Ironies - the results of feminism almost 30 years later - Column

Humanist, March, 1999 by Harriet Epstein

Thomas a Kempis, a German ecclesiastic and writer who lived from 1380 to 1471, certainly understood life and its absurdities when he pronounced those prophetic words, "Man proposes, but God disposes." Case in point.

There were three of us, back in 1972, in the heady days of the National Organization for Women--the bra-burning era of women's evolvement. We were all working on a consumer magazine, trying to write and unravel the changes that were coming fast and furious for women, men, and everyone. It was an exciting, energizing time for us--upper-income, suburbanite matrons. We were eagerly searching to expand ourselves and fulfill our potential. Living near each other in a tree-lined, gracious, suburban community, we were typical of women everywhere--stepping out of our insulated cocoons, ready to break free, after Betty Friedan's Feminine Mystique had shaken us up.

I had made a speech at a meeting of the Brandeis National Women's Committee, long before the magazine days, surprising even myself, as I tried to joke, with New Yorker-like whimsy, about our seemingly perfect life-styles. We awoke each morning, jumped into our Calvins, raced off for tennis or golf, showered and lunched at our clubs, only to return home to our scruffy, dungareed daughters, who scoffed at our mundane, prosaic lives.

"What were we missing?" I asked, as I introduced the two attractive women from NOW who had come to answer the question. "We were lacking involvement in the transformation of women," they said. "It was time to share in the events of the world, to lend our energies and abilities to help create change."

Yes, those were heady days for us, and how lucky we three were. Lucky to have the magazine--a vehicle to help us embark on the path to self-discovery, to enable us to unleash all our unused talents.

Though we were excited and challenged by the thought of self-actualization, we were each somewhat different in our views of the movement. Two were strong feminists, bemoaning the inadequacy of men. Though their men always appeared to be upstanding and responsible, doing everything men were expected to do, it was clearly a time for women generally to be dissatisfied and yearning for much, much more.

I, on the other hand, had some reservations about all those provocative new ideas. Hadn't men also been conflicted, I pondered, as they faced the pressure to achieve success as husbands, fathers, and breadwinners? Weren't they also locked into the culture that had formed them as much as it did women? So, while I thoroughly appreciated the need for the women's goals, I couldn't stop wondering and feeling apprehensive about where it would all lead.

Some time later, I was invited to sit in on an early men's consciousness-raising group, where a number of searching men had gathered to try to understand the changes in their wives and see if they themselves could evolve. It was a revelation to see these sensitive guys sharing ideas. But as I sat, taking notes for the article I would write, disquieting thoughts hit me again. Would women really be happy if men gave up their once strong, leadership personas and became softer, gentler, like this group?

Confusion soon erupted, accelerating rapidly. Women moved on to begin the job of self-fulfillment, and divorce increased to an incredible rate. Everyone was becoming more preoccupied with him- or herself. Books began flooding the market, giving permission to do just about anything that brought total happiness. And, almost simultaneously, the sexual revolution was granting greater permission to do whatever supplied instantaneous pleasures. Remember Plato's Retreat? And what about Essalen and the supposedly healing sexual weekends that experts were promoting, all in the name of feeling and experiencing?

But no one seemed too disturbed about the consequences. No one, I thought, but me. I continued to be anxious, while most everyone, including my two buddies, remained more gung ho than concerned.

The ironies progressed as we each moved on in our lives, dealing with what I believe were actually three revolutions: the "women's," the "sexual," and the "me too." Here's what happened.

The strongest feminist, a photographer, quickly aligned herself with women's groups, traveling all over with them, educating herself, and taking photos at their meetings. She soon left home and family so she would be more available to concentrate on her work. When she moved to New York City, she created a bit of a stir among her friends and neighbors, who were saddened and puzzled by her behavior, for she had left two children. She'd always been a devoted wife and mother.

Finally, after she was mugged and robbed several times, self-fulfillment didn't look so tantalizing. Luckily, she was able to return home in just enough time to salvage everything before it was too late. I questioned her, one day, as we sat on the lawn of that beautiful home she had run from, asking her why she had come back. "Could I support all this?" she asked, as we both sadly acknowledged the grim realities. Today, she once again enjoys a comfortable, upscale life, continues her career, and is probably very glad she returned in time. For her, the destruction of a still-functioning family was fortunately avoided.