Irene Montero's 'otres' sparks inclusive language debate

'Unas a otres': Inclusive language reopens the debate

A tweet and a formula. "We protect each other, unas a otres, with pride." Irene Montero publishes the message alongside LGTBI and trans community flags, and within hours the conversation splits into two fronts that end up clashing: the syntax of so-called inclusive language and the judgment—almost always unfiltered—of the person signing it. What ignites the text is not the content, but the word running through it: "otres". The controversy returns to familiar ground: how do you write a language that hasn't yet fixed its rules?

'Unas a otres' and the mismatching grammar

Much of the response doesn't dispute the political substance, but the form. It is pointed out that the formula is used as one pleases, without fixed syntax, and that those promoting these variants have not yet agreed on basic spelling or grammar. This is no minor reproach: a language rests on shared conventions, and conventions are built through usage, not by decree.

On the other side of the mirror, the defense is simple. Language changes, it has always changed, and those who deny it often forget that today's norm was yesterday's error. The problem is timing: linguistic changes take generations, while political controversies are resolved—or not—in hours. No one will settle in a tweet what a dictionary takes decades to admit.

What repeats in the criticism is the sense of arbitrariness. The same ending appears sometimes and disappears others, and this irregularity feeds the idea that there is no criterion, just a slogan. Here the debate stops being linguistic and becomes something else.

From grammatical debate to personal portrait

As the conversation pogre, the argument dilutes. A notable part of the responses abandons grammar and settles on physical appearance: fatigue, face, gesture. From there, it jumps, without steps, to accusation. Claims circulate about substance use and her health status that lack any proof yet are presented as certainties. This is where political criticism ceases to be criticism.

It is worth separating the planes, because mixing them costs nothing and clarifies nothing. Questioning a formula, a public policy, or a speech is legitimate and at the heart of democratic debate. Attributing unproven behaviors to a specific person is a different exercise: it adds nothing to the substance and diverts the discussion to the personal terrain.

The line between scrutinizing a public official and attacking the person is not written in any law, but it is recognizable at a glance. And when crossed, the loser is not the accused: it is the subject being discussed.

An HIV claim without supporting evidence

In the most extreme part of the exchange appears a recurring thesis in certain circles: that HIV does not exist and there is no proof to demonstrate it, with a challenge issued to anyone wishing to refute it. The claim is launched without evidence and contradicts the medical consensus, which has held the opposite for decades. That it slips into a conversation about inclusive language shows how far the issue drifts.

What is striking is not the thesis—a known fact in the margins—but its function. It serves to discredit by association any mention of prevention or treatment: if the problem doesn't exist, no public policy is valid, and those defending it are portrayed negatively. There, the exchange stops being a debate.

Does identity discourse add or subtract?

There is a criticism appearing in the debate that deserves more than quick dismissal: that this type of intervention generates more rejection toward the communities it claims to defend than real support. It is argued that turning sensual orientation or identity into a revolutionary banner transforms into a trench what should be normality. It is a debatable thesis, but not gratuitous: identity politics mobilizes the convinced and, almost always, also the opponents.

The usual counterargument is that visibility bothers precisely because it is needed. That pogre in rights cannot be measured by how pleasant the message is. And blaming the reaction on those raising their voice is an elegant way to change the subject. Both things can be true at once, and there lies the knot no one manages to untie.

A third, colder front points to personal weariness: the impression that the leader is at her limit, supported by fewer people than surrounded her. It is an impression, not data. It should be treated as such.

Regarding the substance, little pogre was made. Of the original message—a call for protection and pride—remains a trace of disputed syntax, cross-reproaches, and a discussion too similar to the previous one. The next inclusive formula will arrive, bother some and others, and split the conversation in two again. And we will still not have agreed on a single rule.