Carolyn
J. Rose
A
few times, while subbing at a local high school, I’ve had girls ask me, “Are
you a women’s libber?” They make it sound like a bad thing, like it’s all about
being shrill and pushy and demanding and running men down. They make it sound
like it’s not about rights and fairness and respect for ability and talent.
And,
much as I resent those implications, I understand where they’re coming from.
These teenage girls hadn’t lived through the 50s, a decade of prescribed roles and
limited options for many girls and women. They hadn’t had a misguided guidance
counselor tell them their career choices were to be secretaries or teachers or
nurses. Period. They hadn’t dressed out to compete in the workplace and found
themselves on a playing field far less than level. They hadn’t felt like
second-class citizens because they lacked a Y chromosome.
The
inequality of that time ran broad and deep. And it ran on for years after the
decade was done.
For
example, when I enrolled at the University
of Arizona in 1965, I
wasn’t surprised to find I’d have a curfew. After all, I had one at
home—although my parents gave me credit for having some common sense and were
usually asleep long before the hour struck. Curfew times in the dorms, however,
were strict and enforced with penalties.
As
I recall, the times were set at 10:00 PM on weeknights, and later on Friday,
Saturday, and Sunday nights. At the time I believe that all females not living
at home with their parents or rooming with relatives were required to live in
dormitories. I remember law students having to put up with the antics of girls
just out of high school partying in the room next door. I seem to remember a
couple of those law students who were 21 and older, challenging the rules and enabling
the rest of us to “get out of jail” and into apartments.
As
for male students, well, if they had curfews, they were comparatively lax.
Apparently the prevailing thought was that girls should be kept safe (under
control?) by being locked up at night, locked away from sketchy situations and
hormonally charged males. Never mind that it’s possible to get into just as
much trouble (have sex?) in broad daylight.
And
never mind that it wasn’t fair. The concept of equality may have been on the
horizon, but that horizon was a long way off. And between women and the horizon
stood the men in charge. And back then it seemed men were in charge of just
about everything.
At
the time, when I railed against unfairness, I was told I was far better off
than many other women in this country and around the world. I was told this was
just the way it was, that it was for my own good, and those who made the rules
knew best.
At
the time, I didn’t find it odd that older female relatives were the ones telling
me this. Looking back now, I wonder why these women—some of whom served in the
Second World War or lived through the Great Depression or held jobs and brought
home paychecks their families depended on—didn’t take my side. Were they just
that indoctrinated? Did they honestly believe they didn’t deserve equal
treatment? Were they afraid that more rights and privileges would mean increased
expectations and more obligations such as mandatory military service? Did they
fear change?
My
mother is long gone, so I can’t ask what she’d been thinking. I suspect it was
a mix of all of the above. I do know she recognized that marriage wasn’t
necessarily a sound financial plan. She worked, and she worked hard. She put me
through college, expected me to buckle down, and hoped I’d heed her advice and
get a degree before I got a husband.
Once
the tidal wave of change came, however, she rode it. She picketed, she wrote
letters, and she apologized to me for not speaking out in the past.
Maybe
I never flew all that high or all that far, but thanks to her efforts and
inspiration, I knew I didn’t have to allow my wings to be clipped because I
happened to be female.
