In 1930s France, the movement to give women the vote was spreading like wildfire. By 1936, the country’s politicians were close to passing the law that would grant les Françaises their franchise; all that was needed to tip the balance was a single vote. Just one voice, from just one man! One man to tip the scales that would allow women to become true citizens. Since June 4th, three women had been elected to the government: undeniably a great step forward for French society, but not enough to shift anyone’s way of thinking. In Paris, the Senate was drawing out the debate, with discussions dragging on for months and senators not appearing in any great hurry to reach a conclusion. In the United Kingdom, women had been able to vote since 1928. The Suffragettes had succeeded in shattering that national inequity, and the militant women of France were hoping to do the same. For now, the proud Republic built on the ‘Rights of Man’ bore its slogan with no small degree of irony.
The time had come for a female Revolution: “Women to the ballot box!” chanted the activists as they marched toward the square on Rue Royale. Liberty, Equality and Fraternity; such pretty words were all in vain while they still could not vote. Come to think of it, shouldn’t they find another word for ‘fraternity’? The word came from the Latin, frater, meaning it was still the preserve of men, of brothers. Where did women get a look in? This was the question voiced by young Marie, a hardworking student with a penchant for Latin. Jeanne replied that she was no doubt right, but it wasn’t their priority. Action! Laws! Decrees! We need concrete change, not speeches or theories or etymology! Women aren’t going to win their rights with Latin! “You’re wrong – Latin is important if we want to show that we’re just as smart, erudite and cultivated as men are,” answered Marie. Jeanne saw Latin as the language of their religious past – it was not a tool for the present, and certainly not the future. “The Law of 1905 was passed for a reason. I'm a Leftist. I support the Popular Front, and the Left is done with Latin! We prefer the Marseillaise, a good revolutionary song written in proper French,” cried Jeanne, beginning to lose her temper. The law she was referring to had codified the separation of Church and State, thereby overturning the Concordat that had existed between the two since the days of Napoleon.
The protesters had finally reached Rue Royale. The street was packed with women in full voice, bearing signs and banners. Traffic had been brought to a standstill, and who of all people was about to arrive? None other than Louise Weiss. Marie and Jeanne were thrilled to see her in person. Louise Weiss had just turned down a ministerial post offered to her by Léon Blum. She had fought ‘for the right to be elected, not assigned’, as she so aptly put it. Louise Weiss was a model for all women: she had both guts and a sense of humour in bountiful supply. Not long ago, she had gifted certain senators pairs of socks embroidered with the inscription: “Even should you give us the vote, your socks will still be darned.” Such audacity; such comic timing! Today, the lady from Alsace was to chain herself up in front of the journalists present. These chains would symbolise the female condition in France. The message was clear: in this Republic, women were no more than prisoners. Marie and Jeanne followed suit, wrapping themselves in chains. The journalists were ecstatic, as the photos would be guaranteed a front-page spot. They certainly had spunk, these Parisiennes, and they weren’t scared of a challenge. The gathering was soon joined by men sympathetic to their cause, as well as politicians from the Left, workers, trade unionists and many others. Louise Weiss was content; the moment had finally come. Her intent was to shatter the inertia shown by the political class through her radical methods. She wished to create an association for all French women: a movement of “New Women.” Louise Weiss took off her hat and held it out like a ballot box, inviting her fellow protestors to cast their votes. Everyone came forward to take part, gaily depositing their makeshift voting slips in Louise Weiss’ esteemed hat, and chortling as they did so – after all, you just had to laugh.
Alan Alfredo Geday
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