The colorful party bus winds its way through residential Miami, Colombian and American flags flying, salsa and Latin pop blaring. A caravan of cars follows, “Vota Biden” scrawled on each in large white letters.

A woman driving a minivan flashes a thumbs-up. Most passersby ignore the parade. But to Serena Perez-Ellis, the public show of enthusiasm for former Vice President Joe Biden on a recent Sunday is essential as Election Day approaches. 

“Our goal is to make some noise and be out in the community,” says Ms. Perez-Ellis, organizing director of the progressive group New Florida Majority. “We like to have fun. That’s part of organizing.” 

In these final days of the 2020 presidential campaign, noisy car caravans for both sides – some attracting thousands of participants – have become the flashiest part of the intense battle for south Florida’s Hispanic voters. 

Now that in-person early voting has begun in the state, the contest has only intensified, with the two presidential candidates making regular stops in Hispanic-heavy areas. 

The battle for Florida’s Latinos, in fact, could determine the outcome for the entire state – and, by extension, the country. If President Donald Trump wins Florida, the largest swing state with a whopping 29 electoral votes, he can still win reelection. If not, it’s almost certainly game over. 

Nationally, for the first time, the fast-growing Latino population is expected to be the largest minority ethnic or racial voting bloc, at more than 13% of eligible voters. Given Latino voters’ overall tilt toward Democrats – two-thirds voted for Hillary Clinton four years ago – the growth in the size of that bloc could have far-reaching consequences for American politics. 

In the 2018 midterms, Latino turnout increased more than that of whites, helping Democrats take control of the U.S. House. And in 2012, Latino turnout in Florida roughly matched white turnout, helping President Barack Obama win the state narrowly.

Leah Millis/Reuters

Actor Eva Longoria speaks before the arrival of Democratic presidential nominee Joe Biden at a Hispanic Heritage Month event at Osceola Heritage Park in Kissimmee, Florida, Sept. 15, 2020.

“The idea that Latino voters are a sleeping giant is a myth,” says Mindy Romero, director of the Center for Inclusive Democracy and an expert on the Latino vote. “It suggests that Latinos are politically apathetic, which is not the case at all.”

Even though disparities in election participation by race and ethnicity are entrenched in the U.S., smart, well-resourced outreach can make a difference, she says.

In south Florida, after the 2016 vote, Republicans kept their campaign operation going, giving them a jump on 2020. By September, Democrats were starting to replicate the Republican efforts. “But the question is, have they started those efforts a little late?” says Fernand Amandi, a Democratic pollster in Miami.

A major political force

In solid-blue California and New Mexico, Latinos are already a major political force in statewide politics. This cycle, they could be decisive in presidential battleground states, including Florida and Arizona – and perhaps soon, Texas. 

Latinos in Arizona, who make up 24% of eligible voters, are distinct from those in Florida, says Eduardo Sainz, the state director for Mi Familia Vota. They come mostly from northern Mexico, and while they faced hardship, they did not experience the dictatorships of Florida’s migrants from Cuba or Venezuela who are motivated to participate in civic life. Mr. Sainz sees more voter “apathy” from Mexican Americans in the Grand Canyon State.

And yet, Arizona saw record turnout among Latinos in 2016, 2018, and the 2020 primary. In the last midterm election, 70% of them voted for Kyrsten Sinema, giving the state its first Democratic U.S. senator since the 1980s. Despite the pandemic, grassroots organizations such as Mi Familia Vota have registered more than 185,000 Latinos for this election cycle, almost doubling the 100,000 voters they registered in 2016, says Mr. Sainz. “The momentum is there.”

In Florida, Latinos now make up 20% of eligible voters, and a record 17% of registered voters. Here in south Florida, the large, vibrant Latino community is unique, dominated by conservative-leaning Cuban exiles and their progeny, plus more than a dozen other Hispanic subgroups. But no group, including Cuban Americans, is politically monolithic, and with less than two weeks to go until Election Day, the region’s Latino community is as engaged as ever – in the streets, at voters’ doorsteps, on social media and the airwaves.

Cover Images/AP

A Latino supporter greets President Donald Trump as he arrives in Miami, Oct. 15, 2020. Latino voters could be a decisive force in key battleground states this cycle. Florida’s Latino community includes right-leaning Cubans and dozens of other subgroups.

The Republican messaging is clear: Reelect President Trump, and keep the “socialist and communist” forces powering the Democratic Party at bay. Look no further than Cuba and Venezuela, his supporters say, for America’s future under a President Biden. 

Mr. Trump’s style also plays well with some Latinos. 

“We like that matter-of-factness,” says Jessica Fernandez, chair of the Florida Federation of Young Republicans and a daughter of Cuban exiles. “President Trump has spoken out defending our freedoms – First Amendment, Second Amendment – and the rights of people across the world, like in Cuba, Venezuela, and Hong Kong.”

Latino Democrats are more focused on kitchen-table issues – health care and jobs, urgent issues for many in a community hit especially hard by the pandemic, as well as voting rights and immigration. 

“The Homestead child detention center is just an hour and 10 minutes from here,” says Carlos Naranjo, a Latino outreach organizer for the New Florida Majority, speaking in Miami’s Tamiami Park as the pro-Biden car caravan gathers. 

Late last year, the Trump administration shut down the Homestead facility, then one of the nation’s largest detention centers for young migrants. But for some south Florida Latinos, it remains a potent symbol of the administration’s now-suspended family separation policy for those who enter the U.S. illegally. 

Latino Democrats, too, look to the autocrats of Latin America for campaign messaging: A second Trump term could make the president even more authoritarian, they warn.  

The door-knocking debate 

While caravans are a fun and flashy way to encourage turnout, the hard work of contacting potential voters, one by one, and getting them to register (if they haven’t already) and then actually vote is what counts.

In 2020, COVID-19 has complicated everything. The Trump campaign and Republicans overall have kept knocking on doors. Activists rattle off statistics on hundreds of thousands of voter contacts made, be it knocks on doors, texts, phone calls, or postcards. 

“I was nervous when I started doing door-knocking,” says Ms. Fernandez, who says she wears a mask and practices social distancing. “But I will say the reception at doors is overwhelmingly positive.” 

In fact, she says, people seem more willing to open the door and talk than in past election cycles. 

The Miami-Dade County Democrats, too, are stepping up their ground game, bolstered by a $500,000 donation from former New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg. Though the Biden campaign is still not knocking on doors here, Miami Democrats began paid in-person canvassing last month, also with masks and social distancing. 

“If you’re not showing up in person, folks think you’re not showing up,” says a Miami Democratic official. 

By early October, the Miami-Dade County Democrats had about 200 neighborhood organizers out knocking on doors, according to county party chair Steve Simeonidis. 

“You knock, step back eight feet, and have a conversation,” he says. 

Florida’s Latino melting pot

Until recently, any conversation with a Latino Democratic strategist would spark an outpouring of frustration: The party, once again, was failing to energize Florida’s diverse Latino electorate. But the Biden campaign has revamped its efforts, and Mr. Bloomberg pledged to spend $100 million in Florida helping the former vice president – much of it on TV ads, including in Spanish. 

A recent poll of the state’s largest county, majority Latino Miami-Dade, shows a modest shift in Mr. Biden’s direction. Overall, by early October, Mr. Biden led there by 20 percentage points, up from 17 points a month before, fueled by growth in Latino support, according to the poll by the Democratic firm Bendixen & Amandi International. 

Even among Cuban Americans, Mr. Biden picked up ground, shrinking his deficit with that strongly Republican cohort from 38 to 26 percentage points.

But Mr. Biden still trails Mrs. Clinton’s overall performance in Miami-Dade in 2016, when she won the county by almost 30 percentage points. One factor that could be dragging down Mr. Biden’s numbers is the reported disinformation that is flooding YouTube and the WhatsApp chats of Spanish-speaking residents.

Mr. Amandi, the pollster, says it’s risky to draw conclusions about Florida as a whole based on Miami-Dade. 

“But it goes without saying, the better Joe Biden does in Miami-Dade, particularly with Hispanic voters, the more likely he will be able to win Florida,” Mr. Amandi says. “That’s especially true if he is able to improve statewide upon Hillary Clinton’s performance with white Anglo voters.”

In Florida, famous for its razor-thin margins, every vote matters. In 2016, Mrs. Clinton lost the state by 1.2 percentage points. Thirteen days before Election Day, Mr. Biden leads the state by 3.6 percentage points, according to FiveThirtyEight. At this point four years ago, Mrs. Clinton led in Florida by 3.2 points.

Cuban Americans remain the largest segment of Florida’s Hispanic vote, at 29%, according to the Pew Research Center. But Puerto Ricans, centered in Orlando, are close behind at 27%.

After Hurricane Maria devastated the island in 2017, many Puerto Ricans fled to the mainland United States – especially Florida. But many have since gone home, and it’s not clear what the impact will be, if any, on Florida’s presidential vote, says Fernando Rivera, director of the University of Central Florida’s Puerto Rico Research Hub in Orlando. 

Mr. Biden is already popular with Puerto Rican voters, though “he needs to do more than just criticize President Trump, he needs to emphasize what he would do,” says Mr. Rivera. Last month, Mr. Biden released a plan for Puerto Rican recovery.

Overall, says former Rep. Carlos Curbelo of Florida, a moderate Republican, Mr. Biden can work harder to show that he’s not the socialist Mr. Trump is making him out to be. And Mr. Curbelo sees potential for Mr. Trump to pick up Cuban American votes in Florida that he didn’t win four years ago.

“In 2016, a lot of Cuban Americans were skeptical of him,” says Mr. Curbelo, himself the son of Cuban exiles. “He had beaten and mistreated two favorite sons here – [Sen.] Marco Rubio and [former Gov.] Jeb Bush. A lot of people were just turned off and either voted for Hillary Clinton or didn’t vote.” 

Now, many of those Cuban Americans have “come home,” Mr. Curbelo says. Also, “politics has become further polarized, and the perception that Democrats have moved even farther to the left has pushed Cuban Americans to Trump.” 

Not all Cuban Americans, of course, are Republican – and some laugh at the idea that Mr. Biden could turn the U.S. into another Cuba or Venezuela. 

“There’s no communism, just dictators,” says Xuchitl Coso, president of the Democratic Women’s Club in Lakeland, Florida, who left Cuba in 1961. “Fidel was a dictator. He became rich by ripping off everyone.” 

Bottom line: There’s no predicting anyone’s politics by their or their family’s country of origin.

Federico Arango Paez, a 30-year-old videographer in Miami, voted twice for Mr. Obama and then for the Libertarian, Gary Johnson, in 2016. Now he’s all in for Mr. Trump. 

“Most Hispanics tend to grow up Democratic,” says the New York-born son of Colombian immigrants. “We were taught that Republican was synonymous with racist, Republicans were scary, typical country folks that chase you down and hate anyone that doesn’t look like them.”

Now, Mr. Arango Paez says, the internet has “democratized” information and allowed people to think for themselves. He doesn’t like that “the other side is constantly talking about race and skin color, which sows division and hatred.” 

Back at Tamiami Park, before the pro-Biden caravan was ready to roll, Ms. Perez-Ellis – the organizing director for the New Florida Majority – spoke of the group’s purpose: to build “an equitable Florida so that Black and brown communities can thrive.” 

Last November, the group had endorsed Massachusetts Sen. Elizabeth Warren for president, and voted to back Mr. Biden only in September. And she made clear that a President Biden would face immediate pressure from the left to enact its agenda. 

“First we need to defeat Trump and Trumpism up and down the ballot,” says Ms. Perez-Ellis, an Ecuadorian immigrant. “We’re charging Joe Biden to do that. The day after the election, accountability will start.” 

Staff writer Francine Kiefer contributed to this report from Phoenix, Arizona. 

Marie Saumet was meant to be enjoying last weekend relaxing with friends in the northern French town of Tours. Instead, she donned her mask, made a sign reading “Je suis enseignante” (“I am a teacher”), and joined the tens of thousands of people across France protesting the killing of junior high teacher Samuel Paty last Friday in the sleepy town of Conflans-Sainte-Honorine.

“Freedom of expression is part of our national education program, and teachers are the ones taking on these politicized topics,” says Ms. Saumet, who is a history and geography teacher in the Paris suburbs. “I’m not scared by what happened and I’m going to continue doing my job. Teachers have to be, now more than ever, advocates of national values.”

The death of Mr. Paty, who after showing cartoons of the prophet Muhammad in his class was beheaded by Abdoullakh Abouyezidovitch Anzorov, has touched an area of life considered sacred and safe here: education. It has stirred politicians to use stronger language against terrorism, and crack down on what they see as threats to a founding principle of the French nation: laïcité, or secularism.

But as France revs up its fight against Islamic extremists, it risks alienating its Muslim population – Europe’s largest. France’s Muslims have already been subject to mounting Islamophobia and conflation with fundamentalists since the Charlie Hebdo and Bataclan theater attacks in 2015.

And with politicians increasingly referring to a “war” against Islamists, there is mounting concern that the use of such martial language may signal not only intolerance of crimes such as Mr. Paty’s killing, but also intolerance of religious diversity.

“We need to be fully invested in the fight against terrorism and in favor of secularism, but at the same time against racism, hate, and stigmatization,” says Dominique Sopo, president of SOS Racisme, a Paris-based nonprofit that organized the protest in honor of Mr. Paty in Paris on Sunday. “In recent weeks, we’ve seen an unhealthy political dynamic and harsh language by the government that risks to worsen the situation for the Arab-Muslim population.”

Tension between secularism and tolerance

Since the attacks on the satirical newspaper Charlie Hebdo and then the Bataclan theater attacks in 2015, there have been 12 Islamic terrorist incidents in France, killing a total of 112 people – 87 of those in a truck attack in Nice on July 14, 2016. Mr. Paty’s death is seen as just the latest event in this ongoing trend.

And it comes at a time of heightened tension, as 14 people go on trial as alleged accomplices in the Charlie Hebdo attack. As the trial began in early September, President Emmanuel Macron declared France’s “freedom to blaspheme” and condemned all forms of separatism – what the government sees as a breaking away from the national community, la République.

Two weeks later, two people were injured in a knife attack by a Pakistani-born man in front of the former Hebdo offices. It prompted Mr. Macron to toughen his stance during an Oct. 2 address, outlining measures to combat “radical Islamism,” including placing mosques and imams under greater control and forcing Islamic organizations that receive public funding to sign a “secular charter.”

On Monday, following Mr. Paty’s death, the French Interior Ministry went further, announcing that a mosque in a Paris suburb would be closed after rebroadcasting a video that condemned Mr. Paty, and that organizations deemed “separatist” would be banned on French soil.

Among those being investigated is the Collective Against Islamophobia in France (CCIF), which provides legal aid to victims of Islamophobia and regularly publishes figures on Islamophobic acts in France. In 2019, it registered 789 incidents, compared to 446 in 2017 – a rise of 77% in two years.

CCIF got caught in the controversy after the father of a Muslim student in Mr. Paty’s class called on Facebook viewers to complain to the group about Mr. Paty. But some observers say the crackdown on organizations like CCIF is a veiled attempt at censoring Muslims and the Islamic religion, “which has been the most difficult for the French to deal with [historically],” says Hall Gardner, a professor of international politics at the American University of Paris.

“I think their use of the term laïcité has become unhealthy,” says Dr. Gardner. “The French have a hard time dealing with religions that don’t fit into the Catholic mold. That comes out of the Napoleonic tradition of trying to eliminate Catholicism, even if it’s remained in the background and even though the state claimed it was secular.”

For instance, on Tuesday French Interior Minister Gérald Darmanin criticized shops that sell kosher or halal products separately, saying he was “shocked” to see shelves reserved for cuisine specific to a community. “This is how communitarianism starts,” he said.

In recent years, numerous laws have been aimed at promoting secularism but have been interpreted by some as targeting Muslims, particularly Muslim women. In 2011, France outlawed the face-and-body-covering burqa. And women in veils or traditional dress have been stopped by police across France while driving, sitting at the beach, or accompanying their children on school trips.

“In the last five years, there’s been an evolution where we’re constantly asking the Muslim population to excuse themselves and declare their love for the French republic,” says Valentine Zuber, a French historian who specializes in secularism and religious freedom.

With each terrorist attack, many French Muslims say they see a spike in harassment or hate speech, especially on social media – which has come under investigation for its role in attacks like the one against the French teacher.

“I don’t wear a headscarf but for women who do, there has been a worsening of the situation,” says Widad Ketfi, an independent journalist and activist, who is Muslim and grew up in an Algerian immigrant family outside Paris. “There can be violence and hateful comments of course, but it’s mostly an institutional problem, and all the laws surrounding what Muslims, especially women, can and can’t do in their daily lives.”

Time for soul-searching?

As the French government moves toward harsher language and policies to confront recent terrorist threats, it has increasingly moved away from topics that once dominated public debate following the attacks on Charlie Hebdo and the Bataclan theater.

Then, there was a push toward public discussion of the country’s inability to integrate second- and third-generation Muslims – relating back to France’s former colonial rule in North Africa – as well as address racism and inequality in these same communities, especially in educational settings.

And while earlier this month Mr. Macron recognized that France had concentrated populations of the same origins and religions that had helped create “economic and educational difficulties,” his overall political handling of France’s terrorist threat, say some observers, has largely ignored the roots of the problem.

“The French aren’t looking at their own history, their past colonization,” says Dr. Gardner. “They need to do some self-searching and look deeper than this one attack.”

Still, some say the term laïcité has become skewed in recent years, and politicized in a way that not only takes away from its original definition but is actually counterproductive in dealing with Islamic radicalism.

“To combat terrorism, we must use laws and not misuse the concept of laïcité – or state neutrality,” says Ms. Zuber. “Unfortunately, this is exactly what uncompromising conservatives and far-right individuals are doing.”

Editor's note: The original version misstated the name of Dr. Gardner's institution.

Marcio Jose Sanchez/AP

Robb Rehfeld wears a mask as he walks to cast his vote in Santa Clarita, California, on May 12, 2020. As Election Day approaches, California is warning local election officials to prepare for disruption at polling places and potential cases of voters being intimidated or blocked from casting ballots.

Maggie MacAlpine is full of ideas about how to cause chaos on Election Day. 

Sitting in a suit jacket and T-shirt against a red background with skulls and her team’s moniker, K-OS, she ticks off possibilities from sending armed gun-rights activists to polling places, to spreading rumors that minority voters are being turned away, to a “deep fake” concession speech by a candidate.

Meanwhile, her “opponents” are strategizing how best to protect the election against such mischief. In this virtual tabletop exercise run by Boston-based firm Cybereason, all the attacks are successfully thwarted. But fending off bad actors in real life could be harder.

“The biggest thing from my perspective is everything that was done on the red team [K-OS] is very possible technically, and we believe would be very, very effective in sowing chaos in the sense of distrust in the results,” said Cybereason co-founder Yonatan Streim-Amit in the debrief afterward. The Red Team’s measures would also be relatively cheap to implement.

Cybereason’s Operation Blackout, which took place in August, is one of a wide range of simulations being held to help everyone from public safety officials to journalists identify possible Election Day hazards and strengthen defenses against them. They convene a diverse set of participants to try to tackle nightmare scenarios in a holistic way, building a collaborative election security culture.  

“This exercise had a fantastic goal and it succeeded wonderfully,” says John Odum, a certified ethical hacker and the county clerk in Montpelier, Vermont, who participated in the virtual Operation Blackout in August. “But that’s not to say that the deeper problems can be solved quite so simply.”

Indeed, while such tabletop exercises provide a valuable opportunity to think through how to anticipate and thwart efforts to undermine the election, they don’t test the hard skills that would be needed to execute a robust defense.

For example, it’s easy for defenders in a tabletop exercise to say they’re hardening their networks against hacking. But in a country with more than 10,000 election administrators, improving the cyberdefenses of every office, vendor, and network – right down to the towns with 100 voters – is complicated. 

On Wednesday night, Director of National Intelligence John Ratcliffe alerted voters that Iran and Russia had obtained voter registration information with the apparent intention of trying to undermine public trust in the election. 

“This data can be used by foreign actors to attempt to communicate false information to registered voters that they hope will cause confusion, sow chaos, and undermine your confidence in American democracy,” said Mr. Ratcliffe in a joint press conference with FBI Director Christopher Wray, asking voters to do their part in containing such disinformation. “Do not allow these efforts to have their intended effect. If you received an intimidating or manipulative email in your inbox, do not be alarmed and do not spread it.”

From misinformation to physical attacks

Last fall, Cybereason staged a U.S. election simulation in Washington that brought together law enforcement officers from a range of organizations, including the Secret Service and FBI. That exercise, which envisioned autonomous vehicle attacks on polling stations, resulted in a projected 200 people injured and 32 killed – and the cancellation of the election.

Key lessons learned involved establishing alternative communication channels in the event official social media accounts are hijacked, coordinating with private sector companies involved in infrastructure and smart vehicles, and bolstering collaboration among government agencies.

Cybereason is just one of a number of organizations working in this area. The Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency (CISA), established in 2018 under the Department of Homeland Security, held its third annual “Tabletop the Vote” exercise this summer, bringing together participants from 37 states, including national, state, and local election officials. It included discussions about how best to manage election security amid the pandemic. 

The private sector is running similar simulations. Axios reported “unprecedented 2020 war games” in which Facebook, Google, Twitter, and Reddit are working together – and bringing in federal law enforcement and intelligence agencies – to bolster their defenses against foreign interference.

Kevin Lamarque/Reuters

Department of Homeland Security Acting Secretary Chad Wolf (center) and Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency Director Christopher Krebs speak with election security experts on Super Tuesday in Arlington, Virginia, on March 3, 2020.

In September testimony before the U.S. House of Representatives’ Homeland Security Committee, FBI Director Christopher Wray underscored the ongoing threat of foreign interference – and not only from Russia. After the 2018 midterm elections, he said, the U.S. government expanded the remit of the Foreign Influence Task Force to include malign operations conducted by China, Iran, and other adversaries.

Crash course for journalists 

Much of what could go wrong on Election Day has to do not with technical or logistical failures, but the manipulation of voters’ perceptions and fears.

Rob Walker, executive director of the Homeland Security Experts Group and a participant in Operation Blackout, says America’s greatest vulnerability as a country is “a malleable public” – a trait Russian disinformation campaigns sought to exploit leading up to the 2016 election.

“2016 should have been a wake-up call for all of us on how vulnerable we are to influence operations at a massive scale,” says Mr. Walker, adding that the digital ramp-up of such operations in recent years requires improving civics education and political discourse.

Earlier this month, on a tip from the FBI, Twitter took down nearly 130 accounts it said appeared to originate in Iran, seeking to “disrupt the public conversation” during the first debate between President Trump and his opponent, former Vice President Joe Biden. 

Bad actors are targeting journalists to unwittingly abet these operations. Somewhat counterintuitively, when reporters debunk false narratives they often wind up amplifying them, says Claire Wardle, co-founder and director of First Draft, a nonprofit that provides research and training on countering mis- and disinformation.

At the Online News Association confab last fall, Anjanette Delgado, senior news director for digital at the Detroit Free Press, was among a select group of journalists whom First Draft corralled to participate in a simulated information crisis to test their preparedness to deal with misinformation and disinformation.

“Nothing does that like throwing you right in,” says Ms. Delgado, whose newspaper co-sponsored a similar event for her colleagues and other journalists around the Midwest in February.

First Draft has held more than a dozen such trainings across the U.S., simulating a coordinated disinformation campaign around the election and then providing master classes on how to deal with the challenges raised. Participants are then invited to join online forums where they can share tips. 

“Bad actors are very coordinated,” from retweeting each other’s messages to sharing tactics in forums, says Dr. Wardle, whose organization has sought to create greater collaboration among journalists, tempering the industry’s traditional competitiveness for scoops to strengthen collective action against a shared threat. “People working in the quality information space are much less likely to be coordinated – it’s all about distinction and originality.”

Improving collaboration is also a key goal for groups like Cybereason.

“I guarantee there’s bad guys doing this type of tabletop exercise right now and they’re not sharing their results with law enforcement, government officials in charge of elections – all the good guys,” says Ms. MacAlpine, an election security specialist and co-founder at Nordic Innovation Labs in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. “What works is getting information about an attack out there so that the good guys can go, ‘Wait a minute, I’ve seen this before.’”

This story was updated on Oct. 22 to reflect breaking news from national intelligence officials.

Scrawled on a formerly white wall inside the National Commission for Human Rights (CNDH) offices in Mexico City is the image of a woman in a purple dress leaning over the spitting flames of an orange and red fire. A number of conversation bubbles surround the painting, but only one is colored in to make the words pop:

“To build,” it reads, “you have to destroy.”

The phrase was painted by a group of feminists who gained international attention this fall when they took over the government building, demanding better protection for women and girls in Mexico. Groups of mothers, victims, and activists took over a handful of human rights offices across the country in September, building on years of mounting outrage. But attention to their cause is increasingly focused on whether the women are fighting for change the “right” way – echoing rhetoric that has swirled around racial justice protests in the United States, as well as other feminist movements around the world in recent years.

In Mexico City, site of the first occupation, government workers were kicked out of the CNDH building two days after the mother of a young rape victim tied herself to a chair to protest inaction around her daughter’s case. Portraits of historical figures were turned upside down or given new looks via the addition of green eyeshadow or devil horns. Walls were painted over with feminist slogans, like “not one less” and “we want them alive.” The building was converted into a women’s shelter, with some 40 women and children currently living there.

The CNDH protests are the latest in a series of increasingly loud calls for the government to better protect women in a nation where femicides have doubled during the past five years. An estimated 10 women are murdered each day in Mexico, according to state statistics. With university students protesting sexual assault at the hands of faculty members, so-called glitter protests launched by covering the capital’s security chief with pink glitter, the historic turnout for Women’s Day marches last spring, and a national women’s strike the following day, momentum has grown here in recent years.

But Mexicans across social media – and the president – are questioning protest strategies, asking how taking over buildings and painting over portraits are necessary to guarantee safety for women. The more radical approach to calling attention to violence against women has sparked debates over what makes a “real” feminist, and has some arguing that it distracts from the broader goal of a more peaceful, safer nation for women.

“The indignation is the same; what’s changing are the strategies,” says Daniela Cerva, a sociologist at the Autonomous University of Morelos State, who studies feminist movements in Mexican universities. “Before women sat and asked for a meeting, or went out with their signs and sang or yelled.” Now, they’re taking over buildings, carrying out art interventions, or choreographing mass performance pieces.

Carlos Jasso/Reuters

Members of a feminist collective clash with police officers during a protest to mark the International Safe Abortion Day in Mexico City on Sept. 28, 2020.

Although spray-painting a monument and clashing with police may be common in protests worldwide, they are seen as especially contentious when carried out by women, Dr. Cerva says. “Women aren’t allowed to express anger. Crying is what’s expected from us. But direct confrontation, or taking over a [building]?” she asks.

“No. Women are meant to be quiet in the public space.”

Art critics

Many Mexicans hoped President Andrés Manuel López Obrador’s 2018 election would spell a new frontier for the protection of human rights. He ran on a platform of defending poor people, and undoing years of political corruption. But for many feminists, he’s disappointed. He’s blamed predecessors’ neoliberal policies for high rates of femicides, cut funding for the National Women’s Institute, and shuttered shelters for victims of domestic violence. The administration has proposed supporting victims with direct payments, but women’s advocates have questioned the plan’s effectiveness.

AMLO, as the president is known, expressed sympathy for the activists who took over the CNDH offices in Mexico City last month. Yet he made it clear he didn’t approve of their tactics, calling their approach “the wrong way.”

The protest art painted on banners inside the CNDH building, and over portraits of historical figures like Benito Juárez, has gained particular attention.

“Whoever knows the story of this social warrior would know that we should have respect for him,” AMLO said during a daily press conference, in reference to a painting of Francisco Madero, a former president whose portrait was revamped with purple hair and a cherry-red pucker. “You can’t fight violence with violence.”

That didn’t sit well with Erika Martinez, a mother who was part of the initial takeover – and whose daughter repainted Mr. Madero. Her daughter was sexually abused three years ago when she was 7 years old, and the case is still dragging on, with the accused walking free. Ninety-three percent of crimes in Mexico are not reported or not investigated, and the impunity rate for gender violence is believed to be even higher.  

“I want to know how the president is outraged about the painting,” Ms. Martinez shouted, holding back tears last month, speaking in front of the occupied building. “Why isn’t he outraged about the abuse of my daughter?”

Protesters say they want to see gender sensitivity training for police, broader abortion rights, crimes prosecuted, laws enforced, and for the president to recognize the legitimacy of their demands. In the meantime, they have no plans to leave the building, and are collecting clothes, school supplies, and food for victims. 

Alfredo Sosa/Staff/File

Women participate in a feminist march in Mexico City Sept. 19, 2019. Marches protesting violence against women have grown in recent years, and some of the activists' tactics, like vandalizing monuments, have been debated in Mexican society.

The CNDH announced last month there would be no retaliation taken against the protesters, and that they would urge federal and state officials to “refrain from issuing statements that minimize the serious situation of violence experienced by girls, young people, and women throughout the national territory.”

Ends, not means?

Anai Flores Olarte sits in her home in the coastal state of Veracruz on a recent afternoon, chickens clucking in the background. The 22-year-old single mother says she identifies as a feminist, although she’s never participated in a large protest. But she doesn’t agree with vandalism as a form of protest.

“It makes me sad to see women damaging these buildings, kicking out the people who work there and might be able to help them,” she says by phone. “I support that they are there, and why they are there, but not how they are doing it.”

Ms. Olarte posted in a Facebook group dedicated to raising awareness about femicides last month, questioning the need for destruction when what Mexico needs is to focus on “how to support each other, how to get more involved in politics.” The vast majority of commenters disagreed, but a handful had her back, asking why the buildings themselves should be a target.

Dr. Cerva says she’s hearing nuanced responses like Ms. Olarte’s more and more among Mexican women. Even when there is disagreement over tactics, they often say, “‘I understand why she’s breaking things. I wouldn’t do it. I might not agree with it. But I understand it.’”

Some observers see irony in the dismissal of feminists taking over buildings or public spaces. The president used the same tactic himself.

After AMLO’s first failed run for president, in 2006, he contested the loss by taking over blocks of a major thoroughfare and plaza in downtown Mexico City, blocking traffic, forcing businesses to close, and proclaiming himself the winner. There were also complaints when protesters shut down highways after the disappearance of 43 aspiring teachers in 2014.

“This grumbling around the seizure of property has always existed, but with the feminists [taking over CNDH offices] it feels so much more extreme,” says Fernanda Guerra, host of the current events podcast “Sin Comentarios MX.” In her view, that criticism ignores that protest “is a consequence of a system that has truly failed a lot of women. They’ve asked to be heard so many times and in so many ways and yet they’re still not protected.”

This is what Dr. Cerva calls “double victimization,” when reports of abuse are ignored or blundered. In many cases, women aren’t calling for new laws, she points out, but the enforcement of what the government has already committed to on paper.

“To be a woman in Mexico,” she says, “is a political act.”

Phil Noble/Reuters

With freedom of movement curtailed by the pandemic, a woman works on a jigsaw puzzle at her home in Manchester, England, on April 12, 2020.

Anna McGovern has been spending a lot of time in her front garden in northeast London, deadheading here, tidying up a weedy corner there. She’s never been much of a vegetable grower, but with long hours at home during the lockdown, she managed to coax from the earth tomatoes, herbs, squash, and potatoes. One day, a neighbor she sees regularly from a distance passed by and asked for a handful of young butternut squash leaves. She wanted to add them to an African dish she was cooking at home. 

“I didn’t even know you could eat them,” says Ms. McGovern, who has been riding out the pandemic with her husband, two teens, and a preteen at home. That type of chance connection with her Zimbabwean neighbor is one of the unexpected delights that come with what she calls “pottering,” a British term for meandering seamlessly from one task to another without much thought. “It sort of connects you to your community and the people around you ­– and in a way that you can’t predict.” 

Pottering can also balance out the pressure to be productive. As people settle even more deeply into life and work and school at home, a gentle approach can help make the present more bearable and strengthen ties to your immediate surroundings – even if it is just saying hello from a distance to neighbors on their daily walks, says Ms. McGovern, whose new book, “Pottering. A Cure for Modern Life,” will be published next week. 

A “radical reimagining” of work and home

Months ago now, the pandemic forced people around the globe to shelter at home, abruptly ending regular routines. For many, connections to the outside world were reduced to reports of rising fatalities and frantic searches for toilet paper. Then came news of job losses, a sinking economy, and stressed-out parents trying to educate their children. 

People confined to personal spaces suddenly saw their environs in a new light. DIY sewing projects took on such force that Singer Corp. reports a huge surge in global demand for sewing machines. Next came an army of “pandemic bakers,” clearing yeast from grocery shelves by early April. Soon gardening centers were reporting record sales, home improvement projects took off, and toymakers ran out of 1,000-piece puzzles. By the end of the summer, Fender Guitar reported its biggest year of sales in history.

“There’s some sort of radical reimagining” happening at home, says Megan Elias, director of the gastronomy program at Boston University and the author of books about the history of food and home economics. “What is work and what is life? And what is the work of life? … Discovering that you can make things has been really therapeutic for people because it gives you some control.”

Turning from the ugly to create something lovely

Carla Mackey of Bainbridge Island, Washington, says when the quarantine first started, all she could do was feel anxious and worried. “I was looking at way too much news,” says Ms. Mackey. But it was her husband, Doug, who had the idea to retrieve the sewing machine from the closet. “He started looking at YouTube videos,” Ms. Mackey explains, “and he taught himself how to recover all the seat cushions on his boat using my old sewing machine, which I [didn’t] know how to use.” 

Once Ms. Mackey’s husband finished his project, he taught her how to thread the bobbin and work the pedal. First, she made a set of plush monster pillows as a fun surprise for her son and his roommates in New York City. Then she moved on to a pink linen dress for herself with a matching mask.

“There’s something just kind of therapeutic about working with your hands because you can’t let your mind drift off to something else” like the news, says Ms. Mackey, who listens to music while she sews. “That relaxation can hang with you for a while, even after you stop. ... I feel as though there’s so much in the world that’s ugly right now. If you can just feel like you’re making something lovely, that feels good.”

Charlotte Ager/Courtesy of Laurence King Publishing Ltd

"Pottering. A Cure for Modern Life" with illustrations by Charlotte Ager.

Embracing the family from afar

For others, a silver lining of all this time at home has been stronger family connections. Kathy Thomas, an executive at Half Price Books, a chain of bookstores based in Dallas, was worried about keeping her business afloat when the company furloughed 80% of its staff and faced the very real possibility of going out of business.

“I personally needed an escape and something fun to do,” says Ms. Thomas. But instead of learning how to play the guitar or buying a new game, she decided to make one. Ms. Thomas organized her 11 nieces and nephews to contribute ideas for Texas-focused bingo boards. One niece drew folk art game pieces featuring cowboy boots, rattlesnakes, and seashells reminiscent of the Texas scenes they were missing, and her daughter-in-law completed the overall design. 

“I wanted to get everyone involved. I wanted everyone to feel a part of this” as a way for the family to stay in touch when they couldn’t get together, says Ms. Thomas. Back at work now, she is hoping to find a distributor to market and sell their game. At the very least, the 32 people in her extended family will get one as a Christmas gift.

But don’t worry if you run out of home projects or creative ideas for connecting with family and friends. Having a finished product to show for your time isn’t always necessary. Ms. McGovern, the author, says sometimes it helps to just take your foot off the gas and – potter. Fill a pepper grinder with peppercorns. Oil a squeaky cabinet hinge. A sequence of tiny household tasks can feel as restorative as stretching out in a yoga pose or checking off an item on your to-do list.

It’s not so much what you do but the flowing approach without attachment to results that’s restful for mind and body, notes Ms. McGovern. “[T]he important thing with pottering is that you derive pleasure from those things – and they are slightly unnecessary. You don’t have to do them. But you quite like doing them,” Ms. McGovern says. Doing inconsequential tasks “can somehow help you feel a bit peaceful,” she adds.

AP

People near Paris holds posters reading "Love for all, hate for no one" during a homage to a French teacher beheaded Oct. 16.

Just 18 months ago in Sudan, a young Muslim woman named Alaa Salah stood on a car roof dressed in a white robe and recited a poem to masses of pro-democracy protesters. She sang about leaders who “imprisoned us in the name of religion.” A video of her singing went viral. Days later, as a result of such grassroots protests, the Islamist dictatorship of Omar al-Bashir fell after 30 years in power.

Since then, a transitional government has reversed the imposition of Islamic law on women and religious minorities. Last month it agreed to separate religion from the state and respect the right to self-determination. Finally on Oct. 19, the United States announced plans to lift its 27-year designation of Sudan as a state sponsor of terrorism. A largely Muslim country that once hosted Osama bin Laden as a guest has begun to put bigoted violence “in the name of religion” to rest. And people like Alaa Salah started it.

These events in Sudan are worth noting as the French government launches a top-down campaign against the fires of religious zealotry. The campaign is in response to the Oct. 16 beheading of a schoolteacher by a radicalized young Muslim in retribution for showing cartoons of the prophet Muhammad during a class on freedom of expression.

Following the barbaric killing, France seems less patient to work with its large Muslim minority to counter violent radicalism. The public fear is understandable. Since 2015, more than 240 people in France have died by Islamist violence. Yet acting on such fear can also lead to the stigmatizing of Muslims – many of whom desire peace among religions under a secular constitution. 

Since the beheading, Interior Minister Gérald Darmanin has ordered a probe of dozens of associations, including Islamic schools and mosques, on suspicion of condoning extremist acts. Hundreds of foreign citizens identified for their radicalism are being expelled. “There is no reconciliation possible with radical Islam,” he said.

President Emmanuel Macron also plans to ban associations that indoctrinate children. He wants Islamic organizations that receive public funding to sign a “charter” in support of secular governance.

Such harsh measures could end attempts to engage French Muslims and to persuade them to lead efforts against violence in the name of religion. Three years ago, Mr. Macron asked people to stop discrimination and open opportunities for Muslims to eliminate the “fertile soil” for terrorism. Now he wants to ban home schooling to prevent any teaching of radical Islam.

Even though it is still in transition to democracy, Sudan sets a better example for how to change hearts about the role of Islam in a pluralistic society. Reform must come from below, sung out from car tops by people who love their religion and also see it as a source for loving others of different faiths. Civic equality and civil discourse are becoming a norm in Sudan.

By engaging with the country’s Muslims out of care and concern, French leaders can supplant the very hate that lies behind the recent violent attacks of a few.