Widowhood, Oppression and Acts of Resistance

Widows outnumber widowers. The reasons? Many men remarry, and historically, more men have died in wars. Moreover, as Mineke Schipper notes in Widows, 10% of widows today live in extreme poverty, underscoring the vulnerability braided into widowhood.

In a previous work, Never Marry a Woman With Big Feet, Schipper rounded up proverbs across cultures and languages that are menacingly revelatory. While they objectify and vilify women, they also radiate fear of feminine power, warning men not to marry the overly-educated or talented women (“big feet”). In Hills of Paradise, she examined myths and origin stories, locating the ancient roots of contemporary patriarchy.

Ironically, as she writes in her Acknowledgement, she lost her own partner three months after embarking on Widows. Fortunately for her, she was able to transmute a personal void into a project that spanned global histories and cultures. She too is an example of how such transitions can spawn generative work that inspires others to question or defy norms.

Dark Stereotypes

I have always been keenly aware of how widows had been ill-treated in traditional Indian families (and often still are, depending on the socioeconomic slice you inhabit). Reading Widows gave me an insight into how pervasive and shockingly barbaric such treatment has been – across the globe. Including in the so-called “civilized” parts like Europe.

Across cultures, widows have been portrayed as desperate, helpless, empty. Even worse, these women are often blamed for their husband’s death, facing ostracization or outright violence. The weight of grief is stacked with stigma, censure and punishment.

A Shared Wish: To Die Together

Schipper cites the story of Zeus and his son Hermes, who once arrived on Earth, to test the generosity of its inhabitants. An impoverished but contented couple was the only one willing to share their meagre resources with the gods. They were then granted a wish that many happily-married (or in love) couples might privately harbor: to die together or in quick succession. They eventually turned, as the story has it, into an oak and linden tree, their leaves whispering and branches touching in forever love.

In fairy tales and myths, couples may live happily ever after, but in real life, there’s no escaping the fact that one inevitably passes before the other. Prompting an unsettling question: “Which of us will go first?” (Of course, it doesn’t escape Schipper that there’s equally voluminous and perhaps more interesting lore about couples who might wish for the other’s death or even provoke it.)

In patriarchal settings, when a woman marries, she becomes part of her husband’s family, and if he dies, consequences are dire. The widow is castigated by her in-laws, and subjected to new forms of suffering, layering loss with trauma.

Widowhood and Rituals: Symbols of Isolation

In many parts of the world, widows are still expected to follow strict, often demeaning customs. After a husband’s death, the woman is permanently marked by widowhood: by shaving her hair, wearing somber (usually black or white) clothes, accumulating a repugnant stench. She’s excluded from society for a period—or for the rest of her life.

Europe was not immune to this kind of treatment. Until a century ago, widows were barred from weddings and even from celebrating their own birthdays. The witch trials of the 16th and 17th centuries, where many single women were hunted, depict the harshness communities held for women on their own.

The Burden of Mourning

The act of mourning, too, has weightier expectations for widows. If a woman doesn’t grieve publicly and with fervor, she risks being judged. A haiku written by a Japanese poet captures this harsh scrutiny:

‘The widow did not
cry – well, Mr. Journalist,
will you publish that?’

Triggered by grief, even progressive, liberated women might subscribe to elements of delusional thinking. Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking illustrates this: holding on to the belongings of a deceased partner, as though he might return at any point. Queen Victoria’s mournful gestures were legendary—she kept laying out her late husband’s shaving water each morning, long after he had passed. Some Nigerian widows did the same, continuing to cook for and care for their absent husbands as if they were alive.

Widows, especially in communal societies, are often not permitted to mourn privately. In Trobriand Islands in the 1920s, widows performed grief in public, crying over their husbands’ graves before being locked into tiny, pitch-black spaces — a ritual designed to show the husband’s family that her grief was real.

Widowhood in India

For some women in India, widowhood comes with greater burdens. Remarriage is forbidden in certain castes and a woman with daughters has to bear the financial strain of their marriages. Jean-Antoine Dubois, who lived in South India centuries ago, recorded the poignant scene of a widow donning her best clothes to fling herself onto her husband’s body, knowing such adornment would never be permitted again.  

“Shadow Widows” and Hidden Pain

There are others who can’t publicly express their grief. Mistresses, often referred to as “shadow widows,” are left to mourn in secret. Their hidden griefs are a reminder of the complex and sometimes invisible layers of widowhood.

Women have long been expected to show their emotions more easily and fully, whereas men are urged to hold them back, suppressing their tears. This double standard is still palpable today, though the gendered display of emotions might be gradually morphing.

The Widow’s New Wardrobe

Widows are expected to fade into the background, dressing like monks or nuns. These clothes serve a purpose beyond modesty – they strip away the widow’s identity and mask her sexual appeal. Queen Victoria famously donned black after Prince Albert’s death, and even Jacqueline Kennedy wore a mourning veil during John F. Kennedy’s funeral.

In traditional Hindu families, widows sleep on the floor, wear white, and eat only one meal a day. Society seems determined to give widows a “terrifying appearance,” as one source put it, as if to ensure that they live a life stripped of joy, under the Panopticon watch of in-laws or a community.

Witches and Whores

Widows have long been painted in extremes – as witches or temptresses. The fear of a woman without a husband was so strong that it reinforced negative tropes about women in general. Widows were seen as dangerous, capable of infecting others with their misfortune. Only in the 20th century did the pressure on widows in the West begin to let up.

A Widow’s Final Gift: Herself

In some cultures, widows have been forced to join their husbands in death, through burial, strangulation, burning, or even drowning. Those who chose to die were lauded and deified. When men had multiple wives, the competition to join him in death was fierce, as it often evoked a horrific, blood-thirsty admiration in onlookers.

Even after the Bengal Sati Regulation in 1829, which banned widow burning, the practice persisted in various forms. The Sati of Roopkuvarba Kanwar in 1987 reignited the issue, leading to the Sati (Prevention) Act of 1987, passed by India’s Parliament. Despite this, instances of Sati have been recorded in rural areas in Central and North India.

Breaking The Mold

Women, historically, have married “up” and men “down”— keeping the patriarchal seesaw tilted on self-serving pivots. Even today, when wives earn more than husbands, it attracts discussion.

Yet women like Tao Huabi, who rose from poverty in China, challenge these norms. After her husband died, she started selling food at a street stall. Today, her brand of Chinese chilli oil, Lao Gan Ma, is a global sensation. Or there’s Christine Obbo, a powerful voice in Africa, fighting for women’s rights. Or Pandita Ramabai in India, who started a fund for child widows. Women like these show us that alternatives are possible, and while we can’t reach glib conclusions, individual acts of defiance – like squiggles on a beach – can shift social sands.

References

Mineke Schipper, Widows: A Global History, Speaking Tiger, 2024