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Blue Jean Justice

A while ago when I was in one of those remember-way-back-when moods, I thought about how different my life as an elementary school student was compared to that of my 8-year-old daughter. For one thing, we had to wear skirts or dresses. I’m dating myself, but if you’re 40 or older you’ll probably recall the prohibition against wearing pants at school. Remember wearing shorts under our skirts so we weren’t disadvantaged on the playground?

Then it all started to change. A group of us fifth graders complained to the principal about the ban on pants. We won an important concession: He granted us the right to wear pantsuits, that strange sartorial compromise that fortunately has never made a comeback. We had breached the walls, and it wasn’t long before we were wearing jeans just like the boys.

That was in 1970, when the women’s movement was permeating our national thinking to such an extent that 10-year-old girls were rebelling against the injustice of unequal dress codes. I was urged to further reflect on how much has changed in my lifetime when Betty Freidan, one of the movement’s chief architects, died in early February.

Friedan buckled at the 1950s notion that her summa cum laude degree in psychology and her freelance journalism work didn’t count. It was her role as a wife and mother that post-World War II society cared about most. She interviewed fellow Smith College graduates, then lots of other housewives, and found that they, too, shared an underlying sense of dissatisfaction with their picture-perfect suburban lives. These interviews led to The Feminine Mystique, her 1963 book that sold over 3 million copies and launched a social revolution.

It’s easy to take for granted all the advances Freidan helped earn for women. Before her, want ads were gender-specific; women were very rarely elected to public office; and female doctors, lawyers and business owners were few and far between. Thanks to Friedan, Gloria Steinem, Bella Abzug and other feminists, I grew up without any sense of inferiority vis-à-vis my male counterparts. I never felt that I wouldn’t have a career or that certain careers were closed to me. This was not the case for my mother, who was told by a high school counselor to forget about going into medicine. Becoming a teacher would fit better with her future life as a wife and mother.

I find Betty Friedan compelling not only because she helped open doors to women, but because she didn’t want feminism to degenerate into male bashing. In her 1981 book, The Second State, she urged the feminist movement to stay focused on political and economic inequalities. She wanted it to fight for work arrangements like flex-time and job-sharing that would support fulfilling careers for both mothers and fathers. This kind of partnership with men was considered a sell-out by her more radical counterparts, who also criticized her for focusing in her early years almost exclusively on the needs of middle-class, heterosexual white women.

It’s true that for increasing numbers of women, working is an economic necessity, and the ability to stay home to care for children is a luxury many cannot afford. But whether you must work or choose to work, your options no longer hinge on your gender. We are all indebted to Friedan for this, and for her help in creating a society that allows us to gain the confidence and the experiences we need to reach our full potential. Thank you, Betty.

Marianne Scholl
Co-founder and Publisher

©March 2006 Caliope Publishing Company