Yakiri Rubio sits in one of the seats in a packed auditorium, where Coahuilense singer Vivir Quintana—standing on her red cowboy boots matching her hat—presents her new album of corridos. Both became famous overnight, without realizing it, but for very different reasons.
Vivir became a symbol of the feminist movement when “Canción sin miedo” (Song Without Fear) became a powerful anthem against femicides in 2020, sung throughout Latin America in Spanish, but also in French, Greek, and indigenous languages such as Ayuuk, Inga, Dulegaya, and Nam Trik. Yakiri, on the other hand, made headlines in December 2013 when institutions and media outlets condemned her, without listening to her, for defending her life.
The new songs on Vivir Quintana’s album, “Cosas que sorpresan a la audiencia,” tell the stories of several women who, like Yakiri, ended up in prison for defending their lives and killing their attacker in self-defense. “Era él o era yo” (It was him or it was me) is the name of another corrido whose title best explains what women face when they “forcefully dodge death,” says one corrido, but then, “justice kills their luck.”
“I think the protagonist of one of these stories is around here,” says Vivir Quintana, microphone in hand, on April 27, 2025, from that blue-and-purple-lit stage at the Museo Memoria y Tolerancia (Memory and Tolerance Museum) in Mexico City’s Historic Center. Yakiri Rubio, now 32 years old and free thanks to the defense of her lawyer, Ana Katiria Suárez, greets her from her seat in the audience.
Vivir Quintana recalls that it was five years ago when he decided to seek her out to compose a corrido inspired by her story. He found her Facebook profile and told her his intentions via message. Yakiri Rubio, suspicious, asked for proof of identity, and Vivir sent her a voice note. He agreed to meet with her for “an hour.” However, the visit ended in the early hours of the morning amid karaoke songs and salsa dancing.
The music starts off powerfully. Vivir and six musicians accompanying her play the first chords of “The Saddest Christmas Eve,” and the audience shudders with the lyrics. “I don’t regret anything, I defended myself with my life, my status has changed, from victim to detainee,” says a verse that sums up the situation Yakiri experienced. After being raped and having been attempted murdered at the Alcázar Motel (now the Arena Motel) in the Doctores neighborhood, she went to the Mexico City Attorney General’s Office to report her attackers. She was released 22 hours later, accused of murder, and taken directly to the Santa Marta prison and then to Tepepan.
After nearly three months in prison, Yakiri Rubio was released and a year and three months later was acquitted in a ruling on May 21, 2015, considered historic in terms of gender-based justice. The ruling was the result of an intense legal and social struggle that exposed the shortcomings of the judicial system in criminalizing a woman for defending her life.
Various feminist and human rights groups considered this a collective victory and a significant step toward recognizing women’s right to defend themselves against gender-based violence.
