Editorial Board / Comité de rédaction

Editor-in-Chief Rédacteur en chef Kenneth McRoberts, , Canada

Associate Editors Rédacteurs adjoints Lynette Hunter, University of Leeds, United Kingdom Danielle Juteau, Université de Montréal, Canada Robert S. Schwartzwald, University of Massachusetts, U.S.A.

Managing Editor Secrétaire de rédaction Guy Leclair, ICCS/CIEC, Ottawa, Canada

Advisory Board / Comité consultatif

Alessandro Anastasi, Universita di Messina, Italy Michael Burgess, University of Keele, United Kingdom Paul Claval, Université de Paris-Sorbonne (Paris IV), France Dona Davis, University of South Dakota, U.S.A. Peter H. Easingwood, University of Dundee, United Kingdom Ziran He, Guangzhou Institute of Foreign Languages, China Helena G. Komkova, Institute of the USA and Canada, USSR Shirin L. Kudchedkar, SNDT Women’s University, India Karl Lenz, Freie Universität Berlin, Germany Gregory Mahler, University of Mississippi, U.S.A. James P. McCormick, California State University, U.S.A. William Metcalfe, University of Vermont, U.S.A. Chandra Mohan, University of Delhi, India Elaine F. Nardocchio, McMaster University, Canada Satoru Osanai, Chuo University, Japan Manuel Parés I Maicas, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Espagne Réjean Pelletier, Université Laval, Canada Gemma Persico, Universita di Catania, Italy Richard E. Sherwin, Bar Ilan University, Israel William J. Smyth, St. Patrick’s College, Ireland Sverker Sörlin, Umea University, Sweden Oleg Soroko-Tsupa, Moscow State University, USSR Michèle Therrien, Institut des langues et civilisations orientales, France Gaëtan Tremblay, Université du Québec à Montréal, Canada Hillig J.T. van’t Land, Rijksuniversiteit Groningen, Pays-Bas Mel Watkins, University of , Canada Gillian Whitlock, Griffith University, Australia Donez Xiques, Brooklyn College, U.S.A. ii International Journal of Canadian Studies Revue internationale d’études canadiennes

11, Spring/Printemps 1995

Women in Canadian Society Les femmes et la société canadienne

Table of Contents/Table des matières

Lynette Hunter Introduction/Présentation ...... 5 Barbara M. Freeman Framing Feminine/Feminist: English-language Press Coverage of the Hearings of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada, 1968 ...... 11 Jane Arscott Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After the Royal Commission on the Status of Women ...... 33 Manon Tremblay Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes? Une analyse des votes obtenus par les candidates et candidats du Québec à une élection fédérale canadienne, 1945-1993 ...... 59 Nelda K. Pearson Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment: A Case Study of a Canadian Farm Women’s Movement ...... 83 Mimi Ajzenstadt Cycles of Control: Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role, 1870-1925 ...... 101 Helen Ralston Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women in Canada ...... 121 Verónica Vázquez García Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada: A Comparative Study ...... 147 Ruth Panofsky “Don’t let me do it!”: Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers ...... 171 Frances Rooney Edith S. Watson: Photographing Women in Rural Canada ...... 185 M. Jeanne Yardley and Linda J. Kenyon Dead and Buried: Murder and Writing Women’s Lives ...... 195 Jenny Horsman Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives: Proposal for Research and Practice ...... 207 Neil B. Bishop Marginalités sexuelle, régionale et sociolinguistique dans Dis-moi que je vis et Veuillez agréer... de Michèle Mailhot et They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That de Lois Simmie ...... 221 Shirin Kudchedkar Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space: Yolande Villemaire’s La Vie en prose ...... 235 Gillian Whitlock The Silent Scribe: Susanna and “Black Mary” ...... 249 Coomi S. Vevaina Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English...... 261 Christina Strobel Reconsidering Conventions: Fictions of the Lesbian...... 277

Review Essay/Essai critique Marie-Andrée Bertrand Regards de femmes sur le Québec, son histoire, ses lettres, son théâtre et sa vie politique, et les rôles que les femmes y ont joués ...... 291 Introduction Présentation

The collection of essays in this Comme elle s’est toujours efforcée de issue is widely interdisciplinary le faire, la Revue a rassemblé dans ce and, as the Journal consistently numéro des articles qui forment une attempts, drawn from many trame très multidisciplinaire et qui international perspectives on the s’inspirent de plusieurs perspectives issues and academic approaches et approches universitaires provenant to them. Yet within this d’un peu partout à travers le monde. multiplicity of views, which Pourtant, au sein même de cette reflect many positions for multiplicité de vues, qui se réclament intellectual comment and the de diverses positions intellectuelles enormous differences in the lives tout autant qu’elles reflètent les of Canadian women, there is a énormes différences existentielles qui consistent preoccupation with caractérisent la condition féminine au power and with agency. Broadly Canada, on se retrouve constamment speaking, the papers address préoccupé de pouvoir et de three main areas of study représentation. En gros, on dira que surrounding the relation between ces articles abordent les trois the individual, the state and the principaux champs d’études qui representation and legitimacy of cernent la relation entre l’individu, political power: first, nation-state I’État et la représentation, et la politics and its representation légitimité du pouvoir politique. Tout through ideology; second, more d’abord, la politique de l’État-nation dispersed structures of power and et l’image qu’il projette de lui-même their discursive representations dans son idéologie; deuxièmement, often analyzed in social, les structures de pouvoir plus diffuses economic and cultural studies; et leurs représentations dans le and third, the textual discours: ces représentations communities of story and history. discursives font souvent l’objet The descriptions, analyses and d’analyses dans des études sociales, critiques that follow are inflected économiques et culturelles; throughout with issues of troisièmement, la communauté de women’s history, gender and sens que les comptes rendus feminism. d’histoires personnelles et l’Histoire The remit of the collection is to dans son ensemble peuvent entretenir reflect upon, analyze and offer sur le plan textuel. Les descriptions, critical outlooks on the position analyses et critiques qui suivent sont of women in Canada during the bien sûr modulées par les questions thirty years since the Royal intéressant l’histoire des femmes, les Commission on the Status of relations entre les sexes et le Women. Certainly, two of the féminisme. articles, “Framing Feminine/ Ce nouveau recueil se distingue en Feminist” and “Twenty-Five ceci qu’il apporte des réflexions, des Years and Sixty-Five Minutes analyses et des perspectives critiques After the Royal Commission on sur la condition féminine au Canada the Status of Women,” do telle qu’elle s’est développée au cours

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC specifically that, both des trente dernières années, soit acknowledging in their own way depuis la Commission royale the importance of the medium in d’enquête sur la condition which records for such events of féminine. Deux de ces articles, « public history are kept. The former Framing Feminine/ Feminist » et goes on to examine the immediate « Twenty-Five Years and Sixty- effects of those media upon the Five Minutes After the Royal public understanding of the women Commission on the Status of working on the Royal Commission. Women », s’y attaquent Taking up this emphasis, “Les spécifiquement, soulignant chacun femmes, des candidates moins à sa façon l’importance des moyens performantes que les hommes?” de communication qui permettent offers an analysis of the public de conserver le souvenir de ce type perception of women as compared d’événements à caractère public. Le to men within politics today, and premier de ces articles étudie les engages further with conventions of effets immédiats de ces médias sur gender in from 1945-1993. l’idée que le grand public se fait du travail des femmes siégeant à une The effects of gender construction Commission d’enquête. L’article are central to many of these essays « Les femmes, des candidates and a number look closely at the moins performantes que les impact of those effects on political hommes? » reprend ce thème en issues of individual activism within offrant une analyse de la perception corporate power, and at strategies des femmes qui œuvrent dans les for empowerment and means of milieux politiques contemporains legitimation. “Women’s Leadership comparée à celle qu’on se fait de leurs Styles and Empowerment” collègues masculins. On s’y attache describes different leadership styles plus particulièrement à étudier les and their appropriateness to the conventions associées au fait d’avoir representation of groups already été une femme ou un homme au marginalized by gender; and Québec entre 1945 et 1993. “Cycles of Control” offers an historical perspective on the ways Les effets de la construction des in which state formation interacts sexes se situent au cœur d’un grand with the construction of gender nombre de ces écrits. Plusieurs within the family and community. traitent plus particulièrement de “Organizational Empowerment leur impact sur le militantisme Among South Asian Immigrant individuel au sein de la structure de Women in Canada” moves the pouvoir des entreprises, ainsi que engagement with gender sur les stratégies de pouvoir et de construction and agency into the légitimation. L’article « Women’s complex field of culture and race; Leadership Styles and and “Gender and Land Rights” Empowerment » décrit divers styles carries out a comparative study of de leadership et discute de leur à- different strategies for propos dans la représentation qu’on empowerment, developed in se fait de groupes de personnes response to different national marginalisées par leur sexe. policies, by ’ women « Cycles of Control » offre une in Canada and Mexico. perspective historique sur les

4 Women in Canadian Society Les femmes et la société canadienne

As indicated in the essays moyens par lesquels la création de specifically on the Royal l’État est en interaction avec la Commission, the construction of construction des sexes au sein de la gender is inextricably linked to famille et de la communauté. the representation of gender. « Organizational Empowerment Several contributions address among South Asian Immigrant this complexity directly. The Women in Canada » fait passer issues range from access by l’étude de la construction et la women to the publication and représentation des sexes dans le distribution of representations, champ complexe des cultures et des documented for example in races, et « Gender and Land Rights » “Mazo de la Roche and Her offre une étude comparative des Publishers,” an historical study diverses stratégies de pouvoir of writer-publisher relations, to élaborées en réaction à un éventail de the low aesthetic value placed politiques nationales par des femmes upon portrayals of the lives of des Premières Nations au Canada et women, implicit in the account au Mexique. of “Edith S. Watson: Comme l’indiquent les articles qui Photographing Women” of a portent spécifiquement sur la “lost” record of domestic life. Commission royale, la question de la The generic difficulty of construction des sexes est constructing sensitive and caring inextricablement liée à celle de leur representations of experience représentation. Plusieurs contributions that has frequently been s’attaquent directement à cette presented as crudely sensational complexité. La gamme des questions in popular culture is outlined in envisagées va de l’accès des femmes “Dead and Buried” and yet à la publication et à la diffusion de ces “Violence and Illiteracy in représentations, que documente par Women’s Lives” illustrates the exemple « Mazo de la Roche and Her importance of widening access Publishers », une étude historique des to representative media, here relations entre la romancière et ses particularly the written, as a éditeurs, jusqu’à la faible valeur political strategy of esthétique qu’on accorde aux portraits empowerment for those who de vies de femmes comme l’on have lived lives imbricated with retrouve dans « Edith S. Watson: social violence. Photographing Women ». Dans The enfranchising movement « Dead and Buried », on retrouve la toward opening access to difficulté fondamentale de tâcher de representation of the self to a construire des représentations much wider constituency of sensibles et humanitaires d’une women than at present has not expérience que la culture populaire only fed but also grown in présente souvent d’une façon crue et relationship with women’s sensationnelle, tandis que « Violence movements world-wide and with and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives » the elaboration of feminism as a illustre l’importance d’élargir l’accès way of knowing. Gender studies aux moyens de représentation. Il frequently begin with the fact of s’agit dans ce cas de représentation women’s marginalization not écrite, considérée comme une

5 IJCS / RIÉC only from state politics, power and stratégie politique d’habilitation the media, but also from language (empowerment) de celles dont les and literary tradition. Both vies sociales ont été marquées par la “Marginalités sexuelle...” and violence. “Celebrating Women’s Language Le mouvement d’affranchissement and Women’s Space” present visant à garantir un plus grand accès accounts of writers finding et une plus grande ouverture sur une alternative ways to tell their stories représentation de soi à un auditoire of place, space, self and sexuality féminin beaucoup plus large que ce that are not adequately represented n’est le cas à l’heure actuelle a non with conventional techniques and seulement nourri les mouvements devices. “The Silent Scribe: de femmes partout dans le monde Susanna and `Black Mary”’ offers ainsi que la montée du féminisme a study of the historical specificity comme mode de connaissance, mais that contextualizes the il a grandi en même temps que ces representation of women’s bodies mouvements. within the fields of class, race, sexuality and culture, in a Les études sur la condition des comparative analysis of the work femmes commencent souvent en of Canadian Daphne Marlatt with énonçant le fait que les femmes ont Australian Kate Grenville. “Black, été tenues à l’écart non seulement Woman, `Righter’ and the Anguish de la politique des États, des of English” restates the issues of structures de pouvoir et des médias, access to representation in terms of mais également de la langue et de la the double marginalization of race littérature. Tant « Marginalités and gender in Black women’s sexuelle... ) que « Celebrating writing and examines the effects of Women’s Language and Women’s that social repression upon the Space » nous content l’histoire literary structure and poetics of the d’auteures qui ont trouvé des façons texts. And explicitly taking on différentes de dire leurs histoires. ideas of political control and Ce sont des histoires que ne individual action, “Reconsidering parvenaient pas à rendre les Conventions” turns the discussion techniques et moyens of sexuality and language in conventionnels et où se mêlent la lesbian writing back toward issues localité, I’espace, le soi et la of agency within hegemonic state sexualité. « The Silent Scribe: structures. Susanna and “Black Mary” » offre une étude de la spécificité historique The essays of this collection not qui contextualise la représentation only respond to the historical and du corps des femmes sur le plan des geographical contexts of women in classes sociales, des races, de la Canadian society, but also enact sexualité et de la culture, dans le the particularities of their own cadre d’une analyse comparative cultural and academic approaches. des travaux de la Canadienne The rare opportunity offered by an Daphne Marlatt et de l’Australienne international and interdisciplinary Kate Grenville. « Black, Woman, journal such as this to bring them “Righter” and the Anguish of together momentarily focuses the English » reprend à nouveau les diversity of scholarship, the questions d’accès à la représentation

6 Women in Canadian Society Les femmes et la société canadienne differing emphases and sous la forme d’une double practices, on a range of marginalisation, de par la race et le interconnected common sexe, dans les écrits des femmes grounds. Far from effacing noires, et étudie les effets de cette difference, the work on répression sociale sur la structure common grounds enacted in littéraire et la poétique du texte. Quant these writings offers further à « Reconsidering Conventions », il contexts for enabling our s’agit d’un article qui aborde understanding of the complex explicitement les idées de contrôle ways in which we learn about politique et d’action individuelle et qui ourselves from both sameness ramène la discussion sur la sexualité et and difference. la langue dans l’écriture lesbienne aux questions de représentation au sein de Dr. Lynette Hunter structures d’État hégémoniques. University of Leeds Les textes qui constituent ce recueil ne font pas que refléter les diverses contextualités historiques et géographiques des femmes dans la société canadienne : ils mettent également en jeu les particularités de leurs propres approches culturelles et intellectuelles. L’occasion, des plus rares, que nous offre une revue internationale et multidisciplinaire comme celle-ci de rassembler toutes ces perspectives témoigne de ce que la diversité des études et les différences d’accents et de pratiques se concentrent pour l’instant sur un terrain commun composé de sujets connexes. Bien loin d’effacer la différence, le travail sur les terrains communs qui se manifeste dans ces écrits fait surgir d’autres contextes. Ceux-ci, à leur tour, nous aideront à approfondir notre compréhension des moyens complexes qui nous servent à nous connaître, dans notre identité comme dans notre différence.

Lynette Hunter University of Leeds

7 Barbara M. Freeman

Framing Feminine/Feminist: English-language Press Coverage of the Hearings of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada, 1968

Astract In 1968, the Royal Commission on the Status of Women held hearings across Canada which, because of the media coverage, became a public forum like no other on women’s rights. To understand what has happened in the intervening twenty-five years since the Commission tabled its report, it is important to understand what occured at the hearings, and how the media covered them. This paper does not attempt to present an argument positing a polarity between cultural understandings of feminine and feminist, but to emphasize the complexity of those ideas, and how they created confusion among journalists and readers alike. They emphasized conventional “femininity” and denigrated “feminism,” even while recognizing that life for Canadian women was irrevocably changing.

Résumé En 1968, la Commission royale d’enquête sur le statut de la femme tenait à travers le Canada des séances qui, à cause de leur couverture médiatique, devinrent un forum sans pareil sur la question des droits des femmes. De fait, afin de comprendre ce qui se passa durant les vingt-cinq années qui suivirent le dépôt du Rapport de la Commission, il est important de bien saisir ce qui se produisit durant ces séances et comment les médias ont couvert celles-ci. Il ne s’agit pas pour l’auteure de tenter d’avancer qu’une divergence culturelle dans la compréhension des termes « féminin » et « féministe » séparait la société canadienne, mais plutôt de souligner la complexité de ces deux notions et la façon dont celles-ci semèrent la confusion parmi les journalistes et le lectorat qui accentuaient une « fémininité » conventionnelle et dénigraient le « féminisme », tout en reconnaissant que la vie des Canadiennes changeait irrévocablement.

Be pretty, be pleasant, use mouthwash and deodorant, never have an intellectual thought, and Prince Charming will sweep you off to his castle, where you will live happily ever after. Such is the carrot and behind it is the stick: “Men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses,” “wall flower,” “spinster,” “old maid,” “loose woman,” the list goes on, and its message is: to have caught a man is proof of a woman’s

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC

desirability as a human being; to be without a man is a social and moral disgrace.1

On a June morning in Toronto, at twenty-eight years of age, Bonnie Kreps was presenting a brief during a hearing of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women, then mid-way through its tour across Canada. She was trying to impress upon the Commissioners and the women attending the hearing how the traditional view of femininity limited the real abilities and ambitions of women. The press described Kreps as a former university lecturer in English, a would-be broadcaster, an American immigrant, the wife of a physicist, and the mother of a five-year old daughter, the order of her personal and professional credentials varying according to the publication.2 Bonnie Kreps was also the future leader of the New Feminists, a liberal offshoot of the more Marxist group, the Women’s Liberation Movement in Canada. Neither group even existed, however, on the morning she presented her brief to the Commission.3 In essence, she was a woman in transition, like many Canadian women at the time. Her role model, whom she quoted extensively in her brief, was Simone de Beauvoir. De Beavoir and Betty Friedan, whom Kreps also cited, were two writers whose critical examinations of the state of white, middle-class womanhood in the western world had already made them icons among progressive women like herself.4 Several days after she presented her brief, Kreps admitted to a reporter who had come to interview both her and her husband, “I toned down some of my arguments. I didn’t want to frighten them.” It is not clear from the story who she meant by “them.”5 It could have been the five women and two men who sat on the Commission, women attending the hearing, or the media covering the event. Clearly, even the outspoken Kreps saw that discretion was the better part of valour, when, as a woman and a feminist, she presented strong ideas that challenged the status quo and, in particular, criticized the culturally- held ideal of femininity as being limiting for women. Kreps was not alone in her concern, as this article will show. It is an interpretive reading of how one public institution, the media, and particularly the English-language newspapers, reflected and shaped the changing public discourse on femininity and feminism as they reported on the public hearings of the Royal Commission of the Status of Women in 1968. As historian Andrée Lévesque has pointed out in her own work on women in Quebec a half-century earlier, public discourse maps out what is permitted and what is repressed in female behaviour, regardless of how stringently individual women conform to the norms; it constructs “an ideal of femininity with which every woman laying claim to a legitimate place in the social order would have to align herself.”6 This paper does not attempt to argue a polarity between cultural understandings of “feminine” and “feminist” in late 1960s Canada. The public discourse, as reflected in the media, was more complex than that, and involved overlapping meanings which included culturally familiar but erroneous references to the “militant suffragettes” of an earlier period. An ongoing tension existed between what scholars from several disciplines describe as the

12 Framing Feminine/Feminist

“social construction of gender,” meaning the expectations placed on women which stem from power relations in society,7 and the “social construction of news,” meaning the ways in which the media “framed” or narrated and presented those expectations in culturally acceptable ways to a mass audience.8 Although historians and other scholars have begun to examine the rise of the so-called second wave of the women’s movement in Canada, and have credited the media with publicizing the Commission effectively, they have not closely examined the actual press and broadcast coverage.9 This is necessary if we are to understand the media’s role in the rise of the women’s movement in Canada in the 1960s and early 1970s. I have argued elsewhere that the media coverage of the Commission hearings greatly advanced the cause of liberal feminism in Canada by underscoring the very real, difficult and unfair circumstances in which many women found themselves.10 But it is also clear that most of the women concerned, including the reporters at the hearings, took pains to present the arguments for equal status within acceptable “feminine” limits, including the rhetoric of humanism, and were quick to disassociate from women who did not. As a result, they were viewed as “feminists” of varying degrees of “militancy.” The Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada received a great deal of media attention.11 Roughly fifteen hundred newspaper clippings which reported on the hearings, including photographs12 and cartoons, are contained in the Commission papers.13 Most are from the competing English-language dailies in the major cities in which the hearings were held.14 These were examined to locate sub-themes in the coverage that would shed some light on how Canadian women viewed themselves at the time. The terms “femininity” and “feminism” are too elusive to define strictly enough to quantify; however, these and related terms appeared often enough to reasonably indicate they provided an underlying sub-theme of the coverage, and a concern for many women involved in various ways with the hearings.15 Because not all the articles carried bylines, that is, the names of the people who wrote them, it is impossible to provide a precise gender breakdown of this coverage. However, the existing bylines do show that female journalists, then mainly confined to the women’s pages of the newspapers, wrote most of the articles. The reporters, regardless of gender, followed the standard “objective” model of reporting in which the “facts” were at least superficially separated from their own values, except for analytical articles in which their opinions and judgements were expressed more openly.16 Because few women worked in any capacity in general news, it is safe to assume that virtually all of the people who wrote the headlines and photo captions, took the photographs, drew the cartoons and wrote most of the other columns and editorials were men, who rarely if ever attended the hearings.17 Regardless of gender, journalists and editors tended to respond uneasily and defensively to any activist who strayed too far from the feminine ideal in presenting her case for equal status. There were differences among the women journalists who covered the hearings, but these were a matter of degree. They

13 IJCS / RIÉC all seemed to share the same general idea of what “feminine” meant and presumed their readers did, too. In Femininity, Susan Brownmiller writes that the ways in which a woman presents, adorns and moves her body, uses her voice, shows her feelings and expresses her ambitions, including a desire for motherhood, are all time- honoured indicators of that elusive quality considered most attractive in her, her “femininity.” A feminine woman wears makeup, jewellery and skirts, perfumes and depilates her body, moves gracefully, smiles often, does not glare or shout, flatters men, and wants more than anything to have children, even when she also has a career.18 But, Brownmiller argues, allegiance to femininity restrains women in the ways they look, move and speak. “Femininity, in essence, is a romantic sentiment, a nostalgic tradition of imposed limitations,” which really serves to underline and flatter the contrasting “masculinity” of men. A woman who refuses to play the game takes a substantial risk of losing masculine attention and approval, “...for a woman found wanting will be appraised (and will appraise herself) as mannish or neutered or simply unattractive, as men have defined these terms.”19 In its coverage of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women, the media did not define “femininity” or “feminine” specifically. Nevertheless, in their descriptions of the female Commissioners, women’s movement leaders and women who presented briefs at the hearings, reporters and editors qualified or indirectly invoked those terms, both positively and negatively, with references to physical appearance, marital status, actual or potential motherhood, body language, tone of voice and rhetoric. Regardless of her age, journalists of both sexes most readily denigrated or dismissed a woman as both “unfeminine” and as a “feminist” when she was not considered attractive or pretty, was dressed in an unconventional way, appeared firm in beliefs which challenged the gender status quo, was assertive or aggressive in her body language, was judged to be loud, bitter or angry, was unmarried, or was not a mother. According to the media accounts, Canadian women themselves were uncertain about any new roles they might play in life. The Commission hearings were held during the spring and fall of 1968, a transition period in which the Canadian feminist movement started to shift from its ladylike roots in various women’s clubs, volunteer groups and professional organizations to a younger, more radical constituency.20 At the time, the struggles of various minority groups in the United States and Canada, including people of colour, Quebec separatists and the Aboriginal peoples, were competing for media attention with New Left campus politics, the peace movement, the “hippie” counterculture and the so-called “sexual revolution.”21 The fact that 1968 was the United Nations’ International Year of Human Rights gave journalists a handy “hook” for just about any story that involved personal freedoms, and this served the publicity needs of the Commission well. The new Liberal Prime Minister, , had campaigned on a promise to bring “a just society” to , and women’s rights leaders, who had convinced his predecessor of the need for an inquiry into the status of women, were determined to hold him to it.22

14 Framing Feminine/Feminist

In the preceding decade, increasing numbers of women had entered the Canadian workforce, so that by 1968, about a third of it was female. The birth control pill had given these women more power over their biological destinies than other methods, allowing them to plan their families if they wished.23 Canadian women activists, already exposed to the writings of de Beauvoir and Friedan, aware of the mixed success of the 1963 Kennedy Commission on the Status of Women in the United States, and tired of making annual pilgrimages to lobby their own federal government, felt it was time for a national inquiry into their grievances.24 The women who appeared before the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada complained that they were not given equal opportunities in the labour force, that their rights as equal partners in marriage were limited, that the law denied them access to adequate birth control and abortion services, that their needs for government-sponsored daycare were ignored, and that schools and universities actively discouraged girls and women from developing their intellectual potential.25 Although the proceedings were dominated by business, professional and volunteer women’s groups and clubs, other women presented briefs, including union leaders, factory workers, farm women, high school and university students, poor women, single mothers, socialist activists and Aboriginal women. Even journalists, engaged in a struggle for equality within their own profession, presented briefs or gave their opinions from the floor.26 The biggest professional challenge to the reporters covering the hearings was how to take the masses of information and opinion, contained in the briefs and expressed at the hearings, and relay them effectively to their audiences. To do so, they employed narrative conventions which had become standard in the profession. Mass communication and cultural critics have long noted how the journalist, in the process of creating a narrative, employs story-telling devices such as conflict with its simplistic either/or configuration, unusualness and an emphasis on personalities, especially prominent ones, rather than remote institutions, dwelling on issues or events which are familiar culturally to both readers and editors and often based on mythological traditions. In the words of two of these scholars, Elizabeth Bird and Robert Dardenne, news stories, like myths, “do not `tell it like it is’ but rather, `tell it like it means.’” Any perceived deviance from cultural norms is signalled by the use of words such as “militant” or “radical.”27 No doubt sensitive to these biases, the Commission tried from the beginning to establish itself in the public mind, and in the media, as a calm, rational forum for women who were primarily concerned with sexual equality as a natural offshoot of human rights. The Commission, which was made up of white, middle-class professionals over the age of forty, saw its own mandate within a liberal, human rights framework, rather than within a theoretical approach which would examine underlying problems in society, such as the economic imbalance of power between men and women. The Commission’s terms of reference, set down by the government in February of 1967, allowed it to investigate the status of women in areas that fell under federal jurisdiction, including criminal and taxation law, labour regulations, marriage and divorce

15 IJCS / RIÉC and other areas the Commission deemed “relevant.” Even so, it did not examine related issues, such as violence against women.28 The chair of the Commission was Florence Bird, an established, well-known journalist and broadcaster. Bird, who had been born to an upper middle-class Philadelphia family, declared upon her appointment that she herself had never suffered discrimination because of her sex, but had always been interested in the problems of working women. Bird did have the air of a woman apart. Reporters described her as “a tall, distinguished-looking woman with upswept, white hair,”29 and “a plummy- voiced 59 year-old broadcaster.”30 Her public demeanour was consistently ladylike, courteous, and diplomatic but firm, an attitude she encouraged in the other female Commissioners, who usually followed her lead.31 But as they set out her femininity, class, and professional credentials, including photographs which invariably showed her in feminine dress such as skirts and pearls, most journalists and editors were also careful to note that she was “Mrs. John Bird,” the wife of another prominent journalist, even when some of them persisted in referring to her by her professional name, “Anne Francis.”32 In fact, Bird herself insisted, as chair of the Commission, on being called by her private name. At the time, it was still considered common courtesy to address a married woman in this way, but some women had already begun to question the cultural practice of a wife taking her husband’s name, which in Canada was not required by law.33 As in the case with Florence Bird, the reporter’s descriptions of the four other female Commissioners noted their marital status often, before their professional credentials. Most women journalists wrote about them in generally approving ways, using all the professional tricks in the book to make their articles interesting for their readers, including the snappy “lead,” or introduction. The results were sometimes flippant comments that actually devalued the qualifications of the woman concerned. For example, in a series she wrote to introduce the Commissioners to her readers before the hearings began, Alixe Carter of The Ottawa Journal began her article on the only unmarried member of the Commission: If you can call an intellectual academic careerist a Go Go girl, then Jeanne Lapointe is just that. She obtained her pilot’s license a year ago, which also proves she is a career girl constantly on the way up.34 It can be safely stated that Lapointe, who was a respected literary scholar in her middle years from Laval University in Quebec City, would hardly be found among the hosts of gyrating, skimpily-dressed and sometimes literally caged, young women dancing above the throngs in night clubs and dance halls during the 1960s. The strained parallel between her and the Go Go girl says something, nevertheless, about a perceived cultural split in flattering occupational designations for women, regardless of reality: you were either respectably married or a glamorous “career girl” on the go. It was a sharp contrast to the way in which Carter described the male Francophone professor on the Commission in her lead to that article. Jacques Henripin, a demographer from the University of Montreal, was “one of the new breed of enlightened French Canadian academics.”35

16 Framing Feminine/Feminist

Taken overall, Carter’s series on the Commissioners was supportive of their mandate, but she tended to mix the personal and the professional attributes of the female Commissioners, something she shared with all the journalists when describing especially accomplished women. According to Carter, Doris Ogilvie, a juvenile court judge from New Brunswick, had a “sense of fun” that was not only going to be an “asset” during long deliberations but received more attention in this article than her professional credentials.36 Elsie Gregory MacGill, an aeronautical engineer and clearly the most feminist of the group, took after her late mother, a juvenile court judge from British Columbia, in that each was “a dogged doer of things” who rose to the top of her profession. Carter did not explain why MacGill, who had been married for many years to a “business executive,” persisted in using her maiden name.37 Lola Lange of Alberta was an accomplished musician, a rancher’s wife and mother of three daughters; she had taken many courses in leadership training and continuing education. She was also “attractive,” a personal appellation that Carter did not use in reference to the other female Commissioners.38 The Commission was framed in the media, and in its own perception, as a calm, rational sounding board made up of very accomplished, well-bred, understanding and generally open-minded people who would do their best to make sure that all viewpoints were heard. They even observed all the social niceties between the genders in public; for example, the men invariably held doors open for the women.39 During the news conferences that preceded and ended the hearings in every city across Canada, Florence Bird and her colleagues were careful to play down any perceived “militancy,” “man-hating” or “revolutionary” agenda, making it clear that the opinions of men were sought as well as those of women.40 Women who considered themselves ladylike, rational pleaders for basic human rights could present their case before the Commission, and not have to worry about being called names. Or so they thought. Many women’s rights leaders in Canada at the time either denied their feminism, or played it down, framing it in terms of a humanist argument for equality. In , a prominent activist, June Menzies, equated feminism with humanism during a panel discussion held in advance of the Commission hearings in Winnipeg. A journalist reported that “Mrs Menzies said she regarded herself as a feminist because she equated feminism with human rights. `The status of women is not a women’s problem — it’s a question of human rights...’”41 At the Commission hearings, several speakers carried the humanist argument further, making patently inaccurate and simplistic parallels between the struggle for women’s rights in Canada and that of the “Negro” in the United States. This theme was taken up in the media. Margaret Butters of the Welland- Port Colborne Tribune, a local weekly in , very supportively discussed the briefs presented in Toronto, adding: Throughout all of the sittings, either spoken or inferred, is the feeling that women in Canada are in the same situation referring to civil and legal rights as the negro in the United States. They have been termed “second class citizens;” “cheap or slave labor.”

17 IJCS / RIÉC

Any reasonable woman would fight for her rights under those circumstances, or so Butters implied.42 But another more conservative writer, Sheila H. Kieran, resented the comparison. In a period in which the term “nigger” was adopted by various non-Black groups who wanted to signal that they, too, were being oppressed,43 she defined it as a “bigoted, unflattering term for a second- class citizen...(who)...in the inverted bigotry of modern liberalism, is someone you have to make allowances for.” In Maclean’s, Canada’s weekly news magazine, she attacked the “flower-hatted ladies” presenting briefs before the Royal Commission as shrill, unwomanly “professional Friedanites” who were demanding “special consideration,” not equal status.44 There was already a public perception, before the hearings began, that they would be dominated by professional and club women, whose leaders had already been tagged in the media as “vocal” and/or “militant feminists.” Chief among them was Laura Sabia, the head of the Committee for the Equality of Women in Canada, a federation of thirty-two Anglophone women’s groups which had lobbied successfully for the status of women inquiry. Sabia’s perceived militancy stemmed from her outspokenness on women’s issues and, especially, her threat to lead a protest march of two million women to Ottawa if her request was refused.45 The labelling of Sabia was sometimes extrapolated to media descriptions of the hundreds of CEWC members as “militant feminists.” A male reporter viewed the CEWC’s intention to keep an eye on the Commission proceedings as a threat from “militant watchdogs” waiting to “pounce” on the investigation.46 The fact that many of the groups who later presented briefs were members of the CEWC added to the perception that “feminists” were running the show, regardless of whether they saw themselves as such, or what they actually said. Even women who showed up at the hearings just to listen were defined by their very presence as “feminists.” A photo in the Sun, showing a row of older women sitting in the audience, most of them wearing hats and one of them knitting, carried the caption, “Intent Feminists ...listen to speakers at women’s status probe.”47 As the Commission prepared to move on to Alberta, the Calgary Herald warned its readers that the war between the sexes was out in the open with the headline, “Men Main Target Of Commission On Women.” The story makes it clear, however, that it was several women at the hearings, not the Commission itself, who criticized male attitudes.48 Rosemary Speirs noted the understandable confusion and ambivalence that some women, even younger ones, felt about losing their feminine credentials and antagonizing men when they appeared before this particular Commission.49 This unease was underscored by women who came to the hearings to specifically “remind” other women of their proper place in life. At a hearing in Edmonton, Alberta, a thirty year-old woman who referred to herself as Mrs. Trevor Anderson came with her husband and well-scrubbed young children in tow to defend traditional roles for wives and mothers. Speirs reported that she wore a bright pink dress with a pink and yellow ribbon arrangement tying back her long black curls.50 In its own story, the Edmonton Journal introduced her, on page one, as a “Man’s Woman,” and included a

18 Framing Feminine/Feminist

flattering picture of her with the caption, “Woman has place...behind her man, says Mrs. Anderson.”51 Headlines in other newspapers read: “Ladies Reminded They’re Women”; “Femininity plea” and “Married Women Told To ‘Rely on Female Instincts.’”52 Even when a woman worked outside the home and espoused more liberal beliefs than Mrs. Anderson, the journalists frequently described her in terms of her “feminine” qualifications, such as her degree of personal attractiveness, her marital status and even what she wore, sometimes in the same sentence as her professional or other qualifications. During the Ottawa hearings, one reporter noted in detail the particularly fashionable attire of a prominent union leader. Huguette Plamondon, the vice-president at large of the Canadian Labour Congress, “looked like a chic fashion-plate” but “spoke with ringing conviction” at the Ottawa hearing in October. Readers were told: Miss Plamondon wore a smart, jaunty black hat, a black and white ensemble and gold jewellery. She also answered questions from the commission on employment, discrimination, retraining, maternity leave and day care centres. In the short, three-paragraph article, the unnamed reporter gave no details of the questions Plamondon was asked or her replies. But there was a head-and- shoulders photo of her at the hearing which took up twice the space of the copy.53 Flattering descriptions of a woman’s apparel were a very common social and journalistic convention at the time. Even self-declared feminists such as Speirs54 commonly used expressions such as “pert brunette university student” and “pretty young mother” to describe women appearing at the hearings.55 Speirs herself caught at least one, presumably male, magazine editor’s eye. The caption for a Canadian Press photo of her sitting at her typewriter, which accompanied her Toronto Life article about the hearings, described her as an “emancipated woman” and “a gorgeous redhead who is 27 and single,” even while noting that she was just completing her Ph.D in labour history.56 This emphasis on personal attractiveness, especially for young women, was already firmly embedded in the culture. A Commission study, for example, noted that eighty-nine percent of female images in newspapers and magazines were of “young, elegant and beautiful” women under 35 years of age.57 It is apparent from the media coverage that, aside from youth and beauty, another measure of “femininity” was how a woman conducted herself in public, with the emphasis being not just on what she said but how she said it. For many women, the very act of speaking out, especially at public meetings, was risky to one’s “feminine” sense of self. At the Commission hearing in Halifax, Nova Scotia, one woman scheduled to present a brief felt so intimidated that she refused to get up and do it.58 As Eleanor McKim, the women’s editor of the Evening Telegram in St. John’s, Newfoundland, wrote on a similar occasion, speaking out in public was a challenge to the bravest of women, especially when men were present.

19 IJCS / RIÉC

We’re still immobilized by the long held tradition that it is unfemminine (sic) to be forthright.... It’s going to take a new kind of courage for women to overcome this sub-conscious hurdle.59 Even women who did have the courage to speak up at the Status of Women hearings seemed concerned that they or other women might appear strident or shrill, even when their anger was justified. One reporter recorded an interesting exchange between two women at a hearing in Calgary, Alberta. While one women complained that “women have become very shrill in saying they are mistreated and misunderstood,” another countered “that if female demands sound strident and shrill, `it may be that we have been asking for changes so long our voices have become shrill with repetition.’”60 Rosemary Speirs maintained that the occasional “whining” or “petty, querulous tone” that crept into the discussions resulted as much from the guilt these women felt at making demands, as from their unhappiness.61 Some journalists at the hearings seemed uncomfortable with anything but the most ladylike presentations from any woman. In Ottawa, one reporter describing a summary of the discrimination suffered by female professors at thirty universities, a brief opposed by their own male-dominated associations, seemed to need to reassure her readers that the presentation was “calm in tone and free from feminist lecturing.”62 When Carrie Best, a Black activist and newspaper columnist from Pictou, Nova Scotia, challenged the Commissioners on the lack of racial minority and Aboriginal women at the hearings, and later presented her own brief in Ottawa, her white colleagues at the press table praised her interventions as “even-voiced” and “dignified.” Their readings of her appearance begged questions about their expectations of a woman of colour,63 and also amused the usually outspoken Best, who wrote in her autobiography that it “may be the last time I shall be so described.”64 Not only did a woman have to watch her tone of voice when she spoke out in public, she had to be very careful not to threaten men in what she said if she wanted to be taken seriously and avoid vilification in the media. In Vancouver, sociologist Norma Ellen Verwey was labelled, in her own words, as “some kind of nut” after the local media gave front-page coverage to a suggestion that she had apparently made in all seriousness: that all young men of sixteen and over be forced to undergo compulsory vasectomies which, she said, were reversible. It was time, she declared, that men be made to take responsibility for birth control. Many newspapers across the country carried the story. In the Canadian Press version, which headlined “Compulsory vasectomies at 16 advocated by feminist sociologist,” the reporter referred to her “ardently feminist presentation” and included reaction from a male medical specialist who said vasectomy could be reversed in fewer than half of cases.65 The front-page story in the Vancouver Sun included a picture of the middle-aged Verwey, who had short hair and was not conventionally pretty, with her mouth wide open and the caption, “Norma Ellen Verwey...pleads to commission.” The photo also showed a thin, older woman wearing a hat seated in the background, her lips pursed in what appeared to be disapproval. The story noted that Verwey was married but childless.66 In The Globe and Mail, the same picture, cropped to Verwey’s head and shoulders, was positioned facing two larger photos of a pair of svelte, pretty young fashion models, one of

20 Framing Feminine/Feminist

them in a bikini, which provided a stark contrast between what was considered “feminist” and what was considered “feminine.”67 It is not surprising that other women appearing before the Commission, including a teaching order of nuns from Quebec, would support only “those feminist movements” which could demonstrate that they were “truly feminine and not excessively radical.”68 But what was “excessively radical”? When the media wants its audiences to grasp an idea instantly, it sometimes uses an historical reference, a supposedly shared memory, already embedded in the culture. In this case, the media compared the “feminists,” especially of the “militant” variety, to the radical “suffragette” of a half-century earlier. In fact, Canadian “suffragists,” as they were properly known, were a much more decorous group than the real suffragettes who belonged to the Women’s Social and Political Union in Britain, and were not given to hunger strikes, stone throwing or arson in order to win the vote.69 But the modern media seemed to perceive parallels between the violence of the suffragettes, the determination of the assertive modern-day club woman, and the anger of the young, left-wing radical busily engaged in demonstrations, sit-ins and protests for her own rights, especially right next door in the United States.70 The “suffragette” motif continued during and after the media coverage of the Commission, in both small and large publications. For example, an unnamed columnist in a small-town Alberta newspaper decided to publish a letter written by a farm wife about her lack of rights to marital property, but demurred, “I am not sure whether I should be using this column for this suffragette-type of indoctrination.”71 After the Toronto hearings were over, Elizabeth Thompson’s advice column in the Globe and Mail featured a debate among herself and a number of readers variously identifying themselves as “Sick of Suffragettes,” “A Suffragette,” “A Woman,” and “Another Suffragette,” and all espousing viewpoints which ran the gamut from traditionally conservative to socialist.72 Some journalists even urged Canadian women to become active in the women’s movement, but assured them that they did not have to become “suffragettes” to do so. Marilyn Anderson, in her column in the Niagara Falls Review, wrote “... while we don’t have to resort to the tactics of suffragettes, tying ourselves to lamp posts to get what we want, we do have to get ourselves involved in fighting for our rights.”73 Given the suffragette’s public image, it is not surprising that even progressive journalists treated the label with caution. Scholars who have examined editorial cartoons tell us that one centuries-old tradition of western journalism is to lampoon and ridicule women who were mythologized as overbearing and threatening, including the “suffragette.”74 Regardless of what individual journalists wrote on their women’s pages about the Royal Commission, cartoonists had a field day before and during the hearings. At the time, they were all men who tended to see themselves as detached, satirical observers of the political and social scene.75 True to tradition, they usually drew the modern women’s rights advocate as large, overbearing and sometimes violent, especially in relation to men they depicted as meek. In one cartoon, for

21 IJCS / RIÉC example, a woman sitting in an armchair reading about the appointment of the Commission in a newspaper glowers at her spouse who has interrupted his dishwashing to answer the phone. On the wall is a calendar depicting “Judy La Suffragette,” a mischievous reference to Judy LaMarsh, the outspoken cabinet minister who had worked behind the scenes to get the Commission established.76 In short, the term “suffragette” became part of an uneasy and conflicted public discourse about modern feminism that included women of all ages across the country. Although some young women showed up at the Commission hearings, many appeared reluctant to do so. The media investigated and concluded that many of them were uncomfortable with the whole idea of feminism. The Toronto Telegram actually set up a panel discussion featuring female students from York University and the , who thought “...`feminists’ are old hat.” One student was optimistic that her generation could change things without an “aggressive” women’s movement. She is quoted as saying, “I react violently to this suffrage thing — I don’t think it will solve anything.”77 But for all the reluctance of young Canadian women to embrace feminism, there were a few who were already alarming their elders. They were the advance guard of the young feminist constituency, represented by Bonnie Kreps, who would soon be forming their own women’s groups. In Toronto, the Commission heard from four Young Socialists who seemed to the uneasy media to represent a real threat. The Toronto Telegram began its account: The seven commissioners looked apprehensive as the militant delegation composed of three mini-skirted girls wearing huge Che Guevara buttons and one serious looking youth wound their way through flowered hats in St. Lawrence Hall. The Young Socialists began quietly and then let loose a wild diatribe against society which they said suppresses and degrades young Canadian girls.78 One of them was described as “a 21 year-old blonde in a low-cut blue dress and orange sandals.”79 Another had “hair cut so short she looked more like a boy than a 21 year-old woman.” Both descriptions assumed sexual behaviours and/or identities beyond the accepted norm, even for journalists at the time, who may have been privately more conservative than they admitted.80 The fact that the students shouted did not help their case at all.81 But such demonstrations were rare at the time. When the hearings ended in October, women in the media were able to report, with some satisfaction, that the Commission had made a real difference to the aspirations of Canadian women partly because the women presenting briefs were not, by and large, what one vituperative male columnist called “all those feminist harridans who projected their hatred and envy of men into a holy crusade.”82 In her award winning, front-page analysis, Yvonne Crittenden of the Toronto Telegram wrote, to paraphrase the headline, that the Commission’s eventual recommendations would be “One report Ottawa can’t ignore.” She noted that the issues brought before the Commission during the hearings, such as the need for daycare, equal pay and job opportunities, reproductive freedom and tax reform “have been in the news for years and are

22 Framing Feminine/Feminist favorite targets of militant women’s groups.” But what had happened at the hearings themselves made a difference to how these issues are heard now. When the Commission was first announced, many people, mostly men, announced openly that it would be an exercise in futility, that the feminists and “flowered hat brigade” would dominate the hearings, that all one would hear were whines and gripes. She went on to reassure her readers that most women who appeared before the Commission were not resentful or bitter, that there was no “battle of the sexes” and that the women simply talked about their day-to-day problems. There were ordinary women who were “scared stiff” about getting up and speaking in public, and others with “private, heartfelt briefs,” some of whom had travelled hundreds of miles to attend the hearings. Crittenden also noted that many women expressed a wish to remain at home which, she said, “should cause a lot of people to breathe a sigh of relief.”83 This article has focused on the various ways in which “femininity” and “feminism” were interpreted by the media covering the status of women hearings. According to their accounts, the female Commissioners, and most of the women who appeared at the hearings, confined themselves to standard, “ladylike” behaviour even while presenting the toughest arguments. The emphasis on their perceived “femininity” including descriptions of how they looked, their marital and motherhood status, what they said and how they said it, was derived from feminine culture, and from what Brownmiller perceives as the strategy for survival that suffuses it.84 It was important to most of these women, and to the journalists who reported their words, to believe that one could gain equality with rational, humanist arguments without sacrificing one’s “femininity,” or, at the very least, important that men be placated in the process of “revolution.” In other words, women were going to have to win their rights by looking attractive, by not raising their voices, by not challenging the status quo too abruptly, and by not overtly threatening men. That meant distancing themselves from more impatient women who did raise their voices, did threaten to shake up the status quo, and did challenge men. These women became, by definition, “feminists,” usually of the “militant” or “radical” variety, a label that was difficult for many women to accept for themselves, at least publicly, regardless of their personal feelings and actions. It was a reluctance that continues to this day.

Notes 1. National Archives of Canada, Papers of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women (hereafter NAC, RCSW), RG 33/89, Vol. 17, Toronto June 6, 1968, Bonnie Kreps, Brief #373, p. 4. 2. Media coverage included a few paragraphs in a summary of the day’s proceedings by Margaret Weiers, “Urge dental care in ,” , June 7, 1968, p. 61; Leone Kirkwood, “Social disgrace to be single, commission told: Woman `expected to act like Cinderella waiting for Prince,’” The Globe and Mail, June 7, 1968, p. 13; and no byline, “Cinderella may not dig her role,” Toronto Telegram, June 7, 1968. Hereafter, where no page is indicated, the clipping can be found in National Archives of Canada, Papers of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women, RG 33/89, Vols. 41-45.

23 IJCS / RIÉC

3. Maggie Siggins, “The Feminists,” Toronto Telegram, September 5, 1969. See also Margaret Penman, “The Feminists go marching on,” Montreal Star, May 8, 1970, pp. 23-24. 4. Simone de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (Paris, Galimard, 1949); Betty Friedan, The Feminine Mystique (New York: W.D. Norton, 1963.) 5. The reporter wanted to know what it was like to live with a woman who believed in sexual equality. The answer was in the headline. Leone Kirkwood, “Attitude changed after marriage: Physics professor believes in equality in the kitchen,” The Globe and Mail, June 10, 1968. 6. Andrée Lévesque, Making and Breaking the Rules: Women in Quebec, 1919-1939, trans. of La norme et les déviantes by Yvonne M.Klein (McClelland and Stewart, 1994), p. 12. 7. One of the most influential historians has been Joan Wallach Scott, whose several articles on this form of analysis have been republished in her Gender and the Politics of History (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988). 8. See especially, Gaye Tuchman, Making News: A Study in the Construction of Reality (New York: The Free Press, 1978), p. 1. She discusses mainstream media coverage of the American women’s movement of 1975 in Chapter 7. See also Michael Schudson, “The Sociology of News Production Revisited,” in James Curran and Michael Gurevitch (eds.), Mass Media and Society (London: Edward Arnold, 1991), pp. 141-159. For cultural critiques centred on gender issues in today’s media, see Liesbet van Zoonen, “Feminist Perspectives on the Media,” in the same volume, pp. 33-54. 9. For example, see the various articles on Canadian feminism in Constance Backhouse and David H. Flaherty (eds.), Challenging Times: The Women’s Movement in Canada and the United States (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1992). 10. See Barbara M. Freeman, “The Media and the Royal Commission on the Status of Women: Research in Progress,” forthcoming in Resources for Feminist Research, and “`CBC Matinee,’ the `Press Girls’ and the Royal Commission on the Status of Women, 1968,” forthcoming in Frequence/Frequency: Journal of the Association for the Study of Canadian Radio and Television. 11. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation provided regular coverage of the hearings on two of its national network programs for women, “CBC Matinee” on radio and “Take 30” on television. Freeman, “CBC Matinee;” Freeman, “`Go Girls Go’ and `Stamp Out Men’: CBC’s `Take 30’ and the Royal Commission on the Status of Women, 1968, 1970,” a paper presented at the annual meeting of the Association for the Study of Canadian Radio and Television, Ottawa, Ontario, June 1993. 12. Media scholar Stuart Hall writes that a news photograph is chosen for its immediate news value, but also for the way in which it fits into the political-moral discourse of society and the particular editorial biases of the newspaper concerned. Stuart Hall, “The Determination of News Photographs,” S. Cohen, and J. Young (eds.), The Manufacture of News: Social Problems, Deviance and the Mass Media (London: Constable, 1981); pp. 176-189. 13. NAC RCSW Vols. 41-45. Many of these publications are also available on microfilm. 14. Victoria and Vancouver, British Columbia; Edmonton and Calgary, Alberta; Regina and Saskatoon, Saskatchewan; Winnipeg, Manitoba; Toronto and Ottawa, Ontario; Montreal and Quebec City; Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island; Fredericton, New Brunswick; Halifax, Nova Scotia and St. John’s, Newfoundland. Two of the Commissioners also visited Whitehorse in the Yukon, Yellowknife in the Northwest Territories, and several tiny native communities in the North. White women and Aboriginal women living there had different concepts of women’s roles, which in turn differed from women living in southern Canada, cultural differentiations that will be addressed in future research. It is also beyond the scope of this research to analyze Francophone media coverage, particularly in Quebec, where women have their own multi-layered and complex history, and a different journalistic tradition. See Michèle Martin, “Changing the Picture: Women and the Media in Quebec,” in Sandra Burt, Lorraine Code and Lindsay Dorney, Changing Patterns: Women in Canada, Second Edition, Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1993, pp. 177-211. 15. To discern how common the shared cultural assumptions about femininity and feminism were, I have also included examples from magazines and from small to mid-size circulation dailies and rural weeklies which either sent their own reporters to the bigger cities for the hearings or carried Canadian Press wire service stories about the Commission. In my further

24 Framing Feminine/Feminist

research, I will examine the public discourse about “equal status,” and “working mothers,” for example. 16. On the tradition of journalistic objectivity, see Daniel Schiller, Objectivity and the News (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981), pp. 1-6, 194-195. For a slightly different historical analysis, see Michael Schudson, Discovering the News (New York: Basic Books 1978), and Schudson, “The Sociology of News Production Revisited.” 17. See Freeman, “The Media and the Royal Commission,” and “CBC Matinee.” 18. Brownmiller combines an historical overview of the cultural meanings of femininity from ancient times to the 1980s, but also muses on her own personal experiences and struggles as a young woman growing up in the 1950s and 1960s. Susan Brownmiller, Femininity (New York: Fawcett Columbine, 1984). 19. Brownmiller, pp. 14-16. 20. See, for example, Amy Von Heyking, “Red Deer Women and the Roots of Feminism,” Alberta History, Winter 1994, pp. 14-27. For an overview of the battles for equality in Canada since that time, see the articles in Ruth Roach Pierson, Marjorie Griffin Cohen, Paula Bourne and Philinda Masters, Canadian Women’s Issues, Vol. 1 (Toronto: James Lorimer, 1993). 21. See, for example, Elizabeth Dingman, “The Sixties: A decade of protest,” Toronto Telegram, December 30, 1969. 22. They included , the editor of Chatelaine magazine. She was sceptical, since only one woman, Grace MacInnis of the New Democratic Party, was elected to the House of Commons that year as opposed to four the previous term. Doris Anderson, “Justice: 1 woman to 263 men?” Chatelaine, Sept. 1968, p. 1. 23. There are several sources on the legal and economic position of women in Canadian society at the time. See, for example, S. J. Wilson, Women, Families and Work, 3rd Edition (Toronto: McGraw-Hill Ryerson, 1991), Chapters 5 and 6. 24. While Canadian feminist leaders were influenced by the U.S. movement to some degree, and were exposed to it through the media, there were many differences between the two countries. A Canadian political scientist, Jill Vickers, writes that English-Canadian feminists of all stripes saw reform being carried out within the established political system. This “radical liberalism,” as she calls it, was more tolerant of diversity within the movement than American feminists were at the same stage, encouraged dialogue among them and, unlike Americans, Canadian feminists were firm believers in the advantages the welfare state held for women. Jill Vickers, “The Intellectual Origins of the Women’s Movement in Canada,” in Backhouse and Flaherty, Challenging Times. See also Naomi Black, “The Canadian Women’s Movement The Second Wave,” in Burt, Code and Dorney (eds.), Changing Patterns, pp. 151-175. On the Kennedy Commission, see Ginette Castro, American Feminism: A Contemporary History, trans. by Elizabeth Loverde-Bagwell (New York and London: New York University Press, 1990), Chapter 1. 25. Report of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada (Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services, 1977), Chapter 1. 26. The briefs are in NAC RCSW on microfilms C-4878 to C-4883 and C-6798 to C-6803. On media women, see Freeman, “CBC Matinee.” 27. Richard Ericson, Patrician Baranek, and Janet Chan, “Representing Order,” in Helen Holmes and David Taras (eds.), Seeing Ourselves: Media Power and Policy in Canada, (Toronto: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich Canada 1992); S. Elizabeth Bird and Robert W. Dardenne, “Myth, Chronicle and Story. Exploring the Narrative Qualities of News,” in James W. Carey (ed.), Media, Myths and Narratives. Television and the Press, Sage Annual Reviews of Communication Research, Vol. 15. (Newbury Park: Sage, 1988), pp. 69, 71-72; Johan Galtung and Mari Ruge, “Structuring and Selecting News,” in Cohen and Young; Todd Gitlin, The Whole World Is Watching: Mass Media in the Making and Unmaking of the New Left (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1980). 28. “Terms of Reference,” Report of the Royal Commission, pp. vii-viii. Monique Bégin, who was executive secretary of the Commission, writes that it was regarded as a “social issue,” not as a specifically feminist one. Monique Bégin, “The Royal Commission on the Status of Women — Twenty Years Later,” in Backhouse and Flaherty, p. 31. 29. Marilyn Argue (Canadian Press, hereafter referred to as CP), “Inquiry Head Anne Francis Never Met Discrimination,” Winnipeg Free Press, February 3, 1967, p. 22.

25 IJCS / RIÉC

30. Rosemary Speirs, “Girl Power: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle Would Prefer to Rule the World,” Toronto Life, August 1968, 42. Although Bird did not have children of her own, she was able to tell the media that she kept house and took care of a British friend’s two little boys in Winnipeg during World War II, and their questions about the world conflict led to her career as a broadcaster on international affairs, a rare accomplishment for a woman at the time. Argue, (CP) “Inquiry Head Anne Francis.” 31. No byline, “Royal Commission on Status of Women gets a day of brickbats and bouquets,” The Globe and Mail, June 6, 1968, p. W2. 32. The examples are legion, but to take just one from the same newspaper: a Canadian Press story from Ottawa about her appointment, which appeared on the front page of the Winnipeg Free Press, described her as “Mrs. John Bird of Ottawa, wife of the parliamentary correspondent of the Financial Post.” In a follow-up CP story in the same newspaper, but on the women’s page the following day, both the copy and photo caption under her picture refer to her as “Anne Francis,” although the story also notes that she is Mrs. John Bird “in private life,” CP (no byline), “Status Probe Set,” Winnipeg Free Press, February 3, 1967, p. 1; and Marilyn Argue (CP), “Inquiry Head Anne Francis Never Met Discrimination,” Winnipeg Free Press, February 4, 1967, p. 22. 33. No byline, “Royal Commission on Status of Women gets a day of brickbats and bouquets,” The Globe and Mail, June 6, 1968, p. W2. 34. In the absence of a husband, it was duly noted that Lapointe’s father was a prominent lawyer. Alixe Carter, “Meet the Status of Women Commissioners,” The Ottawa Journal, February 28, 1968, p. 48. It is interesting to note that Lapointe was not framed as a “blue-stocking,” a term which has a history in relation to academic women in Canada. See Alison Prentice, “Bluestockings, Feminists, or Women Workers? A Preliminary Look at Women’s Early Employment at the University of Toronto,” in Journal of the Canadian Historical Association, New Series, Vol. 2, 1991, pp. 231-261. 35. Alixe Carter, “Meet the Status of Women Commissioners: Jacques Henripin,” The Ottawa Journal, March 6, 1968, p. 34. The other male Commissioner, John Humphrey, was the Dean of Law at McGill University in Montreal and well-known in the international human rights field. Carter’s lead stressed that he was not “phased” at having to work with a predominantly-female Commission. Alixe Carter, “Meet the Status of Women Commissioners: John P. Humphrey,” The Ottawa Journal, March 11, 1968, p. 18. 36. Alixe Carter, “Meet the Status of Women Commissioners: Doris Ogilvie,” The Ottawa Journal, March 1, 1968, p. 26. 37. Alixe Carter, “Meet the Status of Women Commissioners: Elsie Gregory MacGill,” The Ottawa Journal, March 8, 1968, p. 23. 38. Alixe Carter, “Meet the Status of Women Commissioners: Lola Mary Smith Lange,” The Ottawa Journal, February 26, 1968, p. 18. 39. Speirs, “Girl Power,” p. 43. 40. Margaret Weiers, “Status of Women hearings open here today,” Toronto Star, June 3, 1968. 41. Mary Bletcher, “Call for women in politics made by status researcher,” Winnipeg Tribune, March 18, 1968. 42. Margaret Butters, “Weekend Digest,” Welland-Port Colborne Tribune, June 8, 1968. She may have been referring to a specific brief, in this case, from a white male, 47-year old Bruce Mickleburgh. See Speirs, “Girl Power,” p. 44; Canadian Press (no byline), “Women still slaves,” Ottawa Citizen, June 5, 1968, p. 43. Later, Bonnie Kreps, as leader of the New Feminists, used the same analogy but in a different way. See the full-page feature under the banner headline, “Freedom-seeking women study Black Power strategy,” Toronto Star, Jan. 31, 1970, p. 11. Marjorie Griffin Cohen has argued that recent scholarship on the “second wave” of the feminist movement in Canada has overstated the influence of the American civil rights movement. Even so, I found quite a number of references linking the two in the mainstream media of the time. See Margaret Griffin Cohen, “The Canadian Women’s Movement,” in Pierson et al, Canadian Women’s Issues, p. 4. 43. Even in Quebec. See Pierre Vallières, White Niggers of America (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1971). 44. Sheila H. Kieran, “Who’s Downgrading Women? Women.” Maclean’s magazine, August 1968, pp. 18-19, 40-42.

26 Framing Feminine/Feminist

45. “Women’s March May Back Call For Rights Probe,” Globe and Mail, Jan. 5, 1967; Canadian Press (Windsor, Ont.), “Biological Beat of Bed, Board, Babies Attacked by Vocal Canadian Feminist,” Montreal Star, March 14, 1967. Sabia twice ran for public office in 1968. See “Sabia blames religion for `passive women,’” Toronto Telegram, June 11, 1968; Margaret Weiers, “Next House could boast even fewer women than last,” Toronto Star, Feb. 21, 1968; John Sharp, “Feminist will need male help to win mayoralty,” The Toronto Telegram, Nov. 7, 1968, p. 58; Mary Jane Charters, “Laura Sabia wants `a mass injection’ of women into public life, social structure of Canada,” London Free Press, Ontario, Nov. 6, 1968, p. 38. Recent scholarship suggests that women politicians of that era were framed in the Canadian media in predominantly “biological” terms, but I believe a more complex interpretation is needed. Gertrude J. Robinson and Armande St. Jean, “Women Politicians and Their Media Coverage,” in Kathy Megyery, ed., Women in Canadian Politics: Toward Equity in Representation, Vol. 6, Royal Commission on Electoral Reform and Party Financing in Canada (Ottawa: Minister of Supply and Services Canada, 1991), pp. 127-169. 46. Ken Clark (CP), “Watchdogs Ready to Pounce on Investigation Commission,” The Ottawa Journal, Feb. 17, 1967, p. 24. Published as “Watchdogs all over the place: Militant group to keep track of status of women study,” Globe and Mail, Feb. 17, 1967, p. 11. 47. Lorraine Shore, “Probe Into Status of Women hears UBC Co-ed Complain of Sex Barrier,” Vancouver Sun, April 19, 1968. 48. CP (no byline), “War Between Sexes Goes Public: Men Main Target Of Commission On Women,” Calgary Herald, April 22, 1968, p. 11. 49. Speirs, “Girl Power,” pp. 42-44. 50. Rosemary Speirs (CP), “Ladies Reminded They’re Women,” Vancouver Sun, April 25, p. 47. 51. Lorna Wright, “She’s A `Man’s Woman,’” Edmonton Journal, April 25, 1968, p. 1. 52. Speirs, “Ladies Reminded They’re Women,” appeared as “Femininity plea,” Regina Leader-Post, April 25, 1968; and as “Married Women Told To `Rely on Female Instincts,’” Ottawa Journal, April 25, 1968, among others. 53. The item and photo were on the same page as several more detailed articles about other briefs presented at the hearings. (No byline), “Officer Looked Chic,” The Ottawa Journal, October 2, 1968, p. 41. The Globe and Mail version of the story, which focused on the comments of her co-presenter, the CLC’s male president, described Plamondon as “fiery” when she publicly disagreed with him on whether the union treated its female members equitably. CP (no byline), “Forceful law to end sex bias in employment urged by CLC,” The Globe and Mail, October 2, 1968. 54. Speirs says she was a feminist even then. Barbara M. Freeman interview with Rosemary Speirs conducted in Ottawa, December 15, 1992. 55. Rosemary Speirs (CP) “`Phony womanhood forced by media,’” The Winnipeg Tribune, April 19, 1968, p. 14; “`Stop hiding behind skirts’: Women must adjust status views, commission is told,” Globe and Mail, April 23, 1968, p. 11. 56. The photo accompanied Speirs, “Girl Power,” p. 44. The same photo, but with captions that did not refer to her physical appearance, was published in some newspapers when the hearings began in April. See, for example, the Charlottetown Guardian, Prince Edward Island, April 15, 1968, n.p. and The Fredericton Gleaner, New Brunswick, April 18, 1968. Speirs is one of the few journalists in Canada today who holds a Ph.D. Today, she is Parliamentary Bureau Chief of The Toronto Star in Ottawa. 57. Collette Charisse, “Portrayal of Women by the Mass Media” as cited in Report of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women, Chapter 1, “Women in Canadian Society,” p. 15. Examples abound even in the newspapers used for this essay: Zena Cherry, “Massey granddaughter to be wed,” The Globe and Mail, June 6, 1968, p. W2 took precedence in placement and size that day over articles about the Commission hearings; there are fashion photos in the Globe and Mail, April 19, 1968, p. 9 and June 7, 1968, p. 13, and in The Ottawa Journal, March 11, 1968, p. 18; beauty queens are featured in a photo in The Globe and Mail, April 17, 1968, p. 10; and there is a photo of “girl students,” wearing mini-skirts and shorts, cleaning a local street in The Montreal Star, June 11, 1968, 52. 58. Carrie M. Best, “Human Rights: Status of Women,” Pictou Advocate, Sept. 19, 1968. 59. In this instance, McKim was castigating herself for not speaking out at a similar forum, the Hellyer inquiry on housing. Eleanor McKim, “Frankly Speaking” column, Evening

27 IJCS / RIÉC

Telegram, Nov. 29, 1968. It was her daughter, Mary McKim, also a journalist, who covered the Status of Women hearings in St. John’s for the Telegram in September 1968. It was Mary’s first news assignment, which she says she was told to do because, in the words of her male editor, “you’re a woman.” Conversation between Barbara M. Freeman and Mary McKim at the Women in the Media conference, Canadian Association of Journalists, Halifax, Nova Scotia, November 12, 1994. 60. Canadian Press (no byline), “Women must adjust views, hearing told,” The Globe and Mail, April 23, 1968, p. 11. 61. Speirs, “Girl Power,” p. 44. 62. (No byline), “Women charge college discrimination,” Ottawa Citizen, Oct. 4, 1968. 63. CP (no byline) “Negro Journalist Lectures Women’s Commission In N.S.,” Telegraph- Journal, Sept. 13, 1968; “Carrie Best’s Moving Tribute,” The Ottawa Journal, October 4, 1968. 64. See Carrie M. Best, That Lonesome Road (Halifax: Clarion, 1977) pp. 71-72, and her columns in the Pictou Advocate, Sept. 19, 1968, section 1, p. 8, and Dec. 12, 1968, p. 5. She wrote that she sometimes used the soft-spoken, philosophical approach strategically against intolerance, however. See her column of December 28, 1967, p. 7. She stated her case on race relations strongly in one interview I have heard. Public Archives of Nova Scotia, Ar. 2265- 2268, 2279, interview with Carrie M. Best recorded c.1970. 65. CP (no byline), “Compulsory vasectomies at 16 advocated by feminist sociologist,” Globe and Mail, April 19, 1968, p. 9. 66. (No byline), “Woman’s Plea To Women’s Probe: Sterilize All Young Men,” Vancouver Sun, April 18, 1968, p. 1. 67. The Globe and Mail, April 19, 1968, p. 9. 68. No byline, “Teaching Nuns Seek Govt Aid For Feminist Groups,” Quebec Chronicle- Telegraph, June 11, 1968. 69. Deborah Gorham, “English Militancy and the Canadian Suffrage Movement,” in Atlantis, Vol. 1, No. 1, Fall 1975, pp. 83-112. This did not stop Canadian journalists even back then from writing as if violence from women demanding their rights was as an immediate threat in Canada as it was in Britain. Barbara M. Freeman, Kit’s Kingdom: The Journalism of Kathleen Blake Coleman, Ottawa: Carleton University Press, Women’s Experience Series No. 1, 1989, especially Chapter 5. For a recent overview of earlier feminism in Canada, see Jane Errington, “Pioneers and Suffragists,” in Sandra Burt, Lorraine Code and Lindsay Dorney (eds.), Changing Patterns: Women in Canada, Second Edition (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1993, pp. 59-91). 70. English Canada, which shares a common border and language with the United States, has been less than successful in resisting the cultural influences and concerns of the more powerful American mass media, as embodied in the magazines, radio, television and film eagerly snapped up by Canadian audiences. There are several articles on this theme in Holmes and Taras, Seeing Ourselves. 71. The letter, from “Farmer’s Wife,” had originally appeared in the Melrose Review in Saskatchewan, and was republished in the Brooks Bulletin, Alberta, Sept. 19, 1968. 72. Elizabeth Thompson’s column, “Ashamed of briefs to commission,” Globe and Mail, June 12, 1968, p. 10; “Ignore smokescreen and fight for rights, woman says,” Globe and Mail, June 24, p. 13; and “Women unequal as long as they are pampered household pets, reader says,” Globe and Mail, July 2, 1968, p. 11. 73. Marilyn Anderson, “The fight for women’s rights,” Niagara Falls Review, Oct. 19, 1968. 74. Alice Sheppard, Cartooning for Suffrage, introduced by Elizabeth Israels Perry. (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1994), pp. 58-64. 75. The Canadian cartoonist as satirist is discussed in Peter Desbarats and (Aislin), The Hecklers, (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1979), and in the more analytical and critical Raymond N. Morris, The Jester’s Mask: Canadian Editorial Cartoons about Dominant and Minority Groups (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1989.) Neither book explores the ways in which cartoonists represented women. I have interviewed two retired cartoonists: of the Toronto Star in Coombs, B.C., Feb. 20, 1995 and of the Vancouver Sun in Langley, B.C., Feb. 25, 1995. They both say their cartoons reflected public attitudes about the women’s movement at the time.

28 Framing Feminine/Feminist

76. Yardley Jones, Quebec Chronicle-Telegraph, Quebec City, Feb. 21, 1967, editorial page. A cropped version without Lamarsh appeared in the Chatham News, Ontario, March 22, 1967. Other cartoons included women brandishing rolling pins or otherwise threatening or inflicting actual damage on men. Al Beaton, Telegraph-Journal of St. John, New Brunswick, February 23, 1967; , Toronto Star, June 7, 1968, “Sock it to them baby” and Kuch, Winnipeg Tribune, Friday, May 31, 1968. 77. Yvonne Crittenden, “Students think `feminists’ are old hat,” Toronto Telegram, March 19, 1968. See also (no byline), “Youth suspicious of probe,” Winnipeg Tribune, Feb. 24, 1968; Bletcher, “Call for women in politics,” Winnipeg Tribune; Canadian Press (no byline), “Feminine Image Not Too Bright,” Vancouver Sun, March 23, 1968, p. 32; Joyce Douglas, “Attitudes are most to blame, says McGill undergraduate,” Montreal Star, June 12, 1968, pp. 59, 63. 78. (No byline), “Girls protest that sex is used to sell everything,” Toronto Telegram, June 7, 1968. 79. Margaret Weiers, “Urge dental care in medicare, ”Toronto Star, June 7, 1968, p. 61. 80. In fact, a study done for the Vanier Institute of the Family found that journalists, especially those who worked for newspapers, tended to disapprove of young mothers working outside the home and of sex outside of marriage. See Hilda Kearns, “Media survey takes conservative stand on family life,” The Montreal Star, February 19, 1971, p. 19. 81. (No byline), “Girls protest that sex is used to sell everything,” Toronto Telegram, June 7, 1968, and (no byline), “Young socialists use royal commission to promote ideology of socialist state,” London Free Press, June 5, 1968, p. 32. 82. Dennis Braithwaite, “Subsidy to women who stay at home,” Toronto Telegram, Sept. 6, 1968. 83. Yvonne Crittenden, “One report Ottawa can’t ignore,” Toronto Telegram, October 1, 1968, pp. 1, 3, 9, and via the newspaper’s own news service, as “Status of Women — one report Ottawa cannot ignore,” Saskatoon Star-Phoenix, October 7, 1968, p. 7. This article won Crittenden the annual award for the best news story from the national Canadian Women’s Press Club. CP (no byline), “Telegram’s Yvonne Crittenden wins news award,” unmarked clipping in NAC RCSW Vol. 43, Binder 8. 84. Brownmiller, pp. 235-237.

29 Jane Arscott

Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After the Royal Commission on the Status of Women*

Abstract In the twenty-five years since the Royal Commission on the Status of Women (RCSW) reported to Parliament, very little has been told about how the Commission did its work. The RCSW marks a watershed in the development of public policy on women. For better and for worse, this blueprint continues to be influential. The personal papers of one of the Commissioners, Elsie Gregory MacGill, contain most of the minutes and supporting documents used in the creation of the report. These sources indicate how the Commissioners understood their roles, sexual equality, rights and important aspects of the research conducted by the RCSW. How its Report came to take the form that it did, especially the way in which the Commission came to see its tasks, offers important insight into the relation of feminism to public policy in Canada.

Résumé Il y a près de vingt-cinq ans, la Commission royale d’enquête sur le statut de la femme (CRESF) présentait son rapport. À ce jour, il existe peu d’information sur le fonctionnement de cette commission, qui s’est avérée pourtant un grand tournant dans le domaine du développement de la politique gouvernementale sur la question des femmes. Cette esquisse continue, pour le meilleur et pour le pire, à avoir une grande influence. Les chroniques personnelles d’une des commissionnaires, Elsie Gregory MacGill, mettent en lumière les procès- verbaux et autres documents pertinents qui ont servi à l’élaboration du rapport. Ces sources indiquent la façon dont les commissionnaires voyaient leurs rôles, l’égalité sexuelle, les droits et les aspects importants de la recherche effectuée par la CRESF. La forme qu’a prise le rapport et plus précisément la façon dont la Commission percevait sa tâche nous offrent un aperçu important de la relation entre le féminisme et la politique gouvernementale au Canada.

A commission is chiefly remembered for its final report. The untold story, normally, is how the commission produced the thing for which it is remembered. (Cameron 1993, 333)

Twenty-five years after the creation of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women (RCSW) it is now possible to show how particular decisions and recommendations were made, and what range of options were considered1 This fuller account is possible due to the “turning up” of an almost complete set of minutes of its sixty-five meetings. Although, the Commissioners had

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC decided to have all copies of the minutes destroyed, one copy of them, along with many supporting documents, survives at the National Archives in the personal papers of Elsie Gregory MacGill. This article is only the first stage in a larger project to provide a comprehensive, analytical and contextual account of the RCSW, drawing on an analysis of the minutes and of some 500 submissions and 1,000 letters of opinion received by the secretariat, and a textual analysis of the Report. For a growing number of the Report’s potential readers who, like me, had no knowledge of the event at the time, important choices relating to family, career and personal autonomy have been significantly shaped by this major development in the federal government’s political agenda for public policy. Revisiting the RCSW with a view to explaining its significance to the generation born after its completion provides valuable new information along with a different perspective on its activities and its meaning for feminism — past, present and future — in Canada.

The RCSW’s “Culture” in the Absence of Written Records Before becoming Chairman of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in 1967, Florence Bird worked as a freelance journalist and broadcaster who travelled internationally making documentaries. In her biography submitted to the Commission at the time of her appointment, she describes herself as having “always been interested in welfare and the problems of women.2 Within a year of taking up the appointment, she suggested to her fellow Commissioners that they entitle the first chapter of their report, “Canadian Society on Trial.” Everyone involved had already learned a great deal about the subject being studied, the Commission’s mandate in studying it, and the members’ function as Commissioners. But to judge the RCSW only by its final product, the Report, is to miss much of what the social production of knowledge actually involved. The minutes reveal the Commissioners’ initial uncertainty about what they considered to be the strong language of international rights. Such language might be perceived by the government, the public or both to “antagonize many of the men responsible for implementing the report.”3 In a discussion on the prospective content of the first chapter of the report, Chairman Bird urged that it first focus public attention on society and the changes that had occurred since World War II. (14th meeting, Oct. 30-31, 1968) She proposed to call this chapter, “Society on Trial” because the briefs had already convinced her that there was “something wrong” with Canadian society. “We need only read the newspapers to realize that people are questioning the values of our society.” She wished to send a clear signal to the Canadian public that Commission members were concerned about the problem of poverty and “discrimination against minority groups, such as Indians, etc.” She maintained that an historical approach would capture the public’s attention and, therefore, win government acceptance more readily. The importance of the document’s acceptance by men, specifically a majority of the 263 MPs and 1 woman MP who sat in the House of Commons, weighed heavily on the Commissioners. Rosemary Speirs, the journalist most familiar with the RCSW after travelling extensively with the Commission during most

34 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

of its public hearings, reminded readers of Chatelaine in advance of the Report’s tabling how easily the government could cast aside the Commission’s work in favour of the portion of women who were content to settle for unequal status. The Commission’s Report would have to be “an exceptionally persuasive and impressive document” if it was to overcome “prejudice and apathy.” (Speirs 1969, 52) In the ensuing discussion of the suggested title, several unnamed Commissioners opined that “Society on Trial” placed excessive stress on complaints by women. Briefs and submissions were welcome; letters of opinion and complaints were perceived as special pleading. Rather than make women appear unhappy with their lot by casting their condition in terms of rights, their situation could be presented in an “interesting and lively” way. John Humphrey’s acknowledged expertise in the area of international human rights gave added weight to his opinion that “human rights were uppermost” in the mind’s of people “the world over,” which made it essential to clearly present this position at the outset. At this point, Bird restated her position but acknowledged that other Commissioners clearly wanted the criteria (that ultimately put rights in the foreground of the Report) to take priority. Bird’s argument for the “On Trial” chapter title expressed her sense that Canadian womanhood had been mistreated, and that the Commission’s task was to assess the damage. Accounts of the Commission’s activities exist in Florence Bird’s autobiography and can be gleaned from Judy LaMarsh’s memoirs, and from press coverage.4 The several specialized studies on the Commission tend to focus on its creation, immediate responses to its recommendations or its merits as a document that reflects the ideology of liberal feminism. (Morris 1982; 1980, Cumming 1991) Unlike the Bilingualism & Bicultural Commission (B & B), the Macdonald Commission and the Pépin-Robarts Task Force, next to nothing has been published about the RCSW’s program of research or it group dynamics. It is precisely the self- definition of their subject and the research program that Frank Milligan, who had worked for the Glassco Commission, emphasized to the Commissioners when he spoke to them about the newly created Commission on 10 April 1967.5 He strongly recommended a team approach whereby Commissioners would never be deployed as individuals but always as members of the group. This collective identity provided their self-definition. “Insider’s” accounts about the RCSW by Monique Bégin, the executive secretary who has since become a Member of Parliament, a Cabinet Minister and a respected academic, and by Florence Bird, are more guarded and less analytical than those provided by Richard Simeon and David R. Cameron about the Macdonald Commission and the Pépin-Robarts Task Force on Canadian Unity, respectively. Amid the substantial literature on Royal Commissions and the public utility, the RCSW has yet to receive the scholarly attention that it deserves as perhaps the most efficient and inexpensive inquiry on a vast subject. Cognizance of the RCSW in the literature on royal commissions amounts to little more than the inference that can be drawn from the affirmation that “temporary, project- driven organizations” are well-suited to non-recurring issues. (Cameron 1993,

35 IJCS / RIÉC

336, Cairns 1990, 91-93) The RCSW inquired on an ad hoc basis into a general “socio-cultural” issue. (Doern 1967, 431) Inquiries of this sort can assist the government, not the least of all by sounding out public opinion before the launch of a new initiative. (Hodgetts 1964, 488) The Commission had copies of the articles by Doern and Hodgetts.6 Hodgetts’ personal account of the advantages and disadvantages of royal commissions was recommended to the Commissioners by the Privy Council Office (PCO) as an appropriate manner of expressing their individual beliefs after the report had been presented to the Prime Minister. The PCO advised the RCSW to excise John Humphrey’s final comment in his minority report in which he addresses readers as a “citizen and taxpayer” rather than as a Commissioner concerning the need for a permanent staff within the public service to be responsible for all Royal Commissions. Milligan’s advice was clearly not followed here. In the exchange that followed between Humphrey and the Commission, he raised the question of possible censorship of his views. In the end, the passage appeared in the report. (Canada 1970: 450-1) For interested observers to trace what Jane Jenson has described as a public inquiry’s “learning curve” some written records in addition to the reminiscences of the main participants would be helpful in understanding the product of the RCSW’s labours. (Jenson 1994, 54) But establishing the “culture” at work in a particular Commission can be next to impossible for an outsider who was not there to see how things were done. In recent times, Commissions have not left a paper trail of their decision-making processes. In the case of the RCSW, the documents deposited by the Commission in the National Archives are of very limited use. No record documented the Commission’s day-to-day decision-making processes, that is, until the personal papers of Elsie Gregory MacGill were donated to the National Archives by her estate in 1983. The “find” is remarkable, especially on learning that the Commissioners were initially uncertain about what information they would be obliged by law and by past practice to make public, and what they might destroy in all good conscience as a public body providing a well-defined service to Parliament. An initial discussion of the Commission’s obligations to retain some of its work for the public record occurred early in May 1968. Bégin provided a written report stating that the Privy Council Office had informed her that the Commission was entitled to select whichever documents it saw fit to be deposited in the National Archives upon completion of its work. Depositing the Minutes of the Commission’s meetings was not regarded as “compulsory,” but the tapes of the public hearings were to be included in lieu of transcripts.7 Bégin told RCSW members that other Royal Commissions did not generally deposit their Minutes. The secretariat usually destroyed its copies and Commissioners kept their personal copies confidential. Commissions usually retained some but not all of the information generated by the Commissioners and their staff. Moreover, access could be restricted to some material for a limited period of time. She recommended that the minutes be destroyed. At the last minute, on December 1, 1970, at the sixty-fifth meeting of the Commission, Elsie Gregory MacGill submitted a motion to have all of the

36 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

official minutes of the commissioners’ meetings, their inter-office memoranda and all drafts of the chapters destroyed.8 (65th meeting Dec 1, 1970) The motion passed unanimously. Why MacGill did not surrender her papers following that decision no one knows. Whatever her reasons — administrative oversight, rush, or perhaps unwillingness to part with the fruits of her labour so quickly — MacGill kept her copy of the minutes. This material reappeared on the desk of Judith Cumming at the National Library in 1989.9 She happened to notice the instruction to have the minutes destroyed. (Cumming 1991, 15 and n.) Cumming’s training as a librarian motivated her to inquire of Bégin (with whom she was studying at the time) why she had agreed to their destruction when their preservation might assist future generations to comprehend the Commission’s acitivities. The professor’s response? “You can’t possibly know that.”10 But know it, she did, as will any other member of the public who wishes to consult them. On that occasion, Bégin recalled that later in the life of the RCSW Florence Bird had strongly suggested that the Commission not give any hostages to fortune that might possibly damage the Report’s success in relation to the Canadian establishment over the long term. (Cumming 1991, 15) The report was to be the official, definitive word on the subject. This message had been stressed to the members of the Commission from their first meeting. All of the Commissioners had taken an oath of office in which they promised “not to disclose or make known, without due authority...any matter that comes to my knowledge, by reason of my holding that office.” (Guidebook) Self-censorship was practised by the RCSW to avoid breaching the government’s trust. Commissioners were careful not to give anything away, especially to the media, that might prejudice the reception of its report. The papers sometimes paraphrase what individual Commissioners said, which makes it possible to see the influence that each of them and members of the staff had. (Cumming 1991, 16) MacGill’s own series of memoranda on all manner of subjects — Indian women, unjust laws and possible personal biases that might affect the content of the report — provides strong evidence of her commitment toward women’s advancement and to the Commission’s function in devising a blueprint for social change. The significance of the Minutes — their existence and content — exceeds their potential for challenging the oral history about the Commission on the basis of documentary evidence. For the first time, they allow authors who are personally unacquainted with the politics and personalities of the day to write a more comprehensive account of how, why and in what manner the Commission set about its task. Interest in the women’s movement in recent years has shifted away from a univocal approach to social change toward identity politics and the politics of representation. Such concerns are foreign to much of the work of the RCSW. The Commission’s collective conceptualization of the subject to be studied, and the principles to be used in studying it, can all be discerned from the Minutes. Its interpretation of its mandate, its choice of language for expressing its views, its style of argument and the tone of its recommendations can now be understood more fully. No one person’s individual memory can possibly recall in full detail the reasons for

37 IJCS / RIÉC particular decisions. The brief overview that follows summarizes the way in which the RCSW came to understand its task.

Representational Politics in the RCSW Judy LaMarsh’s continuing efforts to have such a commission created date from at least 1964. She repeatedly endeavoured to influence the Prime Minister on the subject of women and their place in Canada. Her efforts equal the groundswell of support from the established women’s movement, nominally headed by Laura Sabia. (Cumming 1991, 4-5) Without the cross- pressure from inside Cabinet and from a vocal segment of the public, the RCSW would not have been appointed when it was.11 (Findlay forthcoming, 13n) Of the seven members appointed to the Commission, only Donald Gordon, Junior, and Jeanne Lapointe had any previous experience working for government. All of the married women were appointed under their husband’s names. Despite this initially mixed message about the primacy of these women’s marital status as opposed to their professional identities, the women Commissioners were highly self-conscious of their symbolic public function as examples of the competence of Canada’s women.12 The Commissioners were Mrs. John Bird of Ottawa, Miss Elsie Gregory MacGill of Toronto, Mr. Jacques Henripin of Montreal, Mrs. Ottomar Lange of Claresholm, Alberta, Mrs. Robert Ogilvie of Frederiction, and Mr. Donald Gordon, Junior, of Waterloo. Gordon was later replaced by Mr. John Humphrey.13 In the final report, all of the women used their own names without titles. The emergence of the women’s own identities occurred in an early discussion held in the spring of 1967 at which each of the Commissioners commented on her or his understanding of the Commission’s terms of reference. (3rd meeting, A-3) MacGill wanted the individual Commissioners to use their professional names. “Judge Ogilvie,” “Professor Henripin,” and “Anne Francis” conveyed the respected status and work experience that each of them brought to their new jobs. The group decided that rather than impose a rule on anyone, everyone would be addressed by the title and name she or he preferred. References to the men remained unchanged, but the women immediately switched to using their own first names but without any professional designation. When the Commissioners were appointed, Canadian Labour, a national organ for unionized labour, complained that there were “no direct representatives of women wage and salary earners among its members.” (Canadian Labour, 1967, 26) A similar complaint came in regard to the women of British Columbia.14 (3rd meeting May 24-26, 1967) But just as for Aboriginal women, and visible minority women, the appointment of Commissioners to the RCSW fitted into an already established pattern. Interests and identities that were not formally represented in the corporate body of the Commission were expected to be included in the proceedings as writers of briefs and as witnesses at public hearings. Britain continued the practice of appointing members to Commissions of “all affected interests,” whereas smaller bodies that provided for the representation of interests and identities, as the well- known political scientist J. E. Hodgetts expressed it — “in the witness box

38 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

rather than on the commission itself” — was the norm followed in the case of the RCSW. (Hodgetts 1951, 477; Doern 1967, 423) Once the Commissioners became aware of the blatantly discriminatory attitude of the law toward Aboriginal women, they worked to obtain additional information about and submissions from aboriginal women.15 In the absence of multi-variable breakdowns of the census data, the Commissioners’ initial sense of which cleavages in the population merited study appears to have been strongly influenced by a one-page set of tables entitled “An Objective Criteria for the Establishment of Priorities” that gave the “Number of Women by Sub-Groups.”16 The sub-groups included the number of women by province, ethnic origin, religious denomination, percentage of the total labour force, age and marital status, marital status of women in the labour force and the numbers of women in select occupations. The disproportionate attention to age, marital status and employment indicates that marital status in relation to labour force participation was a primary and easily understandable concern from the outset of the Commission’s work. Because 90 percent of women married and remained so for an average 40 years, the Commission’s emphasis on the phases in the life cycle of most women made considerable sense based on the assumption that the marital state was the defining characteristic of their lives. (Canada 1970: 10) But the Report also stressed that the life cycle of women had changed from a two phase cycle experienced by previous generations to a three phase cyle which gave women a “second life” following their child-bearing years. (Canada 1970: 5) Moreover, trends in employment indicated that almost all women worked prior to marriage, and most of them continued working until their first pregnancy. An increasing proportion re-entered the labour market after their children had grown up, some beginning as soon as their youngest child started school. (40th meeting, Jan. 28-30, 1970: item 24) MacGill notes in the margin, “Some don’t stop working.” What women were to do in the new third phase, between the ages of 35 — the RCSW assumed that assuming childbearing ended at 30 — and 76, posed a crucial question in the judgement of the Commission. Work of some kind seemed to interest many women. But whether this work was to be paid or not, full-time or part-time, had yet to be determined. Regardless of the individual solution chosen by women, the Commission strongly affirmed women’s capacity even their right to make their own choices. From this perspective, feminism and women’s liberation centred on choice and women’s right to have and exercise choice.17 Without adopting the label of either of these movements, the RCSW agreed with their basic assumption but stopped short of making a structural analysis of production, reproduction, sex and the socialization of children of the sort associated with Juliet Mitchell’s Marxism. (1966: 29) Not only did the RCSW give a wide birth to Marxist class analysis, it viewed divisions within Canadian society from a relatively traditional perspective. Other differences recorded in the analysis by sub-groups included region, ethnicity, religion or language. But these divisions were of much less importance to the Commission than their relation to the economy. Among

39 IJCS / RIÉC these categorizations, the most controversial criticism of the work of the RCSW in recent years has been its apparent blindness to matters of race. In the case of visible minority women, the Commission’s working assumptions were that the vast majority of immigrants sought to be acculturated to one of the two main language groups, and that visible minorities did not compose a significant portion of the immigrant group. In adopting these attitudes, their views were consistent with those of Canada’s first woman Cabinet minister, : We must explain to these new arrivals that they are welcome to our midst and that our grandmothers and great grand-mothers were in very much the same position a century or more ago. We are of varied racial backgrounds and relations and we are anxious to see our new friends become Canadians in feeling as we are, without destroying the memories of their homelands. (Canada 1959: 12) Her suggestion that new immigrants be invited into people’s home for coffee and acculturation in the ways of Canadian living expresses the same sense of confidence in the unity of the Canadian identity and of Canadian womanhood reflected little more than a decade later in the RCSW report. Preliminary fact-finding completed 3 November 1967 indicated that immigrant populations remained primarily European and American. According to immigration statistics used by the RCSW in setting its research priorities, less than 2 percent of Canada’s female population were visible minority women at the time, most of them aboriginal women (1.5) and the rest (.5) of Chinese or Japanese descent.18 Two years and four months later, the Department of Manpower and Immigration supplied information that indicated significant immigration by visible minorities, and not only from the Pacific Rim.19 In 1969, 2 percent of new immigrants came from Africa, 3.3 percent from India, 3.5 percent from Trinidad and Tobago, and 5.1 percent from China. Visible minorities made up 13.9 percent of immigrants. Many of these more recent, visible minority immigrants could not readily claim English or French ancestry as the RCSW had conceived only two years before! The disjunction between their initial assumption and the information they obtained much later is striking. I conclude that their inattention to visible minorities is understandable. This said, the possible error, oversight, indifference or racially motivated wilful disregard for the category of race deserves close scrutiny. For its time, the RCSW figured among royal commissions as the most progressive, relatively successful example of incorporation of diversity. The RCSW was the first royal commission headed by a woman and comprising a majority of women (including its staff). Most of the regions and the country’s two main language groups, varied marital status, professional and laypersons, urban and rural, older and not so old Commissioners provided the RCSW with a wealth of inexhaustive yet bold range of interests and identities. Given the times, it would be inappropriate for anyone to assume that the Commission and its senior staff were uniformly heterosexual. In the late 1960s, sexual orientation was not a common form of public self-identification

40 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

in the way that it has become somewhat more readily accepted today. A parallel argument applies to the representation of persons with disabilities. For example, had Elsie Gregory MacGill been appointed to a Royal Commission now, rather than in 1967, some reference to her “disability” would certainly be made. As the result of myelitis contracted when she was a graduate student, MacGill’s mobility was permanently affected.20 She would now be seen at least for some limited purposes to represent women with disabilities. Before she died in 1980, she had accepted an appointment to the Canadian Organizing Committee for the International Year of the Disabled to be held the next year. Earlier, in her appointment to the RCSW, the emphasis fell exclusively on her competence as a professional woman. She was the first woman to graduate in electrical engineering from the University of Toronto and the first to earn a master’s degree in aeronautical engineering at the University of Michigan. All of the Commissioners repeatedly demonstrated deep concern for some categories of women not strongly represented on the Commission. Accordingly, the Commission developed a concern for Aboriginal women. MacGill in particular sought to have Aboriginal women speak for themselves rather than have their views interpreted by a third party. Lange’s concern for women who were isolated from social networks for whatever reason, Lapointe’s interest in women’s associations, Ogilvie’s concern for marginalized women (prostitutes and incarcerated women), Henripin’s concern for mothers who stayed at home to raise children, and Gordon’s concern to professionalize the function of housewives, readily suggest their collective understanding and empathy for the different social identities and circumstances of women across the country. Poverty, care for the elderly, and immigrant women all receive some attention in the minutes. No one can claim that the Commission wilfully overlooked the full range of women’s interests and identities. The RCSW merits high praise as a forum for the politics of representation on three counts. First, its composition was innovative compared to recent past practice. Secondly, its mandate covered a broad but open-ended range of topics. Thirdly, the Commissioners’ response to their mandate involved a large measure of innovation. It was only the second Commission to hold meetings in cities across the country scheduled at times when its subjects — women — would most likely be able to attend.21 Members of the Commission were sent to the Yukon to seek additional input from Northerners. Segments of the public hearings were televised. Most importantly, the Commission scrutinized its own performance on this score. Lists were made of the various ways in which different categories of women had been approached to make their views known to the public. The RCSW has certainly received a good deal of criticism for inadequate representation in its makeup or in the range of opinions solicited. But some of its members were acutely aware of these shortcomings — both perceived and real — and did everything in their power to conduct their inquiry in a manner that we would now call inclusive. For example, Donald J. Gordon’s interpretation of the Commission’s mandate stressed the need to be forward- looking and to take into account the present and future function of “minority groups such as Ukrainians, Italians and Jews as well as Indians and Eskimos.”

41 IJCS / RIÉC

(3rd meeting, p. 8) Following theB&BCommission, ethnicity was a variable almost routinely included in the list of parameters. In response to persistent requests from Lola Lange for more extensive efforts to elicit the views of women’s voluntary organizations, and to reach out to what she referred to as the “unorganized individual” whose interests and identities might give her no voice whatsoever in any association, club, union, church group or professional organization, the executive secretary drafted a list of all of the ways in which the secretariat had tried to contact different categories of women by region, ethnic origin, religion, marital status, socio-economic status and professions.22 (8th meeting, March 12, 1968, Appendix J) In addition to letters of opinion from old women, poor women and female heads of households, many of which gave personal accounts of alleged discrimination, more formal briefs and submissions came from individuals — “teachers, students, lawyers, doctors, [and] nurses” — and from groups, including but not limited to “labor unions, national women’s associations, governments, universities and political associations.” (Bird 1977, 170) The Commission was given some credit even at the time for its efforts to “come to terms with the special problems faced by women living in rural areas, by Indian and Eskimo women, by immigrant women, and by those in low income groups.” (Bird, 1974, 27) Feminist women, especially women involved in organizations associated with the women’s movement — branches of the Voice of Women, Women’s Institutes and daycare committees — presented submissions that provided the Commission with competing approaches and analysis of the origins of women’s condition in Canada. Foremost among these was that of Bonnie Kreps of the New Feminists, a Toronto-based consciousness-raising group that had its own premises and activities in Toronto. The Vancouver Caucus of the Women’s Liberation Movement provided the RCSW with a background paper on its activities.23 (37th meeting, Jan. 7-9, 1970: item 36) A member of the local women’s liberation group, Dr. Margaret Mahood, presented a very powerfully argued position on “The Availability of Medically-Safe Abortions” at the public hearings held 3 May 1968.24 She presented this view on behalf of the Saskatchewan Voice of Women to the public hearings held in Saskatoon. Lapointe asked her to send the text to the Commission. It appears among the letters of opinion rather than the briefs.25 The views of overtly feminist groups had relatively little impact on the Commission because of the members’ inability to understand their demands in terms of the Commission’s existing framework. (Bégin 1992, 28) However, they did have some influence, especially in broadening the range of analysis available to the Commission, and in challenging the Commissioners’ frame of reference by demanding that they incorporate more differences than perhaps the Commission would otherwise have been prepared to consider. MacGill offered the opinion that “groups like the New Feminists” were multiplying and that their presence might permanently alter the existing array of women’s voluntary associations. (62nd meeting July 15-17, 1970: EGM/R262) This was possible because many of the members of the feminist groups “come from or associate with disadvantaged groups.” They expressed a fundamental dissatisfaction with what had formerly been regarded as the “proper channels of political communication.” Feminist groups positioned

42 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

themselves “— by choice — outside the [political] party structure which today is intrinsic to political power.” On the whole, established women’s groups spoke most volubly for white, urban, middle-class apparently able-bodied and heterosexual women who viewed lobbying as a legitimate form of political participation. But the same was not true for the feminist groups associated with the women’s movement, according to MacGill. This said, it was the established women’s groups — the Business and Professional Women’s clubs, church women’s groups, homemakers’ associations, and the occupational associations of nurses, teachers and social workers — that provided the voices around which the Commission constructed its conception of Canadian Women. (Findlay 1995, 21, 25) Slightly more than half the submissions received by the Secretariat came from groups, many of them Ontario-based national organizations.26 At the same time, the Commission attempted to incorporate other viewpoints, most notably that of Indian women and poor women, with mixed success. The Commission’s final report certainly adopts the rhetoric of equality as sameness in its effort to give Parliament a strongly drawn, coherent account of womanhood in Canada. This rhetorical strategy used and reproduced an essentialized category of woman that significantly flattens the real differences between women into euphemistic and highly sanitized descriptions of relatively less well off women and relatively better educated women. It does not call poverty, marginalization, exploitation and violence by the names that we more recently use to identify the multiple forms of gender oppression. Despite the calculatedly dispassionate tone of the Report, the Commissioners discussed what we now refer to as the politics of representation and identity politics. Elsie Gregory MacGill asked her fellow Commissioners to consider any personal commitments that might limit their collective capacity to consider such topics as “free love” and lesbianism. Early in the life of the RCSW, the Commissioners made a conscious choice to have their text address every woman in Canada in her capacity as a citizen of the nation. Like the parallel Commission in the United States — the President’s Commission on the Status of Women entitled American Women (1963) — the text of Canadian document emphasized the inclusiveness and universality of the “Canadian women” category. The Commissioners decided to adopt this linguistic strategy to avoid any misinterpretation of their recommendations that might instead be used to suggest that women’s citizenship, their relation to the family, public affairs and employment divided categories of women against each other. They decided to forestall the government, detractors of the Report or anyone else from continuing to justify different entitlements to different categories of women. They did not wish to perpetuate already existing inequalities or to generate new ones. They thought that new immigrants or Aboriginal women might be singled out as different from other Canadian women. The prospect of perpetuating inequality and discrimination was utterly abhorent to the majority of the Commissioners.27 They were prepared to take their official stand on principle, and the inherent logic behind the principle then had to be worked through in every aspect of Canadian society.

43 IJCS / RIÉC

So strongly did they come to believe in this principle that, late in the life of the Commission during a discussion of a subsection of a draft of Chapter One that referred to women as a “psychological minority,” Humphrey made a motion “That nowhere in the Report should the specific name of any (especially racial or ethnic) minority be used as a point of comparison with women.” (53rd meeting, April 22-24, 1970: item 22) The motion carried by a vote of four to two with Lange and Lapointe opposed, and MacGill abstaining. If women were not a minority, how were they to be discussed? Ready to hand was the language of individual rights.

The RCSW Grasps the Nettle of Rights Talk More than any other document sponsored by the international community, the unanimous adoption of the United Nation’s General Assembly resolution of December 10, 1948 “clarified” the issue of women’s rights for the RCSW: “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.” (RCSW 1970, xi) This statement is the first idea expressed in the Report in the initial section on “Criteria and Principles.” The principle expresses a philosophic commitment to sameness involving freedom and equality in dignity and rights among people regardless of differences in their identitites and interests. There is to be “no distinction in rights and freedoms between women and men,” a position which takes as its ideal a common status for women and men rather than a separate status for each gender or, presumably, a ranking within each gender. This commitment to sameness sets the stage for a “new society” to be “equally enjoyed and maintained by both sexes” and informs the document from beginning to end. The RCSW was to “inquire into and report upon the status of women in Canada, and to recommend what steps might be taken by the Federal Government to ensure for women equal opportunities with men in all aspects of Canadian society.” [emphasis added] (Canada 1970, vii) In addition to the general distribution of legislative powers under the Constitution, Parliament directed the RCSW to give particular attention to matters falling under federal jurisdiction. Thereafter followed a list of nine items of particular interest including laws and practices related to political rights for women, their participation in the labour force; their training and education, federal Labour laws; their employment by the federal government; taxation, marriage and divorce, the criminal law, immigration and citizenship, and any other matter relevant to the status of women in Canada. The view that the Commission was obliged to compare women to men, taking men’s performance as the norm, arose in several different contexts. At several of its earliest meetings, some of the discussion referred to “full equality for women” until Donald Gordon reminded the group that “equal opportunities” and not full equality for women was the actual language used in the terms of reference. [emphasis added] Thereafter for the sake of consistency, “equal opportunities” is referred to in “all official statements.” (3rd meeting, May 24- 26 1967,18) The idiom of full equality had been used by Bird-cum-Francis in her pamphlet on women’s rights published in 1950. (Bird 1974, 210) In it, she had outlined the numerous limitations that prevented the realization of this

44 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

ideal. In reviewing Catherine Cleverdon’s historical account The Woman Suffrage Movement in Canada, reviewer Frank Underhill had noted in 1950 in the Canadian Historical Review that Francis’s pamphlet provided “an enlightening supplement” to Cleverdon’s historical overview precisely because the pamphlet tackled the disjunction between formal political equality and the capacity to effectively make use of the entitlements women had won for themselves. [emphasis added] (Underhill 1950, 423) The sophisticated account of slippage between formal rights and the capacity to exercise them alluded to by Underhill did not become a conscious conceptual division for the RCSW. The government’s official commitment to the realization of every Canadian’s entitlement to the rights and freedoms proclaimed in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights is used in the Report as the standard for assessing whether or not women possessed the associated entitlements in theory and were capable of exercising them in practice. Foreshadowing the Report’s findings, and its recommendations, a measure of equality is said to have been “lacking” at the time “for men as well as for women.” Women are to be discussed consistently in terms of their relation to men, a standard of comparison used consistently throughout the report. The justification for reform is grounded in the commitment to realize the perceived internal logic of equality that requires both men and women in their capacity as human beings to receive the same treatment in respect to their rights, freedoms and dignity. This said, the norm of behaviour and aspirations for all human beings is generalized from the experience of men. Moreover, this norm is never used to differentiate between men and their relative capacity to possess and enjoy the rights and privileges they were all presumed to have in virtue of being male. What difference there might be, if any, between men and different classes of men or differently situated individual men does not enter into the directive and principles at all. Differences between men, between men and women, and among women are less important than the broadest possible generalizations about how women, in general, can become more like men, in general, if they choose to enter male domains. The Commission did not have an explicit conceptual framework of a shared philosophy, other than its commitment to the “equal rights” approach, which co-existed with general notions of the value of a specifically “female culture.” (Bégin 1992, 29) More than twenty years later, a person as closely associated with the Report as Bégin appears not to take into account the philosophically inconsistent position involved here. The sameness standard of treatment implicit in the internal logic of equal rights sits uncomfortably with the difference standard of treatment of the genders implicit in valuing the specificity of “female culture.” Cross-pressure that resulted from these two fundamentally irreconcilable positions made it all the easier for the Commission to be constrained by the advice of acknowledged “experts,” especially civil servants in the Privy Council Office and academic experts. Conflicting opinions among the Commission’s members, particularly in the form of male resistance and self-censorship, also reined in the

45 IJCS / RIÉC

Commission’s ambitions to make the world over. These constraints created containment strategies that influenced almost every aspect of the Commission’s activities.

Containment Strategies Interactions with the Privy Council Office taught the Commissioners what was required of a Royal Commission. Leo LaFrance, supervisor of Royal Commissions in the PCO, appeared before the Commissioners at their second meeting to answer questions and offer advice on the development of their work. The research plan and how to finance it were the most important issues since research would take up the lion’s share of the Commission’s expenses. The initial planning stage for the research program had to be scrutinized with great care to avoid duplicating research and ensure that the research commissioned was relevant to the Commission’s terms of reference. The experience ofB&BCommission had showed the importance of taking adequate time and care in drafting the initial plan. TheB&BCommission, he implied, had undertaken research and committed resources that would play no direct part in its report. Such excess ought to be avoided. He offered to make his experience in this and related matters available to the RCSW. Lafrance’s overview of the function of Royal Commissions described them as an “autonomous entity within the constitutional system” created by the federal executive under an order in council. At the same time, the Commission’s operations and reports were completely its own. He provided a two-way channel of communication between the PCO and the Commission. The PCO could give “advice and assistance based on its experience of other Commissions,” and thereby possibly forestall any difficulties the Commission might encounter in conducting its work. No minister of the Crown would be needed to facilitate effective communication of this kind. He further explained that a Royal Commission was treated in the manner of a government’s department for budgetary reasons. Finally, LaFrance encouraged the Commissioners to take a special interest in research subjects that interested them as individuals in virtue of their education and experience. The Commissioners agreed that some degree of specialization might prove useful, but they did not wish to work in isolation from each other. What the Commission now needed above all else was a viable program of research.

Research Design: Three Constraints Personnel changes, budgets and time constraints all influenced the research design adopted by the RCSW. The hiring of a Research Director had initially been left to a sub-committee made up of Mrs. Bird and the male professors. They selected, H. David Kirk, a sociologist and former colleague of Gordon’s at the University of Waterloo. The main research instrument proposed by Kirk involved a Central Survey of 1,200 women and 600 men in each of four regions — the West, Ontario, Quebec and — for a total of 7,600 respondents. The questionnaire would have asked about women’s socialization, their aspirations and their coping mechanisms for dealing with the personal consequences to their health, psychological well-being and interpersonal relations that resulted from their status. The respondents were to

46 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

be classified primarily according to their “age” as determined by their marital status. From the earliest meetings of the Commission, a crucial operating assumption was that a woman’s marital status more or less determined her participation in the labour force. As the tables on women’s sub-groups indicated, married women were much less likely to work outside the home for pay than were single women. More than any other correlation, that between marital status and paid employment informs every other aspect of the analysis. The Central Survey was Kirk’s brainchild. Kirk’s absence from his new job during the summer of 1967 (between May 29 and September 5) left much of the initial planning to the Assistant Director, Mark McClung, who had been seconded from the Department of the Secretary of State. McClung, the son of newspaperwoman and feminist Nellie McClung, was hired as Assistant Director of Research. His job was to act as executive assistant to Kirk, the Director, and to help coordinate all of the Commission’s research. He was to be responsible especially “for liaison between research staff and consultants with the federal government departments and agencies.” This job description explains why a person who was already knowledgeable and familiar with the workings of the public service would have been considered ideal for the job.28 McClung knew much about the idea of relative deprivation, a precursor of modern theories of oppression. His efforts, however, concentrated almost entirely on writing an analytical essay on discrimination that the Commissioners did not find useful, with the result that it was not used, and McClung contributed to the RCSW only in the earliest planning phase.29 The cost of administering the survey was estimated at $450,000, combined with other studies, the total cost of the general research budget climbed somewhere between 1 to 1.5 million dollars, leaving 400,000 to 900,000 dollars to run all of the Commission’s other operations. This ambitious, research-oriented agenda was gradually pared down and then abandoned entirely. By mid-October, McClung returned to the Department of the Secretary of State. Personality conflicts and financial pressures had put the Central Survey in jeopardy. The two key research posts, that of Research Director and Assistant Research Director, were vacant by the end of the autumn, leaving what at first glance appears to have been a huge hole in the coordination of the research program. Control over the Commission’s research slowly but surely eluded the men to whom it had been awarded by the hiring committee made up of Bird, Gordon and Henripin. Regardless of budgetary constraints, Kirk insisted that the Central Survey proceed, even if only a scaled-down version could reasonably be completed. So strong was his resolve that he offered to resign as Research Director to devote his entire efforts to this one project. A messy business of trying to change the terms of his employment in mid-stream followed. On the advice of the PCO, the Commission severed all ties with him at considerable financial cost. The Central Survey was a dead letter.

47 IJCS / RIÉC

As for the other research projects, many were already committed. Monique Bégin had earlier been put in charge of projects in economics, education, taxation and law. (3rd meeting May 24-26, 1967, p. 11) Kirk retained control over projects involving sociology, anthropology and demography. The departure of Kirk and McClung had little impact except to place the operation of the Commission’s research program almost entirely in the hands of women under the coordination of Dorothy Cadwell and Monique Coupal. Cadwell had worked at Treasury Board prior to being brought in not as a direct replacement for Kirk as Director of Research, but to fill the newly created post of Coordinator of Research. (6th meeting Dec. 13-14, 1967) Monique Coupal had initially been hired as the Assistant to the Executive Secretary of the Commission. But she became heavily involved in overseeing different aspects of the research program. In the final report, she is described as a senior administrative officer. The personnel difficulties with staff members Kirk and McClung, and the resignation of Commissioner Gordon effective 1 November 1967, appears to have forced the remaining staff and Commissioners to rely on their own resources, intensifying their commitment to fulfil the mandate assigned to them, without anyone being able to cast aspersions on their work. Neither difficult time constraints nor tight budgets were going to stop the Commission from completing its work! Following budget estimates tabled in the House of Commons, the RCSW’s budget would apparently be subject to the two percent cut announced by the government for all government departments. (8th meeting, March 1968) Within days, the Commission’s budget for the fiscal year April 1 to March 31, 1969 was calculated at $600,000. For the rest of the Commission’s short life, its members made shrewd decisions in domestic science to ensure that this household did not overspend its budget to avoid public criticism concerning its ability to hold to the terms of its appointment. When the subject of unpaid overtime on the part of Commissioners came up, rather than pay themselves smaller honoraria, the Commissioners decided to keep track of their hours of unpaid work. (18th meeting, March 19-20, 1969) It would have been unseemly for the Commission to ask for a larger budget or an extended length of time to complete its task. As it was, the final draft, editing and production took almost a half year longer than scheduled. This delay, and the additional expense of maintaining a skeleton staff, was a source of embarrassment to the Commission, especially considering its overall scrupulous compliance with the wishes of the government as specified by the PCO. (51st meeting, April 15- 17, 1970: item 5 and Appendix C, attachment) Printing costs dropped repeatedly, along with the number of additional studies to be published. One cost-saving measure that was soon reversed involved a plan to lay off the translation staff. Once the PCO became aware of the lengths to which the Commission was prepared to go to stay within its budget — letting staff go, minimizing its plan for publications and discussions of working for free — additional money for translation and publication was made available and the completion date extended.

48 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

Earlier, the budget crunch resulted in the Commission’s taking a more circumspect attitude toward any additional research that involved spending money. Instead, the body hunkered down to await the results of the research contracts already assigned, to fill perceived gaps in the research design and to organize the material collected through briefs and interaction at public hearings. Deciding on the design of the report and the content of the chapters was a collective effort by the Commissioners in the meetings that began with the Fourth Meeting in May 1967 and ended more than two years later in the summer of 1969. In the end, most of the research studies published by the RCSW were not of the calibre performed by theB&BCommission. Of the thirty-four studies prepared for the Commission, the Commissioners were satisfied with only about half of the eleven that were published. Unlike theB&BCommission, that cost $9 million over slightly more than four years, the RCSW completed its equally wide-ranging mandate at a cost of just $1.9 million spent over two and half years. (Jenson 1994, 60) The RCSW had neither the budget nor the time to do as thorough a job, and yet the Commission grew up in the shadow of its older sibling. As things turned out, the RCSW was appointed, produced its work and tabled its report in Parliament while theB&BCommission was extant. Lacking the long-term commitment from government and close ties to the academic community that might have been able to produce original research, the Commission’s research efforts were expended on the collection and organization of basic information about the historical experience of women, their legal status in various jurisdictions, their involvement in the labour force and what would now be called their “gender socialization.” The attention lavished by the press on theB&BCommission understandably made it the most obvious comparison to the RCSW, at least in the eyes of the Commissioners.30 The publicity already received by the B & B Commission benefited the RCSW insofar as it did a modest job of sensitizing the Commissioners and Commission staff about cleavages in the country involving language and ethnicity.

Sixty-Five Minutes and not a Moment to Spare From this overview of the Minutes of the RCSW, it becomes apparent that the difficulties experienced in its interior dynamics were largely overcome by a fear of failure and how such a failure would harm the cause of women’s advancement. The Commissioners strongly believed that the Commission was to amplify what was already apparent to them and to anyone else who cared to think about what needed to be done. They felt a sense of obligation to the women who had submitted briefs and attended public hearings to do their utmost to have the Report become a living document. In addition to the wish that the report express the views of the active participants in its creation, most of the Commissioners were highly aware that women in less advantaged circumstances could also benefit from it, in spite of the fact that many if not most of their number had been absent or even unaware of its proceedings. In her autobiography, Florence Bird notes her hope that the women who had cleaned her house and cared for members of her family would be able to look forward to a better life as the result of the report. (Bird 1974, 4) Lola Lange’s

49 IJCS / RIÉC continual concern for women who were isolated and not a part of women’s traditional social organizations clearly indicates her concern for a broad range of women having different identities, interests and experiences, as did Jacques Henripin’s concern not to discount the value of the stay-at-home wife and mother. The Report’s plan of action identified three criteria for the success of the recommendations: implementation, enforcement and public education to raise public awareness of women’s rights. (Branching Out 1974, 26) In an assessment of the RCSW’s degree of success, published by the newly-created National Action Committee on the Status of Women founded in 1972 and entitled What’s Been Done, one finds that about one-third of the Commission’s recommendations affecting federal jurisdictions had already been implemented, a second third had been partially implemented, and the final third had not been realized at all. The main disjuncture between the minutes and the Report involves the way in which personal experiences were edited out of the drafts, and evidence that had the appearance of being objective, disinterested and scientific became the official voice of the Commission. Of the 469 briefs submitted to the Commission, fewer than 65 are referred to anywhere in the published volume. One-third are used to document women’s place in society, another third refer to their position in the economy and the final third are sprinkled in the chapters that discuss education. The briefs are rarely quoted directly, as if the Commission is the better placed to express ideas about women than women themselves. Nothing of the content of the thousand letters of “opinion” received by the Secretariat is mentioned. As with the minutes in which the individual voices and identities of Commissioners emerge, so the lack of reference to the letters loses what might, in another place or time, have provided key evidence that past practices harm people and must be discontinued through government intervention if necessary.31 Many people, including many of the members of NAC, consider another general inquiry into the status of women in Canada impossible. The issues of representation and identity politics which the RCSW dealt with in its own way now virtually rule out such a large-scale report. The political will no longer exists to deal with issues involving gender equity, as the termination of the Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women indicates. Women no longer speak the language of rights and universality as Bird and the rest of the Commission were prepared to do. Divisions among women have emerged such that the modern student of public policy might anticipate separate Commissions on the condition of aboriginal women, other visible minority women, abused women, women and their reproduction, etc. This splintering has in fact taken place as shown by the Royal Commission on New Reproductive Technologies, the Task Force Panel on Violence and the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples. Today, it would not be Humphrey and Henripin who felt compelled to write minority reports but the latter-day MacGill and Lange whose commitments to radical feminism and the women’s movement would have triggered their concern about the direction taken by the Commissioners in their collective capacity. But their sorts of concerns are not solely creations of a later period in the development of the Canadian state and its public policy toward women. They existed already in the internal dynamics

50 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

of the RCSW. However, this subtext can now be clearly distinguished from the content of what has become the official version of women’s demands at the time. By contrasting the two narratives, a more complex and richly- textured analysis emerges that can help feminists build links between the generations and regain a continuity and solidarity with at least some aspects of our common past. The historical record shows that much more was going on in the RCSW than a careful reading of its Report conveys. To an important degree, the RCSW did operate as a “mechanism that contained the contradictions between demands for women’s equality and the interests of the groups that had historically dominated the policy process in governments.” (Findlay 1995, 43) But a more radical perspective also informed the Commission’s work. Its inflections were muted but not entirely silenced. The larger context suggests that to discount its findings as the work of relatively privileged, white, middle-class women associated with the established women’s movement risks denying the very real sense in which the record also shows something else. The Commission itself was certainly a site of struggle over representation and women’s interests and identities. Issues of representation and identity politics indeed informed its final product minute by minute.

Notes * Jill Vickers, the Halifax Women’s History Group (especially Frances Early), Sue Findlay and the anonymous reviewers at the Journal have helped me to produce a better account of the RCSW than I could have done without their highly valuable assistance. Judith Cumming generously provided me with a copy of her master’s thesis. Karyn Collins assisted me with bibliographical sources. Jack Crowley and Daniel Woolf provided helpful stylistic advice. 1. Lester Pearson’s Liberal government created the Commission on the 3 February 1967 to inquire into the condition of women in Canada. 2. MG31 K3 Vol 3, File 1 “Guidebook: Outlines for Organization of Commission, Internal Administration and Research Program, sec I-8; hereafter cited as Guidebook. “Biographies.” Henceforth this manuscript group will be referred to as MG31 K7. 3. MG31 K7 Vol. 3, File 3: Fifteenth Meeting of the Commissioners, December 4 and 5, 1968: Minutes of the Fourteenth Meeting, p. 13. Hereafter the minutes will be referred to by the number of the meeting and the date it was held. 4. Barbara Freeman’s doctoral thesis being done for the Department of History at Concordia University examines the interplay between the media and the RCSW, and will supply one of the missing pieces to this puzzle. 5. National Archives, Royal Commission on the Status of Women, Record Group (hereafter RG) 33/89, vol. 24, file “Other Commissions.” 6. RG 33/89 vol. 24, file “Other Commissions.” 7. The RCSW was the first Commission to make a record of its proceedings in this way. I share Barbara Freeman’s concern that the deteriorating quality of the physical material puts at risk a very rich source of the oral tradition in women’s history in Canada for its expression of women’s self-knowledge in their own voices. This source is likely to become of increased interest to historians over time. Action needs to be taken to ensure that the tapes are preserved. 8. MG31, K5, Vol. 5, File 24, Minutes of the 65th Meeting, 1 December 1970. 9. The National Archives received MacGill’s personal papers in two batches, one in 1974 and the rest from her estate in 1983. 10. Telephone interview with Judith Cumming, October 17, 1994.

51 IJCS / RIÉC

11. Other nations including the United States, France, Norway, the United Kingdom and Denmark had already established national bodies to inquiry into the status of women. On the international scene the United Nations’ Declaration on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women provided further support for a timely show of good will. 12. The importance of forms of address, especially in the work world, is discussed by Barbara Wootton in “Woman’s Place?” New Statesman (Dec. 24 1960, p. 997). A woman who signs her name “M. Smith” was said to be more likely to receive an interview than the candidate who signed herself “Margaret Smith.” 13. Brief biographical notes drawn from the biographies submitted to the Commission. Mention is also made of members of the Secretariat mentioned here in the Appendix. 14. Lola Lange took it as her special responsibility to see that the women of British Columbia had their concerns brought to the Commission’s attention. 15. Documenting this complicated claim would take me far beyond the limited scope of this paper. It will be elaborated in “Canadian Women” and “The Deliberate Choice of False Universalism: Royal Commission on the Status of Women on Race and Ethnicity,” to be presented at the Conference on Race, Gender and the Social Construction of Canada sponsored by the Center for Research in Women’s Studies and Gender Relations, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, B.C., September 21-23, 1995. 16. MG31 K7 Vol. 6, File 2. The page is dated in hand Nov. 3, 1967. 17. For this attitude in the media see Isobel Lymbery, “The World of the New Feminists,” Homemaker’s (July/Ausgust 1970), 4-6, 11, 12, at 11; Doris Anderson, “Women: A Chance for a Choice?” Chatelaine (Oct. 1969), 42. For a more women’s lib expression of the same point in stronger language see Amy Gross, “Women’s Lib Loves You,” Mademoiselle, (Feb. 1970), 286-7. For its general use by the RCSW see 40th Meeting, Jan. 28-30, 1970, “Economics,” item 31. 18. Women by Ethnic Origin English 3,998,334 (49.1); French 2,770,173 (34.0); German 524,799 (6.4); Ukrainian 236,668; Italians 225,175; Netherlands 214,839; Chinese 29,098; Japanese 14, 578; Indians 108,932; Eskimos 6,500. 19. Canada, Department of Manpower and Immigration, press release, March 9, 1970, for which see RG 33/89 vol. 20 “Documentation & Research on Citizenship and Immigration.” 20. MG31 K7, Volume 2, “E. G. MacGill Funeral Service 1980.” 21. “Royal Commission’s First Hearing in Victoria on 18-Day Tour,” Ottawa Journal, April 11, 1968, p. 19. 22. National Archives, MacGill papers. 23. In future work, I plan to analyse the extent of the ties between the RCSW and the women’s liberation movement in Canada. 24. She is named as the contact person for the Women’s Liberation group in an appendix to a background paper written by Mrs. B. Myers in the spring of 1970. See Record Group 33/89 vol. 24, “Miscellaneous Articles.” Dr. Margaret Mahood, Community Health Services Medical Clinic Group, presented brief on Availablity of Medically Safe Abortions May 3, 1968 Women. 25. RG33/89 Vol 8, File: Letters of Opinion – Saskatchewan. 26. Only 19 of the 455 briefs, the origins of which are identified came from men. No more than 65 of them were written in French. Regional representation included the largest number of briefs from the West (more than 150) followed by Ontario and Quebec (approximately 130 and 105 respectively). Fewer than 50 originated from the Maritimes, 25 from the North and 3 from abroad. In the near future, I will provide a similar breakdown of the “letters of opinion” received by the Secretariat. 27. This topic deserves more attention than can be given here. The minutes show that inclusiveness greatly concerned members of the Commission, and that it was a leitmotif in its day-to-day work. 28. MacGill Papers, Vol 3, File 1: Guide-Book: Outlines for Organization of Commission, Internal Administration and Research Program, 1967, I-7. 29. The last mention of the idea of deprivation was excised from the draft of the chapter on Women in Canadian Society in March 1970 (Meeting 47, March 18-20, 1970: item 16). With it, went the last remaining trace of McClung’s viewpoint. 30. See “Lingering,” Globe & Mail, April 6, 1970, circulated at the RCSW at the 50th Meeting, April 8-10, 1970, p. 6.

52 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

31. See for example the letters of Mrs. J. S. S* of Port Mouton, N.S. whose American-born daughter cannot get Canadian citizenship or of Mrs. M. M. W* a single parent of Toronto who works to support two children. She reports going without meals herself to provide for them. She worries that her children will lose interest in their education due to their inability to join in activities that cost money. The situation of Miss N. S* of Prince Rupert left her possessions uninsured because an insurance company would not sell a policy to a single woman. These personal accounts help to explain some of the Commission’s concerns and I will give them considerably more attention in the future.

Bibliography Arscott, Jane. “`A Job Well Begun’: Representation, Electoral Reform and Women,” ed. François-Pierre Gingras Gender and Politics in Contemporary Canada (Toronto: Oxford University Press, forthcoming July 1995). ——. “Women’s Representation in the Mirror of Public Policy,” a paper presented at the Colloquium on Women and Political Representation in Canada held at the University of Ottawa, Ottawa, September 29-30, 1994. Anderson, Doris. “Women: A Chance for a Choice?” Chatelaine (Oct. 1969), 42. Ashforth, Adam. “Reckoning Schemes of Legitimation: On Commissions of Inquiry as Power/Knowledge Forms,” Journal of Historical Sociology 3 (1990), 1-22. Aucoin, Peter. “Contributions of Commissions” in Commissions of Inquiry, eds. A. Paul Pross, Innis Christie and John A. Yogis (Toronto: Carswell, 1990), 197-207. Bégin, Monique. “Debates and Silences: Reflections of a Politician,” Daedelus, 117 (Fall 1988), 335-352. ——. “The Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada: Twenty Years Later,” Challenging Times. The Women’s Movement in Canada and the United States, ed. Constance Backhouse and David H. Flaherty (Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1992), 21-38. ——. “The Great Decade for Canadian Women,” Current History 72 (April 1977), 170-172, 179-180. Bird, Florence. Anne Francis: An Autobiography (Toronto: Clarke, Irwin, 1974). [Bird, Florence]. Francis, Anne [pseud.]. The Rights of Women. Canadian Institute of International Affairs. (Behind the Headlines) 1950. Black, Naomi. “The Canadian Women’s Movement: The Second Wave,” in Sandra Burt et al, eds. Changing Patterns: Women in Canada (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1988). “Where are the recommendations of yesteryear?” Branching Out (June-July 1974), 25-8. Cairns, Alan. “The Macdonald and Other Royal Commissions’ Role in Public Policy,” the 1986 David Alexander Lecture delivered at Memorial University, November 3, 1986. ——. “Reflections on Commission Research” in Commissions of Inquiry in Pross, Christie and Yogis, 87-108. Cameron, David R. “Not Spicer and Not theB&B:Reflections of an Insider on the Workings of the Pépin-Robarts Task Force on Canadian Unity,” International Journal of Canadian Studies 7-8 (spring-fall 1993), 333-345. Canada. Department of Manpower and Immigration, press release, March 9, 1970. Canada. Royal Commission on the Status of Women. Report (Ottawa, 1970). Canada. Minister of Citizenship and Immigration. Ellen Fairclough speech to a luncheon meeting of the Progressive Conservative Women’s Association, Ottawa, 30 Nov. 1959. Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women. Ten Years Later: An Assessment of the Federal Government’s Implementation of the Recommendations made by the Royal Commission on the Status of Women (Ottawa, 1979). Canadian Labour, “No working women on royal commission,” 12 (March 1967), p. 26. Courtney, J.C. “In Defence of Royal Commissions,” Canadian Public Administration 12 (1969), 198-212. Cumming, Judith. “The Report of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women: A Liberal Feminist Analysis,” Master’s Thesis, Carleton University, Ottawa, 1991. Doern, G. Bruce. “The Role of Royal Commissions in the General Policy Process and in Federal- Provincial Relations,” Canadian Public Administration 10 (Dec. 1967), 417-33. Findlay, Sue. “Democracy and the Politics of Feminist Struggles with the Canadian State, 1960- 1990,” doctoral diss., School of Public Administration, University of Toronto, to be defended winter 1995. Gross, Amy. “Women’s Lib Loves You,” Mademoiselle, (Feb. 1970), 286-7. Hodgetts, J.E. Institute of Public Administration of Canada. Proceedings of the Annual Conference, 1951, 351-367. ——. “Should Canada be De-Commissioned? A Commoner’s View of Royal Commissions,” Queen’s Quarterly, 70 (Winter 1964), 475-90.

53 IJCS / RIÉC

Jenson, Jane. “Commissioning Ideas: Representation and Royal Commissions,” How Ottawa Spends 1994-1995: Making Change, ed. Susan D. Phillips (Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 1994), 39-69. ——. “Learning by Doing: Decision-Making in Royal Commissions,” (Internal report to the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Ottawa, 1992). LaMarsh, Judy. Memoirs of a Bird in a Gilded Cage (Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1968). “Lingering,” Globe & Mail, April 6, 1970, circulated at the RCSW at the 50th Meeting, April 8-10, 1970, p. 6. Lymbery, Isobel. “The World of the New Feminists,” Homemaker’s (July/Aug. 1970), 4-6, 11, 12. Mitchell, Juliet. “Women: The Longest Revolution,” The New Left Review 40 (1966), 11-37. Morris, Cerise D. “`Determination and thoroughness’: the movement for a Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada,” Atlantis 5 (1980), 1-21. ——. “No More than Simple Justice: the Royal Commission on the Status of Women and Social Change in Canada,” doctoral diss., McGill University, 1982. National Action Committee on the Status of Women. What’s Been Done?: Assessment of the Federal Government’s Implementation of the Recommendations of the Royal Commission Status: a Report (Ottawa: Advisory Council on the Status of Women, 1974). National Archives of Canada. Elsie Gregory MacGill papers, Manuscript Group 31, K 7. ——. Margaret MacLellan papers, Manuscript Group 31, E 17. ——. Royal Commission on the Status of Women, Research Group 33/89 Phillips, Susan D. “Political Strategies of the Canadian Women’s Movement: Who’s Listening? Who’s Speaking?” (Ottawa: School of Public Administration, Carleton University Discussion Paper Series, 1994). “Royal Commission’s First Hearing in Victoria on 18-Day Tour,” Ottawa Journal, April 11, 1968, p. 19. Simeon, Richard. “Inside the Macdonald Commission,” Studies in Political Economy, 22 (spring 1987), 167-179. Underhill, Frank. “Review of The Woman Suffrage Movement in Canada by Catherine Lyle Cleverdon (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1950),” Canadian Historical Review 31 (1950), 422-423. Wilson, V.S. “The Role of Royal Commissions and Task Forces,” The Structures of Policy- Making in Canada, eds. G. Bruce Doern and Peter Aucoin (Toronto: Macmillan, 1971), 113-129. Wootton, Barbara. “Woman’s Place?” New Statesman (24. Dec 1960), p. 997.

54 Twenty-Five Years and Sixty-Five Minutes After

Appendix

Brief Biographies Monique Bégin Public servant and politician. Born Rome, Italy. Master’s in Sociology. Founding member of the Fédération des femmes du Québec 1965-67. First women elected to Parliament from Quebec, 1972. Joint Chair of Women’s Studies Carleton and Ottawa Universities 1986-. Mrs. John Bird Ottawa freelance journalist, broadcaster and lecturer. Born Philadelphia. Educated Bryn Mawr College. Winner of two Women’s National Press Club Awards and four honourable mentions. She wrote a weekly newletter on the status of women in Canada for the International Service of the CBC. Married. Dorothy Cadwell Public Servant. Born Saskatoon. High school teacher. Personnel Administrator then Administrative Secretary with the Public Service Commission. Research Coordinator RCSW. Author: Murder on the House. D[onald] R. Gordon Associate Professor of Political Science, University of Waterloo. Born Toronto. Print and radio journalist. University Professor. Author of Logic, Language and the Mass Media, Canadian Peacekeeping in the Congo, 1960- 64. Study of the reporting of national issues in 30 Canadian daily newspapers fortheB&BCommission. Co-reporter of the Couchiching Conference 1964- 6. Member of the Advisory Committee on Broadcasting, Board of Broadcast Governors, 1967. Co-host “20,000,000 Questions,” about Canadian politics on the CBC national TV network (Oct. 1966-Feb 1967). Married, three children. Jacques Henripin Demographer. Born Lachine. Professor of Demography. Université de Montréal since 1954. Founder and director of the Department of Demography 1964-1973. Member of the Royal Society. Member of the Canadian Institute of Public Affairs. Married, three daughters. John Humphrey Specialist in International Law. Born Hampton, NB. Lawyer. Director, Division of Human Rights, UN Secretariat, 1946-66. Articles on international legal subjects. Professor of Law and Political Science, McGill University 1966-. Mrs. Lola Lange Noted for her work in voluntary associations involved in farming and continuing education. Born Edmonton. Winner of the Bank of Montreal Farm Leadership Award. Director of the Farm Women’s Union of Alberta; Field Instructor for the Farmer’s Union and Co-operative Development Association; Vice President of Lutheran Women’s Missionary League; Past President Claresholm Ladies Curling Club, Treasurer of the Welfare

55 IJCS / RIÉC

Committee for Claresholm & District Community Chest, Senior 4-H Leader of the Claresholm Girls’ 4-H Club, enumerator and deputy returning officer; church organist. Married, three daughters. Jeanne Lapointe Born Chicoutimi. Raised in Quebec City. Professor of Literature since 1939. Member of the Royal Commission on Education in Quebec (Parent Commission), 1961-1966. Contributor to the periodical Cité libre. Member of the Advisory Arts panel of the Canada Council. Member of the executive committee of the Canadian Conference for the Arts. Elsie Gregory MacGill Born Vancouver. Consulting Engineer. Daughter of Helen Gregory MacGill, judge of the Vancouver Juvenile Court. Master’s degree in Aeronautical engineering. Canadian Technical Advisor at the United Nations Civil Aviation Organization. Professional Awards. Life Member of the Canadian Federation of Business and Professional Women’s Clubs (National President 1962-4) and of the Toronto Business and Professional Women’s Club. Life Member of the Art Gallery of Ontario. Author of technical articles in scientific journals and My Mother, the Judge. Married with stepchildren. Mark McClung Public Servant. Son of Nellie McClung, journalist and women’s activist. Mrs. Robert Ogilvie Deputy judge of the New Brunswick Juvenile Court. Born Halifax. Bachelor of Secretarial Sciences, Mount Saint Vincent University, 1938. BA, University of Newbrunswick, 1962. Law degree, 1963. Admitted to the Bar 1964. Married, four daughters.

56 Manon Tremblay

Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes? Une analyse des votes obtenus par les candidates et candidats du Québec à une élection fédérale canadienne, 1945-1993*

Résumé Il y a près d’un quart de siècle, la Commission royale d’enquête sur la situation de la femme au Canada identifiait dans les partis politiques un acteur vraisemblablement responsable de la sous-représentation des femmes en politique; croyant en un ressentiment de l’électorat envers les candidatures féminines, les organisations locales se montreraient réticentes à les retenir. Cet article se propose de comparer la performance électorale des candidates et candidats du Québec, en analysant leurs votes obtenus aux élections fédérales canadiennes de 1945 à 1993. L’objectif est d’établir si les femmes obtiennent ou non moins de votes que les hommes. Les analyses bivariées et multivariées démontrent que le sexe affecte le nombre des votes reçus, mais non dans le sens attendu : lorsque certaines composantes du cadre électoral sont contrôlées, les candidates des grands partis terminent en moyenne avec plus de votes que leurs vis-à-vis masculins. Il faut donc chercher ailleurs que dans l’électorat une explication à la présence marginale des femmes aux Communes, notamment dans le statut qui leur est dévolu lorsqu’elles sollicitent un mandat.

Abstract Twenty-five years ago, the Royal Commission on the Status of Women identified political parties as a possible cause of women’s underrepresentation in politics. Fearing voter resentment against female candidates, local political organisations were hesitant to retain them. This article compares electoral showing of Québec candidates by analyzing the number of votes received during the federal elections of 1945 to 1993. The aim is to determine whether or not women receive fewer votes than men. Bivariate and multivariate analyses show that gender does influence the number of votes obtained, but not with the expected result: when certain elements of the electoral parameters are controled, female candidates of major political parties receive on average more votes than their male counterparts. One therefore must look elsewhere to explain the marginal representation of women in the House of Commons, for example to the status that is given to women when they seek a nomination.

À l’instar de la Commission Kennedy créée au début des années 1960 aux États-Unis, en 1967 le Canada met sur pied la Commission royale d’enquête

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC sur la situation de la femme (Commission Bird), laquelle déposera son rapport en 1970 (Tremblay 1993). Près d’un quart de siècle après sa publication, le Rapport Bird demeure aujourd’hui une référence incontournable en ce qui a trait à la situation des femmes dans la société canadienne. Le Rapport a non seulement permis d’éveiller l’opinion publique aux conditions de vie des femmes et aux discriminations systémiques qu’elles rencontraient dans la société canadienne, mais aussi d’interpeller l’action des gouvernements en matière de droits des femmes. En outre, un apport tangible du Rapport réside en sa contribution à l’émergence et au développement du mouvement féministe au Canada (cf. Adamson, Briskin et McPhail 1988, Collectif Clio 1982). C’est ainsi qu’il a suscité la mise sur pied du Comité canadien d’action sur le statut de la femme — un groupe de pression toujours actif surtout au Canada anglais —, avec l’objectif de veiller à ce qu’il soit donné suite aux recommandations formulées par les commissaires (pour un historique de ce groupe de pression cf. Vickers, Rankin et Appelle 1993). Mais la référence encore consacrée au Rapport Bird tient certainement au fait que plusieurs de ses observations demeurent toujours d’actualité. Au chapitre de la participation politique par exemple, la Commission remarquait que la nomination par un parti semblait constituer une épreuve bien plus difficile à réussir pour une aspirante-candidate que l’élection elle-même (Commission Bird 1970: 392). Certes, depuis la première moitié des années 1980, les directions nationales des partis politiques affirment haut et fort rechercher des femmes « compétentes » intéressées à briguer les suffrages (comme si par l’ajout de ce qualificatif on voulait signifier que tous les hommes qui posent leur candidature à une élection ont la compétence pour occuper un poste politique). D’ailleurs, les principales formations politiques canadiennes ont depuis adopté des mesures particulières en ce sens, allant de fonds monétaires de soutien aux candidates1 à des mesures de quotas pour les candidatures aux Communes.2 En fait, le problème se pose davantage au niveau des organisations locales qui résistent à asservir leur autonomie du choix de leurs candidates ou candidats au discours des directions nationales des partis concernant une représentation plus équitable des sexes parmi les rangs des candidatures.3 La déclaration de Jean Chrétien lors de l’élection de 1993, à l’effet de retenir 25 p. 100 de candidates dans les rangs libéraux en constitue un exemple récent. À la direction nationale, on expliquait que cet espoir a du être abandonné en raison des résistances des exécutifs locaux qui voulaient un processus plus « démocratique »! De cette façon, plusieurs éléments laissent à penser que les organisations locales exprimaient des doutes sur les capacités des femmes de faire aussi bonne figure que les hommes face à l’électorat. Des constats récents ont été posés en ce sens, tant au niveau canadien (Brodie 1991, Erickson 1991) que québécois (Tremblay et Pelletier 1995). Par exemple, les femmes rencontreraient plus d’opposition au moment de la campagne d’investiture ou feraient les frais d’un sexisme éculé de la part de militantes et militants. Les structures locales imposent ainsi une pratique qui sonne faux avec les volontés exprimées par les partis depuis Ottawa.

60 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

Norris et Lovenduski (1989; cf. aussi Norris 1993), ainsi que Studlar et McAllister (1991), avancent l’explication suivante pour rendre compte de cette réticence des militantes et militants envers des candidatures de femmes : un modèle abstrait du « candidat idéal » inspirerait informellement les organisations locales des partis politiques dans leur quête de la personne qui, le jour de l’élection, défendra leurs couleurs. Or, en vertu de ses traits, ce type idéal rejoint peu les femmes. De sexe masculin, il possède un haut degré de scolarité, une occupation dans les professions du droit ou de l’enseignement universitaire, etc. C’est ce que Norris et Lovenduski (1989) nomment le modèle de l’homo politicus. Dès lors, les personnes ne correspondant pas à ce modèle (dont les femmes) ou bien ne seraient pas sélectionnées par les organisations locales ou bien verraient leur candidature retenue dans les comtés peu compétitifs (ou « perdus d’avance »). Dans ce cas, même si les candidates perdaient des votes parce qu’elles ne répondaient pas aux supposées attentes de l’électorat telles que cristallisées dans l’homo politicus, les conséquences en seraient limitées pour le parti, donné perdant au départ. Pourtant, il semble bien qu’il s’agisse là d’un scénario caduc. Comme l’a démontré Maillé (1990a) par son examen des résultats de sondages publiés dans des quotidiens francophones du Québec depuis 1960, l’électorat endosse de plus en plus l’engagement des femmes dans des fonctions politiques d’importance. Ce soutien grandissant pour les femmes dans des rôles publics a aussi été observé aux États-Unis (Costain 1992, Hartmann 1989, Rinehart 1992). De telles tendances de l’opinion publique militent contre l’idée que les femmes seraient des candidates moins « sûres » que les hommes, notamment parce qu’elles « perdraient des votes ». C’est précisément l’objectif de cet article : comparer la performance électorale des candidates et candidats en termes de votes obtenus aux élections fédérales canadiennes depuis près d’un demi-siècle. Dans un premier temps, je situerai le point de vue retenu parmi les recherches canadiennes et québécoises concernant la sous-représentation des femmes au sein des institutions politiques et expliquerai pourquoi le cas du Québec retient plus particulièrement l’attention. Ensuite, je présenterai et analyserai les résultats de cette recherche, puis en discuterai les implications en conclusion.

La sous-représentation des femmes en politique canadienne : un état des recherches À l’instar d’autres démocraties représentatives du monde industrialisé, le Canada se caractérise par une faible proportion de femmes au sein de son Parlement national. En effet, l’élection de 1993 a fait passer la représentation féminine de 13,9 p. 100 à 18 p. 100. Pourtant, sans atteindre le seuil des pays scandinaves, cette proportion se compare avantageusement avec la place laissée aux femmes dans les Parlements nationaux en général et les Parlements du monde occidental en particulier. Une recherche effectuée sous l’égide du Centre de développement social et des Affaires humanitaires de l’ONU montre qu’en 1987 les femmes occupaient en moyenne 9,7 p. 100 des banquettes des 124 Parlements nationaux retenus par l’étude, cette proportion étant de 13,2 p. 100 dans les démocraties occidentales (United Nations 1992).

61 IJCS / RIÉC

Dans le contexte canadien, plusieurs théories ont été élaborées pour expliquer cet effacement des femmes de la scène politique. Une première se concentre sur la division sexuelle du travail qui, en confinant les femmes à la sphère privée et en consacrant le domaine public aux hommes, limiterait, pour ces premières, les occasions d’acquérir les habiletés psychologiques, intellectuelles et sociales généralement associées à un engagement dans la vie publique. L’identité de genre, la socialisation et les obligations familiales restreindraient les capacités de développer certains préalables associés à une carrière politique, plaçant les femmes hors d’un réseau informel au sein duquel les élites politiques émergent et se développent (cf. par exemple Bashevkin 1983a, Brodie 1985, Brodie et Vickers 1982, Vickers et Brodie 1981). Il faut dire toutefois qu’il ne s’agit pas là d’une barrière incontournable. Les recherches de Gingras, Maillé et Tardy (1989) et celle de Tardy et ses collaboratrices (1982) ont permis de démontrer que les normes culturelles qui proscrivent la participation des femmes à la vie politique pouvaient être dépassées, dans la mesure où ces dernières connaissaient des expériences de contre-socialisation au cours de leur existence (par exemple une mère socialement engagée ou un conjoint qui supporte l’engagement politique de sa compagne; en France, cf. Sineau 1988, particulièrement les pages 47-73). Une seconde théorie suggère plutôt que les femmes ne parviennent pas à être sélectionnées par défaut de ressources financières; elles n’auraient pas les fonds nécessaires pour assumer les dépenses liées à une campagne d’investiture, souvent non encadrée par la législation comme c’est le cas au Canada. Et, de fait, plusieurs chercheuses canadiennes voient dans l’élément financier une raison de l’effacement des femmes de la scène politique (Bashevkin 1993, Brodie 1991, Maillé 1990b). À tel point que, dans le cadre des travaux de la Commission royale sur la réforme électorale et le financement des partis, Brodie (1991) recommandait que les dépenses engagées par les candidates et candidats au moment d’une campagne d’investiture fassent l’objet d’un remboursement.4 Une théorie fréquemment avancée veut que les femmes ne parviendraient pas à se faire élire au Parlement parce qu’elles seraient candidates dans des circonscriptions peu compétitives. Bien que cette proposition ait été formulée et vérifiée dans plusieurs travaux à la grandeur du Canada (Bashevkin 1982, 1983b, Brodie et Vickers 1981, Erickson 1993, Vickers 1978, Vickers et Brodie 1981), nous sommes parvenus à une conclusion contraire pour les élections provinciales québécoises de 1976, 1981, 1985 et 1989 (Pelletier et Tremblay 1992) : à l’exception du Parti québécois au scrutin général de 1981, les candidates libérales et péquistes n’étaient pas désavantagées par rapport à leurs vis-à-vis masculins, entendons par là qu’elles n’étaient pas disproportionnellement plus nombreuses dans des circonscriptions dites « perdues d’avance ». C’est aussi le constat posé par Studlar et Matland (1994) au niveau canadien. Les conditions et le rythme de renouvellement du personnel politique se sont également retrouvés au centre de propositions théoriques qui visent à mieux comprendre l’accès restreint des femmes aux institutions démocratiques. À l’heure actuelle, les règles du jeu permettent à une personne membre du

62 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

Parlement de solliciter un renouvellement de mandat autant de fois qu’elle le désire. Or, devant l’urne, les parlementaires jouissent d’un avantage certain sur leurs adversaires non membres de la Chambre au moment de sa dissolution (Krashinsky et Milne 1983, 1985, 1986). Peu de candidates se prévalant du statut de députées sortantes, il est facile d’y voir là une situation qui limite l’accès des femmes aux Communes. Il faut toutefois dire qu’au Canada, le haut taux de roulement du personnel politique fédéral réduit cet effet néfaste sur les candidatures féminines (Young 1991). Une dernière théorie privilégie le mode de scrutin canadien — du type majoritaire, uninominal à un seul tour — pour expliquer la sous-représentation des femmes de la scène politique. Au contraire des systèmes proportionnels qui semblent favoriser la victoire de femmes (particulièrement le scrutin de liste qui permet l’élection de plusieurs représentantes et représentants par circonscription), au Canada, dans la mesure où chaque parti ne peut espérer faire élire qu’une seule représentante ou un seul représentant par circonscription, les organisations locales seraient soucieuses de présenter la personne la plus susceptible de remporter la victoire. Or, craignant que l’électorat ne discrimine négativement les femmes en ne votant pas — ou moins — pour elles, les exécutifs locaux porteraient alors leur choix vers des candidatures masculines jugées plus « sûres ».5 Au contraire des autres théories, cette dernière, selon laquelle l’électorat discriminerait les femmes, n’a pas fait l’objet d’un examen approfondi. La seule recherche canadienne à avoir abordé cette question sous cet angle est celle de Hunter et Denton, publiée il y a plus d’une décennie (en 1984). La principale conclusion de cette étude indiquait que les femmes ne perdaient pas de votes. Lorsqu’elles se présentaient à la députation, les femmes constituaient des candidates aussi compétitives que les hommes, dans la mesure où elles se trouvaient sur un pied d’égalité avec eux en termes de rival titulaire, de compétitivité du siège disputé et d’allégeance partisane. En fait, Hunter et Denton (1984) croient que la sous- représentation des femmes aux Communes tient moins à un sentiment de rejet de l’électorat qu’à leur difficulté d’être sélectionnées dans des circonscriptions où leur parti présente des chances de succès. Pourtant, bien que cette étude constitue une contribution incontournable au problème qui retient l’attention du présent texte, elle apporte une réponse limitée à la question de savoir si les femmes constituent des candidates moins performantes que les hommes au chapitre des votes qu’elles obtiennent. En effet, cette recherche n’a retenu que deux élections générales canadiennes, a fortiori très rapprochées (les scrutins de 1979 et 1980). En outre, elle ne traite pas de façon distincte le Québec, alors qu’il me semble y avoir là un terrain particulièrement propice à l’examen de l’idée selon laquelle l’électorat discriminerait les candidates, qui obtiendraient par conséquent moins de votes que les candidats masculins. Bien que les Québécoises aient obtenu le droit de vote aux élections fédérales au même moment que les Canadiennes des autres provinces, ce n’est qu’en 1972 que trois représentantes du Québec font leur entrée à la Chambre des communes, soit plus d’un demi-siècle plus tard.6 Ce n’est aussi qu’en 1940, bien après les autres provinces,7 qu’elles obtiennent le droit de vote aux

63 IJCS / RIÉC

élections provinciales et en 1961 qu’une première femme siège à l’Assemblée nationale du Québec.8 Qui plus est, avant 1960, le Québec vivait dans une société traditionnelle, marquée notamment par une division hiérarchique des rôles selon les sexes. Sans affirmer que cette division était plus forte au Québec qu’au Canada-anglais, il n’en demeure pas moins que les Québécoises ont acquis certains droits liés à la citoyenneté bien après les femmes du reste du Canada, notamment en matière d’éducation et de droits civils (cf. Boivin 1986, Commission Bird 1970, Lamoureux 1989), ce qui semble significatif de mentalités réfractaires à l’insertion sociopolitique des femmes. Il est vrai que les Québécoises ont fait preuve d’une assiduité insoupçonnée au plan de la participation électorale à cette époque (Maillé 1990c), mais c’était bien à l’encontre du discours sexiste des élites cléricales et politiques, alors fortement liées.9 En fait, une telle conception hiérarchique et ségréguée des rôles selon les sexes n’a pas fait l’objet d’un large questionnement public avant 1967, dans le cadre des travaux de la Commission Bird. Dans un tel contexte, il est aisé d’imaginer une hostilité de l’électorat aux candidatures féminines qui s’estompe graduellement au profit d’un décloisonnement des rôles selon les sexes — du moins au plan politique.

Objectif, hypothèse, données et analyses L’objectif premier de cet article est de cerner le rôle de l’électorat dans la sous- représentation des Québécoises à la Chambre des communes du Canada. En fait, il importe d’établir si les femmes constituent des candidates moins performantes que les hommes, notamment en attirant moins de votes. Le point de vue défendu ici est que le fait d’être du sexe féminin ne génère pas un ressentiment de l’électorat, de telle sorte que les candidates obtiennent moins de votes que les candidats. La difficulté des Québécoises à se faire élire aux Communes tient plutôt à d’autres considérations, notamment leur statut en tant que candidates. Cette recherche repose sur les résultats électoraux obtenus par les candidates et candidats du Québec à une élection fédérale générale canadienne de 1945 à 1993. Les statistiques électorales compilées aux fins de cette étude sont telles qu’elles apparaissent dans les rapports du directeur général des élections du Canada depuis la fin de la Deuxième Guerre mondiale. Six variables ont été retenues : l’année d’élection, la circonscription électorale,10 le sexe, le parti politique, le statut,11 finalement les votes en nombres absolus. En tout, 5 487 personnes — soit 562 femmes et 4 925 hommes — ont cherché à représenter une circonscription électorale québécoise à Ottawa depuis 1945. La performance de ces candidates et candidats sera comparée et analysée en termes de votes obtenus. La variable du statut demande certaines précisions. Deux modèles de cette variable ont été élaborés. L’un, plus simple, attribue la cote«1»austatut de membre sortant du Parlement qui sollicite un renouvellement de mandat et la cote«2»auxautres candidates et candidats. L’autre, plus complexe, réserve des cotes plus étendues aux deux statuts déjà mentionnés. Elle a été nommée variable « statut plus ». Cette démarche visait non seulement à saisir plus justement la réalité, mais également à optimiser les conditions d’utilisation des

64 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

calculs de régressions, notamment en limitant l’usage de variables nominales dichotomiques. L’échelle de la variable « statut plus », y compris une définition de ses modalités, apparaît en annexe. L’analyse quantitative qui suit repose principalement sur des mesures descriptives. Dans un premier temps, la moyenne des votes obtenus par les candidates et candidats est examinée, et ce, en fonction de différents contextes. Par la suite, des corrélations, des régressions simples et multiples permettront de mieux situer le rôle et l’importance des relations distinguées de cette première démarche. La variable dépendante au centre de ces analyses est celle des votes obtenus — et valides — en nombres absolus; les variables indépendantes sont le sexe, le parti politique, le statut des adversaires en compétition, le vote à l’élection précédente et la compétitivité de la circonscription. Aucun test de signification n’a été réalisé parce que cette recherche prend en compte l’ensemble des candidates et candidats du Québec à l’une ou l’autre des seize élections générales canadiennes de 1945 à 1993, et non un simple échantillon tiré de façon aléatoire de cette population.

Présentation des résultats L’histoire politique du Québec à Ottawa (comme ailleurs) se veut résolument masculine. Comme l’illustre le tableau 1, des 5 487 femmes et hommes qui ont brigué les suffrages au Québec à l’occasion d’une élection fédérale depuis 1945, seulement 562 (ou 10,2 p. 100) étaient des femmes. De ce nombre, 54 femmes ont été élues, contre 1 131 hommes, soit 9,6 p. 100 des aspirantes- députées (contre 23 p. 100 des aspirants-députés).12 Il est important de souligner que les premières Québécoises firent leur entrée aux Communes en 1972, soit à la première élection suivant la publication du Rapport Bird. Ce document fait ressortir, entre autres, l’absence des femmes des institutions démocratiques canadiennes. La contribution du Rapport à l’accès de Québécoises aux Communes s’avère d’autant plus probable, que c’est également lors de l’élection de 1972 que le nombre de candidates conservatrices et libérales a légèrement augmenté, témoignant d’une certaine sensibilité des partis politiques aux critiques formulées par la Commission royale d’enquête sur la situation de la femme.13 Il faut également voir que le début des années 1970 correspond aux premières mobilisations du mouvement féministe canadien. Or, ce mouvement a constitué une véritable expérience de contre-socialisation pour les femmes, notamment en questionnant la division privé-public qui consacrait leur exclusion des lieux du pouvoir (cf., entre autres, Carroll 1989, Klein 1984). Certes, on ne peut guère s’étonner du faible nombre de femmes élues à la Chambre des communes du Canada depuis un demi-siècle, puisqu’elles ont été nettement moins nombreuses que les hommes à se présenter. Pourtant, même lorsqu’elles posent leur candidature, elles parviennent moins bien à se faire élire que les hommes; pour la période 1945-1993, leur taux de succès comme candidates se situe à 0,42. En d’autres termes, alors qu’un candidat sur cinq a gagné son élection, ce n’est vrai que pour une candidate sur dix.

65 IJCS / RIÉC

Tableau 1

Nombre des candidates et candidats du Québec aux élections fédérales canadiennes, taux de féminisation des candidatures et taux de succès des candidates, 1945-1993

Candidatures Personnes élues Année F H Total Taux de F H Taux de d’élection féminisation succès des p. 100 candidates* 1945 4 280 284 1,4 0 65 0 1949 2 251 253 0,8 0 73 0 1953 11 217 228 4,8 0 75 0 1957 3 210 213 1,4 0 75 0 1958 2 217 219 0,9 0 75 0 1962 4 279 283 1,4 0 75 0 1963 7 288 295 2,4 0 75 0 1965 8 319 327 2,4 0 75 0 1968 9 314 323 2,8 0 74 0 1972 29 314 343 8,4 3 71 0,46 1974 43 327 370 11,6 3 71 0,32 1979 83 435 518 16,0 4 71 0,29 1980 94 424 518 18,1 6 69 0,39 1984 75 384 459 16,3 14 61 1,17 1988 86 300 386 22,3 13 62 0,73 1993 102 366 468 21,8 11 64 0,62

Total 562 4 925 5 487 10,2 54 1 131 0,42

* Ce taux de succès est emprunté à Jorgen Rasmussen (1981). Il a été établi à partir de la formule suivante :

Nombre d’élues/Nombre de candidates Nombre d’élus/Nombre de candidats

Cet indice varie entre 0 et l’infini. Lorsqu’il excède 1,00, comme à l’élection de 1984, ceci signifie que proportionnellement plus de candidates sont parvenues à se faire élire que de candidats. Il faut noter que l’élection de 1984, où les femmes affichent un taux de succès supérieur à celui des hommes, constitue l’exception. Ce résultat va dans le sens des propos récents de Studlar et Matland (1994). Il est courant de soutenir que l’augmentation du nombre des élues aux Communes en 1984 tient au fait que le Parti conservateur aurait sélectionné des femmes dans des circonscriptions qu’il considérait marginales, celles-là profitant alors de la « vague bleue » pour se faire élire. Ces auteurs suggèrent plutôt qu’il y avait alors assez de femmes candidates pour assurer une augmentation appréciable de la représentation féminine aux Communes, nonobstant l’humeur de l’électorat à ce moment. En outre, l’avènement d’un débat organisé par le Comité canadien d’action sur le

66 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

statut de la femme, où les trois chefs des principales formations politiques s’affrontèrent sur des questions concernant de façon spécifique les Canadiennes, a pu sensibiliser l’électorat à la condition féminine au Canada, particulièrement au chapitre politique. Finalement, il faut tenir compte qu’est survenue alors une diminution du nombre des candidates pour les tiers partis — de 84 en 1980 leur nombre passa à 49 en 1988 — et une augmentation parallèle des candidates au Parti conservateur (PC) et au Parti libéral du Canada (PLC) — de 10 en 1980 à 26 en 1984 —, les deux seules formations politiques qui, en 1984, pouvaient espérer faire élire des candidates et candidats au Québec. Pourtant, aux élections générales de 1988 et 1993, le taux de succès des femmes décroît de nouveau. Comment expliquer cette difficulté plus grande des femmes d’accéder au Parlement canadien? Plus précisément, peut-on l’attribuer au fait que les femmes obtiennent moins de votes que les hommes?

Analyse bivariée Une étape préliminaire d’analyse consiste à comparer sous différents angles la moyenne des votes obtenus par les candidates et candidats du Québec aux élections fédérales de 1945 à 1993. Le tableau 2 montre ces moyennes en fonction du sexe et d’autres variables indépendantes. Plusieurs des résultats jettent le doute sur l’affirmation que les femmes constituent des candidates moins performantes que les hommes en obtenant moins de votes qu’eux. Certes, toutes formations politiques confondues, les candidates obtiennent en moyenne 1 980 votes de moins que les candidats. Pourtant, ce constat demeure simpliste s’il n’est pas accompagné d’une considération pour la couleur partisane, et ce, parce que tous les partis n’offrent pas à leurs candidates et candidats les mêmes chances de succès. Ainsi, en considérant seulement les cinq principales formations politiques québécoises sur la scène fédérale de 1945 à 1993,14 on constate que le déficit des femmes s’abaisse à un mince 92 votes. Puisque cet article veut d’abord comprendre le rôle de l’électorat dans la sous-représentation des Québécoises à Ottawa, l’analyse subséquente ne reposera que sur les candidates et candidats de grands partis, à l’heure actuelle les seuls susceptibles de faire élire des femmes et d’accroître ainsi leur présence au Parlement fédéral. Le tableau 2 fait ressortir une donnée intéressante en ce qui a trait à la période historique. Comme il a été mentionné plus haut, le Québec d’avant 1960 constituait une société fortement marquée par des valeurs conservatrices, ruralistes et traditionnelles. La Révolution tranquille des années 1960 signale le passage à une société plus libérale, ce qui n’a pas été sans affecter les mentalités et les valeurs collectives et personnelles, notamment eu égard aux rôles selon les sexes. L’assignation de rôles inégalitaires basée sur le sexe a d’ailleurs fait l’objet de critiques dans les pages du Rapport Bird (1970), puis a mobilisé et nourri le mouvement féministe dont les intérêts se sont graduellement déplacés vers l’arène politique au cours de la décennie 1980. Comme le montre le tableau 2, ces étapes de l’histoire politique des Québécoises transparaissent dans le soutien de l’électorat pour les candidatures féminines : leur déficit de 7 463 votes en 1945-1958 s’abaisse à 1 959 votes en 1984-1993. Un tel résultat vient en quelque sorte appuyer les

67 IJCS / RIÉC

Tableau 2

Votes moyens obtenus par les candidates et candidats du Québec aux élections fédérales canadiennes, 1945-1993

Femmes Hommes Différence femmes-hommes Partis politiques • Tous les partis politiques 5 324 7 -1 980 (562)* 304 (4 925) • Seulement les grands partis 9 445 9 537 -92 (302) (3 577) Périodes historiques, grands partis •1945-1958 1 375 8 838 -7 463 (11) (839) •1962-1968 3 006 7 435 -4 429 (24) (1 112) •1972-1980 7 564 9 739 -2 175 (106) (1 038) •1984-1993 12 194 14 153 -1 959 (161) (588) Statut comme candidate et candidat, grands partis • Membre sortant du Parlement 25 070 16 651 8 419 (33) (928) • Personne qui n’était pas membre du 7 528 7 045 483 Parlement au moment de sa (269) (2 649) dissolution Vote antérieur, grands partis • Nouvelles circonscriptions 12 790 9 164 3 626 (70) (745) • 1 à 5 000 votes 4 048 4 234 -186 (101) (1 015) • 5 001 à 10 000 votes 5 038 7 693 -2 654 (45) (765) • 10 001 votes et plus 15 365 16 259 -894 (86) (1 052) Compétitivité, grands partis • Faible 7 617 7 143 474 (248) (2 558) • Moyenne 20 636 14 588 6 048 (23) (467) • Forte 15 760 16 357 -597 (31) (552) * Le chiffre entre parenthèses indique le nombre de personnes impliquées dans l’analyse.

68 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

sondages québécois qui montraient un soutien grandissant de l’électorat en faveur d’un rôle politique plus engagé des femmes (Maillé 1990a). La performance électorale des femmes dépend également de leur passé personnel et partisan dans la circonscription. Plusieurs études ont déjà démontré l’avantage des parlementaires qui sollicitent un nouveau mandat sur leurs adversaires qui n’étaient pas membres du Parlement au moment de sa dissolution. Dans ce cas, le succès des femmes se compare avantageusement avec celui des hommes : lorsqu’elles demandent à leurs électrices et électeurs de les représenter de nouveau à Ottawa, en moyenne elles gagnent la faveur de 25 070 commettantes et commettants, contre 16 651 votes pour les hommes. Il n’est donc pas étonnant de constater qu’elles performent mieux dans les circonscriptions remportées par leur parti à l’élection précédente (voir l’aspect de la compétitivité moyenne au tableau 2). Pourtant, leur avantage est également manifeste lorsqu’elles posent leur candidature dans une circonscription nouvellement formée, comme si elles compétitionnaient alors avec des adversaires de même taille. Aussi, l’analyse multivariée permettra maintenant de démêler et de préciser ces relations.

Analyse multivariée En vue de mieux saisir la dynamique du vote féminin et masculin, j’ai élaboré un modèle explicatif destiné à cerner le rôle et l’importance de certaines variables en ce qui concerne les votes attribués aux femmes et aux hommes. En plus du sexe, ce modèle intègre une variable partisane,15 une variable relative au statut des adversaires en présence (laquelle comporte quatre valeurs comme définies à l’annexe), une variable portant sur le vote obtenu par la candidate ou le candidat du parti dans cette circonscription à l’élection précédente,16 finalement une variable qui traduit la compétitivité de la circonscription.17 Le choix de ces composantes s’inspire des recherches similaires réalisées au Canada (Hunter et Denton 1984) et à l’étranger (entre autres, McAllister 1992, Rasmussen 1983, Studlar, McAllister et Ascui 1988) et se base sur des analyses bivariées destinées à identifier dans un premier temps les relations qui présentent un certain intérêt.18 Ce modèle n’a évidemment pas la prétention de tenir compte de l’entièreté des facteurs qui aient pu affecter les votes obtenus par les candidates et candidats du Québec depuis 1945, mais plutôt de saisir l’impact de certaines variables qui semblent significatives. Des analyses de régressions multiples ont été faites en vue de mesurer les effets de ces variables sur les votes obtenus par les candidates et candidats du Québec aux élections fédérales de 1945 à 1993. L’analyse multivariée est guidée par deux questions principales : 1º Une fois que plusieurs variables du « combat électoral » sont contrôlées, les femmes obtiennent-elles moins de votes que les hommes?; et 2º Est-ce que les variables qui agissent pour expliquer les votes obtenus par les femmes et les hommes sont les mêmes ou si elles différent? Le tableau 3 apporte une réponse à ces interrogations. Afin de répondre à la première question, j’ai effectué une régression multiple en considérant le sexe comme variable indépendante. Le résultat apparaît à la colonne gauche du tableau 3. Pour répondre à la seconde interrogation, j’ai réalisé

69 IJCS / RIÉC indépendamment deux analyses de régressions, l’une pour les femmes et l’autre pour les hommes. Une première observation à tirer du tableau 3 suggère que le nombre des votes obtenus à une élection dépend à la fois de considérations personnelles (notamment le sexe) et partisanes. Toutefois, par-delà cette influence commune sur les votes reçus, l’importance de l’impact de chaque critère varie grandement; le parti politique constitue la variable la plus déterminante, alors que le vote antérieur a somme toute peu d’influence. Quant à la compétitivité de la circonscription, elle exerce un effet contraire à ce qui était attendu. Cette régression multiple sur les votes obtenus en fonction des variables du sexe, du parti politique, du statut, du vote à l’élection antérieure et de la compétitivité de la circonscription explique 41 p. 100 de la variance. Autrement dit, bien que d’autres éléments interviennent pour expliquer les votes obtenus (pensons seulement à l’effet des « vagues » électorales, au phénomène des « candidatures-vedettes », à la région ou au portrait socio-économique de chaque circonscription), le modèle élaboré ici permet néanmoins de saisir le rôle et l’importance de certaines variables sur les votes reçus, particulièrement en ce qui a trait au statut et au parti politique. Une seconde observation qui ressort du tableau 3 — probablement la plus inattendue de cette recherche — montre que le sexe affecte le nombre des votes obtenus par une candidate ou un candidat. Ce résultat va à l’encontre de la principale conclusion de Hunter et Denton (1984) concernant les élections canadiennes de 1979 et 1980; il et elle montraient alors que les femmes et les hommes obtenaient un nombre de votes essentiellement identique. Aussi, par- delà une caractéristique personnelle, le sexe structure un rapport social, ce que l’on nomme les rapports sociaux de sexe (ou le genre). Comme l’illustrent les résultats obtenus ici, le genre se pose comme une variable d’analyse propre à faire émerger des rapports conflictuels — ou de pouvoir — sur la base du sexe. Il s’agit là d’une piste de recherche et de réflexion qui mériterait d’être approfondie prochainement. Plus intriguant encore, la relation identifiée au Québec entre le sexe et les votes reçus ne se manifeste pas dans le sens attendu : loin de constituer des candidates moins performantes que les hommes, les femmes attirent au contraire plus de votes qu’eux, une fois pris en considération les variables du parti politique, du statut, du vote antérieur et de la compétitivité de la circonscription. En outre, le sexe se situe parmi les variables les plus influentes retenues par le modèle, au contraire de la compétitivité et, surtout, du vote antérieur. Il s’avère donc sans fondement de soutenir que les femmes constituent des candidates plus à risque que les hommes; dans un contexte identique de confrontation électorale, les femmes s’affirment plus performantes que les hommes dans le sens qu’elles attirent plus de votes qu’eux. Un tel résultat renforce les conclusions d’une autre recherche effectuée auprès des candidates et candidats du Québec (Pelletier et Tremblay 1992) : puisque les femmes font aussi bonne figure que les hommes, tout laisse croire qu’elles ne sont pas « sacrifiées » dans des circonscriptions perdues d’avance. Ainsi, une clé au problème de la sous-représentation des femmes aux Communes se situerait au niveau de l’investiture (processus moins

70 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

Tableau 3

Régressions multiples sur les votes obtenus en fonction du sexe, du parti politique, du statut, du vote à l’élection antérieure et de la compétitivité de la circonscription

Femmes et Femmes Hommes hommes Constant -2 562**** -2 881** -737* (556,6)¥ (909,4) (299,2) Sexe (femmes) 1 463*** Nil Nil (411,3) Parti politique 1 507**** 2 946**** 1 380**** (87,6) (316,5) (90,3) Statut 1 498**** 3 247**** 1 410**** (80,5) (379,2) (81,5) Vote antérieur 406**** -1+ 434**** (17,9) (77,9) (18,3) Compétitivité -1 046**** -1 292** -997**** (94,4) (447,4) (95,2)

R2 ,413 ,478 ,420 R2 ajusté ,413 ,471 ,419 Nombre 3 879 302 3 577

¥ Les nombres entre parenthèses sont l’erreur type. + Indique que les femmes obtiennent moins de votes que les hommes. * P £ 0,05 ** P £ 0,01 *** P £ 0,001 transparent qu’il ne paraît, comme je l’ai souligné plus haut), soit de décrocher une « bonne » circonscription. Trois explications sont susceptibles d’éclairer ce résultat (plutôt étonnant compte tenu de la faible présence des Québécoises au Parlement d’Ottawa). Une première veut que l’opinion publique concernant les rôles politiques des femmes se soit transformée au cours des années 1980 : l’idée d’un rôle plus engagé des femmes en politique a progressé (Maillé 1990a). Ceci n’a probablement pas été sans affecter le soutien électoral aux candidatures féminines, à une époque où augmente le nombre des aspirantes-députées à briguer les suffrages sous la bannière d’un grand parti. Mais, plus encore, mon idée est qu’à cette ère de désabusement de la population face à la classe politique, les femmes attirent peut-être plus de votes, car elles incarnent un renouveau ou une alternative en raison de leur exclusion historique du pouvoir. Une seconde explication propose de vérifier si les femmes ne sont pas plus susceptibles que les hommes d’être des « candidates-vedettes », attirant ainsi plus de voix en raison de leur notoriété. Finalement, les recherches

71 IJCS / RIÉC américaines ont montré l’existence d’un gender gap en matière électorale : les politiciennes en faveur du féminisme s’attiraient le soutien de l’électorat favorable aux droits des femmes (Somma 1992). Un phénomène apparenté a pu être observé au Canada : dans un sondage réalisé entre le 4 et le 7 janvier 1989 auprès de 1 021 adultes répartis à travers le Canada, la maison Gallup a trouvé que 20 p. 100 des femmes interrogées affirmaient qu’elles seraient plus portées à appuyer un parti dirigé par une chef, contre 10 p. 100 des répondants (Gallup Canada 1989). Des résultats comparables ont été obtenus auprès de jeunes politologues francophones au Canada (Tremblay 1994). Aussi, les recherches futures devraient tenter d’identifier si, au sein de l’électorat canadien, les femmes expriment un « préjugé favorable » aux candidatures féminines, dans l’optique d’expliquer qu’elles obtiennent plus de votes que les hommes. Pour ce qui est de la seconde question abordée par les analyses de régressions multiples, il ressort que les variables du parti politique, du statut, du vote antérieur et de la compétitivité de la circonscription structurent d’une façon différente les votes obtenus par les candidates et candidats. D’abord, le modèle explique une part plus grande de la variance pour la régression multiple effectuée sur le groupe des femmes seules (soit 47 p. 100) que sur le groupe des hommes seuls (42 p. 100). Puis, la donnée la plus importante qui apparaît, si l’on compare les résultats des régressions d’une part pour les femmes et d’autre part pour les hommes, est la suivante : plus que pour ces seconds, les votes obtenus par ces premières reposent principalement sur deux variables. En effet, alors que chez les hommes les votes subissent des influences réparties d’une façon plus régulière, au moins entre trois variables, chez les femmes ce sont principalement leur statut et le parti politique dont elles défendent les couleurs qui affectent les votes qu’elles reçoivent. Sans dire que le vote antérieur de leur parti dans la circonscription n’a pas d’effet chez elles, au contraire de leurs vis-à-vis masculins. Des corrélations viennent étayer cette importance du statut qui est plus déterminante sur les votes obtenus par les candidatures féminines. Lorsque les candidates sollicitent un nouveau mandat alors qu’elles siégeaient au Parlement au moment de sa dissolution, la corrélation avec les votes obtenus s’établit plus haut que dans le cas des hommes : 0,534 pour elles contre 0,486 pour eux. Un autre statut favorise la performance des femmes, soit lorsqu’elles héritent d’un siège abandonné par la personne titulaire qui ne sollicite pas de nouveau mandat aux Communes : la corrélation avec les votes obtenus est alors de 0,129 (et de 0,113 pour les hommes). Pour ce qui est du parti politique, je mentionne d’abord que les candidates libérales, conservatrices et bloquistes (les trois seuls partis à avoir fait élire des représentantes du Québec à Ottawa) obtiennent en moyenne plus de votes que les candidats de ces partis.19 En outre, des corrélations plus fortes entre le parti politique et les votes obtenus se manifestent à la faveur des candidates,20 expliquant ainsi l’importance plus grande de cette variable sur les gains des femmes. Il se distingue une corrélation assez importante entre les votes obtenus par un parti dans la même circonscription au cours de deux élections successives, et ce, tant pour les femmes que pour les hommes.21 Par contre, si l’on contrôle la variable du statut, la corrélation devient pratiquement inexistante chez les femmes (soit

72 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

0,069), ce qui n’est pas le cas chez les hommes (0,387). Le même phénomène survient entre les variables des votes obtenus et de la compétitivité, bien que sous l’effet d’un contrôle de la variable du statut, la corrélation devient cette fois presque inexistante pour les deux sexes.22 Ces résultats confirment une fois de plus l’importance du statut eu égard au problème de la sous- représentation des femmes aux Communes canadiennes.

Conclusion Sept élections générales canadiennes plus tard, le problème identifié en 1970 dans le Rapport Bird semble toujours d’actualité pour expliquer la faible présence des femmes à la Chambre des communes du Canada. L’analyse des résultats du Québec aux élections canadiennes de 1945 à 1993 montre que l’absence des Québécoises du Parlement fédéral ne peut s’expliquer par un ressentiment de l’électorat; loin d’attirer moins de votes que les hommes lorsqu’elles sollicitent un mandat à Ottawa, les candidates terminent en moyenne avec plus de voix que leurs vis-à-vis de l’autre sexe, une fois contrôlées les différentes composantes du contexte électoral (notamment le parti politique, le statut, le vote à l’élection antérieure et la compétitivité de la circonscription). Il faut donc chercher ailleurs la raison de cet effacement; tout porte à croire que les partis politiques ont quelque chose à y voir. Cette recherche a permis de démontrer l’importance du statut sur le nombre des votes obtenus et, par conséquent, sur l’élection de femmes. Ainsi, 66,7 p. 100 des candidates québécoises sollicitant un renouvellement de mandat ont obtenu gain de cause entre 1945 et 1993. Quarante pour cent de celles qui ont hérité d’un siège abandonné par un membre sortant du Parlement ont remporté leur élection. Par contre, seulement 8,7 p. 100 des candidates ne possédant aucun de ces avantages ont franchi le seuil des Communes. Puisque l’augmentation du nombre des femmes au Parlement ne peut reposer uniquement sur le renouvellement du personnel féminin déjà élu une première fois, il faut envisager d’autres solutions en vue de gonfler les rangs de celles qui nous représentent. Une voie royale d’accès pour cela se trouve dans le statut d’héritière : plus de femmes doivent se présenter dans ce type de circonscriptions. Or, les establishments locaux des organisations partisanes peuvent se montrer réticents à un tel projet, craignant un sentiment défavorable de l’électorat (non fondé comme le démontrent les résultats présentés ici),23 prétextant l’absence de candidates « compétentes »24 ou, simplement, n’appréciant guère de voir leur autonomie assujettie au discours national d’une représentation plus équitable des sexes sur la scène politique fédérale. Pourtant, dans la mesure où les femmes constituent des candidates plus compétitives que les hommes (du moins en termes de votes obtenus), les partis politiques ont tout intérêt à retenir leur candidature, surtout s’il est prouvé qu’elles attirent l’électorat féminin. Aussi, il me semble que la présence plus importante des femmes au Parlement d’Ottawa passe par une modification des règles du jeu électoral. En ce sens, limiter le nombre de mandats consécutifs aux Communes à deux aurait pour conséquence de favoriser un taux de roulement plus élevé du personnel politique fédéral. Dès lors, plus de candidates et candidats néophytes (statut du

73 IJCS / RIÉC type 1) pourraient se prévaloir des avantages électoraux — en termes de taux de succès — attachés au statut d’héritière ou d’héritier (du type 3). En outre, il me semble indispensable de compléter cette mesure par l’imposition de quotas, au niveau des organisations locales, concernant le sexe de la personne qui défendra les couleurs du parti le jour de l’élection. On pourrait ainsi penser à un quota de 40-60 en vertu duquel, à l’intérieur de cinq élections générales ou partielles consécutives, un parti ne pourrait pas présenter plus de trois candidates ou candidats du même sexe. Un tel délai de cinq élections, combiné à un quota de 40-60, préserve une certaine flexibilité quant au choix du sexe de la candidate ou du candidat. En outre, avec un tel scénario les organisations locales demeurent maître d’oeuvre du processus de choix de la personne qu’elles désirent voir siéger au Parlement. En effet, même lorsqu’un sexe devra être privilégié au détriment de l’autre en vue de satisfaire les exigences liées aux mesures de quotas, le choix des militantes et militants s’exercera toujours à l’intérieur d’une pluralité de femmes seulement, ou d’une multiplicité d’hommes, toutes et tous aptes à devenir parlementaires. D’ailleurs, n’est-ce pas ce dernier scénario entièrement à saveur masculine plutôt que ce premier qui, le plus souvent, a encadré le choix des militantes et militants au sein des partis politiques fédéraux depuis que les femmes ont le droit de siéger à Ottawa? Le sexe ne deviendrait alors qu’un critère de sélection à prendre en considération parmi d’autres, au même titre que le sont actuellement le milieu de vie (urbain ou rural) ou la maîtrise du français et de l’anglais dans plusieurs circonscriptions du Québec. En ce sens, la proposition envisagée ici ne constitue en rien une révolution; tout au plus, elle participe à une réforme de nos institutions démocratiques, afin de les rendre plus représentatives de la population.

Notes * Cette publication s’intègre à un projet de recherche plus vaste subventionné par le Conseil de recherches en sciences humaines du Canada (#410-93-0163). Elle a été écrite alors que j’étais chercheuse invitée au Centre for Research in Public Sector Management, University of Canberra (Australie). Je tiens à exprimer mes remerciements au Centre pour son soutien technique et matériel, ainsi que sa contribution financière à ce projet. Je veux tout particulièrement remercier la professeure Marian SAWER de son assistance et de sa collaboration. Je tiens finalement à souligner la participation de Kevin KOCH à ce projet, qui a travaillé à titre d’assistant à la recherche. 1. Il s’agit du Fonds Agnes MacPhail au Nouveau Parti démocratique (NPD), de la Fondation Ellen Fairclough au Parti conservateur (PC) et du Fonds Judy LaMarsh au Parti libéral (PLC). Ces Fonds veulent offrir un appui financier aux femmes qui se présentent aux élections fédérales. Les argents alloués peuvent être utilisés, entre autres, pour financer des services de garde d’enfants et d’entretien ménager. En favorisant ainsi le cumul des rôles privés et publics des femmes, ces Fonds agissent pour limiter les effets d’un obstacle important à l’élection de femmes, soit leurs responsabilités familiales. À titre d’exemple, à l’élection de 1993, les montants alloués étaient de $1 200,00 au Fonds Agnes MacPhail, de $1 000,00 à la Fondation Ellen Fairclough (plus une masse monétaire pour subventionner des projets présentés par des candidates) et de $2 000,00 au Fonds Judy LaMarsh. 2. C’est le cas notamment du Nouveau Parti démocratique qui, à l’occasion de l’élection de 1993, avait un quota de 50-50 en ce qui a trait à des groupes précis — dont les femmes. 3. Au Canada, le processus de sélection des candidatures s’exerce au niveau des circonscriptions : la supervision au niveau national s’avère rare, bien que la ou le chef du

74 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

parti peut, exceptionnellement, exercer un droit de veto en refusant de signer les papiers de candidature (comme au NPD) ou imposer quelques candidates ou candidats en vertu des pouvoirs que lui confère la Constitution de son parti (comme c’est le cas au PLC). Autrement, à l’occasion d’une convention de nomination, il revient aux membres en règle de l’organisation locale d’un parti de choisir la personne qui défendra les couleurs partisanes à l’élection. Le choix s’effectue par le moyen de votes secrets jusqu’à ce que, par suite d’éliminations successives, une seule candidate ou un seul candidat demeure dans la course. Pourtant, le processus de sélection des candidatures n’est pas aussi compétitif et démocratique qu’il ne paraît. En effet, retenant les sélections effectuées au PLC, au PC et au NPD à l’occasion de l’élection fédérale de 1988, Erickson et Carty (1991) montrent que les deux-tiers des candidatures ont été désignées par acclamation. Lorsqu’ilyaeucompétition, 58 p. 100 n’opposaient que deux personnes. Comme le soulignaient Norris, Carty, Erickson, Lovenduski et Simms (1990), l’homogénéité des membres du Parlement (notamment en termes de sexe) me porte à croire que « [i]f this is not what selectors explicitly seek, it is certainly what they normally get. » (p. 241) 4. La Fédération des femmes du Québec faisait la même recommandation dans son mémoire présenté à la Commission; cf. Maillé 1990d. 5. Ceci, dans le contexte d’un processus de sélection des candidatures fortement décentralisé au sein des partis politiques fédéraux, comme souligné plus haut. 6. Par comparaison, c’est en 1921 qu’est élue une première représentante en provenance d’une circonscription de l’Ontario, puis en 1935 venant du Territoire du Yukon, en 1940 de la Saskatchewan, en 1941 de l’Alberta, en 1961 de l’Île-du-Prince-Édouard, en 1962 des Territoires du Nord-Ouest, en 1963 du Manitoba, en 1964 du Nouveau-Brunswick et en 1965 de la Colombie-Britannique. Cf. Bibliothèque du Parlement 1992. 7. Les femmes ont acquis le droit de vote aux élections provinciales en 1916 (Manitoba, Saskatchewan et Alberta), en 1917 (Colombie-Britannique et Ontario), en 1918 (Nouvelle- Écosse), en 1919 (Nouveau-Brunswick), en 1922 (Île-du-Prince-Édouard) et en 1925 (Terre-Neuve). 8. C’est en 1967 qu’une première députée entre à la législature du Nouveau-Brunswick et en 1970 à celle de l’Île-du-Prince-Édouard. Pourtant, dans toutes les autres législatures provinciales du Canada une femme fut députée avant 1961 (soit en 1917 en Alberta, en 1918 en Colombie-Britannique, en 1919 en Saskatchewan, en 1920 au Manitoba, en 1930 à Terre- Neuve, en 1943 en Ontario et en 1960 en Nouvelle-Écosse). 9. On peut apprécier la teneur de l’opposition des élites cléricales et politiques à la participation des Québécoises à la vie politique en consultant Jean (1974) et Lamoureux (1989). 10. De nombreuses modifications à la carte électorale sont survenues au cours de la période 1945-1993, rendant d’autant plus difficile le dénombrement des sièges du Québec. L’évolution historique des frontières d’une circonscription a donc été retracée à l’aide de documents internes produits par la Bibliothèque du Parlement canadien et qui fait l’historique de chaque circonscription électorale québécoise; cf. Bibliothèque du Parlement 1982. 11. Dans sa composition, la variable du statut ne tient pas compte du phénomène des « candidatures-vedettes ». La première raison en est qu’il s’agit d’un type de candidature relativement restreint en termes de nombres; plus souvent, ce sont des personnes plus ou moins imposées par la ou le chef du parti aux organisations locales. La seconde raison tient à la difficulté de définir ce qu’est une candidature-vedette: difficulté dans le temps (peut-on définir de la même façon une telle candidature en 1945 — en supposant que ce phénomène existait — et en 1993?), mais aussi difficulté en termes de source (qui détermine qu’une candidature est « vedette » : la ou le chef du parti et sa direction nationale, les exécutifs locaux, les médias ou l’opinion publique?). En fait, il me semble que ce phénomène des candidatures-vedettes, sans être ici complètement ignoré, devrait faire l’objet de réflexions sérieuses dans un proche avenir. 12. Une personne a pu être élue plus d’une fois. Par ailleurs, cette faible proportion des candidates élues par rapport aux candidats élus s’explique par une concentration de celles-là dans les tiers-partis ou comme candidates indépendantes. En effet, si on désigne comme grand parti le PLC et le PC au cours de la période 1945-1958, puis le PLC, le PC et le Crédit social de 1962 à 1979, le PLC et le PC de 1980 à 1988, finalement le PLC, le PC et le Bloc

75 IJCS / RIÉC

québécois (BQ) en 1993, on s’aperçoit que seulement 28,1 p. 100 des 562 candidates se sont présentées sous les couleurs d’un parti majeur. 13. En effet, alors qu’il n’y a jamais eu plus de trois candidates libérales et conservatrices à défendre les couleurs du Québec à une élection générale avant 1972, cette année là elles sont sept. 14. Ces principaux partis sont le PC, le PLC, le NPD, le Ralliement des créditistes/le Crédit social (RC/CS), enfin le BQ. Au contraire des tiers partis, ceux-ci ont tous fait élire au moins une personne à Ottawa au cours de la période à l’étude, que ce soit à une élection générale ou partielle. 15. Pour les fins de l’analyse, les partis ont été codés selon le nombre de candidates et candidats qu’ils ont fait élire aux Communes depuis 1945, soit : la valeur«1»pour le Nouveau Parti démocratique du Canada,«2»pour le Bloc québécois,«3»pour le Ralliement des créditistes/le Crédit social,«4»pour le Parti progressiste-conservateur du Canada et«5» pour le Parti libéral du Canada. 16. Pour les fins de l’analyse, les codes de cette variable varient de 0 à 99. Ainsi, la valeur«1»a été attribuée si la candidate ou le candidat du même parti dans la même circonscription a obtenu entre 1 et 1 000 votes à l’élection précédente,«2»sielle ou il a obtenu entre 1 001 et 2 000 votes et ainsi de suite. 17. Dans ce cas, j’ai repris pour l’essentiel la codification effectuée par Hunter et Denton (1984) et décrite à la page 399 de leur article. 18. Le tableau suivant présente l’effet de chaque variable indépendante sur le nombre des votes obtenus (variable dépendante) et la proportion de la variance expliquée pour chacune d’elles. D’autres variables n’ont pas été retenues (comme le nombre des adversaires en présence et leur position après le décompte des votes) parce que trop peu significatives.

Femmes et hommes (R2) Femmes (R2) Hommes (R2) Sexe -92* (,000) Nil Nil Parti politique 2 875 (,238) 3 598 (,346) 2 859 (,232) Statut des adversaires 2 104 (,253) 3 737 (,315) 2 048 (,255) Vote antérieur 542 (,285) 400 (,144) 557 (,304) Compétitivité 1 792 (,180) 2 054 (,124) 1 784 (,188)

* Un résultat négatif indique que les femmes obtiennent moins de votes que les hommes.

19. Au Parti libéral, 18 911 votes pour les candidates contre 15 675 votes pour les candidats, au Parti conservateur 13 218 votes pour elles contre 8 891 votes pour eux et au Bloc québécois 29 517 votes pour les femmes contre 24 136 votes pour les hommes. 20. Notamment au Parti conservateur, pour les femmes la corrélation est de 0,204 et pour les hommes de -0,048. Au Ralliement des créditistes/Crédit social, les corrélations respectives sont de 0,362 et 0,229 et au Nouveau Parti démocratique de -0,593 et -0,392. 21. Pour les femmes, la corrélation est alors de 0,379 et pour les hommes de 0,551. 22. Soit une corrélation de -0,29 pour les femmes et de 0,089 pour les hommes. 23. Ce qui m’amène d’ailleurs à croire qu’il serait important que des recherches futures s’appliquent à cerner de quelle façon sont perçues les candidatures féminines au sein des organisations locales. 24. Dans cet esprit, pourquoi ne pas penser à l’établissement de banques de ressources humaines « au féminin » dans les partis politiques, au sein desquelles les organisations locales pourraient puiser lors de leur recherche de candidates « compétentes ». En outre, la mise en place d’une politique de quotas inciterait les femmes à se présenter, sachant qu’elles auraient des chances d’être sélectionnées en raison même des quotas.

Bibliographie ADAMSON, Nancy, Linda BRISKIN and Margaret McPHAIL (1988), Feminist Organizing for Change. The Contemporary Women’s Movement in Canada, Toronto, Oxford University Press BASHEVKIN, Sylvia B. (1993), Toeing the Lines. Women and Party Politics in English Canada, Toronto, Oxford University Press

76 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

BASHEVKIN, Sylvia B. (1983a), « Social Background and Political Experience: Gender Differences Among Ontario Provincial Party Elites, 1982 », Atlantis. A Women’s Studies Journal/Journal d’études sur la femme, 9, 1: 1-12 BASHEVKIN, Sylvia B. (1983b), « The Dimensions of Underrepresentation », Status of Women News, April: 16-17 BASHEVKIN, Sylvia B. (1982), « Women’s Participation in the Ontario Political Parties, 1971- 1981 », Journal of Canadian Studies, 17, 2: 44-54 Bibliothèque du Parlement (Canada) (1992), Femmes au Parlement. Compilations, Ottawa, Direction de l’information et des services techniques Bibliothèque du Parlement (Canada) (1982), Historique des circonscriptions électorales fédérales, 1867-1980, Ottawa, Service d’information et de référence BOIVIN, Michelle (1986), « L’évolution des droits de la femme au Québec: un survol historique », Revue juridique. La femme et le droit, 2, 1: 53-68 BRODIE, Janine (1991), « Les femmes et le processus électoral au Canada » dans Kathy MEGYERY (sous la direction), Les femmes et la politique canadienne. Pour une représentation équitable, Montréal, Wilson & Lafleur: 3-66 (Volume 6 de la collection d’études de la Commission royale sur la réforme électorale et le financement des partis) BRODIE, Janine (1985), Women and Politics in Canada, Toronto, McGraw-Hill Ryerson BRODIE, M. Janine et Jill McCalla VICKERS (1982), Canadian Women in Politics: An Overview, Ottawa, Institut canadien de recherches pour l’avancement de la femme (ICRAF), Les documents de l’ICRAF, no 2, septembre BRODIE, Janine M. et Jill VICKERS (1981), « The More Things Change... Women in the 1979 Federal Campaign » dans Howard R. PENNIMAN, Canada at the Polls, 1979 and 1980. A Study of the General Elections, Washington, American Enterprise Institute for Public Policy Research: 322-336 CARROLL, Susan J. (1989), « Gender Politics and the Socializing Impact of the Women’s Movement » dans Roberta S. SIGEL (sous la direction), Political Learning in Adulthood. A Sourcebook of Theory and Research, Chicago, University of Chicago Press: 306-339 Collectif CLIO (1982), L’histoire des femmes au Québec depuis quatre siècles, Montréal, Quinze Commission Bird (Canada) (1970), Rapport de la Commission royale d’enquête sur la situation de la femme au Canada, Ottawa, Approvisionnements et Services Canada COSTAIN, Anne N. (1992), Inviting Women’s Rebellion. A Political Process Interpretation of the Women’s Movement, Baltimore & London, Johns Hopkins ERICKSON, Lynda (1993), « Making Her Way In: Women, Parties and Candidacies in Canada » dans Joni LOVENDUSKI et Pippa NORRIS (sous la direction), Gender and Party Politics, London, Sage: 60-85 ERICKSON, Lynda (1991), « Les candidatures de femmes à la Chambre des communes » dans Kathy MEGYERY (sous la direction), Les femmes et la politique canadienne. Pour une représentation équitable, Montréal, Wilson & Lafleur: 111-137 (Volume 6 de la collection d’études de la Commission royale sur la réforme électorale et le financement des partis) ERICKSON, Lynda et R. K. CARTY (1991), « Parties and Candidate Selection in the 1988 Canadian General Election », Canadian Journal of Political Science, 24, 2: 331-349 GALLUP CANADA (1989), « Canadians Indifferent to Gender of Political Leaders », 6 février GINGRAS, Anne-Marie, Chantal MAILLÉ et Évelyne TARDY (1989), Sexes et militantisme, Montréal, CIDIHCA HARTMANN, Susan M. (1989), From Margin to Mainstream. American Women and Politics Since 1960, Philadelphia, Temple University Press HUNTER, Alfred A. et Margaret A. DENTON (1984), « Do Female Candidates “Lose Votes”? The Experience of Female Candidates in the 1979 and 1980 Canadian General Elections », Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology, 21, 4: 395-406 JEAN, Michèle (textes choisis et présentés par) (1974), Québécoises du 20e siècle, Montréal, Éditions du Jour KLEIN, Ethel (1984), Gender Politics. From Consciousness to Mass Politics, Cambridge, Harvard University Press KRASHINSKY, Michael et William J. MILNE (1986), « The Effect of Incumbency in the 1984 Federal and 1985 Ontario Elections », Canadian Journal of Political Science, 19, 2: 337-343 KRASHINSKY, Michael et William J. MILNE (1985), « Additional Evidence on the Effect of Incumbency in Canadian Elections », Canadian Journal of Political Science, 18, 1: 155-165 KRASHINSKY, Michael et William J. MILNE (1983) « Some Evidence on the Effect of Incumbency in Ontario Provincial Elections », Canadian Journal of Political Science, 16, 3: 489-500 LAMOUREUX, Diane (1989), Citoyennes? Femmes, droit de vote et démocratie, Montréal, Remue-Ménage MAILLÉ, Chantal (1990a), Les Québécoises et la conquête du pouvoir politique, Montréal, Saint- Martin MAILLÉ, Chantal (1990b), Vers un nouveau pouvoir. Les femmes en politique au Canada, Ottawa, Conseil consultatif canadien sur la situation de la femme, novembre

77 IJCS / RIÉC

MAILLÉ, Chantal (1990c), « Le vote des Québécoises aux élections fédérales et provinciales depuis 1921: une assiduité insoupçonnée », Recherches féministes, 3, 1: 83-95 MAILLÉ, Chantal (1990d), Mémoire de la Fédération des femmes du Québec à la Commission royale sur la réforme électorale et le financement des partis, Montréal, Fédération des femmes du Québec McALLISTER, Ian (1992), Political Behaviour: Citizens, Parties and Elites, Melbourne, Longman Cheshire NORRIS, Pippa (1993), « Conclusions: Comparing Legislative Recruitment » dans Joni LOVENDUSKI et Pippa NORRIS (sous la direction), Gender and Party Politics, London, Sage: 309-330 NORRIS, Pippa, R. J. CARTY, Lynda ERICKSON, Joni LOVENDUSKI et Marian SIMMS (1990), « Party Selectorates in Australia, Britain and Canada: Prolegomena for Research in the 1990s », Journal of Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, 28, 2: 219-245 NORRIS, Pippa et Joni LOVENDUSKI (1989), « Pathways to Parliament », Talking Politics,1,3: 90-94 PELLETIER, Réjean et Manon TREMBLAY (1992), « Les femmes sont-elles candidates dans des circonscriptions perdues d’avance? De l’examen d’une croyance », Revue canadienne de science politique, 25, 2: 249-267 RASMUSSEN, Jorgen S. (1983), « The Electoral Costs of Being a Woman in the 1979 British General Election », Comparative Politics, 15, 4: 461-475 RINEHART, Sue Tolleson (1992), Gender Consciousness and Politics, New York, Routledge SCOTT, Joan (1988), « Genre: Une catégorie utile d’analyse historique », Les cahiers du Grif, 37/38: 125-153 SINEAU, Mariette (1988), Des femmes en politique, Paris, Economica SOMMA, Mark (1992), « The Gender Gap and Attitudes Towards Economic Development Strategies Among Midwestern Adults », Women & Politics, 12, 2: 41-57 STUDLAR, Donley T. et Richard E. MATLAND (1994), « The Growth of Women’s Representation in the Canadian House of Commons and the Election of 1984: A Reappraisal », Canadian Journal of Political Science, 27, 1: 53-79 STUDLAR, Donley T. et Ian McALLISTER (1991), « Political Recruitment to the Australian Legislature: Toward an Explanation of Women’s Electoral Disadvantages », Western Political Quarterly, 44, 2: 467-485 STUDLAR, Donley T., Ian McALLISTER et Alvaro ASCUI (1988), « Electing Women to the British Commons: Breakout from the Beleaguered Beachhead? », Legislative Studies Quarterly, 13, 4: 515-528 TARDY, Évelyne et al. (1982), La politique: un monde d’hommes? Une étude sur les mairesses au Québec, Montréal, Hurtubise HMH TREMBLAY, Manon (1994), « Les opinions des nouvelles et des nouveaux politologues francophones concernant les rôles des femmes et des hommes en politique », Revue québécoise de science politique, 26: 103-159 TREMBLAY, Manon (1993), « Gender and Society: Rights and Realities » dans David THOMAS (sous la direction), Canada and the United States: Differences that Count, Peterborough, Broadview Press: 271-300 TREMBLAY, Manon et Réjean PELLETIER (1995), Que font-elles en politique?, Ste-Foy, Presses de l’Université Laval United Nations (Centre for Social Development and Humanitarian Affairs) (1992), Women in Politics and Decision-Making in the Late Twentieth Century. A United Nations Study, Dordrecht, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers VICKERS, Jill McCalla (1978), « Where Are the Women in Canadian Politics? », Atlantis. A Women’s Studies Journal/Journal d’études sur la femme, 3, 2 (Part II): 40-51 VICKERS, Jill, Pauline RANKIN et Christine APPELLE (1993), Politics As if Women Mattered. A Political Analysis of the National Committee on the Status of Women, Toronto, University of Toronto Press VICKERS, Jill McCalla et M. Janine BRODIE (1981), « Canada » dans Joni LOVENDUSKI et Jill HILLS (sous la direction), The Politics of the Second Electorate. Women and Public Participation, London, Routledge & Kegan Paul: 66-74 YOUNG, Lisa (1991), « L’incidence du taux de roulement des députés sur l’élection de femmes à la Chambre des communes » dans Kathy MEGYERY (sous la direction), Les femmes et la politique canadienne. Pour une représentation équitable, Montréal, Wilson & Lafleur: 89- 109 (Volume 6 de la collection d’études de la Commission royale sur la réforme électorale et le financement des partis)

78 Les femmes, des candidates moins performantes que les hommes?

Annexe

Valeurs attribuées aux modalités de la variable nommée « statut plus »

Définitions des modalités de la variable « statut plus » Valeurs

Les néophytes : Candidates ou candidats qui n’étaient pas 1 membres du Parlement au moment de sa dissolution. Elles ou ils affrontent une héritière ou un héritier ou, encore, une personne membre du Parlement précédent.

Les égalitaires : Candidates ou candidats qui n’étaient pas 2 membres du Parlement au moment de sa dissolution et qui affrontent des adversaires qui ne l’étaient pas non plus. Ces personnes se confrontent dans une circonscription nouvellement formée, de telle sorte qu’aucune n’hérite d’un siège remporté à l’élection précédente par le parti dont elle porte les couleurs.

Les héritières et héritiers : Candidates ou candidats qui 3 n’étaient pas membres du Parlement au moment de sa dissolution et qui affrontent des adversaires qui ne l’étaient pas non plus. L’avantage de ce statut est d’hériter du siège remporté par son parti à l’élection précédente dans cette circonscription.

Les parlementaires : Candidates ou candidats qui étaient 4 membres du Parlement au moment de sa dissolution.

79 Nelda K. Pearson

Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment: A Case Study of a Canadian Farm Women’s Movement1

Abstract As the New World Economy’s down-sizing continues, regions and communities in the GSeven World confront the need to develop alternative strategies to top-down development. These strategies require a leadership style that empowers indigenous people to solve local economic problems using local talent and resources. Women’s grassroots groups are an excellent source for observing these alternate styles. Using Belenky’s Women’s Way of Knowing, we analyze the style differences of the first two leaders of a Canadian grassroots farm women’s movement, Women for the Survival of Agriculture. Our findings show that the connected, empathic, conciliatory and inclusive leadership style tends to be more empowering than the more traditional, adversarial style. These findings have implications both for social movement theory and community leadership training.

Résumé Au fur et à mesure que la nouvelle économie mondiale continue à être rationalisée, les régions et les communautés du Groupe des sept doivent faire face à la nécessité de créer de nouvelles stratégies pour trouver des solutions au développement dont les décisions proviennent de la haute gestion. Ces stratégies requièrent un style de leadership qui donne pleins pouvoirs à la population locale, dotée des talents et des ressources nécessaires pour résoudre les problèmes économiques de leur communauté. Les groupes populaires, plus précisément les groupes de femmes, constituent un excellent modèle pour observer ce type de style. En se servant du livre de Belenky, Women’s Way of Knowing, l’article analyse les différences de styles entre les deux premières chefs d’un regroupement de fermières canadiennes, « Women for the Survival of Agriculture ». Les résultats indiquent qu’un style de leadership où la chef est compréhensive, conciliatrice, en contact avec la base et inclut les autres est plus apte au partage du pouvoir qu’un style où la chef est plus traditionnelle et antagoniste. Ces résultats ont des conséquences sur le domaine des théories des mouvements sociaux et sur la formation des chefs de groupes populaires.

As the global economy continues to down-size (Brecher and Costello, 1994), more and more communities in the GSeven countries will turn toward community economic development as an alternative to competing for major corporations as a source of employment. Community economic development is a strategy of underdeveloped countries and requires an approach unfettered

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC by the formalization, professionalization and routinization typical of complex organizations and bureaucracies. It demands a way of defining economic development that motivates and empowers people to solve their own problems using their own resources with little dependence on experts and professionals. (GATT-Fly, 1983; Freire, 1970; Lederach, 1992) It also requires a different style of leadership. Our case study looks at one grassroots movement and how its leaders’ “ways of knowing” affected their style of leadership and their ability to empower others. A quick look at Women for the Survival of Agriculture (WSA) presents a glowing picture of success. Here is a grassroots farm women’s organization that started in a small farming community in Eastern Ontario in 1975 and has spread to every province. It has completed four farm studies, participated in innumerable projects and political actions and was the primary organizer of four of six national farm women’s conferences: Ottawa, 1980; Charlottetown, PEI, 1985; Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, 1987; St. John, New Brunswick, 1989. This was all done with no national executive committee, no ongoing source of money and no paid staff. WSA has been a dramatically successful grassroots, community-based organization developed by farm women for farm women and the family farm. However, deeper probing of all materials, including WSA newsletters since 19752 (there were no minutes kept of meetings), interviews with key actors beginning in 1984,3 especially “Dotty Harris” the founding mother of WSA and “Dede Morris” the second president of the “home” chapter, as well as over one hundred interviews with WSA members in all ten provinces, and participant observation at three of the six national farm women’s conferences, suggests a much more complex picture. (Although all leaders in this group are semi-public figures, the names used in this article are fictitious.) Using this material, we will analyze how leadership style has affected this grassroots movement.

Empowerment Empowerment is a concept widely used in women’s and economic development literature and/or participatory community development literature, although it has not been clearly defined nor operationalized. Moser, in her review of Third World policy approaches to development, articulates an empowerment model without defining it. According to Moser, empowering groups “are committed to empower women and [have] a concern to reject rigid bureaucratic structures in favor of non-hierarchical open structures.” (Moser, 1993:79) Braidotti, et al. discuss the “acquisition of subjectivity” as empowerment through “the living process of transformation of self and other.” (Braidotti, et al., 1994, 81) This rejection of women as other and object is also raised by Vella: The principle behind the theme of the AWID conference is that each woman, each person, is a subject in her own life. People are not created to be objects. We are made to be subjects, decision makers, in our own lives. (Vella, 1993:105)

84 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment

All of these approaches derive from a non-western tradition and blend ecofeminism (Shiva, 1989; Meis and Shiva, 1993), feminist science (Harding, 1986; Fox-Keller, 1985), post-modern feminism (Haraway, 1991), African American feminism (Collins, 1990) and popular liberation education (Freiri, 1970), all of which reject Euro-American thinking as a “monoculture of the mind” that destroys both biodiversity and cultural diversity, oppressing women, people of colour, tribals, manual workers and nature. (See especially Meis and Shiva, 1993) Participatory development literature also tends to use empowerment as an understood concept and primarily concentrates on ways to be empowered. The National Women’s Training Sourcebook (1993) discusses the importance of a group or individual being able “to articulate, discover, or reclaim their particular vision” (Ibid., 31) and sets up exercises to “voice” the dreams and visions of neighbourhood women. This manual also critiques the approach of professional women who use a more traditional, “top-down” learning/teaching approach such as a) deciding for grassroots women what should be done, b) fixing problems without teaching how to fix them, c) having inflexible viewpoints and thinking things can only be done one way, d) being arrogant, pulling rank and not being able to take criticism, and e) being blind to and failing to use grassroots women’s expertise. (Ibid., 137) Hope and Timmel (1984), in their three-volume training manual, Training for Transformation, make clear that no education is neutral, that all education either “domesticates” or “liberates,” and that their DELTA project listens, respects and affirms all participants’ ideas and feelings in an elicitive model of learning. Bookman and Morgan (1988), in their book Women and the Politics of Empowerment, also do not define empowerment but state in their introduction: ...empowerment begins when they [women] change their ideas about the causes of their powerlessness, when they recognize the systemic forces that oppress them, and when they act to change the conditions of their lives. (Ibid., 4) The statement which best articulates the concept of empowerment is an article from a discussion of Israeli and Palestinian women: Women experience others having power over them as women and as members of oppressed communities, but they seek to empower themselves. They want this sense of empowerment to be “power with”; power with other women, power with men, power with other national groups with whom they are in conflict. ... The goal of empowerment is to help the weaker party become aware and utilize the power that it does have, in order to equalize the relationship and transform the nature of the conflict. (Bernards 1993:199-200) The components of empowerment identified from this discussion are: a) voicing the silenced, b) owning one’s own vision, c) facilitating self- transformation from object to subject, reactive to proactive, acted upon to agent of action d) creating autonomy, e) raising self-esteem, and f) developing a person committed to reconciliation, inclusivity and consensus-building

85 IJCS / RIÉC while allowing for diversity. The group structure which best allows this is small and informal, where the leader plays the role of facilitator to the voice of the participants, listening respectfully to ideas and feelings, and affirming the validity of the experience and vision of the participants.

The Problem One of the primary problems of grassroots leadership is burnout among key leaders as the movement grows and takes on new challenges. (Pearson, 1993) Leaders must recruit, empower and train new grassroots leaders as replacements while they are leading the movement. The type of group identified above tends to disappear as a movement grows larger and becomes more task-oriented. Limiting group size is obviously one way to continue to empower (Gilman, 1993), although this would ultimately defeat the purpose of a grassroots group concerned with political action. Another solution is to maintain leaders whose style empowers others. Our discussion of leadership style and ways of knowing will take place within the constraints to empowerment inherent in a movement that becomes larger and more task- oriented.

Theoretical Background and Belenky’s Paradigm Much of the literature on social movements over the past twenty years has focused on resource mobilization. (Mueller, 1992) Recently, more interest has centred on how individuals come to be identified with and remain involved in social movements. However, the research has placed little emphasis on the differences between men’s and women’s way of becoming identified with a movement. Most literature that has dealt with women’s participation has concentrated on their role as wife and mother, i.e., their status derived from their relationship to men, and has ignored their class, race and occupational position as variables that relate to their belief that they can bring about change. (Morgen and Bookman, 1988) In addition, research has not examined whether a gender difference affects how and why women lead, although it is debated in sustainable development literature. (ECOFEM@csf. colorado.edu, 1994) As discussed above, a key issue in community economic development is empowerment, the awareness that one personally has the capacity to create a movement and/or participate as a leader in a movement to solve a problem. Women are frequently not empowered because they believe, or have been led to believe, that they have no power to obtain the resources to solve problems or even if they had those resources that they lack the ability to use them effectively. (Schaef, 1985) Given the stereotype of farm women this is even truer for them. Farm women are less likely to believe that they can bring about change due to their continued stereotyping by urban society as less than competent. They are seen as less sophisticated, less well educated, and more traditional. (“Farm Women through...,” Manitoba Co-ordinator, April 11, 1985; Rosenfeld, 1985) Belenky, et al. (1985) produced a developmental model helpful in examining how women become empowered. This model sees women moving in stages toward a mastery of the world wherein more and more the locus of control is

86 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment internal to themselves. It specifically addresses how women come to relate to an authority structure that is patriarchal both in terms of who holds authority and its andrologocentric view of reality which stresses hierarchy, meritocracy, linearity, rationality and objectivity. (Mies and Shiva, 1993) A key point of her model is that women, unlike men, maintain a connectedness to others, i.e., have a sense of the common good which remains unchanged by their sense of mastery and empowerment. Whether this assumption is essentialistic or a social construction is left moot by Belenky, and since discussions in the African American culture suggest similar connectedness for both men and women (bell hooks [sic] and West, 1991; Collins, 1990), we assume that this is a social construction (for a discussion of essentialism vs. social construction on gender see Biehl, 1991). This connectedness contrasts with the rational actor assumption of most of mobilization theories which, based on the andrologocentric worldview, assume that most people act on self interest (Ferree, 1992), rather than the common good. Although her analysis grows out of Gilligan’s (1985) comparison of men and women in the U.S., and overlooks the tendency for both sexes in the U.S. to be more individualistic in their thinking than Canadians, who are more concerned with the common good (Lipset, 1985), it nonetheless applies to Canadian women given their status in Canadian society. (The World’s Women, 1991) Belenky expanded on Gilligan by pointing out that women’s historical position in society has shaped this connectedness in various ways depending on the individual woman’s experience. Belenky’s paradigm moves from the level one, silence, in seven steps to the final level, constructed knowledge. The first two levels, silence and received knowledge, describe women’s limited knowing due to the oppression of the patriarchal authority structure. Women at these levels deny their potential to be empowered. The third and fourth levels include subjective knowledge. Here “truth and knowledge are conceived of as personal, private and subjectively known or intuited.” (Belenky, 1986:15) These women become empowered and gradually move from anger and distrust of all external authority to beginning to trust what they hear subjectively and placing it within the broader framework of external knowledge. At the level of procedural knowledge, women become involved in “learning and applying objective procedures for obtaining and communicating knowledge.” (Belenky, 1985, 15) At this level, there are two different kinds of procedural knowers. The connected procedural knower depends on personal experience rather than pronouncements of authorities, has a capacity for empathy, can see a lot of different points of view at the same time, tends to want to understand what circumstances led others to think the way they do, sees personal experience as adding to perception, and believes that the diverse personalities of a group enrich the group’s understanding. The connected knower tends to criticize the system but has not reached the point where she can question the andrologocentric premises of the system. Belenky contrasts the connected knower with the separatist procedural knower, who is much more critical and adversarial while accepting the pronouncements of authority if it is based on pure reason and/or empirical data. (Belenky,1986:95 im

87 IJCS / RIÉC passem) The connected knower rejects the hierarchical, linear, objective rational worldview of patriarchy as not so much wrong as limiting. The separatist masters this worldview and uses it either to her personal ends or for what she sees as the common good. Women in these two categories are empowered but in very different ways. Although both types of women use procedure, the connected knower is successful because of her empathic links to others, while the separatist is successful because she can make the procedure “work for her.” The connected knower tends to empower others while the separatist tends to use her knowledge as power over others to get the job done as she has defined it. Belenky concludes with the final way of knowing, the constructed knower who transforms knowledge and is capable of being a “servant leader.” (Greenleaf, 1977) It is tempting to see this as a hierarchy, and Belenky and her coauthors often write as though it were. The intention of the authors is to see different styles as merely differences in order to articulate these differences. When we link these styles to leadership, it is also tempting to see one style as better than another. In our discussion, the point is not to decide which is “right” but which is more appropriate to the task at hand. From the description, the connected knower is more affirming and person-oriented while the separatist knower is more task- oriented. In our analysis of WSA and its leaders, we found the primary struggle to be between connected procedural leaders and separatist procedural leaders. We also found that group members in denial (silence or received knowledge) or angry (subjective knowledge) had difficulty participating in the movement. The impact of connected vs. separatist ways of knowing on leadership style and the organization is the focus of this analysis.

WSA: A Brief History Dotty Harris, the wife of a beef feed lot farmer in Winchester, Dundas County, Ontario (thirty-five miles south of Ottawa), initiated a new farm women’s organization in 1975. A regular attender of the Ontario Farmer’s Association, Ms. Harris was struck that only one other woman attended regularly. At the same time, Ms. Harris had been writing letters to the editors of various newspapers to protest articles that suggested farmers were getting rich off the “poor” consumer. Ms. Harris addressed both the issue of farm costs and the low visibility of farm women in a letter to the editor of the Toronto Globe and Mail dated November 16, 1974.4 This letter echoes the main theme of Ms. Harris’ early message which was that a) urban consumers were misinformed about farm life and food production, b) farm costs were “crippling the farmer” and c) farm wives needed a greater voice in farm policy and more recognition by both the farming community and the urban consumer. In mid-March of 1975, Ms. Harris signed up twenty potential members for WSA at an Ontario Federation of Agriculture banquet and dance in Dundas. Her position had obviously struck a chord with farm women.

88 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment

WSA started with a strong emphasis on public/political action and was misread as a strident radical group of “marching mothers.” In fact, the headline in the April 22, 1975 Farm and Country states “Women form militant farm group.” However, the call for the May 1975 WSA meeting presents a somewhat more benign picture. The goals of WSA are stated as follows:

1. To be aware and informed of all aspects of farming so we can effectively support our men in agriculture. 2. Open the lines of communication between the farmer and the public, to seek ways and means of creating a better understanding of farming, its work, its influence and its problems to all people. 3. To take a stand on critical issues which affect us. 4. To defend our way of life. 5. To tell of the vital role women play in agriculture. 6. To form a network of women for agriculture across the country so we can speak with one voice on issues that affect us all. (“W.S.A. Plans Meeting ...,” Winchester Press, May 1, 1975, no page number)

From the very beginning, Ms. Harris worked to keep WSA and its message in the public eye. WSA was involved in eleven activities in 1975 including lobbying, putting together the WSA newsletter (edited by Dotty Harris), letter writing, grant writing, and networking with other farm groups. These projects and activities generated over thirty-three newspaper articles in everything from Farm and Country to the Globe and Mail. By 1976, WSA was receiving national recognition and was featured on CBC Television’s hour-long show Platform. However, the number of new projects dwindled. In 1976, WSA concentrated on only four activities and generated fewer newspaper articles (twenty-two). Only three newspaper articles were generated in 1977 and eight in 1978. Only four newsletters exist for 1977 and two for 1978. There are no annual reports. The May 1978 newsletter (the last for that year) starts with Ms. Harris’ usual positive style. “The past two months have been significant for WSA. Farm leaders and publishers have contacted us saying `you have earned recognition in the farm community...you have a tiger by the tail, don’t let go’” (page one). She then devotes over half of the newsletter to encouraging members to participate. During this period of slow- down, Ms. Harris initiated many leadership workshops to encourage more farm women to take roles of responsibility in the group. By 1979 this tactic bore fruit. The January 1979 newsletter, now edited by L. D., spells out five goals for WSA, making it very clear that WSA needed more support from all members. That year, Dede Morris also became extremely active as Education Co- ordinator and initiated several courses/workshops at Kemptville. Although Ms. Harris remained as president of WSA until 1984, when Ms. Morris took over, she now had two extremely dedicated workers who took responsibility for two major time consumers: the newsletter and the education program. The

89 IJCS / RIÉC addition of these two colleagues altered the direction of WSA and the “tone” of the organization. The years from 1979-1984 were years of steady expansion. More WSA chapters were formed in the ten provinces. Ms. Harris continued to travel and promote her vision while Ms. Morris worked at home on the expanding educational program. L. D., the newsletter editor, expanded its format. The newsletter was still primarily filled with WSA news, but now included information from relevant articles in other publications, listings of meetings of other groups and compilation of statistics. Most importantly, it frequently referred to the activities of WSA chapters in other provinces. The mailing list included members of WSA in all other chapters. Winchester’s newsletter was the co-ordinating link among the various independent chapters. The First National Farm Women’s Conference was planned by WSA and took place in December 1980 in Ottawa. This conference was an invigorating moment for farm women. For the first time, women from across Canada were meeting and asking to be recognized as partners in the family farm. The conference was both a celebration of the identity of these women as co-farmers with their husbands, brothers, fathers and a sharing of common concerns. At this point, a big part of Ms. Harris’ vision was realized; the recognition of women as co-farmers and not as “merely” farm wives. D. R. replaced L.D. as newsletter editor in 1982 and the newsletter became systematically more formal, more dependent on other sources for information, more statistics-based, and less likely to report either local or national WSA news in depth. At times, the newsletter read (and still reads) very much like a “reader’s digest” of agricultural news and information. While the newsletter provided a plethora of technical information, personal WSA stories illustrating the data were less frequent. The newsletter was no longer a primary source of information about WSA and its members, and no longer worked to link the chapters together. The farm crisis hit Ontario badly in 1983-1984. This pushed Ms. Harris harder to try to fulfill her vision of a national farm women’s organization officially recognized and funded by the federal government. Planning began for the Second National Farm Women’s Conference. In the midst of this planning, Ms. Harris turned the presidency over to Dede Morris. Ms. Harris had a variety of reasons for doing this including burn-out and a need to plan her and her husband’s retirement, but mostly she thought it was time. She felt that WSA had become too dependent on her leadership and she wanted to empower more women. She had personally chosen Dede Morris as her successor due to Ms. Morris’ competence and dedication as educational co-ordinator. Ms. Harris had also identified another young woman as the likely person to start training as Ms. Morris’ vice president. (Interviews, 1985) The Second, Third and Fourth Farm Women’s conferences saw increasing factionalization, politicalization and acrimony. The Second National Conference in 1985, through the use of grassroots work groups, developed the idea of creating a national farm women’s network. At the Third National Conference in 1987, the network was established and C. Y. from

90 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment

Newfoundland WSA was selected as president. At the Fourth National Conference in 1989, a constitution was adopted for the network. However, at each conference, the attempt to maintain an inclusive grassroots atmosphere diminished. At the Second National conference, work groups were facilitated by neutral facilitators trained to illicit the opinions of all group members and develop an inclusive, consensual statement from the conference for the federal Minister of Agriculture. By the Fourth Conference, the groups were headed by hand- picked delegates in order to control and shape debate in the direction of acceptance of the constitution (discussed below). Despite efforts at the Second Conference to maintain an inclusive participatory democracy approach, political struggles emerged. The split primarily concerned WSA, Women’s Institute, National Farmer’s Union and the Quebec delegation, Comité des fermières de l’Union des producteurs agricoles. A further divisive element was the regional coalitions: the prairie provinces, the maritimes and a coalition of BC and Newfoundland formed through Ms. Harris’ intervention (discussed below), with Ontario and Quebec each standing alone. These groups caucused privately and worked across the discussion groups created for the conference. Many did not want a new organization. Ms. Harris developed the idea of a network of organizations. This compromise was accepted. By 1987, at the Third National Farm Women’s Conference in Saskatoon, the political lines were fairly clearly drawn. The recommendation that the federal government sanction and support a national farm women’s network was the main issue of the conference. Opponents maintained that a new organization was redundant in light of existing organizations, such as Women’s Institute and National Farmer’s Union. WSA leadership (but not all members) maintained that no one organization spoke for farm women across Canada. They pointed out that although WSA existed in all provinces, it lacked a central office and although Ms. Harris had been seen as the national leader she had in fact only been the president of Ontario WSA. They raised the issue that until there was one national organization, funding from the federal government would remain problematic. This was countered with debate as to whether the formation of the new organization was really just funding-driven. Many delegates feared that the new network would constitute a new organization and that the primary motivation was funding. (Interviews 1987) Although there were several programs and speakers, everyone knew the real issue was the vote. Ms. Harris reiterated the phrase — a network not a new organization. The network was formed and C. Y., the WSA president from Newfoundland, was chosen to head it. At this conference, Ms. Harris kept a lower profile and spoke frequently of her concern that much of the opposition to the national network came from those who thought she was getting “too big for her britches” and that she was a “glory grabber.” She limited her presence on the floor of the conference, using her influence in private conversations or by working through Ontario delegates, and spoke of becoming inactive in WSA. (Interviews,1987)

91 IJCS / RIÉC

The second and third conferences made a very clear point with regard to the role of Dotty Harris and Dede Morris. Although both were “only” the president of Ontario WSA, Ms. Harris was seen as the national leader while Ms. Morris was not. At both the 1985 and 1987 conferences, Ms. Harris was more of a political force than Ms. Morris. This changed by 1989 at the Fourth National Conference. Ms. Harris did not attend the 1989 conference in St. John, New Brunswick. This conference was much more clearly a convention for the purpose of ratifying a constitution for the newly formed network. Ontario WSA, at Ms. Morris’ behest, had hired a lawyer to write a constitution for the group. Although this was to be merely a “working paper” for discussion, it quickly became an adversarial issue. The constitution came to the floor for a vote. Several manoeuvres involving Robert’s Rules of Order were made in an attempt to unseat some delegates and prevent the issue from coming to a vote. This move was viewed by WSA members as an attack on them and a misuse of the Rules of Order. A good deal of back-room politics and strategizing occurred, but not across groups. The tone was definitely not conciliatory. Ms. Morris promoted this adversarial atmosphere in part by using the lawyer as the spokesperson for the constitution rather than WSA delegates. When questions were raised, the lawyer tended to argue against the question rather than answering, much like a courtroom scene. In interviewing delegates from the various factions, it was clear that all felt the atmosphere to be very acrimonious and accused other groups of engaging in unfair tactics. The issue of the value of the constitution itself became muted behind the issue of “the way they (the other group) did things.” The phrases “shoving it down our throats” and “dirty politics” were used by all factions. Although the constitution was accepted, many delegates left feeling a good deal of ill will and vowing to never come back. Several delegates whom I knew very well, and who had invited me in their homes while conducting my interviews in the various provinces, now distanced themselves because I had been seen “once too often with [Ms. Morris] and C. Y.” (Interviews, 1989) Dotty Harris’ “style” had enormous influence on the early years of WSA. She is the most prominent figure during the first four years of WSA in addition to being the founder. Although innumerable factors undoubtedly influence the evolution of an organization (and a broader more lengthy discussion of WSA will look at these other factors), our analysis will examine how Ms. Harris’ style shaped the first nine years. We will then examine how Dede Morris’ style shaped the years 1984-1989 and conclude with a comparison.

Dotty Harris’ Style Dotty Harris stressed: 1) promoting other women into leadership, 2) being assertive yet conciliatory, and 3) being inclusive. Ms. Harris admits that for the first four years of WSA, she was the driving force. She also states that she wanted to include as many women as possible and was disappointed when women did not move into positions of responsibility (telephone interview, December 1991). Evidence from the sixty-five newspaper articles from 1974-

92 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment

1978 indicate that only twelve other WSA members were mentioned only twenty-three times. The newsletters are somewhat different. Ms. Harris clearly attempted to involve as many members as possible and delegate as much authority as possible. While Dotty Harris was newsletter editor (1975-1979), twenty-five other WSA women were mentioned (excluding guest speakers, government officials, etc.) a total of fifty-three times, a rotating chair of the monthly meetings was initiated, activities such as “idea roads” were used to develop both community spirit and empowerment, and authority was delegated to various committees for projects initiated by the membership. Dotty Harris personally empowered individuals. For example, she strongly supported a very angry farm wife who had been abused as a child as the best candidate to run a shelter for battered women in Dundas County, a project of WSA. E.R. was probably not the best candidate for the job based on professional skill, as Dotty Harris knew. She also knew that E.R. had been one of the hardest workers in getting the shelter (a bitterly-fought community battle) and therefore in some sense “deserved” the position. She also believed that E.R. would acquire the skills necessary to direct the shelter and that successfully running the shelter might “turn [E.R.] around.” Ms. Harris was willing to work with her to cultivate these skills. Both C. Y. and W. McM., the PEI President, recounted the “very thorough” workshops Ms. Harris created for future leaders in WSA, including analysis of body language, dress style, general grooming, language and diction, attitude, general knowledge of the issues, and supporting data. W. McM. said: “My dear, they look at everything, everything including what colors you wear.” (Interviews, 1985) An analysis of quotes from Dotty Harris in newspaper articles and in the newsletter clearly shows that her vision of WSA and society is inclusive not exclusive. Although she would “speak the truth” for the farmer and farm life, she was always conciliatory. Repeatedly, she hit hard on misinformation perpetuated by government or consumer groups but always ended by placing those groups on the “same side” of an issue. Ms. Harris characterized herself (February 1, 1991 telephone conversation) as “radical but conciliatory.” For example, although Ms. Harris had fought for recognition of farm women as co-partners and was consequently labeled a “women’s libber” by the Globe and Mail, in the statement of WSA’s purpose the first item reads: “1. To be aware and informed of all aspects of farming so we can effectively support our men in agriculture,” (emphasis added, “WSA plans...,” Winchester Press, May 1, 1985, no page number). In responding to criticisms by consumer groups, Ms. Harris took the same tough yet conciliatory approach. For example, in response to a newspaper editorial criticizing subsidies to farmers in her March 9, 1976 Globe and Mail article, Ms. Harris calls consumers a bunch of “spoiled brats” who benefit from a cheap food policy in Canada. However, she concluded “Those subsidies which you identify in your editorial are established for the benefit of low- income consumers of this country,” (no page number). In other articles, she returns to this theme and points out that low food costs help support a higher

93 IJCS / RIÉC standard of living for Canadians. Ms. Harris was convinced that once people understand an issue, they rally to the same side. “There are sympathetic people out there — they just have to be reached.” (Newsletter, May 1978, no page number) I repeatedly saw Dotty Harris deal with people with skill and diplomacy. One excellent example with far-reaching implications was the way she talked with the Newfoundland delegation to the Second National Farm Woman’s Conference in Charlottetown, PEI. The Newfoundlanders were attending for the first time and having a hard time getting recognition for their unique farm problems. Many other delegates took the attitude of “typical Newfies.” Caroline Young, the provincial co-ordinator from Newfoundland, came to me with her concerns because I had spent several days with her in Lethbridge, Newfoundland the summer of 1985. I suggested that we discuss this with Ms. Harris. At a breakfast meeting, Ms. Harris listened carefully to C.Y.’s farm issues and her feelings of hurt. She then suggested that Newfoundland might find some common ground with British Columbia and proceeded to point out some commonalties to her. This became the foundation of a coalition between British Columbia and Newfoundland that helped put C. Y. at the head of the newly-formed National Farm Women’s Network in 1987. Ms. Harris’ style worked well in gaining WSA the support of the community, the media, other farm organizations and funding agencies. In the 1976 October 12th Globe and Mail, Ms. Harris is summed up as follows: When [Dotty Harris] launched her Women for Survival of Agriculture last year, reaction generally ranged from indifference to irritation. To some, [Dotty] and her association conjured up an image of militant women’s libbers, marching to a well-intentioned but foolish drummer. Others saw her WSA as a real nuisance. They felt her association would further fragment the farm voice. Well, the skeptics can relax: (a) [Dotty] is no “libber.” And (b) She’s not out to splinter the farm cause. (no page number)

Dede Morris’ Style Dede Morris stresses: 1) mastery of formal knowledge, especially statistics, 2) development of formal structure, and 3) adversarial argumentation based on reason and logic. She is very skilled at gathering together data and building a logical, rational argument as to why her position or that of her group is the only possible position. In her newspaper column Farm and Country, she tackled serious social, economic and political issues relevant to the farm family. These included such issues as husband and wife as co-owners and its impact on capital gains, the impact of free trade on the Canadian farmer, federal funding and day care, parity, and the need for lobbying a new agricultural minister. Nowhere does Ms. Morris draw on stories either about her own farm and family or her

94 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment neighbours to stir our hearts. Her tone in print tends to be adversarial. For example with regard to farm foreclosures: Now bankers are no fools. They know they have been handed a lollipop, and so unload they did. While the federal government went on vacation, farm loans were called, and farmers were faced with foreclosure... Canadians have traditionally been naive in believing their government will protect them. (Farm and Country, Oct 22,1985 FL31) or parity We had parity. We had prosperity. From 1942 to 1952 we felt the ripple effect of legislated parity in the U.S. In 1953, the legislation was scuttled and the result is a horror story of borrowing and debt: government, business, and personal debt. All this debt occurred because farmers were denied a fair price for their product. (Farm and Country, March 26, 1985 FL66) or family violence Family violence is on the upswing...None of the horrendous facts includes the injuries and silent screams of the women and children who are trapped with no money, no transportation and no means of communicating with the authorities. (Farm and Country, February 26, 1985 FL 43) The reader is left with the feeling that there are unseen threats lurking everywhere and that no one, especially not the government, is sharing the load. Although Ms. Morris usually ends her column with a call to unity, a “we can do it if we all pull together” that call rests on an “it’s us vs. everyone else” argument. The most overt example of this adversarial style perceived by the author was Dede Morris’ handling of the political divisions at the Fourth National Conference. At this time, she was the spearhead for the acceptance of the constitution and she had enlisted C. Y. as her ally. Once again, work groups at the conference were formed but along highly political lines. Group leaders were not neutral facilitators but hand-picked to lead the groups toward supporting the constitution. Several “problematic” delegates were put together in the same groups where the lawyer, Ms. Morris and C. Y. could “shout down” (their words) their opposition. In the work group I attended, the lawyer fielded most of the questions, and disagreement with ratifying the constitution was not tolerated. Critics were silenced which led to the “political manoeuvres” with Robert’s Rules of Order. This approach was totally different from the consensual work groups of the Second National Conference. C.Y. tended to reinforce Ms. Morris’ tactics of “shouting down” the opposition. C.Y. still stung from the lack of recognition that Newfoundland had gotten at the Second National Conference in 1985 confided to me her feeling that the other provincial presidents were not taking her seriously. She made it clear that now that she “had the whip hand” she was going “get back

95 IJCS / RIÉC some of her own.” (Interview, 1989) Other women among the pro-ratification delegates also voiced a “we’re going to show them” attitude. When the vice president of the Ontario Farm Women’s Network urged a more benign view of their “opponents,” she was accused of disloyalty. Dede Morris did not work toward reconciliation but used loyalty issues and pressure to create a voting block. Dede Morris modeled her style at this conference after that of a “professional,” the lawyer, whose behaviour suited her background, namely, the legalistic adversarial structure of the courtroom and the corporate boardroom. She relied on the lawyer to help strategize and orchestrate the ratification and used her to field questions. The identities of both Dede Morris and C.Y. were closely entwined in their recognition as the official head of their organizations and therefore deserving of political loyalty. More than the final step in establishing the network, ratification of the constitution reaffirmed their own self images as leaders and powerful “professional” women.

Dotty Harris’ and Dede Morris’ “Way of Knowing” Dotty Harris is a connected knower. Her whole style revolves around acquiring information and being a “skillful” communicator. Ms. Harris is a great believer in workshops for acquiring skills and encourages other women to acquire these skills. She works on the assumption that all women are capable and that it is simply a matter of finding the right technique to help them bloom. Ms. Harris sought the help of “professionals” from time to time but she never believed they had “all the answers” or that a formal education was necessary in order to accomplish her goals. Ms. Harris has no university education but she used the research techniques common to the term paper. In all her letters, she backed up every opinion with solid information. She also tended to include very personal stories which brought those statistics to life. Ms. Harris is empathetic and willing to see all view points at the same time. Perhaps one of her great strengths as founder of WSA was to value every woman who came to the meetings and to treat each one in such a way that they, too, believed in their value. Dotty Harris gave the women of WSA a sense of worth and value that their family and community had denied them. However, her “way of knowing” was quite different from most. She clearly felt that she had never empowered the women as fully as she could have. She mourned the fact that some women would take up a cause and work for it as “long as it benefited their family farm” but could not move beyond that. Dede Morris presents a very different way of knowing. Ms. Morris is a clear example of a separatist knower. Under her leadership as Education Co- ordinator and later as President of WSA (1984-1991), WSA took a different direction. She developed greater dependence on paid professionals such as lawyers, researchers and educators, and on statistics generated by professionals. This approach worked well for her as co-ordinator of education for WSA. Her courses at Kemptville College, where every winter she

96 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment organized formal courses specific to the needs of farm women, were excellent and highly praised. However, it did not work so well in empowering other women. As we have seen, her approach was adversarial. She tended to use the rules in order to win. This was very clear in the debate at the Fourth National Conference on who could or could not vote. In this case, Robert’s Rules of Order were used not to facilitate but to block debate, not to enfranchise everyone but to disenfranchise those against the constitution. In my discussions with Dede Morris (interviews, 1989), she clearly did not see her strategy as disempowering and in fact seemed unaware that her style differed from that of Dotty Harris. She was fulfilling Ms. Harris vision of a National Farm Women’s network. That was what was important. In looking at Dede Morris’ style, she seems to fit the management style developed by Elton Mayo and described as a “masculine ethic” in the classic Men and Women of the Corporation. (Kanter, 1977) This masculine ethic elevates the traits of tough- mindedness, critical and analytic ability and cognitive superiority. (Ibid., 22) As Belenky points out, the separatist knower is elitist in thinking and would rather exclude someone who should be included than include someone who should not, based on this criterion of tough-mindedness. (Op cit, 104)

Conclusion From the perspective of resource mobilization, the creation of the Canadian National Farm Women’s Network was a wise move since it maximized access to resources. How Dede Morris managed this accomplishment was irrelevant. In fact, some would argue that the ensuing dissent was empowering. (Flora and Flora, 1992) However, in the process, women who were once empowered by a less organized, centralized and legitimized organization were silenced and excluded unless they changed their views and agreed with Dede Morris. According to our definition of empowerment, they were no longer being empowered. Our case study suggests that the leadership style of separatist procedural knowers is not transforming. However, the separatist knower is task-oriented, can make hard decisions and can get the job done. Weber maintained that professionalizing, routinizing and rationalizing of a charismatic movement is inevitable and the hallmark of a modern formal organization. As an organization grows, someone like Dede Morris would inevitably have to “take charge.” Our case study suggests that “professionalizing” and “routinization and rationalization” tend to block further empowerment and partly support the criticisms raised against professionalism in The Neighborhood Women’s Sourcebook. We must ask the following: does empowerment have to be sacrificed in order to formalize an organization and thereby maximize access to resources? It is the author’s belief that Ms. Harris and Ms. Morris made a good team when they worked together. Without Ms. Morris, the highly successful educational program would not have been developed. This program changed the lives of many farm women, giving them knowledge and skills that they greatly needed and deeply wanted. Dotty Harris needed Dede Morris to accomplish that goal.

97 IJCS / RIÉC

Without Ms. Harris, empowerment disappeared from WSA’s leadership agenda and the voicing of women’s visions fell silent. When Ms. Harris and Ms. Morris worked together, they complemented each other. This leads to three further questions: 1) what style of leadership is most appropriate for grassroots development, 2) must that style change as the organization grows or is dual leadership possible, and 3) are women leaders more typical of the empowering style of leading or is this style problematic for both men and women in our routinized and rationalized andrologocentric culture? More research on the way of knowing of leaders of other groups that have moved from grassroots to national organizations, such as the National Congress of Neighborhood Women and the National Coalition Building Institute, is required to develop a workable model of development which threads its way between formalization and the lives of empowered women.

Notes 1. An earlier version of this paper covering only the years 1974-1979 was presented at the Third Triennial meeting of the Nordic Association of Canadian Studies in Turku, Finland, August 1993. 2. Funded by a grant from the Government of Canada, 1990 and a Radford University Foundation Grant, 1990. 3. Funded by grants from the Government of Canada, 1984 and 1985. All interviews were taped with the permission and knowledge of the interviewee. Due to the author’s long association with this group the author’s research role tended to be forgotten. At national conferences, the author tended to be seen in the outsider role although she was a dues paying member of WSA. This article has been read and/or discussed with leaders of WSA. 4. Newspaper information came from clippings in the WSA Archives and usually had no page number.

Bibliography (Excluding articles written by “Dotty Harris” and “Dede Morris.”)

Belenky, Mary Field, et al. 1986. Women’s Ways of Knowing (New York: Basic Books). bell hooks and West, Cornell. 1991. Breaking Bread. South End Press. Bernards, Reena. 1993. “Forging Across the Borders of Conflict: in Women at the Center, ed. by Gay Young et al., Kumarian Press Biehl, Janet. 1991. Rethinking Ecofeminism, South End Press. Braidotti, Rosi, et al. 1994. Women, the Environment and Sustainable Development, ZED Books. Brecher, Jeremy and Tim Costello. 1994. Global Village or Global Pillage, South End Press. Collins, Patricia Hill. 1990. Black Feminist Thought, Routledge. [email protected]. Archives, September 1994. Gopher to csf.colorado.edu or email to [email protected] and send message: get ecofem sep94. “Farm Women through the Eyes of Their City Sisters.” 1985. Manitoba Co-operator, April 11. Ferree, Myra Marx. 1992. “The Political Context of Rationality: Rational Choice Theory and Resource Mobilization,” in Frontiers in Social Movement Theory, ed. Aldon D. Morris and Carol McClung Mueller, Yale University Press. Flora, Jan and Cornelia Butler Flora. 1992. “Self-development: a viable rural development option,” Policy Studies Journal, V20, n2, Spring. Fox-Keller, Evelyn. 1985. Reflections on Gender and Science, Yale University Press. Freire, Paulo. 1970. Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Trans. Myra Bregman Ramos, Continuum Books. Gatt-fly. 1983. AH-HAH! A New Approach to Popular Education, Between the Lines Publishing, 427 Bloor Street West, Toronto, Canada, 1983. Gilligan, Carol. 1982. In a Different Voice, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Gilman, Robert. 1994. “Emerging Patterns in the Workplace,” in Mindfulness and Meaningful Work, ed. by Claude Whitmyer, Parallax Press.

98 Women’s Leadership Styles and Empowerment

Greanleaf, Robert K. 1991. The Servant Leader. Paulist Press. Harding, Sandra. 1986. The Science Question in Feminism, Cornell University Press. Haraway, Donna. 1991. Simians, Cyborgs, and Women, Free Association Press. Hope, Anne and Sally Timmel. 1984. Training for Transformation V.I, II, III, Mambo Press. Kantor, Rosabeth Moos. 1977. Men and Women of the Corporation, Basic Books. Lederach, Jean Paul. 1992. “Beyond Prescription: A New Lense for Conflict Resolution Training Across Cultures,” Working paper: Inter-racial and Cross-cultural Conflict Resolution Project, Institute of Peace and Conflict Studies, Conrad Grebel College, Waterloo, Ontario. Lipset, Seymour Martin. 1985. “Canada and the United States: The Cultural Dimension,” in Canada and the United States: Enduring Friendship, Persistent Stress, ed. by Charles F. Doran and John H. Sigler, Prentice-Hall. Mies, Maria and Vandana Shiva. 1993. Ecofeminism. Zed Books. Morgen, Sandra and Ann Bookman. 1988. “Rethinking Women and Politics,” in Women and the Politics of Empowerment, ed. Ann Bookman and Sandra Morgen, Temple University Press. Moser, Caroline. 1993. Gender Planning and Development, Routledge. Muller, Carol McClung. 1992. “Building Social Movement Theory,” in Frontiers in Social Movement Theory, ed. by Aldon D. Morris and Carol McClung Mueller, Yale University Press. The Neighborhood Women’s Sourcebook. 1993. National Congress of Neighborhood Women, 249 Manhatten Avenue, Brooklyn, NY.11211 USA. Pearson, Nelda K. 1993. “The Story of Two Self-Help Organizations: Women for the Survival of Agriculture and Farmworker’s Self-Help, Inc.,” in Women at the Center, ed. by Gay Young, et al., Kumarian Press. Rosenfeld, Rachel A. 1985. Farm Women: Work, Farm, and Family in the United States. University of North Carolina Press. Schaef, Anne Wilson. 1985. Women’s Reality, Harper and Row. Shiva, Vandana. 1989. Staying Alive, ZED Books. Vella, Jane K. 1993. “Popular Education in Practice: Lessons of the 1991 AWID Conference,” in Women at the Center, ed. by Gay Young, et al., Kumarian Press.

99 Mimi Ajzenstadt

Cycles of Control: Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role, British Columbia 1870-1925

Abstract The paper analyzes the social processes involved in the construction of gender role. The analysis locates the transition from a familistic view, relating to women’s role, to a state-oriented approach within wider shifts in the relations between state and society in British Columbia during the 19th and 20th centuries. Through an historical study examining the formulation of women’s role in relation to alcohol consumption between 1870 and 1925, the article examines the changing images of women and their relations with state institutions. These changes were historically and politically constructed and form part of the state formation process which introduced new perceptions about the community’s moral framework. This construction was an outcome of dynamic social processes in which moral reformers, politicians and various groups of professionals discussed the role of the state in regulating private behaviour. Their perceptions about statehood and womanhood reflected their responses to economic, political, and demographic events changing the demographic landscape of Western Canada. Alcohol-related controls should be understood in the wider context of the historical, specific realities of racial, class and gender differences within the various hierarchies of power in British Columbia between 1870 and 1925.

Résumé L’article analyse les processus sociaux qui participent à la composition des rôles basés sur les sexes. Selon l’analyse, durant le 19e et 20e siècle, le rôle des femmes a subi, en Colombie-Britannique, une transition, qui partait d’une perspective familiale pour arriver à une approche axée sur l’État, dans le cadre de l’élargissement des relations entre l’État et la société. Une étude historique, examinant l’élaboration du rôle des femmes en ce qui a trait à la consommation d’alcool entre 1870 et 1925, permet d’étudier la transformation de l’image de la femme et la relation de celle-ci avec l’État. Cette transformation, effectuée par le politique et l’historique, faisait partie du processus de formation de l’État, introduisant ainsi de nouvelles idées sur les composantes morales de la communauté. Cette construction résultait d’un processus social dynamique par lequel les réformistes de la morale, les politiciens et divers groupes professionnels discutèrent du rôle de l’État dans la réglementation du comportement des individus. Leurs perceptions concernant l’État et les femmes reflétaient leurs réactions aux conjonctures économiques, politiques et démographiques qui transformaient le paysage démographique de l’Ouest du Canada. Les contrôles sur la consommation d’alcool doivent être vus à la lumière du contexte des réalités historiques

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC particulières, c’est-à-dire les différences de races, de classes et de genres à l’intérieur des diverses hiérarchies au pouvoir en Colombie-Britannique entre 1870 et 1925.

Various scholars have recently attempted to draft an analytical framework for theorizing the complex relations between gender and the state. (Barrett and Phillips 1992, Connell 1990, Peterson 1992) Two central points of departure for such theorization are a critical examination of the relationships of women to the “private” and the “public” spheres, and an investigation of the construction of such spheres. While proponents of the liberal doctrine in the nineteenth century claimed that the private and public spheres were separate “but equally important and valuable” (cf. Pateman 1989:120), this separation was not universal and gender-natural; rather, it reflected and reinforced different assumptions about the attributes and characteristics ascribed to men and women. (Pateman 1989, and Pateman and Shanley 1991) Free and rational men, owners of property, belonged to the public sphere where they could exercise their rights and opportunities. Dependent women belonged to the private sphere outside state politics and concern: “manhood and politics go hand in hand, and everything that stands in contrast to and opposed to political life and the political virtues has been represented by women, their capacities and the tasks seen as natural to their sex, especially their motherhood.” (Pateman and Shanley 1991:3) Analyzing the political dimensions of these spheres and their impact on men and women and their relations to the state, scholars such as Barrett and Philips (1992), Pateman (1989) and Reverby and Helly (1992) claim that these two domains are convolutely interrelated and cannot be regarded as totally separate. Moreover, over the years, numerous links connected them through a network of educational, welfare, medical and legal policies and control mechanisms. (Donzelot 1979, Edwards 1988) The process leading to the construction of these domains was influenced by ideas of the dominant groups in society about citizenship, and the “appropriate” social and moral order which they believed should prevail in their society. The establishment of both spheres created the categories of femininity and masculinity. Claiming that these domains were culturally and politically constructed, Reverby and Helly (1992) state that the concepts of “public” and “private” spheres must be tempered by an awareness of their “origins, limitations and complications.” (p.24) To understand the process by which the domains and the complex relations between them and the state were constructed, Reverby and Helly (1992) and Rosaldo (1980) call for the historicization of the notions of “public” and “private” and link them to other hierarchies of power and social relations in various regions. In particular, such an examination should be grounded in the “material realities of class, race, sexuality, social structure, and politics.” (Reverby and Helly 1992:20) This article examines the relations between women and the private and public spheres in British Columbia during the 19th and 20th centuries. It locates the construction of these relations within a wider context of women’s role as agents of social control and as guardians of their families’ morality and health. It traces the complex social processes involved in these aspects of gender

102 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role construction through an historical examination of alcohol regulations in British Columbia between 1870 and 1925. During these years, various acts were passed regulating the production, distribution and consumption of alcohol in the province. These acts resulted from intense debates among politicians, reformers and members of professional groups negotiating alcohol-related matters and other political and social issues, including the relations between women, families and society in the new province. An analysis of the discussions among those active in alcohol campaigns facilitates an historical examination of certain factors at play in the construction of women’s role. Locating the debates within wider developments in Canada and other countries, the following analysis draws on the works of Garland (1985, 1990), Gusfield (1981) and Melossi (1990) who indicate that state regulations arise from dynamic negotiations among various social actors aiming to achieve various political, ideological and social goals. Moreover, such struggles exist within changing demographic and social circumstances. After reviewing relevant events in the history of the province of British Columbia, the paper examines three main discourses promulgated in various periods concerning the relations between women and the state as reflected in debates about alcohol, paying particular attention to the race, gender and class aspects embodied in these discussions.

British Columbia — Change and Moral Reform The Western province of British Columbia was established in 1871, when it joined the Canadian federation. More than two-thirds (70.8%) of the young province’s residents were Natives, 23.7% European immigrants and only 4.3% Orientals. (Barman) The province’s economy was linked to natural resources: minerals, timber and fish. A large proportion of non-Native males (72.9%) sought employment in these industries. The opening of the railway connecting the province to Eastern Canada, and the later development of port facilities to serve ships sailing to Asia at the turn of the 19th century, led to demographic change. (McDonald 1981:372) The province’s population almost doubled from 98,173 in 1891 to 178,657 in 1911. (Barman 1991:363) Newcomers who were not Protestant and who came from rural places were depicted by church representatives as immoral and thus requiring education and control over their behaviour, including their drinking habits. Expressing such a view, Rev. Dr. Rowe explained that the increase in alcohol consumption resulted from the “opening up of new territory and the influx of settlers that had not been always in temperance sentiment.” (The Western Methodist Recorder 1902:5) Inspired by the doctrine of the social gospel, Protestant ministers and social reformers mainly in Eastern Canada called for the purification of society in keeping with Christian values. (Birrell 1977, Valverde 1992) In British Columbia, the activities of reform movements were relatively limited. However, various groups, such as the Royal Templers of Temperance, the Temperance and Moral Reform League of Victoria and the Women’s

103 IJCS / RIÉC

Christian Temperance Union (WCTU), established in 1890, initiated campaigns demanding that the authorities enact legislation regulating the moral behaviour of individuals. (Mosher 1974) Up until World War I, fishing, forestry and mining flourished as a result of foreign investment in British Columbia. (Barman 1991:182) A steady flow of immigrants poured into the province, increasing its population from 392,480 in 1911 to 524,582 in 1921. (Barman 1991:363) Many immigrants resided in towns which grew into commercial and industrial centres. In the second decade of the 20th century, British Columbia had the largest urban population in Canada. (McDonald 1981:377) Attitudes of reformers, politicians and the business elite in British Columbia followed perceptions of the dominant groups in Eastern Canada. For these groups, a pervasive social disorganization and crisis was articulated in “overlapping discourses about rampant immorality, family breakdown, and race suicide.” (Chunn 1992:28) Such concerns focused on the marginal — racial minorities, members of the working class and dependent poor — who were perceived as not adhering to the Anglo-Saxon, Christian, middle-class values and thus ran the risk of becoming deviant and/or dependent on the state welfare and medical institutions. To overcome such dangers, a wide range of reform movements were established influenced by a combination of reform spirit, social gospel ideas and scientific rationale. These social movements demanded that the government introduce medical inspections, enact immigration laws, introduce sexual regulations and establish educational and welfare measurements as well as alcohol regulations to educate, discipline and regulate members of the low orders to safeguard the “proper” working of the nation. (McLaren 1986, Valverde 1992, Chunn 1992) In British Columbia, representatives of the WCTU and other reform movements, such as the People’s Prohibition Association (PPA), established in 1915, initiated campaigns demanding the introduction of various reform programs. Their activities were influenced by reform ideas generated in the USA and Eastern Canada. In these early years, the province’s social and administrative framework began to evolve, alcohol regulations were enacted, and the various discourses focusing on women and the state along the axes of gender, class and race were promulgated.

The State and the “Drunkard’s” Wife, 1870-1890 Between 1870 and 1890, various laws were introduced in British Columbia to establish an administrative system for collecting revenues from the liquor trade. (S.B.C. 1872, c.35 R.S.B.C. 1877. c.106, S.B.C. 1885, c.18) The enactment of these laws was accompanied only by limited debates among liquor entrepreneurs and civic officials who encouraged the state to grant the alcohol trade a respectable image. Members of the British Columbia chapter of the WCTU resisted this demand. Influenced by a liberal philosophy of the state, members of these groups believed that the state was not authorized to interfere in the private behaviour of individuals. (Ajzenstadt 1994) Politicians and church representatives who

104 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role were active in debates about alcohol during this time portrayed an image of a male family head supporting his family. This image of a husband is evident in an article published in a Canadian monthly which calls upon the Canadian government to punish “drunkards,” claiming that: a man has no right to put himself in a condition in which he is disabled from performing his duties to society, or driven by a fury within him flagrantly to violate them, as in the case of the drunkard who disables himself, temporarily or permanently, from maintaining his family by his labor, or puts himself into a condition in which he brutally maltreats them, nor even, to bring himself to a premature grave, and leave society to support his children. (Fidels 1877:373) In this family structure, women were portrayed as legally, socially and financially dependent upon their husbands. Perceptions about women and their relations with the state reflected Canadian and American attitudes, depicting women as part of a family framework beyond state control, regulation and intervention. (Chunn 1992, Zaretsky 1986, Messerschmidt 1987, Pateman 1989:123) Women’s exclusion from the public domain was expressed in the denial of their right to vote. Similar to other jurisdictions (see Gordon’s 1988:295), this perception was not universal but race-oriented. Natives’ lives, including family practices and women’s behaviour were not immune to legal and social regulation. For the representatives of the white community of the province, the life of Native peoples was not perceived as beyond state control. Indeed, politicians and church representatives called upon the state institutions to regulate the behaviour of all Natives whom they regarded as primitive, barbaric and immoral. During this period, restrictive legislation exposed the religious practices, culture, education, occupation as well as drinking habits of Natives to state control. (See for example 37 Vic, chap 21 s.3(4), Woodcock 1990, Ajzenstadt and Burtch 1995) The first challenge to the perception that the white women’s position was totally embedded within their families started with the enactment of the 1887 Habitual Drunkards Act. This act empowered the wife of a “habitual drunkard” to identify her husband as a “drunkard” and to report his behaviour to an officer of the peace. (1887 Habitual Drunkards Act. S.B.C., c.11, s.3) On the basis of this “private” identification, the legal institutions were authorized to intervene in family life and punish the “drunkard” by prohibiting him to “manage or dispose of any real or personal estate.” (ibid.) This early alliance between the state and wife did not, however, grant the wife state assistance to replace the husband’s support. By prohibiting the “drunkard” from managing his estate, the state took control of his financial affairs but state institutions did not assume his obligation to support his wife. In this case, state intervention into family life required the wife to support herself or to seek assistance from relatives or charitable institutions. Analyzing cases of family violence between 1880 and 1960 in the USA, Gordon (1988) observed a similar pattern where formal and informal controls further harmed the women victims by removing husbands from the home. In those cases, the “victims often had their `rights’ defined for them in a way that they did not always recognize, let alone want.” (294) Similarly, Dubinsky (1992) claims

105 IJCS / RIÉC that, in Ontario, women who complained about seduction were defined as immoral and were regulated and disciplined. In sum, the 1887 Habitual Drunkards Act created a minor thread of connection between women and the state, defining women as reporters of their husbands’ failure to fulfil their social role to the state. This string of connection was one- sided since the state did not oblige itself to support the reporter in place of the husband. The Act did not emphasize the rights of drunkards’ wives to receive assistance from the state, but shifted their dependency on their husbands to a reliance on other private social institutions, relegating white women almost entirely to the private sphere.

Women’s Morality and State Protection, 1890-1910 Between 1890 and 1910, representatives of the WCTU and other moral reformers, most of them middle-class Anglo-Saxon residents of the province, initiated campaigns to have provincial authorities restrict the distribution and consumption of alcohol. The BC branch of the WCTU was part of a wider European, North American and Canadian movement which attempted to convince the various governments to pass legislation regulating the morality of the citizens. (Bacchi 1985, Gough 1988, Pauly 1990, Sheehan 1986) At the turn of the 20th century, most of their demands vis-à-vis alcohol had not yet translated into actual legislation in British Columbia. The claims and rhetoric in their discussions and debates indicate a mild shift in their perceptions about the relationships between women and the state — a shift which was infused with class, race and gender constructs. Social gospellers, members of the WCTU and other moral reformers envisioned a social framework based on the principles of the Protestant doctrine to control moral behaviour. They considered the development of an internalized, family-centered morality based on Christian principles as a first step toward the formulation of a moral Christian framework, followed by the Christianization of Canada in general and British Columbia in particular. Reformers saw the family as a central foundation in this process. Such views regarding the centrality of families and women emerged in the campaigns of the WCTU and other reformers regarding the distribution and consumption of alcohol. Reformers saw saloons and other liquor outlets as polluting the moral environment of the city, families and mothers and as hindering mothers from fulfilling their familial moral role. Describing alcohol as the “dreaded foe of our sacred homes and institutions” (WCTU 1883), they claimed that it was the state’s responsibility to engineer the proper conditions enabling mothers to fulfil their social role. The enactment of regulations monitoring alcohol distribution and immoral behaviour of husbands in the saloons would purify the city environment. State protection of women’s behaviour was legitimized on the basis of women’s place within the family institution and not on the basis of their entitlement to rights as free citizens of a certain state. Reformers demanded that the minor, succinct thread connecting women to the state in the earlier period develop in two interrelated ways. First, women would be considered as agents of control transmitting public values of Christian morality to their

106 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role family members; women, according to the Declaration of Principles prepared in 1884 by the BC branch of the WCTU, were the “natural conservator of the home.” (cited in Gough 1988:3) Second, the state would be obliged and required to protect women in order to allow them to fulfil their new role as agents of control. This protection would take place by purifying the atmosphere of the community through the regulation of saloons and drinking behaviours, especially by restricting the hours and the days when alcohol was sold. (WCTU 1883) These ideas mark the establishment of an “entitlement-oriented culture” which translated women’s relations to their families into political language, legitimizing calls for state protection and public support. Employing “maternal feminism” (cf. Chunn 1988), reformers grounded their demands for state help in a familistic view and not in a perception emphasizing women’s rights as free citizens. The rationale using family relations to support the demand for state assistance reinforced a “feminine” model of the social order. Women were entitled to state assistance only on the basis of their familial position and not on the basis of equality granting civil rights. Women’s inclusion in the state operated very differently from the original inclusion of men. (Pateman 1989:14) It contributed to a specific, gendered order in which women were connected to the public domain only as fulfilling their social role which remained firmly within the private sphere itself. This connection to the state remained partial because women of this time lacked full political citizenship. The images constructing a moral wife were reinforced through a classification process distinguishing the moral “ideal” wife from “fallen” women. The former was seen as deserving of state protection against immoral prostitutes viewed as powerful women threatening the existence of the moral family and thus to be punished and controlled. The prostitute was seen, mainly by representatives of the church, as tempting men to waste their wages in the saloons and thus neglect their social role as bread winners. This classification scheme created hierarchies among women by defining a dichotomy of the “pure” and “good” women who were entitled to be assisted by the state — assistance expressed in the creation of a pure atmosphere. In both cases, however, women were not considered as free, autonomous agents. Changes in perceptions about the relations between women and the state were race- and class-oriented. Examining the WCTU’s claims, reform planes and sexual politics in Eastern Canada, Valverde (1992) points to racist ideas and conceptions involved in their rhetoric and concepts. Racial dimensions can be detected in the claims of the reformers active in campaigns demanding the regulation of moral behaviour in British Columbia. The moral discourse promulgated by reformers focused on the immorality of newcomers to the province. Ideas stated by the WCTU about the creation of a moral framework guiding the community’s behaviour reflected concerns of political, economic and religious elites troubled by the waves of immigrants to the province at the end of the 19th century. Non-Protestant immigrants and those who came from rural places were depicted by reformers as contributing to the moral degeneration of the community. Responding to this change and the resultant

107 IJCS / RIÉC volatile social situation, the reformers aimed to preserve white, Christian, middle-class values. Regulations protecting mothers from immorality were presented as one step to safeguard the values of the white Protestant community against the immorality of new immigrants. Women were seen as playing a central role in the “preservation” task. In the programs of the WCTU, this important assignment, however, did not grant women full citizenship. Morality and women’s roles were differentially applied to racial and class communities with “rigid social hierarchies, and... served to reproduce those hierarchies in new ways.” (Dubinsky 1992:34) During the 19th century, the WCTU did not succeed in implementing its demands to control the saloons. Its opinions depicting wives as harmed by the saloons, however, translated into legislation which totally exclude women from the public sphere by prohibiting them from visiting saloons or distributing alcohol. The 1910 Liquor Act protected women from immorality by restricting their rights to distribute and consume alcohol. (the Liquor Act, 1910, S.B.C., c.30, s.57 (3).) The Act prohibited women from holding a license to sell liquor. It automatically transferred a female’s license to her husband upon her marriage. If the husband was not qualified to hold such a license, the Act empowered the Superintendent of the Provincial Police to transfer or cancel the license. The same Act prohibited license holders from selling or serving alcohol to women. (ibid, s.66) This Act reinforced women’s economic marginalization and dependence on their husbands by excluding them from the liquor trade. It left women within the private sphere and subjected them to some state regulation.

The Moral-Scientific Regulation of Women, 1911-1925 During the second decade of the 20th century, various regulations changed the ways in which alcohol was produced and distributed in the province. (Campbell 1988, 1991, 1993) Several acts legislated between 1901 and 1916 restricted the hours and days during which licensed premises were permitted to sell alcoholic beverages (S.B.C., c.20, S.B.C., c. 37) The British Columbia Prohibition Act of 1916 outlawed the sale of alcohol (S.B.C., c.49) The Act was in force between 1917 and 1921 when it was replaced by the Government Liquor Act which allowed alcohol distribution only through the provincial government. Moreover, during this period, various educational and medical regulations and policies were established, temperance courses taught, school children inspected for alcoholism and mothers and future mothers warned of the physical and moral damage inherent in alcohol consumption. The enactment of the various regulations and policies resulted from intense campaigns by representatives of the WCTU, moral reformers and the People’s Prohibition Association, politicians, church representatives and various groups of professionals established in Canada and British Columbia in the second decade of the 20th century. Members of these groups primarily consisted of middle-class, Anglo-Saxon families of Canadian society. (Valverde 1991) Promulgating a moral-scientific discourse, these people demanded that the state enact regulations supervising several aspects of individuals’ behaviours, mainly families, children and women.

108 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role

The new interventionist attitude was part of a general conceptual and pragmatic process afoot in Canada and British Columbia during the first two decades of the 20th century. During this time, elite groups of Canadian society supported the state’s authority to regulate the family and women’s behaviour. The state was seen further as entitled and even required to interfere in family matters on behalf of women, children and the elderly, whereby state institutions became directly involved in family relations. (Ursel 1986) Parents, for example were prohibited from neglecting or perpetuating conditions of immorality contributing to the criminality of minors. (cf. Chunn 1992:21, Ursel 1986) The relations between state, family and women were redefined, and various patterns of behaviours previously considered as private and beyond state control gradually became matters of public concern. Women’s role was reconstructed, and women were defined by the leading groups of Canadian society as accountable for the creation of a healthy and moral atmosphere at home. In this way, women became agents of control responsible for transmitting values of morality and principles of health and hygiene to their family members. This perception of gender role connected women and the state in two ways. On the one hand, women were held responsible for transmitting values upheld by members of the elite groups of the state. On the other hand, the state was depicted as obliged to supervise women in the appropriate ways to raise their families, exposing women to growing state control over various aspects of their health and moral behaviour. Dialectic relations arose between women and the state because women’s connection to the public sphere perpetuated and intensified their position within the private domain. The new perceptions which defined women as accountable for biological and cultural reproduction, and which depicted women’s health and morality as indispensable to the healthy development of modern society, were supported by a moral-scientific discourse promulgated by reformers and professional groups in Canada and British Columbia. Mobilizing this discourse, reformers and professionals grounded their calls for state control over a whole range of behaviours on the basis of scientific developments. In particular, they supported their claims through hereditarian theories attributing physical and mental sickness, as well as immoral behaviours, such as prostitution, gambling and heavy drinking, to the transmission of defective genes from parents to their children. Employing a combination of hereditarian explanations and eugenic ideas, politicians, moral and social reformers and professionals warned that mothers could initiate multiplying chains of immorality, vice, criminality and insanity in individuals and families leading to the destruction of the foundations of democratic societies. (McLaren 1990, McLaren 1986:129) This description redefined the mother’s health, especially her reproductive traits and her moral behaviour as matters of state concern considering that unnoticed, defective genes could threaten the community’s existence. Legal, educational and medical institutions were recruited to protect the future of the community, exposing women to a network of controls supervising their behaviours and health. Moreover, the family was regarded as the key element of social change leading to the creation of a moral and healthy Canadian nation. Various professional

109 IJCS / RIÉC mechanisms were established to strengthen the nuclear family. (Strong-Boag 1982) During the second decade of the 20th century, reformers may have used the same general conceptions about the purity of women and their relations with the state as did reformers in the previous decades. However, the content of the discourses changed as the attitudes to a variety of health, social, welfare problems were rationalized and grounded in professional knowledge. (Chunn 1988:92) The definition of women as responsible for the health of their families is not a new phenomenon. Indeed, women had been assigned the task of providing nursing care or midwifery assistance previously. However, during the second decade of the 20th century, the content of and the justification for such responsibility changed. With the professionalization of knowledge, mothers and future mothers were called upon to follow professional advice. Campaigns for state intervention in the family as well as campaigns about alcohol had very specific class, gender and racial/ethnic characteristics. According to Chunn (1992), McLaren (1990), Mclaren (1986) and Valverde (1991), the main focus of these new initiatives and the arena for state intervention was the moral and political regulation of the marginal — racial minorities, working class and dependent poor who were perceived as not adhering to the Anglo-Saxon Christian middle-class values. Such fears reflected the concerns of Canada’s dominant groups over the massive demographic, social and political changes taking place. Canadian society had started to move through the processes of industrialization and urbanization, absorbing waves of immigrants. Members of professional and reform movements demanded that immigrants and members of the lower orders who resided mainly in the big cities be regulated to secure the “proper” working of the nation. Employing concepts drawn from social Darwinism, individuals active in the reform movements considered mothers as the “mothers of the race” (cf. Valverde 1992:4), responsible for reproducing the supreme white race. Representatives of the WCTU as well as most members of groups active in various campaigns adopted an Euro-American approach (Said 1978, 1993) and differentiated between mothers from the middle-classes and mothers from inferior races. In particular, immigrant women who came to Canada from Asia and Eastern Europe during the first and second decades of the 20th century were considered by elite groups in the province and in Canada in general as immoral, sick, primitive and barbaric and thus unfit to be mothers to the Canadian race. A representative of the BC branch of the WCTU claimed at a reception organized in Vancouver in February 1913 by the Political Equality League (PEL) that “thousands of foreigners would come to the province. It was time the government strengthened the hand of the Anglo-Saxon race.” (cited in Gough 1988:149) Temperance leaders warned that members of these “inferior races” would not be able to resist the temptations of alcohol, would fall prey to the saloons, and in turn, would spread physical and mental abnormality among the citizens of the province. (Western Women’s Weekly 1918:10) The state was depicted as required to supervise these immigrant mothers in order to “Canadianize” (cf.

110 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role

Western Woman’s Weekly 1921:2) them by instructing them to adopt such Christian values as thrift, industry, sobriety and certain principles of hygiene. (Sheehan 1986) Various courses aimed to teach new immigrants moral, mainly Christian, values required for a modern society. (Mitchinson 1987) The British Columbia WCTU, for example, encouraged its members to put before ... [immigrant mothers] the ideal of an educated, loyal, Canadian citizenship, and what is most important, to bring them into vital connection with the only kingdom which is eternal, the Kingdom of Christ. In this way, these foreign peoples may become an asset to our country, instead of the menace they will be if left in ignorance to become a prey to the schemes of the liquor party or political avarice. (Western Woman’s Weekly 1921:2) These pedagogical initiatives originated in the creation of classification schemes distinguishing between pure and educated Canadian Christian women and barbaric, primitive and uneducated immigrant women. The WCTU’s Eugenic explanations were interwoven with European ideologies of race identifying Orientals, Africans and East Europeans as members of a dark, barbaric and immoral culture in contrast to the identification of the Christian, white community as part of the lightened and moral world. (Anderson 1991, McLaren 1990, Valverde 1991, 1992) Both poles of stereotyping led reformers to initiate various programs for educating and “civilizing” new immigrants, to turn women into good mothers for the white race. A combination between racial approach, gender and class was manifested in the attitudes of various reformers towards the birth rate in Canada. During the second decade of the 20th century, the birth rate among members of racial minorities and the working-classes boomed while that of the Anglo-Saxon middle-class steadily declined. (McLaren & McLaren 1986) Interpreting this phenomenon as a danger to the white race, reforms urged the state to initiate programs encouraging middle-class women to give birth to children in order to fulfil their role to the nation, contributing to “an increase in the numbers of their own kind and a decrease in those of the working class.” (McLaren and McLaren 1986:141) Reformers and professionals attempted to educate and enlighten the lower orders by teaching them middle-class ideology and values. (Valverde 1992:19) This period was characterized by an unprecedented degree of state intervention in the family, mainly in the working-class family, regulating mothers’ experiences. (Chunn 1992:193, Ursel 1986) Such instruction served to imbue members of the marginalized groups with middle-class values and at the same time helped to reinforce the value system for the reformers themselves. (Valverde 1991:29) The classification scheme was further extended to include prostitutes who were considered carriers of venereal diseases. This classification process differentiated between moral, healthy mothers and immoral, sick prostitutes who mainly came from the lower classes. (Boritch 1992, McLaren and Lowman 1990) This classification extended the stigmatization of certain women as immoral prostitutes threatening the morality of the community during the 19th century. Now, prostitutes were represented to endanger the

111 IJCS / RIÉC physical well-being of the modern state. (Cassel 1987) Promulgating a scientific discourse, physicians and moral reformers announced that venereal disease, which was transmitted by sick prostitutes to the entire community, had reached epidemic proportions in Canada. Wives were depicted as victims of the sickness which infected their husbands who had been tempted by sick prostitutes. Moral reformers and physicians identified venereal disease as a source of feeblemindedness, immorality and “lack of self criticism and of sound judgement.” (The Public Health Journal 1919:335) They used hereditarian notions to explain that venereal disease was transmitted in families from one generation to another. (Yarros 1920:607) Alcoholism was described by social reformers, doctors and police officers as the consequence of venereal disease as well as one source of its infection. In particular, they claimed that innocent, respected people fell prey to the disease. Since it was believed that drinkers could not be held responsible for their behaviour, temperance advocates argued that, under the influence of alcohol, men were tempted by prostitutes suffering from venereal disease to engage in sexual relations. The attribution of responsibility for infection with venereal disease was gender specific. Males visiting saloons were described as innocent victims of alcohol and licentious prostitutes. Prostitutes were portrayed as responsible for their own pathology as well as for the male’s infection. The notion that alcohol use can lead innocent people to become infected with venereal disease was widely publicized by moral reformers and physicians during World War I. (Buckley and McGinnis 1982:338) Claiming that venereal disease was a threat and an obstacle to the “progress of the race” (Cavers 1918:532), social and moral reformers motivated the state to control its spread. Strategies to achieve this aim once again varied according to the gender they targeted. Males, especially soldiers, were exposed to educational programs instructing them that the best preventive method was “sexual continence.” (Yarros 1920:608) The WCTU claimed that in order to protect soldiers from the immoral behaviour of prostitutes, the men should not be allowed to consume alcohol. Prostitutes were exposed to a strict regime of legal and medical control which forced them to undergo examination and treatment when found suffering from the disease. These demands translated into legislation during World War I under the Venereal Disease Suppression Act. (S.B.C., c.88) This Act introduced compulsory examination and treatment of people suspected of having the disease. Moral reformers demanded that prostitutes infected with venereal disease be “segregated during the child-bearing period.” (Murphy 1920:1) These new classifications and their actual implementation constructed a model of an “ideal” mother following certain principles of hygiene and morality upheld by elite groups in the province. This construction confirmed and elaborated the state’s role in the lives of women by exposing their reproduction practices to the intervention of legal and medical state institutions. While the new programs focused on immigrants and segments of the working classes, perceptions about the relations between mothers and the state gradually expanded and depicted the state as an agency required to monitor the

112 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role behaviours of all members of the community. This interventionist position vis- à-vis women and family life was expressed in various ways by different social groups. Members of the WCTU, for example, instructed women to be selective when choosing their husbands and to avoid marrying a male who drank alcoholic beverages: “never marry a man whose life has not always been as pure as your own ... Many lives have been disrupted by suffering and sorrow because of the early life of the father.” (Barber 1922:7) Health officers called upon the state to prohibit a “drunkard or a drug-fiend, or an idiot or a degenerate of any kind” from marrying. (Arthur 1917:G140) During the second decade of the 20th century, educators, psychiatrists, public health officers and medical practitioners considered the state responsible for supervising mothers in order to teach them child rearing practices and other techniques for raising healthy families which would be the cornerstone of modern society. A health officer, for example, demanded that “the average mother should have a certificate that she has the education to fit her for her position.” (B.C. Sessional Papers 1918:G145) Emphasizing experts’ ability to teach mothers how to raise their families, members of professional groups and moral reform movements claimed that the state had a “parental authority.” (Ernest, circa 1919) They mobilized the government to organize various educational programs, teaching mothers techniques required for raising a family. Medical health workers devised educational pamphlets which supplied parents with details regarding daily child-rearing practices and distributed them to mothers in Canada. (B.C. Sessional Papers 1918:G145) Not only mothers were instructed in principles of “motherhood”; young girls were exposed to scientific domestic classes teaching future mothers how to build moral homes. At the same time, a compulsory system of physical and mental examinations was established in the province to detect early signs of sickness, such as feeblemindedness and alcoholism. While mothers and wives in the 1870s were able to identify “drunkenness” among their family members, in the second decade of the 20th century, this task was the exclusive domain of experts. Members of the WCTU combined medical/biological instruction regarding the healthy family with moral supervision of mothers and future mothers. They claimed that mothers should adopt Christian values in order to safeguard the moral stability of the family and the nation. Expressing this idea, a representative of the British Columbia WCTU said, for example: “If God is exalted, if we teach and live high ideals of purity, temperance, patriotism and brotherhood, tomorrow will be a brighter day than today.” (Armstrong 1921:3) In order to achieve this goal, the WCTU called for mandatory temperance teaching and other educational settings, instructing family members in strategies of self-control over appetite for alcohol. Moral reformers designed temperance courses emphasizing temperance principles and “principles of Christianity as related to the human body and morality.” (Barnes 1968:18) These courses mainly targeted school children to guide their moral development and prepare them to resist the temptations awaiting them in saloons, clubs or any other alcohol outlets.

113 IJCS / RIÉC

The various programs, initiatives and ideas concerning relations between women and society fit within a totalizing tendency wherein the state was seen as promoting the health and morality of its citizens. This new approach depicted the state as playing an active and positive role in supporting the morality, health and well-being of individuals, connecting women to various control mechanisms. These controls transformed the family unit as a social institution. They weaken the family’s structure by exposing it to a set of mediatory agencies and state regulation. Furthermore, public health regulations, domestic- science programs in the schools, and various advice literature circulating “scientific” child-rearing techniques aimed to reproduce the Anglo-Saxon, middle-class family model across social classes. (McLaren 1990, Chunn 1992, McLaren and McLaren 1986, Stong-Boag 1982) In this disciplining and “normalization” process, mothers were defined as both agents of change and as the main subject for change according to the specific vision of society. The moral-scientific discourse and the welfare, educational and medical programs reproduced the purity and health model of women, granting them a central role in creating the social order bases on their reproductive characteristics. This emphasis reinforced the gendered categories of femininity in the gendered social order of this time.

Conclusion This article has analyzed changes in the relations between women and the private and public spheres between 1870 and 1925 in British Columbia. It demonstrates that these transitions were closely related to changes in perceptions about womanhood, statehood and the relations between state and society. The relations between family and the state changed over the years. In the 19th century, the behaviour of women members of the dominant groups was considered to belong within the private sphere, beyond state control and regulation. Toward the end of the 19th century, these perceptions were challenged, among other things, by the enactment of a law empowering women to report to the authorities their husbands’ failure to fulfil their social duties. While granting a limited power to wives, this alliance between the state and women did not empower women because the state did not assume the husbands’ responsibilities for their families. The perception of separate spheres was further challenged by the activities and campaigns of social groups such as the WCTU which attempted to expand the thin thread woven by the enactment of the 1887 Habitual Drunkards Act linking women to the state. These groups called upon the state to assume some of the husbands’ responsibilities by engineering the conditions which would enable women to fulfil their familial role as the guardians of their family morality. This new perception was transferred into regulation only twenty years later, during the second decade of the 20th century, when the health and moral behaviour of women were redefined as matters of public concern. This definition led to the enactment of a range of regulations and policies exposing women to ever-growing state controls. In this way, women became connected to various state institutions and exposed to diverse control mechanisms. Because these policies and their

114 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role justification were grounded within the family, these initiatives reinforced women’s role within the private sphere leading to the institutionalization of this marginalized arena — an arena which was now exposed to new regulations and control over women’s behaviour and their biological reproduction traits. While this period witnessed a transformation in relations between the private and the public spheres, women remained tied to their children and husbands, but in a new way which resulted in new constraints. Females were separated in some ways from their husbands and gained more autonomy but less in terms of their “rights” than their obligations. The study demonstrates that the formulation of gender role and the complex relations between the public and private domains and the state were historically and politically constructed. They were part of the process of state formation which generated new perceptions about the community’s moral framework. This construction was an outcome of dynamic social processes in which moral reformers, politicians and various groups of professionals discussed the role of the state in the regulation of private behaviour. Their attitudes were grounded in their wider world views about the “appropriate” social and moral order which should prevail in Canada and British Columbia. Their perceptions about morality as well as the relations between women, families and the state reflected their responses to economic, political and demographic events changing the demographic landscape of Canada and the province of British Columbia. The construction of women’s role was inextricably linked to the establishment of the Canada’s industrialized, urban society, its structure, tactics and procedures. In particular, this process was key to the creation of a gendered social order embodied within the dynamic that created modern industrial capitalism. Alcohol regulations and the discourses promulgated around them constituted an arena for discussing and establishing various controls over women’s behaviour. Alcohol-related controls should be understood within the wider context of the historical, specific realities of racial, class, and gender differences within the various hierarchies of power in Canada and British Columbia between 1870 and 1925. The impact of these regulations differed according to the population targeted along social, gender and class lines. They reproduced a specific moral and social order and defined the multiple links connecting state and society along these lines of race, gender and class. While the new controls reinforced women’s marginalized social and political position, they nevertheless differentiated among women, creating systems of classifications between race and gender associations. The establishment of legal, educational and welfare controls regulating the use of alcohol was part of a wider, totalizing process to regulate the lives of women and other marginalized groups in the province of British Columbia in particular and in Canada in general. These regulations however, did not originate in a monolithic, “omnipresent, omniscient `total’ state that has no limits and no vulnerability to reform or change” (Lowman, Menzies, and Palys 1987:6), but were triggered by a complex process and negotiations between

115 IJCS / RIÉC various groups debating the state, its framework and its legitimation to interfere. While the state is the “central institutionalization of power [and] ... has a considerable capacity to regulate gender relations in the society as a whole” (Connell 1990:527), this power extends to other state-related social institutions. The establishment of controls was an outcome of struggles by various groups to discipline the population according to white, Christian, middle-class values. Moreover, while the main focus of the various programs and regulations subjected women, mainly from working-classes and racial minorities, to an ever-increasing set of controls designed to enforce middle- class standards of femininity, these programs gradually expanded to bring the entire female population within the scope of control. The construction of gender and the establishment of social controls over women cannot be explained as solely or even partly an effort to preserve male supremacy by reinforcing the males’ powerful social position. As demonstrated in this article, women themselves played an active role in campaigns and public initiatives which reinforced their economic and social marginality and confined them to the domestic sphere. Gender construction was historically and politically grounded in a complex process combining race, class and gender dimensions and conditioned by the interplay of structure and human agency.

Note I would like to thank the Editorial Board of the IJCS/RIEC, two anonymous reviewers, and Shlomo Ketko for their suggestions and comments.

Bibliography Ajzenstadt, M. (1994) “State Formation and Modes of Classification: Alcohol Regulations in British Columbia, 1871-1925.” The Canadian Journal of Sociology. Vol. 19. No. 3:441-460. Ajzenstadt M. and B. Burtch (1995) “The Idea of Alcoholism: Changing Perceptions of Alcoholism and Treatment in British Columbia, 1870-1988.” Health and Canadian Society Journal. (in press) Anderson, K.J. (1991) “Vancouver’s Chinatown: Racial Discourse” in Canada, 1875-1980. Montreal, McGill-Queen’s University Press. Armstrong, B. (1921) “Scientific Temperance” Western Woman’s Weekly. September, 3:3. Arthur, I. (1917) “Child Welfare” in The Reports of the Provincial Board of Health, B.C. Sessional Papers. Victoria, British Columbia. Bacchi, C.L. (1985) Liberation Deferred?: The Ideas of the English-Canadian Suffragists, 1877-1918. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Barber, H.G. (1922) “Provincial WCTU News” in Western Woman’s Weekly. January, 21:7. Barman, J. (1991) The West beyond the West: A History of British Columbia. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Barnes, F.L. (1968) Beams from a Lighthouse: Women’s Christian Temperance Union of B.C. British Columbia: Barnes. Barrett, M. and A. Phillips (1992) “Introduction” in M. Barrett and A. Phillips (eds.) Destabilizing Theory: Contemporary Feminist Debates. Oxford: Polity Press. Pp. 1-9. Birrell, A.J. (1977) “D.I.K. Rine and the Gospel Temperance Movement in Canada” in Canadian Historical Review. Vol. LVII. No. 1: 23-42. Boritch, H. (1992) “Gender and Criminal Court Outcomes: An Historical Analysis” in Criminology. Vol. 30. No. 3: 293-327. British Columbia (1918) “The Report of the Provincial Board of Health” in British Columbia, Sessional Papers. Victoria: British Columbia.

116 Alcohol Regulation and the Construction of Gender Role

Buckley, S. and J.D. McGinnis (1982) “Venereal Disease and Public Health Reform in Canada” in The Canadian Historical Review. Vol. LXII. No. 3:337-354. Campbell, R.A. (1991) Demon Rum or Easy Money: Government Control of Liquor in British Columbia from Prohibition to Privatization. Ottawa, Carleton University Press, 1991. Campbell, R.A. (1988) “Liquor and Liberals: Patronage and Government Control in British Columbia, 1920-1928” in B.C. Studies. Spring, 77, 30-53. Campbell, R.A. (1993) “`Profit was just a circumstance’: The Evolution of Government Liquor Control in British Columbia, 1920-1988” in C.K. Warsh (ed.), Drink in Canada: Historical Essays. Montreal, McGill-Queen’s University Press. Cassel, J. (1987) The Secret Plague: Venereal Disease in Canada 1838-1939. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Cavers, C.W. (1918) “Vice and Venereal Disease in Montreal” in The Public Health Journal. November. Vol. IX. No. II:530-532. Chunn, D. (1992) From Punishment to Doing Good: Family Courts and Socialized Justice in Ontario 1880-1940. Toronto: Toronto University Press. Chunn, D. (1988) “Maternal Feminism, Legal Professionalism and Political Pragmatism: The Rise and Fall of Magistrate Margaret Patterson” in W. Wesley Pue and Barry Wright (eds.) Canadian Perspectives on Law & Society. Ottawa: Carleton University Press. Pp. 91-117. Connell, R.W. (1990) “The State, Gender, and Sexual Politics: Theory and Appraisal” in Theory and Society. Vol. 19: 507-544. Donzelot, J. (1979) The Policing of Families. New York: Pantheon Books. Dubinsky, K. (1992) “`Maidenly Girls’ or `Designing Women’: The Crime of Seduction in Turn- of-the-Century Ontario” in Franca Iacovetta and Mariana Valverde (eds.) Gender Conflicts: New Essays in Women’s History. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Pp. 27-66. Edwards, A. (1988) Regulation and Repression: The Study of Social Control. London: Allen & Unwin. Ernest, T. (circa 1919) Women of Canada: Defend your Homes. Toronto: The Department of Evangelism and Social Service of the Methodist Church (No. 63). Fidels (1877) “The Temperance Problem” in The Canadian Monthly. April:373. Garland, D. (1990) Punishment and Modern Society: A Study in Social Theory. Chicago, the University of Chicago Press. Garland, D. (1985) Punishment and Welfare: A History of Penal Strategies. Gower, Vermont. Gordon, L. (1988) Heroes of Their Own Lives: The Politics and History of Family Violence, Boston 1880-1960. New York: Penguin Books. Gough, L. (1988) As Wise as Serpents: Five Women and an Organization that Changed British Columbia. Victoria: Swan Lake Publishing. Gusfield, J.R. (1981) The Culture of Public Problems: Drinking-Driving and the Symbolic Order. Chicago, The University of Chicago Press. Lowman, J., R. Menzies, and T. Palys (1987) Transcarceration: Essays in the Sociology of Social Control. Aldershot: Gower. McDonald, R. A.J. (1981) “Vancouver, and the Economic Development of British Columbia, 1886-1914” in W. Peter Ward and Robert A.J. McDonald (eds.) British Columbia: Historical Readings. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre. McLaren, A. (1990) Our Own Master Race: Eugenics in Canada. 1885-1945. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. McLaren, A. and A.T. McLaren (1986) The Bedroom and the State: The Changing Practices and Politics of Contraception and Abortion in Canada, 1880-1980. McClelland and Stewart 1986. McLaren, J.P.S. (1986) “Chasing the Social Evil: Moral Fervour and the Evolution of Canada’s Prostitution Laws” in Canadian Journal of Law and Society. Vol. 1:125-165. McLaren, J. and J. Lowman (1990) “Enforcing Canada’s Prostitution Laws, 1892-1920” in M.L. Friedland (ed.) Securing Compliance: Seven Case Studies. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Melossi, D. The State of Social Control: A Sociological Study of Concepts of State and Social Control in the Making of Democracy. New York, St. Martin’s Press. Messerschmidt, J. (1987) “Feminism, Criminology and the Rise of the Female Sex `Delinquent’, 1880-1930” in Contemporary Crises. Vol. 11:243-263. Mitchinson, W. (1987) “Early Women’s Organizations and Social Reform: Prelude to the Welfare State” in Allan Moscovitch and Jim Albert (eds.) The Benevolent State: The Growth of Welfare in Canada. Toronto: Garamond Press. Pp. 77-92. Mosher, S.P. (1974) The Social Gospel in British Columbia: Social Reform as a Dimension of Religion 1900-1920. Unpublished Master’s Thesis. Victoria: University of Victoria. Murphy, A. (1920) “What Knowledge Will Do Towards the Betterment of Social Conditions” in Western Woman’s Weekly. July 10. Vol. 3. No. 31:1. Pateman, C. (1989) The Disorder of Women: Democracy, Feminism and Political Theory. California: Stanford University Press.

117 IJCS / RIÉC

Pateman, C. and M.L. Shanley (1991) “Introduction” in M.L. Shanley and C. Pateman (eds.) Feminist Interpretations and Political Theory. Oxford: Polity Press. Pp. 1-10 Pauly, P.J. (1990) “The Struggle for Ignorance about Alcohol: American Physiologists, Wilbur Olin Atwater and the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union” in Bulletin of the History of Medicine. Fall, Vol. 64(3):366-392. Peterson, S.V. (1992) “Introduction” in V.S. Peterson (eds.) Gendered States: Feminist (Re)Visions of International Relations Theory. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Phillips, A. (1992) “Universal Pretensions in Political Thought” in M. Barrett and A. Phillips (eds.) Destabilizing Theory: Contemporary Feminist Debates. Oxford: Polity Press. Pp. 10- 30. The Public Health Journal (1919) “Prohibition in Relation to Social Problem” in The Public Health Journal. July. Vol. X. No.7:333-335. Reverby, S.M. and D.O. Helly (1992) “Converging on History” in D.O. Helly and S.M. Reverby (eds.) Gendered Domains: Rethinking Public and Private in Women’s History. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. pp. 1-24. Rosaldo, M.Z. (1980) “The Use and Abuse of Anthropology: Reflections on Feminism and Cross- Cultural Understanding” in Signs. Vol. 5. No. 3:389-417. Said, E. (1993) Culture and Imperialism. London, Vintage. Said, E. (1978) Orientalism. New York, Random House. Sheehan, M. N. (1986) “The WCTU and Educational Strategies on the Canadian Prairie” in N.M. Sheehan, J. D. Wilson and D.C. Jones. (eds.) Schools in the West: Essays in Canadian Educational History. Calgary, Alberta: Detselig Enterprises. Strong-Boag, V. (1982) “Intruders in the Nursery: Childcare Professionals Reshape the Years One to Five, 1920-1940” in J. Parr (ed.) Childhood and Family in Canadian History. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Pp. 160-178. Ursel, J. (1986) “The State and the Maintenance of Patriarchy: A Case Study of Family, Labor and Welfare Legislation in Canada” in J. Dickinson and B. Rusell (eds.) Family, Economy, and State. Toronto: Garamond Press. Pp. 150-191. Valverde, M. (1991) The Age of Light, Soap, and Water: Moral Reform in English Canada, 1885- 1925. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Valverde, M. (1992) “`When the Mother of the Race is Free’: Race, Reproduction, and Sexuality in First-Wave Feminism” in Franca Iacovetta and Mariana Valverde (eds.) Gender Conflicts: New Essays in Women’s History. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Pp. 3-26. The Vancouver Daily World (1890) “The Social Evil” in The Vancouver Daily World. January 3:1. WCTU (1883) “Petition of Women’s Temperance Union” in British Columbia Sessional Papers, 1883-1884: 387. The Western Methodist Recorder (1902) “Temperance Secretary appointed” in The Western Methodist Recorder. Vol. 4: No 4:5. Western Women’s Weekly (1918) “Immigration and Assimilation After the War” in Western Women’s Weekly. March 14, Vol. 1. no. 14:10. Western Women’s Weekly (1921) “Provincial W.C.T.U. Urges High Ideals of Citizenship” in Western Woman’s Weekly. July, 9:2. Woodcock, G. (1990) British Columbia: A History of the Province. Vancouver: Douglas & McIntyre. Yarros, R.S. (1920) “The Prostitute as a Health and Social Problem” in The Public Health Journal. January. Vol.X. No. 31:605-608. Zaretsky, E. (1986) “Rethinking the Welfare State: Dependence, Economic Individualism and the Family” in J. Dickinson and B. Russell (ed.) Family, Economy and State: The Social Reproduction Process under Capitalism. Toronto: Garamond Press.

118 Helen Ralston

Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women in Canada*

Abstract Women’s empowerment implies a change from a state of powerlessness to one in which women are self-consciously aware of their identity, have control over their lives and resources and are self-reliant participants in processes of development and change. It involves changes not only in individuals, but also in institutions, structures and relations that perpetuate patriarchal relations and oppression at all levels, from the family to religion and other institutions, to the community and the larger society. The paper explores from a feminist theoretical perspective the lived experience of South Asian immigrant women. It operationalizes empowerment in terms of community organization. It examines the various organizational activities which unite and empower women. The data are drawn from original research among women of diverse South Asian ethnoreligious and ethnocultural affiliations in specific regions of Canada: Atlantic Canada, British Columbia and Alberta. The paper therefore has a comparative component. The methodology used in all projects consists of interviews and participant observation in organizational activities.The research has suggested that South Asian immigrant women’s powerlessness is experienced in family, community and society, where race, class and gender intertwine to construct experiential differences which are not only “sites of difference” but also “sites of the operations of power.” Women’s interests and goals are different from those of men. Patriarchal relations of ruling in family and other institutions and structures of society are a major factor in South Asian women’s lived experience of subordination, powerlessness, violence and other forms of oppression. Familial and religious values, practices and racist ideologies serve to maintain, reproduce and reinforce their powerlessness. Insofar as women recognize shared experiences of powerlessness, exploitation and oppression, mobilize and organize collectively to speak, act and advocate for change in their status and experience, then they are moving towards empowerment, equity and justice.

Résumé L’habilitation des femmes requiert que l’on passe d’un état d’impuissance à un autre état où les femmes ont accédé à une pleine conscience de leur identité, où elles ont assumé le contrôle de leurs vies et de leurs ressources et sont devenues des participantes indépendantes à des processus d’évolution et de changement. Ce passage exige que l’on procède à des changements non seulement sur le plan individuel, mais aussi sur le plan des institutions et des structures qui perpétuent les relations patriarcales et l’oppression à tous les niveaux, de celui de la famille à celui de la religion et des autres institutions, la communauté et la collectivité dans son ensemble. L’article étudie le vécu d’immigrantes originaires du sud de l’Asie dans une perspective théorique

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC féministe. Il « opérationnalise » l’habilitation au plan de l’organisation communautaire. Il se penche sur les diverses activités organisationnelles qui unissent et habilitent les femmes. Les données ont été recueillies dans le cadre d’une recherche originale menée auprès de Sud-Asiatiques dont les affiliations ethnoreligieuses et ethnoculturelles sont très diverses et qui vivent dans des régions spécifiques du pays : les provinces de l’Atlantique, la Colombie-Britannique et l’Alberta. L’article a donc une composante comparative. Tous les projets utilisent la même méthodologie : entrevues et observations menées auprès des participantes dans le cadre de leurs activités organisationnelles. Les résultats de la recherche suggèrent que les immigrantes sud-asiatiques font l’expérience de leur impuissance dans leurs familles, leur communauté et la société, partout où la race, la classe et le sexe conspirent pour construire des différences expérientielles qui ne sont pas seulement des « lieux de différence », mais aussi des « lieux du fonctionnement du pouvoir. » Les intérêts et les objectifs des femmes sont différents de ceux des hommes. Les relations patriarcales de pouvoir que l’on retrouve au sein de la famille et dans les autres structures et institutions de la société constituent un facteur important dans l’expérience de subordination, d’impuissance, de violence et d’autres formes d’oppressions vécues par ces Sud-Asiatiques. Les valeurs religieuses et familiales, les pratiques et les idéologies racistes servent à maintenir, reproduire et renforcer leur impuissance. Dans la mesure où les femmes reconnaissent les expériences d’impuissance, d’exploitation et d’oppression qu’elles ont en commun, qu’elles se mobilisent et s’organisent collectivement pour prendre la parole, agir et lutter pour changer leur statut et leurs expériences, alors elles font un pas en avant dans la direction de l’habilitation, de l’équité et de la justice.

Introduction Women’s empowerment implies a change from a state of relative powerlessness to one in which women are self-consciously aware of their identity, have control over their lives and resources and are self-reliant participants in processes of development, decision-making and change. It involves changes not only in individuals, but also in family, religion and other institutions as well as community, societal, economic and political structures and practices that produce and perpetuate patriarchal relations of ruling. The paper explores from a feminist theoretical perspective the lived experience of South Asian immigrant women. It operationalizes empowerment in terms of raised gender and race consciousness and community organization. It argues that through the experience of organizational activities women can become empowered personally, familially and socially. They can speak on their own behalf, increase their self- esteem and self-confidence and learn skills which give them greater social, economic and political power. The paper examines the various organizational activities which unite and empower women. The data are drawn from original research among immigrant women of diverse South Asian ethnoreligious and ethnocultural affiliations in specific regions of Canada: Atlantic Canada, British Columbia and Alberta.

122 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

Socio-demographic context According to the 1991 census data,1 there were 420,295 self-identified people of South Asian origin in Canada, representing 1.6% of a total Canadian population of 26,994,045. They were unevenly distributed throughout Canada: Ontario, 55%; British Columbia, 25%; Alberta, 10%; Quebec, 7%; Manitoba, 2%; Atlantic provinces, 1%; with minuscule numbers in Saskatchewan and the Yukon and North West territories. Although, numerically, South Asians were settled predominantly in Ontario, they represented only 1.6% of the Ontario population (the national average) as compared to 3.2% of the British Columbia population. For the purposes of this study, it is important to note that the Western provinces of British Columbia and Alberta are very different from Atlantic Canada and that the metropolitan centres of Vancouver, Edmonton and Calgary are very different from metropolitan Halifax — demographically, historically and socially. In the 1991 census of Canada, the total population of the four Atlantic provinces was just over two and a quarter million, with 4,175 of South Asian origin; the province of Alberta had a total population of approximately two and a half million, with 40,030 of South Asian origin; British Columbia, on the other hand, has a rapidly growing population of over 3 million, with 103,545 of South Asian origin.2 The census metropolitan area (CMA)3 Vancouver had a population of almost one and a half million with approximately 80,000 of South Asian ethnic origin (including Indo-Fijians); CMA Halifax had a population of 317,630, with 1,825 of South Asian origin. Whereas 74 % of the South Asians of British Columbia were concentrated in the large metropolitan centre of Vancouver, and 93 % of the South Asians in Alberta were in the CMAs Calgary and Edmonton, only 44 % of the South Asians in the Atlantic region resided in the major metropolitan centre of Halifax. In other words, not only was the total South Asian population twenty times greater in British Columbia and ten times greater in Alberta than in the whole Atlantic region, but South Asians were more scattered in the Atlantic region than in British Columbia or Alberta. Furthermore, in the past decade, Halifax has received relatively few internal or international migrants. Vancouver, on the other hand, has become a principal city of destination for internal and international migrants. Moreover, Vancouver was the port of entry for the initial South Asian immigrants at the turn of this century. South Asians migrated to Atlantic Canada only after World War II. Today, British Columbia has a large population of diverse Asian ethnic origin; Atlantic Canada has relatively few people of Asian origin. From the demographic data, it is evident that women of South Asian origin in Western Canada are not only much more concentrated in actual numbers than they are in Atlantic Canada, but they are also largely settled in densely populated highly industrialized metropolitan centres. South Asian immigrant women in Atlantic Canada tend to be scattered geographically, residentially and socially. In consequence, they have a different experience from women in western Canada.

123 IJCS / RIÉC

Conceptual considerations The term “South Asian” is sociologically problematic. It encompasses distinctly different ethnocultural groups. Being South Asian refers not so much to the personal qualities of individuals who come directly to Canada from the Indian subcontinent (India, Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh), or else indirectly from East Africa, the Caribbean or Fiji through their ancestors, but rather to social characteristics which have been constructed and reconstructed in historical and ongoing social relations in specific social, economic and political contexts. In the Census of Canada, “ethnic origin” is self-identified and refers to the cultural origin of oneself or one’s ancestors in matrilineal and patrilineal lineage (Statistics Canada 1993).4 South Asian is a relatively new social construct in Canadian society,5 which has been shaped and reshaped by the immigrants themselves and by other Canadians in their day-to-day activities.6 Moreover, how women construct their identity and represent themselves tends to vary in terms of whom they are addressing. In conversations, few “South Asians” identify themselves as such. Some women, particularly older women, have adopted the European designation of “East Indian.” More commonly, particularly in British Columbia where there are large concentrations of regional cultural groups, women will identify themselves as Pakistani, Punjabi, Bengali, Indo-Canadian, and so on. Indo- Fijians call themselves “Fijian.” When an interviewer such as myself is cognizant of regional and linguistic distinctions among people of the Indian sub-continent and the diaspora, then South Asian women will be extremely specific about representing their identity. Similarly, the term “immigrant woman” refers not so much to legal status as to processes of social construction in everyday life which describe some women, who are visibly and audibly different in characteristics such as skin colour, language or accent, religion, dress, food customs and so on, as immigrants. As Pettman (1992:43) has observed “some overseas-born groups are presumed to be more migrant than others.” In legal terms, the women may be Canadian citizens who have been permanent Canadian residents for many years. Community agencies often acknowledge distinctions between long-term residents and recent immigrants by socially designating the latter as “newcomers to Canada.” I have drawn on Dorothy Smith’s (1987) insights for my conceptual framework, methodology and analysis. She has pointed out (p. 2-4) that “(e)stablished sociology has objectified a consciousness of society and social relations that ‘knows’ them from the standpoint of their ruling and from the standpoint of men who do that ruling.” When society and social relations were known and understood solely from the perspective of men, then the “gender subtext” of relations of ruling was largely invisible. For example, for a very long time, “domestic violence” was known, understood and socially constructed from the standpoint of men. It was indeed largely invisible and inaudible. Wife abuse was not a socially acceptable part of feminine discourse either in public or within the family. The social construction of “difference” is crucial to understanding how continent or country of origin represents and places immigrants in general, and

124 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women immigrant women, in particular, in Canadian society. Visible differences, like skin colour, head dress and clothing, style of eating and food preferences, have led to the social constitution of “visible minorities” by the dominant groups to describe Aboriginal people and some immigrants. Belonging to an ethnic category with specific “differences” implies being a certain kind of person. Furthermore, “difference” in gender relations is significant within and among ethnic categories. The meaning of “difference” has been much discussed in feminist debates.7 In my study, the notion of “difference” emphasizes experiential diversity in terms of the intersections of ethnicity, race, gender and class, national and regional origin, region of settlement, religion, and so on. It explores these experiential diversities not only as “sites of difference” but also as “sites of the operation of power.” (Barrett 1989:42) Ethnic, gender and class relations canalize social life and imply, on the one hand, a complexity of shared understandings of social relations in various domains of a group’s activities; and, on the other hand, a recognition of boundaries, of limitations in shared understandings and of “differences” in social relations and in relations of ruling with members of other groups. Where ethnic categories of people are residentially dispersed, ethnic reference groups can be constituted, maintained and activated by communication in what Etzioni (1959:258) has called “limited social situations” and in the activities of core institutions, such as temples, churches and synagogues and ethnocultural groups. “Ethnicity” is a dynamic social construction not a static entity. Through communication, activities and experienced differences in the “limited social situations” of ethnocultural and ethnoreligious organizations, South Asian immigrant women and men reconstruct and reproduce personal and social identity consciousness. They reconstitute and reinforce ethnocultural boundaries. Yancey, Ericksen and Juliani (1976), in their discussion of the phenomenon of “emergent ethnicity,” have argued that the development and persistence of ethnicity are dependent upon the structural conditions of society and the position and relationships of groups within society, rather than on the transplantation of a cultural heritage. They have noted (p. 392) several structural conditions which tend to foster the emergence and persistence of ethnicity. Among these were common occupational positions, residential stability and concentration, and dependence on common institutions, such as ethnic, cultural and religious organizations. In his seminal research on interpersonal relations among immigrant men in Montreal, Breton (1964) noted that ethnic communities can vary enormously in their social organization and their degree of institutional completeness. He identified a number of factors which contributed to the formation and institutional completeness of ethnic community organization — prominent among them being differentiating social and cultural attributes like language, colour and religion “which can set it apart from the native community.” (p. 204) Breton found that “religious institutions had the greatest effect in keeping the individual’s associations within the ethnic community.” (p. 200) He also found that, where a large proportion of the members of an ethnic group had few resources of their own, there was a tendency for other members to act as social entrepreneurs and try to organize something for the other immigrants in need. (p. 204)

125 IJCS / RIÉC

Like other immigrant groups, many people of South Asian origin in Canada have formed organizations. Through ethnic organizational activities they pursue their collective interests and goals and move towards empowerment. Their organizational goals can be loosely categorized as service-oriented and advocacy-oriented. (Agnew 1993) Service-oriented community organizations can provide a forum for recreational, social, cultural and religious exchanges and celebrations among members of a specific category of people of the same national or ethnic origin. They may have the explicit purpose of education and socialization of youth in the language, culture and religion of their parents. Such organizational activities promote intra-group cohesion among the members and integration within the host society, especially for newcomers. They empower people by creating a self-conscious awareness of ethnic identity and solidarity. Other service organizations provide information and skills training which empower people by enhancing social and economic opportunities. Advocacy is an important agent in bringing about change in existing relations of ruling and in transforming structures that support inequity. Advocacy-oriented organizations actively propound and lobby for the interests of a particular group or of several cultural groups with a common interest. Protest groups, such as anti-racist organizations, raise consciousness and organize against the group’s position in and treatment by the receiving society. Some protest groups struggle against discrimination within the ethnocultural group. Advocacy organizations may be gender specific groups which are organized to raise consciousness and address interests of women within the ethnocultural group itself as well as within society as a whole. Feminist immigrants organizing to combat the many forms of violence against women and children constitute such advocacy-oriented groups. Advocacy- oriented organizations aim to translate awareness and articulation of concerns into legislation, policies, programs and actions that transform unequal and unjust structures and relations of ruling in family and society. Following Dorothy Smith (1987) and Roxana Ng (1981, 1984, 1986, 1989), in my projects the concept “lived experience” of women is to be understood in terms of practical activities of everyday life (such as visiting temples/mosques/gurdwaras/churches/synagogues, working inside and outside the home, participating in activities of ethnocultural, religious, women’s and other organizations) rather than in the more conventional connotation of people’s perceptions of and attitudes toward the situations in which they find themselves. By exploring these activities, women’s lived experience is made visible. Women are empowered when they are sensitized to the gendered organization of relations of ruling in their lived experience and when they become active subjects in transforming their lived world. It is my argument that South Asian immigrant women’s collective activities in organizations can raise gender and race consciousness, provide them with needed services, and bring about change in their everyday lives in family, community and society. Such effects are indicators of movement towards empowerment.

126 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

Methodology and sampling The methodology used in all projects has been a case study approach with in- depth interviews and participant observation. Contacts previously made and membership lists of various ethnic, religious and women’s organizations, as well as workers at immigrant settlement and multicultural organizations have been the starting-point for personal interviews with women of South Asian origin. In the interviews, questions have addressed what the women actually do rather than their perceptions and attitudes. For example, when a woman has described a typical day, she has been asked who actually prepares the morning cup of tea, cuts the lunches, drives the children to school, pays the bills, does the accounts, washes the dishes, shovels the snow, phones organizational members and so on. My initial research with South Asian immigrant women was conducted between 1988 and 1990 in the four Atlantic Canada provinces of Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island.8 The non-probability sample for that study comprised 126 first-generation South Asian immigrant women over the age of 15 years, one-tenth of the estimated total population of South Asian women of that age in the Atlantic region at the time.9 The sample was drawn from a directory in proportion to the distribution in the four provinces. It comprised women of diverse national, regional, cultural, linguistic and religious backgrounds.10 The research with South Asian women in British Columbia and Alberta began in December 1993. There, it has not been possible to draw a non-probability sample. Rather, a snowballing method has been used, with a deliberate attempt to select women of diverse ages, community backgrounds, countries of origin, dates of entry to Canada, class. Again, the total sample of 100 women in British Columbia has been drawn from first-generation immigrant women over the age of 15 years in proportion to the distribution of South Asians in that province.11 To date, 6 women in Alberta have been interviewed.12 The study in Western Canada has also included Indo-Fijian women. Fijians in Canada numbered 6,675 in the 1991 census.13 Of these, 4,945 (74 %) resided in British Columbia and 1,300 (19 %) in Alberta — virtually all of them in the CMAs Vancouver, Calgary and Edmonton, respectively.

Findings Organizational activities in Atlantic Canada In Atlantic Canada, South Asian organizational activities were predominantly service-oriented. At the time of my field work in Atlantic Canada, I identified no South Asian women’s organizations which were specifically advocacy- oriented. Nor did I find in my interviews any women who were actively working with other women’s advocacy-oriented organizations. Immigrants of South Asian origin, though diverse in linguistic, cultural, religious and regional origins, for the most part shared a middle-class background. Many of them came to Atlantic Canada as a result of changes in the Canadian Immigration Act in the 1960s and the 1970s which encouraged the flow of highly educated and highly skilled South Asian professionals, especially

127 IJCS / RIÉC

South Asian men. South Asian immigrant middle-class men have provided an articulate leadership for various ethnic community organizations. South Asian women have become family members of these organizations with their husbands. Occasionally women have become leaders of organizations. Some also belonged to women’s groups which were a branch of the main organization. In rare instances, South Asian women in Atlantic Canada have collectively organized as autonomous, service-oriented women’s groups. My findings supported Etzioni’s (1959:258) contention that, under conditions of dispersion and relative isolation, ethnic and religious organizations provided a social context where people could meet and reconstitute their common identity, language, tradition, values and consciousness of ethnicity. They served to establish boundaries not only between themselves, other immigrants and other Canadians, but also among South Asian immigrants of specific regional, cultural, linguistic and religious backgrounds. Where the Atlantic Canada women lived in settlements that are remote from metropolitan centres of the region and where they were few in number and isolated, they formed an informal network of interpersonal relations with extended kin and friends who communicated largely by telephone. In Breton’s (1964) conceptualization, they were the least socially organized type of ethnic community. In their everyday life they had interpersonal relations with members of the wider residential and work community through educational and other social institutions of mainstream society. They came together as an informal ethnocultural group on rare social occasions throughout the year or joined a formal ethnic organization in a larger urban centre for the celebration of a religious or cultural festival. In the three metropolitan centres of the region (Halifax, St. John’s and Saint John), the ethnic community was large enough in numbers to establish formal organizations with the primary purpose of establishing a religious temple, gurdwara or mosque. Difference in religion united them and set them apart from other Canadians; language and home country regional differences created boundaries among themselves which fostered the formation of specific religious groupings. In non-religious areas of everyday life, their interpersonal relations and organizational activities were much less culturally specific. In the Atlantic Canada sample, 104 women (83 %) belonged to at least one ethnic organization. Over half of the women (59) who belonged to an ethnic organization were affiliated with the secular, service-oriented and overarching Indo-Canadian Association of Nova Scotia (INCA), which has members in the three other Atlantic Provinces of New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland besides Nova Scotia. Moreover, when a woman belonged to several ethnic organizations, in almost every case, the Indo-Canadian Association was the first one named. INCA’s directory, which was readily available in Indian grocery stores, listed both members and non-members of Indian origin and thus provided a useful means for extended networking within the region. The Yearbook and Directory (INCA 1988) outlines the aims and objectives of INCA. Most of the activities of the organization’s committees were concerned with providing services like social, cultural and entertainment events, public relations, orientation and settlement of newcomers, goodwill

128 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women and multiculturalism, the establishment of a crematorium, and responding to humanitarian causes. In addition, the Indo-Canadian Association raised funds for various social needs in India. The elected leaders of INCA were predominantly middle-class business and professional men. At the time of my field work, only one woman served on the executive of INCA. Women worked on some of the numerous committees of the association. A human rights committee addressed advocacy-related issues. Human rights was conceived in terms of possible cases of discrimination against individual members on the basis of ethnicity and race. Women’s rights in family and society and violence against women or “domestic violence” were not issues of concern for INCA. General INCA celebrations were usually scheduled around the dates of Indian secular holidays, such as Republic Day (January 26), Independence Day (August 15), and Gandhi’s birth date (October 2). For these events, the women were involved in organizing and participating in cultural activities like music and dance of specific South Asian regions, in supervising children’s performance of plays, in preparing meals of various regions for a common supper. In other words, their activities involved women’s stereotypical productive and reproductive work. Some women of my study belonged to exclusively women’s organizations. In metropolitan Halifax, four women belonged to a Women of India Auxiliary Association, an organization which comprised about thirty-five members. The sole purpose of the organization was to provide social services for needy people. The group was actively engaged in raising large sums of money for such projects as education of needy children in India and cancer-care facilities in Halifax. The women thus worked for people of their original home country as well as their new home in Canada. In the Annapolis Valley of Nova Scotia, I encountered the sole autonomous women’s organization. The Asian Women’s Association was formed at the end of the 1970s with the express purpose of transmitting South Asian culture in its many varieties to their children.14 By the end of the 1980s, the group comprised fifteen members, all South Asian women, principally of Indian origin, but some of Pakistani and East African origin. The members met monthly and paid a monthly fee of two dollars which financed their activities. Although the association was a secular organization, religious festivals of the various members were celebrated. Over the years, the service-orientation of the association expanded beyond cultural education of the children to include financial donations to meet needs in Nova Scotia, such as a battered women’s society or educational toys for children in hospital, and in India for such purposes as education of poor children or Mother Teresa’s care of the destitute. In addition, the group organized a pot-luck supper about five times a year for which South Asian meals were sometimes prepared by the husbands. The women described their husbands as being “leaders in their professions” at a provincial and national level. Being middle-class members of Canadian society was a salient aspect of their social identity. In Newfoundland, the Ethno-Cultural Association comprised in its membership seventeen associations, including the Hindu, Muslim and Sikh religious organizations and an overarching secular ethnocultural organization,

129 IJCS / RIÉC the Friends of India Association. At the time of my field work, the Friends of India Association had two women out of ten persons as office-bearers. As a member of the Ethno-Cultural Association, it cooperated with other cultural groups but there was no evidence of any advocacy-related activities — for example, on behalf of abused women. Overarching secular organizations, like the Indo-Canadian Association of Nova Scotia and the Friends of India Association in Newfoundland, served not only to unite South Asians of diverse cultural origins and to integrate newcomers but also to link the ethnic community to interested Canadians of other ethnic origins. The membership of the these organizations comprised predominantly middle-class educated professional and business people. The women in Atlantic Canada described religious institutions, like temples, gurdwaras, mosques and churches, and the organizations associated with their incorporation and ongoing life, as key elements in transmission to the next generation of cultural symbols, activities and value-systems. In fact, one might argue that such organizations are produced and reproduced precisely for the purpose of reaffirming and transmitting a shared symbolic universe, a system of counter-values and standards of behaviour which are “different” from those of the dominant Canadian culture, especially in important areas like premarital relations between boys and girls and in religiously prescribed dress codes. Many women took their children to temple or mosque to communicate basic value-orientations through instruction in beliefs, rituals and behavioural codes and to promote their children’s interaction with other families and youth of their own ethnoreligious background. Metropolitan Halifax has the largest residential concentration of Sikh families (reportedly, approximately fifty families). Participants in the study claimed that there was a total of about one hundred and ten Sikh families in Atlantic Canada. The only Sikh gurdwara in the region is located in metropolitan Halifax. It was described as a social gathering-place as much as a place of worship, where people not only shared in the traditional meal (langa) after the religious ceremony, but where, above all, they met other Punjabi-speaking people and taught their children about their religion and culture. Personal and social ethnoreligious identity was reconstructed and reproduced through membership in the ethnoreligious Maritime Sikh Society. In the majority of ethnoreligious organizations, patriarchal gender roles and structures prevailed. Men, not women, held the leadership roles in worship. For example, although children and youths (both girls and boys) conducted the rituals in the St. John’s Krishna Temple, men supervised their performance. Women were responsible for preparing the meal which followed worship. The Maritime Sikh Society is exceptional. Since the interviews were completed, it has elected an all-woman executive, which is responsible for all temple-related activities. These activities include managing society money, recruiting Indian singers for special ceremonies, as well as organizing the meal (langa) after the religious ceremonies. Among Hindu families, on the other hand, where a regional style of temple worship was not available, it was the woman’s role to provide it in the home.

130 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

Insofar as women participated in organizational activities in other areas of their life — like their children’s education and recreation, their own work outside the home — their participation and interpersonal relations were with mainstream Canadian organizations such as a Parents and Friends Association of the school or a professional or work association, respectively. In sum, in Atlantic Canada, ethnocultural and ethnoreligious organizational membership and activities reconstituted and reinforced ethnic identity among these middle-class women of South Asian origin. In so doing, they contributed to social cohesion and empowerment while providing needed social, cultural, recreational and spiritual services. Advocacy and change in structures and relations were not the goal. Critical gender issues were not the matter of discourse or action. Two women whom I interviewed reported independently that a South Asian woman who experienced sexual abuse would not discuss it even with a close friend. There was no open discussion of violence against women in ethnoreligious and ethnocultural groups and no advocacy-oriented organizational activity to protest and combat violence against women. Women’s experience of violence, if and when it existed, was invisible and virtually inaudible. Only one woman, a Muslim, spoke with me of personal experience of wife abuse. She lived in an isolated settlement of Atlantic Canada. Although she maintained affiliation with a geographically remote religious organization, practically speaking she was completely isolated. She had no ethnic community networks. She had no mainstream support organization in her area. At the time of the interview, the level of proactive awareness of domestic violence was low in the region. A highly qualified, articulate woman, she self-consciously criticized herself for remaining in an abusive situation. To that extent, she might be considered as empowered.

Organizational activities in British Columbia In British Columbia, by contrast, particularly in metropolitan Vancouver, a city with a large population of ethnically and racially diverse immigrant people, as well as a high concentration of women of South Asian origin, there is a high level of gender and racial awareness. Many middle-class South Asian immigrant women are actively organized in advocacy-oriented groups to promote consciousness-raising, education, and change among men and among working-class grass roots women in areas of specific concern: violence against women, reproductive technology and amniocentesis clinics, racism, and recognition of foreign credentials and experience. At the same time, there is a large number of organizations which provide a vast array of services for immigrant women. Such organizations also contributed to empowerment by creating a self-conscious awareness of ethnic identity and solidarity and of race difference among visible minority women. Among the one hundred women who were interviewed, 82 % belonged to an ethnocultural or ethnoreligious organization. Moreover, 40 % belonged to a women’s organization. Whereas in Atlantic Canada I encountered only one autonomous South Asian women’s organization, namely, the Annapolis Valley Asian Women’s Association, in metropolitan Vancouver, six associations had been organized by and for Canadian women of South Asian

131 IJCS / RIÉC origin. Some women were actively involved in five or six South Asian, multicultural and visible minority women’s organizations. The members of many of these organizations tended to form a collective rather than create a hierarchical organizational structure. The founders and most active members of the organization collective were predominantly highly educated and middle class. For more than twenty years, some women of South Asian origin in metropolitan Vancouver have been conscious of interacting gender, race and class discrimination and have been actively organizing and strategizing towards equity and empowerment. The founding members of groups such as the India Mahila Association became aware that service organizations were merely “a band-aid approach” to pressing problems and were doing little preventative to improve the lived experience of women.15 Moreover, some Sikh ethnoreligious organizations were highly politicized and thereby constructed divisions and boundaries within the Sikh communities. In particular, the male dominance of these organizations constructed gender boundaries and contributed in part to the creation of feminist, advocacy- oriented organizations. A variety of women’s organizations have been formed, some explicitly for women of South Asian origins, some for immigrant and visible minority women of diverse cultural origins. Many women’s organizations have been working actively for a long time to educate, support, network and strategize with other women to bring about legal and social change. The area of most acute concern, education and action for the past ten years has been violence against women.16 In the British Columbia sample, thirty-six women made some reference to violence and of these, five women (two Muslim, two Hindu, one Christian) had personally experienced abuse. The women spoke of physical and verbal abuse, of violence exacerbated by the husband’s alcohol abuse, of a husband taking all the woman’s pay out of a joint account, of taking other women out, and even of remarrying in another country before divorce proceedings had been completed in Canada. Some women experienced abuse as much from their in-laws as from their husbands. In the extended family living situation, a mother-in-law expected one woman “to work, to cook for five people... to do all the housework. I was treated like a servant... Mothers-in-law are key to family. Women should not let themselves be oppressed.” Women of Muslim affiliation experienced additional forms of abuse; for example, “A divorced Muslim woman has no future in (my home country), and here (in Canada), (Muslims) treat a divorced woman as very low. Men treat me as so easy.”17 For this Muslim woman, at least, patriarchal relations and ideologies, reinforced by religious ideologies, have constructed specific representations and roles of what it means to be wife, mother, and, above all, housewife. She is defined as property of the husband, and as divorcee she becomes damaged property. The thirty-one other women who spoke of violence against women raised similar concerns. A little-recognized form of violence to which women have also addressed their activities has been that against senior women which has occurred when adult “children” do not respect their personal, social and emotional needs, use them

132 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

as nannies for their own children, and sometimes subject them to physical abuse.18 Some senior women have become empowered through participation in collectives organized explicitly among and for seniors. In recent years, abuse of women and female foetuses through amniocentesis testing in sex-selection clinics has become a particularly controversial issue. An American doctor operates a clinic within short driving distance from the U.S. border where he offers the dubious service (for the considerable sum of US $1,000) of allegedly guaranteeing 100 percent accuracy as to whether the mother is carrying “a healthy boy or a healthy girl.” Local South Asian newspapers carry his advertisements.19 In response, a coalition of representatives of South Asian women’s groups united against sex-selection clinics and female foeticide and actively sought support from mainstream women’s organizations. They have organized protest marches in South Asian markets, criticized South Asian newspapers for publishing advertisements for sex-selection clinics and gender-discriminatory articles, produced dramas and information programs on television and radio, lobbied provincial and federal members of parliament, and sought active support from mainstream women’s organizations. In addition, South Asian women’s organizations have used social situations like banquets, festival celebrations and temple gatherings for weddings and birthdays to enlist the support of gender-conscious husbands in the presentation of skits and dramas which raise consciousness to specific aspects of violence against women. In these contexts, whole families are educated to awareness that such abuses against women are reprehensible. For these women of South Asian origin, at least, sex-selection clinics were primarily an urgent women’s concern within the ethnocultural group itself. Their strategizing was based on the premise that the root of the problem in the use of such clinics lay in the reproduction of patriarchal ideologies and relations of ruling within family and community. The India Mahila Association (IMA), founded in 1973, is the oldest of the South Asian women’s organizations.20 The women of IMA reflect a wide diversity of South Asian religious, cultural, linguistic and national origins. It is an autonomous collective of women with funding only from membership and donations and no state funding. It has some twenty-five core members and approximately 100 to 200 members who fluctuate in their participation in activities. While most of the members are residents of Greater Vancouver, some reside in Lower Mainland British Columbia and some on Vancouver Island — regions close enough to Vancouver for networking. In terms of issues and needs of a particular time, it has engaged in both service-oriented and advocacy-oriented activities over its twenty-year history. It has organized social and cultural events which provide a forum for dialogue, exchange and celebration among women who share common origins and interests. It has also conducted educational and advocacy work which raises consciousness and addresses the rights of South Asian Canadian women. In addition, it has produced and participated in proactive radio and television programs dealing with issues of particular concern in the lived experience of South Asian Canadian women — issues such as arranged marriages, dowry, sex selection, violence against women, and challenges faced by young women of South Asian origin. (IMA 1993:2)

133 IJCS / RIÉC

The IMA also conducts research. A recent activity over a three-year period has been a major study of South Asian women’s needs and an assessment of community agencies which attempt to address those needs. The results of the study were released and presented to South Asian women at a two-day workshop which was organized to plan future strategies, February 5-6, 1994.21 The participants included not only “the converted” — that is, women who have become sensitized — but also grassroots working-class women who never go to conferences. At the conference banquet, ten senior women of South Asian origin were honoured for their consistent active contribution to the community over a long period of residence in Vancouver. The February conference included panels and workshops to address two identified areas of major concern; namely, “Violence against Women: Protection and Prevention” and “Education and Employment: Barriers and Biases.” The expressed concern about “Violence against Women” led to an in- depth, follow-up qualitative study by three IMA members during the summer of 1994.22 One can expect and hope that the IMA research project will result in proactive responses to violence and greater empowerment of women of South Asian origin. Women in CMA Vancouver have used various forms of communication media as agents of empowerment. A key person in the promotion of gender and race awareness among women has been Shushma Sardana, the owner of a television production company and the producer of a radio talk-show in Punjabi and Hindi languages.23 A Punjabi immigrant twenty-two years ago, Shushma Sardana quickly became actively involved in activities to empower women. She gives time on her programs to members of various ethnocultural organizations to be interviewed about women’s issues of current concern. Her leading questions allow them to give information about what a woman can do to meet her needs for practical help with such things as language training, health care for herself or her children, teenage drinking, as well as to address more sensitive issues such as foetal sex selection, male child preference and wife abuse. She has hosted programs where medical scientists and other experts provided basic education on such matters as sex-determination by the male’s and not the female’s gene. These programs have provoked tremendous feedback and have provided impetus to women’s organization and empowerment. Other South Asian women’s organizations in metropolitan Vancouver include Samantha and the South Asian Women’s Network. Samantha developed as an offshoot of the IMA about ten years ago to deal explicitly with education of men to awareness of violence against women.24 It was founded at a public meeting of over four hundred people who gathered to protest the murder of several women of South Asian origin. Initially, half the membership was men, with some IMA members enlisting their own husbands’ cooperation in conscientizing men to gender awareness and violence against women. Samantha has now become an autonomous organization of about fifteen active women members and has shifted its focus towards education and counselling of abused women through periodic social gatherings and cultural programs.

134 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

The South Asian Women’s Action Network (SAWAN) is a feminist advocacy group of young women who began meeting as a collective in 1991.25 It comprises ten very active members and six to ten women who come and go. Its major focus of attention from 1993 to 1994 was to initiate and plan a South Asian women’s centre in Vancouver. The members met regularly every two weeks to achieve their goal in April 1994, with funding assistance from the government of British Columbia. The centre, located on Main Street, Vancouver, the major South Asian commercial and residential area of the city, serves as a drop-in place for women with the objective of being a place of outreach and advocacy as needs arise.26 Some women in British Columbia were also actively involved as principal office-bearers and workers for two important anti-racist women’s organizations whose membership comprises a broad spectrum of immigrant groups: the Vancouver Society of Immigrant and Visible Minority Women, and the Association of Immigrant and Visible Minority Women of British Columbia, respectively.27 Their activities were both service-oriented and advocacy-oriented. The Vancouver society started about ten years ago as an advocacy group seeking recognition and equality for women. The group found, however, the term “advocacy” did not help them to get government funding; after eight years, they dropped the word from the constitution. Since then they have focused on activities and programs directed towards obtaining recognition of foreign credentials for both women and men. They have targeted specific professions such as teaching, accountancy and social work — with the cooperation of professional associations like the Teachers Federation — provided workshops and produced booklets which help to overcome the seemingly insurmountable hurdles immigrants meet in trying to get a job in line with their qualifications and experience. Some women who were interviewed reported of their experience applying for jobs in terms such as the following: “As soon as they see the colour of your skin…you are looked upon as if you don’t know anything, have a language problem or will not do the job properly.”28 The Association of Immigrant and Visible Minority Women of British Columbia has as its explicit mandate to work for a more accessible and equitable society for immigrant and visible minority women through education, networking, and advocacy. Its activities include lobbying to improve the status of immigrant and visible minority women and providing workshops that communicate knowledge and skills for employment training, for dealing with violence against women in the family, for language training. It also produces a newsletter, conducts research and has initiated the establishment of a Family Support Services Association. The Board has representatives from the five major regions of British Columbia: Vancouver, Lower Mainland British Columbia, Northern British Columbia, Central British Columbia and Vancouver Island. On Vancouver Island and in interior British Columbia, women tended to associate actively with various intercultural, multicultural and immigrant service and advocacy organizations which worked with and on behalf of immigrants — men, women and youth — of diverse cultural origins. In Vancouver Island, four years ago, three intercultural associations (the Intercultural Association of Greater Victoria;29 the Cowichan Valley

135 IJCS / RIÉC

Intercultural and Immigrant Aid Society, located at Duncan, a small town to the north of Victoria;30 and the Central Vancouver Island Multicultural Society, located at the larger, more northerly town of Nanaimo31) formed a Vancouver Island Immigrant Women’s Committee (called NA-DU-VIC) with a paid coordinator.32 Its express purpose is outreach across cultural boundaries to isolated immigrant women in remote and smaller settlements (Port Alberni, Courtenay, Campbell River, Port Hardy). Intercultural groups are gradually being formed throughout Vancouver Island. The coalition of associations provides a structure for networking, dialogue and collective action among widely-dispersed women of diverse cultural identities. The groups focus on issues such as cross-cultural parenting, concerns of children of mixed marriages or Canadian-born children of immigrants, as well as various cultural and practical skills which enhance women’s opportunities and thus empower them socially and economically. At the time of my visit to the women’s group in Victoria on 27 May 1994, final plans were under discussion for free bus transportation to an employment conference, scheduled one week later. Nanaimo, a relatively remote centre, had been selected as the conference site in an explicit attempt to reach outlying people on the island. Immigrant women in interior British Columbia also experienced isolation. Prince George, the largest city in interior British Columbia, had a population of almost 70,000 in 1991, its rapid growth having occurred largely as a result of expansion in the forest industry. It is located some 800 kilometres from each of the large metropolitan centres of Vancouver, Edmonton and Calgary. Migrants to Prince George experience isolation because travel outside the community is always expensive, and, in winter, very difficult. Kamloops, the second largest city in interior British Columbia, is situated some 400 kilometres east of Vancouver, at the junction of two large rivers and the major transportation routes which cross the Rocky Mountains to link Canada from west to east. With a 1991 population of 67,000, it is somewhat smaller than Prince George, but an older settlement. According to the women I interviewed, it is a more conservative and racist community than Prince George. Both Prince George and Kamloops have South Asian populations between 1,500 and 2,000. The Immigrant and Multicultural Services Society (IMMS) at Prince George offers a very wide range of programs and services to immigrants and refugees in northern communities.33 A multicultural women’s program organizes workshops, seminars and programs, both educational and cultural, around issues of concern to women, such as violence against women, self- employment, employment training and employment equity. In addition, women train as volunteers with other community social agencies and learn leadership skills through participation in conferences and workshops in larger centres. IMSS adopts a proactive stance towards violence against women and collaborates closely with the Elizabeth Fry Society, which provides a full range of shelter, support, counselling, education and awareness and referral services. IMMS also promotes anti-racist education and activities. While the executive director and many of the volunteers and participants in the activities of the society are of South Asian ethnic origin,34 the emphasis is on mutual

136 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women understanding and full participation and contribution of all members of the culturally and religiously diverse community of the Prince George area. Like the Immigrant and Multicultural Services Society at Prince George, Kamloops Immigrant Services35 is an organization with the dual objective of providing assistance necessary for immigrants of all ethnic origins to become fully participating members of Canadian society and of promoting community awareness, attitudes and behaviour which ensure that the multicultural and multiracial character of Canadian society is acknowledged in discourse and action. With a director, twelve full-time staff, and many volunteers, its activities and services include interpretation and translation of forty-seven languages, English-language classes at six levels, counselling and support services, women’s support groups, advocacy, a work program, career guidance, educational and race relations programs, a volunteer program, and several others. Kamloops Immigrant Services designs programs, information sessions, literature and activities to address spousal and child abuse and to improve the quality of life of immigrant women. The organization also collaborates with various other community agencies, institutions and organizations which address specific concerns like racism, sexism and violence against women. One can speculate about the reasons why some women in British Columbia tended to affiliate and organize themselves predominantly with women and men of diverse cultural origins rather than with members of their own specific group. In the first place, as I have observed above, women who are categorized and socially constructed as being of South Asian origin may in fact be of diverse ethnoreligious, ethnocultural, linguistic, national and regional origins. The “differences” among them may be just as great as those among other immigrant women. Being an “immigrant woman” with visible and audible differences from those of native-born Canadian women, being “women of colour” gives rise to common interests and goals which unite them in service- oriented and advocacy-oriented organizations. For many immigrant women, learning to speak Canadian English and getting the first job without Canadian qualifications and experience were the primary goals. Some women articulated the experience that being a woman of colour made it twice as hard. Race and gender discrimination intertwined with “not being Canadian” to disempower them. Organizational activities of intercultural associations addressed these specific common needs in a practical and efficient manner. At the same time, such organizations provided a context for interpersonal relations across cultural boundaries as well as among the members of a specific ethnocultural group. In Breton’s terms, the linguistically and culturally specific ethnic community group was relatively low in its institutional completeness. The intercultural group united and empowered them to address issues of discrimination, inequality and inequity based on gender, race and national origin.

Organizational activities in Alberta Preliminary interviews in Alberta have indicated that there are relatively few specifically South Asian women’s organizations.36 In Edmonton, a very active

137 IJCS / RIÉC organization, the Indo-Canadian Women’s Association, is geographically situated in a neighbourhood where immigrant women are de facto Indo- Canadians.37 Founded in 1984 as a women’s organization, men have always been encouraged to join the Indo-Canadian Women’s Association as associate members. The group is an articulate advocate of women’s issues and women’s rights. The founder and executive director regularly acts as a workshop instructor on issues such as employment equity and sexual abuse, delivers keynote remarks at conferences on racial and gender issues and rebuts on public television gender and racially discriminatory statements by public figures. In addition, the association has produced two videos through a private television company,38 “Crossing the Line,” which deals with girls abused by their parents because they want to be like every other Canadian-born girl; and “The Bold Step,” in which one woman tells her own story of wife abuse and her “success story” of empowerment and enrollment in a social work program. The Indo-Canadian Women’s Association organized a conference, 26 February 1994, on “Effects of Fundamentalism on Women.”39 The conference was directed towards the formation of a new coalition which would lobby international organizations, like the United Nations and the World Council of Churches, to start working for justice and equality of women and to repudiate the misuse of religion to keep women in a subservient and oppressed condition in family and society. In Calgary, the India-Canada Association, a secular umbrella organization, has individual, family and association members. It coordinates nine associations which serve the interests and goals of specific regional and cultural groups.40 In the fall of 1993, it hosted the National Indo-Canadian Council conference, which, through several workshops, addressed the common problems of immigrants. One workshop focused on “women’s issues” and dealt with “problems outside the family and within the family.” The former included difficulties of adjustment to Canadian society; the latter, family violence and wife abuse. The workshop revealed that women have a heightened awareness of abuse and violence in the family and are able to talk about it. Nevertheless, a South Asian Women’s Counselling Service, which had existed between 1986 and 1989 and drew five or six new cases each month, had to discontinue its services because government funding ended. As in British Columbia, women of South Asian origin in Alberta work actively as members and provincial representatives of advocacy- oriented, multicultural women’s organizations, such as the Alberta Network of Immigrant Women, the Calgary Immigrant Women’s Society, a Calgary family crisis centre called SEWA, and the National Organization of Immigrant and Visible Minority Women.41 Again, similar sets of factors to those in operation in British Columbia were probably at work to account for these intercultural organizational activities.

Conclusion The research has indicated some similarities as well as some marked differences in the patterns of organizational activities among women of South Asian origin in Atlantic Canada and in Western Canada, respectively. In both

138 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

regions, women participated in organizations which constructed their identity as immigrant women different from mainstream, native-born Canadian women. In Atlantic Canada, the women tended to be involved in ethnospecific service organizations; in Western Canada, they tended to associate themselves with immigrant women of diverse cultural origins. Such organizations contributed to social cohesion and empowerment by providing needed social, cultural, recreational and spiritual services. One can suggest some factors that might account for these similarities and differences and draw some tentative conclusions as to why South Asian women in Western Canada, particularly in metropolitan Vancouver, engaged themselves in advocacy organizations to combat race and gender discrimination, especially violence against women, whereas advocacy goals were not a basis for organization in Atlantic Canada. As I noted at the outset of this paper, the total population of South Asians in Atlantic Canada is relatively small compared to that in Western Canada, and South Asians represent a much smaller proportion of the total Atlantic Canada population than they do in the Western provinces. Furthermore, virtually all South Asian settlement in the Atlantic region has occurred as a result of changes in immigration policies and regulations of the late 1960s and 1970s which favoured the entrance to Canada of men who could successfully promote and integrate into its economic development. Such men were particularly attractive in rural and remote regions of the country — such as Atlantic Canada — where native-born Canadians did not wish to work. Most of the women in the Atlantic Canada sample were solidly middle-class in terms of their family background, their own and their husbands’ educational and occupational levels, and the family income. In fact, South Asians had higher levels of education, occupation and income than the population of Atlantic Canadians of all ethnic origins.42 Although an effort was made to ferret out working-class women in Atlantic Canada, only a very few were found. Thus, although class was one of the variables of interest, the range of class represented in Atlantic Canada was narrow. Middle-class South Asian women engaged in ethnoreligious and ethnocultural organizational activities to reconstruct their own identity in the Canadian context, to foster the formation of an ethnic group identity among their children, to share facets of that identity with Canadians of other ethnic and racial origins but of a similar professional or business class, and, in some instances, to provide services for those in need in the home country or in mainstream Atlantic Canada society. While South Asians also settled in large numbers in Western Canada as a result of the post-1960s immigration policies, one difference was that there had been a South Asian community in British Columbia since the early part of the century with long-established religious and cultural institutions — dominated by South Asian men — and a long history of experiencing racial and gender discrimination on the part of white settlers. As Breton (1964:202) observed, once a formal organization has developed within an ethnic community “it has the effect of reinforcing the cohesiveness of already existing networks (of informal relations) and of expanding these networks.” A vast array of South Asian ethnocultural organizations has developed, and of intercultural organizations as the flow of other visible minority migrants has increased. In British Columbia, in contrast to Atlantic Canada, the range of class among

139 IJCS / RIÉC

South Asians is broader. There is a significant proportion of women (such as non-English speaking grape pickers) with few resources. Middle-class women have organized themselves as advocates to raise consciousness and struggle against gender oppression within the community itself and gender, race and class oppression from the larger society. The migration and settlement experience of women has been affected by immigrant recruitment patterns. While immigrant men as well as women might experience powerlessness in the loss of educational and work status, immigrant women have a different experience than that of immigrant men. Most immigrant women are legally and socially constructed as dependants. They usually enter Canada as dependent wives, daughters or mothers of men. They experience dislocation and displacement in the migration process itself and, upon settlement in Canada, lack a kin network and support system. Some women lack knowledge of the English language. They experience contradictions in gender and ethnic identity roles and in the sexual division of labour in household and paid work world. For the majority of the women in my study, migration to Canada was the result of an arranged marriage, a religious- legal contract in which the woman theoretically and practically agreed to the man’s control over gender relations in family and community. Culturally and religiously defined relations of ruling which held sway in the home country reproduced women’s gender status in Canada. Their place of settlement was determined by the husband’s job opportunities and desires. As one interviewee expressed it: Live where your husband is. Give up your profession, your job.…Men migrate either for professional or financial reasons. Women may migrate for these reasons, but Indian women usually migrate for marriage. And sometimes coming abroad is romanticized.43 Where the women settled determined what job opportunities were available to them and whether, indeed, any job was available. In remote rural settlements, while the husband might have a well-paid, highly specialized professional occupation with numerous professional colleagues, the woman might have no women at all of her own cultural background for interpersonal relations, networking, support or proactive response to her situation; her relations were with immigrant women of other ethnic origins or with native-born Canadians. Service and advocacy organizational activities addressed issues of common concern to these categories. Her informal and formal networking with other South Asian women was through long-distance communication either by telephone or a journey by car or plane for specifically ethnoreligious and ethnocultural organizational purposes. Such was the case for women living outside the metropolitan centres of the Atlantic region and to a lesser extent for those settled on Vancouver Island and in interior British Columbia. In the metropolitan centre of Vancouver, with a high level of proactive awareness of violence against women and of racial conflict in the larger society and a high concentration of South Asians of diverse cultural and class identities, networking and formal advocacy organizations became a reality. In the larger centres of Atlantic Canada, on the other hand, where the level of proactive awareness is lower than in the West and where South Asians are relatively few

140 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

in numbers and experience an affluent, middle-class lifestyle, there is little or no support for advocacy goals. The research has suggested that South Asian immigrant women’s powerlessness is experienced in family, community and society, where race, class and gender intertwine to construct experiential differences which are not only “sites of difference” but also “sites of the operations of power.” Women’s interests and goals are different from those of men. Patriarchal relations of ruling in family and other institutions and structures of society are a major factor in South Asian women’s lived experience of subordination, powerlessness, violence and other forms of oppression. Familial and religious values, practices and racist ideologies serve to maintain, reproduce and reinforce their powerlessness. Insofar as women recognize shared experiences of powerlessness, exploitation and oppression, mobilize and organize collectively to speak, act and advocate for change in their status and experience, then they are moving towards empowerment, equity and justice.

Notes * This article is a revised version of a paper presented at the 7th Biennial Conference of the Association for Canadian Studies in Australia and New Zealand, La Trobe University, Bundoora (Melbourne), Australia, February 16 to 18, 1995. I appreciate the comments and suggestions of two anonymous reviewers. I gratefully acknowledge funding for the research from three sources: grants #410-88-1347 and #410-93-1285 from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada and a Senate Research Grant from Saint Mary’s University, Halifax. I also thank Emily Burton, who conducted 45 interviews of the sample of 100 British Columbia women; Catherine Chandler, who was responsible for data input and overall project management; Raminder Dosanjh, who gave me hours of her time as an invaluable British Columbia informant. 1. The source of the following data is Statistics Canada (1993). Ethnic Origin: the Nation. 1991 Census of Canada. Catalogue number 93-315, Tables 1A and 1B, and Appendix 2. Ottawa: Industry, Science and Technology Canada. 2. In proportion to the total population, South Asians numbered 0.2 % in Atlantic Canada, 3.2 % in British Columbia, and 1.6 % in Alberta, respectively. 3. “Census Metropolitan Area” (CMA) is a Statistics Canada term for a metropolitan region with a population of 100,000 or more. A CMA comprises a large central city surrounded by several smaller independent cities and towns. According to the 1991 Census, there are 25 CMAs in Canada. There are three CMAs in Atlantic Canada: Halifax, Nova Scotia, 317,630; St. John’s, Newfoundland, 169,810; and Saint John, New Brunswick, 123,605. There are two CMAs in British Columbia: Vancouver, 1,584,115; Victoria, the provincial capital, located on Vancouver Island, with a much smaller population of 283,630. There are two CMAs in Alberta: Calgary, 748,215; Edmonton, the capital, 832,155. 4. The source for the definition of ethnic origin and the data is Statistics Canada (1993)Ethnic Origin: the Nation 1991 Census of Canada, Catalogue 93-315, Table 1A Ottawa: Industry, Science and Technology Canada. Respondents can write in more than one ethnic origin. 5. The more familiar term “East Indian” is also a social construct of a colonial era and a Eurocentric world view. 6. In much the same way, when I visit India I am socially defined as “European” along with American, West German, Australian, English and other people whose ancestors originated in the European continent. After all, “we all look the same.” 7. See, for example, Barrett (1989) and Spivak (1989) who have articulated this debate. 8. See Ralston (1991, 1992a, 1992b, 1993, 1994 and forthcoming).

141 IJCS / RIÉC

9. In the 1986 census there were approximately 3,800 South Asians scattered throughout the four Atlantic provinces. About half the South Asian population resided in Nova Scotia, with nearly 40% in the Halifax census metropolitan area. 10. The 126 women who participated in the Atlantic Canada study had been in Canada an average of 17 years, the longest resident having immigrated in 1956, the most recent having arrived in 1988, with the mode being 27 women between 1967 and 1969. The youngest person interviewed was aged 20 years; the oldest, 74 years, with the mode being in the early forties. They were born in India (82), present-day Pakistan (20), Bangladesh (6), Sri Lanka (4), Burma (2), the Caribbean (2), Uganda/Kenya (7), Singapore (1), Indonesia (1), England (1). Their religious affiliation was as follows: 69 Hindu (55 %), 19 Christian (15 %), 17 Sikh (13.5 %), 17 Muslim (13.5 %), 3 Zoroastrian (2 %) and 1 Jewish (1 %). 11. In the 1991 census, the South Asian population in British Columbia had grown to 103,545 (from 69,250 in the 1986 census). Of these, 75,430 (73 %) resided in CMA Vancouver. Because the present study has included Indo-Fijians, who numbered 4,945 in British Columbia (with 4,640 of these in CMA Vancouver), 74 of the sample of 100 women have been interviewed in CMA Vancouver; 26 proportionately drawn from other places in BC — 14 in Vancouver Island; 12 in interior BC). A research assistant, Emily Burton, has interviewed 45 women in CMA Vancouver. I have conducted the remaining interviews myself. The women were born in India (60), Fiji (21), Pakistan (8), Sri Lanka (2), Kenya (4), Uganda (3), Tanzania (1), Malaysia (1). They ranged in age from 24 years to 73 years, with the mode being in the mid- to late- forties. Their religious affiliation was as follows: Sikh (40), Hindu (39), Muslim (9), Christian (8), Zoroastrian (3), and None (1). The earliest immigrant to Canada came in 1949; the most recent, in 1994. 12. In the 1991 census, the total population of Alberta was 2,519,180, with 40,030 of South Asian ethnic origin. South Asians in CMA Edmonton numbered 18,930 and in CMA Calgary 18,350 (i.e., 93 % of the total South Asian population of Alberta). The religious affiliation of the 6 Alberta women was: 4 Hindu, 1 Christian, 1 None. 13. Virtually all Fijians who enter Canada are Indo-Fijians, according to a personal communication with Tom Ryan, the officer of Immigration Canada who processed all Fijian applicants for entry to Canada, Sydney, Australia, January 6, 1993. 14. Information about the history, membership and activities of the association was obtained from anonymous participants in my study. 15. Interviews with several members of IMA and other organizations, December 1993, April and May, 1994. 16. In April 1994, thanks to Raminder Dosanjh, I viewed a series of films and home videos of taped national, provincial and local television programs, dating back to the early 1980s, which dealt with violence against women. 17. Interviews, April 15, 1994. 18. Interview, June 20, 1994. 19. A good summary report of the issue of sex selection, the clinic operated by Dr. John Stephens at , Washington State, U.S.A., and proactive responses by South Asian women, is presented by Sunera Thobani (1991). 20. Information about the activities of the India Mahila Association was obtained from the following sources: (1) 3 face-to-face interviews and several telephone conversations with Raminder Dosanjh, one of the founding members; (2) case interviews with members of the association; (3) participation in a South Asian Women’s Conference, February 5-6, 1994; (4) an interview, April 19, 1994, with Shushma Sardana, I.T. Productions, producer of a radio talk show and a Multicultural Television program; (5) viewing taped records of activities and events; (6) a Report by the India Mahila Association, Assessment of Needs and Services to South Asian Women in the Lower Mainland Area, dated March 1993, but released only at the February 1994 South Asian Women’s Conference. 21. The conference was called Mahila Milan, meaning “Meeting of Women.” I was invited to participate in some of the workshops and planning sessions and at the banquet. 22. My informant about the study is Raminder Dosanjh, one of the interviewers and a founding member of IMA. A random sample of 15 women was drawn for an interview of more than two hours in which they told their story.

142 Organizational Empowerment Among South Asian Immigrant Women

23. Information about I.T. Productions, Vancouver, was obtained from interviews with Raminder Dosanjh, especially April 12, 1994, and with Shushma Sardana, April 19, 1994, as well as from viewing several home videotapes of Raminder Dosanjh’s. 24. Information about Samantha obtained from the president, Surjeet Kalsey, December 10, 1993, and Raminder Dosanjh, April 12, 1994. 25. Information about SAWAN obtained from a founding member, December 5, 1993. Sunera Thobani, now president of the National Action Committee on the Status of Women (NAC) was a founding member of this group. 26. My research assistant, Emily Burton, visited the centre, June 22 and 23, 1994. She described the centre as attractively and comfortably furnished. She spoke with a full-time staff member, employed as a contract worker, and observed her counselling drop-ins. Another woman is employed as a part-time book-keeper. 27. Information obtained in 9 interviews—3inCMAVancouver, 6 elsewhere in BC — December 8-9, 1993, April 17-18, 1994; and May 12 and June 20-22, 1994, respectively. 28. Interviews July 1994. 29. The Intercultural Association of Greater Victoria (ICA) is staffed by at least four women of South Asian origin who have paid work on a full- or part-time basis. Information about ICA was obtained from interviewees, May 12, 16 and 27, 1994, and from various publications of the association, including pamphlets, issues of the ICA Newsletter, and the magazine of ICA, Tapestry, 3, 2(Summer 1993). 30. Information obtained from executive director, Hortensia Houle, and anonymous interviewees, May 16-17, 1994. 31. Telephone interview with executive director, JoAnne Blackman, May 16, 1994. 32. Interviews with staff of all three associations, May 16, 17 and 27, 1994; visit with women’s group, Victoria, May 27, 1994. 33. Information regarding Immigrant and Multicultural Services Society from executive director, Baljit Sethi, June 20-22, 1994, from various publications of the society, from its Annual Report, June 1994, and from anonymous interviewees during those same dates. 34. In 1993-1994, of the 252 new clients (214 new immigrants and 38 newcomers from other places) who participated in its programs and activities, 78 % were of South Asian origin. In all, IMSS had 2042 contacts during the year. (Annual Report, June 1994) 35. Information from executive director, Trudy Dirk, community support worker, Rajinder Lotay, and anonymous interviewees, June 24-25, 1994. 36. I interviewed key informants, both men and women, and 6 individual women in Calgary and Alberta, November 25-26, 1993, and June 12-16, 1994. As indicated above, by design the fieldwork was limited to the CMAs, Calgary and Edmonton, where most women of South Asian origin reside. A key informant made a distinction between the two cities. She described Edmonton as a more diverse, open city, as compared to Calgary, where people are “red-necked and very American big business people” (Interview, June 16, 1994). Her observation was supported by a recent clip on national television regarding Calgary automobile stickers: “Redneck and proud of it!” 37. Information obtained from the founder and executive director, Jayanti Negi, June 15, 1994. I visited the offices of the association, which is housed in premises of the Millwoods Centre for Immigrants. 38. SHAW Cable. 39. The conference was well publicized by the media. For example, an article in the Edmonton Journal, B-2, February 27, 1994, reported that “Vancouver lawyer and women’s activist Mobina Jaffer lauded Edmonton’s Indo-Canadian Women’s Association for showing that it had `the guts’ to take on such intimidating forces (as religious fundamentalists).” 40. Information obtained in interview with former president, Calgary, June 12, 1994. 41. Information obtained from key informants and interviewees, November 26, 1993, and June 12 to 16, 1994. 42. Source: Statistics Canada. Special tabulations for population, age 15+, Census Canada 1986 43. South Asian Canadian woman interviewed in Atlantic Canada in 1988.

Bibliography

143 IJCS / RIÉC

Agnew, Vijay. 1993. “Community Groups: an Overview.” Paper presented at a session on “South Asian Women’s Community Organizations” at the Biennial Conference of the Canadian Ethnic Studies Association, Vancouver, November 27-30. Barrett, Michele. 1989. “Some different meanings of the concept of `difference’: feminist theory and the concept of ideology.” Pp. 37-48 in Elizabeth Meese and Alice Parker, (eds.), The Difference Within: Feminism and Critical Theory. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Breton, Raymond. 1964. “Institutional completeness of ethnic communities and the personal relations of immigrants.” American Journal of Sociology 70:193-205. Desai, Neera and Maithreyi Krishnaraj. 1990. Women and Society in India. 2nd Rev. Edn. New Delhi: Ajanta. Etzioni, Amitai. 1959. “The ghetto — a re-evaluation.” Social Forces 39:255-62. India Mahila Association (IMA). 1993. A Report. Assessment of Needs and Services to South Asian Women in the Lower Mainland Area. Vancouver, B.C.: India Mahila Association, Indo-Canadian Association of Nova Scotia (INCA). 1988. Yearbook and Directory 1988. Halifax: Indo-Canadian Association of Nova Scotia. Ng, Roxana. 1981. “Constituting ethnic phenomenon: an account from the perspective of immigrant women.” Canadian Ethnic Studies. 13 1:97-108. Ng, Roxana. 1984. “Sex, ethnicity or class? Some methodological considerations.” Studies in Sexual Politics 1:14-45. Ng, Roxana. 1986. “The social construction of `immigrant women’ in Canada.” Pp. 269-86 in Roberta Hamilton and Michelle Barrett, (eds.), The Politics of Diversity: Feminism, Marxism and Nationalism. Montreal: The Book Centre Inc. Ng, Roxana. 1989. “Sexism, racism and Canadian nationalism.” Pp. 10-25 in Jesse Vorst et al., (eds.), Race, Class, Gender: Bonds and Barriers. Socialist Studies/Études Socialistes A Canadian Annual 5. Toronto: Between the Lines. Pettman, Jan. 1992. Living in the Margins: Racism, Sexism and Feminism in Australia. North Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Ralston, Helen. 1991. “Religious Movements and the Status of Women in India.” Social Compass 38(1):43-53. Ralston, Helen. 1992a. “Issues of concern in the lived experience of South Asian immigrant women in Atlantic Canada.” Pp. 91-104 in Ratna Ghosh and Rabindra Kanungo, (eds.), South Asian Canadians: Current Issues in the Politics of Culture. India: Shastri Indo- Canadian Institute. Ralston, Helen. 1992b. “Religion in the life of South Asian immigrant women in Atlantic Canada.” Research in the Social Scientific Study of Religion 4:245-60. Ralston, Helen. 1993. “The work experience of educated women in India and educated Indian immigrant women in Atlantic Canada: some comparisons.” Pp. 228-244 in Hugh Johnston, (ed.), East and West: Perspectives on Canada and India. From the 1991 Shimla Conference on Canada-India Relations. New Delhi: Sage. Ralston, Helen. 1994. “Immigration policies and practices: their impact on South Asian women in Canada and Australia.” Australian-Canadian Studies 12 (1):1-47. Ralston, Helen. (forthcoming). South Asian Immigrant Women in Atlantic Canada. The Edwin Mellen Press. Smith, Dorothy E. 1987. The Everyday World as Problematic: A Feminist Sociology. Toronto: The University of Toronto Press. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. 1989. “A response to `the difference within: feminism and critical theory,’” Pp. 207-20 in Elizabeth Meese and Alice Parker, (eds.), The Difference Within: Feminism and Critical Theory. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Statistics Canada. 1993. Ethnic Origin: the Nation 1991 Census of Canada. Catalogue 93-315. Ottawa: Industry, Science and Technology Canada. Thobani, Sunera. 1991. “More than sexist....” Health Sharing 12:110-13. Yancey, William L., Eugene P. Ericksen and Richard N. Juliani. 1976. “Emergent ethnicity: a review and reformulation.” American Sociological Review 41:391-403.

144 Verónica Vázquez García1

Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada: A Comparative Study

Abstract This paper examines the impact of colonialism on Native women in Mexico and Canada. Two pieces of legislation are analyzed for this purpose: the Agrarian Code of Mexico and the Indian Act of Canada. Both pieces were influenced by a liberal tradition which defines civil rights as individual property rights, where individuals are male. The paper shows that by relying on the model of the nuclear, monogamous and male-headed family to legislate, both pieces have limited Native women’s access to land in their own communities and have placed them in a vulnerable position vis-à-vis their male counterparts.

Résumé Cet article examine l’impact du colonialisme sur les femmes autochtones du Mexique et du Canada en analysant le Code agraire du Mexique et la Loi canadienne sur les indiens. Ces deux lois ont été influencées par une tradition libérale qui définissait les droits civils comme des droits individuels à la propriété. Dans cette définition, les individus sont des hommes. L’article démontre que ces deux lois, en se basant sur le modèle familial nucléaire, monogame et patriarcal, limitent l’accès des femmes autochtones à la propriété dans leurs propres communautés et les placent dans une position de vulnérabilité face à leurs homologues mâles.

The impact of colonialism on women’s work and status in traditional subsistence economies has been well documented. Scholars like Leacock (1972; 1978), Brown (1970) and Bell (1983) have suggested that although men and women in these societies have separate spheres of activities, they are autonomous individuals with positions of equal power and prestige. Women make a substantial contribution to the domestic economy and control the access to resources and the conditions of their work. These authors postulate that colonial structures have undermined women’s autonomy and decision- making power in their own communities. Other scholars believe that women’s independence in pre-colonial societies should not be overestimated. (Huntingdon, 1975; Afonja, 1981) As pointed out by Moore (1988:32), ethnographies contain “many references to male- female relations which are hard to fit in with this picture of autonomous complementarity, especially accounts of male violence towards women.” Sacks (1979:110) has suggested that kinship rules also play a role in determining women’s control of resources in pre-colonial societies. In patrilineal communities, women’s access to resources is derived through

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC marriage into another kin group rather than through women’s relationship with their natal kin group. In other words, women cut themselves off from their original kin group at marriage and have access to resources only through their husbands’ kin group. This paper will examine the impact of colonialism on Native women in Mexico and Canada. Emphasis will be placed on the role of the Mexican and the Canadian states in limiting women’s access to land in their own communities. Two pieces of legislation will be analyzed for this purpose: the Agrarian Code of Mexico and the Indian Act of Canada. Both pieces were influenced by a liberal tradition which defines civil rights as individual property rights, where individuals are male. This paper will show that by using the model of the nuclear, monogamous and male-headed family, both pieces of legislation have limited Native women’s access to land in their own communities and have placed them in a vulnerable position vis-à-vis their male counterparts. The paper is divided into two sections. The first focuses on the ways in which Native women’s access to land has changed historically in Mexico. Emphasis is placed on changes in Native inheritance patterns and the emergence of state legislation which regulates individual rights to property. This section concludes with an examination of Native women’s land rights under the Agrarian Code in contemporary Mexico. The second section discusses Native women’s access to resources in Canada. Emphasis is placed on Native women’s economic role and social status before the arrival of Europeans and on the ways in which the Indian Act has undermined this status. This section concludes with an analysis of women’s property and civil rights under the Indian Act in contemporary Canada.

Gender and Land Rights in Mexico The Land Tenure System of Tenochtitlan Before the arrival of the Spaniards, what is now Mexico was inhabited by various ethnic groups. Most of them were under the military rule of the Aztec Empire. The Spaniards had to defeat militarily Tenochtitlan in order to found New Spain in 1521. Most of the information on pre-hispanic land tenure systems focuses on Tenochtitlan, the core of the Aztec Empire and what later became Mexico City. The unit of the land tenure system in Tenochtitlan was the calpulli, which was associated with kinship groups and professions that were passed on from parents to children. Members of households within each calpulli cultivated collectively a common area and had rights to specific tillable plots which were cultivated individually. At the time of the Spanish invasion, however, the equivalence between kinship groups and calpullis was no longer straightforward. (de Rojas, 1986:101) McBride (quoted in Chevalier and Buckles, in press:12) suggests that by that time modifications were gradually destroying “whatever equality had formerly existed in the distribution of the land and in the social organization that was based upon it.” Evidence of this is

148 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada the existence of estates owned by the Aztec nobility where tenants cultivated both subsistence plots and the fields of the nobility and provided personal service at their households. We know little about women’s involvement in agricultural work in calpullis. According to Hellbom (1967:235-236), only women belonging to the professional group of agricultural workers or female slaves performed all agricultural tasks. Similarly, Cline (1986:112) concludes from her study of early colonial Tenochtitlan that “generally in central Mexico, agricultural work seems to have been in the hands of men, although there is some evidence that women were involved in planting and harvesting.” Rodríguez (1991:99) also notes that women who did not belong to the nobility occasionally helped out in agricultural work. Early colonial evidence shows that residence groups in late Tenochtitlan were formed by units larger than the nuclear family groupings. They were based on a parent-child or, more often, a sibling tie. Usually, more than one person, typically siblings, received rights to residential sites, as well as other parental property. Brothers and sisters inherited equivalent rights in parental estates. However, there was a certain bias toward men in some contexts, especially land inheritance. This reflects males’ overall higher status in society and their tendency to manage estates, especially landed estates. (Kellogg, 1986:105)

Gender and Land Rights During the Colonial Period (1521-1821) After the invasion, the ownership and management of land became vested in the Spanish Crown, which could in turn grant land rights to private persons. Two forms of land ownership were created: corregimientos and encomiendas. The first were territories and tribute obligations on the Aboriginal population controlled by the Spanish Crown, while encomiendas were designations to Spanish soldiers who had aided in the invasion. Hardship inflicted by excessive tributes and epidemic diseases devastated the Aboriginal population in the decades following the invasion. The Spanish Crown sought to “protect” its new subjects from abuse and replaced the encomiendas by mercedes, or permanent land grants to Spanish soldiers that did not involve tribute from the resident population. The Crown also called for the concentration of Aboriginals into pueblos. The pueblo was composed of a town site and an ejido comprised of individual agricultural plots and a common untilled area of forest and pastures. (Chevalier and Buckles, in press:12-14) In Culhuacan (Central Mexico), the decline of Native populations coupled with a temporary abundance of resources increased Nahua women’s ability to inherit and bequeath property. In her analysis of wills, Cline (1986) shows that although patrimonial land (inherited land, “land that comes by right”) was owned more frequently by men, women could receive all types of property, land, houses, and movable goods from male and female donors, and likewise pass it on to heirs of their choice. Similarly, in early colonial Mexico City (1540-1600), Nahua men bequeathed much more rural, agricultural land than their female counterparts, but Nahua women left a much higher proportion of movable property — almost three times as much as men did. While women left

149 IJCS / RIÉC land, houses and movable property primarily to their daughters and granddaughters, men left land, houses and movable property to wives, siblings and children in a more balanced manner. The pattern of preference for daughters and granddaughters by women is not gratuitous; a careful reading of women’s wills suggests that women consciously tried to protect their daughters’ and granddaughters’ property rights. (Kellogg, 1986) The sibling group continued to be a major unit of inheritance in other regions inhabited by Nahua populations (i.e. Cuernavaca). Rights to residential sites in Mexico City during the early colonial period “were rarely inherited by only one person; instead, siblings, cousins, and sometimes other relatives were given such rights to share.” (Kellogg, 1986:117) However, monogamy and the nuclear family were gradually enforced among the Aboriginal population through religious indoctrination and legal sanctions. Tribute had to be paid by each (nuclear) family and Spanish officials started to identify and name one male as head per household, despite the fact that often more than one couple shared a household. Spanish inheritance stressed lineal ties from parents to children rather than lateral ones to brothers and sisters. Spanish inheritance rules also showed a far greater tendency to choose one person, or a very small group, particularly the nuclear family, to inherit. These changes resulted in the distinction between legitimate and illegitimate children for inheritance purposes in communities where polygyny was practised. Also, ties between siblings gradually weakened, making it harder for Native women to inherit as someone’s sister. Spanish laws are also responsible for the introduction of a legal system where women could inherit land only as custodial heirs, that is, only if they had children to support. Unlike the Indian Act of Canada, this system did not create special categories of people based on their ethnic origin; in other words, the new laws applied not only to Native women, but to all women living in New Spain. However, the new laws shaped Native women’s relation to property. Their access to land became increasingly limited to their roles as mothers and grandmothers taking care of young children. Colonial courts particularly benefited women who asserted land claims by making it clear that they had children to support. Native women learned that they could maximize their chances to receive land by emphasizing their roles as guardians of young children.2 In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, population pressures reasserted themselves and the hacienda-latifundio3 became the predominant productive unit in rural Mexico. In this context, it became more difficult for women to assert land rights. In Calimaya and Tepemaxalco (state of Mexico), the number of houses and the amount and extension of land bequeathed in wills diminished from 1672 to 1821. According to Kanter (personal communication),4 Native men (Nahua, Othomí and Mazahua) of the Toluca region held a much greater share of land than Native women. Although women (both married and widowed) tended to choose female descendants as heirs (daughters, sisters, nieces and granddaughters), they had to fend off usurpations by male relatives, the village or (if widows) in-laws. Widows inherited land in their capacity as

150 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada

custodial heirs5 and were not considered owners in their own right, but property mediators between a man and his children.

Gender and Land Rights During the Liberal Reform and the Porfiriato (1821-1910) The Mexican Independence and the liberal governments that followed brought about a further commoditization and privatization of land in all parts of the country. Legislation against collective ownership of land was introduced by liberals inspired by laissez-faire and private property ideals. They believed that private property and the integration of Aboriginal populations into the wider society would result in economic development and “elevate the Indians into useful citizens.” (Florescano Mayet quoted in Chevalier and Buckles, in press:17) Like the Indian Act of Canada, the legislation of independent Mexico equated civil rights with rights to private property, and attempted to assimilate Native populations into the dominant society. In this context, land became more and more attached to families rather than communities. This was legalized in order to collect taxes and eliminate corporate ownership. Once personal allotments were legally owned, land acquired a commercial value and could be sold without regard to kin groups of the community. Land and house sites were mostly acquired by inheritance, but they could also be purchased or rented. This resulted in an erosion of traditional patterns of property acquisition and residence (Olivera, 1976:72). The laws that allowed land privatization of communal land by individual title contributed to strengthen men’s position of dominance in the family and made their right to inherit and bequeath land almost unquestionable. (Mallon, 1990) The colonial judicial system through which women’s land rights as guardians of young children were protected in courts also expired with Independence. After 1821, women simply did not have the same defense (a sympathetic judge) when they were challenged for their land holdings. As a result, female land holding among the Nahua, Othomí and Mazahua populations of the Toluca region declined. (Kanter, personal communication) During the Porfiriato regime, widows in one district of the region continued to be entitled to land, but they had to arm themselves and keep watch over it. (González Montes and Iracheta, 1987:123) Women unwilling to go to such extremes would stand to lose their land.

Gender and Land Rights after the Mexican Revolution The Mexican Revolution joined the discontent of a rising class of professionals and capitalists with the misery of the rural and urban poor. Francisco I. Madero’s call for elections in 1910 forced dictator Porfirio Díaz to flee the country and initiated ten years of social upheaval. In spite of women’s active involvement in the Revolution,6 the new agrarian law did not increase their chances to obtain land. The New Agrarian Law Article 27 of the Constitution of 1917 states that ownership of land and waters within the national territory is vested in the nation. Like the Spanish Crown

151 IJCS / RIÉC during colonial times, the state can transfer rights to private persons or corporations. Ownership of property is subject to the requirements of public interests. This principle gave way to varied forms of land property. These are the ejido, the agrarian community and private property. The first two are collective forms of property. They represent close to 50 percent of the national territory. However, 74 percent of these collective lands consist of natural pasture or forest unsuitable for crop cultivation. (Chevalier and Buckles, in press:29) The ejido is the most important form of collective land tenure. It is both a specific territory and an association of independent producers with rights to land. When the ejido is parcelled, these members have exclusive rights to specific parcels of land and to common untilled lands (usually forests). About 92 percent of the 28,958 collective landholdings of Mexico (totalling 95,108,066 hectares) are ejidos. Virtually all have been divided into individual parcels. Recent reforms to Article 27 of the Mexican Constitution also permit the conversion of ejido land into private property and facilitate private investment in ejido lands. (Chevalier and Buckles, in press:29-30) By contrast, the agrarian community is a regimen of communal land title without any specified method of distribution or use. This system applies mostly to Native communities that were not displaced from their land prior to the Revolution and that had to apply to state authorities to obtain recognition of their communal lands. Unlike ejidatarios, comuneros may use lands in any part of their territory. The Mexican government has tended to favour the granting of ejidos because they are subject to greater administrative control than agrarian communities. (Chevalier and Buckles, in press:29-30) Procedures regarding women’s land rights within ejidos and agrarian communities have changed throughout the years. The first agrarian law promulgated in 1915 made no reference to “individual land rights or to the size of landholdings beneficiaries were to receive: land was either given or returned, with legal title, to communities. The land right clauses in the 1917 constitution also made no reference to gender.” (Arizpe and Botey, 1987:70) The Ejido Law of 1920 was the first to establish that land should be distributed equitably among heads of households. Article 9 of the By-Laws, ratified in 1922, states that “wherever land is granted to ejidos, the heads of households or individuals over the age of eighteen shall receive from three to five hectares of irrigated or rainfed lands.” Article 97 of the 1927 law establishes that “ejido members shall be Mexican nationals, males over the age of eighteen, or single women or widows supporting a family.” (Arizpe and Botey, 1987:70) In other words, men over the age of eighteen, regardless of their marital status, are eligible for land rights, while women had to be responsible for young children to receive land. As in colonial times, women in post-revolutionary Mexico qualified for land rights only in their role as guardians of young children. Women’s organizations asked for amendments to the law in the 1920s and 1930s, prior to and during the Cárdenas administration. At the first congress of women workers and peasants organized in 1931 by the Partido Feminista Revolucionario7 (which belonged to the Partido Nacional Revolucionario,8

152 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada

the ruling party) and the Bloque Nacional de Mujeres Revolucionarias,9 activist Cuca García pointed out the male bias of the Agrarian Code: Thousands of women work the land like peons for a small salary, or work the miserable parcel of their husband, father, or brother, because they are almost completely limited in their right to land. The Agrarian Law states that they can obtain land [ejidos] only as the female head of the family, [or] as adult campesinas who have suitable needs. The young campesinas don’t have a right to the land; that is, the agrarian legislation condemns them to always live at the poor economic level of their father, their husband [or] their brother, and as we have already said, economic independence is the base of political independence among women. (Cuca García quoted in Soto, 1990:109) The issue was raised again during a second congress held in 1933. Juana Gutiérrez de Mendoza, a veteran of the Revolution, collaborator of the Partido Liberal Mexicano,10 the Maderistas and the Zapatistas11 spoke of the need for women peasants to have the same opportunities as men to receive land under the Agrarian Reform program. (Soto, 1990:110) Women’s organizations first asked for amendments to the Agrarian Code so that women could be eligible to receive land in 1935 and again in 1937. (Tuñón, 1992) During the 1940s the ruling party developed corporative control of women’s organizations. Avila Camacho’s administration signals the beginning of charity-like activities encouraged by the wives of consecutive Presidents. His own wife promoted the idea that women’s role in society was to “love and help those in need” and emphasized women’s caring responsibilities in public life. The Agrarian Code was not modified until 1971, when Mexico City was getting ready to host the first International Women’s Conference (held in 1975). President Echeverría wanted to take an active stand in defending women’s rights in order to promote his image as a Third World leader and reestablish his credibility after the Tlatelolco massacre. The code was modified to give women equal rights to receive land. Article 200 states that Mexicans by birth, “male or female over sixteen years of age, or of any age if with dependants” are eligible for land rights. Article 45 stipulates that “women shall enjoy all the rights pertaining to ejido members, shall have voice and vote in the General Assemblies, and shall be eligible for all positions in the Committees and Vigilance Counsels.” (Arizpe and Botey, 1987:70-71) Article 78 was also designed to favour ejidatarias. It states that women can keep their individual rights to ejido lands if they marry. In any other circumstances, only one right can be granted per household, and parents can pass their right only to one child.

Equal Land Rights for Men and Women: Gender Equality? Although changes to the Agrarian Law were necessary and welcomed, the number of female land holders in rural Mexico did not increase significantly after the amendments. In 1984, they accounted for only 15 percent of the total ejido or community members. (Arizpe and Botey, 1987:71) This can be attributed to two major elements. First, the monetarization of subsistence

153 IJCS / RIÉC economies has displaced women from land. Many have been pushed to the informal sector, mainly domestic work and petty trade, or are employed in agro-industries. When land distribution processes occur, women are absent from their communities or are not engaged in subsistence agriculture. This is case of Pajapan, a Nahua community of southern Veracruz, where the land distribution took place in 1981. Female land holders in this agrarian community account for only 41 of the total number (905) of land holders. In the land distribution process of 1981, many women were absent from the community and did not receive land rights. Those who attempted to obtain land were challenged on the grounds that they were not working the land but rather were engaged in other kinds of income-generating activities and did not need the land (i.e., petty trade or domestic work).12 Second, the male bias of the Agrarian Code persists. Although the Code was changed in 1971 to grant equal rights to women and men, women continue to receive land rights only in their roles as guardians of young children. In the case of Pajapan, these children must include at least one son, in order to guarantee the reproduction of local patrilineal inheritance patterns. In other words, women continue to be considered eligible for land rights only as property mediators between a father and his sons. This situation is perpetrated both by the male government officials who visit the communities to carry out land distribution processes and by male- dominated local organizations. The government officials that visited Pajapan to register eligible land holders only allowed widows with young sons to sign up in the land census. Other female heads (women separated from their husbands, wives of polygamous men, widows with sons above 16 or with no sons) and other women were refused. Women were not informed about the purpose of the census and local assemblies supported land claims by men instead of women, unless these women were widows, had at least one young son and were not living with another man. Thus, Native women in contemporary Mexico still face numerous obstacles to land rights. This is due to two elements. First, the monetarization of subsistence economies has displaced women from the land. Many work in the informal sector (i.e., domestic work, petty trade) or as seasonal labourers or workers in the agro-industrial and export manufacturing sectors, where they are always paid less than men.13 (Deere and León, 1987) Second, although the Agrarian Code was modified to grant equal rights to women and men, male bias persists. Government officials and male-dominated local organizations only allow women to receive land rights when they are widows, have at least one young son, and are not living with another man. Women in other circumstances are not considered eligible.

Gender and Land Rights in Canada Land Tenure Systems at the Time of European Contact Two major linguistic groups occupied what later became Canada: the Iroquois and the Algonkian. Iroquois society was matrifocal, matrilineal and matrilocal. This means that “descent was traced through women and after

154 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada marriage, the husband went to live with his wife’s family. Each dwelling was owned by a senior woman.” (Jamieson, 1978:113) An Iroquois household “consisted of a woman, her female relations, their spouses and dependants.” (Miller, 1989:9) The economy of the Iroquois relied on corn and fish. The people stayed in one place from ten to twelve years, until soil exhaustion forced them to move on. Women were responsible for agricultural operations (except for clearing the fields, which was men’s responsibility) and played a prominent social and political role. Senior matrons had the power to elect and depose elders of the highest political rank, and hereditary eligibility to this council descended through the female. The matrons also had veto powers in questions of war and peace, since the men were absent for long periods on military or hunting expeditions. (Jamieson, 1986:113; Miller, 1989:8; Dickason, 1993:71) The other major linguistic group in Canada, the Algonkians, were migratory peoples that subsisted on hunting and gathering. An Algonkian band was a group of male kin who hunted together, their spouses and their dependent families. (Miller, 1989:6-9) Among the Montagnais-Naskapi, an Algonkian speaking group, men and women filled complementary functions. Men hunted and women brought home the game slain by their husbands, prepared the food, tanned the skins and made them into clothing. They also fetched wood and water, caught fish and gathered shellfish. Women controlled the apportionment and distribution of meat as well as the assignment of living space and the selection of campsites. The Montagnais-Naskapi practised polygyny and sexual freedom for both men and women even after marriage. They could also dissolve marriages at the desire of either partner. (Devens, 1986:464; Leacock, 1991:11-27) Given their migratory condition, the notion of private property was foreign to the Native people of Canada. The Kaianerakowa, the ancient constitution of the Haudenosaunee Nations Iroquois Confederacy, states that land was and is invested in the power of the women: “The lineal descent of the people of the Five Nations shall run in the female line. Women shall be considered the progenitors of the Nation. They shall own the land and the soil. Men and Women shall follow the status of their mother.” (Quoted in Kahenrak Goodleaf, 1993:227)

Native Land in the First Centuries of European Colonization (1600-1867) As opposed to Mexico, where the Aztecs were militarily defeated by the Spaniards, the first centuries of European colonization in Canada were distinguished by cooperation in expeditions, trade and war between European powers (mainly French and British) and Aboriginal people. Natives were interested in European technology, and exchanged fur for iron items. During the seventeenth century, Europeans were few in number and New France remained a commercial colony rather than an agricultural settlement. As such, it did not represent a serious threat to the Aboriginal people. (Miller, 1989:41-58) However, women’s social status was undermined by their

155 IJCS / RIÉC increasing involvement in fur trade transactions. This was particularly true among nomadic, hunting-gathering groups which settled in villages near French missions for protection from enemy groups or to recuperate from the devastation of epidemics. In these groups, the significance of women’s contribution to the economy declined. French merchants were mainly interested in the furs obtained by Native men, and they gave European clothing in exchange. As Devens (1986:472) points out, “the orientation of many female tasks began to shift from the creation of an useful end product, such as clothing or tools, to assistance in the preparation of furs.” The eighteenth century was distinguished by military alliances between Native people and European powers where Aboriginals were the dominant partner. During the war between France and Britain for control of North America, Native alliances with the French were vital. (Miller, 1989:59-80) As a result, the British Crown tried to maintain peace and “protect” Aboriginal people. The Royal Proclamation of 1763 establishes that Native people are subject to the “paternal care” of the British Crown. Native land is under royal “sovereignty, protection and dominion, for the use of the said Indians,” and cannot be granted to new settlers. Like the Spanish Crown in Mexico, the British Crown usurped the power to regulate land grants and to “protect” its Native subjects from white settlers. Aboriginal land was gradually colonized through the signing of treaties in most parts of Canada, with the exception of Quebec. Since the sixteenth century, the idea developed that Native people had no rights over the land. Treaties were viewed as a “moral,” not a legal obligation, and as a means to avoid conflict. In these treaties, land was surrendered to the Crown in exchange for lump-sum payments or annuities. Native people retained hunting and fishing privileges. (Miller, 1989:92; Dickason, 1992:254;273) According to Wotherspoon and Satzewich (1993:21-28), these treaties signal the beginning of primitive accumulation in Canada. As a transfer of land from government and then to settler control, the treaties cleared away the political- legal obstacles to the development of capitalism in Canada. Moreover, fur trade was gradually replaced by agriculture in eastern Canada. Once Native peoples were not needed as economic or military allies, the civil government attempted to concentrate them in settled areas and to subject them to agriculture and Christian education in residential schools. Reserves were first established during the 1830s and residential schools during the 1840s. (Jamieson, 1986:115; Miller, 1989:99-108) As for western Canada, the fur trade remained an important activity in which Aboriginal people were major players for nearly 200 years, from the founding of the Hudson Bay Company in 1670 until the transfer of Rupert’s Land to the newly created Dominion of Canada in 1870. Europeans relied heavily on Aboriginals for fur pelts. Native populations also provided a good market for European goods. (Van Kirk, 1991:74) Women played a pivotal role in expeditions and fur trade. They were invaluable interpreters, diplomats and peacemakers during expeditions, and actively promoted the fur trade. Intermarriage between incoming traders and

156 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada

Native women contributed to the success of fur trade operations and became an accepted practice in the first two decades of the nineteenth century. However, in the 1830s and 1840s the fur-trade order gave way to agrarian settlements and newly arrived British women became models for morality and wifely virtues. (Van Kirk, 1972:21; 1991:74-77; Brown, 1976a:68; 1976b:96) As in eastern Canada, Native peoples in the western part of the country became immersed in a process of territorial confinement.

Gender and Land Rights after Confederation: The Indian Act of 1876 Section 91.24 of the British North America Act of 1867 states that the federal government has exclusive legislative authority for “Indians and lands reserved for the Indians.” (quoted in Jamieson, 1986:117) In this sense, Confederation did not mean the birth of a new nation for Aboriginal people. Rather, it meant the extension of the paternalistic policy of the British Crown. Like the Crown, the federal government of the new nation granted itself the right over Native people and land, the authority to set up borders and to define people’s identities. At the time of Confederation, legislation concerning Native people had three major functions: 1) “civilizing” the Aboriginal populations — assimilating them (and their lands) into Euro-Canadian citizenry; 2) achieving a “better management” of Natives and their lands — controlling expenditures and resources; 3) to accomplish these goals, it became important to define who was an “Indian” and who was not. (Jamieson, 1986:117) This legislation triggered a process of differentiation within communities which disadvantaged women vis-à-vis their male counterparts. Legislation promulgated in 1850 attempted to determine who was entitled to live on Native land in Lower Canada. This Act included the first definition of an “Indian.” Significantly, all persons, both male and female, who were intermarried with individuals otherwise qualifying as “Indians” and living with them were entitled to Indian status, as were their descendants. This legislation did not make distinctions between male and female Natives. (Jamieson, 1986:116) Attitudes towards Native peoples hardened with the increasing pressures of European settlement. The problems with Aboriginals were viewed not as a result of their territorial confinement, but of their inability to “progress.” One year later, the Act was amended to restrict the membership provisions further. The provision granting Indian status to all persons intermarried with Natives was withdrawn and a new section was added permitting only women (and their descendants but not the women’s spouses) who married non-Natives to be considered “Indian.” (Jamieson, 1986:116) In 1857, the Gradual Civilization Act was applied to both Upper and Lower Canada. Its purpose was to remove all legal distinctions between Aboriginals and other Canadians by forcing Native people to assimilate within the dominant society. As Richardson puts it, “the 1857 Act spelled out in detail how Aboriginal people could be detached from their community ... and become honourary whites.” (1993:61) As in the case of Mexico, civil rights

157 IJCS / RIÉC were equated with rights to property, and enfranchisement was seen as a mechanism to facilitate the acquisition of property and the attendant rights for Native people. The requirements to become enfranchised included “the ability to speak, read and write English or French, good moral character, and freedom from debt.” (Richardson, 1993:61) The law offered fifty acres on reserve land and a sum of money to encourage enfranchisement. Only males could be enfranchised, and their dependants were enfranchised with the male automatically. (Jamieson, 1986:116) In a similar vein, the Act of 1869 provided that on the death of a Native man, his goods and land rights were to be passed on to his children. His wife was not considered an eligible heir because she was considered her children’s dependent. Section 6 provided that any Native woman marrying “any other than an Indian shall cease to be an Indian within the meaning of this Act.” Her children in such a marriage would also lose their status, and a Native woman marrying a Native man from another band would become (along with their children) a member of the husband’s band and lose her band membership. The first Act to bear the name of “Indian Act” was passed in 1876. It elaborated on the definition of an Indian by emphasizing descent through the male line: Indian was “any male person of Indian blood reputed to belong to a particular band.” It restated that any woman who marries a non-Native loses her status but may retain her right to annuities. Yet, the Act also gave the Superintendent- General the power “to stop the payment of the annuity and interest money of any woman having no children who deserts her husband and lives immorally with another man.” As in the case of Mexico, this legislation failed to account for the great diversity in the social and political organization of Native peoples. The legislation emphasized private property, a notion alien to Aboriginal peoples. It made the nuclear, monogamous, male-headed family the model by which private property was acquired and civil rights granted. In doing so, the legislation placed Native women in a no-win situation. Those who married non-Natives lost their Indian status and became totally dependent on their husbands. Indeed, the Indian Act of 1876 states that these women did not have to be educated or “civilized” to prove that they could survive in the white world, since the responsibility for them was transferred from the government to their husband. If a woman deserted her husband or was deserted by him and started to live with another man, she would lose her right to an annuity and be condemned for her “immoral” behaviour. On the other hand, women who married Native men also became dependent on them, because they had no access to their husbands’ property even after his death. They also had to leave the reserve if their husbands so wanted. Women’s previous economic role and political influence, which were determined by their control of resources and the products of their labour, were drastically undermined. Native women in Canada, like Native women in Mexico, became subject to patriarchal controls over resources, marriage and reproduction.

158 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada

Modifications to the Indian Act (1951) The first three decades of the twentieth century signal the beginning of political activism among the Native peoples of Canada. Aboriginal organizations asserted land claims and demanded respect for treaties, a better school system, agricultural assistance as well as the right to perform traditional rituals. The 1930s were characterized by inactivity on the side of the federal government, but World War II made Canadians question their country’s policy on Native peoples. A joint committee of the Senate and the House of Commons was appointed in 1946 to investigate Indian Affairs and the Indian Act. Representatives from Native associations (the North American Indian Brotherhood and other Native associations from British Columbia, Alberta, Saskatchewan, Manitoba and Quebec) submitted briefs and testified before the committee. Some called for the abolition of the Act, while others stated that women who had lost their status through marriage and were deserted or widowed should be allowed to rejoin their communities. However, the committee ignored Aboriginal people’s recommendations, and the Indian Act did not change substantially. While the most obnoxious features such as compulsory enfranchisement, bans on the potlatch and the Sun Dance, and prohibitions against the consumption of alcohol were deleted, the general outlines of the policy remained unchanged after the consultations. (Miller, 1989:220-222) Furthermore, new clauses affecting Native women who married non-Natives were inserted. Prior to 1951, these women had to some extent a dual status as Indian and ordinary Canadian citizens in that they could retain the right to annuities and band moneys, stay on the band list and enjoy some benefits as well as treaty rights (if their band had entered a treaty) even though they were deprived of their legal rights to hold land on the reserve. As of 1951, however, they were automatically deprived of any band rights from the date of marriage and deleted from the band list. Any property that they held on the reserve had to be sold or otherwise disposed of within thirty days. In exchange they would be given twenty years of treaty money (if the band took treaty) plus one per capita share of the capital and revenue moneys held by Her Majesty on behalf of the band. In short, these women were subject to involuntary enfranchisement.14 (Jamieson, 1978:60-62).

The Lavell-Bedard Case The post-war decolonization movement throughout the world raised questions about how long Canada could go on treating Native peoples as internal colonies. During the sixties, surveys of the conditions in which Aboriginal people lived provided proof that the implemented policies did not work. The Liberal government committed itself to revise the Indian Act and carried out several consultations with Native organizations. The result was the Statement of the Government of Canada on Indian Policy of 1969, which proposed the extinction of Native people’s separate legal status as a step towards their economic and social recovery. The statement reflected Trudeau’s views of a “just society” where it was inappropriate to recognize ethnic and racial groups as collectivities. The statement was overwhelmingly rejected by Native leaders who argued that Native peoples were not mere citizens, as Trudeau

159 IJCS / RIÉC regarded them, “but a distinct category of people within Canada who had special rights.” (Miller, 1989:230) The proposal ignored the issues raised by Aboriginal leaders during the consultation process and embittered Native- government relations during the 1970s. In this context, Native women attempted to change the Indian Act to end gender discrimination. In 1970, Jeanette Lavell, an Ojibwa woman who had married a non-Native, contested the deletion of her name from the band list by arguing that such deletion constituted discrimination on the basis of race and sex and, as such, contradicted the Canadian Bill of Rights. Lavell was joined in her case by Yvonne Bedard, a Native woman who had married out and then separated from her husband. She was fighting the Six Nations band council’s attempts to evict her from the house on the reserve willed to her by her mother. The Supreme Court of Canada ruled against Lavell and Bedard in a controversial five-to-four decision. It was decided that the Bill of Rights could not take precedence over the Indian Act. (Jamieson, 1986:126) The National Indian Brotherhood took a stand against Lavell and Bedard. The federal Liberal government and the NIB agreed that a process of full consultation was required before any modifications to the Indian Act. However, the NIB withdrew from the joint committee in April 1978 and the issue of gender discrimination in the Act remained unresolved. While male Native leaders phrased the issue as one of individual rights versus collective rights, the government had defined the Native women’s problem as a Native problem and had locked its resolution into the policy commitments vis-à-vis Native people. Moreover, Native women were not yet participants in the political process. This was a time “when the status of Indian women is being decided by everyone but Indian women — including the courts, the politicians, the lawyers and Indian men.” (Anonymous journalist quoted in Weaver, 1993:100)

Modifications of the Indian Act (1985) In 1981, Canada’s human rights reputation was questioned when the United Nations Human Rights Committee announced that Canadian law had violated the human rights of Sandra Lovelace, a Maliseet woman from the Tobique Reserve in New Brunswick, who had been denied the right to live in her natal reserve. The Canadian government agreed to make a commitment to the UN to introduce legislative changes. As a result, a special parliamentary committee recommended in 1982 that discriminatory sections be eliminated from the Act and that women who had lost status, and their first-generation children, be reinstated. In mid-1984, during the last days of the short-lived government of , the Liberal government introduced Bill C-47, which passed quickly through the House of Commons but was defeated in the Senate. The implementation of the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, which prohibited discrimination on the basis of sex, obliged the new federal Conservative government to change to the Act accordingly. In February 1985, the government introduced Bill C-31, which was passed four months later. (Jamieson, 1986:130; Miller, 1989:241-242) Under the amended Act, no one would lose status through marriage. Women who had lost their Indian status

160 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada before these changes were eligible for reinstatement to band membership and for re-registration as Indians under the Act. Their first-generation children and all people enfranchised for any reason, and their children, could also apply for registered Indian status, but were not entitled to band membership. Second- generation children of restored persons were not granted legal status or band membership. In the future, Indian status would be granted to those with at least one parent having status. (Jamieson, 1978:131; Weaver, 1993:116) As can be seen, the bill formally and legally separated Indian status from band membership. While the federal government reserved the right to determine Indian status, both band membership and reserve residency were to be determined by bands. The bill was considered by its proponent, Minister of Indian Affairs , a compromise between women’s rights to equality and the interest of male-dominated Native organizations in self- government. Two broad categories of Indians were created with the changes to the Indian Act: 1) a group of those who had band membership on April 17, 1985, their children, and the reinstated women (minus their children); 2) a group who have registered Indian status but not band membership and thus, unlike those in the first category, do not have the right to live on an Indian reserve, share in resources, or take part in band politics. (Jamieson, 1986:131) As a compromise between two strong positions, the new law pleased few Native groups. While the Native Women’s Association liked the bill’s reinstatement of women, the abolition of enfranchisement and the bill’s explicit recognition of band control over band membership, the organization also believed that the bill failed to restore the rights of all persons of Native ancestry, in a full and equal manner. Faults of the bill include: discriminatory treatment of women and children under the second- generation cut-off rule and other provisions, its divisiveness in creating new categories of First Nations people due to its separation of status and membership, its long-range effect of limiting the size of the status population through the “half-descent rule,” and its failure to ensure a role for reinstated women in developing band membership codes. (Weaver, 1993:121) On the other hand, the Assembly of First Nations (the new name for the NIB) welcomed the bill’s recognition of band control, but remained hostile to the notion of automatic reinstatement of women to band membership. The official explanation was that compulsory reinstatement violated the self- determination of citizenship. (Weaver, 1993:121)

Bill C-31: A Change Towards Gender Equality? According to the Department of Indian Affairs, about 16,000 women and 20,000 other individuals would be entitled to membership in Canada’s almost 600 bands after the changes. The Department calculated that the total number of those eligible to regain status, though not necessarily band membership, ranged from 76,000 to 86,000. (Jamieson, 1986:132)

161 IJCS / RIÉC

Indian Affairs underestimated the number of applicants. Since the amendment, 95,153 of 153,903 Natives who applied for status have been reinstated. By December 1991, the population with Indian status had increased by nearly 16 percent. Unprepared for such an influx of applicants, the Department was ineffective in implementing the new policy. Critics pointed out new forms of inequality resulting from this implementation. (Weaver, 1993:122-123) The starting point for examining these new forms is the separation of legal status from band membership. For example, if a woman is reinstated to legal status, she has no guarantee of access to the benefits of band membership because she may still be denied residence on the reserve. She has, however, access to the benefits of programs for off-reserve Indians, like post-secondary education grants, uninsured health benefits and certain economic programs. For most women, band membership without reserve residence satisfied their personal aims because they had established themselves in the cities. The majority of Native women reinstated since 1985 fell into this category. (Weaver, 1993:125) But women who wanted the full benefits of membership had to live on the reserve to obtain them. The “on-reserve package”15 was extremely costly to the federal government and to bands. By not providing appropriate funds, the policy forced women into hostile political climates with the local reserve. (Weaver, 1993:126) Attitudes towards returning women and their children varied regionally, from liberal postures in British Columbia and southern Ontario to the more intolerant Prairies. (Weaver, 1993) In Alberta, where 10,026 of 21,137 applicants have won back status, male Native leaders have challenged the amendment, claiming that bands and not Ottawa have the right to determine their own membership. Many of the bands, such as the Tsuu T’ina Nation on Calgary’s southwest limits, claim they have insufficient funds to accommodate new members. Band councils passed strict membership codes excluding Bill C-31, while others have accepted the women and their children back with restrictions, like being placed on probation, paying a fee or not being allowed to open a business. (Dudley, 1993) The National Aboriginal Inquiry on Bill C-31 reported in 1990 several charges of blatant discrimination against women by bands. According to the report, a new category of persons with diminished social status, the returning “C-31,” had been created. They had become scapegoats for the wider ills which characterize some communities. (Weaver, 1993:127) Activist Susan Huskey believes that wealthy bands have resisted taking the reinstated people back because they “don’t want to split the pie into small pieces,” and fear new voters could upset those in power. Such is the case of the Sawridge band, Canada’s wealthiest reserve per capita. The oil-rich tribe of less than 100 members has assets in excess of $30 million. (Dudley, 1993) However, other reserves, even if they do want to take the people back, simply lack enough resources to accommodate them. As pointed out by Fiske, the land base of some reserves is either inadequate or impoverished in natural resources, so “the majority of Native communities suffer chronic

162 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada unemployment, impoverishment, and dependency on state-controlled welfare.” (1990:131) Although Crombie assured at the time of the changes that “no band would be worse off” because of the revised Indian Act, the funds committed by the federal government to cover the needs of reinstated people have proven insufficient. (Dudley, 1993) Thus, the Canadian government has granted Native women equality within its own structure of internal colonialism, while leaving the bands to cope with the financial and land-base problems brought about by the reinstatement of those who had previously lost their status. The result is that “while the Canadian government has sought to correct its past sins of patriarchal control of Native women, the government is making the First Nations pay the cost of expiating those sins.” (Green quoted in Emberley, 1993:90) Women’s reinstatement has not been easy. In wealthy reserves, they face many restrictions or may not even be admitted; others lack resources to accommodate them. The result is the reproduction of women’s poverty. Native women are often single mothers who lack the benefits of appropriate child care programs. A disproportionately large number of them live on social assistance with the constant and well-founded fear that their children will be apprehended by child-care authorities and put into permanent foster care. They and their children are often the subjects of sexual abuse and domestic violence. They are disproportionately overrepresented in correctional institutions and still do not have matrimonial property rights on reserves if their marriages break down. Native women still live ten years less than other Canadian women. (Jamieson, 1986:134; Weaver, 1993:128)

Conclusions Various state formations throughout Mexican history have played an active role in the distribution of resources between the wealthy and the poor and between women and men. The colonial state is responsible for the introduction of a new legal system which shaped Native women’s relationships to land. This system established the model of the nuclear, monogamous and male- headed family as the only valid pattern for land distribution. In doing so, the system undermined the preference of siblings over children as heirs and the equivalence of male and female siblings of the pre-hispanic period. The new laws also reduced women’s ability to own land by restricting their rights to land to their roles as guardians of children or grandchildren. Women’s rights to land have not increased significantly despite radical changes in the country — a war of Independence, liberal programs in the nineteenth century, and a social Revolution in the first half of the twentieth century. The colonial judicial system, in which women’s land rights as guardians of children were protected, expired with the Independence from Spain in 1821. Liberal programs implemented during the nineteenth century attached land to families rather than communities, in order to make tax collection and land transactions effective. These new policies contributed to strengthen men’s position of dominance within the family. Finally, the Agrarian Code introduced after the Revolution of 1910 acknowledged various forms of communal ownership of land, but did not ensure women’s equality.

163 IJCS / RIÉC

Changes to ensure gender equality under the Agrarian Code were not made until 1971. However, female land holders still account for a minority in both ejidos and agrarian communities. This is mainly due to two factors: 1) the monetarization of subsistence economies has resulted in the displacement of women from land; 2) the prevalence (in practice) of the male bias in the Agrarian Code. Even though women have the same legal opportunities as men to become land holders, government officials and male-dominated Native organizations only support women’s land claims if they are widows, have young children and are not living with another man. Women’s roles as guardians of young children, established by the colonial legal system, still determine Native women’s access to land in contemporary Mexico. In Canada, something similar has occurred. Prior to the arrival of the Europeans, Aboriginals had no sense of private property. Women in these societies played a major economic role and retained control over the product of their labour, which translated into social and political influence. In the first centuries of European colonization Native women continued to play a pivotal role in expeditions and fur trade activities, although their political influence was undermined by the emphasis on fur trade activities and the deterioration of pre-contact subsistence economies. Aboriginal people were gradually confined within a particular territory and subject to segregational practices. These practices were legitimized through the Indian Act, which triggered a process of legal differentiation within communities and disadvantaged women vis-à-vis their male counterparts. In the Indian Act, Native women were denied the legal opportunity to hold property and enjoy civil rights. They were also denied the rights of status Indians. As Krosenbrink-Gelissen puts it, Native women have been “marginalized in their own country and in their own community.” (1993:335) Women who married men without Indian status became legally dependent on their husbands and had to leave the reserve; those who married men with Indian status and stayed on the reserve were also denied the right to own property and whether or not they stayed on the reserve depended on their husbands’ will. Property and civil rights were modelled on the male-headed, nuclear and monogamous family in which women and children are considered the male’s property. The changes of 1985 to end gender discrimination left many unsolved problems. While some wealthy reserves do not want to share their riches with the reinstated women, others lack resources to accommodate them. Although women are allowed back, their living conditions are often inadequate. Both the Agrarian Code and the Indian Act were influenced by a liberal tradition that defines civil rights as individual and property rights. Within this tradition, the individual is male and has as his dependents a wife and children. This notion conflicted with the diverse forms of social organization in both pre-hispanic Mexico and pre-contact Canada. While in pre-hispanic Mexico siblings were an important grouping for inheritance purposes and women could inherit in their own right, women in pre-contact societies in Canada controlled their access to resources and enjoyed social status and political power. Even today, people living in extended families and women living in

164 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada

polygamous relations do not fit the model of the male-headed, nuclear and monogamous family on which land rights have been based and civil rights granted. Both pieces of legislation were created in the period of nation-state building of each country. The Spanish and British Crowns launched a policy of paternalism which the independent nation-states pursued. In both countries, these nation-states assumed the right to rule over Aboriginal territory, set up borders and define people’s identities. Although they claimed to “protect” Native peoples and land, both pieces of legislation were state mechanisms aimed at controlling Native land and resources and policing Aboriginal populations. In Canada, “Indians” had to be defined in order to manage their lands and turn them into citizens and private property owners. In Mexico, communal forms of land ownership were incorporated into the legislation due to the communal tradition of the Tenochtitlan land tenure system, the semi-feudal heritage of incoming Spaniards and the social character of the Revolution. However, both the Agrarian Code and the Indian Act worked against women when membership codes in Canada and forms of land tenure in Mexico were established. Both reproduced the model of the male-headed, monogamous and nuclear family to regulate access to land. In doing so, the legislation made women legally dependent on men and limited their access to land in their own communities.

Notes 1. PhD Candidate in Sociology, Carleton University. This paper was produced during a one- year contract with the Centre for Research on North America, National University of Mexico, Mexico City. 2. See Kellogg (1984) for examples on Nahua women’s land claims in colonial courts. 3. The hacienda-latifundios were large estates owned by one family (typically of Spanish origin) where landless peasants had access to a small plot of land to cultivate for self- consumption in exchange of free labour. Native populations living in isolated areas claimed by hacienda owners were forced to pay exorbitant rents to farm the land, or face deportation. Native populations were also forced to buy products not grown by themselves at the local store. Those who could not pay with money had to pay with agricultural produce or labour. Since they were constantly in debt with the owners of the hacienda, they had to continue working for free and were unable to leave. 4. Deborah Kanter, PhD Candidate in History, University of Virginia. Thesis title: “Hijos del Pueblo: Family, Gender and Community in Rural Mexico, the Toluca Region, 1733-1840.” 5. A widow’s rights were usually specified as “use rights” during the course of her lifetime. Wills stated that she should use the inherited property to fulfil her obligations as a parent vis- à-vis her children and that the property should be transferred to them at the time of her death or when children reached adulthood. (Loera y Chávez, 1977) 6. See Soto (1990) for a discussion of the participation of women of different social classes and ethnic backgrounds in the Mexican Revolution. 7. Revolutionary Feminist Party. 8. National Revolutionary Party. 9. National Bloc of Revolutionary Women. 10. Mexican Liberal Party. 11. Different factions in the Mexican Revolution.

165 IJCS / RIÉC

12. The data on this community was gathered in 1993 and 1994 while doing fieldwork for my doctoral dissertation. The tentative title is “Gender, Cattle and Land: Women’s Responses to Capitalist Development in the Gulf Nahua.” 13. According to the census of 1990, one in ten economically active women in Mexico is a domestic worker. By the late 1970s, one-third of the 5.4 million people working in agro- industries were women. (González Montes, 1994) Although the figures do not indicate ethnic origin, it can be assumed that many of these are Native women. 14. These compensations have proved inadequate in most cases. For example, between 1966 and 1977, payments averaged $261.80 per person enfranchised. Other benefits lost by these women include access to educational services and allowances, off-reserve and on-reserve financial assistance for housing, loans to start businesses and free medicines, plus those enjoyed by people living on the reserve (i.e., hunting, fishing, animal grazing and trapping rights; exemption from taxation; cash distributions derived from the sale of band assets or moneys surplus to band needs). (Jamieson, 1986:125) 15. This package consists of tax exemptions, a share in the band’s assets and revenues, right to vote, inherit and own property on the reserve, access to education, housing and economic development programs and the right to be buried on the reserve.

Bibliography General Afonja, Simi. 1981. “Changing Modes of Production and the Sexual Division of Labour among the Yoruba.” Signs 7(2). Bell, Diane. 1983. Daughters of the Dreaming. Melbourne: McPhee Gribble. Brown, Judith. 1970. “A Note on the Division of Labour by Sex.” American Anthropologist 72(5). Huntingdon, Suellen. 1975. “Issues in women’s role in economic development: critique and alternatives.” Journal of Marriage and the Family 37. Leacock, Eleanor. 1972. Introduction to F. Engels, The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State. New York: International Publishers. _____. 1978. “Women’s Status in Egalitarian Society: Implications for Social Evolution,” Current Anthropology (19)2. Moore, Henrietta L. 1988. Feminism and Anthropology. Minneapolis: University of Minneapolis Press. Sacks, Karen. 1979. Sisters and Wives: The Past and Future of Sexual Equality. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press.

Mexico Arizpe, Lourdes and Carlota Botey. 1987. “Mexican Agricultural Development Policy and Its Impact on Rural Women” in C.D. Deere and M. León (eds.) Rural Women and State Policy in Latin America. Colorado: Westview Press. Chevalier, Jacques and D. Buckles. In press. Power and Destruction in the Mexican Tropics: The Gulf Nahua. London: Zed Books. Cline, S.L. 1986. Colonial Culhuacan, 1580-1600. A Social History of an Aztec Town. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press. Deere, C. and M. León de Leal (eds.). 1987. Rural Women and State Policy. Colorado: West View Press. De Rojas, José Luis. 1986. México Tenochtitlan: Economía y Sociedad en el Siglo XVI. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. González Montes, S. and P. Iracheta. 1987. “La violencia en la vida de las mujeres campesinas: el Distrito de Tenango, 1880-1910” in Presencia y Transparencia: la mujer en la historia de México. Mexico City: Colegio de México. González Montes, Soledad. 1994. “Mujeres, trabajo y pobreza en el campo mexicano: una revisión crítica de la bibliografía reciente” in J. Alatorre et. al (eds.) Las mujeres en la pobreza. Mexico City: Colegio de México. Hellbom, Anna-Britta. 1967. La participación cultural de las mujeres Indias y Mestizas en el México precortesiano y postrevolucionario. Stockholm: The Ethnographical Museum. Kanter, Deborah. Personal letter dated May 17, 1992. Kellogg, Susan M. 1984. “Aztec Women in Early Colonial Courts: Structure and Strategy in a Legal Context” in R. Spores and R. Hassig (eds.), Five Centuries of Law and Politics in Central Mexico. Nashville: Vanderbilt Publications. Publications in Anthropology #30.

166 Gender and Land Rights in Mexico and Canada

_____. 1986. “Kinship and Social Organization in Early Colonial Tenochtitlan” in R. Spores and P. Andrews (eds.) Handbook of Middle American Indians Volume 4. Austin: University of Texas Press. Loera y Chávez, Margarita. 1977. Calimaya y Tepamaxalco. Tenencia y trasmisión hereditaria de la tierra en dos comunidades indígenas. Epoca colonial. Mexico City: Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia. Mallon, Florencia. 1990. The Conflictual Construction of Community: Gender, Ethnicity and Hegemony in the Sierra Norte de Puebla. Unpublished manuscript. Olivera, Mercedes. 1976. “The Barrios of San Andrés Cholula” in H. Nutini, P. Carrasco and J. Taggart (eds.) Essays on Mexican Kinship. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Rodríguez, Ma. de Jesús. 1991. La mujer azteca. Toluca: Universidad Autónoma del Estado de México. Soto, Shirlene. 1990. Emergence of the Modern Mexican Woman. Her Participation in Revolution and Struggle for Equality. Denver: Arden Press. Tuñón Pablos, Esperanza. 1992. Mujeres que se organizan. El FUPDM, 1935-1938. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México – Porrúa.

Canada Documents The Royal Proclamation. London, 1763. Indian Acts and Amendments, 1868-1950. Treaties and Historical Research Centre & Department of Indian and Northern Affairs Canada. 2nd Edition, 1981. Statement of the Government of Canada on Indian Policy, 1969. Presented by the Honourable Jean Chrétien, Minister of Indian Affairs and Northern Development.

Secondary Sources Brown, Jennifer. 1976a. “A Demographic Transition in the Fur Trade Country: Family Sizes and Fertility of Company Officers and Country Wives, Ca. 1759-1850” in The Western Canadian Journal of Anthropology 6(1). _____. 1976b. “Changing Views of Fur Trade Marriage and Domesticity: James Hargrave, His Colleagues, and `The Sex’” in The Western Canadian Journal of Anthropology 6(3). Devens, Carol. 1986. “Separate Confrontations: Gender as a factor in Indian Adaptation to European Colonization in New France,” American Quarterly 38(3). Dickason, Olive P. 1992. Canada’s First Nations. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Dudley, Wendy. 1993. “Native Rights: Bill C-31 has Indians battling each other” in Calgary Herald, August 17, 1993. Emberley, Julia V. 1993. Thresholds of Difference: Feminist Critique, Native Women’s Writings, Postcolonial Theory. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Fiske, Jo-Anne. 1990. “Native Women in Reserve Politics: Strategies and Struggles” in Roxana Ng, J. Mueller and G. Walker (eds.) Community Organization and the Canadian State. Toronto: Garmond Press. Jamieson, Kathleen. 1978. Indian Women and the Law in Canada: Citizen Minus. Ottawa: Minister of Supply Services. _____. 1986. “Sex Discrimination in the Indian Act” in J.R. Ponting (ed.) Arduous Journey. Canadian Indians and Decolonization. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Kahenrakwas Goodleaf, Donna. 1993. “Under Military Occupation. Indigenous Women, State Violence and Community Resistance,” in L. Carty (ed.) And Still We Rise: Feminist Political Mobilizing in Contemporary Canada. Canada: Women’s Press. Krosenbrink-Gelissen, Lillian E. and J.S. Friederes. 1993. Native Peoples in Canada. Scarborough: Prentice-Hall. Leacock, Eleonor. 1991. “Montagnais Women and the Jesuit Program for Colonization” in V. Strong-Boag and A.C. Fellman (eds.) Rethinking Canada. The Promise of Women’s History. Toronto: Copp Clark Pitman. Miller, J.R. 1989. Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens. A History of Indian-White Relations in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Richardson, Boyce. 1993. People of Terra Nullius. Betrayal and Rebirth in Aboriginal Canada. Vancouver: Douglas and McIntyre. Van Kirk, Sylvia. 1972. “Women and the Fur Trade” in The Beaver (Winter). ______. 1991. “The Role of Native Women in the Fur Trade Society of Western Canada, 1670- 1830” in V. Strong-Boag and A.C. Fellman (eds.) Rethinking Canada. The Promise of Women’s History. Toronto: Copp Clark Pitman. Weaver, Sally. 1993. “First Nations Women and Government Policy, 1970-1972: Discrimination and Conflict” in S. Burt, L. Code and L. Dorney (eds.) Changing Patterns. Women in Canada. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Wotherspoon, T. and V. Satzewich. 1993. First Nations: Race, Class and Gender Relations. Scarborough: Nelson Canada.

167 Ruth Panofsky

“Don’t let me do it!”: Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers*

Abstract This paper considers the writing and publishing career of Mazo de la Roche, with a focus on her relationships with her three publishers: Hugh Eayrs, president of the Macmillan Company of Canada; Edward Weeks, editor with the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown of Boston; and Daniel Macmillan of the Macmillan Company of London. Primary evidence is cited to support the argument that de la Roche was initially marginalized by these three men who profited by her work but hoped to deny her authorial power as creator of the Jalna series. As de la Roche’s own letters show, however, she became a shrewd negotiator with a keen understanding of the author-publisher relationship, and she soon secured her place as a professional among her male colleagues.

Résumé Cet article examine la carrière de l’écrivaine Mazo de la Roche et, plus particulièrement, sa relation avec ses trois éditeurs : Hugh Eayrs, président de la Macmillan Company of Canada; Edward Weeks, éditeur au Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown of Boston; et Daniel Macmillan de la Macmillan Company of London. Il présente des preuves démontrant que ces trois hommes ont au début marginalisé de la Roche et ont tiré profit de ses écrits tout en essayant de lui usurper son pouvoir de créatrice de la série des Jalna. Or, comme l’indique sa correspondance, de la Roche est devenue une négociatrice habile, dotée d’une compréhension aiguë de la relation auteur-éditeur et a su rapidement prendre rang parmi ses homologues mâles.

The name Mazo de la Roche is synonymous with Jalna, a series of sixteen novels that spanned 1927 to 1960 and chronicled the lives of the irrepressible Whiteoak family members. To date, de la Roche’s achievement as a popular author and her writing and publishing career have been largely overlooked by literary scholars.1 In fact, her success was exceptional, indisputable and due primarily to her own ingenuity as a professional who understood fully the nature of her connections with readers and publishers alike. Throughout her career, for example, she retained her audience by writing precisely those books it wanted to read. De la Roche’s literary success is best understood, however, in terms of her relationships with her publishers with whom she negotiated and maintained important friendships throughout her writing life. This paper is concerned with three of the most influential men in the novelist’s life: Hugh Eayrs, president of the Macmillan Company of Canada; Edward Weeks, editor with the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown of Boston; and

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS/RIÉC

Daniel Macmillan of the Macmillan Company of London. Each of these men shaped the life of the writer and her books, while their own lives were greatly affected by her. Her achievement as a popular author must be considered in terms of her connections with these men, which this paper attempts to chart. The years 1927 and 1940 form the perimeters of this study, dates which marked monumental changes in the writer’s life. In 1927, Jalna won the Atlantic Monthly’s novel contest which brought immediate fame for the author, publication of her manuscript, and a prize of $10,000 US, while 1940 saw the untimely death of Hugh Eayrs and an irrevocable change in de la Roche’s professional relationships. In the early years of de la Roche’s writing career, Canada lacked an indigenous publishing industry. The majority of Canadian publishing houses had been established as agents for either British or American firms. In exchange for access to an underdeveloped market, foreign publishers had agreed not to sell their books in Canada, except through their exclusive agents. Initially, this arrangement suited British, American and Canadian houses alike. Canadian agents promoted the books of foreign publishers, which saved the latter significant costs. At the same time, Canadian firms gained access to the vast number of books available in English, without having to publish them themselves. Moreover, Canadian books — relatively few titles were issued during the first half of this century — could be promoted alongside foreign books at no additional cost. Faulty as the agency system later proved to be,2 it fostered a sense of legitimacy among Canadian publishing houses as they sought to establish a book trade in this country. The links between foreign and Canadian publishing firms necessitated the close ties that soon developed among key individuals. Hugh Eayrs, president of the Macmillan Company of Canada, for example, was in regular contact with Daniel Macmillan of the Macmillan Company of London. Since Eayrs conducted business in Toronto under the aegis of the British firm, his own success was dependent largely on the agency system. Despite the distance that separated them, Eayrs and Macmillan always maintained a close working relationship. Macmillan of Canada, however, was not an agent for the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown of Boston, which published de la Roche’s works in the United States. Regardless, Hugh Eayrs and Edward Weeks were closely connected through their mutual association with de la Roche. For the most part, this publishing triad served the interests of publishers and author alike. Problems arose only when the publishers dealt unprofessionally with de la Roche, as this paper will show. When Jalna first appeared, de la Roche was already an accomplished author with a growing list of published works including Explorers of the Dawn,a collection of linked short stories; two novels, Possession and Delight; and two one-act plays, Low Life: A Comedy in One Act and Come True.3 With the exception of the short stories, de la Roche’s first works were marketed by the Macmillan Company; its New York and London houses published the novels and its Toronto branch issued the plays. Although her work had produced little revenue, she nonetheless enjoyed a congenial connection with the three houses of Macmillan, each of which showed a respect for her writing and a willingness

172 Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers

to continue as her publisher. De la Roche also had a past affiliation with the Atlantic Monthly which had published two of her early stories,4 and whose editor, Ellery Sedgwick, had become a particular friend and mentor, offering advice and encouragement in letters that dated from 1914. When the Atlantic Monthly Press and its joint publisher, Little, Brown of Boston, decided to issue Jalna, they allowed de la Roche to remain with Macmillan of Toronto for Canadian publication, but they granted British rights to Hodder & Stoughton rather than Macmillan. Having expressed an earlier wish to place Jalna with Macmillan of London, de la Roche felt obliged to offer Daniel Macmillan the following explanation in a letter dated 20 May 1927: It was one of the conditions of the Award that the novel should be handled in the States by Little Brown & Co. of Boston. I made a strong effort to retain Jalna for the Macmillan Co. in Canada and England. It was agreed that I should remain with my Canadian publisher but Hodder & Stoughton are to bring it out in England. I cannot tell you how sorry I am to be obliged to leave you with this book. Perhaps some future time will find me under your imprint again.5 In May 1927, de la Roche could not have known how soon she would again become a Macmillan author. Two years later, Hodder & Stoughton gave their rights in Jalna to Macmillan on the understanding that the latter take over their remaining stock of the novel and reimburse them £140 in royalties paid to Little, Brown. Except for this brief interlude, throughout her long career de la Roche remained loyal to the Macmillan Company in Britain and Canada, and to the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown in the United States. This is not to suggest, however, that she never wavered in her fidelity to her publishers. In fact, the opposite is true. A shrewd negotiator, de la Roche always sought the best possible arrangements for herself and her family, and she was not loath to adopt manipulative tactics to serve her purpose. Moreover, she understood that, as a woman, she was positioned outside the patriarchal world of publishing which nonetheless afforded her and her publishers comfortable livings. With the exception of Daniel Macmillan, for example, the extant letters between publishers and author revealed a warm and amiable exchange but also a reluctance to trust in the other’s good faith. Furthermore, various letters between Hugh Eayrs and Edward Weeks unveiled their orchestrated efforts to undermine the author’s autonomy and their deliberate exclusion of her from their male coterie. De la Roche’s grasp of her own potentially fragile situation and her ability to mitigate it through astute negotiations forms a significant subtext in this consideration of her professional relationships. De la Roche had not always been self-assured and independent, however. Prior to the publication of her award-winning novel, the author had looked to her publishers as mentors and friends, placing her trust in their experience and knowledge. As a woman and a little-known writer, she had felt vulnerable and frustrated but she had never been passive. Rather than submit to defeat when her short stories were rejected repeatedly, for instance, she remained

173 IJCS/RIÉC committed to her craft and often sought the advice of Hugh Eayrs and Ellery Sedgwick. When her books earned her scant critical attention and even less income, she did not consider giving up writing; instead, she gave herself over to her work with impressive vigour, always remaining faithful to the vision that finally produced Jalna and brought her much deserved happiness at the late age of forty-eight. Following the publication of Jalna — the terms of which satisfied de la Roche6 — the author was comfortable in her new role as literary celebrity and with her publishers, who shared the joy and profit of her triumph. Little more than two years after Jalna appeared in book form, however, de la Roche deliberately initiated a period of disquiet during which her Boston publishers grew fearful that she would leave them for a rival house. In fact, of her three publishers, the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown received the largest share of de la Roche’s provocations during their many years of association, perhaps in response to Edward Weeks’ committed and careful editing of her novels, which she found particularly irksome. In a letter dated 30 January 1930, one of several similar instances, the author wrote the following to Weeks: Well, it was about time you wrote! A little longer, and I should have inevitably succumbed to the wiles of the New York gentleman who so far as I can make out, crossed the Atlantic with no other purpose in view but my seduction. That is, to his new publishing house.7 Whenever she felt neglected by her publishers, de la Roche grew peevish. She relied on their letters, as well as the countless letters from readers which she received throughout her career, to foster her sense of professional connectedness. This casual, apparently lighthearted reference to a publishing scout probably sounded a cautionary note in Weeks’ reading of her letter, exactly the effect de la Roche would have sought. Moreover, this brief comment implied the superior position of the writer in the author-publisher hierarchy and constituted de la Roche’s first strategic move toward true power with her publishers. Impressed by the significant sales of the first Jalna novels, several other publishers attempted to woo de la Roche to their respective firms. One such company, the Cosmopolitan Book Corporation, made an offer that the author considered seriously. Although she used the rival firm’s offer as leverage in subsequent contract negotiations with the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown, her letters at this time revealed that she had changed significantly from the cautious, self-effacing author of pre-Jalna days. On 24 June 1930, she wrote to Edward Weeks, by now a friend whom she addressed as Ted: If only other publishers would let me alone! So far I have refused to consider a change. But yesterday I had a letter from Elizabeth Marbury with quite a dazzling offer. The Cosmopolitan Book Corporation is the publisher in this case. She gives pages of details of a tremendous advertising campaign. They offer me $3000. as a present. I am simply to “forget about it.”...

174 Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers

I can’t tell you how repellant the thought of changing my publisher is to me. But I want to make all the money I can. I have relatives I like to help.... Please write to me as a friend.8 Despite her protestation of loyalty to Weeks, this letter showed de la Roche’s preoccupation with the Cosmopolitan offer. Her growing self-confidence, as well as her determination to establish economic security for her family, was evident in this and subsequent letters. With the success of Jalna, de la Roche had become a professional. She soon acknowledged her ability to write novels that would please millions of readers, and she did not hesitate to point out this fact to her publishers when the need arose. De la Roche’s letter of 24 June sent the offices of the Atlantic Monthly Press and Little, Brown into a flurry. When he learned of the possible defection of his prize author, Alfred McIntyre, president of Little, Brown, responded immediately to Edward Weeks in a letter that reiterated the terms of their publishing arrangements. As early as 20 September 1928, prior to the publication of the second novel in the series, Whiteoaks of Jalna (1929), McIntyre had countered a similar problem in a letter to de la Roche when he was “rather disturbed”9 to hear that she had been approached by a New York publishing company. It was decided that the current situation, however, required a more aggressive response than the pen, and Weeks prepared personally to meet de la Roche’s ship upon her return from a trip to England. “[D]etermined to have an early and friendly word with” the author, he cabled her care of the London Bank: “Will meet your ship’s arrival Quebec or Montreal. Cable time and place. Imperative you reserve decision. Cabling as friend.”10 The meeting between Weeks and de la Roche never took place and the author declined her editor’s offer to visit Toronto where they could discuss business matters. Instead, she urged Weeks to write and gave the following information as incentive: [Hugh Eayrs] came to Southampton to see us off looking well and very happy. We talked over the Cosmopolitan offer. He would like me to stay with the Little Brown’s but thinks I should have a 20% royalty. Do you think Mr. McIntyre would give me this? All my desire is to remain with you but, as Miss Marbury points out, serialization in one of their magazines would mean a great deal. The difference between $5000 and $25000.... It would be a sad day for me when I should leave the House of which you are a member. Don’t let me do it!11 Since he had great respect and fellow feeling for the president of Macmillan of Canada, de la Roche understood that having Eayrs as an ally would strengthen her position in Weeks’ mind. From early in her career, she could adopt the strategy of playing the two men off one another — perhaps the only recourse available to the author who was regularly excluded from her publishers’ private communications, a vital point which shall be examined shortly. Moreover, her final beseeching words, however coyly written and playful in tone, underscored the gravity of her purpose and her increasing authority among her publishers.

175 IJCS/RIÉC

De la Roche’s letter evoked a four-page response from Weeks, in which he detailed the reasons why she ought not to accept Cosmopolitan’s offer and remain with the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown. He urged her to consider her reputation as a serious novelist, which would be tarnished if her work were associated with the popular publications issued by Cosmopolitan. Today, the irony in Weeks’ argument is evident, given de la Roche’s lasting reputation as a purely popular writer. As to royalties, he agreed “to the 20% which you feel and I feel has come to be your due,”12 although he qualified the offer by explaining that fewer funds may be allocated to the future advertising of her books. In concluding his letter, however, Weeks appealed to the psychological connection between de la Roche and his firm, hoping to convince the author that to remain with the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown was proper and moral: In all of this I have not touched on the spirit of loyalty which I think has been mutually derived from our association. I believe that you appreciate the efforts which we have made in your behalf, and for our part, I hardly need tell you that we regard you as one of our best and most valued authors. We have dealt with you with explicit honesty in the past;... I sincerely hope that nothing will arise to disturb the friendly and mutally [sic] beneficial association which has existed between us in the past.13 As this letter indicated, Weeks could not afford to alienate de la Roche, whose work generated a vast revenue. Writing in 1930, during the Depression, he understood that to lose the novelist to a rival firm would have dire financial consequences for the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown. He wrote in earnest to prevent such a disaster from taking place. Although de la Roche was convinced and relieved by the tone of Weeks’ letter and his decision to agree to the 20% royalty she had requested, on 25 August 1930, when the contract for Finch’s Fortune (1931), the third Jalna novel, had yet to be signed, she reiterated to Alfred McIntyre that “the agent who approached me, still continues to write urging me to reconsider my decision.”14 This incident marked the first real struggle for power between author and publisher and it altered their future relationship. Never again could either Weeks or McIntyre assume that de la Roche was a naive and acquiescent writer. Intelligently, she had manipulated the outcome of this particular conflict so that her best interests were served and, in the process, she had disrupted the hierarchy of writer and publisher. From 1930 onward, the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown had only to provoke de la Roche and her response — the threat to leave them for another firm — would silence them into submission. This did not prevent Eayrs and Weeks, who by 1931 shared a fast friendship, from discussing de la Roche among themselves. As their letters revealed, during their association with the author, they attempted to influence her and to shape the course of her career to suit their requirements. Moreover, they were aware that often de la Roche did not favour their counsel — which called into question their respective claims that they always acted in her best interests.

176 Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers

Today we understand from their correspondence that the two men aimed to retain as much control as possible over Jalna’s destiny by undermining de la Roche’s position as the creator of the series. If they treated the author as “a good girl”15 — Eayrs and Weeks’ term — in need of guidance, perhaps she would remain their subordinate. This would not prove to be the case, however. The issue of whether or not the Jalna series ought to continue became a pressing one early in 1931 when Eayrs wrote the following to Weeks, in a private letter dated 30 January: ... I know that I can write confidentially to you, I am not sure that she [i.e. de la Roche] should go on with a fourth volume in the JALNA series, but if she does — and she seems to be bent on it — I think it really ought to be the last.... You and I are both fond of her and are always anxious to see that she makes a precisely right move each time, and not a wrong one.... If you would like me to write to her, and say so I will be glad to do so and send you a carbon-copy of my letter.16 Eayrs and Weeks regularly consolidated their efforts in their communications with de la Roche. She was as much a commodity as an individual to these men whose livelihood she partly ensured. As a result, they were uneasy lest she pursue her own desires — which she eventually did — and they used their professional skills to guide her toward the course of action they hoped she would adopt. Significantly, she was not party to their private discussions; rather they coaxed her along deftly, with their inimitable paternalistic flair, to convince her of their united position. More often that not, however, she maintained the upper hand either by remaining intolerably silent or by suggesting that they part company. Although Eayrs later complained to Weeks, “I always feel between the three- way publishing that if I make a suggestion it is likely to be misconstrued,”17 it was more usual for the two men to share similar views. In fact, as the previous letter indicated, they were allies in the publishing triad. Ironically, Daniel Macmillan played a relatively small part in this alliance. Macmillan published de la Roche’s work, with little editorial intervention, to an enormous audience that anxiously awaited each Jalna volume and willingly ignored its flaws. As a result, his relations with the author were always cordial. Further, situated across the Atlantic and serving a separate market, Macmillan of London had a relatively minor connection with de la Roche’s North American publishers, who communicated regularly with one another and co-arranged the publication dates of the Jalna series in the United States and Canada. One letter in particular showed the duplicity of Eayrs and Weeks in their treatment of de la Roche. The most striking features of the following letter were Eayrs’ tone of resentment and his hostility toward the author upon her return to Canada from an extended stay in England. On 5 September 1933, he wrote to Weeks: ... I think they [i.e. de la Roche and her cousin, Caroline Clement] expected a much warmer welcome and a great deal of shouting about their returning, and they have not improved the situation themselves by being rather high hat as Canadians see it since their stay in

177 IJCS/RIÉC

England.... Relations are a little strained simply because of this extraordinary Queen Victoria attitude, and you know Ted, there is more than one novelist extant. I am fond of the girls as ever but I think it a great mistake for them, in their own interests, to high hat everybody in the immediate vicinity. I write very confidentially to you as an old friend, of course.18 Ironically, in public both men pandered to what Eayrs described above as de la Roche’s “Queen Victoria attitude.” Unwilling, however, to provoke an author whose writing provided a large portion of his income, he felt obliged to keep his resentment private and expressed it in a confidential letter to Weeks. In fact, Lovat Dickson, who succeeded Daniel Macmillan as de la Roche’s British editor and long-time friend, noted “[t]he fun H. S. E. [i.e. Hugh Smithfield Eayrs] privately made to me about Mazo and her snobbisms.”19 In this case, Eayrs would not consider that de la Roche genuinely may have felt slighted by the Canadian media which, throughout her career, reviewed her books poorly, diminished her international success, and celebrated her as a native-born author only when she was lauded in the United States. The disingenuous treatment of de la Roche by her publishers, of which this is a lesser instance, became pronounced in 1934 during the writing of Young Renny (1935), a crucial period in this history of the author’s professional relationships, to be considered presently. In the interim, de la Roche successfully maintained her authorial independence. A misunderstanding which took place early in 1934 could not have failed to convince Weeks — if, in fact, he required further convincing — that de la Roche was a self-assured author who would not tolerate attempts to deny her autonomy. When she was asked by Queen Mary’s secretary to provide Her Majesty with a signed copy of The Master of Jalna (1933), the fourth novel in the series, the author was flattered and only too pleased to oblige. De la Roche was a great admirer of the royal family and she regarded it as a rare privilege to count its members among her fans. As a gift to Queen Mary, she commissioned a tooled-leather binding for the novel. In a tribute to the novelist in the Atlantic Monthly,20 however, Weeks implied that Macmillan of Canada were responsible for the presentation volume. In a rousing letter, dated 15 March 1934, de la Roche reprimanded her editor: [W]hat the hell do you mean by giving the Macmillan Co. of Canada the credit for the book? I have been so furious about that that I have refrained from writing. The Macmillan Co. had absolutely nothing to do with it beyond suggesting the name of the man who did the work. I interviewed him, chose the design and paid forty dollars for the book. What annoys me is that to the readers of The Atlantic the incident should be presented as a commercial one whereas it was a purely personal one between her Majesty and myself. If Hugh saw the proof of the page how could he let it pass? Only by design — I swear! Well — the more I think of it, the more I...21 The veiled threat to depart the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown which concluded this letter brought home to Weeks the seriousness of his offense.

178 Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers

Fortunately for Weeks, de la Roche’s anger was assuaged by his elegant apology which soon followed in the mail and which also blamed Eayrs for the entire misunderstanding. This apparent lack of loyalty to one’s friend and colleague should not come as a surprise: the two men regularly shifted the blame to one another in difficult situations, particularly when they were faced with de la Roche’s rage. Their mutual desire to foster the author’s good will allowed for fleeting personal betrayals that pacified the novelist but had little lasting effect on their own relationship. Greater diplomatic efforts were required of Weeks, however, in the dispute which arose subsequently over Young Renny, initially titled “Cousin Malahide.” In fact, this conflict proved to be the turning point in de la Roche’s relationship with her Boston publishers. At Weeks’ own earlier suggestion, “Cousin Malahide” was set back in time in the Jalna saga and featured a distant relative from Ireland. On 9 April 1934, however, in a letter to Eayrs, Weeks noted his concern over the novel’s time frame. Although Eayrs felt a similar apprehension, he counselled his friend to use caution in his correspondence with de la Roche and not to provoke her ire. In late May 1934, the author sent several early chapters of “Cousin Malahide” to the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown and was obliged to wait three months for her editor’s response to the fifth novel in the Jalna series. When Weeks’ letter finally arrived on 27 August — having been delayed by much in- house discussion of the manuscript — it infuriated the author: We all realized from the first, of course, that it was audacious, even risky to turn the clock back in Jalna... new danger has manifested itself in the first ninety pages of the new script. Renny, Maurice and Meg are in their immaturity somewhat more watered [sic] than we like to think, but what is worse, is to remark in the new characters which you have introduced a tendency to be quaint and bizarre beyond the reader’s credulity. Cousin Malahide with his simper and his highly artificial ejaculations, Philip with his annoying lisp, the wooden Mary and the almost absurd fainting fit of Maurice’s father.22 Upon receipt of this letter, de la Roche took some time to consider it seriously. She was not so much offended by its contents — by 1934 she was accustomed to receiving Weeks’ criticism of her work — as by its blunt delivery and callous tone. Moreover, to have had to wait three months for such news was unacceptable to the novelist. She felt ill-used by her American publishers, who treated her in this instance with apparent disregard. A writer of note and of great value to her publishers, de la Roche would not take such treatment lightly. In a feeble attempt to deflect the serious damage done by Weeks’ letter, Alfred McIntyre cabled the author at her home in Devon, England: Do not offer Malahide to another publisher. We expect to carry out contract for its publication as it stands or as revised by you unless upon reading complete manuscript majority feeling here is against publication and we are able to convince you that our attitude is correct.23

179 IJCS/RIÉC

Notwithstanding McIntyre’s appeal, de la Roche’s considered response to his cable and Week’ earlier letter was unambiguous. On 18 September 1934, she wrote the following to McIntyre: I am of a migratory nature. I left Knopf to go to Macmillans. I left Macmillans to go to you. I have changed publishers once or twice in England. I am capable of biting off not only my nose but my whole head, to spite my face. I confess that I have never felt more like a migration than when the combined criticism of MALAHIDE reached me. Not because it was adverse criticism but because of the manner in which it was dealt out to me.24 De la Roche could not have been more honest or more forthright. Her intention to leave the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown over their poor handling of “Cousin Malahide” was genuine. She wrote calmly and clearly, as one professional to another. In fact, she conducted herself as the equal of Weeks and McIntyre, entitled to the kind of courtesy she regularly showed them. No longer would she be content to occupy the marginal position of a female writer among male publishers, nor would she tolerate being ignored by them. That was evident from the frank statements and measured tone of her letter, which convinced her Boston publishers that this time her threat to sever their ties was authentic indeed. As was generally the case, the conflict was eventually resolved, but not until de la Roche had successfully reestablished new grounds for the relationship between herself and the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown. Since McIntyre’s connection with de la Roche was always primarily professional — which differed from the more familiar association of de la Roche and Weeks — he paid the author a personal visit, especially important during this time of crisis. They discussed the revisions to “Cousin Malahide” and reconfirmed their commitment to one another and the Jalna series. Soon afterward, Weeks wrote a heartfelt letter of apology, dated 3 October, 1934, in which he assured the author that his “actions which may have proved to be ill-judged... were planned with the very opposite intention.”25 One month following, the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown received the completed manuscript of the novel and Weeks cabled to de la Roche: “Humble pie consumed. Malahide Philip and family circle could not be better. Splendid work.”26 The author was mollified and cabled her response: “Your humble pie my tonic. Bless you.”27 In light of his extreme reaction to the earlier version, Weeks’ avowed satisfaction with the revised work may now appear overstated. There can be no doubt, however, that de la Roche had improved the novel’s coherence. Nor did Young Renny — the work’s title upon publication — disappoint her audience. As Weeks later informed the author: You know, don’t you, what a remarkable send-off YOUNG RENNY had, for all the drear conditions this spring. An advance sale (with no copies on consignment!) of 22,000 is something to write home about. We have printed 30,000 copies altogether to make sure that we had a surplus for the reorders which are now coming in on the footsteps of the highly favorable reviews.28

180 Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers

Despite the novel’s success and the restored good will between de la Roche and her Boston publishers, the dispute over Young Renny permanently altered their relationship. Weeks and McIntyre always remembered the devastating impact of this incident and, as a result, relinquished control of the Whiteoaks of Jalna to their creator. From this point forward, her publishers questioned neither de la Roche’s authorial autonomy nor her position of power among them. Although she welcomed minor editorial suggestions, she would not accept outright criticism of her work — and her publishers bore this in mind throughout their subsequent negotiations. Moreover, henceforth Daniel Macmillan rather than Edward Weeks received the first manuscript of her work. Although this decision may have been partly one of convenience — the author was living in England at the time — it nonetheless confirmed de la Roche’s authority. Since its members found little in her work to criticize and always treated her with admiration and respect, she felt more comfortable with the British firm. In fact, she was wise to place her trust in Macmillan, for Weeks and Eayrs remained duplicitous toward the author to the end. On 24 January 1935, for example, following this most difficult crisis of their relationship, Weeks informed de la Roche that he had not told Eayrs “what humble pie tastes like”29 — an apparent lie since the two men had exchanged letters throughout the Young Renny affair. Ironically, the unthoughtful treatment of de la Roche by the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown resulted in the author’s professional development and the firm’s loss of favour in her eyes — precisely those circumstances that Weeks had always hoped to forestall. Throughout the latter 1930s, little conflict arose between the writer and her publishers. The difficulty over Young Renny had convinced the Atlantic Monthly Press/Little, Brown that de la Roche controlled her destiny as well as her writing. As a result, when issues arose that required serious discussion, it generally took place among the men themselves, in an exchange of confidential letters that would never reach the author and possibly provoke her anger. In 1937, for example, Weeks sought Eayrs’ advice: he hoped to convince de la Roche of the need to rearrange her publication schedule to accommodate a Jalna novel in 1938.30 Although he was unsuccessful in his attempt to have the publication dates altered, de la Roche did not learn of his extreme concern and Weeks simply acquiesced in this instance — as he did in later situations when the novelist’s will prevailed. In fact, from mid-decade onward the association between de la Roche, Eayrs and Weeks was a friendly one, largely free of the difficulties they had previously experienced. Their earlier clashes of will were the product of all three parties striving to assert an individual hold on the Jalna series. As the years passed and conflicts were resolved, de la Roche matured as a writer who enjoyed international success and as a professional among her male colleagues. Gradually she removed herself from the margins of the publishing world, from which initially she had negotiated rather timidly with Eayrs and Weeks. Soon she had persuaded both men of her serious commitment to her craft, her authorial autonomy, as well as her professional shrewdness, and there could be no doubt as to the rightful possessor of the Jalna saga.

181 IJCS/RIÉC

In 1940, however, the bonds that united de la Roche and her three publishers were severed by the untimely death of Hugh Eayrs. As Weeks himself wrote to the author: “The news was stunning in its suddenness, and I am not yet ready to live with it.”31 While Macmillan and Weeks felt the blow keenly, de la Roche was devastated by the loss of Eayrs as a friend, colleague and former mentor who early on had been aware of her talents. She described his “mind of wit, a soul of generosity and a heart overflowing with sympathy to those who were his friends. In the lives of his immediate friends his going leaves a blank that can never be filled.”32 Eventually, Eayrs’ position with the Macmillan Company of Canada was filled by John Gray, who also came to share a close association with de la Roche, but he could never replace the friend she had lost in Eayrs. Further, Daniel Macmillan’s primary connection with the author altered when Lovat Dickson became the editor of the Jalna books in England and a dear friend of the novelist. Hence, the death of Eayrs marked a turning point in de la Roche’s career. From 1940 onward, with international success and her status as a professional firmly established, the author negotiated with her publishers from a well-earned and undisputed position of power after a trying apprenticeship.

Notes * Preparation of this essay was assisted by funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Also, I am grateful to Esmée Rees, Mazo de la Roche’s literary executor, who has permitted me to quote from the unpublished papers. 1. Joan Givner’s fine biography of de la Roche is an exception. See Joan Givner, Mazo de la Roche: The Hidden Life (Toronto: Oxford UP, 1989). 2. Delores Broten and Peter Birdsall describe the agency system as follows: “The book trade [in Canada], importing from Britain and then from the United States, fed upon its own negation. The agency system...made indigenous publishing appear unnecessary. Agencies ensured the continuing lack of profitability of Canadian trade books. One can posit that the agency system contributed to the underdevelopment of retail bookstores in Canada, through poor service and extra mark-ups.” Paper Phoenix: A History of Book Publishing in English Canada (Victoria, BC: CANLIT, 1980) 80. 3. See Mazo de la Roche, Explorers of the Dawn (New York: Knopf, 1922; London: Cassell, 1924); Possession (New York, London, Toronto: Macmillan, 1923); Low Life: A Comedy in One Act (Toronto: Macmillan, 1925); Delight (New York, Toronto: Macmillan, 1926); and Come True (Toronto: 1927). 4. See Mazo de la Roche, “Buried Treasure,” Atlantic Monthly 116 (Aug. 1915): 192-204; and “Explorers of the Dawn,” Atlantic Monthly 124 (Oct. 1919): 532-40. 5. Mazo de la Roche, letter to Daniel Macmillan, 20 May 1927, Macmillan Papers, British Library. 6. For an examination of the publication of Jalna, see Ruth Panofsky, “`Go My Own Way?’: The Publication of Mazo de la Roche’s Jalna,” Epilogue 17 (Spring 1994): 1-13. 7. Mazo de la Roche, letter to Edward Weeks, 30 Jan. 1930, Edward Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 8. Mazo de la Roche, letter to Edward Weeks, 24 June 1930, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 9. Alfred McIntyre, letter to Edward Weeks, 9 July 1930, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 10. Edward Weeks, cable to Mazo de la Roche, 17 July 1930, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 11. Mazo de la Roche, letter to Edward Weeks, 22 July 1930, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin.

182 Mazo de la Roche and Her Publishers

12. Edward Weeks, letter to Mazo de la Roche, 29 July 1930, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 13. Ibid. 14. Mazo de la Roche, letter to Alfred McIntyre, 25 Aug. 1930, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 15. Edward Weeks, letter to Mazo de la Roche, 2 Mar. 1951, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 16. Hugh Eayrs, letter to Edward Weeks, 30 Jan. 1931, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 17. Hugh Eayrs, letter to Edward Weeks, 12 Apr. 1937, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 18. Hugh Eayrs, letter to Edward Weeks, 5 Sept. 1933, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 19. Horatio Lovat Dickson, undated note, Horatio Lovat Dickson Papers, National Archives of Canada, MG 30 D 237. 20. See Atlantic Monthly Mar. 1934. 21. Mazo de la Roche, letter to Edward Weeks, 15 Mar. 1934, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 22. Edward Weeks, letter to Mazo de la Roche, 27 Aug. 1934, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 23. Alfred McIntyre, cable to Mazo de la Roche, 6 Sept. 1934, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 24. Mazo de la Roche, letter to Alfred McIntyre, 18 Sept. 1934, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 25. Edward Weeks, letter to Mazo de la Roche, 3 Oct. 1934, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 26. Edward Weeks, cable to Mazo de la Roche, 10 Nov. 1934, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 27. Mazo de la Roche, cable to Edward Weeks, 13 Nov. 1934, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 28. Edward Weeks, letter to Mazo de la Roche, 24 May 1935, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 29. Edward Weeks, letter to Mazo de la Roche, 24 Jan. 1935, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 30. Edward Weeks, letter to Hugh Eayrs, 30 Mar. 1937, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 31. Edward Weeks, letter to Mazo de la Roche, 14 June 1940, Weeks Papers, University of Texas at Austin. 32. “Hugh Eayrs, in Memoriam,” Globe and Mail 4 May 1940: 10.

183 Frances Rooney

Edith S. Watson: Photographing Women in Rural Canada

Abstract Professional photographer and wanderer Edith S. Watson (1861-1943) produced a rich visual document of rural Canadians at work between c.1890 and 1930. She travelled coast to coast, at first alone, then with her partner in work and life, Victoria Hayward, producing art photographs for independent sale and commission photographs for numerous companies, magazines, newspapers and books. Her seemingly serendipitous way of life allowed her to support herself and at times her parents and sister while living among other women and in an independent manner seldom recorded in social history.

Résumé Edith S. Watson (1861-1943), photographe professionnelle et voyageuse, a laissé, entre 1890 et 1930, un riche témoignage visuel sur la vie et le travail des Canadiennes. Voyageant seule d’un bout à l’autre du pays au début et avec sa partenaire dans son travail et dans la vie, Victoria Hayward, par la suite, elle produisit des photographies pour la vente privée et sur commande pour plusieurs compagnies, revues, journaux et livres. Même si Edith S. Watson semblait mener une vie de bohème, son style de vie lui permettait de subvenir à ses besoins et, à l’occasion, à ceux de ses parents et sa sœur, tout en vivant parmi d’autres femmes de façon indépendante et rarement attesté en histoire sociale.

Edith Watson was born in Connecticut in 1861. From the 1890s until the 1930s, she spent several months each year wandering around Canada photographing rural people, often women, usually at work. Her hundreds of published photographs show women carrying water on hoops and drying cod on fish flakes in Newfoundland, digging clams in Cape Breton, weaving and making soap in Quebec, harvesting wheat, flax, beets and rhubarb on the prairies, mending nets and drying fish on the west coast. She photographed established rural communities, First Nations people and groups of New Canadians, including Mennonites, Hungarians, Doukhobours and Japanese Canadians. She carried her equipment with her. While at first she used heavy cameras and carried 8x10 inch glass plate negatives with her, she later preferred simple cameras which she sometimes gave away when she left an area. Composition was the strong point of her gentle portraits, and she would frequently wait several days for the right light or grouping of people or animals. Much of her developing was done in streams at night as she travelled; the rest she did at home at the pump in her kitchen.

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC

Carrying hay in homemade pieced quilts, outport Newfoundland, c. 1900

This was no leisure project. Edith supported herself, and at times her aging parents and sister Amelia, with her photography throughout her adult life, selling prints for between $.50 and $2.00 all over North America and exchanging photographs for equipment, accommodation and travel. Her work appeared in such diverse places as the Toronto Star, Saturday Night, The Canadian Magazine, The Halifax Chronicle Herald, The Vancouver Sun, The Detroit Free Press, The New York Times, National Geographic, Hygeia (the journal of the American Medical Association), Vogue and Yachting. She compiled the photographs for several travel brochures and books for the provincial governments of Nova Scotia and Ontario and for the colonial

186 Edith S. Watson: Photographing Women government of the then Crown Colony of Newfoundland and Labrador. Her corporate commissions included publicity photographs for the Canadian Pacific Railway, the Cunard Line, several rope and cartage companies, Ginn educational publishers, and the Methodist Church in Canada and the U.S. The subjects of these photographs were sometimes specifically commissioned, for example, her shots of the Chateau Laurier and the Banff Springs Hotel. Others she chose to accompany articles; still others, notably those for the rope and cartage companies, portrayed the company’s product in a setting of her choice. She also sold and gave away prints as she travelled. Although, according to the

Digging potatoes, Path End, Newfoundland, c. 1900

187 IJCS / RIÉC

Working the fish flakes, outport Newfoundland, c. 1900

1891 and 1892 censuses in the U.S. and Canada, 15 percent of professional photographers in both countries were women, Edith’s work differed from that of most other professionals — of either sex — in that she wandered across thousands of miles with her camera taking both art and commission photographs rather than working from a studio and producing primarily portrait prints. For many years, Edith worked in winter in a studio in where she showed and sold her work through the Bermudiana and other major hotels. It was there in 1911 that she met Victoria Hayward, a 35-year-old Bermudian journalist. The next year Victoria, or Queenie as she was called, joined Edith on her travels to Canada. The two lived and worked together in a true Boston marriage until Edith’s death. Eastman Kodak commissioned a show of Edith’s work for the 1915 Panama Exhibition. The photographs were in crates at the Hartford train station when Kodak backed out in order to demonstrate instead its latest accomplishment: easy-to-use colour film. Macmillan published Romantic Canada, Edith and Queenie’s major collaboration in 1921. At over 250 pages, it was the most lavish travel book published in Canada to that time, and it is perhaps best remembered as the place where Hayward coined the phrase “Canadian mosaic.” Macmillan commissioned two further books, Romantic Bermuda and The Islands of Canada, but both were cancelled because of financial difficulties.

188 Edith S. Watson: Photographing Women

Edith and Queenie never really retired, but life became slower and more relaxed as they aged and as Edith finally achieved financial security. Her scrapbooks indicate an avid interest, although no apparent activity, in the “Is Photography Art?” controversy, and while she does not seem to have participated in the struggle for voting rights for women (whether because of lack of interest or the need to focus on making a living is not clear, though the latter seems most likely), she was interested in politics, registered as a Democrat and voted faithfully. Her addiction to travel lasted for the rest of her life. Edith died on a trip to Florida in 1943; Queenie arrived back in Connecticut with the coffin on Christmas morning. The first time she saw Edith’s grave after the stone marker had been installed, she wrote in her diary: “Went down to see Edith’s tombstone ... It looks very nice and just like the others, her father’s, mother’s and Minnie’s, which was what she wished. A rabbit ran away from eating the grass on the grave as I came near. She would have liked that touch.” Edith’s marker was not quite like the others: hers includes the inscription “They seek a country.” Watson was a very self-conscious artist who had no “proper” late-Victorian qualms about seeing her name in print. At a time when publishers did not consider photographers worthy of much note, she insisted on — and got — top prices and credits for her work. Without the prices, she would have had to do some other kind of work, perhaps teach painting as her sister did all her life. Without the credits, Edith would have been impossible to trace.

Carrying water from the well with pails and hoops, outport Newfoundland, c. 1900

189 IJCS / RIÉC

Milking the cow, Cape Breton, c. 1900

She was also a pack rat who came from a family that did and does preserve its history as well as space and the demands of expanding families allow. Lois Watson, Edith’s cousin by marriage and, with her husband Bob the inheritor of Edith’s belongings after Victoria Hayward’s death, admitted to me that her first impulse when she and Bob saw the photographs was to throw everything away. “But as we went through all those photographs and negatives, it quickly became obvious that here was something special. We had to keep it. Those two women loved that country so damned much.” Another time, Lois shamefacedly said that she and Bob had thrown away bushel baskets of negatives when they cleaned out Edith’s house. But they kept every print, and even after loss and gifts and Edith’s sales to dozens of publishers, manufacturers, railroad companies and steamship lines, a considerable collection remained. Victoria Hayward wrote articles, collaborated on books, shared her life with Edith Watson and left intimate word pictures to accompany Watson’s photographs. If Watson kept diaries (as did most middle-class women of her time — or did she consider the photographs her diaries?) they have not survived. A few of Hayward’s diaries remain, and they are charming; although they cover less than a year in all, they are wonderfully informative.

190 Edith S. Watson: Photographing Women

The diaries describe the domestic routine of the Watson-Hayward household: chores, visits, repairing furniture, preferences in food, decoration, travel. They chronicle evening backgammon games, Edith’s bouts with indigestion and their accompanying bad temper, Victoria Hayward’s patience with her and the arguments when that patience ran out. Edith and Victoria lived and worked intensely. They established extended, largely female, personal and professional networks which intersected with similar groups across North America and beyond. They relished their own and their friends’ fertile activities, and were anything but the brittle, bitter “old maids” single women have so often been painted to be. Their story provides a

Native woman and baby, French River, Ontario, c. 1910

191 IJCS / RIÉC

Hungarian women harvesting rhubarb, Saskatchewan, c. 1913 challenge to preconceptions concerning the lives of our predecessors and a door to the exploration of those lives as well as a rich, vivid, dignified and respectful look at the lives of turn-of-the-century rural Canadians.

192 Edith S. Watson: Photographing Women

Doukhobour women plastering a ceiling, Brilliant, B.C., 1919 or 1920

193 IJCS / RIÉC

Bibliography “Another Mrs. Gainsborough on sale.” Toronto Star. June 11, 1983, E27. Hayward, Victoria. Manuscript diaries, 1927-44. Hayward, Victoria and Edith S. Watson. Romantic Canada. Toronto, Macmillan, 1920. Jones, Laura. Rediscovery: Canadian Women Photographers, 1841-1941. Exhibition catalogue. London: London Regional Art Gallery, 1983. Rooney, Frances. “Finding Edith S. Watson.” Blatant Image I (1981):86. —— “Edith S. Watson, Photographer, and Victoria Hayward, Writer.” Fireweed 13 (1982):60-8. —— “Finding Edith Watson.” Resources for Feminist Research 12:1 (March 1983):26-8. —— “Edith S. Watson: A Photoessay.” Canadian Woman Studies 7:3 (Fall 1986):48-9. —— Edith S. Watson: Rural Canadians at Work, 1890-1920. Exhibition catalogue. Sackville, NB: Owens Art Gallery, Mount Allison University, 1991. —— My Dear, Dear Edith. Exhibition catalogue. Galiano Island: Nuse Gallery, 1994. —— Working Light: The Wandering Life of Photographer Edith S. Watson. Ottawa, Carleton University Press, forthcoming (fall 1995). Watson, Amelia M. Manuscript diaries, 1880-1933. Watson, Edith S. Scrapbooks and photograph albums, 1880--1930.

194 M. Jeanne Yardley and Linda J. Kenyon

Dead and Buried: Murder and Writing Women’s Lives

Abstract The article points out both the fundamental role of narrative in community identity and the complex relations that develop among historical narratives of the same event. It shows how contemporary newspaper accounts of two murder cases almost a century apart illustrate the process of shaping that occurs in journalism. William Chadwick’s play “Exposures” and Linda Kenyon’s short story “Anna Weber Has Made This” then allow us to explore the complex ways in which creative writers respond to the questions posed by earlier narratives and rework historical fact to suit the ideological needs of their own time. From this comparison, the authors suggest the importance of such events as an access for both readers and writers to otherwise buried aspects of ordinary women’s lives.

Résumé L’article souligne à la fois le rôle fondamental que joue le récit dans l’identité d’une communauté et la relation complexe qui se développe au fil des années entre les récits d’un même événement. En utilisant deux reportages de deux meurtres qui ont eu lieu à plus d’un siècle d’intervalle, les auteures illustrent comment le journalisme crée un processus de construction. Par ailleurs, la pièce de théâtre de William Chadwick « Exposure » et la nouvelle de Linda Kenyon « Anna Weber Has Made This » nous permettent d’explorer la façon dont les écrivains répondent aux questions engendrées par les récits antérieurs et la façon dont ils retravaillent des événements historiques afin de satisfaire aux manques idéologiques de leurs temps. Par l’entremise de cette comparaison, les auteures font ressortir l’importance de tels événements et ainsi livrent, tant aux lecteurs qu’aux écrivains, des aspects de la vie de femmes de tous les jours, aspects qui resteraient autrement à tous jamais cachés.

We wish to begin by acknowledging the sensitivity of the material covered in this paper. It is all too easy, as the narratives we will discuss amply demonstrate, to banalize, sensationalize or rationalize stories of women’s murders or any stories about violence — to make the horrible act that inspires them appear trivial, entertaining, or (and to far worse effect) culturally legitimate. It has been particularly difficult for us to justify our work on the more recent of the two cases, which remains fresh in local memory and still looms large in the daily lives of family members. Yet the narrativization of murder is a means to protest against and heal from the trauma of domestic violence. Throughout our analysis of narratives retelling the stories of these

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC women’s murders, we hope that readers will hear a clear subtext insisting upon the appalling and utterly unacceptable fact of murder. We begin with two women, two deaths: Berlin News-Record, Wed August 11, 1897 ALLEGED SUICIDE Mrs Anthony Orr, wife of a respectable farmer living about a mile from town, disappeared yesterday afternoon. A shot-gun is missing from the house, and grave fears are entertained that she may have committed suicide. A search party of thirty men have been scouring the district all day, but no clue has been found. * * * Kitchener-Waterloo Record, Sat March 29, 1986 BODY FOUND IN ROSEVILLE, MURDER PROBE LAUNCHED Residents of this quiet hamlet are in shock as police try to unravel the mystery surrounding the discovery Thursday of an unidentified female’s body in a snowbank behind Roseville Country Restaurant and General Store. Waterloo regional police are treating it as a homicide, the region’s first this year. Police are releasing few details and have little to go on because the semi-clad body was badly decomposed and there was no identification on the body. The two cases open with contrasting scenarios: in the first, the woman is missing and a week later turns up dead, buried in her own corn patch; in the second, a body is found in a public parking lot and is finally identified after three months of police work. The murder of Emma Orr is the first case in the history of Waterloo county to result in a conviction and hanging, while the death of Danuta Czapor eighty-nine years later joins a continuing series of local tragedies, the first in an expected sequence of homicides in the area that year. Yet as they develop, these two scandalous events share a number of features. Both are set in the area of Roseville, Ontario, a little to the west of Cambridge; in fact, both women are buried in the same cemetery. Both concern mature women with children, married to men considerably older than themselves, and killed by a member of their own household. Both receive a wealth of detailed newspaper reporting during the period of mystery, before an arrest and conviction bring closure to the case. And both inspire creative rewritings that take off from the “facts” and proceed in their own directions. The narratives arising from these two cases provide us with an opportunity to explore both the fundamental role of narrative in community identity and the complex relations that develop among historical narratives of the same event. Through an analysis, first, of the newspaper narratives of the Orr and Czapor murders and, then, of a play and short story that return to these events in fiction, we can examine the ways in which different narratives either conceal or question the issues underlying these events.

196 Dead and Buried: Murder and Writing Women’s Lives

The reports published in contemporary newspapers about each of these cases provide us with an initial set of narratives, a first attempt by members of the community to find meaning in the events, although the language and length of excerpts differs. The coverage of the nineteenth-century case is voluminous and wordy; in addition, the mandate of the paper at the time of the Orr murder was clearly to cover local events. Along with four columns of advertisements, the Orr case is joined on the front page in August 1897 by items with these headlines: ALDERMAN BROWN THE LUCKY MAN GETS CONTRACT FOR BUILDING THE NEW G.T.R. DEPOT and THE SINGING SOCIETIES ARE WITH US GOOD WEATHER, JOLLY CROWDS, EXCELLENT MUSIC In contrast, the Czapor case shares the front page with contemporary national and world events, with headlines like these: KHADAFY CLAIMING VICTORY OVER U.S. and OTTAWA TAX CREDITS GO TO U.S. COMPANY FOR DAIRY RESEARCH 10-YEAR PROJECT TO COST MILLIONS and rapidly moves to the back pages of the paper as it becomes old news. We wonder if the world was just a busier place in 1986 than it was in 1897, or if over the years murder has become less noteworthy. The articles also reflect the easier access reporters had to court and other official records in the nineteenth- century, as well as the willingness of journalists to speculate and develop theories independent of “reliable sources.” Despite these superficial differences, the newspaper coverage of these two cases, although they occur almost a century apart, is strikingly similar in style and substance because the overall role of news media has not changed. If we recognize murder as a community trauma, then we must acknowledge the narratives arising from it as part of a process the community uses to assimilate and recover from such trauma. Newspaper narratives of both periods fulfill this task through repeated retellings, revelling in detail that would normally offend readers but here serves to, in the words of historiographer Hayden White, “familiarize the unfamiliar” (49). Berlin News-Record, August 19, 1897 Dr. J.M. Cameron, one of the physicians who made the post mortem examination, testified that he had made a thorough examination of the body which was that of a well-nourished woman about 5 feet 4 inches in height, and weighing 140 lbs. The tongue protruded from the face and the eyeballs protruded from their sockets. On the face, neck, chest and abdomen were large, diffused, livid patches. The skull was fractured in three places.... The brain was too much decomposed to admit of an examination. The heart, lungs and other

197 IJCS / RIÉC

organs were in a healthy and normal condition. In the stomach was partly digested food, in which pieces of meat and eggs were found. * * * Kitchener-Waterloo Record, July 8, 1986 The photos show front and side views of the body, with her face apparently bruised, her hair disheveled, and her eyes closed in death.... The woman was probably in her 30s. She had brown eyes and medium brown collar-length hair, with what appeared to be natural grey streaking. She had a scar on the lower right side of her abdomen, a surgical scar inside her right ankle, and a mark from where a wart had been removed from the sole of her right foot, near the toes. Hayden White suggests the therapeutic effect of narrative in his comparison of the rewriting of historical events to the personal process of “rewriting” one’s past that takes place during psychotherapy (50-1). This refamiliarization or normalization begins with an exploration of memory, an obsessive retelling of every aspect of the story. For the community, the therapeutic need is to heal the breach that the murder has introduced into the apparently seamless structure of daily life. Fear, the awareness of everyone’s vulnerability, creates an overwhelming stress that can be relieved only by the legal resolution of the case. The newspaper narratives about both Emma Orr and Danuta Czapor take part in the normalizing effort to determine “whodunnit”: Berlin News-Record, August 17, 1897 The latest theory is that whoever fired at the woman chased her through the garden to the lane and shot at her as she was trying to get through the fence, but, not hitting her, used the butt end of the gun with which to fell her, and from there dragged the body the few yards to where it was found buried in the corn patch. Whether the woman fired at an assailant and missed or whether the assailant fired at the woman is still a matter of mystery. It is more probable, however, that the gun was in the hands of the woman, because a man, being more dextrous in the use of such arms, would not likely miss his mark, and some shots would be found in the woman’s legs, which is about the elevation of the bullets in the fence... * * * Kitchener-Waterloo Record, July 8, 1986 ... She may not have been reported missing because the person who would normally do this — a husband, for instance — might have been the one who killed her... But that is just guessing. Staff Sergeant Hunter declined to speculate whether she was killed where her body was found, or brought to Roseville and dumped. He also declined to guess why she was wearing only a blue track suit in early spring with snow still on the ground.

198 Dead and Buried: Murder and Writing Women’s Lives

Although nowadays reputable publications resist open speculation — in the 1986 excerpt, we are told the police are “declining to guess” — clearly both reporters are quite prepared to do so. In one sense, the identification of Orr and Czapor murder suspects immediately eases the community’s fear, because — as the last excerpt speculates — both turn out to be victims of domestic violence. In fact, the people charged and convicted were both trusted young men, in the first case the hired farm boy and in the second the woman’s own son. Even with these resolutions, however, the cases serve as a reminder of the vulnerability of all women. To function well in the world of our culture, we need to believe that our homes are places of safety, that members of our household honour our lives, and that we can carry out our daily tasks without risk. And when this is not true, we want to know that the ensuing violence happens only to other people. Newspaper reporting of the cases thus responds to the question which remains largely unexpressed but nevertheless echoes in every narration: “could this happen to me?” The narratives answer this fear by offering the reassuring description of the victim as someone markedly different from the stereotypical wife and mother: Berlin News-Record, Aug 11, 1897 This is the woman who ran away with a young man some years ago and it is currently reported that she has killed herself. * * * Berlin News-Record, Aug 16, 1897 ... It will be remembered by readers of the Reporter that on Friday it rejected the elopement theory as the solution of Mrs Orr’s sudden disappearance.... Still, ninety out of every hundred persons in Galt regarded the case as one of a woman’s illicit passions and desire for a life apart from her husband. ...It appears that the Sunday before, the father of Anthony Orr was buried. He and his wife were at the funeral. Mrs Orr was not in very good odor with the rest of the family and was very cooly treated, in fact she was not recognized at all by the female members of the family. * * * Kitchener-Waterloo Record, July 11, 1986 Staff Inspector Dara Landry said Mrs Czapor had never been reported missing by her husband, Stanley, or any other members of her family or friends because of her lifestyle where she would often live away from home for a while. * * * Kitchener-Waterloo Record, July 12, 1986 Neighbours and family interviewed Friday described 37 year-old Czapor as a quiet woman who kept to herself and never smiled or talked to people she passed on the sidewalk. She had no friends, but

199 IJCS / RIÉC

seemed devoted to her young daughter Trudy, eight or nine years old.... “She would never say hello,” said Alison Thomas of 57 Berkley Road. “She would just walk with a distant look in her eyes.” Explicitly, these reports establish the eccentricities of the victim and her situation, implicitly arguing that she herself was the cause of her own violent death. The theory is this: if we can prove that the victim deserved what happened to her, then we know what steps to take to avoid being like her and becoming a victim ourselves. In the course of their narration, these newspapers deliberately invade the privacy of the individuals concerned, revealing details of day-to-day life that would otherwise remain unavailable and probably uninteresting: Berlin News-Record, Aug, 16 1897 As gleaned from [Tony Orr’s] story, on the day of her disappearance, Mrs Orr arose early, ate her breakfast and went about her usual work.... He left, at 7 o’clock in company with his 10 year-old son, Norman, and took a sow to Mr Andrew Orr’s farm on the 12th concession. When he left, his wife was milking the cows in the lane just at the north side of the house. The hired boy, James Allison, went away half an hour afterwards and took two cows to Mr George R Barrie’s farm, about one mile east. ... The farm upon which this terrible tragedy took place is situated off the Blenheim Road in North Dumfries, about two miles from Galt. A long lane leads up to the house, which is a very substantial, and a very well kept, comfortable home. Everything about the house points to the cleanliness and aesthetic taste of the deceased lady. Flowers adorn the ground in close proximity to the house and altogether the surroundings were of a most cheerful nature. The dairy and outhouses were scrupulously clean and everything was arranged in the best possible order. The inside was in the same condition as the exterior and was really a model country home. * * * Kitchener-Waterloo Record, July 12, 1986 ... For one month last summer, [Danuta Czapor] worked as a waitress at the Swiss Chalet restaurant at 510 Hespeler Rd. “She was a pleasant woman, but she liked doing things her way. She was a little pushy,” said head waitress Dorothy Rooth. Rooth said Mrs Czapor didn’t pass her employment trial. Her application said she had worked as a cashier at a Becker Milk store in 1982 and at Domco Food Services in 1983. ... The Czapor house in the Galt area of Cambridge is a tiny stucco bungalow with five rooms. The living room with a pull-out couch is Gregory’s bedroom, furnished with a desk, a dresser and a portable television. Bare light bulbs hang from the ceiling. The back bedroom, where Mrs Czapor slept, is pink with green trim and the musty gold-colored curtains hang haphazardly from the rods.

200 Dead and Buried: Murder and Writing Women’s Lives

The window looks out on neat rows of staked tomatoes, beans, squash and onions, the ground meticulously weeded and cultivated. Although neighbors depict Stanley Czapor Sr as a solitary man who was given to loud outbursts of anger, this neatly-tended garden is his exclusive domain. In spite of the striking contrast between the two homes and lives we glimpse here, the newspaper narratives engage in very similar kinds of prying in their attempts to make the murder comprehensible to their readers. The murder of a wife and mother is one of those events that shocks a community, as well as individuals who are not at all involved. The challenge that such a murder offers to our personal and community identity is clear in the extensive media coverage that invariably appears immediately after the event. It is evident that the newspaper narratives of the murders of Emma Orr and Danuta Czapor go far beyond the mere reporting of objective facts, if such a thing is possible. As the first response to the murder, each narrative takes a fundamental role in providing a shape for the chaos of experience by detailing stomach contents, wart scars, daily routines and employment records; assigning causes such as adultery and anti-social behavior; attributing significance to the tidiness of houses and gardens; and suggesting routes toward closure by way of the specific peculiarities of the characters involved. As time goes on, however, the case is normalized, even if not solved, and relegated to the back pages as the threat it poses to community identity loses immediacy, and finally it is omitted altogether in favour of current happenings. Although the trauma remains painfully real for people closely involved, it recedes for everyone else and is presumably forgotten. In the end, these newspaper narratives actually fulfill their normalizing function for the community by distracting it from and essentially concealing the real issues underlying domestic violence. But as Paul Ricoeur reminds us, every narrative is not only an answer to an earlier question, but is itself a source of new questions (Vol. 3, p. 172). And so the stories of women’s murders raise questions among creative writers with no connection other than geography with the original case, sometimes many years after the actual historical situation. Waterloo playwright William Chadwick’s play “Exposures,” first produced as “Emma Orr” in 1980, works with the relations among the characters of the Orr case, while Kitchener writer Linda Kenyon’s short story “Anna Weber Has Made This,” written in 1986, incorporates the narrator’s response to the discovery of Czapor’s body. These are narratives which extend the process of assimilating the outrage associated with murder and which, in doing so, can be seen in relationship to the newspaper reporting that began that process. But, equally importantly, these later narratives make use of the real story of the murder for their own purposes, to create a world according to their own need to ask questions about issues too dangerous to conceal. The murder, for these writers, becomes a point of access to aspects of life that would, otherwise, remain dead and buried. The Chadwick play shows us how a dramatic narrative makes use of such material. This is a two-act work presenting little physical action, relying rather on the strength of dialogue to develop an atmosphere of almost stifling tension

201 IJCS / RIÉC and impending doom. The play’s chronology builds upon two occurrences that we may recall from the newspaper narratives of the Emma Orr case — the morning of the murder itself and, just one day before, the burial of Tony Orr’s father. In doing so, it makes a significant revision of this story. Stage directions tell us that the play opens in August, around the turn of the century. During an early scene, a fictional young photographer visits the Orr farm looking for business and meets Emma for the first time. During the course of conversation, it becomes clear that Tony’s father’s funeral is to be the next day. Ensuing scenes take place after the funeral, recounting the background of Emma’s past extramarital affairs and her quarrel with Tony’s family, as well as illustrating the development of a relationship between Emma and the photographer. But the several scenes which present this new romance would realistically take place over a period of days or perhaps even weeks, so the time between the father-in-law’s funeral and Emma’s murder, which “in fact” occurred on subsequent days, is thus greatly expanded. The time introduced into this point of the story’s chronology allows the play to build upon what the newspaper narratives revealed of Emma’s difficulty with Tony’s family, and her “illicit passions and desire for a life apart from her husband,” exposing in detail the tensions in the marriage and the family. The final scene in the play occurs early in the morning and follows closely what the newspapers have told us about the pattern of activities on the Orr farm the morning Emma was murdered, except that in this narrative there is no murder. There is a murder weapon, hired boy Jim Allison’s gun which Emma asks him to show her during the penultimate scene and which then is left in Tony’s control at the end of that scene. And there is certainly a strong undercurrent of violence. On stage, we observe Jim, who is at other times a paragon of gentleness, spearing rats with a pitchfork and half strangling Emma’s daughter after she teasingly flirts with him. Off stage, the photographer’s legs are broken as a warning to stay away from Emma, and an unnamed “someone” stands at the farmhouse door to prevent Emma herself from leaving during the last evening. But there is no hint that Emma’s life is about to end. An audience watching this play with no previous knowledge of the Emma Orr story would thus have no sense that it describes events leading up to a murder. This, then, is not a play “about” a murder; rather, it is a play that borrows the details of a real situation and a set of real characters from history, and uses them to explore the troubled relations in a family. In Linda Kenyon’s fiction, in contrast, the action takes place after the murder, and the historical murder acts as a catalyst for an important epiphany in the character’s life. In this short story, the narrator and protagonist is a farm wife, frustrated with the limitations and deprivations imposed by her rigid husband, facing the temptation to try to make a life of her own in a city apartment. As her decision about leaving her marriage slowly reveals itself both to her and to the reader, she incorporates her reactions to a poster describing a murdered woman found in a snowbank behind the Roseville store, obviously the unidentified Danuta Czapor. After visualizing the freedom of life on her own in contrast to the constraints of existence with her husband, she ponders the idea of murder:

202 Dead and Buried: Murder and Writing Women’s Lives

How did that woman end up in the snowbank, that’s what I need to know. Did she and her husband pull into the store for something on their way from somewhere, say from her parents’ place, and as they walked back to the car did they start arguing about something, say about how every time she gets talking with her mother and sisters he can never get her away at a reasonable hour, and does she for once not start apologizing, does she just stand there and look him straight in the eye, and does he get that cold look on his face but this time something snaps and his fist comes crashing.... What probably happened was this. She had just pulled down the blind, switched off the light, and was pulling up the covers when she heard someone at the door to her apartment. Suddenly a strange man appeared in the bedroom doorway, and before she could scream, hit her hard in the face, kept hitting her. I hope she blacked out then. When he’s done, she isn’t breathing any more, though blood still trickles from the cut above her eye. Is he scared then? Do his hands tremble as he pulls her track suit on her, or is he mad at her for dying, does he stuff her arms and legs in any-which-way. He shuts her apartment door carefully, hopes she won’t be missed for days, maybe even weeks (he’s been watching her: he knows she lives alone).... Then what. Does he drive blindly around, not sure what to do, where to go, or does he have it all planned out, does he say to himself “I’ll go to Roseville. The parking lot behind the store is nice and dark and the snowbanks big enough that if we don’t have a thaw, maybe they won’t find her until spring.” Does he scoop the snow away with his bare hands, or has he thought to put a shovel in the car. What does he do, lay her gently in the hole or just stuff her in, maybe give her one last kick, the way the boy on the television commercial does when he finally gets the bag of garbage to the curb. By working through her fear of these two opposing scenarios for the murder, the protagonist in this short story reconciles herself to a continuation of life on the farm. In doing so, the narrator reminds us of the pervasiveness of the threat of violence in women’s lives. Rather than helping the culture to heal and smooth over the disruption caused by the Czapor murder, this narrative insists upon keeping the wound open, refusing to allow us to forget what has happened, and does happen. Moreover, as a symbol of the lack of security the character feels, the murder facilitates her choice between two extremely limited options. It is ironic, from our perspective, that the Czapor murder was committed by a family member rather than a stranger; that any woman statistically has more to fear from her husband than from any unknown mad man — ironic, but perfectly appropriate. The unnamed narrator in this tale, like William Chadwick’s Emma Orr, is trapped in a life where no real possibility exists for creative development or transformation. In addition, the woman’s husband is perhaps equally trapped in his passionate rejection of an emotional life as part of his rebellion against his family’s tradition. Likewise, the whole family in Chadwick’s play is troubled and unhappy: Jim longs to be back with his father, the daughter fantasizes about growing up to be a lady, Emma dreams of leisurely ocean cruises and apparently sees the young men with whom she becomes involved as ways to escape the doldrums of rural existence. Both of these rewritings,

203 IJCS / RIÉC enact a theme of entrapment, the violence of the actual murder serving to sharpen the contrast between what the characters desire and what is available to them. As Carolyn Heilbrun puts it in Writing a Woman’s Life, these characters suffer the “absence of any narrative that could take [them] past their moment of revelation and support their bid for freedom from [their] assigned script” (42). In writing narratives about the place of murder in these women’s lives, these two writers point to what is perhaps the greatest violence against women in our culture: the denial of a meaningful story of their own.

Notes Jeanne Yardley gratefully acknowledges the support of a SSHRCC Post-Doctoral Fellowship during the research and writing of this paper.

Bibliography Berlin News-Record. 11 August 1897 through 19 August 1897. Chadwick, William. “Exposures.” Toronto: Playwrights Union of Canada, n.d. Heilbrun, Carolyn. Writing a Woman’s Life. New York: Ballantyne, 1988. Kenyon, Linda. “Anna Weber Has Made This.” Unpublished story, 1986. Kitchener-Waterloo Record. 29 March 1986 through 12 July 1986. Ricoeur, Paul. Time and Narrative. Trans. Kathleen McLaughlin & David Pellauer. 3 vols. Chicago: Chicago UP, 1984-5. White, Hayden. “The Historical Text as Literary Artifact.” The Writing of History: Literary Form and Historical Understanding. Eds Robert H. Canary & Henry Kozicki. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1978. 41-62.

204 Jenny Horsman

Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives: Proposal for Research and Practice

Abstract This article focuses on the links between the violence in women’s lives and illiteracy. The author argues that the exploration of these links is crucial and that theorists and practioners alike must break the silence about violence and question what impact experiences of violence have on literacy learning and how learning can be effectively carried out. The silence concerning the links between literacy and violence obscures the nature of the literacy learning process and the complexity of the work in literacy programs. Literacy work with one survivor of abuse is described in detail in order to illustrate this complex literacy interaction in the context of abuse.

Résumé L’article porte sur les liens entre la violence contre les femmes et l’analphabétisme. L’auteure soutient qu’il est crucial d’explorer ces liens et que les théoriciens et les praticiens ne doivent plus passer sous silence la question de la violence. Ces deux derniers doivent examiner l’impact de la violence sur l’apprentissage et les façons d’améliorer les techniques de formation. En passant sous silence les liens entre la violence et l’analphabétisme, on cache la nature du processus d’apprentissage chez l’analphabète et la complexité du travail qui s’effectue dans les programmes d’alphabétisation. L’auteure décrit en détail le cas d’une victime d’abus pour illustrer l’interaction complexe qui se développe lors de l’alphabétisation dans un tel contexte.

How does severe abuse, either sexual, emotional or physical, affect a girl’s experience of learning to read? To survive, to bury the abuse even from her own consciousness, to cry out for help in a myriad of direct or indirect ways, and to continually monitor her world for her safety requires enormous energy. While the experience of abuse may prompt some to work even harder at school, the erosion of sense of self, self-esteem and self-confidence can prevent others from becoming successful learners.1 I have worked with many women in adult literacy programs and interviewed many more who have spoken of their abusive childhoods.2 Many white3 women who grew up in Canada in urban and rural settings tell stories of childhoods of violence, poverty and abuse of all kinds. These women speak of misbehaving in school, of being unable to concentrate, of being desperately shy. Some became wards of the Children’s Aid Society. They were removed from their families, sometimes temporarily, only to return to the same violence or be placed in other abusive families or institutions. As children, some were labelled

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC mentally handicapped and placed in institutions. As teenagers, some were sterilized without their consent. I have repeatedly heard harrowing stories of childhood experiences from women who did not learn to read as children and who, as adults, are struggling to improve their reading and writing skills. Several years ago, a participant from a women’s literacy group I was facilitating called after the workshop to apologize for having mentioned, during a discussion, that her childhood had been difficult. I said she had no need to apologize. This was the beginning of my realization of how unspeakable the experience of abuse as a child, or an adult, remains for many. For many adults, that silence is central to issues of illiteracy and to their attempts to improve their reading and writing skills and become “literate.” Since the mid 1970s, people unable to read and write well, have been termed illiterate or functionally illiterate, in Canada and in other “industrialized” countries. In the last twenty years, increasing media attention has focused on people labelled in this way. The attention was especially intense in 1990, International Literacy Year, they were commonly portrayed as people “chained in prison,” “disabled,” “caged and blinded,” victims experiencing only “death in life.”4 The readers of such articles, perhaps highly literate themselves, might heartily agree that not reading and writing well means a person is illiterate which is an intolerable condition that must be remedied. Few, however, consider the social circumstances of those labelled illiterate, or the purpose of such labelling and its effect on those labelled. Little examination centres on why people are illiterate. The assumption is that illiterate adults either did not go to school or, if they did, are stupid. The attitude seems to be, then, that having been given one opportunity to learn to read, only the bare minimum should be spent on adults to have a “second chance.” However, questions about why these adults could not learn as children and what approaches and programs are appropriate need to be asked. If these adults are to have a genuine chance to learn to read, the links between illiteracy and violence cannot be ignored. As I talked to both women and men in literacy programs I learned about the centrality of violence in the lives of people who were unable to learn to read and write well as children. Stories frequently evoke the violence of families stressed to the limits in poverty; the violence of the educational system that set them apart, labelled them and said they could not learn; the violence of the system supposed to help them — Children’s Aid, welfare — that judged and too often placed them at further risk. This information suggests that sexual, physical, psychological and economic abuse was a common reality for many adults unable to read and write well, including many of those who find their way to adult literacy programs. A major research study by the Canadian Congress for Learning Opportunities for Women (CCLOW) (Lloyd, 1991, 1994a, 1994b) explored women’s experience of literacy programs and identified violence as one barrier to women’s literacy learning. Women involved in the research talked “about the pervasiveness and magnitude of violence against women.” (1994a p.107) Three women involved in the research taught literacy classes in which every woman present had been sexually abused. One “woman-positive” activity carried out as part of the

208 Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives study involved a house-to-house survey in Rabbittown, Newfoundland. The violence in the women’s lives as adults was often made apparent by the men’s refusal to even allow them to answer the questions. At the end of the study, one interviewer summed up what they had learned: On every page of every questionnaire we see violence, poverty, and loneliness. The despair in the young women especially is loud and clear. They are in situations that make life seem hopeless. They either don’t know they have choices or they don’t want to leave the situation — we don’t really know. Or do they really have choices? (1994b p.81) In spite of this important study, considerable silence shrouds the links between violence and literacy. Media reports fail to connect issues of abuse to adult illiteracy. While the media describes illiteracy with images of sickness, the true sickness in society, which I believe often leads to illiteracy — violence — is not addressed. Very little research is available to ground methodologies for teaching reading and writing to adults who have experienced abuse.5 In 1987, I wrote: In most of literacy discourse “illiterates” are not differentiated by gender, but the reader can usually infer that “people” are actually men. In this way women become “other” in relation to men as the norm. (Horsman 1988 p.123) This criticism still applies in 1995. Even in the 1990s, the absence of literature on literacy that addresses women’s literacy needs is striking. Over the years, however, a series of feminist critiques have argued for programming which is relevant for women.6 Several of these writers have also critiqued that when women are considered as the recipients of literacy, the focus centres exclusively on their roles as wife and mother. Kazemak (1988) argues that the absence of studies on the relationship between women and literacy suggests: ...at the best a naivete or ignorance on our part as literacy scholars and, at the worst, a conscious or unconscious disdain for the specific literacy needs of women within a patriarchal society. (p.23) Given the rarity of studies that acknowledge women’s specific literacy needs it is not surprising that there is also little work carried out on the impact of abuse on women’s literacy learning. However, one study that does illustrate the impact of abuse on learning is by Belenky et al. (1986) It identified as silent a group of women who had experienced abusive childhoods. Unfortunately, several shortcomings limit the study’s usefulness for workers seeking information on how to help women learn in the aftermath of abuse. Although it identifies the “demeaning,” violent and isolated childhoods of these women, it does not appear to ascribe this silence to the power of others who have forced them to see their voices as dangerous. Belenky et al. describe the women as “worried that they would be punished just for using words — any words,” (p.24) but they fail to recognize that this silence may be rooted in fear because they have been punished for using any words. The suggestion that these “silent” women lack voice because they are “isolated from the self” fails to convey the materiality of the unequal power dynamic within which many have lived. The description of the women: “like puppets moving with the jiggle of a

209 IJCS / RIÉC thread. To hear is to obey,” (p.28) suggests they are less than human and does not recognize the power of the authorities they may be forced to obey. The danger of this study is that we may be inclined to blame the women for their lack of voice and to see them as inferior, with an inadequate “way of knowing.” The need for women’s safety is not recognized as a political problem. Instead, the research suggests that women learn in different ways than men and so require a different type of education. Though I would agree that safe spaces are needed for women’s learning, I am dubious of simplistic divisions between men’s and women’s ways of learning. We must examine the power dimensions of men’s and women’s experience in a raced, classed society in general and in the classroom in particular. Rockhill’s work on literacy acknowledges the context of power, or lack of it, for women and explores how literacy “poses the potential of a change and is experienced as both a threat and a desire.” (1987c p.330) She explains that literacy for women carries the potential for violence: “that is, the desire of women for literacy and the threat of violence, subtle or overt, posed to them by the men in their lives if they actually act on it by attending programs.” (1988 p.8) Literacy programming is not usually designed with women’s needs in mind or with an acknowledgement of the tension inherent in many women’s attempts to develop literacy skills. Although some programs do run women-only groups, these are regularly contested by men in the programs.7 When women’s groups do take place, these frequently allow women the space to begin voicing their experiences of violence. Such groups are rare, however, given the acute shortage of funds for literacy programs. Generally, programming is not designed with attention to the impact of abuse on literacy learning. Although most literacy workers have heard many horrific stories, little is said or written about how this life experience affects literacy learning. This shortcoming is particularly serious considering that much literacy teaching is carried out by volunteers ill-equipped to cope with this situation.8 An exciting publication just released by CCLOW (1995) offers suggestions on how to “make learning safer,” and may begin to address this need. Drawing material from a series of workshops on the links between violence and education, the book offers practical suggestions for removing the educational barriers created by violence. This collection is an important step in breaking the silence by practitioners about the links between violence and education. Theorists and practitioners alike must continue to break the silence about violence and question how this silence affects the work that can be done in literacy programs. Only then will literacy programs be able to adequately support and teach adult9 survivors of abuse. Some Toronto-based literacy programs workers and administrators insist that issues of abuse are too difficult and specialized to be addressed in literacy programs. Literacy workers, they argue, are not therapists or trained counsellors. However, if literacy workers try to avoid touching on violent experiences in women’s lives and do not recognize connections between illiteracy and violence then I think many women will be unable to improve their reading and writing skills. Alice Miller repeatedly mentions (eg. 1993) the crucial importance of a sympathetic “witness” to make it possible for survivors of childhood abuse to begin unearthing buried memories and

210 Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives addressing the consequences of abuse. Anne-Louise Brookes (1992) captures the importance of writing about experiences of abuse when she says: “In writing the words I was sexually abused as a child, I began to shift their importance by making conscious the abuse.” (p.30) The mainstay of much literacy work is learners telling their stories through the language experience approach, where the learners speak and the tutor writes down what they say, and in the publication of learner writing. But what stories remain untold? If literacy learning includes ideas of empowerment and finding a voice, then learners speaking about their lives must be part of literacy work. Literacy workers must be prepared to respond to the truths which learners want or need to write and speak about, and to offer relevant reading material. How can workers in literacy programs exclude certain realities of a learner’s life as inappropriate to the literacy program without silencing learners and confirming for survivors of abuse that their experiences are “unspeakable”? For literacy workers to take on work that does recognize the violence in many women’s lives there must be recognition of the challenging and complex dynamic of this work. Workers need varied supports and places where they can learn about working with women who have been abused. They must prepare themselves to hear these stories without rescuing or inadvertently re- victimizing the learners. Many women may not ask to work on memories of abuse. Yet literacy programs still have an obligation to “make the space.” Workers need to allow the possibility of focusing on such experiences, to show that it is OK to talk about them and to remove the taboos. Women who have been conditioned to remain silent and deny the realities of their lives are unlikely to ask to work on their memories. Furthermore, literacy workers must not presume that a woman’s childhood was abusive or that self-disclosure is an obligation. The survivor must retain control over her own stories, and when and how much she tells of them. When women do speak out, literacy workers must be extremely sensitive to the consequences; they must ensure safety and support for women who may have little experience of safety. In mixed classes, the presence of men may silence all possibility that women will speak out. If they do speak out, the men in the class may respond abusively. Literacy workers must know about resources and services to which they can refer these women. However, referrals alone are not an adequate means for literacy programs to deal with the problems of memories of abuse. The teaching or tutoring relationship may have evolved a trust which enables a woman to tell her story to that person, but not necessarily to a therapist. This sort of relationship, in which the survivor feels valued, is essential to preserving sanity and building the self-esteem vital to learning. Pat Capponi describes the importance of one teacher who was the first person to treat her respectfully: Before that man... no one had ever looked at me or spoken to me as though I had value. For me, that’s the key. Otherwise, I probably would have gone on believing that I was intrinsically bad, with nothing to offer. (1992, p.207)

211 IJCS / RIÉC

For literacy workers to support the women they work with, they must explore a variety of ways of collaborating with women who work with survivors in other settings. For example, literacy workers can learn from the experience of women counsellors in women’s shelters, or feminist therapists, how to deal sensitively with the issues and relationships that develop. Ultimately, the quality of the relationship is crucial for survivors; it teaches them a new way of relating to others and creates new possibilities for learning content. Literacy workers can also learn from these resource people how to take care of themselves while working with such difficult issues and demanding relationships. If the experiences of abuse in women’s lives were recognized, I believe it would ultimately challenge the isolating separation between literacy and counselling. The healing and literacy learning processes are too interconnected to be addressed separately through organizations with little or no contact. The literacy field would benefit from new possibilities of combining literacy work with services for women who have experienced violence, and from new ways of conceptualizing the problem of illiteracy. Research is needed to examine how the experience of abuse may influence various approaches to literacy learning. The unspoken connections between literacy and violence obscure the interaction involved in the literacy process and the complexity of the work carried on in literacy programs. The next part of this paper details one tutoring situation which focuses directly on the learner’s experience of severe abuse. The aim is not to offer any prescriptions, but to encourage practitioners and theorists to explore appropriate ways of teaching and supporting women survivors of abuse through literacy programs. I want to illustrate the challenge of this work and to show the need for collaboration among women who provide services for abused women and women who work in the literacy field. This particular tutoring relationship began with the telephone call mentioned earlier in which Mary apologized for commenting that her childhood had been unhappy. She had never told anybody about her childhood. This first telling, and my reassurance that she could speak of it, launched a difficult process. At first, she wanted to tell me many of the horrors of her childhood, demanding more and more of my time and support. I would then retreat, guiltily, afraid that she was asking more than I could give, but unwilling to let her down. Finally, I suggested we schedule a regular meeting where she could speak, read and write about her memories of childhood and her experience of abuse. We then began a long process of negotiating how we would work together. The more I backed away, the more she clung. But once I clearly stated what I could offer however limited, she demanded less. Literacy workers often feel overwhelmed by the support they are asked to provide. We need to learn how to respond to these needs in ways that value ourselves too, so that we do not overstretch our resources. As I have begun speaking of this history with other literacy workers I have heard their stories of the demands made on them as they recognized a learner’s experience in any small way. At the start of this tutoring situation, I felt ill-equipped to cope. A counsellor who worked on issues of violence at the local health centre listened to me

212 Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives

describe how Mary and I were working, and express my fears about how to deal with the intensity of the emerging relationship. She offered me support and invited me to meet with her whenever necessary — a form of peer support which therapists offer each other. This support was invaluable10 and should be available to other literacy workers as a recognized part of literacy work. This tutoring relationship with Mary has taken me through many highs and lows. I had to learn the difference between support and rescuing, and how to avoid giving advice or “answers.” I had to learn how to encourage Mary to meet her own challenges and recognize her own strength, rather than lean on me as her saviour. Once, I overheard another tutor take over and “solve” Mary’s problem; the consequence of not meeting the challenge to help a survivor recognize her own strength was clear: Mary seemed to “shrink” in an image of herself as less capable and less adult. Gradually, I learned that what she most wants is to be “heard.” She tells me her problems not so that I will try to solve them, but so that I will hear what has happened and how she feels, and acknowledge that she does have a right to feel as she does. Women experienced in working with survivors have suggested that the speaking is a way of testing whether a story is bearable. If someone else can bear it, perhaps the woman can too. I also had to learn to set my own boundaries, place clear limits on my role, and understand that I was not responsible for her. I had to keep a reign on the amount of time I could give her and on the type of support I felt able and qualified to offer. Frequently, I would let these limits slip and again have to reestablish them clearly. I have told some of my horror stories about not maintaining boundaries to other literacy workers. At the time, I did not understand that it was a crucial model to offer someone who had very few boundaries herself. I was fascinated to hear other stories from literacy workers who recognized that they had not maintained boundaries either. Some had invited learners to stay in their homes, had looked after their children, or regularly received calls at home, even in the middle of the night. Several said they were usually too ashamed to tell these stories. Yet many literacy workers consider it unacceptable to set limits. In a workshop on working with survivors, one literacy worker found it unimaginable that she could set limits for her own sake. The one compelling reason she could accept to justify considering her own needs and setting her own limits was the idea that maintaining boundaries was important for the learners. For people who had their boundaries violated as children, and therefore have difficulty maintaining their own boundaries as adults, the literacy worker’s ability to set boundaries serves as a crucial model. The empathy of many women who endeavour to respond to the demands of survivors may relate to their own experiences of abuse. My work with Mary forced me to explore my own difficult childhood memories and to find my own sources of support for this work. The work on abuse may trigger the worker’s own memories, and their behaviour — such as the inability to set boundaries — the product of their own experiences, may create problems when working with survivors. Tutors who are survivors may be ideal people to work with

213 IJCS / RIÉC other survivors but only if they can find a place to do their own emotional work and establish the necessary supports. My relationship with Mary is complicated and sometimes filled with tension. I struggle to focus on the therapeutic nature of the relationship without losing sight of my limits as a literacy worker — not a therapist. The line between literacy learning and therapy often becomes blurred, making it difficult to judge what we can appropriately work on together. Trust is especially hard for her, and she frequently pushes my limits to test my reaction. By making her emotionally-charged memories the content for our literacy work, a very particular form of tutor-student relationship has gradually developed. Though it often seems immensely difficult, this tutoring has also been my most exciting experience of literacy learning. I have often spoken about the value of literacy as making it possible for a person to read about the experience of others and write about her own experience.11 In this way, a person can see the commonality of her own situation with others and get a distance from her own experience, as she sees it in writing outside herself and can assess it differently.12 But I have never seen this value of literacy so powerfully as in tutoring that focuses on experiences of violence and abuse hidden as a shameful secret. When Mary and I first began to read other stories of women’s experiences of abuse, from Newfoundland, Toronto, England and Australia,13 the commonality of experience was key in helping to normalize and decrease her shame about what she had lived through. Her writing became an essential element of every session — to get the memories out and, in a symbolic sense, leave them behind. The mainstay of our work over the past several years has been The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse, by Ellen Bass and Laura Davis, and The Courage to Heal Workbook, by Laura Davis. When we first began to read these books, Mary could hardly believe they were not written specifically for her and from her experiences, so apt were their questions and observations. This helped her believe that her experiences were not so different from other women’s: how else could the authors be so right? The books were equally crucial for me because they provided a framework and reassured me that I did not require experience with other survivors or training as a therapist to work with her. When we first started our sessions together, these books provided guidelines for creating safety and setting ground rules that would ensure we both felt comfortable. THey taught me that I did not have to set the pace of our work. Every so often, we look at the table of contents and mark the sections she would like to work on in the near future. The books also offer advice from those listening to stories of abuse, such as the need to leave the pain behind at the end of each session. The author takes a shower and thinks of what she hopes for each person she has worked with, symbolically washing away the pain. This idea helped me to recognize my own need and create a process to meet it. A colleague once pointed me towards a plain language rewrite of The Courage to Heal, entitled Beginning to Heal. We worked with it regularly for a while, but we were drawn back by the greater complexity of the original book.

214 Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives

At intervals, Mary and I discuss our progress and plan the issues she wants to focus on over the next few months. We sometimes digress from these plans to follow new directions suggested by her experiences between sessions. Some sections she may need to read many times. “Understanding that it wasn’t your fault” was one example — we read it over and over. One day she phoned to say, “It wasn’t my fault.” It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. It was an incredible moment. Although, I feared this insight would fade and we would have to go back to reading the section again, it stayed with her a long time. Eventually, with much embarrassment, she asked to read the chapter again. We both learned to accept doubt, not as failure, but as the next phase of our work. She has also learned to spell and write the word “know,” always a stubborn problem for her, which I suspect relates to her struggle to trust herself enough to believe she does know. This raises questions about emotional barriers to word recognition and strategies to overcome them. Another routine that we follow as unfailingly as our use of The Courage to Heal is to end with some poems. I look for women’s poems written in straightforward English which capture complicated ideas about women’s lives.14 This time of reading poetry together provides us with a sense of closure, a way of pushing back the past a little and leaving the rawness of the session behind as we both return to our respective lives. This approach helps us both feel ready to face the world again. Indeed, women who work with survivors commonly divide a session into thirds, using only the middle third to address the issues, while the last third prepares for the return to everyday life. Clearly, literacy workers could avoid much trial and error if there were more communication between literacy workers and others who work with survivors. As Mary continues to read about other women’s experiences and about theory on the impact of abuse in a woman’s life, her self-esteem, confidence in expressing herself, and her literacy skills improve. She does not yet read easily; she may never achieve the confidence to assume she can make sense of what she reads on her own. Her experience raises questions about how abuse complicates the process of learning to read as an adult. Over the years, we have both recognized many points of growing confidence, including the point at which she first recognized that the abuse was not her fault. She has struggled to build a sense of herself as someone who can demand respect, continually re- learning that she has the right to make this demand. She has become a vocal spokesperson for learners’ rights. By recognizing the depth of her anger at all those who have abused her, she is better equipped to separate that well of past anger from her irritation over present problems. Many learners, especially when they first begin speaking out, are extremely angry, and this anger is usually directed at the very literacy workers offering them support. Some of the intense anger may arise from past unrecognized or unacknowledged experiences of abuse and neglect. This anger is then projected on the most available, sympathetic person with whom the learner feels safest in experimenting with these new feelings. The ending of Marge Piercy’s poem “A Just Anger,” one of the poems we often read, reminds me of the importance of addressing issues of memories of abuse:

215 IJCS / RIÉC

A good anger acted upon is beautiful as lightning and swift with power. A good anger swallowed, a good anger swallowed clots of blood to slime. (1969 p.22) To work on memories of abuse is a hard and painful process; but it is also beautiful and full of power. To leave the memories unspoken and hidden is to leave them to fester and limit potential. Memories of abuse cannot be left unacknowledged, particularly in literacy programs, which aim to encourage people to develop their literacy skills in order tell their own truths.15 The particular approach to working with memories of abuse that Mary and I have followed is one way to address these memories. As we work, I continually question whether the approach is adequate: Is it responsible for both of us? Is it useful? Is it enough? How does her experience of abuse affect her ability to decipher print, to read and write emotionally-loaded words, to put her own thoughts, ideas and experiences in writing and to become literate? What comes next? Will we know when it is time to move on? Much more exploration of ways to work directly with individuals and groups on the issues of the violence in their lives is needed. Whether a woman is working directly on her experiences of abuse, or reading and writing about other topics, the abuse will have some impact. We also need more understanding of ways to teach reading and writing more effectively to women living with the impact of abuse. The silence surrounding the connections between violence and illiteracy needs to be broken. Literacy workers and researchers must understand more about those connections. Theorists need to explore the impact of abuse on learning to read. Programs must be developed with an awareness that many learners are survivors and need supportive learning conditions for the literacy learning process to be empowering. A wide variety of strategies for teaching literacy learners who are survivors of abuse must be developed so that learners can work directly on issues of abuse in their lives, but also so that those who do not choose to work directly can also learn effectively. A greater understanding of the connections between literacy and violence could lead literacy workers to establish contacts with those working on issues of violence and to learn from them how to take care of themselves, set their own boundaries, and obtain the other supports they need. An understanding of the connections between literacy and violence could lead to acknowledgement of the complexity of the literacy learning interaction. This recognition is crucial for both learners and workers.

Acknowledgements This article has benefitted greatly from the expertise of Moon Joyce who read many drafts and repeatedly discussed the issues with me. I also want to acknowledge Mary, whose profound embarrassment about both her illiteracy and the abuse she experienced makes it

216 Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives

impossible to acknowledge her by her real name. Though she would not recognize herself as my teacher, she has taught me much of what I have learned about issues of abuse.

Notes 1. Numerous writers have described this pattern of school experience. Handbooks on dealing with abuse such as Bass and Davis (1988), and Gil (1983), as well as accounts of personal experience such as Spring (1987), Capponi (1992) and Brookes’ (1992) theoretical and autobiographical exploration all focus on the feeling of being “different” after experiencing abuse and describe similar experiences with schooling. 2. Research carried out in Nova Scotia in 1986 (published 1989a, 1990) and conversations with women in literacy programs in Toronto from 1982 to the present. 3. Many of the women of colour I have worked with have been immigrants and their experience of family and schooling, or the lack of it, seem to fall in many different patterns. I do not want to claim the same experience as for the white women who went through the Canadian school system and experienced the social service and medical systems in Canada. The main focus of this paper is therefore the experience of white women. 4. These quotes are from Callwood (1990) but they are typical of numerous writers at the time. 5. The work of Kathleen Rockhill (eg. 1987a, 1987b, 1987c) is a valuable exception to this silence as she explores women’s experience in relation to literacy and English as a Second Language and considers the silences around violence in our society. 6. Researchers such as MacKeracher (1987), DeCoito (1984), Carmack (1992) and Kazemark (1988) in the United States, Thompson (1983a, 1983b) and McCaffery (1985) in England, Bhasin (1984) and Ramdas (1985) in India, and myself in Canada (Horsman 1990) have all addressed the question of relevant programming for women. 7. In one program in Toronto which serves street people, women began a women’s group, but men continually interrupted their sessions. Staff decided that rather than give up on the group sessions they would close the program to men on that evening so that women could have uninterrupted time to meet together. Men still disturbed the sessions, so supportive men were enlisted as “bouncers” to preserve the space which women needed to meet free from the intervention of men. The program staff took extremely seriously the need for women to have a safe place to meet. Some programs might have stopped the women’s group when men first began to make it almost impossible to run and to complain that it was unfair that they were excluded. 8. The writing of McBeth and Stollmeyer (1988) describing their work in a women’s literacy group at East End Literacy is a rare example where the stories are shared and the implications for literacy work considered. 9. Although this article focuses on women’s experience, I do not intend to suggest that men do not also experience abuse. Work seeking to understand the place of childhood abuse in the lives of illiterate men and the implications for literacy teaching is also badly needed. 10. I want to recognize the contribution Lois Heitner, who died tragically in 1993, has made to my practical work and thinking about issues of women and violence. She was a gifted therapist and counsellor on issues of violence. She encouraged me to continue this tutoring work when I became scared that I was out of my depth, offered me regular support, and created plans with me to start a literacy group for women to write and speak about the abuse they experienced. 11. I have also written about this understanting of literacy elsewhere, eg. 1988 (with Gaber- Katz), 1989b. 12. I believe it is not enough for women to simply tell their stories in literacy programs. Literacy programs must also identify ways to offer women support in developing a critical analysis of how their lives came to be that way, how they come to tell some stories and not others, and support in creating changes if they choose to seek them. 13. See student autobiography references. 14. See poetry references for a selection of the poets we read. 15. I read an earlier version of this article with Mary and discussed whether she was comfortable with my perspective on our history together and with my making it public. She decided she was happy with my account and its publication, and hoped it would encourage more women with experiences of abuse to seek support in literacy programs. We are also taking part in a

217 IJCS / RIÉC

project, sponsored by the Canadian Congress for Learning Opportunities for Women, to write curriculum for women in literacy programs.

Bibliography Bass, E. & Davis, L. (1993). Beginning to Heal: A First Book for Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse. New York: Harper Collins. Bass, E. & Davis, L. (1988). The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse. New York: Harper & Row. Belenky, M.F., Clinchy, C.M., Goldberger, N.R. and Tarule, J.M. (1986). Women’s Ways of Knowing: The Development of Self, Voice and Mind. New York: Basic Books. Bhasin, K. (1984). “The Why and How of Literacy for Women: Some Thoughts in the Indian Context,” Convergence, 17(4), 1984, 37-43. Brookes, A.L. (1992). Feminist Pedagogy: An Autobiographical Approach. Halifax: Fernwood Publishing. Callwood, June (1990). “Reading: The Road to Freedom,” in Canadian Living (p. 39-41). Canadian Congress for Learning Opportunities for Women (1995). Isolating the Barriers and Strategies for Prevention: A Kit about Violence and Women’s Education for Adult Educators and Adult Learners. Toronto: Author. Capponi, P. (1992). Upstairs in the Crazy House: The Life of a Psychiatric Survivor. Toronto: Viking/Penguin Books. Carmack, N.A. (1992). “Women and Illiteracy: The Need for Gender Specific Programming in Literacy Education,” in Adult Basic Education. 2, (3). Davis, L. (1990). The Courage to Heal Workbook: For Women and Men Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse. New York: Harper & Row. De Coito, P. (1984). Women and Adult Basic Education in Canada: An Exploratory Study, Toronto: CCLOW. Gaber-Katz, E. & Horsman, J. (1988). “Is It Her Voice if She Speaks their Words?” in Canadian Woman Studies, 9, (3 & 4). Gil, E. (1983). Outgrowing the Pain: A Book for and about Adults Abused as Children. New York: Dell Books. Horsman, J. (1988). “Discourses of Il/literacy: A Literature Review,” in Canadian Woman Studies, 9, (3 & 4). Horsman, J. (1989a). “Something in My Mind Besides the Everyday:” Il/literacy in Women’s Lives in a Nova Scotian County. Unpublished doctoral dissertation, University of Toronto, Toronto. Horsman, J. [project coordinator] (1989b). Lifeline to Literacy: People with Disabilities Speak Out. Toronto, Ontario: TVOntario. Horsman, J. (1990). Something in My Mind Besides the Everyday: Women and Literacy. Toronto: Women’s Press. Kazemak, F.E. (1988). “Women and Adult Literacy: Considering the Other Half of the House,” in Lifelong Learning: An Omnibus of Practice and Research, 11 (4), pp. 23, 24 & 15. Lloyd, B.A. (1991). Discovering the Strength of our Voices: Women and Literacy Programs. Toronto: CCLOW. Lloyd, B. A. (1994a). The Power of Woman-Positive Literacy Work: Program-Based Action Research. Halifax: Fernwood & Toronto: CCLOW. Lloyd, B. A. (1994b). Women in Literacy Speak: The Power of Woman-Positive Literacy Work. Halifax: Fernwood & Toronto: CCLOW. MacKeracher, D. (1989). “Women and Basic Education,” in J. Draper and M. Taylor (eds.), Adult Literacy Perspectives. Toronto: Culture Concepts. McBeth, S. & Stollmeyer V. (1988) “East End Literacy: A Women’s Discussion Group,” in Canadian Woman Studies, 9 (3 & 4) McCaffery, J. (1985). “Women in Literacy and Adult Basic Education: Barriers to Access,” in M. Hughes and M. Kennedy (eds.) New Futures. Changing Women’s Education. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. Miller, A. (1993). Breaking Down the Wall of Silence. New York: Meridian Books. Ramdas, L. (1985). “Illiteracy, Women and Development,” in Adult Education and Development, 24, pp. 95-105. Rockhill, K. (1987a). “Gender, Language and the Politics of Literacy,” in British Journal of Sociology of Education, Vol. 8 no. 2. Rockhill, K. (1987b) “Violence against Wives,” presentation, Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, Toronto, March. Rockhill, K. (1987c) “Literacy as threat/desire: Longing to be SOMEBODY,” in Women and Education: A Canadian Perspective. Edited by J. Gaskell and A. McLaren. Calgary: Detselig.

218 Violence and Illiteracy in Women’s Lives

Rockhill, K. (1988). “The Other City... Where No One Reads,” in Canadian Woman Studies,9,(3 & 4). Spring, J. (1987). Cry Hard and Swim: The Story of an Incest Survivor. London: Virago. Thompson, J.L. (1983a). Learning Liberation: Women’s Response to Men’s Education. London: Croom Helm. Thompson, J.L. (1983b). “Women and Adult Education,” in M. Tight (ed.) Education for Adults, Vol. II Educational Opportunities for Adult Education. (pp. 145-158). London: Croom Helm.

Student autobiography Byrnes, Josie (1977). Never in a Loving Way. Manchester: Gatehouse Books. (Order from: Gatehouse, St. Luke’s, Sawley Road, Miles Platting, Manchester, M10 8DB, England.) Doiron, Rose (1987). My Name is Rose. Toronto: East End Literacy Press. (Order from: Dominie Press, 2362 Huntingwood Drive, Unit 7, Agincourt, Ontario, M1S 3J1.) Fay. Listen to Me: Talking Survival. Manchester: Gatehouse Books. (Order from: Gatehouse, St. Luke’s, Sawley Road, Miles Platting, Manchester, M10 8DB, England.) Green, A.K. (1990). Coming Out of My Shell. St. John’s, Newfoundland: Distance Education Program for Literacy Providers. (Order from: Educational Planning and Design Associates Limited, 18 Leslie Street, St. John’s, NF. A1E 2V6.) Women’s Writing Project (1990). Belles’ Letters. Canberra, ACT, Australia: Homefront Belles. (Order from: Homefront Belles, PO Box 64, Civic Square, ACT 2608, Australia.)

Poetry Braid, Kate (1991). Covering Rough Ground. Vancouver: Polestar Books. Brandt, Di (1992). Mother, Not Mother. Stratford, Ontario: Mercury Press. Piercy, Marge (1969). To Be of Use. Garden City, New York: Doubleday. Tynes, Maxine (1990). Woman Talking Woman. Nova Scotia: Pottersfield Press. Tynes, Maxine (1987). Borrowed Beauty. Nova Scotia: Pottersfield Press. Wallace, B. (1992). The Stubborn Particulars of Grace. Toronto: Mclelland and Stewart.

219 Neil B. Bishop

Marginalités sexuelle, régionale et sociolinguistique dans Dis-moi que je vis et Veuillez agréer... de Michèle Mailhot et They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That de Lois Simmie

Résumé La condition féminine, et la quête par la femme mariée de sa libération, constituent la dyade thématique principale des trois romans étudiés. Elle s’y manifeste par les thèmes de la solitude et de l’incommunicabilité, ainsi que par celui de l’adultère tantôt subi, tantôt employé durant la quête de la libération. La dimension régionale de ces romans interagit avec la dyade thématique principale; le voyage y constituant un geste spatial particulièrement significatif. La dimension sociolinguistique dans les deux romans de M. Mailhot s’avère liée à leur dimension régionale, alors que, chez Simmie, elle est liée à la lutte de la libération féminine. Tant les ressemblances que les différences du traitement des thématiques retenues sont d’un intérêt que rehausse la provenance régionale fort différente des romans dont deux furent publiés au Québec, qui leur sert aussi de référent, et dont le troisième a comme référent sa ville de publication : Saskatoon.

Abstract Women’s lives, and the quest, by married women, for their liberation constitute the main thematic dyad of the three novels studied. It is expressed through the themes of solitude and lack of communication, and adultery committed either by the husband or by the wife herself during her quest for liberation. The regional dimension of these fictitious worlds interacts with the main thematic, the journey being an especially significant spatial act. The sociolinguistic dimension is linked to the regional dimension of Mailhot’s novels, but with the struggle for woman’s liberation in Simmie’s. Both the similarities and differences between the treatments these novels give their thematic material are interesting, all the more so given the very different regional origins of the novels: two were published in Montreal which is also the referent of their fictional space, while the other’s referent is its city of publication: Saskatoon.

Dis-moi que je vis (1965), Veuillez agréer... (1975) et They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That (1981) ont tous pour thèmes principaux une condition féminine aliénante (surtout celle de la femme mariée), et la quête, par une femme, de son autonomie. Cette quête aboutit à l’échec dans Dis-moi que je vis, mais, dans les deux autres romans, aboutit sinon à la réussite, du moins à sa

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC possibilité, voire son début. Les trois romans thématisent le recours, par la femme en quête d’autonomie, à la relation extra-conjugale, mais traitent ce thème fort différemment. Le référent du cadre spatial des romans de Mailhot est Montréal, alors que celui du roman de Simmie est Saskatoon. Par contre, si les trois romans offrent un cadre spatial urbain, le voyage vers l’extérieur de cet espace urbain fictif les marque, revêtant toutefois des fonctions différentes dans Dis-moi que je vis, d’une part, et dans Veuillez agréer... et They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, d’autre part. La moyenne bourgeoisie constitue le cadre socio-économique de ces trois récits, mais d’importantes divergences démarquent l’univers sociolinguis- tique des romans de Mailhot de celui du roman de Simmie. Cette différence sociolinguistique comprend une composante ethno- linguistique. La marginalité de la condition féminine forme la plus importante des diverses marginalités que nous venons d’évoquer. Or, l’interaction entre celles-ci est telle, qu’il s’avère utile de joindre à l’étude de la marginalité sexuelle celle des problématiques régionale et sociolinguistique. Si certaines ressemblances réunissent les trois romans de notre corpus, d’autres ne caractérisent que deux des trois; quelques-unes réunissent non pas les deux romans de Mailhot pour les distinguer de They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That de Simmie, mais rapprochent plutôt celui-ci et Veuillez agréer..., opposés ainsi à Dis-moi que je vis. Sur le plan du discours romanesque, l’emploi massif de l’ironie et du sarcasme allie encore Veuillez agréer... et They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, tandis que le ton de l’héroïne de Dis-moi que je vis — en partie peut-être en raison de son âge (la trentaine, soit dix ans de moins que les deux autres héroïnes) — semble plus « doux » (et donc elle paraît plus aliénée). Toutefois, cette question du ton découle de celle de la voix narrative. Or, la voix narrative rapproche, cette fois-ci, Dis-moi que je vis et They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, tous deux narrés à la première personne par le personnage principal. À cette narratrice autodiégétique fait contraste la narration à la troisième personne de Veuillez agréer... Cette opposition est atténuée par les nombreuses indications de quasi-fusion entre le personnage de Judith et l’instance narrante : marques de la situation d’énonciation, dont surtout l’univers axiologique des deux instances, celle du personnage et celle de la voix narrative, puisqu’elles partagent les mêmes valeurs et réactions. Ces marginalités sexuelle, régionale et linguistique se trouvent partiellement compensées par des facteurs mélioratifs. Désavantagées socialement par leur sexe, membres d’un groupe linguistique minoritaire à l’échelle du Canada et décentrées par rapport à la principale région économique du pays, les héroïnes de Mailhot n’en appartiennent pas moins à la majorité francophone, blanche et (naguère) catholique du Québec et à une classe socio-économique privilégiée. L’héroïne de They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That subit une condition féminine problématique, mais comme les protagonistes de Mailhot, appartient à la moyenne bourgeoisie. Et si sa ville — Saskatoon — se trouve isolée des grands centres de la culture occidentale, elle est en prise directe avec la culture dominante de son époque, comme en témoignent les nombreuses références au cinéma, à la télévision et à la peinture américaines. Malgré ces avantages

222 Marginalités sexuelle, régionale et sociolinguistique apparents, les facteurs marginalisants l’emportent dans ces vies de femme qui correspondent pourtant au mythe et à la doxa du bonheur tel que nos sociétés le définissent le plus souvent. Les trois romans thématisent surtout la condition dysphorique de la femme mariée (mais évoquent aussi l’éducation des jeunes filles, qui, à la maison, à l’école et à l’église, multipliait les embûches entre la femme et son autonomie), mais aussi la lutte du personnage féminin pour rejeter cette condition et la remplacer par une vie plus autonome et plus épanouissante. Condition et lutte féminines (avec ce que toute lutte suppose de révolte, de réflexion et d’action) constituent une dyade thématique. Dans Dis-moi que je vis, Josée ouvre le roman en nous annonçant son bonheur grâce à une relation extra-conjugale : Banal, voilà, nous [Josée et son mari] sommes un couple banal. Du moins nous l’étions, car maintenant l’un de nous est heureux. [...] Oui je suis heureuse et je ne veux pas savoir pourquoi. [...] C’est cela le bonheur, une minute d’oubli. (DM 12) Le roman consistera ensuite en une longue analepse complexe. La narratrice autodiégétique remonte le temps pour s’expliquer à elle- même (la véritable narrataire) ce qui lui est arrivé. Elle raconte une vie conjugale marquée de solitude et d’incommunicabilité, elle qui pourtant semblait tout avoir pour être heureuse selon son mari, homme d’affaires prospère, et selon la société. Elle aurait pu lui crier, à l’instar de l’héroïne de Veuillez agréer..., « J’étais trop seule avec toi ». Solitude et incommunicabilité : quand Pierre, son mari, lisant à côté d’elle, lui demande, « Tu ne lis pas? », et qu’elle répond, « Mais si, je réfléchissais sur une phrase », la narratrice observe qu’« [i]l ne me demande pas laquelle et retourne entre sa parenthèse, entre les bornes de sa parenthèse [...] » (DM 10). Au restaurant, nous dit-elle, [j]e le vois s’enfouir dans l’immédiat d’un plaisir qui cerne tout son être. Happé corps et âme par un bifteck. Et il m’apparaît combien sera longue et triste ma station en marge de la vie. (DM 117) Cette vision accablante de la condition de la femme mariée hante tout notre corpus (mais They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That offre l’espoir qu’une union épanouissante entre femme et homme serait possible). Josée sait que pour son mari, elle a le devoir d’être heureuse dans sa vie de femme au foyer. Il lui interdit de travailler à l’extérieur pour mieux signaler sa propre réussite (DM 64). Elle estime que son amie Jeanine a mis le doigt sur la plaie collective dont elles souffrent toutes : Il a fallu Jeanine (dix ans de mariage, cinq enfants, des rideaux, des confitures et trois martinis) pour rompre l’hypocrisie. « Et bien moi, jeta-t-elle brusquement, j’en ai assez de tout cela! Savez-vous ce que j’aimerais dans ma maison? UN HOMME! [...] Le mien ou un autre, peu importe, pourvu que j’aie quelqu’un. À quoi ça sert tout ce travail s’il n’y a jamais personne pour l’apprécier? Paul est toujours absent. Il soigne les moribonds, jour et nuit, sous prétexte de me faire vivre. Et je crève! » (DM 94-95).

223 IJCS / RIÉC

L’écriture recourt ici à la juxtaposition de termes dont les sens respectifs sont sans lien, dans une construction qui suggère pourtant une ressemblance sémantique. Si « mariage et « enfants » ont un lien sémantique évident, « rideaux » et « confitures » ont un lien moins évident avec les deux premiers termes et tendent à réduire le sens de ceux-ci à leur sens propre pour suggérer que mariage et vie de famille se sont réduits à n’être que « rideaux » et « confitures ». L’expression « trois martinis » rompt encore plus les liens sémantiques puisqu’elle ne relève pas ici du continu (l’état d’être une femme mariée, une femme au foyer, une mère de famille), mais du ponctuel (Jeanine vient de boire trois martinis, d’où sa rupture avec l’hypocrisie). En même temps, cette juxtaposition produit une contamination sémantique à deux sens, suggérant ainsi qu’en raison de sa vie de femme mariée (état continu) Jeanine boit de façon non pas ponctuelle mais continue : le mariage la pousserait vers l’alcoolisme (comme il pousse Josée vers l’adultère et comme il semble pousser Eleanor dans They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That vers le tabagisme). Mais si Jeanine et la narratrice croient que la plaie, c’est la solitude, elles méconnaissent la racine du mal. L’axe comportemental révèle que cette racine, c’est la dépendance, l’attente que le sens de sa vie lui soit livré par autrui : Josée se jettera dans les bras de Jean, bellâtre donjuanesque, qui n’aura cure des tentatives d’approfondissement que Josée voudra donner à leur relation. Certes, celle-ci sera fort agréable pour la femme sur le plan physique, même son mari en profitera sous forme des caresses plus savantes et de l’ardeur sexuelle renouvelée de son épouse, sous forme aussi (sentiment de culpabilité chez Josée aidant) de trois tartes au sucre par semaine! Mais Josée découvre que : [l]e gouffre entre deux êtres ne se mesure jamais si bien qu’à l’instant où ils sont collés l’un à l’autre, de la tête aux pieds, qu’au moment précis où justement, ils semblent le mieux unis. (DM 156) Si la majeure partie de Dis-moi que je vis forme une longue analepse mémorielle et explicative, le récit étant constamment coupé par des réflexions au présent, le roman se termine sur un présent qui diffère de celui du début. Le présent du point de départ correspondait à un moment où la narratrice autodiégétique se sentait heureuse; le présent du point d’arrivée correspond à un moment ultérieur où la narratrice, déçue du vide de la relation qu’elle a eue en dehors des liens du mariage, se retourne vers son mari : Me reste le souvenir de Jean, tendre et frivole, qui m’apprenait la saveur des moindres gestes. Me reste toi, Pierre, endormi dans ta longue patience. [...] Le jour se lève... Pierre, réveille-toi. (DM 159) Échec désolant : Josée, être irrémédiablement relatif, cherche toujours son bonheur et le sens de sa vie dans sa relation avec autrui. Rappelons le refus de l’analyse et de la lucidité dont témoignait sa phrase au début du roman, « C’est cela le bonheur, un moment d’oubli » (DM 12). Ainsi, ce présent final qui marque un moment ultérieur au présent liminaire du récit constitue, sur le plan psychodiégétique, un retour au passé (évolution régressive du personnage en

224 Marginalités sexuelle, régionale et sociolinguistique

termes de maturité et d’autonomie). Et la dernière phrase du roman, qui, au niveau d’une sémantique de surface, semble déboucher sur l’avenir, traduit à un niveau plus profond le repli actantiel d’un personnage-narratrice qui n’aura jamais su accéder au statut de sujet dont elle avait rêvé. En demandant à son mari de se faire l’adjuvant de sa quête, elle lui confère le monopole de la fonction actantielle de sujet. Dans Veuillez agréer..., Judith, comme Josée dans Dis-moi que je vis, est emprisonnée dans la solitude et l’incommunicabilité conjugales. La narration à la troisième personne crée une distance nécessitée par le caractère encore plus pénible de la souffrance subie; la création de cette distance protectrice est aussi la fonction de l’ironie, de l’humour et du sarcasme qui foisonnent chez Mailhot. Claude, mari de Judith, est encore pire que Pierre (DM) puisqu’il joint à l’absence, à la gloutonnerie abrutissante et au travail survalorisé aux dépens de la vie conjugale et familiale, ces incartades de Claude signalées par Judith lorsqu’elle refuse de coucher avec lui : Claude prit très mal la chose. Lui qui ne désemparait pas du devoir conjugal malgré les extras qu’il fournissait vaillamment à gauche et à droite, se sentit lésé, bafoué, rejeté. Il refusa de quitter la chambre, sa chambre que sa qualité de propriétaire lui accordait de plein droit même s’il ne l’occupait plus qu’à temps partiel à cause de son horaire nocturne surchargé. (VA 31) [...] Après un compte suffisant de nuits inconfortables dans le salon [...] et de levers à cinq heures pour que les enfants ne la voient pas camper d’aussi ridicule façon, Judith jugea avoir purgé la peine encourue par Claude et réintégra sa chambre. (VA 38) Plusieurs procédés stylistiques mettent en relief le caractère négatif du mariage que subit Judith : emploi ironique de termes normalement valorisants (« ne désemparait pas », « vaillamment », « horaire surchargé »); accumulation adjectivale (« lésé, bafoué, rejeté »); antithèse (« Judith jugea avoir purgé la peine encourue par Claude »). Judith s’est mariée pour les mêmes raisons que Josée et Eleanor : pression sociale qui définit comme ratée toute femme non mariée et désir de vivre la sexualité, ce que la société de sa jeunesse ne permettait que dans le mariage. Mais Judith évoluera différemment de Josée. Comme l’a signalé Maïr Verthuy dans Michèle Mailhot: A Cautionary Tale, Judith « has rejected what she perceives to be the now-traditional haven of the forty-year-old woman: the nervous breakdown, the last-chance sleeping-around syndrome, a life centered on the Church » (134). Judith, en réaction contre les abus et la solitude que lui inflige son mari, conquiert son autonomie économique en prenant un emploi. Brièvement, ce travail dans une maison d’édition lui vaut une certaine satisfaction : [...] on lui donnait plus cher pour son esprit que pour son corps, preuve que sa démarche était vertueuse et droite. Ses débuts de femme de carrière se firent donc sous les plus heureux auspices. (VA 30) Toutefois, le mythe de l’emploi-qui-résoud-tout volera en éclats. Le travail à la maison d’édition (que Judith surnomme « le Tube » en raison de sa

225 IJCS / RIÉC ressemblance avec le tube digestif, y compris ses produits de sortie!) s’avère une amère désillusion. La direction supérieure ne prise guère la littérature, et les littérateurs sont de prétentieux écrivailleurs pique-assiette (« Judith règle l’addition du repas auquel il l’a invitée. Il paiera la prochaine fois, avec ses droits d’auteur », VA 23) qui ne maîtrisent ni l’orthographe ni la grammaire (« “Je crois devoire vous informez” lui écrit un auteur qui menace de retirer son manuscrit », VA 23). Judith prendra conscience de combien un emploi, aimé au début, peut devenir aliénant. Judith finira par démissionner de ce deuxième emploi, guère plus épanouissant que son joug conjugal, pour partir à la campagne. Certes, cette fin de roman contraste avec celle de Dis-moi que je vis qui revient à la case/cage de départ. Mais Veuillez agréer..., en finissant sur le départ à la campagne, se rapproche de ces contes de fée dont Jennifer Waelti-Walters, dans Fairy Tales and the Female Imagination, a démontré le caractère aliénant pour les femmes. Judith y vivra-t-elle d’amour et d’eau claire? Ce manque de réalisme tend à rendre encore plus ténue une libération tout optative, à peine inchoative. They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That de Lois Simmie offre beaucoup de ressemblances avec les deux romans de Mailhot. Le récit, à la première personne et au présent, comporte une diégèse dans laquelle Eleanor prend conscience de l’aliénation où la laisse son mariage, quitte mari, enfants et Saskatoon afin de rejoindre sa mère à Victoria, puis rebrousse chemin dans les Rocheuses pour revenir à Saskatoon, entamer une relation amoureuse, prendre un logement et se mettre à la recherche d’un travail. Elle reproche à son mari et à son mariage ce que Judith et Josée reprochaient aux leurs : l’incommunicabilité. Que Hugh soit amateur de roses ne l’empêche pas de disparaître derrière le journal dès la fin de son repas. Repas dont Hugh ne rompt le silence conjugal que par les reproches qu’il adresse à sa femme et qui portent, tantôt sur la qualité de la cuisine, tantôt sur le fait qu’elle fume à la table, tantôt encore sur ses énoncés qui seront longtemps le moyen par lequel Eleanor exprimera sa révolte. Pour Hugh, comptable aisé, c’est à son épouse de s’occuper de tous les travaux ménagers; ni lui ni leurs trois enfants ne se donnent la peine de jeter leur linge sale dans les chutes à lessive dont la maison est abondamment pourvue. Comme Claude (Veuillez agréer...), Hugh estime que son épouse devrait se sentir heureuse de ne pas travailler à l’extérieur et y voit la marque de sa propre réussite et de sa générosité. On se rappellera que Veuillez agréer... a thématisé la dépression en précisant que, même si Judith en est frappée, elle refuse d’y succomber. Dans They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, Eleanor nous informe que « Hugh has decided to send me to a psychiatrist just because I wouldn’t get out of bed to make his supper » (TS 26). Eleanor est alitée à l’heure du repas du soir parce qu’elle est malade — état de santé qui relève du psychologique, certes —; mais aussi, ce que Hugh ignore, à cause de la prison conjugale : The weekend had been long and depressing [...]. I prepared meals and picked up after the kids [...] to circumvent Hugh’s why don’t-these- kids-do-anything-around-the-house lecture. [...]

226 Marginalités sexuelle, régionale et sociolinguistique

I was down in the laundry room smoking a cigarette and staring at a load of jeans going round and round in the washer [...] when it came to me with crystal clarity that my life wasn’t going to change for the better. [...] [...] Hugh called down the stairs. He wanted his supper, poor dear, he’d had a hard day watching two hockey games and rereading the week’s papers and Time magazine in case he missed any depressing news the first time around. (TS 26-27) Hugh fait donc partie de ceux qui définiraient comme folle toute femme qui régimberait à se couler dans le moule défini et dénoncé dans Veuillez agréer... : « Servante, servilité, services, servitudes » (VA 51). Le thème de l’infidélité marque les trois romans. Dans Dis-moi que je vis, Josée se sert de l’infidélité comme moyen de se libérer. Dans la mesure où elle tente de se transformer en sujet de sa quête et d’écrire son histoire au lieu de la subir, elle se livre à l’adultère en espérant inscrire dans son histoire la provocation (au sens narratologique) : l’événement qui ferait progresser sa diégèse d’un état initial de dysphories 1 vers un état amélioré 2. Cette démarche échouera, car Josée confirme son statut d’être relatif dans un récit social que prescrit et écrit l’instance masculine. Dans Veuillez agréer..., l’infidélité conjugale est le fait du seul mari, mais donne lieu à ce tour de force ironique, la lettre que Judith adresse à une maîtresse de son mari, rappelant ainsi que le plus souvent la femme « trompée » a affaire aussi à une autre femme (VA 75-84). Judith reprochera à la jeune femme son manque d’autonomie et de solidarité féminine, indiquant que l’adultère n’est pas la voie d’une véritable libération de la femme (VA 81). Dans They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, Eleanor désire Harold, un vieil ami de son village natal de Fairmont (Saskatchewan) dès qu’il ressurgit dans sa vie en tant qu’amoureux de la meilleure amie d’Eleanor, Gena. C’est seulement après le décès de Gena et le départ vers l’ouest d’Eleanor que celle-ci, revenue à Calgary, initie une relation intime avec Harold. Eleanor redevient ainsi sujet par rapport à sa propre sexualité; ses rapports physiques avec son mari étaient aliénants puisqu’ils figuraient pour Hugh parmi les tâches ménagères qu’il se sentait en droit d’imposer à son épouse. Toutefois, la relation avec Harold n’est qu’une étape; elle ne sera pas la cause de la dépendance qui vicia la relation entre Josée et son amant, puisqu’Eleanor entreprend des démarches pour se construire comme sujet autonome : prise d’un logement et recherche d’un emploi. Eleanor et Judith savent qu’elles devront se débrouiller « par leurs propres forces », sans le soutien de quiconque, afin de découvrir ce que Judith, dans Veuillez agréer..., a appelé « Ma vie enfin, ma mienne » (VA 54). Mais Veuillez agréer... nous rappelle que ni un logement ni un emploi ne sont des panacées. M. Jean Anderson a bien démontré que l’œuvre de Mailhot, si elle privilégie la problématique féminine, présente la société industrielle capitaliste, y compris son obsession de la consommation et ses appareils ménagers qui « robotisent » la femme, comme inacceptable pour tous. Or, la mise en cause de la vie de la femme-du-médecin par le discours de Jeanine, déjà cité, et celle de la vie de femme-de-l’homme-d’affaires-prospère dans Dis-moi que je vis reflètent la dévalorisation de cette même vie de confort bourgeois qui est décrite dans They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That.Un

227 IJCS / RIÉC contraste apparaît toutefois entre Veuillez agréer... et They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, car Eleanor, à la fin du roman, vient d’atteindre une étape que Judith a vécue il y a des années : séparation, divorce, prise d’un emploi; Simmie critique la vie de la femme au foyer, celui-ci fût-il des plus confortables, mais ne met pas en cause le système économique, laissant entendre que si Eleanor trouve un emploi, sa vie en sera plus épanouie. Dans Dis-moi que je vis, l’adultère pose donc le geste de l’épouse aliénée, mais loin de se constituer en acte de révolte, celui-ci reste la saisie désespérée d’une bouée de sauvetage (illusoire), le geste d’un personnage dépendant, encore prisonnier du statut actantiel d’objet. Dans Veuillez agréer..., le mari commet l’adultère. Les remarques cinglantes de la voix narrative, voire du personnage de Judith parfois, signifieraient que l’infidélité du mari constitue l’un des aspects douloureux de la condition conjugale contre laquelle Judith se révolte. Toutefois, cette interprétation se heurte à des énoncés, que la voix narrative attribue à Judith et selon lesquels Judith attacherait peu d’importance à l’infidélité de son mari : – Mais Claude, je t’avais dit n’importe qui, sauf la gardienne. Il me semble qu’il en restait encore assez. (VA 39) L’avocat [...] s’était jeté sur le flagrant adultère comme sur le motif. Judith avait essayé d’expliquer que ce n’était pas si important, que Claude avait peut-être exagéré en ce sens mais qu’elle souhaitait une séparation pour de tout autres raisons. [...] « Madame, petite madame, rassurez-vous, votre dignité est protégée, dignité qui tient tout entière dans l’activité légale du membre viril de l’époux. » [...] Quelques gouttes du précieux liquide sont dispersées et voilà qu’aussitôt l’épouse se dessèche, comme privée de vie, la pauvre mignonne. Comment accepter que sa vie, son honneur, sa sécurité dépendent directement des aventurettes glandulaires de Claude? Comment Judith, reine du foyer, pouvait-elle être déchue par la seule insubordination d’un petit groupe de chromosomes qui veut aller mourir hors de son royaume? Non, monsieur maître avocat, je ne vais pas pousser les cris conventionnels des femmes trompées et me jeter, défaite, aux pieds du magistrat en invoquant mon droit sacré à l’exclusivité d’un petit pénis. [...] mon sens de la propriété n’est pas assez vif pour me faire revendiquer en si haute instance un si commun objet. [...] C’est un constat de décès que je veux signer, celui de notre couple et non pas une plainte pour offense bénigne. (VA 43-44) Dans le dernier paragraphe de cet extrait, on remarquera le passage de la voix narrative à celle de Judith elle-même, de la troisième personne à la première; le paragraphe suivant comportera le retour à la voix narrative et à la troisième personne. Ces faits confirment la quasi-fusion entre l’instance narrative et le personnage de Judith, comme si ce roman à narrateur hétérodiégétique était un roman autodiégétique qui se cache ou une variante fictive de l’autobiographie à la troisième personne. L’atténuation de l’importance affective et sociale de l’adultère va jusqu’à la déclaration que celui-ci (fût-il multiple) constitue une « offense bénigne ». Ce processus d’atténuation recourt aussi à la dévalorisation du sexe masculin et de ses attributs (« petit groupe de chromosomes », « petit pénis », le diminutif « aventurette » et l’ironique

228 Marginalités sexuelle, régionale et sociolinguistique

« précieux liquide »). Nier ainsi l’importance de l’adultère est ici un moyen d’affirmer l’importance de la femme, qui réside d’abord en la femme elle- même et non dans le type de relation qu’elle aurait avec tel ou tel homme. Le point de vue de Judith semble en évolution marquée par rapport à celui de Josée dans Dis-moi que je vis où la protagoniste dépendait de sa relation avec l’homme pour se sentir valorisée. En même temps, la suppression de l’importance attachée à l’adultère, dans Veuillez agréer..., va de pair avec l’affirmation que toute relation entre deux personnes comporte d’autres dimensions, autrement plus significatives, que la seule dimension sexuelle. Revenons à l’utilisation, dans Veuillez agréer... et dans They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, du personnage de la femme négative. Dans celui-là, il s’agit de la maîtresse, la femme complice du mari adultère puisqu’elle couche avec celui-ci dans le lit même de l’épouse. Chez Simmie, il s’agit de l’ironiquement nommé Mrs. Ducharme, dame âgée dont Eleanor s’occupe une fois par semaine et dont elle dit, [...] Mrs. D.C. [...] has criticized me for being Protestant, for having two cars in the family (this while riding in mine), and for wearing eye shadow — hideous brown grease, makes me look cheap. [...] Of course she never says thank you for anything. I have bought a book on assertiveness training in the faint hope that it may help me deal with Mrs. Ducharme. Yelling “You’re welcome, you old bitch” when I am three blocks away from her place, with the car window rolled up, is not the answer. (TS 28) On assiste ainsi à la révolte d’Eleanor contre le rôle de servante et de donneuse de soins non rémunérés traditionnellement dévolu aux femmes. Le personnage de Mrs. Ducharme appartient à cette lignée de personnages fréquents dans l’œuvre de Michèle Mailhot et qui atteint son apogée avec le personnage- éponyme de Béatrice vue d’en bas (1988), une femme ayant introjecté les valeurs phallocrates au point de les servir constamment, surtout en y asservissant d’autres femmes. Quant à la dimension régionale de notre corpus et de ses marginalités, constatons d’abord qu’il y a région, et puis région dans la région. Au Québec, il y a Montréal, la « métropole », et puis la province. Dans Dis-moi que je vis,le séjour de Josée en Floride avec une amie annonce, par l’aliénation de celle-ci (malgré ses multiples aventures), que l’adultère ne permettra ni la libération, ni l’épanouissement dans cet univers romanesque. Quant à l’espace romanesque renvoyant au référent québécois, la région extra-métropolitaine est (hormis un bref répit au chalet) quasi absente. Il en va essentiellement ainsi dans Veuillez agréer..., bien qu’à la dernière page du roman, Judith parte avec ses « enfants » pour la campagne : c’est donc « en région » que résiderait son épanouissement et son salut (comme le laissait prévoir le bonheur qu’éprouvait Josée pendant son séjour au chalet). La problématique régionale se manifeste encore sous forme de l’importance de la religion dans le vécu de la jeune Judith comme de la jeune Josée, et celle du vocabulaire religieux (fût-il d’un emploi ironique). Ce Québec fictif est présenté comme lieu où sévissait une culture répressive (des femmes surtout), conformément au discours habituel à propos de la « Grande Noirceur ».

229 IJCS / RIÉC

D’autre part, la problématique régionale se manifeste, toujours au niveau sociolinguistique, par la rareté des québécismes chez Mailhot. Ce corpus romanesque, qui souscrit à la prédominance de la métropole montréalaise dans son Québec fictif, privilégie une autre métropole linguistique, puisque s’y pratique un français hexagonal. C’est peut-être en partie ce qu’a voulu signaler André Vanasse en attribuant à Mailhot « une écriture sophistiquée », « des mots lisses sur lesquels on glisse » (Vanasse, 45). Le régional ici peut être qualifié de composante ethos-linguistique exclue, dans la mesure où il s’agit de l’exclusion textuelle de caractéristiques verbales typiques du parler des Canadiens d’expression française. Cette absence confirme, certes, tout comme ce feu d’artifice de jeux de mots et de procédés stylistiques à effet ironique ou sarcastique, à quel point les textes de Mailhot relèvent de l’écrit et de l’écriture. Ce rejet du régional, jusque dans les dialogues, va de pair avec le rejet culturel visant la religion et les rapports entre femmes et hommes : Judith et sa narratrice repoussent un certain Québec culturel d’antan dans son ensemble. Dans They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, le statut régional découle beaucoup moins de la dimension linguistique que de la toponymie et de la description des espaces. Saskatoon et la Saskatchewan y sont explicitement nommées, tout comme Victoria, Winnipeg, Drumheller, Kindersley et Calgary. Frappante est l’absence de la traditionnelle dichotomie, chère aux éditorialistes comme aux politiciens, entre la Saskatchewan ou les Plaines d’une part, et « the East », d’autre part; cet « East » par lequel les Saskatchewanais entendent d’habitude l’Ontario et le Québec. L’espace, chez Simmie, tend à avoir pour extrémité orientale Winnipeg, se terminant à l’ouest à Victoria. Mais la pulsion régionale est encore plus centripète chez Simmie, puisque la région tend à se réduire à la seule Saskatchewan, voire à Saskatoon et à sa région opposés non à « the East » mais à la côte du Pacifique. À mesure qu’Eleanor avance vers l’ouest, vers les Rocheuses lors de son voyage pour rejoindre sa mère à Victoria, le paysage et la météo deviennent toujours plus hostiles. Elle se rappelle avec nostalgie des voyages en sens inverse, et la sensation de respiration plus épanouie éprouvée au moment de quitter les montagnes « étouffantes » pour regagner les Plaines. Lors du trajet de l’est vers l’ouest que relate ce roman, déjà l’Alberta apparaît comme un espace étranger, voire hostile. L’isolement géographique n’empêche pas l’univers culturel de Saskatoon et du personnage d’Eleanor d’être richement branché sur la culture états- unienne, comme en témoigne une riche intertextualité intersémiotique recourant à la peinture, au cinéma et à la télévision. Branchage troublant puisque — Eleanor en est bien consciente — les jouissances que procure cet accès vont de pair avec des réclames publicitaires qui dévalorisent et aliènent la femme. Du reste, ce branchage est à polarité unique; sa puissance réside entre les mains riches et masculines de Hollywood et de Madison Avenue. Ce qui n’empêchera pas Eleanor de se prononcer en faveur des « soaps » en tant qu’émissions qui parlent aux femmes d’aspects importants de leur réalité. They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That retient l’intérêt au niveau sociolinguistique, car la guerre des sexes s’y livre sur le terrain linguistique aussi. Et si ce roman est remarquablement écrit, si son feu d’artifice verbal

230 Marginalités sexuelle, régionale et sociolinguistique comporte les mêmes procédés que Veuillez agréer... (ironie et sarcasme), il diffère des romans de Mailhot en se constituant comme une tentative de transcrire par écrit la langue parlée (d’où des dialogues bien plus nombreux que chez Mailhot). Hugh emploie un anglais guindé et reproche à Eleanor son anglais plus populaire, voire « vulgaire ». Ce reproche pousse Eleanor à s’en servir plus rageusement que jamais. Hugh voudrait obliger Eleanor à se conformer à l’image de l’épouse bourgeoise parfaite en matière de langue comme en tout. Eleanor elle-même doit en arriver à se libérer de certaines inhibitions à ce propos. Elle raconte que, contre l’irritation de Hugh de voir sa femme lire tant, elle s’est mise à lire en cachette jusqu’à ce que « [...] the absurdity of it hit me and I told Prince Machiavelli to fuck off, though not in those words of course » (TS 18). Plus tard, Eleanor le lui dira dans précisément « those words »! Il y a encore ce moment où Eleanor, en route vers Victoria, est prise en même temps que sa chienne d’un appel de la nature : Jude nudges my arm with her nose and rolls her wimpy eyes at me. [...] Christ, she has to pee and the rain is coming down in buckets. You’ll have to wait, I tell her, good dog. Jesus, it’s catching, now I have to go, too. [...] We should have gone in Calgary when we stopped for gas. God, that truck was close! Shit! Shit! On a glistening black rock, the word “REPENT” gleams in fluorescent red. Maybe Hugh is going ahead of me with a bucket of paint. (TS 129) Passage qui donne lieu à une forte association du religieux et du scatologique. Le lien exprime la révolte d’Eleanor contre cette dimension du patriarcat qu’est la religion chrétienne dans ses formes prédominantes, révolte que précise l’association du religieux à Hugh. La mise en cause de la religion et de l’Église est fréquente dans l’œuvre de Michèle Mailhot, mais elle recourt au sexuel plutôt qu’au scatologique. Tant les ressemblances que les différences dans la présentation des problématiques des marginalités féminine, régionale et sociolinguistique retiennent l’attention. Les héroïnes de Mailhot ne semblent pas se sentir vraiment chez elles, ni pouvoir espérer trouver le bonheur, à Montréal; celle de Simmie se meut dans ce qu’elle semble vivre comme un rassurant centre du monde, même quand elle y souffre. L’aliénation des héroïnes et des narratrices de Mailhot se traduirait-elle par leur refus du langage qui se pratique couramment chez elles? Cet élan vers un langage, perçu comme le leur plus que le québécois courant, peut constituer le rejet d’un parler vécu comme l’imposition d’une sorte de grossièreté ou de manque de raffinement masculin. La problématique fondamentale, commune aux deux œuvres, est bien la problématique féminine. Les deux œuvres montrent les épreuves multiples d’une condition féminine traditionnelle, mais expriment aussi l’espoir d’une libération féminine tant personnelle que collective. La libération chez Mailhot reste plus hypothétique que chez Simmie puisqu’elle ne semble pas pouvoir s’atteindre dans le milieu urbain ni dans la société (post?) industrielle et capitaliste qui a servi de cadre (de cause?) à leur aliénation. Dans They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, par contre, la libération épanouissante semble possible, en ville et dans la société industrialo-capitaliste. Mais peut-

231 IJCS / RIÉC

être Judith, dans Veuillez agréer... répondrait-elle aux espoirs de Eleanor : « Je connais la chanson... et ne la chante plus. »

Bibliographie I. Textes littéraires Mailhot, Michèle, Dis-moi que je vis, Ottawa, Cercle du livre de France, 1964, 159 p. _____, Veuillez agréer..., (préface d’André Major), Montréal, vlb éditeur, 1990 (1re éd., Éditions La Presse, 1975), 114 p. Simmie, Lois, They Shouldn’t Make You Promise That, Saskatoon, Fifth House, 1987 (1re éd., New American Library of Canada, 1981), 148 p.

II. Corpus critique Anderson, M. Jean, « Fuir pour survivre: aliénation et identité chez Michèle Mailhot », Voix et images, X:1, automne 1984, 93-105. Audet, Noël, « Fôte d’amour », Lettres québécoises, 50, été 1988, 24. Beaudoin, Réjean, « Le roman raturé » (c.r. de Passé composé), Liberté, 195, juin 1991, 92-100. Brown, Anne, « La haine de soi: le cas du roman féminin québécois », Studies in Canadian Literature, 14:1, 1989, 108-126. Champagne, Christine, « Le passé composé de Michèle Mailhot », Lettres québécoises, 61, printemps 1991, 21-22. Chassay, Jean-François, « Portrait d’époque. Béatrice vue d’en bas » Le Devoir, 20 fév. 1988, D3. Ducrocq-Poirier, Madeline M., « Les romancières québécoises contemporaines et la condition féminine », L’esprit créateur, 23:3, automne 1983, 40-47. Elder, JoAnne, « Droit d’auteur(e) », Canadian Literature, 134, Autumn 1992, 181-182. Gilbert, Paula Ruth, « The Daughter Below: Double Parody of Mother-Daughter Bonding in Michèle Mailhot’s Béatrice vue d’en bas », The American Review of Canadian Studies, 22:4, winter 1992, 511-532. Gould, Karen, « Setting Words Free: Feminist Writing in Quebec », Signs, 6:4, été 1981, 617-642. Lafuste, France, « Écrire pour que rien ne se perde », Le Devoir, 20 fév. 1988, D1. Leblanc, Julie, « Le langage figuré et la problématique de l’énonciation », Texte. La rhétorique du texte, 8/9, 1989. Marcotte, Gilles, « La preuve d’un joli talent d’écrivain », L’Actualité, 9:6, juin 1984, 132. _____, « Deux romancières règlent leurs comptes », L’Actualité, 13:5, mai 1988, 169. Paradis, Suzanne, « Michèle Mailhot: Laure, Josée », Femme fictive, femme réelle. Le personnage féminin dans le roman féminin canadien-français (1884-1966), Québec: Garneau, 1966, 312-317. Parmentier, Francis, « Dis-moi que je vis de Michèle Mailhot », Livres et auteurs canadiens 1964, 34-35. Pascal, Gabrielle, « Dis-moi que je vis, roman de Michèle Mailhot (née Asselin) », dans Maurice Lemire et alii, Dictionnaire des œuvres littéraires du Québec, tome IV, Montréal, Fides, 1984, 262-263. Pawliez, Mireille Inès Victoire, « Béatrice vue d’en bas de Michèle Mailhot. Une étude narratologique féministe », mémoire de M.Ph., Massey University (Australie), 1993, vi + 175 p. Perron, Gilles, « Le passé composé », Québec français, 81, printemps 1991, 16. Ross, Catherine, « Rites of Passage », Canadian Literature, 130, Autumn 1991, 138-139. Stary, Sonja G., « La Mort de l’araignée », The French Review, 48:3, fév. 1975, 666-667. Trudel, Louise, « Le fou de la reine », Livres et auteurs québécois 1969, 46-48. Vanasse, André, « Michèle Mailhot, Veuillez agréer... », Livres et auteurs québécois 1975, 45. Verthuy, Maïr, « Michèle Mailhot A Cautionary Tale », dans Gynocritics. Feminist Approaches to Canadian and Quebec Women’s Writing / Gynocritiques. Démarches féministes à l’écriture des Canadiennes et Québécoises, Toronto, ECW Press, 1987, 131-141. ___, « Veuillez agréer..., roman de Michèle Mailhot », dans M. Lemire et alii, Dictionnaire des œuvres littéraires du Québec, tome V, Montréal, Fides, 1987, 933-934. Waelti--Walters, Jennifer, Fairy Tales and the Female Imagination, Montréal, Eden Press, 1982.

232 Shirin Kudchedkar

Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space: Yolande Villemaire’s La Vie en prose1

Abstract Yolande Villemaire’s La Vie en prose can be seen as a celebration of women’s language and women’s space. A group of women who run a publishing house edit and write manuscripts where the glimpses of women’s lives are not as significant as the writers’ efforts to give them expression. Who writes what, who does what, does not matter — attempts to unravel this only lead to confusion. Together, the women create a space in which “la vie en prose” is found to embrace “la vie en rose.” The paper begins with a brief account of what the novel is about and then proceeds to demonstrate how women create a space for themselves. The foregrounded terms “prose” and “rose” are studied. The women are not allured by the glamour of “la vie en rose”; rather, by discovering “le fun” in the seemingly prosaic trivialities of day-to-day living, they discover their own version of “la vie en rose.” The image of “la dame en rose,” which highlights this theme, is discussed. The issue of language is next considered, together with the manner in which the text continually investigates the relationship of the feminine subject to language and to reality. The fact that the actual process of writing and the implements of writing are constantly to the fore is examined. Intertextual and intratextual resonances are analysed, focusing particularly on the “ring,” the “dance” and the “bridge.” The novel’s treatment of extraterrestrial experience and of romantic love are discussed. The paper concludes with relating Villemaire’s project to the Quebec women’s enterprise of writing a women’s language, inscribing themselves in the body of language and creating women’s space.

Résumé La Vie en prose de Yolande Villemaire peut apparaître comme une célébration de la langue et de l’espace des femmes. Un groupe de femmes qui gèrent une maison d’édition révisent et rédigent des manuscrits où les aperçus de vies de femmes ne sont pas aussi importants que les efforts déployés par leurs auteures pour leur donner une expression littéraire. Qui écrit quoi, qui fait quoi, cela n’a pas d’importance — toute tentative pour déméler cet écheveau ne saurait qu’engendrer la confusion. Ensemble, les femmes créent un espace où « la vie en prose » embrasse « la vie en rose ». L’article commence par un bref compte rendu du thème du roman, puis l’auteure s’emploie à montrer comment les femmes se créent un espace. On étudie les termes de « prose » et « rose », qui sont à l’avant-plan du discours. Les femmes ne sont pas séduites par l’éclat de « la vie en rose », mais plutôt en découvrant ce qu’elles appellent « le fun » au cœur des banalités apparentes de la vie vécue au jour le jour, elles découvrent leur propre version de « la vie en rose ». Il s’ensuit une

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC discussion de l’image de « la dame en rose », qui fait ressortir ce thème. Puis il est question du langage de même que de la façon dont le texte ne cesse d’explorer la relation entre le sujet féminin, le langage et la réalité. On se penche sur le fait que les processus d’écriture et les instruments de l’écriture sont constamment à l’avant-plan. On analyse les résonances inter- et intratextuelles en se concentrant particulièrement sur « l’anneau », la « dance » et le « pont ». Le traitement par le roman de l’expérience extraterrestre et de l’amour romantique font l’objet d’une discussion. Dans la conclusion, on établit un lien entre le projet de Villemaire et l’entreprise des femmes québécoises, qui est d’écrire dans une langue de femme, de s’inscrire dans le corps du langage et de créer l’espace des femmes.

Women’s struggle to make a space for themselves within patriarchal social structures has been of long duration and has received much impetus as a result of the feminist movement of the second half of this century. The literary project termed “écriture au féminin” (“writing in the feminine”) could be construed as one of the most radical aspects of this effort. Women have felt excluded by the male language which, although termed a mother tongue, has not been a nurturing mother tongue for them, for it does not express their experience and their meanings. Hence, they have sought a language in which they can “write themselves” and have evolved literary forms in which they can explore this process of discovery. As far as Canada is concerned, the first to formulate this imperative were Francophone women writers in Quebec influenced by French feminist theory: , Madeleine Gagnon, France Théoret, Louky Bersianik, Louise Dupré and many others. The paper discusses one such text, Yolande Villemaire’s La Vie en prose, a novel in which women engaged in writing scrutinize the process involved. The scrutiny is not solemn. Rather, it takes the form of lighthearted play, which nonetheless raises searching questions. A brief introduction to the novel is followed by a discussion of the major issue on which it dwells — “la vie en rose,” which offers women space to be themselves, a “vie en rose” which is not contrasted to a banal, prosaic experience but achieved through a zestful embrace of the seemingly mundane aspects of every-day life. “Life in prose” is celebrated; by doing so, women enjoy “life in rose.” The next section of the paper examines the continual foregrounding of the act of enunciation. The process of composition fascinates the writers, as syntactic lapses or defects in the typewriter lead off in unexpected directions. The novel in process of composition appears to be La Vie en prose itself. But characteristic of Villemaire is the doubt as to which of the women is composing it or whether all are not, through their own compositions, contributing to a collective enterprise. Intertextuality and intratextuality form the very fabric of the novel. The pervasive allusions to the ring, the dance and the bridge, associated with the well-known song “Sur le pont d’Avignon,” are extensively discussed. A short excursus on the treatment of extraterrestrial experience and one on romantic love precede the conclusion which relates Villemaire’s novel to the

236 Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space

Quebec women’s enterprise of writing a women’s language and creating women’s space. To turn then to the novel. A group of women run a publishing house. They scrutinize the manuscripts submitted to them, singly, together. Most of them are themselves writers. The novel is divided into sections with enigmatic titles like “Delta/echo, sierra/tango” or “L’écriture rouge.” There are no clear links between sections, often no links within sections. The characters are constantly on the move — one visits Urbino, another Provence, yet another Los Angeles — apart from trips into the superterrestrial. Sometimes first-person narration is employed, less often third person. In the latter case, the protagonist is almost always “elle” (Lotte is an exception). In the first-person narration, the novelist determinedly avoids using the speaker’s name. No other character addresses her by name. Very rarely does she address herself: “Ne t’adresse pas à Lexa, Vava” (347); “Laure est-tu d’Avignon ou de la Malbaie?” (128) (Do not address Lexa, Vava.” “Laura do you come from Avignon or Malbaie?”) It is difficult to puzzle out which sections are by the same narrator, difficult to decide whether the narration concerns the main characters or characters invented by them and whether we are not in fact reading one of the manuscripts they are engaged in writing. One looks for references to the places they visit, their interests, childhood memories, names of children, lovers, even cats, in one’s desperate search for clues. Finally one concludes that, if one were meant to know, one would know. The successive sections may take the form of narration, letters, manuscripts written or submitted, accounts of trips (in more than one sense), of evenings spent in the company of friends. We move from childhood memories to the trivia of daily living, to writing, to fantasizing, to “le fun.” The women struggle with the first sentence of a manuscript, they discuss problems of play production, they travel, they enjoy ecstatic unions with lovers, so ecstatic as to be perhaps enacted in fantasy. We are immersed in the reality of women’s lives, yet the mode is not that of realism. We do not ask ourselves: what kind of person is Rose, is Valva, how are they contrasted? We do not speculate about motivation. Rather, the character is the motive or starting-point for the novel, as one of the women writers says when she has just created the character Nane Yelle and is getting tired of her. What is to the fore is a collective female voice and collective female experience. As Janet Paterson puts it: “...the inscription of the feminine I in the discourse produces an enunciative plurality...a polyphony of feminine voices...calls into question the myths of the unitary subject and of a homogenous collective voice.2” (317) Suzanne Lamy in her article on the novel3 speaks only of “la dame en rose” (the woman in pink) rather than any of the women by name. Who does what, who writes what, does not matter. Together the women create a space in which “la vie en prose” is found to embrace “la vie en rose,” together they explore how “words” relate to “things,” how one crosses the bridge from reality into fiction, how the female subject makes her own, through a process of transformation, literary modes that were controlled by a literary institution not her own. Both Janet Paterson and Suzanne Lamy have provided perceptive accounts of how the leitmotif of rose runs through the novel; this is so much

237 IJCS / RIÉC foregrounded that any discussion of the novel would remain incomplete without it. If “la vie en rose” is life blooming rose pink, romantic, alluring, “la vie en prose” is the prosaic life of every day, life as it really is. The novel then would seem to represent the prosaic reality of life, composed of trivia, inconsequential, drifting. Characters relax discussing a film, they amuse themselves with plans for starting a café, they go off at a tangent. A character travels to California, it is hot, she puts the air conditioning at the maximum, she takes off her shoes, lights a cigarette, misplaces it. Someone else is in the process of typing her book; she struggles with the uncooperative typewriter, watches a spider, recollects the story of Arachne. Even the detective novel one of them is writing proceeds at a leisurely pace, noting trivia. This is what life is, far removed from the glamour of Hollywood or the dream world of women’s magazines. Yet “la vie en prose” and “la vie en rose” are not polar opposites. While the novelist is opting for the world of mundane reality as the material for fiction and rejecting the decorative, romantic model of femininity which is conjured by the phrase “la vie en rose,” reality is not as mundane as would appear from the account just given. After all, the word “prose” contains within itself the word “rose.” “Rose” and “prose” are opposites yet “rose” is encompassed within “prose.” A distinctly festive, ludic air permeates the whole enterprise. The characters liven up their existence constantly. They have “le fun.” And one does not require glamour to have “le fun.” One may sing a song from a Hollywood movie but one may also sing a jingle made up by oneself. The woman in California referred to above has arrived in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar town. She tramps along, making the maximum noise, enjoys the sound her boots make, sings a soldier’s marching song, “These boots are made for marching,” tap-dances. The women don fancy dress; they improvise playlets. The word “rose” appears constantly in the text, together with an endless succession of rose-coloured objects.4 Within the first four pages we find a character named Rose, a film “Pink Lady,” a character in it who wears pink pyjamas, a character in another film who thinks she is Rosa Luxemburg. The characters wear pink dresses, salmon-coloured pants. (74) They eat watermelon and a salad consisting of radishes, cantaloup, strawberries and yogurt with cherries. (74) The Godot one awaits is a lady in rose in a carriage. (39) Indeed the whole world of the novel is drenched, steeped, bathed in rose. Suzanne Lamy emphasizes this when she speaks of ...la présence du rose qui colore toute La Vie en prose, donne sa tonalité à ce texte de prolifération où tout se passe au niveau des courants, des attitudes, avec tout l’inattendu de la vie... Il est le leitmotiv, l’object transitionnel en qui fusionnent les douceurs de l’enfance, les robes claires et les sucreries. (114) (the presence of that rose tinge which colours the whole of La Vie en prose gives a kind of tonality to this proliferating text where everything takes place on the level of flow, of attitudes, with all the unexepectedness of life... It is the leitmotif, the transitional object in which are fused the joys of chilhood, the light dresses and the sweets.)

238 Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space

For her, all the characters are one character: la dame en rose. Her presence is pervasive — this lady in rose. She represents all the positive values of the novel. Her appearance is sometimes unexpected, sometimes the culmination of a joyous experience. The text foregrounds its writing in her presence: “La femme en rose qui descendait l’escalier de ce texte...” (188) (The woman in rose who descends the stairs of this text.) “Il y a toujours une femme en rose dans le paysage de ce roman comme il y a toujours du rose depuis que j’en ai entendu la chanson...” (188) (There is always a woman in rose since I heard the song about it.) A lyrical vision of her is undercut by a reflection that she is ultimately the creation of a novelist. Dans le ciel, ce soir, il y avait une spirale de nuages roses qui montait du soleil couchant. De la terrasse, on voyait la brume lever entre les collines et des strates pastelles de jaune et de mauve et les effilochures roses bougeaient dans le ciel. J’ai demandé à X s’il voyait ce personnage qui volait, là, dans la spirale. Il a dit: “Oui, la femme en rose...,” ça parait qu’il lit le roman à mesure. Et c’était, oui, une femme en rose qui planait dans le ciel...(223) (In the sky that evening was a spiral of rosy clouds that ascended from the setting sun. From the terrace one saw the mist rising between the hillocks and bands of pastel yellows and mauves and ravelled strands of rose swayed in the sky. I asked X if he could see that being, flying there in the spiral. He said: “Yes, the woman in rose...,” it appeared he is reading the instalments of the novel. And it was indeed a woman in rose who hovered in the sky.) However, the narrator is not disturbed if the vision does not materialize; if it sometimes exists, in a sense, it, always exists. Je n’ai pas vu passer de dame en rose en carosse sur un aquaduc romain. C’était moi qui parcourait l’oasis de Gabès en fiacre... Et je n’étais qu’une dame en blanc... Et je trouvais que cela avait peu d’importance. (232) (I have not seen any lady in rose passing in a carriage over a Roman aqueduct. It is I who was crossing the oasis of Gabès in a carriage... And I was only a woman in white... And I found that this was a matter of little importance.) Janet Paterson is thus led to conclude that “the quest for `la vie en rose’ is valorized in spite of the banality of the cliché.” (319) I am not sure that I would see it in terms of a quest. Rather, by embracing “la vie en prose” in a spirit of jouissance one finds oneself plunged in “la vie en rose.” It is as when a match lands on the typewriter, jamming the key for “p.” (85) The issue is explicitly discussed in the novel; there is/is not a distinction between the two. “La vie en prose, parce que la distinction n’existe pas. C’est l’univers du rose : entre le rouge de la révolution et la blanche de la fête.” (129) “La vie en prose parce que la distinction n’existe pas...Si elle n’existe pas, elle existe, pourtant, simultanément.” (194) (La vie en prose because there is no distinction. It is the universe of rose between the red of revolution and the white of festival.) (La vie en prose because the distinction does not exist...If it does not exist, it exists, however, simultaneously.)

239 IJCS / RIÉC

Prose and rose employ a different language; prose spells out its meanings through similes whereas rose metaphorizes itself, not dependent on an observer to interpose with a “like.” Prose can constrain. “La vie l’avait à ce point emporté sur la prose qu’aucun texte ne pourra jamais rendre compte de tout ce qu’il y avait dans cet instant-là.” (221) (Life had, to such an extent, prevailed over prose that no text could ever comprehend all that the moment contained.) Yet even prose in its attempt to grasp the fleeting moment moves beyond the literal. “La vie, même en prose, va trop vite pour être prise au pied de la lettre.” (83) (Life, even in prose, passes too swiftly to be taken literally.) Imprisoned within prose one can yet call up rose divinities. “Je manque peut- être un peu de vie depuis que je me suis enfermée à double tour dans la prose. Mais ce n’est que le temps d’une tsampa, le temps de faire lever ces divinités roses comme le font ces lamas qui méditent pendant des années sur une déité de sorte que cette déité prend réalité.” (194-195) (Something of life is missing for me since I am double-locked in prose. But it is only the time of a “tsampa” the time to call up those rose divinities as do the lamas who meditate for years on a deity with the result that deity takes on reality.) Even if it corresponds to a utopian ideal, the vision of rose enables women to create a space for themselves, to live and move joyously and freely in that space. “Je veux voir la vie en rose et croire aux utopies.” (197) The rose that one discovers in the life of prose is not the conventional glamour of “la vie en rose” but is no less a festive, celebratory rose. The themes of rose and of women’s space are foregrounded by the cover page. A woman in a short, loose-fitting pink dress appears to be jumping; the fact that her knees and thighs are firmly pressed together, though one foot is behind the other, suggests that this is what she is doing rather than running or stepping forward. She is in an aperture framed by pinkish brown walls with a similar wall in the rear. In the foreground is what could be a floor, towards the side are two tall objects, one of which could be either a drum or a cask. The picture then is suffused with pink and the woman is acting freely in her own space, unconcerned about any observer. She is far from the sleek, curvaceous models associated with the glamour of “la vie en rose” but lives “la vie en rose” nonetheless. However, it is most specifically through the act of writing that the women create a space for themselves. The text continually investigates the relationship of the feminine subject to language and to reality. Since the women are writers, Paterson argues that “...the enunciated is modified in its linear progression by the systematic thematizing of the enunciation...The enunciative situation directly affects the text by projecting upon it the presence of the feminine subjects who are writing.” (320) In each section of the text (the enunciated), the reader is conscious of a writer producing this section, what it means to her to be writing it, the situation in which she is writing, the search for expression. The act of enunciation is thus “thematized”; it is as much the subject of the novel as anything the women may be doing. The actual process of writing is constantly foregrounded as is the fact that we are reading a novel and that sections of it are manuscripts composed by women characters in that novel. Several references to the novel “La Vie en prose” itself

240 Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space indicate that it is in process of composition. One can scarcely speak of a frame narrative and inset narratives, as one does with a novel like Hubert Aquin’s Prochain Épisode, since not only is there scarcely any narrative which forms the outer core, but even the manuscripts rarely tell a “story” of an imaginary character; rather, they show us a woman writing — it could be Rose or Laure or Nane herself or a first person voice in her manuscript. We even find a writer showing us another writer at work. Yolande Villemaire gives us a text composed by “Noémie Artaud,” probably the pen name of Nane, which shows us a woman (is it Nane Yelle?) watching a girl in a café scribbling as if terrorized, and herself buying a notebook in which to write her journal. “Le Livre-Sphinx” which purports to be by “Gloria Olivetti” is more obviously a text composed by Nane, whose identity is betrayed by the heavy thump of her un-cooperative typewriter. Attention constantly focuses on the implements of writing: the pens, the paper, the notebooks that the women buy and use. Most prominent of these is Nane’s typewriter; its antics determine the actual course of her writing. She puts its shortcomings to advantage: if it types only semi-colons, rather than blot them out, she adds idle details to entangle further. The defects in her machine force her to branch out, generate paragraphs. Literary criticism of a traditional kind used to speak of how a character “ran away’ with the author, assumed proportions and occcupied a space far from the author’s original plan. More recent criticism demonstrates how words assume control, and we shall turn presently to instances of this in the novel. But here is a case where the purely mechanical process of writing takes over and determines the style and the actual content. The play of language, the play of words, syntactic lapses which gender new meanings, all such processes which go beyond the author’s volition, serve as means by which the woman writer encourages language to lead her into new spaces. Meanings proliferate to a point where it is useless to call to mind the literal sense of words (or of things)....“le sens prolifère à ce point que de me rappeler le sens littéral des mots et des choses ne m’est plus d’aucun secours.” (191) Sheer play is evident in a short letter signed by “Lisle”: Je t’écris dans le vide et c’est comme écrire un roman; et dans “La Vie en prose” il y a “lives near Poe,” ce qui s’écrit sur un air de chat-chat- chat et de mystère. (101) (I write in the void and it is like writing a novel; and in La Vie en prose there is “lives near Poe,” which writes itself with an air of chat-chat- chat [a play on cha-cha-cha and the French for cat] and mystery.) One form that the game takes is to launch into a sentence which continues indefinitely with relative clauses and adverbial clauses leading us far from the original topic of discourse. The game sometimes reinforces the themes of the text; an instance already discussed at length is the play on “rose” and “prose”. Another instance is the reinforcement of the presence of a collectivity of women in the novel by inventing names ending in the same sound as “elle” (she), such as Rose Vel, Nane Yelle, Laure de son nom d’Aurel, Yvelle. The

241 IJCS / RIÉC invented character Rose Vel employs such play herself when she says she has adopted this name because, though it sounds beautiful, it is actually the name of a washing soap and the life of women is a combination of looking pretty and doing the washing — “faire la belle et faire la vaisselle.” (70) A point to which stylisticians direct attention is “syntactic foregrounding,” the manner in which syntax is either indicative of a “mind style” or else “enacts” the theme. Here, on the other hand, it is the unexpected syntactic lapses that suddenly open up new vistas. Je commence à être si habile à détecter mes lapsus syntagmatiques que ça risque de n’avoir bientôt plus aucun intérêt. C’est très jaune- scab ces mots qu’on imagine neutres; ils passent leur temps à traverser les piquets de grève et se mettent le cœur joyeusement à l’ouvrage pendant que le boss, tout content, s’empresse de faire fusiller les grévistes de Five Roses. (198) (I have begun to be so skillful in detecting my syntactic lapses that I run the risk of losing all interest in this soon. These words that one imagines to be neutral, are really scab-yellow, spending their time slipping through the picket lines of the strikers and setting to work joyfully while the boss, fully satisfied, engages himself in having the strikers of “Five Roses” gunned down.) The reversal of values implied here is clever and unexpected for the strikers are the monitors of language conventions and norms of discourse rather than rebels and the scabs are not disloyal to a cause but rather set to work undermining such conventions and norms. The analogy leads off to an actual event when the boss had the strikers fired on, after which, speaking of this analogy, the writer once again makes words responsible for approximating a personal story to the regional, national or international reality. “Ce sont les mots qui ont tendance à confondre l’histoire personnelle à l’actualité régionale, nationale ou internationale.” (199) The writers puzzle over the relation between reality and fiction. For them fiction is not a straightforward transcript of reality, though they do at times tell stories which are little more than a transcription of the trivial, prosaic minutiae of day-to-day living. There are times when the fiction transports the writer to an alien world where the colours are brighter, sensations keener, contradictions sharper than in our world. After one such hallucinatory experience, the writer is terrified. “...[j]’ai compris que j’étais...dans le lieu de mon roman. Peut-être aussi de l’autre côté de ce pont que j’ai si peur de traverser et que je franchis pourtant, toutes les nuits, dans mes rêves.” (119) (I realized that I was in the world of my novel. Perhaps also on the other side of that bridge which I so fear to cross and which I traverse so speedily nevertheless every night in my dreams). Yet if strange and comical things can happen in life, why may they not in fiction? “Elle se dit que, puisqu’il arrive de drôles de choses au temps dans la vie...il pourrait bien en arriver dans les romans.” (105) Not for these women however is there a post-modern doubting of reality itself. “Rien ne vaut l’expérimentation quand on se met à douter du réel, ce qui revient, assez paradoxalement, au même qu’à douter de la fiction.”

242 Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space

(160) (Experimentation is of no value if one starts to doubt reality, which amounts, rather paradoxically, to doubting fiction.) The struggle for words, either to capture the essence of the real, or to compose a fiction, is a constant preoccupation. “Elle se rappelle...que la langue, même maternelle, ne peut pas tout dire d’un coup...” (86) (She recollects that language, even the mother tongue, cannot say everything at one go.) She has recourse to varied strategies. Elle imagine de n’écrire qu’au présent pour retenir le cours des choses et renverser le courant. Ce qui se pose là comme dilemme effrayant, c’est la question des mots et des choses et de ce qui a priorité pour éviter les chicanes et les accidents. (87) (She imagines writing only in the present tense to maintain the flow of things and reverse the current. What poses itself as a frightful dilemma is the issue of words and things and of which should have priority in order to avoid trickery and accidents.) She comes to the realization that it is the silences that one must hear and then somehow write if one is to comprehend and communicate what life has to say. Words appear sometimes too weak, a moment later too strong as they impose themselves. She is not afraid of such contradictions. Les mots sont fort hélas et ont tendance à s’imposer contre l’hémisphère du silence: j’aimerais arriver à écrire des silences qui s’entendent. Mais les mots tendent à la détente: les mots jasent et le texte est ravi par l’anecdote. (129) (Words are strong alas and have a tendency to impose themselves against the hemisphere of silence. I would like to reach the point when I can write the silences which listen to themselves. But words tend to slacken: words jabber and the text is ravished by anecdote.) As everywhere in this text, ideas are not set forth systematically or dogmatically; they are, as it were, spun off by the play on words. Intertextual as well as intratextual references are integral to the enunciation. We have echoes of innumerable writers — Proust, Brossard, Aquin, of popular songs, of films and comics — Minnie Mouse and Bionic Woman. At one level this is sheer play, at another it sets up resonances, the words of the text absorbing into themselves associations set up by the original text and, in their turn, reflecting back upon the original, meanings which will henceforth attach themselves to it. According to Paterson, the frequency of allusions and echoes relating to women writers and to Quebec writers, on the one hand celebrates the plurality and heterogeneity of women writers and, on the other hand, presents the literature of Quebec as a culture available to all. I would like to expand on one instance of intertextuality as well as intratextuality which brings together many of the most significant meanings in the text. This is the reference to the French song: Sur le pont d’Avignon On y danse, on y danse. Sur le pont d’Avignon On y danse tout en rond.

243 IJCS / RIÉC

(On the bridge at Avignon one dances in a ring.) The ring is central to the text. The women who write and edit are friends who share their experiences, advise, suggest, never compete. They form a ring, complete and self-sufficent. The structure of the novel could also be said to form a ring, as it closes in on itself, though the image of a web or spiral might be more appropriate. (There is an article on the structure by Lise Potvin but I have not been able to see it in her terms.)5 The dance is also central to this festive text. The women quite often literally dance joyously, dancing right through the night. In an episode which we are later told is set on the moon, “il” and “elle,” he and she, dance for hours, absorbed in their dance. In another fantasy sequence, Mata Hari and her partner dance without touching, in perfect synchrony and could so dance even if one of them were at the Atlantic, the other at the North Pole. For the thousandth fraction of a second, Nane has glimpsed the sacred dance of Shiva, the “lila.” She dances to the sound of a flute on the stairs at Urbino where she is supposed to be attending a course of lectures by Todorov. She can dance for hours, alone or with others. But it is always with the lover, the “angel,” addressed as “you” that she dances “la vie en rose.” “Je peux danser, toute seule, ou avec d’autres, pendant des heures. Mais c’est toujours avec toi quand je danse la vie en rose.” (227) If the dance represents the “jouissance” or ecstacy that the novel celebrates, the bridge suggests sometimes union, sometimes its impossibility (how characteristic of Villemaire that it should do both), sometimes a passage, while sometimes it is simply the locale for the dance. There are bridges between fiction and reality, between the known and the unknown. There are bridges which both unite and separate lovers. “La dame en rose” is seen crossing the bridge. That the bridge, the dance and the colour “rose” are highly significant in the novel is highlighted by the fact that frequently all three or at least two of them appear in conjunction. A shop near the bridge at Avignon on which Laure has danced sells curios which are blue in sunshine, pink when it rains, and mauve when the weather is uncertain. Later, following a passage where she writes of love-making so ecstatic that it carries her to the Milky Way and to the womb, she asks herself: “Qu’est-ce que c’est que cette danse que tu danses en rond sur le pont, au bout du quai, sur le traversier?” (128) (What is this dance that you dance in a ring, on the bridge, at the end of the quay, on the crossing?) One reference seems to shed light on the rather puzzling setting in which the woman in pink is situated on the cover page: “Je ne sais qu’y sauter à pieds joints pour les défoncer ou n’y danser qu’en rond?”(117) (I do not know whether one jumps there [on bridges] with feet together in order to smash them or only to dance there in a ring.) Is it a bridge on which the woman in the picture is placed or which she is approaching? It certainly does not appear to be so and there is nothing destructive about her stance, but this is one of only two references we have to jumping as against dancing. The second reference gives us a clue to a fresh interpretation: Je suis encore paralysée, assise à une extrémité du pont pendant que toi, assis à l’autre extrémité, tu me fais signe de la tête que oui, oui, il

244 Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space

existe, le pont. Est-ce que c’est avant ou après que je l’ai défoncé en sautant dessus à pieds joints, je ne sais plus...(225-226) Un jour, je vais m’arrêter, je vais sortir ma vieille robe rose et je vais m’avancer sur ce pont. J’avance déjà...Pourquoi c’est si difficile de marcher sur ce pont-là? Ce ne sont que des cordes...Où est-ce que j’allais, est-ce que je n’y vais pas encore? Comment un pont que l’on a déjà défoncé peut-il ne l’être pas? C’était le pont de l’étage au- dessus, c’est ça? (226) ( I am again paralysed, seated at one extremity of the bridge, while you, seated at the other extremity, make a sign with your head to say that yes, yes, it exists, the bridge. Is this before or after I have smashed it, leaping on it with feet together, I don’t know any more... One day I am going to stop, I am going to get out my old rose- coloured dress and I am going to advance along that bridge. I am advancing already...why is it so difficult to walk on this bridge? There are only ropes. Where was it I went? Am I not going there again? How can a bridge still be there when one has already destroyed it? It’s the bridge leading to the stage above, is it?) While the world of the novel is very much our world, there are repeated forays into other worlds, other dimensions. In many cases, the writers are trying their hand at space fiction, in some they are trying to find metaphors to convey the ecstasy of love-making. Sometimes they might be drug-induced hallucinations. But Yolande Villemaire herself is seriously interested in Indian philosophy and religion, and one concludes that some of these episodes are intended to describe genuine transcendental experiences. The bridge then is perhaps the bridge to the next stage, the stage that follows earthly existence. “La vie en rose,” entrancing though it is, though it was eminently worthwhile to have lived it, must ultimately be abandoned if one is to advance along this bridge. Paradoxically this bridge must be destroyed, the ties with the world must be severed yet having broken it one still needs it to move on. The bridge opens up new spaces for women. The bridge also extends between lovers. A digression on the role of romantic love in women’s space is called for here; writing on a text which is a tissue of digressions, one need hardly apologize for making one oneself. Several of the first-person narrators describe a state of yearning, abandonment, ecstacy quite in keeping with the tradition of romantic love, an explicitly physical love culminating in physical union. The floating signifiers — rose, the dance, the bridge — are often associated with these experiences or states of mind. One or two of them have already been quoted: “C’est toujours avec toi que je danse la vie en rose.” Is love then one of the positives in this world of women, love conceived not very differently from what is traditionally expected in the man-woman relationship? Unlike some other Quebec women writers, such as Nicole Brossard, Villemaire does not valorize lesbian relationships as an alternative which offers more space, more authenticity. Is the relationship shown as constricting, as well as fulfilling? Are the writers simply practising their craft? Is there an element of parody? In the beginning one feels this may be so when the protagonist in the manuscript by Noémie Artaud longs for her lover,

245 IJCS / RIÉC recollects the feel of his skin, but has forgotten his name and declares: “Je n’ai pas envie de cette passion.” (13, 33) (I have no desire for this passion.) But how is the reader meant to respond to the intensity of the passion experienced by an unidentifiable narrator with an angel (75), of Laure with “toi” (127), of Nane with Djinny (whom she calls her twin), of Vava with Lexa (which is the name of a character in a novel by Nicole Brossard)? Is it in imagination or in reality that “le souffle chaud de l’huître de ta bouche dissipe le goût du métal et la rose de ton sexe contre le mien fleurit dans une nappe d’eau noire et lisse poudrée d’or.” (297) (The warm breath of the oyster of your mouth dissipates the taste of metal and the rose of your sex against mine flowers in a sheet of water, black, smooth, powdered with gold.) Extending the realm of experience and expression, enjoying in imagination what she may never have known in reality, the woman writer claims for herself the right to live and to express herself as a sexual being. In an issue of the journal Tessera, the Quebec writer and critic Louise Dupré speaks of the need to discover a women’s language. To affirm our women’s language, de-centred, eccentric in relation to the symbolic, changeable, passionate, and linked to the semiotic chora. As in the subversion of the norm, as in prosody, as in the language of gentle madness, as in laughter. Where women talk among themselves in open and in-finite communications, where they write in the feminine in their fictions, where they talk nonsense in relation to the law, to power, to the forces of power, so as to undermine them. (35)6 Barbara Godard, writing on the Quebec women’s enterprise, lays stress on their relation to language.7 For them, there is no pre-existing reality which they seek to translate into language. Rather, they inscribe themselves in the body of language. Writing, for them, is not transcription, but inscription, a means of resisting language through a foregrounding of process. La Vie en prose demonstrates the woman writer finding her own language, de- centred, drawing from the semiotic chora though not altogether abandoning the symbolic, talking nonsense, laughing, subverting. Woman inscribes herself and experiences herself as subject, breaking from the tradition which treated her as object. The women in the novel have entered what was traditionally men’s sphere, the world of work. They take it seriously, but also it is “le fun.” Publishing brings them to texts both as writers and readers. Through producing women’s texts they create space for women.

Notes 1. Yolande Villemaire, La Vie en prose (Montréal: Les herbes rouges, 1980). Page references indicated in the body of the text. 2. Janet Paterson, “A Poetics of Transformation: Yolande Villemaire’s La Vie en prose,” in Amazing Space eds. Shirley Neuman and Smaro Kamboureli (Edmonton: Longspoon and NeWest, 1986), pp. 315-323. Page references indicated in the body of the text. A French version of the same article, “Le postmoderne au féminin: La Vie en prose” is to be found in her book Moments Postmodernes dans le roman Québéçois (Ottawa: Les Presses de l’Université d’Ottawa, 1990) pp. 83-93.

246 Celebrating Women’s Language and Women’s Space

3. Suzanne Lamy, “Subversion en rose” in Féminité, Subversion, Écriture eds. Suzanne Lamy and Irène Pagès (Les éditions du remue-ménage, 1983), pp. 107-118. 4. The French term “rose” means “pink.” I preferred to retain the term “rose” though it may conjure up for an English-speaking reader a rose-red rather than a rose-pink. This is partly for reasons of euphony, partly because Indian pinks are sometimes rather garish. But more importantly, the prose-rose dichotomy is lost if one translates the term, as is the link with the phrase “la vie en rose.” Lamy also points out that rose is an anagram for “Eros” and for “oser” (to dare). 5. Lise Potvin, “L’Ourobouros est un serpent qui se mord la queue XZ,” Voix et images 33, Printemps 1986. 6. Louise Dupré, “The Doubly Complicit Memory,” Tessera 1, Jan 1984 (Published as Room of One’s Own Vol 8, No. 4). 7. Barbara Godard, “Writing and difference: Women writers of Quebec and English-Canada,” in the feminine, proceedings of conference Women and Words 1983 (Longspoon Press, 1985).

247 Gillian Whitlock

The Silent Scribe: Susanna and “Black Mary”

Abstract In January 1831, in the house of Thomas Pringle, Susanna Strickland was the amanuensis of the first autobiography published by a slave woman in Britain, The History of Mary Prince. Here, this connection is used to reflect upon the nature of the relationship between two post-colonial subjects, the pioneer and the emancipated slave, and to place Moodie’s autobiographical writings in the context of recent debates about white femininity in the Empire.

Résumé En janvier 1831, chez Thomas Pringle, Susanna Strickland est la copiste de la première autobiographie publiée par une esclave en Grande-Bretagne, The History of Mary Prince. Ce lien servira de réflexion sur la nature de la relation entre deux sujets post-coloniaux, la pionnière et l’esclave affranchie, et sur la place de l’écriture autobiographique de Moodie dans le contexte des débats récents eu égard à la fémininité de la race blanche dans l’Empire britannique.

In the November 1971 edition of Canadian Notes and Queries, Carl Ballstadt noted Susanna Moodie’s earlier interest in the abolition movement. Few people are aware that she was the amanuensis of the first autobiography published by a slave woman in Britain, The History of Mary Prince. Ballstadt’s discussion of this is brief, a “note” as the title suggests. It reappears in his co- edited volume Susanna Moodie. Letters of a Lifetime (1985), for in late January 1831, Susanna Strickland wrote to her friends James and Emma Bird: I have been writing Mr Pringle’s black Mary’s life from her own dictation and for her benefit adhering to her own simple story and language without deviating to the paths of flourish or romance. It is a pathetic little history and is now printing in the form of a pamphlet to be laid before the Houses of Parliament. Of course my name does not appear. Mr Pringle has added a very interesting appendix and I hope the work will do much good... (Ballstadt et al., 1985, 57) Despite some ten years of Moodie scholarship this incident had entirely escaped my attention. Its revelation finally came not through Canadian materials, but via a recent edition of the autobiography edited by Moira Ferguson. In her “Introduction,” Ferguson notes: In London in 1827, when [Mary Prince] escaped, she was employed as a domestic servant by Thomas Pringle, the Methodist secretary of the Anti-Slavery Society and the editory of her History. Pringle’s friend, Susanna Strickland, recently a Methodist convert, had

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC

transcribed Mary Prince’s narrative while she lived as a guest in Pringle’s home sometime during 1829 or 1830. In a footnote, Ferguson observes that she has found no evidence that Susanna Strickland Moodie ever referred to her transcription of two stories, that of Mary Prince and of another slave, Ashton Warner. She did however include a poem entitled “An Appeal to the Free” in Enthusiasm; and Other Poems (1831). The impact of finding Strickland’s hand in the Prince autobiography remains with me still, and it was perceptibly a revelation to many when I first related the story of Strickland and Prince to a Canadian audience in 1992. This paper does not aim to present more detail or to recover any later references by Moodie to the episode. Rather, it explores how this fragment, this glimpse of the younger woman, might infect our thinking about her later work, beyond Ballstadt’s observation of it as an interesting footnote or embellishment upon what we already know. We will approach it as an episode which causes us to reflect upon how we know Moodie, and how we read the later texts. As Ballstadt suggests, the Mary Prince episode offers an insight into Susanna Strickland’s humanitarianism. However, it also gives us a text to compare to Roughing it in the Bush, a glimpse prior to that moment of arrival, which provides a different context for thinking about that moment in terms of race, gender and colonialism. For most readers, the fascination with Moodie begins with the very first glimpse of the young immigrant in Roughing it in the Bush: her account of the gradual progress up the St.Lawrence to Grosse Isle and beyond into the backwoods. This sketch dramatises all the confusion and false expectations of arrival by perpetually deconstructing the cultural baggage brought by the middle-class wife and mother; this text is frequently used to anchor interpretations of Moodie’s autobiographical writing. Recently, feminist readings of this sketch in particular have placed its narrator as a figure of mothering, a narrator who uses her “mother tongue”: “Moodie not only brings into textual existence a universe populated by mothers and their offspring, but is always also ... marked herself/marks herself as a figure of mothering.” (Freiwald, 1990: 156) The originating moment of Moodie’s story, the decision to emigrate, is presented as a specifically maternal moment by Moodie herself. In Freiwald’s analysis, the maternal gaze is a primary constituent of Moodie’s narrative perspective. There is always a child at Moodie’s side — how many critics have noticed this? Most recently, Helen Buss developed this approach further in her study of Canadian women’s autobiographical writing. Buss laments that the “desiring, suffering, yearning, nurturing, loving body of a woman, a body Moodie spoke of to her husband in their private letters, has always been left out of our readings of Roughing.” (Buss, 1993: 85) In turn, Buss desires to return to Roughing it in the Bush and find that woman’s body, along with the subjectivity radicalized, the agency created, by the suffering and loving of that body. Like Freiwald, Buss also focusses on “A Visit to Grosse Isle” as our first glimpse of “the narrating Susanna,” “a woman who is herself physically performing a very gendered nursing function, a woman who is quite literally a

250 The Silent Scribe: Susanna and “Black Mary” connective tissue, a plural self who cannot help but find identity in alterity.” (Buss, 1993:88) Reading Moodie in terms of gender and maternity in particular, as Buss and Freiwald contend, opens some new possibilities for considering a number of the Roughing it sketches as autobiography. However, work remains to articulate this maternity in historical and political terms, and to understand the function of mothering beyond the psychoanalytic perspectives which have guided work in this area to date. As Helen Buss points out, psychoanalytic models can infer essential and ahistorical truths which fail to recognise the configurations of different gender constructions in different times. This is our point of departure: by bringing together Susanna Strickland and Mary Prince, we will explore the different voices available to women autobiographers at a precise point in time — during the surge in abolitionist and early feminist discourses of the 1820s and 1830s and into the early Victorian cult of domesticity — and to understand their subjectivities in terms of post-colonial perspectives. The earlier incarnation of Susanna Strickland as the silent amanuensis in the household of Thomas Pringle, the means by which another, quite different, autobiographical text emerges, is not only intriguing but also relevant to our view of the young mother who landed — ever so briefly — at Grosse Isle. The “other” autobiography here, The History of Mary Prince, A West Indian Slave, Related By Herself, is an unlikely document which made Prince the first black, British spokeswoman for general emancipation. You may well ask how we came by an autobiography of a woman born into slavery in the Crown Colony of Bermuda in 1788. Prince’s History tells us that she was first sold as an infant, then again in 1805 as an adolescent, and again as a woman in her twenties. Each time, her History records experiences of degradation and brutality which reach their depths on the salt ponds of Turks Island. She was sold for a fourth and final time to a merchant in Antigua, who took her to England in 1828 as his laundress. Here, at the height of the anti-slavery campaign, Mary Prince’s plight came to the attention of the Anti-Slavery Society and she took refuge as a maid in the Claremont Square house of Thomas Pringle, the Secretary of the Society, mentor to Susanna Strickland and close friend of John Dunbar Moodie, whom he had known in South Africa. So it was that a Caribbean slave came to tell her story: “I was born in Brackish- Pond, in Bermuda, on a farm belonging to Mr Charles Myners. My mother was a household slave; and my father, whose name was Prince, was a sawyer...” Prince, 1986:47). As Susanna Strickland points out in her letter to James and Emma Bird, “Of course my name does not appear.” In his “Preface to the first edition,” written at Claremont Square in January 1831, Thomas Pringle also reserves Strickland’s anonymity: The narrative was taken down from Mary’s own lips by a lady who happened to be at the time residing in my family as a visitor. It was written out fully, with all the narrator’s repetitions and prolixities, and afterwards pruned to its present shape; retaining, as far as was

251 IJCS / RIÉC

practicable, Mary’s exact expressions and peculiar phraseology. (Prince, 1986:45) The authenticity of the History was vital, and the issue of verification is addressed in the Preface quoted above and in the Appendices which proliferated with each further edition of the History, which went into three editions within months of its initial publication in 1831. In the third edition, the source of the 1986 reprint, Prince’s History is encrusted with prefatory text, footnotes added by Thomas Pringle, several postscripts and an editorial supplement, all of which in some ways address Prince’s veracity and moral character. Indeed, the unlikeliness of an autobiographical document of this kind is evidenced by the labour of the Pringle circle to stress Mary Prince’s agency in the making of the text, and to assert her status as autobiographer with all the attendant claims to truth and authorship. Mary Prince assists herself as a speaking, acting, thinking subject with an identity separate from Anglo- Africanist constructions of her past and present reality (Ferguson, 1992:282), yet her address to the British public is mediated by the interests and concerns of her patron and his Society’s campaign for abolition. Prince’s History alerts us to the conditions and the limits of autobiography, and how these parameters are shaped by cultural, political and historical factors. Strickland’s role is vital. Prince herself addresses the role of the amanuensis in the conclusion to the History: “I will say the truth to English people who may read this history that my good friend, Miss S- , is now writing down for me.” (Prince, 1986:84) As Moira Ferguson suggests in her recent lengthy discussion of the History, by way of thanking Strickland, Mary Prince affirms her own status as interlocutor, claiming her narrative before the very eyes of Pringle and her transcriber, her public mediators and guarantors as it were: “In another emphatic power reversal, the amanuensis has become an archetypal slave- other who takes orders and generates wealth (in this case textual wealth) simultaneously, an embodiment of Mary Prince’s literacy.” (1992: 292) Mary Prince’s History stands as a representative account; she speaks of and for all slaves: “I know what slaves feel — I can tell by myself what other slaves feel...” (1986: 84). Yet her right to speak results from her position as an emancipated slave able to authenticate the anti-slavery case at a particular juncture of this campaign in Britain in 1831. The History is filtered via the pen of the amanuensis and the scrutiny of the editor, Pringle, who is her first reader. Both of these intermediaries render her life and character “intelligible” to the British public by drawing on the religious and political discourses of the anti- slavery campaign. An overwhelming sense of readership, of audience, pervades the History: the character of the narrative is shaped generically according to the form of the British slave narrative which, in 1830, prescribed a particularly limited sense of the intersections between gender and race in the life history of slave women. And yet, the text, as Ferguson alleges, is riddled with the marks of “double discourse,” of Mary Prince’s refusal to be the silent, fictive object of colonial discourse. Like the later pioneering sketches of her amanuensis, Prince’s autobiography has multiple voices which speak of the post-colonial body in various and duplicitious ways.

252 The Silent Scribe: Susanna and “Black Mary”

However, Susanna Strickland’s role went beyond that of the silent scribe. The anonymous amanuensis, the “lady visitor” Miss S-, becomes an identified and authoritative spectator in a scene described in an Appendix to the third edition of the History. This Appendix was added by Pringle following inquiries “from various quarters respecting the existence of marks of severe punishment on Mary Prince’s body.” Pringle, 1986: 119) So Mary Pringle writes to Mrs Townsend, one of the secretaries of the Birmingham Ladies’ Society for Relief of Negro Slaves, from Claremont Square on March 28, 1831: In order to put you in possession of such full and authentic evidence, respecting the marks on Mary Prince’s person... I beg to add to my own testimony that of Miss Strickland (the lady who wrote down in this house the narratives of Mary Prince and Ashton Warner), together with the testimonies of my sister Susan and my friend Miss Martha Browne — all of whom were present and assisted me this day in a second inspection of Mary’s body. (1986:120) The women provide a testimonial, “full and authentic evidence,” that “the whole back part of her body is severely scarred, and, as it were, chequered, with the vestiges of severe floggings.” “[T] here are many large scars on other parts of her person, exhibiting an appearance as if the flesh had been deeply cut, or lacerated with gashes, by some instrument wielded by most unmerciful hands.” (1986:119) From the body viewed at the end of Mary Prince’s History, gender and the sexuality of the female body are visible only in particular ways of knowing. For the purposes of this autobiography, Prince’s body is viewed in terms of her race and status. Ferguson has argued that the British slave narrative makes it axiomatic that Mary Prince’s personhood and her soul be seen to prevail over her gender and her flesh. These are the terms in which she can speak and be recognised in this time and place. Here, as is so often the case, the body is seen to represent truth, flesh cannot lie; however, the markings which are read are no less culturally specific than the narrative copied in the main body of the History. The women attest to the marks of flogging on Mary Prince’s body. Flogging had become a critical issue in provincial women’s anti-slavery propaganda campaigns throughout the 1820s: In fact, flogging was one of the worst punishments evangelical women could imagine — especially, but not only, in the case of females — since it combined absolute control and remorseless abuse of the female body by males.... Flogging, in a word, was anti- Christian. Worst of all, it was a public act, involving an exposed nakedness and an unsolicited male gaze, sometimes even attracting spectators and enthusiasts. (Ferguson, 1992: 293) The scene described by Mrs Pringle in the Appendix can be read as the obverse of this public spectacle in terms of the male gaze; the context here is private and benevolent, for only women view the scars. Ferguson points out that Prince would have operated well within her rights (as evangelicals conceived of them) to refuse their request to view her body on the grounds of modesty. She not only permits but probably desires her body to be used in this way, as a space of inscription, for it offers a rare opportunity to speak her history corporeally to the world. (Ferguson, 1992: 295)

253 IJCS / RIÉC

The increasingly complex relationship between Mary Prince and her amanuensis, Susanna Strickland, which developed at Claremont Square in 1831 is intriguing. At a critical conjuncture in debates about race and property, gender and class, the emancipated slave woman recites a text located somewhere between biography and autobiography as they are traditionally conceived. Physically, these women are adjacent and yet worlds apart. Ultimately, the inscriptions of flogging upon the body of the Caribbean woman, a body made grotesque by abuse, are what speaks authentically to the British public. However, these marks are not mentioned by Mary herself, but by the woman who is auditor and spectator, Susanna Strickland. No simple equation can be made between these women on the basis of their gender. Nor can we establish a relationship by recourse to terms of doubled, tripled colonisations of women. Race, gender, class and nation have imprinted these bodies in very different ways. Their different locations alert us to the appropriateness of Denise Riley’s description of women as a “volatile collectivity.” Female persons, she says, “can be very differently positioned so that the apparent continuity of the subject `women’ isn’t to be relied on; `women’ is both synchronically and diachronically erratic as a collectivity ... for the individual `being a woman’ is also inconstant.” (Riley, 1988: 2) Riley’s idea of the volatile collectivity of women alerts us to instability and change not only across the range of women’s experiences but also within the life of the individual. Characterisations of women vary historically and socially between women and within the life history of one woman. Mary Prince and her amanuensis are a forceful example of how women are positioned very differently synchronically, and how different are the voices which allow them access to the public at any one time. They also remind us that, as critics of autobiography, women’s access to the status of autobiographer is negotiated through a kind of middle passage, from which subjectivity emerges bearing the imprints of experience and culture, self and society. The body is embedded in history. The relationship between Mary Prince and Susanna Strickland alerts us to the radically different positionings of women synchronically, but also to the variations of gender and sexuality experienced in a single life. Susanna Strickland Moodie, no less than Mary Prince, should be read as a post-colonial subject. Silent as she is in Prince’s History, she neverthless becomes acutely aware of her own voice during the time at Claremont Square. The testimony of Mrs Pringle, Susanna Strickland, Susan Brown and Martha A. Browne asserts that on “this day” — March 28, 1831 — they were present and assisted in the inspection of Mary Prince’s body. Within a week of this incident, the relationship between the amanuensis and her friend took a different turn. Here, Mary Prince becomes the spectator, and the amanuensis becomes the autobiographical subject. A letter written by Mrs Moodie on April 9, 1831 reads: I was on the 4th instant at St Pancras Church made the happiest girl on earth, in being united to the beloved being in whom I have long centred all my affections. Mr Pringle “gave me” away, and Black Mary, who had treated herself with a complete new suit upon the

254 The Silent Scribe: Susanna and “Black Mary”

occasion, went on the coach box, to see her dear Missie and Biographer wed. I assure you, that instead of feeling the least regret at the step I was taking, if a tear trembled in my eyes, it was one of joy, and I pronounced the fatal obey, with a firm determination to keep it. My blue stockings, since became a wife, have turned so pale that I think they will soon be quite white.... I send you twenty copies of Mary’s History, and 2 of Ashton Warner. If you can in the way of trade dispose of them, I should feel obliged. I have begun the pudding and dumpling discussions, and now find, that the noble art of housewifery is more to be desired than all the accomplishments, which are to be retailed by the literary and damsels who frequent these envied circles... (Ballstadt et al.,eds, 1985:61) This glimpse of Mary Prince as “Black Mary,” resplendent in a new suit and perched on the coach box of the bridal carriage, is our last view of her. However, the end of Prince’s story is the beginning of Mrs Moodie’s. The fragment from the bride’s letter alerts us to Moodie’s sense of her changed status. We can only conjecture why Moodie refers to “the fatal obey.” The earliest women’s organizations centered on the campaign for abolition. In fact, the Ladies’ Society in Birmingham, which requested the inspection of Mary Prince’s body, is one example. Race, class and gender intersected in this period, which saw the emergence of separate women’s committees and auxiliaries and female anti-slavery associations by the mid 1820s. At the same time, socialist arguments about the oppression of all women in marriage made explicit comparisons between the wife and the slave. William Thompson and Anna Wheeler, for example, specifically focussed on the requirement to “obey” : “No female slave is obliged, for the sake of existence, to vow obedience to all the despotic commands of a male slave...” (Ware, 1992: 103) Given her familiarity with abolitionist discourses, Strickland was surely aware of the emergence of these feminist ideas within and alongside abolitionist rhetoric and organisations. The metaphor of the fading blue stockings is also self-conscious and revealing. The stockings suggest a connection between female sexuality and improper female speech, such as the profession of writing and intellectual ambitions alien to the conventional view of a gentlewoman. Misao Dean (1992) relates this to the constant denial of authority and the cultivation of the stereotype of feminine intellectual superficiality in Moodie’s autobiographical writing. The change in colour of hose is, metaphorically speaking, a sign of self- surveillance and discipline, a physical, bodily inscription of the changed status to wife and, within a year, to motherhood with the birth of her daughter Catherine. The following year’s emigration to Upper Canada completed Mrs Moodie’s transformation to settler gentlewoman. Other identifications emerge from this letter. A whole range of names have been attributed to Mary Prince. We note in the Supplement to the History of Mary Prince by the Editor (Pringle) that her last owner, Mr John Wood, refers to her as “the woman Molly.” In the parliamentary petition (Appendix One), “A Petition of Mary PrinceorJames, commonly called Molly Wood, was presented...” Pringle himself, and the women at Claremont Square in their testament, use the name Mary Prince. The title “Black Mary” (or “Mr Pringle’s

255 IJCS / RIÉC black Mary” cited earlier) in Moodie’s letters is unprecedented, and almost certainly restricted to her private correspondence. In the bridal letter, Strickland appears in Mary Prince’s view as “her dear Missie and Biographer.” The letter undoubtedly infers a close relationship and mutual affection between the women, however, it should also be remarked that a form of the title “Missie” appears in the History when Mary Prince refers to Miss Betsey, the little girl for whom Mary Prince was purchased as a “pet”: “She used to lead me about by the hand, and call me her little nigger. This was the happiest period in my life; for I was too young to understand rightly my condition as a slave...” (1986:47) Even in a very different time and place, the title “Missie” carries connotations of possession and racial “other” similar to “Mr Pringle’s black Mary.” This also appears to be the only place where Moodie claims the title of biographer for The History of Mary Prince. Ferguson speculates that Susannah (sic) Strickland Moodie seems never to have mentioned the transcription because: “[s]he simply may have wanted to keep her name out of the controversy. On the other hand, it could indicate the extent to which the narrative was indeed (Pringle’s disclaimers to the contrary) Mary Prince’s own.” (1992: f/n 379) Of interest to us here is that these names circulate in a letter in which Moodie is intensely aware of the shifts and oppositions in identities concerning her new status and new name. Furthermore these identities are all implicated with notions of appropriate gendered, racial and class behaviours. Perhaps the disposal of copies of the two slave narratives she transcribed marks the end of earlier pursuits, with new accomplishments to emerge from the “pudding and dumpling discussions” of the next sentence. She will learn to practice housewifery and speak the “mother tongue” quite self-consciously. Much more could be said about the relationship between Prince and Strickland/Moodie, and their acquaintance at Claremont Square during the height of the anti-slavery debates. Its interest for our purposes is to trigger a stronger sense of how ideas about race and gender can coalesce to produce that role of British gentlewoman which Moodie self-consciously begins to assume in her letter. That Moodie would always occupy this position with ambivalence allows us to see the contours of the role in her autobiographical writing more clearly. That she had a hand in such different autobiographical narratives as The History of Mary Prince and Roughing it in the Bush allows us to locate discourses available to women autobiographers with an eye to very precise historical and cultural contexts. We need to question not only the “naturalness” of Moodie’s “mother tongue” but also to remark that the mother tongue is entirely absent from Prince’s History. We know that Prince married, but we know no details of her married life or whether she had children. Ferguson suggests that Prince enciphers motherhood obliquely and in association with violence. Although explicit statements linking violence with sterilization would have made her text unsuitable evangelical material, she infers that the floggings, kicking and punching caused irreversible damage to her body:

256 The Silent Scribe: Susanna and “Black Mary”

On the other hand, Mary Prince tries to communicate an alternate profile of her own domestic “fitness” (in all senses) in the absence of motherhood. She takes pleasure in working as a nursemaid, in visiting with her own mother, siblings and other children. Weightly silence, as much as anything, speaks to the grim, damaging sexual coercion of female slaves and her discursive power in circumnavigating evangelical taboos. (Ferguson, 1992: 289) Prince’s silence casts Moodie’s mother tongue into new relief, and displaces any overarching construction of motherhood and maternity. It also alerts us to consider carefully the conditions under which a maternal language appears in women’s autobiographical writing, and how this language is coded. In the case of Moodie and Prince, motherhood and domesticity need to be read not only in terms of the individual life history but also the politics of marriage and motherhood in the Empire. The journey which Moodie began with Mary Prince as observer on the coach box and continued as a new mother on the voyage to Upper Canada was presented quite differently in 1909 by Cicely Hamilton in her first wave feminist polemic Marriage as Trade. Throughout Hamilton’s brutally rationalist discussion of marriage as trade in which the currency is women’s bodies, we see the influence of imperialism upon her thinking about marriage. The reproduction of British values and the British race depended on the passage of the bridal ships; the close association of marriage, emigration and motherhood was central to nineteenth-century British sexual politics. In thinking about settler gentlewomen in Canada, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa, we need to grasp precisely the location of this role in the imperial organisation of gender and race. For it was in the settler colonies that nineteenth-century pro-natalist discourses would assume particular importance. The dissemination of British institutions and society depended upon its emigrants. In colonies of occupation — India, West Africa, East Africa — women were seen as wives, not mothers. They were expected to send their children “Home” to school. However, in settlement colonies, the fertility of European women and the welfare of mothers and children were vital to the colonising project. This concern assumed different forms in the Empire throughout the nineteenth century. The British Women’s Emigration Association, for example, used marriage as one of its incentives to encourage women to emigrate. They also stressed the opportunity to civilize the world and secure British values in the settler colonies. As homemakers and as mothers, white women helped to maintain and promote the Empire through the daily and biological reproduction of the settler population. (Strobel, 1991: 46) The uterus was singled out not only as the most important female organ, but the most important organ of the Race. As one imperialist opined: “the uterus is to the Race what the heart is to the individual.” (Gallagher & Laqueur, 1987: x) Since the mid eighteenth century a large body of child rearing books targeted the newly literate and largely bourgeois female audience and identified women as managers of their children and of domestic space more generally. Many books and periodicals directed at the mother and her particular problems appeared in Britain in the 1830s — marriage and motherhood were to become

257 IJCS / RIÉC women’s work and her total sexuality. (Allen, 1989: 228) This much is clear from Moodie’s bridal letter, as we have seen. The cult of domesticity assumed broader significance in the colonies overseas. The growth of the second British Empire was such that the birth rate and the health of the British race at home and abroad came to be seen as a matter of supreme national and imperial importance. In 1858, Charles Kingsley argued that over-population was impossible “in a country that has the greatest colonial empire that the world has ever seen.” (Davin, 1978: 10) Kingsley believed that “since about four fifths of the globe cannot be said to be as yet in any wise inhabited or cultivated,” “it was a duty, one of the noblest of duties, to help the increase of the English race as much as possible,” and he urged the members of the Ladies’ Sanitary Association (whom he was addressing) to fight against infant mortality. (Davin, 1978: 10) The fear was that if the British population did not expand rapidly enough to fill the empty spaces of Empire, others would. The cohesion of the Empire, and its control by the Mother Country, depended upon the vigour, size and racial identification of the white population. As the nineteenth century progressed, motherhood was given increasing dignity and importance; it was the duty, destiny and reward of British women to be mothers of an imperial race. The process of rearing racially and nationally identified children assumed particular valency in the settler colonies; discourses of maternalism characterise the writings of settler women from the beginnings. Their gender and status as wife and mother were crucial to the politics of imperialism. These very general comments demand almost immediately how the precise formulations of white maternity occurred at different sites and different times within the Empire, such as Upper Canada, for example. The child at Moodie’s breast in her sketches, that fusion of emigration and maternity, is crucial to our understanding of the historically specific context of settler writings by and about women. Discourses of imperialism and maternity coalesced to produce that collective identity of emigrant gentlewoman which Moodie and her kind embodied and, through their writings, reproduced — with varying degrees of success. This approach takes us back to the Grosse Isle sketch with a sense of how “the mother’s tongue” related to the reproduction of Englishness in settler colonies, a feature of both political and personal significance. It reminds us of the readership for these writings from the colonies in the years when the cult of domesticity waxed strong. It suggests that in place of seeking a “body of a woman” we seek to present women’s autobiographical writings in terms of socially, culturally and historically specific locations. Post-colonial critics may be politically unwise to court a corporeal feminism which pursues “an underlying continuity of real women, above whose constant bodies aerial descriptions dance.” (Riley, 1988: 6) The body is not above, or below, history. There is no constant body, maternal or otherwise, beneath that volatile collectivity of women mentioned earlier. Biology is always overlaid and mediated by culture, and the ways in which women experience their own bodies is largely a product of social and political processes. By coming to the maternal body in Moodie’s sketches via Mary Prince, for whom motherhood is associated with violence and estrangement, whose body

258 The Silent Scribe: Susanna and “Black Mary”

in represented in terms of race rather than gender, we confront the challenge made by Vron Ware when she remarks that feminist scholarship rarely perceives white femininity as an historically constructed concept. The relationship between Strickland/Moodie and Prince is as fundamental a revelation to our thinking about Moodie’s identity as the presence of the child is for Freiwald’s interpretation of the sketches, or as the need to restore the desiring body is for Buss’ reading. There is no simple binary opposition between Susanna and “Black Mary,” rather a reminder that blackness and whiteness are both gendered categories whose meanings are historically derived. (Ware, 1992: xvii) In their role as wives, mothers and daughters in settler cultures, white women have been and continue to be inextricably caught in the web of colonising processes and relations. Ironically, they played a crucial role in the propagation of cultures which cast them as subordinate even whilst it required their labour. As post-colonial subjects, both pioneer and emancipated slave, Susanna Moodie and Mary Prince, left texts which require careful historical attention to how social constructions of femininity and of race in the Empire are annealed upon autobiographical writings, glazing the artifact with a deceptively natural effect.

Notes Thanks to Professor Michael Peterman for locating material relevant to Prince in Moodie’s correspondence. An earlier version of this paper was presented at the “Colonization and Women’s Texts” seminar at the University of Calgary in 1992. I would like to thank Professor van Herk and the University for their sponsorship.

Bibliography Allen, Judith (1989), “From Women’s History to a History of the Sexes” in James Walter ed., Australian Studies. A Survey. Melbourne: Oxford University Press. Ballstadt, Carl et. al., (1985) Susanna Moodie. Letters of a Lifetime. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. ______. (1971) “Susanna Moodie: Early Humanitarian Works,” Canadian Notes and Queries, no. 8 (November 1971), pp. 9-10. Buss, Helen (1993) Mapping Our Selves. Canadian Women’s Autobiography in English. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Davin, Anna (1978), “Imperialism and Motherhood,” History Workshop 5 (spring 1978), pp. 9-66. Dean, Misao (1992), “Concealing her bluestockings: Femininity and Self-Representation in Susanna Moodie’s autobiographical works” in Gillian Whitlock & Helen Tiffin, eds., Re- Siting Queen’s English. Text and Tradition in Post- Colonial Literatures. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Ferguson, Moira (1992), Subject to Others. British Women Writers and Colonial Slavery, 1670- 1834. London: Routledge. ______. ed (1986) The History of Mary Prince A West Indian Slave. Related By Herself. London: Pandora. Freiwald, Bina (1989), “`The tongue of woman’: The Language of the Self in Moodie’s Roughing it in the Bush” in Lorraine McMullen ed., Re(Dis)covering Our Foremothers. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press. Gallagher, Catherine & Laqueur, Thomas. The Making of the Modern Body. Sexuality and Society in the Nineteenth Century. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987. Hamilton, Cicely (1984), Marriage as a Trade. London: The Women’s Press. Riley, Denise (1988), “Am I That Name?” London: Macmillan. Ware, Vron (1992), Beyond the Pale. White Women, Racism and History. London: Verso.

259 Coomi S. Vevaina

Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English

Abstract The process of reading is an integral part of the process of writing. The first section of the paper briefly deals with my personal response to Canadian Black women writers in light of my own cultural history. The rest of the text examines the relationship between Black women writers and Canadian society, and illustrates Canada’s “flirtation” with multiculturalism. It discusses the doubly oppressed condition of Black women in Canadian society, and emphasizes that their writers are in fact “righters” for they see their work as a legitimate way of participating in the struggle for a better society. By writing from a proactive rather than a reactive position, most Black women writers refuse to respond to the agenda of their colonizers. Since language creates identity, their quest for Black authentication starts with language. These writers attempt to decolonize English and make the language truly theirs. The final section illustrates some of the postmodern techniques used by Black women writers to subvert and deconstruct the master discourse. By writing the body and the mother-daughter relationship into existence and by refusing to feel at all constrained by the rules that govern language, poetic diction and style, these writers lead both their own people and their colonizers along the spiritual path of healing and change.

Résumé L’acte de lire fait partie intégrante de l’acte d’écrire. La première partie de cet article constitue une brève réaction aux écrivaines canadiennes de race noire à la lumière de ma propre culture et de mon propre passé. La deuxième partie examine la relation entre les écrivaines de race noire et la société canadienne, et illustre le « flirt » du Canada avec le multiculturalisme. Elle traite de la condition des femmes de race noire qui sont doublement opprimées et souligne l’engagement de leurs écrivaines qui considèrent leur travail comme une façon légitime de participer à lutte pour une société meilleure. En adoptant une écriture plutôt « proactive » que « réactive », la plupart des écrivaines de race noire refuse de participer au projet du colonisateur. Puisqu’elle engendre l’identité, la langue constitue le point de départ de leur quête en vue d’établir leur authenticité en tant que femmes de race noire. Ces écrivaines essaient de décoloniser la langue anglaise et de rendre celle-ci la leur. La dernière partie donne des exemples de techniques postmodernes utilisées par les écrivaines de race noire afin de subvertir et de déconstruire le discours du colonisateur. En écrivant et en engendrant le corps et la relation mère-fille et en refusant de se sentir contrainte par les règles qui gouvernent la langue, le langage poétique et le style, ces écrivaines mènent leur race et les colonisateurs vers la guérison et le changement.

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS / RIÉC

______

If no one listens and cries is it still poetry. M. Nourbese Philip Frontiers

All texts, particularly those which employ postmodern techniques, deliberately foreground the role of the reader in the construction of meaning. In her article “An End to Audience,” Margaret Atwood underlines the dynamic relationship between reader and text with the words: “It is my contention that the process of reading is part of the process of writing, the necessary completion without which writing can hardly be said to exist.” (345) This recognition “displaces the concepts of writerly authority and absolute meaning in favour of a more open and pluralistic approach to the availability of fiction” and gives rise to an “endless process of revisionary readings.” (Howells 53-54) What follows is my personal response as a reader in India to the works of Black women writers in Canada. Why my fascination with Black, First Nations and other diasporic writers? Is it merely an outcome of a deconstructionist fascination with the “Other,” a liberal humanist sentiment of the “feel-so-sorry-for-them” kind or a voyeuristic delight in witnessing the pain of others. As a woman in India (where one more ugly monster, casteism, joins the unholy trinity of racism, sexism and classism) belonging to a minority group, the Parsis, the complexity of my situation defies an easy answer to these questions. Historically, my people fled from our “motherland,” Persia (now Iran), to escape persecution by the Muslims. Jadav Rana, the ruler of Sanjan (a small village on the west coast in the province of Gujarat) granted us asylum on the condition that we live peaceably. So thankful were my people for this favour that, besides living peacefully, they also appropriated several of the cultural practices of the Hindus. The Raj changed things dramatically. Wedded to their insidious divide and rule policy, the British Empire builders created in us a “fairer-therefore- better-than-most-Indians” complex which alienated us from our countrymen. Though many intellectuals resisted it, and some even joined the independence movement against the British, most Parsis swallowed this “untruth” and savoured the preferential treatment meted out to them by their colonizers. The post-independence years, however, left us confused and bereft, wondering how our “Mai-baaps” (parents) could have left us. While many emigrated to BETTER lands, those who remained in India once again tried to integrate by developing survival strategies. One such strategy was a sense that though we are definitely superior to others (on account of our British life-style, our British accents and our passion for Beethoven, Mozart, Liszt and Chopin), we can laugh at ourselves and do not mind others laughing at us. Clowning for survival! Uncle Sam’s forays into Indian culture via Michael Jackson and the Star TV with programs like “Santa Barbara,” “The Bold & The Beautiful” and “Dallas”

262 Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English

have made it possible for us to once again breathe more freely. The young and the not-so-young in India now want to look and live like those bold and beautiful white people “out there.” The general, unexpressed feeling among the Parsis now is: at last Indians (many even refer to themselves as “Persians” or just “foreigners”) have learned the only true way to really live. Blissfully unconscious of our “colonial cringe” which estranges us from our ethnicity, our numerically dwindling community continues to survive in this (American) global village. Where are our creative writers? Why aren’t writers like Rohinton Mistry, Saros Cowasjee and Bapsy Sidhwa able to lead us into the future by taking us back into our past?1 Which past? What past? Are they, too, as lost as we are? “What shall we do tomorrow? What shall we ever do?” (T. S. Eliot) Teetering on the brink of despair, postcolonial writing seems to offer hope of a better future. Creative texts by First Nations women and diasporic women writers in Canada, chiefly Blacks and South Asians, create a sense that though the situation is grim, all is not lost. It would be silly and naive of me to claim to fully understand these writers across thousands of miles of land and sea. And yet, a few glimpses into their way of “becoming” prompts me to search for a better tomorrow. They have touched me, I have grown.

* * * *

“I wish you wouldn’t squeeze so,” said the Dormouse, who was sitting next to her. “I can hardly breathe.” “I can’t help it,” said Alice very meekly: “I’m growing.” “You’ve no right to grow here,” said the Dormouse. . . . And he got up very sulkily and crossed over to the other side of the court. Lewis Carroll Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland Though Canada smilingly tells the world about her “happy multicultural family,” like the Dormouse in the above quote, she tells her indigenous peoples and all immigrants, particularly those of colour, “You’ve no right to grow here.” By virtue of their complexion, Blacks (most of them from the Caribbean islands) appear to differ more sharply from the dominant white Anglophone and Francophone cultures than any of the other immigrant groups. In her article, “Poets in Limbo,” Claire Harris writes that, after two hundred years in Canada, Blacks as a group are still seen as newcomers and that their marginalization is an outcome of “a blatant ethnocentricity [which] condemns people of colour to the sidelines: eternal immigrants forever poised on the verge of not belonging.” (115) Dionne Brand very poignantly states this feeling when she says that in Canada Blacks are regarded as “the thin / mixture of just come and don’t exist.” (NLN2 29) The sense of exile generated by this attitude is clearly articulated in another short poem by Brand:

263 IJCS / RIÉC

I am not a refugee I have my papers, I was born in the Caribbean, practically in the sea, fifteen degrees above the equator, I have a canadian passport, I have lived here all my adult life, I am stateless anyway. (CHS 70) Though keenly aware of their Otherness, Blacks cannot go back to their African ways for colonialism and imperialism, as Nourbese Philip says, “exiled Africans from their ethnicity and all its expressions — language, religion, education, music, patterns of family relations — into the pale and beyond, into the nether nether land of race.” (Frontiers 10) Black women fare worse than Black men for they are victims of both racism and sexism. Philip writes: “Woman as Other constitutes one of the building blocks of the patriarchy; Black as Other one of the building blocks of racist ideologies.” (“Disappearing Debate” 211) Their doubly oppressed position is neither completely understood by their own men nor by white feminists. Like other women of colour, Black women feel that feminism must be contextualized; one cannot assume a commonality among the interests and objectives of all women. Those who profess allegiance to art for art’s sake, screw up their noses at the very thought of functional art. Most serious writers, however, feel that our rapidly shrinking yet increasingly threatened world obliges writers to create social and political awareness among their readers and not indulge in aesthetic refinements and sterile intellectual pursuits unrelated to their people’s concerns and aspirations. Believing that their works respond to the collective, historical needs of their people, most would agree with Chinua Achebe that “Art for art’s sake in just another piece of deodorized dog-shit.” (19) In “Le Poète noir et son peuple,” Jacques Rabemananjara says that besides being the voice and messenger of his people, a poet is also their message. (qtd. in Minh- ha 13) No self-respecting writer can possibly witness the pain of her/his people from a distance by adopting “the sterile attitude of the spectator, for life is not a spectacle, a sea of griefs is not a proscenium, a man who wails is not a dancing bear.” (Césaire 62) Moreover, deep within themselves, writers know that besides saving the lives of their people, the life they save is also their own. Like Toni Cade Bambara, the creators of “art for survival” and their audience grow to appreciate that writing “is a perfectly legitimate way to participate in struggle.” (qtd. in Minh-ha 10) By focusing on the poems of Nourbese Philip, Claire Harris and Dionne Brand, this paper aims to demonstrate the manner in which the Black woman writer also emerges as a Black woman “righter.” Does this mean that writers from oppressed groups only produce confrontational writing subject to the label “protest literature”? Lillian Allen’s poem “I FIGHT BACK” is a good illustration of serious confrontational writing. However, there is a danger inherent in such writing, for by writing from a reactive position, one is responding to “someone else’s agenda.” (Philip, Frontiers 67) In “Why the United States,” Julia Kristeva perceptively remarks: “[As] everyone knows every negation is a definition. An `opposing’

264 Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English position is therefore determined by what is being opposed. And in this way we arrive at two antithetical systems which internalize and reflect one another’s qualities.” (qtd. in Philip, Frontiers 63) Nourbese Philip urges writers to transform negation into affirmation and reaction into initial statement by seeing themselves “[a]s centre, not Other” (Frontiers 69) and by reconstructing their identities, piece by piece, in their own images. (Frontiers 65) Writing from precisely this position, Philip says, “I consciously try to remember what did not happen to me personally, but which accounts for my being here today: to defy a culture that wishes to forget; to rewrite a history that at best forgot and omitted, at worst lied; to seek psychic reparations; to honour those who went before; to grieve for that which was irrevocably lost (language, religion, culture), and those for whom no one grieved; to avoid having to start over again (as many oppressed groups have had to do); to `save ourselves.’” (Frontiers 56) Claire Harris, too, seems to pin her faith in proactive rather than reactive literature. During an interview with Janice Williamson, she says, “I want my writing to rehabilitate the Black person, her beauty, her smile, her walk, her genius... his too. I also want to explore the reality of Canadian society... which I must free to include me.” (122) Since language creates identity, the quest for Black authentication must start with language. It is a well-known historical fact that, like Philomela of classical mythology, oppressed groups have had “their tongues wrenched from their mouths.” (Armstrong 29) In other words, their mother tongues have been inferiorized to such an extent that they have been “shamed into silence and disuse.” (Johnston 15) The mother tongue is of immense value for, as Daphne Marlatt writes, language is “both place (where we are situated) and body (that contains us), that body of language we speak, our mother tongue. It bears us as we are born in it, into cognition.” (223) The suppression of the mother tongue by the colonizing master tongue results in a profound sense of alienation and lost identity. Interestingly, though colonizers themselves, the French Canadians are very sensitive to the inferiorization of their language by the English Canadians. In Color Of Her Speech, Lola Lemire Tostevin writes: 4 words french 1 word english slow seepage slow seepage 3 words french 2 words english rattling off or running at the mouth 2 words french 3 words english speak white or as Buber writes you have abstracted from me the color of my hair the color of my speech

265 IJCS / RIÉC

1 word french 4 words english `tu déparles’ my mother says je déparle yes I unspeak. The moment the colonized “unspeak,” their colonizers begin regarding them as “culturally disadvantaged” and rush to graft on them labels of their choice. Lashing out against this attitude of the colonizer, Nourbese Philip says in her powerful poem “What’s in a name”: I always thought I was Negro till I was Coloured West Indian, till I was told that Columbus was wrong in thinking he was west of India — that made me Caribbean. And throughout the o’60’s, o’70’s and o’80’s, I was sure I was Black. Now Black is passe, African de rigueur, and me, a chameleon of labels. (Salmon Courage 28) Despite the many differences among coloured feminists based on their race and ethnicity, most feel very uncomfortable with English because it is the language of their colonizers. Myrna Kostash, who is of Ukrainian descent, refers to English as her “Sister Tongue,” (62) and Métis writer Emma LaRocque feels that “the enemy’s language” (which is the term Joy Harjo uses for English) has to be transformed dramatically before it is used. In her preface to Writing the Circle, LaRocque says: “To a Native woman, English is like an ideological onion whose stinging layers of racism and sexism must be peeled away before it can be fully enjoyed.” (xx) Black writers also feel the need to decolonize the English language. Their situation is further complicated: besides being the language of their colonizers, English is also their mother tongue. In the Caribbean Islands, the upper and educated middle-class speak in standard English while a variant of English, which Philip calls the Caribbean demotic, is spoken by the people in the street. The demotic has always been dismissed as “bad English” or “patois.” In Philip’s “The Question of Language is the Answer to Power,” the speakers of standard English dismiss the demotic as: this chattel language babu english slave idiom nigger vernacular coolie pidgin wog pronunciation. (STHT 73) It is important to note that though the demotic is more vibrant and less Eurocentric in its tonal and rhythmic aspects than standard English, it is no less

266 Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English

patriarchal. Of what use is it, then, to Black women writers? Despite its limitations, Nourbese Philip uses the demotic which she believes is the only way to capture the cadenced speech of the ordinary person in the Caribbean. Moreover, the demotic reflects a cross-fertilization of cultural influences for it is “as much the linguistic descendent of Africa as of England.” (Frontiers 18) Like Philip, Lillian Allen, in poems like “Marriage,” also makes skillful use of the dialect but, as Claire Harris points out, dialect carries its own difficulties. (“Poets” 121) The problem, according to her, is one of audience. The Trinidadian dialect for instance, is “secret, witty, vivid, inventive” but to a white audience it is likely to appear as “simply sloppy speech.” (Harris, “Poets” 121) The choice of language, however, is more than a choice of audience; it affects “the choice of subject matter, the rhythms of thought patterns, and the tension within the work. It is also a choice resonant with historical and political realities and possibilities.” (Philip, Frontiers 37) For European-educated writers like Philip, Harris, Brand and Allen, the choice between the mother tongue and the dialect involves much anguish. In her excellently-crafted poem “Discourse on the Logic of Language,” Philip refers to English as both her mother tongue and her father tongue. She has problems accepting it as her mother tongue for: A mother tongue is not not a foreign lan lan lang language l/anguish anguish — a foreign anguish. (STHT 56) She then decides to regard it as her father tongue: A father tongue is a foreign language, therefore English is a foreign language not a mother tongue. (56) Deprived of her mother tongue she must: ... therefore be tongue dumb dumb-tongued dub-tongued damn dumb tongue. (56) Groping for a new language which would emerge phoenix-like out of the ashes of loss and silence, she cries out: tongue mother tongue me mothertongue me mother me touch me with the tongue of your lan lan lang language. (58)

267 IJCS / RIÉC

During a conversation with Barbara Carey, Philip says that “working in English, is like coming to terms with an abusive parent.” (19) For her, the struggle with language involves “coming to terms with this mother/father tongue that I love, but that has meant so much pain for me and my people.” (Carey 19) In Drawing Down A Daughter, Harris’ poet-narrator tells her unborn girl child: Daughter there is no language i can offer you no corner that is yours unsullied you inherit the intransitive case Anglo-Saxon noun. (24) Cautioning her child further, she says: Child all i have to give is English which hates/fears your black skin. (25) Despite this bitter truth, she advises her child to decolonize language and use it as she would her mother tongue: make it d a c n e s i g to sunlight on the Caribbean. (25) This movement beyond the grief of being Othered to a celebration of Otherness fits in perfectly with the proactive agenda of Black women writers.

* * * *

Finding a voice, searching for words and sentences: say some thing, one thing, or no thing; tie/untie, read/unread, discard their forms; scrutinize the grammatical habits of your writing and decide for yourself whether they free or repress. Again, order(s). Shake syntax, smash the myths, and if you lose, slide on, unearth some new linguistic paths. — Trinh T. Minh-ha Woman, Native Other In present times, any label that ends in “ism” is frowned upon for, as Toril Moi points out, labels always carry with them the “phallocentric drive to stabilize, organize and rationalize our conceptual universe.” (qtd. in Tong 223) The interesting thing about Black women writers in Canada is that they employ such a wide variety of styles, tones and techniques that they stubbornly defy unitary categorization. The only sure thing the reader can say is that, realizing that “systems of discourse are often synonymous with systems of power” (Garrett-Petts 83), Black women writers use a variety of postmodern techniques to subvert and deconstruct the colonizer’s discourse. The politics of

268 Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English

language and the role of language in society is therefore their primary focus. Through their writing, they illuminate the latent contradictions in seemingly coherent systems of thought, indicating possibilities in nothingness, absence, marginalization and repression, and they celebrate plurality and difference. In doing so they prompt their readers to “reinterpret the whole relationship between the subject and discourse, the subject and the world, the subject and the cosmic, the microcosmic and the macrocosmic.” (Irigaray 119) Unlike Irigaray, Cixous and Kristeva refuse to differentiate between masculine writing (literatur) and feminine writing (l’écriture féminine) on the basis of the writer’s gender. Both refuse to collapse language into biology for they rightly believe that men are able to write in the feminine mode and women in the masculine mode, depending on whether their thinking is rooted in the Symbolic or the semiotic order. In other words, the feminine as a position in discourse is not the exclusive preserve of women. Explaining Kristeva’s views on the differences between writing grounded in the Symbolic Order and that in the semiotic order, Rosemarie Tong writes: “[w]hereas time in the semiotic is cyclical (repetitive) and monumental (eternal), time in the Symbolic Order is the time of history — linear or sequential time pointed toward a goal. Thus, the kind of writing that is linear, rational, or objective and has normal syntax is repressed, whereas the kind of writing that emphasizes rhythm, sound and colour and that permits breaks in syntax and grammar is fundamentally unrepressed.” (231) Writers like Nourbese Philip, Claire Harris and Dionne Brand often find their writing emerging from the unrepressed, pre-Oedipal, semiotic order. By rejecting what Barthes regards as the “stickiness” of “encratic” (40) language (language produced and spread under the protection of power) and essentialism of any kind, these writers combat their erasure and “write to become.” In “The body as audience and performance in the writing of Alice Munro,” in A Mazing Space, Smaro Kamboureli perceptively notes that “the feminine body has been defined by opposition: it has been seen as a subject that ought to perceive itself as an object. Its sexual difference has been turned against it. It has been transferred to another grammatical level, that of the passive voice. For it is acted upon, spoken about.” (32) The female body must therefore be redefined. Lacan speculated that to know women one would have to begin at the level of feminine sexual pleasure or “jouissance.” Cixous and Irigaray also insist on the need to “write the body.” Irigaray points out that man regards woman as his reflection in every way except in her sexuality. Since female sexuality does not mirror the male’s, it is seen as an absence. The absence must be converted into a presence through body-centered language. Trapped within “the/blood-stained blind of race and sex” (NLN 29), women of colour need to validate not only their female selves but their coloured female selves. Philip says that by foregrounding the Black female body in her works, she hopes to make her readers stop seeing Black women as either highly-sexed and castrating or matriarchal and asexual. In Drawing Down A Daughter, some of Harris’ poems visually reproduce the pregnant belly of a woman. Dionne Brand’s poems also celebrate the Black female body. Being a lesbian, however, she says she experiences “the full rain of lesbian hate” (“Bread” 51) from men and women, both black and white. Her sense of alienation caused by

269 IJCS / RIÉC her triple oppression as Black, lesbian and a woman, emerges powerfully in “Amelia continued...” where the narrator says: of late I am called a mule not for my hard headedness but for my abstentious womb. (CHS 28) Her condition is caused by the fact that women who do not need men are not taken seriously; “(even male revolutionaries refuse to radicalize their/balls).” (CHS 21) The narrator knows that poems expressive of lesbian love are regarded as aberrations for she tells her lesbian lover: This is you girl, this is the poem no woman ever wrote for a woman because she ’fraid to touch. (NLN 7) Brand’s narrator in No Language Is Neutral also indulges in autoerotic practice as a means of regaining contact with her body from which she is alienated. She says she has become “herself” only after: ... I saw my own body, that is, my eyes followed me to myself, touched myself as a place, another life, terra. (51) Luce Irigaray opines that by engaging in lesbian and autoerotic practices which explore the multifaceted terrain of the female body, women blow the phallus over. This seems very likely for women like Brand’s narrator seem to be telling men: “Thanks but we don’t need you.” Could the celebration of the female body be regarded as “biological essentialism,” “female self-aggrandizement” or plain “female neurosis”? While wishing to avoid reductionist arguments and body-centered theories, Philip considers it necessary to talk about the body because in all cultures women’s bodies “have achieved a universal negative significance; bodies which have become palimpsests upon which men have inscribed and reinscribed their texts.” (Frontiers 44) Theorist Trinh T. Minh-ha asks ethnic feminists in particular to write the body for “`writing the body’ is that abstract- concrete, personal-political realm of excess not fully contained by writing’s unifying structural forces.” (44) It is “a way of making theory in gender, of making a theory a politics of everyday life, thereby rewriting the ethnic female subject as a site of differences.” (Minh-ha 44) Patriarchy frowns upon female bonding of any kind because it decentres the male. Referring specifically to the mother-daughter relationship, Signe Hammer says: “In Western cultural tradition women are regarded and portrayed in terms of their relationships with men... Most of what passes between mother and daughter falls outside the acknowledged social context... This has a paradoxical effect of making the mother-daughter relationship an `underground’ one, whose emotional power and importance may be increased precisely because it is underground.” (qtd. in Buss 32) Most feminists wish to unleash the power of mother-daughter relationships in their works. Nourbese Philip’s poem “Questions! Questions” is an excellent example of a mother’s desire for a reunion with her lost daughter. In “Adoption Bureau,” the daughter seeks a reunion with her mother. For “Afrosporic” people, the search for the mother is also a search for their original motherland, Africa. Though the

270 Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English rhythms in both these poems are recognizably African, the mother’s poem is written in the Caribbean demotic while that of the daughter is in standard English to indicate her loss. In “Discourse on the Logic of Language,” Philip emphasizes the marginalized position of the mother-daughter relationship in patriarchy by arranging their story in the left margin, turned away from the main text. Philip says that someone commented to her that while reading the central texts the woman’s story is unreadable and vice versa. According to Philip herself, this is a comment on “how Black women and all women, have been positioned in society: there is a gap between the main text and the woman’s story, and to read the woman’s story you have to make an effort — a physical effort.” (Carey 20) Despite this fact, we understand that the mother- daughter relationship is important because the entire text appears in capital letters. In “A Grammar of the Heart,” Harris’ narrator tries to understand her mother who “loved,” “married” and “buried.” Being a simple woman, she mothered she cooked she taught she baked she nursed she danced and played and fussed over bruises and laughed and prayed and loved and read. (CW 57) In spite of all this, the narrator remembers her mother as an extremely silent woman. She feels that language was not external to her mother for she seemed to have “absorbed/the word into her blood.” (CW 52) Her mother’s dynamic and sensuous relationship with language is beautifully illustrated in the following lines: As earth lives the bodies of the dead she lived language at first she examined each word skin peeled back green flesh squeezed between thumb and forefinger till she tasted sentences rolled them in her curious mouth swirled them around the sides and back of her tongue waited for the aftertaste thin sound grew in her as if she hummed as if humming she sang. (CW 52) Her mother has made the language her own. This is also perhaps the unexpressed desire of the poet-daughter-narrator. In Drawing Down A Daughter, the poet-mother-narrator bonds easily with her unborn girl child. While preparing her daughter for the racist atmosphere in Canada, she hopes that her child will have the courage of her ancestors and “gut knowledge of her own worth.” (70) Like Philip and Harris, Brand celebrates the matrilineal heritage; but in her works, it figures as: ...the gourd and bucket carrying women who stroke their breasts into stone shedding offspring and smile. (NLN 48)

271 IJCS / RIÉC

Brand says that she loves old women and regards them as “inviolable” (NLN 50) for being free of the lusty gaze of men. In “Blues Spiritual for Mammy Prater” (NLN 17-19) the bond between Mammy Prater, a slave, and her present-day spiritual daughters is brought out in an extremely nuanced manner. Is it right to talk about one’s own past (and for that matter, one’s matrilineal past) in poetry using the first person pronoun “I”? Must not poets strive to achieve objectivity by removing their poems from the morass of history and personal clutter to enable anyone, anywhere in the world to identify with them and understand them? Those who write from the semiotic level answer these questions with an emphatic “No”; they do not see the separation between the present self and the past self or between the self and the word as true of any integrated person. History “must” be remembered for one’s own spiritual survival. Thus, in “Discourse on the Logic of Language,” historical edicts (recommending the removal of the tongues of those slaves who spoke in their native language) are printed along the right margin. Philip believes that memory has “a potentially kinetic quality” (Frontiers 20) which impels one to action. Likewise, the word cannot be separated from the self: it is impossible to erase oneself in writing while claiming to be the author. Those writers who aspire to the kind of objectivity favoured by T. S. Eliot often write in a gender- neutral voice. Irigaray strongly opposes the idea of trying to create a gender- neutral voice. She wants women “to speak in the active voice, avoiding at all costs the false security and ultimate inauthenticity, of the passive voice.” (Tong 228) Brand is so completely aligned with Irigaray’s view, that the title of one of her books of poems is No Language Is Neutral. Ideally, writers should avoid the twin evils of “navel-gazing” (making a fetish of one’s own culture and oneself) and “navel-erasing” (losing one’s identity in the text). Like Native women authors in Canada, Black women writers make their works echo their powerful oral traditions, thereby refusing the opposition of the oral word and the written word. In Drawing Down A Daughter, Harris moves towards the oral African tradition by experimenting with the dialect form, like Nourbese Philip in most of her poems. Moreover, by casting a poem in story sequence in Drawing Down A Daughter, Harris even breaks down the traditional boundaries between prose and poetry. Hélène Cixous asks women to write freely without feeling constrained by the rules that govern language. The English language is known for many things but not for its logic. There is irony inherent in Philip’s title “Discourse on the Logic of Language.” In the same poem, her search for her Black female self causes her to subvert the poem itself. Instead of a text centered on a page with clear margins on either side, her poem sprawls across the page, spills over to both the margins and is repeatedly interrupted by the voice of patriarchy. Likewise, Harris’ poem “Of Iron, Bars And Cages” (CW 43) has a central text in ordinary type and texts on either side of the page in italics, while in “To Dissipate Grief,” (CW 34-36) two poems are printed adjacent to each other to reflect the narrator’s divided consciousness. Poems framed by postcards blur the boundary between art and objects of obvious utility (like postcards) by indicating that they both have a message to convey. In direct defiance of traditional notions of the subject matter fit for “good” poetry, Brand writes in “Anti-Poetry”:

272 Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English

Its hell to find pretty words to describe shit, let me tell you, I may get beaten up and left for dead any moment, or more insultingly to the point, ignored. (CHS 32) Deeply humiliated and angered by the shabby treatment meted out to poets of colour in Canada, she writes in the same poem: It’s hell to keep a crowd waiting for words to describe their insanity (let me tell you). those thin cigarette-smoking white guys who are poets only shit their pants in discreet toilets they don’t feel the crowd eating their faces I have to hustle poems between dancers and the drummers insanity has to be put to dance music. (30) Brand and the other Black writers believe that nothing is too emotional or too personal to be made into a poem. Though writers such as these seem to be “disturbing the peace,” what they are in fact doing is leading their people along the political and spiritual path to healing and change. Their search for Black authentication through language makes their works vital to their own people. Importantly, their works are also meant for their colonizers for those who colonize others cannot themselves be truly free. Canada, for her own good, needs to heed the dissenting voices of diasporic writers from the margins. (Philip prefers the word “frontiers” to “margins” as it suggests “emergent energies” and experiences.) Painful though the realization may be, Canada is not the “international do-gooder” (Philip, Frontiers 145) she pretends to be; her record on civil rights issues is anything but pristine. During an interview with Alan Twigg, Atwood refers to Canada as “quite a fascist place” (222) due to the War Measures Act, the RCMP opening the mail, the shameful way in which Natives have been treated and the internment and unspeakable suffering of citizens of Japanese origin during World War II, to name only a few. Racist sentiments are so much a part of the white psyche that even one of the icons of liberal humanism and president of PEN (Canada), June Callwood, can say “Fuck Off” three times (and not apologize subsequently) to writers and activists of colour for peacefully leafletting against racism in the Canadian publishing system. (Frontiers 139) Racist feelings will die hard but die they must to make this world a saner and safer place for our children and for the generations to come.

Notes 1. Rohinton Mistry and Saros Cowasjee have emigrated to Canada from India and Bapsy Sidhwa has moved from Lahore in Pakistan to the United States of America. 2. Abbreviations in this paper. CHS Dionne Brand Chronicles Of The Hostile Sun NLN Dionne Brand No Language Is Neutral

273 IJCS / RIÉC

CW Claire Harris The Conception of Winter STHT Marlene Nourbese Philip She Tries Her Tongue; Her Silence Softly Breaks

Bibliography Achebe, Chinua. “Africa and her Writers.” Morning Yet on Creation Day. London: Heinemann, 1975. Armstrong, Jeannette. “Words.” Telling It: Women And Language Across Culture. Ed. Sky Lee, Lee Maracle, Daphne Marlatt and Betsy Warland. Vancouver: Press Gang Publishers, 1990. 23-29. Atwood, Margaret. “An End to Audience.” Second Words. Toronto: House of Anansi, 1982, 334- 357. Barthes, Roland. The Pleasure of the Text. Trans. R. Miller. New York: Hill & Wang, 1975. Brand, Dionne. Chronicles Of The Hostile Sun. Toronto: William-Wallace, 1984. ______. “Bread Out of Stone.” Language In Her Eye: Views on Writing and Gender by Canadian Women Writing in English. Ed. Libby Scheier, Sarah Sheard and Eleanor Wachtell. Toronto: Coach House Press, 1990, 45-53. ______. No Language Is Neutral. Toronto: Coach House Press, 1990. Buss, Helen. Mother and Daughter Relationships in the Manawaka Works of Margaret Laurence. No. 34. ELS Monograph Series. Victoria: University of Victoria, 1985. Carey, Barbara.. “Secrecy And Silence.” Interview with Marlene Nourbese Philip. Books in Canada (Sept. 1991): 17-21. Césaire, Aimé. Return to My Native Land. Paris: Présence Africaine, 1971. Garrett-Petts, W. F. “Reading, Writing, and the Postmodern Condition: Interpreting Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale.” Open Letter. Seventh Series, No. 1 (Spring 1988): 74-92. Harris, Claire. “Poets in Limbo.” A Mazing Space: Writing Canadian Women Writing. Ed. Shirley Neuman and Smaro Kamboureli. Edmonton: Longspoon/NeWest Press, 1986, 115-125. ______. The Conception of Winter. Stratford, Ontario: William Wallace, 1989. ______. “Ole Talk: A Sketch.” Language In Her Eye: Views on Writing and Gender by Canadian Women Writing in English. Ed. Libby Scheier, Sarah Sheard and Eleanor Wachtell. Toronto: Coach House Press, 1990, 131-141. ______. Drawing Down A Daughter. Fredericton, New Brunswick: Goose Lane, 1992. Howells, Coral Ann. “Margaret Atwood: Bodily Harm, The Handmaid’s Tale.” Private And Fictional Words: Canadian Women Novelists of the 1970s and 1980s. London: Methuen, 1987, 53-70. Irigaray, Luce. French Feminist Thought: A Reader. Ed. Toril Moi. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Basil Blackwell (1987) 1990, 118-130. Johnston, Basil. “One Generation From Extinction.” Canadian Literature. No. 124-125 (1990): 10-15. Kamboureli, Smaro. “The body as audience and performance in the writing of Alice Munro.” A Mazing Space: Writing Canadian Women Writing. Ed. Shirley Neuman and Smaro Kamboureli. Edmonton: Longspoon/NeWest Press, 1986, 31-38. Kostash, Myrna. “Ethnicity and Feminism.” In the feminine: women and words/les femmes et les mots. Ed. Ann Dybikowski, Victoria Freeman, Daphne Marlatt, Barbara Pulling and Betsy Warland. Edmonton: Longspoon Press, 1985, 60-62. LaRocque, Emma. “Preface or Here Are Our Voices; Who Will Hear?” Writing The Circle: Native Women of Western Canada. Ed. Jeanne Perrault and Sylvia Vance. Edmonton: NeWest Publishers, 1990, xv-xxx. Marlatt, Daphne. “Musing With Mothertongue.” Gynocritics: Feminist Approaches to Canadian and Quebec Women’s Writing. Ed. Barbara Godard. Toronto: ECW Press, 1987, 223-226. Minh-ha, Trinh T. Woman, Native, Other: Writing Postcoloniality and Feminism. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1989. Philip, Marlene Nourbese. She Tries Her Tongue; Her Silence Softly Breaks. Charlottetown: Ragweed Press, 1989. ______. “The Disappearing Debate.” Language In Her Eye: Views on Writing and Gender by Canadian Women Writing in English. Ed. Libby Scheier, Sarah Sheard and Eleanor Wachtell. Toronto: Coach House Press, 1990, 209-219. ______. Frontiers: Essays and Writings on Racism and Culture. Stratford, Ontario: Mercury Press, 1992. Tong, Rosemarie. Feminist Thought: A Comprehensive Introduction. London: Routeledge (1989) 1992. Twigg, Alan. “What To Write.” Interview with Margaret Atwood. For Openers: Conversations With Canadian Writers. British Columbia: Harbour Press, 1981, 219-230. Williamson, Janice. Sounding Differences: Conversations With Seventeen Canadian Women Writers. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1993. Interview with Claire Harris “I dream

274 Black, Woman, “Righter” and the Anguish of English

of a new naming,” 115-130, and interview with Marlene Nourbese Philip “writing a memory of losing that place,” 226-244.

275 Christina Strobel

Reconsidering Conventions: Fictions of the Lesbian

“Any lesbian is unbearable because she deceives, offends, or invalidates patriarchal sense. She defies common sense. She can make you crazy with happiness, or mad with horror.” (Nicole Brossard)

Abstract Canadian society offers the naturalized convention of gender as a category to order both the sex/gender system and the interrelated organization of sexuality. This paper gives a brief overview of various strategies used to deal with hegemonic constructions of sex/uality in fictional writing, particularly in the representations of lesbians and lesbianism. These strategies are 1) writing the lesbian into existence; 2) showing how institutions work (or de- naturalizing them as conventions); 3) using humour and satire as a weapon; and 4) creating utopian visions.

Résumé La société canadienne classe par catégories la convention naturalisée du genre afin d’ordonner le système du genre/sexe et l’organisation complexe de la sexualité. Le présent article donne un bref aperçu des différentes stratégies qui sont utilisées en réaction aux constructions dominantes de la sex/ualité dans les ouvrages de fiction, plus précisément, ici, dans les écrits représentants les lesbiennes et le lesbianisme. Ces stratégies sont : 1) la découverte de l’existence lesbienne par l’écriture; 2) la dénonciation du fonctionnement des institutions (ou la dénaturalisation de celles-ci en tant que conventions); 3) l’utilisation des armes de l’humour et du satire; et 4) la création de visions utopiques.

While of major importance, “gender trouble,” to borrow Judith Butler’s term, has been only one among other sites of productive struggle for change in Canadian society over the past twenty-five years. In the political, social and cultural domains, the category of gender has proved a fruitful means of analysis as the categories of “women” and “men” have diversified into complex identities recognizing the interrelated significance of ethnicity, class, ability, race, age, sexual orientation, geographic location, nationality, religious denomination, etc. (these lists always end with a guilty “etc.,” as feminists know). This paper limits its discussion to representations of lesbian women in fictional writing. The term “lesbian women” names the two categories chosen, and also

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS/RIÉC points to the double gendering of these identities. The sex/gender system and sexual orientation are interdependent, gendered constructs which help perpetuate hegemonic views of oppositional, biological sex (correlated to a certain gender) and the predominance of heterosexuality. Homosexuality has long been discussed as an expression of gender confusion, less as a means to it.1 This author treats sex/uality as conventions or institutions. David Lewis defines conventions as “regularities in behaviour, sustained by an interest in coordination and an expectaction that others will do their part” (Lewis, 1969, p. 208). The use of conventions in human behavior provides a feeling of stability and security by reducing the range of behaviour one can reasonably expect from a partner in any interaction. Competence in conventions “consists in part of a disposition to conform to that restriction with ease” (Lewis, 1969, p. 51). While conventions can easily be disturbed, institutions, which are basically conventions, are much more stable phenomena. Institutions evolve beyond the stage of fragile conventions by gaining a foothold in “nature” and therefore, in reason, Mary Douglas argues. “Being naturalized, they are part of the order of the universe and so are ready to stand as the grounds of argument” (Douglas, 1986, p. 52). Thus, a convention is institutionalized when, in reply to the question, “Why do you do it like this?” although the first answer may be framed in terms of mutual convenience, in response to further questioning the final answer refers to the way the planets are fixed in the sky or the way that plants or humans or animals naturally behave (Douglas, 1986, pp. 46f.). In other words, an institution is stabilized by the naturalization of social classifications. The institution works as such, says Douglas, “when it acquires [...] support from the harnessed moral energy of its members.” An institution is usually no longer recognized as such by the members of a community who help re/create it; it is the “high triumph of institutional thinking [...] to make the institutions completely invisible” (Douglas, 1986, p. 98). Making institutions visible or questioning what is considered “natural” has been a major venture since the 1970s. When we unveil or “de-naturalize” an institution, it does not cease to exist; rather we begin to consider whether — or how — the institution is functional from our point of view and what other possible conventions we might propose to order reality. We can begin to deny the institution “the moral energy of its members.” This brief overview of lesbian fictional writing presents different subversive strategies as ways of dealing with hegemonic constructions of the institutions of sex/gender and heterosexuality. These are 1) writing the lesbian into existence; 2) showing how institutions work (or exposing them as conventions); 3) using humour and satire as a weapon; and 4) creating utopian visions. The strategies are interrelated and while some may seem more valid than others, all are necessary. This paper argues paradoxes, maintaining that the category of woman must be affirmed/empowered and the system of

278 Reconsidering Conventions: Fictions of the Lesbian

categorization subverted. Since sex/uality provides an essential framework for understanding other and self, the rewriting of a female self begins with images of femininity, the devaluation of women and the female body. This construction sometimes mirrors patriarchal versions of femininity, especially when attributes ascribed to women by the hegemonic system are pronounced to constitute their true and better-than-male nature. Generally, however, these revisions of dominant images seek to open up imaginary and social space for women. They are re-constructions at an angle to dominant constructions of women, and as such necessary prerequisites from which to deconstruct.

Writing the lesbian into existence Some representations of lesbians or lesbianism subvert or shift oppositional hierarchies through various forms of resistance. These representations attempt to empower the “other,” sometimes in terms which preserve bipolar constructions yet which nevertheless shift their power relation. In a reality in which woman is a fiction she did not originate,2 the lesbian must re-member or at least invent herself (see the motto by Monique Wittig in Brossard’s Lovhers, p. 50). She must be made real/ity through (patriarchal) language: Only through literally creating ourselves in the world do we declare our existence and from there make our presence known in the order of the real and the symbolic. When I say literally give birth to ourselves in the world, I really do mean that literally. Literal means “that which is represented by letters.” Taken literally. Taken to the letter. For we do take our bodies, our skin, our sweat, pleasure, sensuality, sexual bliss to the letter (Brossard, 1985, pp. 134 f.). The writers participating in this project create a variety of texts. These include lesbian romances (as published by Naiad); lesbian detective stories (Lauren Wright Douglas, Marion Foster, Eve Zaremba); lesbian Westerns (Anne Cameron’s The Journey); autobiographical reflections (Mary Meigs’ In The Company of Strangers); revisions of Native myths (Beth Brant’s “Coyote Learns a New Trick”); and historiographic fiction (Marlatt’s Ana Historic). These fictions affirm the existence of the lesbian because they portray her as a subject characterized by agency. The articulation of a female self participating in or taking control of discourse is an essential step in resistance and toward a re-ordering of power/knowledge relations. Actually, these necessary fictions tell the stories of various different selves — even in one writer, we are presented with a range of lesbian individuals (e.g., by Jane Rule in her short stories; see, to name only one collection, Outlander). Some writers attempt to “salvage the wreckage of language so freighted with phallocentric values,” and “to write in lesbian” as Daphne Marlatt phrases it (1991, p. 10; p. 118). Both Marlatt and Betsy Warland search the roots of words in some kind of “feminising etymology” (Waring, 1987, p. 22).3 New terms are coined and new frames of reference invented to deny the “La femme n’existe pas” of patriarchal reality, either seriously or satirically. Louky Bersianik (or rather, her translators) created the “emasculate conception” (Bersianik, 1976, p. 52). Bersianik, along with other Québécoise writers,

279 IJCS/RIÉC attacks the rules of a language in which an inanimate, masculine object takes precedence over 300 feminine human beings (“Trois cents femmes et un camion se sont baladés dans la rue,” Bersianik, 1976, p. 199). As Bersianik explains elsewhere, women’s relation to the French language is signified by the mute “e” which “represents the silence of women” (1976, p. 220). Marlatt counters the cultural symbology which for women centers “on a hole, an absence, a zero, that background other against which the male subject takes form and definition” (Marlatt, as quoted by Goldman, p. 36) with a “feminist context of address and reference” in which the zero becomes “Zoe,” and opens up the possibility of a lesbian other for Annie Torrent in Ana Historic (cf. Goldman). Language, Marlatt says, is “inhabited” in the sense that “it relates us to the world in a living body of verbal relations” (1984, p. 49). Trying to find “a way to write her in,” she “attaches her body to words” and thus recovers it in language (Marlatt, 1991, p. 25). Brossard conceives “of writing as a way of using the body, that is, how the body physically asserts itself to gain its formal status in linguistic terrain” (1985, p. 91). “In the beginning was the Flesh / And the Flesh was made Word,” Bersianik rewrites “Word Man’s” history (1978, p. 98). Often, the lesbian body is celebrated by invocations of (all) parts of its anatomy in another strategy to affirm its existence and celebrate it as desired/desiring (for well-known, non-Canadian examples see Wittig, The Lesbian Body; Winterson, Written on the Body). Lesbian desire is carved with a precise, often startling use of language. An evocative example are the much quoted lines from Phyllis Webb’s Naked Poems: And here and here and here and over and over your mouth. (Webb, 1971, p. 88) The place where language and desire meet is the tongue. For chrystos, living in the U.S. but publishing with a Canadian press, it has the power to heal: “[...] you speak without calluses despite our scars / Woman down my throat you stir my heart nectar where bitterness has fought to seed / O you rainy tongue you amaryllis tongue you early spring / tongue [...]” (chrystos, 1988, p. 45) Daphne Marlatt speaks of “that tongue our bodies utter, woman tongue, speaking in and of and for each other” (1984, p. 27) and invokes a feminist subject which is no longer marginal, but firmly grounded in intersubjectivity with a lesbian other. As Brossard maintains in Lovhers:“reality begins with / the intention of you” (1980, p. 57). Or, Bersianik: “Under your woman’s kisses I become a woman and under your touch I consciously inhabit my feminine space” (Bersianik, 1978, p. 106). And, Marie-Claire Blais: “[T]he memory of [the lovers’] double breathing in the night” (Blais, 1985, p. 41) lingers on as a fragile and tender hope in the “violent day.”

280 Reconsidering Conventions: Fictions of the Lesbian

Penelope J. Engelbrecht proposes “the lesbian Other/self” as a concept outside of “the dominance-submission economy of the sexes within the patriarchy, a relationship linguistically and socially mediated by the action of the paradigmatically (male) Subject upon the (female) Object.” She suggests “a lesbian metaphysic which inscribes the inter/action of a lesbian Subject and a lesbian Other/self” (1990, p. 86). Her “Subject” and “Other/self” are inherently and constantly mutual, interactive and nonhierarchical.4 In Jane Rule’s Memory Board, two women live this process. Their relationship is best captured in this image: “Diana and Constance had always sat across the table from each other, leaving the two heads of the table deserted” (1987, p. 30). The lesbian self and Other also extend their world into the larger social fabric, both within the text and outside, across and beyond it. In her novel Contract with the World, Rule places the lesbian subject in a community of six interacting subjects; the formal arrangement in six chapters emphasizes this most clearly by decentering the point of view. The emphasis on community is the centripetal force which counters the centrifugal difference of the characters. Together they produce a “discordant song” (1980, p. 339), discordant, but of not totally unrelated tunes. Lesbian writers have also created an alternative interpretative community and a feminist intertextuality establishing the lesbian subject in intersubjectivity — or solidarity. Thus, Daphne Marlatt exchanges “transformances” (in Salvage, 1991) with Nicole Brossard and has co-authored books with her; Betsy Warland and Daphne Marlatt have collaborated on Double Negative (1988), as have Gillian Hanscombe and Suniti Namjoshi on Flesh and Paper (1986). Mary Meigs takes an autobiographical approach to a period in her life in The Medusa Head (1983) which was made into a novel by Marie-Claire Blais (A Literary Affair).

How institutions work – exposing them as conventions While affirming the female self, lesbian writers are motivated by the “will to understand patriarchal reality and how it works” (Brossard, 1985, p. 35). They analyze and expose how the lesbian is constituted on various levels: through a specific, symbolic order (understood to include language, ideologies and the cultural representation of gender relations); through a domination based on the organization of labour, re/production and sexuality; through institutions, class and gender-specific interest groups of economic and political power; through the individual interactions of women and men; and through the social psychology of gender relations and the dynamics of motivations and desires (following Knapp, 1992). A few examples may suffice to illustrate how lesbian feminist writers reveal the workings of society. Jane Rule draws attention to gender as a set of conventions and performances. Her first novel, Desert of the Heart, begins with an analysis of the naturalness of a heterosexual institution: Conventions, like clichés, have a way of surviving their own usefulness. They are then excused or defended as the idioms of living.

281 IJCS/RIÉC

For everyone, foreign by birth or by nature, convention is a mark of fluency. That is why, for any woman, marriage is the idiom of life. And she does not give it up out of scorn or indifference but only when she is forced to admit that she has never been able to pronounce it properly and has committed continually its grossest grammatical errors. For such a woman marriage remains a foreign tongue, an alien landscape, and, since she cannot become naturalized, she finally chooses voluntary exile (Rule, 1964, p. 1). Rule lays bare the devices of the reality she models and so, in Barbara Godard’s words, “indirectly expose[s] the values of the social text” (Godard, p. 46). The conventions she uncovers as such can then be reconsidered. In line with her view of conventions, Rule’s lesbian in “voluntary exile” is, to quote Biddy Martin, “a position from which to speak” and not a fixed identity (as quoted by Jay/Glasgow, 1990, p. 6). Louky Bersianik uses the device of a visitor from a foreign place to throw light on social conditions in Quebec. The Euguélionne arrives on the Earth from another planet, seeking the male of her species. Through the eye of this astounded observer we discover the arbitrary organization of society to the advantage of the male half of humankind, an organization which is maintained by both sexes. The Euguélionne herself comes from a planet which reflects our own. There, the Masters or Legislators from a male species put a female species “to the spinning wheel, to the mill, to the dishes and to the grindstone, so completely that they were soon designated by the name of Pedalists.” Then, they instituted “marriaje,” which, as the Euguélionne explains, is, in reality, only a ceremony aimed at giving the Legislator a domestic Pedalist of his very own, who is capable, in addition to her services, of providing him with a male descendant. Once the ceremony is over, they are husband and pedalist for eternity. Which does not hinder the Legislator from having Pedalists close at hand all through his life, for all sorts of services: office pedalists, hospital pedalists, girl-Friday pedalists and of course, legitimate domestic pedalists on top of all the pedalist chicks, titled or not, that he could use (Bersianik, 1976, p. 46). The foundations of the hierarchical organization between the sexes in Quebec are perceived by the Euguélionne in the law, in language, in religion and, more recently in the preachings of “St. Siegfried.” The Euguélionne eloquently attacks and ridicules the pompous systems invented to keep women in their place and exhorts not just resistance but transgression (Bersianik, 1976, p. 274). More specifically concerned with the forces aimed at lesbian surrender, Jovette Marchessault takes on patriarchal institutions in her Lesbian Triptych. As the title suggests, at the center of her radical attack is Church doctrine. In the first part, “A Lesbian Chronicle from Medieval Quebec,” Marchessault with “rapier-like” wit (Godard, 1985, p. 23) names three “Bulls” which function to erase lesbian existence. First Bull: Normal School. The bull-dog. [...] In normalizing school, the lesbian subject will learn rapidly to disguise herself as a real

282 Reconsidering Conventions: Fictions of the Lesbian

woman, strapping herself into the costumes that master tailors make for her (Marchessault, 1980, p. 32). The Second Bull is the institution of the family, or “a bull-dozer in a big dose,” in which the lesbian learns to serve and please men, and finally, as the Third Bull, the “Channel Bull” which works to erase lesbians from history. In this society, angels in the Bible are more real than lesbians (Marchessault, 1980, p. 57). As in The Euguélionne, transgression is favoured over resistance to ensure survival. The lesbian child learns early on that she prefers stepping into the forbidden street to skipping in place on the sidewalk. When she is grown up, she finally “comes out” to the no-man’s land of the women in the street to make her home “in the forgotten zone, in the no-man’s-land of women’s memory, [...] that incomprehensible continent of desire.” The lesbian rejects the either- or definitions her society imposes on her: “Heterosexual? Lesbian- homosexual? [...] You try to graft your obsessional weakness on my body and on my head. [...] Neither hetero nor homo, my dear obsessed sirs! I am in another place.” This place she names “autosexual” (Marchessault, 1980, p. 57 f.).5

Humour and satire Laughter can serve as an extremely efficient means to subvert and erode, be it dualist concepts, hierarchies, oppressive systems or plain pomposity. Feminist lesbians have used humour, parody and satire to mock notions about the “true” relations of the sexes.6 As they engage with power, these modes presuppose the existence of an interpretive community. The following are a few selected examples. Both Bersianik and Marchessault have perfected the art of ridiculing “great” subjects. The First Panel, Ch. XXIV of The Euguélionne, provides a re-telling of the immaculate conception although nearly any chapter offers as much amusement. In Marchessault, the narrator informs us that a number of women were strangled in an American city: This series of murders seemed quite energizing at the time. All sorts of theories surfaced. Among others, one maintained that sadistic crimes, essentially committed for sexual reasons, were always the work of men. The discovery of the century! To their joy, the Boston Choke was arrested a few weeks later. The scholars, all the most educated men, made a mad dash to peer at the genital logos of that deranged strangler. They drew the most astonishing conclusions by beginning with irreducible biological facts. After months and months of effort, of intensive research, consultations, seminars and banquets, they succeeded in dredging a Y chromosome out of the seminal mud. Then came an historic announcement — only chokes seemed to possess this Y chromosome (Marchessault, 1980, p. 40 f.). The fiction of Jane Rule provides examples of a gentler but equally pointed sense of humour. In one of her stories, Elizabeth goes to visit Virginia and Katherine, who are both ex-wives of the “Perfectly Nice Man” she intends to marry. She wants to find out if anything might be wrong with either her future husband or herself, since his two previous wives are now living in a lesbian relationship. Finally she asks:

283 IJCS/RIÉC

“You think I’d be crazy to marry him, don’t you?” Elizabeth demanded. “Why should we?” Virginia asked. “We both did.” “That’s not a reassuring point,” Elizabeth said. (Rule, 1982, p. 132) In this situation, the fear of being or becoming an outsider is dissolved in gentle humor and questions about “where it comes from” and “whose fault it is” no longer make sense.

Utopian visions Feminist theory has been concerned with finding an empowering sign for a point outside of the male and heterosexual monopoly of power and knowledge from which conscious feminist resistance is possible; a sign that furthers the dissolution of patriarchal dichotomies; a sign which allows a construction of the subject beyond categories of gender; finally, a sign which signifies that which cannot yet exist. In departure from the tradition of the stigmatized invert who speaks as the prophet of her fellow sufferers (originated by Radclyffe Hall in The Well of Loneliness, 1928), the concept “lesbian” has been suggested to fill these feminist requirements.7 To be lesbian means to be something else, “a not- woman, a not-man” Monique Wittig argues, since the “refusal to become (or to remain) heterosexual always meant to refuse to become a man or a woman, consciously or not. For a lesbian this goes further than the refusal of the role ”woman.” It is the refusal of the economic, ideological, and political power of a man” (1981, 49). Like the Amazons, lesbians are the only women not invented by men, Brossard maintains. “Lesbian” thus allows a concept of the subject beyond categories of sex/gender, and therefore beyond hetero-/homosexuality. Much like Gloria Anzaldúa’s New Mestiza, she is outside and yet within. She is living in the borderlands, sin fronteras (1987, p. 195), on a crossroads where hope converges. “Lesbian” is not just a sign for a utopian vision but also a social reality, a lived experience and thus “a threatening reality for reality. She is the impossible reality realized,” (Brossard, 1985, p. 121) yet always points beyond. For Brossard, “[t]he ideal lesbian is ideal like the emotion and vital utopia of what makes sense and non-sense. [...] There are lesbians like this, lesbians like that, lesbians here and there, but a lesbian is above all else the centre of a captivating image which any woman can claim for herself. The lesbian is a mental energy which gives breath and meaning to the most positive of images a woman can have of herself” (Brossard, 1985, p. 121). “Lesbian,” as suggested by Wittig, can refer to any human subject. Jane Rule similarly uses “twin” as a sign for “man” and “woman” who surpass sexual difference. Her concept of a subject beyond gender acknowledges biological differences but does not construct them into essential opposites. The dichotomy of the sexes is dissolved in the paradox of being one and being

284 Reconsidering Conventions: Fictions of the Lesbian

different: Diana and David, in Memory Board (1987), have the same name for each other, “D” (p. 4), but they are not “identical twins” (pp. 1 f.). The twins are, for a long time and then again, “two halves of an harmonious nature” (p. 3). While androgynous models usually privilege the male part, here the male joins the lesbian couple and finds a supportive role in their lives together. The final scene of the book is a conversation between the two lesbian women in which Diana acknowledges her twin brother as a member in their community. I want to conclude with two observations about trends in heterosexual women’s writing, or writing in which the protagonists are heterosexual women. The first observation is about excess meaning, the second about revenge. Increasingly, heterosexual writers use lesbian characters in their fiction. These minor characters appear quite casually, as integrated parts of the fictional world. But the lesbian at the same time tends to transport excess meaning. To give only two examples: in Maureen Moore’s detective novel, Fieldwork, all heterosexual erotic bonds are either an event of the past, in a state of divorce, or a nebulous future option. The (minor) lesbian characters get to live in fulfilling, long-term relationships. Desire in the present is lesbian in this book. Offred in Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale wants to find in Moira “gallantry [...], swash-buckling, heroism, single-handed combat. Something I lack” (1986, p. 249). The narrator realizes that she is expecting Moira to act on her idea of Moira’s courage. The heterosexual woman here constructs her lesbian friend as the site of “daring and spectacular” (p. 250) resistance to a theocratic, patriarchal society. A phenomenon one can observe both in film and in detective novels, a genre committed to a restoration of the social order and of justice, is how female protagonists begin to rearrange the world to their own liking — and do not stop short of murder. Discussing recent Quebecois writing by Flora Balzano, Anne Dandurand, Claire Dé and Danielle Roger, Luise von Flotow speaks about a “revenge of narrative” which has settled in this younger generation of feminist writing (1994, p. 69). She refers to a return to narrative and accessibility after the “cerebral experiments in feminist language and feminist utopias” (1992, p. 8), as well as to the real revenge women in these texts take “on unfeeling or patronizing men [...] or on society as a whole” (1994, p. 69). A similar need for revenge seems absent in books with a lesbian protagonist. When Marion Foster published the first of two books in which the male sexual offender is deliberately killed, she did so under the name of Shirley Shea, and she used heterosexual protagonists. Whatever else these observations may mean, they seem to indicate that “moral support” for the hegemonic system of sex/uality is dwindling.

Notes 1. See the turn-of-the-century theories of gender inversion to explain the phenomenon of same- sex love (Karl Heinrich Ulrichs: “a female soul in a male body”); the “mannish lesbian” (Newton, 1984) of the 1920s and 30s; the butches and femmes of the 1940s and 50s; the

285 IJCS/RIÉC

“woman-identified woman” of the late 70s and early 80s. The meanings of “butch” and “femme” are still contested (Nestle, 1984; Ardill/O’Sullivan, 1990). Interestingly, the relation of gender to sexual orientation is now increasingly discussed as a possible way of parody and thus leading toward a confusion of gender (e.g., Butler, 1990). Whether this (fascinating) discussion in theory can be of any use for practical politics remains to be seen. 2. Brossard, 1985, p. 109. See also Monique Wittig: “Because we are illusionary for traditional male culture we make no distinction between the three levels. Our reality is the fictional as it is socially accepted, our symbols deny the traditional symbols and are fictional for traditional male culture, and we possess an entire fiction into which we project ourselves and which is already a possible reality. It is our fiction that validates us” (1973, p. ix). 3. See, e.g., Marlatt, “hidden ground” in Touch to My Tongue (1988); or Warland’s revival of “inversion:” “Invert, To turn, bend. Shape-changers. The turn of a phrase, the page, the mind. Inside-out and upside-down. Coming out turning us inside-out revealing the world upside-down: things aren’t what they seem. [...] Inverts in versions. InVersions: not one but many versions we must learn to live with-in.” (1991, p. xi) 4. In butch/femme and in S/M relationships, on the other hand, there is an explicit play with the eroticization of power differentials. 5. As another example of a book which explicitly argues against “natural” properties of the sexes, I want to mention Leona Gom’s The Y-Chromosome. A supposedly specific male potential for aggressiveness is at the center of Gom’s attack. While I agree with her position there, I finally consider the novel a failed attempt to rework the division between what is understood as natural and as social. Gom uses a topos familiar in science fiction or utopian literature when she depicts a single-sexed, egalitarian future after the aggressive and destructive male half of the human species has (nearly) died out. Disappointingly, she preserves the distinctions represented by the two societies portrayed, the city and the Isolist farms. The latter turn out to be so much closer to nature with their hard physical outdoor labor and especially the possibility of heterosexuality. Plot transports the ideology of the novel: A male baby saviour, conceived and born by a city woman in the “natural way” (as opposed to the city’s reproductive technology), is at the end handed over to his father in the rural community. 6. The fables by Suniti Namjoshi also belong in this section. 7. A reference to some visions I do not discuss here: Marchessault introduces a “utopian vision of a world of women beyond patriarchal constraints” (Godard, 1985, p. 24) in the central part of her triptych, “Night Cows.” The lesbian for her is a survivor from the Death Culture, and, in Orenstein’s words, “the prophet of a new cycle of history and [...] the creator of a new interpretation of time, space and being” announcing “the coming of a revolutionary feminist era” (1987, p. 189). Some writers have extended lesbian to include all women (Warland, 1991b, pp. 182 f.). For Brossard, lesbians are “the poets of the humanity of women” (1985, p. 121). She opens up a female space in “Ma continent” (Lovhers, 1980) and populates it with other lesbian writers. In Picture Theory (1982), the hologram provides her grammar of utopia (Weir, 1986).

Bibliography Anzaldúa, Gloria, 1987, Borderlands / La Frontera: The New Mestiza, San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books. Ardill, Susan, and Sue O’Sullivan, 1990, “Butch/Femme Obsessions,” Feminist Review 34, pp. 79-85. Atwood, Margaret, 1986, The Handmaid’s Tale, Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company. Bersianik, Louky, 1976, The Euguélionne: a triptych novel, translated by Gerry Denis, Alison Hewitt, Donna Murray, Martha O’Brien, Victoria, B.C.: Press Porcépic, 1981. ——, “Noli Me Tangere,” 1978, translated by Barbara Godard, in: Room of One’s Own 4.1/2, pp. 98-110. Blais, Marie-Claire, “Tenderness,” 1985, Ink and Strawberries: An Anthology of Quebec Women’s Fiction, ed. by Beverley Daurio and Luise von Flotow, translated by Luise von Flotow, Toronto: Aya Press, 1988, pp. 39-41. Brant, Beth (Degonwadonti), 1985, “Coyote Learns a New Trick,” in: Mohawk Trail, Ithaca, NY: Firebrand Books.

286 Reconsidering Conventions: Fictions of the Lesbian

Brossard, Nicole, Lovhers, 1980, translated by Barbara Godard, Montreal: Guernica, 1987. ——, 1982, Picture Theory, translated by Barbara Godard, Montreal: Guernica, 1991. ——, 1985, The Aerial Letter, translated by Marlene Wildeman, Toronto: The Women’s Press, 1988. Butler, Judith, 1990, Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity, New York, London: Routledge. Cameron, Anne, 1982, The Journey, San Francisco: Spinsters, 1986. Douglas, Mary, 1986, How Institutions Think, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1987. Engelbrecht, Penelope J., 1990, “`Lifting Belly Is a Language’: The Postmodern Lesbian Subject,” Feminist Studies 16.1, pp. 85-114. Flotow, Luise von, 1992, “Preface,” Three by Three: Short Stories, by Anne Dandurand, Claire Dé, and Hélène Rioux, selected and translated by Luise von Flotow, Montreal: Guernica, pp. 7f. Flotow, Luise von, 1994, “A Generation after Experimental Feminist Writing in Quebec,” in: Zeitschrift für Kanadastudien 14.2: 67-77. Godard, Barbara, “Pedagogical Fictions,” in: RFR/DRF 21.3/4: 39-48. ——, 1985, “Flying Away with Language,” Introduction to Lesbian Triptych by Jovette Marchessault, Toronto: Women’s Press, 9-28. Goldman, Marlene. “Daphne Marlatt’s Ana Historic: A Genealogy for Lost Women.” RFR/DRF 21.3/4: 33-38. Gom, Leona, 1990, The Y-Chromosome, Toronto: Second Story Press. Hanscombe, Gillian, with Suniti Namjoshi, 1986, Flesh and Paper, Charlottetown, Canada: Ragweed Press. Jay, Karla and Joanne Glasgow, 1990, “Introduction,” Lesbian Texts and Contexts: Radical Revisions, ed. by K. Jay and J. Glasgow, New York: New York University Press. Knapp, Gudrun-Axeli, 1992, “Macht und Geschlecht: Neuere Entwicklungen in der feministischen Macht- und Herrschaftsdiskussion,” in: Traditionen Brüche: Entwicklungen feministischer Theorie, ed. by Gudrun-Axeli Knapp and Angelika Wetter, Freiburg: Kore, pp. 287-325. Lewis, David, 1969, Convention: A Philosophical Study, Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1986. Marlatt, Daphne, 1988, Ana Historic, Toronto: The Coach House Press. ——, 1988, Touch to My Tongue, Edmonton: Longspoon Press. ——, Salvage, 1991, Red Deer: Red Deer College Press. Meigs, Mary, The Medusa Head, 1983, Vancouver: Talonbooks. ——, 1991, In The Company of Strangers, Vancouver, B.C: Talonbooks. Moore, Maureen, 1987, Fieldwork, Seattle: The Seal Press. Namjoshi, Suniti, 1981, Feminist Fables, London: Sheba Feminist Publishers. Nestle, Joan, 1984, “The Fem Question,” in: Pleasure and Danger: Exploring Female Sexuality, ed. by Carole S. Vance, London: Pandora/Harper Collins, 1992, pp. 232-240. Newton, Esther, 1984, “The Mythic Mannish Lesbian: Radclyffe Hall and the New Woman,” in: Signs, 9.4, pp. 557-575. Orenstein, Gloria Feman, 1987, “Jovette Marchessault: The Ecstatic Vision-Quest of the New Feminist Shaman,” in: Gynocritics: Feminist Approaches to Canadian and Quebec Women’s Writing, ed. by Barbara Godard, Toronto: ECW Press, pp. 179-197. Rule, Jane, 1964, Desert of the Heart, London: Pandora, 1986. ——, 1980, Contract With the World, Tallahassee, FL: Naiad Press. ——, 1982, “A Perfectly Nice Man,” in: Outlander: short stories and essays. 1981. Tallahassee, FL: Naiad Press. pp. 125-133. ——, 1987, Memory Board, Tallahassee: The Naiad Press, 1989. Shea, Shirley, 1985, Victims: A Pound of Flesh, Toronto: Simon & Pierre Pierre Publishing Co. Waring, Wendy, 1987, “Strategies for Subversion: Canadian Women’s Writing,” Work in Progress: Building Feminist Culture, ed. by Rhea Tregebov, Toronto: The Women’s Press, pp. 13-37. Warland, Betsy, 1991a, “Inventing InVersions,” Introduction, in: InVersions: Writing by Dykes, Queers & Lesbians, ed. by Betsy Warland, Vancouver: Press Gang Publishers, ix-xiv. ——, 1991b, “Moving Parts,” in: InVersions: Writings by Dykes, Queers & Lesbians, ed. by Betsy Warland, Vancouver: Press Gang Publishers, pp. 175-186. Warland, Betsy, with Daphne Marlatt, 1988, Double Negative, Charlottetown: gynergy books. Webb, Phyllis, 1971, Selected Poems: 1954-1965, Vancouver: Talonbooks. Weir, Lorraine, 1986, “From picture to hologram: Nicole Brossard’s grammar of utopia,” in: A Mazing Space: Writing Canadian Women Writing, ed. by Shirley Neumann and Smaro Kamboureli, Edmonton: Longspoon/NeWest, pp. 345-352. Winterson, Jeanette. 1992, Written on the Body, London: Jonathan Cape. Wittig, Monique, 1973, The Lesbian Body, translated from the French by David Le Vay, New York: Bard/Avon, 1976. ——, 1981, “One Is Not Born a Woman,” Feminist Issues, 2, pp. 47--54.

287 Review Essays Essais critiques Marie-Andrée Bertrand

Regards de femmes sur le Québec, son histoire, ses lettres, son théâtre et sa vie politique, et les rôles que les femmes y ont joués

Louise Warren, Léonise Valois, femme de lettres (1868-1936). Un portrait. Montréal, L’Hexagone, 1993, 314 pages. Anita Caron et Lorraine Archambault, directrices d’édition, Thérèse Casgrain, une femme tenace et engagée. Sainte Foy, Les Presses de l’Université Laval, 1993, 393 pages. Lori Saint-Martin, directrice d’édition, L’autre lecture. La critique au féminin et les textes québécois. Tome 1. Montréal, XYZ éditeur, 1992, 215 pages. Lucie Godbout, directrice d’édition. Les Folles Alliées. Montréal, Les Éditions du Remue-ménage, Collection de mémoire de femmes, 1993, 320 pages. Maryse Darsigny, Francine Descarries, Lyne Kurtman et Évelyne Tardy, Ces femmes qui ont bâti Montréal. La petite et la grande histoire des femmes qui ont marqué la vie de Montréal depuis 350 ans, Montréal, Les Éditions du Remue-ménage, 1994, 627 pages.

***

Le choix de ces cinq ouvrages n’a aucune prétention à la représentativité. Parmi plusieurs autres possibles, j’ai choisi ces cinq livres récents parce qu’ils témoignent d’une tendance : la volonté des auteures québécoises de découvrir leurs devancières, femmes de grande réputation ou femmes méconnues qui méritent de sortir de l’ombre. Une stratégie allant tout à fait dans le sens des méthodes et de la pédagogie féministes : donner une voix et une place aux femmes. Mais dans ce cas particulier, on voit à l’œuvre la volonté unanime d’auteures féministes de faire en sorte que les Québécoises et les Québécois (re) trouvent la trace de la place des femmes dans le Québec politique, artistique, littéraire d’aujourd’hui mais surtout d’hier.

Léonise Valois Le livre de Louise Warren est tout à la fois une biographie littéraire et un album de souvenirs qui visent à nous faire connaître une femme poète, très probablement la première « canadienne-française » dont l’œuvre poétique ait été publiée.

International Journal of Canadian Studies / Revue internationale d’études canadiennes 11, Spring/Printemps 1995 IJCS /RIÉC

Mais l’œuvre écrite de Léonise Valois comprend bien d’autres choses que des poèmes. En effet, responsable des pages féminines du Monde illustré (1900- 1902) puis de La Terre de chez nous (1929-1931), elle ouvre ses colonnes aux femmes, leur permet de prendre la parole et va jusqu’à travailler à la création d’une association professionnelle des femmes journalistes. Quant à l’œuvre poétique proprement dite de Léonise Valois, elle comprend deux recueils signés du pseudonyme Atala : Fleurs sauvages (publié en 1910, à compte d’auteure) et Feuilles tombées (Beauchemin, 1934) qui lui vaudra le prix de la Société des poètes canadiens-français. Le livre de Louise Warren donne envie de mieux connaître le climat intellectuel de l’époque et la réaction des « littéraires » et des autres à ces poèmes écrits par une femme au tout début du siècle. D’une certaine façon, Louise Warren étant l’arrière-petite-fille de Léonise Valois et elle-même poète, l’évolution des conditions qui marquent la réception des œuvres littéraires des femmes apparaît en filigrane.

Thérèse Casgrain La deuxième œuvre que j’ai choisi de signaler est un recueil de textes sur Thérèse Casgrain. Il était à la fois normal et souhaitable que des Québécoises organisent un colloque autour de la vie et de l’œuvre politique et sociale de cette figure exceptionnelle de la scène québécoise, cette militante féministe et cette chef de parti politique au Québec. Les textes réunis par les soins d’Anita Caron et de Lorraine Archambault sont ceux présentés dans le cadre d’une conférence organisée par l’Institut d’études et de recherche féministes de l’Université du Québec à Montréal (IREF). Le colloque réunissait des professeures des départements d’histoire, de science politique et de sociologie de cette université. Si les répétitions et recouvrements sont un peu inévitables d’une section à l’autre et d’ailleurs plusieurs sont utiles parce qu’ils témoignent de lectures différentes de faits semblables, le recueil apporte cependant aux lectrices et lecteurs des données fort utiles et des analyses intelligentes des actions politiques, socialistes et féministes de Thérèse Casgrain et un rappel de ses luttes pour les droits des femmes (droit de vote bien sûr, mais aussi égalité juridique, économique et professionnelle), pour la justice, pour la paix, etc. À relire certaines des communications, on se prend d’admiration pour cette combattante qui ne fut jamais élue, cette femme dont les convictions socialistes ont sans doute été à l’origine de ses luttes pour l’égalité des femmes. On retrouve aussi, au hasard des contributions, des allusions et des anecdotes qui parlent des conflits qui n’ont pu manquer d’habiter une femme d’origine bourgeoise engagée dans des groupes, des partis politiques et des mouvements marginaux.

L’autre lecture, la critique au féminin et les textes québécois Si avec Louise Warren on est déjà, d’une certaine façon, dans une lecture au deuxième degré (une re-lecture de l’œuvre d’une journaliste et poète), avec le recueil de Lori Saint-Martin, on est dans une lecture au troisième degré. En effet, son livre est une anthologie : on y trouve quatorze articles tirés de plusieurs revues et livres récents dans lesquels des femmes bien d’aujourd’hui

292 Regards de femmes sur le Québec

se penchent sur l’œuvre écrite de pionnières telle Marie de l’Incarnation et Élisabeth Bégon à l’époque de la Nouvelle-France; sur celle de femmes auteures du 19e siècle comme Laure Conan et Jovette Bernier; sur les écrivaines des années 1930 comme Yvette Ollivier Mercier-Gouin; puis sur l’écriture des Gabrielle Roy, Anne Hébert, Marie-Claire Blais, Claire Martin, etc. Peut-être même s’agit-il d’une analyse au quatrième degré car les auteures des « articles sur » des écrivaines de toutes époques cherchent dans la production de leurs devancières leur « lecture » de la société d’hier et d’aujourd’hui. L’anthologie est constituée d’articles (déjà publiés ailleurs) écrits par Chantal Théry, Maïr Verthuy, Lucie Robert, Christl Verduyn, Nicole Bourbonnais, Lori Saint-Martin, Mary Jean Green, etc., qui traitent respectivement des œuvres et des auteures de chacune des périodes mentionnées, contextualisant les œuvres, parlant de la réception qu’elles ont connue et montrant comment les écrits des femmes parlent de quelque chose d’autre que ce que révèle l’écriture masculine. Certains articles signalent comment la critique masculine a négligé l’originalité, voire les innovations remarquables dont sont porteuses plusieurs œuvres des écrivaines des époques antérieures et contemporaines.

Les Folles Alliées Dans Les Folles Alliées, c’est le théâtre qui est abordé, le travail d’une troupe de femmes qui se situe à mi-chemin entre le théâtre engagé et le spectacle de variété. Lucie Godbout est ici à la fois « actrice » et auteure, ayant été l’une des membres de ce groupe féministe qui s’est surtout produit de 1980 à 1990. Derrière le récit de la vie des comédiennes, les témoignages et les photos, on aperçoit les conditions dans lesquelles s’accomplit le travail au théâtre. Conditions spécifiques aux théâtres de femmes? aux troupes engagées? — Il ne semble pas que le livre de Lucie Godbout nous permette de l’apercevoir. Mais les thèmes abordés, les mises en scène, l’humour apparaissent comme bien spécifiques aux femmes.

Ces femmes qui ont bâti Montréal Le 350e anniversaire de la « fondation » de Montréal a été l’occasion qu’ont saisie les organisateurs du Congrès de l’ACFAS 1992 pour proposer aux participants de « visiter » (littéralement) Montréal. Quatre professeures de l’UQAM (les directrices d’édition de Ces femmes qui ont bâti Montréal) invitaient les congressistes à faire ce « tour » dans une perspective particulière : celle de retrouver les traces des fondatrices de cette ville. Le livre, qui va bien au-delà de ces visites guidées, est fort beau, bien illustré et d’une typographie extraordinairement soignée. Dans ses 600 pages, on voit défiler plus de 300 personnages féminins en 350 chroniques très courtes (une ou deux pages maximum) qui vont de Madeleine de la Peltrie, Jeanne Mance, Marguerite Duplessis, Emma Gendron, Éva Circé-Côté, etc. jusqu’aux presque contemporaines comme les fondatrices du premier orchestre symphonique canadien (1940), Madge Bowen et Ethel Strark, et aux très contemporaines, des femmes encore bien vivantes.

293 IJCS /RIÉC

Les périodes sont bien découpées : « 1642-1800 : Les pionnières de la cité »; « 1800-1900 : Les architectes de la vie sociale et culturelle »; « 1900-1940 : Vers le droit de cité »; « 1940-1975 : Une série de premières »; et « 1965-1990 : La mobilisation des femmes ». Trois cent cinquante chroniques, donc, autant de noms, sous la plume de 150 auteures. Les repères sont clairs, les références bien indiquées. Une dernière section intitulée : « Chronologie de l’histoire des femmes de Montréal » évoque les réformes législatives et politiques qui ont marqué la vie des femmes de la Nouvelle-France puis de la province de Québec, de 1641 à 1988. Un livre précieux, remarquable et qui fait date dans tous les sens.

***

Dans cette production récente, on voit donc apparaître le besoin d’auteures féministes de présenter des modèles de femmes, on sent aussi leur envie de parler des aïeules, de se trouver des mères. Chez plusieurs mais non chez toutes cependant, ce qui frappe c’est le désir de comprendre et de faire comprendre par quels mécanismes l’histoire politique, littéraire, sociale et artistique a « invisibilisé » les femmes d’ici. Ces femmes ont compris qu’il ne faut compter que sur elles-mêmes pour compléter et corriger la mémoire. Aussi voit-on leur désir d’histoire, d’enracinement et de continuité s’assumer et s’auto-réaliser. Cela leur permet d’accéder à une fierté et une maturité remarquables, sans qu’elles baissent la garde : les mécanismes sociaux qui ont occulté l’œuvre de leurs devancières sont toujours à l’œuvre, différemment. Dans cette même veine de la socio-analyse historique concernant les femmes, il aurait fallu parler ici de l’œuvre de Nicole Laurin et de Danielle Juteau sur les religieuses au Québec. Le deuxième volume paraîtra dans quelques mois et il conviendra de faire la recension d’une œuvre d’une grande importance, fruit de dix ans de travaux, qui jette une lumière exceptionnelle sur la vie des Québécoises, la stratification sociale au Québec et les relations entre les femmes et l’Église. La perspective dans laquelle je me suis placée ici excluait un grand nombre d’œuvres portant sur les problèmes sociaux qui préoccupent au plus haut point les féministes : l’avortement et la contraception, les techniques de reproduction; la violence faite aux femmes, les centres pour femmes; etc. Cette production à elle seule mériterait une chronique car s’y découpent des enjeux nationaux pour les hommes et les femmes d’ici et d’ailleurs.

294