Macy Young (2021)

Letter to Mayella Ewell

Dear Mayella Ewell, 

I want to begin by apologizing. I want to apologize because I believe that you will spend the rest of your life saying “sorry” for unleashing the chain of events that culminated in the death of poor Tom Robinson, yet no one has ever said they’re “sorry” to you. No one has ever said, “I’m so sorry that life dealt you such a crappy hand.” No one has ever said, “I’m so sorry that you’ve had to put up with that horrible father for all these years.” You’ve never heard, “I’m sorry that your mother is gone. I’m sorry that you’ve been forced to grow up much too soon. I’m sorry that you’re so incredibly lonely. I’m sorry that we left you all alone.” But, Mayella, I want you to know that I’m sorry. 

My name is Macy Young. I’m a girl around your age, and while my life is quite different from your own, I am writing to let you know that I get you. I understand. I know. I feel for you, and I’m sorry. Many who flip through the pages of your story with the fire of racial justice gleaming in their eyes are blind to the malevolence of your situation. Many are quick to let their frustration toward the injustice of Tom’s conviction bubble over to stain your own flesh. They blame you. They blame the poor, young woman whose dead-end life was predetermined by factors beyond her control. They consider you the villainous captain of Tom’s journey toward injustice, but I believe that they are ignorant. You are not the villain of this story, Mayella. This is not your fault. 

You see, Mayella, I am not so quick to jump to conclusions about the quality of your character. As Atticus once suggested, I have climbed into your skin and walked around in it. I have walked in your shoes, and I have felt nothing but pain. I have peeked through a window into your world, a world that is incredibly small. The dump is your filthy kingdom and your father the tyrannical king. Your world is saturated with the smell of whiskey, the rumble of seven hungry stomachs, the ache of a black eye, and the sting of tears with no one to wipe them away. 

Mayella, when I stand in your shoes and survey the trash-littered ground of your world beneath my feet, I am overwhelmed by how incredibly alone you truly are. The mere tip of a hat was the only scrap of kindness you were thrown each day, and you gobbled it up just as anyone would do in your situation. A simple “hello” from an African American man, as he passed the dump on his way to work, was the only kindness you were shown. Tom was the only ray of sun in your dark life, and I don’t blame you for wishing to maximize its warmth. 

Loneliness, my friend, is an emotion that will drive us to do senseless things. Blinded by loneliness, you made a decision whose consequences landed you in the courtroom of Maycomb. But, Mayella, I know the truth. I know that you were not “looking for attention.” I know that you were not seeking to use the whiteness of your skin as a weapon to strike Tom’s own black flesh. No, you simply wanted to be loved. 

When one stops to consider what limited options you had, the decision you made was clearly void of evil intent. “Why didn’t she just tell the truth?” they ask. But how could you? How could you “tell the truth” when the man who had painted your limbs black and blue, the filthy King Ewell, had ordered you otherwise? How could you “tell the truth” when fear had buried it so far within you that you could not even begin to form the words? 

The “truth” is that you couldn’t.

The problematic consequences of deeming you the villain of this story extend even beyond you, Mayella. Those who read your story and see a “liar” in your place reflect the growing sentiment amongst American society that “women lie about being raped.” 

This culturally-ingrained suspicion towards rape victims has allowed countless criminals to commit this crime and escape unscathed. It has silenced victims who fear that they would be called “liars,” just as you were. 

But even despite this sad truth, Mayella, we women have shown that the female spirit cannot be conquered. We are strong. 

In 2017, when one brave woman spoke out about her experiences with sexual abuse, others found the courage to do the same. Soon, a chorus of millions of female voices from around the world sang the words: “Me too.” Soon, in the form of the #Me Too Movement, we had waged a war against sexual abuse and harassment. 

I wish you could have been there, Mayella. I wish you could have stood surrounded by millions of strong women with fists raised and voices loud. You belong amongst them, Mayella. You are not only a victim of abuse but a survivor. You, Mayella Ewell, have “real courage.” Again and again, you rose with the sun, knowing your day would be filled with only fear, and hunger, and loneliness. Again and again, knowing you were licked before you began, you began anyway. 

That, Mayella, is real courage. You’re the bravest person I ever knew. 

Your friend, 

Macy Young