graves and the discovery of 203 missing persons. In addition to these direct actions, Hasta Encontrarte also engages in advocacy and dialogue with national authorities and international organizations. For its members, the collective not only represents a joint struggle, but also a space of sisterhood where they listen and accompany each other on the path of the search.
Verónica, Karla and Bibiana are spokespersons of Hasta Encontrarte. Following the disappearance of their family members, the lives of Veronica, Karla and Bibiana changed forever. With limited support from the Mexican government, they started searching for their loved ones, first on their own, and then together as part of the Hasta Encontrarte collective.
These women they took on the challenging roles that the authorities are supposed to fulfill — leading investigations and digging up bodies in exhausting and dangerous conditions. Despite navigating hardships, violence and threats, they have continued to be there for one another. Here, Karla, Veronica and Bibiana share the reality of what it’s like to search for your loved ones — and why the sisterhood is supporting them every step of the way.
Karla Martínez
Karla is looking for her brother, Juan Valentín Martínez Jiménez, who went missing on 18 February 2020. She spent a year searching for him with Mexico’s State Search Commission. Karla quickly learnt where to search and how to identify areas where bodies might be found.
Although an investigation file into my brother’s disappearance has been open for four years, nobody will look for him unless I do.
When I reported my brother missing, the authorities asked, “What did your brother do?” I was afraid to answer because I didn’t know if it would stop them from looking for him. I felt my situation would be misjudged if my brother had tattoos, smoked or drank.
Mexico’s State Search Commission stopped searching for my brother after a year, so I decided to do it myself. Together with three women, we went out searching for our loved ones. We didn’t know much about where we were going or why, but we went without fear, and with a desire to find them. That’s when we started to find our relatives.
The first time I pulled out a foot I was vomiting. The smell was strong. I thought I had to stay there for hours. I tried to familiarize myself with the smell, until I was no longer disgusted. Now finding and smelling a body doesn’t feel disgusting. It makes me feel as though we’ve done a good job and we have accomplished our goal.
Since I started searching, I have changed – I can’t smile, I find myself in a bad mood. I can’t live like that… If I stay home, I will feel sad. I am happiest in the field searching for those who have been disappeared. I want to find them — and I want to do it with dignity.
But I still find every search traumatic. When I get home, I take a bath, I close my eyes and I can’t stop seeing those images. These are things that mark you. I have lost a lot of weight due to stress and anxiety.
Searching for someone is dangerous. I have been chased and shot at. It’s terrifying to feel that the same people who took my brother could come for me too. I feel completely insecure and vulnerable wherever I am.
Although the authorities sometimes give me protection measures, I am aware that the authorities do not often recognize our work as human rights defenders, and that the measures are not sufficient for the risk we face and to guarantee our lives. Threats continue to persist.
At this point, though, I just want to find my brother.I have gone to workshops, organized my time and searched as much as I can. We have found 216 people, but my brother is not among them. I’m working, but I don’t have a result for me. I am happy for the 216 families who are resting, but it makes me angry to say, what about me?
I am grateful to be part of Hasta Encontrarte. There is a kind of sisterhood among all of us which lifts me up when I feel down.
Bibiana Mendoza
Bibiana is looking for her brother, Manuel Ojeda Negrete, who went missing on 8 January 2018. She has been threatened numerous times, but through the collective, she has found the power to carry on searching.
My brother disappeared in 2018. I started searching for him afew days afterwards, while I was pregnant. That’s when I realized that a threat to me was also a threat to my unborn child, as well as to the future of my other son.
After I started my search, I received threats, so I would visit the Prosecutor’s Office [to ask for protection]. It was there I met other women searching for their disappeared loves ones.
Becoming part of a collective in Mexican society feels revolutionary. If something happens to us that feels wrong, we seek to change things in our own way.
In 2020, we marched against the election of a new Head for the State Search Commission — a choice that was made without consulting us. We took to the streets and protested, despite the dangers we faced. The collective, for me, is like finally being able to see, and every memory I have of the community is an act of bravery.
I am grateful for this collective, because since I started my search, I have become stigmatized by the community. A neighbor asked our sons to stop playing together, while my circle of friends has reduced.
I have received many threats for searching for my brother too. I was summoned by the public prosecutor’s office and asked for my telephone number. I was subsequently harassed by agents of the criminal police, with photos, calls, messages and so on.
Every time I hang up the phone, I fear someone is going to come and wake me up in my house… every time a car comes to my house at night, I feel it is the last second of my life.
I have requested protection from the Mechanism for the Protection of Human Rights Defenders and Journalists, but I have only received a panic button which has not worked for a long time.
With every giant step we take, we see a new abyss and how nothing is enough to stop the disappearances from happening. Wanting to find my brother alive is my way of rebelling, of not accepting the discourse. It’s another way to defend my brother’s dignity.
Veronica Duran
Veronica is searching for her son, Iván Arturo Silva Durán, who went missing on 24 November 2019. She has been detained, lost her job and now suffers from anxiety and depression. However, the desire to find her son still burns bright.
When I filed the complaint about my son’s disappearance, the authorities asked: “What was your son doing? Was he partying? We should wait 72 hours.” I insisted a complaint was filed as I knew my son had been taken away in some vans.
Initially, [the authorities] would not let me look for him, they would not let me do anything. A year later, I went to the Prosecutor’s Office and I read the investigation file. I realized that they were not looking for my son… I was very angry. I had lost a year of searching, when they could have found him.
Once my sister gave me her car, I started searching for him every day. But I felt the absence of my whole family. I felt alone, but I had to keep looking for him.
I was invited to be part of the collective very quickly. Together, we protested the appointment of the head of the State Search Commission.
Unfortunately, the protest was met with violence and I was one of four women detained. When we were detained, I felt a mixture of courage and fear, but even more, a lot of pain, because a policeman took my son’s photo from me and trampled on it. I didn’t know where it went. It hurt me a lot, because it was not worth it. We weren’t hurting anyone. All we wanted was justice in some way. We wanted help searching for our relatives.
After I was detained, my employer gave me an ultimatum: stop searching for my son or quit my job. I refused to stop searching for him and 10 days later, my boss told me I wasn’t needed.
After I was fired, things fell apart. I couldn’t afford gasoline for my car. I couldn’t search for my son. For almost a year and a half, I went without electricity, water, sometimes without food. It was a hard year. I didn’t want to say to people, ‘I don’t have [money], I’m hungry, I don’t have gas.’
Nowadays, I have anxiety. I feel as though I have depression. I have high blood pressure and I am exhausted. I feel so much anguish and pain. It is a slow agony I am living
I no longer have the hope of finding my son alive, but I want to find him. I hope that before God takes me, I can return him to a Christian burial place. I want him to know I never stopped searching for him and that I love him with all my heart.
Background information
The case of the collective Hasta Encontrarte is an example of the experience of thousands of women searchers in the Americas. In the continent, the role of women in guaranteeing the rights of the disappeared has been crucial and inspiring. Their leading role can be observed from Canada to Patagonia. However, the search is fraught with risks, attacks and human rights violations. In recognition of the tireless struggle undertaken by women searchers in the Americas, Amnesty International joins in solidarity and action to the demands for justice through its #SearchWithoutFear campaign. As part of this campaign, Amnesty International also publishes the report Searching Without Fear: International Standards for the Protection of Women Searchers in the Americas. This document outlines the main risks faced by women searchers and the obligations of States to ensure an enabling and safe environment for them, including guaranteeing their protection and dignified life.
It was originally published in Spanish on Rolling Stones en Español