How a Selfie Sparked a Movement for Acid Attack Survivors

BONAO, Dominican Republic -- “The man came up to me and said: ‘This is for you. Someone has sent it for you’ and then threw it at me. I didn’t know what it was or that acid even existed,” remembered Esther Jimenez. 

She was 27-years-old when the man threw ácido del diablo, or “devil’s acid,” a concoction containing cleaning and plumbing products, in her face when she was working at a local cafeteria 10 years ago.

“But then I felt the worst pain imaginable and my clothes began to melt and fall off me. I just started screaming and crying,” the now 36-year-old told VICE World News. She was hospitalized for three months as a result of her injuries. 

Her face was very disfigured by the attack, and she has since undergone more than two dozen reconstructive surgeries, including numerous skin grafts and having her right eye removed.

Her mother, who was one of the sole caretakers of Jimenez and her three small children, died of a heart attack shortly after Jimenez was released home from the burns unit.

“My mother told me that it was killing her to see me like that,” Jimenez said. With three children and no job, coupled with the costs of her surgeries, Jimenez turned to charity for survival.

Dr. Eddy Bruno, the director of the burns unit at Ney Arias Lora Hospital in Santo Domingo, said that seven percent of admissions to the unit each year are patients suffering from acid burns. This averages out to about one acid attack per month in the Dominican Republic among adults who seek treatment. 

While there are no official statistics, acid attacks occur with “some frequency” in the country, and the majority “are rooted in a patriarchal culture where gender-based violence is normalized and is still tolerated -- both socially and institutionally,” according to Sebastián Essayag, regional coordinator of Projects on Violence against Women and Girls in Latin America and the Caribbean for the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP).

Latin America has the highest rates of gender-based violence in the world. The Dominican Republic is among the countries with the highest levels of femicide, said Essayag. In a 2018 survey, almost 70 percent of women in the Dominican Republic aged over 15 said they had been a victim of violence at some point in their lives. 

“The aggressor wishes to cause irreversible damage to the victim, leaving her disfigured, mutilated, maimed, with everlasting health problems and living a life of maximum vulnerability and social exclusion,” said Essayag. 

Another, more recent high-profile acid attack in the Dominican Republic left 19-year-old Yocairi Amarante Rodríguez partially blinded and 40 percent of her body burned last year. The incident sent shockwaves throughout the country, and U.S. rapper Cardi B got involved and offered a $10,000 reward for the capture of the perpetrators. 

The physical disfigurement with which many are left leads to social stigma that results in victims being excluded from society and too ashamed to leave their homes. Discrimination forces many into economic ruin because it’s hard for them to find work. 

“For years I just felt like I wanted to die,” said Jimenez. “When my youngest child saw me, he was scared and called me a monster. I wanted to hide myself.”

Jimenez travelled to Santo Domingo, about a two-hour drive on the local bus from Bonao, every day to get treatment. “I prayed to God for years that if He could heal my injuries, I will not complain ever again about my physical appearance,” said Jimenez, who is an evangelical Christian. “All I could feel was pain and all I wanted was to not feel it anymore.”

Seven years after the attack Jimenez decided to do something no acid attack survivor in the Dominican Republic had done before: she posted a selfie. She never thought it would propel her to celebrity status and inspire tens of thousands across the Dominican Republic to create the nation’s first organization advocating for the rights of acid attack survivors. 

“I was sick of living in hiding so I decided to upload a photo of myself on Instagram.” 

Along with the picture of her scarred face and chest, she wrote: “Wow, my God. I feel as if my heart is dissolving and being destroyed. I’m feeling that all my efforts to move forward in my life are useless; so many desires to improve myself and get ahead with my children, but I feel a sting inside my heart.” 

Her inbox was flooded with messages of sympathy, or expressions of gratitude for her honesty. “When everyone was writing me messages it made me feel really good [...] and then many began following me,” Jimenez said. “Everyone’s reaction to me was so positive, and it made me feel less sad about my appearance.” 

Her influence steadily grew and her account now has more than 88,000 followers. 

“I decided that I wouldn’t allow this attack to define who I am. I’m going to continue being the person I was before the attack. I’m someone who loves to dress up and look pretty and show off my new shoes. That’s always been me so I’m going to keep being me.” 

For acid attack survivors, many of whom continue to live in the shadows of Dominican society, Jimenez’s posts had a profound effect.

Mercedes Taveras Frias, 35, was driving near her home in the northeastern city of San Francisco de Macorís in 2017, with her then 12-year-old daughter sitting behind her. Two men in their early 20s drove up alongside Frias on a motorcycle and threw acid at her, burning 22 percent of her body. Her daughter was also slightly injured, with the acid splashing on small areas of her skin, Frias said. 

It was later found that Frias’ former boyfriend had ordered the attack, paying the men 35,000 Dominican pesos (about $613). It took place a month after Frias married her current husband. 

“The first time I saw my reflection, I was in shock,” Frias said. “I couldn’t recognize myself. It was very difficult.” 

“When I saw Esther (Jimenez) on social media, I felt very happy seeing her so comfortable with herself and being so open with her life.”

Soon enough, more acid attack survivors reached out to Jimenez and they began to communicate and provide one another emotional support. 

Both Jimenez and Mercedes said they have spent “many millions of pesos” on surgeries since the attacks. Jimenez, who now runs a small second-hand clothing shop, paid 375,000 Dominican pesos (about $6,570) on one of many skin graft surgeries. They have had to rely on donations from private citizens to afford the treatment, including the costs of psychologists. 

Last year, the survivors decided to organize themselves. Starting with five members, they launched the first group run for and by acid attack survivors in the Dominican Republic, called Fundación Sembrando Esperanza. 

The group’ has demanded harsher sentencing for perpetrators of acid attacks, staging a demonstration outside of Congress in Santo Domingo. Jimenez said it is rare for perpetrators to spend more than a few years in prison. Frias’ former boyfriend and the two perpetrators only spent one year and seven months in prison. Police never arrested anyone in Jimenez’s case.

“We are advocating for the victims (of acid attacks) to be recognized and protected in the country, so that they can get jobs and assistance and become accepted into society again,” explained Frias. 

Despite her ordeal, Jimenez is enjoying her celebrity status. “I had no idea that photo would have such an effect,” she said, flashing a smile. “I still can’t even believe it. I used to hate it when people stared at me. But now people stare at me, wave at me, and take photos with me. I’m still getting attention, but it’s for very different reasons.”