Tough Mothers: Amazing Stories of History's Mightiest Matriarchs

By Jason Porath

“Fifty vignettes about courageous mothers . . . women who stood up to power, defied poverty, or climbed over other barriers to achieve great things.” —Historical Novel Society

The author of Rejected Princesses returns with an inspiring, fully illustrated guide that brings together the fiercest mothers in history—real life matriarchs who gave everything to protect all they loved.

Mothers possess the “maternal instinct”—an innate fierceness that drives them to nurture, safeguard, fight, and sacrifice for the most important things that matter to them. For some mothers, it’s their children. For others, it’s artistic expression, invention, social cause, or even a nation that they helped to birth. In Tough Mothers, Jason Porath brings his wisdom and wit to bear on fifty fascinating matriarchs.

In concise, deeply researched vignettes, accompanied by charming illustrations, Porath illuminates these fearsome women, explores their lives, and pays tribute to their accomplishments. Here are famous women as well as lesser known figures from around the globe who have left their indelible mark as they changed the course of history, including:

• The Mother Who Sued to Save Her Children from Slavery—Sojourner Truth
• The Mother of Rock n’ Roll—Sister Rosetta Tharpe
• The Mother of Holocaust Children—Irena Sendler
• The Mothers of The Dominican Republic—The Mirabal Sisters
• The Mother of Yemen’s Golden Age—Arwa al-Sulayhi

A celebration of motherhood and female achievement, Tough Mothers reminds us of the power of women to transform our lives and our world.

“Packed with inspirational, cautionary, and sometimes difficult stories of the power of mothers through the centuries and around the world.” —Tracy V. Wilson and Holly Frey, Hosts of Stuff You Missed in History Class

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Apr 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780062796103

Book preview

Endpapers

Dedication

To my mom, toughest of all.

May I one day be as capable as you.

And to Jeremy, who hates the spotlight.

May I one day be as generous as you.

Contents

Cover

Endpapers

Title Page

Dedication

Introduction

Hold Up a Second!

Labotsibeni Gwamile LaMdluli (C. 1858–1925, Swaziland)

Te Ao-Kapurangi (19th Century, New Zealand)

Man-deok Kim (1739–1812, Korea)

Vera Peters (1911–1993, Canada)

Jigonhsaseh (12th Century, United States [Haudenosaunee Confederacy])

Rebecca Lukens (1794–1854, United States)

Bella Abzug (1920–1998, United States)

Amanirenas (C. 60 BCE–C. 10 BCE, Sudan [Kingdom of Kush])

Madam C. J. Walker (Sarah Breedlove) (1867–1919, United States)

Masako Hōjō (1157–1225, Japan)

Freydís Eiríksdóttir (10th Century, Norway/Canada [Vinland])

Ilona Zrínyi (1643–1703, Hungary/Croatia)

Mother Lü (1st Century, China)

Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (1651–1695, Mexico)

Sojourner Truth (1797–1883, United States)

Naziq al-Abid (1898–1959, Syria)

Zelia Nuttall (1857–1933, Mexico)

Susan La Flesche Picotte (1865–1915, Omaha Nation/United States)

Molly Craig (C. 1917–2004, Australia)

Sister Rosetta Tharpe (1915–1973, United States)

Sutematsu Ōyama (1860–1919, Japan/United States)

Ada Blackjack (1898–1983, Siberia/Alaska/United States)

The Mirabal Sisters (1924/27/35–1960, Dominican Republic)

Angela Jiménez (1896–1982, Mexico/United States)

Marie Equi (1872–1952, United States)

Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti (1900–1978, Nigeria)

Cut Nyak Dhien (1848–1908, Indonesia [Aceh])

Isabel Godin des Odonais (1728–1792, Ecuador [Viceroyalty of Peru])

Isabella of France (C. 1295–1358, France/England)

Sacajawea (1788–1812, United States)

Mandukhai Khatun (1448–1510, Mongolia)

Ida Laura Pfeiffer (1797–1857, Austria)

Mother Jones (Mary Harris Jones) (1837–1930, United States)

Savitribai Phule (1831–1897, India)

Soraya Tarzi (1899–1968, Afghanistan)

Jeanne de Clisson (1300–1359, France)

Olympias of Macedon (C. 375–316 BCE, Greece)

Trinidad Tecson (1848–1928, Philippines)

Tamar of Georgia (1160–1213, Georgia)

Marsha P. Johnson (1944–1992, United States)

Arwa al-Sulayhi (C. 1048–1138, Yemen)

Fannie Lou Hamer (1917–1977, United States)

Irena Sendler (1910–2008, Poland)

Benazir Bhutto (1953–2007, Pakistan)

Carolina Maria de Jesus (1914–1977, Brazil)

Juana Azurduy de Padilla (1780–1862, Bolivia/Argentina)

Pailadzo Captanian (1882–1968, Armenia/United States)

Velu Nachiyar (1730–1796, India)

Kate Leigh (1881–1964, Australia) and Tilly Devine (1900–1970, Australia)

Ranavalona I (1778–1861, Madagascar)

Other Notables

It Doesn’t Have to Stop Here!

Acknowledgments

Bibliography

Index

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

Introduction

There are two origin stories for this project. The short version is a lunchtime conversation between coworkers at DreamWorks, spitballing the worst ideas possible for an animated princess movie. One of them leaves the studio and develops the idea; it goes viral and there’s a series of books. Short, simple, easy.

The longer origin story is about my mother.

Here are some things you need to know about my mom. Her anniversary presents from my stepdad early in their marriage included a flamethrower, a chainsaw, and a power scythe.* In her fifties, she reshingled the roof to our house by herself, refusing to let me or any of my legion of brothers* help, because we wouldn’t do as good a job (she was probably right). When she decided to make a website for her jewelry business (after she taught herself to make jewelry), she made it by herself, in secret, teaching herself how to code too. She did so knowing full well that half of the family are software engineers. She didn’t want help. And she made a great website.

Despite all that, when she was growing up my mother was a pariah.

My mom was born in Kentucky in the 1940s. It was not a world with a place for women like her. She spent years trying to fit in—she was a cheerleader!—all the while suspecting that there was something different about her, that she was some sort of aberration. It wasn’t until she was in her thirties that she began to flourish. She eschewed the expectations put on her and started doing what she wanted to do. Before long, she had her own job; she was a published author; her art was gaining notice; she had become that intensely capable person I’ve described to you. Faced with a world with no place for her, she carved her own place out of granite. And at that moment, as all doors opened to her, she asked herself: What do I really want out of life? Who do I choose to be?

And she chose to be my mom.

She never looked back on that choice. But I did. I remember catching glimpses of the life she’d had before, of all that she’d put down to raise me and my brothers. I continually meditated on the magnitude of that choice, unable to hold it in my head. Had she been only half herself all this time? Had she pushed her own personality, her likes and dislikes, dreams and goals, to the side, just to give me the best life possible? Is that the sacrifice all mothers make? Is it worth it? Was I worth it?

In part, I began Rejected Princesses to pay my mother back, to prove that her choice had been worth it. Of course, I was proving this to myself more than to her—she never questioned her choice even once. She knew that she didn’t stop being herself just because she had her sons. If anything, she became more herself, because she’d walked down the path she wanted, of her own volition. The trade-offs she’d made, she’d make again, if she could.

But another large part of this work was to reach out to every girl who has ever been in my mom’s situation, who felt they were someone for whom the world had no place. This is a book full of extreme personalities, of lives lived fully, brashly, boldly (if not always wisely). These are your mothers, your grandmothers, your birthright. You are not alone.

To the weirdos, pariahs, and aberrations: Glory in your edges and never let them dull. Don’t file yourself down for anybody.

And to the mothers—mine and all others out there, giving selflessly—no words will ever be able to fully recognize all that you put aside. Thank you is too meager, too small, too inadequate, but it’s all we have.

Thank you.

A Note on the Scholarship

I’m not a professional historian—my background is in film criticism and animation. However, I do my damndest to make sure everything here is right (there are more than 200 citations in the back), but I’m only human. This is a book meant to inspire, illustrate, and intrigue—not to be the end point of your inquiry. My work sits on the shoulders of giants: historians who’ve worked tirelessly to bring these stories to light. If you are interested in learning more, I urge you to do so, using the bibliography as a starting point.

Hold Up a Second!

YOU SHOULD KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ABOUT TO READ

Unlike what you may be used to reading, this book doesn’t pull punches. It’s not censored. Sometimes there’s rough content.

Not every entry is suitable for every reader (despite the cartoony demeanor). To accommodate readers of all ages, this book is arranged by maturity level, not alphabetically by name. (For an alphabetical list, check the index.)

The following guide markers can help you decide what’s a good fit for you.

As the book goes on, the icons change from green to yellow to red. The way to think about these divisions is, how much evil are you comfortable with in the world?

Green is simple. Good beats evil, the world is moral. Think PG.

Yellow is more complex. No black and white, just shades of gray. Think PG-13.

Red requires maturity. You must be your own moral guide. Think R.

Additionally, look out for these icons that tell you what’s in an entry.

Lastly, to highlight the continuity of history, this book points out where people in this volume and those in Volume One (Rejected Princesses) interact. Names in purple indicate figures covered in Volume One, and names in blue indicate figures covered in this book. Keep an eye out for them!

On to the stories!

Labotsibeni Gwamile LaMdluli

(C. 1858–1925, SWAZILAND)

The Mother Who Bought Back Her Country

Labotsibeni Gwamile LaMdluli was a woman of many names, the most colorful of which was likely her adopted royal name, Gwamile. The name was both a verb and adjective, meaning to stand firm and unshakable; to be indomitable, adamant.

It was a fitting name, as Europe would come to learn.

This Swazi ruler was a shrewd negotiator even in her youth. When she was being courted by the crown prince Mbandzeni, she turned him down, teasing that she could not marry a person from a common village. Undeterred by this hard-to-get play, he went back to her after being crowned king, his new bona fides on display. This time she said yes, and within a year they had a son, Bhunu.

Gwamile’s negotiation skills would prove vital, as her country was threatened by one of the dirtier tricks of the European colonizer* handbook. It went like this: they approached the king asking for land grants for mineral rights and the like. The king, not understanding the concept of private land ownership (the idea didn’t exist in Swazi society, and the foreigners weren’t in a hurry to explain it in depth), agreed. He viewed the money paid as tribute.

In short, Mbandzeni sold the country without realizing it. Making matters worse, he repeatedly sold the same rights to multiple people—again, not really understanding the underlying concepts—which resulted in years of skirmishes and confounding litigation.

This became Gwamile’s problem in 1889, when her husband died. Her son, the newly crowned Bhunu, was no help. A petulant teen more interested in drinking and fighting than the nuances of policy, he quarreled with Gwamile and ignored her advice.* His lowest moment came when he was brought before a foreigner court for his involvement in a murder, and had his rank downgraded from king to paramount chief. When he died suddenly five years into his reign, few regarded it as a great loss.

Suddenly, Gwamile was running the entire country. Because Bhunu’s successor was his five-month-old son, Mona (later Sobhuza II), Gwamile had to run affairs until her grandson came of age. While she initially suffered some political blowback—some thought she might have assassinated her reckless son—in a testament to her political savvy, she quickly consolidated power by showing wisdom and forethought.

Part of her brilliance was to realize this was to be a long-term struggle, and to strategize when and how to fight. Having witnessed other nations destroyed and swallowed wholesale by the colonial forces, Gwamile knew Swaziland was in very real danger of the same. She brought in European-educated advisors and began fighting British schemes by British means. She sent official petitions and inquiries directly to London, asking for clarification as to the exact legal status of Swaziland and in effect gummed up the bureaucracy with paperwork. She knew the local administrators were flying by the seat of their pants, without consulting the crown. Her legal challenges sparked internal debate and bought her time.

Simultaneously, Gwamile organized a scheme to repurchase her country’s lands. In this too, she was shrewd—flattering and outwardly cooperating with the British, never directly opposing the idea of carving up her country. But it was a ruse to get them to assume she was on their side. Once she had done so, she pointed out that the lands the Europeans had ostensibly bought still had Swazi people living on them. She magnanimously offered to settle the thorny matter by paying to cancel the leases. In the same way that the Europeans had sidled up with promises of friendship, she was offering to make their lives easier to achieve her own goals.

Gwamile had a deep well of money to draw from, due to a well-organized tax system she’d set up among her chiefs. Not only was this used to buy back lands, but also to open a school system—one that she made sure was free of Christian missionaries and was strictly secular. One of the first beneficiaries of this focus on education was her grandson, Sobhuza II, whom she trained to follow in her footsteps in soft opposition to the British.

Once the British realized her schemes, they flew into a rage. They called her autocratic, intemperate, and selfish. They spread lies about her embezzling the funds and tried to turn her people against her—another classic colonizer move.* The Swazis fired back, describing her as mzimba kawudabuki ngenblamba yamadoda: a body that does not crack from the insults of important men. Indeed, she did not crack. Gwamile ruled until 1921, when she ceded the throne to her grandson Sobhuza II, whom she had trained well. He continued her work and by the time the nation declared independence in 1968, he’d regained over 63 percent of Swazi territory. He went on to become the longest-reigning monarch of any nation in verified history, ruling for almost 83 years straight. Under his rule, the nation’s economy prospered and many of the country’s older traditions were brought back. In so doing, Sobhuza II and the rest of the country made sure to recognize Gwamile as one of the nation’s greatest heroes.

• ART NOTES AND TRIVIA •

Gwamile is pictured here inside one of the traditional huts of Swazi culture. She’s guiding her young grandson’s education over a map of Swazi territory. His feet are dyed red from the soil, as were Gwamile’s, due to her tendency to walk across her territories.

In the background, a European man is running away from a flash flood. The man is modeled on Robert Coryndon, Resident Commissioner of Swaziland, who was one of Gwamile’s most ardent opponents in her legal wrangling.

The flash flood is a reference to Gwamile’s famed powers as a rainmaker. One story goes that upon being shown water pipes in Johannesburg, Gwamile replied, When I want water, I make the rain myself. She was said to have made the rain overflow against places that she held grudges, even destroying some European mining equipment at one point.

Te Ao-Kapurangi

(19TH CENTURY, NEW ZEALAND)

The Mother Who Stuffed Her House

The sight of Te Ao-Kapurangi was bewildering. Here was a woman who’d been kidnapped by an enemy tribe years ago, now suddenly back home, standing on a rooftop, in the middle of a war zone. But as it turned out, her homecoming was as heroic as it was confusing. For Te Ao-Kapurangi may be the only person in human history to save her people and end a war, merely by standing on a roof.*

She’d been kidnapped in 1818 by a chief of the Ngā Puhi, an aggressive Māori tribe who’d been expanding their borders through force (and guns). Being a woman of high rank, Te Ao-Kapurangi was quickly married off to the chief, even though she was already married and had two children.

According to one account, her new husband treated her well and she was well respected, so take that for what it’s worth. The chief was at the least very affected by the loss of a child she bore him to accidental exposure to fire: in mourning, he took the name Te Wera (the burning).

In 1822, it became evident that the Ngā Puhi were going to go to war against Te Ao-Kapurangi’s birth tribe, the Te Arawa. She knew this would be a massacre: not only were the Te Arawa hopelessly outgunned (literally—they had one musket, the Ngā Puhi had many more), but they weren’t taking the threat seriously. They’d holed up on an island, and were convinced the Ngā Puhi couldn’t move a fleet of war canoes overland to attack them.

They were wrong: the Ngā Puhi were so motivated, they hacked a path through the jungle and dragged their canoes uphill.

Te Ao-Kapurangi begged the Ngā Puhi chiefs to spare her people, for they weren’t involved in the revenge that motivated the war. The war chief grudgingly let her warn her relatives and allowed them to hide. So she rowed up in a canoe and yelled to warn them of danger, but they refused to go.

Upon returning, Te Ao-Kapurangi again addressed the Ngā Puhi chiefs—even once was unorthodox enough for a woman!—and begged for them to spare her stubborn kinfolk. The war chief, frustrated at her obstinance, put forward a ridiculous condition: he’d let some live, but only those who passed through her legs.*

The Ngā Puhi embarked on their war canoes, circling around the island. For two full days, they menaced the Te Arawa, showing the full extent of their army. On the third day, the war chief’s canoe (which also carried our heroine) landed. The war chief stood tall, chanting a war song, his steel helmet* glinting in the sun.

He was immediately shot in the head.

The Te Arawa had only one musket, but they knew how to use it. Sadly, the helmet was well-made, and the war chief was merely knocked over. He’d have a horrible headache for the next three days.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Te Ao-Kapurangi leapt out of the boat and scrambled onto the roof of a nearby building. Straddling the roof post with her legs, she yelled for her people to enter the house. Realizing what she was up to, the Te Arawa, one after another, crammed into the house—through her legs. The Ngā Puhi respected the space as a sanctuary. Some were still killed, but most were saved by packing the house like a clown car.

The next day, they established peace. Although some Ngā Puhi wanted to continue the war, Te Ao-Kapurangi’s captor/husband Te Wera made them stop. Calling over Te Ao-Kapurangi’s son by her first husband, Te Wera referred to him as my child—and in so doing, bonded the Ngā Puhi to peace. Although the Ngā Puhi would continue warring against other Māori for years to come, never again would they fight the Te Arawa.

Little is known of the rest of Te Ao-Kapurangi’s life, but her deeds have not been forgotten. Indeed, she gained a sort of immortality in a Māori turn of phrase that lives on to present day: Ano ko te whare whawhao a Te Ao-kapurangi (This house is as crowded as Te Ao-Kapurangi’s).

• ART NOTES AND TRIVIA•

This is the actual meeting house upon which Te Ao-Kapurangi stood, with each carving replicated as best as possible from photo reference. It’s still standing today. It took a very long time to draw.

Man-deok Kim

(1739–1812, KOREA)

The Mother of Jeju Island

Man-deok Kim was dealt a rough hand in the karmic lottery. She was born on Jeju Island, a land for banished nobility—basically the Siberia of 18th century Korea. Her father, an exiled noble, married a Jeju native, but when his exile was lifted, he left her, likely without even knowing she was pregnant. Man-deok’s father died in a shipwreck some years later, and her mother* died in an epidemic not long after that. This left 11-year-old Man-deok an orphan.

Things got worse before they got better. After living in squalid conditions with a relative, she caught the eye of a noblewoman—who adopted her as a gisaeng, an entertainer/concubine/slave of the government. While this afforded her an education and arts training, it also thrust her into the lowest rank in rigidly stratified Korean society and put her every action under a microscope. Being a gisaeng made her a commodity, and one with a short shelf life.

But she did the unthinkable: she regained her status! After learning that her father was a noble, she put her literacy to work and petitioned to be released from servitude, due to her noble birth. Although it took multiple requests, the government eventually relented. She was given the rank of commoner (a step up!), and her name was scrubbed from the official register. She was 22, and she was a free woman.

Which isn’t to say she had a ton of great choices immediately available to her. As a former gisaeng, she was still on the fringes of society. Marriage would have been difficult, if not impossible, due to the stigma. Furthermore, women in that era didn’t usually have jobs.

However, none of this proved an impediment for Man-deok. She opened a gaekju—a type of hotel for merchants—and from there, a burgeoning mercantile empire. Using every contact and skill she learned as a gisaeng, she began trading with the mainland, bringing in clothing, jewelry, and cosmetics—all niceties with which she’d developed some expertise. She sold cheap, and in volume. Not only was she Korea’s first female businessperson, she was also, in short order, insanely rich.

She even, apparently, took a lover (whom she may have also employed). Although they could not marry, they lived together. In the sources that describe their relationship, some add that the man had two daughters, whom Man-deok fostered after his death.

But as much as the world might have treated her as mere merchandise, she did not treat the world the same way. In 1792, when she was in middle age, a horrific famine struck Jeju. By 1795, it had killed a third of the population. The government tried sending relief, but several of the boats sank in violent storms. To combat this, Man-deok sold most of her belongings and used her private fortune to buy hundreds of sacks of rice, which she freely gave to Jeju residents, saving the lives of thousands.*

When word of her deeds reached the ear of the king, he was so moved that he offered her a boon—material goods, a noble rank, whatever she wanted. Her request was simple: she merely wanted to travel outside of Jeju, to see scenic Mount Geumgang. The king not only granted her wish, but gave her a tour of his palace, a government post, a residence in Seoul, and the official title of Uinyeo Bansu (medicine woman) for having looked after the people of Jeju. She lived the rest of her days peacefully, leaving much of her money to her foster children when she died.

In the years after her death, she’s been celebrated across Korean culture. In 1980, an award was introduced in her name; in 2010, she got her own TV show; and in 2016, a memorial hall devoted to her opened on Jeju Island. But perhaps her greatest immortality rests in this Korean proverb: work like a dog, spend like Man-deok.

• ART NOTES AND TRIVIA •

The building in the back is the gaekju inn that Man-deok operated in Geonip-dong. The man in the front is the one with whom she was partnered, and whose children (in the background) she might have helped look after. In the far background, there are rice fields, a callback to her great generosity.

It is hard to see, but she has two pupils in her left eye, a trait to which many records attested.

Lastly, the daughter in pink and white is modeled after Jeanette Wu, a reader whose translation help was essential to covering this story (and many others). Like me, she worried that the glasses would be an anachronism—thankfully, while rare, eyeglasses did exist in Korea at the time.

Vera Peters

(1911–1993, CANADA)

The Mother of the Modern Mastectomy

The room was silent.

It’s understandable why. Dr. Vera Peters had just done the impossible. She’d spent 30-plus years poring over the charts of more than 8,000 breast cancer patients. She’d done it by hand, in her home, after putting the kids to bed. She’d proven that the longtime standard for breast cancer treatment was not only brutal, it was unnecessary. She’d just shown her findings to the most prestigious doctors in Canada. And the room fell silent.

Gradually they began to stir. A cough here, a laugh there. Nonsense, they said, and dismissed her.

But Vera Peters would not be so easily dismissed.

She’d been through all this years before, when she’d proved Hodgkin’s lymphoma was treatable. Long thought to be incurable, Hodgkin’s was, at the time, a virtual death sentence to anyone diagnosed with it. Through years of patiently graphing patient outcomes, Vera had come up