November Editorial

“If it’s my turn tomorrow, I want to be the last one”

The poem by Cristina Torres Caceres—which I urge you to read if you haven’t yet—is a punch to the gut.

It’s the letter written to a mother by one of the many young women living every day with the fear of femicide.

Talking with my daughters, aged 22 and 27, I realized there’s a vast gulf between how they perceive and experience this reality and how we did. I was struck by the extreme vulnerability they feel: coming home at night, traveling alone, or working in a society that only superficially embraces female empowerment, yet still treats women as objects to be admired—often with unsolicited comments that place them in positions of inferiority and discomfort.

My daughter told me that if I walk into a café and the barista says, “Wow, you’re so beautiful—when are you coming back around here?” it’s not okay. And I—who as a young woman experienced comments like that many times—realize I never gave them much thought and even felt flattered.

I was wrong.

Because if the roles were reversed—a female barista and a handsome young man walking in—such an approach would never occur.

It shows that male culture still centers on the power of the dominant male, judging women by their appearance.

How often are we women evaluated on our bodies? You’re fat, you’re thin, you’re old, you’re sexy. How often do the media introduce accomplished women in their fields by saying, “Here’s the beautiful and brilliant so-and-so”? If it’s a man, the aesthetic judgment is omitted. He’s simply “accomplished.”

I believe it’s time for a deep reflection on how our young people are growing up, influenced not only by these unfortunate behaviors but also by the verbal violence of social media and by rap and trap music that continually glorifies male power over women—portraying girls as either sluts or someone’s property. A young man today can have many women and still be admired; a woman with many relationships is labeled a “bad girl.”

To tackle the femicide emergency (105 victims so far this year in Italy), men themselves must change—especially those who say, “I’m not like them,” to lessen their own responsibility.

That’s not enough.

Perhaps Filippo Turetta, the most recent murderer, said the same before assaulting Giulia Cecchettin, stabbing her to death, and abandoning her in a ravine. Yet he seemed like a good guy—so much so that his lawyer rushed to tell us he loved her dearly and even baked her cookies.

Today there’s still too much distance between the sexes in understanding this problem.

Women are increasingly strong, while men—despite macho attitudes—are more fragile. There would be nothing wrong with this societal shift (we’ve earned every right we’ve gained) were it not that some men can’t handle changing roles, feel undervalued and diminished, and turn their weakness into aggression and violence. Giulia would have graduated before Nicola—she was the better student—and would have moved away for work. She wouldn’t have remained his ex-girlfriend always available for pizza or a night out. Giulia would have met someone else—as is her right—but instead of losing her, he killed her.

How could a young man from a bourgeois family, studying biomedical engineering, likely well aware of femicide stories, believe he wasn’t part of the problem? How could he not feel implicated?

And above all: if the problem is men, why do only women speak about femicide?

For this November 25th, I want a demonstration against violence toward women made up entirely of men—because I’m tired of hearing only advice about what we must or mustn’t do: how to protect potential victims, how to help them report, never go to that last appointment.

Let’s stop asking why Giulia agreed to meet Filippo or why she got into that car. The real question is: why can’t we raise young people with an education of respect and equality? Why do men still kill women?