Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
—MARY OLIVER FROM A STITCHED NOTE “SOMETIMES”
“YES, I’LL BE there.”
Eve Ensler was calling with an invitation to what she described as “the meeting of movements,” planned for the first week of January 2017. In the wake of a polarizing presidential election in the United States, Eve had decided it was time for activists to come together to shape strategies that could unify and leverage the collective power of a wide range of social-justice organizations.
“Who else is coming?” I asked.
“I’m not releasing the invitation list,” Eve replied, “but you’ll want to be in the room.”
Indeed, I did want to be in that room, knowing from past experiences that any meeting or event that Eve organized would be meaningful. So I showed up, as the invitation indicated, at a nondescript building in Stone Ridge, New York, and surrendered my cell phone to the smiling young volunteers at the front door.
“Best to have all communication devices outside the room,” was the explanation, which of course heightened my anticipation about what would transpire within the room.
I entered a large room and saw Eve standing at the front, with folding chairs in a circle. Mingling about the room were some familiar faces: the meeting’s other conveners, Kimberlé Crenshaw of the African American Policy Forum; Naomi Klein, award-winning author and activist; independent media entrepreneur and journalist Laura Flanders; and Jane Fonda, actor and activist.
We were asked to find our seats, and Eve began.
“We are living in dangerous times,” was her opening line, “and such times call for new levels of activism from all the communities represented in this circle. Let’s begin by identifying who’s in the room.”
One by one, the introductions began: “I’m one of the founders of the Women’s March.” “I’m the executive director of 350.org.” “I run Project South.” With each introduction, the level of leadership and activists’ credentials became more impressive, and for me, more intimidating.
I could feel my anxiety building. How was I going to identify myself? I had no title and was no longer running an organization, having left my last CEO position at the Paley Center for Media the previous spring. I could say that I was the CEO of Pat Mitchell Media, with its grand total of two employees (including myself). But that felt wholly inadequate to explain why I belonged in that room.
I mentally rehearsed some other options. I could say I was a lifetime advocate for women—true enough, if a little vague. I could list some of my previous titles—but why make a point of being the former anything? I was struggling to come up with how to identify myself in the present, an identity that would hopefully give some indication of why Eve had included me in this circle of activists and leaders.
Finally, it was my turn. Before I knew it, I heard myself saying, “I’m Pat Mitchell. And I’m a dangerous woman.”
I’m not sure exactly what prompted this personal declaration of dangerousness, but I could tell from the looks of surprise that I needed to add a bit more context.
“At this time in my life, about to turn seventy-five,” I continued, “I have nothing left to prove, less to lose, and I’m ready to take more risks and to be less politic and polite. As Eve said, these are dangerous times, and dangerous times call for dangerous women.”
That got a big, sisterly “YES!” from Eve and others in the circle, including Jane Fonda, who was sitting across from me and stood up, declaring, “Well, I’m older than my friend Pat, so that makes me even more dangerous.”
Laughter erupted, of course, and I could sense that others were contemplating exactly what becoming more dangerous to meet the challenges of dangerous times would mean for each of us and for the work we had convened to consider.
Certainly, Jane Fonda’s life of activism is a textbook case for being bold and brave. During our many years of friendship, I’ve witnessed her willingness to take risks for a good cause, to speak out and show up, even when it meant personal peril or sacrifice. At eighty-one, she is still on the front lines, campaigning for domestic and restaurant workers’ rights, standing with the American Indian communities protesting natural-resource exploitation at Standing Rock, and busier as an actor than ever. In her book, Prime Time, Jane advanced the idea that older women have the potential to become the most powerful population on the planet. She’s a great example of how we embrace that potential at every age.
My personal potential for becoming more dangerous is perhaps most directly linked to my friendship with Eve Ensler. From our first conversation in war-torn Sarajevo in 1998, I have been deeply inspired by her courage and her commitment to doing whatever is necessary to end violence against women everywhere. Taking risks comes easier to Eve than to many: writing and performing The Vagina Monologues, making it the centerpiece of a global movement, V-Day, to end gender-based violence is a transformative approach to activism that I feel privileged to have experienced. Yes, I was an activist and women’s advocate before I met Eve, but through my relationship with her and as a board member of the V-Day movement, I’ve met activists facing dangers every day to create change in some of the most difficult places on earth to be a woman.
But until that day, I had not felt dangerous myself.
DECLARING MYSELF A dangerous woman still feels a bit, well, dangerous, and I readily admit to some second thoughts about declaring it even more widely and boldly as the title of this book. But every day since that convening, I’m discovering more about what being dangerous means in my life and why I believe that it’s time for us—women and the men who stand with us—at whatever age or place in life’s journey, to embrace risks and engage with renewed passion and collective purpose in the truly dangerous work of making the world a safer place for women and girls.
I have had to face my own questions and those of others about the definition of dangerous in this work. For me, it doesn’t mean being feared but being more fearless; it does mean speaking the truth when silence is safer; showing up for one another even within the patriarchal construct that encourages us to compete and compare; and it does mean speaking out about the politics and policies that divide us and diminish our individual and collective power. It also means optimizing that power to be effective in allying with those who don’t have access to opportunity, influence, or privilege. It also means, for me, sharing our stories as women have done for generations to survive, thrive, and move forward.
That’s why I’m sharing my journey from small-town South Georgia girl with big dreams but little means to realize them—no money, no connections, no power or sphere of influence—to media executive with influence, to where I am today, more prepared to leverage my privilege, platforms, and connections; to optimize every opportunity to elevate other women and their stories; and to support their struggles and celebrate their accomplishments.
MY STORY BEGAN in an unlikely place, on my grandparents’ small cotton farm with no electricity or indoor toilets. But what I had in those early years was a grandmother who could wring a chicken’s neck with one arm and churn butter or pump water with the other, while telling me fanciful stories of places she had never seen—stories that ignited an intense curiosity that is at the heart of everything I have done in my life and work.
By taking some early risks and leaps of faith in myself, I escaped the limitations of resources and pushed past barriers, sometimes helping to dismantle them, while often coping with the challenges of being the first or only woman. Very early on, I learned the value of nurturing connections, of building and sustaining a support network of women friends and colleagues, and of being an advocate for other women in every room and for every opportunity. Now I’m ready to join a global community of women and girls stepping into our power, redefining it by how we use it and share it. It’s time—prime time—for the good we can do by becoming more dangerous together.
After all, when we’re watching The Handmaid’s Tale on television as the last abortion clinic is removed in the state of Louisiana; and when reproductive rights and access to health care are under threat in many places, including my home state of Georgia, which passed legislation in 2019 that will make it one of the most restrictive places in the United States to end an unwanted or unhealthy pregnancy; when extraordinary numbers of refugees are roaming the world without a safe place to call home; when political extremism, racism, and sexism are on the rise in all corners of the world; and when protections for our mother earth are being dismantled by climate-deniers, we need bold responses and brave women willing to speak up, to show up, and to embrace our collective power.
I am encouraged, even in this time of fears about the future, by the many women and girls embracing bigger risks to confront a growing number of global challenges. I’m privileged to know many as friends, and as I set about to share my journey to becoming more dangerous, I asked some of them about their journeys, and have included their responses in the book.
To the many more women warriors on the front lines of change, innovating, defending, protecting, and problem solving, you, too, strengthen my belief that when we come together as a global women’s community, extend our admiration for each other, sustain our advocacy for each other; when we march together, protest, and rise together; when we dance, sing, laugh, and take risks together, we can and do move forward toward a more equal and just world.
This is a future we have the power, the responsibility, and the opportunity to create, and if it means becoming more dangerous to do so—and I believe that it does—my purpose in sharing my stories is to inspire you to become more dangerous, too.