Lucía Etxebarria: Spanish feminist criticizes trans law

Lucía Etxebarria: From classic feminism to conflict with trans law

What happens when one of the most recognized voices of 1990s Spanish feminism starts attacking the left that once championed her? Lucía Etxebarria, writer and commentator, has shifted from reference point to nuisance. Her name appeared in a current affairs thread gathering over a hundred replies, summarizing a mutation: the author who once signed books at fairs and was read by a generation now uses public interventions to question the trans law and criticize former allies.

The most cited trigger is her text about "Ratita y Gafitas," two characters presented as childhood friends, posh yet anti-system, who founded a party and ended up fighting for leadership. The piece circulated quickly, leading many readers to rediscover an author they had forgotten. It is not literature: it is chronicle with veiled names and a clear thesis on power distribution within the left.

From feminist reference to trans law critic

The life arc described is sharp. In the late nineties, Etxebarria shared billing with Lidia Falcón as one of the most visible representatives of Spanish feminism. Both wrote books, gave lectures, and occupied media space. Twenty years later, according to collected statements, both appear on blacklists of self-proclaimed left-wing parties. The reason: their frontal opposition to the trans law and insistence that gender self-determination opens doors to abuse.

Some argue the breaking point was an ambush in Lavapiés, where the author was confronted and, allegedly, assaulted by groups she identifies with the Podemos environment. Other readers downplay this version, locating the shift in purely ideological disagreement. Regardless, the result is the same: a writer who defines herself as left-wing but dedicates appearances to attacking the left.

The accusation of transphobia intersects with betrayal. Some accuse her of switching sides; she responds that the other side abandoned her. The discussion, like almost all touching this topic, admits no nuances.

The "Ratita y Gafitas" text that revived interest

The most reproduced fragment describes two childhood friends, "quite posh but with that anti-system vibe typical of rich kids who know everything is secured." They found a party, things go well until deciding who leads. They flip a coin. Ratita wins. Gafitas pretends to take it well, schemes silently, and ends up forming his own group. The parable needs no names to be understood.

The piece acted as a catalyst. People who hadn't trinc the author in years returned to read her. Others, who kept her in the drawer of youthful memories, admitted retrospective embarrassment. "I read you when I was young," wrote someone who now wishes her reconciliation with humanity. The mix of nostalgia and settling scores is, perhaps, the most honest part of the matter.

The writing, however, holds up. Even critics acknowledge she knows how to build a paragraph and has wit. That grudging recognition is the best indicator that the character still carries weight.

Feminism that doesn't fit the current frame

Etxebarria's trajectory illustrates a broader fracture. A part of classic feminism, which fought for wage equality and against male violence, found itself out of place in a movement incorporating identity demands it doesn't share. This discomfort isn't exclusive to Spain, but here it produced a chorus of critical voices recognizing each other.

The repeated argument is that the trans law allows any man to declare himself a woman and access reserved spaces. There is no scientific or legal consensus on that extreme, and positions have hardened making dialogue impossible. What is a fact is that figures who once occupied the center of the board are now marginalized, and that displacement generates resentment.

The underlying question isn't if Etxebarria is right, but why part of the left-wing electorate listens to her. When an author declaring herself pogre attacks her own, the echo is greater than if done by a declared adversary. All involved know this.

An uncomfortable character for everyone

Etxebarria fits nowhere. She isn't a conventional conservative, doesn't align with the right, and hasn't apologized for previous positions. This makes her a problem for those trying to classify her. Defenders highlight her courage; detractors, her vehemence. Both agree she doesn't go unnoticed.

The material also collects the express wish for her participation in the space where she is discussed. "Hope she joins us," someone wrote. "She was deep into the elitist pogre world until recently falling off the donkey. She knows things, lives, we'd love to read." The invitation is sincere and, simultaneously, a way to recognize her testimony has value.

Some keep her on ignore lists, others send greetings. Polarization is total. Amidst all this, the writer continues publishing, opining, and refusing silence. With these materials, the basket won't unravel soon.