State gender ideology and national women’s machinery: a necessary shift in focus

Ten years have passed since the release of the final report of the World Health Organization (WHO) Commission on Social Determinants of Health (CSDH),1 a landmark document that provided a global blue‐print for the health promotion community and the stakeholders we work with. Three overarching recommendations were outlined, improving daily living conditions; tackling the inequitable distribution of power, money and resources; and measuring and understanding the problem and assessing the impact of action.1 The extent to which progress has been, and continues to be, made is contested. This editorial briefly reflects on what has been achieved over the past decade—in broad terms—about action on the social determinants of health (SDH) in Australia. We deliberately take a balanced view by highlighting the weaknesses and strengths in what has been achieved by governments, non‐government organisations, research institutions, peak bodies and civil society. We also reflect on the ongoing role that the Australian Health Promotion Association (AHPA) has played in advancing our understanding about, and action on, the SDH.

The feminist work of reimagining women’s fraught subjecthood under empire has prompted many inquiries into the everyday negotiations colonized women made to survive and even thrive. Hyaeweol Choi’s Gender Politics at Home and Abroad: Protestant Modernity in Colonial-Era Korea demonstrates how “Protestant modernity” shaped gender relations in colonial Korea, reframing the iconic figure of the New Woman emblematic of elite learning and the questioning of tradition. A culminating work of Choi’s pioneering scholarship on New Womanhood, Gender Politics builds upon her previous publications such as Gender and Mission Encounters in Korea: New Women, Old Ways (2009) and New Women in Colonial Korea: A Sourcebook (2013). The book theorizes beyond binaries of colonized and colonizer and agency and passivity, situating a subset of Korean women as creative negotiators of gender under Japanese empire, Korean neo-Confucianism, and American Protestantism.Gender Politics argues that gender norms and material practices embedded in modern domesticity in colonial Korea were the result of “border crossing” in both a literal and a figurative sense (198). Choi shows how transnational encounters—more specifically, encounters between native Korean women and white American Protestant missionary women—“played a role in shaping modern gender ideology, reforming domestic practices, coming to grips with a sense of locality and the world, and claiming new space for women in the public sphere” (ix). Choi uses the phrase “Protestant modernity,” which she explains as “a composite of religious morality, historical outlook, and material practices that could mean different things to different historical subjects,” as a heuristic device to trace the formation of modern gender relations fostered by the global Christian network in colonial Korea (15). The purpose of the book is to move beyond “the nexus of the metropole and colony” (195) and examine the transnational encounters that illuminate the resistance and appropriation of “both native and foreign ideas and practices” (200).The first half of Gender Politics traces how Protestant modernity shaped colonial Korean gender ideologies of woman and home. Chapter 1 explores the ways in which the colonial ideology of “wise mother, good wife” was influenced by Protestant Christianity in Korea. Choi argues that the ideology of “wise mother, good wife” in Korea was a “transcultural modern construct” that was a result of the convergence of the Chosŏn dynasty’s Confucian ideal of pudŏk (womanly virtues), Japan’s Meiji gender ideology of ryōsai kenbo (good wife, wise mother), and American Protestant missionaries’ Victorian ideology of domesticity (41). She introduces a transcultural, transpacific framework to understand a gender ideology inextricable from the making of Korean national subjecthood and womanhood. Chapter 2 situates the modern house and home in colonial Korea as a point of convergence for national, colonial, and missionary projects inflected by the local and the global (75–76). Choi utilizes a “multivalent” approach that considers how “Western modernity, Japanese colonial imperatives, and Korean nationalist desire” (107) influenced colonial domesticity in Korea, further building upon her emphasis on the transcultural in chapter 1. She highlights the transpacific nature of colonial-era home economics, with a particular emphasis on the American Protestant domestic ideology of “sweet home,” which New Women such as Kang Kyŏngae and Ch’oe Isun subverted and reshaped. Choi argues that the construction of modern domesticity in colonial-era Korea “illustrates the complex interplay among competing forces that defied the typical nexus of the colonizer and the colonized” (108). In chapter 2 and throughout the volume, the United States is referred to as a “non-colonial power” that refashioned modern domestic ideals and practices under Japanese colonial constraints (108).The latter half of the volume explores how New Women’s experiences of crossing borders of gender, class, and nation produced transnationally articulated identities and practices. Chapter 3 examines the gender politics of New Women’s travel overseas with an emphasis on how the global missionary network acted as a means for these women to pursue advanced study and move beyond the domestic sphere. Choi utilizes the term “crossing” as an interpretive framework that evokes (1) women crossing the divide between traditional gender roles and new expectations for women in the modern era, (2) overcoming hierarchical order of the social classes, and (3) going beyond the nexus of the metropole and colony under Japanese rule. Choi argues that New Women’s everyday experiences of “crossing” enabled by their mobility influenced their national identity and gendered bodily practice, thus developing “a sense of colonized self” (148). Chapter 4 shifts the book’s attention to Protestant missionary involvement in rural revitalization programs in colonial-era Korea. The chapter discusses how Protestant Korean women intellectuals shared practical knowledge about nutrition, hygiene, family budgeting, and child-rearing with rural women despite colonial constraints. These New Women consciously took an apolitical approach in executing their rural programs, which emphasized enlightenment and moral spiritual cultivation for the purpose of national restoration (154). Choi proposes that these rural programs produced a “locally sensible modernity” facilitated by transnational encounters and native traditions (188–89).Gender Politics illuminates the triply transcultural subjecthood of New Women who lived under Japanese empire. The book is impressive in its scope and approach, performing both literary and visual analyses of primary sources such as essays by American Protestant missionaries, photographs of Korean New Women, and colonial-era Korean women’s magazines. The book succeeds in communicating the colonial grammars influenced by Protestant missionary culture that regulated Korean women’s gender and sexuality, as well as how colonized Korean women channeled the resources provided by missionaries to negotiate their own womanhood. Choi conducts an expansive feminist rewriting of colonial-era Korean women intellectuals as resourceful agents triply influenced by Japanese, American, and Korean gender norms.A potential point of critique is the brevity of the book’s explorations of certain productive tensions such as the opacity of native Korean women in the eyes of white Protestant missionaries, which Choi briefly mentions in chapter 2. How might such opacity be further contextualized in New Women’s “crossing,” which generated racial and ethnic identities? Choi’s characterization of white Protestant missionaries as noncolonial Western forces partly obscures the very complexity of coloniality that the book is positioned to communicate. Would it be accurate to characterize Protestant missionaries in colonial Korea as noncolonial simply because they were not Japanese, or direct colonizers of Korea? Or could what Choi has termed Protestant modernity be inextricable from the history of American empire? One could note that the approaches of these Protestant missionaries are deeply colonial in their fixation with managing the gendered other—in this case, native Korean women. More attention to how the nexus of the colonizer and the colonized haunts the dynamics of organized religion—even if used as a means for native women’s self-actualization—could add to the impressive contributions this book makes.Gender Politics shares critical sensibilities with a robust body of postcolonial and feminist work that examines how native subjects negotiate their own ambiguous agencies under empire and theorizes womanhood from a non-West-centric feminist perspective. Works with similar interventions include Inderpal Grewal and Caren Kaplan’s Scattered Hegemonies (1994), Saba Mahmood’s Politics of Piety (2011), and Sungyun Lim’s Rules of the House (2018). The book is also in conversation with Korean cultural studies on New Women such as Ji-Eun Lee’s Women Pre-Scripted (2015) and Sunyoung Park’s The Proletarian Wave (2015). In addition, Gender Politics joins a dialogue generated by scholars who have been pushing the boundaries of what constitutes Koreanness beyond an ethnonational understanding. These scholars include David S. Roh, who examines connections between Zainichi and Korean American literatures in Minor Transpacific (2021), and Yoon Sun Yang, who in From Domestic Women to Sensitive Young Men (2017) explores how individuality was translated into Korean in the form of the early colonial domestic novel inflected by Japanese and Chinese literary traditions. Choi’s Gender Politics will be useful not only for specialists of colonial-era Korea but also for postcolonial and feminist scholars working in a variety of transnational cultural contexts.

Child welfare and women's rights both feature prominently in contemporary debates on equal rights. Whereas gender equity has been a policy objective for the past thirty years in sport organizations, however, child abuse and protection have only recently emerged as a sport ethics issues. Arguably, child protection has now leapfrogged over gender equity as a policy priority. The chapter opens with a discussion of the role of children in sport in relation to opposing ideologies of social control and personal freedom, and outlines the development of child protection and gender equity initiatives in sport, including the establishment of the not-for-profit Women’s Sports Foundation (UK) and the first national women in sport policy in England, and of a dedicated Sport England/NSPCC Child Protection in Sport Unit (CPSU). The shift in theoretical focus from ‘women’ to ‘gender’ has been accompanied by a widening of the general social policy attention away from solely heterosexual interests. Sport organisations have responded comparatively slowly to the new rights agenda for gay men, lesbians, bisexual and transgendered people but it is argued here that the arrival of the CPSU not only gave huge impetus to the institutionalisation of child protection in sport but also forced sports bodies to address ethics and equity agendas more forcibly than they had done before. In this way, the issue of child protection has acted as a kind of ethical Trojan horse in sport. The paradox of child protection in sport, however, is that it has simultaneously drawn public attention to issues of abuse and exploitation and deflected attention away from the specific issue of women’s rights in sport.

<p>本研究目的在探究雙向職家衝突的異質性分組與特性，並比較各組別在幸福感與各種滿意度的差異。資料來源為中研院調查中心的臺灣家庭動態調查資料庫2020年的資料。分析樣本由受訪者篩選出受薪工作者4,477人再隨機抽取20%，共有842人（男470人、女372人）。採取潛在剖面分析探討職家衝突與性別意識形態所形成的潛在組別，並比較各組之間背景變項差異與各種滿意度、幸福感及正負向情感等心理適應。結果顯示可區分出四組，分別為自在組、中間組、反差組、高壓組，展現出衝突壓力感受與家庭兩性價值觀並非線性同步的關係，而是存在各自獨特的樣貌。多數人屬於自在與中間組，雙向衝突低且心理適應佳。相對地，約占10%的高壓組則是雙向衝突均高且心理適應較差，另外僅占5%的反差組雖然婚育負擔低且兩性平等價值高，但是對工作滿意度與幸福感卻仍較低，顯示在職家衝突中此二組的心理歷程仍值得深入探究。</p> <p> </p><p>Background and Purpose</p> <p> In traditional Taiwanese families, couples have typically followed a role division based on the principle that ""men work outside and women manage the household."" However, rising economic demands and the widespread promotion of gender equality have gradually shifted this traditional division of labor. In dual-career families, parents juggle professional responsibilities and parenting, often experiencing heightened stress when work–family conflicts occur.</p> <p>Research on work-family conflict (WFC) has consistently underscored the significance of gender roles. Nevertheless, with the growing influence of gender equality ideologies, a shift in focus has emerged, emphasizing gender role ideology over biological sex. Therefore, the present study incorporates traditional and egalitarian gender role ideologies as measures and conducts statistical analyses in conjunction with WFC.</p> <p>This study specifically aimed to identify the types of WFC in Taiwan and investigate the heterogeneity of bidirectional WFC by uncovering distinct latent groups. Moreover, it examined variations in job satisfaction, wellbeing, and psychological adaptation across these groups.</p> <p>Methods</p> <p>Data were obtained from the 2020 Taiwan Panel Study of Family Dynamics Survey. The sample comprised 842 salaried employees (470 men and 372 women) randomly selected from an initial pool of 4,477 respondents. This study utilized Latent Profile Analysis (LPA), a statistical method suitable for analyzing continuous variables and categorizing them into latent and categorical groups. This technique provides an effective framework for identifying and visualizing each subgroup’s heterogeneity and unique attributes. Specifically, this study applies LPA to investigate latent groups shaped by WFC and gender ideologies. These groups were analyzed to identify differences in various background characteristics (such as gender, age, marital status, number of children, working hours, salary, and social support), as well as outcomes such as job satisfaction, well-being, and psychological adaptation (encompassing both positive and negative affect).</p> <p>Result</p> <p>The findings revealed four distinct groups: comfortable, moderate, contrast, and high-stress. These classifications suggest that the relationship between perceived WFC stress and gender role attitudes is not strictly linear but exhibits distinct types across individuals. Most participants belonged to the comfortable and moderate groups, which were characterized by lower bidirectional conflict and better psychological adaptation. Conversely, approximately 10% of the participants belonged to the high-stress group, which experienced high levels of WFC and poor psychological adaptation. Furthermore, the control group, which comprised only 5% of the sample, exhibited low marital and parental burdens and strong gender equality values; however, they reported lower job satisfaction and well-being. This suggests that the psychological processes underlying WFC in these two groups warrant further investigation. Overall, the psychological adaptation processes of these two groups in WFC are worthy of further exploration.</p> <p>Conclusions</p> <p>This study supports the gender ideology perspective. It indicates that the key factors contributing to bidirectional WFC are physical stress associated with work hours, marital life, and parenting responsibilities, including the psychological stress deeply rooted in familial gender ideologies. Furthermore, individuals in high-stress conditions commonly lack support from both workplace and home environments. Career counseling needs to pay more attention to valuing belief conflicts, physical and mental stress, and the psychological adaptation of these two groups. Organizations can continue to assist the high-stress and contrast groups through employee assistance programs and encourage individuals needing psychological counseling and guidance.</p> <p> </p>

Review of Revolutionary Women in Postrevolutionary Mexico by Jocelyn Olcott, Duke University Press, Durham, 2005 Based on three rich case studies, Jocelyn Olcott's book Revolutionary Women in Postrevolutionary Mexico brings together a comparative analysis on Mexican women's political participation during the period of long Cardenismo-from Lazaro Cardenas' 1928 instauration as Michoacan's governor until the 1940 initiation of Avila's Camacho presidency (p. 24). The book's thesis states that Mexican men and women experienced citizenship as gendered, as contingent to specific historical and political and less as a legal framework than a set of social, cultural, and political processes (p. 6). Olcott's research rediscovers a comprehensive history of feminist social movements and demonstrates that Mexican women were politically organized revolutionary citizens, in spite of the sexist social order of that time. With concomitant attention to regional, national, and transnational contexts, this study surveys competing gender ideologies during a period of state-formation. It draws on individual and collective stories of feminine political organizing, rather than relying on official discourses, to approach the specificities of women's performance of citizenship. Olcott's nonlineal work of historiography combines materials from national and regional archives, popular histories, and public epistles. The three main case studies presented in the book cover regions with contrasting characters: the central state of Michoacan, the northern region of Comarca Lagunera, and the southeastern Mayan state of Yucatan. In addition, the author surveys the national implications of radicalism in the port city of Acapulco, and feminist political organizing in Mexico City. The book's first chapter surveys the roots of Mexican feminist political organizing. It starts out by tracing women's activism for expanded social, economic, and political rights back to the time of the Revolution. It periodizes the First Feminist Congress in Yucatan in 1916, which was able to garner more than seven hundred women in Merida, as the formal origin of organized feminine political mobilization. Culminating with discussions on the national women's congresses of the early 1930s, this chapter states that by that time, although contested and fragmented (p. 51) a national women's movement had developed. In this same chapter, a discussion on the 1917 Constitutional Congress focuses its attention on the citizenship articles, finally rejecting women's suffrage. A reference to the Catholic Cristero Rebellion in Michoacan as recasting women's piety from antimodern to potentially violent and disruptive (p. 41), portrays the tensions between competing gender ideologies formulated by the government's anticlerical project on one side, and the Church on the other. Finally overcome by the ruling party, the end of the Cristero Rebellion consolidated Cardenas' mandate as Michoacan's governor. Chapter two surveys the trajectory of women's organizing in Michoacan during the 1920s and early 1930s. It gives attention to the role of the state-founded Revolutionary Labor Confederation of Michoacan (CRMDT) and other associations at linking the national bureaucracy with local organizations, which rendered women support and leadership for political organizing. Women's political organizing was thus concomitantly dependent on regional and national political scenarios. While Cardenismo offered women opportunities for organizing, feminist mobilizing was, however, constrained by national and regional structures of power and their respective political agendas. …

Previous articleNext article No AccessThe Women's Community in the National Woman's Party, 1945 to the 1960sLeila J. RuppLeila J. Rupp Search for more articles by this author PDFPDF PLUS Add to favoritesDownload CitationTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints Share onFacebookTwitterLinkedInRedditEmail SectionsMoreDetailsFiguresReferencesCited by Signs Volume 10, Number 4Summer, 1985Communities of Women Article DOIhttps://doi.org/10.1086/494180 Views: 29Total views on this site Citations: 6Citations are reported from Crossref Copyright 1985 The University of ChicagoPDF download Crossref reports the following articles citing this article:Marsha D. Fowler ‘Unladylike Commotion’: Early feminism and nursing's role in gender/trans dialogue, Nursing Inquiry 24, no.11 (Jan 2017): e12179.https://doi.org/10.1111/nin.12179Lee Ann Banaszak, Heather L. Ondercin Explaining the Dynamics between the Women's Movement and the Conservative Movement in the United States, Social Forces 95, no.11 (Jul 2016): 381–410.https://doi.org/10.1093/sf/sow051Mary E. Guy, Vanessa M. Fenley Inch by Inch, Review of Public Personnel Administration 34, no.11 (Oct 2013): 40–58.https://doi.org/10.1177/0734371X13510379Lee Ann Banaszak, Heather L. Ondercin Explaining Movement and Countermovement Events in the Contemporary U.S. Women’s Movement, SSRN Electronic Journal (Jan 2010).https://doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.1668884Beth E. Schneider Political Generations and the Contemporary Women's Movement, Sociological Inquiry 58, no.11 (Jan 1988): 4–21.https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1475-682X.1988.tb00252.xKathleen M. Blee Gender ideology and the role of women in the 1920s Klan movement, Sociological Spectrum 7, no.11 (Jan 1987): 73–97.https://doi.org/10.1080/02732173.1987.9981808

Resilience, Agency and Resistance in the Storytelling Practice of Aunty Hilda Wilson (1911-2007), Ngarrindjeri Aboriginal Elder

Hanna Sheehy Skeffington, one of the leading feminist and nationalist campaigners in twentieth-century Ireland, argued that women who were members of the organizations examined in this book did not participate fully in public life because of the prevailing gender ideology which saw women as, first and foremost, wives and mothers. When Sheehy Skeffington wrote in the pages of the women’s radical nationalist publication Bean na hÉireann in 1909, she was caught up in the intense heat of debate between suffragist and nationalist women in Ireland about which campaign to prioritize. Her analysis, however, misses some of the complex ways in which public and private overlapped in Edwardian Ireland. While being perceived as mothers and housekeepers, women used this perception to negotiate participation in public life, through the associational life and print culture of the United Irishwomen, the Gaelic League or Sinn Féin. Women in these organizations demonstrated considerable agency, using conventional gender norms of domesticity, femininity and motherhood as a basis for a limited form of citizenship in the emerging Ireland of the early twentieth century.KeywordsPublic SphereNational IdentityPublic LifeGender IdeologyIrish WomanThese keywords were added by machine and not by the authors. This process is experimental and the keywords may be updated as the learning algorithm improves.

In 1917, National Woman's Party members waged a silent protest outside the White House for woman suffrage. This essay argues that these protesters, the "Silent Sentinels," drew strength from restricting ideological forces to constitute a militant identity. First, the Sentinels enacted early twentieth-century gender ideology and provided political voice to women. Second, the Sentinels appropriated the authority of the rhetorical presidency and constituted themselves and American women as part of the U.S. democratic process. Last, the Sentinels incorporated President Wilson's militaristic doctrine into their militant logic, motivating their fight for woman suffrage as soldiers liberating the oppressed.

As historian John Wood Sweet recounts, on October 14, 1793, hundreds of men from New York City's “middling and lower ranks” violently dismantled the bawdy house of Mother Carey. Her perjured testimony had offered evidence for gentleman jurors to acquit a rake charged with raping the stepdaughter of a master harbor pilot, a skilled artisan who believed with the other rioters “that street protests were a legitimate, necessary way to maintain a free government.”1 This plebian protest against justice denied not only responded to the exclusion from formal power of working men during the transitional period of the Early Republic, when the old Dutch families retained influence, but also demonstrated a moral economy of the crowd that enacted its own norms of respectability. A patriarchal order saw rape as a crime between men, damaging a man's property and assaulting his reputation, though the actual victim was a daughter or wife. And according to the crowd's reasoning, working men had every right to avenge a wrong against one of their own by taking matters into their own hands. Moreover, as historians Christine Stansell and Judith Walkowitz found about prostitutes who lived among their neighbors and families, a seduced woman was not necessarily an outcast in these working-class communities—though mores were beginning to change as New York expanded from a village to a metropolis.2Sweet's example of collective action might also illuminate “the relationship between the premodern American political system and the coming of the factory,” the reexamination of which Herbert Gutman called for in his classic 1973 essay, “Work, Culture, and Society in Industrializing America, 1815–1919.”3 For our purposes, this incident underscores an artisan cultural complexity absent from Gutman's account, focused as he was on those Blue Mondays, ethnic festivals, and leisurely work routines that rejected factory time for more rural rhythms, a way of being that he conflated as premodern and preindustrial. Rereading “Work, Culture, and Society” a half century later and from the standpoint of feminist labor history, I ask, What difference does gender make?It isn't that Gutman ignored women—we read the phrase “working men and women” more than once in his essay. He refers to “the frequent tension between different groups of men and women new to the machine and a changing American society,” “native and immigrant men and women fresh to the factory and the demands imposed upon them by the regularities and disciplines of factory labor,” and “men and women who sell their labor to an employer.”4 But his prototypical hirelings and immigrant laborers were men. Gender, as the language of power and a shaper of identities, was not a category of historical analysis when Gutman wrote his essay,5 so it might be understandable that he missed the gendered dimensions of his own story.Gutman does provide examples whose gendered meanings a sharper analytic can now unlock. He was too good a social historian not to draw attention to the women whose reactions to industrial society he deploys as illustrations of larger themes. Women are present variously as an “Ould Sod” cake hawker, Lowell mill girls, miner's wives, oath-taking shirtwaist strikers, and kosher meat boycotters.6 The mill girls appear more adaptable to factory routines, but they still protested against factory discipline through “ ‘misconduct,’ ‘captiousness,’ ‘disobedience,’ ‘imprudence,’ ‘levity,’ and even ‘mutiny.’ ”7 Blowing on horns and other mouthpieces, the wives of miners blasted the eardrums of men who refused to walk out. For Gutman, oath-swearing girl garment strikers in 1909 exemplify the persistence of religious rituals, while their coreligionist food protesters “did not loot . . . they punished,” with some parading with meat “ ‘aloft on pointed sticks.’ ” The latter defied the market imperatives of industrial capitalism. A century before, hawker Aunt Arlie McVane made capitalism work by furnishing shipyard craftsman the caloric treats for their intermittent bouts of labor. Gutman further pointed out that migrants and immigrants would sustain family and kinship networks. Still, his observations focused on the world beyond the household; others would have to explore the social relations and gender ideologies within. To highlight one lost opportunity, he cites a 1873 poem from Chicago's Workingman's Advocate as a lament against the machine without reading its central metaphor that compares a sewing machine to a wife: “my machine”—a “flesh and blood” version who “can dance—and possibly flirt—/ And make a pudding as well as a shirt.”8 We might add that the working man of 1870 is not the same as the peasant or artisan of 1770, and neither is his wife in the environments of work or home, which suggests that Gutman's broad strokes tended to underestimate behavioral change over time within the US-born laboring class.Though unarticulated in gendered terms, the manhood question haunts “Work, Culture, and Society.” To be dependent was to be like old Europe, Gutman recognizes; artisans feared losing the independence they had fought so hard to achieve. He points to male shoemakers and railmen, quotes from the labor press, and follows such discourse over time. But something is missing. For all his gender equivalencies, he neglects the wage-earning women bemoaning how the lord of the loom, like the lord of the lash, sought to enslave working people. On the eve of the Civil War, Lynn women marched under a banner declaring that “American Ladies” would not be “slaves.”9 In doing so, they were defining themselves against the loss of bodily integrity and exploitation of Black women who actually were chattel slaves. Gutman here is concerned only with “free labor,” despite examples that suggest how workers saw employers threatening the lines between free and not free labor, undermining their manly independence at a time when womanhood, like slavery, signaled dependency—and victimization.Gutman published just as feminist activists were revitalizing the Marxist concept of reproductive labor, a concept that raised questions about the other side of the paycheck, the quotidian labors of life necessary to develop and sustain labor power, socialize the next generation, and maintain or disrupt the social order through the making of people.10 These tasks underwent their own transformation—even while the mismatch between industrial time and family time persisted into the twenty-first century. As historians Dana Frank and Annelise Orleck later emphasized, married women and mothers mobilized as breadgivers—as reproductive laborers, we would say now—and not merely as inheritors of preindustrial mores that Gutman assumed for the bread rioters.11 The old adage “Women's work is never done,” the labor of daily provisioning and care, only begins to capture how the needs of dependents defy the school bell no less than the time clock. Did responsibility for feeding, nursing, clothing, and comforting the household lead some women to remain preindustrial longer than their male counterparts, or did such family labor only thrust caregivers into functioning to a double beat, care time and industrial time, that of the factory and related institutions, which defined meal times and divided day from night, despite calls for care, which could overflow set times? Or was the puncturing of housework by care imperatives a fiction, only a problem of the privileged few and then relegated to servants? Few women could live merely by what feminist scholar Bettina Aptheker called the dailiness of women's lives, but most faced the biological cycles of pregnancy and childbirth.12Of course, we cannot reduce women to domesticity or forget that the home remained a workplace for making products, an extension of the factory, as well as a place for transforming bought items into consumable items, such as flour into bread.13 Daughters were among the first industrial workers, and Gutman culls their reactions to a factory system shared with men. We hear Lucy Larcom on leaving Lowell explaining, “ ‘I am going where I can have more time.’ ”14 Whether men had a rural home to return to is another question.Aunt Arlie actually had much company as commodification reshaped reproductive labor. As early as the 1790s, women in port cities like Baltimore, historian Seth Rockman tells us, sold their services as cleaners, sewers, food preparers, and sex workers primarily to men who had to pay for what other men received for free from wives, mothers, sisters, and daughters.15 In ways predating industrial capitalism, women continued to sell sex and to breastfeed for pay; online platforms and gestational surrogacy represent modern versions of commodified reproductive labor.16 Those employing another woman to undertake domestic work exchanged money for labor obscured through a process of pastoralization, as historian Jeanne Boydston documented, that separated the home from the factory.17 In comparing the trajectories of Irish immigrant domestics, Black migrants following emancipation, and Chinese manservants, historian Andrew Urban has now done for household labor what Gutman did for those newly confronted with the factory system: he shows waves of workers having to adjust to control over their labor by others setting their pace as well as their tasks.18 We might include subsequent generations of Mexican, Filipina, and other immigrants who became the paid care and domestic workers at the end of the twentieth century, who had to adjust to new appliances and solvents but undertook jobs not so different than earlier household workers.19Gutman's indebtedness to the new British labor historians, most prominently E. P. Thompson, is apparent in his attention to time-discipline, evocation of moral economy, and emphasis on culture in the making of class.20 Historian Joan Scott famously took Thompson to task in a mid-1980s essay for considering only women textile workers but not women artisans, an omission emblematic of his universalizing understanding of both equality and the language of class. Gutman followed Thompson in not distinguishing women from men in their confrontation with the new systems. Unlike Gutman, Thompson discussed “the domestic sphere” but, Scott argues, did so in a naturalized way as both a preindustrial locus of women's power but “also the place from which politics cannot emanate because it does not provide the experience of exploitation that contains within it the possibility of the collective identity of interest that is class consciousness.”21 It was precisely the realm of reproduction, the home and community, that Silvia Federici, Mariarosa Dalla Costa, Selma James, and other socialist feminists viewed, contra Engels, as an incubator of political action for women.22Behind this omission stood the understanding of work held by Thompson, Gutman, and the New Labor History. As Scott beautifully puts it, “Work, in the sense of productive activity, determined class consciousness, whose politics were rationalist; domesticity was outside production. . . . The antitheses were clearly coded as masculine and feminine; class, in other words, was a gendered construction.”23 Perhaps this usually unacknowledged gendered concept of work—and the work ethic Gutman sought to problematize—is why prominent feminists have embraced antiwork politics (as have anarchists and some socialists), however utopian they may seem, which is often the point.In The Problem with Work: Feminism, Marxism, Antiwork Politics, and Postwork Imaginaries, Kathi Weeks has provided the theoretical foundation for such a position. Like Scott and Boydston before her, she disrupts the naturalization or pastoralization of work and questions its status as a social and political good. Calls for “the refusal of work” she sees as more than a protest against “the extraction of surplus value or the degradation of skills.” These cries also have embraced “the ways that work dominates our lives.”24 The goal then becomes to reduce work enough so there are the resources to live outside of it because, as journalist Sarah Jaffe has shown for contemporary creative industries and caring jobs, “work will not love you back.”25 Organized white workers who marched under the banner of “8 Hours for What We Will” understood this, as did Black men and women who countered the oppression of the Jim Crow South by stealing time for pleasure or, like other laborers, walking away from jobs when they could.26 The National Welfare Rights Organization also embraced this critique by refusing to equate the coerced labor of workfare with work undertaken to maintain households.27 Today, fast food servers, Starbuck baristas, and home health aides join this chorus in protesting time theft and arbitrary schedules, as well as low wages. Like Lucy Larcom, they want to control their time—a problem that the pandemic magnified for parents, especially mothers, left without child care.28 With the rise of remote work for the more privileged, homes have become schools and workshops, resembling the homes of Gutman's artisans.Laboring people's rejection of capitalist organization of work and its imposed work ethic was precisely the problem that Gutman illuminated. His analysis was limited and incomplete—it looked at the factory and not the household and, we could add, wage labor and not slavery. Nonetheless, rereading “Work, Culture, and Society” in light of what commentators call the Great Resignation provides a usable past for refusing work as we know it, reminding us that other worlds are possible.

Negotiators of Change covers the history of ten tribal groups including the Cherokee, Iroquois and Navajo -- as well as tribes with less known histories such as the Yakima, Ute, and Pima-Maricopa. The book contests the idea that European colonialization led to a loss of Native American women's power, and instead presents a more complex picture of the adaption to, and subversion of, the economic changes introduced by Europeans. The essays also discuss the changing meainings of motherhood, women's roles and differing gender ideologies within this context.

When the Spanish arrived in Peru in 1532, men of the Inca Umpire worshipped the Sun as Father and their dead kings as ancestor heroes, while women venerated the Moon and her daughters, the Inca queens, as founders of female dynasties. In the pre-Inca period such notions of parallel descent were expressions of complementarity between men and women. Examining the interplay between gender ideologies and political hierarchy. Irene Silverblatt shows how Inca rulers used their Sun and Moon traditions as methods of controlling women and the Andean peoples the Incas conquered. She then explores the process by which the Spaniards employed European male and female imageries to establish their own rule in Peru and to make new inroads on the power of native women, particularly poor peasant women. Harassed economically and abused sexually, Andean women fought back, earning in the process the Spaniards' condemnation as witches. Fresh from the European witch hunts that damned women for susceptibility to heresy and diabolic influence, Spanish clerics were predisposed to charge politically disruptive poor women with witchcraft. Professor Silverblatt shows that these very accusations provided women with an ideology of rebellion and a method for defending their culture.

This chapter explores how colonists in seventeenth-century New England used gender ideologies about women’s roles as actors in public spheres to frame their understanding of women who fought in the region’s wars. The chapter explores this idea from three different angles. First, it examines how New England’s colonies incorporated women’s martial activities into their colonization strategy, sometimes even requiring women to remain in remote fortified towns, living in garrison houses that simultaneously served as military and household spaces. Second, it looks at how Native women participated in the region’s wars as leaders (sachems), spies, combatants, and in ritual torture. The chapter investigates how English politicians used their own concepts about women’s public roles to shape their ideas about Native female combatants. This section also features a case study of Weetamoo of the Pocasset, a prominent female sachem who died while leading an anti-colonial coalition in King Philip’s War (1675-76). Third, the chapter explores how English women attempted to shape military and colonial policy through mob violence.

At the Crossroads of Equality versus ProtectionAmerican Occupationnaire Women and Socialist Feminism in US Occupied Japan, 1945–1952 Michiko Takeuchi (bio) On October 11, 1945, a document issued by the Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers (SCAP) declared the “liberation of Japanese women” to be one aspect of the democratization policies the American occupation would institute in Japan. The policy document proclaimed “the emancipation of the women through their enfranchisement—that, being members of the body politic, they may bring to Japan a new concept of government directly subservient to the well being of the home.”1 This statement about the “well being of the home” suggests SCAP actually undertook to implement American Cold War family ideology under the guise of women’s liberation. This ideology embodied SCAP’s ideal as represented by the middle-class (white) heterosexual nuclear family with rigid gender roles of a male breadwinner and a female homemaker.2 Far from seeing these official statements and efforts as liberating Japanese women, scholars have pointed out the ways American Cold War domesticity complemented Japan’s own modern domesticity ideology of the “good wife and wise mother.”3 Scholars also reject any notion of the male-dominated US military as a force behind women’s liberation in occupied Japan. Such initiatives came from women, particularly highly educated upper-and middle-class American and Japanese women, who together created the occupation’s policies for Japanese women (except suffrage) by forming a de facto women’s policy alliance.4 Members of the alliance were not static or harmonious, but they worked together to formulate “women’s liberation” policies according to their definition, which differed from that of SCAP. However, even when scholars have viewed this collaborative effort as important, they have not considered the complex dynamic that underlay the effort. Internal and external initiatives were at play in the shaping of gender ideology in which tensions and negotiations among American and Japanese women came to the fore. Exploring this complex dynamic reveals that the policy alliance did not just challenge SCAP’s Cold War domesticity ideology but also engaged in the [End Page 114] longstanding “women’s war”; that is, the debates about “equality versus protection.”5 The alliance’s debates about “equality versus protection” show that the alliance’s idea of “women’s liberation” was not invented in the so-called “workshop of democracy” in occupied Japan. Rather, it was built upon American and Japanese women’s decades of activism and their ideological coalition across the Pacific, which predated the occupation. American women occupation members, or “occupationnaires,” played crucial roles in rebuilding this ideological coalition in the postwar period as they pursued women’s liberation in occupied Japan (1945–52). At the heart of these initiatives was an alliance of women for whom the fundamental idea of “women’s liberation” was also highly contested, because it was related to American women’s long-term debates about “equality versus protection,” especially in the area of women’s labor. In fact, in October 1946 Lieutenant Ethel Weed (1906–75), a women’s information officer who played a leading role in the policy alliance, wrote to the historian Mary Beard (1876–1958) in the United States that “the question of equality vs. special privilege and protection has of course come up here [U.S.-occupied Japan] again and again.”6 Arising in the 1920s, the question of equality versus protection was the crux of what became known as the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) debate in the United States or what the historian Nancy Cott has called “the dilemma of twentieth-century feminism”—which goes beyond discussion of the proposed constitutional amendment.7 The ERA, stressing the sameness and equality of the sexes, was first introduced in Congress in 1923 by members of the National Women’s Party (NWP), who were middle-class feminists. However, the ERA was fiercely opposed by women labor activists and leftists (later called Old Lefts), such as Mary Anderson (1872–1964), a member of the Women’s Trade Union League (WTUL) and the first director of the Women’s Bureau, on the grounds that the ERA would nullify special legislative protection for women.8 Weed’s letter...