The Strange Story of Wonder Woman’s Creator William Moulton Marston: Polyamorous Feminist, Psychologist & Inventor of the Lie Detector

Most young male fans from my gen­er­a­tion failed to appre­ci­ate the gen­der imbal­ance in com­ic books. After all, what were the X‑Men with­out pow­er­ful X‑women Storm, Rogue, and, maybe the most pow­er­ful mutant of all, Jean Grey? Indie comics like Love and Rock­ets revolved around strong female char­ac­ters, and if the lega­cy gold­en age Mar­vel and DC titles were near­ly all about Great Men, well… just look at the time they came from. We shrugged it off, and also failed to appre­ci­ate how the hyper­sex­u­al­iza­tion of women in comics made many of the women around us uncom­fort­able and hyper­an­noyed.

Had we been curi­ous enough to look, how­ev­er, we would have found that gold­en age comics weren’t just inno­cent “prod­ucts of their time”—they reflect­ed a col­lec­tive will, just as did the comics of our time. And the char­ac­ter who first chal­lenged gold­en age atti­tudes about women—Wonder Woman, cre­at­ed in 1941—began her career as per­haps one of the kinki­est super­heroes in main­stream com­ic books. What’s more, she was cre­at­ed by a psy­chol­o­gist William Moul­ton Marston, who first pub­lished under a pseu­do­nym, due in part to his uncon­ven­tion­al per­son­al life. Marston, writes NPR, “had a wife—and a mis­tress. He fathered chil­dren with both of them, and they all secret­ly lived togeth­er in Rye, N.Y.”

The oth­er woman in Marston’s polyamorous three­some, one of his for­mer stu­dents, hap­pened to be the niece of Mar­garet Sanger, and Marston just hap­pened to be the cre­ator of the lie detec­tor. The details of his life are as odd and pruri­ent now as they were to read­ers in the 1940s—partly an index of how lit­tle some things have changed. And now that Marston’s cre­ation has final­ly received her block­buster due, his sto­ry seems ripe for the Hol­ly­wood telling. Such it has received, it appears, in Pro­fes­sor Marston & the Won­der Women, the upcom­ing biopic by Angela Robin­son. It’s unfair to judge a film by its trail­er, but in the clips above we see much more of Marston’s dual romance than we do of the inven­tion of his famous hero­ine.

Yet as polit­i­cal his­to­ri­an Jill Lep­ore tells it, the cul­tur­al his­to­ry of Won­der Woman is as fas­ci­nat­ing as her creator’s per­son­al life, though it may be impos­si­ble to ful­ly sep­a­rate the two. A press release accom­pa­ny­ing Won­der Woman’s debut explained that Marston aimed “to set up a stan­dard among chil­dren and young peo­ple of strong, free, coura­geous wom­an­hood; to com­bat the idea that women are infe­ri­or to men, and to inspire girls to self-con­fi­dence in ath­let­ics, occu­pa­tions and pro­fes­sions monop­o­lized by men.” It went on to express Marston’s view that “the only hope for civ­i­liza­tion is the greater free­dom, devel­op­ment and equal­i­ty of women in all fields of human activ­i­ty.”

The lan­guage sounds like that of many a mod­ern-day NGO, not a World War II-era pop­u­lar enter­tain­ment. But Marston would go fur­ther, say­ing, “Frankly, Won­der Woman is the psy­cho­log­i­cal pro­pa­gan­da for the new type of woman who should, I believe, rule the world.” His inter­est in dom­i­neer­ing women and S&M drove the ear­ly sto­ries, which are full of bondage imagery. “There are a lot of peo­ple who get very upset at what Marston was doing…,” Lep­ore told Ter­ry Gross on Fresh Air. “’Is this a fem­i­nist project that’s sup­posed to help girls decide to go to col­lege and have careers, or is this just like soft porn?’” As Marston under­stood it, the lat­ter ques­tion could be asked of most comics.

When writer Olive Richard—pen name of Marston’s mis­tress Olive Byrne—asked him in an inter­view for Fam­i­ly Cir­cle whether some comics weren’t “full of tor­ture, kid­nap­ping, sadism, and oth­er cru­el busi­ness,” he replied, “Unfor­tu­nate­ly, that is true.” But “the reader’s wish is to save the girl, not to see her suf­fer.” Marston cre­at­ed a “girl”—or rather a super­hu­man Ama­zon­ian princess—who saved her­self and oth­ers. “One of the things that’s a defin­ing ele­ment of Won­der Woman,” says Lep­ore, “is that if a man binds her in chains, she los­es all of her Ama­zon­ian strength. So in almost every episode of the ear­ly comics, the ones that Marston wrote… she’s chained up or she’s roped up.” She has to break free, he would say, “in order to sig­ni­fy her eman­ci­pa­tion from men.” She does her share of rop­ing oth­ers up as well, with her las­so of truth and oth­er means.

The seem­ing­ly clear bondage ref­er­ences in all those ropes and chains also had clear polit­i­cal sig­nif­i­cance, Lep­ore explains. Dur­ing the fight for suf­frage, women would chain them­selves to gov­ern­ment build­ings. In parades, suf­frag­ists “would march in chains—they import­ed that iconog­ra­phy from the abo­li­tion­ist cam­paigns of the 19th cen­tu­ry that women had been involved in… Chains became a real­ly impor­tant sym­bol,” as in the 1912 draw­ing below by Lou Rogers. Won­der Woman’s mytho­log­i­cal ori­gins also had deep­er sig­ni­fi­ca­tion than the male fan­ta­sy of a pow­er­ful race of well-armed dom­i­na­tri­ces. Her sto­ry, writes Lep­ore at The New York­er, “comes straight out of fem­i­nist utopi­an fic­tion” and the fas­ci­na­tion many fem­i­nists had with anthro­pol­o­gists’ spec­u­la­tion about an Ama­zon­ian matri­archy.

The com­bi­na­tion of fem­i­nist sym­bols have made the char­ac­ter a redoubtable icon for every gen­er­a­tion of activists—as in her appear­ance on 1972 cov­er of Ms. mag­a­zine, fur­ther up, an issue head­lined by Glo­ria Steinem and Simone de Beau­voir. Marston trans­lat­ed the fem­i­nist ideas of the suf­frage move­ment, and of women like Mar­garet Sanger, Eliz­a­beth Cady Stan­ton, his wife, lawyer Eliz­a­beth Hol­loway Marston, and his mis­tress Olive Byrne, into a pow­er­ful, long-revered super­hero. He also trans­lat­ed his own ideas of what Have­lock Ellis called “the erot­ic rights of women.”

Marston’s ver­sion of Won­der Woman (he stopped writ­ing the com­ic in 1947) had as much agency—sexual and otherwise—as any male char­ac­ter of the time. (See her break­ing the bonds of “Prej­u­dice,” “Prud­ery,” and “Man’s Supe­ri­or­i­ty” in a draw­ing, below, from Marston’s 1943 arti­cle “Why 100,000 Amer­i­cans Read Comics.”) The char­ac­ter was undoubt­ed­ly kinky, a qual­i­ty that large­ly dis­ap­peared from lat­er iter­a­tions. But she was not cre­at­ed, as were so many women in comics in the fol­low­ing decades, as an object of teenage lust, but as a rad­i­cal­ly lib­er­at­ed fem­i­nist hero. Read more about Marston in Lepore’s essays at Smith­son­ian and The New York­er and in her book, The Secret His­to­ry of Won­der Woman.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load Over 22,000 Gold­en & Sil­ver Age Com­ic Books from the Com­ic Book Plus Archive

Free Com­ic Books Turns Kids Onto Physics: Start With the Adven­tures of Niko­la Tes­la

Take a Free Online Course on Mak­ing Com­ic Books, Com­pli­ments of the Cal­i­for­nia Col­lege of the Arts

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

George Eliot’s Middlemarch Gets Reborn as a 21st Century Web Series: Watch It Online

In 1856, nov­el­ist George Eliot—real name Mary Anne Evans—issued a vicious cri­tique of oth­er women Eng­lish writ­ers in lan­guage we would expect from the most self-sat­is­fied of misog­y­nists, a group of peo­ple with an unqual­i­fied monop­oly on the cul­ture, but who had very lit­tle new to say on the sub­ject. But Eliot cer­tain­ly did, in “Sil­ly Nov­els by Lady Nov­el­ists.” Though she couch­es many of her crit­i­cal obser­va­tions in the con­de­scend­ing vocab­u­lary of a male antag­o­nist, the lan­guage only serves to make her argu­ment more effec­tive. The essay, writes Kathryn Schulz, “does a remark­able num­ber of things deft­ly and all at once.”

Although she is an uncom­mon­ly com­pas­sion­ate writer, Eliot has knife skills when she needs them, and the most obvi­ous thing she does here is chif­fon­ade the chick lit of her day. Yet even while cas­ti­gat­ing some women, she man­ages to cham­pi­on women as a whole. Her chief objec­tion to sil­ly nov­els is that they mis­rep­re­sent women’s real intel­lec­tu­al capac­i­ty; and the chief blame for them, she argues, lies not with their authors but with the ­cul­ture that pro­duced them—through inad­e­quate edu­ca­tion, low expec­ta­tions, patron­iz­ing crit­ics, and fear of the real deal.

The fault, she assert­ed, lies with the gate­keep­ers, the tastemak­ers, the lazy thinkers. Though an accom­plished essay­ist and trans­la­tor, Eliot would only pub­lish her first nov­el in 1859, at the age of 37. But “Sil­ly Nov­els by Lady Nov­el­ists,” writes Schulz, “traces out in neg­a­tive space, the con­tours of a tru­ly great novel”—one that wouldn’t arrive until four­teen years lat­er: Mid­dle­march: a study of provin­cial life. (Read online or down­load in var­i­ous for­mats here.)

The book’s first chap­ter intro­duces Dorothea Brooke, a well-off 19-year old orphan—who, writes Pamela Erens, “has dreams of doing some great work in the world” but gives her life instead to “dry humor­less pedant” Casaubon—with an iron­ic quote from the licen­tious Jacobean play The Maid’s Tragedy: “Since I can do no good because a woman, / Reach con­stant­ly at some­thing that is near it.”

As with the pen name she adopt­ed, Eliot appro­pri­at­ed the armor of a male-dom­i­nat­ed cul­ture to bring into being some of the most stag­ger­ing­ly insight­ful writ­ing of the time, and a bea­con to oth­er great women writ­ers. “What do I think of Mid­dle­march?,” wrote Emi­ly Dick­in­son, “What do I think of glory?—except that in a few instances ‘this mor­tal has already put on immor­tal­i­ty.’” Vir­ginia Woolf pro­nounced the book “one of the few Eng­lish nov­els writ­ten for grown-up peo­ple.” Num­ber twen­ty-one on The Guardian’s list of “The 100 Best Nov­els,” Mid­dle­march, writes Robert McCrum, exerts “an almost hyp­not­ic pow­er over its read­ers…. Today it stands as per­haps the great­est of many great Vic­to­ri­an nov­els.”

Do we have the time or the atten­tion to read Eliot’s sprawl­ing 900-page real­ist epic in the 21st cen­tu­ry? Giv­en that Karl Ove Knaus­gaard’s 3,600 page, six-part auto­bi­o­graph­i­cal nov­el, My Strug­gle, is one of the most laud­ed lit­er­ary works of the past few years, per­haps we do. More specif­i­cal­ly, in the lan­guage of many a con­de­scend­ing crit­ic of today, do “Mil­len­ni­als” have the time and atten­tion to read Mid­dle­march? At least a cer­tain con­tin­gent of young read­ers has not only read the nov­el, but has adapt­ed it into a sev­en­ty-episode web dra­ma, Mid­dle­march: The Series—an “attempt worth watch­ing,” writes Rebec­ca Mead at The New York­er, “for its ambi­tion as well as its charm.”

Writ­ten and direct­ed by Yale under­grad­u­ate film stu­dent Rebec­ca Shoptaw, the series stars sev­er­al of Shoptaw’s peers “as stu­dents at Low­ick Col­lege, in the fic­tion­al town of Mid­dle­march, Con­necti­cut,” and it tran­scribes the novel’s form into that most 21st cen­tu­ry of medi­ums, the vlog. You can see the offi­cial teas­er at the top of the post; watch the first episode just above, intro­duc­ing Yale stu­dent Mia Fowler as Dot Brooke; and see the full series, thus far, down below. (The show has already won awards and recog­ni­tion from sev­er­al film fes­ti­vals. See “air dates” and more on its busy Tum­blr page.)

Up to now, notes Mead, Eliot’s fic­tion has resist­ed the kind of treat­ment giv­en to Char­lotte Bron­të and Jane Austen in adap­ta­tions like “a chap­ter book for tweens called Jane Air­head” and the Austen-inspired Brid­get Jones’s Diary and Clue­less (not to men­tion Pride and Prej­u­dice and Zom­bies). And yet, despite the daunt­ing size, scope, and seri­ous­ness of Eliot’s nov­el, Mid­dle­march: the Series con­tin­ues in this tra­di­tion of light-heart­ed, pop-cul­tur­al mod­ern­iza­tions, using the same device as the award-win­ning Austen vlog adap­ta­tion The Lizzie Ben­net Diaries and Bron­të vlog adap­ta­tion “The Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Jane Eyre.”

Though it is “an impos­si­bly tall order,” writes Mead, “to expect a Web series to approach the nuance of a nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry novel—of the nine­teenth-cen­tu­ry nov­el,” adap­ta­tions like Shoptaw’s don’t even attempt to do this. They express “a win­ning affec­tion” for their source mate­r­i­al, and a sense of how it still informs the very dif­fer­ent gen­der iden­ti­ties and sex­u­al rela­tion­ships of the present. In that sense, it may be use­ful to think of them as, in part, work­ing in a sim­i­lar vein as anoth­er very 21st cen­tu­ry medi­um: fan fic­tion. Would the knives-out crit­ic Eliot approve? Impos­si­ble to say. But I dare say she might admire the ambi­tion, cre­ative impuls­es, and nar­ra­tive inge­nu­ity of Shoptaw and her cast per­haps as much as they admire her great­est work.

via The New York­er

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“The Auto­bi­og­ra­phy of Jane Eyre” Adapts Brontë’s Hero­ine for Vlogs, Tum­blr, Twit­ter & Insta­gram

Hear Jane Austen’s Pride and Prej­u­dice as a Free Audio Book 

Read Jane Austen’s Fic­tion Man­u­scripts Free Online

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

 

Women of Jazz: Stream a Playlist of 91 Recordings by Great Female Jazz Musicians

Browse through an archive of jazz writ­ing from the last, oh, hun­dred years, and you’ll get the dis­tinct impres­sion that jazz, like the NFL, has been a man’s‑man’s‑man’s‑man’s world. “Of course,” writes Mar­garet Howze at NPR, “we have Bil­lie, Ella, and Sarah,” and many oth­er pow­er­house female vocal­ists every­one knows and loves. These unfor­get­table voic­es seem to stand out as excep­tions, and what’s more, “when we think of women in jazz, we auto­mat­i­cal­ly think of singers,” not instru­men­tal­ists.

Part of the mar­gin­al­iza­tion of women in jazz has to do with the same kinds of cul­tur­al blind spots we find in dis­cus­sions on every sub­ject. We’ve been as guilty here as any­one of neglect­ing many great women in jazz, sad­ly. But women in jazz have also his­tor­i­cal­ly faced sim­i­lar social bar­ri­ers and stig­mas as oth­er women in all the arts. There are more than enough female vocal­ists, pianists, gui­tarists, trum­peters, drum­mers, sax­o­phon­ists, band­lead­ers, teach­ers, pro­duc­ers to form a “wor­thy pan­theon,” yet until fair­ly recent­ly, a great many women jazz musi­cians have worked in the shad­ows of more famous men.

Howze’s two-part sketch of women in jazz offers a suc­cinct chrono­log­i­cal intro­duc­tion, not­ing that “the piano, one of the ear­li­est instru­ments that women played in jazz, allowed female artists” in the 20s and 30s “a degree of social accep­tance.” In those years, “female instru­men­tal­ists usu­al­ly formed all-women jazz bands or played in fam­i­ly-based groups.” One ear­ly stand­out musi­cian, Dol­ly Hutchin­son, née Jones, played the trum­pet and cor­net in bands all over the coun­try. Hutchin­son doesn’t appear in the Women of Jazz playlist below, but you can see her at the top in a clip from Oscar Michaux’s 1938 film Swing!

The Spo­ti­fy playlist Women of Jazz does, how­ev­er, offer sam­ples from many oth­er female jazz greats in its 91 tracks, from the very well-known—Nina Simone, Norah Jones, Diana Krall, “Bil­lie, Ella, and Sarah”—to the very much over­looked. In that lat­ter cat­e­go­ry falls a woman whose last name is famil­iar to us all. Lil Hardin Arm­strong nev­er achieved close to the degree of fame as her hus­band Louis, but the pianist, writes Howze, “helped shape Satchmo’s ear­ly career,” play­ing in “King Oliver’s Cre­ole Jazz Band, a group Arm­strong joined in 1922. He and Hardin began a romance and even­tu­al­ly mar­ried and it was Hardin who encour­aged Arm­strong to embark on a solo career.”

Hardin’s “Clip Joint,” fea­tured in the playlist, show­cas­es her sweet, clear con­tral­to, dis­tin­guished by a ten­den­cy to wrap sur­pris­ing hooks around the end of each line, pulling us for­ward to the next or keep­ing us hang­ing on for more. (Equal­ly charm­ing and effort­less­ly swing­ing, see her on the piano, above, accom­pa­nied by drum­mer Mae Barnes.) Anoth­er huge­ly influ­en­tial woman in jazz, whose lega­cy “has also been some­what occlud­ed,” writes Alexa Peters at Paste, “by the lega­cy of her hus­band,” harpist and pianist Alice Coltrane deserves far more acclaim than she receives (at least in this writer’s hum­ble opin­ion).

“An incred­i­bly gift­ed avant-garde musi­cian, com­pos­er, and arranger,” Coltrane’s solo com­po­si­tions and her col­lab­o­ra­tions with sax­o­phon­ist Pharoah Sanders, “are as sub­lime as they are indeli­bly impor­tant” to the devel­op­ment of spir­i­tu­al jazz. Her incor­po­ra­tion of Hin­dus­tani instru­men­ta­tion “like drones, ragas, Tabla drum, and sitar,” togeth­er with long hyp­not­ic free jazz pas­sages and the unusu­al choice of harp, con­tributed a new son­ic vocab­u­lary to the form.

Though hard­ly com­pre­hen­sive, the Women of Jazz playlist does an excel­lent job of out­lin­ing a list of great female singers and instru­men­tal­ists through­out the his­to­ry of jazz. As some­one might point out, the com­pi­la­tion has its own blind spots. Though firm­ly root­ed in the tra­di­tions of the Amer­i­can South, jazz has, since its gold­en age, been an inter­na­tion­al phe­nom­e­non. Yet the major­i­ty of the artists here are from the U.S. For a con­tem­po­rary cor­rec­tive, check out The Guardian’s list, “Five of the Best Young Female Jazz Musi­cians” from the U.K. and Scan­di­navia, or Afripop’s “Five South African Female Jazz Instru­men­tal­ists You Should Know,” or NPR’s list of four great “Lati­na Jazz Vocal­ists”.…

And we should not neglect to men­tion great French women in jazz. In the short film above on French jazz and trum­pet duo Nel­son Veras and Airelle Besson, the two musi­cians dis­cuss their col­lab­o­ra­tive process. Any men­tion of gen­der would prob­a­bly seem awk­ward­ly irrel­e­vant to the con­ver­sa­tion. Per­haps all jazz talk should be like that. But it seems that first most jazz fans and writ­ers need to spend some time get­ting caught up. We’ve got a wealth of resources above to get them start­ed.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of Spir­i­tu­al Jazz: Hear a Tran­scen­dent 12-Hour Mix Fea­tur­ing John Coltrane, Sun Ra, Her­bie Han­cock & More

Hear 2,000 Record­ings of the Most Essen­tial Jazz Songs: A Huge Playlist for Your Jazz Edu­ca­tion

1,000 Hours of Ear­ly Jazz Record­ings Now Online: Archive Fea­tures Louis Arm­strong, Duke Elling­ton & Much More

Her­bie Han­cock to Teach His First Online Course on Jazz

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Women’s Suffrage March of 1913: The Parade That Overshadowed Another Presidential Inauguration a Century Ago

On Fri­day, a per­son who has insult­ed, demeaned, and threat­ened tens of mil­lions of the country’s cit­i­zens will take the oath of office for the pres­i­den­cy of the Unit­ed States. That’s an extra­or­di­nary thing, and the reac­tion will also be extraordinary—a Women’s March the fol­low­ing day in Wash­ing­ton, DC expect­ed to draw hun­dreds of thou­sands of every gen­der, race, creed, and ori­en­ta­tion. Sis­ter march­es and protests will take place in every major city on the East and West Coast and every­where in-between, as well as inter­na­tion­al­ly in cities like Lon­don, Syd­ney, Buenos Aires, Cal­gary, Barcelona, Dar es Salaam… the list goes on and on and on.

Why Women’s March­es if these events are all-inclu­sive? In addi­tion to respond­ing to the pub­lic dis­plays of con­tempt for women we’ve wit­nessed over and over in the past year, the events intend to reaf­firm the rights of all peo­ple. The orga­niz­ers suc­cinct­ly state that “women’s rights are human rights. We stand togeth­er, rec­og­niz­ing that defend­ing the most mar­gin­al­ized among us is defend­ing all of us.”

A Rawl­sian pro­gres­sive notion, and also a “Kingian” one, a descrip­tion the march applies to its non­vi­o­lent prin­ci­ples. What they don’t say is that there is also sig­nif­i­cant his­tor­i­cal prece­dent for the action. Over 100 years ago, anoth­er women’s march coin­cid­ed with a pres­i­den­tial swear­ing-in, this time of Woodrow Wil­son in March of 1913.

March­ing for the cause of suf­frage, women from around the coun­try and the world arrived in DC on March 3rd, the day before Wilson’s inau­gu­ra­tion. Many of those marchers had hiked 234 miles from New York in 17 days, bear­ing a let­ter to the Pres­i­dent-elect, writes Mash­able, “demand­ing that he make suf­frage a pri­or­i­ty of his admin­is­tra­tion and warn­ing that the women of the nation would be watch­ing ‘with an intense inter­est such as has nev­er before been focused upon the admin­is­tra­tion of any of your pre­de­ces­sors.’” Orga­nized by Alice Paul and Lucy Burns of the Nation­al Amer­i­can Woman Suf­frage Asso­ci­a­tion, the march promised, in their words, “the most con­spic­u­ous and impor­tant demon­stra­tion that has ever been attempt­ed by suf­frag­ists in this coun­try.”

The parade was filled with pageantry. “Clad in a white cape astride a white horse,” writes the Library of Con­gress, “lawyer Inez Mul­hol­land led the great woman suf­frage par­age down Penn­syl­va­nia Avenue in the nation’s cap­i­tal. Behind her stretched a long line with nine bands, four mount­ed brigades, three her­alds, about twen­ty-four floats, and more than 5,000 marchers.” As you can see in the film footage at the top and the images here from the LoC—including the draw­ing of the parade route above by Lit­tle Nemo car­toon­ist Win­sor McK­ay—the parade drew a huge glob­al coali­tion. It also drew ridicule, harass­ment, and vio­lence from groups in DC for the fol­low­ing day’s fes­tiv­i­ties. As the LoC writes:

[A]ll went well for the first few blocks. Soon, how­ev­er, the crowds, most­ly men in town for the fol­low­ing day’s inau­gu­ra­tion of Woodrow Wil­son, surged into the street mak­ing it almost impos­si­ble for the marchers to pass. Occa­sion­al­ly only a sin­gle file could move for­ward. Women were jeered, tripped, grabbed, shoved, and many heard “inde­cent epi­thets” and “barn­yard con­ver­sa­tion.” Instead of pro­tect­ing the parade, the police “seemed to enjoy all the rib­ald jokes and laugh­ter and in part par­tic­i­pat­ed in them.” One police­man explained that they should stay at home where they belonged.

Many marchers were injured; “two ambu­lances ‘came and went con­stant­ly for six hours, always imped­ed and at times actu­al­ly opposed, so that doc­tor and dri­ver lit­er­al­ly had to fight their way to give suc­cor.’” The event includ­ed sev­er­al promi­nent fig­ures, includ­ing Helen Keller, “who was unnerved by the expe­ri­ence.” Also present was Jean­nette Rankin, who, writes Mash­able, “would become the first woman elect­ed to the House of Rep­re­sen­ta­tives four years lat­er.” Nel­ly Bly marched, as did jour­nal­ist and anti-lynch­ing activist Ida B. Wells, “who marched with the Illi­nois del­e­ga­tion despite the com­plaints of some seg­re­ga­tion­ist marchers.”

In fact, though the selec­tive images sug­gest oth­er­wise, the march was more inclu­sive than the suf­frag­ist move­ment is gen­er­al­ly giv­en cred­it for. Over the objec­tions of most­ly South­ern del­e­gates, many black women joined the ranks. After “telegrams and protests poured in” protest­ing seg­re­ga­tion, mem­bers of the Nation­al Asso­ci­a­tion of Col­ored Women “marched accord­ing to their State and occu­pa­tion with­out let or hin­drance,” not­ed the NAACP jour­nal Cri­sis. And yet, when the wom­en’s vote was final­ly achieved in 1920, that gen­er­al cat­e­go­ry still did not include black women. The misog­y­ny on dis­play that day was vicious, but still per­haps not as endem­ic as the country’s racism, which exist­ed in large degree with­in suf­frag­ist groups as well.

Once the press broad­cast news of the marchers’ mis­treat­ment, there was a mas­sive pub­lic out­cry that helped rein­vig­o­rate the suf­frage move­ment. Sev­er­al oth­er artists than McK­ay found inspi­ra­tion in the march; Cleve­land Plain Deal­er car­toon­ist James Don­a­hey, for exam­ple, “sub­sti­tut­ed women for men in a car­toon based on the famous paint­ing ‘Wash­ing­ton Cross­ing the Delaware,’” writes the Library of Con­gress. Anoth­er car­toon­ist, George Fol­som, doc­u­ment­ed the stages of the hike from New York, with cap­tions addressed to male read­ers. The strip above says, “they are mak­ing his­to­ry mates—be sure you save it for your descen­dants.” Anoth­er strip reads “Brave women all, none braver mates. Put this away and look at it when they win.”

At the Library of Congress’s Amer­i­can Women site, you’ll find a wealth of resources for research­ing the his­to­ry and impact of the 1913 Suf­frage Parade. To find out more about the hun­dreds of con­tem­po­rary Women’s Marches—open to peo­ple of every “race, eth­nic­i­ty, reli­gion, immi­gra­tion sta­tus, sex­u­al iden­ti­ty, gen­der expres­sion, eco­nom­ic sta­tus, age or dis­abil­i­ty”—see the web­site here or read this Rolling Stone inter­view with orga­niz­er Lin­da Sar­sour.


Relat­ed Con­tent:

Odd Vin­tage Post­cards Doc­u­ment the Pro­pa­gan­da Against Women’s Rights 100 Years Ago

Down­load Images From Rad Amer­i­can Women A‑Z: A New Pic­ture Book on the His­to­ry of Fem­i­nism

The First Fem­i­nist Film, Ger­maine Dulac’s The Smil­ing Madame Beudet (1922)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

An Animated Introduction to the Feminist Philosophy of Simone de Beauvoir

How influ­en­tial are the writ­ings of Simone de Beau­voir? So influ­en­tial that even the rushed, by all accounts shod­dy first Eng­lish trans­la­tion (exe­cut­ed by a zool­o­gist not espe­cial­ly acquaint­ed with phi­los­o­phy, and only some­what more so with the French lan­guage) of her book Le deux­ième sexe became, in 1953, The Sec­ond Sex. Though not prop­er­ly trans­lat­ed until 2009, it nev­er­the­less pro­vid­ed the foun­da­tion for mod­ern fem­i­nist thought in the West. But what, if we can ask this ques­tion sure­ly at least a cou­ple of “waves” of fem­i­nism lat­er, did de Beau­voir, born 109 years ago today, actu­al­ly think?

She thought, as the Har­ry Shear­er-nar­rat­ed His­to­ry of Ideas ani­ma­tion from the BBC and Open Uni­ver­si­ty above puts it, that “a woman isn’t born a woman, rather she becomes one,” mean­ing that “there is no way women have to be, no giv­en fem­i­nin­i­ty, no ide­al to which all women should con­form.”

The basic bio­log­i­cal facts aside, “what it is to be a woman is social­ly con­struct­ed, and large­ly by males at that. It is through oth­er peo­ple’s expec­ta­tions and assump­tions that a woman becomes ‘fem­i­nine,’ ” strug­gling to meet male-defined stan­dards of beau­ty, act­ing like noth­ing more than “pas­sive objects” in soci­ety, and in the fem­i­nist view, often wast­ing their lives in so doing.

A bold dec­la­ra­tion, espe­cial­ly at the time. But de Beau­voir’s belief “that women are fun­da­men­tal­ly free to reject male stereo­types of beau­ty and attrac­tive­ness, and to become more equal as a result” basi­cal­ly aligned with the exis­ten­tial­ist move­ment then ris­ing up through the zeit­geist. (Demon­strat­ing that the philo­soph­i­cal extends to the per­son­al, she spent much of her life in an open rela­tion­ship with her fel­low exis­ten­tial­ist icon Jean-Paul Sartre.) Yet it has­n’t real­ly gone stale, and has indeed proven adapt­able to var­i­ous dif­fer­ent inter­pre­ta­tions, eras, and con­texts — includ­ing, as we can see in the 8‑Bit Phi­los­o­phy video above, video games.

“This is Samus, defend­er of the galaxy,” says its nar­ra­tor, intro­duc­ing the space-suit­ed pro­tag­o­nist of the clas­sic Nin­ten­do game Metroid. “For those of you that don’t know, Samus is a woman.” This fact, revealed only after the defeat of the final boss, jolt­ed the gamers of the day. Metroid came out in 1986, just months after de Beau­voir’s death, and it came out onto a video-gam­ing land­scape where play­er char­ac­ters’ male­ness went with­out say­ing, where “man is a sav­ior and the fem­i­nine is a damsel in dis­tress. Man is a sub­ject where­as woman is the object of pos­ses­sion.” But to de Beau­voir’s mind, “a fun­da­men­tal ambi­gu­i­ty marks the fem­i­nine being,” leav­ing women — of any coun­try, of any time, or of actu­al or dig­i­tal real­i­ty — much greater free­dom to define them­selves than they may know.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Simone de Beau­voir & Jean-Paul Sartre Shoot­ing a Gun in Their First Pho­to Togeth­er (1929)

Pho­tos of Jean-Paul Sartre & Simone de Beau­voir Hang­ing with Che Gue­vara in Cuba (1960)

Edward Said Recalls His Depress­ing Meet­ing With Sartre, de Beau­voir & Fou­cault (1979)

The Fem­i­nist The­o­ry of Simone de Beau­voir Explained with 8‑Bit Video Games (and More)

A His­to­ry of Ideas: Ani­mat­ed Videos Explain The­o­ries of Simone de Beau­voir, Edmund Burke & Oth­er Philoso­phers

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Odd Vintage Postcards Document the Propaganda Against Women’s Rights 100 Years Ago

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The vicious, vit­ri­olic imagery and rhetoric of this elec­tion sea­son can seem over­whelm­ing, but as even casu­al stu­dents of his­to­ry will know, it isn’t any­thing new. Each time his­toric social change occurs, reac­tionary counter-move­ments resort to threats, appeals to fear, and demean­ing caricatures—whether it’s anti-Recon­struc­tion pro­pa­gan­da of the 19th cen­tu­ry, anti-Civ­il Rights cam­paigns 100 years lat­er, or anti-LGBT rights efforts today.

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At the turn of the cen­tu­ry, the women’s suf­frage move­ment faced sig­nif­i­cant lev­els of abuse and resis­tance. One pho­to­graph has cir­cu­lat­ed, for exam­ple, of a suf­frage activist lying in the street as police beat her. (The woman in the pho­to is not Susan B. Antho­ny, as many claim, but a British suf­frag­ist named Ada Wright, beat­en on “Black Fri­day” in 1910.) It’s an arrest­ing image that cap­tures just how vio­lent­ly men of the day fought against the move­ment for wom­en’s suf­frage. [It’s also worth not­ing, as many have: the ear­ly suf­frage move­ment cam­paigned only for white women’s right to vote, and some­times active­ly resist­ed civ­il rights for African-Amer­i­cans.]

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As you can see from the sam­ple anti-suf­frage post­cards here—dating from the late 19th to ear­ly 20th cen­turies— pro­pa­gan­da against the women’s vote tend­ed to fall into three broad cat­e­gories: Dis­turbing­ly vio­lent wish-ful­fill­ment involv­ing tor­ture and phys­i­cal silenc­ing; char­ac­ter­i­za­tions of suf­frag­ists as angry, bit­ter old maids, hatch­et-wield­ing har­ri­dans, or dom­i­neer­ing, shrewish wives and neglect­ful moth­ers; and, cor­re­spond­ing­ly, depic­tions of neglect­ed chil­dren, and hus­bands por­trayed as saint­ly vic­tims, emas­cu­lat­ed by threats to tra­di­tion­al gen­der roles, and men­aced by the sug­ges­tion that they may have to care for their chil­dren for even one day out of the year!

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These post­cards come from the col­lec­tion of Cather­ine Pal­czews­ki, pro­fes­sor of women’s and gen­der stud­ies at the Uni­ver­si­ty of North­ern Iowa. She has been col­lect­ing these images, from both the U.S. and Britain, for 15 years. On her web­site, Pal­czews­ki quotes George Miller’s com­ment that post­cards like these “offer a vivid chron­i­cle of Amer­i­can polit­i­cal val­ues and tastes.” Pal­czews­ki describes these par­tic­u­lar images as “a fas­ci­nat­ing inter­sec­tion [that] occurred between advo­ca­cy for and against woman suf­frage, images of women (and men), and post­cards. Best esti­mates are that approx­i­mate­ly 4,500 post­cards were pro­duced with a suf­frage theme.”

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As she notes in the quote above, the post­cards print­ed dur­ing this peri­od did not all oppose women’s suf­frage. “Suf­frage advo­cates,” writes Pal­czews­ki, “rec­og­nized the util­i­ty of the post­card as a pro­pa­gan­da device” as well. Pro-suf­frage post­cards tend­ed to serve a doc­u­men­tary pur­pose, with “real-pho­to images of the suf­frage parades, ver­bal mes­sages iden­ti­fy­ing the states that had approved suf­frage, or quo­ta­tions in sup­port of extend­ing the vote to women.” For all their attempts at pre­sent­ing a seri­ous, infor­ma­tive coun­ter­weight to incen­di­ary anti-suf­frage images like those you see here, suf­frage activists often found that they could not con­trol the nar­ra­tive.

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As Lisa Tick­n­er writes in The Spec­ta­cle of Women: Imagery of the Suf­frage Cam­paign 1907–1914, post­card pro­duc­ers with­out a clear agen­da often used pho­tos and illus­tra­tions of suf­frag­ists to rep­re­sent “top­i­cal or humor­ous types” and “almost inci­den­tal­ly” under­cut advo­cates’ attempts to present their cause in a news­wor­thy light. The image of the suf­fragette as a triv­ial fig­ure of fun per­sist­ed into the mid-twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry (as we see in Gly­nis Johns’ com­i­cal­ly neglect­ful Winifred Banks in Walt Disney’s 1964 Mary Pop­pins adap­ta­tion).

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Palczewski’s site offers a brief his­to­ry of the “Gold­en Age” (1893–1918) of polit­i­cal post­cards and orga­nizes the col­lec­tion into cat­e­gories. One vari­ety we might find par­tic­u­lar­ly charm­ing for its use of cats and kit­tens actu­al­ly has a pret­ty sin­is­ter ori­gin in the so-called “Cat-and-Mouse Act” in the UK. Jailed suf­frag­ists had begun to stage hunger strikes, and jour­nal­ists pro­voked pub­lic out­cry by por­tray­ing force-feed­ing by the gov­ern­ment as a form of tor­ture. Instead, strik­ing activists were released when they became weak. “If a woman died after being released,” Pal­czews­ki explains, “then the gov­ern­ment could claim it was not to blame.” When a freed activist regained her strength, she would be rear­rest­ed. “On Novem­ber 29, 1917,” Pal­czews­ki writes, “the US gov­ern­ment announced it plans to use Britain’s cat and mouse approach.”

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You can see many more his­tor­i­cal pro- and anti-suf­frage post­cards at Palczewski’s web­site, and you are free to use them for non-com­mer­cial pur­pos­es pro­vid­ed you attribute the source. You are also free, of course, to draw your own com­par­isons to today’s hyper­bol­ic and often vio­lent­ly misog­y­nist pro­pa­gan­da cam­paigns.

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via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Down­load All 239 Issues of Land­mark UK Fem­i­nist Mag­a­zine Spare Rib Free Online

11 Essen­tial Fem­i­nist Books: A New Read­ing List by The New York Pub­lic Library

Down­load Images From Rad Amer­i­can Women A‑Z: A New Pic­ture Book on the His­to­ry of Fem­i­nism

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

33 Songs That Document the History of Feminist Punk (1975–2015): A Playlist Curated by Pitchfork

Women have always been cen­tral to punk rock, even though they had to fight very hard to get and stay there. As vet­er­an punk jour­nal­ist and musi­cian Vivien Gold­man writes at Pitch­fork, “Resis­tance to our exis­tence was an acknowl­edged fact of life.” And yet, “punk freed female musi­cians,” she argues. She knows of what she speaks, hav­ing observed first­hand the “lad­dist boys­town” of rock before punk broke bar­ri­ers for women, and hav­ing been a part of that bar­ri­er-break­ing her­self. Gold­stein’s essay intro­duces us to a playlist (stream it above) com­piled by the Pitch­fork staff called “The Sto­ry of Fem­i­nist Punk in 33 Songs,” which in a way acts as a crit­i­cal com­ple­ment to a recent pub­lish­ing trend.

In the past few years, we’ve learned a lot about what cen­tral moments in punk looked like in mem­oirs from big names like Son­ic Youth’s Kim Gor­don, the Slits’ Viv Alber­tine, and Sleater-Kinney’s Car­rie Brown­stein. In Girl in a Band: A Mem­oir, Gor­don describes scrap­ing by in the “postapoc­a­lyp­tic hell” of New York cir­ca 1979; Albertine’s book shows us the “aston­ish­ing lev­el of vio­lence” the Slits faced on the streets of Lon­don around the same time; and Brownstein’s auto­bi­og­ra­phy immers­es us in the mid-90s Pacif­ic North­west scene and her band’s attempt to “expand the notion of what it means to be female.”

That’s not even to men­tion Pat­ti Smith’s Nation­al Book Award-win­ning mem­oir or Kath­leen Han­na’s pub­lic remem­brances. The wave of press does risk obscur­ing some­thing cru­cial, how­ev­er; punk has always had its stars, but its pri­ma­ry appeal has been that any­one, no mat­ter who, can do it, and all of the women above began in that spir­it. Even if many of the women who left their stamp on ear­ly and lat­er punk did not become famous, their fans remem­ber them, as do the many thou­sands of peo­ple who heard them and then went out to start their own bands.

But the angle in Pitch­fork’s com­pi­la­tion is not sim­ply “women in punk.” Their 33-song playlist fol­lows the spe­cif­ic thread of what they call “fem­i­nist punk,” mean­ing “songs that make their fem­i­nist mes­sages clear—not just songs by punks who are fem­i­nists.” The rubric means that in addi­tion to all of the artists men­tioned above, and obscure bands like The Bags and The Brat, the all-male Fugazi get a men­tion for their song “Sug­ges­tion,” in which Ian MacK­aye sings from a woman’s per­spec­tive about “the aggres­sive objec­ti­fi­ca­tion of women’s bod­ies.” The song is a “tent­pole for male fem­i­nism in punk,” and we can think of it as a kind of benign tokenism and an impor­tant moment for oth­er male punk bands who fol­lowed suit in denounc­ing the patri­archy.

The playlist spans four decades, begin­ning with Pat­ti Smith in 1975 and end­ing with Down­town Boys in 2015. The best-known artists hap­pen to arrive in the late 70s and the mid-90s (Han­na makes the list thrice with three dif­fer­ent bands). Not coin­ci­den­tal­ly, these are the moments—in Eng­land and the U.S.—when fem­i­nist punks made the most noise, and Gold­man points out just how much the women in these eras had in com­mon:

Because women’s con­tri­bu­tions are so often hid­den from her­sto­ry, when the riot grrrl move­ment began in Amer­i­ca, those women were vir­tu­al­ly unaware that their UK sis­ters had been fight­ing par­al­lel bat­tles two decades ear­li­er. But the Amer­i­cans were way bet­ter fund­ed and orga­nized than we had been, lurch­ing through no-woman’s‑land to make our­selves heard. It took awhile before Kurt Cobain cham­pi­oned the Rain­coats and Son­ic Youth bond­ed with the Slits.

Punk may be dead, or it may remain what Gold­stein calls the “glob­al music of rebel­lion.” Either way, Pitchfork’s playlist—with its crit­i­cal com­men­tary on each selection—offers young female artists mak­ing music in their bed­rooms a sense of con­ti­nu­ity with a long line of most­ly DIY fem­i­nist punks who made “fis­sures and cracks, some crum­bling walls” in the edi­fice of rock’s boy’s club. Gold­man warns her tar­get readers—who so clear­ly are those young bed­room gui­tarists, singers, pro­duc­ers, etc.—against com­pla­cen­cy, but also leaves them with some clear, con­cise advice: “Where pos­si­ble, please cre­ate a com­mu­ni­ty with com­ple­men­tary skills. Nowa­days, it often starts online. Still, try and find a way to actu­al­ly, phys­i­cal­ly be with your new cre­ative cohorts. Because noth­ing beats jam­ming with your sis­ters.”

See Pitch­fork for the full, anno­tat­ed playlist with Goldman’s intro­duc­tion and hear the full playlist in order at the top of the post.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Four Female Punk Bands That Changed Women’s Role in Rock

Chrissie Hynde’s 10 Pieces of Advice for “Chick Rock­ers” (1994)

Pat­ti Smith Doc­u­men­tary Dream of Life Beau­ti­ful­ly Cap­tures the Author’s Life and Long Career (2008)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Digital Transgender Archive Features Books, Magazines & Photos Telling the History of Transgender Culture

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Trans­gen­der issues have entered the pub­lic con­ver­sa­tion in a big way. To those with­out much direct con­nec­tion to them, they might all seem to have come up sud­den­ly, with lit­tle prece­dent, with­in the past few years. But most phe­nom­e­na that seem to have achieved instant promi­nence have a rich, if long-hid­den, his­to­ry behind them. In this case, you can now dis­cov­er a great deal of the his­to­ry at the new Dig­i­tal Trans­gen­der Archive, an “inter­na­tion­al col­lab­o­ra­tion among more than twen­ty col­leges, uni­ver­si­ties, non­prof­it orga­ni­za­tions, and pri­vate col­lec­tions” aim­ing to cre­ate “a gen­er­a­tive point of entry into the fas­ci­nat­ing and expan­sive world of trans his­to­ry.”

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Hyper­al­ler­gic’s Claire Voon has more on the site’s ori­gins, includ­ing words from the pro­jec­t’s leader, Col­lege of the Holy Cross Eng­lish pro­fes­sor K.J Raw­son. Its impe­tus came from the prob­lem that “a lot of trans-relat­ed mate­ri­als were held in dis­si­pat­ed col­lec­tions, and it wasn’t real­ly clear who had what, why they had it, how it relat­ed to oth­er col­lec­tions, and how it was acces­si­ble to researchers.” The Dig­i­tal Trans­gen­der Archive replaces some of the unnec­es­sary ardu­ous­ness under which those researchers used to labor, pro­vid­ing them with a sim­ple search box or, an abil­i­ty to browse by col­lec­tioninsti­tu­tiongeo­graph­ic loca­tion, genre, or top­ic.

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Ranked by the num­ber of the items in the archive, that top­ic list gives a vivid overview of the sorts of social prac­tices and cat­e­gories best rep­re­sent­ed there: cross­dressers and cross­dress­ing rank first and sec­ond, respec­tive­ly, fol­lowed by the rest of a top-twen­ty, includ­ing drag queens, pho­tog­ra­phy, activists, and actors.

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Giv­en the impor­tance of the visu­al to trans­gen­der cul­ture, it should come as no sur­prise that the Dig­i­tal Trans­gen­der Archive’s grow­ing col­lec­tion of doc­u­ments, pho­tographs, peri­od­i­cals, and “ephemera,” orga­nized all togeth­er for the first time, offers plen­ty of strik­ing mate­r­i­al to look at — as well as to intro­duce the his­to­ry of a world about which few could open­ly com­mu­ni­cate before now.

via Hyper­al­ler­gic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Judy!: 1993 Judith But­ler Fanzine Gives Us An Irrev­er­ent Punk-Rock Take on the Post-Struc­tural­ist Gen­der The­o­rist

Down­load 834 Rad­i­cal Zines From a Rev­o­lu­tion­ary Online Archive: Glob­al­iza­tion, Punk Music, the Indus­tri­al Prison Com­plex & More

Allen Gins­berg Talks About Com­ing Out to His Fam­i­ly & Fel­low Poets on 1978 Radio Show (NSFW)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer, the video series The City in Cin­e­ma, the crowd­fund­ed jour­nal­ism project Where Is the City of the Future?, and the Los Ange­les Review of Books’ Korea Blog. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

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