Women’s History is more than just a celebration in the month of March. It’s more than a handful of offerings on college campuses from the Women’s Studies department. And it’s definitely more than the checkmarks in the not-bad-for-a-girl column.
It’s more than the sum of its outstanding players: Rosa Parks, Susan B. Anthony, Sacagawea, Helen Keller, Amelia Earhart, et al. These women enjoy a firm place in society’s collective consciousness. As cultural icons, they represent firsts or standouts.
But like other subsets of history, Women’s History is more than just a loose collection of headlines about the intermittent monarch, the suffrage movement, the occasional outstanding writer, the trailblazing aviatrix, the pious religious figure, the angry form of feminism that led women to set their underthings ablaze.
In those headlines we do find extraordinary people who just happen to be women, and these models of the extraordinary serve as inspiration for current and future generations—for both women and men. A few notables: Lady of the House Congresswoman Jeanette Rankin, who was elected to Congress in 1916, four years before the 19th Amendment gave women the right to vote; the African-American contralto Marian Anderson, whose fans included Presidents Franklin Roosevelt and Dwight Eisenhower even though she was often not allowed to sing for white audiences; Corazon Aquino, the president of the Philippines who survived six coup attempts and almost made us forget Imelda Marcos’ shoe addiction; and Coco Chanel, the once-impoverished child of France, whose little black dress endures and whose legacy is bottled in pretty, one-ounce containers.
These woman and others like them did not just prevail, they excelled when personal, economic, political, and racial obstacles threatened. If you’ll stroll down Cliché Lane for a bit, the cards were stacked against these women, but they bet the farm and won. Everyone can relate to that—and to their stories.
Their stories are full of adventure, romance, loss, and triumph. Witness Heloise writing letters from a medieval convent to the castrated father of her child in 12th century France. Marvel at Isabelle Eberhardt’s stark detailing of her solo Saharan explorations in the early 1900s. Clap along to Babe Didrikson collecting two gold medals in track and field in the 1932 Olympics before swinging her way to victory in the LPGA. It’s not an accident that five-sevenths of the word “history” is “story,” or that both words derive from the same Latin root word.
But apart from the occasional matriarchal monarch or martyr or missing aviatrix, the history of women is often a secondary history of serving tea at document-signings, caring for men wounded in battle, and standing off to the side at men’s election victories. But in the tea-serving and the wounded-tending, in the shadows of the spotlight lie the stories that we mere humans of both genders can most easily relate to.
While we can certainly agree that specific documents and battles and elections do alter the course of history, we the pedestrians are rarely the stars of these monumental events. We are the extras in a cast of thousands, more footnotes than headlines, to mix metaphors.
In that sense, the majority of women’s history is closer to us, male and female, than any other kind of history. Let’s face it, as amazing as we humans think we are, the truth is we’re more apt to serve tea than sign treaties. Women’s history, like other subsets of history (ethnic history, art history, social history, cultural history, archeology, etc.) is mostly about the other 99.9% of things that are going on outside of the treaties, battles, and elections. By studying these subsets, we benefit from a richer perspective on what is generally considered regular history.
Case in point: Judith Bennett’s book, A Medieval Life: Cecelia Penifader of Brigstock, c.1295–1344, illustrates the life of one of the 99.9% and presents women’s history as everyperson’s history. Bennett, a medieval historian, draws upon court rolls and manorial documents to piece together a picture of a peasant’s life in early 14th century England. This peasant just happens to be a woman. From Bennett’s book we learn about aggressive farming techniques, the Black Death, medieval communities, the labor market, and how the court system worked.
We also learn about history on the micro level, with Cecelia as the representative peasant. She owned land, attended church, served as head of her household, and bought and sold goods and land. Cecelia’s history turns into a woman’s history only when we realize she never married. Because of her spinster status, Cecelia was the sole owner of her land, could will it to whomever she wanted, and made business decisions regarding her property and her farm without having to consult anyone or worrying about heirs—all radical but historically accurate concepts. And all about girl power, however unintentional.
Other radical but historically accurate concepts include girls receiving education, women earning the right to vote and own property, women playing sports, women serving as heads of state, women making important scientific discoveries, women taking to the skies, and eventually, women outnumbering men in college. Radical concepts inspired by radical women like Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Benazir Bhutto, Madame Curie, and Beryl Markham should be celebrated because they were firsts or were important to society or both. They should be recognized not just within the sub-category of women’s history but as part of all of history, threads that altered the pattern of history for everyone.
By studying the Cecelia Penifaders, we can glean more about what life was like for the common folk in any historical period. Let’s face it, unless you’re Bill Gates or Barack Obama or even Hilary Clinton, you are the common folk of the early 21st century. You are Cecelia Penifader, 700 years later.
History, good history, the kind with gripping stories and messy morals and surprising twists, is more than just a highlight reel with pink (or blue) graphics. History is also the rest of the movie, and of course, the credits.
