Narrator: Imagine a scene from nearly three thousand years ago, at the very beginning of Western literature. In the great hall of a palace, a queen, Penelope, is distressed by a bard’s somber song. She comes down from her private quarters and, in front of a crowd of suitors, asks him to choose a happier tune. But before the bard can answer, her young son, Telemachus, steps forward. He tells his mother to go back to her room and her weaving, declaring that "speech will be the business of men." And she obeys. This moment, where a son publicly silences his mother, isn't just a minor family squabble. It's the first recorded example in Western culture of a man telling a woman to shut up. Why does this ancient interaction feel so chillingly familiar?

In her powerful and concise book, Women & Power: A Manifesto, the classicist Mary Beard argues that this moment is a cultural blueprint. She traces the deep, historical roots of how Western society has learned to silence women and exclude them from the structures of power, revealing a tradition that is thousands of years in the making.

Narrator: The exclusion of women from public speech is not a modern phenomenon; it is a foundational principle of Western culture. Beard argues that our society has had, in her words, "thousands of years of practice" when it comes to silencing women. The story of Telemachus and Penelope from Homer's Odyssey serves as the foundational exhibit. Telemachus’s command is more than just a son's impertinence; it's a defining moment of his transition into manhood. He establishes his authority not by fighting or ruling, but by taking control of public utterance and explicitly excluding his mother from it.

This model echoes throughout classical antiquity. Orators and writers in ancient Rome and Greece consistently defined public speaking as an exclusively male domain. One second-century guru went so far as to write that a woman should guard against exposing her voice to outsiders as she would guard against stripping off her clothes. A woman’s voice, like her body, was meant for the private sphere. When women did speak in public, they were often seen as monstrous or unnatural. This deep-seated prejudice created a powerful and lasting cultural association: authority sounds male. Any woman who dared to speak with authority was, by definition, transgressing her gender.

Narrator: Even when women break through the historical silence, they often find that the very definition of authoritative speech is built on a masculine model. This forces women into an impossible choice: either play by the male rules and risk being seen as unnatural, or speak in their own voice and risk not being taken seriously. Beard points to a mid-20th century Punch cartoon that perfectly captures this dilemma. In a boardroom meeting, a chairman turns to a female colleague and says, "That’s an excellent suggestion, Miss Triggs. Perhaps one of the men here would like to make it." The joke lands because it reflects a persistent reality where a woman's contribution is only validated once it is voiced by a man.

This dynamic plays out in the highest echelels of power. In 2017, US Senator Elizabeth Warren was formally silenced on the Senate floor for reading a letter from Coretta Scott King that was critical of a nominee. The official reason was a Senate rule against impugning another senator. Yet, shortly after, male senators, including Bernie Sanders, were allowed to read the very same letter without any penalty. The rule was applied selectively, demonstrating how procedural mechanisms can be weaponized to police the boundaries of acceptable female speech. The language used to describe women’s voices further reinforces this, with words like "whining," "strident," or "gobby" used to dismiss their arguments and relegate their speech to the realm of the emotional and unserious.

Narrator: Beyond the voice, Beard argues that our cultural template for power itself is resolutely male. When women do attain positions of leadership, they are often perceived as illegitimate occupiers of a male space. The language we use, from "power grab" to "smashing the glass ceiling," frames women as outsiders trying to break into a structure that is not theirs. This perception is deeply rooted in the classical myths that have shaped Western thought.

Ancient Greek stories are filled with cautionary tales about women who wield power. Clytemnestra, who rules her city while her husband Agamemnon is at war, is described with masculine language, as if her power has literally unsexed her. Her rule ends in bloodshed and chaos, reinforcing the idea that female power is inherently destructive.

The most potent symbol of this fear is the myth of Medusa. A monstrous woman with snakes for hair whose gaze turns men to stone, Medusa represents a terrifying and uncontrollable female authority. The hero of the story, Perseus, famously decapitates her, not by looking at her directly, but by using his polished shield as a mirror. Her severed head is then mounted on the armor of the goddess Athena. Beard explains that this is a classic story of male mastery asserting control over female threat. The myth provides a cultural script for neutralizing powerful women, and its imagery persists today, with female politicians like Hillary Clinton and Theresa May often depicted with Medusa's head in political cartoons and memes. The message is clear: a powerful woman is a monstrous threat that must be tamed or destroyed.

Narrator: Given these deep-seated cultural biases, simply encouraging women to "lean in" or adopt masculine styles of leadership is not enough. Beard contends that the very concept of power needs to be redefined. The current model, which emphasizes public prestige, individual charisma, and executive authority, is inherently structured to exclude women as a gender. To truly integrate women, we must decouple power from these male-coded attributes.

Power could instead be redefined as the ability to be effective, to collaborate, and to make a difference. It could be seen as an attribute, not a possession. This shift would value the capacity to build consensus and the right to be taken seriously, rather than just the trappings of high office.

Furthermore, society must grant women the right to be wrong. In the book's afterword, Beard contrasts the public reactions to two disastrous interviews during a UK election. When Labour MP Diane Abbott fumbled her numbers, she faced a torrent of vicious, racist, and sexist abuse. When Tory MP Boris Johnson displayed similar ignorance, his failure was largely framed as "laddish waywardness." The double standard is stark: it is not just more difficult for women to succeed, they are treated far more harshly when they fail. For women to be truly equal within the structures of power, they must have the same permission to be imperfect that men have always enjoyed.

Narrator: The single most important takeaway from Women & Power is that the silencing of women is not a flaw in our system; it is the system. For millennia, Western culture has been built on the foundational assumption that public authority is a male prerogative. From the myths we tell to the language we use, our cultural software is coded to question, undermine, and exclude the female voice from positions of power.

Mary Beard leaves us with a profound challenge. It is not enough to simply get more women into positions of power. We must fundamentally re-examine and deconstruct what we think power is, what it looks like, and what it sounds like. The real work is to change the underlying structures of thought that continue to tell women, in ways both subtle and overt, to go back to their rooms, because speech is the business of men. The question is, are we ready to listen to a new definition of authority?