Guest blog: We cannot be content to play a passive part

Re-reading a 1914 suffragette letter reminded me that courage, then and now, is about refusing silence, reclaiming power and choosing to act for what matters most.

By Caroline Pankhurst, Be Braver Collective

When I reread this 1914 letter from the Women’s Social and Political Union, beginning simply “Dear Friend”, I felt a galvanising reconnection to the anger and determination that first drove me to map the Be Braver mindset. From studying courage and decision-making as an act of curiosity; to it becoming a practice, a philosophy and at times an act of defiance.

“Those women… facing the hunger strikes and forcible feeding, will fight on with renewed courage.”

It’s such an extraordinary line. Not because of its drama, but because of its dignity.

These were ordinary women, writing to one another in the language of war and service, asking each other to keep going.

When we read it today, we should think of the women across the world caught in wars they never chose, showing invisible courage - caring for families under fire, walking miles for water, surviving violence, rebuilding communities.

And we should think, too, of the women who, like the suffragettes, have chosen visible courage - taking a stand, speaking out, leading change, putting their names, reputations, and sometimes their safety on the line.

That, for me, is one of the most important discoveries I have made in Be Braver:

• Visible bravery - the kind we can see, that disrupts, declares, and demands.

• Invisible bravery - the endurance, care, acts and quiet truth-telling that happens without an audience.

The insight that has most impressed academics, practitioners and researchers. Distinguishing courage and bravery by decision and action. By what’s visible and what’s invisible.

Surprisingly simple, yet novel - and incredibly valuable for thinking about how we unlock the potential of psychological safety.

Both invisible and visible bravery require immense courage. Both carry risk. But only one is usually recognised, rewarded or remembered.

Another line that caught me:

“We, being women, are denied representation - Parliament is not directly responsible to us. We must therefore use our only constitutional right…”

Representation. Responsibility. Constitutional right. These are political words - but they are also psychological and organisational ones.

When women work in large systems - corporate, public, regulated - we see those same dynamics at play. They operate within structures where power, authority and accountability are tangled, and where “doing your job well” can mean navigating between compliance and conscience, rules and responsibility, expectation and integrity.

It’s a kind of constitutional courage - the bravery to act within systems that weren’t designed with you in mind, or that quietly discourage independent thought, moral agency, or dissent.

The suffragettes had reached their limit:

“We cannot, without loss of self-respect, continue to make constitutional appeals…”

They knew that appealing endlessly to systems unwilling to listen becomes a form of submission. Today, I hear that same exhaustion in the voices of women who say, “I’ve done everything and still it’s not enough.”

These are the moments when invisible bravery turns visible - when endurance becomes a boundary, a voice, a choice.

What I call the Be Braver moment: when the risk of silence outweighs the risk of speaking.

When talent leaves, when uncomfortable truths get spoken, when behaviours change.

The inner constitution

In the Be Braver framework, this is where courage and risk meet self-trust.

• Representation becomes the right to be heard and taken seriously.

• Responsibility becomes moral ownership - doing what’s right, not just what’s required.

• Constitutional right becomes psychological - the right to think, speak, and act in alignment with your values, even when the system discourages it.

Think of this as the inner constitution: the principles that govern your integrity when external systems are unjust or unstable. It’s what enables us to make courageous decisions even when the cost feels personal.

Be Braver was born from watching women wrestle with that tension - between duty and voice, between the system and the self. They didn’t need more permission. They needed language for what was already happening inside them - and space to practice acting from that inner constitution.

The courage not to be passive

Near the end of the letter, one line almost burns on the page:

“We cannot be content to play a merely passive part.”

It lands like a timeless challenge. Not just to the women of 1914, but to all of us. In our work, our families, our communities.

Because power is rarely given. It is taken, or perhaps reclaimed. Redistributed. And courage, in every generation, has meant refusing to remain passive in the face of what feels too big, too entrenched, or too late to change.

To play an active part in life - to choose love with hope, to work with integrity, to live in purpose - is an act of courage.

It means noticing where we’ve become complicit in our own silencing. It means speaking even when our voice shakes. It means making decisions for the things that matter most - not because it’s safe, but because it’s right.

That’s the Be Braver ethos. Courage as a daily practice. A way of inhabiting the world. A refusal to be passive in the face of fear, injustice, or indifference.

As Jane Goodall said in her message for us all which I implore you to listen to:

“Each and every one of us has a role to play. Your life matters. Every single day you make a difference in the world - and you get to choose the difference that you make. You are here for a reason. You may not find it, but your life matters.”

And I think this letter, written over a century ago, is whispering the same thing:

Don’t wait for permission - ask for forgiveness. Don’t play a passive part. Be brave enough to act - for yourself, for our world and for what you believe in.