In today’s society, it might seem as if being an opinionated woman is no controversy. As if women have finally succeeded in their refusal to be silent. As if gender equality is a settled matter, widely embraced and promoted.
Yet, the reality is often far more complicated. Women who are outspoken, who are unapologetic in their political beliefs, and who challenge traditional narratives, are still met with resistance and hostility.
I experienced this first-hand growing up. I felt the judgement, not only from my peers but even from some of my own family, who shook their heads when I was outspoken at the dinner table. Later, as I started studying politics, I felt the judgement from my male classmates, who dismissed women’s issues and never cared for my perspective.
Funnily enough, I even felt the judgement from myself, questioning whether I belonged in not only a male-dominated industry, but in a male-dominated world as a young woman unafraid to speak my mind. Why does being an opinionated woman still feel like an act of defiance?
For centuries, women’s voices have not only been side-lined but altogether silenced. From political arenas and academic institutions, to even the comfort of their own homes, the societal expectation was clear; a woman’s role was to be quiet, ladylike, acceptable to the patriarchy. We cannot be too passionate (or aggressive, as it is often labelled), cannot contradict men, and certainly cannot challenge the status quo.
Historical examples make this abundantly clear: in the 1400s, women found to be argumentative, sharp-tongued and critical were accused of witchcraft and sent for execution. In the early 1900s, the Suffragette movement was despised by both men and women alike, rooted in the belief that women were incapable of useful political thought, and should just stay at home and look after the children. The Suffragettes’ behaviour proved that women were “too emotional” to give valuable contributions to society.
Even within the domestic sphere, women were to be seen and not heard. In the late 1800s, women who dared to challenge their husbands, showing any signs of independence or assertiveness, were declared insane and sent to psychiatric institutions, as seen in the case of Elizabeth Packard.
While these historical examples may seem distant, many of us are still feeling the consequences of the legacy of silence. One in four women have experienced domestic abuse, but 70% of cases are never reported to the police. Anti-abortion activists and government officials are still trying to tell women that they don’t deserve autonomy over their own bodies. Women occupy just 34% of seats in the House of Commons, and we are still yet to see a female president of the United States. These cases echo a history of silencing that has perpetuated harmful stereotypes into society today.
The harsh truth is that society still struggles to accept opinionated women, clinging to outdated ideals of what a woman “should be”. An assertive man is strong, a great leader, and confident. An assertive woman is difficult, controversial, bossy, and overly emotional. You’re told you can have your opinions, but we cannot make others feel uncomfortable. We must be sensitive.
But what if I don’t want to be sensitive? What if I am proud to be confrontational, proud to be labelled bossy? In the words of Kamala Harris, “there’s a whole lot of women out here who aren’t aspiring to be humble”, and I am one of them.
It feels as if women must still choose between staying quiet and being liked, or speaking up and being alienated, and it is important to acknowledge that not every woman has the resources to take the risk and choose the latter.
But wherever we can, refusing to be quiet matters. It matters particularly in the context of all the women who came before us who were forced into silence. We must do our best to honour the legacy of women who fought so hard for the equality and freedoms that we have today. To whatever extent we have a choice, we must choose to embrace the power of our voices – though scary – and try to open doors that have long been closed to us.
Entering a male dominated field like politics can trigger major imposter syndrome. But I’ve realised that I deserve to fill important spaces just as much as men do. With every other voice that refuses to be silenced, we, as women, are rewriting the narrative.
To every woman that has been told to tone it down, be more likeable, or avoid making waves: keep speaking. The world is a better place with us in it.
