What is (not) Political Gender Violence?

The concept of "political gender violence" (PGV) emerged in 2000 from a complaint filed by Bolivian councilwomen against the harassment and violence of political actors seeking to force them to resign. In Mexico, it was introduced almost a decade ago within the electoral regulatory framework to describe the patriarchal practice of marginalizing women from political processes through intimidation, disqualification, or stigmatization based on their gender. In 2025, we find ourselves facing an absurd situation where this term, coined to vindicate women's right to substantive equality in the political sphere, is used to silence critical expressions that have nothing to do with unequal power relations or necessarily with the gender of the person criticized.

In 2017, the TEPJF (National Electoral Tribunal of the Judiciary) published the first Protocol to address this phenomenon in the electoral context, and in 2020, Congress approved its classification and punishment. Since then, this crime has been included in federal and local legislation to guarantee non-discrimination, parity, and equality in electoral processes (when gender quotas were not sufficient) and in political life in general. According to the Protocol (reprinted by the INE on its "Political Violence. Key Concepts" page), "political violence against women encompasses all actions or omissions by individuals, public servants, or civil servants that are directed at a woman because she is a woman (based on gender), have a differentiated impact on her, or disproportionately affect her, with the purpose or result of undermining or nullifying her political and electoral rights, including the exercise of office. Political violence against women may include, among others, physical, psychological, symbolic, sexual, property, economic, or femicidal violence" (TEPJF, 2017). Unlike the original definition, which primarily considered state agents or political parties and included the media, it has now been extended to include citizens.

While in a country with a macho tradition like Mexico, men and women may engage in gender stereotypes, abuse unequal power relations against women simply because they are women, or resort to violence to harm them, not every accusation or act of violence against a candidate or official stems from her status as a woman, nor is every complaint baseless. The recent accusations of IPV against a journalist and a citizen, or the protection of a governor from media criticism, cannot be justified, as is claimed, by this concept. If it is already worrying that officials or candidates turn to the judiciary to defend themselves against what they consider "aggressions," it is alarming that judges and courts endorse this when they should distinguish between suffering abuse in an unequal relationship and abusing one's power (symbolic, political, personal), or between judging from a gender perspective and promoting censorship.

Language, like reality, evolves. GBV now has to include, for example, digital violence. However, extending its application to protect those in power from criticism or denunciations, even crude ones, or to prevent the dissemination of information that could be useful to citizens, is to manipulate the meaning of concepts and thus weaken them.

If any criticism of a female public official, alluding to a personal relationship, a defect, a flaw, or a vice, begins to be considered IPV, how are we going to describe harassment, sexual violence, threats, or funding cuts to hinder the campaigns or the good performance of (potential) candidates or public officials? If IPV becomes an instrument of censorship from power, who will guarantee freedom of expression, accountability, or transparency in politics? Will every female public official now be untouchable?

In a democracy (even a flawed one), censorship and humiliation of critical voices are dangerous and intolerable.