
By Karla Ferrer Arévalo (Wet Justice)
Some conversations can no longer remain whispers. Some lessons should not depend on chance—on whether your family “talks about it,” whether your school allows it, or whether someone happens to guide you at the right moment. In Puerto Rico, comprehensive sexuality education remains contested terrain, shaped by myths, fear, and censorship. Meanwhile, adolescents and young people continue growing up in a place where sexual and reproductive rights technically exist—but are often unknown, unnamed, and therefore unrealized.
Through Wet Justice and the Jurao project, we chose to confront that reality directly: supporting young people so they can understand themselves, make informed decisions, and live their sexuality with well-being, autonomy, and dignity. Because this is not a “moral issue” or a superficial debate. It is about health, safety, prevention, human rights, and the future.
Jurao’s core goal was clear: to accompany adolescents and young people toward self-recognition, autonomy, empowerment, and well-being through a sexual and reproductive justice framework. From the very beginning, we placed this work in context. While some rights are still protected by law in Puerto Rico, many of them are under threat. That meant knowledge could not remain abstract. It had to be practical, relevant, and empowering.
We worked through four workshops per group, in intensive two-day sessions. It was a deep process, filled with participation, interactive exercises, reflection, and collective creation. We did not show up simply to “give a talk.” We came to create a space where young people could look at themselves honestly and say: “This is what I’ve been taught—and this is what I need to learn to live better.”
One of our first steps was expanding the conversation. We approached sexuality not as something reduced to “risk” or “prohibition,” but as a complex, integral dimension of identity, relationships, emotions, decision-making, health, and power. From there, we explored:
Jurao was, of course, an educational initiative. But it was also preparation for life: recognizing boundaries, identifying violence, naming rights, demanding services, and building peer support.
One of my priorities was making sure participants left with practical tools. That is why we worked with existing laws in Puerto Rico, even if some are outdated or rarely enforced. The reality is that a large portion of the population—including adults—simply does not know these protections exist.
When a young person seeks a service and carries the knowledge—and the legal references—to back themselves up, that becomes a form of protection. It is also a form of resistance against misinformation. Jurao did not just provide knowledge; it provided practical power.
Jurao confirmed something important: there is no single youth experience. Needs vary by municipality, class background, access to information, and family or community context.
We held three in-person groups at partner organization sites:
We also added a virtual group. Although the format required adapting and shortening content, it had an important outcome: it allowed adults—mothers, community leaders, teachers—to participate. Supporting young people also means equipping the people who care for them.
In total, 45 participants joined: 41 young people ages 14 to 21 (39 in person and 2 virtual) and 4 adults in the virtual group. Participants came from multiple municipalities, including San Juan, Bayamón, Carolina, Guaynabo, Aguas Buenas, Caguas, Trujillo Alto, Toa Alta, Toa Baja, Ponce, San Lorenzo, and even one young person who traveled from San Germán after hearing about the experience from a relative.
Comprehensive sexuality education cannot remain a privilege of the metropolitan area. Jurao confirmed the depth of the gaps—and that the urgency is not a slogan. It is a lived reality.
In the Caguas group, we faced a moment that stayed with me. One young participant expressed harmful, toxic beliefs about LGBTQ+ people. It was striking to hear how closely his words echoed anti-rights narratives circulating online and in the media.
I do not share this to single him out. I share it because it reflects a broader pattern: many young men are being taught that feminism is their enemy—that it takes something away from them. Those messages are repeated, learned, and internalized.
What sustained me was the process itself. He stayed. He participated. He resisted at times, yes—but he also remained present. We saw a shift between his initial and final expressions. Even on the post-assessment, his answers were correct. I cannot say whether it came from deep reflection or simply a desire to belong. What I do know is this: education creates cracks in the architecture of hate. And those cracks are possibilities.
Along the way, one truth became impossible to ignore: this work cannot rely on constant exhaustion or the idea that goodwill alone will carry it forward. Coordinating, outreach, facilitation, and emotional support all require time, energy, and collective effort. There were moments when I arrived to facilitate already drained, because so much energy had gone into logistics and recruitment beforehand.
In an ideal world, initiatives like this would be integrated naturally into schools. But the current political climate and structural barriers make that increasingly difficult. Sometimes the approach has to be adjusted just to open doors in spaces where fear and misinformation about comprehensive sexuality education still prevail.
Looking ahead, I am clear about this: the future of Jurao—and of Wet Justice—will depend on real support. Volunteer labor cannot be the long-term foundation of work this urgent. The commitment is immense, but sustainability requires resources, conditions, and partnerships that allow comprehensive sexuality education to be consistent—not an exception built on sacrifice.
In the midst of attacks, fundamentalism, and misinformation, I can say this with pride: Jurao has taken root. The need is there. The urgency is real. And young people are asking for safe spaces where they can question, learn, make mistakes, have conversations, and grow.
Educating for sexual and reproductive justice is about opening pathways toward freer lives. And in a moment when rights are under attack, education itself becomes an act of defense.



























| At the Fundación de Mujeres en Puerto Rico, we are honored to accompany partners like Wet Justice, whose work shows that reproductive justice is sustained in everyday practices: through education, prevention, accompaniment, and the creation of safe environments for adolescents and young people. Supporting Wet Justice means investing in comprehensive sexuality education grounded in feminist values—education that not only informs, but protects, empowers, and transforms communities, especially in a context where fundamental rights continue to be threatened. For us, sustaining rights requires resources, trust, and collective organization. That is why we invest in partners who take root, expand access, and build more equitable futures. |
The Women’s Foundation of Puerto Rico operates under Section 1101.01 of the Department of Treasury of the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico and under Section 501(c)(3) of the Federal Internal Revenue Code. Our tax identification number is 66-0931262. All donations are tax-deductible.
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