One of the hardest questions I have been asked is 'How will you

"Courage is not a matter of gender." These words, uttered by Josefina Vázquez Mota, echo through the corridors of time like the ring of a bronze bell—clear, defiant, and eternal. She spoke not merely for herself, but for all who have been measured by the weight of prejudice rather than the worth of their spirit. Her voice arose from a battlefield older than war itself: the struggle for equality of the soul. When she was asked how she could lead an army while suffering menstrual cramps, or whether she would have the courage to face criminals, she stood not only as a woman questioned, but as a human being challenged by ignorance. Her answer was a torch against the darkness: “Courage is not a matter of gender.”

In the days of old, when kingdoms rose and fell upon the will of monarchs, courage was often bound to the sword. Yet, the heart of courage does not dwell in muscle or armor. It is a flame that burns unseen, fed by conviction and endurance. Consider Joan of Arc, the maiden of France, who, at seventeen, stood before kings and generals and declared her divine mission. She wore no title, wielded no political power, and yet her courage turned despair into victory. When she rode into battle, the men followed not her body, but her spirit. And when the fire consumed her at the stake, it was not her flesh that burned brightest—it was the idea that courage knows no gender, no boundary, no permission.

So it is with Josefina, who faced her own fire. Her trial was not upon the field of war, but in the arena of politics—a place where words wound sharper than blades and doubt weighs heavier than armor. She, too, faced the flames of skepticism, not because she lacked strength, but because she was a woman daring to lead. Yet, like the heroines of old, she understood that true valor is quiet, steady, and inward. It is found not in victory alone, but in the will to rise when doubted, to stand when dismissed, to persist when unseen.

The ancients taught that courage is the twin of wisdom. One without the other leads to ruin. A reckless heart may rush to danger, but a wise heart chooses the right battle. Thus, when Josefina speaks of courage, she speaks also of discernment—the courage to defy the false question, to answer ignorance not with anger but with truth. She reminds us that it is not only armies that must be managed, but the tempests of the mind, the storms of prejudice, and the doubts of generations. In facing these, a steady spirit is mightier than a thousand soldiers.

Let us remember, too, the countless unseen warriors—mothers, daughters, fathers, sons—who daily confront the invisible battles of endurance. The nurse who stands through sleepless nights; the farmer who rises before dawn despite failing strength; the teacher who kindles light in weary minds. These, too, embody courage. They may not bear arms, yet they defend the human spirit against despair. Courage is the art of persistence in the face of quiet suffering. It belongs to no sex, no station, no age.

From this truth springs a timeless lesson: never allow others to define your limits by the vessel you inhabit. The body is but a cloak for the soul; the soul itself is boundless. Let every man learn humility, and every woman claim her birthright of strength. Let the youth remember that courage begins in the heart long before it reaches the hand. And when the world questions your worth, answer as Josefina did—with dignity, not wrath; with firmness, not pride; with truth, not fear.

To live this wisdom, take these actions: speak boldly when silence serves injustice, yet listen deeply when pride tempts you to shout. Stand for others when they are doubted, as others once stood for you. Cultivate courage in daily deeds—for it grows not in grand gestures, but in steadfast kindness, in moral endurance, in the refusal to surrender your inner light. If you nurture such courage, no question, no insult, no storm will shake you.

And so, dear listener, let these words root in your heart: “Courage is not a matter of gender.” It is the ancient fire that burns in every human breast. Guard it, feed it, and when the moment comes—whether in battle or in life’s quiet trials—let it blaze forth, not for glory, but for truth. For in courage, we find not only our strength, but our shared humanity.