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Ten years ago, I went with my older daughter and a group of her classmates to see Gloria Steinem speak. Though they were part of a feminist group recently formed at their all-girls Catholic high school, some were not quite sure who Gloria was, exactly. My daughter knew her mostly as my former “boss”; my first job out of college had been as an editorial assistant at Ms. magazine. That was back in the ‘80s — ancient history.
I was a tiny bit nervous about how the evening would go. Gloria herself was in her 80’s by then; how would she connect with a group of teenagers who had come of age post-post-everything in a social media world of makeup tutorials, fit checks, and so much rage bait?
By being precisely herself, as it turned out. Calm and witty, impassioned and informed, clear-eyed yet hopeful, Gloria enthralled them — and the entire audience — for almost two hours. By the time we left, the girls were ready to follow her anywhere.
“She’s a rock star,” my daughter breathed.
That she was. Gloria Steinem did not invent feminism, not even its second wave, but for many years she was its most recognizable frontwoman. Tall, slender, with (for many years) aviator glasses framed by her signature long, straight hair, she was the Jackie Kennedy of the women’s movement: a physical dismissal of all those childish critics who deride feminists as an army of unlovely and unloved women, devoid of humor and, most likely, surrounded by far too many cats.
Attending the 50th anniversary of Ms. last week, I thought I would find anger and regret. Instead I found memories of an anti-toxic office culture.
Even so, how she looked was beside the point. No feminist I know ever wanted to look like Gloria; we all wanted to be like her. Smart, funny, incisive, generous and, perhaps above all, unflappable.
For an activist organizer, she had a low center of gravity. Her speech was measured, her tone was mellow — even when calling out the most outrageous hypocrisies, the most sinister forms of oppression, she rarely if ever raised it. Though by her own admission she was often furious about many things, her sharpest weapon was always a deadly talent for stating the obvious. “If women could sleep their way to the top, there‘d be a lot more women at the top.” “I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a career. ” “A pedestal is as much a prison as any small, confined space.” “This is what 40 [or 50] looks like.”
She believed in shaping the future by being fearlessly frank about the present and the past. For more than seven decades, she helped millions strip away the veils of hierarchy, patriarchy and all the stories spun about gendered expectations to confront the actual experience of women’s lives. “If the shoe doesn’t fit, must we change the foot?”
She never incited anger; she simply pointed out the facts as she saw them and let human nature take its course. “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off.”
Gloria listened as much as she spoke, and with great attention and democracy. When I worked at Ms., she was always running late, invariably having been pulled into some conversation or other. Her assistant groaned over her calendar; Gloria would say “yes” when asked for help, even if it meant being two places at once.
She often came in for staff meetings to which everyone was invited and, when discussing ideas for future issues, would ask for, and attentively listen to, the opinions of even a lowly editorial assistant like myself. Her interest was sincere, astonishing and made for very long meetings. Wherever she went, it was the same. She needed to know what all manner of women thought about a wide variety of topics. More important, she wanted them to learn the habit of speaking up. In a private meeting or a public forum, to colleagues, politicians, friends, the boss or even a feminist icon, she wanted women to be unafraid of saying what they thought.
The feminist icon, who died Wednesday at 92, never stopped advocating for equal rights.
