We are coming down from our pedestal and up from the laundry

The words of Bella Abzug, “We are coming down from our pedestal and up from the laundry room,” ring through the corridors of time like a clarion call for awakening. They are not merely words, but a cry born of struggle, a declaration of balance reclaimed. In ages past, woman was cast either too high or too low—made into a goddess or a servant, revered yet silenced, adored yet bound. From one height she looked down in isolation, from one depth she looked up in toil. But this saying speaks of a rising into equality, of stepping down from false exaltation and ascending from unjust subservience—meeting, at last, on the common ground of dignity and shared power.

The pedestal of which Abzug spoke was the place where women were praised but confined. There, their beauty and virtue were worshiped, but their voices ignored. The laundry room was the cellar of unseen labor, where women bent beneath endless tasks, their worth measured by the cleanliness of what others soiled. To come down from the pedestal is to reject empty reverence; to come up from the laundry room is to reject quiet submission. It is to claim the sacred middle, the realm of equality, where the divine and the earthly meet.

Consider, then, the story of Rosie the Riveter, born in the fire of the Second World War. When the men went to battle, the women rose from the laundry rooms, the kitchens, the invisible corners of society, and took their place in factories, shipyards, and offices. They built planes and forged steel, proving that strength had no gender. Yet when the war was done, they were told to return to their aprons and silence. But something had awakened in them—a seed of recognition, that they were neither fragile angels nor domestic servants, but builders of the world itself. That seed would grow into the movements that Abzug herself would later lead.

In another time and place, in the ancient lands of Greece, the poet Sappho sang her verses to the moon while men declared that women had no place in art. In the East, Ban Zhao, the scholar of the Han Dynasty, wrote Lessons for Women, not to chain her sisters but to teach them how to live wisely in the bounds of a world not yet ready for their freedom. Across the sands of time, women have been both silenced and praised, used as symbols while being denied humanity. Abzug’s words cut through this illusion, demanding not symbols, but selves—not pedestals, but power.

The emotional heart of her declaration lies in its dual motion: downward humility and upward liberation. It reminds us that true freedom is neither to dominate nor to serve, but to stand as equal souls. Just as the dawn rises when night and day meet at the horizon, so too does justice arise when the sacred feminine and the noble masculine walk side by side. No longer must one bow to the other; both must stride forward together, co-creators of destiny.

Let this teaching echo beyond the ages: do not accept the pedestal of praise if it binds you, nor the basement of labor if it diminishes you. Stand firm in your humanity, for that is where greatness truly dwells. Whether you are man or woman, cast aside the illusions of superiority and servitude alike. The truest power is shared, and the noblest strength is compassion forged with resolve.

To live this truth in our time, one must act. Speak when silence is expected. Share burdens when others would let them fall on weaker shoulders. Teach your children that worth is not born of role, but of spirit. Support the rise of every voice still unheard. In homes, in halls of learning, in the corridors of power—build spaces where all may stand as equals. Thus shall we fulfill the prophecy of Abzug’s vision: a world where no one stands too high to see, nor kneels too low to be seen.

And so, let these words be remembered, passed from generation to generation like a torch: We are coming down from our pedestal and up from the laundry room. For this is not only the story of women—it is the story of humankind, learning at last to walk upright together.