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Paula Núñez says that a year ago she miraculously avoided death. “I was praying at the edge of my bed and I felt a voice telling me: get up.” As she stood up and turned around, the 53-year-old woman saw the father of her four children ready to attack her from behind with a knife. After that, she decided to end a tortuous 34-year marriage. Stories of violence like this continue to be repeated among the women of the Garifuna ethnic group on the northern coasts of Honduras.
In seven towns, 400 of them form a kind of platoon to defend their lives and their rights. Free Butterflies is a female network that for 15 years has been strengthened to fight against gender violence within the Garifuna communities of Honduras, a country in which a woman dies violently every 21 hours, according to the NGO Center for the Rights of Women (CDM).
One of these deaths was what inspired Calixta Martínez to found the organization in 2008. Mariposas Libres was born in tribute to her sister Virginia, who died in a hospital due to irreversible problems with her organs after years of enduring beatings from her husband. “I grew up watching him mistreat her. I didn't want that to happen to others,” says Martínez, gazing into the sea of Tornabé, a coastal town with less than 3,000 inhabitants where fewer and fewer tourists arrive.
In territories like this, there live communities that came from Africa to Central America in the 18th century and are known as Garifunas. People who live between dirt alleys and unpainted walls in the province of Atlántida. Martínez no longer knows how many times women have had to lift women's bodies from the streets due to what they consider to be the indifference of the authorities. “The police here say that no one interferes between husband and wife,” explains the 50-year-old Afro leader.
![Calixta Martínez, general coordinator of Butterflies Libres.](https://imagenes.elpais.com/resizer/RTAqE6HkY4vYzi973YA6liC972E=/414x0/cloudfront-eu-central-1.images.arcpublishing.com/prisa/X4A6BMJKJ5BRJJ2TKRZ2DR24HQ.jpg)
She herself, like the majority in her town, was raised to endure abuse. “My own mother abused me since I was a child. She said that women had to endure,” she says, biting her lips. From a young age, she was aware that she did not want to follow that example. Years later, after the death of her older sister, she decided to call on the Garífunas to talk about the problems in the territories and support each other in situations of violence. “I saw the need to organize to rescue women,” she highlights in her strident voice.
This is how Mariposas Libres started with a handful of women in Tornabé and, in a few years, it had up to 700 participants distributed among the communities of San Juan, Triunfo de la Cruz, La Ensenada, Río Tinto and Barra Vieja. On those coasts, while women managed to survive, they also met weekly to talk about their rights, the defense of territories, the limits in their relationships, and the problems in their homes. “I stayed silent in the meetings because I thought about the insults my husband said to me at home, but when I listened to the others, I realized many things,” recalls Núñez, who has been a member of the network since 2015.
Paula Núñez married very young, and after two years of marriage, violence became daily. “My husband treated me like trash, but I thought he had to endure it for my four children,” says this slim, six-foot-tall woman, as she sinks her feet in the sand. In Garifuna communities, the lack of resources often forces women to endure. “I was afraid of separating because I didn't know how I was going to manage alone with my children,” says Núñez through tears. She, like most in the town, lives selling coconut bread and crafts in nearby cities like Tela.
![Members of the Butterflies Libres organization during a meeting.](https://imagenes.elpais.com/resizer/YeZXNKiieUkzsPZy01RDG-kqBj8=/414x0/cloudfront-eu-central-1.images.arcpublishing.com/prisa/RY4SUKLIIVA4TLXSDOVCJOYVLU.jpg)
This precariousness caused his four children to leave the community of San Juan. “People leave because there is no work here,” explains the leader of Mariposas Libres, which went from 700 to 400 members in the last five years, due to the migration of many families. A frequent reality in Honduras, where 195,584 people have left their homes to request asylum in the rest of the countries of the world, according to 2022 data from the UN Refugee Agency, UNHCR.
Although violence and poverty have driven away many butterflies, the 400 that remain continue to fight for their communities. Her work has managed to earn the support of UNHCR, which, through the Women for Life Forum, provides psychological advice and legal support to cases of abuse recorded by the organization. Thanks to this, women like Núñez have managed to access specialized services for survivors of gender violence, report abuse and keep their attackers away. “I'm waiting for news from the court, but my ex-husband has already left town,” she says, relieved and proud of the steps she has taken.
Like her case, the network has assisted more than 60 women victims of gender violence this year alone. A figure that is not difficult to assimilate in the country that has the highest rate of femicides in Latin America, with 6 cases per 100,000 women, according to the Gender Equality Observatory of the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean, ECLAC. Until the end of October alone, 341 violent deaths of women were recorded in Honduras, according to the CDM.
![Two members of the Mariposas Libres organization walk in front of a mural that they themselves managed, in the community of Tornabé (Honduras).](https://imagenes.elpais.com/resizer/0KtND7fYFfaqeV4bKpPG3lMO3sM=/414x0/cloudfront-eu-central-1.images.arcpublishing.com/prisa/KLNDTWEZJBHCZOQS73DT6ITPFE.jpg)
Not only those deaths occupy the attention of Mariposas Libres. At the meetings, the problems of the younger women are also discussed. For this, youth groups have been consolidated, called caterpillars, which have members ranging from 10 to 25 years old. They also get together to talk and learn about respect, limits and equality for women. “We have about a hundred caterpillars distributed among the towns, which meet every week. After a certain age, many decide to join the butterfly group,” explains Martínez, who has his hopes pinned on future generations.
“I dream that violence against women ends in the communities because I know that we are capable of many things,” says Dorian Martínez, one of the caterpillars that will make up the future entourage of Tornabé fighters. The 23-year-old girl walks upright with a turban on her head, expressing gratitude for the lessons she has accumulated. “I have learned a lot about what I should not allow and with that I want to help other women,” says the basketball lover. She knows that the experiences of her eldest seek to leave their mark on girls like her, in the same way that the dozens of Free Butterflies murals have left marks on the walls of the towns of Atlantis.
Paintings that do not compare with the living legacy carried by women who have managed to change their history, like Núñez, who now celebrates her new life: “I am a butterfly that came out of the closet. I finally managed to spread my wings,” she says, laughing.
![A girl on a road in the community of Tornabé, in the city of Tela (Honduras).](https://imagenes.elpais.com/resizer/cJGeWWHtox4cx73EBBttmFyZ1BA=/414x0/cloudfront-eu-central-1.images.arcpublishing.com/prisa/HGBHOZDNGJEQ5P5YDYKIKO4RIU.jpg)
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