Reporter's Notebook

What Does Feminism Mean Today?
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Atlantic staffers and readers debate the meaning of “feminism” and how it’s changed over the decades. To join in, send us a note:

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When Feminism Becomes a Religion

That’s how this reader frames his criticism of contemporary feminism:

Beginning in my late teens and for many years later, I would have called myself a feminist. This was partly due to my passionately left-wing friends, and in part due to the effect of reading literature like Taming of the Shrew and Ibsen’s A Doll’s House. I saw the ugliness, the way society had utterly refused to recognize the humanity of women. I saw that gender has been a cage that stunts a woman’s individual life rather than the piece of identity it is and should be. I saw the contempt, the fear, the condescension and repression, and I strongly felt it had to change and has to change more.

So I don’t think Feminism is a dirty word or should be gotten rid of. But I no longer care to describe myself as a feminist. It doesn’t have anything to do with language, and little to do with ideas.  

The feminist movement today has startling similarity to religious fundamentalism. There is the same dogmatism, the same zealous fervor, the same fear, the same clinging to certainty and the absolute conviction in one’s own correctness. Dissenters are marginalized, castigated, even cast out. The psychology is identical; all that differs are the goals.

Another striking similarity is the hostility towards science.

Via the hello@ address:

The other night my husband sent me a link to your thread on feminism. It sparked a debate between us, which I should thank you for. While we have very different educations (my background is in anthropology, he is a physicist), it had been a few months since we’d challenged each other intellectually, and it’s nice when we do. I feel lucky when I learn something new about him, or when we manage to teach each other about a different worldview.

I am a proud feminist, likely because I’ve studied a fair amount of feminist theory. When I was younger, I’d describe myself, stammering: “I’m a feminist but, I mean, I don’t, like, hate men or anything.” I was terrified that labeling myself a “feminist” would relegate me to the fringes, where nice boys wouldn’t like me or I’d be seen as “difficult.” Yet I wanted to be valued; I wanted to have opportunities.

The tricky thing with feminism is that, so often, we are so close to those who are discriminating against us.

A reader revives the discussion thread on feminism:

The reason that a lot of people like myself don’t self-identify as “feminist” is because a lot of feminists (not all) self-identify as skeptics of the notion that there are any essential differences between men and women. Given the way these differences have been exploited by men to subjugate women, I have a lot of sympathy for these feminists and their mode of feminism. But my sympathies don’t mean that men and women are not different. They are—not totally different, not fundamentally different, but essentially different—in their essence.

Caitlin Jenner reminds us of this truth.

Clare has a great piece today examining how Carly Fiorina’s departure from the presidential race will diminish the discussion of women’s issues on the Republican side. A conservative feminist reader comments via hello@:

Fighting for female equality, like most things, can be done in 1,000 different ways. Depending on one’s priorities, some ways are better than others, but all of the ways are an attempt to achieve the same basic outcome. If you believe that women (and men) should be able and encouraged to fulfill their highest potential, you are a feminist.  If you think women’s voices are as important as men’s, and that both sexes deserve equal opportunity, you are a feminist.

That does not, however, mean that feminism requires subscribing to the full platform of “pro-choice, let’s-make-it-rain birth control, we need more government mandates and more federal spending on women, etc.”

Clare catches up with Carly Fiorina today after writing a piece in February about her exit from the presidential race and her role in carrying the banner of conservative feminism. Clare’s new piece focuses on the conundrum that many Republican women face in the general election: Vote for Trump, who has a long record of sexist statements and behavior, or vote for Clinton, who supports a progressive worldview and set of policies they disagree with—and who, they believe, tries to co-opt feminism only for the political left. Here’s Clare:

The crux of [Fiorina’s] argument is that Clinton deploys feminism as a political weapon in a way that hurts women. “Feminism is no longer a term that’s used to enable or empower women,” Fiorina said at the Faith and Freedom Coalition conference. “It turns out to be in so many people’s eyes, in Hillary Clinton’s eyes, kind of a way to bludgeon people into a left-wing litany of causes.” In Fiorina’s telling, liberal feminism has devolved into a noxious political correctness. It is an ideology rooted in partisanship that liberals wield to discredit anyone who disagrees with their agenda—an identity politics that does more to divide than unite.

A reader dissents (followed by a few counterpoints):

There is no such thing as a conservative feminist. If you’re a feminist, it means you want women to have the same rights and opportunities that men do. But if you’re a conservative, it means you want to want men to have all the advantages. Why do conservatives oppose abortion rights, birth control, and equal pay laws? Because they want to exert control over women.

Conservatives should really be called regressives. They want to take us back to the 1950s where women stayed home, cooked and cleaned, and only had sex to produce babies. When Trump talked about punishing women for having abortions, conservatives were upset because he said out loud what many of them say in private. How can you want to make abortion illegal, but not want to punish women who commit what you call murder? Trump has done a great service: On so many issues, he’s exposed the Republican party for what it really is.

Now having said that, Hillary Clinton isn’t exactly a great role model for women either. What does it say about America that of all the female governors, senators, etc. who would make good Presidential candidates, we nominate the one who was married to a former President? I guess the message to little girls is “you too can grow up to be President. Just make sure your husband was one first.”

Sweden's foreign minister, Margot Wallstrom Claudio Bresciani / Reuters

The Atlantic recently did a special project on women in leadership, for which I contributed a modest reflection on women in foreign policy. There aren’t a lot of female leaders on the global stage, but they’re increasing in number, and I wanted to know how, or whether, they do things differently than the men we’re used to having run things. In researching this question, I was struck especially by the approach of Swedish Foreign Minister Margot Wallstrom, who on taking office two years ago articulated a “feminist foreign policy.” (Note that this is not exactly the same as a “woman’s foreign policy”—a man could very well have a feminist foreign policy, and a woman could very well not.) I wrote that beyond promoting gender equality, the implications of such an approach are “not entirely clear.” But the Swedish Foreign Ministry disagrees; here’s a response from Wallstrom:

Sweden’s feminist foreign policy has gained significant international attention, most recently in the renowned publication The Atlantic. For us this proves that Sweden contributes to shaping world politics with smart power and diplomacy. Sadly, it also proves that the simple statement that women’s rights are human rights remains controversial.

Kathy Gilsinan writes that a feminist foreign policy raises questions about female leadership and whether female leaders behave differently. Gilsinan’s framing is problematic, since it suggests leaders should be chosen based on suitability by gendered characteristics assumed to be held by all members of the same sex, not on voter preferences. Men have been in charge of politics for hundreds of years. There have been good leaders and bad leaders. Yet, when women are demanding power, their instrumental value as agents of peace or prosperity, rather than their rights to representation, is put in focus. At a time in history when women are gaining political power, such a discourse is troubling. Political representation is about rights. Not about gendered characteristics or suitability, but about exercising your democratic right to participate in decision-making that affects you and your society. Democracy cannot truly deliver for all of its citizens if half of the population remains underrepresented in the political arena and society denies the full enjoyment of their human rights.

Alexandra of Russia and her son Alexei, photographed between 1910 and 1913. Library of Congress

Today is International Women’s Day. It also happens to be the 100th anniversary of the start of the revolution that brought down the Russian empire. Given the coincidence, I was delighted to find in our archives an article from our January 1928 issue titled “The Fall of the Russian Empire: The Part Played by a Woman”—that is, until I read author Edmund Walsh’s assessment of exactly what that “part” was:

Russia was the last island fortress of absolutism in the rising tide of democracy, the outstanding anachronism of the twentieth century. … It defied the elements for three hundred years—until the deluge came. Whose hand unloosed the flood gates? In my opinion, a woman, all unconsciously, had more to do with the final debacle than any other single cause. … History probably will clear the memory of Alexandra Feodorovna [of treason, but] it can never clear her memory of tendencies, practices, and imprudences that contributed notably to Russia's ruin. The domination which this imperious, proud, aloof, and resolute woman exercised over her irresolute and impressionable husband became such a menace that more than one grand duke, duchess, and general cried out in warning against it. …

Revolutions are made by men and women determining events. Men are swayed by powerful human emotions. Women create them. And the master passion, particularly in neurotic females, can be as elegantly indifferent to the realities of life and war as ever Montesquieu was to the existence of God.

It’s a fascinating historical document, undeniably sexist in its overtones. The gist of Walsh’s argument is that the Tsarina Alexandra, driven by fear for the health of her hemophiliac son, gave the self-proclaimed holy man and healer Grigori Rasputin a level of influence that irrevocably weakened the Russian government. For evidence, Walsh delves into the embarrassing intimacies of Alexandra’s letters to her husband. And he criticizes the empress on two familiar, contradictory fronts: On the one hand, she’s weak and overly emotional, too much guided by motherly worries to see the bigger picture of Russian politics. On the other, she’s aggressive and overly domineering, stepping outside her proper sphere of childrearing to advise her husband on governance. She’s portrayed as a femme fatale, making a “subtle approach to political questions … through the gateway of the Tsar’s affections.” But she’s not granted agency either: Walsh argues she brought about the fall of the empire “all unconsciously.” She is, like female leaders still are, damned for the stereotypes of womanhood she does fulfill and damned for the ones she does not.

But none of this is to dispute the chain of events that Walsh describes. Alexandra and her husband did fail at governance: For any leader, male or female, it’s a heartbreaking reality that even the safety of one’s own family must come second to the national interest. And for all the sexism embedded in Walsh’s narrative, I agree with his central point that “revolutions are made by men and women determining events.” What struck me, reading this article today, was Alexandra’s simple human vulnerability, and my own reaction to it—my inclination to sweep this unflattering story under the rug. When we seek to recognize the women of history, what do we do with the history that reveals individual women as less than admirable? How do we celebrate women—our role models, ourselves—as powerful, vulnerable, fully complex humans, flaws intact?