We are decisive in these elections
In the weeks before Colombia's June 19 presidential runoff, a nation historically resistant to the left found itself at a crossroads shaped in part by the question of what women are for. Gustavo Petro, the former guerrilla turned senator, sought the trust of feminist organizations in Bogotá by pledging to defend abortion rights and prioritize crimes against women — while his rival, the independent millionaire Rodolfo Hernández, declined the conversation entirely, his absence speaking as loudly as his past words. With women comprising half the electorate and roughly six hundred of their number killed each year in gender-based violence, the runoff became something larger than a contest between left and right: it became a referendum on whether Colombian politics could finally see women as protagonists rather than subjects.
- Hernández's dismissive statements about women — that they should raise children, that femicide need not be named as such — ignited a backlash that transformed a demographic into a decisive political force.
- His refusal to attend the feminist debate left the stage entirely to Petro, who arrived wearing the green bandana of the abortion rights movement and made explicit promises to thirty-six organizations that had long been skeptical of him.
- The conservative establishment's consolidation behind Hernández as an 'anti-Petro' front paradoxically sharpened the choice for women voters, making the election feel like a binary between progress and regression on rights.
- Petro's alliance with Afro-Colombian feminist leader Francia Márquez as his running mate offered a structural signal beyond rhetoric, though his past support for a mayoral candidate accused of sexual assault complicated his credibility.
- With June 19 approaching, Colombian women — never before courted as a 'fundamental actor' in national politics — held the potential to deliver the country its first leftist president, or return it to familiar ground.
Gustavo Petro entered a Bogotá meeting room wearing a green bandana — the symbol of the abortion rights movement — and addressed thirty-six feminist organizations with a directness he had not always shown toward them. The 62-year-old leftist candidate for Colombia's presidential runoff pledged to uphold the constitutional ruling decriminalizing abortion through week twenty-four, one of the most permissive standards in Latin America, and to elevate crimes against women within the penal code. "When a woman makes that decision freely, it is not criminal," he told the room.
His opponent, independent millionaire Rodolfo Hernández, declined the same invitation. The absence was telling. Hernández had built his campaign on anti-corruption populism, but his statements about women had accumulated into a portrait: he had suggested women should ideally devote themselves to raising children, opposed the legal classification of femicide, and as mayor of Bucaramanga had marked International Women's Day by donning dishwashing gloves. His running mate, a Catholic, signaled she would seek to "review" the abortion ruling if they won.
The first-round results had already upended expectations — Petro took forty percent, Hernández twenty-eight, displacing the traditional right for the first time in this conservative country's history. That same right now rallied behind Hernández in an "anti-Petro" front, making the runoff a stark choice. For women, the stakes were concrete: approximately six hundred femicides are recorded in Colombia each year.
Petro's courtship of feminist voters was not without friction. He had previously backed a Bogotá mayoral candidate who faced sexual assault accusations — a case later closed by prosecutors. But his selection of Afro-Colombian feminist leader Francia Márquez as his vice-presidential running mate suggested a coalition genuinely reshaped. Women represent fifty-one percent of Colombia's electorate, and organizers noted they had never before been treated as "a fundamental actor" in national politics. On June 19, they would decide whether that recognition had come too late, or just in time.
Gustavo Petro walked into a room full of feminists in Bogotá wearing a green bandana around his neck—the symbol of the abortion rights movement—and made a promise. The 62-year-old senator and former guerrilla, running as the leftist candidate in Colombia's presidential runoff, told thirty-six feminist organizations that he would defend the constitutional ruling that decriminalized abortion up to week twenty-four, one of the most permissive timelines in Latin America. "When a woman makes that decision freely, it is not criminal," he said to applause. "Abortion is a woman's free choice, and therefore there should be no social punishment."
He was courting a constituency he had once kept at arm's length. Petro also pledged to make crimes against women a top priority in the penal code—a direct contrast to his opponent in the June nineteenth runoff, the independent millionaire Rodolfo Hernández, whose public statements about women have earned him a reputation for machismo. Hernández declined the invitation to the feminist debate, citing Petro's attacks. The snub only underscored the divide. "He is not concerned with women, something he has already proven," said Angélica Londoño, a twenty-year-old university student at the event. "His thinking is quite retrograde."
The context matters. In the first round of voting the previous Sunday, Petro had captured forty percent of the vote while Hernández took twenty-eight percent—a shock result that displaced the traditional right from the frontrunner position for the first time in this deeply conservative country. Hernández, running without a party or clear ideology, had built his campaign almost entirely on an anti-corruption message. But his recent statements had inflamed women voters. He had suggested that ideally women should devote themselves to raising children. He opposed the legal classification of femicide, even as Colombian women's organizations documented roughly six hundred gender-based murders annually. As mayor of Bucaramanga from 2016 to 2019, he had marked International Women's Day by wearing dishwashing gloves.
Hernández's running mate, Marelen Castillo, a Catholic, signaled that if they won, she would push to "review" the abortion ruling. The message was clear: a Hernández presidency would roll back women's rights. That clarity had consequences. Traditional conservative forces—the sitting right-wing government, the Conservative Party, and a faction of Liberals—rallied behind Hernández in what they called an "anti-Petro" front, terrified of Colombia's first leftist government.
Petro's pivot toward women voters was strategic but not without complications. Women made up fifty-one percent of the electoral roll and were now understood as potentially decisive. Yet Petro himself had a fraught history with feminists. He had once backed a candidate for Bogotá mayor who faced accusations of sexual assault—a case the prosecutor's office later closed. This time, he had allied with Francia Márquez, an Afro-Colombian feminist leader running as his vice-presidential candidate, a move that signaled a genuine shift in his coalition.
Juliana Martínez, director of the NGO Artemisas and an organizer of the feminist debate, told reporters that women had never before been "seen as a fundamental actor" in Colombian politics. Now, she said, "we are decisive in these elections." The green bandana around Petro's neck was a symbol, but the real test would come on June nineteenth, when Colombian women would decide whether to trust a leftist with a complicated past or reject the independent whose vision of women's futures looked backward.
Citações Notáveis
When a woman makes that decision freely, it is not criminal. Abortion is a woman's free choice, and therefore there should be no social punishment.— Gustavo Petro
Women have never before been seen as a fundamental actor in Colombian politics. Now we are decisive in these elections.— Juliana Martínez, director of NGO Artemisas
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why did Petro need to court feminists at all? Wasn't he already the frontrunner?
He was ahead, yes, but women are half the electorate. And his past with feminists was messy—he'd backed a candidate accused of sexual assault. He couldn't take their vote for granted.
What made Hernández's statements so damaging?
He said women should focus on raising children. He opposed classifying femicide as a crime, even though six hundred women are murdered each year for their gender. To feminists, that wasn't just old-fashioned—it was dangerous.
Why did Hernández skip the debate?
He claimed Petro kept attacking him. But the optics were terrible. It looked like he didn't care enough about women's concerns to show up.
Was Petro's green bandana genuine or just theater?
Probably both. He had real policy commitments—defending abortion rights, making crimes against women a priority. But he was also signaling, performing alignment with a movement he'd previously kept distance from.
What changed for women voters between the first round and the runoff?
The first round showed them they had power. Suddenly they weren't just voters—they were the deciding factor. That changes how candidates treat you.
Does Petro's alliance with Francia Márquez matter?
It matters enormously. She's a respected Afro-feminist leader. Her presence in the coalition says something Petro couldn't say alone: we actually see women as leaders, not just constituents.