-Stephen Covey
May 23, 2022 (IB History Class)
She looked down at the flier in her hands, a war going on in her mind. Suffrage. It was hard to wrap her mind around it. Not because it was a difficult subject for her, but rather it was inconceivable that women were fighting for the right to vote. That was a man’s thing, politics were never for women.
Men would never allow it anyways, they were just wasting their time and embarrassing themselves and other women.
However…
She also desperately wanted to be able to vote. To participate in politics, a subject she had no choice but to pretend she didn’t understand.
Her husband wouldn’t stand for it though…and she has her kids to think about.
But my daughter…even if I do not get this right for myself, I should lay the groundwork for her. So that when she grows older, she can vote if she pleases.
She looked at the clock on the wall, her husband would be coming home from work soon. She mustn’t let him see the flier- he might take away her access to her money.
He might take her kids away from her.
She folded the flier and tucked it under the couch cushion and made her way to the kitchen to prepare dinner.
Tomorrow she would go to the National Woman Suffrage Association office, and she would pave the way for a better future.
She couldn’t keep living in the past. Things needed to move forward, society needed to move forward.
Suffrage definitely seemed impossible to her, but sometimes the word impossible itself was the biggest barrier between success and failure. If things were left to the imagination, nothing would be impossible.
For her daughter, and anyone that may come after.
It was March 3, 1913.
She couldn’t believe it. A march, here in Washington.
There was a big crowd too, and the parade was much more than she could’ve imagined.
She marched along with the other women, proudly displaying the suffrage flag across her torso. Other women began joining in on the march, walking with their heads up.
When she began, she felt like she was betraying her husband, that she was abandoning her children. But if she stopped now, if she continued living things like there were a hundred years ago, nothing would change.
She needed change, not for her, but for her little girl. A little girl who only just started walking on her own.
At first, she thought this would be a big step in peacefully making change.
Until the insults began.
“You should have stayed at home!”
“Go back and cry to your husbands you dirty who-”
“If you’er my wife, I’da bashed your heads in!”
“Stop tryina act like men and go back home!”
The tensions were rising and every woman in the parade could feel the crowd growing hostile. Women and children in the crowd began to leave and the men took steps forward. They began to throwing items and grabbing at the flags.
She could feel her heart pounding, panic beginning to rise.
The crowd of men were becoming more violent, some women were being shoved and hit.
She desperately looked around for the police who were supposed to protect them. Instead, all she found were uncaring looks as they turned their backs.
She felt herself being wrenched- grabbed by the arm and violently yanked to the side. She nearly fell to the ground, as her hair was pulled and she was scratched and hit by the man who grabbed her.
Another woman, one she’d met and became close with from the organization, grabbed her and brought her close.
They stared at the scene before them.
It was chaos.
It was a while before they were able to get away and the entire situation calmed down.
She was covered in scratches and bruises, her hair was a mess and she was tired.
So were the other women.
She was panicked, unable to think of a way to explain this to her husband without getting him mad.
When she got home, her husband was already there.
“What the hell were you thinking? What made you think it was a good idea to join those hysterical women?!” He yelled, venom seeped into his words as he glared at her. Yet she could see a bit of fear in his eyes. Fear of what she couldn’t quite place at that moment.
“I had to.”
“As if! What about the kids, huh?”
“I did it for our kids! For our daughter! Why can’t you see that?!”
“What will suffrage do for her?! Politics ain’t for women, so why’d she need to vote?!”
“Because it’s her right! Because she’s a human being too, y’know! Whether she ends up wanting to or not!” She raised her voice, tears began to well up in her eyes, frustrated beyond belief and utterly exhausted.
“Who do you think you are?!” He grabbed her wrist, gripping it tightly as he pulled her forward.
“…Mama?”
The couple froze before looking off to the side.
Both of their children were standing there. Their son was holding the hand of his baby sister. Tears were in his eyes, and his sister looked just as confused and scared.
Her husband let go of her arm as if it was fire itself and backed up, his face pale and she was shaking.
They weren’t supposed to repeat history.
They never spoke about it again, a silent agreement. He never said anything nor did he stop her from going to meetings.
It wasn’t until 7 years later; August 18, 1920, did they speak about it again.
The day women won the right to vote.
Truly, the word impossible was the largest barrier to success.
Live out of your imagination, not your history.
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