by Eve Ensler
Villard Books
2006

There’s something about writers that causes them to want to go there—a curiosity that forces them to detail the taboo and delve into the psyches of people who do what “polite society” spends so much energy distancing themselves from. But often they’re speaking to an audience who can scarcely watch the news or infomercials about world hunger because they can’t bear to see images that disturb their comfortable lives.

I know this because for most of my life I’ve been hiding from reality as well. It’s not because I have no compassion, I tell myself, but because I’m too sensitive. But what would happen if we allowed ourselves to see? Would we curl up in the fetal position and not be able to function? We may think that, but in all probability what we fear and know deep down is that being a witness will require us to act. Our sense of justice would demand something more, something we’re not sure we’re ready to give.

You may know Eve Ensler as the playwright behind The Vagina Monologues—or you may not know her at all. I only had a vague notion of who she was before stumbling upon a copy of her 2006 book, Insecure at Last: Losing It in Our Security Obsessed World.

Toward the bottom of the cover, there’s a photo of Ensler in primal-scream mode, and at the top, a New York City skyline upside down. It immediately brings to mind post-9/11 hysteria in America: security checkpoints at the airport, at the border, our knee-jerk suspicion of anyone who looks vaguely ethnic.

Inside the book, a collection of essays with a few scattered poems is divided into four sections based on Ensler’s journey from abuse victim to international women’s rights activist. So is this book a personal survival story written by a feminist or a diatribe against our deeply entrenched culture of fear? Is it an American citizen’s tale or a foreign policy prescription? The answer is yes. Ensler’s point is one made by many other activists—that, whether we see it or not, the personal is political.

And at its heart, Insecure at Last is like many other books—it allows the reader to experience the narrator’s evolution from a safe distance. But observing a brave soul venture where you don’t dare is inevitably followed by self-reflection, and that’s where it gets scary.

As an abuse survivor, it’s hard for me to understand what caused Ensler, who was abused by her alcoholic father growing up, to travel to countries torn by war or natural disaster and interview women who’ve experienced such great suffering. Reading the book jacket alone, you might be tempted to dismiss her as some kind of masochistic thrill-seeker or an alarmist overreacting about the harsh reality of the world.

But will reading the stories of the women she met make even the most self-aware readers see themselves differently? I believe so. At the start we may not understand what the pain of women from Bosnia, Kosova, Afghanistan, Mexico, Sri Lanka, or even in American prisons, have to do with ours. Ensler attaches names and personalities to the abstraction of world events, yes, but through her own story the reader sees that an individual’s reaction to pain is what dictates the direction of the entire human story. We see that each individual’s story is a retelling of the global story.

In an essay called “The Door That Blew Open,” Ensler describes the brave activists who guided her understanding in the face of so much tragedy:

There is a growing population of men and women all over the world who are no longer beholden to social customs or inhibited by taboos. They are not afraid to be alone, not afraid to be ridiculed or attacked. The illusion of security was shattered at some point in each of their lives, so they are no longer bound or controlled by the promise of it. They are willing to face anything for the safety and freedom of others. Call them grassroots activists, call them revolutionaries. Call them Vagina Warriors.

And so we’re presented with a choice. We can either barricade ourselves inside what we think—or what we’ve been told—is a secure place. We can become hardened into the identities we feel most safe—American, Virginian, church-goer, consumer—and convince ourselves we’re experiencing freedom from the scariness outside. Or we can move beyond our fear and pain, as these Vagina Warriors do, stepping through the illusion of security into real freedom, where we can help to heal each other and effect change in the world.

Taryn Chase has had an extended stay in the anxiety mall and she’s ready to leave now.