That Village
A (late) Fable for International Women’s Day
Trigger Warning: This piece talks about gender violence
In that Village …
The things that form us are not always light, not always born of community impulses to make things the best for all. That village that it takes to raise that child, is made of humans being human.
Only occasionally do the villagers turn into monsters and then we call them by names of respect. Names of power. Names that are inscribed in that child's innermost nucleus of every cell, cushioned in animal terror.
But outwardly on this child, there shows only the buds and blooms of a child belonging. Growing strong to hold up others, always knowing the gift of being permitted to be. Not as a birthright, but as a gift given to those whose names are cherished: Daughter, Sister, Baby-Mama, and Mother.
For if this child has no means of her own (and even this is no guarantee, as means are meaningless if they cannot be wielded by one’s own hands), these names are her only protection against all other monsters.
In Gentler Lands…
What if such a child were to find themselves in gentler, more enlightened places. Places where she could walk down the street by herself, decide whether or not to…
