I’m a Nasty Woman

Yesterday, I was proud to be a woman and an American. I watched as women all over the world protested, marched, and came together in solidarity for woman and equal rights all over the world. I don’t generally write about politics. In fact, I live in Montgomery, Alabama where most liberals are looked at like some scourge on the surface of the earth. But I’m tired of being quiet about my position and what I think is right and wrong. I think the only way to make change is to be vocal about it. Great change happens when we take action, not when we sit silently by.

Women marched together non-violently yesterday. And why did they march? They marched for all sorts of reasons: health care, abortion, diversity, and climate change. Women marched because they’re tired of being objects. Women marched because they believe that it’s the first step toward a united front in the face of hatred. They marched together in love. They’re tired of working hard only to earn a whopping 20% less than a man in the same position with the same qualifications as them. 

I was slayed by the people who said: Why are they marching? Women already have equal rights. This is absolutely not true. There is income disparity. Women are still sexually harassed daily. Women are raped. Men get off from charges so they don’t miss “the college experiment.” Since when is that fair?

But the march was about much more than that. It was a protest against hate, racism, bigotry. It was a reminder that Muslims are people too, and they’re not all terrorists, and they shouldn’t be registered. It was a reminder that we are all human beings and we are all guaranteed certain human rights. It was a reminder that we are capable of change, because there are a great number of us who want it. Power in numbers.

CNN, yes, yes, the liberal news outlet, posted an article entitled Moment or a Movement. I think it’s important for women and men all over the world not to let this moment pass us by. We need to make it a movement. We need to use the energy from the marches yesterday to get involved and initiate change. Show your daughters they have power by becoming politically involved. Call your senator. Get involved at Planned Parenthood or another nonprofit of your choice. Donate to a nonprofit (like Mercy Corps, NRDC , or SPLC, just to name a few) monthly. Start writing letters to your senators, even if you live in Alabama and they send you a letter back saying that they basically will never agree with you or take you seriously. Get involved in education that helps minorities and poverty-stricken students RISE UP and rise above their circumstances. The more people who get involved the more change we can make.We can do it at the grassroots level. It takes one person to make change.

Let’s make this a movement, not just a moment like in Hamilton’s My Shot:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VK4Wk_8PbcI

 

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Flash!Friday: We meet again!

Today, for Flash!Friday the story element this week was conflict, specifically (wo)man vs. self. And the photo was of the first all women jury in 1911. It was strange to me that the first jury was in 1911, and women were not allowed to vote until 1919 (ratified in 1920). But, these two elements made my creative juices flow, and as such I came up with two stories.

Story # 1: 

Proof
@laurenegreene
203 words

The trial was simple: did she or didn’t she kill herself? Six months pregnant with another man’s baby. The plaintiff’s lawyer said it was all very clear that she jumped.

Katie sat in the front row of the juror box and listened. She understood the need for self-harm. She’d been doing it for years. Sitting here, amongst these women, most who were older and wiser than her, she didn’t know if she could come to a conclusion. The wickedness of self-doubt always sitting next to her.

The three piece suit and top hat droned on. Katie pulled back her sleeve to count the marks she’d made on her arm; six now. One was precariously close to the artery. Jack had found her that time, the baby crawling around with red knees, in their tiled bathroom. He seemed relieved when the summons had come for the jury.

“It’s remarkable, Katie. You’re making history. Baby will be fine with Nurse Delores.”

And now the doubt crept in again. If the woman who died felt as lost as she did, felt the fear and anxiety of the world on her shoulders, then maybe, just maybe she threw herself off the building. Where was the proof otherwise?

Story #2

Only A Woman
@laurenegreene
206 words

The first words out of Ethel’s mouth were, “I can’t.” Ethel believed she couldn’t do much. Her parents believed she’d inherit the world.

“You’ll see, Ethel, dear. One day women will even have the right to vote,” her mother said.

But Ethel was too busy telling herself she couldn’t pass her history test. Her parents had sent her on to college. She would be educated, this child of their old age.

When the summons came, Ethel was shocked. She was even more shocked when she saw the all women jury.

“What if I’m the one who causes a hung jury,” she asked the woman next to her.

Ethel took detailed notes throughout trial. A pig theft. She didn’t even know there were pigs in Los Angeles. Ethel finally felt like she was overcoming her fears. Fears she had carried within her like an overstuffed suitcase her whole life. Fears of “I’m not good enough,” and “I’m only a woman.”

She was named foreman, and in the end she was the one who handed down the guilty verdict. Self-doubt scoured away like scum from a bowl. She went on to be a leader in the Suffrage movement, so more women could reach their potential as she had.