In politics women type the letters, lick the stamps, distribute

Clare Boothe Luce, sharp of wit and fearless in speech, once declared: “In politics women type the letters, lick the stamps, distribute the pamphlets and get out the vote. Men get elected.” In this truth-telling remark lies both lament and fire. She unmasks the hypocrisy of her time: that women, though the lifeblood of political movements, were denied the crown of power, confined to service while men claimed the throne.

The essence of her saying is that power has long been built upon the unseen labor of women. The hands that wrote the letters, licked the stamps, and carried the pamphlets were the same hands that built the foundations of victory—yet their names were forgotten when the banners were raised. Men spoke from podiums, but the echo of their voices was made possible only by the quiet toil of their wives, sisters, and daughters. Luce casts light upon this hidden truth: that glory is too often stolen from those who make it possible.

History itself confirms her wisdom. Consider the suffragists of the early twentieth century—the women who marched, printed leaflets, endured prison and ridicule—so that their daughters might one day vote. Yet even after suffrage was won, few women were allowed to hold the offices their sweat had sustained. Or think of the French Resistance in World War II, where countless women risked death to pass messages and spread propaganda, yet when peace came, men took the medals while women faded into silence.

But Luce’s words are not merely complaint; they are a challenge. She calls future generations to break this cycle, to demand that those who labor for change must also share in the fruits of power. No longer should women be confined to the background of history’s stage. To get out the vote is noble, but to sit in the halls of governance is equally their right. Her quote is both a mirror of injustice and a call to revolution.

Let this wisdom endure: a movement that silences its women is already weakened, for it denies its truest strength. Clare Boothe Luce, herself a playwright, congresswoman, and ambassador, proved with her own life that women are not destined to type the letters alone—they are destined to write the laws. Her words, filled with irony, must be remembered as a summons: that those who labor must also lead, and that the voices once confined to whispers behind the throne must one day speak with power from the throne itself.