There was a time when Sojourner Truth, once enslaved and silenced, stood before a crowd and bared her soul with words that would echo for centuries: “Ain’t I a woman?” That question wasn’t just for 1851.
It was for today. For me. For you. For every woman who’s ever had to fight to be seen, to be safe, to be respected — even within spaces that claim to fight for her.
I think about Sojourner often. Not just as a historical figure, but as a spiritual ancestor of every woman who has been gaslit by systems that claim to protect her while burying her voice. I imagine her standing in today’s world, where the backlash against women is louder, bolder, and cloaked in the language of tradition, culture, or even feminism itself.
I imagine her watching us — the women fighting for justice in courtrooms, in boardrooms, in traditional councils, in Parliament. I imagine her looking at the state of our world and asking, once again: “Still… ain’t I a woman?”
Because truth be told, we are living in dangerous times. Not just because of the violence we endure, but because of the silence that follows it. We are told to speak — but not too loudly. To lead — but not too boldly. To dress how we want — but not “like that.” To be free — but only within the limits of what is comfortable for patriarchy.
Every day, I feel the backlash. I feel it in how women’s rights are being rolled back in the name of religion, in the name of culture, even in the name of political diplomacy. I feel it in how traditional leaders are quick to silence women in village meetings. I feel it in how survivors of rape are questioned more than their perpetrators. I feel it in how activists are being surveilled, threatened, undermined — and still expected to serve with a smile. I feel it in how powerful women are labeled “angry,” “ungrateful,” or “too much.”
And yet, the world keeps telling us to be grateful.
Grateful for the crumbs of representation.
Grateful for the seat at a table where the menu is already set.
Grateful that the violence didn’t kill us.
Grateful that the system failed “less badly” this time.
But we are not grateful. We are grieving. Grieving for our sisters who never made it out. For our mothers who were told to endure. For our daughters who are already learning that safety is a privilege they might never have. And yet, like Sojourner Truth, we keep showing up. Bruised, but not broken. Tired, but still defiant.
When Sojourner stood up, she didn’t just speak. She shook the world. And that is what every woman who rises does. We shake the world. Whether we are speaking in front of a crowd, or whispering through our tears. Whether we are marching in the streets, or just surviving another day in a world that refuses to love us out loud.
So, to every woman facing backlash for simply existing: I see you. Sojourner sees you. And we say together: Ain’t we still women?
Because if our humanity is still up for debate, then the fight is far from over. And if Sojourner could stand up in chains and declare her worth, then we — the daughters of her fire — will not be silenced by policies, preachers, or presidents.
We will rise. Again. And again. And again.
Until the world finally answers, without hesitation:
Yes. You are a woman. Fully. Deservingly. Unequivocally.
