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Women

My Lords, I am delighted that the noble Baroness, Lady Gould, has with great passion and panache introduced this annual debate on women, and that others following her have been equally passionate. I look forward to my noble friend the Leader of the House giving her vigorous sisterly response. So much has been said already about the progress of women and issues affecting women that I thought that I would try a different angle. I shall talk about some of the qualities in women, which, I think, have contributed to their progress. I thought of having a brainstorm about those qualities, but I am sure that the rules of the House do not allow such approaches—far too frivolous. I have therefore selected some qualities, and I hope that noble Lords will agree with them. I shall illustrate those qualities by reference to a particular woman I greatly admire, who, despite a hard life full of tribulation, succeeded in becoming one of the finest poets of all time—Anna Akhmatova, the great Russian poet. Some of the qualities that I shall list have been demonstrated in the examples of progress given today. Let me suggest that women demonstrate courage, tenacity, creativity, hope, passion and vision, and that their progress, whether with regard to women’s suffrage, economic issues, education, science, health, the arts, reproductive rights or sport, has relied on these qualities. Of course, some men have these qualities, but that is not the subject of today’s debate. Women writers have shown these qualities and have created female characters who have also shown them: for instance, George Eliot or, in modern fiction, Maya Angelou. I am always struck by how good women are at depicting relationships, communities and everyday lives and how events impact on those lives. So it is with my heroine, Anna Akhmatova. She was born in 1889 and lived through the Russian revolution and two world wars. She sometimes lived in abject poverty, and suffered ill health from TB and heart disease. She suffered the execution of her husband and the imprisonment of her son for many years. She suffered the banning of her work and prosecution by the authorities. Despite all this, she refused to leave Russia. At one point, she and some of her friends had to learn her poems off by heart and then burn them, such was the terror under which they lived. She reflected on people’s inner lives, their joys, sorrows and problems, and on the wider suffering of Russia, her country. She reconciled a passionate sexual nature with devout Christianity and a passionate love of nature with political comment. She was devastated by the impact of wars and the Russian revolution, during which she and other writers suffered much. Yet she could still joke about taking vodka for a heart condition and retain a hope that there was some reason or force behind misfortune. One of her poems says, "      ““If you can’t give me love and peace""      Then give me bitter fame””." She spoke with the voice of women, at a time when women in Russia did not have much voice. On the imprisonment of her only son during the terror, she described standing in a prison queue with other women, in the freezing cold, trying to get news of their sons or husbands. A women with blue lips identified her. Akhmatova says that,"““she suddenly came out of the trance that was common to us all and whispered in my ear (everyone spoke in whispers in those days) ‘Can you describe this?’ and I said, ‘Yes, I can’ and then something like the shadow of a smile crossed what had once been her face.””" After 1925, Akhmatova’s verse was deemed unacceptable by the authorities, which regarded her as having no function in the new order. During the terror, she was excruciatingly poor, and lived on a diet of mainly black bread and tea. She was thin and ill. A poem written down could have meant a death sentence. She recognised that she had to live through the suffering and give shape and voice to it. A long poem, ““Requiem””, recounts a journey of suffering and how she would not leave Russia, her country: "      ““No, not beneath a foreign sky ""      Not sheltered by a foreign wing ""      I was where my people were""      Where, alas, they had to be””." The winter of 1940-41 was very bad for her. Her unpopularity with the authorities was making things worse for her son in prison. Her health had broken down completely. In June 1941, Hitler marched into the Soviet Union. She felt at one with the Russian people, partly because of this terrible event. In September 1941, she addressed the women of Leningrad on the radio. To quote a little, she said that,"““this great city of culture and labour is threatened by the enemy . . . my whole life has been connected with Leningrad . . . In Leningrad I became a poet . . . our descendants will honour every mother who lived at the time of the war . . . a city which has bred women like these cannot be conquered””." Akhmatova embraced fate and used it. She felt that in poetry she could describe, reflect and inspire: "      ““Our sacred craft has existed""      For thousands of years""      Even when there is no light""      It has lit up the world””." Her poetry was banned again in 1944, when it was described as poisoning youth with its pernicious spirit. In 1953, Stalin died, and her son was released from prison. She began to earn some money from translations. In the mid-1950s, she was beginning to reflect about death. In an exquisite poem, ““Seaside Sonnet””, she says: "      ““The voice of eternity is calling""      With unearthly, irresistible power ""      And the light moon spills its radiance""      Over the cherry tree in blossom””." In another poem of this time, she wrote:"      ““You will hear thunder and remember me,""      And think: she wanted storms””." Storms she had. In 1965, however, Akhmatova was awarded the degree of honorary D.Litt by Oxford University. She died in 1966 after a life of immense hardship, partings, struggles, hunger, desolation, and despair. But the spirit of this woman lived on. Courage, tenacity, vision, creativity and hope—the qualities identified earlier—lived on. As she said:"““I warn you that I am living for the last time””." Anna Akhmatova had spoken for, and appealed to, the ordinary people and they knew it—just like that day outside the prison when she was asked to describe the horrors. The following anecdote reflects how she spoke for ordinary people, particularly women. She was buried just outside Leningrad—now, of course, St Petersburg. One of her biographers describes how some close friends went to her grave to lay flowers ahead of the official ceremony. There was snow on the ground and in it were footsteps, showing that someone had gone ahead. When they arrived at the grave, the person by it turned and went away. The writer said:"““No-one knew her. She was one of those anonymous Russian women in a grey scarf and a quilted jacket””," who appreciated what one woman had done for others.