Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments follows the lives of three women living in the patriarchal society of Gilead. Women in Gilead serve as complements to men of the society, falling into the category of Wife, Aunt, Martha, or Handmaid. Wives are married to Commanders, prominent men of Gilead, and are given maids – Marthas – to help them with their homes. If a Wife is unable to produce a child, she is assigned a Handmaid, a woman forced to conceive a child with her husband. These Handmaids are previously trained by Aunts to accept this statutory rape as an integral part of maintaining Gilead. Gilead is the previous setting of Offred’s experience in The Handmaid’s Tale. The Testaments, its sequel, recounts how these women are critical to the fall of its oppressive regime.

As the story is told through alternating perspectives, The Testaments provides a more holistic image of Gilead. I found that each character’s different position within the society allowed me to understand the nuances of sexism within The Republic of Gilead (which, in turn, helped me understand the nuances of real sexism).

I find that a good novel often takes its reader through many paths, forcing them to feel a variety of emotions. What I found to be particularly frustrating was how the Handmaids were treated as lesser members of society, despite them being vital to the country. Gilead’s deteriorating population relies on the reproductive abilities of a few fertile women, who are automatically rendered as Handmaids. These women are then forced into an act of sexual violence, in which they are forced to have sexual relations with high ranking male officials in order to produce a family unit. Despite state-owned propaganda claiming they serve “the greater good” of Gilead, these women are slut-shamed amongst the rest of society. These women exist in a paradox, wherein the system that oppresses them critiques them for being oppressed. Atwood’s decision to weave this message throughout the book reflects the structure of many contemporary patriarchies. At its core, the patriarchy holds an illogical hatred towards women, one that cannot be reasoned with.

What I enjoyed about The Testaments is its rejection of a level headed, clear-minded, archetypal “heroine.” Rather than having a clear conscience with a specific goal in mind, this new Testaments heroine is layered, and often flawed. Aunt Lydia serves as one of these women, not because she completely deviates from Gilead’s values, but because she is an instrument used to uphold them. Being one of the Handmaids’ teachers, she often preaches the importance of blindly following the sexist laws of Gilead. However, she also serves as a mole for the organization “MayDay,” an organization trying to dismantle Gilead. It is her role as a double agent, as both a devout teacher of sexism and an activist against it, that often unsettled me. How could I trust a woman who held so much power? who held the potential to ruin multiple lives seamlessly? It’s this contrast between her role and her activism that prevents her character from being idealized.

I wonder if this distrust was intentionally put in by Atwood. Did it serve as some sort of subliminal message, one that questioned the “fear” that contemporary society has towards women in positions of power? It’s questions like these which keep the novel impressionable in my mind.

The epilogue of The Testaments brings readers to the future, where the fall of Gilead is being discussed at an international historical association conference. Seeing Gilead framed as an object of study, readers are overwhelmed with the sense that Gilead is an occurrence both very close and very distant from them. This, in turn, forces readers to evaluate their own relationship to history and if there is anything truly being learned from it. Simply put, The Testaments conveys to readers the importance of learning about history.

In regards to Gilead, one guest lecturer at the conference addresses the crowd by reminding them that “history doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.” Within these final words, Atwood is warning mankind of its innate flaw of repeating its mistakes. To me, it seemed almost as an accepted fact, as if we are never capable of learning from the past.

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Disability activists are calling for the City of Montreal to improve their snow removal program. Laurent Morissette, a wheelchair user and disability rights advocate with Regroupement Activistes Pour L’Inclusion Québec (RAPLIQ), contends that one concern is the city’s messy sidewalks. In an interview withGlobal News, the wheelchair-user describes being stuck in a pothole on the road and how it “took five minutes before [he was helped] out.”

The lack of maintenance forces Montrealers with physical disabilities and others with reduced mobility to remain in their homes, as private and public pathways become inaccessible. Morissette claims that it is normal for wheelchair users to stay in their homes for “the duration of winter.” With the increasing snowfall, disability rights advocates have been calling on the city to do more.

However, many Montrealers are unaware that the city has already announced the implementation of a reduced-mobility snow removal program.

In February of 2019, the City of Montreal launched a reduced mobility snow removal program to address such accessibility issues. According to The Montreal Gazette, Jean-François Parenteau, the mayor of Verdun, announced that the purpose of the program was to clear residential areas “when winter weather makes it dangerous to negotiate slippery front steps and paths.”

The city requires citizens to call 311, a hotline which direct callers to request for the city’s snow-removal service. By requiring citizens to call in their residential needs, the City of Montreal is delegating the task of clearing the streets on the residents themselves – rather than organizing a general city-wide snow removal initiative.

There is a lack of awareness about the reduced-mobility snow removal program, and a need to advertise it effectively. According to the CBC, the City of Montreal’s lack of progress in the program may be an economic choice. Last year, the city exceeded their budget by six million, providing them with incentive to withdraw out of initiatives they deemed to be costly, including the snow-removal program, estimated to cost 20 million.

Despite this, Montreal Mayor Valérie Plante insists that there is a “proactive” snow removal plan in place, although no schedule of the plan’s enactment has been released. It is also unclear what this would look like, and the fact remains that for people with mobility issues, the city remains inaccessible.

This article was originally published in print on November 24, 2019 as part of the Labour, Body and Care joint issue. 

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