Three Little Girls and the Women’s March
No, it’s not a children’s story. In fact, it might be quite the opposite. Or maybe — and what I can only hope — it’s the prologue to a beautiful new narrative. Something three little girls may write about someday, or read in an article buried on the sixth page of a newspaper when they’re not so little.
Three little girls. My nieces. Three beautiful and brilliant little creatures with eyes that look out on a world that is so vast and impossibly magnificent; they are dreamers like we all were when we were young. I love three little girls who charge at me with open arms and furious excitement whenever I return home; their hearts stick to me like sunbaked silly putty. But I hate when I think of those three little girls growing up in a world that teaches them that they are less because all they’ll ever be are three little girls.
I’ve seen far too many people questioning the motivations of the Women’s March that took place yesterday and a lot of great responses that tried to expel rumors and provide substantial answers. The problem I noticed, however, is that by some route of dialogue it becomes a conversation of politics. Thus, I thought I’d try to give those with the confused looks on their faces a more relatable response — a more universal truth. When I thought about it, the answer to “Why?” or “For what?” was easy: three little girls.
It’s not a political statement. It’s not a divisive protest. It’s a call to arms for everyone to recognize that we have a civic duty to ensure that three little girls grow up knowing that they matter, that they are equal, and that nothing can or will stand in their way because of what is or isn’t between their legs. We have an obligation to ALL little girls and to ALL little boys to teach them that neither is better than the other because of a gender birth right.
This is not a question nor a matter of debate. It’s an impossible task to form logic against treating a woman — a girl — as equal to a man, or a boy. I have read the protests in opposition and it befuddles me when I see women presenting anecdotes of their struggles with misogyny and sexism, and how they overcame it as an excuse to tell little girls, “Deal with it. Accept that it happens, but speak up only afterwards because that’s the only way to handle it.” No. I refuse to accept that answer because it’s far too reactive when the world could be so much better if we were proactive by teaching children — through words, action, and reaction — that it is not okay to devalue yourself or someone else because of genetic predetermination.
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Sure, I identify as a liberal millennial, guilty as charged. Yes, I am a feminist — though I learned what a womanist is yesterday and I’m quickly redefining my position. But in absolutely no way are these labels responsible for my stance in favor of gender equality — they’re simply labels I’ve picked up as a result. Three little girls are responsible for why I stand up for gender equality. Three little girls and the plethora of women who have raised me, who I have seen fight for their place in the world, who I have seen buckle under a false pretense that they breathe and exist less than a man, who I have learned from, who have fed me, who I have loved and been loved by, and the plenty of women I’ve still yet to encounter. It is my responsibility to let them know that I am no bigger, stronger, smarter, or better than them because I was born into this world with an appendage hanging between my legs.
I mentioned to my girlfriend the other day that I hope to have a daughter so that I could “watch her defy society’s impossibilities.” Her response: “Hopefully there will be little left for her to do.” That’s the point of all of this, to get to a place where it isn’t impressive for a woman to overcome gender stereotypes and societal ‘norms,’ because they simply won’t exist.
Question: Why did people march?
Answer: For the sake of humanity. For the sake of three little girls.
To Peyton, Tegan, and Ryenn: CoCo will never stop fighting for you.
- C
