The Echoes of History: How a 19th-Century Medical College Still Speaks to Our Modern Struggles
There’s something profoundly unsettling—and yet, strangely hopeful—about the way history repeats itself. I’ve always been fascinated by how the past doesn’t just inform the present but often mirrors it in ways that are both eerie and enlightening. This is exactly what struck me when I learned about The Woman Question, a play currently running at People’s Light Theatre in Malvern, Pennsylvania. On the surface, it’s a story about the Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, the first institution in America to train women as doctors, founded in 1850. But dig deeper, and it’s a searing commentary on the battles we’re still fighting today—over women’s bodies, healthcare, and the very idea of progress.
A Revolutionary Institution, a Revolutionary Play
What makes the Woman’s Medical College so remarkable isn’t just its pioneering role in education. It was a place where women from all walks of life—formerly enslaved women, Indigenous women, and students from countries like India, Japan, and Syria—came together to defy the limits of their time. Personally, I think this is where the play’s genius lies. It doesn’t just celebrate these women; it humanizes them. It asks us to imagine the conversations between a member of the Omaha Tribe and the first Japanese woman to earn a Western medical degree. What did they share? What did they learn from each other? This isn’t just history—it’s a reminder of how marginalized voices have always found ways to intersect and amplify each other.
What many people don’t realize is that these women weren’t just learning Western medicine; they were often bringing their own traditional knowledge to the table. Take Kei Okami, the Japanese student who arrived in Philadelphia already trained in kampo, a traditional Japanese medical practice. Her story isn’t just about assimilation; it’s about resistance. She’s forced to pursue a Western degree because her own government has disavowed her heritage. If you take a step back and think about it, this tension between tradition and modernity, between what’s valued and what’s erased, is still playing out today—whether it’s in debates over Indigenous healing practices or the global dominance of Western medicine.
The Urgency of the Past
Suli Holum, the playwright and actor behind The Woman Question, describes the play as “vibrating with the current moment.” And she’s right. One of the most striking aspects of the college’s curriculum was its inclusion of medical jurisprudence, particularly around abortion. Dr. Anna Elizabeth Broomall, a celebrated obstetrics instructor, taught students how to navigate the legal challenges of pregnancy. Fast forward to 2024, and we’re still grappling with these same issues. The recent debates over mifepristone and the resurrection of the Comstock Act—a 19th-century law that restricted access to birth control—feel like they’ve been ripped straight from the pages of history.
What this really suggests is that the fight for reproductive rights isn’t a new one; it’s a cycle. We’re still arguing over the same fundamental questions: Who gets to control women’s bodies? What constitutes healthcare? And why is it that progress always seems to come with an expiration date? From my perspective, this is what makes The Woman Question so urgent. It’s not just a history lesson; it’s a call to action.
Joy in the Face of Adversity
One detail that I find especially interesting is how the play balances its heavy themes with moments of joy. Holum describes it as a mix of Little Women and The Knick, a blend of intimacy and intensity. These women weren’t just surviving; they were thriving. They threw costume parties, wrote poetry, and found ways to celebrate their humanity in the face of systemic oppression. This, to me, is the most powerful message of the play. It’s a reminder that resistance isn’t just about fighting back—it’s about finding light in the darkness, about reclaiming joy as an act of defiance.
The Broader Implications
If you ask me, The Woman Question isn’t just about the past or even the present; it’s about the future. It forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that progress is rarely linear. We’ve made strides, yes, but we’re also backsliding in ways that are hard to ignore. The play raises a deeper question: Are we doomed to repeat history, or can we learn from it?
What makes this particularly fascinating is how it connects to larger global trends. The erasure of traditional medicine, the criminalization of women’s healthcare, the intersection of race, class, and gender—these aren’t isolated issues. They’re part of a broader pattern of systemic inequality. And yet, the play also offers a glimmer of hope. It shows us that even in the most oppressive circumstances, human connection and resilience can flourish.
Final Thoughts
As I reflect on The Woman Question, I’m struck by how much it challenges us to think critically about our own moment. It’s easy to look at the past and feel a sense of superiority—to think, “We’ve come so far.” But the truth is, we’re still wrestling with the same demons. The play doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does something even more important: it invites us to ask the right questions.
In my opinion, this is what great art does. It doesn’t just entertain; it provokes. It doesn’t just inform; it inspires. And in a world where the battles of the past are still being fought today, that’s exactly what we need.
