Thank you for the reverent nod, the eloquent bouquet of words, the praise so gorgeously stitched it practically deserves a standing ovation and a sash. But let’s be clear:
I’m not just part of history. I am a walking, talking, occasionally swearing, shoe-obsessed, redheaded encyclopedia with a blistering temper and a full set of receipts.
Everything you wrote about? I wasn’t reading about it—I was there. I marched. I rallied. I remember what bras felt like before we burned them. I have danced at fundraisers in church basements and filibustered across Thanksgiving dinner tables with more grace and rage than a Southern belle on a mission.
I came of age when everything was on fire—and honey, I didn’t just roast marshmallows.
I protested the Vietnam War in heels. I demanded reproductive freedom before we even had decent tampons. I pushed for the ERA, the way some people push their shopping carts through Costco—full speed, no apologies, occasionally knocking over a man or two.
And while the headlines keep acting like activism has an expiration date, I’ve got news: This isn’t nostalgia. This is muscle memory. This is knowing the exact scent of danger—and lighting a match anyway.
So thank you for seeing us. Truly. Because while the world scrolls past the wise, the weathered, and the wildly determined—we are still the ones showing up early, reading the damn fine print, and calling out the emperor with no pants.
Not just for the fierce elegance of your words (which could power a movement on their own), but for the living legacy you represent. You remind us that history isn’t just archived—it breathes, swears, sashays, and still knows how to knock over a man or two when the cause demands it.
Your fire lights torches for others to carry. And your voice—unapologetic, unsilenceable—is exactly what we need. You don’t just carry history, you’ve made it.
Thank you for showing us all how to age like revolutionaries.
I'm just a couple of decades younger than you -- too young to protest the Vietnam war, but admiring of those who did so. I still mourn the students gunned down at Kent State. I rallied so my college would divest from South Africa. And I won't stop, in part because of the people like you who are still out there. Thank you for all you've done.
I demonstrate now with other older women, and some men, that I marched and organized with for Civil Rights, against the Vietnam War, and for so many painful years in the founding of the anti-rape movement. In the struggle, as we said. And it has made a difference, fruitless as it sometimes seems. Your acknowledgement sneaked right up on me and made me cry. Thanks.
Thank you for sharing that, Robin. The legacy you carry—and continue to build—is extraordinary. What may feel fruitless at times has, in truth, planted the seeds so many of us now stand on. I’m honored this resonated with you.
Wow. Your letter actually brought me to tears. Thank you for recognizing the courage and sacrifice that women have endured and that women are still fighting for … fighting for the right to be treated equally and for others to be treated equally as well. We are the backbone of the family. The nurturers. And yes we know how to put our noses to the grindstone and do the things that have to be done. I am one of those born in 1951 who has seen a lot and I always felt that it was important to make my voice heard along with millions of other women throughout the decades. To decry war, hunger, injustice and we made progress but now … well now there is absolutely no question that we need to show up every way we can to save our democracy. So, along with my sisters in all walks of life and in every freedom loving corner of the globe, I will be out on the street protesting; I will be calling and writing to Congress.; I will be trying to encourage my friends to take part. And I will be praying that one day women will rule the world. It would be a much better place!
Thank you, Cindy. Your message is a powerful reminder that wisdom and fire are not mutually exclusive—you carry both. You’ve been part of real change before, and you’re showing once again what it looks like to stand up, speak out, and keep going.
I especially appreciate how you link personal action to global sisterhood—it’s not just inspiring, it’s instructive. When seasoned voices like yours lead the charge, it gives others—especially younger women—a blueprint for courage and persistence.
And yes, if women ruled the world, we might finally see leadership rooted in empathy, strength, and sanity. Thank you for leading with all three.
My only objection is that we can't assume women do it better than men. I refer you to Margaret Thatcher, Sarah Huckabee, Kristi Noem, Lauren Boebert, Marjorie Three Names... you get the idea. Justice comes from just people, not from any one gender.
Absolutely, Naomi—and you’re right to raise that. Justice isn’t guaranteed by gender; it’s carried out by people with conscience, character, and clarity. We’ve seen power corrupt across the board, and some of the worst political cruelty today is championed by women who wield their platforms like cudgels.
The dream isn’t matriarchy for its own sake—it’s leadership that prioritizes equity, empathy, and truth. If more people like that were in charge, we’d be in far better hands. But yes, it’s not about gender—it’s about justice.
This is a hill I've been wiling to die on since my days in a Liberation Theology class in graduate school where the professor advocated rule by women to the extent of using sex selection on fetuses to keep the male population to 10% of the total. She made the three men who enrolled so uncomfortable that they all dropped out. I challenged this with my study group, got roasted, held my ground, and still aced the class, which wasn't a foregone conclusion. I to think we need to be careful of claiming special virtue for any one group, because it invariable means ignoring reality.
And one more comment. I am so damn proud to stand up next to the sisters and brothers of my generation who are fighting to preserve the rights of all people. Us old folks rock!
I have said it before and I will keep saying it. We have to continue fighting for all those who come after us. Freedom was a gift given to us by our forefathers and we need to keep the flame alive for future generations. There is no alternative. And, again, thank you Mersault for doing so much to encourage and enlighten all of us engaged in this battle for our country’s future.
What a powerful testament to love and legacy, Jay! The fact that you’re still listening to her voice—still standing up and showing up—means more than you know. You carry not only your own conviction but hers, too. That’s what makes this moment so strong: generations speaking through you. Thank you for being here.
I read your essay, In Praise of Older Women, and something inside me answered like a struck bell. At 58, standing just shy of those so-called “mystical” 60s, I don’t feel invisible—I feel sharpened. Not fading, not forgotten. Just underestimated. And that might be our greatest power.
I was born female. I live today as non-binary. And still—still—my solidarity will always be with women. Not out of obligation, but out of memory. Out of knowing. Out of blood. I have lived the world as a girl, as a woman, as a body others believed they could name, control, diminish. And though I’ve moved beyond the boundaries they tried to set, I have not forgotten who is still being held inside them.
Those in power don’t fear us—not the older women, not the gender-nonconforming, not the wild and insufferable suffragettes reborn in new bodies with sharper language and deeper resolve. We are not their fear. We are their blind spot.
But blind spots crash regimes.
I believe now more than ever that those deemed invisible—older women, nonconforming elders, those who’ve fought this fight before—are the most underestimated force alive. We are the ones who know how this ends. And we are the ones who know how to stop it.
Because let’s speak plainly: cisgender men—unless they are Black, trans, or otherwise marginalized—have the least to lose in this authoritarian backslide. But women? Women stand to lose everything their foremothers fought for. Bodily autonomy. Voting rights. Access to education, healthcare, legal protection. The right to decide who they are, where they go, what they do, and how they live. If history repeats, they’ll be told again: you belong to your husband, to your father, to the state.
And to that, we say: No.
What we need now are elders—not in title but in action. Not the sweet, smiling grandmothers of political caricature, but the kind who remember how resistance was built from casseroles and campaign flyers, from PTA meetings and protest marches, from whispered warnings and bold refusals.
We need mentors who understand that resistance isn’t just in the streets. It’s in the clothes we wear, the way we speak, the stories we tell, the way we raise our brows or our voices or our fists. It’s in reclaiming the power of lipstick or the power of leaving femininity behind. It’s all political. It always has been.
What they don’t understand is that invisibility doesn’t mean absence. It means freedom to move without being watched. To organize under the radar. To build something unshakeable while they’re distracted by their own reflection.
What they don’t see coming is us.
We’ve survived too much, seen too much, to let this unravel without a fight. We’ve marched. We’ve lost. We’ve won. We’ve buried loved ones and dreams and illusions. But we haven’t buried hope. Not yet.
And now, as younger generations wake up to a world that’s moving backward, they need us. They need our stories. Our stubbornness. Our outrage. Our memory.
They need to see what strength looks like when it’s not trying to prove anything—just trying to keep the light on a little longer.
So here I stand—almost 60, not a woman anymore, not “someone” easy to define—and I offer this:
Thank you for this. Your words are powerful, grounded, and honest in a way that cuts through the noise.
What you’ve lived—and how you carry it—matters deeply. Your voice bridges worlds—between identities, between generations, between what was and what’s still possible. I’m grateful you wrote this. And I’m even more grateful you’re out there.
Your words met me like an outstretched hand, and I thank you for that.
It means something—no, it means everything—to be recognized not as a shadow of the past, but as a presence still burning, still building, still becoming.
You said my voice bridges worlds.
I carry that with care.
Because that’s what it feels like—to live between identities, between generations, and yes, even between worlds. As I’ve always said: between all the chairs of this world. Between what was promised and what is now threatened.
I write not from a place of certainty, but from a place of endurance. A place where the dust of old battles still clings to my boots—yet I lace them up again, anyway.
We may not always be visible in the way power defines visibility. But we are vital. And that, I believe, is the force regimes never see coming: those who persist without applause, who remember without bitterness, and who show up even when the world stops asking us to.
I write not only from memory, but for potentiality. For possibility. For the options not yet foreclosed. For what might still rise if we hold the line—and light the path.
Thank you for seeing me. For seeing us.
This is not the end of our story.
In solidarity, in memory, in defiance—and in hope,
---> “Stake everything on a formidable gamble: that words are more powerful than munitions.” Albert Camus
"Hierarchies try to convince us that all power and well-being come from the outside, that our self-esteem depends on obedience and measuring up to their requirements, but it’s interesting that even the most totalitarian cultures have never been able to convince everyone. There have always been rebels and visionaries who persisted in believing that each person has a center of power and wisdom within, whether it’s called the soul or the authentic self, Atman or the spirit. We don’t have to reinvent the wheel, just rediscover it."
I AM that fierce grandmother holding a protest sign, because I want my daughter (who also holds one!) and granddaughters to know that I am on the right side of history!!
Thank you for this powerful image, Lisa—I can see you out there, standing tall with your sign and your conviction. That generational link—mother to daughter to granddaughter—all holding the line together? That’s how movements endure. You’re not just on the right side of history; you’re writing it.
Thank you for this message. I appreciate your recognition of older women’s willingness to fight for the rights we already fought to achieve once. We aren’t going back. We have seen this before. I won’t live the role Project 2025 has planned. I know what that means when I say it. Women and men - we are old - but we aren’t going back and the Congress and Senate better not steal the money we were taxed with every paycheck on the faith of the US Government with the promise it would be there when we retired. We are protesting peacefully NOW. But the draft was active when we were young.
Kay, You're doing something that too few recognize: drawing the line not just for yourselves, but for the generations behind you who may not yet grasp what’s at stake. This isn’t just about holding onto past gains—it’s about refusing to be erased from the future. You remind us that wisdom doesn’t retire, and protest doesn’t age out. Washington should take note: those who think seniors are passive or pliable haven’t met the women who built the rights they're now trying to dismantle.
Wow. Thank you, your letter brought tears to my eyes. Yes, there have been those times in our lives that we were unseen, not acknowledged or valued in a workforce primarily surrounded by men. I’m fortunate, come from “good stock” both of my great-grandmother’s fought for the right to vote in this nation.
They both figured out in their own individual ways that the only thing that needed to be changed was that women needed to have their voices heard. One on the front line the other in protest silently but then coming out like a lion on the front lines.
My grandmother’s fought as well and my mother.
Was born in 1958 and my mom went to work once my younger brother was in school full time and I was old enough to manage watching him with little supervision around 1967 or 1968 A fun time in this country at the time for women. A mom working as a Secretary for a Superintendent for a large school district. My mom taking on a job that once she retired in the late 1990’s that one job needed to be filled by three individuals.
Fighting for equality to be seen as any male counterpart as well as her superiors. The best memories were when my mom was needed to negotiate the teachers contracts with the school district and she was the only one that was prepared versus her male supervisor. Years later my mom informed me that her boss from that day forward treated her as equal and remarked on what a humbling experience he was able to witness for himself. Not to be embarrassed in front of the negotiations but humbled by my mother’s wit, intelligence and integrity to have groups come together within a few hours.
Yes all these women before myself that had courage, resilience and sacrificed as women have done for generations. They’ve endured and I am carrying on their torch to continuing the fight. We nurture, not just our families but society itself. We fight for equality, to be treated simply as equal no more or less. Women are taught from an early age to bear the brunt of the hardships of life and fight the good fights and make the good trouble for the changes to occur, have seen this firsthand.
Was taught from an early age that our “History does not belong to the past; it belongs to the present and the future…”
That we study past events so that, we can learn from mistakes & grow toward wisdom, goodness, & courage – for today, & tomorrow, & five hundred years from now, and on… So we stand, march and protest for the injustices we encounter, for the laws that have been rolled back for the health and safety of our sisters and daughters of this nation.
So, as with my sisters and daughters from all across this nation from each corner of this country that we love for it’s ours to nurture and we give birth to for future generations to thrive and live freely under this democracy, this democratic-republic we fight, we call, write, email our members of Congress, and protest for the rights that never should have been lost and to achieve the equality that is by far overdue. One day soon it will not be an anomaly for a woman to have the highest office in this land, and once accomplished the world better hold on because the dominos will begin to fall.
Thank you again for recognizing the courage and sacrifice that all women continually endure.. we fight!
Thank you, TJ, for sharing such a rich and personal reflection. What strikes me most was the way you revealed how each woman, in her own way, rewrote what was expected of her. There’s something deeply American—and deeply radical—in that quiet refusal to stay in place.
And you’re right: the fight isn’t about dominance, it’s about dignity. Not about being above, but never again being beneath. When I read your words, I don’t just see the women of the past—I see the scaffolding for the future.
Here’s to you—and all the women who came before you, and all who walk beside you now.
Born 1960, I grew up in a turbulent climate of racial, social, economic injustice, and injustice towards women’s health and autonomy. I’m from a family of Irish women fighters (and two brothers). Parents told us to stand up and speak out when you see injustice. We have. Each of us fight in different ways for the sake of humanity and peace.
I continue to protest with the voices of Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Gloria Steinem and Dorothy Pitman, Jane Fonda, Robin Morgan, Pete Seeger, Malcolm X, and so many other heroes in my soul. Each of us have an obligation to commit to a better nation, a betterment for humanity and the environment, a commitment to our values of equality and fairness, a right to our bodies, understanding liberty and education, and safety. I’ll continue to fight for my kids and grandkid’s futures, as well as every other human being who has the right to live free.
Erin—Your message is a battle cry, and a damn powerful one. You were forged in fire and came out carrying a torch—not just for your family, but for all of us still climbing toward justice. The voices you carry in your soul? Legends. And you’re right alongside them now. Keep fighting. Keep shouting. We need every single one of you.
I am one of those elders, age 80, who never marched, or tossed blood in a recruiting office during Vietnam, or marched together with thousands of other women in protest. But I am one of those elders - even in my younger days - who *never* feared to speak up when I heard people speaking against migrants, or women, or gays, or latinx, or trans individuals, or Jews - anyone marginalized by hate speak. All I can say is: Folks, do *not* mess with older women! ✊💪
Julie, thank you for this fierce and beautiful truth. You remind us that resistance doesn’t always wear marching boots—it can live in the everyday courage of speaking up, again and again, when silence would have been easier. And you're absolutely right: older women have nothing left to prove, but everything left to protect. So no, we won’t mess with you—and heaven help anyone who tries.b :)
I'm 80 and the embodiment of all you wrote. You made me cry.
Please note my photo to the left--that is me in Washington, D.C. at the "NOXL" protest with Bill McKibben and Naomi Klein and others. This coincided with the "Occupy Wall Street" movement. Since I lived in Missouri at the time, it was quite a commitment to get there! Now, I live in a tiny rural town in Michigan's U.P. and have to drive a 2 hour round trip to the nearest protest--which I do every Saturday!
Your message moved me deeply—what a powerful testament to lifelong courage and conviction. From D.C. to the U.P., you are the living proof that resistance doesn’t retire. Thank you.
Thank you! Every march, every protest, every act of resistance was worth it. Let’s hope we can claw back our rights that were so hard won decades ago 🙌🏻🫶🏻
Thank you for staying in the fight. The road back is steep, but it’s people like you who make the climb possible. Your conviction is felt—and needed—more than ever.
Darling Mersault—
Thank you for the reverent nod, the eloquent bouquet of words, the praise so gorgeously stitched it practically deserves a standing ovation and a sash. But let’s be clear:
I’m not just part of history. I am a walking, talking, occasionally swearing, shoe-obsessed, redheaded encyclopedia with a blistering temper and a full set of receipts.
Everything you wrote about? I wasn’t reading about it—I was there. I marched. I rallied. I remember what bras felt like before we burned them. I have danced at fundraisers in church basements and filibustered across Thanksgiving dinner tables with more grace and rage than a Southern belle on a mission.
I came of age when everything was on fire—and honey, I didn’t just roast marshmallows.
I protested the Vietnam War in heels. I demanded reproductive freedom before we even had decent tampons. I pushed for the ERA, the way some people push their shopping carts through Costco—full speed, no apologies, occasionally knocking over a man or two.
And while the headlines keep acting like activism has an expiration date, I’ve got news: This isn’t nostalgia. This is muscle memory. This is knowing the exact scent of danger—and lighting a match anyway.
So thank you for seeing us. Truly. Because while the world scrolls past the wise, the weathered, and the wildly determined—we are still the ones showing up early, reading the damn fine print, and calling out the emperor with no pants.
Signed,
One of the Originals
(Still marching. Still yelling. Still fabulous.)
Gloria—
You are the reason I write.
Not just for the fierce elegance of your words (which could power a movement on their own), but for the living legacy you represent. You remind us that history isn’t just archived—it breathes, swears, sashays, and still knows how to knock over a man or two when the cause demands it.
Your fire lights torches for others to carry. And your voice—unapologetic, unsilenceable—is exactly what we need. You don’t just carry history, you’ve made it.
Thank you for showing us all how to age like revolutionaries.
Still grateful. Still listening. Still learning.
—Mersault
You just made my year seem bright again. Thank you!
I'm just a couple of decades younger than you -- too young to protest the Vietnam war, but admiring of those who did so. I still mourn the students gunned down at Kent State. I rallied so my college would divest from South Africa. And I won't stop, in part because of the people like you who are still out there. Thank you for all you've done.
Thanks, Naomi, I appreciate your voice.
I second that!
I demonstrate now with other older women, and some men, that I marched and organized with for Civil Rights, against the Vietnam War, and for so many painful years in the founding of the anti-rape movement. In the struggle, as we said. And it has made a difference, fruitless as it sometimes seems. Your acknowledgement sneaked right up on me and made me cry. Thanks.
Thank you for sharing that, Robin. The legacy you carry—and continue to build—is extraordinary. What may feel fruitless at times has, in truth, planted the seeds so many of us now stand on. I’m honored this resonated with you.
😁
Wow. Your letter actually brought me to tears. Thank you for recognizing the courage and sacrifice that women have endured and that women are still fighting for … fighting for the right to be treated equally and for others to be treated equally as well. We are the backbone of the family. The nurturers. And yes we know how to put our noses to the grindstone and do the things that have to be done. I am one of those born in 1951 who has seen a lot and I always felt that it was important to make my voice heard along with millions of other women throughout the decades. To decry war, hunger, injustice and we made progress but now … well now there is absolutely no question that we need to show up every way we can to save our democracy. So, along with my sisters in all walks of life and in every freedom loving corner of the globe, I will be out on the street protesting; I will be calling and writing to Congress.; I will be trying to encourage my friends to take part. And I will be praying that one day women will rule the world. It would be a much better place!
Thank you, Cindy. Your message is a powerful reminder that wisdom and fire are not mutually exclusive—you carry both. You’ve been part of real change before, and you’re showing once again what it looks like to stand up, speak out, and keep going.
I especially appreciate how you link personal action to global sisterhood—it’s not just inspiring, it’s instructive. When seasoned voices like yours lead the charge, it gives others—especially younger women—a blueprint for courage and persistence.
And yes, if women ruled the world, we might finally see leadership rooted in empathy, strength, and sanity. Thank you for leading with all three.
My only objection is that we can't assume women do it better than men. I refer you to Margaret Thatcher, Sarah Huckabee, Kristi Noem, Lauren Boebert, Marjorie Three Names... you get the idea. Justice comes from just people, not from any one gender.
Absolutely, Naomi—and you’re right to raise that. Justice isn’t guaranteed by gender; it’s carried out by people with conscience, character, and clarity. We’ve seen power corrupt across the board, and some of the worst political cruelty today is championed by women who wield their platforms like cudgels.
The dream isn’t matriarchy for its own sake—it’s leadership that prioritizes equity, empathy, and truth. If more people like that were in charge, we’d be in far better hands. But yes, it’s not about gender—it’s about justice.
This is a hill I've been wiling to die on since my days in a Liberation Theology class in graduate school where the professor advocated rule by women to the extent of using sex selection on fetuses to keep the male population to 10% of the total. She made the three men who enrolled so uncomfortable that they all dropped out. I challenged this with my study group, got roasted, held my ground, and still aced the class, which wasn't a foregone conclusion. I to think we need to be careful of claiming special virtue for any one group, because it invariable means ignoring reality.
And one more comment. I am so damn proud to stand up next to the sisters and brothers of my generation who are fighting to preserve the rights of all people. Us old folks rock!
I have said it before and I will keep saying it. We have to continue fighting for all those who come after us. Freedom was a gift given to us by our forefathers and we need to keep the flame alive for future generations. There is no alternative. And, again, thank you Mersault for doing so much to encourage and enlighten all of us engaged in this battle for our country’s future.
I’m an 83yo great-grandfather, and believe me, my wife sent me. She may not still be around but I have heard her message!
What a powerful testament to love and legacy, Jay! The fact that you’re still listening to her voice—still standing up and showing up—means more than you know. You carry not only your own conviction but hers, too. That’s what makes this moment so strong: generations speaking through you. Thank you for being here.
We Were Never Gone: A Letter from the Edge of 60
I read your essay, In Praise of Older Women, and something inside me answered like a struck bell. At 58, standing just shy of those so-called “mystical” 60s, I don’t feel invisible—I feel sharpened. Not fading, not forgotten. Just underestimated. And that might be our greatest power.
I was born female. I live today as non-binary. And still—still—my solidarity will always be with women. Not out of obligation, but out of memory. Out of knowing. Out of blood. I have lived the world as a girl, as a woman, as a body others believed they could name, control, diminish. And though I’ve moved beyond the boundaries they tried to set, I have not forgotten who is still being held inside them.
Those in power don’t fear us—not the older women, not the gender-nonconforming, not the wild and insufferable suffragettes reborn in new bodies with sharper language and deeper resolve. We are not their fear. We are their blind spot.
But blind spots crash regimes.
I believe now more than ever that those deemed invisible—older women, nonconforming elders, those who’ve fought this fight before—are the most underestimated force alive. We are the ones who know how this ends. And we are the ones who know how to stop it.
Because let’s speak plainly: cisgender men—unless they are Black, trans, or otherwise marginalized—have the least to lose in this authoritarian backslide. But women? Women stand to lose everything their foremothers fought for. Bodily autonomy. Voting rights. Access to education, healthcare, legal protection. The right to decide who they are, where they go, what they do, and how they live. If history repeats, they’ll be told again: you belong to your husband, to your father, to the state.
And to that, we say: No.
What we need now are elders—not in title but in action. Not the sweet, smiling grandmothers of political caricature, but the kind who remember how resistance was built from casseroles and campaign flyers, from PTA meetings and protest marches, from whispered warnings and bold refusals.
We need mentors who understand that resistance isn’t just in the streets. It’s in the clothes we wear, the way we speak, the stories we tell, the way we raise our brows or our voices or our fists. It’s in reclaiming the power of lipstick or the power of leaving femininity behind. It’s all political. It always has been.
What they don’t understand is that invisibility doesn’t mean absence. It means freedom to move without being watched. To organize under the radar. To build something unshakeable while they’re distracted by their own reflection.
What they don’t see coming is us.
We’ve survived too much, seen too much, to let this unravel without a fight. We’ve marched. We’ve lost. We’ve won. We’ve buried loved ones and dreams and illusions. But we haven’t buried hope. Not yet.
And now, as younger generations wake up to a world that’s moving backward, they need us. They need our stories. Our stubbornness. Our outrage. Our memory.
They need to see what strength looks like when it’s not trying to prove anything—just trying to keep the light on a little longer.
So here I stand—almost 60, not a woman anymore, not “someone” easy to define—and I offer this:
You don’t have to see us.
We’re coming anyway.
We’ve come to teach. To remember. To resist.
And we don’t need your permission.
With fire, love, and unshakable resolve,
Jay
Jay—
Thank you for this. Your words are powerful, grounded, and honest in a way that cuts through the noise.
What you’ve lived—and how you carry it—matters deeply. Your voice bridges worlds—between identities, between generations, between what was and what’s still possible. I’m grateful you wrote this. And I’m even more grateful you’re out there.
With respect,
—Mersault
Mersault—
Your words met me like an outstretched hand, and I thank you for that.
It means something—no, it means everything—to be recognized not as a shadow of the past, but as a presence still burning, still building, still becoming.
You said my voice bridges worlds.
I carry that with care.
Because that’s what it feels like—to live between identities, between generations, and yes, even between worlds. As I’ve always said: between all the chairs of this world. Between what was promised and what is now threatened.
I write not from a place of certainty, but from a place of endurance. A place where the dust of old battles still clings to my boots—yet I lace them up again, anyway.
We may not always be visible in the way power defines visibility. But we are vital. And that, I believe, is the force regimes never see coming: those who persist without applause, who remember without bitterness, and who show up even when the world stops asking us to.
I write not only from memory, but for potentiality. For possibility. For the options not yet foreclosed. For what might still rise if we hold the line—and light the path.
Thank you for seeing me. For seeing us.
This is not the end of our story.
In solidarity, in memory, in defiance—and in hope,
Jay
---> “Stake everything on a formidable gamble: that words are more powerful than munitions.” Albert Camus
"Hierarchies try to convince us that all power and well-being come from the outside, that our self-esteem depends on obedience and measuring up to their requirements, but it’s interesting that even the most totalitarian cultures have never been able to convince everyone. There have always been rebels and visionaries who persisted in believing that each person has a center of power and wisdom within, whether it’s called the soul or the authentic self, Atman or the spirit. We don’t have to reinvent the wheel, just rediscover it."
~ Gloria Steinem ~
Revolution from Within
(Another Aries ---> March 25, 1934)
I AM that fierce grandmother holding a protest sign, because I want my daughter (who also holds one!) and granddaughters to know that I am on the right side of history!!
Thank you for this powerful image, Lisa—I can see you out there, standing tall with your sign and your conviction. That generational link—mother to daughter to granddaughter—all holding the line together? That’s how movements endure. You’re not just on the right side of history; you’re writing it.
Thank you so much for keeping the faith...in these troubled times, every little bit helps!
Thank you for this message. I appreciate your recognition of older women’s willingness to fight for the rights we already fought to achieve once. We aren’t going back. We have seen this before. I won’t live the role Project 2025 has planned. I know what that means when I say it. Women and men - we are old - but we aren’t going back and the Congress and Senate better not steal the money we were taxed with every paycheck on the faith of the US Government with the promise it would be there when we retired. We are protesting peacefully NOW. But the draft was active when we were young.
Kay, You're doing something that too few recognize: drawing the line not just for yourselves, but for the generations behind you who may not yet grasp what’s at stake. This isn’t just about holding onto past gains—it’s about refusing to be erased from the future. You remind us that wisdom doesn’t retire, and protest doesn’t age out. Washington should take note: those who think seniors are passive or pliable haven’t met the women who built the rights they're now trying to dismantle.
You're welcome.
(Born March 24, 1947)
Thank you, Rebecca! 🤗
Thank you! That is a love letter. ♥️
Wow. Thank you, your letter brought tears to my eyes. Yes, there have been those times in our lives that we were unseen, not acknowledged or valued in a workforce primarily surrounded by men. I’m fortunate, come from “good stock” both of my great-grandmother’s fought for the right to vote in this nation.
They both figured out in their own individual ways that the only thing that needed to be changed was that women needed to have their voices heard. One on the front line the other in protest silently but then coming out like a lion on the front lines.
My grandmother’s fought as well and my mother.
Was born in 1958 and my mom went to work once my younger brother was in school full time and I was old enough to manage watching him with little supervision around 1967 or 1968 A fun time in this country at the time for women. A mom working as a Secretary for a Superintendent for a large school district. My mom taking on a job that once she retired in the late 1990’s that one job needed to be filled by three individuals.
Fighting for equality to be seen as any male counterpart as well as her superiors. The best memories were when my mom was needed to negotiate the teachers contracts with the school district and she was the only one that was prepared versus her male supervisor. Years later my mom informed me that her boss from that day forward treated her as equal and remarked on what a humbling experience he was able to witness for himself. Not to be embarrassed in front of the negotiations but humbled by my mother’s wit, intelligence and integrity to have groups come together within a few hours.
Yes all these women before myself that had courage, resilience and sacrificed as women have done for generations. They’ve endured and I am carrying on their torch to continuing the fight. We nurture, not just our families but society itself. We fight for equality, to be treated simply as equal no more or less. Women are taught from an early age to bear the brunt of the hardships of life and fight the good fights and make the good trouble for the changes to occur, have seen this firsthand.
Was taught from an early age that our “History does not belong to the past; it belongs to the present and the future…”
That we study past events so that, we can learn from mistakes & grow toward wisdom, goodness, & courage – for today, & tomorrow, & five hundred years from now, and on… So we stand, march and protest for the injustices we encounter, for the laws that have been rolled back for the health and safety of our sisters and daughters of this nation.
So, as with my sisters and daughters from all across this nation from each corner of this country that we love for it’s ours to nurture and we give birth to for future generations to thrive and live freely under this democracy, this democratic-republic we fight, we call, write, email our members of Congress, and protest for the rights that never should have been lost and to achieve the equality that is by far overdue. One day soon it will not be an anomaly for a woman to have the highest office in this land, and once accomplished the world better hold on because the dominos will begin to fall.
Thank you again for recognizing the courage and sacrifice that all women continually endure.. we fight!
Thank you, TJ, for sharing such a rich and personal reflection. What strikes me most was the way you revealed how each woman, in her own way, rewrote what was expected of her. There’s something deeply American—and deeply radical—in that quiet refusal to stay in place.
And you’re right: the fight isn’t about dominance, it’s about dignity. Not about being above, but never again being beneath. When I read your words, I don’t just see the women of the past—I see the scaffolding for the future.
Here’s to you—and all the women who came before you, and all who walk beside you now.
This is a battle cry for the boomers Mersault
Born 1960, I grew up in a turbulent climate of racial, social, economic injustice, and injustice towards women’s health and autonomy. I’m from a family of Irish women fighters (and two brothers). Parents told us to stand up and speak out when you see injustice. We have. Each of us fight in different ways for the sake of humanity and peace.
I continue to protest with the voices of Bobby Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Gloria Steinem and Dorothy Pitman, Jane Fonda, Robin Morgan, Pete Seeger, Malcolm X, and so many other heroes in my soul. Each of us have an obligation to commit to a better nation, a betterment for humanity and the environment, a commitment to our values of equality and fairness, a right to our bodies, understanding liberty and education, and safety. I’ll continue to fight for my kids and grandkid’s futures, as well as every other human being who has the right to live free.
Erin—Your message is a battle cry, and a damn powerful one. You were forged in fire and came out carrying a torch—not just for your family, but for all of us still climbing toward justice. The voices you carry in your soul? Legends. And you’re right alongside them now. Keep fighting. Keep shouting. We need every single one of you.
👊thank you for amplifying our power
We CAN do this!
I am one of those elders, age 80, who never marched, or tossed blood in a recruiting office during Vietnam, or marched together with thousands of other women in protest. But I am one of those elders - even in my younger days - who *never* feared to speak up when I heard people speaking against migrants, or women, or gays, or latinx, or trans individuals, or Jews - anyone marginalized by hate speak. All I can say is: Folks, do *not* mess with older women! ✊💪
Julie, thank you for this fierce and beautiful truth. You remind us that resistance doesn’t always wear marching boots—it can live in the everyday courage of speaking up, again and again, when silence would have been easier. And you're absolutely right: older women have nothing left to prove, but everything left to protect. So no, we won’t mess with you—and heaven help anyone who tries.b :)
Thanks. Let’s hope your messages reach women everywhere… and motivates action at whatever level, in whatever way…
I'm 80 and the embodiment of all you wrote. You made me cry.
Please note my photo to the left--that is me in Washington, D.C. at the "NOXL" protest with Bill McKibben and Naomi Klein and others. This coincided with the "Occupy Wall Street" movement. Since I lived in Missouri at the time, it was quite a commitment to get there! Now, I live in a tiny rural town in Michigan's U.P. and have to drive a 2 hour round trip to the nearest protest--which I do every Saturday!
Linda,
Your message moved me deeply—what a powerful testament to lifelong courage and conviction. From D.C. to the U.P., you are the living proof that resistance doesn’t retire. Thank you.
Thank you! Every march, every protest, every act of resistance was worth it. Let’s hope we can claw back our rights that were so hard won decades ago 🙌🏻🫶🏻
Thank you for staying in the fight. The road back is steep, but it’s people like you who make the climb possible. Your conviction is felt—and needed—more than ever.