Today is International Woman’s Day.
I wondered about the need for a day to celebrate half of us- seems a wee bit of an over generalisation. Perhaps it might suggest too that all the rest are ‘men’s days’.
But then again perhaps they are right;
- Women make up half of the world’s population and 70% of the world’s one billion poorest people.
- Women work two-thirds of the world’s working hours, produce half of the world’s food, but earn only 10% of the world’s income.
- Of the 500,000 women who die in childbirth every year, 99% live in developing countries. In other words, in developing countries, a girl or a woman dies every minute giving birth.
- Two thirds of the 800 million adults who lack basic literacy skills are women.
(Figures from Traidcraft. You can donate a few quid towards their work to support women to help themselves here.)
I can change little about the justices and injustices of this wonderful broken world we live in, apart from little bits of money here and there, and perhaps some words.
Because I still hope that poetry might find cracks and widen them.
I read an interview in which the opening lines of this poem were spoken by a mother over her daughter, and they did something to me. I hope that you will forgive this white, middle class man for presuming to use the voice of a woman in this way- as some of the words were hers…
I have a dream for my daughter
That she may live a life
Better than mine
That this plastic bowl I fill with water
Might one day be plumbed-in porcelain
That the cotton dress worn thin by the rocks I wash it on
Might become a pressed skirt and blouse all office white
That these Flip Flops sewn with telephone wire
Might be breathed upon by some God-mother
And become instead
An English bicycle
.
I have a dream for my daughter
That she may not be owned
Or used
Or victimised
She will be strong
Like bright green bamboo
She will speak
And men will listen