When I was a teenager in the 1970s my father tried to tell me about my great-grandmother, Dora K. Lewis, after whom I was named. She was a suffragist. I wasn’t interested in politics back then, so the magnitude of what she had done was lost on me.
I was in college studying American Women’s History when I came across her name in a book and was floored to discover that she had played a key role in winning a right I once took for granted.
I discovered that this brave and determined ancestor fought hard to secure a woman’s right to vote. From picketing the White House to being jailed, from hunger strikes to being force fed, she and others like her did not lose sight of fighting for what they knew was right. I was amazed when I learned the details of her personal life and her political crusading and became hungry to find out more. She made sacrifices that awakened in me a deep respect for our democracy and the right to vote.
But it wasn’t until I was a mother myself that I could fully feel the intensity of my connection to her. When my children were young, I or my husband would bring them with us to the polls. We wanted to teach them that voting is as important as brushing your teeth. I would often feel tears in my eyes once back in my car, thinking about what Dora K. Lewis endured to ensure my right — and my daughter’s right — to so easily cast our votes. To this day, whenever I vote, I well up with tears and send up a prayer of thanks.
As hard-fought as her political activism was, Dora (almost always referred to as Mrs. Lawrence Lewis) endured tragedy in her personal life. Her husband was hit by a train and killed when their three children, my grandfather and his siblings, were young. There was no life insurance.
She had come from an affluent family and had married into one but that did little to protect her. She had no money of her own, no autonomy when it came to spending it. She had to ask for money from her in-laws. One of her children recalled in his adult years that money came when they supported the need. It was a different story when they did not. Despite her affluence, her life was not her own.
I wonder, as her sons became adults did the fact that she could not vote take on a new sting? How was it that she could single-handedly raise three children, two of whom were male and would automatically be able to vote and yet she was denied that right? So many insults added to her injuries.
Her children were grown when she began working for women’s suffrage in her 50s. She met Alice Paul, the militant leader of The Women’s Party and joined their ranks. They picketed outside the White House — a fairly common practice now but those suffragists were the first to do it.
During their peaceful demonstrations — they were nicknamed the “Silent Sentinels” — they held large provocative signs and burned speeches by the president (Woodrow Wilson) all to draw attention to their cause. Then as now, there was no law against what they were doing. They were heckled by people who would sometimes grab their banners and tear them up.
Police did not protect them but instead stood by, watched and eventually arrested the women for “obstructing traffic.” The first arrests resulted in booking and releasing them. Subsequent arrests incurred short sentences meant to convince them to stop their activities. They never did. Undeterred, they continued returning to their post.
Dora Lewis was arrested numerous times. One incident in particular stands out. In November of 1917 the suffragists were arrested and taken to the Occoquan Workhouse where conditions were dark, wet and rodent infested. Their “food” — a watery gruel — was riddled with insects. When denied their rights as political prisoners, the women began a hunger strike.
The superintendent was not having it. He directed the guards to “teach the women a lesson.” Dubbed “The Night of Terror,” nearly 40 guards brutalized the women. According to affidavits, the were grabbed, dragged, beaten, choked and kicked. One of the leaders was handcuffed to her cell door with her hands above her head and left there for the night.
Dora was thrown into her cell with such force she hit her head on the iron bed frame and lost consciousness. Her roommate thought she had died and suffered a heart attack for which she would not receive medical attention until the next morning. Thankfully, she survived.
After five days, prison management became worried that my great-grandmother might die as a result of denying herself nutrition and they would have her blood on their hands. She was restrained and force fed. “I was seized and laid on my back, where five people held me.” A tube was forced through her lips and down her throat, “I gasping and suffocating with the agony of it. I didn’t know where to breathe from and everything turned black when the fluid began pouring in.” (Stevens, “Jailed for Freedom,” 1920) She was not the only one.
For many decades these women’s contributions to America’s suffrage movement were overlooked in the annals of history. In the past couple of decades their actions have finally started to be acknowledged. It amazes me that this history lay hidden for so long when their contribution was so profound.
It helped to turn the tide of public sentiment. As news of the prison conditions, the hunger strikes and their treatment became known, the press and the public began demanding their release. In fact, sympathy for these women created a groundswell of support for the cause of women’s suffrage. The suffragists would not stop protesting until they won the right to vote in August of 1920.
I am aware that I write this reflection in a time of great upheaval. The Black Lives Matter movement is working to address police brutality and people of color being disproportionately imprisoned due to the rampant racism in our culture. Peaceful protesters continue to take risks — sometimes risking their lives — to fight for what is right. And it sobers and saddens me to know that even when suffragists were successful in their campaign for the 19th amendment, Black women continued to be largely disenfranchised until the Voting Rights Act of 1965.
I write today to highlight one piece of our collective history. I am proud of this legacy and grateful for all that Dora K. Lewis, and other suffragists endured so that women today, 100 years later, can cast their vote. I can’t wait to go to the polls for this historic election in November to cast my vote for a ticket that includes a Black woman who is the daughter of immigrants in a nation of immigrants.
My son and daughter will also be voting — they are avid voters and political activists — and I like to think our trips to the polls together helped set that course.
Dora Lewis lives in Northampton.