Kind and responsible, women rule the world better than men

The poem Wisdom by Helen Moffett begins: “I’m inclined to trust her, / this woman with a child’s clear vision / who points out the scabrous sores / on the emperor’s bare bum.” It appears in her 2016 collection Prunings (uHlanga).

In my view, women often possess a clearer vision than most men, along with a natural ability to notice and call out nonsense. This seems to hold true in households as well as in public or governmental settings.

Moffett dedicates the poem to Antjie Krog, a poet I regret discovering too late. Krog’s book Bereft has had a marked influence on my approach to poetry. The stanza in Moffet’s poem ends with the line “she sees magic in unpropitious dust”. The point, of course, is not to suggest that trustworthy men don’t exist or that they’re incapable of speaking uncomfortable truths. Nor that untrustworthy women do not exist. That would be an unhealthy suggestion.

What I mean is that more women than men seem to embody the qualities in question instinctively, whereas most men, myself included, have to work at developing “a child’s clear vision”. 

Is this a natural trait that is, or has been, selected for? I’m inclined to think so. There is considerable evidence that women, on average, tend to display more kindness and responsibility, likely because of influences both natural and social.

However, these are broad trends rather than fixed destinies. Everyone can develop such characteristics, and individual differences in this respect are often greater than group differences. Nevertheless, it remains the case that women generally have to work less hard than the average man to become kind and responsible.

Gender roles are rapidly changing, though, and both men and women are being encouraged to develop a full range of emotional and social skills. Women have indeed come a very, very long way. In the US, they gained the right to vote nationally with the ratification of the 19th Amendment in 1920.

In South Africa, white women were granted the right to vote in 1930, though universal suffrage for all women, regardless of race, was only achieved in 1994. This trend spills over to or borrows from what we’ve always been taught and brought up with: people with more testosterone are mightier in most aspects and shall therefore lead.

In dominant Western Christian culture, the concept of God is traditionally framed using male pronouns – He and Him – and God is often referred to as the Father. This usage reflects both scriptural language and centuries of theological tradition.

In contrast, many other cultures and religions, particularly polytheistic ones such as Hinduism, ancient Greek and Roman religions, or Egyptian mythology, include powerful female deities who play central roles in their cosmologies.

It’s worth noting that not all Eastern religions focus on personal gods; for instance, systems such as Buddhism and Taoism often emphasise impersonal forces, principles or states of being rather than a single divine figure.

Conceptions of divinity – and whether it is gendered at all – differ widely across the world’s spiritual traditions. In traditional Sotho belief, for example, ancestral spirits (badimo) play a central role, acting as intermediaries between the living and a more abstract, distant creator – highlighting yet another model of the divine that differs from both monotheistic and polytheistic systems.

Poet Maya Angelou begins her famous Phenomenal Woman with the line: “Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.” I instinctively read a great deal into this. Some women are considered pretty, others are not. Society often fixates on conventional beauty, and many people openly admire – even gape at – those who fit that mould, often reducing them to eye candy.

But the voice in Angelou’s poem knows it doesn’t conform to those conventional standards of beauty. Still, it recognises its own power – something that “pretty women” don’t understand.

The poem continues: “I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size.” And later, with quiet confidence: “Now you understand / Just why my head’s not bowed. / I don’t shout or jump about / Or have to talk real loud.” The speaker’s strength lies not in external validation, but in qualities that go far beyond surface beauty.

Women often prioritise empathy, collaboration and long-term problem-solving – traits linked to effective governance. Companies with greater than 30% female leadership are 12% more profitable. Women’s participation in peace talks increases agreement durability by 35%. Mixed-gender teams make smarter decisions 73% of the time. Women leaders are statistically more cautious with fiscal policy, reducing financial crises. Policies addressing healthcare, education and inequality improve when women legislate. These statistics are openly available online.

Remember how nations with female leaders had much lower unnecessary deaths and faster economic recovery during Covid? Have you noticed how female-led countries experience fewer conflicts and higher GDP growth, when institutional barriers are low?

In general, women leaders often combine participatory governance with crisis competence – focusing on social welfare and fact-based policies. The bottom line is that inclusion isn’t just fair, it’s strategic. Although systemic barriers remain, data and experience show women’s leadership correlates with stability, innovation and equitable growth. How I wish I’d come up with the Timothy Leary quote which says: “Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition.” DM

Rethabile Masilo is a Mosotho poet from Lesotho who lives in Paris, France.

Confession

By Rethabile Masilo

I stay strongest when I’m with prostitutes,
letting their tempest admit mine; at dawn
I watch them turn from being bitch and choose
to be queen and fiend no more, but come down
from the rafters and take off their costumes,
their false pride, bare their hearts for all and say
“this is what happens in our velvet rooms” –
I’d like to live in there, if there’s a way,
for I need a place where there’s no mercy
more than what one feels, and awards, and must
keep soft; these women are no heresy;
across the street some sing hymns to a host;
I wonder if I’d enjoy such a place,
whose pity comes in teaspoonfuls of grace

On a Gare St-Lazare platform

By Rethabile Masilo

The way she stood on that platform that morning
made me guess that she was approximately fifteen,
waiting for a train to pull in, her profound beauty
saying, while I stiffened and continued to stare
at her profile, that she would be queen someday.
She knew too well how to absorb men’s looks,
breathe their aura in, and salt the charge away
in breasts of her flesh and in valleys of her form.
The world was entering an era of great distress.
I thought she might be a fallen angel, standing there
taking our lust in, savouring it and hoarding it,
like some good-looking robot telephone sucking in
the electricity of men. Such type of force can
destroy a world and break the matrices of its
unfortunate hearts. I wanted to know if the volts
of my thoughts had affected her. But I was late,
so I made haste upstairs, and caught my connection.
But I’ll never forget the atmosphere of danger
around me, on that platform at Gare St-Lazare

This story first appeared in our weekly Daily Maverick 168 newspaper, which is available countrywide for R35.