‘What Happened to Belén’? Her Criminalized Abortion Catalyzed a Women’s Rights Movement in Argentina.

In March 2014, a 25-year-old woman went to the hospital in Tucumán, Argentina, for abdominal pain. The woman, who would later assume the pseudonym Belén, was surprised to miscarry after arriving at the hospital: She hadn’t realized she’d been pregnant. Soon, her surprise turned to terror. The hospital’s medical staff called in the police, and when Belén woke up, she was confronted with the sight of a policeman inspecting her vagina. A male nurse shoved a dead fetus in her face. “Look what you did, bitch,” he said.

Though Belén’s story was widely reported across Argentina (and ultimately the world), journalist and activist Ana Elena Correa was the first to report that quote in her new book, What Happened to Belén: The Unjust Imprisonment that Sparked a Women’s Rights Movement, which tells Belén’s story, and that of the broader feminist movement that helped to make abortion legal in Argentina. 

After her unexpected miscarriage, Belén was immediately incarcerated and subsequently convicted of murder for having an abortion—despite the fact that she had had a miscarriage, rather than an abortion, and that at the time of the miscarriage, she was only 22 weeks pregnant. (The nurse’s scare-mongering fetus wasn’t hers.) With the help of feminist lawyers, journalists, and activists, Belén was exonerated, and her story incited a seismic shift in Argentina’s understanding of abortion, leading first to social media campaigns and protest marches as part of the movement known as #NiUnaMenos (“not one [woman] less”), and finally to the legalization of abortion in December 2020.

It is impossible to read What Happened to Belén (translated by Julia Sanches) without thinking of the precarious status of legal abortion—and all reproductive healthcare—in the U.S. We can take lessons from the success of the women’s movement in Argentina, but as in the United States, the right to abortion remains uncertain there: Though Correa concludes her book with the triumph of legalization, the recent election of right-wing President Javier Milei, who has called abortion “murder,” has once again threatened the legal rights of pregnant people in the country.

I corresponded with Correa via email, to allow her to translate her responses to my questions from Spanish to English. We talked about the women’s movement in Argentina, the criminalization of healthcare, the parallels between abortion laws in Argentina and the United States, and more. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Can you tell me a little about the history of abortion in Argentina?

Argentina, like almost all Latin American countries (except Uruguay), had regressive legislation that criminalized women who had abortions, even those who did so to save their lives. Although, in theory, there were circumstances under which abortion was permitted, in practice, it was impossible to do so legally. It was only in December 2020, after many demands and mobilizations, and with the precedent of the massive #NiUnaMenos march in 2015, that abortion was legalized.

What drew you to telling Belén’s story?

Belén’s story always impacted me deeply, both because of the particular case and because of its symbolic significance: She chose to live in hiding to avoid facing a society that had condemned her, even though the justice system had already set her free. On the other hand, I was also struck by the fact that her case was mentioned during the first legislative debate on abortion in 2018, and yet many legislators still claimed that there had never been women imprisoned for having an abortion.

That’s incredible, because in that debate, Belén’s lawyer stated that 534 women had been prosecuted for abortion in Tucumán province since 2000.

Since these cases always involved very poor women, very few people knew about them. Only those who investigated or followed the issue, or were victims themselves, were aware. That’s why, in 2018, some were so insistent in saying that there were no women imprisoned for abortion. Few knew what was really happening to the most disadvantaged women.

You write about the role of class in the book a great deal. We know that, in any country, people with access to money also have greater access to abortion. How did Belén’s relative poverty affect her treatment by health professionals and law enforcement?

The data here is overwhelming: In the province of Tucumán, spontaneous abortions [i.e., miscarriages] were criminally reported only in public hospitals, never in private clinics—we’re talking about something that happened at least until 2018. And we know that this is the case worldwide; while illegal abortion affects all women, the poorest also pay with humiliation, imprisonment, or death.

The criminalization of abortion is a way of telling women: You are not free.

The Supreme Court of Tucumán focused on the importance of privacy in doctor-patient confidentiality when they dismissed Belén’s case. What role does privacy play throughout this story?

Medical confidentiality is an individual right. There is a very important ruling by the Argentine Supreme Court, the Baldivieso ruling, which clearly states that people cannot be forced to choose between their freedom and their life. This right is often forgotten when, in the media and now on social networks, there is talk about people’s medical records and diagnoses. If people lose their freedom in their most private sphere, they lose their freedom in general. The criminalization of abortion is a way of telling women: You are not free, we will intrude into your most absolute privacy to ensure you do what “we” decide.

You write that the media in Tucumán had rarely (if ever) written the word “abortion.”. 

Throughout Argentina until 2018, the word “abortion” was almost never spoken in the mainstream media, except in very rare cases. It was incredibly liberating when we managed to get people to talk about it; suddenly, grandmothers began telling their granddaughters about what they themselves had gone through, and the word was no longer spoken in hushed tones. The media plays a crucial role in shaping our narratives. At the time, they were complicit in the “prohibition” of discussing abortion. 

By the end of your book, Belén is a feminist and proud of the role she played in this story, despite feeling a lot of shame after her initial arrest.  How important do you think overcoming shame is in feminist politics?

I am convinced that every woman who discovers the rights she has and finds the strength to fight for them feels better and more empowered. It’s a difficult process when you’re surrounded by authoritarian environments, which is why women’s networks are so important—because it’s very hard to break free on your own.

I think the most powerful thing that happened was that the protest mobilizations, the widespread use of the green scarf [associated with the reproductive rights movement], and the demonstrations brought the shame of women who had had clandestine abortions and hadn’t dared to speak about it out of the closet. That includes stories of women who had died from abortions and those whose stories had remained hidden within their families. What we called the “green wave” changed perceptions and shed light on so many hidden stories.

Belén reminded me of Savita Halappanavar, who died in Ireland in 2012 after her request for an abortion to complete an extended miscarriage was denied. What role do these figureheads play in protest movements to legalize abortion?

These particular stories help people become aware of the pain and injustices. In Argentina, we also had the case of Ana Acevedo, a woman who had cancer and was pregnant. She was not allowed to access an abortion and died, leaving her children orphaned. Personal cases help break the narrative that anti-rights groups aim to establish. 

Is there a downside to focusing so much on these specific victims?

In Argentina, the case of Belén was critical, but it was understood that it was not an isolated case. There were also cases of girls who were forced to become mothers because they were not allowed to have an abortion. I believe it is important to tell these stories; sometimes narratives are the only way to raise awareness—as long as the victim agrees, of course.

One of the most moving aspects of the book is your depiction of the community of feminists who supported Belén and pushed to legalize abortion. How important is community in the feminist movements you’ve witnessed and participated in, including #NiUnaMenos?

#NiUnaMenos was an incredible experience, both because of what it meant at the time in Argentina and because I witnessed the risk that still comes with raising one’s voice for women’s rights. Without the mobilization of 2015, the legislative debate of abortion in 2018 and its eventual legalization in 2020 would not have been possible. 

But this can come with significant costs for women. For both the #NiUnaMenos march and the legalization of abortion, we managed to amplify our demands through social media, for example. Since Elon Musk acquired Twitter/X, the lack of moderation has made women the targets of hate campaigns and fake news worldwide. Digital violence, along with the regressive and exclusionary policies we are experiencing under the current government of Javier Milei, are very exhausting for the women’s movement in Argentina. 

That’s why it’s so important that there is no further backtracking on women’s rights and civil rights in the United States. The world needs to move forward, not regress.

We need to include men in these debates. Women can be a fabulous and extraordinary force, but the benefits of our actions are for society as a whole.

You quote a 2016 manifesto that reads, “The way most of the media addresses this problem [of violence against women] has to change. Too often, victims are blamed for their fates … Deep down, the press fans the idea that ‘they brought it on themselves.’” How do these ideas about violence against women apply to the way people speak about abortion?

Before 2015, it was very common for the media, when talking about a femicide or a rape, to first investigate the victim’s behavior, which, according to those writing or editing the articles, was seen as somehow contributing to the crime. We managed to change that, but with abortion, it was much harder. Deciding to have an abortion is never an easy choice, and there was a collective imagination in which women were expected to pay for an unwanted pregnancy, even if it was the result of a rape or endangered their lives. Shifting that entire narrative was a significant effort. 

The current president of Argentina, Milei, and his entire team, both formal and informal, including Twitter users, are constantly fighting to overturn that logic. They are trying to blame women once more for their suffering, and for everything that happens. I trust that we will resist, but clearly, the onslaught continues.

How similar, or different, is the case of abortion in Argentina pre-2020 to the United States post-Dobbs?

It is striking to see the similarities and also the cycles of history. Here, we knew the background and details of Roe v. Wade by heart, and it was part of the debate. The absurdity of Dobbs and those who defend it is that it seemed that the idea of a democracy where women and men had the same rights was a settled issue in the United States. But we can see that some people have regressed centuries, like those who criticize Taylor Swift for not being married and having children today. These seem like debates from the 1800s. 

It is very important to keep in mind that we need to include men in these debates. It is obvious that our adversaries want to take away our rights, while our allies are those who believe in democratic, just countries with rights for all. Women can be a fabulous and extraordinary force, but the benefits of our actions are for society as a whole. It’s good to make this clear sometimes, so that it is not so easy for the other side to attack or subjugate us.