Men and women are like right and left hands; it doesn't make

Jeannette Rankin, the first woman to serve in the U.S. Congress, gave us a vision as simple as it is profound: “Men and women are like right and left hands; it doesn’t make sense not to use both.” These words are no idle metaphor, but the distillation of her life’s struggle, uttered by one who fought for the recognition of women’s voices in the councils of power. She saw clearly that humanity, like the body, was incomplete when one hand was bound, and that wholeness comes only when both halves are free to labor together.

The comparison to hands is both tender and powerful. The right hand alone may build, but clumsily. The left hand alone may create, but with limitation. Together, they craft, they heal, they defend, they embrace. So too with men and women. Divided, humanity stumbles; united, it becomes capable of greatness. Rankin’s metaphor carries the weight of truth, for she knew that excluding women from the work of nations was not only unjust but foolish, like a craftsman who refuses to use one of his own hands.

History itself proves her wisdom. When the factories of Europe fell silent in the First and Second World Wars, it was women who stepped into the places of labor, keeping nations alive while their brothers and husbands fought abroad. They showed the world that they were not merely guardians of the home, but guardians of industry, medicine, and learning. Without the “left hand,” the body of society would have collapsed. And yet, once peace returned, many tried again to bind that hand, forgetting the lesson.

But there are brighter stories too. Consider the suffrage movement, in which Rankin herself played a part. Through decades of struggle, women fought for the right to vote, to stand in the councils of decision, to shape the destiny of nations. Their victory was not simply for themselves but for humanity as a whole—for to silence one half of the people is to silence half of wisdom, half of justice, half of compassion. In raising their voices, they allowed humanity to act with both hands.

The lesson is as clear as the rising sun: no community, no nation, no family can flourish if it binds half its strength. Men bring gifts, but so do women. To honor one and neglect the other is to hobble ourselves. True progress, true harmony, is born of balance, of complement, of both hands working as one. The right hand need not dominate the left, nor the left the right—they were made to labor together.

Therefore, O listener, look into your own life. Do you honor both hands? Do you honor both halves of humanity? In your workplace, in your home, in your speech—do you make space for the voices of women as much as men? Or do you, by silence or habit, bind one hand behind the back of the human family? To act with integrity is to recognize that the gifts of women are not lesser, nor secondary, but essential.

Practical action is this: support equality not with words alone, but with deeds. Share burdens, share leadership, share opportunities. Teach your sons and daughters alike to use the tools of courage and wisdom, to raise their voices without fear. In your communities, amplify the voices too often ignored. For when both hands are free, the work of justice becomes swifter, the creation of beauty more complete, the defense of the weak more powerful.

So let Rankin’s words be carried like a banner through the generations: “Men and women are like right and left hands; it doesn’t make sense not to use both.” Let this truth shape nations, guide leaders, and inspire households. For only when humanity learns to labor with both its hands shall it rise to its full stature, whole and unbroken, capable of building a future worthy of its name.