Then flowers might be enough
When I was little, I thought my mum possessed magic powers. She was always on top of everything and knew exactly what we were doing, even though we were playing outside while she was changing the wallpaper. She knew what the others were doing too, who said what and who did something they shouldn’t have.
It had to be magic. She couldn’t have possibly had the time to check on us while she was also cooking, cleaning, washing laundry, doing small repairs after her regular work.
There were other things my young mind didn’t understand but I have nevertheless found ways to rebel. When around six or seven I started writing poems, Dad was convinced I was copying them. To prove him wrong, I wrote a poem about him, describing his afternoons on the sofa reading the newspaper and napping, while Mum was busy cooking, cleaning and helping us with homework. I showed the poem to my teacher, who sent it to a local newspaper. When the poem got published, I thought Dad would be proud, but he was embarrassed instead.
It took me years to understand why.
It was much later that I learned that Mum hadn’t done all those things because she wanted to do them, but because she had to. I’ve also learned that Mum’s magic had little to do with superpowers and everything with the support of other women who kept an eye on us and other kids.
Decades later, things have changed a little, enough to give me different, better choices. Though Mum never used words like feminism or women’s rights, she taught me a lot about inequality, possibilities, and choices. She taught me that following my instincts and forging my path isn’t easy but that shouldn’t stop me from doing it.
I owe her my life. And I owe it to other women before me who fought, endured, coped, strategised, found solutions, and passed on their knowledge. They were strong because they had to be. Without them, I wouldn’t have the choices or the possibilities to decide about my body, my work and my life.
Behind every woman is at least one other (though there are usually more), who gives support without being asked and understands without having to explain, because they too, have lived it, experienced it, and are still experiencing it.
To me, that is the essence of International Women’s Day, the acknowledgment of those before who made choices when there were none. It’s a tribute to their work, struggle, and achievements, their contributions, support, and dedication that granted us what we have today. Unfortunately, this meaningful holiday has more often than not been reduced to gifting flowers and trinkets to women, or, taking them out for lunch for one day so they can ‘rest’ from their ‘duties’.
Sure, flowers are nice, but equal pay is better. So is a fair split of domestic chores and parenting responsibilities, ending sexual violence against women and making sure women are as safe and valued at home, in their workplace, and in their intimate relationships as men are.
Equality isn’t given, it’s fought. So, we fight until we get there.
Someday, all women will have the rights, freedoms, and possibilities we don’t have today. Then flowers might be enough.