Historical Heroines
Page 3
After the military coup of 1976 overthrew President Isabel Perón, Argentina was run by a brutal dictatorship. This ‘Dirty War’ would last until 1983, and its leaders would be responsible for, amongst much other violence and bloodshed, the Falklands War.
One of Azucena’s four sons, Nestor De Vicenti, was abducted with his fiancée Raquel Mangin a few months into this military junta. There was no word of explanation or support from the government. Nestor and Raquel, both 24 years old, had become members of the forcibly ‘disappeared’. They would never be seen again.
Frustrated by the lack of information and desperately anxious for her son’s safety, Azucena led other mothers, and grandmothers, in the same situation as her. From 1977 they would meet each Thursday at the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Ares, directly opposite the main government building, the Casa Rosada. They would walk around the square in peaceful protest, demanding that the government give them information on their missing children and grandchildren, whose names were emblazoned on their white headscarves. Azucena would encourage, organise and mobilise the women.
On 10 December 1977, the same day that the Mothers had paid for a newspaper advertisement, demanding justice and featuring over 800 of their signatures together with the names of their missing children, Azucena was herself abducted from outside her home. The dictatorship saw her as a threat and wanted to send a powerful message to the other Mothers.
Her anonymous corpse was later discovered in the Río de la Plata, with four other bodies. But her remains, together with those of Esther Ballestrino de Careaga and Maria Eugenia Ponce de Bianco, and a nun who supported the Mothers, were only finally identified in 2005 by a special Argentinian forensics team, dedicated to discovering the truth of the fate of victims of the political purge. The women had been victims of so-called death flights; tortured, drugged and then thrown out of aeroplanes into the sea. It’s estimated that up to 30,000 people were murdered in this way by the regime.
On 8 December 2005 the cremated remains of Azucena, Esther and Maria were interred at Plaza de Mayo. The protests there would continue until 2006, when many of the Mothers of the Desaparecidos were in their 80s.
In 2007, the country elected human-rights champion Cristina Fernández de Kirchner as its first female elected President. During her time in office she was passionate about bringing crimes during the Dirty War to justice. Azucena’s, Esther’s and Maria’s deaths were not in vain. Their legacy was a public and determined fight for justice through human rights courts, the prosecution of the military leaders of the former dictatorship and proof of the power of peaceful protest. They know that their children are never coming back, but today the Mothers of Plaza de Mayo still demand answers to their fate.
Calamity Jane (1 May 1852–1903)
Martha Jane Canary was no wallflower. Fiesty, reckless and with enough confidence to fill both barrels of her guns, the moniker ‘Calamity Jane’ grew from her reputation as one who could cause calamitous problems.
Jane however had a completely different take on how she acquired her nickname. She claimed it was after a particularly heroic act in 1872 when she rescued Captain Egan on Goose Creek in Wyoming whilst employed as a scout for General Custer. At great risk she rode to his rescue and carried him to safety after he was shot. Dramatically, he declared: ‘I name you Calamity Jane: heroine of the plains.’
It’s difficult to separate the truth from the exaggerations made by Martha Jane in her ghost-written autobiography and dime novels – stories that helped make her a buck or two – and by some of the less flattering accounts written about her. Add the sweet as apple pie version in the Doris Day musical and it’s easy to forget that she was an alcoholic and probably a prostitute. She saw fit to airbrush these salient facts from her autobiography – a shame as her real story would have been so much more insightful had she written honestly about surviving the Wild West as a pioneer woman, orphaned at 14 with five younger siblings to care for, rather than giving us a stick’em’up cowboy show.
In those dark days Martha took every job going; dishwasher, dancer, ox-driver and, perhaps at one point, prostitution. How easy would it have been for a teenage girl left alone with dependents to survive during those harsh settler times? Those days are a testament to her extraordinary character. Sadly she was more interested in recounting how well she shot, rode and fought. Sitting in our hard-won feminist armchairs of the twenty-first century, can we really blame her? It was the men’s daring tales that sold papers and she needed money. In June of 1876 she claimed that she worked as a pony express rider, a dangerous occupation that attracted ruthless bandits. But she tells us that such fiends left her alone, fearful of her reputation as a crack shot.
She also waxed lyrical about her days as a scout in General Custer’s army in 1870 and 1871, where she donned the clothes of her fellow soldiers. Of course riding out to fight in hoops and bustles would have been a feat too far even for the irrepressible Jane. However, Captain Jack Crawford, an active scout and soldier during the campaigns Jane apparently fought in, wrote an article contesting all her claims. He lambasted the press for their sensationalism and categorical fiction written as newspaper articles. Patronisingly he praised her for her generosity and said she could have been a great wife and mother if she had not been forced to scrabble for survival after her parents’s death. He then goes on to discredit every story written by or about her, discounting her as a scout, mail carrier, stage drive and friend of Bill Hickock.
Yet Calamity was reputed by many sources to have been very kind, something she was weirdly modest about considering all her other wild boasts. She is particularly remembered for nursing smallpox victims, an act every bit as plucky as her intrepid fights but considered a woman’s duty not a courageous deed. But these stories wouldn’t have earned the same dollars and dimes as her ‘Injun’ battles’. Nor were they the actions people wanted to see when she later performed in Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show, where she showed off her shooting and equestrian skills in 1895, or whilst travelling with a dime-museum show.
Whilst much has been written about her life as a frontierswoman and her heroics with the Native Americans it seems we know as little about her as we do about other forgotten women in history. Did she even meet, never mind marry, Wild Bill Hickock? Did he even know her? Was she really buried next to him as a joke because he said she was annoying? Did she fearlessly ride out to battle and deliver vital information? Did she have a daughter? What everyone seems to agree on is that her life is too shrouded in legend and exaggeration to ever properly know the truth. Martha, aka Jane, was clearly a master storyteller and performer, not to mention a survivor and adventurer – not the worst legacy to leave behind.
Cartimandua (c. AD 43–c. 70)
When the Romans invaded Britain they encountered two queens from different tribes, the Iceni and the Brigantia. These queens were contemporaries but whilst Boudicca is well known, Cartimandua is not. They are both described as women warriors – so why was only Boudicca a major player in history?
Boudicca fulfilled an image of the romantic rebel defending her culture against the dastardly Roman invasion, whereas Cartimandua decided to take a more pragmatic approach of appeasement. In a system known as client monarchy Cartimandua swore loyalty to Rome and in return retained autonomy of her realm.
A northern lass hailing from what would become James Herriot’s bright and beautiful Yorkshire, Cartimandua was the queen of the Brigantes, considered by the Romans to be the largest tribe in Britain. Most of our knowledge comes from the Roman historian Tacitus, a misogynist who was most assuredly politically and gender biased (see Messalina for more of his chauvinistic nonsense). He was especially censorious of women who were disloyal and committed adultery. In his eyes Cartimandua was both an adulteress and a traitor. However, loyalty is in the eye of the beholder and her eyes saw a series of revolts led by her own ex-husband to claim her throne. (Exes – pah! Nothing but trouble.)
She is most maligned for having delivered Caratacus,
leader of the Catuvellauni tribe, in chains to the Romans in AD 51. His rebellion in Wales had failed and he fled to her for shelter. Britain was a patchwork quilt of different tribes and they were not all united. Cartimandua may have considered him just as much a rival as the Romans but it was the Romans she had sworn fealty to.
Perhaps Caratacus hoped her Roman-hating husband Valentius would aid him. Alas, Cartimandua held the power, Valentius was merely her consort. Does this really make her a traitor? Tacitus was never one for letting facts get in the way of a good story. Certainly it worked well for her strategically as she was rewarded handsomely and received critical Roman support during the insurrections that followed.
Cartimandua and her husband Valentius were not a happy couple. Whether they married for love or political reasons, they were the couple that always caused a scene. However, their scenes provoked civil wars. During one vicious marital spat, aka revolt, Cartimandua captured some of her in-laws (well you would, wouldn’t you?). Valentius, however, had a great deal of support from Brigantes who were fed up of kow-towing to Rome. Valentius went full throttle and was only subdued after the Roman cavalry marched to Cartimandua’s aid.
If the marriage had been on its last legs before, these legs had been amputated. To compound Velantius’ antipathy towards her, Cartimandua decided to divorce him in favour of his arms bearer. A furious Valentius started plotting another coup, building support and biding his time for revenge.
That time came in AD 69 when Emperor Nero died, leaving Rome in dire straits with a dangerous power vacuum. Valentius saw his chance and struck again. This time the Romans could only spare a few men to help Cartimandua and barely escaping with her life, she fled to Deva, a Roman stronghold in what is nowadays Chester.
Valentius was King of the Yorkshire hills for all of 2 seconds before the Romans decided he was a pest and took over the Brigantes once and for all.
As for Cartimandua, her name never appears again in any records. What happened to her and where did she go? It would seem that after seeking a haven with the Romans, her role was now entirely inconsequential to them or perhaps she went into witness protection and eked out her days as Claudia the Vestal Virgin.
Catherine the Great (2 May 1729–17 November 1796)
Catherine II of Russia wasn’t Russian. And her name wasn’t even Catherine.
Russia’s longest reigning female leader was actually born in Prussia as Sophie von Anhalt-Zerbst, daughter of the poor and little known Prussian prince Christian August von Anhalt-Zerbst. Her mother, Princess Johanna Elisabeth of Holstein-Gottorp, had grand designs for her daughter’s future as well as her own social standing. She used her connections with nobility to push them both up the royal ladder.
The ruler of Russia at that time was Peter the Great’s daughter, Empress Elizabeth. Unmarried and without children, she’d appointed her nephew Peter as heir and was on the hunt for a suitable wife for him. In 1744, Sophie was invited to the Russian court at St Petersburg.
In 1745, she would marry her cousin, grandson of the legendary Peter the Great and heir to the Russian Romanov throne, more commonly known as Grand Duke Peter. He would become Peter III in 1761 and, quite frankly, was not accomplished at kingship. To say the newlyweds didn’t like each other would be a masterpiece in understatement. There would be no children for eight years.
Both husband and wife embarked on affairs and Catherine, amongst her many paramours, would have a famed relationship with Gregory Potemkin. Being involved with Catherine was often a great career move; she used her influence to get one lover on the Polish throne as king, although later she’d change her mind and get him to abdicate. With all the bed-hopping going on, the legitimacy of their son Paul, eventually born in 1754, is highly questionable.
Peter III couldn’t rule to save his life. Ironic, considering that Sophie, now Grand Duchess Catherine Alekseyevna, was soon involved in a plot with her lover of the hour, military officer Grigory Orlov, to overthrow him. With the support of the military, she would be pronounced Empress of Russia in July 1762 whilst her husband would be arrested, forced to abdicate and bumped off by Orlov’s brother. Gotta love Russian politics.
What would follow next? Affairs, murder, political intrigue, revolting Cossacks and peasants. Catherine would rule until her death in 1796. A passionate patron of the arts, Catherine used some of her personal collection to launch the sumptuous Hermitage Museum, was pen pals with Voltaire and extended Russian territory through a series of successful wars (including one against the entire Ottoman Empire), adding Crimea and much of Poland and the Ukraine to it. She began the process of westernising Russia, founded schools; for girls and introduced a bank which offered the first paper money in Russia. She was a tremendous advocate for reform.
She died on 17 November 1796, most likely from a stroke and not, as her political detractors would have you believe, engaged in flagrante with a horse. Or relieving herself on the toilet.
Ching Shih (1775–1844)
Ching Shih is notorious for transitioning from a prostitute to a powerful pirate queen, commanding around 80,000 men and almost 2,000 ships. She held the South China Sea in thrall, terrorising China, England and Portugal’s armadas.
Ching first enters historical consciousness whilst working as a prostitute on Canton’s flower boats, a euphemism for floating brothels. The boats were described as ornate and lush, housing several prostitutes and used to host grand parties. The Chinese population would not allow prostitution on shore in case this contaminated the land. Clearly it was perfectly okay to let pimp boats contaminate the waters.
Where did Ching Shih come from? How did she end up as a sex worker on board these watery brothels? And what on earth was her name because Ching Shih translates as Cheng’s widow and is a label, not a birth-given name? Such is the frustration of writing about women for whom no real records exist and certainly nothing was written by them in person. We can only speculate.
Some historians believe Ching Shih was a big deal on her flower boat, with access to China’s coterie of powerful VIPs, privy to their secrets and able to manipulate them. For that reason the Pirate Lord Cheng I, commander of the infamous Red Flag Fleet of Pirates, asked her to marry him. It would be a successful business arrangement that provided him with her vital inside knowledge as well as a brilliant strategist by his side.
Ching Shih demanded equal control as her dowry. The two of them ran the pirate trade like the ‘Sopranos of the Sea’, capturing men from the armadas to join them and using fear, intimidation and downright greed to tempt rival pirate gangs. Apparently these men were offered the choice beween being nailed to the deck and beaten to death or joining the Red gang. Tough decision.
We don’t know the exact nature of their marriage. Cheng’s sexual tastes seemed to run towards a young fisherman he’d captured called Cheung Po; clearly his favourite, in a bizarre twist that may upset twenty-first-century delicate sensitivities, Cheng adopted him, making him both a son and lover. This was purely a shrewd business move that allowed him to name Cheung as his heir.
When Cheng met his untimely end, either as the victim of a tornado or murdered in Vietnam – sources disagree – you might expect Ching Shih, having outlived her usefulness as Cheng’s appendage, to fade into obscurity. But one does not survive the dangerous world of Canton’s prostitution rings without learning something about survival. Before Cheng’s body was cold in the ground, Ching seduced Cheung Po and married him – a puppet husband giving her the authority to bring the Red Fleet pirates to her shapely heel.
Her reign of crime and punishment was a paradoxical mix. On the one hand, British prisoner Richard Glasspoole said they were a structured, disciplined yet brutally ruthless organisation. According to Mr Glasspoole, their raids were savage and punishments for dissent merciless. However the code of conduct that Ching Shih insisted on was enlightened. Rape was punishable by death, including rape of female captives. If the pirates wanted to sleep with a woman they had to marry her and stay faithf
ul. So you could pillage but not rape.
When the Chinese army became too threatening, Ching Shih eventually negotiated inspired terms of surrender, which allowed her to retire rich and, crucially, alive.
Christina of Sweden (18 December 1626–19 April 1689)
Christina refused to conform. She did things her way, with little regard for anyone else. Her parents expected a boy and her mother was devastated when her birth – she emerged covered in dark hair – proved otherwise. ‘Instead of a son, I am given a daughter, dark and ugly, with a great nose and black eyes. Take her from me, I will not have such a monster!’
Christina’s father however was adamant that a little thing like gender wasn’t going to get in the way of him raising a prince. Christina attended council meetings from the age of 14. ‘It is said the queen actually tried to injure her child, and throughout Christina’s early childhood there were a number of odd accidents: the child was dropped head first on the floor, permanently injuring her shoulder; a beam fell over the cradle; little Christina tumbled down stairs.’
Following the death of her father King Gustav II Adolph in battle (his wife Maria Eleanora of Brandenburg went completely bonkers with grief, kept his heart a casket swinging above her bed, and only allowed the king to be buried nineteen months after his untimely end), Christina assumed the Swedish throne. Her mother Maria, known for her mental instability and episodes of acute hysteria, was soon cast aside.
Christina was a true intellectual, studied with French philosopher Descartes, was extravagant, an avid art patron and is thought to have had a passionate lesbian relationship with her lady-in-waiting Countess Ebba Sparre, with whom she shared a bed (although that was fairly common practice at the time). She was also was rumoured to have been a hermaphrodite. She cut her hair short, wore men’s clothes, swore like a trooper, had a deep masculine voice and her table manners would have made a Viking blush.