There is, perhaps, no woman, whether she have borne children, or be merely potentially a childbearer, who could look down upon a battlefield covered with slain, but the though would rise in her, 'So many mothers' sons! So many bodies brought into the world to lie there! So many months of weariness and pain while bones and muscles were shaped within; so many hours of anguish and struggle that breath might be; so many baby mouths drawing life at woman's breast; - all this, that men might lie with glazed eyeballs, and swollen bodies, and fixed blue, unclosed mouths, and great limbs tossed - this, that an acre of ground might be manured with human flesh, that next year's grass or poppies or karoo bushes may spring up greener and redder, where they have lain, or that the sand of a plain may have a glint of white bones!' And we cry, 'Without an inexorable cause, this should not be!' No woman who is a woman says of a human body, 'It is nothing.'
On that day, when the woman takes her place beside the man in the governance and arrangement of external affairs of her race will also be that day that heralds the death of war as a means of arranging human differences.
Olive Schreiner, Women and Labour, 1911