Physically, literally. The women in that cult had their vocal cords cut with a special ceremony when they were twelve.
We lived in a remote community up in Northern BC. It was -no, is- a healthy thriving community, with orchards and mines, electricity and a small clinic, and even a tattoo parlour. The Teachers and Doctors had internet. It was beautiful, and very peaceful. Everybody was well looked after, with plenty of wonderful food and an outdoorsy lifestyle.
In fact, I later learned that outsiders often make applications to join the community. Women, even, with their children. Sometimes the applications were successful.
Not me though. I had been desperate to get out ever since the day I was ten, and my Dad told me about the Silencing. Dad was a Teacher.
I had wanted to become a Teacher, like my Dad. I had grown up watching him prepare lesson plans, grade assignments with his thick chunky red pens, discussing course content and pedagogy with his colleagues loudly and passionately. I was enthralled by it all and knew, as indeed my Dad often said, there was nothing more noble and worthwhile than teaching and shaping the mind of the young. No wonder only men in our community were entrusted to be Teachers. How ridiculous and backwards was the outside world with their female teachers -and unSilenced women- always mired in instability and chaos.
No wonder the outside was full of war, violence, debt and poverty. Their women always under the threat of assault. The Teachers played us videos with current dates, clips from the news made by outsiders themselves, showing how they treat their women. No wonder there was always a queue of women desperate to join us, a community free of mistreatment, abuse and assault, with plenty food for everyone, and a small safe home. Being Silenced must be a small price to pay.
I remembered my Mom laughing until the tears ran down her face when I had first told her about wanting to become like Teacher “Just like Daddy”. Then she had gathered me in her arms and sobbed as if her heart had broken.
Dad told about the Silencing a short while after that. He was a great Teacher, and I understood why it was necessary. Dad had explained it all carefully: the history, the benefits to community , the evolution from a symbolic tattoo along the throat, to an actual, painless clinical procedure which disabled the vocal cords permanently. I was so lucky I had a Teacher Dad who took the time to explain things so beautifully and clearly to me. Other girls would usually just get a notice from the clinic with the date and time of their Silencing appointment. However, as Dad said, it was very important that it was taught correctly, with proper context, otherwise it wouldn’t be understood properly. That’s why Teaching was such an important job.
Having a Teacher Dad had other benefits too. He had thrown me a Silencing party most girls could only dream of, with amazing food imported from outside, dancing and singing. I had a gorgeous floofy glittery lacy dress, also bought specially from outside for the occasion, and all my friends had been so jealous as I shimmered through the day. I still remember that dress.
But then it was over, and everyone went home. My Silencing would take place tomorrow.
I lay in the dark, unable to ignore the knot of fear that had been tightening in me all day- well, all my life really, since the day Dad told me about the Silencing.
As I lay there, thinking about the procedure tomorrow which would permanently disable my vocal chords and silence me forever, the waves of fear breaking over me grew stronger. There was a light tap at my bedroom door. I raised my head, and called softly “Yes?” The door opened and my Mom glided quietly in. She was also dressed for bed, and despite the dark, the tattoo along her neck and throat was plainly visible. She had just chosen a plain line, as I would. Many Silenced women choose elaborate designs for the neck tattoo they received after their Silencing, but I wanted the same plain line across my neck as Mom had.
She reached out for my hand. I whispered “Mom I’m scared”.
She started typing on her pad, which was always with her. “Please don’t be scared Eliza. It’s over so soon. And it doesn’t hurt one bit- just the tattoo afterwards, a little bit”.
I read the glowing words. Then I said, “Mom, I don’t want to, I don’t want to lose my voice.”
She looked so sad as she typed furiously. “Eliza, your Dad has explained why it’s like this here. You’ve studied examples of societies which don’t have Silencing - you know how terrible and miserable they are. We are such a peaceful, orderly society since we started Silencing women. You know that!”
Dad yelled loudly “Louisa? Are you coming to bed?” Mom bent down for one last hurried kiss, and then left my room. I was alone with my fears again.
I couldn’t help thinking about the outside. Where women jabbered, chattered, gossiped, wheedled, manipulated men and told stories and yammered and protested and wanted this and that and the other. Dad said it was a disgrace, and one day, maybe they would see the error of their ways and become like our community.
But all these thoughts couldn’t stop my fear for tomorrow and my Silencing.
Dark hours passed, as I stared at the ceiling. I still remember those hours, heavy like glue, silent.
It must have been 2am when I heard a faint tap tap at my window. I sat up, putting aside my childish fears and opened the curtain. An adult woman was behind the glass, smiling at me. Her neck tattoo was clearly visible in the moonlight, a beautiful design of roses and thorns.
I didn’t care about safety- my dread for tomorrow had desensitized me. I threw open the window. “Who are you?”
The woman opened her mouth and spoke, quietly, but still spoke, her voice coming from her lips. “Hello Eliza. Will you come away with me?”
I had never seen a woman of that age, with a neck tattoo, who could talk. My jaw dropped. “Wha…?”
She started speaking rapidly. “Eliza, I know how you feel. We can take you away, outside. I can’t explain much now, but if you want to, you have to come away with me now. It will be a hard life- but you won’t lose your voice, at least, not today you won’t.”
I was silent for a bit. I felt the dreadful fear of the last few years shifting a bit, giving way to a new emotion- hope? excitement? I looked at the aged face of this talking woman with the tattooed roses on her throat, and nodded dumbly.
She smiled at me. “Excellent. Follow me. No- you don’t need anything, we have everything you will need- a car is waiting. Not even shoes. Just move fast.”
My heart beating fast, I followed my new friend, and climbed out of the window.
She drove me for hours through the mountains , through winding back roads I never knew existed. She told me how my Mom had sent them a forbidden message to come get me. I knew I would never see my Mom and Dad again.
Sometimes little bits of news filter through connections. The community thrives. Life outside is hard. But I can speak.