Speaking While Female

Speaking While Female The Speaking While Female Speech Bank shows us that women have changed their world with their voices.

Hey folks, looking for a great holiday gift? Today and this weekend only, "Speaking While Female: 75 Extraordinary Speec...
11/24/2023

Hey folks, looking for a great holiday gift?

Today and this weekend only, "Speaking While Female: 75 Extraordinary Speeches by American Women" is HALF PRICE — a savings of $15 off the retail price of $30.

This is the first anthology to put a spotlight on American women speakers from 1637 to the present and explain how each contributed to the making of the nation. It's also a celebration of the vibrant diversity of American women's voices, with speakers of every background, race, ethnicity, and viewpoint.

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Note:
— Offer available only at Amplify Publishing Group — not other retailers.
— Enter BLACKFRIDAY at checkout.
— Sale price is good through midnight on Sunday, November 26.
— Discount applies only to the hardcover (the ebook is still $16.99).

Join me in standing up for women's voices this holiday season!
Warmly,
Dana

Hi folks,Yes, it’s time to start thinking about your holiday list. What could be more important than inspiring the women...
11/09/2023

Hi folks,

Yes, it’s time to start thinking about your holiday list.

What could be more important than inspiring the women and girls in your life to use their voices with a gift of Speaking While Female: 75 Extraordinary Speeches by American Women?
Speaking While Female makes the perfect gift for:

— Daughters, nieces, aunts, moms, and grandma, too!
— Your favorite teacher
— Your child's favorite teacher
— The women in your life who've inspired you
— Everyone who loves history

You can buy the book directly from the publisher, Amazon, and all major retailers.

Thank you for supporting women's voices!



The speaker had "a genuine case of nerves." Usually confident when she spoke in public, this time she felt jittery as sh...
09/05/2020

The speaker had "a genuine case of nerves."

Usually confident when she spoke in public, this time she felt jittery as she approached the stage.

On this exact day, twenty-five years ago, she was about to deliver the speech of a lifetime. Yet, she doubted herself.

As Hillary Clinton writes in the latest issue of The Atlantic magazine, when she delivered one of history's most iconic speeches about women's rights — at the United Nations Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing — she suffered all the uncertainties that tend to plague other women speakers.

This time, the stakes were enormous and tensions high.

Before her in the large hall were delegates from 189 countries around the world, UN agencies, intergovernmental organizations, and other activists and organizations — 17,000 participants in all.

Many who heard her argument against the abuse of women were representing countries where horrific gender-based violence and abuse was commonplace.

One of the worst offenders was the very country that was hosting the event: China.

When she delivered her now-iconic line — "If there is one message that echoes forth from this conference, let it be that women's rights are human rights, once and for all" — she knew the eyes of the world were upon her.

Actually, not the entire world.

No Chinese citizens were allowed to attend the conference. And inside China, Clinton's speech was blocked by the state-run media.

Elsewhere around the world, her speech was hailed by women’s advocates across the political spectrum.

It is recognized today as one of the great speeches in history, and continues to resonate powerfully while millions of women around the world are still horribly abused and denied their human rights.

She was a talented singer who at age 16 joined a Māori cultural troupe, traveling, playing piano, and performing through...
07/13/2020

She was a talented singer who at age 16 joined a Māori cultural troupe, traveling, playing piano, and performing throughout in New Zealand and abroad.

In 1949, her second husband died in a car accident. Widowed and pregnant, she decided to run for his seat in Parliament.

Her ambition was fiercely opposed by traditional Māori leaders who thought women didn't belong in politics.

Nevertheless, Iriaka Rātana did run, and she won election by a wide margin, becoming the first Māori woman to represent her people in her country's Parliament.

On this day seventy years ago, Rātana delivered her historic "maiden speech" to the House of Representatives in Wellington, which was broadcast by radio across the country. She knew her words would make history — she was "fully aware of the unseen audience which is all over the country listening with curiosity, praise, criticism, or otherwise, to me, a Māori woman . . . "

The Māori are a Polynesian people who have lived in New Zealand since the 14th century. When Europeans arrived in the 17th century, the Māori were decimated by newly-introduced diseases, their land confiscated, their culture eroded.

But Māoridom has undergone a revival.

Today Māori culture is respected and celebrated in New Zealand — thanks to leaders like Rātana who used her voice to fight for her people and keep the culture alive.

In her maiden speech, Rātana honors her forbears and speaks with pride of the heritage, values and identity of the Māori. She laments the troubled history of Māori representation in government, observing that "Māori administration has been the graveyard of reputations."

But ever the conciliator, she expresses optimism about the future, saying: "A spirit of progress is dawning, such as the Māori people have never realized before."

As a Member of Parliament, Rātana focused on welfare issues, working to raise Māori living standards though land settlement, housing, education, and job training.

She travelled the country by car, train, and bus, speaking to her people, hearing their concerns, and carrying them back to the legislature and the Pākehā, the white community.

She would tell heartbreaking stories of the Māori people who were stuck in a cycle of poverty and powerlessness.

Her view was that the Māori needed to leave behind certain aspects of their communal way of life to integrate with the Pākehā, while retaining their language and identity. Unwilling to ruffle feathers, she always spoke positively of the government without soft-pedalling her advocacy.

Rātana held the electorate until 1969, and in her final speech as a politician she looked to a bright future for the Māori. Then she retired to her farm, where she died in 1981, survived by nine children and many grandchildren.

Today 50 of the current 121 members of parliament in New Zealand are women — of them 13 are Māori.

She was an orphan by the age of three and raised by relatives in Scotland.She fell in love with the radical promise of t...
07/05/2020

She was an orphan by the age of three and raised by relatives in Scotland.

She fell in love with the radical promise of the American Revolution, and by the age of 23 was on a ship bound for New York harbor.

Seven years later, in 1825, she became an American citizen.

On this day in 1828, Frances Wright broke the taboo against women speaking in public to mixed gender audiences and delivered her first public speech: "A Celebration of the 52nd Anniversary of American Independence," in New Harmony, Indiana.

In it she honored the Declaration of Independence and the Fourth of July, but lamented the evil of slavery and called on her fellow citizens to "improve the victory once on this day achieved" so that "all mankind" could join in the celebration.

With the Civil War still thirty-three years in the future, "Franny Wright" spoke out against "the degradation of our coloured citizens" and the legal enslavement of four million American citizens.

And she argued that on July 4th, each American should carefully examine "the progress made by our species" and use the holiday as an occasion to strive for freedom of knowledge, education and inquiry."

Her 1828 speech, published on July 9 in The New-Harmony Gazette, came on the heels of Wright's radical, failed experiment in ending chattel slavery.

She earnestly thought she could bring slavery to an end through rational thinking and planning. She came up with a scheme to purchase, educate, and then emancipate a small group of enslaved people, and at the same time compensate the slaveholders for their lost assets.

Through their own labor, she thought, the slaves would be able to buy their own freedom and then resettle elsewhere. With hard work and cooperative labor, the settlement would undercut its competitors and prosper financially.

Wright invested her own money in a pilot project. She purchased a 640-acre tract in the wilderness of western Tennessee, near what's now the city of Memphis. She bought 15 slaves, mostly men, and launched a farming community. The enslaved members worked the fields by day, and by night studied in communal schools.

She called the community Nashoba, the Chichasaw word for “wolf.” It was a bold, utopian scheme — and in short order, a folly.

Wright came down with malaria and returned to England to recuperate. The community became mired in frontier hardships and scandal. Eventually Wright returned to Tennessee and then accompanied the 15 enslaved people to Haiti, where she emancipated them. Nashoba had failed.

But Wright realized she could make a bigger impact with her voice.

She set out on a lecture tour across the mid-Atlantic and Midwest. With each speech, her audiences grew. Eventually thousands were flocking to hear her. But at a time when women were expected to remain in the domestic sphere, many people came just to see the spectacle of a woman at the podium.

Her ideas were light years ahead of her time, and not widely popular. She advocated for emancipation of the slaves, universal education, birth control, sexual freedom, legal rights for married women, liberal divorce laws — and against capital punishment, organized religion, and the power of the Christian clergy.

The critics were unsparing. Ministers attacked her from the pulpit. Newspapers called her unfeminine and immoral, “a female monster," “the red harlot of infidelity."

She was undeterred. When her lecture tour ended in New York City, she bought an abandoned Baptist church on Broome Street and turned it into a "Hall of Science," with an audience capacity of 1,200, office space for a newspaper, and a bookstore.

The vilification continued. Someone set a barrel of turpentine in the doorway of the hall when she was speaking and set it on fire. Another time someone turned off the gas, leaving everyone in darkness.

In September 1838, more than 10,000 people surrounded the Masonic Hall demonstrating against her speech, then attacked her carriage as she was leaving.

Wright soldiered on, never holding back her unorthodox views. She believed rational thought was the most potent tool for social change: "While other nations have still to win reform at the sword’s point," she said in her New Harmony speech "we have only to will it.”

In time, F***y Wright became the most infamous woman in America. Even her name — "F***y Wrightism" — became a term of ridicule for anyone whose ideas were considered too extreme.

Today, almost no one knows her name.

As the scholar Alyssa Samek points out, many collections of Fourth of July speeches and essays don't even mention F***y Wright — "they presume that the orators at these important civic occasions were universally male."

And because she never managed to stir the emotions of her audience, her speaking career fizzled out. Her speeches were too abstract and cerebral. In 1852 Wright died in Cincinnati, divorced and estranged from her only child, a daughter.

Engraved on her tombstone in Spring Oak Cemetery, Cincinnati, are these words:

"I have wedded the cause of human improvement, staked on it my fortune, my reputation and my life. Humankind is but one family. The education of its youth should be equal and universal."

At a time when simply speaking as a female in public was a radical act, F***y Wright demonstrated that a woman's voice could be powerful. She paved the way for all the other women who followed in her footsteps.

An American by choice, she was a visionary and a patriot committed to the betterment of her adopted land.

On this 4th of July, let's celebrate F***y Wright's plea to build on the victory of the American Revolution and ensure that "all mankind hold with us the Jubilee of Independence."

She was born in rural South Carolina, just a decade after the Emancipation Proclamation, to parents who had been enslave...
06/30/2020

She was born in rural South Carolina, just a decade after the Emancipation Proclamation, to parents who had been enslaved.

She was the fifteenth of seventeen children. None of her siblings could read or write — they all worked in the cotton fields.

Her childhood coincided with the end of Reconstruction, when newly-freed black people faced extraordinary hurdles. Most black women worked as domestics or picked cotton.

But Mary McLeod Bethune wanted more for herself. Against all odds, she got it — becoming a respected, even revered, leader. In a long life devoted to education and public service, she worked nationally and internationally at the height of power and influence in America.

Known today as an educator, an organizer, a civil rights leader and a humanitarian, Bethune is not often associated with one of her most powerful and crucial skills: public speaking.

On this day in 1933, she stepped up to the podium at the Chicago Women's Federation, part of the "Century of Progress World's Fair" in honor of the centenary of Chicago's incorporation as a city. It was an opportunity for the city to strut its stuff and show the world how far it had come.

Bethune used the opportunity to show the world how far black women had come. She called her speech "A Century of Progress of Negro Women."

It was an homage to the many black women who'd overcome adversity to be artists, poets, novelists, musicians, businesswomen, organizers, religious and political leaders — women like Georgia Douglas Johnson, Alice Dunbar Nelson, Marian Anderson, Maggie L. Walker, Madam C.J. Walker, Annie M. Malone, Addie Waites Hunton, Kathryn M. Johnson, Jane E. Hunter, and more.The scholar Rondee Gaines notes that in the speech, Bethune "does not construct a female desiring or living as a passive, pious, docile, quiet, and inactive domestic. On the contrary, woman, etched on the rhetorical canvas in her speech, takes center stage in the world.”

As president of the institution she founded, originally the Literary and Industrial Training School for Negro Girls, which eventually became Bethune-Cookman University, she spoke on educational issues.

In a 1920 speech, "A Philosophy of Education for Negro Girls," she explained what drew her into education: "Very early in my life, I saw the vision of what our women might contribute to the growth and development of the race, — if they were given a certain type of intellectual training. I longed to see women, — Negro women, hold in their hands, diplomas which bespoke achievement. . ."

As president and spokeswoman for the National Association of Colored Women, and later as founder and president of the National Council of Negro Women, she spoke at conferences and meetings, on panels, and at other events, using her authority to improve the economic and social status of black women, and to argue for racial opportunity and equality.

During WWII she used her voice to help build support for the war effort among African Americans and recruit black women for Army officer training.

In 1945, three months after the war ended, she testified before a US Senate sub-committee in support of legislation for urban redevelopment and public housing to alleviate the slums that had become "the most cancerous sore in the American life."

As the world adjusted to post-war realities, Bethune's oratory encompassed the new order. On July 27, 1954 she spoke in Caux, Switzerland to a World Assembly for Moral Re-Armament: "When you see me, you see a representative of 16 million black people in America, and I think of the darker peoples of the world who have been hungering, thirsting, to join hands with mankind everywhere. To join hands with mankind everywhere to bring about a world of peace and brotherhood and understanding."

Bethune gave hundreds of speeches over the course of her life.

She attended protests and rallies. She spoke on behalf of the Red Cross, the Methodist Church, and the NAACP. She advocated for federal anti-lynching law, against the poll tax, to extend Social Security to agricultural and domestic workers, in support of fair employment practices, against a segregated military.

Wherever she spoke, she projected dignity, authority and gravity.

While she fully understood the racial caste system that valued fairer skin, Bethune talked about her own dark skin as a source of strength and pride. Often at high-level policy meetings, she would find herself the only black person in the room. "When they see me," she would say, "they know that the Negro is present.”

At a brotherhood luncheon at Council House in Washington DC in late February 1955, Bethune spoke of herself as "a simple and ordinary human being who came from the depth of ignorance and poverty to a platform of service to mankind."

It was a rare moment of reflection and hard-earned optimism. Less than a year earlier, the US Supreme Court had desegregated public education in the landmark decision Brown v. Board of Education.

Bethune called upon her audience "to take the torch . . . to drive away war. To drive away the things that have tended to keep us apart, and building more solidly the bridge that we can walk over all types of difficulties and bring into action that brotherhood, that fellowship that the world needs today.”

Weeks later, on May 18, 1955, Mary McLeod Bethune died of a heart attack at her home in Florida.

As the journalist Louis E. Martin wrote in a tribute:

"It is difficult to understand how much Negroes needed inspiration in the early years of this century, and how much of a contribution a person who knew how to inspire others like Mrs. Bethune really made to the general welfare. She gave out faith and hope as if they were pills and she some sort of doctor."

Although the term wasn't commonly used in her day, Mary McLeod Bethune was a voice of black pride.

For her faith in American ideals, for her determination to spread the promise and bounty of this country to all its people, her voice is needed now.

She grew up on the South Side of Chicago, a city divided by race. When she was eight, an angry protester threw a brick t...
06/16/2020

She grew up on the South Side of Chicago, a city divided by race. When she was eight, an angry protester threw a brick through the window of her family home.

Her beloved father, disillusioned by the failings of America to achieve racial progress, planned to immigrate to Mexico, then died of a heart attack.

She grew up to become a journalist, author, and playwright who used her public voice to support the rights of African Americans.

On this day in 1964 — 56 years ago today — Lorraine Hansberry took part in a historic forum about race in Manhattan and shared her increasingly radicalized views, explaining why so many young black American were fed up and driven to violent protest.

Her observations are just as sharp and relevant today as they were a half a century ago.

Hansberry's views on race were deeply rooted in her childhood experiences.

You can read her warm memories of Chicago's South Side in an essay published in the collection, To Be Young, Gifted and Black. She recalled “the tempo of my people” — the gentle sounds of summer nights, screen doors swinging shut on back porches, the neighbors' voices.

Her father, Carl Augustus Hansberry, was a successful businessman who spent years of effort, and his own money, to support the NAACP's legal fight against Chicago’s “restrictive covenants.” Those were the local housing rules that allowed white neighborhoods to keep African Americans out.

To challenge the laws, her family moved into a restricted white neighborhood – the Washington Park subdivision called Woodlawn — touching off angry white resistance. At one point mobs surrounded their house and someone threw the brick through the window. Her mother bought a gun.

Hansberry's father and the NAACP fought the case all the way to the Supreme Court — and in 1940 they won. Hansberry v. Lee is a celebrated case.

But a legal victory is not the same as cultural change. Resistance to integration in Chicago remained strong, and change came slowly, if at all.

Hansberry transformed her family's experience into a play — "A Raisin in the Sun," which debuted in 1959. And she became the first black woman to have a show produced on Broadway.

With it, Hansberry established herself as a voice for African-American youth.

"A Raisin in the Sun" gave white audiences a window into the lives of everyday black Americans dealing with with racism and economic inequality. And it gave black audiences, for the first time, a chance to see their own struggles on the stage.

Hansberry became more vocal. She spoke at protest rallies, including one for the NAACP in Washington Square Park in 1959. Then came the 1963 Birmingham church bombings, killing four little girls and fueling more outrage and radicalism.

The Town Hall forum was intended to be an open conversation about race between white liberals and black activists at a time of tremendous friction and unrest — not unlike today. The panel included a mix of African American and white authors, journalists, and artists.

When Hansberry's time came to talk, she described her father's deep frustration and despair. She expressed her own disillusionment with white liberals who urge blacks to pursue incremental change through accepted channels. That hasn't worked, she said.

"Since 1619, Negroes have tried every method of communication, of transformation of their situation from petition to the vote, everything," she said. "We've tried it all."

She also charged the government with indifference toward black American lives. And she pointed her finger at the hypocrisy of white liberals, calling on them to "stop being a liberal and become an American radical."

Hansberry's remarks on that panel perfectly captured the moment — but also speak to the anguish and fury of our own time.

Many of today’s protestors are fed up with the given political and social structure. They want to scrap it and start over.

A transcript of Hansberry's remarks, called "The Black Revolution and the White Backlash," is here. You can hear a partial recording of Hansberry's remarks here.

Sadly, at the same time she was waging battle against racism, Hansberry was also fighting pancreatic cancer.

Her former husband, Robert Nemiroff, said she "rose from a sickbed" to be at the Town Hall Forum. Seven months later, she was dead, at age 34.

Hansberry is buried at the Bethel Cemetery in Croton-on-Hudson, New York.

Her voice lives on.

She was a talented, passionate speaker who delivered her first anti-slavery lecture at age 16.She traveled with her brot...
06/13/2020

She was a talented, passionate speaker who delivered her first anti-slavery lecture at age 16.

She traveled with her brother and other abolitionists around the state of New York giving talks and gathering support for anti-slavery cause. Then she set sail for Liverpool, as an emissary of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society.

Her mission: to plead the ethical and economic case against slavery, express her moral outrage, and persuade the British to support the Northern cause.

From 1859 to 1862, Sarah Parker Remond delivered 45 anti-slavery lectures in cities and towns across England, Scotland, and Ireland. Hundreds heard her "very eloquent style of address" — often the halls were overflowing. Newspapers on both sides of the Atlantic gave her lectures extensive coverage.

On this day in 1862, Remond spoke in London, on the fifth day of the International Congress of Charities, Correction and Philanthropy, at the august Burlington House on Picadilly, in the heart of London.

It was the fifth day of the congress. Only a handful of women were among the many speakers — including the great educational reformer Mary Carpenter and the social reformer and the founder of modern nursing, Florence Nightingale.

Remond's lecture, "The Negroes in the US," is searing rhetoric. She explained how, at just about the same time as the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in 1620, a Dutch slave ship arrived in Chesapeake Bay with "twenty negroes stolen from Africa."

That "sad hour for the African race" launched slavery in America. "Then took root chattel slavery," she said, "which has produced such physical, mental, and moral degradation upon an unprotected and unoffending race."

When the Declaration of Independence was adopted 156 years later, she said, enslaved people were denied their natural rights.

Remond incorporated statistics to convey the vast scale of slavery: 347,000 slave owners in the South, enslaving 3.2 million people on 80,000 cotton plantations.

She explained South's economic dependence on the slaves — who, she said, are "the bone and sinew of all that makes the south prosperous, the producers of a large proportion of the material wealth, and of some of the most important articles of consumption produced by any working class in the world."

During the Civil War, Remond stayed in Britain, where she used her voice to argue that the British Parliament should offer assistance to the North. But officially, the United Kingdom remained neutral during the war.

Most ordinary Britons tended to support the Union. But many in Remond's elite, upper-class audiences — especially in Northern manufacturing and industrial cities such as Liverpool and Manchester — were heavily dependent on on the cotton trade. Among them support for the Confederacy was widespread.

After the war, Remond returned to the US, where she used her public voice to appeal for financial support for the millions of newly-emancipated freedmen.

At the age of 40, she moved to Italy, where she trained to become a physician and practiced medicine for 20 years.

She was in her 50s when she married to Lazzaro Pintor in Florence — a short-lived union. She never returned to the US.

Remond passed away in 1894 and is buried in Rome's Non-Catholic Cemetery under her married name, Sara Remond Pintor.

There's a plaque dedicated to her on a wall near the cemetery entrance, where she's described as an "African American abolitionist and physician."

I would like to add the words: "public speaker."

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