Sometimes I wonder what I would be like, born into a different era or culture. Would I fight for women's rights? It's tempting to say yes of course. But would I be brave enough to go first? Could I have stood among the strong women whose sacrifice is so soon forgotten? I am a 43 year old college educated American woman and I don't know any of their names. It's a shame to admit. How can it be true? What person would I be if I knew the names of the heroes of the suffragist movement? What kind of country would ours be if we spent as much time on the great social movements as the presidents?
Honestly, I don't think I could withstand the pressure. I cry too easily. I am a pleaser by nature. I wish to get along with everyone. I'd rather listen than argue. Certainly, there is a lot we can all agree on.
Expand the belly on the inhale, contract on the exhale.
Years ago, at the Chippewa Falls library, I checked out an Iranian movie that looked interesting. The title I had long forgotten, but I remembered it was in three parts. Visions of the second I've often recalled, a young woman in a bicycling club on an Iranian island being chased by her husband on horseback who threatens to divorce her if she doesn't stop. When Ahoo won't turn back, the husband leaves and returns with a cleric who divorces them as they ride and then more men on horseback arrive, all to stop a woman from riding a bike.
While looking up the names of the women who led the Women's Liberation movement (Jo Freeman? Shulamith Firestone?), I got distracted by thoughts of this movie and searched iranian movie woman bicycles horses and re-found The Day I Became a Woman, directed by Marzieh Meshkini. Maybe I wouldn't be brave enough to storm the stage at the National Conference for New Politics and demand to speak, but join the Iranian women's bicycling club even when it is against the law, that I could do.