This originally appeared on SpectraSpeaks.com. Republished here with permission.
There is a lot to say about women’s history. Yet, what is always at the forefront of my mind is that women’s history starts with me sharing my own story, contributing to the movement of millions of other women doing the same.
All morning I’ve been reading tweets about great women who inspired change—politically, socially, within the fields of science, music, the arts, etc. It’s inspiring to see so much media that sheds light about amazing women’s contributions to the history of the world, but let’s face it—not all of us are going to get interviewed on BBC, speak at a UN convention, amass the most followers on Twitter, or write a book that makes Oprah’s highly coveted reading list.
Does this reality make any of us less important? I don’t think so—but how many women from the everyday do? How many inspiring women—mothers, wives, teachers, students, scientists, artists, etc.—equate being a part of history with being a famous celebrity, or tech innovator, winning an election, or leading a political revolution? My guess is many. But, history doesn’t always have to be so dramatic to count—it just needs to be documented.
History, contrary to the popular misconception that the word is derived from “his” and “story” put together, actually has its roots in an ancient Greek word ἱστορία (hístōr), which can mean “inquiry,” “knowledge so obtained,” or—my favorite—“a written account of one’s inquiries, narrative, history.” Note that no part of the definition of history inherently suggests a limitation of “written accounts” to men, or white people, or any other marginalized group for that matter. So why have women’s stories been (and continue to be) left out of history?
Perhaps rehashing the etymological roots of a single word won’t change the fact that history has long been recounted from the viewpoint of dominant society; Hollywood, arguably the world’s most influential movie industry, is still run by white people, or men, or Americans (depending on which way you look at it); the op-ed pages of major news outlets—through which policy and thought leadership are driven—are also dominated by men who don’t understand women’s issues; and while stories of minority groups do make their way into history archives, the fact that they are often told from the point of view of the oppressor often leads to unrealistic, dehumanizing, biased portrayals of the people whose history is being documented for them. But, embracing the revelation that history is simply “a narrative accounted for” actually makes things less complicated:
In order to address the dearth of women’s histories—our stories, and voices being undocumented, under-valued, and falsely represented without reprimand—women must begin telling their own stories; we must essentially write our way back into history.
Incidentally, one doesn’t always have to “do” something huge to be someone important—sometimes sharing the complex, intersecting pieces about ourselves (and inspiring others to do the same) can do just as much, if not more, to change the world.
For instance, I recently asked my straight, conservative, Christian brother—who does not consider himself a writer, by the way—to contribute a guest blog about his personal experience spending his first Christmas with me and my partner. At first, he couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hear from him; he even stated in the piece that he’s just “a regular guy from Nigeria.” Well, three months later, I still get emails from so many young people telling me that they used his piece to come out as gay to their families. Three months later, I still have African students walk up to me after I’ve given a talk to let me know that my brother’s piece changed their lives, that his “writing” gave them hope. I’m about to hire one of them as an intern this summer, an opportunity she describes as opening her world up to more African community than she’s ever been exposed to before.
And in case you’re tempted to point out that my brother’s a guy, it was no different when my younger sister contributed a similar piece, Confessions of a Straight Girl, two years ago; a high school teacher reached out to me then for permission to use her piece to lead a gender and sexuality studies class.
Now, some of you may be thinking, “Well, even if I want to write, my life is not that interesting. I’m just a [insert perceived mundane role here that has everyone wondering why you’re being so self-deprecating] with nothing to say…” That is simply not true. Bertrand Russell (a man) once said, “The trouble with the world is that the stupid are cocksure and the intelligent are full of doubt.” When I think about how many boring history textbooks written by men are out there, it motivates me to keep writing, no matter how insignificant the voices in my head insist my perspective (on anything) is. And if positive-thinking doesn’t work for you, here are some other factors to consider:
- Women are less likely to run for office in part because they don’t feel “qualified enough”
- “Mommy Blogging” has gotten the attention of a $750 million blog marketing industry; companies want to know what moms—not “experts”—think before they spend a dime developing new products
- The It Gets Better campaign—videos created by regular people—has dramatically increased awareness of issues facing LGBT youth
- There are too many men who really shouldn’t be talking (Rush Limbaugh and David Bahati come to mind) writing and saying all kinds of things, and even worse influencing millions of people with their biased point of view—shouldn’t we at least join them?
See, the problem with women not telling their stories isn’t just an issue of “balance” (i.e. we need men and women’s voices in equal measure), but an issue of “influence.” Thus, the reason I write as often as I do is not because I think I have more to say, but rather, there’s too much at stake in the world if I don’t say enough. So, in moments when I doubt my power to impact others, I’ve learned to tap into the deep dread I feel at the thought of someone else speaking for me, especially after I’m gone; someone giving my children their version of who I was instead of doing the work to make sure my children get to read my words. My writing ensures accountability to my voice, my perspective, my journey, my history, which is worth telling, and worth telling right.
So, for women’s history month, I challenge you to take charge of your own history, by writing it. Instead of passively sharing women’s history as recounted by others, how about you begin the process of formally documenting—journaling, blogging, creating art and media, etc.—about your own life? It’s simple enough these days: You could create your own blog using a free Blogger or WordPress account, sign up for Twitter and share snippets of your history using #myherstory.
Blogging and tweeting may seem trivial given the bigger picture of revolutionizing history, but tell that to the voters (29 and under) who leveraged the power of social media to elect the first U.S. Black president, or the people of the Arab Spring who tweeted, YouTubed, and shared their revolution with the world, and in turn sparked many more revolutions—the Occupy movements—worldwide. Yours truly will be participating in Gender Across Border’s Blog for International Women’s Day, thus joining thousands of women all over the world to celebrate this year’s theme, “Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures.” Why not be one of them? Your words matter. Our words matter. Women’s words matter.
Whether you’re a teacher who educates young girls in a classroom, a mother of four who loves to write erotica, a hiphop artist who has a thing to say about gender discrimination in the music industry, a bus driver who bakes cupcakes, a sibling with an outspoken, queer, activist of a sister, please speak. Please say something. You have to—the world is counting on you.
Spectra is a Nigerian Writer & Media Activist, Queer Afrofeminist Social Commentator, Human Rights Advocate, Social Entrepreneur, Africa’s Cheetah Generation, Idealist Warrior Woman.