Oriana Fallaci: The Irreducible Voice of a Woman Who Challenged the World

Among the many figures who have shaped my personal and professional reflection on resilience, truth, and feminine strength, one stands out with particular force: Oriana Fallaci (29 June 1929 – 15 September 2006, Florence, Italy). An Italian journalist, novelist, and war correspondent, Fallaci built her life and career on a fierce commitment to uncovering the truth, no matter how uncomfortable or dangerous.

Her writing is marked by sharp intellect, emotional intensity, and a fearless inquiry into power, politics, and the human condition. From her early years as a teenage partisan during the Second World War to her interviews with some of the most powerful (and controversial) figures of the twentieth century, Fallaci never wavered in her conviction that a writer must bear witness.

A central tenet in Fallaci’s perspective—one that continues to resonate deeply with me as a coach and a woman—is her unapologetic stance on femininity and female identity. Fallaci did not subscribe to the romanticised or domesticated views of womanhood prevalent in her time. Instead, she challenged patriarchal expectations and fiercely defended a woman's right to think, create, and dissent. She believed women were often diminished by societal structures, and her work sought to restore their voice and value, not through sentimentality, but through powerfully articulated experience.

One of the most emblematic expressions of this philosophy is found in her early book Il sesso inutile. Viaggio intorno alla donna ("The Useless Sex: A Voyage Around the Woman", 1961). In this pioneering work, Fallaci travelled across several countries—including India, Pakistan, Japan, and the United States—interviewing women and observing the conditions of their lives. The book is not only a sociological exploration but also a literary journey through the complexities of gender across cultures. Fallaci herself conceived, researched, and wrote Il sesso inutile with the precision of a journalist and the empathy of a philosopher. The title itself is a provocative reflection on how society labels femininity as “useless” when it refuses to conform to certain expectations. And yet, through her observations, Fallaci reveals the immense strength, contradictions, and quiet rebellions of women across the globe. Her book is an ode to resilience and a call to reframe how we speak about the feminine.

To understand the emotional depth that shaped Fallaci's worldview, it is enlightening to consider the spiritual lens through which we might view her life. According to the angelic correspondences in the esoteric tradition, Oriana Fallaci was born under the influence of Pahaliah—Angel 20, guardian of those born between 27 June and 1 July. Pahaliah, whose name means “God the Redeemer,” belongs to the Thrones of the Saturnine Choir and channels the martial energies of redemption and inner discipline. Those born under Pahaliah are said to possess a powerful desire for justice, a deep sense of belonging, and a spiritual force oriented towards the restoration of cosmic order—often expressed through intense personal struggle. Haziel writes that Pahaliah narrows the field of personal initiative in order to focus one’s willpower with extreme clarity and intensity. This limitation paradoxically becomes a source of power, imbuing the individual with unwavering strength and the capacity to overcome both external enemies and internal chaos. This description mirrors Fallaci’s own journey: her work was nothing less than a relentless inner and outer battle for truth and integrity.

Tragically, Fallaci’s life was cut short by lung cancer, a diagnosis that invites a reflection grounded in both logos (rational understanding) and pathos (emotional depth). From a psychosomatic and symbolic perspective, the lungs represent our capacity to “take in life.” Louise Hay, among others, associates lung issues with grief, unexpressed sadness, and feelings of unworthiness. Lung cancer, in particular, is often linked with longstanding resentment and sorrow—a kind of emotional corrosion that slowly consumes from within. One might then ask: was Fallaci’s illness a somatic echo of her personal and professional battles in a world that constantly tried to undermine her? Did she, in her role as a woman who thrived in an overwhelmingly male-dominated sphere, carry the weight of systemic rejection and defiance within her very breath?

This tension between strength and sorrow is poignantly captured in one of her most intimate and haunting works, Lettera a un bambino mai nato ("Letter to a Child Never Born", 1975). In this fictional monologue addressed to an unborn child, Fallaci contemplates motherhood, autonomy, and the existential burden of bringing life into a world so full of suffering and injustice. She writes:

"Mi domando se vale la pena vivere, crescere, invecchiare, morire in un mondo dove tutto è difficile, dove è difficile anche soltanto essere onesti."("I wonder whether it is worth living, growing up, aging, dying in a world where everything is difficult, where even just being honest is hard.")

And again:

"Mi chiedo che diritto ho io di metterti al mondo... che cosa ti darò se non dolore?"("I ask myself what right I have to bring you into the world… what could I give you except pain?")

These lines expose a deep ambivalence—perhaps even resentment—towards life itself, a life that Fallaci relentlessly examined, questioned, and often confronted with rage. It is here, in this raw emotional terrain, that her personal battle becomes universal: the struggle of being human, of being a woman, of seeking purpose in a world that offers no easy answers.

In honouring Oriana Fallaci, we are not merely remembering a journalist or a writer. We are acknowledging a force of nature who defied conventions, dared to speak the unspeakable, and paid the price for her unrelenting pursuit of truth. Her legacy continues to inspire those who, like her, refuse to shrink from complexity, and instead choose to live—and write—with fierce integrity.

Barbara Mancini