A solid voice on an old archive recording. the
passionate words, a now past crusade. a tenacious
battle to overcome inequity against an oppressing,
conservative, religious, patriarchal society. her
impregnable voice, their account of injustice, their
reality, almost tangible. exposed to a mass of
superficial, un-stimulating knowledge. the valued
information, was an exhaustive list on how to please.
experts telling how to catch a husband, and how to keep
him. how to cope with sibling rivalry, adolescent
rebellion. how to cook, dress, and look, and act more
graciously. taught to pity the ones who reached out for
greater means. and all over the medias, the cheap
magazines, the surrealistic heroine, the glossy image
of the american happy housewife. re-enforcing the time
mentality that a true woman did not desire a career,
higher education or political rights. was it painful to
give up those dreams? to leave behind hopes of becoming
unique? voluntary confinement in these neat and tidy
houses. the central heart of their existence, with
narrow roles and little impact out of the family cell.
seeking for perfection within these boundaries. was
that any fulfilling? did their ever had a moment of
hesitation, or always wrote proudly on the census
blank? how could the right to vote could ever seem like
a possible treat to the family, the family system and
the religious faith? you were fighting for basic
freedoms swallowed by religious dogmas. and the problem
laid , buried, unspoken for so long. like a strange
stirring, a sense of dissatisfaction. a yearning that
they suffered and strangled with alone. afraid to ask
even of themselves the silent question : "Is this all?"
a few fought and brought down barriers towards
advancement, encouraged civil disobedience. while the
rest, with nothing to look forward to, blotted out
their feelings with tranquilizers.
