Rebellions & Hope

In Chapter nine of The Handmaid’s Tale, Offred finds the phrase, “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum,” carved into a hidden part of her room. The translation isn’t revealed until much later in Chapter 29, when the Commander tells her, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down” (187). Despite it being a frivolous phrase for the Commander, it made me think, is it really? This phrase became a symbol of a quiet yet powerful act of rebellion in a society that was designed to suppress independence, hope, and identity. In Gilead, women aren’t allowed to read and write, so the simple presence of the phrase is a brave act. It was a whisper of solidarity among the women who weren’t completely coerced by Gilead, giving Offred hope and comfort that she wasn’t alone, and that there were despite the oppressive system that forbids any independence, hope, and identity among the women. The phrase not only encouraged Offred to internally survive but it could also apply to other characters in the novel who resisted in their own ways, particularly Moira.

Moira mentally and physically embodied resistance and vigor, early on in the novel she’s one of the few women we see that doesn’t fall completely victim to Gilead’s ‘teachings’. Her character is also greatly defined by the interactions she has with Offred, as she often speaks and acts against the government, “I’ve got to get out of here, I’m going bats”(89). She is one of the only known characters in the book to have stood up against the authorities in Gilead having escaped twice. And, despite her first failed attempt in escaping, she tries again, “Moira marched straight out the front door…presented Aunt Elizabeth’s pass… and disappeared” (132). She didn’t let the government, the bastards, oppress her. Moira then becomes a figure that many Handmaids, including Offred, use as a way to project their hopes, “Moira had power now, she’d been set loose, she’d set herself loose… Nevertheless Moira was our fantasy. We hugged her to us, she was with us in secret…” (133). After her evasion, we are left to wonder about what happened to her afterwards.

However, this image of Moira is then shattered by Chapter 37. Offred accompanies the Commander to the secret nightclub, Jezebel’s, a place hypocritical to Gilead’s beliefs where men bring women for sex. There she shockingly spots Moira. Willingly participating in what could be considered a corrupt version of freedom. Offred learned what really happened after her second escape, about the lengths the government went through to keep her from resisting any further to the point where she essentially had no choice but to let Gilead overpower her. Despite her claims, “Don’t worry about me… I’m still here, you can see it’s me,” (249). It’s clear that this moment is supposed to be disheartening for, not just Offred, but the readers as well. Moira no longer is the embodiment of freedom and resistance she once was. Moira’s defeat was a turning point for Offred, her hopefulness converted into dismay. The phrase shifts and becomes more of a wish than a statement.

Moira’s defeat, as well as the conditions of every woman left to work in Jezebel’s, led me to think about what does resistance mean in a society like Gilead? Is it the fact that you get to choose to survive or surrender to survive? Moira who resisted more openly than anyone, was crushed for it. Her defeat is a reminder of the reality of living in a totalitarian government. So, does her earlier acts of protest matter? Even though Moira couldn’t maintain her resistance forever, I like to think that they did, she gave others, like Offred, something, someone to believe in. In cases like these, it could be that resistance won’t always look like victory, but rather the resistance is in the effort that matters most.

In the end, “Nolite te bastardes carborundorum,” isn’t just a ridiculous phrase, and it doesn’t just apply to one character either. Rather, it represents the spirit of rebellion and resistance that persists even when not taken seriously or in the face of defeat. Even though Moira may have been broken down by the government, her early defiance left a persistent impact, her strength helped others like Offred survive and hope. In Gilead, a place where survival itself could be seen as an act of rebellion, any act of resistance can be powerful. Moira’s experiences are reminders of how in oppressive systems, not letting them break you, may not always mean fleeting, but instead, surviving long enough to inspire others to keep going.