Our Lives Before the Law: Constructing a Feminist Jurisprudence

Our Lives Before The Law

Our Lives Before

The Law

Constructing a Feminist

Jurisprudence

Judith A. Baer

Princeton University Press

Princeton, New Jersey

Copyright © 1999 By Princeton University Press

Published By Princeton University Press, 41 William Street,

Princeton, New Jersey 08540

In The United Kingdom: Princeton University Press,

Chichester, West Sussex

All Rights Reserved

Library Of Congress Cataloging-in-publication Data

Baer, Judith A.

Our Lives Before The Law: Constructing A Feminist

Jurisprudence / Judith A. Baer.

P. CM.

Includes Bibliographical References And Index.

ISBN 0-691-03316-1 (Cloth : ALK. Paper)

ISBN 0-691-01945-2 (PBK. : ALK. Paper)

1. Feminist Jurisprudence. 2. Women—legal Status,

Laws, Etc.—united States. I. Title.

K349.B34 1999

340¢.082—dc21 98-55309

This Book Has Been Composed In Janson

Chapter 5 Of The Present Work Appeared As Part Of The

Author’s Essay, "women’s Rights And The Limits Of

Constitutional Doctrine," 44 Western Political

Quarterly (1991): 828–852.

The Paper Used In This Publication Meets The

Minimum Requirements Of ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (R1997)

(Permanence Of Paper)

http://pup.princeton.edu

Printed In The United States Of America

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

In Memoriam

The Woman In The Houston Morgue

January 20, 1993

She Was In Her Twenties,

Left A Small Child,

And Was A Victim Of

Domestic Violence.

Our Politics Must Have As

One Of Its Goals

An End To This Kind

Of Killing.

Jane Rule

Contents

Preface

Acknowledgments

Part I: Law Through Women’s Lives

One

Introduction

Two

Is Law Male? The Foundations of Feminist Jurisprudence

Three

What Makes Law Male? Gendered Jurisprudence and Feminist Critique

Four

How Is Law Male? Gendered Method and Feminist Response

Part II: Women’s Lives Through Law

Five

Reconstructing Equality: Feminist Constitutional Doctrine

Six

Reconstructing Rights: Feminist Reproductive Freedom

Seven

Reconstructing Responsibility: Feminist Fetal Protection

Eight

Toward a Feminist Postliberalism

Notes

Bibliography

General Index

Index of Cases

Preface

This book was born out of anger and hope. The anger comes from my observations of the lives women live and from the failure of contemporary feminist scholarship to deal with the conditions women endure. The hope comes from my belief that theory can explain situations and practice can improve them. These beliefs persist in the face of considerable evidence to the contrary. But acting on them has worked for me often enough to inspire these efforts to reground and redirect feminist jurisprudence.

This is a contrarian book. I reject much of the conventional wisdom about feminism and American society. I believe that the worst mistake feminists have made is to be too nice. The effort to be nice has corrupted and weakened both feminist theory and feminist practice. Far from bashing men, we have labored to avoid offending them. We have too often pulled our punches when discussing male aggression, male irresponsibility, male indolence, and male privilege. We have wasted time and energy criticizing feminists who refuse to moderate their message. Far from trashing full-time homemakers, pink-collar workers, or any women who lead lives different from those we want for ourselves, we have been so eager to praise women for the work they do that we have let it stay women’s work. This kind of accommodation may or may not be good politics, but it is never good scholarship. The desire to please must not master the pursuit of truth.

Feminist failures of nerve arise partly from the fact that feminists tend to come from at least one of two groups of people who are trained in kindness, tolerance, acceptance, and guilt. These groups are women and liberals. (And I venture a guess that male feminists are even more likely than women to be present or former liberals.) As critical as feminists are of both gender stereotypes and liberalism, we too often act like lady liberals. Femininity and liberalism share certain habitual attitudes. Guilt is one; another is what might be called asymmetrical solicitude.

Liberals learn to respect other people’s points of view, but not to expect these others to reciprocate. Feminists often behave the same way. They extend to their opponents the rights to act and the immunities from interference which are central tenets of liberalism, but they hesitate to claim these benefits for themselves. For example, supporters of the proposed Equal Rights Amendment and of reproductive freedom have gotten frequent reminders that many women disagree with them, that they do not speak for all women. Anti-ERA and antichoice women do not hear similar admonitions, although the same applies to them. Habits of courtesy, deference, and self-criticism have muted the feminist message and have encouraged us to reserve our fiercest criticism for one another.

Our Lives Before the Law, the title of this book, is a reminder that feminist theory is about women’s lives. But much of the feminist theory published in the last twenty years rings false in the context of my own life. I had truculently called myself a feminist since I learned the word, but it took the revitalized women’s movement, coinciding with my entry into graduate school, to teach me I was not alone. In the early years of the modern women’s movement, author after author analyzed, criticized, and rejected current gender role expectations. This message was wonderfully liberating for at least one apprentice scholar who, like successful students everywhere, had learned too well to accept received wisdom. Modern feminism taught me that individual experiences, though personal in impact, are not unique in kind, and that theory can help make sense of them. Already a scholar and a feminist, I became a feminist scholar. I learned to unite the personal with the professional—as I do here—in a way that the traditional academic disciplines discouraged but feminist academics encouraged. Feminist solidarity kept me going through graduate school, a long hard job search, getting fired, and the struggle to rebuild my career.

But feminist theory changed. By the early 1980s, much of what I read sent disturbing messages about the issues I confronted. The Compassion Trap, ‘Kinder, Kuche, Kirche’ as Scientific Law, and Funeral Oration for Traditional Womanhood gave way to a different voice, an ethic of caring, and women’s ways of knowing. Feminist authors who continued to emphasize male domination and female oppression were accused by other feminists of demonizing men and denigrating women. Feminist theory resonated less and less with my experience.

In my thirties, I was denied tenure at a university at the same time a male colleague of no better qualifications received it. Like many crime victims, I talked about what had happened to me—and was told to shut up. Don’t dwell on it; Don’t feel sorry for yourself; and, worst of all, If you can behave like this, the decision must have been right. And now some feminist authors implied that being wronged was a shameful sign of personal weakness, to be closeted with other skeletons. Nobody seemed to notice that shutting up about it leaves institutions free to do it again, just as shutting up about rape lets rapists get away with it. On second thought, maybe that was the point.

In my forties, my career reestablished, I found myself under more pressure to conform to traditional gender roles than I had been since I left my parents’ 1950s home. Single and child-free, I lived like many middle-class professional men until I moved to the heart of Texas. Whether because of the region (more South than West),my advancing age (increasingly identifiable with my students’ mothers and the sandwich generation), or whatever, my exemption from women’s work expired. Women seemed continually to be approaching me with a sign-up sheet in hand. I am, of course, free not to sign up, but I am not free from the expectation. I must choose between doing chores and being perceived as unhelpful in ways that men need not choose. Women have the right to say no; men have an immunity from being asked.

My efforts to make sense of these experiences have led me back to an incident that seemed trivial at the time but lingered as an irritant in my memory. On a spring day in 1980, I played hooky from the Brookings Institution to visit the National Zoo. As I walked down a path, I heard loud, persistent wails of Mommy! Since I was not the person addressed, I let the child’s cries fade into background noise. I soon became aware of a man standing nearby, shouting, and of bystanders who seemed hostile toward someone. A young woman holding a sobbing toddler appeared at about the time I realized I was the target of the group’s disapproval. The mother, the man, and I apologized to one another for our respective misunderstanding of the situation. The hostile faces in the crowd turned friendly and sheepish. The child stopped crying. You don’t have kids, do you? a woman bystander asked me as I approached the next exhibit.

No, I don’t. Mommy does not refer to me; the word broadcasts on a frequency I never receive, any more than it did for that man. But strangers could reasonably connect me with a little girl who, for a terrifying moment, couldn’t find a mother who didn’t know she was lost. To me, I am no one’s mommy. But to those people that day, I was anybody’s and everybody’s bad mommy. I was free not to have children, to forgo the rewards and responsibilities of motherhood. But I am not free of the expectation that I bear these responsibilities or of the judgment that I neglect them. Strangers’ expectations impinge on me, much as wolf whistles and similar harassments impinge on women. Perhaps, as women age, we change from universal sex objects into universal mothers. We are available, vulnerable, responsible in ways that men are not.

Here again, feminist theory has failed me. Its legitimization of gender difference and valorization of female caregiving has not encouraged a critical approach to society’s assignment of burdensome tasks. Many feminist authors worry that women will have to suppress their femininity and act like men in order to achieve equality. I respect their feelings, but my experience has been just the opposite. I am expected to act feminine against my own inclination and preference.

I don’t need to read feminist theory to know that women’s work is vital, and that society devalues it. My experience confirms both these generalizations. A professor who preferred teaching and mentoring to research and writing would have trouble in my publish-or-perish department. But so do I, as a woman professor whose priorities fit the institutional standards. Nurturance is demanded of me beyond my ability to give. These demands stifle the spontaneous empathy which is at the core of human relationships. I may be in a minority; more women may want to be valued for their conventional contributions than to be free of the demand to perform them. But why can’t feminist theory serve the needs of different women?

My approach to feminist theory is not the only contrarian feature of this book. I am equally critical of two aspects of the mainstream political discourse of the late 1990s: the increasingly idealized concepts of family and community. Women need communities and families as much as men and children do. But communities and families may need women too much. They seem to depend heavily on sacrifices by women. Every December since I learned to read, I have come upon descriptions of cozy family Christmas celebrations in various ethnic and regional communities. Diverse as these are, they seem to have one thing in common: women get run off their feet. Social discourse about the decline of volunteerism, civic associations, and other components of community does not always notice the historic dependence of these activities on women’s efforts. It may take a village to raise a child; but if we are not careful, it will be a village of busy women and unencumbered men.

Communities enforce conformity, create outsiders, and reinforce gender roles. Ever since I moved to College Station, the word community has stood between me and things I want to do. Sometimes I win; sometimes I lose; but I have gotten used to being advised not to invite a certain speaker, use a certain word, or write a certain letter to the editor because it will offend the community. My volunteer advisers often hasten to assure me they are really on my side. Needless to say, the community does not reciprocate their tolerance and accommodation. Even as they hold people in, community and family leave people out. Communities have outsiders, not all of whom volunteer for the position. Because I have a birth defect (a crippled hand), I’ve learned how easy it is to acquire outsider status and how hard to get rid of it. Because I am a middle-aged, single adult who lives alone, the social rhetoric of the 1990s threatens to exclude me from the scope of public discourse. The unit of political discussion is the family, not the person. Increasingly, I wonder where and even whether my life fits in this scheme.

Family values discourse may marginalize me, but it doesn’t bore me. My family of origin gave me a critical perspective on the rosy-glow, soft-focus image of the family. This image doesn’t describe a home where the largest person is also the biggest baby. My alcoholic, mentally ill father used his hands and his words as weapons against my mother, my brothers, and me. Nobody stopped his abuse, because the family values of the 1950s put the father at the head of the family and shielded families from public scrutiny. Things have improved in the last forty years; resources like women’s shelters exist now that were undreamed of in the 1950s. But abusers still get away with it. The feminists, liberals, communitarians, and conservatives who stumble over one another in their rush to reassure everyone that most families are OK, and bad families are the exception, do not facilitate efforts to hold abusers to account. It is not fashionable to suggest that internal forces may encourage family pathology. If patriotism was once the last refuge of the scoundrel, familism may have taken its place.

So my critical, contrarian approach extends both to feminist jurisprudence and to the culture that produced it. It also extends both to what is said in any culture, theory, or jurisprudence, and to what is left unsaid. I am critical of and skeptical about one idea, in particular, that is embedded in contemporary Westernculture, both inside and outside of feminist theory. That concept is individual responsibility. I am intrigued by the way society apportions it, among individuals, institutions, and the state. But the fact that I question it does not mean I deny it. This book is my act of personal responsibility. I have written it out of my conviction that truth is a commodity of which the supply exceeds the demand.

Acknowledgments

No one can write a book alone. At least, after twenty years of trying, I know I can’t. I owe debts to a number of individuals and institutions. Several chapters began as convention papers and later became journal articles, while some ideas were first expressed in book reviews. Susan Gluck Mezey, Karen O’Connor, C. Neal Tate, Sanford Levinson, G. Alan Tarr, Leslie Friedman Goldstein, Garry Jennings, Sue Davis, and Jan Leighley gave me opportunities to try out my ideas before academic audiences. Along the way to publication, I had the help of several present and former professor-editors: Sarah Slavin, Rita Mae Kelly, Dean Mann, MaryJo Wagner, and Edward Portis. The anonymous reviewers they wisely selected provided valuable criticism. (I also acknowledge, if with less grace, the contribution of reviewers for journals that rejected my articles.) I thank the Journal of Politics, Women and Politics, NWSA Journal, the Political Research Quarterly, and Rowman and Littlefield for granting me permission to reprint parts of these articles or reviews in this book.

I am lucky to teach at a university that is research-friendly in the best sense. Texas A&M University welcomed a stranger into its village and facilitated a project that bewildered some of its best minds. The political science department provided fertile intellectual ground and excellent support services. Charles Johnson, the department head, and Bryan Jones, his predecessor, deserve much of the credit. So does Marcia Bastian, whose ability to create order from chaos extended even to transferring a draft of the entire manuscript from one software program to another. Avis Munson got the final version of the manuscript ready for the publisher; I could not have done it without her. My graduate assistants provided indispensable help. Joseph Fults worked with me on this project for more than four years. Joey’s diligent, meticulous work, his familiarity with the law libraries of central Texas, and his resilient pickup truck have made my life much easier. Ashley Brian Coffield, Rachel Gibson, Kimberly McGar, and Sahar Shafqat helped compile the bibliography. Jeanine Harris and Joshua May have taken over since I returned from my year in Washington, D.C.

I completed the first draft of this manuscript at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars, where I held a fellowship in 1995–96. Fellows and staff persevered through furloughs and blizzards to sustain a community of scholars. Bruce Ackerman, Bernard Crick, David Danelski, and James Henretta have been superb critics and interlocutors. Betty Friedan, who gets her share of criticism in the text, has inspired me with her life’s work and educated me through her seminars at the Center. Charles Blitzer and Vicki Bear Dodson devote extraordinary care and energy to maintaining an institution that honors its namesake, our scholar-president. Judithe Registre, my student intern, commuted from American University to the Center to the Library of Congress more times than she or I care to remember. Zdenek David and Linda Worden in the library, Janet Culbreth in the computer center, and Lindsay Collins at the reception desk made daily life easier. George Bowen and Pat Wood dealt heroically with a series of computer glitches. Without Ann Sheffield, Denise Leibowitz, and Arlyn Charles in the Fellowships Office, I would not have been at the Center at all.

I am grateful also for earlier assistance that made a yearlong fellowship possible. At critical points, I was able to think, read, and write. The combined assistance of the American Philosophical Society and the American Council of Learned Societies allowed me to forgo teaching in the summer of 1990 and produce the convention paper that turned into Chapter 4. At Texas A&M, the College of Liberal Arts gave me a Faculty Development Leave for the spring 1993 semester; the university awarded me a Scholarly and Creative Activities Research Award the following year. When I used some of that time to inconvenience my employers by making a successful fellowship application, they cheerfully released me for a year and provided additional support.

Princeton University Press has been an ideal publisher. Ann Himmelberger Wald offered me a contract, left me in peace to write, and guided the project at every stage. When Ann became editor in chief, Kristen Gager saw the manuscript through the final stages. Susan Ecklund proved to be a masterful copy editor.

My mother, Dorothy, and my brothers, Steve, Tom, and Chris, continue to be an important part of my life. For forty years, Tom has provided help I cannot adequately acknowledge. He has told me how men talk among themselves about women. I have not always welcomed his candor when it was offered, but our conversations have educated me about the world I presume to interpret. My second generation of cats, Ariel, Zoe, and Dulcie, divert me from work and make me laugh. I suspect they often laugh at me, but I love them anyway.

The dedication of this book reflects another part of my life, my experience as an aspiring mystery writer. In 1993, the Houston chapter of the Mystery Writers of America arranged a guided tour of the Forensic Sciences Center. The busy professionals at the center were far more generous with their time and their information than we had any right to expect. They allowed us into the room where bodies are held after autopsy and answered our questions about the woman I describe. Covered by a sheet, she lay on a table. Experts tell us the faces of the dead are expressionless, but in her face I saw resignation, a sense of having known this would happen. I dedicate this book to her memory in the spirit of the inscription above the entrance to the building. Translated from the Latin, it reads, Here, the dead teach and help the living.

Judith A. Baer

College Station, Texas

October 1998

Part I

Law Through Women’s Lives

One

Introduction

Women are more vulnerable and more responsible than men, but they are less free. Like men, women are vulnerable to state and corporate power. But women are also more vulnerable to private violence: as girls, as adults, even in old age. Like men, women are responsible for meeting their own needs. But women are also more responsible for meeting others’ needs: for maintaining, nurturing, satisfying (sexually and otherwise), and—the all-purpose term—caring. Even where women enjoy equal formal rights with men, special risks and obligations weaken and compromise women’s rights. So long as we live, there can be no escape from the struggle for power, read the opening words of a classic work of modern political theory.¹ This statement applies to all adults. But for women, it leaves out a huge chunk of reality. So long as we live, there can be no escape from the threat of abuse or the demand for care.

Women’s vulnerability is an unpopular subject these days. She who speaks of battering, rape, pornography, and the whole spectrum of violence against women risks being branded a male-basher, a woman-slanderer, or both. The subject of personal responsibility, by contrast, is all the rage. If the government is not quite a machine that would go of itself, nor the economy quite ruled by an invisible hand, our public discourse is shaped by traditional notions of these institutions as homeostatic, presumptively impervious to deliberate change; individual behavior becomes the only variable left.² Conservatives want more individual (as opposed to institutional or collective) responsibility; communitarians call for more individual responsibility (as opposed to freedom); and liberals, more receptive to other arguments than creative with their own, seek a middle ground. No one notices that women already have a disproportionate share of responsibility. Feminist theorists, within and outside these groups, have failed to make them notice. This book represents my attempt, as scholar, activist, and human being, to make sense of women’s condition and feminist responses to it.

The second wave of American feminism, which began in the 1960s, has improved the general situation of American women. The feminist movement has benefited women of every race, class, age, and lifestyle. Anti-discrimination laws have helped women leave the female job ghetto of clerical work, service, and teaching for technical, mechanical, and professional work; the gap between women’s and men’s incomes is narrowing; and fertility control has allowed women who might once have been exhausted by pregnancy and childbirth to reach a healthy, active old age. These are only a few of the gains attributable in part to the feminist movement.

Feminists get little credit for their contributions to these changes. But we get plenty of blame for problems we didn’t cause, like divorce reform, which can work against women’s interests, and the decline, breakdown, or destruction of the family, whatever these phrases mean. Receiving undeserved blame while being denied due credit is itself a cause for anger. But feminists know at least as well as their critics do that, however much feminism has accomplished, it has not been enough.

Feminism has not improved all women’s lives. Male violence against women continues.³ American women are more likely to be poor than at any time since the Great Depression. The feminization of poverty of the 1980s came close to creating an underclass of women and children. Feminism has helped some women (physicians, judges, the ambitious) more than it has others (displaced homemakers, domestic workers, the homeless). Women still work harder than men for less reward; this disparity cuts across boundaries of race and class, age and lifestyle. All but the most comfortable American women now face the double burden that poor, working-class, and rural women have always had: the two roles, the second shift, the domestic duties waiting for them after their paid workday is over, while men enjoy leisure.⁴ The problem that has no name has become the problem that won’t go away.⁵ Some of these predicaments may be beyond feminists’ power to change; but as long as they exist, we cannot proclaim victory.

Feminists like me—white, middle-class, educated—are often told how privileged we are. Such comments can be toxic, smothering anger with guilt. But the description is accurate. As a professor in a major research university—my ambition ever since I wrote my honors thesis at a prestigious liberal arts college—I am better off than most of the world’s people, let alone the world’s women. Many feminists are similarly fortunate. But I see little evidence that privileged women enjoy their situations in any but the most limited sense of that word.

In his novel The World According to Garp, John Irving creates the Ellen James Society, a group of feminists who cut off their tongues in solidarity with a young rape victim whose attacker similarly mutilated her.⁶ The world of American women in the 1990s often resembles a vast Ellen James Society in which the comfortable imitate the material conditions of the deprived. A poor woman may go hungry to feed her children, or even go hungry with them. An affluent woman may go hungry to stay slim, or even starve herself in anorexia. A working-class woman may hold down two or three paying jobs, work overtime when she can get the hours, and come home to unpaid work. A middle-class woman with no dependent family and one paying job may burden herself to exhaustion with the local make-work that outlasts the full-time homemakers it once kept busy, and with the endless demands of others for help and support. Disadvantaged women get no more benefit from advantaged women’s self-deprivation than Irving’s Ellen James got from healthy women’s self-mutilation. This phenomenon, from which feminists are not immune, suggests that improvements in people’s economic situations—necessary and desirable as they are—will not suffice to lighten women’s burdens.

It is easy to say—I have often longed to say—that the women I describe bring their situation on themselves, that nobody forces them to deprive themselves or cater to others. But we can describe this behavior as voluntary only if we ignore the limits imposed by the range of choices open to these women. Many would suffer serious consequences if they rejected gender role norms. A woman’s failure to conform to society’s standard of appearance may cost her a relationship or a job. A woman’s refusal to do the chores or provide the nurturance that society expects of her may cost her friendships. Some women claim to be content with their lot, and may actually be. But women are expected to conform to the norms of feminine behavior whether they want to or not.

Quite often, women impose these expectations on one another. This aspect of socialization is nothing new. Since children are women’s work, we would expect women to transmit gender roles as they transmit other values. Mothers, teachers, supervisors, friends, classmates, and coworkers have been showing and telling us how to behave as far back as anyone can remember. What has changed in the last twenty years is the role of feminists in this socialization process. In the 1960s and 1970s, feminists were trenchant critics of conventional feminine roles. But by the 1990s, much feminist writing could be read as efforts to socialize women into these roles.

Duty and Danger: Woman’s Condition

The association of women with care is so embedded in our culture that it has come to seem natural, even to some feminists. Natural or not, the traditional roles are easy to acquire. By precept and example, women learn what society expects of them. Caregiving women are there for girls to imitate, much as mother’s high heels and lipstick are there to be tried out. The old nature versus nurture controversy does not exhaust the range of plausible explanations for women’s situation. The special threats and demands women face follow from the human responsibility for self-preservation.

Every human being must have security and sustenance. Homo sapiens, like every other species, must reproduce. Meeting these basic needs has often become a legally imposed duty for both men and women. For example, in the nineteenth century all the states had vagrancy laws that obliged any adult who had no means of support to seek employment.⁷ Where men and women differ is in how society allows them to meet these needs.

In every society we know of, these imperatives have been structured by men. The arrangement has reversed the classic formula for sharing cake in which A cuts and B chooses. Men (some men, anyway) have done both the cutting and the choosing. They have enjoyed the dual privilege of dividing life into certain kinds of activities, rights, and duties, and of deciding which portions they will take. Women have been stuck with what men left. Ideas of gender difference derive from this male privilege; male dominance consists of this power to categorize, apportion, and assign.

In modern industrial societies, life has been structured by (a tiny minority of) men, for both men and women, around the (artificially created) dichotomy of the public and private spheres. Men preserve themselves in the public realm of paid work and political activity. Women, most of whom have been unable to earn a living wage and/or to participate in public life, have been forced to concentrate their energies within the private sphere of marriage and family. Outside marriage, women’s lot has been precarious; within it, their labor (formerly) ensured (marginally) that their needs would be met (minimally).

The distinct sex-role expectations that men and women face, however secure their economic status, have emerged from these socially mandated means of preserving the self. In Adrienne Rich’s words, Women have been forced to marry because it was necessary, in order to survive economically, in order to have children who would not suffer economic deprivation or social ostracism, in order to remain respectable, in order to do what was expected of women.⁸ Except for slaves, few American women have been coerced into relationships with specific men chosen for them by others. But most women have had to choose between marriage to someone in the pool of acceptable husbands and impoverished, dependent, or disparaged spinsterhood. In this century, welfare has been an (increasingly uncertain) option, but qualifying for this substitute man requires a baby.⁹

Women have accepted the domestic role to ensure their economic survival. Where survival depends on marriage, women must conform to men’s expectations in order to compete in the marriage market. The practice of female genital mutilation, common in parts of Africa, provides an extreme example of this coercion. Women cannot survive unless they marry, and men will not marry them unless they undergo the procedure.¹⁰ Once married, women must conform to the demands of the wife’s role, however defined. The reproductive imperative may not always play out the way Rich suggests; the lack of accessible female contraception and the duty to submit to a husband’s sexual demands can make motherhood compulsory.

Men do not get off scot-free, either. They are forced into the provider role, and earning a living tends to involve a certain degree of submission and coercion. But there is a qualitative difference between work responsibility and family responsibility. Work is rarely a total relationship; you get time off.¹¹ Marriage and motherhood (at least while children are young) pervade every aspect of a woman’s life. Whatever else women do, wherever else they go, the domestic role locates them at home, the place women experience the most force, where they have no privacy to lose or to guarantee.¹² This role requires that women provide the care tradition associates with them. Outside the home, the pink-collar job ghetto has channeled most women into additional nurturing roles.¹³ Even women who escape into male jobs find themselves expected to bring the woman’s role with them. The physician must be as solicitous of the patient as the ideal nurse; the college professor, as accessible to the student as the model schoolteacher.

Responsibility, like other things, floats downhill. I could give many concrete examples of this process of distribution, but two will suffice. In 1995, the ABC News program 20/20 reported several deaths of people who ate ground beef contaminated by Escherichia coli bacteria. The segment warned consumers to cook ground meat thoroughly to kill the bacteria.¹⁴ The report implied, by omission, that sellers have no obligation to get poisoned meat off the market. One huge American industry thereby relieved another of responsibility for the quality of its product.

This story fits nicely into sociologist William Ryan’s dichotomy of exceptionalistic and universalistic solutions. Americans’ preference for the former over the latter is old news. What Ryan called blaming the victim is so entrenched in public discourse that the mother of one of the dead children used the phrase on camera.¹⁵ The program’s limited repertoire of exceptionalistic solutions is equally striking. No one suggested we stop buying the stuff. A boycott could be a good capitalist strategy. A precipitous drop in sales might induce the beef industry to clean up its act and its hamburger. At least, the market is supposed to work that way. But no; collective action is no more conceivable than corporate responsibility. The solution is privatized. And we know who does most of the cooking.

A similar message emerges from a commercial appearing on KTRC-TV, the CBS affiliate in Bryan, Texas. A middle-aged white man is sitting up in bed in a large, comfortable room. A smiling woman, followed by a little girl, carries in a tray. A voice-over intones, St. Joseph’s Hospital has thousands of recovery rooms all over town. The unseen male narrator extols the benefits of recovering at home after a shortened postoperative hospital stay. The spot presumes a family ready and able to care for the patient. Never mind that many people live alone; or provide rather than receive care in their households; or require more complicated nursing care than meals served in bed. Once again, women are given responsibility while men, institutions, and government are let off the hook.

Power and privilege confer the ability to impose responsibilities upon others and refuse them for oneself. Women are responsible for dealing with sexual violence, but men are not responsible for stopping it. Unmarried teenage mothers are to blame for most of our social ills, but middle-class parents do the best they can. This phenomenon is not always or exclusively gendered. Law excuses children from some responsibilities but enforces the power of family and school to impose others. Perhaps the most important and least appreciated norm governing the lives of young people is that, as a result of this triple jurisdiction, "they are in every aspect of their presence, demeanor, and appearance accountable."¹⁶ The Personal Responsibility Act of 1996 pulls the safety net out from under the poorest Americans, but a disgraced president is absolved of responsibility for his crimes because his successor feels he has suffered enough. The less power, privilege, and freedom a person has, the more responsibility he or she bears.

The Valorized, The Victim, and The Vilifier: The Failures of Feminism

In the early years of the modern women’s movement, author after author analyzed, criticized, and rejected current gender role expectations. But as the political climate became more conservative, feminism tagged along. Some feminist scholars seemed to abandon feminism’s historic promise to question everything.¹⁷ This retreat was not total. Feminists have not tried to drive women back into the female job ghetto, and feminists have produced incisive critiques of the beauty-through-torture craze to which many women have martyred themselves.¹⁸ But feminists are no longer united in their commitment to challenging entrenched gender roles and freeing women from conventional expectations.

Feminist scholarship revived the notion of gender differences that was so destructive to women in prefeminist times. Influential works proclaim a different voice, an ethic of caring, women’s ways of knowing, and other female traits which these authors cannot convincingly distinguish from traditional femininity, no matter how hard they try.¹⁹ Since no one has yet succeeded in identifying certain traits as female without excluding other traits as not female, writings like these prescribe as well as describe. Feminist critics of the notion of female-specific theory are dismissed as evidence that "some women within patriarchy can learn