250 word discussion post

Betty Friedan’s “The Feminine Mystique” turned 50 this week. At the time of its publication, “Singletons” (circa 1963 defined as an unmarried woman) did not have a legal right to birth control. Married women did not have equal access to credit. In some states, married women could not get a job without the permission of their husbands. Occupational segregation was the norm. The wage gap was more like a wage canyon. Sexual harassment of women in the workplace was not yet legally actionable. Abortion was illegal. Every state in the nation required “fault-based” grounds for divorce. Spousal rape was not a crime in most states. All of this changed for all American women in the wake of Friedan’s tome. Second wave feminism was born. The National Organization for Women was founded. The call for equality and women’s rights would resound in every cell of the American body politic. All American women owe Friedan a debt of gratitude.

Yet, despite all of the above, as an African American woman, I can say that I have never met a black woman who admits to having read “The Feminine Mystique.” I have never heard a black woman of a certain age recite with the nostalgia what I refer to as “the Friedan anthem” – “The Problem with No Name.”

On the 50th anniversary of “The Feminine Mystique,” I can’t help but ask where are the voices of the millions of black and working class women who have fought against gender and race discrimination in celebrating Friedan. Why have we not seen a groundswell of black and working class women standing up to celebrate the many achievements in women’s liberty that were wrought as a result of Friedan’s work? And even more importantly, why is it that despite all of the battles that all American women have had to fight in order to share equally in the pursuit of the American dream with our testosterone-laden partners, so few black women call themselves feminists? Why is it that so few of us have had so little to do with second wave feminism?

Admittedly, I have not read “The Feminine Mystique.” I chose not to read it because I knew it did not include the lives of African American women.

I, like many of my African American classmates at that time, believed that by failing to include the lives of African American women, “The Feminine Mystique” could not possibly speak to the needs of African American women of our mothers’ generation, let alone our own.

Whether poverty-stricken, working class, middle class, or wealthy, many of the black women of my generation and that of our foremothers mistakenly believed that Friedan’s work spoke only to a privileged class of white women who had nothing better to do than whine about how difficult life was as a stay at home mother. Married or not, many of our foremothers and many women of my generation were working class women for whom work outside of the home was a financial necessity. Married or not, many of our foremothers were middle class women who chose to work outside the home simply because they wished to do so. Married or not, there were, by any standard, wealthy African American women who made a decision to stay at home while others made a decision to work outside the home.

Yet for all of these black women, there were two major problems that had to be confronted — being black and being a woman at a time when there were virtually no meaningful legal protections against race or gender discrimination.

I am celebrating all of the women who fought the battles that have allowed women of my generation, black and white, to more fully realize the American Dream.