The Article below was published in Vol. 136, Issue 6 of the Lake Forest College Stentor on March 12, 2021.
Hayley Headley ’24
Staff Writer
Just nine months ago, I wrote my first article as a reflection of my frustration and disillusionment with the polite (and at times aggressive) racism that persisted at my school. I wrote my second article, all about Black female activism, just a few weeks later for an online magazine in the United Kingdom. Then another, and another, and to date, I have published around 25 articles and one question has remained on my mind—how am I telling these stories?
Most of my work tells the stories of women, many of whom are no longer with us, more of whom are fighting for their rights in whatever way they can. As Women’s History Month and Women’s Day approaches, I continue to question how I tell these stories. Since September 2020, I have been involved in sharing the stories of the thousands of women who continue to die of femicide in Latin America. As I tell those stories, I am painfully aware that they are not mine to tell, and with that comes the burden of diligence.
When we tell the stories of women, we have to center them. In the same way that public policy must focus on the most oppressed people, or, as feminist theorist Patricia Collins would say, the people whose matrix of domination is most restricting. The stories of women are then whittled down as I focus on women who exist on the periphery of feminist discourse, especially in the West. Indigenous women, poor women, and Black women are undoubtedly the most impacted by femicide, so how do you go about telling these stories with all their complexities and intricacies in 2,000 words or less?
Well, you involve yourself in their struggle. Much of traditional journalism is focused on disconnections of oneself with the story that is being told. Cutting off all the deeply emotional bits, the vital parts, the heart-wrenching details, and focusing on the facts. This approach itself further marginalizes women. It often doesn’t care to quote them, it reinforces the legitimacy of a complacent government, and it forces them to fall further into the background of the discourse that defines their livelihoods.
Facts are, of course, important, but we have to consider our sources. Often journalists focus on big institutions that have, frankly, uninteresting takes. They forget to tell the stories of the “little people.” The people who seem ordinary, but who hold thousands of stories of what it truly means to live in a system that fails them.
Writing about femicide is a sensitive and delicate topic. Most literature in the West attempts to sugarcoat the horrifying and gruesome murders that continue to happen and downplay the death tolls that continue to rise. Many stories attempt to shine a light on some small ray of happiness and find “feel good” moments.
For me, “feel good” moments don’t matter. There is nothing heartwarming about the horrible state of the world. When you look out the window, it might seem peaceful, but in truth, the foundations of society everywhere are crumbling and the hardest hit amongst us are women. Domestic violence, femicide, the coronavirus pandemic, and economic hardship have kept women from fully realizing themselves for far too long. When will it all end? When will we recognize and hear these stories? When do we act?
This is a reflection on more than just journalistic practice. It is a reflection on life, on what it means to listen and respect women and the many stories they hold trapped within themselves. Stories of the patriarchy that continues to oppress us, stories of men who further marginalize us, stories of a life half lived—not by choice, but by force.
The theme for Women’s Month and this year’s Women’s Day is “Choose to Challenge.” I am choosing to challenge old narratives and a media machine that seeks to undermine the lives and stories of thousands of women. How are you planning to challenge the patriarchal world we live in today?
