Counting Feminicide by Catherine D'Ignazio is a deeply engaged and moving account of how feminist activists, especially in Latin America and the US, have turned to data to confront gender-based violence, specifically feminicide, the killing of women and gender-diverse people because of their gender. Drawing from close collaborations with grassroots groups, the book traces how these activists build their own systems of counting when governments fail to act, using data not just for documentation but as a tool for care, resistance, and justice. Each chapter explores the different stages of what she calls "counterdata science", resolving to act, researching in unjust information environments, recording and structuring data with care, and deciding when and how to refuse or use that data.

Section I: Data and Feminicide

Introduction

This book begins with the story of María Salguero, a Mexican activist who created a detailed map of feminicides in Mexico. Her map, built from news reports and public data, has become the most complete public record of gender-related killings in the country. It has helped in both advocacy and finding missing women, but it also raises a hard question: Why is this critical work left to individuals like her instead of being done by the state?
Using Salguero's project as a starting point, Counting Feminicide explores how activists across the Americas collect data on gender-based violence when governments fail to do so. These efforts, called "counterdata" projects, are not just about statistics; they are political acts that challenge injustice and highlight the structural nature of violence against women and marginalized groups. The book follows data activists in Latin America, the US, and Canada, especially those working to document violence against Black and Indigenous women, trans women, and sex workers.
The book also reflects on how data can be used ethically and responsibly. It introduces a practical toolkit for people who want to use data for justice, based on feminist principles like centering care, making labor visible, and embracing multiple ways of knowing. While data cannot fix structural inequality on its own, counterdata projects can build awareness, solidarity, and collective action for change.

A Short Genealogy of Feminicide and Data Activism

In 2015, a tweet by Argentine journalist Marcela Ojeda protesting the murders of two women sparked the #NiUnaMenos movement, which quickly spread across Latin America and beyond. The movement drew attention to feminicide, the killing of women because of their gender, and demanded justice, protection, and better data. Activists, not governments, have often been the ones documenting these killings. In Ciudad Juárez, for example, local women began recording cases long before officials did, linking the violence to poverty, patriarchy, and neoliberal economic changes.
At the same time, Black and Indigenous women in the US and Canada were also organizing around gender-based violence. Movements like #SayHerName and #MMIWG2 (Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and Two-Spirit People) highlighted how racism, colonialism, and state neglect contribute to these deaths. Because official records are often incomplete or missing, many of these communities have built their own databases to make these lives visible and push for accountability.
This kind of grassroots data work is part of what is called "data activism". Activists collect and share data to expose injustice, shift public attention, and demand change. Unlike official systems, their work centers lived experience, emotion, and care. This book explores how data activism around feminicide connects to wider feminist and decolonial movements and how it challenges dominant ideas about what data is for and who gets to count.

Official Data, Missing Data, Counterdata

In Puerto Rico, feminist groups Proyecto Matria and Kilómetro Cero worked with retired social worker Carmen Castelló to expose the government's failure to properly record feminicide cases between 2014 and 2018. Carmen had been carefully tracking gender-related murders through news reports, and her records revealed dozens of cases that official police data had missed. Their joint report, The Persistence of Indolence, showed that feminicide was being undercounted and ignored by public institutions and called for better data, stronger policies, and more accountability.
This chapter explains how missing data is not just about gaps or mistakes but often reflects deeper problems like patriarchy, racism, and state neglect. Feminist and Indigenous scholars argue that some data are missing "on purpose", not collected or shared because powerful institutions do not prioritize the lives or safety of certain groups. Activists call this "missing data by design". They respond by producing what is known as "counterdata", independent records and databases that aim to tell the full story and push for change.
Counterdata work, however, comes with its own risks and challenges. It can be emotionally heavy, politically dangerous, and difficult to maintain. Not all activists agree on how data should be collected or used, and some worry about reducing violence to numbers. Still, over 150 groups across the Americas are doing this work. They are individuals, collectives, journalists, and organizations committed to tracking feminicide where the state fails. Their efforts show how care, resistance, and data can come together to demand justice.

Section II: The Anatomy of a Feminicide Counterdata Science Project

Resolving

In Colombia, the Red Feminista Antimilitarista began collecting its own data on feminicide after realizing that the government had no reliable information. They found that many murders of women were tied not just to gender but also to poverty, street life, and the effects of militarization and neoliberalism. This led them to develop the idea of "neoliberal feminicidal violence", showing how economic and political systems contribute to the killing of women. They eventually created a national observatory to track cases and support women at risk through community-based protection networks.
Across Latin America, similar grassroots projects have emerged. In Bolivia, the group Cuántas Más began collecting feminicide data after a high-profile murder and the absence of official data. In Brazil, Mexico, Venezuela, and other countries, many groups, often led by families, journalists, or local feminists, have started their own databases when states failed to act. These projects aim not just to count victims but to reframe gender violence as a political and structural issue. They connect feminicide to broader injustices like racism, economic inequality, and colonialism.
Collecting data is not just technical work; it is emotional, political, and often overwhelming. Activists face burnout, financial instability, and the pain of constantly engaging in violence. Despite this, their efforts expose the gaps in state data and shift public attention to the scale and causes of feminicide. They challenge official definitions, center marginalized voices, and show that data can be a form of resistance. Their work stands in contrast to mainstream data science by focusing on care, justice, and community over profit and efficiency.

Researching

In Argentina, the feminist group Mumalá began collecting data on feminicide after realizing the government had no reliable system. After a political split caused them to lose their original database, they relaunched the project with stronger systems and a broader focus, including femicide attempts, LGBTQ+ hate crimes, and missing women. Their network of researchers across the country monitors news and social media to build a safer, more permanent database. Like other groups, they work with journalists, share findings publicly, and fill in gaps left by the state.
Other organizations, like Women Count USA and the Sovereign Bodies Institute, use similar grassroots methods. Dawn Wilcox tracks femicide cases across the US, while the Sovereign Bodies Institute documents violence against Indigenous women and Two-Spirit people. These groups often face missing or biased official data and instead rely on family stories, social networks, archives, and public records. They spend countless hours verifying and documenting cases to make the invisible visible, challenging government neglect and public indifference.
This work is deeply emotional and politically powerful. Activists must cope with the mental burden of constantly working with stories of violence. At the same time, they resist mainstream data practices by valuing care, context, and local knowledge. Their approach highlights how data can be a tool for justice, not just numbers, but a way to honor victims, challenge power, and support communities that have been silenced.

Recording

In Ecuador, a feminist alliance called Alianza used data to demand government action on feminicide by publishing a map and a statement highlighting where women were being killed and calling for changes like legal abortion and better protections. At first, their data collection was simple, but over time, they added more details like race, gender identity, and attacker information, especially for cases the government ignored, like trans women or women who died by suicide due to abuse. Their goal was not just to gather facts but to use data as a tool for justice and remembrance. Similarly, the Canadian Femicide Observatory tracks detailed information about femicide and the justice system's response, especially in cases involving Indigenous women.
These activists carefully decide what to count and how, creating their own categories and definitions to reflect the realities in their communities. They collect data manually, often from news reports or public tips, and use tools like spreadsheets to record and verify each case. Because state records are often biased or incomplete, they cross-check different sources to fill gaps. They also protect their data carefully, thinking about privacy, security, and how to present the information with care and respect for the victims. Some groups treat their databases as memorials, not just tools, choosing language like "her name" instead of "victim" and resisting simplified or dehumanizing categories.
Unlike mainstream data science, which often hides its political choices behind a claim of neutrality, these counterdata projects openly use data to expose injustice and demand change. They challenge state and media failures, build networks of care and resistance, and use local knowledge to guide their work. For these activists, a spreadsheet is not just a technical tool; it is a political and emotional space. It is used to remember the dead, support the living, and push back against systems that erase violence. This kind of data work, rooted in community and ethics, shows how data can serve not just analysis but solidarity and transformation.

Refusing and Using Data

On International Women's Day in 2022, the feminist group Mumalá brought banners and infographics to the streets of Buenos Aires, using data to protest not just femicide but also economic injustice. This chapter explores how feminist activists across Latin America and beyond use data not just to count deaths but to challenge power and demand justice. Through interviews and examples, the chapter identifies five key ways activists use data: to repair harm, remember lives, reframe public narratives, reform state policy, and revolt against structural violence.
"Repair" involves using data to support survivors and families, offering information, standing with them in courts or vigils, and documenting each life with care and respect. "Remember" means honoring victims through memorials, embroidery projects, social media posts, or public ceremonies that humanize rather than anonymize. Activists also "Reframe" gender violence by shaping how it is discussed, using comics, maps, or reports to expose patterns of harm often ignored by mainstream media or governments. These efforts challenge official stories and make room for feminist and queer perspectives.
In pursuing "Reform," activists gather and share data to influence laws and policies, often filling gaps left by the state. At the same time, they "Revolt" by bringing data into protests, stenciling names in public squares, holding banners with statistics or organizing symbolic acts that confront the public with the scale of the crisis. Across all five strategies, the activists' work is marked by a deep ethical commitment: to center care, to question power, and to use data not for abstraction but for justice.

Section III: Action-Reflection

Co-Designing for Counterdata Science

Designing technology for liberation means rejecting dominant stories about innovation that celebrate elite researchers and flashy solutions while ignoring those most affected by injustice. The chapter begins with a fictional article that praises a high-tech AI tool for solving gender violence. However, this kind of narrative erases the long-standing work of grassroots feminist collectives. It overlooks the deep, messy, emotional labor of documenting feminicide and the unequal resources between well-funded labs and under-resourced community organizers. True change does not come from centralized, top-down tools but from solidarity with the people already doing the work.
Instead of building grand solutions, the Data Against Feminicide project focuses on small, practical tools developed in partnership with activists. Two tools, the Highlighter and the Email Alert System, help research and record feminicide cases. These tools do not aim to automate away the labor but support it, making it easier, more collaborative, and less emotionally exhausting. They were shaped by listening to activists' needs, honoring their practices, and refusing to extract or centralize their data. The tools are part of a broader co-design process built on trust, care, and feminist values.
Still, the chapter shows that designing for justice is never simple. Tensions arise around how to define feminicide, how to support intersectional activism when media sources are biased, and how to sustain tools over time in a system that rewards novelty but not care. These challenges highlight the real work of counterdata science: not just building technology but building relationships, sharing power, and staying accountable. It is not about saving anyone; it is about showing up, standing beside, and helping carry the work forward.

A Toolkit for Counterdata Science

The final chapter offers a toolkit for anyone interested in starting or joining a counterdata science project, from activists and journalists to academics and community groups. It draws from real-world lessons learned by feminist data activists who use data not as a solution but as a tool for justice, healing, and action. Their work is rooted in care and grounded in the lived realities of those affected by feminicide. The toolkit includes glossaries, frameworks like data feminism, practical questions tied to each stage of a counterdata project, and case studies from various justice-focused efforts.
Although centered on anti-feminicide activism, the ideas and tools are useful across many struggles, from tracking evictions to exposing algorithmic bias or colonial harm. The chapter invites readers to adapt and build on these resources, guided by a broader commitment to collective liberation. Counterdata science, as described here, is not just about collecting facts; it is about resisting dominant narratives, remembering lost lives, reframing systemic harm, reforming unjust systems, and sometimes refusing participation altogether. It is about designing data practices that serve communities, not institutions.
The chapter ends by walking through the four main stages of counterdata science: resolving, researching, recording, and refusing/using. These are not technical steps but political and ethical ones. Practitioners are urged to reflect on their own position, challenge harmful classifications, and use data in ways that support memory, protest, and change. Whether through small tools or large networks, this work is about building relationships and refusing erasure. It is slow, relational, and unfinished, but it shows that data can be part of the long, collective struggle for justice.