22/01/2026
She bought a gun for herself. Two days later, she used it on him. Then 12 men decided her biology made her innocent.Los Angeles, March 16, 1881. Downtown streets were busy that afternoon. People shopping, working, living normal lives.Then a pistol shot cracked through the air.Francisco "Chico" Forster—40 years old, California's wealthiest bachelor—fell dead on the sidewalk. A single bullet through his right eye.Eighteen-year-old Lastania Abarta stood over him. Gun still in her hand. She didn't run. She didn't hide.She walked straight into custody like she'd been expecting it.Lastania was the daughter of Basque immigrants. Her father had died years before. Her widowed mother Isabel ran their family's pool hall on Ducommun Street.It wasn't fancy. But it drew customers. Lastania sang there. Played guitar. Her voice filled the room on busy nights.Chico Forster was a regular. His father owned vast California land. His mother was sister to Pio Pico, the state's last Mexican governor before American territory.Chico had money. Had charm. Had two children already—born to women he'd never married. Everyone knew his reputation. Promises came easy. Keeping them didn't.March 14 changed everything.Lastania performed at a party hosted by Pio Pico himself. The timing was loaded—Pico had just lost a major land battle to Chico's father in court.During her performance, Lastania changed the lyrics. Right there in front of everyone, she mocked the former governor.Then she left with Chico Forster.They went to the Moiso Mansion Hotel near the Plaza Church. In that hotel room, Chico made promises. Marriage. A future together. Forever. He showed her what he claimed was a marriage license. He'd find a priest and a ring. Everything would be made right.In 1881 Los Angeles, a young woman leaving her family home to spend the night with a man meant something specific. If she gave herself to him without marriage, she was betting everything on his word.Lastania took the bet. She gave him her virginity.Then Chico left to get the priest. Hours passed. Then a full day. Then another.He never came back.For a young woman in that era, there was no going home after what she'd done. She'd lost her honor. Her reputation. Her engagement to attorney Francisco Ramirez. Everything society said made her marriageable.She'd ceased to exist as a respectable woman. And everyone would know it.Two days went by. Lastania bought a pistol. She later said it was for su***de—that she planned to end her own life.But when she and her sister Hortensia finally tracked Chico down at a gambling stable, su***de wasn't the plan anymore.He was laughing with friends. Betting on horses. Acting like nothing had happened.The sisters confronted him. Witnesses later said he laughed in their faces. The women forced him into a carriage—demanded he take them to a church right then.Chico climbed in. The driver started through the streets.Then Chico ordered a stop. Stepped out of the carriage. Started walking away.Hortensia called after him. Begged him to come back.Lastania pulled the trigger.One shot. Through his right eye. Despite claiming she'd never handled a gun before, her aim was perfect.Chico's wealthy father was furious. He hired a special prosecutor. The district attorney brought in a team that included future U.S. Senator Stephen M. White.This wasn't just about murder. This was about a working-class immigrant girl killing California aristocracy in broad daylight on a crowded street.Lastania's attorneys faced impossible odds. She'd admitted to the shooting. Dozens of witnesses. Bright daylight. No question what happened.But they had a strategy. And it had worked before.Sixteen years earlier in Washington D.C., a young woman named Mary Harris shot her older lover after he'd promised marriage, taken her virginity, then married someone else.Her defense was temporary insanity caused by dysmenorrhea—severe menstrual pain that, according to medical theory of the time, could drive women mad.Mary Harris walked free.Lastania's lawyers used the exact same defense. And it worked because of what people believed about women in 1881.Medical science of that era taught that women's bodies made them unstable. That reproductive systems controlled their minds. That menstruation could trigger temporary madness.This wasn't fringe thinking. This was mainstream fact.Seven doctors testified at Lastania's trial. They presented the bloodstained hotel sheets as proof of her lost virginity. They explained how irregular cycles could disease the mind.Then Dr. Joseph Kurtz delivered the testimony that changed everything.He told the jury that any virtuous woman, when deprived of her virtue, would go mad. Undoubtedly.The courtroom erupted in applause. People cheered.Think about that. A doctor had just said that losing virginity outside marriage could medically cause insanity in women.And the audience clapped.Because in 1881, this made perfect sense to them.The jury was twelve white men. They'd been taught their entire lives that women were controlled by biology. That female bodies made women prone to madness.They deliberated twenty minutes. Not guilty. Lastania walked out to loud cheers. Some reports say she stopped by the police station to ask for her pistol back. Then she disappeared. Completely. No trace. Headlines ran nationwide. They all said the same thing: She claimed he seduced her under promise of marriage, then abandoned her. Nobody questioned the verdict. Because questioning it meant admitting something far more frightening than menstrual insanity. It meant considering that maybe Lastania had been fully conscious when she pulled that trigger. Fully in control. Fully aware. That a woman had made a calculated choice to kill the man who destroyed her future. In 1881, that possibility scared people more than temporary madness ever could. The defense worked precisely because it confirmed every belief society held about women. They were unstable. Irrational. Controlled by biology. Incapable of moral agency. Lastania couldn't be held accountable because she literally wasn't herself in those moments. Her reproductive system made her do it. But here's what nobody said out loud: The same biology that excused her murder was used to deny every woman voting rights. Property ownership. Education. Professional opportunities. If your body could make you insane enough to kill, society said you couldn't be trusted to vote. After April 1881, Lastania Abarta vanished from all records. No marriage certificate. No children. No death record. She disappeared as completely as if she'd never existed. All that remains is the image: Eighteen years old. Downtown Los Angeles. Pistol in hand. California's most eligible bachelor dead at her feet. And twelve men deciding her biology absolved her of responsibility. The defense was insulting. Built on lies about women's bodies. Condescending. Wrong in every scientific way. And it saved her life. Because sometimes the cage that imprisons you becomes the only way out. Sometimes the lie about what you are becomes the truth that sets you free. The question that echoes across 143 years isn't whether Lastania was truly insane when she fired that shot. It's whether we would have the courage to use the same cage door if it were the only one open. When survival means accepting an insult. When freedom requires playing into the very stereotype that holds you down. What would you choose? The truth that condemns you? Or the lie that lets you live?
