It’s not uncommon to see women having a bond so enduring and impenetrable that it transcends even blood relations and friendships. We’re talking about sisterhood, the universal language of female solidarity, a shared principle born out of the necessity to endure the patriarchy as a collective.
In ancient China, this language took on a more literal meaning.
Nushu or Nu Shu, which translates to “women’s writing,” is an ancient syllabic script that was created by women and used exclusively by women. It rose to prominence towards the end of the Qing Dynasty (1644–1911), in Hunan Province of southern China, particularly Jiangyong County.
Unlike standard Chinese, Nushu characters were written in columns with very fine, threadlike strokes that sloped diagonally downwards. Each character was written from top to bottom, and columns were written from right to left. It’s a combination of four local dialects spoken across rural Jiangyong, and was sometimes modified to fit an embroidery pattern, or the individual panels of a fan. The script’s entire identity was hinged on secrecy, a true marker of the culture during its time.
Nineteenth-century China was still a feudal society, meaning women were denied educational opportunities. They also had to follow the “three obediences”—be a submissive daughter, wife, and mother. Not to mention the practice of foot binding was still widespread, effectively confining unmarried women to their chambers, sentenced to do domestic labor. Exogamy was common during this time, too, and because it was men who were at the top of the hierarchy, brides were the ones who moved away from home and joined their husbands’ families.
It was the culmination of these burdens that brought women together and catalyzed the birth of the script.
They used it to communicate with each other the aspects of their lives that were private, typically feelings of sorrow, misfortune, or regret. In short, it was their unique way of coping with domestic hardships—something that was literally and figuratively invisible to the men. More so, something so heavy and desperate that a secret code was needed to bear the weight. But it wasn’t always about melancholic sentiments; They also shared with each other jovial expressions of friendship and happiness, which only strengthened their bond as “sworn sisters.”
Writings were found embroidered on handkerchiefs, headscarves, quilts, aprons, and fans that women would exchange with each other. But because these women were illiterate, the script was only learned by copying the symbols as they saw it. Nushu wasn’t a language that was spoken either, but they used it to compose songs and poems that they chanted during social gatherings.
Nushu slowly declined after the Communist Revolution in 1949, because new leaders were determined to erase the nation’s feudal past, and women were granted equal access to formal education. At the same time, Nushu was denounced and dubbed as a “witch’s script” during the Cultural Revolution in 1966.
Interestingly, the script was concealed so well that people outside of Jiangyong only learned of its existence in the 1980s. As one would expect from a patriarchal society, its discovery was sensationalized as an invented language that women used to spite men. But Cathy Silber, a professor at Skidmore College, found that men were, in fact, well aware of its existence. They just didn’t care enough to learn something that has come to be associated with women.
“Men were not exactly clamoring to be let in on this ‘secret,’ just as they were not storming the lofts demanding to learn embroidery,” Silber says, “Even though it wasn’t a secret, it was for all practical purposes used exclusively by women.”
Yang Huanyi, the last surviving writer and speaker of Nushu, passed away in 2004. This ushered in a post-Nushu era, where efforts to preserve the fading language strengthened. In 2002, it was added to the Chinese National Register of Documentary Heritage. By 2003, Nushu workshops in Jiangyong had been introduced. And in 2006, it was finally listed as a national intangible cultural heritage. A Nushu museum was also built in Puwei, an island in Jiangyong, which was home to Nushu descendants Gao Yinxian and Tang Baozhen.
Today, Puwei is a hub for researchers who study the lost language. In this scenic village, surrounded by the Xiaoshui river, these scholars unravel the secrets that once provided Nushu women solace.
*This story originally appeared on Esquiremag.ph. Minor edits have been made by Cosmo.ph editors.
