Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe

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Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe

10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


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Edited by

Shana Penn and Jill Massino


Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe


GENDER POLITICS AND EVERYDAY LIFE IN STATE SOCIALIST EASTERN AND CENTRAL EUROPE

Copyright © Shana Penn and Jill Massino, 2009. All rights reserved.

Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. PALGRAVE MACMILLAN is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN: 978-0-230-61300-3 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Gender politics and everyday life in state socialist East and Central Europe / edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-230-61300-4 1. Women and socialism—Europe, Eastern. 2. Women and socialism—Europe, Central. 3. Feminism—Europe, Eastern. 4. Feminism—Europe, Central. 5. Women—Social conditions—Europe, Eastern. 6. Women—Social conditions—Europe, Central. I. Penn, Shana. II. Massino, Jill. HX546.G46 2009 320.53'10820947—dc22 2009014140 A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Macmillan Publishing Solutions First edition: December 2009 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.


First published in 2009 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States – a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.


In memory of my maternal grandmother, Bess Levin, and her “old world” stories. —S.P.


To my daughter, Sofia. —J.M.





List of Figures and Tables

ix

Acknowledgments

xi

Introduction: Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe Jill Massino and Shana Penn

1

I

Work, Activism, and Identity

11

1

Workers under Construction: Gender, Identity, and Women’s Experiences of Work in State Socialist Romania Jill Massino

13

“My Work, My Family, and My Car”: Women’s Memories of Work, Consumerism, and Leisure in Socialist Hungary Eszter Zsófia Tóth

33

2

3

4

“Where Do You Think I Learned How to Style My Own Hair?” Gender and Everyday Lives of Women Activists in Poland’s League of Women Basia A. Nowak Translating Equality between Women and Men across Cold War Divides: Women Activists from Hungary and Romania and the Creation of International Women’s Year Raluca Maria Popa

45

59

II

Sex, Reproduction, Family Relations, and Domestic Space

75

5

“The Most Natural Function of Women”: Ambiguous Party Policies and Female Experiences in Socialist Bulgaria Ulf Brunnbauer

77


Contents


viii

7

8

9

Sex, Divorce, and Women’s Waged Work: Private Lives and State Policy in the Early German Democratic Republic Donna Harsch

97

Wife Beating: Ideology and Practice under State Socialism in Hungary, Poland, and Romania Isabel Marcus

115

How the Church Became the State: The Catholic Regime and Reproductive Rights in State Socialist Poland Joanna Z. Mishtal

133

Designing for the Socialist Family: The Evolution of Housing Types in Early Postwar Czechoslovakia Kimberly Elman Zarecor

151

III Consumption, Leisure, and Culture

169

10 Are You a Modern Girl? Consumer Culture and Young Women in 1960s Poland Malgorzata Fidelis

171

11 “When We Were Walking down the Road and Singing”: Rural Women’s Memories of Socialism in Serbia Ana Hofman

185

IV Gender and Resistance

199

12 Writing Themselves into History: Two Feminists Recall Their Political Development in the People’s Republic of Poland Shana Penn

201

Notes

221

Notes on Contributors

277

Index

281


6

Contents


Figures 2.1 The Liberation Brigade, late 1960s.

36

4.1

Stamp issued by the Hungarian Post, 1975.

70

9.1

Model of the Collective House, Litvínov, Czech Republic, 1946.

158

Interior of a T5 apartment from the first T-series in Prague-Prosek, 1950.

164

Plan of T5 apartment building from the first T-series in Prague-Prosek, 1949.

164

Village Gathering in Trupale, Serbia, 1990.

190

Tables 5.1 Share of women in branches of the Bulgarian economy (1988)

82

5.2 Division of household chores in Bulgaria (in 1977)

85

5.3 Demographic indicators in Bulgaria, 1950–1965

88

9.2 9.3 11.1


List of Figures and Tables





We wish to express our gratitude to our fellow authors, who contributed works to this volume and were a pleasure to collaborate with: Ulf Brunnbauer, Małgorzata Fidelis, Donna Harsch, Ana Hofman, Isabel Marcus, Joanna Mishtal, Basia Nowak, Raluca Popa, Eszter Tóth, and Kimberly Elman Zarecor. We also wish to thank our colleagues and friends who helped to edit the texts: Arwen Donahue, Jill Hannum, Marjorie Lightman, Paul Milne, Basia Nowak, Emer O’Dwyer, Benjamin St. John, Ann Snitow, Boz˙ena Umin´ska, and William Zeisel. For assistance with manuscript production, we thank Alice Lawrence and Dorrie Slutsker. Several institutions helped facilitate our work: The Fulbright Program, The Graduate Theological Union, The National Coalition of Independent Scholars, and The Women’s Research and Education Institute. Finally, we greatly appreciate the opportunity to publish with Palgrave USA and particularly to work with the editorial team headed by Christopher Chappell and assisted by Samantha Hasey.


Acknowledgments





Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe Jill Massino and Shana Penn

SINCE THE COLLAPSE OF STATE SOCIALISM1 in Eastern and Central Europe twenty years ago, a good deal of scholarship has been devoted to the issue of gender and the transition.2 Relatively less, however, has been published (in English) that focuses on gender politics, policies, and the everyday lives of women and men under state socialism.3 This imbalance is somewhat understandable in light of the need for policy-oriented analysis that focused on the effect of the transition on women’s civic, economic, and social position. Still, the comparatively moderate production of research on gender and state socialism is curious considering the many documentary and human sources that have become available to scholars since 1989. While some might argue that this imbalance reflects the illegitimacy of the socialist system, it is clear from our conversations with men and women that socialism decisively shaped, and continues to shape, how individuals think about government, the economy, society, and their lives more generally.


Introduction

Women’s “Liberation” under State Socialism The political leaders who set out to build the socialist governments of post–World War II Eastern Europe officially subscribed to the notion of “women’s liberation through work” as theorized by Friedrich Engels 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

Jill Massino and Shana Penn

and other early socialist thinkers.4 According to this reasoning, women’s participation in paid labor would facilitate their economic autonomy, which would allow them greater control over their lives. In turn, men’s recognition of women as equal workers would abolish patriarchal attitudes and practices as they played out both at work and at home. As is well known, the reality on the ground was much different from what was theorized by Engels and formalized in policy and propaganda in the new socialist states. Although the constitutions of the new socialist states legislated women’s full equality in public and family life, introduced universal education and healthcare, and guaranteed a place in the workforce to all its citizens, because rapid industrialization was key to socialist progress, state support for women’s emancipation was often more strategic than genuine. To be sure, women’s labor force participation was impressive when compared with Western countries during this time; however, women tended to dominate low-skilled and low-paid positions.5 Indeed, despite women’s educational and professional achievements under socialism, they earned less on average than their male counterparts and were grossly underrepresented in high-level administrative and political posts. Moreover, because state provisions tended to be directed toward industry, efforts to socialize certain aspects of family life, such as childcare, were not fully realized in most countries in the region. These shortcomings, combined with the continued existence of patriarchal attitudes, in many cases created a “double burden,”6 though it is important to keep in mind that women in other parts of the world faced similar situations, and that some women in Eastern Europe regarded this situation as normal, viewing the combination of work and family as multiple roles rather than as multiple burdens.7 Added to these burdens (or roles) were the material shortages faced by individuals, which compromised their quality of life and ability to fulfill their familial roles. Finally, in some cases the state placed limits on women’s reproductive rights, which affected women’s psychological and physical well-being, most tragically in Nicolae Ceaus¸escu’s Romania. Yet, while socialism was far from liberating and indeed oppressive for some, for others it offered opportunities for educational and occupational advancement, cultural and material enrichment, and social engagement. Moreover, socialism offered individuals new roles and identities, as well as new conceptions of womanhood and manhood. Finally, the state provided a range of social benefits—from universal education and healthcare to state-subsidized vacations—which, despite their shortcomings, improved the lives of some, if not many. The existence of such benefits does not override the fact that people experienced repression, fear, and material want and were denied political and civil rights on par with


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people in Western democracies. Yet, despite the fact that people in the region lacked political rights—and perhaps even because of it—their civic identities developed with respect to other rights, from guaranteed employment to a range of social welfare benefits, which they regarded as universal. As a result, people’s everyday lives and relationship to the state in these countries were more complex than Cold War scholars, policymakers, and some scholars of gender have claimed. As a result, the question, “Did socialism liberate women?” cannot be answered with an emphatic “no,” but has multiple answers that require attending to many voices and stories.8 Utilizing interviews, personal collections, and sources from state, public, and private repositories, and employing a variety of scholarly approaches, the essays in Gender Politics and Everyday Life examine gender policies as well as women’s and men’s everyday lives under state socialism in Eastern and Central Europe. Scholars of socialism have demonstrated that gender was an important organizing principle of the state, instrumental in the construction of policy and propaganda and in the refashioning of public and private spaces.9 For example, although women were legally recognized as men’s equals, protective legislation restricted women from participating in certain jobs, and gender-specific family policies—such as maternity leave—reinforced rather than challenged essentialist notions of gender. At the same time, gender was not simply manipulated and mobilized by the state to increase production (and in some cases, reproduction) and secure legitimacy, but was also a basic lens—along with other identities—through which individuals interpreted, negotiated, resisted, and, in some cases, ignored state policies and discourses. Thus, while this volume focuses on how the state used gender in formulating policy, reconceptualizing citizenship, and reorganizing spaces, it is especially concerned with “actually existing socialism.” In this capacity, this book builds on the work of scholars of gender and state socialism who have explored not only how women were affected by but also how they responded to state policies and practices in their daily lives.10 For example, Donna Harsch has examined how ordinary women lobbied the state in order to solve family and/or marital disputes, secure benefits, and more generally improve their quality of life. Meanwhile, Malgorzata Fidelis has illuminated how young women constructed their identities with respect to socialist modernity, consumerism, and the versions of socialist womanhood put forward by the state. Finally, Shana Penn has reconstructed how Polish women, active in the core circles of Solidarity, organized ordinary women and their homes into housing networks that harbored the underground’s activities and actors during the 1980s martial law period.


Gender Politics and Everyday Life



This book also follows the lead of cultural and social historians and Alltagsgeschichte (the history of everyday life) scholars who have challenged the totalizing narratives of the Cold War11 and replaced them with more nuanced portraits of the socialist bloc that explore ordinary activities and interactions, such as grocery shopping, relations with colleagues, and travel and leisure.12 By highlighting the role of average individuals in adapting to, negotiating, and, in some cases, resisting the system in seemingly ordinary ways, they have restored agency to those denied it by Cold War scholars, revised conventional wisdom regarding state power over its subjects, and complicated the notion that intellectuals and dissidents were the motivating force in resisting communism.13 Using gender as the unifying theme, the essays in this volume build on this approach by presenting nuanced and diverse portraits of both the state and women’s and men’s lives under state socialism. In so doing, they encourage a reconsideration of both the intent and impact of socialist policies and practices and the relationship between the socialist state and its citizens. This book also reassesses scholarship on women, gender, and socialism. Like most scholars of the topic we agree that socialism failed to liberate women.14 Indeed, in some cases, socialism reinforced existing traditions and patriarchal tendencies—most evident in the gendering of labor, women’s underrepresentation in politics, and the unequal distribution of domestic labor. However, in other cases socialism provided women with opportunities (work) and discourses (equality between women and men) that, while hyperbolic, could be used to challenge patriarchal attitudes and practices. To be sure, state socialism forced people into particular molds and roles—such as worker and activist—however, we believe that not all women (or men) unquestioningly embraced these roles, nor did they necessarily regard them as oppressive or limiting. Instead, women and men defined and experienced socialism in diverse, contradictory, and, in some cases, even empowering ways. Another way Gender Politics and Everyday Life challenges previous scholarship is in its investigation of the various locations of feminism that can be identified in the state socialist era.15 In particular, independent feminist thinking and organizing did exist in various countries; these usually nascent efforts, conducted on the margins of both their respective mainstream societies and opposition movements, fueled the post-1989 surge to the surface of feminist organizing energies in a number of countries.16 Their very existence dispels the belief that feminism was not indigenous to the cultures of any of the Eastern or Central European countries and was instead a Soviet or Western import. In addition to exploring dissident or unofficial feminisms, this collection also features scholarship on what has been termed “communist feminism” or “state feminism.”17


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Although this remains a contentious issue among scholars of gender, we believe that, like ordinary individuals, women activists who participated in official women’s organizations did have some limited agency and were not all slavishly loyal to the party platform, and that their stories are an important part of the history of state socialist Eastern Europe. In sum, this volume reveals that agency, while limited, did exist for women and men under state socialism. To be sure, men and women were not citizens in the liberal-democratic sense, that is, they could not speak, associate, or travel freely, nor engage in the political process (e.g., support or oppose legislation and a particular political party or candidate). However, if from a political standpoint women (and most men) were passive citizens, this did not necessarily mean individuals were passive in all areas of life. At the same time, it is important to keep in mind that women did not typically support all or even most aspects of life under state socialism; instead their support was highly selective and often related to practical factors. Methodology and Sources This project is informed by the belief that both gender as a social construct and women as individuals were essential to the socialist project and that, as a result, both the term “woman” and women’s actual lives underwent transformation under state socialism. As such, this work is both a women’s history and a gender history.18 Like other scholars of gender we believe that ideas about gender are constructed, legitimized, and perpetuated at various levels (the state, the family, the Church) and through various media and exchanges (traditions, cultural practices, social relationships).19 In part, our aim is to document and historicize the recollections and experiences of a wide-ranging group of women under socialism, focusing in particular on how gender framed their experiences. We endeavor to understand how women made a life for themselves during the socialist period. What were their experiences of education, work, raising a family, and leisure? In what ways did they experience politics and power? In what ways were discourses on gender under state socialism constraining? In what ways were they empowering? What did they value? What did they mock or disparage? How did they formally and informally organize as women? Did they participate in feminist discourse, and if so, where and what kinds? In what ways did they resist state policies? Patriarchal practices? At the same time, we view gender as an analytical category for examining state policies and propaganda and the organization of society. How did notions of masculinity and femininity inform socialist policy





and practices? In which ways were the labor force and other spaces gendered, and how did this affect women’s social position? In what ways was gender mobilized for geopolitical and domestic purposes? Yet, while we regard gender as essential for understanding women’s lives, we do not privilege gender, acknowledging that such factors as age, socioeconomic status, educational level, religious and ethnic background, and sexual and political orientation interacted and overlapped with—and in some cases superseded—gender. Attending to how various identities shaped women's and men’s lives is crucial for understanding not only how individuals experienced socialism but also interpreted and responded to it. In addition, rather than posit a shared female experience or generalize about women, in this volume we place subjectivity at the heart of our analysis, exploring the wide-ranging meanings of socialism. Similarly, by featuring the work of scholars from North America and Europe, this collection highlights the variety of approaches to the study, analysis, and interpretation of gender and state socialism. In sum, we believe there is no simple, coherent narrative of gender and women’s lives under socialism, but rather multiple, competing, and often contradictory ones, none of which should be privileged. As noted earlier, the essays presented in this book reflect the diverse array of sources to which researchers now have access: state archival documents and public collections, memoirs, diaries, photo collections, and oral history interviews. As with any source, these sources must be approached with caution. With regard to official documents of communist parties, such as legislation, speeches, statistics, and propaganda, a major concern is the degree to which they were shaped by ideological concerns. We know, for example, that statistics collected by socialist states during this period are, to varying degrees, unreliable and in some cases are outright false. Similarly, articles in communist women’s magazines were often influenced by ideology and policy, which were reflected in some of the discourses that appeared in print. However, scholars encounter similar drawbacks with sources when writing about other national and temporal contexts (e.g., articles in Western women’s magazines also had their own slant, sometimes with ideological underpinnings). Despite these drawbacks, we believe that we can tease out information that offers some insight into the everyday lives of women and men in socialist societies. Private and unofficial sources such as diaries and oral histories also have their own complexities, representing a subjective and often selective view of the past. On the one hand these sources are invaluable to scholars of everyday life for their capacity to, “preserve unofficial, non-institutionalised knowledge, to revive and re-establish marginalised and forgotten voices,


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to write history ‘from below,’ from the point of view of the ‘ordinary people.’”20 Indeed, such sources, in making ordinary people visible, can be the basis for creating not only a more diverse and complex portrait of the past but also a more democratic and pluralist society.21 At the same time, oral histories are influenced by the various discourses to which the respondent had access in the past (e.g., official socialist slogans regarding women’s equality, religious beliefs, and family practices) and those to which he or she currently has access (e.g., liberal individualism, the market economy, and political pluralism). For the case of oral history in particular, this means that individuals’ recollections of the past are filtered through the lens of the present. Thus, added to the fragility of memory is the fact that people remember the past with reference to current realities and concerns. For many East Europeans, these realities have included—at least until the recent changes brought about by accession to the European Union—poverty, social dislocation, crime, and dissatisfaction with the market economy and the political process. Such dissatisfaction can translate into veneration of the socialist past, or what some scholars term “communist nostalgia.”22 Although it is important to keep in mind that people’s recollections of the past have been affected by the transition, this should not totally undermine the investigation at hand. Chapter Organization The essays presented here offer insight into how the socialist state mobilized both notions of gender and actual women in organizing society and how women received and responded to state discourses. Contributors represent different disciplines and follow different theoretical approaches to the study of gender politics and/or daily life in state socialist Eastern and Central Europe.23 While some scholars are highly respected experts in their fields, others are junior scholars who, while less well-known, have significantly enhanced our understanding of the subject at hand. To the degree to which their work focused on the overarching topic of the book and that they were available to participate in the project, we tried to include as many scholars from the region as possible (including those who currently work in and/or were raised in the region). While we aimed for thematic, temporal, and regional comprehensiveness, certain topics, periods, and countries are underrepresented. In particular, the volume does not cover homosexuality and queer identity.24 Moreover, no essays deal centrally with masculinity; instead, masculinity is explored as a counterpart or complement to femininity. Also, imprisonment and mass repression are not topics of examination.





With regard to particular historical events, neither the Prague Spring and normalization in Czechoslovakia, nor the rise of ethnic nationalism in 1980s Yugoslavia and the events of 1989 are examined. These omissions are not intentional, but rather due to scant scholarship on these topics as they relate to gender. Finally, certain countries, namely Poland, receive more attention than other countries such as Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, and Albania has been left out altogether. This does not reflect a privileging of Central Europe over the Balkans, but is, instead, related to the scholars who were available to participate in this volume and the fact that the amount of scholarship produced on gender and state socialism varies from country to country. By focusing on how the socialist state acted on individuals as well as how individuals responded to state policies and lived with them as an everyday experience, the essays in this book highlight the varied meanings of state socialism for women and men. Section I, “Work, Activism, and Identity,” examines the roles and experiences of women workers, defined broadly to include factory workers and professionals as well as socialist activists. In Chapter 1, Jill Massino analyzes how women’s identities and roles and gender relations were reformulated as a result of their participation in paid labor in socialist Romania. She argues that while some women viewed work as burdensome, others found it fulfilling and in certain respects empowering. This, in turn, motivated some women to rethink their status both within the workplace and family, and to renegotiate their relationships with male colleagues and their husbands. Eszter Tóth, in Chapter 2, also analyzes the experiences of women workers, focusing specifically on an award-winning workers brigade at a Budapest hosiery factory. Tóth reveals that in reflecting on their lives as workers, the women made reference to the social and consumer benefits of the award while eschewing official slogans of worker productivity and comradeship. In this respect, their self-identities had an ambiguous relationship to the official identities ascribed to them by socialist discourse. In Chapter 3 Basia Nowak provides a nuanced portrait of women who worked for Poland’s official League of Women. Nowak argues that the typically negative perceptions of communist-era women’s organizations overlook the multiple roles that these groups played and their complicated relationships with both the state and individual women. Thus, rather than simply serving the interests of the state, the League of Women provided beneficial services to ordinary women and their families. In Chapter 4, Raluca Popa also challenges simplistic views of communistera women’s organizations by exploring the role of official women activists who represented Hungary and Romania at International Women’s Year meetings in 1975. Popa demonstrates that these women were genuinely


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committed to equality between women and men and tried to pursue this goal through institutional and personal means. Section II, “Sex, Reproduction, Family Relations, and Domestic Space,” examines the ambiguities of socialism, both as it was formulated in policy and propaganda and as it was experienced in daily life by women and men. Collectively, the essays highlight some of the tensions between policy and practice, state and society, modernity and tradition, and public and private life with respect to marriage, family, sexuality, reproduction, and housing. Chapter 5 focuses on the ambiguities of socialist gender policies and women’s experiences of socialism in Bulgaria. Here, Ulf Brunnbauer argues that, beginning in the 1960s, the state’s concerns over population growth undermined earlier revolutionary policies, which had aimed at achieving gender equality. As a result, women have ambivalent feelings about the period. While praising the educational and professional opportunities open to them, they also stress the limitations of life under socialism and the many obligations they were expected to fulfill. In Chapter 6, Donna Harsch explores the conflicts between the Communist party/state and ordinary East Germans over marriage, divorce, and sexuality in the 1950s and 1960s. Harsch argues that while the state favored the liberalization of divorce early on, at a time when most East Germans opposed it, by the 1960s, younger East Germans, especially women, had grown more open toward divorce, while the state worried that it would break up young families. With reference to sexuality, however, both the state and society moved together in a more liberal direction during this period. Isabel Marcus, in Chapter 7, examines domestic violence or, as it was typically referred to, “wife beating” in socialist Hungary, Poland, and Romania. She demonstrates that because domestic violence was condoned by the prevailing sex/gender system in these respective countries, women looked to socialist criminal and family law as avenues for relief and redress. In Chapter 8, Joanna Mishtal investigates how the relationship between the state and the Catholic Church in socialist and post-socialist Poland affected women’s reproductive freedom. She argues that, while the socialist state protected women against the intrusion of the Church into family planning, once the regime fell in 1989, the Church was decisive in shaping political priorities and discourses, which aimed to restore Catholic conservatism in reproduction and sexuality. Mishtal attributes the Church’s influence on politics to its consolidation of power during the 1980s, when it allied with Solidarity and other opposition movements to challenge the legitimacy of the socialist state. Kimberly Elman Zarecor, in Chapter 9, uses architecture to illuminate state and popular conceptions of gender. She illustrates how the housing types put forward in early socialist Czechoslovakia show a “hybridization





of competing influences”: women were to be workers and homemakers living in apartments that supported their dual roles. However, economic and social forces lessened the possibility that architecture on its own could improve women’s everyday lives in the 1950s, and changes to housing types did not result in socialist liberation for women. Section III, “Consumption, Leisure, and Culture,” focuses on women’s experiences of socialist culture, consumerism, and leisure, highlighting how their engagement in these activities shaped their identities. In Chapter 10, Malgorzata Fidelis argues that images of the “modern girl,” promoted by the official Polish press of the 1960s, signified an attempt to create a new perspective on socialist womanhood and Polish modernity. Diverse actors, including the state, negotiated and promoted the image of the modern girl whose lifestyle centered on educational goals, pleasure, leisure, and moderate consumerism. However, by the time of the 1968 student revolt, the press had begun to associate the modern girl with consumerist overindulgence and disloyalty toward the state. Ana Hofman, in Chapter 11, also examines the empowering effects of socialist culture on women, focusing specifically on rural women singers in southeastern Serbia. By performing in state-sponsored cultural festivals, Hofman argues, these women were able to transgress patriarchal norms and increase their social standing within their community. As a result, socialism was genuinely emancipating for these women—a reality that influenced their interpretations of the past. In Section IV, “Gender and Resistance,” Shana Penn interweaves portraits of two now-prominent feminists to discuss how women who were raised during the postwar construction of the People’s Republic of Poland became sensitized to gender and how the era’s politics influenced the development of their gender awareness. The chapter also compares the evolution of feminist and Jewish identity politics in the 1980s. In closing, we view this volume as building on and also departing from previous scholarship on gender and state socialism in Eastern Europe. Our aim is to showcase recent scholarship, highlight the fruitful possibilities of using gender and everyday life as approaches to the study of state socialism, and encourage subsequent discussion, debate, and research.


10


Work, Activism, and Identity


Part 1





Workers under Construction: Gender, Identity, and Women’s Experiences of Work in State Socialist Romania* Jill Massino

How was our life then? The fact that we found work, we were promoted and we got raises … it didn’t seem difficult to me … it didn’t matter if you were well paid or just sufficiently paid, each person was important in their own way. We led a very industrious life. I came home from work, I washed, I ironed, I made food … and I still had time to embroider and knit. I led a very active life. Now I feel awful because it’s very difficult to pass from a period full of activity to a period where time is dead.1

Although many scholars, policymakers, and ordinary people have repudiated state socialism as a political and socioeconomic system, as the above quote illustrates, socialism, as a way of life, decisively shaped and continues to shape how individuals think about their government, society, and themselves. Some might write such reflections off as nostalgia; however, it must be remembered that state socialism offered women opportunities for constructing their identities outside of the home and family. This was the case for Maria, the woman quoted above, who lost her job as an electrician in the early 1990s as a result of economic restructuring.


Chapter 1


Jill Massino

While her family was still able to get by on her husband’s income, when I interviewed her in 2003, it was clear that work continued to be a strong source of self-identity for her. Moreover, work strongly influenced how she thought about her role as a woman, mother, and citizen and about the socialist past more generally. Scholars of women and socialism have debated for decades the impact of socialist policies on women’s lives.2 The socialist state, they argue, was interested in women’s economic equality with men only insofar as their program of mass industrialization could be realized and support for the state could be garnered. Seen from this perspective, the economic autonomy of women was a by-product of, and not a motivating force for, socialism. Thus, while socialist policies such as guaranteed employment and universal education and healthcare may have been beneficial to women and their families, because these policies were more strategic than genuine, they were not accompanied by concerted efforts to transform patriarchal attitudes and practices as they played out at home and on the shop floor. To be sure, women’s employment under state socialism did not culminate in gender equality as August Bebel, Friedrich Engels, and other early socialist theorists had envisaged.3 However, it remains that women’s participation in the labor force did dramatically alter women’s roles, self-identities, and relations with men. While some women found work exhausting, time-consuming, and unfulfilling, others, like Maria, found it empowering, intellectually stimulating, and personally validating. On a very basic level, state socialism broadened women’s social and cultural worlds, luring them away from the countryside and into industrial towns and cities. These realities, coupled with the monetary benefits of work, offered women greater freedom in directing their lives, engaging in consumer culture, and in choosing a partner. This in turn increased women’s quality of life and self-confidence, in some cases emboldening them to challenge patriarchal attitudes and renegotiate relations with their husbands and male colleagues. Work also provided women with services and benefits (universal education, health and child care, subsidized vacations) that, despite their shortcomings, improved the lives of many, especially those of rural origin. Drawing upon socialist policy, propaganda, and oral history interviews as well as recent scholarship on gender, labor, and everyday life in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, this chapter examines the everyday lives of women laborers in state socialist Romania. Because work served as the basic determinant of what constituted a loyal and respectable socialist citizen, it offers a rich site for analyzing how the relationship between the state and the individual was constituted, represented, and


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elaborated. Moreover, work offers insight into how ideas about gender shaped socialist labor policies and propaganda.4 For instance, in order to mobilize women into the labor force the state implemented new labor codes, developed a comprehensive social welfare system, and instituted an intensive propaganda campaign. Yet, while gender was used by policymakers to promote mass industrialization and party loyalty, gender was also a lens through which women and men interpreted, negotiated, resisted, and in some cases wholly ignored state discourses. Thus, the primary aim of this chapter is to examine how work shaped women’s experiences, attitudes, self-identities, and relationships with colleagues and spouses.5 In this capacity, I draw on the recent work of scholars of gender and state socialism and the work of cultural historians and Alltagsgeschichte (the history of everyday life) scholars who have examined not only how women were affected by, but also how women responded to state policies and practices in their daily lives.6 While acknowledging the tragic effects of Nicolae Ceaus¸escu’s reproductive policies on women’s lives, since my primary focus is on women’s experiences in the workplace proper, I do not examine reproduction or motherhood in this chapter.7 I begin with an analysis of socialist policy and propaganda, exploring how women were officially represented as workers. The official women’s monthly, Femeia (Woman, edited by the Democratic Union of Women in Romania [1947–1957] and the National Council of Women [1958– 1989]), with its personal profiles, advice columns, short pieces of fiction, patterns, and beauty tips, offers important insight into state-mediated conceptions of gender in Romania. While acknowledging the instrumentalist edge of this publication, I recognize that for some women it was genuinely meaningful and useful, in particular articles and columns that dealt with practical and everyday concerns. I then examine, through oral histories, women’s experiences of and attitudes toward work. The interviews were conducted in Bras¸ov, Romania, in 2003 and followed the life history approach.8 During socialism these women were employed in various realms, including skilled and semiskilled industry, the socialist bureaucracy, medicine and engineering, and education and the arts. While some began working in the early 1950s, most entered the labor force in the 1960s and 1970s. Like Luisa Passerini, I view oral history as a rich source for exploring everyday life under socialism and the larger political, social, and cultural universe of socialism.9 At the same time, I recognize that oral histories represent a particular construction of the past and are thus mediated by the discourses to which the subject had access (official slogans of women’s equality, religious beliefs, family practices). In addition, these stories are


Workers under Construction


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mediated by discourses of the present (political pluralism, the market economy, the EU) and individuals’ everyday experiences of the transition to post-socialism, which for some has been characterized by poverty, social alienation, and an overall dissatisfaction with the market economy and political process (the post-EU accession period included). While such dissatisfaction can translate into veneration of the socialist past, or what some scholars refer to as “communist nostalgia,” women’s frustration over the loss of what they consider natural rights (guaranteed work and state-subsidized vacations and childcare) is not necessarily evidence of nostalgia. Rather it is an unsentimental response to a real sense of displacement and uncertainty. Thus, while it is important to acknowledge that these recollections have been shaped by the transition, this should not totally undermine the investigation and analysis at hand. The Industrialization of Bras¸ ov A commercial, publishing, and cultural center boasting a few fledgling industries in the interwar period, during World War II Bras¸ov was the site of bombing and heavy fighting.10 Thus, upon taking power in 1947, the new communist government was faced not only with building industry but also rebuilding parts of the city. Bras¸ov’s rapid industrialization was not simply an achievement of the socialist state, but the product of human labor power. Women were essential in this endeavor, and many of them were employed at Steagul Ros¸u (the red flag) and Tractorul (the tractor), the country’s largest truck and tractor factories. Founded in 1947, these factories served as the city’s primary employers for both native Bras¸ovians and the many who relocated to Bras¸ov from various parts of the country.11 By 1950, Bras¸ov was the second largest industrial city in Romania, and in 1951, with the introduction of the First Five-Year Plan, the city was renamed Oras¸ul Stalin (Stalin city), and the Soviet leader’s name was spelled out in fir trees on Tâmpa, the tallest peak overlooking the city.12 The industrialization of the city was accompanied by the construction of apartment buildings and the development of working-class neighborhoods. By 1966, according to official statistics, 40 percent of Bras¸ov’s laborers were women.13 Although women’s entry into the workforce was also a feature of modernizing societies in the West, in Eastern Europe women’s participation in paid labor was much higher and was accompanied by legislation that codified their equal rights in both public and private domains. For example, by 1970, 74.9 percent of women (aged twenty to fifty-nine) were employed outside the home in Romania, compared with 54.2 percent in the U.K. and 51.2 percent in France.14 This was due in part


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to the fact that many women in the West worked part-time, temporarily, or for “the duration” (during wars).15 Thus, at the end of World War II many women in the West lost their jobs to accommodate returning veterans. Additionally, women’s participation in the labor force was influenced and legitimated by Cold War ideology. While in the capitalist West returning women to the kitchen was intended to reestablish the prewar gender order and showcase the affluence of the West, in the Soviet bloc putting women to work in the factories was intended to highlight the progressiveness of the socialist project for women. Constructing the Socialist Woman Worker in Policy and Propaganda Constituting over half the population of Romania, women were a potentially enormous labor pool, crucial for the modernization of the country. While “women’s liberation through work” was an official goal of all socialist states, since mass industrialization was key to socialist progress, state support for women’s employment was more strategic than genuine. Thus, by encouraging women’s employment, the state could kill two birds with one stone: rapidly industrialize while also promoting female liberation. Although women had worked for centuries in farming, sewing, crafts, and other cottage industries, because these activities occurred within the larger domestic realm, they did not challenge the traditional gender order.16 And though, by the turn of the twentieth century, women were increasingly employed in light industry and professions such as medicine, law, and journalism, preexisting notions about gender roles continued to shape popular attitudes about women well into the postwar period. Thus, the notion of women’s mass participation in industry, at least during the first decade of socialist rule when the country was still highly agrarian, appeared jarring, threatening to disrupt traditional values, belief systems, and the patriarchal order.17 Furthermore, for most individuals communism was an abstract concept and a Soviet import—not the type of ideal that inspired one to take up factory work. The family and the nation, on the other hand, were much more meaningful. To make both socialism and the notion of women industrial workers palatable, propagandists drew on the nation and traditionally feminine qualities such as sacrifice and devotion, urging women to fight against fascism and the “warmongers in the West” by participating in paid labor. As textile worker Maria Andreescu commented in the main communist daily, Scânteia (The Spark), on International Women’s Day (March 8th): “I still haven’t forgotten the horrible war! We will do everything




Jill Massino

we can to stop the criminal American and English imperialists who want to extinguish the entire world with the fire of war they unleashed in Korea.”18 By connecting labor productivity to the greater “struggle for peace,” the Party refashioned work as an urgent, national necessity, the only humane and reasonable response to capitalist-imperialist forces who were bent on world domination. In this manner, work became the basis for waging peace. In addition, readers of Scânteia were told that “in England women’s salaries are 50–60 % of men’s … and many women from capitalist countries practice prostitution to feed their children.”19 By accentuating the supposedly dismal lives of women in capitalist countries, the Party created a standard by which women could evaluate their lives. In so doing it could legitimate its own policies and deflect attention from the terror, chaos, and suffering engulfing the country. During the 1950s women’s capacities in farming and heavy industry were glorified. The intent was to overturn sexist arguments regarding women’s lack of physical strength and stamina and thereby challenge male dominance in this area.20 In Romania the emblematic symbol of female emancipation was Mita the tractor driver. As one of my respondents, Valeria, a former nurse, wryly recounted: Yes, there was Mita the tractor driver, there is even a song [about her] … this tractor driver … she was very robust; was able to work three shifts. She was also a heroine mother who had ten children. She received diplomas, medals, she probably also received money.21

Presented as the socialist superwoman by Party propagandists, Mita’s image outside of official spheres was much less flattering, as she was commonly referred to as a floozy, blond bombshell, and country bumpkin. Though the butt of jokes, unlike the female Stakhanovites of Soviet lore, Mita retained her feminine qualities and was thus not upsetting to the traditional gender order.22 While Mita was more fiction than fact, such heroine workers (muncitoare fruntas¸e) became the yardsticks for socialist success. Although essentially a socialist superwoman, the heroine worker was presented as an everywoman: her ability to exceed quotas was due not to some genetic proclivity for hyperproductivity, but rather the result of diligence, devotion, and the Party. The heroine worker’s ordinariness was evident in the short bios she “wrote” for Femeia and March 8th (International Women’s Day) editions of Scânteia. These tales charted a woman’s journey from shy, illiterate peasant girl to a well-read, efficient, and confident factory director. For example, the article “Optimism and Resoluteness” told the story of Sanda Herghelegiu, a woman from rural Moldavia who trained


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as an electrician in 1950, an occupation that was “reserved only for men.” Within a mere six months Sanda became one of the best workers in her group, for which she had her “party and the Socialist Republic to thank.”23 Although on the surface reminiscent of American stories about the self-made man, these socialist Bildungsromanen were distinctly different in that it was not the self (and capitalism) but the Party (and socialism) that ultimately made the man—or, in this case, the woman. While heroine workers remained a feature of the socialist legitimating myth when Ceaus¸escu assumed power in 1965, a shift occurred in the visual representation of women workers. Whereas, under Gheorghe Gheorghiu-Dej, images of burly tractor drivers and plain-looking textile workers were the norm, after Ceaus¸escu took power, images of female laborers became increasingly beautified and glamorous. The glamorization of the female laborer signified a new stage of socialism. Like the cosmetics and fashionable dresses advertised in department stores and magazines, the glamorous, modern worker signified progress without sacrifice.24 As an article in Femeia boasted: “Today women are reared much differently; education has expanded: the book, the radio, the television have appeared everywhere; on the whole life is much richer.”25 This representational shift did in fact coincide with rising living standards and increased access to consumer goods and cultural productions—including Western films, music, and fashion. Such material palliatives had become increasingly common throughout the Soviet bloc by this time, employed by a number of leaders in an effort to maintain support for the Party, stave off popular discontent, and refashion socialist citizenship.26 Despite the outward appearance of liberalization, in Romania these discursive changes masked a more troublesome change, namely the state’s reconceptualization of women’s roles. With the criminalization of abortion in 1966, women’s public identity was reformulated: motherhood, like work, became a civic duty and women were evaluated according to their productive as well as reproductive output. This was evident in the increased glorification of motherhood, the institution of new child allowances and protective legislation, the surveillance of women’s medical histories by the state, and, most shockingly, in the biannual gynecological exams that were conducted on women laborers between the ages of sixteen and forty-five.27 In addition to enhancing physical beauty, motherhood, “experts” claimed, was correlated with diligence and psychological well-being. Meanwhile childlessness was connected to a whole manner of problems from decreased labor productivity and listlessness to physical weakness and depression.28 The discourses used in promoting pro-natalist policies exemplified Ceaus¸escu’s national version of socialism. Propagandists thus drew upon traditional beliefs regarding women’s essential




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roles as mothers, along with “scientific studies,” to garner support for the dual demands the state placed on women as both producers and reproducers. The glorification of motherhood was accompanied by efforts to promote women in the workforce. Although focused on women in engineering, science, and politics, the primary function of this scheme was to legitimate Elena Ceaus¸escu’s increased influence in the Party leadership and as the head of the National Council on Science and Technology.29 Presented simultaneously as “comrade, academician, doctor, engineer … and prominent personality … with qualities as a … scientific figure, a wife and mother,” Elena Ceaus¸escu became one of the new symbols of socialist womanhood by the late 1970s.30 Similarly, statistics, alongside personalized stories of advancement, became the measure for gauging women’s progress under socialism. In their efforts to validate women’s employment, socialist propagandists sought to increase female labor, instill a sense of duty and loyalty to the state, and fashion a public identity for women. Although socialist propaganda was an instrument of power politics and often hyperbolic, women interpreted and responded to it in manifold ways. Did women internalize or incorporate such sentiments into their own conceptions of work? Were these discourses empowering for women, instilling in them a sense of autonomy and the self-confidence to persevere through harassment by male colleagues and arduous twelve-hour shifts? Or did women recognize the propagandistic messages and ignore or attempt to subvert them? Although it is difficult to gauge the impact of socialist propaganda on women’s self-perceptions, their experiences in the labor force affected them in diverse and often ambiguous ways, as will be illustrated in the following section. “Building Socialism” or “Just Getting By”? Women’s Experiences of Work Why did women work? To be sure, many women were guided by pragmatic reasons such as economic need and access to social services. However, a variety of other factors also influenced their choice to work. For one, increased educational opportunities allowed some women to pursue jobs that they considered personally, intellectually, or creatively fulfilling. Additionally, the desire to stave off social isolation played a role in their decision to work. Finally, since productivity was the measure of civic worth in socialist Romania, some women worked to be a part of the greater socialist community and/or to avoid being labeled a “social parasite.” As Clio, a translator, sardonically remarked: “All women had


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to have jobs; if you did not have a job you were looked down upon because you had to participate in the construction of communism, you know.”31 Women’s position within the labor force both challenged and reinforced essentialist beliefs regarding women and work. On the one hand, women’s increased access to vocational training and secondary and higher education facilitated their entry into professional fields such as social work, education (particularly at the elementary level), and medicine. For example, in 1974, when women made up 45.2 percent of the total labor force in Romania, they constituted 72 percent of those employed in public health and social services, 63.3 percent of those employed in education, culture, and the arts (collectively), and 75.7 percent of those employed in the textile industries.32 On the other hand, because these jobs were considered extensions of women’s traditional roles as caregivers and moral educators and because these tasks were defined as either lowskilled or intellectual (requiring brains rather than brawn), they assumed a lower status than did the heavy, manual-labor jobs idealized by the state such as mining and construction. As a result, jobs in heavy industry, administration/management, and politics garnered some of the highest wages and were overwhelmingly performed by men. For instance, in 1974 men constituted 91.3 percent of those in construction, 88.5 percent of those in ferrous metallurgy, and 66.5 percent of those in administration.33 The privileging and gendering of heavy industrial and administrative jobs and the concomitant devaluation of semiskilled and mid-level professional posts thus undermined efforts for full occupational equality in socialist Romania—as well as other countries in the Soviet bloc.34 Despite this, women engaged in physically demanding work and were subject to many of the same schedules, conditions, and norms as men. Such was the case of Regine, who began working for the national railroad company (CFR) in 1951. She recalled: From the first day I began to work like a man, because the men [on my team] said “if a woman has the same rights as we do, she should do the same work.” We worked as switchmen for the direct trains where I was a signaler on the local trains where you had to climb in between the cars, which had to be assembled in each station, and the wagons that remained had to be taken out of the station … And these local trains were very difficult for women … but we didn’t make a fuss, we had to work alongside men … One day the two male switchmen stood at the station while I, a woman, had to climb from one car into another. And the ladder was crooked and I wanted to climb it while it [the train] was moving … I managed to grasp the ladder and climb up and the locomotive didn’t run over me. This situation lasted about a year. Finally they [her employers]




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Regine began working during the first decade of socialist rule, a period characterized by mass industrialization, but also mass repression, poverty, and uncertainty. She was one of many who suffered such repression, having spent five years in Ukraine as a forced laborer in a scheme organized by the Soviet government that mandated war reparations to the USSR in the form of human labor.36 Grateful to survive these ordeals, Regine returned to Romania to find that she had attained full equality with men, which, more than anything, meant that she had to work as hard as—if not harder than—a man. Although accustomed to hard work, Regine was clearly shocked by her male colleagues’ lack of sensitivity to the fact that, for a woman, performing such work was difficult. Indeed, her male colleagues’ insistence that she work like a man since women and men were “equal” seems to mask a more general displeasure on the part of men over being forced to work with women. The responses of her male coworkers may indicate a desire to “break” their female colleagues’ willpower and force them out of the job. Although such subversive behavior should have resulted in a reprimand or suspension, Regine’s boss instead responded by disbanding the female team. Fortunately, he also recognized that Regine was a hard worker and found her another position. Nonetheless, the actions of Regine’s male coworkers reflect an effort to maintain the masculine character of their jobs. Because the diversification of employment made it difficult and often dangerous for women to perform at the same levels as men, posing real challenges to bosses and workers alike, the Labor Code was revised in 1965.37 This, however, did not spare women from double shifts, arduous activities, and unreasonable quotas, as Maria, who began work at a ball bearings factory after being a housewife for fifteen years, recalled: It was very difficult because we were required to meet the norms. I had no skill or training, seventh grade [education]. They put me to work sorting ball bearings. In order to meet the plan, we always worked twelve hour [shifts] … And [we worked] Saturdays and Sundays. Not every Sunday, but on Saturday it was required.38


noticed that regardless of what happens a woman remains a woman and a man a man. And then they withdrew the team of women from circulation.35

Even during the height of Ceaus¸escu’s epoca de aur (Golden Era) in the 1980s, many women worked long and laborious shifts, six days a week, as the recollections of Eva, an electrician in her late thirties, illustrate: I worked about ten hours a day. Many times I came in for the first shift and returned home at one in the morning. I worked very much. I didn’t really 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


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Regine’s, Maria’s, and Eva’s memories of work are in conformity with standard Cold War accounts of work under state socialism as oppressive, exhausting, and generally unfulfilling.40 While representative of some women’s experiences, they cannot be generalized to all women workers. By contrast, Tatiana, who began working in a textile factory in the early 1970s, reflected on her work experiences positively. For me, I have the impression that the period was good … it was very good. I was taught to work at a young age. I believe that, regardless of the regime, if you are diligent and you work, you will live well. I liked it because I worked eight hours … I came home … I put a meal on the stove and I had time to read … I read a lot then. I led an ordered life. Yes we worked on Saturday and sometimes Sunday, but to be honest that didn’t disrupt anything. It was more of a pretension than anything else in those days.41

Taken at face value, these words could be cited simply as proof of the effectiveness of socialist propaganda at inculcating its ideology of work as fulfilling and the true key to happiness. However, this would ignore the broader context surrounding Tatiana’s entry into the workforce and the overall impact on her life. Having grown up on a farm in northern Moldavia, one of the poorest regions of Romania, Tatiana welcomed the opportunity to earn her own wage. Additionally, the regularity of factory work provided her with time for cooking, cleaning, and leisure. Beyond such practical benefits, work was connected to broader social and cultural changes. Her move, at age eighteen, from a small village to a large industrial city introduced Tatiana’s to new cultural milieus such as the theatre as well as people from different ethnic and regional backgrounds. Additionally, work was emancipating for Tatiana: she was earning a wage, developing new social networks, and was no longer under the direction of her family. Although critical of the food, electricity, and heating shortages in the 1980s, because work was inextricably connected to many positive life changes Tatiana experienced, she considered the socialist period to be the most rewarding and fulfilling time of her life. At the same time, it should be noted that Tatiana’s attitude toward the past may in part be shaped by the political and economic changes brought on by the collapse of communism. Since the mid 1990s, Tatiana and her husband have been involved in small-scale retail, which consumes


have free time. We worked on the holidays, Christmas, Easter … In this period I was not married and when I came home from work I would take a bath and sleep. That was my daily routine when I got home.39


Jill Massino

almost all of their time. At the time of our interview, she still managed to put food on the table, however, she was frustrated by the thirteen-hour work days, and lack of time—and money—for material goods, travel, and other leisure activities. Her high regard for the socialist system was thus connected to both past and present experiences. As she remarked in 2003: I hoped that it would be better, but, sincerely, I am not satisfied … I have the impression that they destroyed everything that was good … Now what do I do? I leave at five or three a.m. everyday and return at four or five or even later, deathly tired. It wasn’t better then? Everything I have I received under Ceaus¸escu: my car, my house, my furniture. I just want to be healthy and live a decent life.42

While Tatiana commented on the orderly schedule, balance, and quality of life that her job under socialism provided her with, Elvira referred to the economic and interpersonal benefits of work. She recalled: Work … oh, it was very good. We were well paid … we worked with pleasure because of our coworkers … we had an extraordinary relationship. It was a collaborative effort … and when work is like that it appears easy. Also we saved money … there were two salaries coming in and we were able to put one salary into the bank and off the other salary we lived very well, we went to plays and to restaurants.43

In Elvira’s recollections, work provided her with companionship and a sense of purpose. Work was not only a place where stories could be shared and complaints could be aired, but also a place where individuals felt as if they were members of a collective. Moreover, work was personally validating for Elvira, allowing her to contribute to the family’s well-being in a socially recognized, quantifiable manner. Although Elvira resigned from her position shortly after the collapse of communism, her fond memories of her colleagues and her pride in having contributed to the family budget reveal that, far from mind-numbing drudgery, work was an important facet of her identity during the socialist period. Meanwhile, Luana recalled the intellectual fulfillment and social prestige her position as a historian offered her.


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It was the most beautiful period of my life. I worked on numismatics and modern history. I put on many expositions, I researched local history, I wrote, I published articles, books … it was very satisfying work. And what happened? They say that history under Ceaus¸escu was not properly studied and substantiated. It’s true that, in these years, including in the 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


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For Luana, the memories of wearing a coat and gloves (during the period of heat rationing) while setting up exhibitions and conducting guided tours, or of moonlighting as a tutor in order to supplement her income, did not taint her memories of this period. Indeed, her defensive tone in discussing the works she wrote during the socialist period reveals the degree to which she was intellectually and emotionally invested in her work.45 Luana’s positive memories of the period are all the more remarkable in light of her current success as an entrepreneur. As she remarked: I am an active person and I hope to be useful, that is I feel that I am doing things that bring me satisfaction. Before I wrote a lot, professionally I was very happy because the things I did, research, writing, for instance, I did with passion. I thought like a specialist. Now I think like a manager. I have changed many positions but I say that any woman and any person, if he wants, can change their life and in a positive manner and do something else.46

Work also decisively affected women’s lives in negative ways. For instance, Clio’s mother, a trained pianist, was kicked out of music school and placed in a job putting up telephone lines because of her unhealthy (read bourgeois) social origins. This class malady even filtered down to Clio, who was denied a position as a French translator at Radio România because her grandfather had been imprisoned by the Communist government and her aunt had fled the country after the communist takeover.47 Beyond possessing healthy social origins, pile (connections) were also very important in securing work or a place at a university. Stela, for example, remembers wanting to attend art school, but the stiff competition, combined with her lack of connections made it, in her words, “worthless to even think about.”48


museum, you were not able to always say what you wanted, but I repeat, because I didn’t deal with contemporary history, I did not write a book based on alternative realities.44

Relations with Colleagues and the Gendering of the Labor Force Due to the instability of employment in market economies, male workers in the West have often viewed women’s entry into the labor force as threatening, fearing that women’s status as “cheap laborers” might lead to a reduction in men’s salaries or displace them from their jobs and roles as breadwinners.49 However, since the command economies of the socialist 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

Jill Massino

bloc were always in need of workers, this should have been of little concern to men in Romania. While my interviews do not suggest that men perceived women laborers as economic threats per se, some men did view them as a threat to their self-identities as well as to the traditional gender order. Men’s sexist attitudes were manifest in behavior that would currently be termed harassment in the West. But because this concept did not exist in socialist Romania, it was nearly impossible for women to articulate their grievances when such acts occurred. Thus, women devised clever strategies for defusing tense situations and fostering social harmony with their male colleagues. Such was the case of Maria, who was the sole woman specialty electrician in a team of thirty when she began working at Steagul Ros¸u in the 1970s: You know it was personality conflict … a continual battle working with men. In the first place it was very difficult to demonstrate to them what I knew and that I knew how to do it well … that nobody else needed to follow me, a man for example, to put the work right again once I had finished. After they got used to me then they treated me with dignity. They never talked in an ugly or vulgar way with me because I would not permit it … and [then] there was equilibrium. I had two choices: either to act like I didn’t know anything or to be unusual. I preferred to be unusual. And I did very well.50

Maria’s difficulty with her male colleagues, though rooted in what she refers to as a “personality conflict,” was in essence a gender conflict. This conflict stemmed from her expertise in her field, which many of the men she worked with found unsettling since they viewed skill as a masculine preserve. Accustomed to dealing with “egotistical men” who “thought they were better than women,” rather than pretend to be a “stupid woman who needed her male colleagues’ help,” Maria assumed the identity of the unusual or oddball woman, downplaying her gender—a strategy that can be read as a form of resistance or self-preservation, what historian Alf Lüdtke dubs Eigen-sinn (self-constructed meaning).51 This allowed her to excel at her trade without threatening her colleagues’ sense of masculinity. Although Maria was eventually accepted by her team as a capable and talented worker, she never became “one of the boys.” She might have been an equal from a professional standpoint, but in the end she was still a lady and too sophisticated and refined for engaging in the vulgar banter of her colleagues. Still, her cleverness underscores the active role played by women workers, not only in defusing tense situations but in staking out their places as equals in the socialist workforce. It also illustrates that resistance under state socialism assumed various forms: in this case,


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I was in the first group of women promoted to molding … and the men were astonished and they made problems so that we wouldn’t succeed … so we wouldn’t know our job, because this wasn’t a job for women [according to those that were older]. In the beginning it was very difficult.52

Although Dorina eventually convinced her male colleagues of her competence as a molder, it appears that the older male workers were most resistant to working alongside women. This suggests that men’s acceptance of women workers may have been generational in nature: younger men who had been exposed to socialist slogans of gender equality their entire lives and were accustomed to working and interacting with women in a variety of realms were less hostile toward and more accepting of women as colleagues than men who had been raised during the interwar period. While Dorina’s and Maria’s experiences were by no means exceptional, not all women who worked in predominantly male sections faced criticism or harassment. Indeed, some got on better with their male colleagues, as the case of Angela, who began working as a woodworker in 1985, illustrates: There were not many women in my section … but I can say that in my group women were envious of me … because they saw that I was getting on better than them and I was younger than them … but I did not let that bother me. Of the group I got on much better with men. They were much more accepting of me than the women and when I needed help, if I needed something or if I just wanted to talk, I looked to the men … In general I have always gotten along better with men than women.53

Similarly Eva, the only woman in a team of nine workers, remembers being treated kindly and at times even indulgently by her colleagues. In particular, she recalled an instance in the late 1980s—during the rationing of heat and electricity—when her colleagues told her to “rest, take a break, and warm up with some wine” while they completed her work. This behavior indicates that there was a good deal of camaraderie between male and female colleagues and that, even within the context of the factory, men retained chivalrous attitudes toward women. Although the 1965 Constitution forbade sex discrimination, no clause or article existed with regard to harassment.54 Thus, it is difficult to determine if the state made efforts to curb or rebuke sexual harassment. However, a


Maria’s resistance was not against the state, but against patriarchal beliefs and cultural norms that sought to deny her the role of equal worker. Similarly, Dorina, a molder who began working in the mid-1970s, had problems with her male colleagues:


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number of women I interviewed referred to bosses who “manipulated their positions” by granting a promotion to women who “offered certain favors.” While some women noted that colleagues had offered up such favors in exchange for promotions, none admitted to doing so themselves; on the contrary, a few women recalled passing up promotions. For example, Viorica, who began training as a professional actress in the late 1960s, was told by her acting coach that if she hoped to advance she would have to make certain “compromises.” Though Viorica said such “advice” was commonly given to young actresses—and frequently followed—she was unwilling to compromise her moral and bodily integrity for a career in acting and thus went on to work as a high school teacher.55 Taken collectively, these stories reveal that state socialism did not completely eradicate sexist behaviors and attitudes from the workplace. The media paid occasional lip service to these problems, but such proclamations were not followed by legal measures, the assumption being that such behaviors did not exist in socialist nations. Indeed, the state may have even tolerated such behaviors, viewing them as a safety valve, “a culturally if not politically acceptable target for male frustration and anger.”56 Overall, sexual harassment and discrimination were simply symptoms of a larger problem: the continued influence of patriarchal values in the organization of labor. As Romania moved from incipient to mature socialism and from an industrial to a technological society, women increasingly trained in areas such as engineering and electronics. However, women still dominated unskilled and semiskilled jobs such as food distribution, textile manufacturing, and low-level clerical and bureaucratic positions.57 Furthermore, while women were well-represented in medicine and education, they were employed in lower-ranking and lower-paid positions, working as pediatricians, general practitioners, and primary and high school teachers, rather than as surgeons, gynecologists, and university professors. Finally, the demands of home and family caused many women to decline Party membership, which was typically the key to upward mobility.58 These factors, combined with the privileging of heavy industry, reinforced occupational and wage disparities, leaving women with lower salaries and less influence in the labor force.


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Work, Equality, and Family Relations Although state efforts to promote gender equality through work might be considered failures, they were not necessarily perceived as such by all women. Indeed, a number of women considered women equal to men, citing work as the ultimate gender equalizer. For instance, when queried, “Were men and women equal under state socialism?” some women 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


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During the Ceausescu period we had equal rights with men. In my opinion they [women] were appreciated because women also worked … there were women who worked very arduous jobs, in foundries, in forging. [Some] worked better than men.60

These women’s remarks are intriguing in that they echo Engels’s theory of women’s full-time employment as the key to women’s liberation. Although it is impossible to know if these perspectives were shaped by the experience of earning a living wage, interacting socially with men, and/or socialist propaganda, it appears that some women viewed work as one realm in which gender equality was realized. Other women conceived of work more broadly, stressing women’s disproportionate responsibility in the household, in evaluating women’s position under state socialism. As Doina commented: Equal … never have women been equal to men. My opinion is that women work much more than men. You have to work, you have quotas … you could be an intellectual in an office, a worker at a machine in a factory, it’s all work. You come home and then you have to take care of the family … It is true that men were better paid because they could handle more heavy/difficult work. Equality was only formal.61

According to Doina, work encompassed much more than the state acknowledged. While women may have enjoyed relative equality with their male counterparts on the shop floor, men’s unwillingness to assume their fair share in the household reveals that full gender equality had yet to be realized and that official claims to the contrary were mere rhetoric. In some cases, women’s recognition of the double burden led them to challenge familial roles and demand help from their husbands. As Corina remarked:


responded: “In my opinion they were equal. They held leadership positions; they could work in any industry, even if it was men’s work. I would say they were equal … including the salary.”59 Others responded in the following manner:

The mentality was no different: the woman at the frying pan, the man as the leader … but I did not accept it … I did not want to accept it. I said, in the first place we are both people, we both work, we both bring in money, we will do everything together.62

Did the experience of working outside the home prompt Corina and other women to renegotiate their domestic relationships with their 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

Jill Massino

husbands? Certainly, the time and energy spent at the factory, research lab, or primary school made housework and childcare far more burdensome for women than had they simply been full-time homemakers. From a practical standpoint, then, women’s requests—and, in some cases, demands—for help from their husbands were rooted in the need for self-preservation. However, because this entailed (at least potentially) a fundamental transformation of traditional marital roles, such acts reveal that women not only recognized the inequality of existing relations but possessed the self-confidence to confront their husbands about them. Thus, the very experience of working outside the home, performing socially recognizable work, and earning a living wage, empowered some women to renegotiate familial roles.63 Conclusion Although some feminist scholars have portrayed work under state socialism as exploitative and unsatisfying, my material shows that some women found work to be empowering and personally validating. Whether the benefits were economic self-sufficiency, access to social services, freedom from strict, patriarchal codes of behavior, intellectual fulfillment, and/or the opportunity for social engagement, working outside the home significantly shaped the course of women’s lives under socialism. In addition, work offered women alternative identities as workers, agitators, and equal socialist citizens, and thus new ways of imagining their lives. It is not surprising, therefore, that some women were supportive, and even enthusiastic, about this aspect of socialism. These stories also reveal that identity was not something thrust upon unwitting individuals by an all-powerful state, but rather the product of negotiation and reformulation, in both public and private spheres. For example, women’s experiences of working alongside men and earning a living wage, combined—to varying degrees—with the elevation of women’s public identity via prevailing media representations, emboldened some women to challenge the patriarchal behaviors and attitudes of their male colleagues and spouses. In this sense, socialism was emancipating for some women, empowering them to appeal to their husbands for help with domestic duties. It also illustrates that women did have agency: they played an active role in shaping their own lives. Yet, the fact that women had to make such pleas at all is evidence of socialism’s failure to abolish patriarchal practices and to provide adequate social services. As such, Engels’s conception of liberation through women’s employment may have been partially realized in socialist Romania, but inadvertently so.


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At the same time, women’s positive recollections of work are not necessarily indicative of blind faith in or even support for the regime. Nor are they simply rooted in nostalgia for the communist past. Rather, women valued work for a number of understandable reasons, be they practical, personal, or ideological. Finally, the stories discussed here reveal that state socialism decisively shaped, and continues to shape, how individuals think about the government, society, themselves, and the past. Understanding women’s complex relationship to the past thus requires a more nuanced approach to state socialism as it was lived and experienced by individuals. In this way, we may discover that the resurgence of what some have referred to as “communist nostalgia” is rooted as much in the failures of the present as in the perceived successes of the past.







“My Work, My Family, and My Car”: Women’s Memories of Work, Consumerism, and Leisure in Socialist Hungary Eszter Zsófia Tóth

When I was awarded … I said: “my God, son, come on, let’s count it quickly, one, two, three, four … how many zeros are there, how much money is it?” Oh, my god, how happy I was, I couldn’t believe it: I received 20,000 Ft when we were awarded the State Prize.1

Teréz,2 the woman quoted above, was a forty-two-year-old quality control officer when, in 1970, her workers brigade, “Liberation,” was awarded the State Prize.3 When I asked her what the most important thing about winning the award was, she told me it was the 20,000 Forints she received, which, according to her, was a lot for a worker. She used the proceeds to purchase a Trabant, becoming the first woman to own a car at the Budapest Hosiery Factory. Other members of Teréz’s brigade similarly purchased durable consumer goods (cars, sewing machines, furniture) and, in some cases, land with the money they received. Teréz and her colleagues were raised in small villages and agricultural communities in the poorest parts of Hungary, which they left


Chapter 2


Eszter Zsófia Tóth

for Budapest between the mid-1940s and early 1950s. For them the notion of winning such a large sum of money, let alone working in a factory far away from home, was virtually inconceivable. Although it was considered normal for young, rural women to work, their jobs were typical for their gender: they looked after children, took in sewing and washing, fed animals and harvested, and worked as domestic servants. Thus, while the experience of working was not novel, the notion of a village girl working in a factory in a big city was rare for women of their backgrounds. In this respect, they were part of a path-breaking cohort of women in socialist Hungary who entered the labor force on an unprecedented scale during the 1950s and 1960s. For example, while women constituted only 15 percent of industrial laborers in 1949, that number was 35 percent by 1960, and, by 1970, when these women were awarded the State Prize, that number had reached 43 percent.4 Indeed, work was so central to their lives that, upon moving to Budapest, many of them were more concerned with finding a good job than finding a spouse. Although all eventually married and had children, in their recollections they stress the importance of economic self-sufficiency over marriage and family. However, as young women with no or limited education and few qualifications, their opportunities for work were restricted mainly to domestic service.5 Thus, when the opportunity to work at the Budapest Hosiery Factory presented itself, they seized it.6 While they migrated in part for financial reasons, they were also motivated by the desire to escape the restrictive life of the village and enjoy the freedom and adventure that city life had to offer. For these women, then, work was an essential part of their identities that shaped various aspects of their lives under socialism. This chapter explores how members of the “Liberation Brigade” (Felszabadulás Brigád) represented their identities at different stages of their lives.7 All of the brigade members evinced strong factory-based identities, and several emphasized the importance of being part of a “core” workforce. In that sense their stories were similar to, and perhaps even influenced by, official discourses, which stressed the strong connection between worker and workplace. However, when they shared the particularities of their stories, they focused on different events and experiences. While some spoke of the difficulty of integrating into urban life, others stressed the social and moral aspects of work. Meanwhile, others emphasized how, by working at the factory and winning the State Prize, they were able to purchase plots of land and a range of consumer durables. Thus, their self-identities had an ambiguous relationship to the official identities ascribed to them by socialist discourse.


34


“ M y w o r k , m y f a m i l y, a n d m y c a r ”

35

The primary sources for this chapter are oral history interviews I conducted with the brigade members, their colleagues and managers, and their husbands between 1999 and 2003.8 The interviewing techniques I employed resemble those devised by Gabriel Rosenthal9 wherein respondents simply narrate their life stories from start to finish.10 In addition to interviewing the women individually, I interviewed them as a group (I arranged a group meeting at a restaurant the women frequented after work so they would be in familiar surroundings). The advantage of group interviews was that they allowed me to hear the same stories from different people and different perspectives. Group interviews were also conducted with married couples and siblings, the main benefit being that respondents helped each other in recalling related stories. Interviews were made with and without a tape recorder. In some cases respondents simply refused to be recorded out of embarrassment; however, once the recorder was switched off, they talked freely. In other cases, I found that when the recorder was on, some respondents only related stories they believed to be historically “important,” leaving out things they considered superfluous or inessential, such as private life and love relations.

The Making of an Award-Winning Woman Worker Members of the Liberation Brigade of the Budapest Hosiery Factory lined up excitedly outside Parliament on April 1, 1970. They were entering the building—for the first time in their lives—to receive the State Prize in recognition of their productive achievements. Joy and surprise mingled with other emotions in their memories of this event. “It wasn’t long after my divorce that we received the award, and the whole thing was still inside me, and when I went up the stairs of the National Assembly I couldn’t stop crying,”11 recalled Mária, the brigade leader, who had been told of the award only a week earlier.12 Everyone had gotten ready with great care. The day before, two other brigade members, Erzsébet13 and Manci,14 had been to the hairdresser’s but they hadn’t laughed as much as usual: there had been a huge storm that day, and they were in despair about the possibility of accepting the award with rained-on hair (the hairdresser calmed them down and put plastic bags over their heads). In their recollections of the event, the brigade members were seemingly more impressed with the exotic foods and white-gloved waiters than meeting with high-ranking politicians. As Anna, the oldest brigade member, related:


Sources and Method


36


Anna’s astonishment was in large part due to the fact that she and her colleagues were unaccustomed to seeing—let alone consuming—such specialty food and drinks. They had experienced the rationing of foodstuffs and other goods during the late 1940s and early 1950s, and although living standards had increased substantially since the introduction of “goulash communism” after 1956, most of them lived modestly. The celebrations did not end with the events at Parliament. On April 4th, during a speech given by the factory director in honor of the 25th anniversary of Hungary’s “liberation” by the Soviet Army, the prize winners were given special mention. Considering that the women worked as semi-skilled laborers in the molding workshop—the least prestigious part of the factory due to the unbearable heat, incessant steam, and fumes—it is unsurprising that such public recognition of their achievements shaped their identities as workers. Indeed, it may have even made them feel that everybody could be equals—or at least relative equals—under socialism.


We could have anything we wanted at the reception. I will never forget the director of the factory ordering me a glass of red wine. We could have anything. Roasted meats. The waiters served us in white gloves. I had never eaten caviar before. It was huge, red. Later my husband and I bought some but it was not that good. It was different somehow.15

Figure 2.1 The Liberation Brigade, late 1960s. Courtesy of Mrs Károly T. 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

37

The decorated women also attracted a good deal of attention from the press and ordinary people. They were congratulated by their colleagues and received countless telegrams from friends, relatives, and others who praised their achievements.16 In one case, Teréz was even contacted by a doctor who had seen her on television and wanted to go on a date with her.17 In addition, journalists trailed the women for weeks, asking them about their lives. But the resultant articles focused more on the brigade as a productive unit and socialist community, than on the everyday lives of its members. One article on the brigade published in the Communist Party women’s weekly No˝k Lapja (Women’s Magazine),18 titled “Kitüntetés és rang” (Award and Rank),19 narrates the official story. Alongside the article is a picture of a “white envelope,” the symbol of remuneration in socialist Hungary (white envelopes typically contained employees’ monthly salaries, bonuses, and subsidies for travel), and of a factory director “warmly congratulating” the brigade. In the article the journalist refers to the women as gray sparrows: “What a gray sparrow a stocking-factory woman worker is! She wakes up at dawn, her brisk steps clip-clop on the pavement of the sleepy streets.”20 Upon arriving at the factory, the article continues, “her extraordinariness” is evident to all, which reinforces a sense of community within the brigade. The article closes with a picture tableau and short captions about each member of the brigade. In the eyes of the journalist, these women are exceptional because they were able to create a “real socialist community” in a mere ten years. As a result of their close social bonds and strong work ethic, they exceeded production quotas and became model socialist workers. This view of workers was in line with official policy in Hungary at the time, according to which workers were praised for their collective, rather than individual, accomplishments.21 Beginning in 1963, workers brigades were established in workplaces throughout Hungary to promote increased productivity and a sense of a socialist community. These brigades engaged in competitions with one another and were continually lauded in the press as the productive core of the labor force. According to socialist propaganda, the brigade members belonged to privileged groups in that they were both workers and women. Yet, the only time they referred to themselves as “women workers” was when they made reference to the State Prize, since they found it odd that they won an award that usually went to men. To be sure, they expressed pride in being awarded (they all showed me the State Prize, their certificate of commendation, and the official photos made at Parliament) and in their accomplishments as workers; however, they tended to stress their social links to one another and their loyalty to the factory rather than using





referents such as “skilled worker,” “shift machine operator,” or “woman worker.” This might be related to the fact that, by the late 1960s, being a “working woman” was associated with factory work, which had become relatively undesirable by that time. In 1968 and 1969 No˝k Lapja ran a series of articles that debated whether being a “working woman” was a “mark of status.”22 From the numerous contributions to the debate, it was clear that by the late 1960s many young women were unwilling to enter factories, desiring instead to work as cleaners or office workers. This might, in part, explain why the brigade members emphasized the social, personal, and financial aspects of work (relations with colleagues, the money they received), while ignoring its gendered and industrial associations. For example, Teréz defined herself as a “Trabant owner.” As previously noted, her Trabant decisively shaped her life under state socialism. When asked by the factory’s journalist what the three most important things in her life were, she answered: “My work, my family, and my car.”23 In many ways these three things were interlinked: her achievements as a worker allowed her to buy a car, which in turn allowed her to drive to her parent’s house and tend to her ill father, to make excursions to the countryside and visit relatives, and to take trips with family and friends. Teréz’s close connection to her Trabant was further reinforced in an article that appeared in the factory newspaper, which not only acknowledged her abilities as an “outstanding woman worker” and her role in promoting social harmony but also emphasized that she was “the only woman who comes to work in her Trabant every day.” Thus, the Trabant was inextricably linked to Teréz’s identity as a successful worker and emancipated woman. Although Teréz transgressed gender norms by being the first woman in the factory to own a car, because she used the car in part to look after her ailing father, she retained the traditionally feminine identity of caregiver. Members of the Liberation Brigade had definite opinions about why they received the State Prize. Teréz and Erzsébet first spoke only in whispers to me about the circumstances regarding the granting of the award. Why did they hide it? Perhaps because they believe they received the award as a result of having been in contact with the first secretary of the Communist Party, János Kádár. As Mária recalled:


38

“Well, I believe it depended on the director of the factory and some other things. Many were nominated. We were chosen for some reason. Maybe, one reason is: Kádár visited us once, in ’68 it was. And I wrote Kádár a letter. I had this idea. I didn’t think he would answer, but he did. I kept writing him about the factory, our life.”24



39

Dear Comrade S., I received your letter of February 2, written in the name of the members of the “Liberation” brigade about the Vietnamese charity shift to help Vietnamese children. I’m greeting you, the members of the “Liberation” brigade and the factory workers on the occasion of your active expression of international solidarity … I wish you much success in the future. Yours cordially, János Kádár25

Later, in June of that year, Kádár invited the brigade to the White House (the headquarters of the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party [MSZMP]), and in 1968 Kádár visited them at the hosiery factory. In 1970, Kádár wrote the brigade to congratulate them on winning the State Prize (translated below). Dear Comrade S., I only find time now to answer your last letter from May. Thank you for your correspondence and good wishes. It was a great pleasure for me to read about the work of the factory including the life and work of your brigade. Congratulations on winning the socialist brigade gold medal and on your widely acclaimed reception of the State Prize. I wish you health, happiness, and success in the future, from all of my heart. I hereby take the opportunity to ask you to pass my greetings and good wishes to the leaders, party and social organizations, and all the workers of the factory. Yours cordially, János Kádár26


In a letter from 1967 (translated below) Kádár thanked the women for organizing a “Vietnamese Shift,” in which workers at the factory chose to forgo their pay for an entire shift and send it to needy children in then war-torn North Vietnam.

In light of his visit and these letters, it is not surprising that János Kádár emerges in the women’s recollections as a humane and humble leader, and was referred to as the “Just King Matthias of Hungary.”27 He sent them letters, hosted brigade members at the White House, and publicly acknowledged their achievements by granting them the State Prize. 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


Their colleagues at the hosiery factory responded to the decorated workers in a number of ways. According to Teréz, her male coworkers often engaged in a good deal of pranks since being able to make one’s workmates laugh allowed one to advance in the social hierarchy of the factory. In one instance these jokes involved Teréz’s new Trabant, which had gone missing. As it turned out, six electricians had stolen the new car and carried it into the employee dining hall.28 It was the exception, rather than the rule, that such a joke would be made at the expense of a woman. When a woman became the object of a “man’s joke,” the woman involved usually became accepted into the group of otherwise male workers. Thus, although Teréz was initially very angry about this incident, she did not view it as a form of harassment. Instead, she accepted it as evidence that she had transgressed traditional gender boundaries and was regarded more or less as an equal by her male colleagues. Not all members of the brigade were greeted with jokes and words of congratulations. Indeed, in some cases, tensions between brigade members and nondecorated workers emerged and intensified in the years that followed. In particular, some of their nondecorated colleagues began to envy them because of the large sum of money and the publicity they received, and because they had gone to the Parliament to meet Kádár. Articles in the socialist press also indicate that the overall impact of winning the award was not all that it was cracked up to be. An article titled “Cleaning Lady” (Partvisigazgató), published in Magyar Hirlap (Hungarian Newspaper) in 1985,29 revealed that while the State Prize was an honor, it did not fundamentally change the brigade members’ lives. The only change the journalist found was that the decorated women had been able to buy a wide range of consumer goods in a short period of time.30 Other than that, their experiences were similar to those of their nondecorated female colleagues: they worked long shifts at the factory and then went home to tend to housework and their children. Indeed, their lives ran almost parallel to those of their colleagues, as many fell seriously ill due to working conditions and some were pensioned off early. In fact, Erzsébet, who is referred to in the article as the “shining star of the brigade,” had to begin working as a cleaning lady in 1977 because she too was pensioned off early. The accompanying photo, which features Erzsébet in her cleaning garb dusting the case in which her State Prize is displayed, serves to visually reinforce the point that decorated workers were not a privileged group—at least not in the long run. The women confirmed this view, noting that winning the State Prize did not place them in an advantageous position for securing housing and other goods; many of them had to wait just as long as their nondecorated colleagues to get an apartment. This illustrates, on the one hand, that


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when acquiring certain goods and benefits, connections were often a better guarantor than merit (e.g., being a decorated worker). On the other hand, the identity of the decorated worker, when combined with other identities, could also be successfully mobilized to speed up access to certain goods. For instance, in order to avoid being placed on a waiting list for her Trabant, Teréz appealed to the minister of light industry as a decorated worker and a loving daughter who needed to take care of her sick father. Consumerism, Leisure, and Travel under Socialism Other activities that shaped these women’s memories were consumerism, leisure, and travel. As previously mentioned, for Teréz it was her Trabant; meanwhile for Erzsébet and her husband György, it was the set of kitchen furniture they purchased, which they still use to this day and call “as good as new.” Because the couple struggled financially during their first years of marriage, these goods serve as visual reminders of their achievements as workers. This link between consumerism and socialism was fostered in the offical press and was, in part, responsible for sparking the consumerist desires of the brigade members—and Hungarians in general. Beginning in 1959 the party launched a new living standards policy wherein consumer goods became associated with an increased quality of life under socialism (a development known as “goulash communism”).31 This was evident in the increased focus on consumer culture in the socialist press and in the opening of American-style self-service shops in major cities and provincial towns.32 The promotion of consumerism was a strategy employed by the state to relegitimate the socialist project and stave off popular discontent. In so doing, the state redefined citizenship according to both socialist and consumerist principles. This helps explain, at least in part, why Teréz and Erzsébet represented their identities with respect to the things they purchased during the socialist period. In addition to consumer goods, some brigade members purchased land. As Irén recalled: When I got the 20-year decoration at the Hosiery Factory … we bought a plot of land on Hármashatár Hill. Someone from my village had land up there already. My husband and I built a wooden hut and covered it with tarpaper. Just so we’d have somewhere to shelter if it rained. We had a few peas and a few strawberries, a little this, a little that. It was 200 square öl [700 sq. m] with some raspberries and some flowers. We often slept up there, with the brook babbling at the bottom of the garden.33





For Malvin, another brigade member, the land she and her husband purchased—also on Hármashatár Hill—reminded her of her childhood village. She presented it as an idyllic refuge from the city, a place where she and her family tended to the flower and vegetable gardens and relaxed (Malvin showed me a picture of her and her daughter swinging happily in a swing made by her husband). It was also a site of socialization, not only for Malvin’s family, but for her colleagues, including supervisors from the factory. Malvin showed me photos of them toasting bacon over a bonfire and drinking beer, lost in the moment. Thus, her country home provided her with fresh vegetables and opportunities for recreation. Workers also spent their vacations at resorts—both in Hungary and other parts of the socialist bloc. Official propaganda stressed that, while workers received no money for travel before World War II, under socialism the provision of workers’ holidays was considered a state obligation, a free welfare benefit to workers in a workers’ state. In 1948 the state offered its workers one- to two-week vacations per year with some or all expenses paid. This was a means of strengthening ties between worker and state, fostering loyalty to the communist project, and reinvigorating workers so they could return to work, ready to dedicate themselves to building socialism. The official media devoted a good deal of attention to vacations and travel. For instance, articles in Szabad Nép (Free Folk) and No˝k Lapja presented trips to Lake Balaton and the thermal baths—luxuries hitherto reserved mainly for privileged social strata—as holidays that were accessible to all. Despite official rhetoric, opportunities for travel were limited not only geographically but also financially since trade-union vouchers for stays in holiday resorts were not available to all. For example, in 1966 only 160 family travel vouchers were available for Budapest Hosiery Factory workers.34 However, in 1966 there were 1,867 employees at the factory, meaning that fewer than 10 percent received travel vouchers.35 As a result, many workers camped at Balatonszéplak, an employer-owned vacation resort on Lake Balaton.36 When it first opened at the beginning of the 1960s, Balatonszéplak had few amenities; however, by 1976 the factory boasted nine tents, a shower, a WC, and a cooking area with electric plates and a refrigerator. And, in 1981, members of the Universal Socialist Brigade made a paddleboat and put up a solar shower and two handball courts. Respondents referred to their holidays at Balatonszéplak as unforgettable experiences—the kind they could no longer enjoy during the post-socialist period. As Erzsébet recalled: “It was wonderful at Széplak. We put up tents and took our grandchildren. I made masses of pancakes, we bathed in Lake Balaton, and we had a good laugh. We’d grill bacon over a bonfire every night.”37


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Balatonszéplak was also presented as a place that the workers could call their own since they had created it with their own hands. As one employee noted: “The workers took over the wood from the dismantled crates by car themselves. Then they put up the tents.”38 Unfortunately, the holiday facility was sold and privatized after the collapse of communism and is now cost-prohibitive for former employees of the hosiery factory. It thus remains a painful memory, not only because they can no longer vacation there, but because, though they had helped build it, none of the proceeds from its sale went to them. Holidays at Lake Balaton were not the only ones featured in workers’ narratives of leisure. For example, at age eighteen Zsusanna decided to travel on her own because she knew she would not have a chance to do so once she was married and had children. She followed her plan purposefully, carefully saving money for a trip abroad each year. As she recalled: I traveled a lot when I was single. To Moscow and Kiev—I almost missed the train, I had to run like you can’t believe. Then to Karlovy Vary. You could choose whether to go to Paris or to Florence and Rome. I chose Florence. I was on the Romanian coast at Mamaia, as well … you could always meet someone there. People were different in those days. I decided I’d travel while I was single, because there was no way of telling how things would turn out after I got married.39

In this excerpt, Zsuzsanna emerges as someone who genuinely enjoys traveling alone and sightseeing by herself. For her, traveling was emancipating, offering her a sense of adventure and autonomy that was not typically experienced by women of her generation.40 It was wise to travel prior to marrying and having a family since the responsibilities of family and the home often left women with little time for rest and relaxation. This reality was even acknowledged in the socialist press. An article in No˝k Lapja, published in 1970, claimed that “individual limitations” often prevented women from enjoying “the opportunities provided to society,” namely a holiday at Lake Balaton or the Hill Mátra.41 Men and women may have been relative equals in the workplace, but not with regard to leisure.



Conclusion The members of the award-winning Liberation Brigade had humble roots. Raised in some of the poorest parts of rural Hungary, they relocated to Budapest in the mid-1940s and early 1950s in the hopes of finding work and making new lives for themselves in the city. Lacking qualifications when they first arrived in the city, some initially worked as 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


domestics; however, once the opportunity to work in a factory presented itself in the 1950s, they seized it. Although some married before they took their jobs at the factory, others viewed marriage as secondary to finding a good job, supporting themselves, and, in some cases, traveling. In most cases they married skilled workers and had one or two children. They all experienced state intervention in their daily lives, mainly at work where they had to take part in work competitions and form a socialist brigade. As a result of these competitions, they won the State Prize in 1970, for which they received a significant monetary bonus. In socialist propaganda, the workers brigade “Liberation” was represented as a privileged yet uniform group of manual workers: a community founded on political and productive principles. Yet, in telling their life stories, the brigade members never represented themselves in reference to socialist politics or the command economy. Indeed, they did not even represent themselves as women workers. Instead, they stressed events and experiences that were connected with work: purchasing a Trabant, relaxing on their plot of land, visiting the Parliament and meeting János Kádár, and dancing with coworkers at factory parties. Although many have positive recollections of the socialist period, they do not consider themselves the privileged group that socialist propaganda made them out to be, as their experiences did not differ significantly from their nondecorated workers: they all assumed the dual role of worker and mother/caregiver; they were not privileged for housing; their health was compromised as a result of working in the factory, and, when the privatization and eventual closure of the factory came, those who had not already retired faced job loss. Because they viewed the factory as a type of home, some depicted the socialist period as a “golden age”; thus when the factory finally closed, they considered it a personal tragedy. As Teréz lamented, “I can’t stand it without work. Even now I ask whether they need someone in the day care center or the laundry; I’ve always said if they need someone, I’ll go for four hours, or even for eight. I’m sick from the fact that I can’t work.”42 Meanwhile, Manci still has her medal displayed on the top of her cupboard and has held on to the diary kept by the brigade so that her grandchildren can read about how they once lived.


44


“Where Do You Think I Learned How to Style My Own Hair?” Gender and Everyday Lives of Women Activists in Poland’s League of Women Basia A. Nowak

“Where do you think i learned how to style my own hair?” asked Marysia, a former Liga Kobiet (League of Women) member, during an interview that I conducted in Poland in 2000.1 In this statement, she indicated her personal understanding of the league’s importance as the officially recognized Communist-era women’s organization in Poland’s urban setting.2 The organization, she maintained, benefited women in many ways, one of which was teaching them a variety of skills, including hairstyling. Marysia lives in a small town, Nowy Targ, in Poland’s southern region. She is an average working-class woman who worked in a local shoe factory until retirement. In addition to participating in the women’s organization for a few years, she also was active locally in the Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza (Polish United Workers’ Party [PUWP], i.e., Communist Party). Throughout our conversation, Marysia and her friend Danuta, whom I interviewed at the same time, referred to themselves as “proste baby” (simple women) or “wygadane baby” (chatty women).3 These simple and chatty women, along with


Chapter 3


Basia A. Nowak

others I interviewed, provided an important personal perspective on how the league functioned, particularly on the local everyday level. The league brought women together to assist the state by promoting its policies through meetings and publications as well as to aid other women and families with their everyday needs through its social acts and programs.4 Although the league undoubtedly was connected to the PUWP and often worked for the state’s benefit, it also simultaneously provided something valuable to women in general and to its rank-andfile members in particular, many of whom were not affiliated with the party and often had little interest in politics. Social, rather than political, activism best characterizes the activities in which league members engaged on a day-to-day basis. As działaczki społeczne (social activists— a term that the league, party, and Poles in general used to describe league members), they offered services to women and families.5 In this chapter, I examine some of the programs and actions through which the league tried to help women and show how the organization functioned on the ground. As scholars of gender and Communism, it is crucial to continue moving diligently beyond a cold war–paradigm that presented Communist-era history by using binary categories to describe and evaluate the Soviet bloc in opposition to the democratic and capitalist West. Even for individuals and groups, such as the league, that were closely connected to Communist parties, it is imperative to explore the myriad ways in which they functioned on the ground in everyday life. Building on earlier studies of everyday life under Communism, I use the league as an example to show how previously rigidly demarcated lines—such as party authorities and the populace, capitalism and Communism, “Us” and “Them,” and state and society—were blurred.6 My project incorporates many questions that studies of mass women’s organizations in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union have raised, but it also moves beyond their research by including different questions about women’s activism.7 This chapter, more than numerous previous studies of such groups, delineates some of the ways in which the league assisted women and developed its own forms of activism, rather than strictly adhering to party agendas. Founded in 1945, the league was Poland’s official centralized mass women’s organization.8 Created by left-leaning women’s activists immediately following World War II, it eventually developed into Poland’s main women’s organization once Communist leaders officially solidified their power in Poland by 1948. Similar women’s groups functioned throughout Eastern Europe. Like all legal organizations, the league was associated with the party and typically followed party guidelines. The organization served multiple purposes that, to some degree, varied over time.


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In general, its goals centered on political and ideological education, stressing women’s involvement in politics and employment, as well as on assistance of women in combining their multiple responsibilities as mothers, housewives, workers, and social activists. In theory, and in its initial years, the league represented all women. Chapters functioned in residential areas among housewives and in workplaces among employed women. The league was reorganized a number of times during its history. The group repeatedly shifted from functioning both in workplaces for employed women and residential areas for housewives to allowing chapters only in residential areas for all women. The league also acted as an umbrella organization for other state-affiliated women’s groups, including the Koła Gospodyn´ Wiejskich (Circles of Rural Housewives) and women’s cooperatives.9 League membership supposedly reached two million by the early 1950s.10 Members consisted of bezpartyjne (nonparty) and PUWP members, with a few women from other political parties. Central and provincial administration leaders were, in most cases, PUWP members. Prior to league presidential elections in the central and provincial administrations, party officials had to accept the nominations. During the Communist period, most of the league’s central administration presidents were PUWP members. Provincial administrations functioned within each province, oversaw regional activities, and reported to the central administration. Most scholars have portrayed Eastern European Communist-era women’s organizations quite negatively, arguing that these groups did little or even nothing for women; some even argue that they harmed women’s rights by promoting women as a homogenous group, thereby ignoring significant differences among them.11 In part, these negative perceptions are accurate; these groups were affiliated with Communist parties, largely followed party directives, and promoted Communist ideology. These assessments focus predominantly, and in some cases solely, on what these groups failed to do for women as a result of their close ties to the party-states in which they functioned. It is crucial to move beyond this simplistic dichotomous view—as either good or bad for women, as complying with or resisting the party-state, or as serving women or the state. The organization undoubtedly served the party-state, yet, at the same time, it served women.12 Within the party-state, the league carved out for itself a semiautonomous space, one that functioned for both the official state and women, albeit in different ways. Although I recognize the league’s limitations, party connection, and adherence to party guidelines, I focus my attention here on the side of the league’s activism that studies have typically overlooked. In this chapter, I analyze what the organization offered to women, and, in particular,


I Learned How to Style My Hair?


Basia A. Nowak

how women, like Marysia and Danuta, discussed their everyday league involvement. I base my analysis largely on oral histories that I conducted with fifteen members (past activists as well as those who were active at the time of my interviews) in 2000, more than one decade after the dismantling of Poland’s Communist system. These interviews are a small sampling, rather than representative, of league membership. Most women I interviewed continued to have some affiliation with the organization following the collapse of Communism. The league still functions in the post-Communist era, although it is much smaller and has different goals. My interviews were not rigidly structured; they included some guided questions, but for the most part, I allowed interviewees to discuss their experiences and ideas quite openly. Through oral histories, I wanted to show the personal meanings that women attributed to their participation in the league, meanings that were difficult (and even impossible) to gather from written documents alone—directives, internal bulletins, conference proceedings, etc., which tend to be formulaic. Oral histories, of course, have their share of problems for historians. Memories can be fragile—the interviewee’s past and present, as well as the interviewer, questions asked, relationship between the interviewee and interviewer, and so on, undoubtedly affect memories. At the same time, these interviews provide a different and more personal perspective about activism than written sources. Official league and party archival sources are useful on many levels, but used alone they are inadequate to gain an understanding of members’ everyday participation. By including a variety of voices and sources, the league comes across as much more than a homogenous party-affiliated group that underscored Communist ideology. A central, and probably the most visible, component of league activism was the Komitet do spraw Gospodarstwa Domowego (Committee for Home Economics Affairs [KGD]).13 Formed in 1957 in an effort to assist women in alleviating their multiple responsibilities, the committee was and continues to be the most well-known program that the league developed.14 I balance my oral histories with two internal league publications, Nasza praca (Our Work) and Gospodarstwo domowe (Home Economics).15 Especially through this committee, the league served as not only an educational organization but also a social organization, providing women who attended meetings, lectures, and courses with a female social space. In my study, I demonstrate that members discussed the organization’s importance in a gendered manner.16 To various degrees, depending on the period, ideas about proper womanhood combined “traditional” conceptions of women’s roles with revolutionary Marxist ideas about women’s emancipation. In other words, the league promoted women’s


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roles as mothers and housewives, taking care of home and family, but also incorporated into the mix women’s roles as workers outside of the home, even in such masculinized areas of employment as heavy industry, and as social and political activists on local, provincial, and national levels. In the process, even within an organization that was supposed to promote revolutionary ideas about women’s emancipation, their maternal and domestic roles emerged most clearly; the discourse used in both publications and oral histories pointed more vividly to conceptions of women as mothers and housewives. Shift to “Practical Activism”: Forming the Committee for Home Economics Affairs Prior to and during the league’s Second National Conference held in 1957, members underscored the need to assist women in their responsibilities as housewives, mothers, and workers (in other words, their so-called double burden) and called for a new focus on “practical activism,” which centered on the women’s rather than the party’s needs in contrast to the preceding Stalinist period.17 Rather than emphasize heavy industry and women’s employment in “new occupations,” dissemination of propaganda, and indoctrination, they called for “practical activism.” Members determined that the organization needed to strengthen its activism especially on issues related to the household. “Relieving women from the hardest household tasks” is a “burning issue,” a member writing for Nasza praca maintained. “We must start ‘from the kitchen,’ from home economics, since it especially oppresses working women, consumes her strength and energy, weakens and impoverishes women’s lives, [and] restrains her cultural development.”18 To relieve this “burning issue” by starting “from the kitchen,” members decided to form the national KGD. In 1958, under the committee’s guidance, chapters also began to organize os´rodki and poradnie gospodarstwa domowego (home economics centers and clinics or information bureaus) throughout Poland, both on the provincial level and more locally.19 Committee centers and clinics quickly became the most well-known and visible forms of league activism. Socialist ideology stressed in its early years the need to emancipate women from household burdens through collective social services, such as communal laundry and eating facilities, but communal services never gained much popularity in Poland.20 By the 1930s, even within the Soviet Union, ideology based on collectivity and the withering away of the family was replaced with a strengthening of the family, marked partly by individual responsibility for household tasks.21 In accordance with the widespread sentiment of Poles and a general




Basia A. Nowak

retreat from collectivity in Communism, the league likewise emphasized individual households in its programs. Cooking, sewing, and washing for individual families replaced alleviating burdens through communal services.22 Women, rather than the state, were expected to provide these services for their families. Particularly after Stalinism, not only the league but also the state increasingly embraced traditional ideas about proper gender roles, including roles related to running a household. The league and state moved away from revolutionary ideas of socialist feminism in the early years to a focus on traditional women’s and men’s roles. Although throughout the organization’s history some members advocated for equality between the sexes, especially stressing greater workplace opportunities and advancement for women, home economics programs were highly gendered. Occasionally, some members depicted the necessity for all family members to participate in household chores in theory, but the committee’s activities in practice centered on women’s domestic role. Girls and women were to be the main recipients of these initiatives, and only women were sought to become instructors. Men were allowed to attend sessions, but few did. Young girls, claimed numerous members, needed to be taught domesticity to prepare them for their roles as mothers and wives.23 These programs addressed the need to lessen women’s household responsibilities through new techniques of keeping house and technological innovations, but not through changing (or even questioning) women’s and men’s domestic roles. Home economics programs helped to solidify traditional images of women as housewives (even if they worked outside the home) and men as breadwinners, images that had been prominent prior to the onset of Communism in Poland.24 Women who took courses and attended lectures and demonstrations learned or expanded their domestic skills. In theory, the committee attempted to alleviate women’s burdens, yet it sometimes advocated, possibly inadvertently, an increase in their responsibilities. Published guides instructed women to make better, more complex, and healthier meals; sew and repair their children’s clothing; keep their homes cleaner and more aesthetically pleasing; and take care of themselves by wearing makeup and styling their hair.25 Instructions on how to clean their homes, for example, encouraged women to air out all bed linens daily; make beds; put away all clothing, shoes, and other items; dust around windows, doors, stoves, and heaters; vacuum rugs and furniture; and wash the floors (sweeping with a broom was inadequate).26 In some instances, then, the initial goal of lessening women’s burdens may have actually failed. The committee not only moved away from communal conceptions of domesticity,


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Not Just “Large Pots”: The Committee Serving Women In what ways, then, did women benefit from these home economics sessions? As Boz˙ena stated, “The authorities at that time ridiculed our home economics centers a bit. They said ‘and what are they [women] occupying themselves with there—garami [large pots]?’” But Boz˙ena asserted that “women deemed this to be very important to them.”27 She strongly believed that the organization’s work was significant and necessary; dealing with domesticity (with “large pots”) was not as trivial a matter as “the authorities” had claimed. Urszula saw these courses as the league’s most important form of activism. She claimed that since “not every family was … prepared to give this (information) to their children,” these programs became especially crucial.28 Former league president Izabela Jaruga-Nowacka stated that the committee’s work was “splendid” and improved living standards.29 In addition to applying the skills they learned at lectures and demonstrations in their roles of mothers, daughters, and housewives, women could also apply these skills to generate a potential income.30 These courses helped prepare young girls for their anticipated domestic role and provided women who were already running households with additional training and broader information. The league ran one- to two-hour lectures and demonstrations on topics that members in individual chapters wanted about once per month in chapter offices or after work in workplaces.31 Sessions related to health issues, such as how to conduct breast self-exams or use herbal health remedies, “pleased women very much,” stated Kazimiera.32 Danuta claimed that she “learned a lot of things … I to this day learned [sic] embroidery in this chapter,”33 while Marysia said that the league taught “us, for example, different recipes, embroidery, sewing, helping one another, everything,” and to style her own hair. For her, this knowledge was useful, and she continues to use the techniques that she learned as a young woman in the league.34 Boz˙ena stated that as a young woman she learned about “sensible nourishment.”35 Urszula maintained that women wanted to attend these courses because “they were able to gain something from them. … Women appreciated this very much.” Even today, she stated, women come to the league office hoping that the organization still runs such courses.36 These benefits seem trivial, but, for these women, courses were important sources of what they deemed valuable knowledge from which they continue to benefit.


but also created greater expectations for what women could and should accomplish within individual households.


Basia A. Nowak

Communist women ideally were not supposed to be concerned with cosmetics, hairstyling, and fashion, although in reality, women across the region ignored such ideology. The new Communist woman was supposed to repudiate frivolous and “superficial, ‘bourgeois’ inventions” and instead focus her energy on a strong work ethic. In place of individual and personal tastes, women were supposed to be “robust women who didn’t look much different from a man.” But, in fact, women longed for cosmetics and often used whatever they could find on the market to make themselves beautiful.37 Through league courses, women learned about personal aesthetics—how to use makeup, what cosmetics and products were best, how to style their hair, and what clothing was fashionable. By holding these lectures, the organization encouraged individualism and consumption. These courses served not only women’s needs as mothers and wives but also their personal needs as women. The organization moved beyond state-promoted ideals of the devoted worker and dutiful mother by embracing personal aesthetics. Teaching Women Resourcefulness: The Economic Crisis in the 1980s The committee placed demonstrations related to nourishment and food at the center of its initiatives. Families, committee leaders maintained, did not eat healthily, and women needed to be taught how to prepare well-balanced meals with adequate nutrients and vitamins. Lectures and demonstrations on food, typically followed by a tasting, presented such topics as including more fruits and vegetables in meals, ensuring that families incorporated foods with sufficient vitamins in their diets, and preparing meals for parties. Limiting meat intake was especially important. We had “to persuade women,” stated Boz˙ena, “that our popular bigos [a type of meaty stew] and pork chop should disappear from the table” and that women should “introduce more vegetables, more dairy products” in meals.38 Her statement and the committee’s continued emphasis on decreasing meat intake could be interpreted as a political move, related to ongoing price increases on foodstuffs, including meats, and meat shortages. On numerous occasions, Poles protested price hikes on food, especially meat. By urging less meat consumption, the league possibly deliberately glossed over the real economic problem of meat shortages in a country where these products were intensely popular. Yet league instructors promoted not only a decrease in meat but also other healthy eating habits—eating a well-balanced diet, incorporating fruits and vegetables, decreasing fat intake, and so on, good eating habits that continue to be advocated today. Boz˙ena stated that the nourishment the


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league had been promoting since the late 1950s had become fashionable in the 1990s.39 “Then, we were somewhat laughed at for this,” she claimed, “but as I have said, this was a serious problem. This was truly important education for women.”40 The league’s information on nourishment, starting as early as the 1950s, promoted healthy eating habits and was not necessarily solely tied to political and propagandistic action. In the early 1980s, with the onset of martial law, limited availability of food and other necessities, and introduction of ration cards, league publications directly acknowledged the economic crisis at hand and demonstrated ways in which the organization could assist women in meeting their everyday needs.41 Many members explicitly complained about food shortages, long lines, and price hikes, as well as lack of available health and hygiene products.42 In 1983, the committee, along with the central administration, organized a national academic seminar dealing with the economic crisis as it related to the household. This particular seminar is indicative of the importance that the organization placed on this crisis.43 Since women traditionally had been in charge of shopping for food and household necessities, they felt the brunt of the crisis as consumers. The organization, according to Urszula, “changed depending on needs … during times of crisis. It is well known that when a crisis occurs women … feel this the most, because their families are threatened.” As mothers, she suggested, women felt a special obligation to ensure that their families’ needs were met.44 Standing in long lines, searching for food and other goods, and making do with what was available largely fell onto their shoulders.45 Urszula continued, “The situation became more anxious.” To help remedy the crisis, “we had to have more of that self-composure, we had to meet more often, we had to talk more with these women, we had to talk about these problems.”46 The league attempted to assist women during this critical period using its already established programs and tactics—talking to women, organizing meetings, and especially utilizing its home economics centers. The committee’s primary focus in the 1980s was on changing how women ran households, and not on how the state should transform the economy to assist women. League initiatives stressed women’s resourcefulness.47 For example, committee leaders guided women on how to repair clothing, make slippers out of scraps of fabric or old clothing, and save energy.48 Rather than buy new clothes (which were not always easy to find), the league encouraged women to make do with what they already had. On the one hand, the committee promoted resourcefulness as a way to assist the state by urging women to overlook the economic crisis and not focus on what was unavailable. Yet, on the other hand, the




Basia A. Nowak

committee also persistently discussed the crisis openly in its publications, showing that members were uneasy about the situation. Promotion of resourcefulness points to a deeper, more complex concern over women’s specific position within that crisis. Courses and lectures during the 1980s reflected the ongoing food crisis. For women, most of whom were responsible for purchasing and preparing food for their families, the lack of adequate foodstuffs became especially troubling.49 Home economics sessions emphasized nutritional meals women could prepare and substitutions of products in meals based on availability. “During that period,” Boz˙ena said, “our market was not saturated as it is at this moment.… We had to show what to make from what we had, how they [women] could instill nourishment in the home so that it would be sensible and economical. Today we have yogurts, we have kefir, then we did not have these things.”50 Demonstrations, for instance, explained how to use oil, mayonnaise, kefir, or sour cream in recipes depending on what was available and how to use leftovers and stale bread in new meals.51 With a shortage of potatoes and meat, staples of Poles’ diets, the committee’s journal provided recipes on how to include noodles and cereals into meals.52 Instead of encouraging people to eat meat, instructors showed them how to use milk, cheese, and eggs to a greater degree as a source of protein.53 League publications instructed women to raise their own animals on small plots of land if they had any land, plant vegetables in pots on balconies, and use seasonal fruits and vegetables.54 When each person was allowed to buy only 2.5 kilograms of meat per month, “our home economics centers,” stated Boz˙ena, “immediately started to have demonstrations and courses on what you could make for one person and how to run that household and with what to supplement these products.” Even though this seemed “trivial,” she continued, “we had to show women where besides meat they could find natural protein.… This was our actual arduous, everyday ant-like work.”55 The league continued to stress women’s domesticity and focused on how women needed to alter their ways of cooking, shopping, and running households. As an official women’s organization supported by the party, the league predominantly addressed the crisis in a way in which it felt comfortable, using its already established programs, rather than directly opposing and confronting the state.


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Relaxation and Escape: The League as a Social Organization League meetings, lectures, courses, and spontaneous gatherings offered women, especially rank-and-file members, a female space for socializing, 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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spending free time, and discussing issues with other women away from work and family. The organization also gave members an outlet for volunteering and provided them with a sense of feeling needed and satisfied with their assistance. Since the league was the only urban Communist-era women’s group, women who desired to participate in an organization assisting women did not have another outlet until the 1980s when other nonparty-affiliated women’s organizations started to appear.56 League critics often have denounced it for being only a social organization where women came together to gossip, sip tea and coffee, and eat pastries.57 Janina Skocka, a rural housewife, for instance, stated that “in the city [women’s organization] there is more gossip and less work,” while Wanda Bundy questioned whether an entire women’s organization is needed for chitchat.58 Eugenia Kempara condemned this general perception of the league as simply holding “social teas and boring meetings” for its members—“older, nice ladies,” who had nothing better to do—a common assessment of the organization by many Poles.59 People discussed the organization “with a wink, sometimes comically,” stated a delegate at the eighth national conference.60 At once, members celebrated it as a useful organization, while others laughed at it as just another forum for baby to get together and gossip. Indeed, the league chapter provided, or attendees supplied, tea, coffee, and pastries, a common form of hospitality among Poles whenever and wherever they came together.61 Members transferred this familiar hospitality into individual chapter offices; they brought their more “private” form of entertaining into a “public” space. Conversing, socializing, drinking tea and coffee, and eating should not be interpreted as solely negative, without any benefits. These women wanted and needed a place in which to socialize and relax, and league activities provided them that opportunity.62 Courses were not only instructional and meetings were not only formal, but both also functioned as important social gatherings. For some less active members, socializing was the most important part of their participation. Some women wanted only “to meet for tea, good pastries, gossip a little, and leave.”63 League events were a way for women to enjoy their free time among other women.64 “It was relaxation (odpre˛z˙enie) away from home, from young children, from everything, we did not have to think about anything.… Nothing concerned me,” stated Danuta.65 She believed that women needed to retreat from everyday worries and multiple responsibilities, even if they were able to do so only once or twice per month. For Irena, meetings were “an escape from the home,” especially after giving birth to her first son. “Family responsibilities changed somewhat; we were no longer so free. And going to these women’s organization’s




Basia A. Nowak

meetings was, for me, my time.”66 Meetings served as an “escape,” a source of freedom, from her new family responsibilities that centered on her infant. They provided her with time for herself in the company of other women, some of whom probably were in the same situation. One member indicated that this form of relaxation was essential for a hardworking and tired woman. A “woman wants to leave the house and relax in a somewhat different way than sitting in front of the television.”67 These gatherings, Elz˙bieta, the last league president of the Communist period, recalled, were “extremely important psychologically” for women. Women could “sit down, chat with someone, and be heard.” This socializing was not without conflict, however. Arguments also erupted, she stated.68 Through these gatherings, the league created female spaces, away from husbands, sons, fathers, and male bosses and coworkers, in which women discussed a variety of issues woman-to-woman. “Something common links us,” and “Women usually find a common language,” Urszula declared.69 Women may have felt more comfortable in these female gatherings to converse about personal problems, employment, issues of everyday life, and sometimes even politics.70 An entry in a league chapter scrapbook, for example, stated: “Knitting and crocheting needles are flashing by in the hands of the students, and simultaneously one could hear loud conversation. One could find out about many interesting things.”71 It was not “gossiping,” Helena claimed. “We talked about various topics, actual complaints if someone had them,… or how to solve certain problems.”72 Leokadia Błochowa, housewife and president of a residential chapter in Pabianice, expressed her strong sentiments about what the organization meant to her. In our apartment building women have become close friends thanks to the League of Women’s chapter.… In the evenings a few of us often come together in some apartment. One reads out loud, and others sew or knit.… Or we talk about raising children. Sometimes one woman sincerely “points out” mistakes of another woman, explains them. We also talk about marital issues, we discuss them. This does a lot of good. Because after all in many families the situation is bad and it is hard for women who do not have warm-hearted smart advice. Sometimes we even have to say a few bitter words of truth to a woman, who is letting herself down, and her home is dirty, and her children are poorly raised, and later she cries that her husband stopped loving her. It is not at all always the man’s fault that a marriage “is falling apart.” The reverse also happens. In the chapter, we also share household experiences: how to cook something, how to plan a family budget most sensibly. Because as you know—there are homes


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In another chapter within the same community, members took turns walking children to and from preschool and helped each other with daily grocery shopping.74 Błochowa’s words provide rich information about what the league meant to members. Coming together as women meant more than socializing; it was also a forum for discussing serious problems; providing advice (whether wanted or not) and assistance; and, most important, according to Błochowa, offering women close friendships. “I believe,” she continued, “that it is precisely in this type of everyday friendships and cooperation that the significance of the league’s chapters’ work lies, and not only [formal] meetings.”75 For her, formal activism was less meaningful than these informal and often spontaneous female get-togethers. Błochowa’s statement also clearly points to gendered notions of women’s roles—it was up to women to maintain a stable home environment, keep a clean house, prepare food, maintain a family budget, and raise children. During their “womanly” chats, these women did not emphasize emancipatory roles but rather traditional conceptions of womanhood. Other members likewise viewed these personal friendships as important. For Helena, the organization was “one big family,” and the women of one chapter claimed that “the women who come feel like family here.”76 Members also gave women support in times of need; for example, when a neighbor or a friend was very poor or suddenly fell ill, league representatives went to her home, sometimes taking her to the doctor or hospital.77 Numerous members expressed a sense of feeling needed and of satisfaction from helping others as meaningful benefits from their activism. Although most women expressed both the positive and negative aspects of living and functioning as an organization within a party-state, most also recalled their personal activism favorably. They remembered the organization “warmly,” as “good and enjoyable,” “energetic,” and “sincere.”78 These members chose to participate in the league at least partly because of the personal benefits that they attributed to it.


where for the first course (they have) cake, and before the first course, dry potatoes. Besides this, we help each other with cultivating our community gardens, which most residences of the apartment building have.73

Conclusion Although the league as an official women’s organization functioning during the Communist period was undoubtedly closely connected to the PUWP, it also provided something beneficial to the women who chose to take advantage of its programs and the women who chose to become 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

Basia A. Nowak

its members. The league did not formulate feminist ideas and did not strive to alter traditional gender roles, yet it provided women with valuable information that assisted them in their everyday lives. Home economics courses offered women useful information on traditionally female domestic responsibilities and personal aesthetics. The organization offered an avenue for socializing, allowing women to come together away from their husbands, bosses, and children, while taking courses, attending meetings, or participating in organized activities. And it provided members with personal satisfaction in helping others. The league has a mixed history. While some critics have ridiculed it for dealing only with trivial domesticity (“large pots”), others have respected it for providing women with necessary household and employment skills. In certain cases, the league promoted programs that simultaneously aided women and strengthened the party-state—in other words, it served both women and the party-state. Examining these relationships points to the need to explore the gray area of the Communist period, rather than look at it in a dichotomous way. The KGD and the league more generally demonstrate that an organization functioning within and supported by a Communist party-state in many cases could and did establish itself as more than an entity manipulated by that system and could and did serve more than just the state’s needs and desires. The typical negative perceptions of Communist-era women’s organizations reflect only one component of these groups, overlooking the multiple roles that these groups played and the complicated relationships that they had with both the state and women. Looking beyond the league’s official rhetoric and propaganda as well as its party affiliation, the league emerges as a complex and lively group of women.


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Translating Equality between Women and Men across Cold War Divides: Women Activists from Hungary and Romania and the Creation of International Women’s Year* Raluca Maria Popa

The year 1975 has become one of the landmarks of international women’s activism. Sociologist Nitza Berkovitch argues that the adoption of an International Women’s Year set in motion “the most significant event in global organizing on women’s issues.”1 On the eve of International Women’s Year (IWY hereafter), Helvi Sipilä, the first woman United Nations assistant secretary-general and the secretary-general of IWY, emphasized her hope that 1975 would be “a year of increasing solidarity among women all over the world.”2 The contemporarily expressed hope of solidarity, as well as the currently recognized significance of 1975 for international women’s activism, makes this year a privileged starting point for scholars interested in the transnational circulation of ideas and practices, particularly feminist ones.


Chapter 4


Raluca Maria Popa

Postcolonial feminist scholars have demonstrated that “women’s issues”3 were differently construed by women from the global North than women from the global South who attended the UN Women’s Conferences and parallel NGO forums. Current accounts of women’s agendas within the UN system recognize the agency of women from the South in shaping the understanding of “women’s issues,” particularly in relation to development.4 Scholars of international relations and women’s movements have also underscored how the UN Women’s Conferences contributed to the mobilization of women around the world,5 emphasizing the new forms of activism that women from the global South engaged in.6 Such scholarship, however, reveals little about the contribution of women from the European “East.”7 Where were they placed on the complex map of “global sisterhood” that emerged in 1975?8 What was their contribution to shaping the international discourses of “equality, development, and peace,” and how did individual women and women’s organizations from Eastern Europe translate that discourse for the public in their respective countries? Lack of knowledge about the role of women from state socialist countries in the development of an international discourse on equality between women and men, and of the international instruments that promote it, is linked to fast-held assumptions about equality and activism under state socialism.9 In the first wave of post–1989 feminist scholarship, it was generally believed that policies for improving women’s status were subordinated to party interests in countries ruled by communist parties. Moreover, scholars considered the efforts of state women’s organizations to promote and implement such policies as, at best, a medium for disseminating propaganda.10 More recently, scholars of gender and socialism have begun to reevaluate these policies and address the issue of feminism in state socialist Eastern Europe. While some claim that “communist feminism is a contradiction in terms” and that state socialism was “state patriarchy,” others argue that some state policies were beneficial for women and were, in certain instances, the product of feminist activism.11 Building on the work of Melanie Ilic, Basia Nowak, and Wang Zheng, I view women’s organizations from state socialist countries as having had a certain degree of institutional agency that at times may have conflicted with official party policies or discourses.12 In this chapter I argue that in 1975 the two state-sponsored women’s organizations in Hungary and Romania—the National Women’s Councils—actively shaped international commitments to gender equality, women and development, and women’s role in the promotion of peace. Representatives of the two organizations embraced these goals as their own, and not as party directives. Furthermore, they were actively


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involved in the dissemination of ideas about equality between women and men—both in international and national contexts. International meetings provided important fora for actors from East European socialist countries to disseminate and promote ideas about equality between women and men. Some of the women who participated in these international discussions called themselves feminists (e.g., Stana Buzatu). On some occasions, state socialist women’s organizations used the term “feminist” to describe their own activities (the National Council of Hungarian Women). However, in 1975, the use of the term feminism still carried Cold War ideological differences. Communist parties regarded feminism as a bourgeois ideology and were staunchly opposed to using the term. Given the political context of the Cold War—the socialist “East” and the capitalist “West”—communist parties exercised considerable pressure on advocates of sex equality not to use the term feminism. For example, in a debate of the Hungarian Politburo on the draft “women’s policy” (1970), Politburo member Árpád Pullai declared that, although they were examining gender inequalities in Hungarian society, they were “not in danger of becoming feminists.”13 Given the political constraints of state socialism, particularly the party-endorsed grand narrative of feminism as a bourgeois ideology, feminist historians and scholars of gender should be aware that state socialist actors, especially those affiliated with the communist parties and their organizations, are likely to use different names for describing inequality between women and men, the subordination of women, and efforts to redress these problems.14 Additionally, we should expect to encounter various definitions of gender equality in states that had made women’s emancipation a part of official policy. Scholars have yet to find a language to describe activism under state socialism and a theoretical approach to analyze this political and social practice. This chapter is a contribution to this endeavor. My focus here is on the participation of two state socialist women’s organizations, the National Council of Hungarian Women (Magyar No˝k Országos Tanácsa; hereafter MNOT) and the National Council of Women in Romania (Consiliul Na¸t ional al Femeilor; hereafter CNF) in the formulation of the equality, development, and peace discourse of IWY and in its circulation in their respective national contexts. I trace the formulation of this discourse primarily in texts produced by or about the women’s organizations in Hungary (MNOT) and Romania (CNF). Some of these texts appeared in the journal Women of the Whole World, published by the Women’s International Democratic Federation (hereafter WIDF), the international NGO of which both organizations


T r a n s l a t i n g E q u a l i t y a c r o s s C o l d Wa r


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were members.15 Other statements by MNOT and CNF about IWY come from reports authored or coauthored by the two organizations for the UN Conference on Women in Mexico, June/July 1975, and for the World Congress of Women in Berlin, October 1975. Finally, a wide range of texts was produced for domestic consumption in state socialist Hungary and Romania. The latter texts were published mainly as articles in the party-endorsed women’s journals Femeia16 (Woman) and No˝k Lapja (Women’s Journal),17 and as papers and reports prepared as part of IWY. These texts are considered alongside interviews I conducted with two women activists (one Hungarian, one Romanian) who participated in the events of 1975. The major themes of IWY—equality, development, and peace— emerged as global objectives, and were construed as such in numerous international meetings. In the declarations that emerged in the preparation for IWY, the active participation of women’s organizations from state socialist Hungary and Romania and their full endorsement of all three main themes of the year are evident. The conventional historiography of IWY and the UN Decade for Women (1975–1985) relegated state socialist representatives to an involvement in only one of the three themes: peace.18 Contrary to this narrative, “equality” had long been a concern of state socialist women’s organizations. Contributions of MNOT and CNF to the Proposal for International Women’s Year The proposal for International Women’s Year was first formulated at the 24th session of the UN Commission on the Status of Women (hereafter CSW) in 1972. Representatives of CNF and MNOT took part in early negotiations over the proposal for the United Nations to declare an international year devoted to equality between women and men, development, and peace.19 These themes were endorsed by the UN General Assembly in Resolution 3010 in December 1972.20 Historian Judith Zinsser argues that each of the three themes enshrined an easily identifiable ideology: equality was the domain of the West; peace and disarmament were tied to the socialist East; and development was the claim of representatives from Third World countries.21 However, a closer look at the adoption of a resolution proclaiming 1975 as IWY and the involvement of women from state socialist countries in this process challenges Zinsser’s narrative. Current accounts of the establishment of IWY emphasize the decisive role played by the WIDF in the formulation of the proposal. These accounts also acknowledge the crucial role played by Romanian and


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Finnish representatives in putting the proposal on the agenda of the CSW. WIDF was an international NGO with a large membership in state socialist countries and in the newly independent states of Asia and Africa. At the time of the formulation of the proposal for IWY, it enjoyed consultative status to the Economic and Social Council of the United Nations. According to UN expert and historian Jain Devaki, in 1972 the WIDF “used its observer status to ask the Commission to proclaim an International Women’s Year to mark its twenty-fifth anniversary.”22 Development scholar Martha Chen notes further that “the idea was taken up by two official women representatives to the UN Commission on the Status of Women … The Romanian representative Florica Andrei and the Finnish representative Helvi Sipilä.”23 The CSW’s own account of the designation of 1975 as IWY confirms both points, stating on the official UN website: “In 1972, to mark its 25th Anniversary, the Commission on the Status of Women recommended that 1975 be designated International Women’s Year—an idea introduced by Romania on behalf of the Women’s International Democratic Federation.”24 In a contemporary account of the development of a proposal to declare 1975 IWY, Iranian poet Chahnaz (Shahnaz) Alami, a member of the WIDF delegation to the twenty-fourth session of the CSW recalled: At its Berlin meeting in 1971 [Nov. 23–26], the WIDF Bureau stressed the importance of an international year for the advancement of women. The Federation’s delegation to the 24th session of the ECOSOC [Economic and Social Council of the United Nations] Commission on the Status of Women in February/March 1972 consisted of Mrs. Hertta Kuusinen25 and me. Mrs. Kuusinen submitted our proposal, which had the support of seven other nongovernmental organizations.26

Helvi Sipilä, one of the two members that initially supported the nongovernmental proposal to declare 1975 IWY, later recalled: There had been some discussions before [1972] about the advisability of having such a year, but I cannot envisage that it could have taken place as early as 1975 without the untiring efforts of Hertta Kuusinen [late president of WIDF]. She and Mrs. Alami who also represented the WIDF, worked very hard trying to persuade the regional groups, individual representatives of governments, members of the UN Secretariat and the observers of non-governmental organizations of the need to have an International Women’s Year as soon as possible.27



These accounts by no means tell the full story, but they do invite further thought on the cooperation of women from different parts 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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of the world and on different sides of the Cold War divide. Florica Andrei, executive member of CNF, and representative of the Romanian Government in the CSW, was part of that initial cooperation.28 MNOT was also part of a web of relations that supported IWY. International NGOs, such as the International Federation of Women in Legal Careers (IFWLC), the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), the International Council of Women (ICW), and the Women’s International Democratic Federation (WIDF) exerted pressure on the CSW to consider the proposal for IWY. MNOT and CNF had strong ties to the WIDF and weaker relations with the other international NGOs. The participation of representatives from the Hungarian and Romanian women’s organizations in the initial formulation of the equality, development, and peace discourse illustrates that these objectives were intrinsic to their missions, rather than “alien” norms developed at the global level. Furthermore, it reveals the commitment of the two organizations to all the objectives of IWY. “Peace” was not the only issue for MNOT and CNF; they were also preoccupied with “equality between women and men” and “development.” Preparing IWY for “An Increasingly Interrelated World” IWY (1975) coincided with other important developments that unsettled Cold War paradigms. The times were hopeful, especially with the signing of the Helsinki Accords, in which thirty-five countries, including the United States, the Soviet Union, and nations across Europe, agreed to refrain from the use of force and respect post-1945 European borders and the human and equal rights of all people. Helvi Sipilä, secretary general of IWY, spoke in that spirit of hopefulness when she stressed that IWY was a joint effort to realize the principles that the UN stood for in “an increasingly interrelated world.”29 Interrelatedness, openness, and the bridging of differences were heralded as the primary objectives in the international meetings that MNOT and CNF attended in preparation for IWY. After CSW’s decision to support IWY, the Council of the WIDF decided that “the WIDF and the national organizations would conduct broad campaigns for the application of the women’s equality principle proclaimed by the UN.”30 The WIDF Council resolution further stated that “1975 should be marked by increased participation by young women in the work of the women’s organizations for extension of their rights, national independence, democracy, social progress and peace.”31


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Meeting in Warsaw in May, 1974, the WIDF Council recommended to national organizations that they should “undertake an analysis of the de jure and de facto rights that exist for women in their respective countries,” and also “make known to a greater extent the achievements of women in the socialist countries.”32 Following these decisions, National Preparatory Committees for IWY were established in Hungary and Romania. In both countries the preparatory committees included representatives of social organizations or mass organizations, including the National Women’s Councils, the party, and central governmental institutions. In Hungary, the National Preparatory Committee was headed by Antal Apró, president of the National Assembly, and three representatives of MNOT: Edit Erdei, Vera Vándor, and Hanna Bokor.33 In Romania, a preparatory committee was also established with representatives of CNF; among them was Tamara Dobrin, vice-president of CNF and of the Socialist Unity Front, an organization that united all Romanian mass organizations.34 A note is in order on the differences between the two organizations and their relationship to the communist parties in their respective countries. While MNOT was a social organization (társadalmi szervezet) that was not under the direct leadership of the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party (MSZMP), CNF was an affiliated organization of the Romanian Communist Party (PCR). This difference suggests that CNF was placed under tighter political control than MNOT. Moreover, while the Romanian Communist Party continued to define CNF as a “mass organization,” MNOT was defined as a consultative body to both the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party and the Hungarian government. Despite these differences, the statutes of both MNOT and CNF defined members of the organizations as social activists, most of them working on a voluntary basis, a status distinct from that of political activists, who were paid employees of the party. In 1975, in preparation for IWY, MNOT financed and hosted a large meeting of women and men from fifty-five countries. The meeting took place in the Hungarian resort town of Tihany, near Lake Balaton, in November 1974. Among the participants were Helvi Sipilä, at the time the UN assistant secretary general for social development and humanitarian affairs, representatives of the World Health Organization, the International Federation of Women in Legal Careers, the Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom, the International Alliance of Women, the World Federation of Democratic Youth (headquartered in Budapest), and the International Union of Students.35




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a forum open to all opinions, to dialogue, where all points of view can be expressed, a forum that [would] strengthen mutual understanding and unity among the forces for equality, development, national independence and peace.36

Reflecting on the discussions in Tihany, the new president of the WIDF, Freda Brown, wrote: “These organizations [who participated in the meeting] had widely differing aims and outlooks but worked effectively and in harmony.”37 A momentum of cooperation seemed to emerge in 1974 among those organizations that responded to the invitation of MNOT. Divisions Replace Unity: The Activities of IWY The language of the proposal for IWY had heralded “unity” and “solidarity among women” as the main objectives of the year. Although initially the language was one of cooperation, throughout 1975, as IWY unfolded, divisions and tensions replaced the discourse on equality, development, and peace. In reports produced by MNOT and CNF for the UN World Conference on Women in Mexico and the World Congress of Women in Berlin, arguments about women’s position were used to create East/West hierarchies.38 Although these organizations played an important role in introducing the idea of IWY, their positions at the aforementioned conferences were closely aligned with party-defined goals and ideological perspectives. In Mexico, state socialist women’s organizations attended the nongovernmental forum known as the IWY Tribune, but not the conference of the official governmental representatives. Their participation in the NGO forum reflected the UN understanding of the organizations: the UN viewed the National Women’s Councils not as representatives of the governments, but of the women’s movements in their countries, however broadly defined. As participants in the tribune, representatives of Hungary and Romania applauded the interventions of delegates from Chile, South Vietnam, Spain, South Africa, and Cyprus and those of African, Palestinian, or Chicana women, while criticizing the speeches of American feminists such as Betty Friedan and Gloria Steinem, or British feminists such as Germaine Greer.39 As the Hungarian journal No˝k Lapja


The discussions in Tihany led to the establishment of an international preparatory committee for the World Congress for IWY to be held in October 1975. The “Appeal” developed in Tihany stressed that the World Congress should be:



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Why do you want to lead the discussion towards irrelevant issues? Why don’t you speak about real problems? The feminist movement today is the luxury of the rich. Listening to the participants from the United States, one can imagine there are no problems on the other side of Rio Grande.40

“We live in a divided world,” stated the report prepared by MNOT for the UN World Conference on Women, June–July 1975.41 In that report, MNOT reviewed the situation of working women in Hungary and documented the progress made by “Eastern” socialist states in achieving equality between women and men. At the same time, it deplored the lack of awareness in the Western popular press of those achievements. The overall assessment was that the communist government of Hungary had taken the right approach to achieving equality between women and men. The Hungarian Delegation that participated in the Mexico conference was headed by Edit Erdei, at the time a member of the National Assembly and president of MNOT, and included Éva Zsögön (secretary of state in the Ministry of Health) and Anna Papp (secretary of the Hungarian National Council on European Security and Cooperation).42 The Romanian Delegation was headed by Lina Ciobanu, president of CNF and minister of light industry, and included Maria Groza and Tamara Dobrin (both members of the Bureau of CNF).43 According to Tamara Dobrin: “[The vast nongovernmental] actions [connected to the World Conference in Mexico] emphasized on the one hand the great opportunities that socialism offered to women and, on the other hand, the severe consequences of the crisis on the condition of working women in advanced capitalist countries.”44 Hungary and Romania sent significantly larger delegations to the World Congress of Women in Berlin in October 1975. The event took place in East Berlin and was prepared by an international preparatory committee led by Freda Brown, then president of the WIDF. The host of the event, the Democratic Women’s League of Germany, viewed the gathering of over two thousand women and men in the capital of East Germany as an occasion to inform their guests about “how women lived in [their] socialist country.”45 At the Congress delegates from East European countries, as well as representatives of international organizations,


reported, some participants, including the Hungarian reporter, felt that American and British feminists were not in touch with the realities of non-Western women’s lives:


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most prominently the WIDF, delivered a strong message about socialism being the only system that could ensure women’s equality with men. In her Report to the Congress, Freda Brown declared that “in a number of countries the problem of women’s equality ha[d] been generally solved.”46 She was, of course, referring to socialist countries. The same idea was repeated time and again throughout the proceedings of the Congress. While “East”/“West” divisions were reinforced in arguments about the superiority of the socialist East in their treatment of women, a language of solidarity did emerge in the proceedings of the World Congress of Women. The solidarity affirmed in East Berlin was different, however, from the solidarity “among women all over the world” that Helvi Sipilä had hoped for. MNOT reported that in previous years it had consolidated “systematic and planned working relations with the women’s organizations in socialist countries.”47 CNF also stated that its international work “[gave] priority to developing friendship, cooperation, and solidarity with the women of all the other socialist countries.”48 Thus, both organizations resolutely espoused solidarity in ideological terms as socialist versus capitalist. The striking difference between the two organizations was MNOT’s use of the term “feminist” to describe its own position as well as its shared objectives with other organizations. In its Report to the 7th Congress of the WIDF, MNOT explained that its “relations with the women’s organizations of the European countries are geared to questions relating to feminist policy as well as peace on the continent and friendship between peoples.”49 The report also described the weekly No˝k Lapja as a journal devoted to current problems of feminist policy and family welfare. Finally, it implied that activism among women in Hungary constituted a feminist movement. The use of the term “feminism” by MNOT signals an attempt to claim legitimacy in the face of an international audience. MNOT sought to defend its position as a legitimate representative of the women’s movement in Hungary. Both the Report prepared for the 1975 World Conference on Women in Mexico and the one submitted to the World Congress in Berlin that same year explicitly acknowledge a Western women’s movement (particularly in the United States) and feminism. While recognizing Western feminism, MNOT argued that the socialist state had already established policy mechanisms for achieving sex equality in Hungary.50 The vehicle for redressing inequalities between men and women was not a movement, but state policies, which were continually being reassessed and improved. Because MNOT was in charge of researching women’s situation and keeping


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The Reception of IWY in Hungary and Romania: “Nationalization” and Ideological Mediation IWY occurred once decisions had been made—in both Hungary and Romania—to improve women’s political, economic, and social position in these countries. After struggles in the Politburo of the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party, Governmental Decision 1013 / 1970 was passed to improve the economic and social situation of women in Hungary.51 Similarly, in Romania, a decision to increase women’s participation in political, social, and economic life was adopted by the Plenum of the Central Committee of the Romanian Communist Party in 1973. In the context of the implementation of Decision 1013 / 1970 in Hungary, there were indications of a possible link between IWY and national politics. One of the tasks of the preparatory committee for IWY in Hungary was to review plans to improve the situation of women.52 In June 1975, a report was submitted to the Politburo on the “execution of the decision to improve the political, social, and economic situation of women in the field of healthcare.”53 The report observed that “women’s equal rights had been ensured in legal and political terms, but the realization of these rights [was] hindered by the fact that preconditions [were] not everywhere available.”54 It then went on to evaluate the implementation of the decision 1013 / 1970 in the field of health, particularly with respect to the gender pay gap in medical professions and gender differences in medical education. The report did not mention any connection with IWY, but it did mention that an action plan had been revised in the first quarter of 1975. Furthermore, other accounts show that IWY was present in the language of the highest political leadership of state socialist Hungary.55 While intensified monitoring of the implementation of the decision to improve women’s social and economic situation may have been linked to the context of IWY, the absence of any acknowledgment of such a connection suggests a “nationalization” of the international objectives of IWY. By nationalization I mean that the objectives of IWY—“equality,” “development,” and “peace”—were either aligned with existing national policies, as was the case in Hungary, or bracketed and used to advertise the progressiveness of the socialist state to the world, as was the case in Romania. At the global level, the overall message of IWY was the recognition of discrimination against women worldwide. However, when disseminated in different national contexts, that statement was differently translated. From the perspective of MNOT and CNF, no changes were


women’s issues on the government’s agenda, they could claim that they were conducting feminist policy.


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needed in their countries in order to ensure equal rights between women and men, although continuous efforts were necessary to ensure that laws and regulations were enforced. However, in the view of the two organizations, the mechanisms for achieving full equality were the work of the state and the party. In that sense, IWY aimed to make the most of a system that already promoted equality between women and men, rather than attempt to transform institutions or ideas within that system. IWY also served as a forum for advertising state socialist policies on women to the world. IWY did not change existing institutions or policies; thus, it did not perform a direct transformative function in either Hungary or Romania. However, IWY was much more accessible in the public discourse and media of Hungary than Romania. MNOT translated into Hungarian all the 1975 issues of Women of the Whole World (published under the title No˝k a Világban). MNOT also commissioned a special paper on “The United Nations and Women’s Rights” (Az Egyesült Nemzetek Szervezete és a no˝k jogai). In addition, a special poster was devoted to IWY, the Hungarian postal service issued a stamp for the year (see figure 4.1), and MNOT released, in Budapest, a book of photographs of women for the general public. The attention of the Hungarian press to IWY made visible the issue of “equal rights for women,” no˝k egyenjogúsága (literally, equality in front of the law), or no˝k jogai (women’s rights), in addition to peace and development. In Romania, IWY was represented as an initiative that applied mainly to other countries. Several articles in Femeia stressed that “for Romanian women, International Women’s Year was an opportunity to reaffirm support for the international policy of the Party and the State.”56


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Figure 4.1 Stamp issued by the Hungarian Post, 1975; designed by Janos Kass. From the collection of the Hungarian Stamp Museum. 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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In comparison with Hungary, where IWY was integrated into official discourse, the official discourse of state socialist Romania constructed IWY and its objectives as alien norms. Quite tellingly, reports of the participation of CNF in IWY activities eliminate sex equality from the year’s objectives. In its December 1975 issue, Femeia applied a strong ideological filter in its depiction of IWY, which separated the international event from its original intent of making discrimination against women more visible: Our organization is actively participating in the events of International Women’s Year.… As part of the international women’s movement, we stand for the abolition of the old imperialist, colonialist and neo-colonialist policy; for putting an end to the armament race and especially to the nuclear race and starting a general disarmament; for liquidating underdevelopment and the great inequalities between economically advanced and backward countries; for promoting new, democratic principles in international relations that should lead to establishing an atmosphere of peace and security in the world.57

Judging from reports about IWY in Femeia, it can be concluded that in Romania, the significance of IWY as a transformative discourse gradually diminished to the point of total oblivion. While IWY’s impact on national politics was perhaps limited—and certainly not transformative—in the case of Hungary it may have enhanced the implementation of existing policy. However, the cooperation and transnational dialogue that marked IWY made a lasting impression on some individual women. The Romanian Stana Buzatu was one of the women for whom IWY and the transnational dialogue around it had a lasting impact. Buzatu was a member of the Bureau of CNF in 1975, and in 1979 she published her doctoral thesis in philosophy on the topic of feminism, entitled Condit¸ia femeii—Dimensiune a Progresului Contemporan (Woman’s Condition—Dimension of Contemporary Progress). While the book does not offer a straightforward definition of feminism, it does nevertheless give a clear indication of the author’s conceptualization of feminism. For Buzatu, women’s movements should realize “the full unity between the struggle for women’s emancipation and the struggle to end all forms of servitude.”58 Furthermore, Buzatu quotes, and seems to endorse, French feminist sociologist Andrée Michel’s view that radical feminism should question “not only women’s subordinate position in marriage, work, and society, but also other relations of subordination and exploitation in contemporary societies: the domination of citizens by the state, of workers by capital owners, and of poor countries by rich countries.”59




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When I asked Stana Buzatu how she came to write about feminism, she explained that she gradually became sensitized to the topic through her “activities in the international feminist movement.”60 In particular, she stressed that the most important aspect of these meetings was not necessarily her interactions with various organizations, but the opportunity to come close to strong female personalities.61 In her opinion, “feminism is strong not so much in its institutionalized form, such as an organization, but through its significant individuals.” Buzatu also recalled that the official opening of the IWY in Geneva was one of her moments of feminist awareness: One [international tribune] took place at the launch of International Women’s Year (1975) in Geneva and there the theme was none other than “Women and Decision Making”—you realize what an extraordinary theme. So this was another moment when I developed my sensitivity to the topic [of feminism]. I met Andrée Michel there, who became my friend and over time supplied me with books. She is a great sociologist who opened the path for scientific, sociological research on women’s condition. This was a cornerstone [in the development of my interest in feminism].62

As she explained in our interview, meeting feminist scholars working on topics related to the status of women was important to her, not only because of the awareness it brought, but also because she kept in touch with some of them and was able to receive books from them.63 Stana Buzatu remains committed to the feminist ideas that she developed in the 1970s during the transnational women’s networking of which IWY was a part. Currently in her mid-seventies, she described herself to me as “a radical feminist.” According to Buzatu, the solution to the problem of women’s inequality with men is radical social change incorporating feminine-type values into all areas of social life, in other words the creation of a feminist society. Judit Asbot, the current president of the Association of Hungarian Women, a Hungarian women’s organization founded in 1989, also recalled that the international meetings of the 1970s and 1980s were an important training ground for her later involvement in women’s issues. Furthermore, her participation in international meetings fostered liaisons and friendships with international women’s organizations, such as the International Council of Women, that went on to support the newly formed Association of Hungarian Women in 1989. In Asbot’s recollection, the Hungarian government was very reluctant to attend UN meetings on women’s situation:


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I had personally attended UN women’s meetings because the Hungarian Government did not really like to deal with women’s issues, and nobody wanted to attend these meetings. So, because nobody wanted to go to these UN meetings on women’s status, they contacted me. I went each year to Vienna, New York, where these meetings were called and represented Hungary at these meetings. I had good contacts with the Hungarian Foreign Affairs bodies. They hated this UN organization on women, so they readily supported that I went. At that point, I stayed for a few days wherever the meeting was. I was well informed on areas connected to women’s situation, but that the Hungarian government did not care much about.64

These excerpts, from an interview I conducted with Asbot, offer strong support for the argument that IWY—as well as the national activities of IWY—were driven by women’s activism and not just state or party interests. Conclusions: How Shall We Read the International Activism of Communist Women’s Organizations? The importance of IWY for women’s organizations in state socialist Hungary and Romania—and the importance of these organizations for IWY—should not be underestimated. The two organizations helped shape a global agenda of equality, development, and peace, particularly through the avenues of participation in the CSW and their membership in the WIDF. Yet, while IWY provided forums for transnational dialogue and cooperation, the transformative potential of this dialogue did not bear fruit; rather than opening up debates on existing inequalities between women and men in Hungary or Romania, IWY became “nationalized.” Essentially, the transformative message of IWY was recast in a national rhetoric of the achievements of the socialist state in advancing women’s position. This rhetoric was stronger in Romania than Hungary, where the national debates still acknowledged and sometimes responded to IWY as a global norm. My account of the participation of MNOT and CNF in the formulation of the equality, development, and peace discourse of IWY invites further thought on prevailing assumptions about state socialist women’s organizations. First, the prominent role of representatives from Eastern European countries in pushing for the adoption of IWY, as well as the significant contribution of women’s organizations and individual women from Eastern Europe (particularly the German Democratic Republic [GDR] and Hungary) in preparing activities in connection with IWY,




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challenges the assumption that women’s international activism was “West”-driven. Second, women’s organizations in socialist countries had their own institutional agency. The very fact that MNOT was more involved in preparing activities for IWY than CNF is a measure of the agency of the Hungarian organization. Furthermore, even if these organizations were unable to change national policies—as seems to be the case of Romania—individual women within them may have found other ways of exercising agency on particular issues. The stigmatization and neglect of women activists and their versions of feminism in most historiographies of state socialism and feminism have rendered the notion of agency almost inconceivable for state socialist women’s organizations and their members. It is important to challenge this stigma and to recover and reassess the history of communist women’s activism, not only for women’s history but also for understanding political history; it offers crucial insights into the actual working of communist regimes at the interface between official discourses and party power, and the everyday lives of elite individuals. In particular, as Wang Zheng argues, official policies on the equality of women and men appear not to be entirely party commands, but also express women’s own agenda.65 The focus on communist women’s activism at the international level also sheds light on the dialogues that connected the European East and West. This transnational perspective challenges ideological divisiveness that proposed equality was the domain of the West, peace that of the East, and development that of Third World activists. Women activists from Eastern Europe, alongside members of international women’s movements, contributed to the creation of a global discourse on equality between women and men. Together, they achieved an enduring commitment to equal rights for women and men at the global level.


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Sex, Reproduction, Family Relations, and Domestic Space


Part 2





“The Most Natural Function of Women”: Ambiguous Party Policies and Female Experiences in Socialist Bulgaria Ulf Brunnbauer*

Introduction In her 1962 book, Bourgeois Remnants in the Attitudes towards Women (Burzhuazni otstatu˘ tsi v otnosheniiata ku˘ m zhenata) Raina Pesheva, one of the leading Bulgarian ethnographers of her time, deplored the “traditional” mindset of Bulgarian men in questions of family, authority, and gender roles. She noted that husbands expected their wives to care for the household, while they enjoyed themselves in their spare time.1 Indeed, even women in high-status positions did not receive enough assistance from their partners, which affected their chances at professional advancement. Therefore, in applications for divorce many women in Bulgaria referred to their husband’s “bourgeois and reactionary conception of marriage.”2 Thus, Pesheva urged men to share household chores and criticized state authorities for not doing enough to promote women into positions of power. In 1974 Pesheva returned to the theme of women in socialist society in the party publication The Woman—Mother, Worker, and Public Activist.


Chapter 5


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Ulf Brunnbauer

The creation, care for and education of children consume a good part of the energy of the woman. She invests her whole energy and all of her being in the role of mother. This is one of the most important virtues of her existence … Motherhood has enormous social significance. It reproduces the nation and safeguards the heritage of its spiritual values.3

How could it be that an eminent woman scholar, who in the early 1960s published a diatribe against the patriarchal attitudes of Bulgarian men, called upon women to fulfill their obligation to the nation as mothers twelve years later? In this chapter I will argue that such statements represent a major shift in the policies of the Bulgarian communist regime toward women in the 1960s.4 Beginning in the mid-1960s, the initially revolutionary vector of state gender policy, which aimed at establishing equality between the sexes, gave way to an emphasis on women’s reproductive role as the state began to intensively pursue pro-natalist policies. This change affected social policies, as well as the ideological conceptualization of women, as the state increasingly viewed women in naturalized terms. The inherent contradictions between these two sets of policies— pro-natalism and emancipation—are part of the ambiguity that characterized the socialist experience for women in Bulgaria. This ambiguity is reflected in female memories of socialism. For example, Kristen Ghodsee provides evidence from opinion polls in 2001 that women in Bulgaria, on average, were more nostalgic for the socialist period than men.5 Ghodsee explains this nostalgia by the fact that women suffered more than men from the economic crisis that ensued at the end of socialism in 1989; they fared worse in the labor market and were affected more by the dramatic decline in social benefits because they had been more directly dependent on them during socialism.6 Therefore, many women in Bulgaria were nostalgic for the stability of the socialist system and, in particular, its extensive support for female employment. The actress Nina Stamova, now in her seventies, said in an interview: I have never thought about the emancipation of women, I just took it for granted. Being able to have a free education, to choose what you want to do, and the state taking care of it, paying for our education … it was all … I mean, we did have choices, we were not limited, at least I wasn’t, I didn’t … and I am an average Bulgarian woman who grew up in an ordinary family.7


This time, she wrote:

Other oral history evidence from Bulgaria points to less nostalgic memories of socialism. The book Voices of Their Own—Oral History 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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Interviews of Women contains several accounts of women who experienced state repression, and I was told stories in my own research about the political persecution of women. Women also suffered when male family members were repressed by the state because of the communist practice of making the whole family liable for the “misdeeds” of individuals.8 Other women remembered the regime by its interventions into private life. In an interview conducted in 2003, the playwright Yana Dobreva—daughter of the above quoted Nina Stamova—claimed that she, like many other women (and men), had been forced into marriage because the socialist state did not tolerate the cohabitation of unmarried people or solitary lifestyles.9 Dobreva and her generation, who came of age during late socialism, did not experience the progress that the regime had brought women during the first two decades of communist rule; instead they increasingly compared their lives with people in Western democracies. Hence, the limitations on freedom left a deep imprint on their memories of this period. Another interviewee, forty-year-old Vedra, remembers how activists in the Fatherland Front (Otechestven Front), the largest mass organization of socialist Bulgaria, investigated the apartments of unmarried couples whom they urged to marry.10 In this chapter I focus on the ambiguities and inherent contradictions of communist policies toward women in Bulgaria. Women made significant progress in employment and education, and according to Katherine Verdery, the socialist “parent-state” also increased the degree of gender equality in the family.11 On the other hand, Verdery stresses that the “structure of power and the larger division of labor in socialist society remained decidedly gendered.”12 One reason for this ambiguity was that the socialist state considered emancipation less an end in its own right than a means to achieve other goals, such as the mobilization of female labor for industrialization. If these goals changed, policies toward women would change as well. I highlight this point by analyzing pro-natalist and family policies in Bulgaria, focusing on the transformation of these policies in the 1960s and their impact on families and women in the 1970s. By the late 1960s, increasing the fertility rate became one of the most important goals of social policy in Bulgaria—with obvious consequences for women. Equally significant was the state’s dependence on the family. By the end of the 1960s, due to fiscal constraints, the socialist state ideologically and practically accepted the family as an important social institution, making it responsible for certain aspects of social welfare, such as child and elder care. Given the unequal division of labor within households, such labor was highly feminized. The resulting “double burden” is well established in the literature on women and state socialism and evident from a sociological point of


The Most Natural Function of Women


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view. From an oral history perspective, though, it becomes less obvious as a problem because many women regarded the combination of work, motherhood, and their domestic role as “normal.”13 Thus, the fact that women worked outside the home did not preclude them from taking pride in their familial roles. Apart from this, individual recollections of the past are often unconscious of social structures and other forces that constrain human behavior. This chapter therefore examines oral histories alongside archival material, legal sources, propaganda texts, and contemporaneous sociological studies. Ideology, state policies, and individual perceptions need to be considered collectively in order to grasp the essentially ambiguous nature of state socialism in Bulgaria. A note on what this article ignores is in order: I do not discuss the situation of Muslim women, although the Muslim minorities (consisting mainly of Turks, Pomaks, and Roma) constituted about 15 percent of the total population. The situation of Muslim women during state socialism was different from women of the majority population.14 Apart from the traditionally more segregated lives of Muslim women and men, communist policies affected Muslim women in peculiar ways: the communist government considered the subordinate role of Muslim women a characteristic feature of the Muslim’s perceived “religious fanaticism” and “backwardness.” The state used this rhetoric to conduct far-reaching interventions into the lives of the Muslims. Eventually, women of these communities also became victims of forced-assimilation campaigns aimed at the Pomak and Roma populations in the 1970s and the Turks in the 1980s.15 Emancipation Communist Style The full equality of women was a central tenet of the Communist Party of Bulgaria.16 Only a month after a Communist dominated government was established on September 9, 1944, it issued a decree that declared men and women equal before the law and in all “domains of economic, government, cultural and socio-political life.”17 This was also stipulated in the constitutions of 1947 and 1971. In addition, the government sought to transform family relations. The “Decree on Marriage” of May 1945, declared only civil unions legal, gave both spouses full liberty to choose their profession, and obliged them to contribute to the family income.18 Women were allowed to keep their maiden name after marriage or add their name to their husband’s patronymic. Spouses could divorce either by common consent or if one of the spouses sought to dissolve the marriage on the basis of the new law. In the years that followed,


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additional laws were passed with the intention of erasing other inequalities between men and women. The Bulgarian communist leader Georgi Dimitrov (1882–1949), promised that “after they [women] have received their deserved legal equality, the government will do everything necessary for the broadest and most fruitful participation of women in all spheres of our socialpolitical, economic and cultural life.”19 Apart from full legal equality, the main goals of state policy were the promotion of female employment and education. In addition, following Friedrich Engels and V. I. Lenin, the state sought to liberate women from the drudgeries of the household: day-care centers and public laundries and canteens were to assume domestic responsibilities and free up women for the labor force. Hence, from the onset, communist policies on women were closely related to family policies, a connection that would prove crucial when political priorities changed. Communist propaganda portrayed women’s emancipation as a clean break with the “bourgeois” past. While women allegedly had almost no rights before 1944, they were now liberated by communism. In actuality, the Communist Party built on pre-1944 trends. Although women did not enjoy full legal equality prior to the communist takeover, during the interwar period their legal and social position had begun to improve— thanks in large part to the feminist efforts of the “Bulgarian Women’s Union” (Bu˘lgarski zhenski su˘juz), founded in 1903. In 1938 married, divorced, and widowed women could vote in parliamentary elections. Moreover, according to social historian Rumen Daskalov, the situation of women in Bulgarian customary law was better than that of women in Romania, Russia, and Serbia, and their codified legal situation compared favorably to that in France and Germany.20 Female employment and education had also been on the rise prior to 1944: from 1909 to 1944 the share of women among industrial laborers grew from 22 to 36 percent and the literacy rate for women (older than seven years) increased from 14 percent in 1900 to 56 percent in 1934 (the literacy rate for males was 77 percent in 1934). The number of female students at university was also significant, amounting to 23 percent of all students in 1937.21 Maria Todorova, therefore, claims that prior to 1944 Bulgarian society was not marked by the same level of patriarchal domination as other parts of the Balkans, particularly Albania.22 Still, communist rule brought tremendous changes for women. Yet, while the regime was ideologically and materially committed to women’s equality, the emancipation of women under state socialism carried an instrumentalist edge: women were to be liberated from the drudgery of “domestic slavery” and patriarchal authority not only for their own sake




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but also to make their labor available to economic planners. In this way the state sought to shift women’s dependence on fathers and husbands onto the state. The expansion of industry and the establishment of a modern welfare state were not possible without female labor. The government applied various measures to bring women into paid labor: propaganda and education were used to make employment appealing to women and prepare them for work; images emphasized women’s roles as workers; wages were kept low, making the one-earner male-breadwinner model virtually impracticable. Many women embraced these opportunities and entered the labor market. By the end of the 1970s, 80 percent of women of active age (16–54 years) were employed, constituting around 47 percent of all employed individuals in Bulgaria.23 By contrast, in 1952, only 26 percent of the total employed work force was female. In industry, the share of women grew from 28 percent in 1952 to 49 percent in 1989.24 Among women in the 25–44 age range, more than 90 percent were employed.25 In a parallel process, women experienced an educational revolution, and, by the late 1970s, were on average better educated than men. However, the labor market retained a gendered character, as women dominated in the service professions and the textile industry, although some also entered into “typically male” professions in heavy industry, which were better paid than the consumer industry and administrative jobs (Table 5.1).

Table 5.1

Share of women in branches of the Bulgarian economy (1988)

Branch

Female labor force in % of total

Farming Transport Trade Research and academia Education Culture Health services and social security Finance and insurance Industry

47.5 21.6 65.1 54.0 75.8 58.0 73.8 82.3 49.4

Selected industrial branches Construction Metallurgy Textiles and clothing Leather and shoe industry

20.5 32.5 72.3 73.6


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Source: Statesticheski godishnik 1989, 107–110.


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Female wage labor thus became the norm—not only from a sociological standpoint, but also a cultural one. In particular, women who came of age in the 1960s and 1970s aspired to professional advancement and did not see any alternatives to wage labor—the party’s promotion of female employment and the communist cult of labor had not been in vain.26 This was also evident in the fact that most women were not willing to give up their job even if their husband earned enough to support the whole family. In a poll organized by the state statistical office among 16,000 employed women in 1969, only 15.2 percent of married women polled said they would give up their jobs.27 In women’s oral histories of their experiences during socialism, work plays an eminent role, reflecting the official stress on “socially useful work.” Women point not only to the economic advantages of engaging in wage labor, but also to the social validation and self esteem that employment brought them. To have a job became part of what was considered a “good” and “normal” life. As a woman cook who worked in a canteen during the socialist period recalled: I loved my job. I did it carefully and loved it, people liked me … I assiduously took care of my work. And today, when I meet the director, he tells me, “I will never forget you, neither your food nor your work.”28

Labor, the Family, and the “Double Burden” To encourage women’s entry into the labor force, the government promoted the establishment of child-care facilities and the socialization of household chores. A welcome side effect of these policies—from the point of view of the party—was that control over the household and children would be assumed by the state. The developmental guidelines of the Bulgarian Communist Party (BCP) for the period of 1961 to 1980 proclaimed that by 1980: the development of communal and cultural services will have limited today’s broad use of the home with the tendency to turn the home into a place of rest and cultured leisure and to liberate the family from demanding household chores such as cooking, washing, ironing and sewing. For that purpose, a broad network of public launderettes and services for chemical washing and for repair will be created … In order to secure the all-round development and education of the younger generation and to create conditions in which young mothers can more actively participate in the economic, cultural and socio-political life we must extend the network of nurseries and kindergartens.29




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Hence families would lose their economic and domestic functions, which the Communists considered artificially imposed by capitalism and harmful to the “primary” functions of the family: procreation, education in communist values, and participation in the construction of socialism.30 However, because the state prioritized heavy industry and underinvested in consumer industries, farming, and the service sector, families continued to assume a wide range of (re)productive functions. For instance, most rural, but also many urban, families produced food on small plots of land—a maximum of 0.5 hectares per household—which the state allowed for “personal” household use. These small plots became the basis of what Eleanor W. Smolett has called the “Economy of Jars”: a barter economy in which kin provided each other with food.31 Beyond this, many families were unwilling to transfer their “traditional” tasks to the state and resisted the socialization of domestic practices because they wanted to maintain autonomy and doubted the quality of state-run services. A survey of female workers conducted by the trade union in Sofia in 1970, found that more than 80 percent of respondents did not use public household services, even though household chores occupied most of their spare time.32 In the mid-1970s sociologist Liliana Spasovska discovered that women workers were loath to use laundry services — even if they were available — because of their poor quality and because households increasingly acquired their own washing machines.33 Public canteens were also unpopular because families preferred homemade meals.34 According to the large-scale survey conducted by the Central Statistical Office with 16,000 woman workers in 1969, 42 percent said that they ate lunch at home on working days.35 In addition, most parents did not want to leave their toddlers in crèches, preferring instead to take care of them themselves or rely on a relative (usually a grandmother). In the 1970s, 18 percent of children aged 0–3 years were placed in day nurseries, whereas 75 percent of children aged 3–6 years went to kindergarten.36 A woman historian, K. P., interviewed by the author in 2002, described her feelings of “guilt everyday when I brought my small daughter to the kindergarten.” She and her colleagues pointed to the deplorable quality of many a child-care facility, and in particular to hygiene problems that made their children sick. Thus, the communist goal of stripping the family of its economic functions failed and families remained an eminent agency of social welfare. Recognizing the vital importance of unpaid labor, party leaders and economic planners eventually accepted the reproductive roles of the family, even though this contradicted the Communist Party’s ideological goal of socializing the household and providing the population with necessary goods and services. But they needed to find ideological affirmation for


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these practices because, for the Communists, harmony between ideology and practice was of utmost importance. If social practices could not be changed, ideology had to adapt. The solution was found easily and drew on Communist views of the family, which had never entailed the dissolution of the family as such. In the 1970s, family policymakers reclassified the functions of the family in order to make ideology conform to social practice. In 1977 the leading Bulgarian expert on family law, Liliana Nenova, declared the family’s three main functions to be economic in nature.37 The family codex of 1985 listed care for old, ill, and unfit family members among the many functions it attributed to families.38 Hence, what families had already been doing out of necessity and cultural inclination became an obligation decreed by the state. On the one hand, this meant that if families failed in their functions, the state had the right to intervene. On the other hand, families could make legitimate claims on the state for support in fulfilling these “duties.” Women were mainly affected by these new policies because most of the functions the party attributed to the family were executed by them. Although women’s authority in the family had increased thanks to wage labor, educational opportunities, cultural changes, and increased access to divorce, roles in the household remained clearly gendered; as in other socialist societies, women in Bulgaria spent considerably more time than men on household chores. In 1967, for example, women devoted an average of five hours and twenty minutes per day to the household, while men devoted only two hours and thirty-eight minutes.39 The distribution of household chores followed the “traditional” pattern (see Table 5.2).40 Many men were unaware of their lack of involvement, as a survey conducted by Liliana Spasovska in Sofia in 1982 revealed. Of the Table 5.2

Division of household chores in Bulgaria (in 1977) Wife

Husband

Both

Other Person

in % Cooking Dish washing House cleaning, vacuuming Laundry Ironing Shopping Small repairs

84.2 81.2 74.9

1.0 1.0 1.2

6.3 8.4 16.1

8.1 9.0 7.5

92.2 88.9 33.0 4.8

0.8 0.9 12.8 81.3

4.0 4.5 42.6 7.6

2.7 3.8 11.3 4.5



Note: Numbers for “not done at all” and “no response” have been omitted from the table. Source: Liliana Spasovska, “Razpredelenieto na domakinskata rabota mezhdu su˘vremennite su˘pruzi,” 5 (1987) 2: 92.


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500 families interviewed, half of the male respondents believed they participated “completely enough” in the household, 40 percent admitted that they contributed less than necessary, and 5 percent said they did more than was required of them.41 Many men endorsed traditional household roles: in a 1974 survey among young adults, males considered a “good housewife” the second most important quality in a potential wife; “good mother” was their top priority.42 Women also appear to have subscribed to the notion of a “natural” division of labor. In a 1970 survey among female workers in Sofia, 59 percent stated that “only the wife” ought to care for the household, while 5 percent believed men and women were equally responsible for domestic work.43 Statements such as these confirm Maria Todorova’s assessment that: The “double burden” has to be approached more realistically … as part of a cultural tradition deeply embedded in rural life, where women did carry out this double function and where an alternative viable role model was, for all practical purposes, nonexistent.44

The discussion of the “double burden” thus has to take into account the fact that Bulgarian society in the 1970s and 1980s was only one generation away from its preindustrial roots. The older generations born before the late 1950s had been raised in an agrarian society, in which women had been responsible for both the household and farming activities. Daniela Koleva notes that most of her female interviewees considered the combination of motherhood and work as not only normal, but meaningful. Women emphasized their professional careers, their strategies in combining different roles and expectations, as well as the difficulties they faced as full-time workers.45 Take for example the story of a women engineer and parliamentary deputy born in 1941: I was forced to leave my position [as director of productions] because it became obvious that my husband would leave for Leningrad. So, I had six years of work experience … In Burgas I gave birth to my daughter; when I became a mother, it was the happiest moment in my life but at the same time, it was quite difficult for me, because of my duties as deputy, as mother-worker, and at the same time my husband had to go to the Military Academy in Leningrad.46


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Koleva notes that women typically conceived of their difficulties of combining work and family as individual, random grievances, and many of them felt that other women were more successful than they in balancing these roles.47 These findings lend credibility to the assessment that neither women nor society in general believed that the combination of 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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family, motherhood, and work was superimposed by the socialist system, but was instead a “normal” part of life for women. Indeed, when speaking about their lives under socialism, women usually do not even mention the possibility of an alternative model. The ideological affirmation of women’s varying roles, and the state’s pledge to support women in their capacities as mothers and workers thus reflected social practices. Nevertheless, this did not preclude critique of the unequal division of domestic labor. Professional women, in particular, pointed to the unequal distribution of household responsibilities as an impediment to career advancement.48 Spasovska concluded that most women regarded equality within the family as the ideal that had yet to be fully achieved.49 Another sign of opposition to “traditional” family patterns was that disputes over the allocation of domestic duties were the third most frequently quoted reason for family conflict.50 The fact that women were much more likely than men to seek divorce was further evidence of the erosion of the position of the family patriarch. Female sociologists and party activists also urged the state to do more to reduce women’s household duties. But their influence was marginal; the Bulgarian Communists subscribed to the view that the woman question was part of the class question and, therefore, solved with the advent of socialism.51 Accordingly, in 1950 they disbanded the independent Bulgarian Women’s Union and replaced it with the token “Committee of Democratic Bulgarian Women” (Komitet na demokratichnite bu˘lgarski zheni—“Democratic” was dropped from the name in 1968), which was under the aegis of the Fatherland Front and lacked any real political clout. The government regularly promised to extend and improve the system of communal services and child-care facilities, but in practice reconciled with existing arrangements, since this was more cost-effective for the state. Since women typically took care of dependents and did most of the household chores, the state did not have to earmark more funds for these purposes. Although the state furnished households with modern appliances, there were no serious efforts to put forward new images of masculinity and femininity in the 1960s and 1970s. The official strengthening of the family as a social institution further undermined the public role of women, putting more domestic responsibilities on their shoulders. According to the party, women were supposed to be equally perfect in all of their primary roles: “mother, worker, public activist.”52



Population Policies The introduction of far-reaching pro-natalist measures in the late 1960s marked a significant change in state policies toward women. 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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Birthrates had been declining since the early 1950s (Table 5.3), and by the mid-1960s fewer children were born than deemed necessary for population replacement.53 This was due to popular attitudes about reproduction, which had thoroughly transformed: in a 1969 trade union survey among 16,000 working women, two-thirds said that they wished to have two children.54 A 1976 poll among 6,911 women aged 15–44 revealed that 75 percent of them wanted to have two children; the more highly educated they were the fewer children they wanted to have.55 The government became increasingly alarmed about population growth for three reasons: first, military strength and political weight on the international scene were associated with a large population; second, the government was afraid of labor shortages if demographic trends continued; and third, the leadership was worried about higher birthrates among Muslim minorities in Bulgaria. In 1968, the government enacted wide-ranging measures aimed at increasing the birthrate of the ethnic-Bulgarian population.56 These included significant increases in child-care benefits and payouts upon childbirth—both progressive up to the third child and regressive from the fourth, so as not to encourage minorities with high fertility to have even more children. A family with two children received a monthly allowance of 20 Leva and one with three children received 55 Leva (the average monthly salary was 114 Leva in 1969). In addition, mothers received a one-time payment of 20 Leva for the birth of the first child, 200 Leva for the second, and 5,000 Leva for the third—and 20 Leva for the fourth and any additional children. Paid maternity and child-care leave was also extended, but only for the second and third child: from 120 days leave prior to 1968 for any child to 150 days for the second child and 180 days for the third (and 120 days leave for any additional child). The 1968 decree also raised the surcharge on the income tax from 5 to 10 percent, which unmarried adults and married couples without children had been required to pay since 1951. In 1973 the child-care Table 5.3

Demographic indicators in Bulgaria, 1950–1965

Crude birthrate (live births per 1,000 population) Natural population growth (per 1,000 population) Total fertility (live births per 1,000 women aged 15–49)

1950

1965

25.2 15.0 124.3

15.3 7.2 70.1


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Note: Numbers for fertility are average numbers for the years 1945–1948 and 1965–1966 and include only married women. Source: Statesticheski godishnik 1968, 33.


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leave was extended by an additional six to eight months, during which period women received the minimum wage. In addition to this, mothers could take up to three years of unpaid leave with the right to return to their job.57 Parents of two or three children also enjoyed other privileges, such as preferences for state housing and housing loans. In view of the fact that the socialist economy was not completely monetized and many goods were scarce, it is difficult to assess whether these benefits were enough to compensate for the costs of having additional children. The scholar M. B., a mother of two who raised her children in the late 1970s and 1980s, complained that despite these allowances, “the fridge was always empty.”58 These legal measures were accompanied by pro-natalist propaganda that extolled motherhood as the most important role of women and as a patriotic duty. The dissident writer Georgi Markov recalled that demographic issues preoccupied public debate. Even in “coffee houses and clubs people discussed the decreasing birthrate and the measures against this trend.”59 Pro-natalist propaganda continued throughout the 1970s and 1980s—reflecting the fact that policy measures did not substantially increase the birthrate. The Tenth Congress of the BCP in 1971 stressed “motherhood as the noblest social function of women,”60 and the 1973 Politburo resolution titled “Enhancing the Role of Women in the Building of a Developed Socialist Society” (Za izdigane roliata na zhenata v izgrazhdaneto na razvitoto sotsialistichesko obshtestvo) stressed women’s reproductive capacity.61 Moreover, authors (all women) of the 1983 book 100 Questions and Answers Concerning Bulgarian Women wrote that “women’s function is to further the human race. Women are physically weaker than men and should be spared [from heavy work].” Thus there was no place for “feminist” efforts to establish equality between men and women.62 In the woman’s magazine Zhenata dnes (The Woman Today), images of austere women operating huge machines, working underground in mines, and driving tractors were replaced by more feminine and maternal images of women.63 In 1983, the magazine Mladezh (Youth) introduced a special supplement titled “The Hearth,” which included articles on “the vocation of being a mother” and the significance of this role for the “future of the nation.” Public discourse increasingly predicated women’s roles upon their biology. As Tatyana Kotzeva has claimed, “Women’s reproduction was underlined as the ‘natural’ function, rather than an activity of women, as their duty rather than as their right … The main duty of a woman was to give birth to the Nation, to the State.”64 And the ideologue of family policy and head of the Fatherland Front, Pencho Kubadinski, underlined the “patriotic” function of childbirth by referring to the period of




Ulf Brunnbauer

the “Ottoman Yoke,” when “the Bulgarian woman had given birth in order to preserve the Bulgarian people and their name, their language and spirit.”65 This “nationalization” of reproduction resembled similar discourses in neighboring Romania, which, beginning in the mid 1960s, pursued even more extreme pro-natalist policies and where the birth of many children was presented as “a fundamental aspect of Romania’s historical continuity.”66 A particularly contested issue between the state and women was the question of abortion. In 1956, following a similar Soviet law in 1955, abortion on request was legalized in Bulgaria. In 1967, the number of registered abortions for the first time surpassed the number of live births (129,900 to 124,600, respectively).67 Unsurprisingly, the government recognized abortion as an obstacle to their demographic policies. In December 1967, the Central Committee restricted access to abortion, although its few female members called it a step backward and a dishonor for any “cultured nation.”68 Thanks to their opposition, the Bulgarian regime did not enact a total ban on abortion such as the Romanian government had done in 1966;69 however, abortion on demand—except for medical reasons—was banned for women with no children.70 Women with one or two children could request an abortion only after having been heard by a commission, which was instructed to dissuade pregnant women from having the operation performed. A woman who used to work for the medical and social consultations service remembers that women without children or with only one child were not issued prescriptions for contraceptives. “Thus, the Party and the government intruded in our beds, meddling in our personal sexual life and controlling its most precious part.”71 As a result of these measures, the number of legally induced abortions decreased by almost 20,000 in 1968; however, because the ban was not strictly enforced, the number soon surpassed pre-1968 levels. In response, in April 1973, the government extended the ban on abortion to women with one child.72 The initiative met with a negative response from the public, as was evident in letters to newspapers.73 According to the medical scientist Dimitu˘r Vassilev, this opposition prompted the government to ease the ban slightly in 1974.74 Women who wanted an abortion were still required to present their case to a special commission. However, more than half of all applications were approved because physicians increasingly performed abortions for “medical reasons.” Thus, the medical profession, according to Vassilev, “co-operated in ensuring that women were not deprived of their rights.”75 From the mid-1970s on, the annual number of abortions again surpassed that of live births, and the government registered 110,000 to 120,000 abortions on request


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annually.76 The high number of abortions was an immediate result of the lack of modern contraception: according to the 1976 World Fertility Survey, 70 percent of married women (aged 15–44 years) in Bulgaria relied on traditional contraceptive methods; in 59 percent of the cases, the partners practiced withdrawal; 2.5 percent of women took the pill; and 1.4 percent used IUDs.77 The government refrained from a total ban or strict enforcement of the existing restrictions on abortion in fear of the high social, medical, and political costs that had occurred in Romania (to which Bulgarian leaders pointed as a negative example).78 Thus, rather than relying on punitive legislation, the regime relied on propaganda to dissuade women from having abortions. As Pencho Kubadinski noted: Pregnancy and normal birth are physiological acts which contribute to the development and strengthening of the female organism and of the social and biological role of woman, while abortion destroys these unique values and her natural obligations.79

The preamble to the 1973 decree on the restriction of abortion also illustrated the view that the state knew what was best for women. The well-understood interests of society and family demand that … conditions must be secured that she gives birth to at least two children, which corresponds to her basic biological and social function and is an essential precondition for her happiness and self-esteem.80

Party ideologues also appealed to the family, declaring that having at least two children was a patriotic duty and accusing childless or one-child families of selfishness.81 Moreover, the birth of children was the first function attributed to families by the 1985 Family Codex. For that purpose, the government sought to buttress family stability because married women had higher levels of fertility. Thus the Family Codices of 1968 and 1985 introduced new restrictions on divorce.82 The government also enacted positive incentives—such as preference for public housing—to promote family stability. As a result, people usually married young, in part to avoid the extra income tax for unmarried adults. The average age at first marriage in 1980 was 21.2 years for women, which was lower than in 1960 (21.7 years), and 24.5 for men (the same as twenty years earlier). In the mid-1970s, more than 90 percent of women and 80 percent of men married before turning thirty.83 The measures had immediate, though short-lived, effects on reproductive behavior. Birthrates and fertility increased for some years but




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eventually declined again to even lower levels than before these policies were instituted. In the 1980s, the birthrate was less than fifteen live births per 1,000 inhabitants, whereas in 1968, on the eve of the pro-natalist program, it had been seventeen. Natural population growth went up briefly from 6.0 per thousand in 1967 to 8.3 per thousand in 1968, but eventually reached almost zero by the end of socialism. Pro-natalist policies mainly affected how women timed their births: they usually had all their children early on, but rarely had more than two children. The average age of mothers at the birth of their first child declined from 22.1 years in 1960 to 21.9 years in 1985, and the average age at childbirth from 25.1 to 23.9 years for the same period, indicating that most women stopped having children early on in their lives.84 The main reasons for early childbirth were avoidance of the tax on childless married couples and because families were privileged for state housing. However, even the reproductive ideal of two children was not realized in many families because of material difficulties, two of which were of particular importance: first, the government failed to make occupational success compatible with motherhood; second, although families were privileged for housing, the continued housing shortage meant that families often waited for years to get an apartment. Consequently, married couples often lived with other family members in cramped conditions. For example, in a 1977 survey on the family, a third of all households claimed that they had three generations living under one roof, primarily because newlywed couples could not secure their own housing.85 Single Motherhood The demographic policies of the 1960s and 1970s yielded different results for specific groups of women. For example, single mothers saw their official image improve.86 After the Communists took power in 1944, they abolished the legal discrimination of children born out of wedlock and introduced special support for single mothers. However, they maintained a disapproving attitude toward extramarital childbirth. Sex, which was rarely discussed in public, had its only recognized place in marriage. The government actively tried to discourage extramarital childbirth and encourage early marriage. Adultery could even be prosecuted by law. Medical treatises and popular guides about family life warned of the medical risks of premarital and extramarital sex, especially to women.87 In the 1950s and 1960s, unmarried mothers, in the rare occasions of public statements made about them, were castigated as irresponsible, careless, and egoistical.88


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These attitudes gradually shifted in the late 1960s and 1970s. On the one hand, sexual behavior changed and premarital sex became the norm.89 Significantly more children were born outside of marriage than previously, though many of these parents eventually married. While in 1945 only 2.2 percent of all births were registered as extramarital, the share grew to 9.4 percent in 1965 and 12.4 percent in 1989 (in 2001 it would be 42.0 percent).90 On the other hand, the government modified its position: as it became increasingly obsessed with raising the number of births, it became less concerned with the particularities of conception. The government accepted the fact that women had sex and children outside of marriage and instead attempted to establish its control over them. It created special institutions for unmarried pregnant women, Domove za maika i dete (Houses for Mother and Child), which gave them the opportunity to carry and nurse their babies away from home so as to avoid social pressure to have an abortion.91 The government also supported single mothers by providing them with more generous childcare subsidies. Party leader Todor Zhivkov strongly rejected the traditional discrimination of children born out of wedlock in a speech given in 1967: We must fight against the feudal and petty-bourgeois prejudices against extramarital children. Each child that is born in our country is an equal citizen of the People’s Republic of Bulgaria and must grow up as such … Therefore, the normal conditions for the proper rearing of extramarital children must be put in place. All attempts to discriminate against such children and their mothers must be vehemently opposed.92

In the 1970s single motherhood ceased to be a taboo subject and received nuanced discussions in the media, especially in the Komsomol newspaper Narodna mladezh (People’s Youth). For example, one article discussed “The Problem of the ‘Fathers’” and another one demanded: “Let Us Not Step into Old Waters.”93 Some publications praised single mothers as real heroines—because they had not opted for an abortion despite the difficulties they faced in finding adequate work and housing—and directed their criticism instead at their families and the men who had abandoned them.94 Conservative voices, however, continued to accuse single mothers of immoral behavior for indulging in sexual pleasures without thinking about the consequences. 95 A book titled “Medical and Social Aspects of Extramarital Childbirth,” published in Sofia in 1977, even concluded that women who violated the norms of communist morality were more likely to have a child out of wedlock.96




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Although the government continued emphasizing the importance of marriage, it provided support for single mothers. For some women this brought an expansion of officially accepted, though differently valued, life courses. Although marriage remained the norm, solitary lifestyles, divorce, and single motherhood became less stigmatized, especially in larger urban areas in the 1970s and 1980s. This trend increased the autonomy of women, because it meant less dependence on males. Or, if viewed from the perspective of social practice, the increase in extramarital childbirths, which was a result of changed attitudes but which also was conditioned by government policies (lack of contraceptives and restrictions on abortion), forced the party to come forward with specific policies to keep unmarried mothers from falling into poverty. Conclusion Despite the fact that the equality of men and women was a key ideological tenet of communist rule in Bulgaria, the outcomes of policies on women produced ambivalent results—as they did in the Soviet Union and other socialist countries. Communist social policies had long-term and gendered effects, many of them unintended. On the one hand, women benefited from the Communists’ proclaimed goal of emancipation, which was also a powerful legitimizing tool: women’s support for communist rule was solicited by promises of equality and “liberation,” and the Communists contrasted their policies with the discrimination of women in pre-1944 Bulgaria as well as in the capitalist world. On the other hand, due to the shortcomings of communist policies on women and, more generally, due to the systemic deficiencies of real socialism, gender equality was not achieved. In some respects, communist rule in Bulgaria was liberating for women, in other respects, it was oppressive. Historical analysis must therefore assess these contradictions and ambiguities rather than reiterate old, Cold War clichés of the totalitarian nature of socialism—or of its superiority. Yet, women did experience a real breakthrough in employment and education, which was made possible by state policy. As Kristen Ghodsee concludes, the incorporation of women into paid labor guaranteed them the access to economic, social, and political entitlements that were closely tied to wage labor.97 Women thus became less economically dependent on their partners, which in turn resulted in their increased authority within the family. In recollections of the socialist period, women often stress their autonomy in personal decisions, which they had enjoyed before 1989, and state support for and


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guarantee of their employment.98 In insisting on equality with men, women could always point to official communist ideology on gender, even if actual policies diverged from it. In this respect, social change in Bulgaria more or less corresponded to that in other socialist societies and was similar to the increase in opportunities for women in Western postwar societies, pointing to structural forces at play. On the other hand, women suffered from the often contradictory approaches of the party toward the “woman question.” From the very beginning there was an instrumentalist edge in gender policies; women—like the population as a whole—were attributed certain functions by the party in exchange for the support that the state pledged to render to them; if the overarching political goals changed, the “functions” given to women would change as well. As the party became increasingly concerned with population growth in the 1960s, the earlier promises of women’s equality became less urgent because women were seen as mainly responsible for maintaining family stability and increasing natality. Although the state never pursued a back-to-the-kitchen policy, its conceptualization of women, beginning in the 1960s, focused primarily on women’s maternal and domestic roles. Pro-natalist policies even more directly affected the private lives of women and attempted to make them a means of plan fulfillment. The ambiguity of women’s emancipation under socialism became particularly clear when the system broke down in 1989.99 In some respects, communist policies had unintentionally sown the seed for the difficulties women faced during the transformation, which was characterized by increased poverty. Because female employment had been extensively supported by the state, when state enterprises closed in the 1990s, women suffered more than men. On the one hand, women had fewer opportunities under socialism to build useful social networks for times of economic crises because of their greater involvement in the family and their underrepresentation in political and economic organs of power (only two women had made it into the party politburo). On the other hand, women’s educational achievements and professional experiences under socialism provided some of them with skills to face the challenges of the transition.100 By 2007, the rate of female employment in Bulgaria (57.6 percent) practically reached the European Union average (58.3 percent) while the figure for men (66.0 percent) was significantly lower than the EU average (72.5 percent).101 So, one of the lasting legacies of real socialism in Bulgaria is that women consider having a job as “normal.” Women who came of age before 1989 remember the extensive state support for women’s employment and education, but also the many




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shortcomings of the socialist system and its repressive nature; their memories differ according to age and social position but very often the same person has ambivalent feelings about the socialist period. Hence recollections of women’s experiences under socialism render the same ambiguities as the collective memory of socialism in Bulgaria. To close with Yana Dobreva: Many of my decisions were dictated by the system we used to live in, but there are many which are dictated by the system we are living in now. We were crushed by ideology in the past, and now we are crushed by the everyday struggle for existence. So one is all the time forced into various compromises.102


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Sex, Divorce, and Women’s Waged Work: Private Lives and State Policy in the Early German Democratic Republic Donna Harsch

In the 1950s, the relationship between the socialist state and East German society was highly fraught in the German Democratic Republic (GDR). The ruling Socialist Unity Party (SED) alienated wide swaths of the population as it consolidated its grip on absolute power and carried out major transformations of social and economic relations.1 Tensions also swirled around family matters. In particular, the Ministry of Justice’s proposed liberalization of divorce law aroused popular anxiety. The main source of this opposition to divorce lay in older wives’ financial insecurities and sexual resentment toward unfaithful husbands and single women. Popular sympathy with older wives was bundled together with antagonism toward the socialist state’s encouragement of female employment and its alleged bias toward adulterous husbands. By the1960s, popular anxiety about divorce had largely dissipated. It was now the state that worried about divorce and, in particular, its allegedly deleterious effects on children. On both sides, the reversal of position reflected the entry into wage labor of large numbers of young wives and married mothers in the late 1950s. From 1958 onward, married


Chapter 6


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mothers of young children filed an increasing number of divorce suits. In response, the socialist state did not tighten divorce regulation, but it did experiment with several methods to “save” marriages. This conventional reaction to the “crisis of young marriage” was coupled, surprisingly, with an increasingly frank discourse about sexual education. Experts advised the party that sexual information would reduce the rate of premarital conception and help prevent “hasty” marriages. Knowledge about the ways and means of sexual pleasure, it was hoped, would improve the spousal relationship. In the case of marital sex, the socialist state and ordinary people seem to have converged, for the evidence suggests that young wives in the 1960s saw sexual satisfaction as necessary to a good marriage. This chapter explores disputes over marriage, divorce, and sexuality as a case study of the interaction between the state and society in a socialist country. Like other social historians of the GDR, I reject the totalitarian thesis and assume that society was differentiated and active, despite being atomized and repressed from above.2 East Germans contested Communist policies in numerous ways, including letters of complaint, flight to West Germany, individual sabotage, work stoppages, small protests, and a massive strike wave in 1953. These resistances, social historians argue, made a difference, leading the state to modify production policies, attend to consumption, and revise the SED’s five-year plans. The chapter also considers family life through the lens of gender. Whereas mainstream social histories have often ignored interactions between women workers, the nuclear family, and socialized structures in the GDR, feminist scholarship places gender relations at the center of analysis.3 The feminist literature characterizes the GDR as a patriarchal state marked by a wide gap between emancipatory rhetoric and discriminatory practice. East German Communists believed that the most important step toward women’s equality was their participation in wage labor. Thus, they supported female employment but left women to perform the bulk of unpaid labor in the home. They promoted women’s education, yet drew almost no women into the sites of real power: the middle and higher levels of the SED hierarchy. From 1953 to 1989, every voting member of its politburo was a man.4 Primary sources for the chapter include reports written by Communist party and state officials for the SED, Ministry of Justice (MdJ), or Ministry of Health (MfG); statistical data; and letters and petitions from East Germans to state and party officials. Print sources include advice books as well as legal commentary on family court cases. Used critically,


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Postwar Crisis in the Family A multifarious crisis gripped the German family in the immediate postwar era.5 The crisis arose, most fundamentally, from the war. Millions of soldiers’ wives had to fend for themselves, children, and elderly parents. Allied bombings destroyed or seriously damaged huge tracts of housing. These burdens continued after the defeat and occupation of Germany. New scarcities also emerged: a food crisis gripped Germany and women scrambled to feed their families.6 The social and family crises were arguably worse in the Soviet zone of occupation (SBZ) than in the Western zones. In the spring of 1945, as the Red Army moved into areas with German populations, Soviet soldiers raped large numbers of women. The wave of mass rape peaked during the final Battle of Berlin. The total number raped likely reached into the 100,000s.7 Thousands of women were impregnated and many of them had abortions. The rapes left many women in the SBZ deeply alienated from the Red Army and occupying Russian administration.8 A massive influx of refugees from Poland, Czechoslovakia, and elsewhere in Eastern Europe compounded the social crisis. The ratio of women was even higher among refugees than among the native population.9 “Settlers” (as the SED called them) comprised about 20 percent of the population of the GDR in 1949. Refugee families were likelier to be headed by a single mother and were poorer than native families. In general, the short-term demographic impact of the war was dramatic. In 1950, two million households in the GDR were headed by (predominantly single) women as opposed to four million headed by (predominantly married) men.10 The family crisis was as much psychological as physical. Surviving husbands were often depressed.11 At “marriage and sexual counseling” centers in Berlin, Dresden, or other large cities, physicians and social workers worked with husbands who suffered from impotence or wives who rebuffed the sexual advances of newly returned husbands.12 The divorce rate shot up; husbands filed most of the suits. If marital sex was in the doldrums, sex in general was not. Fleeting affairs occurred more frequently than before, and three times as many babies were born out of wedlock in 1946 as compared to 1939.13


these sources allow scholars to reconstruct a realistic, if partial, picture of the changing interests of the socialist state and ordinary citizens as they negotiated the juridical and private terrain of marital relations. I refer also to post-1989 interviews with former East Germans conducted by me as well as by other scholars.


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During the era of High Stalinism (1948–1953) with its numerous discontinuities and scarcities, the family was the central social institution in people’s lives. It converged with its prewar demographic profile surprisingly quickly, in part because the desire to marry was strong. Around 95 percent of women who came of age in the 1950s became wives.14 The ratio of unmarried women to unmarried men shrank as did the percentage of female-headed households, although the overall percentage of married men was higher than that of married women.15 Courting couples behaved more or less like their counterparts in West Germany. Informal surveys published in the GDR press suggest that East Germans believed the man should initiate a love relationship and that women should not work full time after marriage.16 Church leaders bolstered conventional ideas about women’s roles.17 Many Communists, too, accepted conventional norms. In 1948, functionaries in the Communist youth organization (Free German Youth) expected their future wives not to take a job.18 Established marriages, too, functioned similarly to those in West Germany or even the United States in the 1950s. They tended toward “companionate” marriage and a gendered division of labor. More wives worked for wages than in the West, but the majority of urban wives were nonemployed before 1956. Husbands rarely shared housework or childcare to any significant extent. Although spouses often consulted each other about major family decisions, the typical family subordinated itself to the husband’s employment, education, and political activities.19 Patriarchal marriages were quite common in the countryside.20 East German sexual attitudes and practices of the early 1950s are difficult to investigate. In interviews, women do not pour forth memories of sexual exploits. Nonetheless, archival sources and the less reticent interviewee provide some sense of popular mores. In cities, public physicality was as free as in other industrialized countries. Raised “very strictly, very puritanically” in Romania, a seventeen-year-old who immigrated with her parents to Dresden in 1953 was shocked to see “people on the street kissing each other.”21 Nudism, long a popular pastime among Germans, was revived. Despite harassment by state authorities, aficionados gathered to celebrate “free body culture” along isolated stretches of the Baltic coast.22 Kissing on the street and naked bodies at the beach were the least of it. Extramarital sex was not infrequent. Male infidelity had long been and remained the primary grounds for divorce. People believed that male adultery was more widespread than earlier due to the “surplus of women.”23


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Although less common than male infidelity, adultery by the wife was one of the top five grounds for divorce. Prenuptial sex was apparently widespread. Statistics were not gathered until the 1960s, but interviews with women who married in the 1950s suggest that many brides were pregnant. Judging by the matter-of-fact way interviewees mention this, women experienced fewer moral misgivings about sleeping with a “serious” companion than did middle-class American women of the same era. An eighteen-year-old worker from a village, for example, met her first boyfriend shortly after she left home to work for the railroad in a Brandenburg town. They had sex soon after meeting and, deciding they were in love, got married when she became pregnant.24 Not all women had the option to marry, and out-of-wedlock birth remained more common than before the war.25 Sexual mores had loosened under the Third Reich, argues Dagmar Herzog, influenced not only by wartime conditions but also by National Socialist body discourse. Nazi commentators criticized bourgeois prudery and hypocrisy, celebrated the Aryan body, and encouraged enjoyment of “healthy” (hetero)sexual relations.26 The chaotic freedoms of the immediate postwar era also tended to relax sexual mores. A woman recalled with regret that she was not “ready for sexual fulfillment” before her first husband was killed in the war. Sexual relations with her second husband were “completely different” because, she believed, postwar experiences had changed her. As a social worker, she counseled clients with sexually transmitted diseases and so grew more “tolerant.” Her roommates’ unconstrained relations with men led her to reflect on her own “inhibitions and inability to find another man.”27 Evidence from divorce proceedings suggests, though, that the 1950s did not develop into an era of sexual freedom. They provide some information on a couple’s sex life because German courts treated the date of “last marital intercourse” as the main marker of irreconcilable difference between spouses. Aiming to set the date as far in the past as possible, husbands no doubt exaggerated when insisting that a wife had refused them sex for years. Still, wives’ responses to these claims imply that they were generally truthful, suggesting that many middleaged women led unsatisfying sex lives.28 Among younger women, fear of pregnancy thwarted desire. According to physicians, some women expressed resentment of male partners who were “only out to satisfy themselves.”29 The average East German adult seems to have been poorly informed about the physiology of sex and contraception. Sex education became part of secondary-school curriculum only in 1959. Parents did not routinely explain the “facts of life” to their children; sex was a taboo sub-




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ject in many proletarian households.30 A small number of “marriage and sexual counseling centers” continued to operate in a few cities. They were visited by women more than by men, but had few clients of either sex. Clients rarely asked “questions about difficulties in marital intercourse and about conjugal life or [made] requests for sexual advice.” Outside the big cities, people viewed the very idea of marriage counseling with suspicion.31 Typically, couples in unhappy unions chose to suffer together rather than split up. After the postwar surge in divorce, the rate of divorce fell continually from 1950 to 1955, and then leveled off before creeping back up in the late 1950s. The divorce rate was higher in the GDR than in pre-1945 Germany or West Germany but it was low, absolutely and relatively, compared to U.S. rates at the time.32 Until 1957, the majority of plaintiffs in divorce suits were men. Only 15 percent of divorces broke up a marriage of more than twenty years duration.33 Conflict over the Liberalization of Divorce Convinced that the family had stabilized by the early 1950s, the MdJ decided to revise the Family Law Code to make it conform to the GDR’s constitutional guarantee of the equality of women, wives, and single mothers. In 1954, the ministry unveiled a draft Family Code (EFGB) that laid out the terms of marriage, property division, spousal decisionmaking, etc. It abolished adultery as an absolute ground for divorce and replaced the “guilt principle” with a provision for “irreconcilable differences.” Opponents denounced the EFGB as “socialist,” suggesting that it aimed to destroy the nuclear family by communalizing it. In fact, its most radical provision was its guarantee of a wife’s right to work outside the home. MdJ predicted that the Lutheran and Catholic churches would criticize this measure but was convinced that the general public would endorse the code. From June to October, MdJ officials addressed citizens’ questions about the EFGB at thousands of well-attended meetings. Public interest ran especially high among women.34 Justice administrators were pleased by the public discussion until it veered off the prepared script and became contentious in late summer. The Catholic and Lutheran churches called their own meetings where preachers denounced a wife’s “right to work” as a tool to force her into employment. Soon, state-sponsored assemblies also fell offtrack, derailed by opposition to the proposed liberalization of divorce. Especially upset were “older wives.” At meetings they called for retaining the guilt principle, tightening divorce law, and introducing prison sentences for adulterers. By October, small towns in East Germany were awash with gossip


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about the EFGB. Rumors focused on its alleged approval of husbands’ liaisons with single women. Justice officials blamed “Western” propaganda for spreading the most outrageous charges (recall that before 1961, West Germans could easily cross the border into the GDR). Whatever their origin, the rumors struck a chord among small-town populations. According to one thriving legend, the EFGB proposed that “every man can have two women” and “every husband can stay at his girlfriend’s house until 10pm.”35 In the town of Freiberg, 350 people listened quietly to a Justice functionary explicate the EFGB. After his speech, the mood darkened when a listener asked him if the law would allow “single women in the city to keep married men with them for three or four days a week.” Next, according to the Justice report, [An] older participant made himself into the spokesperson for a large part of the audience when he asked: “Where are the measures for dealing with unscrupulous husbands?” If the draft had nothing to say about them, he could only say, “phooey.” This won him the enthusiastic applause of part of the audience. The judge of the district court [who was in attendance] explained that a compulsory law against adultery would only hurt those who were calling for it. At that, all hell broke loose.

Furious that the socialist government would not punish the sexual misconduct of husbands, people interpreted such inaction as a sign of contempt for marriage and all decency. In the town of Nauen, the “craziest rumors” were afoot about alleged toleration of polygamy. At a discussion led by members of the Democratic Women’s League, worried women in the audience asked whether it was true that the EFGB gave a single woman the legal right to her “married lover” during the evening hours and whether it legally prohibited the divorce of marriages of more than twenty-five years duration.36 The emotions roused by the proposed reforms seem odd. The breakup of “older” marriages comprised, at most, 15 percent of a relatively low and declining divorce rate in 1954. Considered in a gendered context, however, the anxiety of older wives does not look irrational. East German women still felt strongly that a husband enhanced their status, because the economic imbalance between men and women was great and because single women had to work for wages, while most wives did not.37 Communists had not pursued seriously their commitment to the employment, much less training, of women on an equal basis with men. In 1959 only 17.3 percent of women industrial workers had a skilled occupation in contrast to 69 percent of men. In 1960 employed women comprised a majority of all employees who earned at the three lowest




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steps on an eight-step wage scale; women comprised a shrinking minority of employees as one went up the scale. In the case of married women, Communist officials had not pushed hard to mobilize them for any kind of employment.38 Rather, they pressured unmarried and divorced women to work. Family courts, for example, gradually curtailed alimony, forcing ex-wives to take up unskilled jobs. Their higher-paid ex-husbands had to provide them with only minimal, if any, financial support.39 Older wives also felt disadvantaged because of the “surplus” of women. In 1950, 6,461,000 women between the ages of fifteen and sixty lived in the GDR as opposed to 5,185,000 men in the same age range.40 Although the number of never-married women declined in the 1950s, people believed, correctly, that men could (re)marry more easily. The focus on adultery and “city lovers” by opponents of divorce reform suggests that older wives saw themselves locked into an unfair sexual contest with sophisticated single women. The public sympathized with the virtuous, loyal wife allegedly victimized by a philandering husband and a predatory younger rival. The outcry against divorce liberalization astounded Justice officials. They saw the changes as modern, rational, and uncontroversial.41 Still, they sympathized with opponents who were “backward but ethical.”42 They tried unsuccessfully to convince hostile audiences that the law would “sustain and strengthen” marriage.43 Justice took little comfort in the popular support that liberalization did garner. Many people supported “relaxation of divorce” for “bad reasons.” In letters to the MdJ, officials noted disapprovingly, some people hailed the EFGB “because, given the shortage of men, now more young women will be able to get a husband.”44 Equally taken aback by the protests was the minister of justice, the formidable hard-line Stalinist Hilde Benjamin. She permitted public discussion to run its course but, at the end of the allotted six months, she tabled the draft Family Code. It disappeared from official discourse and dropped off the legislative agenda—until 1965! Conditions for the EFGB, Benjamin admitted retrospectively, were not “mature” in 1954 because the “normative woman whose rights we wished to establish” was not yet “the employed woman.”45 Justice empathized with older wives’ opposition, but, nonetheless, the MdJ issued an “administrative decree” that instructed judges to implement the new regulations. Even this back route to divorce reform turned out to be bumpy. Wives’ complaints caught the ear of women in the SED and Democratic Women’s League. These state-friendly women charged that the courts were “making it easy for men.”46 This accusation was unfair, at least in the case of family-court judges. Family courts sat


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in provincial cities, surrounded by everyday life and popular opinion. By 1956, moreover, every third family-court judge was a woman. For these reasons, local judges very often decided in favor of a wife-defendant and denied a divorce petition.47 From its loftier position in Berlin, the GDR’s Supreme Court overturned many lower-court rulings and approved the divorce.48 In 1957, however, the Supreme Court itself turned court practice in a less liberal direction. It instructed judges to determine if a divorce would inflict “unreasonable hardship” on an “older wife” and to subject the husband’s case to “moral evaluation.”49 This restrictive trend accompanied rising concern inside Justice and the SED about the social effects of marital dissolution. It became more difficult for any couple to get a divorce, even in cases of joint requests.50 The more hostile attitude toward divorce reflected, above all, an increase in divorce among young couples, which jurists interpreted as evidence of a “crisis of young marriage.”51 Retrospectively, the “crisis” looks manufactured, given the still low rate of divorce. Like older wives’ anxieties in 1954, those of the Court five years later must be placed in the wider context of, in this case, the SED-state’s constant wish for a higher birthrate. Contrary to anticommunists’ belief, the regime did not encourage divorce, much less adultery. Yet the liberalization of divorce did serve state interests if it helped spring husbands out of infertile marriages and allowed them to start a family with a young wife. The socialist state, however, had to weigh this “benefit” against the social cost imposed on older women—and, as it turned out, against negative publicity. When it came to young couples, benefits seemed to be all on the side of marriage, not divorce. Society and the state wanted young husbands and wives to stay married. State officials knew that married couples produced more children than did single mothers. In addition, official attention to the emotional development of existing children was on the rise. Worries about children ranged from the impact of divorce on them to the quality of institutional childcare and “family nurture” (i.e., the quantity and quality of the care of children in the family).52



Reevaluating Marriage and the Family: Mixed Trends in Discourse and Practice Once piqued, state interest in “saving” marriages provoked a heterogeneous set of discursive and policy responses. The GDR did not tighten divorce law. Rather, the party-state promoted marital stability and family values. In 1959, a preliminary internal meeting to discuss a (new) draft family law code was attended by Lotte Ulbricht, the wife of Walter 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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Ulbricht, first secretary of the politburo. She insisted, “[The code’s] preamble [has to make clear that] we support the fortification, the preservation of marriage … We must think first about the welfare of children.”53 The Sixth Party Congress of 1963 commemorated the family and its values very publicly.54 Celebration of “family nurture” went into high gear in 1965, when Justice finally produced the revised Family Code. Its opening sentence ran: “The family is the most basic cell of society.”55 The code, said Minister Benjamin in press interviews, demonstrated socialism’s commitment to “marriage as a life-long relationship.”56 The new discourse about family and marriage was not simply affirmative and conventional. Encouraged by academic experts, Communist officials gradually came round to a social-psychological perspective on the “crisis of young marriage” and marital relations more generally. According to this view, marriages would be more stable—and more (re)productive, if young couples learned how to get along, in general, and to gain more control over childbearing, in particular. The young marriage was strained, divorce cases suggested, because the first baby arrived almost immediately and the next baby followed soon after. Occupational training was interrupted as the husband and/or couple worked just to get by—and became mired in financial difficulties. They needed advice about cultural matters, housekeeping, and marital relations, on the one hand, and sexual relations, on the other. In 1956, the GDR published its first sexual advice book for older adolescents/young adults: The Question of Sex—A Book for Young People. A year later appeared the first advice book for married couples: The New Marriage Book. Their author was Dr. Rudolf Neubert, a physician and professor of “social hygiene” at Jena University. Both books addressed contraception positively, while warning strongly against abortion as a method of birth control. His book for young couples only listed contraceptive methods, but his Marriage Book provided detailed explanations of condoms, the rhythm method, douching, and coitus interruptus, while cautioning readers that no method was failsafe.57 The urge to help young couples to control their fertility was clearly circumscribed. Methods of contraception in the GDR (and in most countries) were few. They required diligent and cooperative application under conditions of sexual arousal (at least on the man’s part)—a situation not conducive to long-term planning. Available condoms were notoriously ineffective; cervical caps were intermittently obtainable, though they were usually uncomfortable and, again, unreliable (those from Czechoslovakia were reportedly better). Abortion was illegal with


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the exception of two narrowly interpreted indications: health of the pregnant woman and presumed health of the prospective baby (eugenic indication).58 Despite real limits, the decision to disseminate sexual knowledge was meaningful. Neubert informed couples that they could learn to have sex that would not result in pregnancy and which both partners could enjoy. In his marriage book, he emphasized that sex was for pleasure, not just procreation (“as the Church taught”). Assuming a loving and long-term heterosexual relationship, a couple could and should indulge their sexual desires in any way wanted by both partners. Women, he informed his readers, were as capable of arousal as men, but might require more time and varied techniques to reach “satisfaction.” Sexual skill was learned, not inborn, he insisted, although he provided no how-to guide.59 Neubert’s approach to sex education and sexuality had roots in both German and communist traditions. In the Weimar Republic, discourse about sex had been more open and tolerant than possibly anywhere else in the world. In the 1920s, the German Communist Party denounced the double standard of bourgeois sexuality and advocated sexual reform. Left-leaning physicians participated in the flowering of a German and German-Jewish tradition of empirical investigation and theoretical debate about sexuality. The National Socialists squashed “Jewish” sexology and shuttered sexual counseling centers.60 Nazi attacks on “decadence” did not completely efface Weimar’s body culture.61 The postwar (re)opening of marriage and sexual counseling centers in the SBZ signaled a return to sexual liberalism. The SED, though, had no interest in reviving Weimar’s freewheeling debates about homosexuality, female sexuality, and birth control, including abortion. Leading Communists, most notably Walter Ulbricht, were prudish. They wanted a high birthrate, not sexual experimentation. In the 1950s, the press and the MdJ used accusations of homosexuality, promiscuity, and prostitution to tar even mildly defiant youth who donned Western jeans and T-shirts and danced to rock music.62 The SED did not, however, habitually stoke postwar anxieties about sexual disorder as did conservative Christian politicians in West Germany.63 The GDR press was notable for its silence about sex and its propensity to shame all private desires. Neubert’s advice books significantly tempered both of these tendencies. His publications were not the only symptoms of a discursive rehabilitation of individual pleasure in the mid-1950s. Neubert, though, propagated sexual enlightenment more explicitly than any other public voice. He also reached a wide audience. The marriage book found immediate and enduring popularity; its twenty-first edition appeared in 1976.




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The socialist state’s revised rhetoric about marriage, personal relationships, and the body combined, in sum, traditional and “modern” elements. It presented marital stability as a socialist goal and suggested that divorce was bad for children, yet it treated mutual sexual pleasure as integral to marital stability. An equally contradictory mix characterized practical measures implemented by the state to stem marital dissolution. These included, “encouraging” couples, especially wife-complainants, to stay in fractured relationships. The MdJ directed the courts to interpret divorce law more strictly and to prescribe a cooling-off period and “reconciliatory” efforts. Beginning in 1958–1959, the Supreme Court instructed judges to “draw in social forces to help [the couple] change.”64 The social force in question was the “work collective” of one or both spouses. At the court’s direction, colleagues met with a quarreling couple, offered support, and admonished unsocialist behavior.65 The “work collective” typically responded with bewilderment to the order to interfere in a colleague’s private life. In Berlin a saleswoman with three young children filed for divorce after her husband beat her so badly that she had to spend a week in hospital. Union functionaries at the husband’s factory brought together the couple, a representative from their SED chapter, the husband’s shop floor committee, and his closest coworkers. The session focused initially on the husband’s public drunkenness and violence. Only gradually did participants overcome their “initial astonishment that they were supposed to talk about his conduct in his marriage.” After his workmates reprimanded him for how he treated his wife, the “couple reconciled” but the wife (sensibly) did not withdraw her suit.66 Was this marriage saved? Probably not. A survey of divorce records concluded that collective mediation was typically “unsuccessful.”67 Advocates of collective intervention attributed its failure to deficient “consciousness.”68 If monitored closely by his collective, it was assumed, the errant spouse—almost always the husband—would reform his ways. His collective had no desire to supervise his domestic life, however.69 Typically, it was comprised of men who, according to a Justice report, “do not recognize the necessity of confronting outmoded bourgeois views of marriage and family.”70 Although the SED and MdJ certainly wanted to stop domestic violence, collective intervention frequently amounted to patching up a deeply imbalanced relationship. It is noteworthy that this method of “saving” marriage was almost never prescribed by urban family judges, but often by judges in rural districts. Yet it was in the countryside that marital conflict often arose from “an understanding of male/female relations that is still far from socialist. Violence, abuse of alcohol, and the nearly complete burdening of women with housework are characteristic of marriage [in the countryside].”71


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The SED and MdJ pushed for but never insisted on collective intervention. After 1960, the party adopted a pragmatic approach to saving marriages, in parallel with the more liberated discourse about sexuality found in Neubert’s books and, by the mid-1960s, other publications.72 In 1965, the state reintroduced marriage counseling on an impressive scale. The revival of “family and sexual counseling” bespoke the rising influence of medical experts on social policy. Progressive physicians wanted the GDR to adopt “modern” approaches to sexual dysfunction, including scientific studies and psychological therapy. A major proponent of this view, Dr. Lykke Aresin, had operated a Weimar-style counseling center in Leipzig throughout the prudish 1950s. In 1965, Aresin, by then chief of staff at the Women’s Clinic at Leipzig University, wrote an article for judicial officials and judges on “the medical causes of marital conflicts.” It praised Alfred Kinsey’s research methods and, even more, those of William Masters and Virginia Johnson. “Psychotherapy,” Aresin informed jurists, was the best treatment for some sexual disturbances in women, such as “frigidity” caused by childhood abuse.73 Despite her affinity for U.S. sex research and her acceptance of some parts of Freudian theory, her approach to sexual problems became the vogue.74 The new Family Code of 1965 mandated the establishment of family-and-sexual counseling centers. By 1966 one hundred centers had been opened and, by 1969, 210 were in operation.75 Everyday Marriages, Marital Sexuality, and Divorce in the 1960s Belying official worry about the “health” of marriage in the GDR, East Germans continued to marry at a high rate in the 1960s. The solid marriage rate reflected, in part, a declining age at first marriage. This decline occurred despite Neubert’s recommendation against marrying too young. His book’s sexual information also did not seem to change private behavior: in 1962, 85 percent of first children born to a married couple had been conceived before the wedding.76 The percentage of children born out of wedlock was also on the rise.77 Obviously, birth control remained scarce and unreliable. The East German pharmaceutical industry developed an early version of the “pill,” but mainly exported it. Before 1970, Ovosiston was prescribed almost exclusively to women with a medical indication against pregnancy. Legal restrictions on abortion remained in place. In 1965, as recommended by women in the SED and by progressive physicians, the regulation of abortion was, however, unofficially relaxed by a “secret instruction” that allowed “termination boards” to consider a complicated set of “indications,” such as whether the pregnant




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woman had five children at home or her pregnancy came within fifteen months of a third child’s birth.78 The movement of wives into the workforce did not cause marriages—or at least husbands—to adapt as Communists had predicted they would. An internal report from 1967, produced by the SED Women’s Bureau, concluded, “The egalitarian socialist marriage has not materialized.”79 Studies found that a kind of companionable paternalism was the rule. Investigators also stumbled across a modified patriarchal model: a husband allowed his wife to work for wages but otherwise tried to control her.80 It is perhaps not surprising, then, that employed wives drove up the divorce rate. For every 1,000 inhabitants, there had been 1.3 divorces in 1958; in 1969 there were 1.7.81 Divorce declined among couples with no children or with children older than sixteen, while divorce among couples with young children increased. In 1958, women filed suit in 53.4 percent of finalized divorces, and in 1970, this number went up to 63.4 percent. Between 1959 and 1970, the percentage of divorces in which the wife earned an income rose from 74 to 87 percent.82 The financial independence that gave women the means to leave an unhappy union was new, yet they left for mainly old reasons. An analysis by the MdJ compared the legal grounds for divorces finalized in 1958 and a decade later.83 Three of the top five grounds remained the same: infidelity, “abuse of alcohol,” and the catchall “ill-considered” marriage (commonly claimed as a ground in “young” marriages).84 Male infidelity remained the number-one reason for divorce, while male alcohol abuse became relatively more important between 1958 and 1968. Just as the “good marriage” functioned more or less according to Western conventions, so was the “bad marriage” conventionally dysfunctional. Closer analysis of grounds for divorce suggests, however, that a more modern definition of marital happiness was emerging in the later 1960s—a definition founded less on a spouse’s (mis)deeds than on his or her subjective qualities. “Incompatibility,” for example, entered the topfive list of grounds. A new legal ground leaped to sixth place: “disagreements about children’s upbringing and/or how to run the household.”85 Most striking is the doubling of the percentage of “sexual grounds” between 1958 and 1968. Female adultery increased as a ground for divorce. It may be that wives only hid their affairs less diligently than earlier, but it seems likely that their infidelity increased as employment afforded wives more opportunities to stray. As women came to expect sexual fulfillment from a relationship, they were, perhaps, likelier to look for satisfaction elsewhere if they did not get it from their husband.


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Data on the causes of marital discontent also point to a rising standard of female sexual satisfaction. In 1971 the Ministry of Health collected information on who visited the family-and-sexual counseling centers, and why. Women constituted 60 to 80 percent of the centers’ clients, and most were between twenty-five and forty years old, i.e., the same demographic that tended to file for divorce. From 1964 to 1969, four main motivations sent people to the counseling centers in East Berlin: 23 percent asked for contraception or an abortion; 23 percent came about marital violence or alcoholism; 22 percent wanted to talk about their own or their spouse’s adultery; and 19 percent raised sexual matters such as “frigidity, impotence, and sexual disorders.”86 An all-GDR evaluation of counseling centers cited the same “main problems” as did Berlin. The GDR report listed, as well, a category of conflict that counselors dubbed “equality issues”: “violation of marital equality by the husband” and “lack of understanding for the wife’s professional advancement.”87 Also indicative of an evolving view of marital relations was an increase in the number of people who visited the new family-and-sexual counseling centers. Initially, they attracted few clients, even in East Berlin. “The majority of [East Germans],” a report concluded, “are still not accustomed to the idea of societal advice in marital questions” and “are very inhibited” about discussing private affairs with a professional. In 1970, however, Berlin’s counseling services experienced a sudden and ongoing surge in demand. According to analysts, “ever more young or youthful couples” came for counseling, suggesting that they expected more from marriage than did their parents and were likelier to believe professional advice could help them meet these expectations. Counselors believed they saw correlations between social class and the type of marital problem they treated. Violence or a tendency to drink on the husband’s part and a hasty marriage were, they claimed, typical causes of conflict among “proletarian” couples. “Members of the intelligentsia,” they contended, alluded to a different set of problems: male adultery, sexual issues, incompatibility, professional problems, and “disagreements about running the household and raising children.”88 Counselors claimed that women visitors were better educated than the population as a whole.89 This possibly biased observation is supported by anecdotal evidence from petitions for abortion written by women in the mid-1960s. In petitions of the1950s and early 1960s, the petitioner, whether male or female, never mentioned the couple’s sex life. From 1965 onward, one finds scattered references to sex in petitions written by women at university or with a degree. Satisfying sex, they indicated, mattered in marriage. A woman studying for an engineering degree wrote, for example, “Bodily contact is part of a good marriage.” They also identified




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the conditions for satisfying “bodily contact”: a considerate husband and reliable birth control.90

The mixed pattern of change and continuity in everyday lives and attitudes, on one side, and Communist discourse and policy, on the other, continued until the end of the GDR. After taking over the reigns of power in 1971, Erich Honecker implemented expensive family-friendly and maternalist social policies that Ulbricht’s regime had begun to introduce fitfully and stingily. Honecker’s Muttipolitik (“mommy policies”)91 reinforced the conventional organization of the nuclear family by assuming that the wife/mother performed domestic labor and by promoting marriage as the fulcrum of the family. Maternal benefits aimed, though, not only to raise the birthrate but also to provide support for mothers’ employment and training. The GDR attained one of the highest levels of women’s employment in the world and also made impressive strides in women’s educational levels. Yet, in 1989 women’s average pay levels remained more than a quarter lower than men’s.92 These policies ran parallel to social-cultural measures that were strikingly liberal. In the case of divorce, jurists no longer assumed that marital conflict would wither away as capitalist material conditions were overcome, but recognized that socialism had its own sources of marital discord.93 The socialist state now offered social incentives to discourage divorce, rather than restricting it with negative court rulings. Quite unique among socialist states was the GDR’s increasingly celebratory approach to sexuality and the body. From the late 1960s on, the GDR officially endorsed and, indeed, “co-opted” the nudist movement as a sign of socialist sexual liberation.94 Physicians and psychologists wrote explicit sex manuals and offered progressive sex therapies that aimed especially to enhance women’s enjoyment of sex.95 Underpinning the discourse about sexuality was a significant social measure: the legalization of first-trimester abortion combined with general availability of the “pill” in 1972. In legalizing abortion the GDR did not lead but followed most other socialist states. The decision was, nonetheless, of political importance, given that the SED was desperate for higher fertility. Here, too, Honecker chose positive incentives over restrictive measures. As before, society did not necessarily respond as Communist officials hoped. The birthrate increased but then leveled off (prompting the state to introduce yet more maternal benefits). The rate of marriage declined, divorce rose, cohabitation increased. Out-of-wedlock births reached a third of all births in 1989. Women’s self-perception was also mixed.


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Women readers devoured publications of the “literary feminism” wave, which portrayed the professional and sexual frustrations of female protagonists in a man’s world.96 Yet most women remained oriented toward the family and accepted their domestic duties. If a male partner did little at home, they lived with it—or left him.97 As in the 1960s, society and the socialist state moved in tandem on sexual matters. Younger East Germans were clearly more sexually liberated than their parents. They held their own in this regard relative to young West Germans (who also experienced a sexual revolution). Nudism exploded in popularity.98 In surveys from the 1980s women reported high rates of orgasm and overall satisfaction with their sex lives.99 The relationship between change and continuity in the practice and understanding of marriage, divorce, and sexuality was overdetermined. The evolution of private gender relations reflected, most basically, contradictions in the state’s relationship to socialized production, on the one hand, and private reproduction, on the other. Having left the family basically as was, it had to adapt its social policies to fit that family. Family members, especially mothers and wives, negotiated with the state over family matters in the form of direct complaints as well as through everyday decisions. The socialist state became more attuned to the “real” family and, especially, the situation of children. Its new interest did not always have liberating consequences for mothers. Meanwhile, economic policies partially recast the terms of domestic gender relations. The most important change was the mass entry of married women/young mothers into the labor force.100 Communist interests, social customs, and women’s waged work interacted to influence both official and popular sexual mores. Thus, state-legislated equality for unwed mothers arguably affected rates of premarital sex. Yet, undoubtedly, certain German cultural attitudes also contributed to the pragmatic approach to sexuality that emerged over time.







Wife Beating: Ideology and Practice under State Socialism in Hungary, Poland, and Romania Isabel Marcus

If he doesn’t beat me, he doesn’t love me. East European proverb

IN 1993–1994, I BEGAN TO DEVELOP A RESEARCH PROJECT on domestic violence in formal law and legal practice in post-socialist Eastern Europe. As part of that project development, I initially queried both academic colleagues at universities where I was lecturing and activists in women’s rights nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) in the region with whom I was working on how domestic violence was handled in socialist times. NGO activist colleagues in Hungary, Poland, and Romania told me that there was little to learn from that period. Domestic violence, more precisely, “wife beating” as it was called, was widespread; it was considered “women’s lot,” and it was dismissed or ignored by the state. Full stop. There was nothing else to say. Academic colleagues in these countries, in contrast, tended to minimize the violence. They described it as normal for a distinctive segment of the population—those who did not participate in “civilized values” and drank to excess. This coded language, I soon learned, referred to the lower social classes—peasants and the lower


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reaches of the proletariat. Certainly, they assured me, there were wife beaters from “good families” too, but these were few in number and were alcoholics and, hence, could not be held accountable for their behavior. I should also note that virtually everyone seemed either puzzled or amused by my questions about the socialist era. My explanation—that I considered it relevant to the present—did not persuade them. Why, they asked, would one devote time to exploring a discredited past, when the new post-socialist order promised a decisive break with it? I still can recall my initial shock when I heard the term “wife beating” used by my colleagues; I shuddered at its raw frankness. As my research progressed, the term was repeatedly used in interview sessions, both in the translation of my questions and in the answers to them. I never grew accustomed to its use. As my interpreters and I discussed the proper terminology to use in interviews, they reminded me that domestic violence was not yet a recognized term in their national language, but “wife beating” surely was. These early conversations confirmed my belief that I had to develop a historical context for wife beating by exploring socialist-era as well as pre-socialist-era law and practice as a prelude to my analyzing the post-socialist present. For, as legal scholars and practitioners know, even when formal changes in legal systems are made, they are not followed necessarily by changes in the implementation of the new law. In all likelihood, I would find continuities as well as discontinuities with that past in the present. In this chapter, I develop three basic arguments. First, that notwithstanding the socialist ideological principle of sex equality and the development and implementation of some policies consistent with it, domestic violence as a means of power and control in family life continued to exist under socialism because the socialist gender system allowed for and justified it in practice. Second, that despite the concrete limitations of the socialist legal system, abused women were not simply passive victims. Limited evidence, which needs further development, suggests that some sought protection or redress. These two arguments suggest a third with broader implications for comparative studies. Regardless of the significant political, economic, and legal differences between Western democratic and state socialist systems, the naturalizing and normalizing of practices of power and control through violence in family life was a point of convergence between them. I begin with a discussion of the tensions and contradictions among the state-authored socialist ideology of sex equality, official constructions of gender, and the experiences of daily life. More specifically, I argue that


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the socialist construction of gender in Hungary, Poland, and Romania is a foundational concern for any discussion of wife beating as a practice in daily life, as well as for understanding the response from their socialist legal systems. Next, I explore the incidence of the violence during the state socialist period in the three countries. Despite the absence of hard data, there are, I suggest, some possible directions for useful research regarding official recognition of the violence. Subsequently, I identify prevailing cultural beliefs in the three countries regarding the causes of the violence. This inquiry reveals that notwithstanding socialist sex equality ideology, patriarchal ideas and practices of power and control—considered as natural in intimate relationships— were and are crucial to the implementation of law. Finally, I address the de jure as well as the de facto status of socialist law regarding the violence. What provisions, if any, were applicable in criminal law and in the family code? How were cases, in which violence was alleged, actually handled? In the last section, I raise the research question of whether there were nonlegal options in the socialist-era for women experiencing domestic violence. I connect this issue to the contemporary concern regarding the most appropriate framework for categorizing domestic violence victims: as agents or victims. This chapter is part of a more extensive investigation into the relationship between ideology, law, and practice in one hitherto largely undiscussed aspect of family life under state socialism: domestic violence. Scholars, even those who focus on gender in the socialist era, have paid very little attention to the issue of wife beating.1 It is largely based on empirical research I undertook during the period of 1995–2001 in Hungary, Poland, and Romania.2 I rely on data from extensive interviews (approximately a hundred in each country) with officials and professionals whose work brought them in contact with domestic violence—a diverse pool consisting of police, prosecutors, judges, lawyers, law professors, doctors, psychologists, journalists, priests and nuns, and members of NGOs. Mindful of the fact that the provinces are quite different from the capital, my research plan included smaller rural communities and urban sites in the provinces in each of the three countries. I chose not to interview targets or perpetrators of the violence for several reasons. First, even with the assistance of NGOs, finding targets who were willing to be interviewed was difficult. Second, my seeking out perpetrators, as researchers are aware, might pose a risk to an abused woman’s safety. Usually the face-to-face interview lasted an hour and a half to two hours (including translation time). To avoid having a formal legal discussion, which, all too likely, would degenerate into a routine discussion


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of criminal code provisions, I encouraged interviewees to talk about the domestic violence cases they had handled in socialist as well as postsocialist times. Consequently, I limited my preliminary questions in each interview to three basic ones with time for follow-up probes as warranted. Had the interviewee handled cases of wife beating? What did they think were the causes of wife beating? What was their estimate of the incidence or frequency of the violence in the population? Then, I moved to the most crucial portion of the interview—their recollections of cases they had handled. As they recounted their stories, I encouraged them to tell me the details. While working in each country, I coded the data at regular intervals to identify patterns in interviewee attitudes, understandings, and practices. This frequent coding enabled me to incorporate new information in subsequent interview follow-up probes and, thus, to enrich the responses. I should note that interviewees were extremely cooperative and, in most instances, very frank. It appeared that they enjoyed telling stories about their work. When I remarked on this attentiveness, more than one interpreter noted that in all likelihood I was one of the first foreigners to listen to them. State Socialist Ideology of Sex Equality and the Constructions of Gender According to the shared state socialist master narrative, there were dual root causes of women’s inequality in pre-socialist states: women’s position in the prevailing oppressive class structure, which they shared with their men, and their in-class economic dependence on their men (husbands/partners/fathers).3 Both arrangements were critical components in women’s subordination to men. Their subordination was not merely interpersonal. Interclass and in-class subordination were reinforced, justified, and reproduced by patriarchal societal institutions (such as family, church, schools, and workplaces).4 State socialism was committed to the eradication of the existing exploitative class structure in each country; for women it also held out the promise of sex equality, which would be achieved by the elimination of women’s dependency on and subordination to men. Such a truly dramatic shift in history and culture could occur only in a modern socialist order guided by the ruling party. In that order, a combination of new material conditions for women (as well as men), in dramatically changed institutional settings accompanied by transformation of consciousness in both sexes, would produce deep changes in the nature of their relations. The result would be the emancipation of women from patriarchy in its


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more traditional forms in rural areas and its successful adaptations to capitalist urban life. This ideological commitment to sex equality was incorporated as a guarantee into each socialist state’s constitution—a symbolically potent recognition of women as a vital, identifiable constituency in the socialist order. When compared to the constitutions of Western liberal countries claiming to be committed to democratic principles, this sex equality provision in Hungary,5 Poland,6 and Romania7 was a distinguishing, radical feature. That said, the sex equality provision, like other human rights guarantees in state socialist constitutions, had no per se implementing legislation. In other words, there was no sex equality law bridging the gap between formal constitutional text and policies said to be consistent with that guarantee. Moreover, since there was no constitutional provision for a constitutional court, which could determine whether state action was consistent with a constitutional guarantee in a socialist legal system, the guarantees in the constitutional text remained largely symbolic and hortatory. Nor were there mechanisms developed outside state socialist institutions and the party apparatus to assess whether and to what extent the formal guarantee of sex equality was being realized in practice. State socialist acknowledgement of sex equality and the development of many policies consistent with it were deeply instrumentalist as well. Domestically, the massive mobilization of women for paid employment and the provision for their education were said to advance sex equality. These policies also served the socialist state’s agenda of rapid modernization, including industrialization. So, too, did other state policies associated with sex equality and women’s emancipation—maternity leave, state provision of healthcare and access to safe abortion (in Poland and Hungary) in the absence of adequate supplies of contraceptives, a broad range of social insurance benefits, and, during most decades, relatively easy access to divorce. That commitment to sex equality and its implementation in state policies also was useful for socialist states in the international arena. It was deployed by socialist bloc countries in Cold War propaganda to trumpet the superiority of state socialism as ideology and practice for Third World countries. For example, socialist countries could compare the significant number of women in their national legislatures and other state and party bodies that was achieved through state- and party-imposed quotas to the, at best, paltry number of women in such positions in counterpart Western societies. Socialist governments cited Western resistance or hostility to such quotas, on the grounds of their being undemocratic, as an instance of the hypocrisy of liberal democratic systems whose ideology


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promised equality, but did not deliver it. Indeed, when compared with the extent of Western countries’ acknowledgement of women’s interests and public policies consonant with them, socialist states appear to have been far more consistent in reconciling aspects of certain ideological principles with practice. Notwithstanding their achievements, however, socialist states, like their Western liberal counterparts, remained fraternal patriarchies;8 they reproduced and justified hierarchically organized male privilege. In all three countries, women did not occupy high political leadership positions.9 They were largely absent from the upper ranks of each state’s powerful nomenklatura—a national and transnational state socialist fraternity led by its Soviet brothers. It was this fraternity that controlled access to state-authored privileges and state resources. Despite their availability for labor, women did not work in significant numbers in the most prestigious occupations; they were much less likely to be members of each country’s intellectual and cultural elite. In sum, notwithstanding the equality-based vision of women and men enjoying the material advances and benefits of state socialism, the modern socialist state and its ruling party were patriarchal in their operations and practices. In passing, it should be noted that patriarchal structures, practices, and culture were not confined to the public sphere of officially organized or monitored life. Even women’s heroic contributions to dissident movements in each country were subsumed or ignored in the protest narratives that recounted the sacrifices and leadership qualities of the nation’s brave men.10 To understand these disparities, one must begin with an analysis of the construction and operation in socialist culture of gender—of masculinity and femininity found in daily life (family, sexual relationships, marriage, and work) as well as in official life. In this section, I provide a synthesized account of those constructions.11 Like other societies, socialist societies identified “significant” aspects of sex difference as the basis for differentiated social roles and culturally appropriate behaviors, and like other societies, these constructions were strengthened by being naturalized and normalized through culture; so anchored, they were considered essential to collective social well-being. That said, the essentialized properties of gender could also be manipulated by state authorities to meet pressing national needs. Of course, in no society is gender ideology fully consistent with actual practice. To assert that there were such inconsistencies and contradictions in state socialist societies, therefore, is not surprising or unique. My point is twofold. First, despite the differences among the countries, socialist ideology of sex equality and the implementation of some policies


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consistent with the enhancement of the status of women coexisted with essentialized gender norms of masculinity and femininity in each country. These norms, which were widely accepted, rationalized and justified patriarchally organized hierarchy and the control of women. Second, this coexistence is key to understanding wife beating in family life during the socialist era and the extent of its normalization. In these three countries as well as others in the socialist bloc, the prevailing construct of socialist masculinity identified men as dedicated, collectively oriented workers, who would display strength and leadership qualities in the building of a socialist society. Men were the iconic “providers,” though their wives were likely to work outside the home as well. In their role as the main provider, men enjoyed the patriarchal status of “head of household.” Its attendant entitlements and privileges included respect, deference, and obedience from family members. Of course, the state and the party understood that family was an important entity in the building of a socialist society and, depending on the decade and country, attempted (with limited success) to penetrate it—citing the need to encourage socialist norms and practices in family life as well as in the wider society. But far less attention was paid by the party and state to the “private” aspects of masculinity—men’s behaviors as husbands and fathers in families and as sexual beings within and outside family life. There may be many explanations for this selective focus. In the context of a discussion about domestic violence, perhaps one of the most persuasive ones is that a deep interrogation of patriarchal masculine behaviors in the intimacies of family life—especially sex as entitlement and violence as a means of control—were deeply threatening and potentially destabilizing issues for any fraternal patriarchal order. The socialist construction of femininity embraced the duality of women’s lives. They were “worker-mothers.” As such, their lives involved a more complicated gender balancing act.12 As “workers,” women, like men, were to bring dedication and commitment to their socialist-inspired labor. Women’s assumption of leadership roles in the labor force, however, had transgressive potential: if they displayed the most rewarded attributes of leadership associated with an essentialized socialist masculinity, women could violate gender boundaries. The other prong of the duality—“mother”—readily accommodated to the comfortable parameters of patriarchal roles and norms. As mothers and wives, women managed domestic life in the private sphere. They were largely responsible for almost all the work in it: physical and social reproduction and the nurturing and caretaking of all family members (children, husband, and elders). To the best of their ability, women in


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socialist economies marked by shortages of household items at intervals were expected to ensure that their household was adequately provisioned. As sexual beings, women, especially wives, were expected to satisfy their man’s needs and recognize his entitlements, including his demands for sexual access. Managing or coping with the range of men’s needs, entitlements, or demands was considered a “woman’s business.” In this gender schema, a husband was entitled to a wife’s understanding, deference, and compliance with his wishes and needs. Her failure to perform her feminine identified tasks to her husband’s satisfaction or her criticism of him could be interpreted by him as a challenge to his status and authority as a male/head of household. In effect, her action or speech was reframed by him as a transgression of patriarchally ordered gender boundaries. His culturally authorized range of responses included “disciplining” her to remind her of her appropriate place in the naturalized gender hierarchy. “Discipline” was a code word for wife beating. Charged with acting on behalf of her family’s welfare, a woman, as the embodiment of femininity, was expected to accommodate, if not indulge, her spouse, even at the cost of her own suffering. Historically and culturally, this disparate burden can be traced to Christian iconography of the polarities of suffering womanhood—Eve and Mary. Stripped of its religious connotations by socialism, women’s alleged enhanced capacity for suffering was naturalized by the reductionist and materialist claim that they possessed biological and, consequently, psychological capacities connected to that biology to endure suffering. This updated attribution of enhanced capacity for suffering had its implications for wife beating as a culturally acceptable familial practice. Women could endure beatings and other forms of domestic abuse. It continued to be their gender-specific private form of suffering. Despite knowledge of the existence of violence in family life, it and the accompanying suffering were cloaked in culturally endorsed silence. Such silence was essential to the maintenance of patriarchal power and control—though it was explained and justified as part of women’s obligation to uphold their men’s honor and his family’s reputation. Interviewees frequently reminded me of a supposedly timeless wisdom that a “good” woman would not destroy her husband’s honor and family name by revealing “private” affairs, such as wife beating, in public. In effect, the socialist canon and the culturally endorsed construction of gender in socialist societies were at odds. The socialist canon posited that with the foundational conditions enabling wife beating (women’s dependence on and subordination to men) eliminated in the new order, the practice of wife beating as a means of exercising power and control over women in the family would disappear. The prescriptions of the


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The Incidence of Wife Beating in Socialist Hungary, Poland, and Romania Like other countries, socialist states did not disaggregate criminal case statistics in a manner that would provide some clues regarding the incidence and frequency of domestic violence. The absence of a category for domestic violence cases speaks to the lack of significance accorded to it.13 Prior to the 1990s, in virtually all countries, most domestic violence complaints from women (the overwhelmingly likely victims) were not taken seriously by law enforcement or legal system officials, except for femicide/homicides or some extremely serious injuries involving spouses or intimates. Rather, these cases were diverted from the legal system and, thus, would never appear in crime statistics. Hungary, Poland, and Romania were no exception. Usually a victim withdrew her complaint at the early stage of a case. Like women in other countries, women in Hungary, Poland, and Romania who filed criminal complaints alleging abuse withdrew them for a variety of reasons (see “Law,” below). There are also reasons specific to state socialism for the failure to keep such statistics. Crime statistics had significant ideological implications for the socialist state. High crime rates could be construed as an admission of state and party failure to construct a new law-abiding socialist order. Not surprisingly, therefore, they were considered untrustworthy if published and were not subject to independent research and analysis. Moreover, as some interviewees waggishly observed, if there were specific, accurate statistics regarding wife beating, many ruling party members’ reputations would be compromised. “After all, even Stalin beat his wife,” several interviewees were quick to remind me. Interviewees were clear that wife beating existed under socialism and that they were aware of it—though they were unwilling to give their opinion regarding its incidence. Rather, they referred to these cases as “dark numbers”—a socialist-era phrase referring to a phenomenon known to exist but officially unrecorded. One might conclude that I am suggesting that the quest for evidence of the violence is hopeless. I am not. During the course of my research, I found evidence of recognition of violence outside the formal operation of criminal law. Depending on the decade and the country, divorce statistics might provide a partial clue to the incidence of the violence. Women, most likely the moving party in a divorce action, would claim their


socialist gender order, however, enabled and justified the violence by continuing to minimize and naturalize it.


Isabel Marcus

husbands’ alcoholism or cruelty as grounds for a divorce (see “Criminal Proceedings,” below). Both allegations, according to interviewees, meant wife beating. Other clues of a nonstatistical nature require further research. Statecontrolled media, especially women’s magazines, published stories about women with drunkard husbands who treated their families “cruelly.” Such cruelty usually involved violence. In party-controlled publications offering advice to women regarding gender relations, there were suggestions that women could turn to such party units as the women’s league or a workplace collective for assistance with their “problems.”14 In addition, during official antialcohol campaigns, the connection between alcohol and wife beating was a constant. Women’s roles in these campaigns need to be identified and analyzed. This enumeration of evidence of official recognition of the violence suggests but does not exhaust the possibilities for further research. Research clues to the violence within specific periods in each countries’ socialist era are also a consideration—more specifically the correlation between the violence and particularly stressful periods, such as Stalinist repression in all three countries, martial law in Poland, or the 1970s and 1980s in Romania during the time of Nicolae Ceaus¸escu’s implementation of drastic pro-natalist policies. Interviews from aging survivors might provide some evidence. Clearly, they merit further research. That said, a more detailed accounting of the incidence and frequency of the violence in the socialist past never will be available. But this situation is not unique to socialist countries. At best, such historical research in all countries can contest the overbroad assumption that wife beating was completely ignored. The Causes of Wife Beating As the first section suggests, the social constructions of masculinity and femininity in the socialist era provided what I call a “moral script” into which the specificities of a family violence case could be fit; in that script, the motives and the behaviors of both the victim or target of the violence and the perpetrator were explained and justified by gender considerations. The reach of that script was not confined to the daily life of ordinary citizens. In the absence of clear training to the contrary, the script informed the work of doctors, lawyers, and law enforcement and legal system personnel. I found one of the best examples of this gender construction incorporated into a moral script in the unanimous, emphatic attribution by interviewees of heavy drinking as the major cause of the violence in


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both socialist and post-socialist eras. At the same time, interviewees in each country also identified alcohol consumption positively as a significant gendered activity. Even when excessive, it was (and continues to be) deeply connected to masculinity, to the assertion of male prerogatives, and, ultimately, to national identity. Interviewees (largely male) who volunteered this information often accompanied it with proverbs to explain the national cultural significance of alcohol for men and masculinity. Men drink to bond outside the company of women, to assert that they are strong, and, ultimately, to conform to images of the nation’s strength. They also drink as a refuge from their troubles. Of course, these interviewees acknowledged, drinking could wreak havoc in family life and could have a profoundly disruptive impact on workplace production and discipline. But almost all of them were quick to add that drinkers, while under the influence of alcohol, are not fully responsible or accountable for their behavior. This well-anchored cultural belief in a drinker’s lack of accountability is important for a fuller understanding of legal system officials’ responses to many domestic violence cases in socialist times. Moreover, many interviewees commented, a drunken husband was in all likelihood responding with violence to a perceived challenge to his authority from a critical, angry, scolding, or otherwise unsympathetic spouse. His masculinity was at stake in his household. As they explained their dismissal of wife beating cases involving alcohol, officials acknowledged either sympathizing with a perpetrator or considering the violence as hopelessly normal. So cast, the violence was either an act of male self-defense or an understandable loss of self-control in the face of a wife’s “provocation.” Many interviewees observed that provocation was a woman’s way or strategy of dealing with her husband. Such “provocation” is what I characterize as a “floating” allegation—meaning that it could include any behavior or response on her part. His interpretation and classification was dispositive as a justification for the violence. This scenario would explain why, most revealingly, virtually all interviewees asserted that there would be no significant change when asked if the incidence of beatings would diminish if less alcohol was consumed and economic conditions had improved in the socialist or post-socialist eras. Pressed to explain, they relied on remarkably similar, essentialized notions of masculinity and femininity and the inevitable dynamic produced by female provocation, even as they distinguished their nation and culture as unique compared with others in the region. In each country, their logic was relentlessly circular; the net conclusion was the vindication of male perpetrators. Family quarrels


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and violence between the sexes are part of daily life; this is natural and, therefore, normal. These quarrels occur because it is in women’s nature to provoke men by criticizing or challenging them. But every woman should know better. Women are on notice that men demonstrate their masculinity by responding with force to provocation as they define or experience it. When provoked by women, such force is justifiable because women need to be disciplined, so that they know their place in the gender order. More concretely, men discipline women so that they can remain the head of the family and, by extrapolation, retain their status in the wider social order. In effect, this reasoning reduces women to asking or needing to be beaten—a classic example of blaming the victim. In effect, the gendered script of alcohol consumption, consistent with a more general, essentialized masculinity and femininity (see first section) as the overarching causal explanation for the violence, was (and continues to be) mustered to naturalize and normalize domestic violence in all three countries. Separately or connected, these gender-essentialized traits become the basis for the moral script that blames the victim. Such scripts diminish, if not eliminate, perpetrator accountability. Absent the acceptance of notions of perpetrator accountability for an act and of state accountability to protect victims from violence, the failure of the state to intervene in wife beating cases was (and still is) explained and justified by those charged with enforcing the law.

State Reponses to Wife Beating Law

The role of law as a means of holding individuals accountable for their injurious behavior occupies an important place in most contemporary discussions of domestic violence in all countries. Looking back to the socialist era and the ideology of sex equality, how did the newly developed system of socialist law and the officials who administered the law handle domestic violence cases? To begin, socialist law, like its predecessors, was viewed with a measure of wariness, cynicism, and even fear by a large portion of the population.15 Law was considered a coercive instrument imposed by the state; it was not a site for the assertion of rights. Individuals tended to speak about solving their “problems,” which might have involved the bureaucracy; they did not refer to the vindication of their “rights” in a legal forum.16


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Reliance on law to address “problems” in the home that, technically, might fit the definition of a crime was problematic. In all three countries, there was widespread popular, ongoing resistance to state and party efforts to penetrate home and family life. Why, even when Stalinist police terror was relegated to memory, would one call the police for a family matter? In Hungary and Poland, police were considered collaborators with an imposed regime; in Ceaus¸escu’s Romania, they were an omnipresent, omnipotent, post-Stalinist force of terror to be avoided. The socialist legal system, moreover, was considered to be neither transparent nor fair. It was understood to be interpreted by deeply compromised officials who lacked independence from the party. Judges were constrained by a system of party control over their decisions (especially in criminal cases) known as “telephone justice”; as a case proceeded, they consulted with party officials to ensure that the outcome was acceptable to the party.17 Nevertheless, as my research reveals, some of the targets of the violence did attempt to use the legal system in their country. That women still brought cases to the attention of the authorities, despite popular skepticism toward law and the legal system, suggests that they tried to resist the violence. They might have resorted to the law for a variety of reasons: the hope that it would provide at least a temporary respite from the violence; the prospect that a perpetrator might be frightened into ceasing his abusive behavior; and the need for criminal case evidence of the violence if they were the moving party in a divorce (see “Family Law: Exit from a Marriage,” below). Criminal Proceedings

Like other countries, socialist states (with the exception of Poland) had no specific criminal laws regarding domestic violence. But neither did their criminal code immunize the violence from prosecution by distinguishing injuries occurring in the home from other venues; nor did the code separate incidents of violence between spouses or intimate partners from violent crimes committed by others known or unknown to a victim. In other words, the reach of criminal law technically extended to wife beating through criminal code articles classifying crimes involving bodily assault based on the level of injuries sustained. Only Poland had a criminal code provision (Article 184, now Article 207) regarding domestic violence.18 Though the provision did not require more than one act of violence to constitute a prosecutable offence, most Polish interviewees were clear that more than a single incident was needed for law enforcement to proceed or for a court to order


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more than a suspended sentence for a perpetrator. Despite the existence of this legal provision, I found that Polish interviewees, who served during the socialist era as police (all male), prosecutors (a mixture of males and females), or judges (also a mixture of males and females) were no more sensitive to or possessed greater understanding of domestic violence than their Hungarian or Romanian counterparts whose criminal codes lacked a separate provision. Police, prosecutors, and judges of both sexes in each country had numerous stories of domestic violence to tell—almost exclusively about women who petitioned the socialist legal system for protection or redress. While space does not allow for great detail, police, prosecutor and judicial interviewees in all three countries readily acknowledged employing strategies to divert almost all wife beating cases out of the legal system. In their endeavors, they claimed to rely on official discretion to determine the worthiness of a case and the likelihood of its success, a professional calculus on which legal system officials still rely: they ignored or minimized a battered woman’s complaint at the police or prosecutorial level; they advised or badgered her to withdraw her petition often by marshalling prevailing appropriate gender norms of suffering and feminine mercy and understanding; they reminded her that she would be viewed by others as a “bad” woman because she resorted to using the criminal law system against her husband;19 they informed her that they could not protect her from her husband’s threats of greater harm or from threats by his family if she persisted with her complaint; they exerted pressure on both parties to reconcile; and they delayed review of the case for investigation or prosecution. Finally, if the case survived and was heard by a judge, the likely outcome was a suspended sentence—even for perpetrators with a history of prior offenses. Judges recalled reminding persistent women of their wifely and maternal obligations and a parade of horrors that would follow if their man were incarcerated. This research finding provides evidence for two important propositions regarding the implementation of socialist law in the three countries. First, socialization into the norms and practices of a profession is an important component of the implementation of law. It may require that women transcend feminine stereotypes by adopting stereotypically masculine attitudes and behaviors. More concretely, women who served either as prosecutors and judges (not accorded high status because they were the arm of a repressive state) would have to demonstrate that they performed according to masculine standards of toughness. It was my distinct impression that many of them did so. Second, gender-neutral law on the books (de jure equality) did not (and does not) guarantee that


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the specificities of gendered culture would not deeply influence legal practices and outcomes to produce de facto inequality. Here it is important to note that reliance by officials in Hungary, Poland, and Romania on these strategies does not necessarily distinguish their law enforcement and the operation of the legal system from their counterparts in other socialist countries or in liberal democratic societies. Until recently, all of them utilized similar methods to divert most domestic violence cases from legal process. That this occurred, regardless of political and economic system, is a testament to the power of patriarchal gender norms, which allowed and enabled the violence to continue by minimizing and naturalizing a wide range of violent behaviors. Family Law: Exit from a Marriage The undermining of the authority of the clergy and, depending on the decade and country, the suppression of the Catholic or Orthodox Church, is usually considered in the larger political arena as a move to eliminate a significant site of opposition to the party and the socialist state. From another perspective, however, such actions may be considered as benefitting women by loosening one source of patriarchal constraint in family life and family law. Both churches were major institutional loci for resistance to changes in families associated with modernity such as liberalized divorce and the provision of contraception or safe abortion. They also promoted the gender-essentialized cult of women’s suffering and sacrifice, which reinforced patriarchal norms in family life. If criminal law was unlikely to provide abused women with protection or redress, family law might. More specifically, a divorce might provide a measure of relief from the violence. Not surprisingly, according to judges and lawyers in Hungary, Poland, and Romania, like other societies, women were likely to be the moving party in a divorce action. While a fuller discussion of accessible divorce during the socialist era is beyond the scope of this chapter, there are important considerations meriting further scholarly research in each country. One is the charting of the expansion of the grounds for fault-based divorce to consider less than life-threatening incidents of domestic violence as “cruelty” or an unspecified aspect of “alcoholism” as meeting the criteria for granting a divorce. Another is the nature and amount of the evidence required from the moving party for a divorce. For example, did the target of violence have to provide medical or forensic certificates? In lieu of police testimony, which, I was told, did not occur in divorce cases, what other evidence was acceptable? If a reconciliation period was a mandatory part of the divorce process, did the judge require more than a pro-forma showing of efforts


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at reconciliation? Yet another is the extent to which, during different periods of state socialism, the divorce process was manipulated by adding additional legal steps to the divorce process as hindrances—perhaps in response to a rapidly rising divorce rate without a parallel high remarriage rate or declining birth rate, which could deter abused women from seeking a divorce. Even though the general trend under socialism in all three countries was an increase in divorce rates during periods of liberalization, not all abused women sought divorces. Depending on class and community, divorce could still be stigmatized. The prevailing gender system still endorsed the proposition that a “good” woman/wife would know how to manage her marriage; by that logic, a divorce is a public signifier of a woman’s, not a man’s, inadequacies. Though divorce might be the appropriate legal remedy when it was accessible, post-divorce arrangements did not necessarily lead to an end to the violence. Given housing shortages in some countries (especially in urban areas), divorce was likely to result in a division of the state-owned family flat between the ex-spouses. Interviewees in my research commented that such a division enabled the violence to continue or to be exacerbated. The account of a Polish police officer is an excellent illustration. “They are trying to lead separate lives in the same space that was once their home. She brings a new man to the flat; he goes crazy. Or he brings a new girlfriend and, even though his ex-wife was the moving party in the divorce, she starts a row. Then we (the police) are called. What to do? This is their own private business and it’s normal.”20 Revisiting Battered Women’s Agency in Socialist States In the contemporary, transnational domestic violence community, which consists of scholars, NGO activists working in the field, and officials and professionals implementing laws, there are ongoing discussions regarding the use of the term “victim.”21 More specifically, the concern is the extent to which the term reinforces the stereotype of the target of domestic abuse and violence—focusing on her helplessness, her trauma, her inability to protect herself. In other words, through the lens of culture, she is reduced to properties that are consistent with the gender constructions of patriarchy. Consequently, some argue, the aspects of the target’s “agency” should be emphasized—her strategies for survival and for the protection of her children within an abusive relationship, her courage in seeking a separation under threatening conditions, and her humanity.


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The relevance of this discussion, I believe, is not limited to the present, though there appear to be more visible options for agency in some countries (applying for an order of protection, filing a court case, leaving a home for a shelter, or moving far away). It should inform analyses of the past23 as well. Admittedly, in socialist countries, as in their non-socialist counterparts, abused women had fewer options than they do now. Still, I want to argue that there may be hitherto unexamined sites for battered women’s exercise of agency in the socialist era. Creative research strategies are needed to uncover them. For example, as discussed above, like some women in Western countries who may have been abused and were active in antialcohol campaigns, women from socialist countries who experienced abuse may have involved themselves in state- and party-authorized antialcohol or child protection campaigns. They may have put pressure on the authorities to undertake such activity. Or, despite the unresponsiveness of the socialist legal system to wife beating, perhaps the local women’s committee affiliate of the party may have tried to assist abused women by providing social services as did charities in Western societies. My point is that reframing the issue of domestic violence in the socialist era to explore hitherto undiscussed aspects of women’s agency might provide a more fulsome account of women’s lives. It is evident that there is some urgency to this task. In the absence of official records, studies, or independent surveys, interviews with individuals whose adult lives were lived under state socialism are an obvious source of data. Conclusion In post-socialist European states, anecdotal evidence from pioneering post-socialist hotlines and crisis centers in Warsaw, Budapest, and Bucharest and, later, systematic reports and surveys conducted by international agencies or domestic NGOs reveal a high incidence of domestic violence.24 Women’s rights NGOs in all three countries, like their sister NGOs elsewhere, identify domestic violence as a manifestation of inequality between the sexes and as a means of perpetuating the subordination of women. They have called upon their governments to be accountable—to enact and implement laws addressing domestic violence and to ensure that domestic law and official/professional practices are in compliance with European and international standards. For understandable reasons, the publications of post-socialist women’s rights NGOs concerned with domestic violence in the three countries do not offer information about the socialist past. They have pressing, contemporary political and social


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agendas—such as the enactment of a domestic violence law, the adequate implementation of an existing law, or the establishment of hot lines, crisis centers, or shelters for abused women and their children. As part of the campaign against domestic violence, the history and legacies of the state socialist era (systemic practices influenced by cultural norms regarding wife beating) are important. Continuities from that past can be significant barriers to reform. A more expansive understanding of the ideology and the realities of the near past ought not to be dismissed because they are too close and controversial or, possibly, too uncomfortable or painful to confront.


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How the Church Became the State: The Catholic Regime and Reproductive Rights in State Socialist Poland Joanna Z. Mishtal

The Church didn’t talk about abortion before ’89. The Pope never talked about abortion in Poland…. He talked about it in the U.S. and in Western Europe, but never in Poland. As soon as the political situation changed, the first projects were to restrict abortion. Clearly, the Church was waiting for the right moment.1 Małgorzata Fuszara, legal scholar, Warsaw University

Introduction Polish women had had liberal access to abortion since 1956, and few Poles expected that the new democratic government that supplanted the Communist Party in 1989 would delegalize reproductive rights. A predominantly Catholic population fought hard to retain legal abortion and was actually shocked that the Catholic Church, which had been a beacon of trust and freedom against the Communist Party, was suddenly playing a forceful and reactionary role in the crusade to ban abortion. Why did the democratic victory over state socialism mark the Catholic Church’s “right moment,” to quote Fuszara, to wage an aggressive and ultimately successful campaign against reproductive


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freedoms—especially when much of the population initially perceived this intervention as a betrayal of the nation’s hard-won liberation from state socialism? This chapter examines how the Catholic Church consolidated its power during the last decade of state socialism and how, as a result, it was able to so quickly ally with the new, post-’89 government and carry out a previously hidden, antiwoman agenda. In the historical analysis of church-state relations that follows, I demonstrate that the ability of the Polish Episcopate to effect such drastic reproductive policy changes in post-socialist legislation was the outcome of its long-standing quest to regain political power after nearly forty-five years of marginalization by the socialist state. Throughout that period, the Church struck deals with the Communist Party to ensure its own survival; once the regime fell and a Catholic-nationalist administration came to power in 1989, the Church was ready to fully and aggressively reassert its place in politics. Its extraordinary degree of political influence is evident in the immediate and severe limitations imposed on reproductive rights in Poland. Specifically, the Church was integral in ushering policy restrictions that criminalized abortion in 1993, phased out sex education from schools in the early 1990s, and eliminated contraceptive health insurance coverage in 2002. The restrictions took effect without any referenda despite the fact that the majority of the population was in favor of maintaining liberal reproductive laws.2 The Church’s new policies blindsided women, who found themselves unprepared to respond effectively. As one woman noted, “I was so surprised by the proposal that I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t believe it; I pushed it out of my mind.”3 Another woman recalled, “When the antiabortion law was about to take effect in 1993, there was a lot of activity, people protested, there were open letters to the authorities. But it was too late.”4 Since 1989, the Polish church and state have, de facto, merged. Catholic representatives serve within the state structure and the Church’s position is protected by powerful legal agreements, in particular the Concordat Treaty with the Vatican, that guarantee the Church sovereignty and a leading role in politics, thus protecting the Church from the governance of the state.5 In other words, the Church can influence the state, but the state has no influence over the Church.


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of church and state and enjoyed access to new rights—especially reproductive rights, access to education and employment, and generous maternity benefits. On the other hand, many perceived the Church as a refuge from an intrusive government. Although the Church presented itself in opposition to the state, the two players coexisted in a cooperative dynamic of “antagonistic interdependencies,” recognizing their dependence on each other amidst ongoing struggles to assert power.6 Relative to other Soviet-controlled nations, the Church in Poland was too powerful to be restrained by the regime and later became a cradle of resistance against the state. The uniquely strong affiliation of Poles with Roman Catholicism (over 89 percent of the population) forced the state to use tactics that were adapted to this power dynamic.7 Consequently, many policies implemented by the state were not unilateral but rather the outcome of negotiations with the Polish Episcopate.8 Moreover, the state recognized that the continued visibility and importance of the Church maintained a sense of stability among a populace coping with postwar chaos. The antagonistic character of the two institutions was rooted in their competing visions of secular modernity and Catholic traditionalism, with tensions displayed in both rhetorical and practical terms. From its inception, the secular Polish United Workers’ Party (Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza, PZPR) set out to separate the church and state, a move that had immediate implications for women’s rights.9 As soon as the party took power in 1945, a decree was introduced that legalized divorce, denied the legality of Catholic marriage ceremonies, and made a civil marriage contract mandatory.10 That same year the religious oath that had been required of all civil employees was discontinued. Mandatory religious education in schools was partially eliminated, allowing atheist or non-Catholic students to be exempt from religion courses.11 In a frantic response to the state’s measures, Pope Pius XII excommunicated all Catholics who were PZPR members, while Cardinal Stefan Wyszyn´ski, speaking on behalf of the Polish Episcopate, sharply criticized the regime. The local clergy began to refuse sacraments to Catholics who were sympathetic to the socialist state. The state, however, saw the papal agitation and the local hostilities instigated by the clergy as an opportunity to further curb the Church’s power. Indeed, that year, the state sentenced to jail clergy who refused to provide sacraments to citizens based on political objections. The lines of conflict during this time were not simply dichotomized between the church and the state. The era’s leftist intellectuals also favored secularization. During the 1950s, the majority of the left-endorsed state reforms aimed at separating church and state. Specifically, the Left argued


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that the separation would draw Poland out of its “social and cultural backwardness.”12 As the Left and the Church continued their scuffles, the Church signed a Modus Vivendi with the state—a working agreement containing several compromises, including that the pope was to remain a strictly religious rather than political authority for the Polish Episcopate. In exchange, the state allowed freedom of public worship, the continued operation of the Catholic University in Lublin, and the reintroduction of religious education in public schools.13 The Modus Vivendi benefited both sides: the clergy ceased to discuss criminal state activities such as illegal arrests and police frame-ups; in exchange, the Church was promised a degree of autonomy and, significantly, established itself as an indissoluble force vis-à-vis the regime.14 As such, the Catholic Church was uniquely positioned and entitled in Poland when compared with the much weaker and suppressed roles of religious institutions in other Soviet satellite countries. Catholicism had for centuries been an integral part of the Polish national identity, particularly sustaining it during devastating periods of foreign subjugation by, for example, the Russian, Prussian, and Austro-Hungarian empires in the nineteenth century and Nazi Germany in the mid-twentieth century. The Catholic Church’s resistance efforts reinforced its political legitimacy in these periods and during the Communist-era, when it joined forces with Solidarity, the leading opposition movement of the 1980s. Although Roman Catholicism has been the dominant religion among Poles for centuries and the Church always aimed to influence state politics, the socialist regime prevented the Church from influencing policy. During the 1980s, however, the Church began to recover political momentum when its efforts in support of popular resistance against the Communist Party became most visible.15 Capitalizing on this new energy, in the immediate post1989-era the Church’s efforts showed its determination to return to its pre-state socialist status, in which the Church held a politically privileged position. In fact, the Church looks to the interwar period of 1918–1939, when Poland experienced a brief twenty years of independence and nationhood, as the ideal political model for post-socialist Poland. In its post-’89 efforts to establish a Catholic state, the Church claimed historical continuity with the interwar period, when Poland was a de facto religious state. Neal Pease, a historian of Catholicism, notes that the “Church and State coexisted harmoniously in interwar Poland, exchanging benevolence for reciprocal benefits within a constitutional structure that stopped just short of proclaiming the Roman Church as the established national confession.”16 Later, under state socialism, the Church cultivated a memory of this era as a church-state model inherent


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Women’s Experiences under State Socialism The efforts of the Church had little effect on Communist Party membership, which continued to grow, although women were vastly underrepresented in its political ranks. The state’s formally egalitarian gender ideology did not play out evenly in politics: while the state’s secularizing efforts resulted in a number of policies that expanded women’s physical and symbolic autonomy, the male-dominated nature of PZPR’s governance suggested a systematic exclusion of women’s political participation. This may account for women’s close association with the Church. In Poland, as in Czechoslovakia, women were three times less likely to become party members than men,18 were more closely involved in parishes than men, and constituted the majority of churchgoers.19 Women’s religious participation and political marginalization suggest that church affiliation may have offered them a way to evade party membership or, at least, to find stability in a dramatically changed, postwar world. As feminist activist Hanka Lipowska-Teutsch recalled, during state socialism, the Church provided that space to build resistance, national identity, etc. It’s an institution, not a religion, in which as a participant you felt that it was a stabilizing mechanism, [an] alternative system. That was the subjective experience at the time.20

Despite the myriad understandings that the PZPR and the Church entered, the state liberalized reproductive rights in the first decade of its rule.21 In 1956 the state legalized abortion for medical and socioeconomic reasons and for pregnancies of up to fourteen weeks22 and made the procedure free of charge if performed in a public hospital.23 In subsequent years, the number of recorded abortions increased, reaching a peak of 158,000 in 1965.24 Abortions that were performed in private offices were not included in state reports since doctors were not obligated to report each procedure; thus, state reports underestimated these data. Beginning in 1965, the abortion rate declined gradually, reaching 137,000 in 1980,25 which coincided with an increase in the number of women who began to use modern contraceptives; there was a six-fold rise in sales of the birth control pill from 1969 to 1979.26 The state openly endorsed family planning and sex education and established subsidies for both. The Society for Conscious Motherhood


to a Catholic nation like Poland.17 The struggle between the state socialist regime and the opposition ultimately empowered the Church to reaffirm its symbolic role as a beacon of freedom.


Joanna Z. Mishtal

(Towarzystwo S´wiadomego Macierzyn´stwa), which later became the Society for Family Development (Towarzystwo Rozwoju Rodziny, TRR), was formed with the explicit approval of the state, and the group began receiving state subsidies for its nationwide network of clinics.27 Beginning in 1959, TRR became a member of the International Planned Parenthood Federation (IPPF) and worked with IPPF across the “iron curtain” on family planning programs, showing an openness of the Polish state to Western contraceptive knowledge. In 1959 a law was passed requiring doctors to inform women who had just delivered a child or had an abortion about their contraceptive options. In addition, the national healthcare system began to cover 70 percent of the cost of prescription contraceptives.28 In the 1960s and 1970s, TRR conducted extensive activities promoting modern contraceptives via workshops and lectures for teachers, doctors, and nurses across the country.29 In the 1970s TRR began to work directly with the Ministries of Health and Education, and in the 1980s the group developed a sex education program that became part of the required curriculum. On the whole, however, women were not using the pill; most continued to rely on traditional methods of withdrawal and “the calendar” method (periodic abstinence), mainly because the supply of pills was limited and the pill could be prescribed only in small amounts requiring frequent medical visits. Moreover, women often stopped taking the pill because the excessively high levels of hormones used to manufacture it at that time caused unpleasant side effects.30 Furthermore, while the percentage of women using contraceptives in Poland rose in the 1970s, the production (especially domestic) of the pill dropped; therefore the supply did not stay apace with demand, which slowed the growth rate of contraceptive use during the 1970s and the 1980s.31 State socialist reproductive reforms not only reflected the secular ideology of the regime and exercised the first separation of Church and state in Poland’s history, but were also consistent with the socialist gender equity rhetoric. Sharply breaking with the previously dominant discourse on the primacy of motherhood, the Polish state offered women greater reproductive and sexual autonomy, in addition to access to employment and education. Sociologist and gender studies scholar Małgorzata Fuszara explained the value of access to employment and education as instituted by the state:


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Communists operated on the assumption that emancipation is important and that women need access to the workplace. So in some sense, these feminist vignettes did exist. Later, we all became more ambivalent about it because, on the one hand, I think that truly many women with higher education got jobs, thanks to that awful regime.33

Women’s entry into employment and education was accompanied by a declining total fertility rate (TFR, the number of children per woman per lifetime)—evidence of women’s increasing ability to control reproduction. In fact, Poland’s TFR dropped from 2.98 in 1960 to 2.1 in 1989.34 Other demographic trends, including the postponement of childbearing and marriage and higher divorce rates, also reflected the increased bodily autonomy of Polish women.35 Katherine Verdery aptly argues that the socialist state established itself as paternalistic caretaker—a “benevolent father” provisioning basic welfare.36 Susan Gal and Gail Kligman also assert that women’s power in the state socialist family rose relative to men, as men’s authority as providers was assumed by the state, and thereby diminished.37 This was certainly the case in Poland, as generous social service policies were established to relieve women of the burdens of caregiving and to facilitate their entry into paid employment. The Polish state provided many households with basic appliances and opened a network of public childcare centers—from infant care facilities to library-like places for teens. Welfare benefits were expanded to include cash provisions to supplement families’ and single mothers’ wages, purchase schoolbooks and supplies, and provide child care for disabled children. The state also subsidized a chain of cafeterias called Bar Mleczny (literally, Milk Bars) offering inexpensive homestyle meals that could be picked up in stackable containers on the way home from work. As a result of these policies, Polish women’s full-time employment rose to 78 percent during state socialism.38 Although little changed in the conceptualization of gender roles—women were still expected to manage the household and care for children, husbands, and elderly or sick relatives––state policies supported women’s employment with considerable job security and relief from caregiving. Despite these benefits, independent feminist thought was systematically suppressed by the state. In the 1970s, state socialist authorities throughout Eastern Europe denounced Western Second Wave feminism, claiming that the Communist Party was the only legitimate source


The experiences of feminist author Kazimiera Szczuka are emblematic of those women who valued these gains but who qualified this by expressing doubts about the regime’s top-down implementation of women’s rights:


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of women’s emancipation. International feminism brought attention to gender inequities and facilitated the emergence of women’s movements across the globe, but had little impact in Poland. The 1967 Declaration on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women and the First United Nations World Conference on Women in Mexico City in 1975, as well as events associated with the United Nations World Population Year in 1974, spotlighted problems that the Polish regime saw as nonexistent locally, namely gender inequality and high fertility. The international events did not mobilize Polish women; virtually no grassroots or elite mobilization occurred during these years. For those in the academic circles who were aware of the developments in the West, the lack of any media coverage conveyed an impression that women’s problems in Poland were fundamentally different from those of their Western cohorts as the socialist state cultivated the appearance of an East-West dichotomy. This notion persisted in state discourse until after 1989, when evidence of the similarities among women’s struggles, including the pervasiveness of the double burden and the almost universal undervaluation of female labor, revealed the shared predicaments on both sides of the Cold War divide. The Consolidation of the Church’s Power The Church’s disagreement with the state’s reproductive policies was evident in direct appeals to parishioners by the clergy, who spoke strongly against abortion but rarely attacked state policy itself.39 In fact, in negotiations with the state between the 1950s and the early 1980s, the Church was primarily interested in religious education in schools, Church taxes, and property.40 Crucially, the Church was still developing its position on abortion and contraception, and this relative silence provided a window of opportunity for TRR educators and women to establish reproductive practices aiming at greater reproductive and sexual autonomy without the burdens of overt Church pressure. From the sixth until the late nineteenth century, the majority of theologians debated on what was known as “humanization”—the point at which a fetus becomes human.41 In early Catholic writings, abortion prior to “humanization” was not considered a sin of murder; at the time, the Catholic view held that the soul had not yet entered the fetus. However, it was viewed as a sexual sin because it served to conceal extramarital sex; contraception was a sin because it dissociated sex from procreation. Consequently, debates within the Church focused on the appropriate penance for abortion and contraception vis-à-vis other sexual sins, rather than on restricting these practices.42 In 1962, the Vatican bypassed the debate and declared that “humanization” occurred at


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conception. Yet, the Vatican also declared that abortion and contraception did not fall under the doctrine of “papal infallibility”—meaning that the Church’s position can be found to be erroneous and was subject to change.43 The Polish Church was silent on the issue for most of the statesocialist era. Although this silence provided a window of opportunity to establish family planning practices, it reinforced a widespread assumption that reproductive freedoms were unassailable rights that did not require any kind of advocacy. In fact, the Church increasingly positioned itself to appear progressive and was commonly viewed by women and the population at large as the protector of the people from the state. As interviewees told me, “The Church was the only structure that provided freedom of action” and was therefore embraced;44 during the Sunday masses “it seemed that you [could] extract from Christianity a vignette that’s about freedom.”45 Women’s perception of the Church as a symbol of freedom was reaffirmed by the shift of the secular Left, led by dissident Adam Michnik, to embrace the Church as an ally against the state. At first glance, it seemed implausible that the secular leftists would turn to the Church; however, Michnik believed that the Church needed to be shown that it had nothing to fear from the Left. Many among the intelligentsia worried that this course of action would send the Church on a path toward increasingly greater power and bolster the position of its fundamentalist hardliners. Indeed, ten years later Michnik urged the Left to distance itself from the Church, but it was too late to slow down the momentum of the Episcopate, which was propelled even further by the election of a Polish pope.46 The election of Karol Wojtyła to the papacy in 1978 was of momentous political significance, a fact that was cast by the Polish Episcopate and the new pope in a historic and nationalist light, claiming divine intervention on behalf of the Polish nation.47 Pope John Paul II’s triumphant return to Poland in 1979 for an official visit was depicted as a symbolic clash between dictatorship and freedom. As the Church aligned itself with the Solidarity oppositional movement and the Left in the 1980s, the Polish Episcopate, led by Józef Glemp, began to shift in a more fundamentalist direction. This “radicalization” of the Church was consistent with its post-socialist push to shape politics and institutions according to its vision for a religious state.48 Retrospectively, it is clear that the only way for the Church to build its power and carry out its agenda in the post-socialist era was to join in the struggle against the regime. Consequently, the Church was able to insert itself into the power vacuum in the transitional period of the 1980s as the socialist state weakened, and the burgeoning, though politically inexperienced, opposition movement had not yet attained tangible political clout. Capitalizing on these power shifts, the Episcopate began to




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advance the institutional interests of the Church by couching its rhetoric in appeals for civil rights.

In her theoretical considerations of feminism and Marxism, feminist scholar Heidi Hartman argues that there seems to be a troubled relationship between the two ideologies, wherein the feminist struggle is bound to be eclipsed by “the larger” workers’ struggle that formed the basis of Marxism.49 However, actually existing state socialism in Poland demonstrated that the conceptualization of women as workers did not preclude the implementation of important women’s rights (for which women struggled in the West), including access to education, employment, and reproductive rights. In fact, it was the opposition to the regime—the Catholic-nationalist Solidarity movement—whose rhetoric subsumed women’s concerns under the larger struggle against the state. Moreover, Solidarity’s leadership was overwhelmingly male; the upper echelons devalued women within the movement by depicting their efforts and leadership in the organization as merely supportive.50 The consolidation of the Church’s power, achieved through its decisive involvement in Solidarity and in the struggle at large, became evident in the 1980s; however, many women did not yet sense the danger. As an interviewee told me: The reason that people didn’t mobilize was because there was an enormous trust of the Church, because the Church was helping us win freedom. Many people didn’t have the awareness back then that the polarization of “them” and “us” was going to change later. In the oppositional circles it was clear that “they” meant communists, and “we” meant Solidarity. It’s true that Solidarity had its flaws—it was anti-feminist, occasionally, but we didn’t want to acknowledge that; it was a bit too clerical but again we treated that as folklore.51

Indeed, it was the Solidarity politicians in the newly independent Poland that later delegalized reproductive rights and weakened employment protection for women. In the 1980s, however, only some in the Left sensed the danger posed by the mounting power of the Church—less to women’s rights per se than to the creation of the pluralistic society that they envisioned. Of particular concern was the use of civil rights rhetoric to advance the Church’s agenda as described by Michnik in 1993:


The Betrayal of Women

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The Left’s warning to withdraw the Church’s support came too late. By the end of the 1980s, the Church was rapidly consolidating its power—the Polish Episcopate and the pope strongly supported the Solidarity movement and were deeply engaged in exerting pressure on the collapsing socialist state. The debt that Solidarity owed to the Church was enormous, and the post-1989 Solidarity government wanted to oblige. Not surprisingly, transition politics brimmed with Catholicnationalist discourse and the Church’s agenda finally reached the front burner. The redefinition of women’s identities around traditional gender differences dominated the rhetoric and served as a political tool for Catholic conservatives to consolidate their authority as “moral” leaders. The Church condemned “family demise” and “permissive sexual behavior” as practices that allegedly occurred during state socialism as a result of liberal reproductive rights. Elsewhere in this region, discourses of “familialism” also emerged as a state strategy to arrest the rapid fertility decline,53 and women’s rights were routinely portrayed as discouraging motherhood.54 In other words, the rhetoric of the Church asserted that women’s rights precluded the well-being of the family and “normal” biologically destined gender roles. Many women recalled feeling they had lost the language with which to speak about women’s and reproductive rights during this time, emphasizing that before 1989 “abortion wasn’t weighted down by the language of morality and the killing of the unborn. Before, it was a normal thing, part of everyday life. Since then it has become a sin.”55 Former dissident and journalist Kinga Dunin told me: In the ’80s the language in which we spoke about abortion was taken away from us, replaced with “life is sacred” and “killing is bad.” So if I agree that abortion is bad because it’s murder, then every argument in favor of abortion access doesn’t work, because: If it’s bad, then why do it? This weakness also results from our lack of political culture, the inability to think in the categories of a liberal state, in which if I think it’s bad and you think it’s good, then we need the kind of law that allows me to do what I want, and you [to do] what you want. Therefore discussion about abortion shouldn’t be about morality but about how to organize a state that represents people with a variety of perspectives. The morality discourse was imposed by the Church; it looks like we got pulled into this discourse, and we don’t have the courage to question it anymore. We missed the moment when we could.56


reduced to a campaign aimed at guaranteeing the Catholic hierarchy a privileged influence on public life, and the conflict between the totalitarian state and a pluralistic society begins to be expressed as a dispute between an atheistic government and a Catholic nation.52


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As the public language on abortion and women’s rights was shifting in the early 1990s, the Church went on unimpeded with legislative changes limiting reproductive rights. State subsidies for TRR were soon withdrawn, and since then the organization has struggled to survive. As a result, TRR has been paralyzed by lack of funding, although the group is surviving in a scaled-down form with the help of the IPPF-European Network and the Catholics for Free Choice. Earlier, in 1981, the state, caving under pressure from Solidarity, implemented a legal allowance for doctors to refuse health services, citing objections based on conscience. Counseling for abortions of first pregnancies became mandatory, discouraging many women from using state clinics; hence the drop in reported abortions, from 133,000 in 1981 to 82,000 in 1989.57 After the state socialist regime collapsed and the Solidarity-derived politicians took power in 1989, the Church’s efforts were fully repaid. One of the first items on the agenda was a ban on abortion, proposed in 1989. By 1992, a nonlegislative policy known as the Conscience Clause allowed doctors to refuse to provide abortions (still legally permissible at this time), contraception, and prenatal testing services by invoking conscience-based objections. Opponents of the looming abortion ban, in particular the Federation for Women and Family Planning, who were aware of the national polls in favor of legal abortion, campaigned for a national referendum. However, a referendum was never held and the abortion ban was passed in 1993. The law, which is still in place, criminalizes abortion under all but three circumstances: if the woman’s life or health is in danger; if a prenatal test shows a serious incurable deformity of the fetus; and if pregnancy is the result of rape or incest, is less than twelve weeks into term, and the crime has been reported to the police. Since the legalization of abortion in 1956, only 3 percent of all abortions were performed for these three reasons.58 Within the European Union nations, Poland’s law is second in severity only to Ireland’s. Yet, women continued to have abortions and, whenever possible, did so in private clinics.59 This shift toward the privatization of abortion services paved the way for the development of the so-called “white coat” abortion underground. Currently, illegal abortions are widely available in Poland and doctors can be located via advertisements in major newspapers, in particular Gazeta Wyborcza. Coded expressions indicate abortion services; for example, “all services,” “discrete services,” “regulation of menstruation,” “vacuum,” “anesthesia,” and other euphemisms are used. The Federation for Women and Family Planning estimates that 80,000 to 200,000 clandestine abortions are performed annually in Polish medical offices.60 In parallel, abortion tourism to Slovakia, the Czech Republic, Lithuania, Ukraine, and Belarus developed in the early


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1990s, though it has recently declined due to the availability of illegal abortions locally. As other rights that differentially affect women have also been changing elsewhere in Eastern Europe, the case of Poland supports the assertion of Gal and Kligman that theories which conceptualize the state as an entity that privileges men and subordinates women are germane to understanding the case of Poland after 1989.61 Comparative studies of welfare provisions in Eastern Europe show that Poland has had one of the harshest reductions in family and maternity benefits since 1989.62 The state closed or privatized most childcare facilities and reduced family benefits in almost every category. Even the Bar Mleczny cafeterias had their subsidies drastically reduced, and the handful that remain have raised prices considerably just to stay open. According to the World Bank’s Development Research Group’s assessment of Eastern Europe, “the transition from planned to market economy has witnessed one of the biggest and fastest increases in inequality ever recorded.”63 Polish women are bearing the brunt of economic stratification—they have twice the likelihood of falling below the poverty line as men and constitute the majority of the unemployed due to acute gendered discrimination in the workplace.64 Women’s Experiences in Retrospect Identifying as a feminist during the transitional 1980s became stigmatizing because in this political environment, women’s rights were usually linked with state socialism. Furthermore, women recalled that opposition to the Church did not seem urgent in 1989 because state socialist policies in education, employment, and reproduction—still intact at this point—inculcated a false sense of security about women’s rights. Wanda Nowicka, one of the first reproductive choice activists, explained her experience as follows: My feminist consciousness developed only in the beginning of the 1990s because in my upbringing, my mother had a professional career in the 70s and gender discrimination wasn’t felt. Now women have the awareness, in retrospect, that we lacked true equality back then, but nevertheless, we had the impression that equality was there, that we can work, for example. There were women who had professional careers. And clearly, it was different, compared to the West, where women had to fight for their rights. Here, we were, so to speak, given these things. I realized that we lacked equality only in 1990 when abortion was threatened. That’s when we realized that the rights we’d been given can also be taken away, suddenly and easily. In this moment the lack of gender equality in




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Women’s shock at the antiabortion proposals was profound. As an interviewee described it: It was as if people simply couldn’t get their minds around the idea that such a thing is possible. Many people, especially on the left, were simply unprepared to respond to the upsurge of the right-wing Church machinery and the wave of moralization that came with it, despite the whole debate, so it came as a shock.66

Other women related similar awakenings. Kazimiera Szczuka, an early feminist activist, explained that when the Church began calling for an abortion ban, most women were caught off guard, refusing to believe that the regressive policies would materialize: Even when the abortion ban was proposed, my consciousness didn’t register it very well. I knew something was happening but I didn’t exactly know what. Communism gave us a feeling that there was equality; abortion was legal and so on. During my youth, everything revolved around a paradigm of independence, meaning that, all of us together were fighting against the evil of communism, so vignettes that were feminist or gender-related simply didn’t exist. Certainly my friends and I were quite liberated, so to speak. The conservative style that we see today didn’t exist yet. Everybody that didn’t like the communists—and that was the majority, especially among young people—was able to conduct an absolutely liberated lifestyle, without any questions about whether premarital sex is allowed or something of this kind. It was clear that, yes, it was allowed, and so was abortion.67

Other women explained the slow reaction to the restrictions as the legacy of a historical lack of women’s mobilization and organizing in Poland. For example, Sławomira Walczewska, the founder of the eFKa women’s organization in Krakow, argued that, “in a historical and social sense, we don’t have the experience of [organizing] and the education of self-mobilization that men have had. Women created small and closed forms of organizations, if at all, such as the family, clubs for friends, etc.”68 Hanka Lipowska-Teutsch explained that ordinary Polish women felt a sense of weakness vis-à-vis the larger system that prevented them from acting on their behalf:


Poland became evident and visible; that’s when I had to reevaluate my entire worldview. During socialism, I wasn’t a self-aware feminist: I was a person who was realizing her life in a feminist manner; however, it was all happening without the consciousness. I realized that I’m a conscious feminist only later, in 1990.65


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In Brazil, historically speaking, I believe that political unrest happens often and that the people in power feel that they’re in a state of flux; but in Poland once you’re sitting in a position, that’s where you’ll sit. We have an appropriate metaphor—“hanging onto a stool”—when a politician who is elected for four years … figures that once he finishes being a member of the Parliament, he’ll then become a bank director, and so on…. I feel that sense of weakness in our civil society in Poland.69

Women’s sense of powerless in confronting the assault on reproductive rights was also felt when the state instituted social service cutbacks. Nearly all of the women interviewed lamented the loss of the socialist state’s provisions, making statements such as: We desperately need more state preschools…. We need inexpensive infant care centers. You see, the state is liquidating all these places, not adding more … the state doesn’t give us any support; no support for women that are pregnant or women with kids. I had my son before 1989 and it was no problem to have kids back then, even though I was a single mother.70

Despite the socialist state’s repressive policies in other aspects of life, women’s experiences of their reproductive rights were variously liberating; this fostered their expectation of continued state support. Conclusions Using a gender and historical approach, this chapter demonstrated how the secular nature of the state socialist regime that held power in Poland until 1989 served as protection against the Catholic Church’s traditional intrusion into matters of bodily autonomy. However, once the regime began to weaken in the 1980s in the face of the opposition, the rapid integration of the Church in the Polish state ensued. Under state socialism women and the population at large viewed the Church as a beacon of trust and a symbol of freedom, as the Church played a critical role in Solidarity’s oppositional struggle against the state. The involvement of the Church proved to be crucial in the defeat of the regime. Tracing the historical relationship of the state to the Church reveals that, by the time the socialist state collapsed in 1989, the Church was poised to implement its own political agenda. As a consequence, the Church was decisive in influencing post-1989 political priorities and discourses, which aimed to restore Catholic conservatism in reproduction and sexuality—directives that affected primarily women. Specifically, the Church’s coalition with Solidarity during the 1980s was reflected in the actions of the post-socialist, Solidarity-derived government. The new




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state, owing a substantial debt to the Church, was highly sympathetic to incorporating the Church’s agenda into the reforms, and in the immediate post-1989 period progressively restricted reproductive rights via the conscience clause, the ban on abortion, and the elimination of contraceptive insurance coverage and subsidies for family planning clinics and educators. Abortion, having been accessible for several decades during the state socialist years, was viewed by the Episcopate as symbolic of society’s secularization and the limited influence of the Church; therefore it became the strategic emblem of the renewed power of the Church in post-socialist Poland. The recollections of women who became involved in nascent women’s rights activism show that these changes spurred much outrage, yet a largescale mobilization against the Church did not take place. Contributing to women’s political passivity was the long-term suppression of independent feminist thought by the state socialist regime, which further explains the shock that women experienced when their rights were actually rolled back in the early 1990s. Their disbelief was mixed with a sense of betrayal by the Church, which until now had represented freedom, not repression. Most women found themselves blindsided by the regressive proposals, unable to believe that abortion could be banned after decades of legal access. But the Church viewed the state socialist period as an aberration and was eager to “correct” the women’s path and reassert itself as the moral authority. Women’s experiences demonstrate, however, that although the rights they gained under state socialism via top-down directives infused them with a false sense of security or were not always fully appreciated, many women valued these gains, assuming and hoping that their rights would remain unchanged. Even though fully unrestricted access to abortion was banned in Poland fifteen years ago, reproduction continues to be the site of moral governance and the topic is as current as ever. In September 2008, the Polish Federation for Women and Family Planning reported that the minister of health, Ewa Kopacz, proposed a legislative action that would register all pregnant women and monitor them to ensure that registered pregnancies were brought to term. This move was explained as a way to discourage illegal abortions; it was also designed to please the Church. In response, Wanda Nowicka, the Federation’s president, aptly argued that the proposal harks back to “the times of Ceaus¸escu,” and that “under the pretext of caring about women and their health, the Minister wants to tighten the system of control over women, over their reproductive functions and decisions.”71 Although Romania’s locus of repressive power was situated at the level of the socialist state, in Poland the socialist state actually restrained the authoritarian power of the Church on issues


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of reproduction. But once the regime collapsed, the Church began to impart its will through state policies—acting as a de facto para-state—and demonstrating clearly the ways in which both the post-socialist state and religious forms of institutional power have had a repressive effect on women’s rights. The Polish state has not balanced the rights of women to reproductive welfare and self-determination against the political agenda of the Church. The case of Poland raises concerns about the place and the future of women’s rights in post-socialism, and the nature of its democratization process.







Designing for the Socialist Family: The Evolution of Housing Types in Early Postwar Czechoslovakia Kimberly Elman Zarecor

The history of postwar architecture in Eastern and Central Europe remains largely unknown to all but a few specialists. After 1989 there was an explosion of research on the interwar architectural avant-garde resulting in a large body of high-quality scholarship from the region and abroad.1 In contrast, the postwar period has been neglected and in some cases forcefully rejected.2 Expressing a commonly held point of view, émigré architect and translator Eric Dluhosch describes the buildings of the period as “one of the most depressing collections of banality in the history of Czech architecture, one that still mars the architectural landscape of this small country and will be difficult—if not impossible—to erase from its map for decades, if not centuries.”3 Within the discipline of architectural history, dislike for the architectural aesthetics of the period, an aversion to communist politics, and a lack of knowledge about the country’s social and cultural context made postwar architecture an unlikely and difficult topic to address until recently. By adopting an interdisciplinary approach and new methodological models, the discussion of postwar architecture has started to be reoriented away from formal expression and toward an understanding of this work as an integral and revealing component of the


Chapter 9


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history of state socialism in Eastern and Central Europe.4 This does not eliminate aesthetics from the discussion, but renders this aspect of the architecture less important than many of its other features. Outside of architectural history, a number of recent studies have expanded our understanding of the complex and changing nature of state-society relationships in the socialist context.5 The Cold War paradigm of the oppressive party on one side and the oppressed people on the other is no longer viable in the face of mounting evidence from archives, newspapers, journals, and personal testimonies. This simplistic dichotomy has been replaced with an approach that focuses on the multilayered mechanisms of interaction and negotiation between these two spheres. In this chapter, which is a case study of changing housing typologies in early socialist Czechoslovakia, architectural analysis will be framed by issues of gender to provide a more comprehensive picture of housing design in the years following World War II and the communist takeover in February 1948, which quickly led to the end of private architectural practice and the creation of a single state-run system of architecture offices by early 1949. Specifically, a desire to protect traditional gender roles, which became more pronounced during the occupation, remained during the transition to state socialism despite Communist Party rhetoric about sex equality and the seeming advances made by women in interwar Czechoslovakia.6 In response to this retrenched conservatism, a hybridization of competing images—the woman as wife and mother and the woman as liberated socialist worker—emerged in the housing types put forward by the state-run architectural administration in the late 1940s and 1950s. Domestic spaces were to remain the domain of women and children, especially as women played almost no meaningful role in government.7 At the same time, with efficient kitchens, modern amenities, and communal services, the new housing types acknowledged the necessity for women to join the workforce and be freed from traditional household responsibilities. Marxism-Leninism itself promised to emancipate women by abolishing private property, providing them with equal employment, and replacing domestic work with communal services.8 Participation in the wage-labor system was essential for women to enjoy the full benefits of communism.9 In her work on East Germany, Donna Harsch claims that this meant women had to be productive in the terms of the state-socialist system since housework was “unwaged, private, individualized, unproductive, and, by [the Communists’] definition, unskilled.”10 The responsibility to work outside the home did not, however, relieve women of their domestic responsibilities. Harsch argues that “the state’s exploitation of family labor and private networks of support impinged on


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women more directly and in more ways than on men: women organized consumption, a task that demanded much time, exertion, and ingenuity; women performed the majority of household chores; women bore and nurtured children; and women performed much of the care for infirm and aged relatives.”11 Similar results were found in a 1961 government study in Czechoslovakia. At that time, a Czech or Slovak “woman with two children typically spent nine hours a day in work and travel; five to five and half hours in shopping and housework; a maximum of one and half hours on her children; and one hour and forty minutes on herself including any reading, self-education, or sport she might indulge in. After that she dropped into bed for six hours of sleep. Her husband had four more hours of free time per day than she did”12 Historian Melissa Feinberg frames these post-1945 attitudes toward women and labor in Czechoslovakia through the experiences of the war years when, under Nazi occupation, expanded notions of gender equality and citizens’ rights that had started to emerge in the interwar period were undermined.13 She quotes from the 1938 founding program of the Party of National Unity, which described in fascist-influenced terms how “family will become the reliable basis of national life” and women will be returned to “their occupation, maternal happiness, a quiet home, and a working husband.”14 By early 1939, most women had lost the right to work if they were married;15 later in 1939, all women were barred from political organizations.16 After the war, these rights were restored and a new framework emerged that positioned women as “independent and productive workers.”17 Yet many of the gendered attitudes from wartime remained. In describing the competition for women to join the political parties that reformed after 1945, Feinberg writes: The Communists and Social Democrats emphasized their concern for the practical realities of women’s lives … Capitalism had forced women into an oppressive economic dependence on their husbands that made any legal changes in their status meaningless. “Scientific socialism” would give them the economic wherewithal to actually utilize their legal rights. Both Marxist parties claimed that they would work to make women’s lives easier materially, by providing them with washing machines, central heating, and day care facilities. The Communists also stressed that they were the only party with a real plan capable of accomplishing this, inviting women of all classes to come and “build a happy home with us.”18


Designing for the Socialist Family

The development of early postwar housing types directed toward socialist family life can be best understood in these gendered terms. 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


The new socialist government wanted to provide housing that would enrich the private lives of its citizens; however, since the domestic realm was overwhelmingly the responsibility of women, it was typically men who enjoyed this private life. After a long day’s work at the factory, men returned to their “happy home,” while women assumed their second (and unpaid) jobs as homemakers and caregivers. Modern Architecture after World War II The housing types that emerged in postwar Czechoslovakia were the result of multiple factors: the architectural legacy of the interwar years; the necessity to design for families rather than individuals; the push toward standardization; and changes to architectural practice. Within months of the liberation of Prague in May 1945, Czech and Slovak architects were already planning for the future of their profession and its role in rebuilding the country. Several professional organizations joined together to announce a unified platform including demands for reform in the building industry, public support for the construction of housing units, and the creation of a “single organization for architect-designers in Czechoslovakia.”19 With the country’s move to the left,20 architects saw a future in the creation of strong institutions, not only governmental, but also social, cultural, and professional. They also saw an opportunity to pursue the reorganization of design and construction along a collective model, a stance that had been popular among leftwing architects in the 1930s. The first employment opportunities emerged from government rebuilding initiatives. These initially focused on basic reconstruction, transportation, infrastructure, and industrial capacity, much of which was done by engineers rather than architects.21 With the announcement of the “Two-Year Plan” in the summer of 1946,22 which included a target of 125,000 new housing units by 1948,23 architects began receiving commissions for civic and residential projects. Damaged cities needed emergency housing units to start reconstruction and newly nationalized industries required more housing units to attract new workers. Architects proposed that the solution to the crisis was the consolidation of professional and material resources, as well as a clear agenda for the profession that established the architect as a critical and indispensable voice in the debates about a new society. It is worth noting that although no statistics survive on the number of women working as architects at the time, the names listed in architectural journals and on the rosters of professional organizations suggest that most Czech and Slovak architects were men. This is not surprising given the predominance of men in the profession around the world, historically and today.24


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As funding for projects became available, architects confronted the question of what postwar modern architecture might look like. Unlike Germany or the Soviet Union, where authoritarian politics had crushed vibrant avant-garde movements in the 1930s, high modernism had survived in Czechoslovakia through the war’s end. It was not only a style but a social sensibility that positioned architecture as a medium for the improvement of everyday life. By 1946, however, the question of architectural form was not as clear. There was a growing sense that the universal qualities of high modernism, once attractive to leftwing architects, might not be suited to the postwar desire for a more rooted architectural identity.25 With the growing influence of the Communist Party and a general move to the left within the profession, a distinct critique of the interwar avant-garde appeared that drew inspiration from the arguments against “bourgeois” constructivism in the Soviet Union in the 1930s. This point of view disparaged the perceived weak political stance of the selfproclaimed leftists in the interwar years who spoke about their social consciousness while designing upscale single-family houses, restaurants, and retail stores.26 The political situation after 1945 finally made it possible to conceive of a new type of socialist modern architecture that was less concerned with unique forms and more attentive to the social and economic implications of architecture. This placed emphasis on the architectural program of a building and its functional requirements instead of aesthetics, particularly with respect to higher density housing types. This chapter considers two case studies, which show both continuity and change in housing design as the country adjusted to new political, social, and economic conditions after the war. The first was a single large building, designed to house industrial workers and their families in northern Bohemia. In this example, the tenets and priorities of interwar modernism still determined the formal character of the project’s massing and silhouette. At the same time, the apartment units within it indicated a changing approach to socialist housing design that rejected the “minimum” qualities of avant-garde housing types from the 1930s and provided apartments and community amenities suited to family living. This showed how quickly the hybrid image of woman (as worker, wife, and mother) became part of a socialist consciousness about the future of everyday life in the new system. The second project was a set of standardized housing blocks designated for use in all new residential construction by 1950. These typified buildings, called the T-series, were produced by architects at the new state-run system of architecture offices, Stavoprojekt.27 These buildings were less formally inventive and more traditional in their detailing, yet the





apartment units were similar to other early postwar types with separate sleeping spaces for parents and children, modern kitchens, and built-in and convertible furniture to make spaces as efficient as possible. In comparing the two examples, continuities in the perspective on gendered family life and design thinking at the scale of the apartment are clear. After the Communist Party took power in 1948, a clear shift occurred, from individually conceived projects to standardized and typified apartment blocks that were better suited to the economic mechanisms of the planned economy. The Collective House in Litvínov One of the first nationwide tests of postwar architectural principles was the 1946 design competition for a “Collective House” in the hills near Most, a city in the Czech “borderlands” (Sudetenland). The winning project by two male Prague architects, Václav Hilský and Evžen Linhart, was evocative of the functionalist architecture of the 1930s and showed sensitivity to the local climate and terrain, as well as the living patterns of the buildings’ inhabitants. The project provided the country’s hopeful architects with an image of postwar design that used avant-garde forms to further their social agenda of providing high-quality housing in a communal setting; however, its success and beauty would eventually undermine the project as critics complained that such a “luxurious” project was not “socialist” enough in its intentions.28 The competition sponsor was the Stalin Works, a massive synthetic fuel plant built by the Germans during the war.29 The housing crisis was particularly acute in this area because of hilly terrain, sparsely populated towns, and large industrial enterprises that needed housing for their expanding workforce. Initial plans for the area called for a massive housing development for 180,000 people in thirty-five collective houses with 400 apartment units in each building.30 However, the government decided to rehabilitate only 33 percent of the plant (70 percent of it had been destroyed during the war), and before any architectural proposals were solicited, the main project was scaled back to only one collective house that could accommodate 800 people in studio, two-room, and three-room apartments with shared services.31 The collective-house type had its origins in the Soviet Union in the work of the architects N. A. Miliutin and Moisei Ginzburg.32 The Russians abandoned this type in the 1930s, but it remained popular among the left wing avant-garde in Europe into the 1940s.33 In a collective house, individuals, and in some cases families, lived in modest units without full kitchens. Essential services, such as a dining hall, health clinic,


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and daycare, along with amenities, including a convenience store and restaurant, were provided in the building’s common areas. The design brief issued to architects for the Litvínov project proposed two thirteen-story towers as the primary residential structures. According to representatives from the Ministry of Technology, which oversaw the nationalized building industry at the time, the tower configuration was chosen to best adjust to the terrain, the desired site density, the climate, and the topography.34 The winning entry, chosen from nineteen submissions, belonged to the unlikely pair of Hilský and Linhart. Linhart was ten years older than Hilský and died in 1949, before the first phase of the project was completed. His work had long been inspired by Le Corbusier, whose Unite d’Habitation was designed in 1945 and with which the Collective House shared some formal and spatial similarities.35 Hilský had worked on social housing in the late 1930s and was a member of the Communist Party’s architectural commission during the war. As a head designer at Stavoprojekt in Prague after 1948, he was a prolific architect through to the normalization period of the 1970s.36 The contrast between the two architects allowed them to design a building that was both formally inventive and pragmatic in its approach to the site and the program. Their project featured two thirteen-story residential towers with a seven-story building in the center. Each tower, the mirror image of the other, had two wings—one set at a 30° angle to the other creating a strong diagonal composition. As stipulated, a total of 292 units was proposed—100 three-room apartments, 160 two-room apartments, and thirty-two studio apartments.37 They were distributed systematically— the three-room apartments were contained in the two angled front wings of the towers and those with one or two rooms were in the parallel back wings (see fig. 9.1). The three-room apartments all consisted of two stories with internal staircases; they were accessed through windowed hallways along the north side of the building on every other floor. They had a small kitchen and WC near the first floor entrance, and the remainder of the floor was a single living area with a small balcony and winter garden looking southwest or southeast toward the valley. The stairs were in the center of the apartment and led to two equal-sized bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. They can be best described as stacked row houses. In the basement of the residential wings, individual garages were also planned for residents’ vehicles, bikes, motorcycles, and strollers.38 These were not the “minimum dwellings” for single adults that had been touted as the future of workers’ housing at CIAM (International Congress of Modern Architecture) gatherings in the 1920s and 1930s, but rather





Figure 9.1 Václav Hilský and Evžen Linhart, Model of the Collective House, Litvínov, ˇ SR (1946) Czech Republic from Architektura C

reflected a more traditional understanding of the family home, albeit in a communal setting.39 The building’s shared amenities were concentrated in the seven-story building between the towers. A 160-bed dormitory for single male workers was located in the top three floors. The two middle floors were occupied by the communal dining room, social club, ceremonial hall, library, study areas, convenience store, repair shop, barber shop, and storage room. The two lower floors contained services such as the communal kitchen, shared laundry facilities, an exercise room, a casino, health clinic, and the boiler room, which supplied central heating to all the apartments.40 In the final project, a school and nursery were in the basement and sub-basement, which, because of the sloped site, were fully above ground in the courtyard and included a patio and balcony for the children to play on. A large swimming pool was also constructed on the east side of the site in later years. When the project was published in 1946, commentary in the architectural press recognized the novelty of the building relative to the interwar polemics of Czechoslovakia’s leftwing avant-garde. In well-known writings, Karel Teige, the outspoken leader of the 1920s artists’ collective Deveˇtsil, had criticized traditional marriage as men’s subjugation over women. To show his commitment to gender equality, in 1932 Teige


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had an architect design an unusual apartment for him and one of his girlfriends. This “minimum dwelling,” inspired by Soviet exemplars, had two bedrooms, a shared kitchen and bathroom, and no common living area or “marital bed.”41 For him, each adult, man or woman, was an independent actor who did not need to conform to gendered expectations of domestic roles. This attitude was influential in Czech avantgarde housing projects in the 1930s, especially those sponsored by the Prague city government.42 It is striking, therefore, that the competition for the Litvínov design started with the presumption that the family unit should be supported rather than broken apart. In his comments in the journal Architektura Cˇ SR (Czechoslovak Architecture), architect Stanislav Semrád argued that this project was unique in the world because it did not propose that all residents live in “more or less one single residential cell,” but recognized that different family configurations required different apartments.43 With their modern appliances and shared services, these units allowed women to maintain their role as wife and mother without suffering the drudgery of domestic work. Architects Karel Honzík and Josef Kittrich later suggested renaming the building “The House for Collective Living” to reflect this distinction.44 Throughout the approval process, what was referred to as the “sociological aspect” of the design was also questioned. 45 Concerns were raised about the safety and comfort of pregnant women in the two-story units where the stairs may be uneven; the choice to place the school in between the towers, which would leave the children in the shade for much of the day; and the location of the restaurant terrace on the third floor of the central building, just below the dormitory windows and within earshot of the rest of the apartments in the summer months when people wanted quiet.46 In his critical comments about the competition entries, architect Miroslav Tryzna voiced his concern that the projects were, in fact, too extravagant for their time.47 He objected to housing families with children above the third floor and argued that the tower scheme was clearly not the most economical solution to the housing shortage. He wrote,



Today we design workers’ apartments with two bedrooms, electric ranges, and district heating. This should be possible with strict economics and pooling of all resources, typification, collective building, and industrialization. We cannot keep quietly designing winter gardens and garages. This would lead the whole effort to provide a good apartment to everyone to be discredited as unrealizable and with that, what is today still impossible or at least unnecessary, would end up as something expected and possible.48



He concluded by reiterating the objective to provide a realistic living standard and a nice apartment to everyone while remaining committed to the economic basis of the “new socialist reality.”49 The government was also concerned that such a project would set a bad example and reduce the possibility that the plan numbers could be met. According to the ministry, the most objectionable aspect of the project was its cost, which exceeded the budget limits set for apartments during the Two-Year Plan by 150 percent.50 Ideologically, this was a problem and the report argued that the project was “an ‘unsocialist’ enterprise in the first degree,” because “our system of socialized democracy accepted as its economic credo the utilitarian principle of the greatest success for the greatest number of people … the construction of this building does not mean a contribution to the fulfillment of the good of the greatest number of people, but to a very small number of people to the detriment of all of the others.”51 The report went on to say that the use of “quota-controlled materials” for such “luxuriously appointed” apartments was “diametrically in opposition to such directives.”52 Despite these objections and the fact that only one building was built, the number and variety of on-site amenities in Litvínov was evidence of the extent to which the architects and the government as the client saw the potential to create family-friendly environments which lived up to the promise of liberation for women. With children at day care or school in the building, meals served in the communal dining room, and shopping and laundry facilities close at hand, the building was a model of the socialist lifestyle propagated by the party. Unfortunately, the project would take more than twelve years to complete due to budget and material issues.53 The communist takeover in 1948 was a further blow to the architectural idea of site-specific design as standardization and typification became the overriding goals for housing by 1950. Another collective house with similar amenities was built in Zlín from 1948 to 1950, yet, within the consciousness of Czech and Slovak architects, the Litvínov project remained the singular expression of a true interwar modern spirit in the immediate postwar period. For some, this meant that the building was a reminder of how the vision of socialist modernity had failed to transcend the political changes of 1948; for others, it was the best example of the excesses of high modernism and a reminder of why postwar architecture had to take a different path. From the perspective of gender, the building successfully addressed the hybrid identity of socialist women as workers, wives, and mothers by providing both a family environment in the apartment and collective services in the shared spaces. It failed, however, to make its formal characteristics indispensable. In particular, the notion that all of the


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Stavoprojekt and the T-Series After the Communist Party took power, architectural practice had to adjust to a new set of professional circumstances. In September 1948, as part of the nationalization of the building industry, a state-run system of architecture and engineering offices called Stavoprojekt was established, and private practice was slowly outlawed. By mid-1949, more than 4,500 people were employed at Stavoprojekt; four years later, that number reached 11,000.54 The leadership at Stavoprojekt, all male, was chosen from the younger generation of interwar architects who had been followers of Teige and outspoken leftists. The Stavoprojekt system, with architecture ateliers and research centers, was charged with developing a series of housing types that could alleviate this shortage quickly and cheaply, while retaining an acceptable level of architectural quality and modern conveniences. During its first two years of existence, the primary agenda for housing was the restriction of potential designs to a limited number of types to facilitate design and construction. The product of these initial investigations was the 1950 T-series, six housing types for use in all projects nationwide. Although many architects within Stavoprojekt would soon see this as a negative aspect of their work, it was promoted within the public building culture at the time as a sign of progress and the successful transformation of Czechoslovakia’s building industry “from handicraft to production.”55 In July 1948, the Ministry of Technology convened a working committee to decide the square footage of the new standard housing units. They began with a typical apartment built between 1945 and 1948, which had 90 square meters (970 square feet) of living space. This “Two-Year Plan apartment” had a living room, two bedrooms, a “working” kitchen, pantry, bathroom, and WC.56 Given the immediate need for new units and the continuing shortage of building materials and skilled labor, the committee was asked to work with the initial assumption that in order to keep up with their quotas, the standard unit would need to be reduced by 40 percent to 53 square meters (580 square feet).57 They set some parameters for their proposals. The per-square-foot cost of the new living area should remain the same, and any reduction in costs would have to result from an equal reduction in space and amenities. Neither a large apartment with few amenities nor a small apartment with more amenities was desirable.58


services had to reside in a single structure proved untenable. Post-1948 housing developments had many of the same amenities, but they were distributed throughout the neighborhood, a more affordable and logical alternative.



Within these parameters, the goals of the Two-Year Plan units remained consistent: separate sleeping spaces for parents and children; adequate sunshine and fresh air; and the simplification of women’s domestic duties with easy-to-clean surfaces, modern appliances, and storage. Just as the family had been at the core of the Litvínov design, the standardized units were conceived as homes for the families of socialist workers. Research on standardized units was already in progress by the summer of 1948.59 The decision was made at this early stage to pursue both standardized units in apartment buildings and single-family houses; although a preference was already emerging for the apartment types. In September 1948, an advisory committee on population growth at the Office of the Prime Minister examined this issue in detail in a report titled, “Collective Living or the Single-Family House?”60 According to V. Dorazil, collective living offered one primary benefit—a lower per-unit cost. An equivalent amount of space and amenities could be achieved in apartment units at only 65 percent of the cost of a singlefamily house, however, living in a single-family house was determined to be preferable to collective living in every other category. The house offered more hygienic conditions, a stronger defense against military attacks, space for children to play outdoors, more quality family time together, and rent-free living after retirement.61 An important part of the program would also be to allow workers to construct the houses on their own, thereby providing enough units to free up as much as 20 percent of the construction workforce for other projects.62 As part of the committee’s work on the issue of population growth, family size was also addressed in the report.63 The state promoted large families based on the conclusion that “for population growth in the country, it is necessary for each family to raise more than three children.”64 In 1957 abortion was legalized in Czechoslovakia, however, women were required to apply to a health commission for permission to terminate a pregnancy.65 The report argued that if women were expected to have four or more children, it was “foolishness” to expect them to raise such a large family in an apartment while also working full time. According to Dorazil, women who were surveyed for the report agreed that if they were to raise large families and work full-time, it was imperative that they live in a single-family house. He stated, however, that for this to happen, it would be necessary to:


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offer women some possibility … to contribute with her own activities to the economic well-being of her family and in these terms, her continued presence at the family hearth. And this possibility is only provided to women on a large scale through a properly-equipped single-family house … ensured by 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino


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Dorazil concluded that “we can, therefore, only reasonably solve our housing problem with the consistent and all-around preference for the well-furnished single-family house.”67 In a letter that demonstrates the extent to which economics determined the architectural agenda, the Ministry of Technology responded skeptically to the report. Agreeing that “it is well-known that there is an appetite among a certain number of residents for their own single-family house, there are however, contrary to this, irrefutable benefits with collective living, mainly in so far as concerns community amenities, the relatively low cost of operation and construction.”68 Existing housing developments that contained both single-family houses and apartment blocks were cited as a model for future development, rather than the “all-around preference” for the single-family house.69 It cited a number of economic arguments for collective living not addressed in the report: a reduction in the costs of transportation, poor productivity associated with long daily commutes to work, and cheaper costs for infrastructure such as water mains.70 The response also called into question some of the report’s social conclusions, arguing that it was a person’s “moral competencies and appetite for family and not the house at all” that really mattered. 71 In the end, the recommendation to build three apartments for every single-family house was based solely on economic constraints; it was of little consequence whether or not the single-family house was better for the population.72 By 1951, with the increased emphasis on heavy industry and the continuing need for new workers’ housing, the single-family house was recommended only “when settlements [were] scattered or when for technical reasons, it [was] not possible to design higher buildings.”73 After the decision was made to build more apartment buildings and fewer single-family homes, work continued on defining a limited number of housing types.74 In early 1949, the “T-series” was completed at Stavoprojekt. The first projects were three- to four-story brick apartment buildings that conformed to a similar rectangular footprint with a single, repeated apartment layout mirrored around three sets of entry stairs. This created three identical and six total units on each floor. In addition to three or four rooms, each floor-through unit had a separate kitchen, pantry, bathroom, and WC. In each case, the apartments had an entry hall, a space defined as the living room, a private bedroom for the parents, a separate sleeping space for the children, a pantry, and numerous closets (see fig. 9.2).


getting married. Only a house can usher a woman back again to the duty that she has been assigned as the pivot around which the economic well-being of her family turns and a gleeful flock of rosy-cheeked children dances.66



Figure 9.2 Interior of a T5 apartment from the first T-series in Prague-Prosek from ˇ SR (1950) Architektura C

The basic unit of each type was adapted for varied family sizes with built-in and convertible furniture. In floor plans published in Architektura CˇSR, the apartments were laid out for the larger families desired by the government (see fig. 9.3); in this case, families as small as three and as large as eleven people, but averaging around six people.


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Figure 9.3 Plan of T5 apartment building from the first T-series in Prague-Prosek, graphic ˇ SR representations of adults and children accompany each unit plan, from Architektura C (1949) 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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Therefore, the overall living space was cramped, with all of the rooms and sofas being converted to sleeping spaces at night, and although the apartments followed minimum international standards, the expected density of people in the Czechoslovak units exceeded those in northern and western European countries. The Ministry of Technology announced a codified T-series for implementation in 1950.75 Four apartment types and three single-family houses were proposed for all residential projects. These were modest accommodations, ranging in size from 47 square meters (510 square feet) to 88 square meters (950 square feet). Few of the T-series houses were built because of the shifting emphasis toward apartments. The T-series apartment buildings were the basis of the housing programs. These simple and unadorned blocks had pitched roofs, stucco facades, and boxy proportions. The types included the T11 and T12, three- or four-story buildings with three front entry stairs; the T20, with studio apartments, double-loaded corridors, and entry stairs at each end; and the T60, a tower with five- to seven-stories, none of which were built. Unlike the earlier T-series designs, these apartments were significantly smaller than the 90-square-meter Two-Year Plan units. This was due to problems in procuring building materials and labor, both of which had been anticipated by the ministries the year before. Despite the obstacles, all of the 1950 T-series apartments had their own bathroom, WC, and kitchen; hot water; local or central heating; and windows on two facades to encourage good air circulation and provide enough sunlight. Each building had storage space in the basement and rooms for washing and drying clothes. Although modest, these amenities fit with the rhetoric about reducing the domestic burden for women. The decrease in square meters did mean that the units were less comfortable with fewer rooms and amenities; for example, instead of “working” kitchens, the final designs had only a kitchen nook combined with a dining area and no pantry. The largest of the three apartment designs, the T11, included the kitchen and dining area, two bedrooms, a living room and a bathroom for a total of 86 square meters (930 square feet).76 Up to six people would be expected to live in this apartment. However, it was still not ideal or even comfortable; only a few dozen were built.77 The more common T12 units, for families of up to five people,78 were even smaller with a combined kitchen and dining area, a living room with convertible couches for children to sleep on, one bedroom, and a bathroom in 65 square meters (700 square feet).79 In order to reduce costs and simplify the construction process, the T11 and T12 types conformed to a two-bay construction system, creating boxy rooms and almost square floor plans.80 It was also recommended by the Ministry of Technology that





the apartment buildings be built in ensembles. Although this contributed to a neighborhood atmosphere and created the possibility for green space in between, the primary reason for this was to “concentrate [building activity] at a minimal number of construction sites,” thereby reducing costs.81 Despite their modest size, the T-series apartments represented progress, especially in industrial areas such as Ostrava, where the new apartments provided many residents with a substantial improvement in their standard of living and quality of life. For example, mining families in the region had often lived in dire circumstances in temporary workers’ colonies without indoor plumbing or modern heating. Starting in 1950, T-series housing units were being built across the country; by the end of the year almost 17,000 units were under construction—6,500 were apartment units and the remainder were small cottages usually built in mining colonies.82 This output represented over 90 percent of all residential construction that year.83 There is little information about how new residents responded to these buildings when they moved into them in the early 1950s. Records of tenants’ meetings and complaints to the housing administration reveal widespread frustration over the slow pace of construction, shoddy workmanship, and lack of amenities in some of the early settlements.84 Despite the best intentions of architects and other housing industry professionals, construction often took three years and tenants would be forced to move into partially completed buildings. One angry man in Ostrava described lighting problems in his neighborhood as follows: The electrical work is very negligent. It is not only that many alreadyoccupied apartments don’t have enough fixtures, it’s that the occupants cannot get light in all of the shared spaces, mainly there are no fixtures in any of the stairways or basement. Practically the whole housing development, with the exception of the apartments, is completely unlit in the evening and at night.85

Over time, these problems were fixed, although the general perception throughout the communist period was that the government tried to spend as little money as possible on public spaces and infrastructure. Recent scholarship on everyday life in socialist Czechoslovakia shows that the people, especially women, remember feeling optimistic about the future when they first moved into their new apartments in the 1950s.86 Jana Jílková of Ostrava University interviewed longtime residents of Havírˇov, a town near Ostrava built in the early 1950s with T-series buildings. Women who arrived as children still recalled the joy


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of taking their first baths in their new apartments and the ease of doing laundry in the buildings, which had dedicated washing and drying rooms. Even when they discussed hardships, like trying to push baby strollers on the unpaved and muddy streets that were ubiquitous in the early years, they spoke with a sense that their sacrifice in the 1950s was for the greater good.87 One indicator of the lasting success of these housing developments may be the residents’ contentment. As part of the interviews, Jílková asked her informants if they were “satisfied with their housing.” She writes that “the majority of them answered positively … They did not complain about life in the apartment buildings, on the contrary, they liked the convenience of the shops and the more comfortable living spaces. [For them], the apartment felt like a home, not a dormitory.”88 The women spoke in particular about adapting their domestic “family rhythms” to their husbands’ work schedules and enjoying spending time together in the living room after dinner had been served in the kitchen.89 Although women emphasized that they were better able to perform their domestic tasks in the new apartments, the fact that they acknowledged they had time and space for relaxing with their families after dinner points to the success of these apartments in improving women’s overall quality of life. In this way, the architects who designed the T-series units succeeded in providing apartments that, despite their small size, were livable and well-suited to the family lifestyles that women and men expected during the early years of socialism. Designing for the Socialist Family The housing types of the late 1940s and 1950s responded to the needs of families in postwar Czechoslovakia with efficient kitchens, modern amenities, and communal services. Yet the promise of women’s liberation from household work proved elusive in Czechoslovakia and other statesocialist countries. As this chapter illustrates, even when apartments and neighborhoods were designed with the everyday lives of socialist families in mind, architecture alone could not change prevailing cultural expectations about gender and family life. As industrial cities and suburbs grew in the 1950s, residents brought their own social and cultural practices to this context, some of which were rooted in traditional patterns of rural and small town life in which women stayed in the home. For urban women, increased pressure to participate in the labor force also changed their everyday experiences. More women assumed the dual role of worker and homemaker, though their work in the home was more manageable in the new apartments.





The realities of the planned economy, with its chronic labor and material shortages, were also influential. Due to the push for standardization and typification, unique projects such as the Collective House in Litvínov were no longer possible after 1948. Housing types such as the T11 with two separate bedrooms would have provided more comfortable accommodations for families, yet few of these units were built. The T12, the most common unit built in the early 1950s, had two-room apartments where children slept on sofas converted into beds in the living room. Hence, not only were women working harder than expected, but they were also asked to live in small spaces that would not accommodate the larger families desired by the government. This may be one reason that the birthrate dropped significantly in the latter half of the 1950s—from 20.3 per one thousand inhabitants in 1955 to 15.9 in 1960—and the number of legal abortions rose from 61,400 in 1958 to 94,300 in 1961.90 One of the primary goals of the communist housing programs was to provide high-quality housing for women and their families so that they could be productive workers and mothers. However, the housing types did not perform as intended; women had fewer children by the end of the 1950s than at the beginning.91 Despite good intentions, architecture did not have the capacity to liberate women from domestic work in the absence of larger cultural and social changes in the socialist countries of Europe in the early decades of communism.


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Consumption, Leisure, and Culture


Part 3





Are You a Modern Girl? Consumer Culture and Young Women in 1960s Poland* Malgorzata Fidelis

In 1962 a young female worker from a textile factory in southern Poland wrote an autobiography for a memoir contest organized by a popular magazine, Nowa Wies´ (New Village), directed at village youth. In her essay, titled “I Dream of Paris,” she described her migration from the countryside to the city, her discovery of urban ways of life, and her fascination with foreign travel. She admitted that foreign travel was more important to her than getting married and starting a family. “Some people scorn me for this,” she complained. “They want me to stay at home. They think that a woman is only a household manager; that she should take care of pots, cooking, laundry, darning, and other chores. But I have a different opinion—after all, we fought for equal rights!”1 Another woman in her essay, “From a Mountain Village to Nowa Huta,” submitted for a similar contest at the end of the decade, described her discovery of the fashion and beauty industry after relocating to a new socialist steel plant in Nowa Huta: “I began to take care more and more of my looks,” she wrote. “First of all, I changed my hairstyle. I became interested in fashion and bought fashion magazines … I diligently followed fashion trends. I started taking better care of my skin, I tried different lotions.”2


Chapter 10


Malgorzata Fidelis

When I first read these memoirs I thought it was striking that these women emphasized pleasures associated with being a woman in a socialist urban setting. These testimonies did not fit the conventional images of women under communism—overworked mothers juggling the double burden of work inside and outside the home.3 While full-time employment, childcare, and management of the family household were a harsh reality for many women in communist and non-communist societies, one should not assume that life under communism consisted only of hardship and gloom. As I argue in this chapter, communist regimes in Eastern Europe also encouraged women, especially those who were young and single, to indulge in pleasures. These pleasures were often associated with acquiring commodities and engaging in educational leisure. As the quoted autobiographies reveal, moderate consumerism, promoted by the communist state, sparked desires and inspired individualistic pursuits. Women’s publicized interests in fashion and leisure reflected changes in everyday life and gender roles associated with the post-Stalinist era. The focus on consumption in state-sponsored media indicated a major departure from the Stalinist concept of young women as political activists and equal workers. Just a few years earlier, the state and the popular media emphasized a military-like mobilization of female labor and recruitment for male-dominated jobs, such as tractor driving, along with promoting collective identities and self-sacrifices for the greater good of building socialism.4 In contrast, the authors of “I Dream of Paris” and “From a Mountain Village to Nowa Huta” did not talk about their commitment to labor, gender equality, or communist ideology. Instead, they focused on their rising standard of living and their discoveries of travel, fashion, cafes, and dating in an urban setting. Their writings demonstrated new ideas about young womanhood in postwar Poland, including financial independence, the pursuit of diverse nondomestic activities, and the cultivation of femininity through fashion and cosmetics. This chapter explores images of the so-called modern girl promoted by state popular media in Poland in the 1960s. I argue that throughout the 1960s, public discussions about the modern girl were a response to social, economic, and political changes associated with the transition from the repressive Stalinist era to a more liberal period of post-Stalinism. In this sense, debates about the modern girl offer a window into the Polish state and society in transition: they point to a new party-state strategy to shape the encounter between national tradition and communism, and between East and West in a more open political environment. Despite enthusiasm toward the modern girl, party activists and press editors feared that promoting consumer culture could result in the abandonment of communism. Thus, from the beginning, the image of the


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modern girl was filled with contradictions. By the late 1960s, as domestic and international tensions were on the rise, social commentators expressed increasingly ambivalent feelings toward young women’s embracement of modern values. Student demonstrations of 1968, in particular, prompted the popular press to alert readers to the dangerous interpretations of modern consumption. In this way, the changing images of the modern girl in the 1960s reflected broader struggles to define national and communist identities in postwar Polish society. Communism and Modern Life On the threshold of the 1960s, many young Poles anticipated the fulfillment of the 1956 Polish October, when the hated Stalinist system was dismantled and a new leader, Władysław Gomułka, came to power. Gomułka had been purged from the party during the Stalinist period for his alleged “nationalistic deviation.” He advanced “the Polish road to socialism” that called for incorporating Polish national traditions into the socialist system. After 1956, intellectuals and students craved freedom of speech. Workers expected economic reforms and better working and living conditions.5 For most, the Polish October symbolized hopes for a better, more humane socialist system. Although the Gomułka regime continued the Stalinist political formula embedded in a one-party dictatorship, it allowed for changes in the economic, social, and cultural spheres. After 1956, the popular press no longer promoted building socialism, but rather focused on modernity and progress as the more appropriate goals for Polish society. The 1960s, the era of West European economic prosperity, global protest movements, and sweeping technological innovations, required a response from the countries behind the iron curtain. I argue that in Poland the party-state assimilated these global trends by offering a domesticated—both Polish and communist—concept of modern life. Like most European countries, Poland had already experienced debates about modernity in the 1920s and 1930s.6 The 1960s debates were not a continuation of these interwar discussions, but rather an attempt to redefine the modern. Party officials and social commentators contemplated how to embrace global trends and link them to communism and the uniquely Polish road to socialism. Consumerism, in particular, became an acceptable aspiration of the modern socialist citizen. The “Good Life” for workers had already been promoted by Stalinist regimes in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe alike, but the emphasis on heavy industry put limits on the official endorsement of mass consumption and the amount of consumer goods


Are You a Modern Girl?


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the state could deliver.7 This changed after 1956. Scholars describe the Gomułka era (1956–1970) as the period of “small stabilization” with relative social and political stability, which differed from the upheavals of the Stalinist era.8 The small stabilization brought improvements in the standard of living and greater access to consumer goods. But the focus on mass consumption in the 1960s was also a pan-European trend fueled by the Cold War competition between East and West. Important changes in the Polish economy took place as a result of de-Stalinization. Between 1955 and 1960, the production of consumer goods in Poland increased by 63 percent.9 In 1956, the state halted the collectivization of agriculture and allowed private ownership of land. The number of private enterprises in urban areas increased from 42,000 in 1955 to 76,000 in 1960, while the number of employees in private businesses grew two-fold.10 Poland was gradually becoming industrial and urban. Although the most powerful wave of migration from villages to cities took place during the intense industrialization of the Six-Year Plan (1950–1955), the process continued in the following decade. Each year an average of 100,000 people migrated from rural areas to cities to take up jobs in industry and services. More than 40 percent of these migrants were young people going to school or starting work.11 At the close of the 1960s, the urban population finally surpassed the rural one by 52 to 48 percent.12 Although lagging behind Western Europe economically, postwar Poland experienced similar social and cultural trends. As in the West, youth occupied a special place in the context of a postwar population explosion. The proportion of people between fifteen and nineteen years of age in Poland grew from 6.5 percent in 1950 to 10.7 percent in 1960.13 Moderate consumerism and personal display gradually became accepted elements of youth culture. Many popular youth magazines switched from ideological content to articles that focused on everyday life, fashion, and relations between the sexes.14 As in the West, the party-state recognized the standard of living as critical to economic and cultural progress. Although Eastern Europe was not included in the Marshall Plan, credited by some historians with sparking a consumer revolution in the West, cultural trends penetrated borders.15 This was especially visible in the realm of popular media and film. The 1960s were marked by a rapid growth of television ownership in Poland. By 1966, with 2,300,000 television sets registered in the country, the new medium reached an estimated ten million viewers or one-third of the population.16 Because of the low number of domestic and other East European productions, Polish television relied on American films and mini series such as “Bonanza,” “The Saint,”


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and “Dr. Kildare.”17 These shows provided glimpses into Western and American lifestyles. The official idea of social and cultural progress in Poland in the 1960s was a carefully crafted combination of Western and Soviet influences. Polish party officials and scholars often discussed modern consumption alongside discussions on mass and popular culture as a form of appropriate leisure for the working class.18 In 1964, Stefan Zółkiewski (1911–1991), a prominent Marxist intellectual, literary scholar, and member of the Central Committee of the Polish United Workers’ Party (PZPR, the ruling party in Poland), praised Poland’s opening up to the West and condemned Stalinism as the time that “cut off Poland from the contemporary cultural life and achievements of the world.”19 The quest to be modern in a global sense was now officially incorporated into what he called the “struggle for the style of communist culture.”20 Western influences in popular culture had a significant impact on shaping young Poles. Many social commentators believed that young women, in particular, were affected by the modernizing trends in unique ways. One female writer, Zofia Bystrzycka, described the 1960s as a breakthrough in the history of humanity marked by unprecedented opportunities available to young women in education and wage work. But she worried about “the girls on the crossroads,” caught between the old world of domestic confinement and the new era of economic and moral independence.21 Would the modern girl know how to use her newly acquired freedoms? In the late 1950s and early 1960s, the state media attempted to provide the answer: the idealized image of the modern girl seemed to reconcile Polish national traditions, Western influences, and communist norms of social organization. Are You a Modern Girl? In 1960, a popular magazine directed at teenage girls, Filipinka (a diminutive of the female name Filipina), conducted a survey among its readers titled “Are You a Modern Girl?” The survey generated 200 responses from girls between sixteen and eighteen years of age, in which they articulated their beliefs about modernity, consumption, and gender roles.22 Created in 1957, Filipinka was a unique popular biweekly whose content was shaped primarily by the correspondence between editors and readers.23 Filipinka was the first and only magazine for girls in Poland in the 1960s. In addition to teenagers, the biweekly was also widely read by young working women and university students.24 In the early 1960s, 250,000 copies of each edition sold out, thus not meeting the demand of the expanding young female population, since the number of




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copies was determined by the state rather than the readership market. This did not prevent the magazine from becoming a powerful symbol of young womanhood. Shops, cafes, and clubs bearing the name of Filipinka spread all over Poland. In 1959, nine young women in the city of Szczecin in northwestern Poland formed a vocal band by the name of “Filipinki.” They attracted so much attention that by the mid-1960s, similar female groups, modeled on the Szczecin singers, could be found in almost every corner of the country.25 As all publications in Communist Poland, Filipinka was subject to state censorship. But archival evidence suggests that editors had considerable leeway in shaping the content of the magazine. They avoided discussions of explicitly political topics on principle. Party representative Anna Pawłowska, who evaluated Filipinka on behalf of the party’s Press Bureau in 1964, defended the magazine’s strong commitment to teenagers’ everyday life rather than to politics and ideology. She stated that Filipinka’s “character and function” required underplaying political topics in favor of “fashion, culture, and columns about social issues … and I would consider changing these proportions to be an unforgivable mistake.”26 Filipinka did not invent the concept of the modern girl. The question “Are you a modern girl?” posed in the survey reflected broader popular desires in the era of mass media and mass consumption. To refer to young women as “girls” (dziewczyny) was a novelty in the Polish language. According to Polish literature and film scholar Iwona Kurz, the word was introduced in the second half of the 1950s. Before, terms such as panienka (miss) or kolez˙anka (female friend) were the most common way to address a young woman. The word “girl” was new and therefore “transparent, ready to be filled with social content.”27 The opportunity to define the social and cultural meaning of “girl” emerged in 1958, when a popular magazine, Film, initiated a national campaign aimed at recruiting young actresses using the slogan “Beautiful girls to the screen.” Influenced by Western movies and the Hollywood star system, film critics and filmmakers looked for a uniquely Polish girl who would embody a new national movie star persona such as that of Brigitte Bardot from France. Film critics and movie directors encouraged young women to send their photographs to the magazine. Readers would vote for the most beautiful girls, who then would be put in touch with filmmakers.28 The campaign enjoyed tremendous popularity, although few of the respondents selected by the public actually made it to the screen.29 But the image of a uniquely modern Polish girl persisted in popular culture and was shaped and negotiated by press editors and their readers.


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The 1960 Filipinka questionnaire “Are You a Modern Girl?” needs to be located in this broader context of state-sponsored consumer and popular cultures. The published responses to the Filipinka survey pose a number of methodological dilemmas. The magazine editors had a significant influence on what responses they published and how they framed the discussion. But even a glimpse into other sources such as personal testimonies, memoirs, films, and photographs from the era leaves no doubt that some version of modern girlhood was practiced by young women in Poland.30 For outside observers, the miniskirt, in particular, became a potent indicator of young and nontraditional femininity.31 The concept of the modern girl explored by Filipinka was part of the official culture. It became public property and soon acquired a life of its own. A curious mixture of the old and the new dominated female readers’ responses to the survey. According to letters quoted in the magazine, the modern girl was educated and had broad interests in political, social, cultural, and economic issues. She despised overt consumerism embodied in a “plucked, colorful knitted skirt,” “dyed hair,” a “cigarette in the hand,” and a “cynical grimace.”32 In the words of one reader, “What is important to [the modern girl] is respect, ambition, and dignity.”33 Clearly, the modern girl, according to Filipinka, was restrained in her sexual and consumerist expressions and oriented toward intellectual goals. The modern girls of the early 1960s expressed their love for jazz, still considered not as appropriate as classical music for young people in socialist countries. “I worship Chopin,” wrote one reader, “because he is a genius, and a national and people’s composer.” But she added promptly that she also adored jazz: “Dancing to jazz tunes gives me a chance to release my energy. I like to listen to the wonderful frog in the throat of Louis Armstrong the most; to the rock music of Elvis Presley and Rommy Steel.”34 The modern girl did not question the traditional role of women as mothers, wives, and household managers. The editors reported that only five out of 200 respondents did not want to get married. For her future, the modern girl imagined a technologically advanced kitchen in which “robots would wash the dishes, peel the potatoes, put fire on the stove, and carry the water from the well.”35 The image of robots pulling buckets of water from a pre-modern well poignantly reminded readers that the Poland of the early 1960s was far from the modern country the communists envisioned and that more than half of the population lived in the countryside. Most likely, the Filipinka modern girls resided, or at least grew up, in villages. Their interpretation of the modern stemmed from their surroundings. Despite their possible self-identification as




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modern girls, some of the respondents were probably not exposed to such basic amenities of the modern era as running water. The questionnaires directed at young women were used as an opportunity by the state-sponsored popular media to disseminate the model of a modern, socialist girl among the young generation. But, at the same time, the questions posed in the survey provided opportunities for young women—both respondents and readers—to think of themselves in new ways. Their ideas of what makes a modern girl was sometimes at odds with what the party-state promoted. It soon became clear that despite censorship and the editors’ judgmental commentary, the interest in mass consumption and hedonism transpired through the image of the modern girl. No doubt, the responses provided ideas for others to follow. Filipinka was careful to stress moderation in the consumer behavior of young women. Whenever possible, the magazine attempted to fend off individualistic interpretations of modern lifestyles. One of the first letters published in response to the survey was that of seventeen-year-old Marysia from an elite secondary school in Warsaw. Marysia thought that it was important to reflect on the meaning of the term “modern.” She was also careful to distinguish between two kinds of modern girls: those who are modern “in the full and best meaning of the word” and those who confuse modern values with extravagant clothes and promiscuous sex. Girls who belonged to the first group had “a clear goal in life.” They were interested in science and technology: “They are the ones that know as much about the kitchen and the sewing machine as they do about a car or a motorcycle; and they still find time for the theatre, an interesting book; they dress in striking but not extravagant apparel.”36 The girls in the second group, in contrast, tended to put on “a vulgar make-up.” They dressed in a way so as “to attract attention to themselves” and “acted noisily in the street.” They also held incorrect views on love and marriage. “I don’t have to describe these [views],” Marysia tactfully wrote. “We all know what I mean.”37 Marysia did not think she was a modern girl, describing herself as “simply young” and adding promptly that Filipinka would “probably consider me old-fashioned.”38 In this sense, Marysia acted as a neutral observer. Her letter expressed the core moral message of Filipinka’s editors: that following the modern-girl ideal required a deeper understanding of modern values according to the communist model. Girls were better off being old-fashioned than modern in an incorrect way. Marysia’s letter also advocated sexual restraint and premarital chastity.39 Indeed, ideal modern girls of the 1960s saved their sexual expressions for marriage and taught boys to do the same. Filipinka’s


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advice on dating strongly discouraged girls from taking the initiative and especially from complying with the supposedly inevitable pressure from a boy to engage in sexual intercourse. The magazine alerted its readers, in particular, to boys’ incorrect arguments that “all modern girls do this.”40 The editors advised against kissing or other forms of physical proximity. According to Filipinka, worthy men looked for unique women, and didn’t want easy girls. In one short story featured by the magazine, a girl named Jolanta tried to let a boy know that she liked him by looking and smiling at him while on a beach. The boy, although interested at first, decided not to approach the girl. “He gave up, because this was not the kind of girl he dreamed of. He dreamed of a girl, for whom one fights, to whom one needs to prove that one is a man of uncommon virtues.” According to the author, Jolanta made a mistake by trying to seduce the boy. “‘An easy flirt,’ he thought.”41 Filipinka let young women know that they were responsible not only for their own proper sexual behavior, but also for that of young men. The editors repeatedly linked female sexuality to male sexuality. Articles warned girls against boys’ predatory and promiscuous behavior. According to Filipinka, this aggressive heterosexual sexuality was a product of male “nature,” which should be tamed by women. Women were supposed to limit the boundaries of sexual contact and educate men about morality. Journalist Elz˙bieta Jackiewiczowa argued that a young man would want casual sexual contact only if the girl provoked him. She insisted that there was a “certain type of girl’s behavior” that prompted men to use that girl for a meaningless sexual encounter. The journalist believed that young men dreamed of genuine and romantic love as much as young women did. “But they have to know to what kind of girl one can open his heart. And they won’t open it to those girls who are only interested in kissing.”42 Interestingly, in constructing the proper image of the modern girl, the magazine did not hesitate to invoke nineteenth-century Polish novels as examples of correct gender relations, since “despite modern times, the problem of gender is always the same. Only women become mothers.”43 The mixture of the old and the new in the image of the properly understood “modern girl” indicated the media’s anxiety toward individualistic definitions of identity and sexuality. At the same time, the emphasis on the old and the traditional served to protect the modern socialist girl from Western influences. Ironically, the “old”—conservative dress, nineteenth-century novels, and commitment to future motherhood and family—all became identified with the “Polish”—the “socialist”—as opposed to the “foreign”—the “capitalist.”




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The anxieties over incorrect interpretations of modernity grew as the 1960s progressed. In 1965, Filipinka conducted another survey asking readers to reflect on the meaning of modern values.44 The editors launched this survey partially in response to the party’s Press Bureau criticism of Filipinka as being insufficiently ideological and even pro-Western. The editors set a specific goal for their new questionnaire: to criticize “a petty bourgeois ideal of life.”45 They published selective readers’ responses and included their own expanded commentary “to propagate a model of the modern girl, who values her own independence the most, and has an active attitude toward the surrounding reality.” The editorial commentary underscored two types of goals for young women as equally important: “profession and work” and “forming a good family.”46 In this more guided publication, readers’ voices about consumerism and leisure, prominent in the 1960 survey, gave way to comments on the importance of education and professional life.47 As internal party documents cited above indicated, the party’s Press Bureau felt compelled to intervene in shaping the public image of the modern girl. This enhanced interest in the seemingly trivial matters of clothes, music, and dating indicated that the regime felt increasingly threatened by the embracement of consumer values by the young generation. There also were signals from other sources suggesting that the moderngirl ideal slipped out of the state’s control. When a communist youth weekly, Walka Młodych (Struggle of Youth), conducted their own survey among female students and workers in the industrial city of Łódz´ in 1967, the editors were shocked to discover the preponderance of materialistic desires. On the one hand, the magazine applauded the Polish women’s reported noncompliance with contemporary Western feminism, which allegedly centered on sexual liberation.48 It also supported the young women’s unwavering desire to get married and have a family.49 On the other hand, the editors were alarmed that almost all female respondents, regardless of social class or educational level, expressed a desire to own a car and a luxurious single-family house (willa). They also wanted to get married to a rich man and to travel abroad.50 By early 1968, press attacks on incorrect interpretations of consumer culture were in full swing. In January 1968, Walka Młodych went as far as to ridicule the popular campaign from ten years before that called for “beautiful girls to the screen.” This slogan, according to the magazine, turned women into sexual objects in a manner borrowed from Western capitalist countries: “Do we remember those carefree times, when crowds of suspiciously-looking fellows trotted across the country in search of a


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Polish bosom according to the measurements of Gina Lollobrigida and picketed farm houses with the slogan ‘beautiful girls to the screen?’” In this article Walka Młodych condemned the creators of the Polish modern girl. The attack on incorrect interpretations of modernity became an attack on intellectual and artistic elites who allegedly propagated Western culture. Interestingly, communist journalists clumped together this Western, sexualized view of women with the Stalinist model of womanhood symbolized by women working in men’s jobs. “The era of the female breasts is gone,” the article continued. “It was preceded by a different era. Then the agitators screamed: ‘all girls on the tractors.’”51 Thus the completely opposite ideologies of Western consumerism and totalitarian Stalinism merged together to condemn incorrect interpretations of modern lifestyles. What united these images was that they both represented foreign impositions on Polish culture. Such vocabulary cannot be overlooked by anyone familiar with the state-sponsored anti-Zionist campaign that was taking place within the Polish ruling party, the press, workplaces, and streets during the same time. Like supporters of the modern girl, the Polish Jews—the alleged Zionists plotting against socialist Poland—were vilified as both Western imperialists and dogmatic Stalinists.52 When student demonstrations spread through Poland in March 1968, the press had no doubts that the rebellion resulted, at least in part, from incorrect interpretations of modernity and individual freedoms. Party newspapers vilified young protesters as the “banana youth” preoccupied with Western goods and promiscuous sex.53 Student unrest had its roots in the early 1960s when Warsaw University students and professors began forming independent discussion clubs and organizing lectures, in which they criticized the Gomułka regime for its ideological orthodoxy and crackdown on intellectual freedoms.54 The 1968 protests were sparked by the party-state’s ban on performing the play The Forefathers’ Eve by the nineteenth-century Polish national poet Adam Mickiewicz for its alleged anti-socialist and anti-Russian content. The protests culminated on March 8, when the riot police and the citizens’ militia attacked a student demonstration at the University of Warsaw. This resulted in more student and youth upheavals throughout the country protesting the state’s violent action.55 Misguided modern girls had their place in the March rebellions. Irena Grudzin´ska, a female student leader, was described by the press as “the most beautiful in the group, a regular client of Warsaw komisy [stores with used Western clothes].”56 According to an anonymous account of a female student submitted to the Party Commission for the Affairs of




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Youth, consumerist-oriented girls participated in student demonstrations and strikes in large numbers. Allegedly, these young women were not interested in politics or ideology; rather, “the most significant problem for them was good make-up.”57 Girls joined the student strike at the University of Warsaw with “a supply of sandwiches, criminal novels to read, and cards to play bridge.” According to this report, they did not understand the purpose of student protests, “but they subscribed to the idea of student solidarity and extraordinary adventure.” For them, “the strike became entertainment.”58 The report, written by a female student who did not participate in demonstrations, indicated that the perceptions of modern girls as consumerist and leisure-oriented was common among Polish society, including among some of the students. At the same time, clumping together a student protest with the desire for entertainment politicized consumer culture. Suddenly, good make-up and a taste for criminal novels became associated with disloyalty toward the state. After March 1968, Filipinka attempted to create a new version of the modern girl. The editors did not join other newspapers and magazines in vicious attacks on allegedly irresponsible and consumer-oriented youth, but rather offered alternative positive images of proper girlhood. Filipinka complied with party postulates to admit more students of working-class and rural backgrounds to universities as an antidote to the allegedly privileged youth of the urban intelligentsia.59 The communist press argued that creating the new, educated elites from lower class backgrounds would be “the passport to progress.”60 In December 1968, Filipinka featured a new ideal of young womanhood: female students from rural backgrounds who entered the University of Warsaw after the March revolts. As evidenced in interviews and photographs, these female students were not pursuing consumerism or pondering the meaning of modernity. All the photographs featured in Filipinka depicted the new female students engaged in traditional feminine tasks. One student was embroidering. The caption under the picture read: “Between lectures at the university and studying in the dormitory or a library, one needs to make room for the so-called domestic tasks.” Another female student was bending over the stove and tasting a meal she was cooking. “One eats at a dining hall, but from time to time, one likes to cook something in the dormitory, since they [female students] have a healthy appetite.” In another picture, three women were sitting at the table sipping tea. “In this dormitory room, as in many others, the family atmosphere dominated immediately.” Another woman was ironing a dress. The magazine continued: “Joyous, talkative, teasing each other, they absolutely do not make an impression of being troubled and bewildered persons.”61


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These images stressed traditionally feminine qualities. Women students from a rural background were in a way more authentic and genuine than urban girls. They were portrayed as tending to the traditional feminine tasks such as cooking and ironing even as they were becoming modern: moving to the city and earning a higher degree. According to Filipinka, the majority of women who came from villages and small towns resisted urban temptations. One female student stated: “Maintaining one’s individuality and not letting oneself become insane is the most important—not to become frightened and not to go into a frenzy from the amount of new experiences, and a false sense of freedom and impunity.” According to these new modern girls, the urban setting needed to be approached with moderation and rational thinking. They condemned those new arrivals who “party day and night” and “instead of going to the lectures … go on dates.” But the interviewees made it clear that such women “were exceptions.”62 After 1968, Filipinka continued to offer young women advice on sexual and social matters, but rarely evoked the term “modern girl.” The reported commitment of female students from rural backgrounds to traditional feminine identity and domestic tasks neutralized their sexuality and their politics. These new female students symbolized a rejection of Western influences and a commitment to communism and Polishness. It is significant that the symbol of modern communist life of the 1960s was a modern girl and not a modern woman. Historically, the image of a modern woman in European societies, including interwar Polish society, often signified the ultimate threat of modernity: a dangerous era of immorality, a destruction of traditional values, and a new “civilization without sexes.”63 The desire to create a modern girl in 1960s Poland was an attempt to construct a positive image of modernity in its communist version. The modern girl was young and still in the process of psychological and physical development. Because she was not a woman, her image was disassociated from reproduction and sexuality, traditionally threatening sources of female power in a male-dominated society. In the specific Polish context, the image was also disassociated from the political threat adult women posed. As workers, mothers, and household managers, women regularly protested against food shortages and demanded material improvements from the party-state.64 The modern girl, disconnected from the troubling domestic sphere, could serve as a symbol of innocence and a bright communist future. The projection of the image of the modern girl, however, backfired as some young women refused to follow the communist script and took new opportunities into their own hands. The party-state panicked when modern girls and youth in general began seeking new definitions




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of modernity, and moreover, of communism as expressed in the 1968 demonstrations. But this decline of support for the modern girl was temporary, related to the political crises of the late 1960s. The state’s promotion of consumer values would come back with a vengeance in the 1970s. In December 1970, Gomułka was ousted from power as a result of the workers’ uprising on the Baltic Coast. The new leader, Edward Gierek, had spent the interwar years as a coal miner in France. While in office his wife was said to regularly go to Paris to get haircuts. The Gierek era would be known as one of “sauerkraut-stew socialism,” as the population was courted with consumer goods.65 The two young women quoted at the beginning of this chapter could expect their young daughters to indulge in consumerist pleasures to a greater degree than their mothers. The state’s approach to young women fluctuated over the course of the 1960s and 1970s, demonstrating that one cannot look at the post-Stalinist era as a single factor promoting a homogeneous model of gender roles. Much of this variation reflected the communist regime’s attempts to define modern lifestyles and consumption in an anticapitalist context. By opening Poland to contemporary Western influences and creating the modern girl in the early 1960s, the regime started a process that could not be reversed. Western goods and trends penetrated borders and became sources for self-expression and freedom in a regime that once aimed at total control.


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“When We Were Walking down the Road and Singing”: Rural Women’s Memories of Socialism in Serbia Ana Hofman

Gender, Phenomenology, and Memory In her article “Experience,” Joan Scott problematizes the “objective evidence of experience,” arguing that the subject is constructed through discourse and only from that position is he/she able to produce his/her experience. Instead of assuming that individual subjects have experiences, she proposes that subjectivity is produced through the discursive processing of their experiences: “It is not individuals who have experiences but subjects who are constituted through experience.”1 Building on Scott’s arguments, this chapter examines the self-reflexive potential of experience in interpretations of Yugoslavia’s socialist past. It focuses on women of the “older generations” (born between 1914 and 1946) in the area of Niško Polje in southeastern Serbia who actively participated in amateur vocal groups and performed at state-sponsored festivals in villages during the socialist period.2 Niško Polje belongs to a wider region called the Valley of the Južna Morava River, with the city of Niš as its administrative center.3 The population is ethnically quite uniform, with a dominant Serbian population and the Roma community forming the largest minority.4


Chapter 11


Ana Hofman

Since my aim in this project was to illuminate women’s subjective experiences by emphasizing their standpoint—the way they speak about their activities, what they highlight and what they leave out—I did not use a questionnaire.5 Moreover, our conversations were not centered on gender issues; instead, I simply provided the female singers with an opportunity to speak freely about their lives during socialism and postsocialism.6 This approach emphasizes the “polyvocality” of women’s interpretations of the past, offering a complex and at times contradictory portrait of their memories of socialism. I do not argue for an essentialist approach to women’s identity and experiences, as is suggested by the concept of women’s oral history and which claims a particular “women’s history” based on women’s specific voices and experiences.7 Thus, I do not necessarily view the women featured in this chapter as representative of rural women in Niško Polje. Instead, I aim to represent them as individuals with different life stories and diverse attitudes toward the past, and offer possibilities for further (re)interpretations of their stories by potential readers. Oral history’s special relationship to memory studies brings to light the ways in which memories are associated with experience and the production of subjectivity.8 Memory is treated not only as an instrument for shaping our knowledge of the external world, but also as the central vehicle for constituting subjectivity and as the primary locus of our sense of self.9 The self-reflexive potential of experience is taken as a key concept in researching women’s memories of socialism and their public performances. Employing the phenomenological approach and focusing on “subject-centered” ethnography,10 this chapter shows that individual memories are articulated in dynamics between personal experiences and the wider social and cultural environment.11 With regard to my interlocutors, their stories about their leisure activities during socialism are also influenced by the broader economic, political, and cultural contexts of post-socialism. “Cultured” Folk Music State-sponsored festivals constituted an important part of the modernization project and the broader ideology of “brotherhood and unity” (bratstvo i jedinstvo) in socialist Yugoslavia. Official cultural policy aimed to balance ethnic and regional diversities though the creation of a “new folk culture” (narodna or pucˇka kultura), which was presented as a joint product and reflection of all working people (peasants, workers, and the intelligentsia). The concept of amateurism (amaterizam) was an important feature of the new folk culture in official discourse.12


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The socialist agenda of raising the educational and cultural levels of the rural population was intended to modernize both rural culture and society as a whole.13 To that end, one of the primary objectives was the presentation of folk heritage in a “cultured way” through the importation of “high cultural” elements. This concept emphasized the equal significance of and harmony between rural and urban culture as an integrating process in building a “classless socialist society.” However, on the ground there was minimal state investment in rural culture, illustrating the marginal position it occupied within Yugoslav cultural policy.14 In contrast to festivals at the republican or federal levels, where the Culture-Artistic Societies (Kulturno-umetnicˇka društva, KUDs) performed pan-Yugoslav programs, the emphasis at village events was on local repertoire performed by the village ensembles.15 Because policymakers and party authorities considered village festivals to be marginal,16 cultural life in rural areas depended mainly on the efforts of local culture workers and enthusiasts, who usually worked voluntarily.17 The first state-organized festivals began in Niško Polje in the mid-1960s and were organized and orchestrated by local culture workers. Village organizers were given formal guidelines for the program’s content by deputies of the regional Cultural-Educational Associations (Kulturnoprosvetne zajednice, KPZ ). Local organizers claimed that leaders from the Regional KPZ in Niš did not require that the content of the program be socialist or even political. Instead, according to Dragan Todorovic´, a local culture worker, regional authorities requested that the festivals highlight the heritage of the village and display more “authentic” styles of performance:18 They asked for traditional customs or rituals. Yes that heritage, but adapted for the stage. And furthermore, they asked for songs, music, groups, duets or solos. That was a rule for both sides, female and male. Regarding dances, they asked for old dances and original costumes.19

Since the jury insisted on a “pure, traditional style,” the female vocal groups performed exclusively “old, traditional repertoire,” with women dressed in folk costumes, including traditional scarves and peasant footwear.


W h e n W e W e r e Wa l k i n g d o w n t h e R o a d

Singing Emancipation As a part of their modernization agenda, state authorities tried to foster women’s active participation in village cultural life, decrying women’s 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

Ana Hofman

underrepresentation in various types of state-supported social activities. Official records reflect women’s low participation in cultural and educational activities at the local level in Serbian villages. For example, in the late 1950s and early 1960s, only 20 percent of young rural women in Serbia were members of KUDs.20 To increase that number, the state emphasized women’s participation in culture as an important aspect of their overall emancipation and reflective of their newly established “freedom” (oslobod-enježena). As an official document stated: “A woman’s participation in a theatre or folklore group represented her entry into social life, liberation from family control, and a significant widening of her personal horizons.”21 The stories of my interlocutors suggest that in southeastern Serbia it was atypical for rural women to perform at state-organized cultural events. This belief was related to traditional conceptions of gender roles in rural society, which forbade women from expressing themselves in public. The female singers were part of the last generation of women who were born into a large, extended family, the so-called kucńa zadruga. In this type of family women occupied a subordinate position and were under the command of their husbands (or the eldest male in the household). The bulk of their activities took place in the household, while the public sphere was the preserve of men. For that reason, all aspects of a woman’s life, especially her behavior in the public domain, were regulated and socially restricted. As a result of these beliefs, singing within a closed community was considered a desirable talent, and women usually performed in private settings—in the home, during agricultural work, or at informal gatherings. However, it was absolutely inconceivable for women to exhibit their musical talents in public.22 As Milunka noted: “At that time we did not sing [in public], that was very shameful.”23 Considering these traditional gender norms, women’s performance at state-organized cultural events met with resistance. According to culture workers in Niško Polje, it was very difficult to find women who were willing to perform on stage when these cultural activities were first introduced in their village in the late 1960s. Dragan claimed that when he visited families in his village of Vukmanovo to ask husbands if they would allow their wives to sing, he found that they were, on the whole, resistant to letting their wives perform in public, asserting: “Why go there and waste her time? I did not bring her to my house so that she would doll up for everyone else. She has to be beautiful only for me.”24 Moreover, the idea of a woman abandoning her domestic duties to travel and perform was deemed inappropriate, not only by women’s husbands but also the larger household, as Dragan recalled:


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Despite men’s resistance, according to the singers, a few years after the cultural activities began most villagers accepted their activities and became more tolerant of stage performances by women. And, in time, their husbands grew accustomed to watching them perform in public. As Ilinka commented: “Our husbands did not care about that. When they saw that it was all right, all became well. That it was not anything special, they just asked: do they pay you for that?”26 On the whole, each woman positively recalled her participation in these cultural events. Although several had worked during the early postwar years, they eventually quit due to limited access to social services (maternity leave and child care) and, as they stated, because working outside the home was considered inappropriate for rural women. Thus, most of them were homemakers and, as a result, their social identity was defined within the boundaries of marriage and family. The experience of performing and traveling with the amateur group, however, offered them an opportunity to redefine themselves with regard to the community and the larger public sphere. While they performed mainly at festivals organized by local cultural organizations in Serbia (Houses of Culture—Domovi kulture; the KPZs, and the KUDs), they especially enjoyed traveling to and participating in festivals in other parts of socialist Yugoslavia.27 For instance, a female vocal group from Donja Studena performed at the Review of the Folklore Group (Smotra narodnog stvaralaštva izvornih grupa) in Topola, Serbia, the International Folklore Festival in Zagreb, Croatia (Med-unarodna smotra folklora), and the Balkan Festival of Folklore Heritage (Balkanski festival narodnog stvaralaštva) in Ohrid, Macedonia. As two former singers recalled: That was when we won in Lacérak and they showed us on TV. In Bacˇka, Topola, too. Yes, I was young and we were ashamed to go. But ok, you go when they are asking you so nicely and every year. Well, it was ok for me, too, I had a good time. Traveling and having fun, we went to Ðerdap, I was there for three days.28


I went from house to house to ask the head of the household: ‘Would you allow your wife [daughter, sister] to sing in the group, we want to perform at the Village Gatherings?’—‘No chance. Go away, don’t you have more important work than to go around the village gathering women.’ My God, they told me something like that, as if I was a loser.25

I have pictures from the Village Gatherings, when I went to Bubanj and spent three days in Aleksandrovac. There was a banquet, the wine … you just poured it and drank. I have pictures, I will show you later. I have traveled, I have seen things, and so, if I die now, I will not be sorry.29 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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Figure 11.1 Village Gathering in Trupale, Serbia, 1990. Courtesy of Vukašin Mitic´ and The Trupale Village Cultural Center.

Since socialist festivals were structured as competitions, women talked primarily about the more memorable and better-received performances, describing the reaction of both the audience and jury. The group practiced a good deal for these competitions in the hope of winning prizes (prizes were awarded to the village rather than the members of the vocal group and ranged from books for the local library to television sets for the local House of Culture to grants). As Ilinka recalled: “Well, we practiced, every day, gathered at one woman’s house. We usually went to Dina’s house to put our voices together.”30 At the beginning of our conversation, Velika told me that she had won the first prize in three villages, noting that she had to compete against her neighbor, Vera: I won first prize in three villages … in Hum, Gornji Komren and Rujnik, and I had only my neighbor Vera as the worthy opponent. The jury also came to visit me, yes, they came to my peasant house since I lived there with my grandparents and my mother.31


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The competitive nature of the festivals was very important in the creation of the women’s so-called “discourse of competency.” As a result of their impressive knowledge of folk songs, the female singers began to be appreciated by culture workers and authorities as embodiments of local culture. In that respect, their stage performances altered their social status, providing them with a special position of musical authority.32 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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The fact that their performances were shown on local and national television, broadcast on radio, and featured in local newspapers also shaped women’s memories of socialism. They all showed me newspaper clippings, particularly those that had their pictures in them. Also, being on TV was an especially significant experience for them, a source of personal validation. In their view, the public acknowledgment of their talents made them feel like professionals. Through their narratives, it is clear that public activities provided an opportunity for the singers to express their talents and negotiate the gender hierarchies in their communities in an officially recognized way. They asserted that, for the first time in their lives, they were free of the control of their husbands and patriarchal kin relations, and, in this way, got a sense of what it was like to actively participate in village social life. By legitimating themselves as social subjects within the community and achieving a level of autonomy, the women challenged traditional gender roles and their public (in)visibility. This in turn led them to restructure their self-identities and self-perceptions. Their stories demonstrate how, in their everyday lives, they were able to transgress patriarchal norms, subvert the gender hierarchies within their communities, and increase their social position by using the dominant, socialist policy. Their recollections of the period, which differ from those of their female neighbors and other women in their village who were not involved in such activities, shaped their interpretations and narratives of the past. For them socialism was not simply beneficial but emancipating. Narrating Modernization Apart from helping them refashion their social roles, the amateur musical activities enriched community life in their villages. Thus, their stories challenge the claim that state-sponsored festivals during the socialist period were artificially imposed forms of communal activity that were meaningless to those who participated in them. Instead, they were an important feature in the everyday lives of the villagers and performers alike. The women claimed that cultural life in the villages of Niško Polje flourished during the socialist period and that the local Houses of Culture had very active folklore groups, dance schools, and literary groups.33 Moreover, the cultural events contributed to the quality of life in villages, especially during long winter days when there was little to do. In addition, these events provided an excellent opportunity for young people to become involved in extracurricular activities, to learn the old songs, dances, and customs, and to meet peers from neighboring villages. For older people it was a good means of reviving memories and having a




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great time together. As Olga recalled: “We lived differently at that time. Lots of things happened, my son, lots of things, it was wonderful.”34 Women emphasized the social aspects of the festivals, viewing the relationships that developed between relatives, neighbors, and villagers more generally as the most important aspect of the socialist period. In their stories the past was portrayed as a time marked by singing and dancing, and the involvement of all members of the community in common social activities. As Životka Stankovic´ lamented: “We were walking down the road, walking and singing. People sang. Now there is no love, children, no sorrow, there is nothing now, no help, nothing.”35 Some women recalled how close contacts and even intimate relationships and marriages emerged out of these festivals, and that it was often through joint amateur activities that people who did not get along gradually overcame their conflicts and became friends again. Moreover, local organizers stressed that villagers were quite dedicated to preparing for these events, and were delighted by the opportunity to both welcome people from other villages and promote their own village. Indeed, even when the Houses of Culture were still under construction—in some cases lacking windows and heating—they were nonetheless crammed with people during the performances.36 In recalling these events they claimed that the organizers of these events (including the performers) were genuine enthusiasts who worked without being paid. In addition to helping organize the festivals, villagers also provided food and drink for the events. As Velibor noted: “Everyone brought what he or she had. And people did not bring just anything. From food to drinks to roasted meats. And also barrels of beer, those big barrels.”37 According to my interlocutors, the main features of life during that time were socializing (druženje), helpfulness (pomaganje), and unity (zajedništvo). Mediating Memories The official policy of socialist emancipation and modernization shaped the female singers’ memories of socialism; however, the volatile social and political climate of the post-socialist period also affected how they interpreted the past. As noted, these women were all very talented singers and well-known in their villages. Some of them were actively engaged in local cultural activities, not only as singers but also as members of the amateur theatre. They were recognized as the most knowledgeable persons in their communities with regard to vocal music practices. Yet, they were initially hesitant to talk about their amateur activities, since they did not consider music and performing to be an “appropriate” subject of conversation. Although they often participated actively in


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conversation—even with regard to the more intimate details of their lives—they were not eager to talk about their stage performances, viewing these activities as frivolous and retrograde.38 Indeed, in response to my interest in amateur activities, both the women performers and the villagers were often surprised that I was interested in what seemed to them a trivial topic: J.B.: That was a joke, we were just having fun and I went to all that, but… A.H.: Are there some old women who sung? J.B.: Well, yes, but they are very old … only Jela, she is still wasting her time.39

The fact that the women were ashamed of talking about their experiences as singers reveals that their memories of socialism—or at least those memories they were willing to share with me—were in part shaped by dominant post-socialist discourses. As scholars have claimed, the breakup of Yugoslavia, the war, and the founding of new states influenced the growing dominance of nationalist discourses, which propagated a return to “traditional” gender roles, most evident in the rise of nationalism and the emergence of antifeminist and pro-natalist politics. As Stef Jansen argues, these discourses were masculine, antisocialist, and antifeminist in content.40 In such a social climate, the singers obviously tried to reclaim their stories in accordance with the dominant, antisocialist (or anti-Yugoslav) narratives by avoiding conversations about their amateur activities, which were recognized as a legacy of socialism.41 As Kenneth and Mary Gergen point out, an “active negotiation over narrative is especially invited when the individual is asked to justify his or her behavior, that is, when one has acted disagreeably with respect to common frames of understanding.”42 In that sense, the women’s narratives show the interplay of intersubjective and social discourses, mediating the relations between their individual accounts and the wider social climate of post-socialism. According to Edward Bruner, an important shift in the social context usually enables a new narrative to become dominant: “New stories arise when there is a new reality to be explained, when the social arrangements are so different that the old narrative no longer seems adequate.”43 Taking post-socialism as the interpretative standpoint from which the past is narrated and constructed, it is important to emphasize that the collapse of socialism and the subsequent breakup of Yugoslavia were not represented by the women as the major turning point in their narratives. For them the most important discursive boundary was not 1991, the year of the dislocation of the former Yugoslavia, but 1996 (the year of




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the first significant political changes at the local level since World War II) and 1999 (the bombing of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia by NATO forces).44 The authoritarian rule of Slobodan Miloševic´, which created a peculiar political and social environment in Serbia, can be seen as one of the reasons for that. Namely, Miloševic´’s controversial politics of flirting both with socialist and nationalist concepts—simultaneously propagating Serbian nationalism and the Yugoslavian idea45—enabled a specific continuity of socialist cultural and social practices, particularly in rural environments. Taking that into account, the “real” post-socialist period for my interlocutors started after Miloševic´’s rule, with the so-called democratic changes in October 2000. Their memories and personal narrations of the socialist period do not reflect some distant past, but are instead situated, in their minds, closer in time to their present-day experiences of post-socialism. Experiencing Retraditionalization In talking about important time-shifts in their narratives, the women make a strong distinction between the “foregone times” (which mainly refer to the period up to the mid-1990s) and the current moment, defined as the “new times.” The foregone times are remembered as a period of suffering because of the difficult lifestyle (“we lacked running water, electricity, and modern infrastructure and farming equipment”), but, as mentioned, it was also a time marked by friendship, unity, and, more generally, good relations between people.46 In their stories, although the quality of life has improved since the 2000 changeover, social relations have seriously deteriorated. As Ilinka remarked: “Young people have everything but know nothing.”47 In contrast to the old times when people sang and danced at informal village gatherings, people today spend most of their time watching TV, “locked” in their houses. The women said that even they do not visit their neighbors and relatives as often as they used to do in the old times. The women regarded the period after socialism as a time when old songs and customs completely vanished from the everyday lives of villagers. As Verica lamented: “Now there is no lazarica, no kraljica, there is nothing.”48 Remembering the past as a time of communal singing and dancing, they were generally disappointed by the fact that their grandchildren and young people seemed to be averse to the old songs and singing style, which they call “howling” (zavijanje). In their opinion, young people do not find any amusement in festivals or joint cultural activities at the village level. Instead, they claimed that villages appeared empty, abandoned by young people, and that only primary


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school children are interested in the cultural activities of the villages. However, after they taste city life for the first time, they too become embarrassed by these kinds of festivities, regarding them as “rustic” (seljacˇki). Leaders of amateur groups and local culture workers also expressed disappointment when the festivals were discontinued after the so-called democratic changes took place. As Vukašin commented: “The Village Gatherings lasted long, until 1996, or maybe 1995. And then the politics started and the war and it all changed, shut down and changed.”49 In their opinion, the new authorities privilege urban culture and neglect rural culture. Some of them even told me that policymakers are trying to build up an urban society (grad-ansko društvo, which in the very etymology of the phrase excludes peasants), and thereby distance themselves from their rural origins.50 The women also felt abandoned by local administrators in Niš and by republican authorities who had allowed cultural life in their villages to die out. This reveals the lack of connection and relative mistrust between the urban institutions and authorities on the one hand and the rural population on the other.51 Local culture workers explained that the desire and motivation for reestablishing cultural events existed within the villages but with no municipal or state support it was not possible to realize any project. Observing my interest in these kinds of events and village cultural life more generally, many ex-organizers asked me to help them in reviving the festivals. Overall, the narratives of my interlocutors implicitly referred to the socialist period as a better, more peaceful, and safer time. Michael Herzfeld argues that discourses of change and decline, particularly moral decline, are inherent in many societies, using the term “structural nostalgia” in referring to the collective imagination of the perfectness of the preceding times.52 Rather than political nostalgia (only a few of them mentioned Tito or socialism) the women’s narratives exhibit a longing for a particular socioeconomic and value system, marked by unity, cooperation, and economic stability. Their longing for the socialist past arises predominantly out of their loss of faith in the present and future, and thus has little connection to ideology. As Predrag J. Markovic´ points out, the urbanization and modernization that rural populations experienced during socialism play a particularly important role in shaping people’s memory of that period, since they are associated with prosperity and because rural populations have suffered the most during the process of post-socialist transformation.53 Thus, Chris Hann asserts that, in post-socialist societies in southeastern Europe, peasants are resisting social transformations and feel defensive about the emerging differences among social groups.54 In particular, the female singers who, by performing with amateur groups,




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had opportunities to challenge their social identities and transgress gender hierarchies, perceived the socialist period as a time when they had achieved a certain level of social recognition. Their stories highlight the complex and contradictory relationship between the personal, interpersonal, and political, and the interconnection between political and lived realities. The women’s stories thus include the dialectics of the various discourses that shape their memories of socialism, but also reflect the current post-socialist climate. Conclusion The major focus in recent studies of memory is on the capacity of personal memories to challenge the authority of dominant narratives in understanding the past.55 Although I have focused on personal memories and experiences, emphasizing their contradictory nature, the intent of this chapter was not to present the female singer’s memories as contestatory to the established interpretations of the past or as a specific subaltern truth. Nor was it my goal to simply subvert binaries present in the dominant scholarly narratives about socialism, such as official/unofficial or ideology/practice, or to “prove” or “disprove” the discrepancy between socialist gender politics and local practices.56 What this study has tried to do is question a tendency of “categorizing” and producing a fixed and static conception and interpretation of socialism.57 In this respect, I concur with Laura Olson’s critique of monolithic views of socialist culture, in which scholars essentialize relations of power and produce the binary image of the hegemonic state and subordinated people.58 The complexity of gender relations under socialism requires a more nuanced interpretation than one limited to the manifestations of discourse-power relations. This study does not try to essentialize relations of power and ideas of authority (both official and subaltern) but instead tries to look for memories that defend or dispute the very idea of authority.59 It argues for the potential of memories to express the polyvocal nature of social processes by challenging the concepts of consistency and fixity. In the current processes of “democratization and European integration” in Serbia, the discourses of active-emancipation policies are once again evident. Yet, as Ulf Brunnbauer writes, the political representation of women in post-socialist societies is paradoxical, since traditional gender roles are reinforced by a process that should, ostensibly, lead to emancipatory policies under the new liberal-democratic regimes.60 In this contradictory environment, the renewed discourses of gender emancipation will certainly create new individual narrativizations of the socialist past.


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I would like to thank the women involved in the project and all the people who helped me during my fieldwork: Aleksandra Markovic´, Iva Tarabic´ and Jelena Jelic´, Milica Veljkovic´, Dragiša Stojanovic´, Slaviša Mihajlovic´, Saša Milojkovic´, Dragan Todorovic´, Vukašin Mitic´ and, in particular, my mother, Svetlana Hofman. I am particularly obliged to The Wenner-Gren Foundation for the Library Residency Fellowship and the New Europe College for the postdoctoral Robert Bosch Regional Fellowship.


Acknowledgements





Gender and Resistance


Part 4





Writing Themselves into History: Two Feminists Recall Their Political Development in the People’s Republic of Poland Shana Penn

What women achieved under communism was so obvious that we never believed we had something to lose. Małgorzata Fuszara, gender studies professor, Warsaw University1

Come 1989 and the shattering of the Iron Curtain, it seemed that grassroots feminism suddenly leapt to life to counter the completely unanticipated threats to reproductive rights, women’s employment, state-run child care, and health care that accompanied the dismantling of the communist infrastructure. But feminism, though long dormant in Central Europe, did not suddenly spring, full-blown, out of nowhere. Prior to 1989, and independent from the state, many women had long nurtured the elements of feminism, both in private and in their respective pro-democracy subcultures. Their political legacy carried into the post-communist era, helping to usher a broaderbased feminism into their respective countries.


Chapter 12


Shana Penn

This chapter focuses on how feminism evolved in Poland during the era of state socialism, from 1945 to 1989. How did women born after World War II become sensitized to gender? How did the state-socialist system and the era’s politics influence the development of their gender awareness and life choices? How did gender interface with ethnicity and religion (in this case, with Jewish identity and Judaism)? What were those women, who later became feminists, thinking and doing, and how do they assess their experiences? Through observing the lives of two Polish feminists who—although of different ages, ethnicities, and social backgrounds—share a feminism that was forged under state socialism, I aim to answer these questions. Locating themselves in history has, in recent years, become crucial for Polish feminists. By the mid-1990s, following the tragic legislative loss of reproductive rights, many had grown cynical, worried that Polish feminism might be little more than an oxymoron.2 The 1990s disillusionment was overcome as the first research projects reconstructing a national feminist history began to be released, and as activists and scholars, such as Maria Janion, Izabela Filipiak, and Kazimiera Szczuka, successfully intervened in public debate, arguing for continuities of indigenous feminist thinking over several disruptive centuries reaching back to the late eighteenth century. Sławomira Walczewska, codirector of the Women’s Foundation eFKa in Kraków, initiated this “reconstructive” research in the early 1990s by creating important intellectual forums,3 and she has since published two major books including Feminists in Their Own Voices (“Feministki własnym głosem o sobie”), her edited collection of oral histories of ten Polish feminists born between the 1940s and 1970s.4 There are now several feminist oral history projects, including my own, that focus on the communist era and document how Polish feminists have been writing themselves back into history—taking the steps to reconnect with a legacy of publishing and activism that was severed in World War II and was excluded from state socialism’s top-down gender platform.5 In this chapter, I draw significantly from this discourse and scholarship, particularly from recently published research and oral history projects.6 My own research and interviews with women active in the opposition, feminism, and the Communist Party were conducted during 1990–93, 1997–98, 1999–2001, and 2006–08. Because this chapter also examines the intersection of Jewish and gender identities, I use research that I conducted in 1990–93 and 2005–08 on the revitalization of Poland’s Jewish community during and after communism, tracking the relationship between Jewish identity and anticommunist opposition, and the reentry of Jewish issues into public discourse.7


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Polish women recall varied pathways to feminism—through personal, cumulative experiences of sexism; through readings of feminist literature (which illuminated the sexism); from watching the 1989 political changeover systematically disadvantage women; and from the events that are our focus in this chapter—the construction and duration in power of the People’s Republic of Poland (Polska Rzeczpospolita Ludowa, or PRL) following the devastation of World War II. For the two women profiled here, Boz˙ena Umin´ska-Keff and Małgorzata Tarasiewicz, those years imposed formative experiences—dislocation; the loss and rebuilding of family, home and community; the obscuring or trading-in of one identity for another—that nurtured their sensitivities to their gender identities. Anticommunist opposition, as a source either of inspiration or disenchantment, was another major influence. And for Umin´ska-Keff, who is Jewish, ethnic identity formation and anti-Semitism together were critical formative factors. Her life story is unusual in this, as are the stories of most of her generational peers who came from secular Jewish leftist households and did not acknowledge their ethnic identity as influencing their political development; many did not acknowledge their ethnic identity at all. Moreover, most feminists with Jewish roots were not raised with a Jewish sensibility and did not derive political or personal meaning from a dialogue between their Jewish and female selves. Umin´ska-Keff became, beginning in the 1990s, a mentor and role model for younger feminists with Jewish roots. Umin´ska-Keff was born in 1948, and Tarasiewicz in 1960. They each came of age in a pivotal political era—Umin´ska-Keff during the 1968 student protests and the government-led anti-Semitic campaign, and Tarasiewicz during the 1980 nationwide strikes and the formation of Solidarity. They took different paths to feminism, yet both play important roles in Poland’s feminist history. Umin´ska-Keff, who regards herself primarily as an artist, is a rare combination of poet, literary critic, academic, and political columnist. Using various genres, her works examine the intersection between Judaism and gender in Polish culture.8 She characteristically gathers together two hot buttons in Polish society—Jew and woman—and holds them before her readers like discomfiting mirrors. Few people in Poland are as openly candid about their multiple identities as this Jewish feminist and artist, who has provoked fiery debate on taboo subjects. Tarasiewicz is perhaps best known for organizing the Solidarity Union’s first-ever Women’s Section in 1990. For spearheading the group’s pro-choice platform, she was hastily ousted by the antichoice Union


World War II and Its Aftermath


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and as a result became the subject of a 1991 Human Rights Watch report.9 Undaunted, she moved on to run the Gdan´sk office of Amnesty International, and today she directs the Network of East-West Women (NEWW Polska), which connects feminist groups throughout Central and Eastern Europe to strategize region-wide actions.10 Though their family backgrounds and generations are quite different, Tarasiewicz and Umin´ska-Keff grew up with strong self-esteem that was nurtured by their families and the gender norms fostered by state socialism. They felt that this self-esteem was a given, and their notions about women and gender equality went largely unquestioned until each was exposed to Western feminism and personally experienced sexism. For Tarasiewicz, that exposure began in the 1980s opposition, but for both her and Umin´ska-Keff, it came into sharp focus when reproductive rights were immediately threatened in the wake of the 1989 revolution. “That’s when the blinders flew off,” said Tarasiewicz.11 Boz˙ ena Umin´ska-Keff: Born 1948 Born three years after the war’s end to Holocaust survivors who had relocated from Lvov in eastern Poland to Warsaw, Boz˙ena Umin´skaKeff was raised in a secular Jewish household. Her parents, atypical of Jews in postwar Poland, did not hide their Jewishness, at least not in the home or from their daughter. Holocaust survivors who resettled in the United States or Israel often covered up their wartime experiences from their families and communities, if only to protect the children, but rarely concealed their Judaism. In homogenous Poland, by contrast, the number one reason for obscuring one’s personal history was the fear of anti-Semitic persecution by neighbors or by the state. In interviews as well as in her published works, Umin´ska-Keff discusses her feminist awakening as having been grounded in her sensitivity to her Jewish identity. She sets the story of her feminism against the backdrop of her postwar upbringing as the child of secular, leftist Holocaust survivors, and of her experience of anti-Semitism in a country where Jew-hating remained pervasive even after there were few Jews left. In the PRL, which originally proclaimed atheism but from 1956 onward allowed the practice of Catholicism, the Jewish population routinely suffered political and popular persecution. Consequently, most Jews hid or denied their cultural identity well into the post-communist era. Growing up in this hostile climate, Umin´ska-Keff became sensitized to the social construction of identity and prejudice. Before its occupation by Nazi Germany and the USSR in 1939, Poland was home to Europe’s largest Jewish community—a population


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of 3.5 million; its capital, Warsaw, was the continent’s largest Jewish city. The once-flourishing Jewish communities virtually disappeared under Nazi rule, thus destroying much of the country’s rich cultural fabric. Of the 280,000 Polish Jews who returned after the war, almost 200,000 had chosen to emigrate by 1949. Most of those who remained, Umin´ska-Keff’s parents among them, were leftists. European Jews had created or participated in various leftist movements since the late nineteenth century in their search for political answers to questions of Jewish nationality, religion, and their relationships with their mainstream societies. The political streams included the Jewish Socialist Bund, an East European Jewish workers’ movement associated with socialism and Yiddish culture; an array of Polish socialist groups; and the Communist Party. Jews who returned to Poland after the war encountered ongoing popular and political anti-Semitism, beginning with postwar pogroms, the most infamous of which was in the southeastern town of Kielce in 1946. In the late 1950s, the government and its propaganda machine harassed Jews to leave Poland and liberally distributed exit visas for Israel. In 1968, a state-sponsored witch hunt further reduced Poland’s registered Jewish population to fewer than 20,000. During the war, Umin´ska-Keff ’s parents, like many Jews, took refuge from Nazism in the Soviet Union. Her father fought in the first Polish army organized in the USSR in 1942. Aligned with the Bund, her father—like most leftists—joined the Communist Party after World War II; he remained in the postwar military. The army induced him to change his surname from Keff to Uminski “so that it wouldn’t sound foreign—really meaning that it wouldn’t sound Jewish,” Umin´ska-Keff explained. She noted that even during Stalin’s reign over the USSR and into the postwar era, her father attached the utmost importance to the “universal and just ideal of a social order that was supposed to come into being but just kept refusing to do so.”12 Then, when he was ordered to be a prosecution witness in a 1954 show trial that would unjustly indict military colleagues, he committed suicide. Umin´ska-Keff ’s mother, also a leftist and a member of the Polish United Workers’ Party (Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza, PZPR, the dominant political party in the PRL), eventually married a Jew from a small town near Lvov, who became an academic after the war. At age fourteen he had given up his Orthodox religious studies for an education in Marxist philosophy and, before the war, was arrested and imprisoned for involvement in communist activities. Umin´ska-Keff and her mother joined her stepfather and his son from a first marriage in a spacious ˙ oliborz, a northern district of Warsaw that had not been apartment in Z destroyed in the war. Umin´ska-Keff lives there today with her life partner,




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Jarosław Mikos. Her stepfather died in 1998, and her eighty-seven-year-old mother retired only four years ago from her work as an archivist at the Jewish Historical Institute. When Umin´ska-Keff was growing up, the members of her blended household expressed their Jewish identity in leftist ideology or in reference to the Holocaust past. Both adults had lost their families; in the 1950s they surrounded themselves with friends, mostly Jewish, who had also suffered unfathomable losses. Whereas being Jewish was burdensome at times, Umin´ska-Keff recalls receiving positive gender messages from her surroundings—from her mother and stepfather, in school, and, as she told me, in the “general atmosphere,” which was “an agent of emancipation.” In the Feministki interview conducted by Sławomira Walczewska, she recalls “a precisely ‘women’s lib’” message that there was no reason why women should not lead a life as free as one led by men. Free in the sense of choice, following their own will, so that they could choose their own way of life. I remember that whenever I heard a misogynist remark … I didn’t even react with indignation but with amazement, as if the person speaking was a dinosaur, a relic from the past that had no right to exist in this reality any more. Everything that went against that [women’s lib] message was deeply hidden and wasn’t really visible.13

She was, however, aware of a subtly concealed bias on the part of her stepfather, from whom she sought recognition as an intellectual. Either because of kinship, gender bias, or both, he reserved that validation only for his son. I lost because I am of the wrong gender. But it was covert, never said out loud. I never heard in our home the statements that feminist friends heard their fathers say, for example, that they were disappointed to have daughters, they’d have preferred a son. My friends got buckets full of cold water, and I got aerosol spray with little droplets in the air. But the air was supposed to be free of aerosol.14

Małgorzata Tarasiewicz: Born 1960 Soon after the end of World War II, at around the time Umin´ska-Keff ’s parents were relocating to Warsaw, Małgorzata Tarasiewicz’s family decided not to return to the bombed-out rubble in their native Warsaw, resettling instead in provincial Sopot on the Baltic coast. There, Tarasiewicz grew up feeling the painful consequences of her family’s wartime experiences. Nazi Germany’s invasion and occupation of Poland was exceptionally brutal. On her mother’s side, all the male relatives and many of the women


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had been killed. Well-educated and well-to-do, they were patriots who fought in the Polish military and the anti-Nazi underground. Most were caught up in the Nazi campaign of terror to eliminate Poland’s political, religious, and intellectual leadership, partly as a means to halt resistance efforts and partly because the Third Reich regarded Poles to be racially inferior. The German military killed thousands of Polish civilians and imprisoned thousands of Polish males in forced-labor camps. Tarasiewicz’s great-grandfather died in the Mauthausen concentration camp; her uncle was burned alive during the 1944 Warsaw Uprising; her grandfather died in Buchenwald; and her great-aunt, a resistance fighter, was arrested by the Gestapo and imprisoned in Warsaw’s notorious Pawiak Prison.15 After three months in Pawiak, she and other political prisoners were taken to the Jewish ghetto, where they were shot dead. Out of the whole family, which had lived in Warsaw for more than a century, only three women survived: her great-grandmother, her grandmother, and her mother, who was born during the war. Such residual, all-female families were not uncommon at the end of World War II, which explains, in part, why the postwar communist governments mandated that women enter the labor force.16 After the war, the three Tarasiewicz women were taken to a displaced persons camp, and from there they moved to Sopot. Though the move was their own choice, they were part of a massive migration that occurred immediately after the war, as Poland’s eastern and western geographical borders were politically redefined and concretely shifted. The forced population movements westward ousted Germans from areas where they had long lived, including the cities of Danzig, Breslau, and Poznan, which, in postwar Poland, were renamed Gdan´sk, Wrocław, and Poznan´. At the same time, Poland’s eastern territories were annexed by the Soviet Union, and ethnic minority populations, mainly Germans and Ukrainians, were displaced by the millions of new residents from inside the new borders. The result was the largest exchange of population in European history.17 Tarasiewicz’s mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother had to “organize” their lives from scratch and cope in a completely new place, in a postwar reality that was very difficult. Never again did any man find his way into the lives of my great-grandmother and grandmother. My mother, on the other hand, had a brief relationship with my father, and I am, so to speak, the fruit of that union, but then, my father left Poland. So I was raised by these three women who had gone through traumatic experiences and great loneliness.18



Tarasiewicz’s grandmother had studied history at Warsaw University before the Nazi invasion, but she had to work a variety of service-sector 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

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They were so brave; women in my family provided me with such a sense of support; women were perhaps the bravest, both the ones who fought during the war and the ones who managed to wait it out somehow, hidden in a cellar. Men, on the other hand, as exemplified by my father, were terribly disappointing. I didn’t feel what many people feel, that a man is indispensable to supporting a family; my father didn’t even pay child support.19

Tarasiewicz’s father studied for his maritime degree in neighboring Gdynia and was rarely at home. After her parents divorced, he worked in the shipping industry but detested the political restraints on his freedoms in postwar PRL. Compelled to leave the country, he devised a dramatic escape route: he set sail from Poland on a 30-foot, open, wooden lifeboat, carrying only survival supplies and no modern navigational devices. Fleeing by sea, together with his future wife, they headed first to the Caribbean, eventually landed in Boston, and then settled in Florida.20 It is of little surprise that Tarasiewicz, as a child, had a deeply romantic vision of her father as an adventurous, freedom-loving man who “sailed away to America, a hero.”21 By her own account, she recognizes that her family seemed to embody a Polish cultural myth, with her father as the heroic but absent man who abandons ship, so to speak, to seek his freedom, leaving behind the quietly suffering women who would take competent command of the household and sustain family life without him. Father and daughter had a sporadic long-distance correspondence until Tarasiewicz reached the age of nineteen, when she visited him and his second wife in Miami. There, any illusions she had harbored quickly shattered. Her father behaved like a tyrant with his second wife and denigrated Tarasiewicz’s worth. Tarasiewicz couldn’t wait to escape her father’s verbal abuse and Miami’s superficial resort scene. She returned to Sopot in the summer of 1980, just as a workers’ rebellion was brewing in nearby Gdan´sk. By summer’s end, it exploded into a nationwide strike that would force the government to loosen its iron grip on workers and legalize the first and only free trade union movement in the Eastern Bloc—Solidarity (Solidarnosć´). With an eventual membership of ten million workers, Solidarity set in motion a social revolution that in nine years’ time


jobs to support the family while Tarasiewicz’s mother earned a degree in economics at Gdan´sk University. After graduation, Tarasiewicz’s mother found employment with a transatlantic passenger ship company. The three women gave Tarasiewicz a sense of power; they were her heroines, her role models:



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Consolidating Identity: The Impact of 1968 on a Jewish Leftist Umin´ska-Keff did not quite share Tarasiewicz’s exuberance for the great Polish August, as the summer’s unprecedented popular victory was called. Having witnessed violence against young Jewish students during the 1968 protests, she grew bitter when, in the midst of a huge Warsaw street celebration of Solidarity’s creation, she overheard remarks such as, “Now we can finally get rid of the Z˙ ydokomuna (Jew-Communists) who run this country.” Z˙ ydokomuna is a pejorative term referring both to the anti–Polish Jew and to an organized Jewish conspiracy that threatens the Polish nation. It is used to express an anti-Semitic stereotype that blamed Jews for having introduced and ruled the Communist Party in Poland.22 By the time Umin´ska-Keff entered Warsaw University to study psychology, a new wave of campus unrest and human rights activism attracted her attention; at the same time, political anti-Semitism had become explosive. In March 1968 the students of Warsaw and other Polish university cities took to the streets, organizing campus demonstrations and sit-ins and protesting the abuse of freedom of expression and democracy under the communist regime. The communist authorities, under Party leader Władysław Gomułka, responded with a brutal clampdown, followed by a vicious anti-Semitic campaign, which exploited the fact that many student leaders were Jewish; in fact, some were children of members of the communist elite itself. This campaign followed on the heels of Poland breaking relations with Israel after the Six-Day War, and purging its military and police of Jews. The anti-Semitic campaign, officially labeled “anti-Zionist” took the form of mass rallies and meetings denouncing the “Zionist Fifth Column”; Jews were expelled from their positions and jobs and Jewish students were expelled from universities. The government-controlled media preached hatred. Intellectuals in general, not only Jews, were targeted. Umin´ska-Keff joined the protests, a decision that provoked conflict with her disapproving mother but garnered her stepfather’s support. “Let her go,” he told his wife. “Let her go, because if she doesn’t, she won’t be able to live with herself.”23 “I remember the buses full of men with truncheons, in brown coats, and how I hid in the toilet and watched them


would help undermine the PRL and, by extension, the entire Soviet bloc. Tarasiewicz had come home just as the population was winning an unprecedented bid for freedom. An exciting new frontier was bursting wide open for Tarasiewicz and her country.


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Afterward, the Psychology Department and many others were disbanded. … People started mentioning emigration. One of my girlfriends was in prison. Reality was decomposing itself. The dramatis personae were: the evil, stupid, primitive, manipulative authority; the conformists; the students; and the good people—student allies.24

Umin´ska-Keff watched many of her Jewish friends emigrate in reaction to the government’s repressive policies. Between 1968 and 1971, some 20,000 Jews left Poland, stripped of their citizenship and most of their belongings. Almost all of them were assimilated Jews who considered themselves Poles. A very sad period began for Umin´ska-Keff and the reform-minded students who remained in Poland. That March was the end of my childhood. I dropped out of utopia and found myself in the midst of history. In 1969, I started in the Polish Literature Department [Warsaw University] I met students who were antiSemites. I missed my friends, my intense and colorful life, left irreversibly behind.25

It was a time to rethink one’s personal life and the country’s political reality, which had now so brutally shattered her stepfather’s projection of social justice within ten years’ time. Umin´ska-Keff entered a period of disappointment, depression, and “getting to know this country’s antiSemitic side, getting to know the Polish mentality, the Polish reality. … It was always there, I just didn’t know about it, I must have been from outer space.”26 She was in fact, as she said in the next breath, a “child of the European Enlightenment who was absolutely unable to buy into the Polish national mythology.”27 Her left-wing family and their distance from Jewish religious tradition nurtured this resistance to cultural myths, she believed. By and large, the members of Umin´ska-Keff ’s generation of reformminded leftists with Jewish roots neither embraced their Jewish heritage nor showed any gender awareness unless they had lived for a time in a Western country. Umin´ska-Keff, in contrast, cared about identity and was in dialogue with her two undeniable identities—Jew and woman—and how they influenced her position in the world. In 1968 there was not yet, and would not be until the late 1970s, the social space for thinking about Jewish and gender identities. “The freedom-of-all issue was our


through the window, beating a girl lying on the snow,” Umin´ska-Keff wrote in a fictionalized account of her experience under the pen name Adela Hase.


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top priority,” I was told by oppositionist Joanna Szcze˛sna, who was jailed and expelled from university during the 1968 student protests in Łódz´. “It was not time to consider the specific interests of women or of others.”28 Thus, at a time when many dissidents, particularly young women, saw themselves as part of the larger “we,” Umin´ ska-Keff distinguished herself from her peers by writing as “I” in the short fiction about March 1968 that she published as Adela Hase: “I didn’t have a nationality and I didn’t want to have any. I liked being a Child of the World and the Mind, being Above. I was interested in politics. I sympathized with the Left, although I didn’t belong to the Party. I thought myself a Radical Individualist.” Umin´ska-Keff was carving out the conceptual space that enabled her to become a feminist culture critic—a critic who is most interested, as she stated in a 2008 newspaper interview, in how individuals make their identities, and in how, why, and when people give their identities away.29 In fact, she reclaimed her paternal surname “Keff ” when, beginning in 1988, she decided to publish her poetry and some other artistic works under Boz˙ena Keff; even her email user ID became “bekeff,” while her prose continued to be published under Umin´ska, and more recently under Umin´ska-Keff. As she has emphatically stated in several interviews, one of the fundamental issues in her life is “identity,” or rather, a human being’s right to define one’s own identity on one’s own, and above all else, not to have to deal with people who come and say, “You are this, you are that. This is good about your identity, this is not good. This is normal, and this is not normal. And here is the norm.” This simply freaks me out, I get mad. … Here is where all aspects of my sensitivity come together. Since childhood, I have felt like: “Don’t touch my identity, don’t invade my space, don’t tell me what women are like; don’t tell me this,” because I simply hate these messages that “the woman is a neck that moves the head” or that “Jews have nine lives” even when all nine lives ended up in the gas chambers. I hate it. It wakes up in me an aggression. … And now I can move to feminism because this is the whole background to how I became a feminist.30

It is fitting that the title of the Feministki interview with Umin´ska-Keff is “Identity Stamping” (Stemplowanie toz˙ samosći). I interviewed Umin´skaKeff shortly after her 1999 essay, provocatively titled, “Would Z˙ eromski throw gas into the gas chamber?” had sparked a media sensation in intellectual circles from Warsaw to Paris. Published in the highly regarded literary journal Res Publica Nowa, it analyzed the “unconscious use,” as Umin´ska-Keff explained to me, of anti-Semitic and misogynist language in the works of well-known Polish writers such as Stefan Z˙ eromski




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The bottom line of what we label anti-Semitism is symbolized by the gas chamber and Zyklon B … But before the gas is thrown, a long process takes place during which the numerous possibilities for throwing are created: worldview, morality, mentality, politics, and technical developments. In the case of women, we can observe a similar phenomenon, but the standards are even lower. If a Jew is threatening, although somewhat attractive … a woman is simply inferior [and] her inferiority must be constantly confirmed. The way to reach this goal is to humiliate the “enemy” or make fun of her.31

In response, the intellectual and popular press hurled epithets against the “commander of the brigades of political correctness,” demanding unsuccessfully that she be fired from teaching in Warsaw University’s gender studies program and that the entire program be abolished for poisoning students’ minds. In Poland, “Jews are dangerous, women are politically insignificant,” Umin´ska-Keff told me. “The difference today is that in Polish intellectual circles, you can no longer be openly anti-Semitic, but you can be openly misogynist.” Feminism and the Opposition: Why Solidarity Wasn’t Enough for Women As important as Solidarity was in unseating the PRL, its brilliant logo (buoyant red letters in the shape of flag-bearing citizens marching toward freedom) was itself shifted from center stage by younger generations of activists who took their organizing cues more from the West than from their Polish predecessors. By the mid- to late 1980s, Solidarity’s familiar triad of workers, intellectuals, and the church was sharing the activist spotlight with environmentalists and peace activists, anarchists, punk rock bands, street theater performers, Western-style human rights activists, and, yes, feminists. While some of these creative new forms of dissent had sprung from the grassroots trade union movement, others, including feminism, emerged in opposition to Solidarity. Solidarity claimed it would take care of the nation’s women, who had been exploited and oppressed by the “unnatural” notion of equality between the sexes, which the PRL had foisted upon them. Solidarity promised women part-time work and more time in the home and with the family. This was just one of many promises that Solidarity made and did not keep, which caused women to move toward feminism. There also were groups, feminists among them, who paid no heed to the paternalism of either Solidarity—the public face


(1864–1925), a revered novelist and icon of social progress. In the essay she wrote,


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of which was all male, although women worked behind the scenes—or of the state. Solidarity, for all its talk of democratic practices such as equality and electoral representation, was a male-dominated organization; less than 8 percent of its political composition was female, even though women comprised roughly 50 percent of its membership and of the labor force in general. The new activists had greater exposure to and affinity for Western social change issues such as peace, nuclear disarmament, and the environment than had their Solidarity forerunners. Tarasiewicz recalls that feminism became important to some of the women activists in groups that worked for these new causes, herself included, particularly as they strove to understand the male-dominated power dynamics they were experiencing. Like other twenty- and thirty-something activists of the era, Tarasiewicz belonged to several groups simultaneously to satisfy her overlapping interests. In addition to serving as the Polish liaison for Amnesty International, she helped organize many acts of civil disobedience, sit-ins, and happenings that were characteristic of the youthful movement called Wolnosć´ i Pokój (WiP—“Freedom and Peace”); WiP had branches throughout Poland and coordinated transnational actions with like-minded groups in other Eastern bloc countries. Tarasiewicz also interacted with the trade unionists, who had birthed Solidarity at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdan´sk, and she traveled to campuses in Prague and Budapest to meet with fellow anarcho-environmentalists and feminists such as Judit Acsady and Agnes Hochberg of Hungary. For Tarasiewicz, the 1980s shaped her “personality and social vision most intensely.”32 During her studies at Gdan´sk University in 1984, she participated in her first feminist consciousness-raising group, which was led by Canadian writer Myrna Kostash; she also met other visiting Western feminist faculty and writers such as U.S. historian Linda Gordon. In her formal studies, she recalls reading Virginia Woolf and discovering other works about gender in the literary monthly Literature in the World (“Literatura na s´wiecie”). “I can say that one of the first serious insights was given to me by a professor who even encouraged us to write our theses on feminist literary analysis,” she told me. But it was as an activist, more so than as a student, that she became enthralled with feminism. Through WiP’s extensive contacts, Tarasiewicz met Western feminist activists who had come to Gdan´sk to learn about the Polish opposition and especially about gender roles within dissident groups. At a 1986 pan-European conference organized by WiP in Warsaw, Tarasiewicz attended workshops with feminist members of War Resisters International. They taught her not only how to organize nonviolent civil disobedience but also how she and other women could assert their leadership within WiP.




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I liked the way they defined things I knew about but didn’t realize really existed. For example, I realized there was discrimination even within WiP, with the male domination of the movement. I had known this but it hadn’t seemed possible to go against it. And then I learned that it is possible to become visible, to become a leader as important as the men were. These women helped to organize women in WiP, such as Urszula Nowakowska in Warsaw and Judit Acsady in Budapest; they sent us publications, stayed in contact, continued to visit us and I learned so much from these endless conversations.33

Tarasiewicz and her growing circle of women friends in Central Europe were entering a new social space for thinking about and acting upon feminist ideas. Emboldened by these encounters, Tarasiewicz wrote two feminists pieces in 1986 for the WiP newspaper published in Gdan´sk: an essay about the annual Miss Polonia competition and another specifically addressing the need for feminism. Though the Gdan´sk group was more anarchistic than WiP factions elsewhere, Tarasiewicz was surprised and disappointed by the members’ nervous reaction to her feminist declaration. Why was speaking about women’s freedom, about the possibility of women making choices, about not objectifying women, why did these issues provoke such an unbelievable resistance even among anarchists? This shocked me, and also made me aware that something was at stake, that the problem existed, was not in some faraway place but existed right here, if my male friends, with whom we protested in the street, were suddenly against us when it came to women’s issues.34

One of the earliest meeting spaces for feminist activity was a women’s studies course begun in 1978 and taught by sociologist Renata Siemien´ska at Warsaw University. Siemien´ska’s course inspired the organizing of a women’s study group in the fall of 1980 by students who wanted to move beyond the one course and a classroom setting. The group organized lectures and consciousness-raising sessions and distributed leaflets at factories and schools.35 To a certain extent, the group had also been formed in opposition to the newly established opposition, Solidarity, which excluded women from its core decision-making body, even though women made up half of the labor force as well as half of Solidarity’s membership.36 Although they did not directly confront the underrepresentation of women and women’s interests in Solidarity, they consciously chose to operate outside its feminist-resistant platform and structures. The year 1986 was pivotal in the gradual unraveling of the PRL’s one-party rule. The government announced a general amnesty, which


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allowed for the release of thousands of political prisoners. Subsequently, many Solidarity factions throughout the country, which had functioned in underground enclaves since the December 1981 imposition of martial law, decided to come out of hiding and risk above-ground activism. New forms of multigenerational, public dissent agitated for democratization of the political system. The opposition press was flourishing. Feminist activism also was steadily spreading, person by person, and from city to city. It was only a matter of time before Umin´ska-Keff, with her poet’s ear to the ground, caught wind of the exciting conversations taking place in women’s studies classes, book groups, and arts events in Warsaw. She had already been reading feminist texts that had been translated into Polish, most notably in an anthology of second wave Western feminist texts, titled Nobody is Born a Woman (“Nikt nie rodzi sie˛ kobieta: Antologia tekstow feministycznych”)37; this collection was her introduction to the works of Susan Brownmiller, Kate Millett, Sherry Ortner, and Alix Kates Shulman, among others. Translated and edited by philosophy scholar Teresa Hołówka, this book, with its Simone de Beauvoir–inspired title, was published not by an underground press but rather by an official publishing house in the year 1982—in other words, as Umin´ska-Keff stressed to me, at the height of martial law. What accounted for this seeming oversight on the part of the government censor? How did Umin´ska-Keff understand this phenomenal feminist coup? “Take heed,” Umin´ska-Keff told me. The freedoms and repressions experienced in the PRL were “not black and white.” She emphasized this repeatedly to me, particularly when she perceived my questions to be excessively “Cold War” in their assumptions. For her, it was not extraordinary that a collection of Western feminist writings had slipped undetected past the border controls during one of the most repressive periods in communist Poland. In part, this occurrence illustrated the contradictory nature of life in the PRL (as in any given society); it also underscored Umin´ska-Keff ’s perception that women were viewed as politically insignificant even at a time of hypervigilant repression; and it also pointed to her assertion that “women’s lib messages” were part of the socialization process in the PRL. This point helps explain her experience in reading the second-wave feminist literature published in Nobody is Born a Woman and elsewhere, for her response was not one of “revelation” but, less dramatically, of affinity. “What these women were writing was absolutely common sense. I could not see a single point that would cause me intellectual doubts. It was an intellectual recognition and also about my personal history. I think feminism simply fit right into me.”38 The year 1986 also marked an unforgettable period in the evolution of feminist activism in Poland. That was the year in which the




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Warsaw women’s group felt conceptually prepared to go public and organize cultural activities on the university campus and in public spaces around the city. These included an art exhibition and, most uniquely, a still talked about week-long film series, “Cinema of Women: Films by Women Directors.” The city of Warsaw provided the group with free use of Cinema Kultura on the stately boulevard Krakowskie Przedmiescie, situated midway between the Ministry of Culture and Warsaw University. The cinema was made available for an entire week of uncensored film showings in the nation’s capital; the local authorities sanctioned and supported the entire program, stressed Umin´ska-Keff. With the organizational assistance of the Dutch Embassy in Poland and several Dutch feminist groups, more than four hundred films from all over Europe were brought for inclusion in the festival, such as works by Margarethe von Trotta, Ulrike Ottinger, Barbara Sas-Zdort, Magdalena Lazarkiewicz, and the Oscar winner Agnieszka Holland; filmmakers including von Trotta and Ottinger were invited as well and spoke to audiences. No theme was offlimits, from lesbianism to unhappy domestic life and miserable workplace conditions. This public arena showcasing women filmmakers and their respective lenses on life kicked off much more than a film festival. It mobilized and legitimized grassroots feminist organizing. It was a wildly inspiring and enormous cultural phenomenon, which would have been impossible without the public spectacle of an international film festival, emphasized Umin´ska-Keff. At the time she was working as a film critic and participated in the festival as a reviewer. During the week, she made acquaintance with a number of participants with whom she became politically involved, including Sławomira Walczewska, a documentary filmmaker at the time, and Urszula Nowakowska, the founder of women’s rights law centers in Poland in the 1990s. The film festival capped a feminist rite of passage for several women I interviewed, such as Barbara Pomórska and Jolanta Plakwicz, and inspired the founding of the Polish Feminist Association (Polskie Stowarzyszenie Feministyczne), with the participation of Umin´ska-Keff, Walczewska, Nowakowska, and others. From that point on, feminism gradually developed a discrete life of its own, independent from both communism and the opposition. The group garnered public attention when the popular magazine Women and Life (Kobiety i Zycie) published an article about it in August 1988. Taking advantage of the publicity, the group invited women from all over the country to attend a meeting—in fact, the first national feminist gathering—in a suburban Warsaw home. Discussion topics ranged from abortion and sexuality to domestic violence, marriage, and the next steps forward for feminism.39 At Umin´ska-Keff ’s urging, the


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Polish Feminist Association became one of the first grassroots groups to register as a nonprofit organization after the 1989 political changeover.40

By 1989 the exciting momentum that feminists were generating, and which held great promise for awakening women throughout the country, would turn into horror as the new democratic parliament (Sejm) proposed, immediately after its formation, to delegalize long-held reproductive rights. “It is amazing to see that our rights as human beings have grown but as women, they’ve shrunk,” Umin´ska-Keff told the New York Times. “The church is behind all of this. It is really very disappointing, but not surprising, to see.”41 Tarasiewicz recalled feeling, in that pivotal year of 1989, a huge disappointment with how the struggle against communism ended, in an imperfect way, so far from what I had imagined. And that’s when this new period started, this period in which the blinders started to fall off my eyes, and my fascination grew with the possibilities created by the fall of communism. It was through my involvement in women’s rights issues.42

Tarasiewicz, Umin´ska-Keff, and others would watch as their worst nightmare, not their loftiest dreams, catalyzed the Polish feminist movement. By the late 1970s, Jewish men and women—many of whom had been high school students in 1968—began to organize themselves in reaction to the cultural stereotypes and to the political suppression of their identity, history, and lived experience, marking a similarity with Polish feminist experience. They began to discuss issues of Jewish identity and history, a conversation that was part of the larger phenomenon of critical discussion within Polish society that led to the creation of Solidarity in 1980 and to the mushrooming of social change activism in the 1980s.43 It seemed as if nothing could stop their momentum, just as nothing could hold back the larger forces of democratic transformation that were sweeping the nation as the 1980s sped toward their close. Come 1989, however, the similarities between Jewish and feminist activism began to break down as an unexpected role reversal occurred. With communism defeated, the demonic Z˙ ydokomuna had been deposed and was no longer to be feared. The 5,000 or so Jews scattered among Poland’s 38 million people had suddenly become politically insignificant. Jews came out of hiding and began to rebuild communal life, which had not been possible for half a century. Now, the tradition-minded Poles saw themselves facing a new menace. The nation was undergoing economic shock therapy, and in the new world of free market capitalism,


1989: The New Threat to the Polish Nation


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many professions that had been undervalued and thus largely occupied by women in the former command economy were suddenly highly valued. Men now wanted jobs in law, business and accounting, medicine, and the media, but women stood in the way, just as they had under the former system. Very quickly, a back-to-the-home media campaign called for restoring the “natural order of life” and charged communism with having turned the social order upside down—with providing women access to the public sphere and, consequently, with disempowering men. Normalcy, that is, patriarchy, had to be reinstated so that men could reclaim the public sphere and women could return to fulfilling their biological destiny as caretakers of their families and homes. The distorted allegation against women as the devious beneficiaries of communism at the expense of emasculated men did not arise out of the ether. This conception had been implicit within the democratic opposition as formulated by Solidarity, and was one reason for some women’s disillusionment with Solidarity in the early 1980s and for their subsequent interest in feminism. After the 1989 political changeover, at the close of this exciting and once-promising decade, women in general and feminists in particular were suddenly being charged with obstructing the formation of a new order. Because feminists clamored to safeguard women’s economic and political rights and petitioned the government to protect reproductive freedoms, their opponents viciously accused them of destabilizing the family—and, by extension, the nation. Women traded stigmas with Jews, becoming dangerous in the first years of the political changeover while Jews became insignificant perhaps for the first time in their one-thousand-year history in Poland (Jews would soon enough be re-demonized, however44). Liberal, pro-choice women and men watched, horror-stricken, as Solidarity—now a political party—seemed to be betraying them even as the red rug of communism was being yanked from beneath their feet.45 Taken-for-granted reproductive freedoms vanished, even though one million people signed a pro-choice petition that was put before the Solidarity-dominated parliament and there were mass street demonstrations. The traditional culture, represented by the Catholic Church and the male-dominated, Solidarity-dominated parliament, reared up more strongly and took back what it thought was its due. Clearly, 1989 signaled the time to mobilize a large-scale, “bottomup” women’s movement, as Western feminists had done in the 1970s and 1980s, and as never could have been attempted under socialism, when government gender policies did not allow for the kinds of advocacy required to monitor and enforce women’s constitutional rights independently of the state. Advocacy skills and structures were precisely what were


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urgently needed after 1989 to safeguard the rights that women were so deeply shocked to see dismantled. Individually and as a movement, however, feminists did not have the sophistication to successfully confront the steamroller of assaults that ensued. Yet many of the participants of 1989 remain active today and bring the strength of historical memory and political experience to their work. They are all the stronger and more effective for having their history brought forward, as Umin´skaKeff, Tarasiewicz, and others are doing every day. Umin´ska-Keff, for example, told me she is producing her strongest writing and getting greater recognition today than ever before; and Tarasiewicz’s organizing skills are now enabling feminists in Eastern and Central Europe to take advantage of their countries’ European Union status in their women’s rights strategies. The barriers to safeguarding women’s rights that were thrown up in the post-1989 political arena only made these women angrier and more determined to fight on. As an independent, grassroots feminism has evolved in Poland over the past twenty years, its gender studies scholars, many of whom are also activists, have analyzed the complexities of their transitional society, constructed a feminist history of the last several centuries, and studied themselves. For this history to be told, however, the blinders have to come off first. Nearly everyone, feminists and nonfeminists alike, in the East and in the West, was locked into the binary Cold War mode of thinking that divided the world into Good versus Bad, East versus West, and Top-Down versus Bottom-Up. This either/or perspective precluded recognition of feminism’s pre–World War II history or of any advances made under communism. Breaking it enabled and legitimized the development of both academic and activist feminism. By now, the break is almost complete, and the discourse of researchers and activists permeates the mainstream and alternative media as well as academia, though of course the opponents of feminism continue to denounce it as either a “Western import” or a “Soviet plot.” Despite the fact that gender studies degree programs are not yet institutionalized in most universities and even though the current government is extremely conservative, feminists today are recognized and respected public intellectuals. Conceptual and organizing space for women and gender issues has finally opened up after persistent, tenacious effort. Maintaining it will require continual vigilance.







Introduction 1. We use the term “state socialism” in the title of and introduction to this book to refer to the type of political, economic, and social welfare system that existed in postwar Eastern Europe. This was different from the social democracy practiced by some Western European democracies, which, while providing social services and benefits to the population did not advocate the complete overthrow of the market economy and the leading role of one political party. At the same time, since the parties in power during this period identified as communist and because policymakers, scholars, and people of the region often employ the term “communist” or “socialist” when referring to the system (political, economic, and/or social welfare) that existed in postwar Eastern Europe, we recognize the validity of using these terms. 2. See, for example, Nanette Funk and Magda Mueller, eds., Gender Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union (New York, 1993); Barbara Einhorn, Cinderella Goes to Market: Citizenship, Gender and Women’s Movements in East Central Europe (London, 1993); Chris Corrin, ed., Superwomen and the Double Burden: Women’s Experiences of Change in Central and Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union (New York, 1993); Marilyn Rueschemeyer, ed., Women in the Politics of Postcommunist Eastern Europe (Armonk, 1994); Barbara Lobodziknska, ed. Family, Women, and Employment in CentralEastern Europe (Westport, 1995); Susan Gal and Gail Kligman, eds., Reproducing Gender: Politics, Publics, and Everyday Life after Socialism (Princeton, 2000); Susan Gal and Gail Kligman, eds., The Politics of Gender After Socialism: A Comparative-Historical Essay (Princeton, 2002); Kristen Ghodsee, Red Riviera: Gender, Tourism, and Postsocialism on the Black Sea (Durham, NC, 2005); Jasmina Lukic´, Joanna Regulska, and Darja Zaviršek, eds., Women and Citizenship in Central and Eastern Europe (Aldershot, UK, 2006); and Janet E. Johnson and Jean C. Robinson, Living Gender after Communism (Bloomington, IN, 2006). 3. Notable works on the topic include: Gail Kligman, The Politics of Duplicity: Controlling Reproduction in Ceaus¸escu’s Romania (Berkeley,


Notes


4. 5.

6.

7. 8. 9.

10.

Notes

1998); Padraic Kenney, “The Gender of Resistance in Communist Poland,” The American Historical Review 104, no. 2 (April, 1999): 399–425; Lynne Haney, Inventing the Needy: Gender and the Politics of Welfare in Hungary (Berkeley, 2002); Éva Fodor, Working Difference: Women’s Working Lives in Hungary and Austria, 1945–1995 (Durham, NC, 2003); Shana Penn, Solidarity’s Secret: The Women who Defeated Communism in Poland (Ann Arbor, 2005); and Donna Harsch, Revenge of the Domestic: Women, the Family, and Communism in the German Democratic Republic (Princeton, 2007). See Friedrich Engels, The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State (1884; Honolulu, 2001) and August Bebel, Women and Socialism (1879; New York, 1910). For example, by 1970, 74.9 percent of women (aged twenty to fifty-nine years) were employed outside the home in Romania; 76.6 percent in Poland; 76.3 percent in Czechoslovakia; and 61.6 percent in Hungary. Meanwhile, in Western Europe, women’s level of employment was as follows: the United Kingdom, 54.2 percent; France, 51.2 percent; and Sweden, 49.8. Yearbook of Labor Statistics (Geneva, 1975). On the double and triple burden see, for example, Hilda Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? Experiences from Eastern Europe (London, 1974); Sonia Kruks, Rayna Rapp, and Marilyn B. Young, eds., Promissory Notes: Women in the Transition to Socialism (New York, 1989); Funk and Mueller, Gender Politics; Einhorn, Cinderella; Corrin, Superwomen; and Harsch, Revenge. In some cases women’s multiple burdens led to more egalitarian relationships between husbands and wives. See Jill Massino, “Something Old, Something New: Marital Roles and Relations in State Socialist Romania,” Journal of Women’s History 22, no. 1 (forthcoming 2010). See Maria Todorova, “Historical Tradition and Transformation in Bulgaria: Women’s Issues or Feminist Issues,” Journal of Women’s History 5, no. 3 (Winter, 1994): 129–43. This question was posed by Hilda Scott in Does Socialism Liberate Women? See, for example, Wendy Z. Goldman, Women at the Gates: Gender and Industry in Stalin’s Russia (New York, 2002); Elizabeth Wood, The Baba and the Comrade: Gender and Politics in Revolutionary Russia (Bloomington, IN, 1997); Melanie Ilic, ed., Women in the Stalin Era (London, 2002); Melanie Ilic, Susan E. Reid, and Lynne Attwood, eds., Women in the Khrushchev Era (London, 2004); Carola Sachse, Das Hausarbeitstag: Gerechtigkeit und Gleichberechtigung in Ost und West, 1939–1994 (Gottingen, 2002); and Choi Chatterjee, Celebrating Women: Gender, Festival Culture, and Bolshevik Ideology, 1910–1939 (Pittsburgh, 2002). See, for example, Haney, Inventing; Penn, Solidarity’s Secret; Harsch, Revenge, and Basia A. Nowak, “Constant Conversations: Agitators in the League of Women in Poland during the Stalinist Period,” Feminist Studies 31, no. 3 (Fall 2003): 488–518. For the Soviet Union, see Beatrice


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11.

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17.

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Farnsworth and Lynne Viola, eds., Russian Peasant Women (New York, 1992) and Goldman, Women at the Gates. According to the Cold War paradigm, communist politics in the East European satellites were orchestrated by the Soviet Union, and a selfinterested ruling elite controlled all aspects of life through terror, coercion, and intimidation. Void of individual power and agency, the people who inhabited these countries led dismal and drab lives characterized by material want, fear, and a general malaise. See, for example, Sheila Fitzpatrick, Everyday Stalinism: Ordinary Life in Extraordinary Times: Soviet Russia in the 1930s (New York, 1999); Stephen Kotkin, Magnetic Mountain: Socialism as a Civilization (Berkeley, 1995); Padraic Kenney, A Carnival of Revolution: Central Europe 1989 (Princeton, 2002); David Crowley and Susan E. Reid, eds., Socialist Spaces: Sites of Everyday Life in the Eastern Bloc (Oxford, 2002); Susan E. Reid and David Crowley, eds., Style and Socialism: Modernity and Material Culture in Post-War Eastern Europe (Oxford, 2000); and Anne Gorsuch and Diane P. Koenker, eds., Turizm: The Russian and East European Tourist under Capitalism and Socialism (Ithaca, 2006). On studying dissent from a gendered perspective, see Maria Bucur, “Gendering Dissent: Of Bodies and Minds, Survival and Opposition under Communism,” in “Beyond Little Vera: Women’s Bodies, Women’s Welfare in Russia and Central/Eastern Europe,” ed. Angela Brintlinger and Natasha Kolchevska, Ohio Slavic Papers 7 (2008): 131–52. See, for example, Hilda Scott, Women and Socialism: Experiences from Eastern Europe (London, 1976); Barbara Wolfe Jancar, Women under Communism (Baltimore and London, 1978); Gail Lapidus, Women in Soviet Society: Equality, Development, and Social Change (Berkeley, 1978); Alfred G. Meyer, “Feminism, Socialism, and Nationalism in Eastern Europe,” in Women, State, and Party (Durham, NC, 1985), 13–30; Joan Landes, “Marxism and the Woman Question,” in Promissory Notes; and Einhorn, Cinderella. For an exemplary overview of women’s movements in Eastern Europe, see Francisca De Haan, Krassimira Daskalova, and Anna Loutfi, eds., A Biographical Dictionary of Women’s Movements and Feminisms: Central, Eastern, and South Eastern Europe, 19th and 20th Centuries (Budapest, 2006). See, for example, Joanna Goven, “Gender and Modernism in a Stalinist State,” Social Politics (Spring 2002): 3–28; Andrea Peto˝, “Women’s Associations in Hungary: Demobilization and Remobilization, 1945– 1951,” in When the War Was Over: Women, War, and Peace in Europe, 1940–1956, ed. Claire Duchen and Irene Bandhauer-Schöffmann (London, 2000), 132–45; Penn, Solidarity’s Secret; and Anna Reading, Polish Women, Solidarity and Feminism (London, 1999). For illuminating explorations of this issue, see the forum “Is ‘Communist Feminism’ a Contradictio in Terminis,” in Aspasia: International Yearbook


Notes


18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

23. 24.

Notes

of Central, Eastern, and Southeastern European Women’s and Gender History vol. 1 (March 2007). For an excellent defense of this approach in investigations of gender in Eastern Europe, see Maria Bucur, “An Archipelago of Stories: Gender History in Eastern Europe,” AHR Forum: “Revisiting ‘Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis,’” American Historical Review 113, no. 5 (December 2008): 1375–89. See Joan W. Scott, “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis,” The American Historical Review 91, no. 5 (December 1986): 1053–75; and Joan W. Scott, “The Evidence of Experience,” Cultural Inquiry 17, no. 4 (Summer 1991): 773–97. Krassimira Daskalova, “‘Voices of Their Own’: Between Oral History and Gender History,” in Voices of Their Own: Oral History Interviews of Women, ed. Krassimira Daskalova, trans. Elitsa Stoitsova and Ralitsa Muharska (Sofia, 2004), 9. On the important role of oral history in the construction of civil society in Romania, see Maria Bucur, “The Ethics of Oral History and the Construction of a Civil Society,” Memoria.ro., http://www.memoria.ro/ index.php?location=view_article&id=1316 (accessed on: March 1, 2009). On communist nostalgia, see Doh C. Shin and Peter McDonough, “Nostalgia for Communism vs. Democratic Legitimation in Eastern and Central Europe,” Central European Political Science Review 3, no. 8 (Summer 2002): 20–46; Svetlana Boym, The Future of Nostalgia (New York, 2002); and Kristen Ghodsee, “Red Nostalgia? Communism, Women’s Emancipation, and Economic Transformation in Bulgaria,” L’Homme: Zeitschrift für Feministische Geschichtswissenschaft 15, no. 1 (Spring 2004): 23–36. To attract as many and as geographically diverse submissions as possible, a call for papers was disseminated on a range of Web sites and scholars were invited to participate in the volume. By comparison, the pioneering work of Dan Healey has greatly enhanced our understanding of sexual policies, practices, and queer identities in the Soviet context. See, for example, Homosexual Desire in Revolutionary Russia: The Regulation of Sexual and Gender Dissent (Chicago, 2001).

Chapter 1 * An earlier and longer version of this article appeared in Aspasia: International Yearbook of Central, Eastern, and Southeastern European Women’s and Gender History vol. 3 (2009). I thank the Aspasia editors for allowing the republication of the text herein.


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1. Interview with Maria, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. All translations are by the author. 2. See Barbara Wolfe Jancar, Women under Communism (Baltimore, 1978); Hilda Scott, Women and Socialism: Experiences from Eastern Europe (London, 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

3.

4.

5.

6.

7. 8. 9. 10.

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1976); Gail Warshofsky Lapidus, Women in Soviet Society: Equality, Development, and Social Change (Berkeley, 1978); Sharon L. Wolchik and Alfred G. Meyer, eds., Women, State, and Party in Eastern Europe (Durham, NC, 1985); Sonia Kruks, Rayna Rapp, and Marilyn B. Young, eds., Promissory Notes: Women in the Transition to Socialism (New York, 1989); and Gail Kligman, The Politics of Duplicity: Controlling Reproduction in Ceaus¸escu’s Romania (Berkeley, 1998). See Friedrich Engels, The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State (1884; Honolulu, 2001); and August Bebel, Women and Socialism (1879; New York, 1910). For discussions of Marxism and the woman question see Hilda Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? (Boston, 1974); Joan Landes, “Marxism and the Woman Question,” in Promissory Notes, ed. Kruks et al., 15–28; Janet Sayers, Mary Evans, and Nanneke Redclift, eds., Engels Revisited: New Feminist Essays (London, 1987); Lise Vogel, Marxism and the Oppression of Women: Toward a Unitary Theory (New Brunswick, NJ, 1983); and Alfred G. Meyer, “Feminism, Socialism, and Nationalism in Eastern Europe,” in Women, State, and Party. On women workers in state socialist Eastern Europe see, for example, Barbara Lobodziknska, ed., Family, Women, and Employment in CentralEastern Europe (Westport, CN, 1995); Padraic Kenney, “The Gender of Resistance in Communist Poland,” The American Historical Review 104, no. 2 (April, 1999): 399–425; Éva Fodor, Working Difference: Women’s Working Lives in Hungary and Austria, 1945–1995 (Durham, NC, 2003); and Eszter Tóth’s and Basia Nowak’s chapters in this volume. I acknowledge that gender, while important, often intersected with or was surpassed by other identities such as age, socioeconomic status and educational level, religious and ethnic background, and sexual and political orientation in women’s self perceptions. See, for example, Sheila Fitzpatrick, Everyday Stalinism: Ordinary Life in Extraordinary Times: Soviet Russia in the 1930s (New York, 1999); Stephen Kotkin, Magnetic Mountain: Stalinism as a Civilization (Berkeley, 1995); Padraic Kenney, A Carnival of Revolution: Central Europe 1989 (Princeton, 2002); David Crowley and Susan E. Reid, eds., Socialist Spaces: Sites of Everyday Life in The Eastern Bloc (Oxford, 2002); Susan E. Reid and David Crowley, eds., Style and Socialism: Modernity and Material Culture in Post-War Eastern Europe (Oxford, 2000). For a comprehensive analysis of Nicolae Ceaus¸escu’s pronatalist policies and their tragic effects on women and their families, see Gail Kligman’s pathbreaking work, The Politics of Duplicity. Although guided by a questionnaire focusing on a range of issues, I typically began interviews by simply letting respondents narrate their lives. Luisa Passerini, ed., International Yearbook of Oral History and Life Stories: Volume I: Memory and Totalitarianism (New York, 1992). Bras¸ov is located in southeastern Transylvania, about 166 kilometers from Bucharest.


Notes


Notes

11. By 1970, of the city’s 350,000 residents, 120,000 were from Moldavia. Bras¸oveanul, no. 3 (December 2000). 12. Comitetul Judet¸ean de Culturaˇ ¸si Artaˇ, Bras¸ovul in Cincisprezece Dimensiuni (Bras¸ov, 1969), 42–43. 13. Ibid., 36. This was similar to the national average of 39.8 percent. Since 1957 was the first year in which the labor fore was measured in terms of gender, it is impossible to know how this figure compares with the early communist period. However, the fact that women constituted 37.2 percent of the labor force by 1957 indicates that women’s employment was high (especially in comparison with Western countries) by the end of the first decade of communist rule. See Anuarul statistic al Republicii Populare România, 1958 (Bucures¸ti, 1958); and Anuarul statistic al Republicii Socialiste România, 1967 (Bucures¸ti, 1967). 14. Yearbook of Labor Statistics (Geneva, 1975). 15. See, for example, Margaret R. Higonnet, Jane Jenson, Sonya Michel, and Margaret Collins Weitz, eds., Behind the Lines: Gender and the Two World Wars (New Haven, CT, 1987); Nicoleta Gullace, The Blood of Our Sons: Men, Women, and the Renegotiation of British Citizenship During the Great War (New York, 2004); and Nancy Wingfield and Maria Bucur, eds., Gender and War in Twentieth-Century Eastern Europe (Bloomington, IN, 2006). 16. S¸ tefania Mihaˇilescu, Din istoria feminismului românesc: Antologie de texte, 1838–1929 (Bucharest, 2002), 15–30. 17. At the time of the communist takeover in 1947, Romania was 76.6 percent agrarian; by 1966 that figure had dropped to 61.8 percent. See Anuarul statistic al Republicii Socialiste România, 1967. 18. “În ajunul 8 martie printre textilistele dela Filatura Româneascaˇ de Bumbac,” Scânteia, March 8, 1951, 1. 19. “In Lumea Capitalistaˇ: Victime ale Mizeriei ¸si Discriminaˇrii,” Scânteia, March 8, 1959, 2. 20. Kligman, The Politics of Duplicity, 44. 21. Interview with Valeria, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. 22. Conversation with Maria Bucur, summer 2004. 23. Viorica Alexandru, “Comunis¸tele La Posturile lor,” Femeia, August 1965, 5. 24. For a discussion of the use of consumer goods as a source of regime legitimation, see Susan E. Reid, “Cold War in the Kitchen: Gender and the De-Stalinization of Consumer Taste in the Soviet Union underKhrushchev,” Slavic Review 61, no. 2 (Summer 2002): 211–52; Paulina Bren, “Weekend Getaways: The Chata, the Tramp and the Politics of Private Life in Post1968 Czechoslovakia,” and David Crowley, “Warsaw Interiors: The Public Life of Private Spaces, 1949–65,” both in Crowley and Reid, Socialist Spaces. 25. Dorel Dorian, “Biografia Noastraˇ—Biografia Acestor Ani,” Femeia, April 1966. 26. This strategy was implemented in Hungary, Poland, East Germany, and Czechoslovakia beginning in the 1960s and 1970s. 27. The compulsory gynecological exams were justified by the president of the National Women’s Council, Suzana Gâdea, on the grounds that


226


28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34.

35. 36.

37.

38. 39. 40.

41. 42.

227

reproduction “isn’t only a personal matter, … but of social consequence.” Suzana Gâdea, “Raportul Consiliului Nat¸ional al Femeilor din Republica Socialistaˇ România cu privire la activitatea desfaˇ¸surataˇ de la ultima conferint¸aˇ nat¸ionalaˇ ¸si sarcinile ce revin mis¸caˇrii de femei în lumina hotaˇrirlor celui de la XI-lea Congres al Partidului Comunist Român,” in Kligman, The Politics of Duplicity, 100. Kilgman, The Politics of Duplicity, p. 127. Mary Ellen Fischer, “Women in Romanian Politics: Elena Ceaus¸escu, Pronatalism, and the Promotion of Women,” in Women, State, and Party, ed. Wolchik and Meyer, 121–37. Such referents were frequently used in describing Elena Ceaus¸escu. Interview with Clio, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Aneta Spornic, Utilizarea eficientaˇ a resurselor de muncaˇ feminine în România (Bucharest, 1975), 82, 96; and Yearbook of Labor Statistics, 1975. Spornic, Utilizarea, 82, 96. On the feminization of labor in socialist Eastern Europe, see Barbara Einhorn, Cinderella Goes to Market: Citizenship, Gender, and Women’s Movements in East Central Europe (London, 1993); Wolchik and Meyer, Women, State, and Party; and Lobodzinska, Family, Women, and Employment. Interview with Regine, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. It is estimated that anywhere from 80,000 to 90,000 Romanian citizens of ethnic-German origin were deported to the Ukraine in the immediate postwar period. See, for example, Doru Radosav, Donbas: O Istorie Deportataˇ (Ravensburg, Germany, 1994); and Jill Massino, “Gender as Survival: Women’s Experiences of Deportation from Romania to the Soviet Union, 1945–1950,” Nationalities Papers 36, no. 1 (March 2008): 55–83. The Labor Code of 1950 mandated that only women who were pregnant or breastfeeding were exempt from overtime. With the revision of the Labor Code in 1965, this applied to all women, however, it was often ignored in practice. See Elena-Simona Gheonea and Valentin Gheonea, “Statutul femeilor În legislat¸ia României comuniste (1948–1989),” in Femeile in România comunista: Studii de istorie socialia, ed. Christina Liana Olteanu, Elena Simona Gheonea, and Valentin Gheonea (Bucharest, 2003), 144–224. Interview with Maria F. Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Eva, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. See Doina Pasca Harsanyi, “Women in Romania,” and some of the other chapters in Gender Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union, ed. Nanette Funk and Magda Mueller (New York, 1993). Interview with Tatiana, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Ibid. The perception that life was better during the communist period was shared by over half of the individuals polled in a study conducted by the Romanian Academic Society in 2000. For instance, when asked, “In your opinion, when during the last 100 years were things better in


Notes


43. 44. 45.

46. 47. 48. 49.

50. 51.

52. 53. 54.

55. 56. 57.

58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

Notes

Romania?” 8.5 percent of the respondents said after 1989, 18.4 percent said in the 1980s, 34.3 percent said between 1965 and 1979, 4.6 percent said during the Dej years (1945–1965), 13.5 percent said during the interwar period, and 4.2 percent said before World War I. The poll was published in the newspaper 22 under the titles “Românii se pronunt¸aˇ pentru o reform radial sistemului politic” and “Problema tranzit¸iei: o elitaˇ neperformantaˇ,” (nrs. 11 and 13, March, 2000). Interview with Elvira, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Luana, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Luana’s defensiveness about her job during the socialist period occurred later in the conversation when she spoke of the transition period and claims, made both by Romanian and Western historians, regarding the falsification of history during the Ceaus¸escu period. Interview with Luana, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Clio, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Stela, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. See, for example, Kathleen Canning, Languages of Labor and Gender: Female Factory Work in Germany, 1850–1914 (Ithaca, 1996); and Laura L. Frader and Sonya O. Rose, eds., Gender and Class in Modern Europe (Ithaca, 1996). Interview with Maria, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. See Alf Lüdtke, “Organizational Order or Eigensinn? Workers’ Privacy and Workers’ Politics in Imperial Germany,” in Rites of Power: Symbolism, Ritual, and Politics since the Middle Ages, ed. Sean Wilentz (Philadelphia, 1985). Interview with Dorina, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Angela, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. The 1965 constitution officially forbade job discrimination on the basis of sex and the penal code made such an act subject to a fine of 100–500 lei. Ana Gluvacov, Afirmarea femei în viat¸a societat¸ii (Bucharest, 1975), 89–91. Interview with Viorica, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Diane Koenker, “Men against Women on the Shop Floor in Early Soviet Russia: Gender and Class in the Socialist Workplace,” American Historical Review 100, no. 5 (December 1995): 1438–65. Indeed, even by 1989, well over a decade after Ceaus¸escu’s promotional schemes were introduced, women constituted 62.5 percent of those in the service industry, 75 percent of health care workers, and nearly 60 percent of those in arts, culture, and education. Anuarul statistic al României, 1990 (Bucharest, 1990): 116. William Moskoff, “Sex Discrimination, Commuting, and the Role of Women in Rumanian Development,” Slavic Review 37, no. 3 (1978): 441–49. Interview with R., Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Dorina, Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Doina B., Bras¸ov, summer 2003. Interview with Corina, Bras¸ ov, summer 2003.


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63. See Jill Massino, “Something Old, Something New: Marital Roles and Relations in State Socialist Romania,” Journal of Women’s History 22, no. 1(forthcoming, 2010).

1. Interview with Mrs. Károly T., Budapest, November 9, 1999. In 1970, when the brigade won the State Prize, each member received 20,000 Forints. At that time, Teréz’s monthly salary was 1800 Forints. 2. Teréz was born in 1927 in Túrkeve, one of seven children. She married in 1949 and bore two sons (in 1949 and 1951). She worked at the Budapest Hosiery Factory from 1953 to 1997, and was a founding member of the Liberation Brigade in 1960. 3. The State Prize (Állami Díj) was the most prestigious award that workers could receive. Those who “engaged in research and development, made a substantial contribution to the construction of socialism [e.g., inventors of new methods of working] and those who achieved exceptional individual performances in production [from fields as diverse as industry, healthcare, and education]” were considered ideal candidates for the State Prize. By 1985, forty-four brigades had received the award since its inception in 1963. MOL XIX-A-92, 13, d. Állami Díj bizottság. Jelölo˝lapok, 1970; Darvas Pálné, dr. Klement Tamás, and dr. Terjék József, eds., Kossuth-díjasok és Állami Díjasok almanachja. 1948–1985 (Budapest, 1988), 449; TVRGY, 1963/36. számú törvényereju˝ rendelet, 36/1963, Statutory Rule. 4. KSH, Time Series of Historical Statistics, 1867–1992, 44, 67; and Iván Peto˝ and Sándor Szakács, A Hazai Gazdasáag Négy Évtizedének Története, 1945–198 (Budapest, 1985), 675. 5. See Herbert J. Gans, The Urban Villagers (New York, 1962), 122. 6. The Budapest Hosiery Factory was founded in 1951. 7. I view both self-identity and group identity as social constructs that change over time and with regard to social and cultural context. For research on identity, see Györgyi Bindorffer, Ketto˝s identitás. Etnikai és nemzeti azonosságtudat Dunabogdányban (Budapest, 2001); Ferenc Pataki, Élettörténet és identitás (Budapest, 2001); and Willem Doise, “Social Representations in Personal Identity,” in Stephen Worchel, J. Francisco Morales, Dario Paez, and Jean-Claude Deschamps, eds., Social Identity: International Perspectives (London, 1998), 23. 8. In 2004 I made a documentary film (with László Martinédesz and Béla Körtési) with these individuals titled Brigád-bules. Also, see Eszter Zsófia Tóth, Puszi Kádár Jánosnak: Munkásno˝k élete a Kádár-korszakban mikrotörténeti megközelítésben (Budapest, 2007). 9. See Gabriel Rosenthal, Erlebte und erzählte Lebensgeschichte. Gestalt und Struktur biographischer Selbstbeschreibungen (Frankfurt a.M., 1995); and Éva Kovács and Júlia Vajda, Mutatkozás. Zsidó Identitás Történetek, (Budapest, 2002).


Chapter 2


Notes

10. My approach departed from this with some respondents who preferred to discuss some events repeatedly rather than narrate their entire life story. 11. Interview with Mrs. Vilmos S., Budapest September 4, 2001. 12. Mária, the leader of the brigade, was born in Dévaványa in 1931, one of ten children. She moved to Budapest during World War II, working first as a domestic servant and then as a semiskilled machinist in a factory. She married in 1950 and in 1954 her son was born. From 1959 until she was awarded a disability pension in 1989, she worked at the Budapest Hosiery Factory. She joined the Liberation Brigade in 1963, becoming its leader a year later. After she retired, she worked at a concession stand in a theatre. She died in Budapest in 2003. 13. Erzsébet was born in Tápiószele in 1932, the eighth of thirteen children. In 1950 she moved to Budapest and worked as a domestic servant. She married in 1954 and bore a daughter in 1955. From 1954 to 1977 she worked at the Budapest Hosiery Factory, mainly as an operative in the boarding shop. She was a member of the Liberation Brigade from its inception in 1960. In 1977 she became a cleaner at the Zemplénagárd Fair Tisza Agricultural Cooperative, and, at the time of the interview in 2002, she was still working for its successor company. 14. Manci was born in Tiszaszentimre in 1929, one of thirteen children. In 1947 she moved to Budapest where she worked as a domestic servant until 1951. She married in 1951 and bore three sons between 1952 and 1956. She worked in the boarding shop of the Budapest Hosiery Factory from 1953 until her retirement in 1976. In 1963 she became a member of the Liberation Brigade. From 1976 to 1994 she worked a number of jobs (caretaker, canteen server, and cleaner) until retiring. 15. Interview with E. Pálné, Budapest, July 11, 2000. 16. A Felszabadulás brigád naplója. 1969–1970; Collection of Mrs. Károly T.; and interview with Mrs János T., Budapest, November 3, 1999. 17. Interview with Mrs. Károly T., Budapest, October 3, 2001. 18. No˝k Lapja was published by the Hungarian Council of Women (Magyar No˝k Országos Tanácsa), the official woman’s organization of Socialist Hungary. 19. Zsigmondi Mária, “Kitüntetés és rang,” No˝k Lapja, April 4, 1970. 20. Ibid. 21. The emphasis on the worker collective, rather than individual laborers began after 1956. See the relevant chapters in Mark Pittaway, Eastern Europe, 1939–2000: Brief Histories (London, 2004). On women in socialist Hungary, see Lynne Haney, Inventing the Needy: Gender and the Politics of Welfare in Hungary (Berkeley, 2002); Éva Fodor, Working Difference: Women’s Working Lives in Hungary and Austria, 1945– 1995 (Durham, NC, 2003), 306–22; Andrea Peto˝ and Bela Rasky, eds., Construction and Reconstruction: Women, Family and Politics in Central Europe 1945–1998 (Budapest, 1999); and Martha Lampland,“Biographies of Liberation: Testimonials to Labor in Socialist Hungary,” in Promissory Notes: Women in the Transition to Socialism, ed. Sonia Kruks, Rayna Rapp, and Marilyn B. Young (New York, 1989).


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22. “Rang-e munkásno˝nek lenni?” No˝k Lapja, November 9, 1968. 23. “Munkás kocsitulajdonosok. I,” Harisnyagyári Dolgozó, December 23, 1971, 2. 24. Interview with Mrs. S. Vilmos, Budapest, October 25, 1999. 25. This letter is courtesy of Mária Vilmosné. 26. This letter was published in Harisnyagyári Dolgozó, June 11, 1970, 1. 27. According to Hungarian folklore, King Matthias (reign: 1458–1490) disguised himself as an average man and traveled to cities and villages throughout the Hungarian Kingdom, giving money to the poor. 28. Interview with Mrs. Károly T., Budapest, March 12, 2001. 29. “Partvisigazgató,” Magyar Hirlap, March 1985. 30. Ibid. 31. Tibor Valuch, “A ‘gulyáskommunizmus,’” in Mítoszok, legendák és tévhitek a XX. századi magyar történelemrol, ed. Ignác Romsics (Budapest, 2002), 361–90. 32. Pittaway, Eastern Europe, 1939–2000, 122. This was accompanied by considerable debate in the press in which commentators asked how “socialist men and women” should regard certain possessions such as their car, weekend house, sewing machine, and refrigerator. See Árpád Tyekvicska, “Frizsiderszocializmus,” in Beszélo évek. 1957–1968. A Kádár-korszak története I. rész (Budapest, 2000), 260–63. 33. Interview with Mrs. F. Józsefné, Budapest, November 17, 1999. 34. BFL BB Fond 8 XXXV (8) C, Budapesti Harisnyagyár iratai. Workers party meeting, October 12, 1966. 35. BFL BB Fond 8 XXXV (8) C, Budapesti Harisnyagyár iratai. MSZMP factory executive committee meeting, May 10, 1966. 36. It is noteworthy that the factory directors and their families stayed in comfortable rooms. 37. Interview with Mr. and Mrs. György K., Budapest, November 30, 2002. 38. Interview with Mr. and Mrs. József P., Budapest, November 4, 2000. 39. Interview with Mrs. Antal H., Budapest, February 16, 2001. 40. For an account of solo women travellers, see Mechthild Bereswill and Gudrun Ehlert, Alleinreisende Frauen zwischen Selbst-und Welterfahrung (Hanover, 1994). 41. Katalin Osvát, “A munkásno˝k és az üdülés” [Women Worker and Holiday], No˝k Lapja, July 18, 1970. 42. Interview with Mrs. Károly T., Budapest, November 9, 1999, and September 2, 2000.


Notes

Chapter 3 1. Marysia, interview by author, Nowy Targ, June 2, 2000. For anonymity, I use only first names for my interviewees. All translations are by the author. 2. I prefer to use the terms “Communism/Communist” (rather than “socialism/socialist” or “state socialism/state socialist”) when referring to the post–World War II era in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. Although 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

3. 4.

5.

6.

7.

Notes

Communism was never fully achieved, these terms more clearly distinguish Soviet bloc countries from socialist countries in the West. Marysia, interview; and Danuta, interview by author, Nowy Targ, June 2, 2000. “Baby” has multiple meanings, including “women” or “peasant women.” It is also used pejoratively for “women.” Although members often stressed that the organization assisted families, I focus here on how it helped women specifically. Several scholars have conducted research on the league, including Sławomira Walczewska, “Liga kobiet—jedyna organizacja kobieca w PRL,” Pełnym głosem, no. 1 (Summer 1993): 25–29; Zofia Sokół, Prasa kobieca w Polsce w latach 1945–95 (Rzeszów, Poland, 1998), chap. 4; Izabela Ratman-Liwerska, Stowarzyszenie jako czynnik społeczno-wychowawczej aktywizacji kobiet (na przykładzie badan´ na Białostoczyz˙nie) (Białystok, Poland, 1984); and Jean Robinson, “Women, the State, and the Need for Civil Society: The Liga Kobiet in Poland,” in Comparative State Feminism, ed. Dorothy McBride Stetson and Amy G. Mazur (Thousand Oaks, CA, 1995), 202–20. I would like to thank Raluca Popa and Birgitte Søland for their useful discussions on the terms “activism” and “social activism” at the 2008 Berkshire Conference on the History of Women. Although some league members described themselves as political activists, the organization as a whole characterized members as social activists. Some examples of this recent historiography that blur the lines between state and society include David Hoffmann, Stalinist Values: The Cultural Norms of Soviet Modernity, 1917–1941 (Ithaca, 2003); Wendy Z. Goldman, Women at the Gates: Gender and Industry in Stalin’s Russia (Cambridge, 2002); Padraic Kenney, Rebuilding Poland: Workers and Communists, 1945–1950 (Ithaca, 1997); David Crowley and Susan E. Reid, eds., Socialist Spaces: Sites of Everyday Life in the Eastern Bloc (Oxford, 2002); Lynne Haney, Inventing the Needy: Gender and the Politics of Welfare in Hungary (Berkeley, 2002); and Marcin Zaremba, Komunizm, legitymizacja, nacjonalizm: Nacjonalistyczna legitymizacja władzy komunistycznej w Polsce (Warsaw, 2001). Some useful studies for my work include Sharon L. Wolchik, “Politics, Ideology, and Equality: The Status of Women in Eastern Europe” (PhD diss., University of Michigan, 1978) (Ann Arbor: University Microfilms International, 1980); Éva Fodor, Working Difference: Women’s Working Lives in Hungary and Austria, 1945–1995 (Durham, NC, 2003); Joanna Goven, “Gender and Modernism in a Stalinist State,” Social Politics (Spring 2002): 3–28; Andrea Petõ, “Women’s Associations in Hungary: Demobilization and Remobilization, 1945–1951,” in When the War Was Over: Women, War, and Peace in Europe, 1940–1956, ed. Claire Duchen and Irene Bandhauer-Schöffmann (London, 2000), 132–45; Elizabeth A. Wood, The Baba and the Comrade: Gender and Politics in Revolutionary Russia (Bloomington, IN, 1997); Barbara Evans Clements, Bolshevik Women (Cambridge, 1997); Lynne Attwood, Creating the New Soviet Woman: Women’s Magazines as Engineers of Female Identity,


232


8.

9. 10.

11. 12. 13.

14. 15.

233

1922–53 (New York, 1999); Barbara Evans Clements, Barbara Alpern Engel, and Christine D. Worobec, eds., Russia’s Women: Accommodation, Resistance, Transformation (Berkeley, 1991); Carol Eubanks Hayden, “The Zhenotdel and the Bolshevik Party,” Russian History 3, no. 2 (1976): 150–73; Richard Stites, The Women’s Liberation Movement in Russia: Feminism, Nihilism, and Bolshevism, 1860–1930 (Princeton, 1978); and Genia K. Browning, Women and Politics in the USSR: Consciousness Raising and Soviet Women’s Groups (New York, 1987). The league recently has claimed that the Communist-era organization had its roots in a women’s group holding a similar name that functioned since 1913. (See, for example, Centrum Promocji Kobiet, Informator o organizacjach i inicjatywach kobiecych w Polsce [Warsaw, 1997], 87.) I have not found any evidence to prove a connection. In addition, the goals, membership, and programs of the two groups were strikingly different. Making connections with an interwar organization is probably an effort to legitimize the Communist-era group in the post-Communist environment. During the 1966 reorganization, the Circles of Rural Housewives and women’s cooperatives formally became separate organizations. Stanisława Zawadecka, “Sprawozdanie z działalnosći Ligi Kobiet i wytyczne dalszej pracy,” in I Ogólnopolski Kongres Ligi Kobiet, in Nasza praca, nos. 6–7 (March–April 1951): 42–62, esp. 56. These statistics must be viewed cautiously, since Communist party-state systems are known to have published elevated or false statistics. See, for example, Anna Titkow, “Interes grupowy polskich kobiet: Zakres wa˛tpliwosći i szanse artykulacji,” in Kobiety w Polsce na przełomie wieków: Nowy kontrakt płci? ed. Małgorzata Fuszara (Warsaw, 2002), 39–64. My larger project stresses the importance of both. Basia A. Nowak, “Serving Women and the State: The League of Women in Communist Poland” (PhD diss., Ohio State University, 2004). I translate “gospodarstwo domowe” as home economics, but the term can be translated in other ways. “Gospodarstwo domowe” can also mean housekeeping, and “domowe” can mean domestic. I use home economics since what the league did through these programs most closely resembles home economics courses in the United States. If today one asks someone in the general population what the league has done, the typical answer is that it offered such courses. Published from 1947 to 1989, Nasza praca, the most valuable written source for my larger study, provided important information about official party policy as well as descriptions of local and national league programs and activities. Speeches by league and party leaders; league meeting minutes; depictions of women from all over the world, especially from other socialist nations; and information about the Women’s International Democratic Federation, an organization with which the league was affiliated, also appeared. The bulletin’s readership was predominantly league members and party officials. The Committee for Home Economic Affairs published the Gospodarstwo domowe, a bimonthly journal, geared specifically toward


Notes


16.

17. 18. 19.

20. 21.

22. 23.

Notes

home economics teachers, which presented descriptions of initiatives; guidance on how to run courses, lectures, demonstrations, and exhibits; examples of topics to be addressed; and information about new household products. The committee also published numerous articles in Nasza praca and in various brochures on a variety of topics from nourishment to laundry and cosmetics, all of which were available to not only instructors but also the general public. I follow Joan Wallach Scott’s well-established ideas about the term “gender” as a set of socially and culturally constructed conceptions of differences between women and men. Joan Wallach Scott, “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis,” American Historical Review 91, no. 5 (December 1986): 1053–75. Alicja Musiałowa, “Referat przewodnicza˛cej ZGLK Alicji Musiałowej wygłoszony na II Krajowym Zjez´dzie Ligi Kobiet,” in II Zjazd Ligi Kobiet (materiały): Warszawa 11–13 lipiec 1957 r. (Warsaw, 1957), 9. “Bliz˙ej codziennego z˙ycia kobiet,” Nasza praca, nos. 7–8 (July–August 1956): 3–5, quotation on 4. See also Maria Aszkenazy, “Z czym idziemy na kongres?” Nasza praca, no. 10 (October 1956): 1–3, esp. 2. The establishment of these centers and clinics was somewhat haphazard. The league never reached its goal of establishing them in all provinces. By 1963, it had ten centers and forty-two clinics, and in 1986, sixty-four such institutions functioned. “Nasze zadania na rok 1963 o działalnosći Komitetu do spraw Gospodarstwa Domowego,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 1 (January–February 1963): 1–7, esp. 4; and Alicja Zdybel, “Edukacja ekonomiczna w działalnosći Ligi Kobiet Polskich,” Nasza praca, no. 5 (1986): 3–10, esp. 8–9. In some regions, these centers and clinics were quite vibrant, while in others they were constantly on the verge of falling apart, often due to limited finances. Centers usually had kitchen facilities equipped with kitchen gadgets and appliances, as well as sewing machines and other items needed for courses. See, for example, Helena Strzemin´ska, “Czas wolny rodzin pracowniczych i ich potrzeby w zakresie rozwoju usług,” in Socjalne i prawne ´s rodki ochrony macierzyn´stwa i rodziny, ed. Danuta Graniewska (Warsaw, 1976), 336–62. Wendy Z. Goldman, Women, the State, and Revolution: Soviet Family Policy and Social Life, 1917–1936 (Cambridge, 1993). On a return to traditional cultural norms in the 1930s in the Soviet Union, see Hoffmann, Stalinist Values. League publications occasionally mentioned the use of state-run laundry facilities. For some examples, see “Konferencja w sprawie gospodarstwa domowego,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 11 (November 1959): 1–2; Helena Spalona, “Rozwój działalnosći w zakresie gospodarswta domowego w Polsce,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 11 (November 1959): 3–10, esp. 8; Ewa Zakosćielna, “Społeczny front wychowania młodziez˙y,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 1 (January–February 1969): 3–5; and Józefa Adamusowa, “Planowe prace Komitetu Gospodarstwa Domowego oraz placówek


234


24. 25.

26.

27. 28. 29.

30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36.

37.

235

terenowych LK w roku biez˙a˛cym,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 2 (March–April 1969): 1–4. Walczewska makes a similar assessment in “Liga Kobiet,” 28. Studies on domestic technology in the United States have pointed to a similar assessment. With greater household technology, which was advertised as alleviating women’s household chores, women ended up spending more time cleaning, cooking, etc., since more was expected of them. See, for example, Ruth Schwartz Cowan, More Work for Mother: The Ironies of Household Technology from the Open Hearth to the Microwave (New York, 1983). Krystyna Radzin´ska, “Konspekt pokazu codzienne sprza˛tanie mieszkania,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 6 (November–December 1963): 33–42. See also Janina Skibin´ska, “Higiena mieszkania,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 2 (March–April 1980): 20–21; and Helena Gintelowa, “Organizacja porza˛dków w mieszkaniu,” Nasza praca, no. 5–6 (1978): 87–92. Boz˙ena, interview by author, Warsaw, March 17, 2000. Urszula, interview by author, Łódz´, March 27, 2000. Izabela, interview by author, Warsaw, March 7, 2000. She began her league activism in the early 1990s. The league asked her to work on a project focusing on a gendered analysis of school textbooks, and shortly after completing that project, she took on a leadership position. Before joining the league, she had not been interested in feminism or women’s issues. An outspoken feminist and politician, Izabela cofounded the leftist Unia Pracy (Work Union) Party and is a member of Poland’s parliament. Boz˙ena, interview; and Urszula, interview. Kazimiera, interview by author, Opole, May 18, 2000; Boz˙ena, interview; and Urszula, interview. Kazimiera, interview. Danuta, interview. Marysia, interview. Boz˙ena, interview. Partly because of her experience in such courses, she decided to join the league. Urszula, interview. A few centers continue to function in Poland. For example, the provincial administration in Opole still runs cooking courses for girls. It also holds banquets and parties as a means to make money. Irena, interview by author, Opole, May 18, 2000. Slavenka Drakulic´, How We Survived Communism and Even Laughed (New York, 1991), 23. In Drakulic´’s opinion, one of the reasons why Polish women dyed their hair the same color red, for example, was because that was the only dye available on the market. She also states that women used cucumber slices, lemon, olive oil, and other food items because they had no other choice (in contrast to Western women who did). According to Wanda Nowacka, a well-known women’s rights activist in Poland today, women used a variety of hair-dye colors because they tried


Notes


38. 39. 40. 41.

42.

43. 44. 45.

46. 47.

48.

Notes

to imitate Western women (Wanda Nowacka, personal conversation, June 2008). Boz˙ena, interview. Since the 1990s, for example, vegetarian restaurants have become popular, and youth, in particular, have been advocating healthier eating by, among other things, decreasing meat in their diets. Boz˙ena, interview. On the economic crisis, see, for example, Lena Kolarska-Bobin´ska, “The Myth of the Market and the Reality of Reform,” in Polish Paradoxes, ed. Stanisław Gomułka and Antony Polonsky (London, 1990), 160–79; and Jadwiga Staniszkis, “Poland’s Economic Dilemma: ‘De-articulation’ or ‘Ownership Reform,’” in ibid., 180–97. Throughout the 1980s, both Nasza praca and Gospodarstwo domowe published numerous articles that pointed to these economic problems. See also File “Sprawozdanie z działalnosći Wojewódzkiego Os´rodka Gospodarstwa Domowego w Cze˛stochowie,” 1983–1989, sygn. 71, Archiwum Pan´stwowe w Cze˛stochowie (hereafter APC); Anna Ke˛dzierska, interview by Elz˙bieta Je˛drych, “Chce˛, z˙eby mi dokuczano,” Przyjaciółka, no. 31 (August 2, 1984): 2–3; and Marysia, interview. Papers presented at the seminar were published in Teresa PałaszewskaReindl, ed., Polskie gospodarstwa domowe: Z˙ ycie codzienne w kryzysie (Warsaw, 1986). Urszula, interview. Zofia Ke˛dzior, “Z badan´ nad działalnosćia˛ i postawami gospodarstw domowych w aktualnej sytuacji społeczno-gospodarczej,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 5 (September–October 1982): 40–41; and Alicja Zdybel, “Stan funkcjonowania polskich gospodarstw domowych,” Gospodarstwo domowe, nos. 5–6 (September–December 1989): 1–8. Ke˛dzior and Zdybel indicated that waiting in lines and preparing meals were two of the tasks on which women spent the most time during this critical period. See also, Kristi Long, We All Fought for Freedom: Women in Poland’s Solidarity Movement (Boulder, 1996), esp. chap. 2. Urszula, interview. Not only the league but also the women’s press in general stressed women’s resourcefulness. As Sokół has stated in her study of women’s magazines, images of strong and resourceful women, some knitting new sweaters out of old ones and making dinners out of leftovers, dominated women’s publications. Sokót Prasa kobieca w Polsce. 1945–1995 (Rzeszów, Poland, 1998), 353–54. Some examples include: Zdybel, “Upowszechnianie zagadnien´ gospodarstwa domowego w aktualnych warunkach ekonomicznych,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 1 (January–February 1982): 1–3; Helena Gintelowa, “Oszcze˛dne gospodarowanie energia˛ cieplna˛ i s´wietlna˛ w gospodarstwie domowym,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 5 (September–October 1981): 31–32; and “Sprawozdanie z działalnosći Poradni Gospodarstwa Domowego,” 1983, File “Sprawozdanie z działalnosći Wojewódzkiego


236


49.

50. 51.

52.

53.

54.

55. 56. 57.

237

Os´rodka Gospodarstwa Domowego w Cze˛stochowie, 1983–1989,” sygn. 71, APC. As Long has stated: “Food came to hold a very special symbolic position in Communist Poland. When speaking with women about their experiences of activism the discussions often center around food.” Long, We All Fought for Freedom, 152. “Sprawozdanie z działalnosći Wojewódzkiej Poradni Gospodarstwa Domowego w Cze˛stochowie za okres 1984 roku,” File “Sprawozdanie z działalnosći Wojewódzkiego Os´rodka Gospodarstwa Domowego w Cze˛stochowie, 1983–1989,” sygn. 71, APC, states that feeding families in the economic situation was the central component of lectures and demonstrations related to nourishment. Boz˙ena, interview, June 1, 2000. For example, see Ewa Siemaszko, “Z˙ ywienie rodziny w okresie reglamentacji z˙ywnosći,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 3 (May–June 1981): 4–7; Helena Koprowska, “Zapobieganie marnotrawstwu z˙ywnosći,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 1 (January–February 1982): 7–11; and Helena Gintelowa, “Chron´my z˙ywnosć´ przed zepsuciem,” Nasza praca, no. 3–4 (1982): 60–62. Helena Koprowska, “Wszechstronne wykorzystanie klusek i makaronów w z˙ywieniu rodziny,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 1 (January–February 1981): 9–13; and Helena Koprowska, “Potrawy z klusek i makaronów: Konspekt pokazu,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 2 (March–April 1981): 34–36. Helena Gintelowa, “Jak gospodarowac´ produktami pochodzenia zwierze˛cego w okresie kryzysu,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 6 (November– December 1981): 4–6; and Ewa Siemaszko, “Wartosćiowe potrawy bezmie˛sne: Konspekt pokazu,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 1 (January– February 1982): 38–9. Jadwiga Rydzewska, “Szukanie dodatkowych z´ródeł produktów spoz˙ywczych: Podstawy chowu przydomnego drobiu, królików i s´win´,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 2 (March–April 1982): 12–14; Graz˙yna BolekSpiechowicza, “Ogród na balkonie,” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 2 (March– April 1982): 14–15; and “Owoce w codziennym jadłospisie,” Nasza praca, no. 2 (1982): 37–39. This is similar to home economists’ initiatives during the Great Depression in the United States. They, for example, encouraged women to communally can and grow foods. See Kathleen R. Babbitt, “Legitimizing Nutrition Education: The Impact of the Great Depression,” in Rethinking Home Economics: Women and the History of a Profession, ed. Sarah Stage and Virginia B. Vincenti (Ithaca, 1997), 145–62. Boz˙ena, interview. Currently, there are many organizations for women, especially in urban centers. See Centrum Promocji Kobiet, Informator o organizacjach i inicjatywach kobiecych w Polsce. See, for example, Eugenia Kempara, “Referat programowy Prezydium uste˛puja˛cego Zarza˛du Głównego Ligi Kobiet,” Proceedings from the


Notes


58. 59. 60. 61.

62. 63. 64.

65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70.

71. 72. 73.

Notes

Eighth Extraordinary League of Women Conference, Nasza praca, no. 1 (1982): 6–21, esp. 11, in which she condemned such ongoing criticism. Elz˙bieta Banasiak and Janina Ratyn´ska, “Tyle jeszcze trzeba zrobic´ …,” Przyjaciółka, no. 9 (March 1, 1981): 10. Krystyna Mojkowska and Wanda Tycner, “Ruch kobiecy w s´lepym zaułku?” Zwierciadło, no. 5 (January 29, 1981): 2. “Dyskusja,” Proceedings from the Eighth Extraordinary National League of Women Conference, 26. “Kronika 1975–1976 (Krowodrza),” in personal possession of Barbara, Nowa Huta; Kazimiera, interview; Marysia, interview; and Danuta, interview. When visiting a Polish home, for example, guests are greeted with the hosts first bringing out a plate of food and tea or coffee, depending on what is available. During most of my interviews, the interviewees offered tea and pastries, or in the case of my interviews in the Opole chapter, entire meals. According to Browning, classes in home economics that the zhensovety offered in the Soviet Union likewise “provide[d] women with much needed relaxation.” Browning, Women and Politics, 98. Irena, interview. Attending home economics sessions was one way in which women could enjoy other women’s company while also learning something important that would, the league claimed, help them in alleviating some of their burdens and eventually result in more free time. See, for example, Ludmila Grudowa and Irena Zalewska, “Ankieta ‘Wolny czas,’” Gospodarstwo domowe, no. 6 (November–December 1970): 32–34 for a survey of women’s free time. Danuta, interview. Irena, interview. Krosno chapter members, interview by Elz˙bieta Banasiak, “Czy tylko babskie gadanie?” Przyjaciółka, no. 3 (July 27, 1980): 3. Elz˙bieta, interview by author, Kraków, June 9, 2000. Urszula, interview. Wanda and Barbara maintained that in their Nowa Huta chapter, women did not discuss politics at all until the late 1980s transition. Today, politics are the central topic of discussion. They claimed that in the previous era, women did not feel a need to talk about political issues, whereas currently with significant and ongoing, often confusing, changes, they feel that they have to participate in political debates. They did not mention, however, that political discussions today are also more acceptable and less threatening than during Communism, and people in general can criticize the political situation without fear of retribution. Wanda, interview; and Barbara, interview. “Kronika 1975–1976 (Krowodrza),” November 9, 1975. See also the March 10, 1975, entry. Helena (a), interview by author, Opole, May 18, 2000. “Rozmowy przedkongresowe,” Nasza praca, no. 10 (October 1956): 4–17, quotation on 10.


238


239

74. Ibid. 75. Ibid., 10. 76. Helena (a), interview; and Krosno chapter members, interview by Banasiak “Czy tylko babskie gadanie?” Wanda, Danuta, and Helena (b) also mentioned the importance of friendships and helping one another. Wanda, interview; Danuta, interview; and Helena (b), interview by author, Opole, May 18, 2000. 77. Marysia, interview. 78. Helena (a), interview; Kazimiera, interview; Danuta, interview; Marysia, interview; and Wanda, interview.

Chapter 4 * I am grateful to Francisca de Haan, Susan Gal, Susan Zimmermann, Karen Garner, the editors of this volume, and the one anonymous reviewer for their valuable comments on several versions of this essay. 1. According to Nitza Berkovitch, the “most significant event in global organizing on women’s issues” was the UN Decade for Women, 1976–1985. See Nitza Berkovitch, From Motherhood to Citizenship (Baltimore, 1990), 120. 2. Helvi Sipilä, “International Women’s Year,” in Women of the Whole World 2 (East Berlin, 1975), 4–6. 3. The quotation marks used here are meant to indicate my awareness that the notion of women’s issues is problematic, since it assumes that women are a homogenous category and may connote ideas about women’s natural interests. In my usage, however, the notion of women’s issues is not meant to take on any of these meanings, but simply to signal a political claim that always has a specific locality and history. 4. See, for example, Deborah Stienstra, Women’s Movements and International Organizations (New York, 1994); Berkovitch, From Motherhood, 157; and Jain Devaki, Women, Development and the UN (Bloomington, IN, 1995). 5. See, for example, Martha Alter Chen, “Engendering World Conferences: The International Women’s Movement and the UN,” Third World Quarterly 16, no. 3 (1995): 477–94; Irene Tinker and Jane Jaquette, “UN Decade for Women: Its Impact and Legacy,” World Development 15, no. 3 (1987). 6. See, for example, Valentine M. Moghadam, Globalizing Women: Transnational Feminist Networks (Baltimore, 2005). 7. Scholars who work within the North/South paradigm often play down or even efface divisions that existed within Europe before 1989. As Berkovitch claims: “The first two conferences in Mexico City and in Copenhangen were dominated by women from North America and Europe” (Berkovitch, From Motherhood, 157). In addition, Chen notes that in the first thirty years of the United Nations’ existence, the only organizations that had consultative status with the UN were headquartered in “Europe or North America” (Chen, “Engendering,” 478).


Notes


8. 9.

10.

11.

12.

Notes

Such formulations may be accurate from the perspective of the South, but they are very ambiguous in terms of the Cold War divisions that existed within Europe prior to 1989. The use of the label “Europe” may be helpful in transgressing “East”/“West” divisions, but it also has the curious effect of further writing out East European women from international activism. Berkovitch, From Motherhood, 156. I use the terms “state socialism” and “state socialist” in statements that involve scholarly interpretations and descriptions of the past. I use the term “socialism” when I quote contemporary statements because the individuals that I quote here often referred to their countries as “socialist.” Finally, I use the terms “communism” and “communist” in reference to political institutions (e.g., the Communist Party, the Communist leadership, and affiliated organizations such as the women’s councils). Such conclusions have been formulated by Western, Central, and Eastern European scholars alike. See, for example, Nanette Funk and Magda Mueller, eds., Gender, Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union (New York, 1993); Tanya Renne, ed., Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe (Boulder, 1997); and Cristina Liana Olteanu, Elena-Simona Gheonea, and Valentin Gheonea, Femeile în România comunista: Studii de istorie socialia (Bucharest, 2003). See the first issue of Aspasia: International Yearbook of Central, Eastern and Southeastern European Women’s and Gender History 1 (March 2007), where eight contributors tried to answer the question “Is ‘Communist Feminism’ a Contradictio in Terminis?” On feminism during state socialism, and more precisely women’s agency in socialist states, see Wang Zheng, “‘State Feminism’? Gender and Socialist State Formation in Maoist China,” Feminist Studies 31, no. 3 (2005): 519–51; and the entry on the Yugoslav activist Vida Tomšicˇ (by Mateja Jeraj) in Francisca de Haan, Krassimira Daskalova, and Anna Loutfi, eds., A Biographical Dictionary of Women’s Movements and Feminisms: Central, Eastern, and South Eastern Europe, 19th and 20th Centuries (Budapest, 2006), 575–80. To some extent, these discussions revive earlier debates about the potential of state socialism to achieve equality between women and men, as they were developed in works such as Hilda Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? (Boston, 1974); or Beatrice Farnsworth, “Communist Feminism: Its Synthesis and Demise” in Women, War and Revolution, ed. Carol R. Berkin, Clara M. Lovett (New York, 1980). See Basia Nowak, “Constant Conversations: Agitators in the League of Women in Poland During the Stalinist Period,” Feminist Studies 31, no. 3 (2005): 488–518; Basia Nowak, “Inconvenient for the Party-State: The League of Women in Poland and the Dissolution of Workplace Chapters in 1966,” Paper presented at the European Social Science History Conference, Amsterdam, March 2006; Rima Praspaliauskiene, “Women’s Activism in Lithuania: 1945–1985,” in Women’s Movements: Networks and Debates in Post-Communist Countries in the 19th and 20th Centuries, ed. Edith Saurer, Margareth Lanzinger, Elisabeth


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13. 14.

15.

16.

17. 18.

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Frysak (Köln, 2006); Zheng, “‘State Feminism’?”; Melanie Ilic, “What Did Women Want? Khrushchev and the Revival of the Zhensovety,” in Soviet State and Society under Nikita Khrushchev, ed. Melanie Ilic and Jeremy Smith (forthcoming 2009). Susan Gal and Gail Kligman also encouraged recognition of the importance of women’s organizations in Eastern Europe and analysis of their affinities and parallels with various versions of international feminism. See especially their chapter “Arenas of Political Action” in The Politics of Gender after Socialism: A Comparative-Historical Essay, Gal and Kligman (Princeton, 2000), 91–108. See “Minutes of the meeting of the Politburo of the MSzMP,” January 13, 1970, item 3“A no˝k politikai, gazdasági, szociális helyzete, a további feladatok”, Magyar Országos Levéltár (288. f. 5/509. o˝. e.). Gender scholars of state socialist countries use the term “woman question” to frame this issue. See Gail Lapidus, Women in Soviet Society: Equality, Development and Social Change (Berkeley, 1978); and Mary Buckley, Women and Ideology in the Soviet Union (Ann Arbor, 1989). The term “woman question” dates back to debates around women’s roles from the nineteenth century. Romanian scholars such as Stana Buzatu and Ecaterina Oproiu used the term “women’s condition” to describe women’s subordinate position. The Women’s International Democratic Federation (WIDF) was established in December 1945, as a result of an international congress in Paris organized by the communist-led organization Union des Femmes Françaises. See Leila Rupp, Worlds of Women: The Making of an International Women’s Movement (Princeton, 1997), 47; and Karen Offen, European Feminisms, 1700–1950: A Political History (Stanford, 2000), xxviii, 386–87. The WIDF was composed of women’s organizations predominantly from the Soviet Union and Eastern European, African, Latin American, South Asian, and Arab countries. Throughout the post– World War II period more than one hundred organizations were members of the WIDF, representing the same number of countries. See Sally Shreir, ed., Women’s Movements of the World: An International Directory and Reference Guide (Harlow, UK, 1988), 377. Femeia was a monthly magazine edited by CNF; the magazine was commercialized and thus provided one of the main sources of income for CNF. The publication of the journal started in 1946, under the title Femeia muncitoare (The Working Woman); at that time, the journal was edited by the Union of Democratic Women in Romania. Between 1958 and 1989, the magazine was published by CNF. No˝k Lapja was the largest women’s weekly in state socialist Hungary. Although at times it stressed that it was not an organ of the MNOT, its sales provided one of the main revenues for MNOT. See Judith Zinsser, “From Mexico to Copenhagen to Nairobi: The United Nations Decade for Women,” Journal of World History 13 (Spring 2002), 146.


Notes


Notes

19. The individual women I was able to identify are Florica Andrei, who was a member of the Executive Committee of CNF and the representative of the Romanian Government in the CSW, and Edit Erdei, who was the president of MNOT and president of the Finance Control, Commission of the WIDF. 20. UN General Assembly Resolution 3010 (XXVII). International Women’s Year, available at http://www.un.org/documents/ga/res/27/ares27.htm (accessed May 30, 2008). 21. See Zinsser, “From Mexico,” 146. 22. Devaki, Women, Development and the UN, 66. 23. Chen, “Engendering,” 477–94. 24. See http://www.un.org/womenwatch/daw/CSW60YRS/CSWbriefhistory. pdf (accessed May 30, 2008). 25. In 1972, Hertta Kuusinen was president of the WIDF. She died in 1974. 26. “WIDF and the UN” Women of the Whole World 1 (1973): 49–51. According to another issue in the same journal, it was at this session of the CSW (the 24th) that the WIDF “requested that the Commission on the Status of Women explore the possibility of beginning preparatory work on a draft Convention on women’s rights,” Women of the Whole World 2 (1972), 3. 27. Sipilä, “International Women’s Year,” 4–6. 28. This information is verified by Chen in “Engendering,” and by Arnold Whittick, quoted in Karen Garner, “World YWCA Leaders and the UN Decade for Women,” Journal of International Women’s Studies 9, no. 1 (November 2007): 212–33. 29. Sipilä, “International Women’s Year,” 4–6. 30. This decision was made at the council meeting of the WIDF in Varna, Bulgaria, between April 30 and May 5, 1972, and is reported in “Taking Stock and Setting New Goals,” Women of the Whole World, no. 3 (1972): 2–14. 31. Ibid. Italics are mine. 32. Decisions of the WIDF Council meeting in Warsaw were reported in “The Council Set the Targets for 1975,” Women of the Whole World, no. 4 (1974): 8–9. 33. Edit Erdei and Vera Vándor belonged to the highest political establishment, while Hanna Bokor was a well-established intellectual and academic. Erdei was the president of MNOT, Vera Vándor was the head of the International Section of MNOT, and Hanna Bokor was a renowned legal scholar working mostly in the field of international law and human rights. Bokor was also a member of the UN Commission on the Status of Women (1972) and a member of the UN Working Group on new draft instrument or instruments of international law to eliminate discrimination against women (established 1973). 34. Bulletin 1 of the World Congress for International Women’s Year, fond Women’s International Democratic Federation, folder I (1950–1985), Archives of the International Institute for Social History, Amsterdam.


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35. Ibid. 36. “World Congress for International Women’s Year,” Women of the Whole World, no. 1 (1975): 4–9. 37. Freda Brown, “Unity, Cooperation and Action,” Women of the Whole World, Special Number (1975): 8–11. 38. I consulted the following reports: Hungarian Women’s Council, Women in Hungary (Presentation prepared for the 1975 World Conference in Mexico, 1975); “Report of the National Council of Hungarian Women” and “Report of the National Council of Women of the Socialist Republic of Romania,” both in Federation Democratique Internationale des Femmes, Documents et Informations (Berlin, GDR, October 26, 1975); and Documents of the World Congress for International Women’s Year held in Berlin 20–24 October 1975 (Berlin, GDR, 1975). All reports are available at the New York Public Library. 39. Report of the proceeding of IWY Tribune in “Tribün,” No˝k Lapja, no. 33, August 16, 1975, 6–7; No˝k a Világban, 3/1975, Special Issue. 40. Report of the proceeding of IWY Tribune in “Tribün,” 6–7. 41. Hungarian Women’s Council, The Situation of Women in Hungary (Presentation prepared for the 1975 World Conference in Mexico, 31). 42. List of delegates available from Politikatörténeti és Szakszervezeti Levéltár, Budapest, file 896/ 10 / 162. 43. Ibid. 44. “Care este locul femeii în strategia mondialaˇ a dezvoltaˇrii?” Interview with Tamara Dobrin in Carol Roman, 101 Interviuri cu femei (Bucharest, 1978). 45. “An interview with Ilse Thiele, Chairman of the Democratic Women’s League of Germany and Vice President of the WIDF,” Women of the Whole World 2 (1975): 7–8. 46. Documents of the World Congress for International Women’s Year. 47. “Report of the MNOT to the 7th Congress of the WIDF,” in Documents et Informations, 7. 48. “Report of CNF to the 7th Congress of the WIDF,” in Documents et Informations, 71. 49. “Report of the MNOT to the 7th Congress of the WIDF,” in Documents et Informations, 7. 50. These policies included guaranteed employment and education, child-care benefits, and state-supported child care facilities. 51. There were struggles in the Politburo over redressing the enduring disadvantages of women and the fate of the women’s organization, MNOT. For a discussion of these struggles see, for example, Éva Fodor, Working Difference: Women’s Working Lives in Hungary and Austria, 1945–1995 (Durham, NC, 2003). 52. “Report of the MNOT to the 7th Congress of the WIDF,” in Documents et Informations, 7. 53. “A No˝k Politikai, Gazdasági és Szociális Helyzetéro˝l Szóló MSZMP KB és Kormányhatározat Végrehajtásának Tapasztalatai az Egészségügy


Notes


54. 55.

56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65.

Notes

Területén,” in Magyar Országos Levéltár [MOL—Hungarian National Archives]. File 288/21/1975/22. Ibid., 23. Some interventions at the Eleventh Congress of the Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party, held in March 1975, referred to IWY. Even János Kádár, the first secretary of the Central Committee of the HSWP, mentioned IWY, but only to say “he did not speak about the women question because the UN had adopted a resolution on Women’s Year” (quoted in Hungarian Women’s Council, The Situation of Women in Hungary, p. 35). See, for example, “Sub semnul egalitaˇt¸ii, dezvoltaˇrii, paˇcii” Femeia, April 1975, 11; or “România, prezent¸aˇ activaˇ, dinamicaˇ în viat¸a internat¸ionalaˇ,” Femeia, December, 1975, 3. Lina Ciobanu, “Femeile României socialiste în Anul Internat¸ional al Femeii,” Femeia, June 1975, 5. Stana Buzatu. Condit¸ia Femeii Dimensiune a Progresului Contemporan (Bucharest, 1979), 167. Ibid., 173. Interview with Stana Buzatu, Bucharest, February 2006. In our interview, Buzatu also stated that she served as Secretary to the WIDF in Berlin from 1965 to 1971. Interview with Stana Buzatu, Bucharest, February 2006. In the second half of the 1970s, the cultural isolation of Romania became increasingly pronounced and access to foreign books was carefully monitored and sharply curtailed. Interview with Judit Asbot, Budapest, September 2008. Translation from Hungarian by Eszter Varsa and me. Zheng, “State Feminism?”

Chapter 5 * Research for this article was funded by the Austrian Science Fund’s (FWF) grant No. P-14833. I am grateful to Anelia Kassabova and Karin Taylor for their cooperation on this research. 1. Raina Pesheva, Burzhuazni otstatuˇ tsi v otnosheniiata kuˇ m zhenata (Sofia, 1962), 13. 2. Ibid., 125. 3. Raina Pesheva, “Bituˇ t na sotsialistichesko semeistvo,” in Zhenata—maika, truzhenichka, obshtestvenichka, ed. Atanas Liutov and Rositsa Bocheva (Sofia, 1974), 172. 4. A note on the usage of “communist” and “socialist” is indicated here: I follow the contemporaneous terminology, hence using “communist” for the designation of policies and ideology, and “socialist” to describe the society and its features. “State socialism” is used as a descriptive category for the whole period of communist rule and its systemic qualities.


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5. Kristen Ghodsee, “Red Nostalgia? Communists, Women’s Emancipation, and Economic Transformation in Bulgaria,” L’Homme 15, no. 1 (2004): 24. 6. See Susan Gal and Gail Kligman, “The Politics of Gender After Socialism: A Comparative-Historical Essay” (Princeton, 2000), 5. 7. Quoted in Voices of Their Own: Oral History Interviews of Women ed. Krassimira Daskalova, trans. Elitsa Stoitsova and Ralitsa Muharska (Sofia, 2004), 102. 8. Cf. Georgia Kretsi, “‘Good and Bad Biography’: The Concept of Family Liability in the Practice of State Domination in Socialist Albania,” in Schnittstellen. Gesellschaft, Nation, Konflikt und Erinnerung in Südosteuropa, ed. Ulf Brunnbauer, Andreas Helmedach, and Stefan Troebst (Munich, 2007), 175–89. 9. Daskalova, Voices of Their Own, 116–17. 10. “Seksuˇ t i OF-to”, in Az zhiviakh sotsializma, http://www.spomeniteni. org/razkazite.php (accessed August 26, 2008). 11. Katherine Verdery, see “From Parent-State to Family Patriarchs: Gender and Nation in Contemporary Eastern Europe,” in Verdery, What was Socialism, and What Comes Next? (Princeton, 1996), 64. 12. Ibid., 66. 13. Daniela Koleva, Biografiia i normalnost (Sofia 2002), 147. 14. See Mary Neuburger, “Veils, Shalvari, and Matters of Dress: Unravelling the Fabric of Women’s Lives in Communist Bulgaria,” in Style and Socialism: Modernity and Material Culture in Post-War Eastern Europe, ed. Susan E. Reid and David Crowley (Oxford, 2000), 169–88. 15. For the history of Muslims in independent Bulgaria, see Ali Eminov, Turkish and Other Muslim Minorities of Bulgaria (London, 1997). 16. See the collection of statements on women by the founder of the Bulgarian socialist party, Dimituˇ r Blagoev, and the communist leader Georgi Dimitrov in D. Blagoev and G. Dimitrov, Za zhenata i semeistvoto (Sofia, 1979). 17. “Naredba-zakon za izravniavane pravata na litsata ot dvata pola,” Duˇ rzhaven vestnik, 227, October 16, 1944, 1. 18. “Naredba-zakon za braka,” Duˇ rzhaven vestnik 108, May 12, 1945, 1–5. On the family policies of the Bulgarian communists, see Ulf Brunnbauer and Karin Taylor, “‘Creating a Socialist Way of Life’: Family and Reproduction Policies in Socialist Bulgaria (1944–1989),” Continuity and Change 19, no. 2 (2004): 283–312. 19. Katia Avramova, “Narodnata konstitutsiia i ravnopravieto na zhenata,” Novo vreme 9 (1947), 833. 20. On women in interwar Bulgaria, see Rumen Daskalov, Buˇ lgarskoto obshtestvo 1878–1939, vol. 2. (Sofia, 2005), 316–29. 21. Maria Todorova, “Historical Tradition and Transformation in Bulgaria: Women’s Issues or Feminist Issues?” Journal of Women’s History 5, no. 3 (1994): 132–33. Daskalov, Buˇ lgarskoto obshtestvo, 367, 381. 22. Todorova, “Historical Tradition,” 132–33.


Notes


Notes

23. Milanka Vidova, Nevyana Abadjieva, and Roumyana Gancheva, 100 Questions and Answers Concerning Bulgarian Women (Sofia, 1983), 49. 24. Statesticheski godishnik (Sofia, 1989), 107. 25. Velitchko Dobrianov, Atanas Atanasov, Pavlina Mihailova, and Maria Dinkova, “Bulgaria” in Working Women in Socialist Countries: The Fertility Connection, ed. Valentina Bodrova and Richard Anker (Geneva, 1985), 60–61. 26. Liliana Spasovska, Semeistvoto. Sociologicheski ocherk (Sofia, 1980), 149–50. 27. Zhenata v stopanskiia, obshtestveniia, kulturniia zhivot i v semeistvoto (Sofia, 1972), 80. 28. Koleva, Biografiia i normalnost, 154. 29. BKP [Bulgarian Communist Party], Richtlinien des VIII. Parteitages der Bulgarischen Kommunistischen Partei für die Entwicklung der Volksrepublik Bulgarien in den Jahren 1961 bis 1980 (Sofia, 1963), 67, 72. 30. See Ilija Iliev, “Familie, Ideologie und Politik: Die Großmutter in der städtischen Familie seit 1945,” in Vom Nutzen der Verwandten. Soziale Netzwerke in Bulgarien, (19. und 20. Jahrhundert), ed. Ulf Brunnbauer and Karl Kaser (Vienna, 2001), 93–94. 31. Eleanor Wenkart Smolett, “The Economy of Jars: Kindred Relationships in Bulgaria,” Ethnologia Europaea 19, no. 2 (1989): 125–40. 32. Vasil Ivanov and Zaharii Staikov, Rabotnicheskata klasa v etapa na izgrazhdane na razvitoto sotsialistichesko obshtestvo (Sofia, 1973), 295. 33. Liliana Spasovska, Rabotnicheskiiat bit. Sotsiologicheski aspekti (Sofia, 1976), 129. 34. Chavdar Kiuranov, ed., Dneshnoto buˇ lgarsko semeistvo (Sofia, 1987), 82–83. 35. Zhenata v stopanskiia, 122. 36. Anastassia Encheva, Public Care of the Family and Children (Sofia, 1980), 35. 37. Liliana Nenova, Semeino pravo na Narodna Republika Buˇ lgariia (Sofia, 1977), 21. 38. Semeen kodeks (Sofia, 1985), art. 4. 39. Liutov and Bocheva, Zhenata, 283. 40. On the double burden of women in socialist society, see Barbara Wolfe Jancar, Women under Communism (Baltimore, 1978); Richard Anker, “Comparative Survey,” in Working Women in Socialist Countries: The Fertility Connection, ed. Valentina Bodrova and Richard Anker (Geneva, 1985); Sharon L. Wolchik and Alfred G. Meyer, eds., Women, State, and Party in Eastern Europe (Durham, NC, 1985). 41. Liliana Spasovska, “Razpredelenieto na domakinskata rabota mezhdu suˇ vremenite suˇ pruzi,” Naselenie 5, no. 2 (1987): 99. 42. Pavlina Popova, ed., Moeto buˇdeshto semeistvo (Sofia, 1984), 55. 43. Ivanov et al, Rabotnicheskata klasa, 296. 44. Todorova, “Historical Tradition,” 134. 45. Koleva, Biografiia i normalnost, 155. 46. Ibid., 147. 47. Ibid., 151.


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48. Rositsa Gocheva and Atanas Liutov, eds., Truduˇ t na zhenata. Niakoi sotsialno-ikonomicheski problemi na trudovata zaetost, na usloviiata za realizirane na zhenata v truda (Sofia, 1980), 194. 49. Spasovska, Semeistvoto, 149–50. 50. Chavdar Kyuranov, The Bulgarian Family Today (Sofia, 1984), 36. 51. Johanna Deimel, Bewegte Zeiten—Frauen in Bulgarien gestern und heute (Munich, 1998), 89. 52. So was the title of the authoritative publication by Liutov and Bocheva, Zhenata. 53. Statisticheski godishnik (1990), 36. 54. Ivanov et al, Rabotnicheskata klasa, 202. 55. Mariana Keremendchieva, “Fertilnoto povedenie na buˇ lgarskoto semeistvo,” in Semeistvo i sotsialno-demografsko razvitie, ed. BAN (Bulgarian Academy of Sciences) (Sofia, 1982), 230–32; cf. Dobrianov et al., “Bulgaria,” 72. 56. “Ukaz za nasuˇ rchavane na razhdaemostta,” Duˇ rzhaven vestnik 2, January 9, 1968, 1. 57. See Rositsa Gocheva and Atanas Liutov, eds., Maichinstvoto i detstvo v Narodna Republika Buˇ lgariia (Sofia, 1979). The pro-natalist policies are discussed in more detail in Ulf Brunnbauer, Die sozialistische Lebensweise. Ideologie, Politik und Alltag in Bulgarien, 1944–1989 (Vienna, 2007), 607–89. 58. Interview with M. B., February 2003. 59. Georgi Markov, Zadochni reportazhi za Buˇ lgariia, vol. 2 (Zurich, 1984), 25–26. 60. BKP, Deseti kongres na Buˇ lgarskata komunisticheska partiia, 20.–25.IV.1971. Stenografski protokol (Sofia, 1971), 97. 61. Politburo, Enhancing the Role of Women in the Building of a Developed Socialist Society. Decision of the Politburo of the CC of the BCP of March 6, 1973 (Sofia, 1982), 10. 62. Vidova, Abadjieva, and Gancheva, 100 Questions and Answers, 49. 63. See Tatyana Kotzeva, “Re-Imaging Bulgarian Women: The Marxist Legacy and Women’s Self Identity,” Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics 15, no. 1 (1999): 83–98. 64. Ibid., 86. 65. Pencho Kubadinski, Za sotsialisticheskoto semeistvo (Sofia, 1986), 34. 66. Verdery, “From Parent-State to Family Patriarchs,” 68. 67. D. Vassilev, “Bulgaria,” in From Abortion to Contraception. A Resource to Public Policies and Reproductive Behavior in Central and Eastern Europe from 1917 to the Present, ed. H. P. David (Westport, CN, 1999), 72–73. 68. TsDA (Central State Archive, Sofia), f. 1 (Politburo of the BCP), op. 34, a.e. 89. 69. See Gail Kligman, The Politics of Duplicity: Controlling Reproduction in Ceausescu’s Romania (Berkeley, 1998). 70. “Instruktsiia No 188 za reda za izkustveno prekuˇ svane na bremenostta i borbata s kriminalniia abort,” Duˇ rzhaven vestnik, no. 13, February 16, 1968, 1–4.


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Notes

71. Milena Petkova, “Sotsializmuˇt i razhdaemostta,” in Az zhiviakh sotsializma, http://www.spomeniteni.org/razkazite.php (accessed August 26, 2008). 72. “Instruktsiia No 0–27 za reda za izkustveno prekuˇsvane na bremenostta,” Duˇ rzhaven vestnik, no. 32, April 20, 1973, 2–4. 73. Wolf Oschlies, Zum Problem der Sexualerziehung in Osteuropa: Fallstudie Bulgarien (Cologne, 1980), 17. 74. Vassilev, “Bulgaria,” 77. 75. Ibid., 81. 76. Ibid., 72–73. 77. Elwood Carlson and Megumi Omori, “Fertility Regulation in a Declining State Socialist Economy: Bulgaria 1976–1995,” International Family Planning Perspectives 24, no. 4 (1998): 184–87. 78. TsDA, f. 1, op. 34, a.e. 89, 46–50. 79. Kubadinski, Za sotsialisticheskoto semeistvo, 167–68. 80. Duˇrzhaven vestnik, no. 32, April 20, 1973, 2. 81. See Markov, Zadochni reportazhi, 27; Pencho Kubadinski, Duˇlguˇt na semeistvoto i obshtestvoto (Sofia, 1983), 49. 82. In Bulgaria the rate of divorce was lower than in most other socialist countries. In 1980, 14.8 divorces for 10,000 inhabitants were recorded in Bulgaria, compared to 35.0 in the Soviet Union and 27.0 in the GDR. Maia Foteva, “Osnovni tendentsii v razvitieto na brachnostta i brakorazvodnostta v Buˇlgariia prez perioda 1965–1982,” Naselenie 3, no. 2 (1985): 63. 83. European Commission—Eurostat, Population statistics (Luxembourg, 2004), 122. 84. Kiril Donkov, “Suˇstojanie i dinamika na razhdaemostta i smuˇrtnostta v Buˇlgariia,” Naselenie 3, no. 3 (1985): 33; United Nations—Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division, World Fertility Report: 2003 (New York, 2004), 79 and 83. 85. Kiuranov, Dneshnoto buˇlgarsko semeistvo, 325. 86. See Anelia Kassabova, “Begrenzte Transformation oder Transformation der Begrenztheiten? Politik und uneheliche Geburten im sozialistischen Bulgarien,” in Transformationsprobleme Bulgariens, ed. Ulf Brunnbauer and Wolfgang Höpken (Munich, 2007), 125–48. 87. See Anelia Kassabova-Dintcheva, “Neue alte Normen. Die versuchte Normierung der Sexualität im sozialistischen Bulgarien,” Ethnologia Balkanica 8 (2004): 155–76. 88. Kassabova, “Begrenzte Transformation oder Transformation der Begrenztheiten?” 25. 89. Mariia Dinkova, Mladoto semeistvo (Sofia, 1985), 100. According to two surveys on the sexual behavior of youth in the early 1980s, some 50 to 60 percent of boys and some 25 to 45 percent of girls had sex before turning eighteen. Todor Bastandzhiev, “Poloviiat zhivot v suˇvremennoto buˇlgarsko semeistvo,” Naselenie 5, no. 3 (1987): 110. 90. Statisticheski godishnik (1943–1946), 46; (1971), 34; (1991), 48.


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91. On this institution, see Adriana Doicinova, “Kratuˇk pregled na vuˇznikvaneto i razvitieto na domovete ‘Maika i dete’,” in Da rastesh bez roditeli, ed. Vesela Banova (Sofia, 1999), 99–102. 92. TsDA, f. 1, op. 34, a.e. 88, 418. 93. “Problemaˇt za ‘baštite,’” Narodna mladezh, no. 17, February 25, 1978, 4; “Da ne tuˇ pchem v starite brazdi,” Narodna mladezh, no. 17, February 15, 1978, 4. 94. See Narodna mladezh, no. 17, February 15, 1978, 4; Velislava Dareva, “Deca na liubovta,” Komsomolska iskra, no. 4, January 23, 1978, 8. I thank Anelia Kassabova for his information. 95. See the series of articles by family expert Maria Dinkova in “Labyrinths of Carelessness and Irresponsibility,” published in nos. 3–7 of Zhenata dnes in 1972. Quoted in Kassabova, “Begrenzte Transformation oder Transformation der Begrenztheiten?” 129–30, 136–37. 96. Sashka Popova, Mediko-sotsialni aspekti na izvuˇnbrachnata razhdaemost (Sofia, 1977), 101. 97. Ghodsee, “Red Nostalgia?” 32. 98. Daskalova, Voices of Their Own. 99. Dobrinka Kostova, “Women in Postcommunist Bulgaria,” in Women in the Politics of Postcommunist Eastern Europe, ed. Marilyn Rueschemeyer (Armonk, 1998), 249–66. 100. See Kristen Ghodsee, Red Riviera: Gender, Tourism, and Postsocialism on the Black Sea (Durham, NC, 2005). 101. Data from Eurostat, http://epp.eurostat.ec.europa.eu. Share of employed persons aged 15–64 as a share of the total population aged 15–64. 102. Quoted in Daskalova, Voices of Their Own, 117.

Chapter 6 1. The SED was created in 1946 out of a more-or-less forced merger between the Communist Party and the Social Democratic Party in the Soviet zone of occupation. The SED was, in fact, the Communist Party under a new name. Here, I use the terms Communist state, Communist officials, etc., interchangeably with socialist state, the state, the party, party officials, state officials, etc. All refer, basically, to the GDR or the SED. 2. Works that study the history of the GDR from a state/society perspective include: Richard Bessel and Ralph Jessen, eds., Die Grenzen der Diktatur. Staat und Gesellschaft in der DDR (Göttingen, 1996); Thomas Lindenberger, ed., Herrschaft und Eigen-Sinn in der Diktatur. Studien zur Gesellschaftsgeschichte der DDR, (Cologne, 1999); Peter Hübner, Konsenz, Konflikt und Kompromiß. Soziale Arbeiterinteressen und Sozialpolitik in der SBZ/DDR 1945–1970 (Berlin, 1995); Konrad Jarausch, ed., Dictatorship as Experience: Towards a Socio-Cultural History of the GDR (New York, 1999); and Patrick Major and Jonathan Osmond, eds., The Workers’ and Peasants’ State: Communism and Society in East Germany under Ulbricht 1945–1971 (Manchester, 2002).


Notes


Notes

3. See Carola Sachse, Der Hausarbeitstag. Gerechtigkeit und Gleichberechtigung in Ost und West 1939–1994 (Göttingen, 2002); Donna Harsch, Revenge of the Domestic: Women, the Family, and Communism in the German Democratic Republic (Princeton, 2007). Mainstream social histories that incorporate gender include: Mary Fulbrook, Anatomy of a Dictatorship: Inside the GDR, 1949–1989 (Oxford, 1995); Lutz Niethammer, Alexander von Plato, and Dorothee Wierling, Die volkseigene Erfahrung. Eine Archäologie des Lebens in der Industrieprovinz der DDR (Berlin, 1991); Andrew Port, Conflict and Stability in the German Democratic Republic (Cambridge, 2007); and Eric Weitz, Creating German Communism, 1890–1990 (Princeton, 1997). 4. See Gisela Helwig and Hildegard Maria Nickel, eds., Frauen in Deutschland 1945–1992 (Berlin, 1993); Heike Trappe, Emanzipation oder Zwang? Frauen in der DDR zwischen Beruf, Familie and Sozialpolitik (Berlin, 1995); Karin Zachmann, Mobilisierung der Frauen. Technik, Geschlecht und Kalter Krieg in der DDR (Frankfurt/Main, 2004); Annegret Schüle, “Die Spinne”. Die Erfahrungsgeschichte weiblicher Industriearbeit im VEB Leipziger Baumwollspinnerei (Leipzig, 2001); Gunilla-Friederike Budde, Frauen der Intelligenz. Akademikerinnen in der DDR 1945 bis 1975 (Göttingen, 2003); and Elizabeth D. Heineman, What Difference Does a Husband Make? Women in Nazi and Postwar Germany (Berkeley, 1999). 5. Elizabeth D. Heineman, “The Hour of the Woman: Memories of Germany’s ‘Crisis Years’ and West German National Identity,” The American Historical Review 101, no. 2 (April 1996): 354–95. 6. Harsch, Revenge, 22–27. 7. Norman M. Naimark, The Russians in Germany: A History of the Soviet Zone of Occupation, 1945–1949 (Cambridge, 1995), 68–85, 75, 109, 91–93, 117, 104–05; Renate Genth and Ingrid Schmidt-Harzbach, “Kriegsende,” in Frauenpolitik und politisches Wirken von Frauen im Berlin der Nachkriegszeit 1945–1949, ed. Renate Genth, Reingart Jakl, Rita Pawlowski, Ingrid Schmidt-Harzbak, and Irene Stoehr (Berlin, 1997), 31–32; Ingrid Schmidt-Harzbach, “Eine Woche im April, Berlin 1945: Vergewaltigung als Massenschicksal,” Feministische Studien 2 (1984), 51–65. 8. Naimark, Russians, 123, 129, 135. Also see Harsch, Revenge, 37–38; Heineman, Difference, 127; Bundesarchiv Berlin (BArch), DQ1, 323, Bl. 128–137 Deutsche Zentralverwaltung für Volksbildung, Abt. Frauenausschüsse, Protokoll 3.9.46. 9. Petra Pape, “Flüchtlinge und Vertriebene in der Provinz Mark Brandenburg,” in Sie hatten alles verloren. Flüchtlinge und Vertriebene in der sowjetischen Besatzungszone Deutschlands, ed. Manfred Wille, Johannes Hoffmann, and Wolfgang Meinicke (Wiesbaden, 1993), 123; Peter-Heinz Seraphim, Die Heimatvertriebenen in der Sowjetzone (Berlin 1954), 55, 15, 64. 10. Statistisches Jahrbuch der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik (1955), 19, 22. 11. Kirsten Poutrus, “Von den Massenvergewaltigungen zum Mutterschutzgesetz: Abtreibungspolitik und Abtreibungspraxis in Ostdeutschland, 1945–1950,” in Bessel and Jessen, in Die Grenzen der Diktatur, ed. Bessel and Jessen, 174–75.


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12. SAPMO-BArch, IV2\17\51, Bl.162, 1.2.47. Richtlinien für Eheberatungsstellen; Bl. 216, 19.5.47. 13. Naimark, Russians, 126–28; Poutrus, “Massenvergewaltigungen,” 175. 14. Trappe, Emanzipation, 103. 15. Heineman, Difference, 211. 16. Evemarie Badstübner, “‘Zeig’, Wie Das Leben Lacht und Liebt”. Die Unterhaltungszeitschrift Das Magazin und Ihre Leser zwischen 1954 und 1970,” in Befremdlich anders. Leben in der DDR, ed. Evemarie Badstübner (Berlin, 2000), 451–56. 17. BArch-Berlin, DO4/360, Bl. 241 Stunde der Frau Marktkirche. 18. SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/1/40, 12.2.48, Tagungen des Parteivorstandes, Elli Schmidt, 229. 19. See descriptions of marriages in: BArch-Berlin, DQ1/5145 (Herr) H. Heduschka, Cottbus an das MfG, 23.4.54; Dr. Neumann an Heduschka, 4.5.54; and Dr. Wenzke an das MfG, 6.7.54. 20. Leipziger Stadtsarchiv (LStA) IV A-2/17/474. Abteilung Landwirtschaft. Anmerkungen … Landwirtschaft, 10.1.63. 21. Interview with Frau RN, Dresden, May 25, 1996 (conducted by author). 22. Josie McClellan, “State Socialist Bodies: East German Nudism from Ban to Boom,” The Journal of Modern History 79, no.1 (March 2007): 58–62. 23. Rudolf Neubert, Das neue Ehebuch. Die Ehe als Aufgabe der Gegenwart und Zukunft (Rudolstadt, 1957), 184–86. 24. Interview with Frau R. B., June 28, 1996 (conducted by author and Martina Dietrich). 25. Harsch, Revenge, 135. 26. Dagmar Herzog, Sex after Fascism: Memory and Morality in TwentiethCentury Germany (Princeton, 2005). 27. Niethammer, Plato, Wierling, Erfahrung, 366–69. 28. See cases in Neue Justiz (NJ), 1954: 247; 1956: 284, 514, 543, 736–37; 1958, 139; 1959: 714, 716; BArch-Berlin, DP1/VA, Akte 1362, Bl.3, 15.12.55, R.W. an MfJ; Bl.5, Abschrift of Urteil; and Bl.39, SR an JM der DDR, 17.12.55. 29. Neubert, Ehebuch. 30. Interview with Frau R. B. According to Cornelie Usborne, in contrast, proletarian women knew quite a lot about reproduction before 1933. See Cornelie Usborne, Cultures of Abortion in Weimar Germany (New York, 2007), 136–48. 31. See reports in BArch-Berlin, DQ1/5145. 32. Michael Wagner, Scheidung in Ost-und Westdeutschland Zum Verhältnis von Ehestabilität und Sozialstrucktur seit den 30er Jahren (Frankfurt, 1997), 165, 224, 240. 33. BArch-Berlin, DP1/VA/1364, Bl.8 Generalstaatsanwalt an MdJ, 25.6.57. 34. BArch-Berlin, DP1/VA/1, Bericht … zum Entwurf FGB … 19.10.54, S.2. 35. SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/13/99, Bl. 469, Bericht … 19.10.54. 36. BArch, DP1/VA/243, Betr: Aufstellung über negative Diskussionen in Justizausspracheabenden, 15.9.54: DFD Abend in Jena (Land).


Notes


Notes

37. SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/13/99, Bl. 467, 469, 471, Bericht …19.10.54. 38. Harsch, Revenge, 96–98, 87–90, 98–100; SAPMO-BArch, DY34/712. Gegenüberstellung … Produktionsarbeiter in der volkseignen Industrie. 39. Harsch, Revenge, 217–18. 40. Ibid., 87. 41. SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/14/35, Bl. 6, Notiz für Gen. Willi Barth, 17.9.54. 42. SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/13/99, Bl. 471, 469, Bericht …19.10.54. 43. Neue Justiz, 8/1954, 442. 44. Quotes from SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/13/99, Bericht … 19.10.54, Bl. 47; BArch, DP1/VA/1, 1954-55, 1923, Bericht … 19.10.54, S.16–17. 45. Quoted in Heineman, Difference, 34. 46. O. Eggers-Lorenz, “Zur Frage des Widerspruches nach Artikel 48 Ehegesetz bei leichtfertigem Verhalten zur Ehe,” NJ, 8/1954, 136–37. 47. Friederike Kluge, “Gedanken einer Richterin zu Artikel 48 Familiengesetz,” NJ, 4/1949, 16–17. 48. See NJ, 7/1953, 57; BArch-Berlin, DP1/VA/387, Bl.130, Landesregierung Mecklenburg an das MdJ, Schwerin 13.10.50. 49. BArch-Berlin, DP1/VA/1364, Bl.8 Genstanwalt d. DDR an MdJ, 25.6.57, Betr: Ehescheidungsverordnung. 50. See NJ, 1954, 661; 1956, 739; 1957, 482; 1956, 287. 51. BArch-Berlin, DP1/VA/1445, Bl.14; SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/13/106, Protokoll … 25.5.59; NJ, 1962, 622, 624. 52. Harsch, Revenge, 232–34, 297–99. 53. SAPMO-BArch, DY30/IV2/13/106 Bl.7, Protokoll … 25.5.59. 54. Friedrich W. Busch, Familienerziehung in der sozialistischen Pädagogik der DDR (Frankfurt, 1980 [orig. 1972]), 99, 103. 55. Götz Schlicht, Das Familien- und Familienverfahrensrecht der DDR (Tübingen, Germany, 1970), 10. 56. Dr. Hilde Benjamin, “Die gesellschaftlichen Grundlagen und der Charakter des FGB-Entwurfs,” NJ, 1965, 228. Also see Gesine Obertreis, Familienpolitik in der DDR 1945–1980 (Opladen, Germany, 1986), 251–64. 57. Neubert, Ehebuch, 98–99; Rudolf Neubert, Die Geschlechterfrage: Ein Buch für junge Menschen (Rudolstadt, Germany, 1956), 75–77. 58. The eugenic indication was rarely invoked. See Harsch, Revenge, 151–53. 59. Neubert, Ehebuch, 142–56; Neubert, Geschlechterfrage, 93–99. 60. Atina Grossmann, Reforming Sex: The German Movement for Birth Control and Abortion Reform, 1920–1950 (Oxford, 1995), 145–49. 61. Heineman, Difference, 22–23, 31–36. 62. Mark Fenemore, Sex, Thugs, and Rock ‘N’ Roll: Teenage Rebels in Cold-War East Germany (New York, 2007), 138–48. Also see Ute G. Poiger, Jazz, Rock and Rebels: Cold War Politics and American Culture in a Divided Germany (Berkeley, 2000). 63. Herzog, Sex after Fascism, 108–18.


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64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71.

72. 73. 74.

75.

76. 77. 78. 79. 80.

253

NJ, 1963, 697. Ibid. NJ, 1960, 493. Wm. Heinrich, Elfriede Goeldner, and Horst Schilde, Richter am Obersten Gericht, “Die Rechtsprechung der Instanzgerichte in Familiensachen,” NJ, 1961, S. 778. Ibid. See, for example, SAPMO-BArch, DY34/4290. Buro Margot Müller, Bl.134, Untersuchung … Dresden und Neubrandenburg, 18. Gerhard Haeusler, “Aufgaben des Rechtsanwalts im Eheverfahren,” NJ, 1963, 373. SAPMO-BArch, DY34/4290. Bl. 134, Zusammenarbeit mit dem Ministerium der Justiz, 1966/67. Buro Margot Müller, Untersuchung … Dresden und Neubrandenburg, 9, 16, 23–25; Heinrich, Goeldner, and Schilde, “Rechtsprechung,” NJ, 1961, 778. Domestic violence received some press attention. See, for example, “Wer seine Frau schlägt, schlägt die Genossenschaft. Mittelalter und Neuzeit in Damsdorf. Nur eine Familienangelegenheit?,” Neues Deutschland 9.2.62. Peter G. Hesse, “Die Anfänge der Sexuologie in der DDR,” in Sexuologie in der DDR, ed. Joachim Hohmann (Berlin, 1991). Dr. Lykke Aresin, “Einige medizinische Ursachen für Ehekonflikte,” NJ, 1965, S. 322; Lykke Aresin, “Was ist normal und was ist abnormal im Sexualleben?,” NJ, 1970, S. 462. On physicians, see Siegfried Schnabl, “Sexuelle Störungen—Verbreitung, Zusammenhänge, Konsequenzen,” in Sexuologie, ed. Hohmann, 116–17. Also see Landesarchiv Berlin (LAB), Rep. 118/499. 1964, Gross-Berlin Rat der Stadtbezirk Mitte, an Prof. Dr. Schorr, 16.2.70. Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv (Potsdam) (BLHA) Rep. 601, Bezirkstag und Rat der Bez. Frankfurt/O, Ehe-und-Familienberatungsst ellen, 1955–1966. Rat der Bezirk Frankfurt, 3.9.65, S. 2; IV A2/17/87. Bericht … Eheberatungsstellen. n.d. (1969?). See Anita Grandke and Herta Kuhrig, “Zur Situation und zur Entwicklung der Familien in der DDR,” NJ, 1965, 231–32. Dagmar Meyer, “Ehescheidung in der ehemaligen DDR,” Zeitschrift für Bevölkerungswissenschaft Jg. 17, 1/1991, 39. Donna Harsch, “Society, the State, and Abortion in East Germany, 1950–1972,” The American Historical Review 102, no. 1 (February 1997): 53–84; Harsch, Revenge, 264–73. SAPMO-BArch, DY34/4290. Bl. 134, Zusammenarbeit mit dem Ministerium der Justiz, 1966/67. Buro Margot Müller,Untersuchung … Dresden und Neubrandenburg, 9, 16, 23–25. SAPMO-BArch, DY34/4298. Arbeitsgruppe Frauen, 14.1.66. Einschätzung …; DY34/11873, Einschätzung … Elektrotechnik/elektronik und Textilindustrie … (1968 bis 1969); 717. Frauenkonferenz am 27.6.1963 … Suhl, 8.


Notes


Notes

81. BLHA Rep. 601, Bezirkstag u. Rat der Bezirk Frankfurt/O. Akte: 8294. Ehescheidung; Oberstes Gericht der DDR. Präsidium. 9.9.70. Ursachen und Tendenzen der Ehescheidungen … S. 4. 82. Lothar Mertens, Wider die sozialistische Familiennorm. Ehescheidungen in der DDR, 1950–1989 (Opladen, Germany, 1998), 36, 66, 41–42, 77. 83. Ibid. 84. Also see “Erfahrungen aus einem Gerichtspraktikum in Familiensachen,” NJ, 1961, 779–80. 85. SAPMO-BArch, DY34/4290 Zusammenarbeit …, 23–24; Anita Grandke and Klaus-Peter Orth, “Rechtssoziologische Untersuchungen zur Stabilität von Ehen in der DDR,” Staat und Recht (1972), 50–51n9. 86. Landesarchiv Berlin Rep. 118, Akte 499. Gross-Berlin Rat d. Stadtbez. Mitte, an Prof. Dr. Schorr. 16.2.70, S.5. 87. SAPMO-BArch, DY30/DY30/394, Bl. 197-99, Bericht … 16.4.71; SAPMO-BArch, DY31/350 Vorlage … 10.5.63. 88. LAB, Rep. 118, Akte 499. Protokoll … 25.10.73. Between 1964 and 1969, fewer than 1500 (East) Berliners per year sought counseling. In 1970, clinics booked 3435 appointments; in 1971, 4676; in 1972, 5238. 89. LAB, Rep. 118, Akte 499. Protokoll … 25.10.73. 90. Quote from BA-Berlin, DQ 1 6324, Bl. 134, Frau … an MfG, July 1968. For similar references to the importance of good sex to a good marriage, see BA DQ1 6015, Bl. 185, Frau … an MfG, 12.7.65; 6015, Bl.196, Frau … an Frau Minister, 21.5.65; 6324, Bl. 632–33, Frau … an MfG, April 1967; 6324, Bl. 19, Frau … an MfG, December 1968. 91. Muttipolitik is the sobriquet applied to Honecker’s maternalist policies, including longer maternity leaves, expanded childcare facilities, and other measures aimed to make it easier for women to combine motherhood and employment. 92. Beatrix Bouvier, Die DDR—ein Sozialstaat? Sozialpolitik in der Ära Honecker (Bonn, 2002), 264–71, 244. 93. Kurt Wünsche, in NJ, 1969, 67–68. 94. McClellan, “Socialist Bodies,” 75–78. 95. Herzog, Sex after Fascism, 206–14. Policies toward homosexuality were less repressive than earlier, if inconsistently. See Herzog, 197–98. 96. Budde, Frauen, 380–97. 97. Winfried Thaa, Iris Häuser, Michael Schenkel, and Gerd Meyer, Gesellschaftliche Differenzierung und Legitimitätsverfall des DDR-Sozialismus (Tübingen, 1992), 172–77, 181–84. 98. McClellan, “Socialist Bodies,” 67–72, 78–79. 99. Herzog, Sex after Fascism, 204, 214. 100. Also see Ina Merkel, “Sex and Gender in the Divided Germany: Approaches to History from a Cultural Point of View,” in The Divided Past: Rewriting Post-war German History, ed. Christoph Klessmann (New York, 2001), 91–104.


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1. See, for example, Barbara Einhorn, Cinderella Goes to Market: Citizenship, Gender and Women’s Movements in East Central Europe (London, 1993); Nanette Funk and Magda Mueller, eds., Gender, Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union (New York, 1993); and Katherine Verdery, What Was Socialism and What Comes Next? (Princeton, 1996). 2. I also conducted extensive research in Russia during this period. 3. See Friedrich Engels, The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State (Honolulu, 2001 [orig. 1884]). 4. Patriarchy is a historical system of male dominance committed to the maintenance and reinforcement of male hegemony in public and private life. Its institutions direct and protect the distribution of power and privilege to those who are male and are apportioned according to social and economic class and race. Patriarchy takes different forms and develops specific supporting institutions and ideologies during different historical periods and political economies. Traditional patriarchy is a male-dominated hierarchical arrangement within families, clans, and closely allied communities. Fraternal patriarchy operates in larger social units in which men bond to maintain power and control without having close ties based on blood or marriage. See Carole Pateman, The Disorder of Women (Stanford, 1989). 5. Constitution of the Hungarian People’s Republic, §8, Articles 49, 50, adopted in 1949. 6. Constitution of the People’s Republic of Poland, Chap. 7, Art. 66, adopted July 22, 1952. 7. Constitution of Romania, Title II, Chap. 1, Art. 16, adopted June 28, 1965. 8. See note 4 above. 9. The noteworthy exception is Anna Pauker in socialist Romania’s early years. Trained in Moscow and from a Jewish background, Pauker was the only female leader of a socialist state. Elena Ceaus¸escu may be another exception—however her rise to power was connected to her husband’s status. 10. See Shana Penn, Solidarity’s Secret: The Women Who Defeated Communism in Poland (Ann Arbor, 2005). 11. For an excellent example of this subject, see Susan Gal and Gail Kligman, The Politics of Gender after Socialism: A Comparative Historical Essay (Princeton, 2000). 12. Interestingly, the term “worker-father” does not appear in the socialist lexicon. 13. Such statistics would not reveal the actual incidence or frequency of the violence. At best, they provide the number of cases processed through the legal system. 14. See Isabel Marcus, “Dark Numbers” (unpublished manuscript) on file with the author.


Chapter 7


15.

16. 17.

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

Notes

Also see Jill Massino, “Engendering Socialism: A History of Women and Everyday Life in Socialist Romania” (PhD dissertation, Indiana University, 2007), 65. Historical memories of law and the legal system in the three countries were not positive—the authoritarian legal system of pre-socialist monarchical empires (Tsarist, Hapsburg, and Ottoman), law under World War II fascism (whether homegrown in Hungary and Romania or imposed as an instrument of terror by Nazi Germany in Poland), and post–World War II Stalinist buttressed socialist law. This comment surfaced repeatedly in informal conversations with interviewees who did not serve in the legal system. The extent to which telephone justice occurred in other areas, such as family law, is unclear and needs further research. Suffice it to say, judges heard both criminal and civil cases. The party might have had an interest in divorce cases as well as criminal ones. The history of this provision in socialist times needs to be written. Interviewees acknowledged making such comments to battered women as, “People will say you violated your husband’s honor,” or, “You must have deserved what you got.” Police officer, interview by author, Warsaw, July 1996. See, for example, Sharon Lamb, ed., New Versions of Victims, Feminist Struggle with the Concept (New York, 1999). See, for example, Women’s Rights Center, Polish Women in the 90s (Warsaw, 2000). See also the reports submitted by each country to the UNCEDAW Committee and the Shadow Reports submitted by NGOs. Anna in Romania, NANE in Hungary, or the Women’s Law Center in Poland.

Chapter 8 1. Interview with Małgorzata Fuszara, Warsaw, September 2002. 2. National opinion polls in 1992 showed that 82 percent of Poles opposed a total ban on abortion, and 60 percent were in favor of legal access to abortion with no or minimal restrictions. Urszula Nowakowska and Maja Korzeniowska, “Women’s Reproductive Rights,” in Polish Women in the 90s, ed. Urszula Nowakowska (Warsaw, 2000), 221. 3. Interview with Kazia Szczuka, Warsaw, September 2002. 4. Interview with Renata Da˛browska (pseudonym), Krakow, October 2002. 5. The Polish Concordat of 1993 between the state, the Episcopate, and the Vatican explicitly gives the Church a privileged political position. Andrzej Korbonski, “Poland Ten Years After: The Church,” Communist and PostCommunist Studies 33 (2000): 125. 6. Eric R. Wolf, introduction to Religious Regimes and State-Formation, ed. by E. R. Wolf (Albany, 1991) 1–6. 7. Adam Hetnal, “The Polish Catholic Church in Pre- and Post-1989 Poland: An Evaluation,” East European Quarterly 32 (Winter 1998): 503–29.


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8. Hanna Diskin, The Seeds of Triumph: Church and State in Gomulka’s Poland (Budapest, 2001). 9. Jacek Wasilewski and Edmund Wnuk-Lipin´ski, “Poland: Winding Road from the Communist to the Postsocialist-Solidarity Elite,” Theory and Society 24, no. 5 (1995): 675. 10. Stefan Rosada and Józef Gwóz´dz´, “Church and State in Poland,” in Church and State Behind the Iron Curtain, ed. Vladimir Gsovski (Westport, CN, 1973), 168–90. 11. Ibid. 12. Adam Michnik, “In Defense of Cultural Pluralism,” in The Church and the Left, ed. David Ost (Chicago, 1993), 175. 13. Ronald C. Monticone, The Catholic Church in Communist Poland 1945–1985: Forty Years of Church-State Relations (New York, 1986), 18. 14. Diskin, Seeds of Triumph. 15. Until World War II, Poland was religiously heterogeneous. As a result of the deportation and extermination of the Jewish population and the shifting of borders westward—which caused the loss of the Orthodox Ukrainian, Russian, and Byelorussian populations—Roman Catholicism became dominant. Adam Hetnal, “The Polish Catholic Church in Preand Post-1989,” 503–29. 16. Neal Pease, “The ‘Unpardonable Insult’: The Wawel Incident of 1937 and Church-State Relations in Poland,” Catholic Historical Review 77, no. 3 (1991): 422. 17. Adam Szostkiewicz, “Religion after Communism,” Commonweal 126 (September, 1999): 17–19. 18. A multivariate analysis showed that being a woman had a strong negative effect, independently of other variables, on the odds of being a party member in Eastern Europe. Gary N. Marks, “Communist Party Membership in Five Former Soviet Bloc Countries, 1945–1989,” Communist and Post-Communist Studies vol. 37(2), June 2004, p.255; Eric Hanley, “A Party of Workers or a Party of Intellectuals? Recruitment into Eastern European Communist Parties, 1945–1988,” Social Forces 81, no. 4 (2003): 1092. 19. Władysław Piwowarski, “Industrialization and Popular Religiosity in Poland,” Sociological Analysis 37, no. 4 (1976): 318–19. 20. Interview with Hanka Lipowska-Teutsch, Krakow, May 2002. 21. These reforms omitted voluntary sterilization, which remained illegal. Małgorzata Rutkiewicz, “Towards a Human Rights–Based Contraceptive Policy: A Critique of the Anti-Sterilization Law in Poland,” European Journal of Health Law 8 (2001): 225–42. 22. Romania is a notable exception. Nicolae Ceaus¸escu’s regime banned abortion from 1966 to 1990 (it had been legalized in 1957). Abortion was also legalized in Czechoslovakia (1958), the Soviet Union (1955), Hungary (1953), Bulgaria (1956), and Yugoslavia (1969). 23. Małgorzata Fuszara, “Legal regulation of abortion in Poland,” Signs 17 (1991): 117.


Notes


Notes

24. Council of Europe, “Births, deaths and legal abortions, Table 2,” http://www.coe.int/t/e/social_cohesion/population/demographic_year_ book/2003_edition/04%20country%20data/Member%20States/Poland/ Poland%20General%20Page.asp#TopOfPage (2003) (accessed June 22, 2009). 25. Ibid. 26. Marek Okólski, “Abortion and Contraception in Poland,” Studies in Family Planning 14, no. 11 (1983): 269. 27. Peter Mazur, “Contraception and Abortion in Poland,” Family Planning Perspectives 13, no. 4 (1981): 5. 28. Ibid., 196. 29. These included oral contraceptives, barrier methods (diaphragms, condoms), intrauterine devices, hormonal injections, and voluntary sterilization. 30. Okólski, “Abortion and Contraception in Poland,” 269. 31. Ibid., 268. 32. Interview with Małgorzata Fuszara, Warsaw, September 2002. 33. Interview with Kazia Szczuka, Warsaw, September 2002. 34. Ewa Fra˛tczak, “Family and Fertility in Poland—Changes during the Transition Period,” PIE International Workshop on Demographic Changes and Labor Markets in Transition Economies (Tokyo, Japan), 2/2004. 35. Ibid. 36. Katherine Verdery, What Was Socialism, and What Comes Next? (Princeton, 1996), 24–26. 37. Susan Gal and Gail Kligman, The Politics of Gender After Socialism: A Comparative-Historical Essay, (Princeton, 2000). 38. Eva Fodor, Christy Glass, Janette Kawachi, and Livia Popescu, “Family Policies and Gender in Hungary, Poland, and Romania,” Communist and Post-Communist Studies 35, no. 4 (2002): 371–72. 39. William Swatos, Politics and Religion in Central and Eastern Europe (Westport, CN, 1994). 40. The Church was allowed to keep all property under 124 acres and numerous properties over 247 hectares around Poznan´, Silesia, and Pomerania. Monticone, The Catholic Church in Communist Poland, 17. 41. Jane Hurst, Historia Aborcji w Kosćiele Katolickim (Warsaw, 1991), 13. 42. Ibid., 11–13. 43. The doctrine of “papal infallibility,” decreed by the First Vatican Council in 1870, was designed to limit papal authority by categorizing papal opinions as either infallible or fallible. Opinions on politically divisive issues are deemed not infallible and subject to possible changes. John T. Noonan Jr., Contraception: A History of Its Treatment by the Catholic Theologians and Canonists (Cambridge, MA, 1986). See also http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/paul_vi/encyclicals/documents/ (accessed March 12, 2009). 44. Interview with Magda Jaworska (pseudonym), Krakow, November 2002.


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45. Interview with Beata Kowalska, Krakow, October 2002. 46. Grzegorz Ekiert, “Rebellious Poles: Political Crises and Popular Protest Under State Socialism, 1945–89,” East European Politics and Societies 11, no. 2 (Spring 1997): 319–20. 47. Historian Jan Kubik argues that Pope John Paul II was instrumental in fueling Catholic nationalism in Poland during the 1980s, leading to the collapse of the state socialist regime. He contends that Catholic imagery used by the Solidarity movement had the effect of publicly chipping away at the legitimacy of the regime. Jan Kubik, The Power of Symbols against the Symbols of Power: The Rise of Solidarity and the Fall of State Socialism (University Park, PA, 1994). 48. David Ost, “Introduction,” in The Church and the Left, ed. David Ost (Chicago, 1993), 20. 49. Heidi Hartmann, “The Unhappy Marriage of Marxism and Feminism: Towards a More Progressive Union,” in Social Stratification: Class, Race, and Gender in Sociological Perspective, ed. David B. Grusky (Boulder, 2001), 673. 50. Shana Penn, Solidarity’s Secret: The Women Who Defeated Communism in Poland (Ann Arbor, 2005). 51. Interview with Jolanta Wozńiak (pseudonym), Warsaw, July 2002. 52. Michnik, The Church and the Left, 253–54. 53. Lynne Haney, “Welfare Reform with a Familiar Face: Reconstituting State and Domestic Relations in Post-Socialist Eastern Europe,” in Families of a New World: Gender, Politics, and State Development in a Global Context, ed. Lynne Haney and Lisa Pollard (New York, 2003), 159–78. 54. Renata Siemin´ska, “Polish Women as the Object and Subject of Politics during and After the Communist Party,” in Women and Politics Worldwide, ed. Barbara J. Nelson and Najma Chowdhury (New Haven, CT, 1994). 55. Interview with Renata Da˛browska (pseudonym), Krakow, November 2002. 56. Interview with Kinga Dunin, Warsaw, June 2002. 57. Mazur, “Contraception and Abortion in Poland,” 197. 58. Elizabeth Johannisson and László Kovács, Assessment of Research and Service Needs in Reproductive Health in Eastern Europe—Concerns and Commitments (New York, 1997); Nowakowska and Korzeniowska, “Women’s Reproductive Rights.” 59. Personal communication with Wanda Nowicka, New York, June 2008. 60. Wanda Nowicka, “Struggles For and Against Legal Abortion in Poland,” in Advocating for Abortion Access, ed. Barbara Klugman and Debbie Budlender (Johannesburg, 2001), 226–27. 61. Gal and Kligman, The Politics of Gender after Socialism, 15–36. 62. Eva Fodor et al., “Family Policies and Gender,” 477–83. 63. World Bank, “Explaining the increase in inequality during the transition,” http://www.worldbank.org.pl/external/default/main?pagePK=51187349 &piPK=51189435&theSitePK=304795&menuPK=64187510&search MenuPK=304822&theSitePK=304795&entityID=000009265_398090


Notes


64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71.

Notes

1093351&searchMenuPK=304822&theSitePK=304795 (accessed June 22, 2009). Henryk Doman´ski, “Is the East European ‘Underclass’ Feminized?” Communist and Post-Communist Studies 35, no. 4 (2002), 393. Interview with Wanda Nowicka, Warsaw, August 2002. Interview with Wanda Nowicka, New York, November 2007. Interview with Kazia Szczuka, Warsaw, September 2002. Email interview with Sławomira Walczewska, Krakow, November 2002. Interview with Hanka Lipowska-Teutsch, Krakow, May 2002. Interview with Katarzyna Pawlak (pseudonym), Gdan´sk, July 2007. Wanda Nowicka, “Platforma idzie tropem Giertycha: Wanda Nowicka komentuje ostatni pomysł minister zdrowia,” September 17, 2008, http:// www.federa.org.pl/?page=news&newsid=516&lang=1 (accessed June 22, 2009).

Chapter 9 1. Notable examples include Jindrˇich Chatrný and Zdeneˇk Kudeˇlka, O nové Brno: Brneˇnská architektura 1919–1939 (Brno, 2000); Matúš Dulla and Henrieta Moravcˇíková, 20th-Century Architecture in Slovakia (Stuttgart, 2003); Karel Teige, Modern Architecture in Czechoslovakia and Other Writings (Los Angeles, 2000); Eric Dluhosch and Rostislav Švácha, eds., Karel Teige, 1900–1951: L’Enfant Terrible of the Czech Modernist AvantGarde, (Cambridge, MA, 1999); Karel Teige, The Minimum Dwelling, trans. Eric Dluhosch (Cambridge, MA, 2002); Jaroslav Andeˇl, The New Vision for the New Architecture: Czechoslovakia, 1918–1938 (Prague, 2005); ed. Michal Kohout, Vladimír Šlapeta, and Stephan Templ, eds., Prague: 20th-Century Architecture, (Vienna, 1999); Stephan Templ, Baba: The Werkbund Housing Estate Prague (Basel, 1999); Rostislav Švácha and Marie Platovská, eds., Deˇjiny ceˇského výtvarného umeˇní V., 1939–1958, (Prague, 2005); and Rostislav Švácha, Sona Ryndová, and Pavla Pokorná eds., Forma sleduje veˇdu/Form Follows Science (Prague, 2000). 2. Erich Dluhosch, “Translator’s Introduction,” in Teige, The Minimum Dwelling, xxiv–xxv. 3. Ibid. 4. See Vladimir Kulic, “Land of the In-Between: Modern Architecture and Politics in Socialist Yugoslavia, 1945–1965” (PhD dissertation, University of Texas at Austin, 2009); Juliana Maxim, “The New, the Old, the Modern: Architecture and its Representation in Socialist Romania, 1955–1965” (PhD dissertation, MIT, 2006); Ana Miljacki, “The Optimum Aesthetic: Environment, Lifestyle and Utopia in the Postwar Czech Architectural Discourse” (PhD dissertation, Harvard, 2007); and David I. Snyder, “The Jewish Question and the Modern Metropolis: Urban Renewal in Prague and Warsaw, 1885–1950” (PhD dissertation, Princeton University, 2007).


260


261

5. For example, see Bradley F. Abrams, The Struggle For the Soul of the Nation: Czech Culture and the Rise of Communism (Lanham, MD, 2004); Mark Pittaway, Eastern Europe 1939–2000, Brief Histories (London, 2004); David Crowley, Warsaw (London, 2003); Katherine A. Lebow, “Public Works, Private Lives: Youth Brigades in Nowa Huta in the 1950s,” Contemporary European History 10, no. 2 (2001): 199–219; Eagle Glassheim, “Ethnic Cleansing, Communism, and Environmental Devastation in Czechoslovakia’s Borderlands, 1945–1989,” Journal of Modern History 78, no. 1 (2006): 65–92; Stephen Kotkin, Magnetic Mountain: Stalinism as a Civilization (Berkeley, 1995); and Sheila Fitzpatrick, Everyday Stalinism: Ordinary Life in Extraordinary Times: Soviet Russia in the 1930s (New York, 1999). 6. For a discussion of Czech women’s issues in the interwar years, see Melissa Feinberg, Elusive Equality: Gender, Citizenship, and the Limits of Democracy in Czechoslovakia, 1918–1950 (Pittsburgh, 2006), 11–158. 7. Sharon L. Wolchik, “Women and the Politics of Transition in the Czech and Slovak Republics,” in Women in the Politics of Postcommunist Eastern Europe, ed. Marilyn Rueschemeyer (Armonk, 1998), 116–18. 8. See, for example, Donna Harsch, Revenge of the Domestic: Women, the Family, and Communism in the German Democratic Republic (Princeton, 2007); Alena Heitlinger, “Women’s Equality, Work, and Family in the Czech Republic,” in Family, Women, and Employment in Central-Eastern Europe, ed. Barbara Łobodzin´ska (Westport, 1995), 87–100; and Hilda Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? Experiences from Eastern Europe (Boston, 1974). 9. Harsch, Revenge of the Domestic, 3. 10. Ibid. 11. Ibid., 5. 12. Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? 106. 13. Feinberg, Elusive Equality. 14. As quoted in Ibid., 165. Founded in November 1938 after the German occupation, the Party of National Unity was a government-sponsored Czech Party led by Rudolf Beran, former leader of the Agrarian Party. It was dissolved with the creation of the Protectorate in March 1939. 15. Ibid., 165–68. 16. Ibid., 176–80. 17. Ibid., 196. 18. Ibid., 196–97. 19. For texts of the speeches, see “Spolupráce architektu˚ na výstavbeˇ státu: První verˇejný projev Blok architektonických pokrokových spolku˚ (BAPS) dne 17. cˇervence 1945,” Architektura Cˇ SR 5, no. 1 (1946): 2–24. Quote from Václav Hilský, “3- Organizace BAPS,” p. 6. 20. Abrams, The Struggle, 104–17. 21. Letter from Vlasta Štursová and Jan Vaneˇk at SSA in Prague to the Sojuz soveˇticˇeskich architektorov—V.O.K.S. in Moscow, January 28, 1946, fond 1261/2/20: Ústrˇední kulturneˇ propagacˇní komise a kulturneˇ


Notes


22.

23.

24.

25. 26. 27.

28. 29.

30. 31. 32. 33.

34.

Notes

propagacˇní oddeˇlení UV KSCˇ, henceforth ÚKPK, carton 636, Národní archiv (National Archive, henceforth NA), Prague, Czech Republic. The Two-Year Plan was the first attempt at a planned economy in the country. It was scheduled to be implemented in January 1947. The goal was to return to or surpass 1937 output levels by 1948. See Jan M. Michal, “Postwar Economic Development,” in A History of the Czechoslovak Republic 1918–1948, ed. Radomír Luža and Victor S. Mamatey (Princeton, 1973), 443–44; and Alice Teichova, The Czechoslovak Economy, 1918–1980 (London, 1988), 115–21. Ladislav Machonˇ, “Prˇíprava obcí k provádeˇní stavebního programu budovatelského plánu vlády,” Architektura CˇSR 5, no. 9 (1946): 260. This number came from a July 16, 1946, government resolution. See “Zápis o poradeˇ konané podle vládního usnesení o prˇípravních opatrˇeních k provádeˇní budovatelského programu vlády,” August 1, 1946, fond 996: Ministerstvo Techniky (Ministry of Technology, henceforth MT), carton 303, NA. For more on women in architecture, see Kathryn H. Anthony, Designing for Diversity: Gender, Race, and Ethnicity in the Architectural Profession (Urbana, 2001); and People and Culture in Construction: A Reader, ed. Andrew Dainty, Stuart Green, and Barbara Bagilhole (London, 2007). For examples, see Rostislav Švácha, “Architektura cˇtyrˇicatých let,” in Deˇjiny ˇceského výtvarného umeˇní V. (1939–1958) ed. Švácha and Platovská (Prague, 2005). See for example, Stanislav Semrád, “6—Poslání architekta a organisace jeho práce,” Architektura Cˇ SR 5, no. 1 (1946). Stavoprojekt was named for the combination of the roots of the Czech words “to build” (staveˇt) and “to design” (projektovat). See Otakar Nový, “Cˇ tvrtstoleté jubileum založení Stavoprojektu,” Architektura Cˇ SR 32 (1973): 483–90. Antonín Ambler, “Ministerstvo techniky Odd. III/B—Projekt koldomu Stalinových závodu˚ v Horní Litvínoveˇ,” April 10, 1947, p. 4, MT, carton 299, NA. Its German name was Maltheuren. The enterprise later became Chemopetrol and remains in operation as Unipetrol. See “Založení spolecˇnosti – 70.výrocˇí,” Unipetrol Corporation, http://www.chemopetrol. cz/cs/o-nas/historie/vznik-zavodu.html (Accessed August 28, 2009) Ambler, “Ministerstvo techniky,” 3. Ibid., 4. Stanislav Semrád, “Kolektivní du˚m Stalinových závodu˚,” Architektura Cˇ SR 5, no. 7 (1946): 194. For a discussion of a Russian example, see Victor Buchli, “Moisei Ginzburg’s Narkomfin Communal House in Moscow: Contesting the Social and Material World,” Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 57, no. 2 (June 1998): 160–81. Other examples can be found throughout Scandinavia. Ambler, “Ministerstvo techniky,” 4.


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35. Ceská architektura—architektura XX.století. Díl I. Morava a Slezsko, ed. Michal Kohout, Stephan Templ, and Pavel Zatloukal (Prague, 2005), 199. 36. See Josef Pechar, Václav Hilský: architektonické dílo (Prague, 1981), Rostislav Švácha, “Funkcionalistická tvorba architekta Václava Hilského,” Umeˇní 43, no. 1–2 (1995): 134–48. 37. The final total was 352 apartments, 100 three-room units, 172 two-room units, and 80 one-room units. In 1959, there were 1,400 residents. Václav Hilský, “Stavba kolektivního domu v Litvínoveˇ,” Architektura Cˇ SR 18, no. 1 (1959): 26. 38. Ambler, “Ministerstvo techniky,” 1. 39. For more on CIAM, see Eric Paul Mumford, The CIAM Discourse on Urbanism, 1928–1960 (Cambridge, 2000). 40. See Hilský, “Stavba kolektivního,” 21–23. 41. Eric Dluhosch, “Teige’s Minimum Dwelling as a Critique of Modern Architecture,” in Karel Teige, L’Enfant Terrible, ed. Dluhosch and Švácha, 183. Teige made his case for such a living arrangement in his 1932 book, The Minimum Dwelling. See Karel Teige, The Minimum Dwelling. 42. See Rostislav Švácha, The Architecture of New Prague, 1895–1945 (Cambridge, 1995). 43. Semrád, “Kolektivní du˚m,” 194. 44. Josef Kittrich, “Du˚ m spolecˇenského bydlení,” Architektura Cˇ SR 6, no. 1 (1947): 6. 45. Ambler, “Ministerstvo techniky,” 7. 46. Ibid. 47. Miroslav Tryzna, “Poznámky k souteˇži Stalinových závodu˚,” Architektura Cˇ SR 5, no. 7 (1946): 204. 48. Ibid. 49. Ibid. 50. Ambler, “Ministerstvo techniky,” 1–11. 51. Ibid., 9. 52. Ibid., 10. 53. Hilský, “Stavba kolektivního,” 18–35. 54. Nový, “Cˇtvrtstoleté jubileum,” 488. 55. “Zápis I.celostátní porady vedoucích všech oddeˇlení Stavoprojektu,” 27, speech by Otakar Nový, MT, carton 431, NA. 56. “Záznam o pracovní poradeˇ ve veˇci možnosti redukce stavebního programu bytu˚,” July 21, 1948, p. 1, MT, carton 431, NA. A “working kitchen” was a smaller, but fully equipped kitchen without a seating area. It is distinguished from an “eat-in-kitchen” and a “kitchen nook,” similar to a kitchenette. 57. Ibid. 58. “Peˇtiletý plan—zpráva o možnosti redukce stavebního programu bytu˚,” July 22, 1948, p. 1, MT, carton 431, NA. 59. “Stav prací na projektech typ. obytných domu˚ k 30.6.48,” June 30, 1948, MT, carton 431, NA.


Notes


Notes

60. Dorazil, V, “Kolektivní bydlení cˇi rodinný domek?,” undated, sent to the Ministries on Sept. 10, 1948, pp. 1–21, MT, carton 431, NA. 61. Ibid., 2–4, 8, 10, 17. 62. Ibid., 8–9. 63. With the exception of the name of the male author, no information is available about the other members of the committee. 64. Ibid., 17. 65. Abortions for medical or eugenic reasons became legal in 1952. Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? 138–63. 66. Ibid., 18. 67. Ibid., 20. 68. Letter from Ministerstvo techniky to Generální secretariát hospodárské rady, September 17, 1948, MT, carton 431, NA. 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid. 71. Ibid. 72. Ibid. 73. “Zpráva o neˇkterých otázkách bytové výstavby v r. 1951,” Nov. 27, 1950, p. 7, MT, carton 429, NA. 74. Letter from Stavoprojekt to Ministerstvo techniky, Dec. 17, 1948, MT, carton 429, NA. 75. “Typové plány obytných staveb s malými byty pro rok 1950. Vypracování,” May 19, 1949, p.1, MT, carton 429, NA. 76. “Typové plány obytných staveb s malými byty pro rok 1950. Vypracování,” 1. 77. “Zpráva o neˇkterých nedostatcích typisacˇních prací pro bytové stavby a návrh na opatrˇení,” 1. 78. Ibid. 79. “Typové plány obytných staveb s malými byty pro rok 1950. Vypracování,” 1. 80. “Služební oznámení: Typové plány staveb bytových pro rok 1950,” Sept. 10, 1949, p. 6, 8, MT, carton 429, NA.” 81. “Po jednání s odborem 8. Veˇc: bytová výstavba,” September 6, 1949, MT, carton 429, NA. 82. “Zpráva o neˇkterých nedostatcích typisacˇních prací pro bytové stavby a návrh na opatrˇení,” November 2, 1950, p. 6, MT, carton 429, NA. 83. See “Prípomínky k návrhu vyhlášky o typech bytových staveb,” September 9, 1949, MT, carton 429, NA. 84. See MT, cartons 348–51, NA; Fonds Spolek pro výstavbu vzorného sídlišteˇ v Ostraveˇ-Zábrˇeh, Ostrava City Archive, Ostrava, Czech Republic; and Vládní komise pro výstavbu Ostravska, Regional Archive in Opava, Opava, Czech Republic. 85. “Zápis o schu˚zi prˇedstavenstva Spolku pro výstavbu vzorného sídlišteˇ v Ostraveˇ konané dne 23.srpna 1950 v úrˇadovneˇ prˇedsedy KNV v Ostraveˇ s.Arnošta Matýska,” MT, carton 351, NA.


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86. Jana Jílková, “Každodenní život obyvatel meˇsta Havírˇova od jeho pocˇátku do poloviny šedesátých let 20.století,” (Master’s Thesis, Ostrava University, 2007). 87. Ibid., 58–65. 88. Ibid., 64. 89. Ibid. 90. Scott, Does Socialism Liberate Women? 104. 91. Ibid., 94–137.

Chapter 10 * Research funds for this chapter were provided by a faculty grant from the Department of History, University of Illinois at Chicago. An earlier version was presented at the Seventh European Social Science History Conference, Lisbon, Portugal, February 26–March 1, 2008. I would like to thank conference participants Jill Massino, Shana Penn, Emily Greble Balic´, Irina Gigova, Katherine Lebow, Basia Nowak, Junko Takeda, and the anonymous reviewer of this collection for their valuable feedback. Special thanks go to my research assistant in Poland, Izabela Smaczna. 1. “Marze o Paryz˙u,” in Awans pokolenia. Pamie˛tniki i studia, ed. Józef Chałasin´ski (Warsaw, 1964), 698–715, 715. The autobiography “Marze˛ o Paryz˙u (I dream of Paris)” was published in 1964, but the essay was dated March 1962. 2. “Z podgo˙rskiej wsi do Nowej Huty,” in Drogi awansu w miesćie, ed. Józef Chałasin´ski (Warsaw, 1972), 102–14, 111. 3. I use the term “communism” to denote the Marxist-Leninist brand of socialism in Eastern Europe and to differentiate it from other types of socialist ideologies. On the double burden see, for example, Tanya Renne, ed., Ana’s Land: Sisterhood in Eastern Europe (Boulder, CO, 1997); Barbara Einhorn, Cinderella Goes to Market: Citizenship, Gender and Women’s Movements in East-Central Europe (London, 1993); and Chris Corrin, ed., Superwomen and the Double Burden: Women’s Experience of Change in Central and Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union (London, 1992). 4. On employment policies and images of female workers in Stalinist Poland see Malgorzata Fidelis, “Equality through Protection: The Politics of Women’s Employment in Postwar Poland, 1945–1957,” Slavic Review 63, no. 2 (Summer 2004): 301–24. 5. Piotr Ose˛ka, Marzec ’68 (Kraków, 2008), 52, 75–89. 6. Eva Plach, The Clash of Moral Nations: Cultural Politics in Piłsudski’s Poland, 1926–1935 (Athens, OH, 2006). 7. On consumer policies under Stalinism in the Soviet Union, see David L. Hoffmann, Stalinist Values: The Cultural Norms of Soviet Modernity, 1917–1941 (Ithaca, 2003). On endemic shortages of food and consumer goods in Stalinist Poland, see Mariusz Jastrza˛b, Puste półki. Problem


Notes


8.

9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16.

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22.

23.

Notes

zaopatrzenia ludnosći w artykuły powszechnego uz˙ytku w Polsce w latach 1949–1956 (Warsaw, 2004). Marcin Zaremba, “Społeczen´stwo polskie lat szesć´dziesia˛tych—mie˛dzy ‘mała stabilizacja˛’ a ‘mała˛ destabilizacja˛,’” in Oblicza Marca 1968, ed. Konrad Rokicki and Sławomir Ste˛pien´ (Warsaw, 2004), 24–51, 25. The term “small stabilization” comes from a play by Tadeusz Róz˙ewicz, Witnesses, or Our Small Stabilization [s´wiadkowie, albo nasza mała stabilizacja], published in 1962. Stanisław Widerszpil, Skład polskiej klasy robotniczej. Tendencje zmian w okresie industrializacji socjalistycznej (Warsaw, 1965), 110. Ibid., 111. Ibid., 112. Andrzej Gawryszewski, Ludnosć´ Polski w XX wieku (Warsaw, 2005), 130. Ibid., 220. New popular magazines with a consumerist orientation emerged during or shortly after de-Stalinization. Examples included Ty i Ja (You and I) (1960) and Filipinka (1957). Victoria de Grazia, Irresistible Empire: America’s Advance through TwentiethCentury Europe (Cambridge, 2005), 336–75. Leszek Golin´ski, “Telewizja—partner pierwszej rangi,” Kultura i Społeczen´stwo 4 (October–December 1966): 161–70, 161. On the history of Polish TV in the 1960s, see Patryk Pleskot, Wielki mały ekran. Telewizja a codziennosć´ Polaków lat szesć´dziesia˛tych (Warsaw, 2007). Golin´ski, “Telewizja – partner pierwszej rangi,” 166. Poland’s openness to the West was probably unique in the Soviet Bloc, although more research is needed to confirm this claim. See, for example, the breakthrough book on modern forms of leisure by Antonina Kłoskowska, Kultura masowa (1963; Warsaw, 2006). Stefan Z˙ ółkiewski, “Walka o styl kultury socjalistycznej,” Kultura i Społeczen´stwo 7, no. 2 (1964): 3–25, 8. Ibid., 14. Zofia Bystrzycka, “Dziewcze˛ta na skrzyz˙owaniu dróg,” Walka Młodych, July 30, 1967, 4–5, 4. According to the editors, the majority of the survey respondents identified themselves as modern. Only thirty-three out of 200 respondents did not identify themselves as modern. “Dziewczyna 1960 w s´wietle ankiety ‘Czy jestes´ nowoczesna˛ dziewczyna˛?’” Filipinka, March 1, 1960, 3–5, 3. Archiwum Akt Nowych (AAN), Komitet Centralny (KC), Polska Zjednoczona Partia Robotnicza (PZPR), Biuro Prasy, “Filipinka,” 237/ XIX/212 Anna Pawłowska,“Dwutygodnik ‘Filipinka,’” November 17, 1964, kk. 1–18, 1. The editor-in-chief of Filipinka in 1957–1969 was Felicja Strumin´ska, who also edited one of the most popular women’s magazines Kobieta i z˙ycie (Woman and Life). Zofia Sokół, Prasa kobieca w Polsce w latach 1945–1995 (Rzeszów, Poland, 1998), 102.


266


267

24. Sokół, Prasa kobieca, 125. 25. Ibid., 127. 26. AAN, KC, PZPR, Biuro Prasy, “Filipinka,” 237/XIX/212, Anna Pawłowska, “Dwutygodnik ‘Filipinka,’” November 17, 1964, k. 7–8. 27. Iwona Kurz, Twarze w tłumie. Wizerunki bohaterów wyobrazńi zbiorowej w kulturze polskiej lat 1955–1969 (Warsaw, 2005), 125. 28. Ibid., 135. 29. Ibid., 132. Eventually, the young actress Elz˙bieta Czyz˙ewska represented the Polish modern girl on the silver screen. Official images and film roles associated Czyz˙ewska with youth, independence, spontaneity, but also with “Slavic” beauty that made her unmistakably domestic and Polish. 30. For personal testimonies see, for example, Tomasz Dominik and Marek Karewicz, Złota Młodziez˙, Niebieskie Ptaki. Warszawka lat 60 (Warsaw, 2003). For an analysis of images of young women in Polish film, see Kurz, Twarze w tłumie. 31. For example, in 1969, Polish intellectual Stefan Kisielewski, while visiting a small mountain village of Zawoja in southern Poland, wrote in his dairy about “girls herding cows in miniskirts.” Stefan Kisielewski, Dzienniki, 2nd edition (Warsaw, 1996), 256. 32. “Dziewczyna 1960 w s´wietle ankiety,” 3. 33. Ibid. 34. “Dziewczyna 1960 Kolorowe dziewcze˛ta,” Filipinka, March 15, 1960, 6–7. 35. “Dziewczyna 1960 w s´wietle ankiety,” 3. 36. “Nie zawsze nowoczesna,” Filipinka, 15 January 1960, 2–3 and 11, 2. 37. Ibid., 2. 38. Ibid. 39. Ibid., 11. 40. Kalina Gawecka, “Cena bezmys´lnosći,” Filipinka, September 18, 1960, 3. 41. Elz˙bieta Jackiewoczowa, “Puch marny i lisie zamiary,” Filipinka, January 1, 1960, 4–5, 4. 42. Ibid., 5. 43. “Jestes´ nienowoczesna mamo!” 12. The novel mentioned in this article was Emancypantki (Emancipated Women) by Bolesław Prus (1847–1912). 44. The 1965 survey was titled “The Girl and the Current Moment” (Dziewczyna i dzien´ dzisiejszy). 45. AAN, KC, PZPR, Biuro Prasy, 127/XIX/212, “Filipinka,” August 1965, 127/XIX/212, no title, kk. 19–22, 19. 46. Ibid., k. 19. 47. Krystyna Wrochno “Dziewczyna, chłopiec, i dzien´ dzisiejszy,” Filipinka, September 12, 1965, 4. 48. Polish girls reportedly were not interested in “any revolution of morals” such as the one proposed by Simone de Beauvoir, “who rejected motherhood, traditional marriage … and even monogamy.” Anna Wysznacka, “Wyjsćie za maz˙,” Walka Młodych, July 2, 1967, 1, and 4–5, 4. This particular survey generated more than one hundred responses.


Notes


49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62. 63.

64.

65.

Notes

Wysznacka, “Wyjsćie za maz˙,” 5. Ibid. “Jakimi nie chcemy byc´,” Walka Młodych, January 28, 1968, 8–9, 8. Dariusz Stola, “Fighting against the Shadows: The Anti-Zionist Campaign of 1968,” in Anti-Semitism and Its Opponents in Modern Poland, ed. Robert Blobaum (Ithaca, 2005), 284–300. Malgorzata Fidelis, “Red State, Golden Youth: The Student Culture and Political Protest in Poland in the 1960s,” in Between the Avant Garde and the Everyday: Subversive Politics in Europe, 1958-2008, ed. Timothy Brown and Lorena Anton (forthcoming). Ose˛ka, Marzec ’68, 51–73. Andrzej Paczkowski, Pół wieku dziejów Polski (Warsaw, 1995), 366. Quoted in Ose˛ka, Marzec ’68, 210. AAN, PZPR, KC, Biuro Prasy, 237/XIX/347, “Wydarzenia marcowe,” kk. 16–27, 16. Ibid., k. 25. See, for example, Mikołaj Kozakiewicz, “W imie˛ sprawiedliwosći,” Filipinka, 2 June 1968, 4–5. Ryszard Pluta, “Przepustka do poste˛pu,” Walka Młodych, May 26, 1968, 4–5. “Nie-brzydkie kacza˛tka,” Filipinka, December 15, 1968, 4. Ibid. Mary Louise Roberts, Civilization without Sexes: Reconstructing Gender in Postwar France, 1917–1927 (Chicago, 1994). For a discussion of the modern woman in interwar Poland, see Plach, The Clash of Moral Nations, esp. 146. Female-dominated strikes in textile factories, in particular, were a regular feature of social protest in Communist Poland. See Padraic Kenney, “The Gender of Resistance in Communist Poland,” The American Historical Review 104, no. 2 (April 1999): 399–425. Marcin Zaremba, “Bigosowy socjalizm: dekada Gierka,” in Polacy wobec PRL. Strategie przystosowawcze, ed. Grzegorz Miernik (Kielce, 2003), 184–200.

Chapter 11 1. Joan W. Scott, “Experience,” in Feminists Theorize the Political, ed. Judith Butler and Joan W. Scott (New York, 1992), 26. 2. The project was supported by the Ministry of Culture and Media of the Republic of Serbia and the City of Niš. Preliminary research was conducted by the research-team of the Center for Balkan Music Research from Belgrade. From February 2005 to March 2007, I conducted fieldwork during which I spoke to fifty-five persons (mainly women) in twenty-one villages. 3. Petar Vlahovic´, Srbija—Zemlja, Narod, Život, Obicˇaji (Belgrade, 1999), 46.


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4. As of the last census (in 2002) this area had a population of 381,757; the city of Niš, 250,518 and the surrounding area, 131,239. Of that number, 91.43 percent is urban and 8.57 percent is rural. The ethnic composition is predominantly Serb (360,941), Roma (9,224), Montenegrin (1,018), Macedonian (897), Yugoslav (868), Bulgarian (866), Croat (497), Muslim (155), Slovenian (148), Albanian (134), and a very small number of Gorans (Goranci), Hungarians, Russians, Ukrainians, Romanians, Czechs, Bosniaks, Germans, Slovakians, Bunjevci, and Rusinians. The Statistical Office of the Republic of Serbia http://webrzs.stat.gov.rs/axd/ en/osn.htm?#books (accessed September 13, 2007). 5. I use the term interlocutors because it best describes the interactive and qualitative nature of the method I employ in my research. 6. Since my research is focused on personal experiences of the socialist past, the term socialism seems to be more appropriate than the concept of state socialism, which refers to the institutional (official) state system of communism, and which, as Chris Hann points out, is frequently used as a term of political abuse. See Chris Hann, Caroline Humphrey, and Katherine Verdery, “Introduction: postsocialism as a topic of anthropological investigation,” in Postsocialism: ideals, ideologies, and practices in Eurasia, ed. Chris M. Hann (London, 2002), 21. 7. Sherna Berger Gluck, “What’s so Special about Women?” Women’s Oral History,” in Women’s Oral History: The Frontiers Reader, ed. Susan H. Armitage, Patricia Hart and Karen Weathermon (Lincoln, NB, 2002), 3. 8. See, for instance, Susannah Radstone and Katherine Hodgkin, eds., Memory Cultures: Subjectivity, Recognition, and Memory (New Brunswick, NJ, 2007), 2. 9. Geoffrey Cubitt, History and Memory (Manchester, 2007), 73. 10. See, in particular, the work of Geertz, Turner, and Bruner, who introduced the concept of the “anthropology of experience.” Victor W. Turner and Edward M. Bruner, eds., The Anthropology of Experience (Urbana, IL, 1986). On Jacques Derrida and Paul Ricoeur’s concept of phenomenology and hermeneutics, see Derrida, Glas i fenomen (Belgrade, 1989); and Sundara Rajan, Studies in Phenomenology, Hermeneutics, and Deconstruction (Indian Council of Philosophical Research, 1991). And on the phenomenological approach in ethnomusicological scholarship, see Jeff T. Titon, “Knowing Fieldwork,” in Shadows in the Field: New Perspectives for Fieldwork in Ethnomusicology, ed. Gregory F. Barz and Timothy J. Cooley (New York, 1997), 87–100, 96; and Timothy Rice, “Time, Place, and Metaphor in Musical Experience and Ethnography,” Ethnomusicology 47, no. 2 (2003): 152. 11. Mojca Ramšak, a Slovenian ethnologist, asserts that personal memories and life stories are crucial for understanding the way people connect their personal experiences and interpretations of the past to their social environment. Mojca Ramšak, “Zbiranje življenskih zgodb v slovenski etnologiji,” Etnolog 10, no. 61 (2000): 30. 12. Rudi Supek, “Sociološki znacˇaj amaterizma,” Kultura 26 (1974): 8–9.


Notes


Notes

13. The socialist project of modernization and emancipation was particularly directed toward groups that were associated with “backwardness” such as peasants and women. 14. More than 90 percent of the state budget for culture went to cultural institutions in municipalities; the balance went to Houses of Culture and local cultural centers in villages. Milivoje Ivaniševic´, “Nemogucńost kulturnog razvoja sela,” Kultura 38 (1977): 171. 15. The largest and most important festivals were organized on federal holidays such as May 25 (Josip Broz Tito’s birthday) and November 29 (The Day of the Republic). 16. This is in contrast to Bulgaria where village music and dance became a central part of the urban soundscape. Since “village art” was considered a symbol of the nation in Bulgaria, it was to be accepted by sophisticated urbanites and elites alike. See Timothy Rice, May It Fill Your Soul: Experiencing Bulgarian Music (Chicago, 1994), 181. Meanwhile, with Yugoslavia’s opening up to the West in the 1950s, genres such as entertainment music and rock music were supported by the state. See Dean Vuletic´, “Generation Number One: Politics and Popular Music in Yugoslavia in the 1950s,” Nationalities Papers 36, no. 5 (2008): 862. 17. Thus, the women involved in amateur groups were not professional singers, but volunteers who did not receive any compensation for their performances. 18. It is important to note that, in contrast to other socialist countries such as the Soviet Union, Bulgaria, and Romania where rural people were forced to write new, politically conscious songs or where village tunes were arranged for choral performances, in the village festivals in socialist Yugoslavia the original song repertoire was presented on stage, without being influenced by political elements or undergoing significant transformations. See Anca Stere: “The Social Dimension of the Folkloric Text in the Postwar Totalitarianism,” Symposia. Journal for Studies in Ethnology and Anthropology (2003): 85; and Laura J. Olson, Performing Russia: Folk Revival and Russian Identity (New York, 2004), 41. Rice and Kaneff also write about highly folklorized versions of songs, predominantly choral arrangements of village tunes, in Bulgaria. See Rice, May It Fill, 176; and Deema Kaneff, Who Owns the Past? The Politics of Time in a “Model” Bulgarian Village (New York, 2004), 152. 19. Conversation with Dragan Todorovic´, Vukmanovo village, October 1, 2005. 20. Archive of Yugoslavia, League of Communists of Yugoslavia (AJ), fund: 142, Federal Conference of Socialist Alliance of Working People of Yugoslavia, “The status of women in villages,” materials from 1959–1962, F-616. 21. AJ-142, Materials of committee for ideological-educational work, 1956, 47–164. 22. The concept of female musical shame has been examined by numerous authors including Susan Auerbach: “From Singing to Lamenting: Women’s Musical Role in a Greek Village,” in Women and Music in


270


23. 24. 25. 26. 27.

28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39.

40. 41.

271

Cross-Cultural Perspective, ed. Ellen Koskoff, (Westport, CN, 1987), 79; and Jane Sugarman, Engendering Song—Singing and Subjectivity at Prespa Albanian Weddings (Chicago, 1997). Conversation with Milunka Ðord-evic´, Jelašnica village, July 10, 2004. Conversation with Dragan Todorovic´. Ibid. Conversation with Ilinka Despotovic´, Trupale village, January 31, 2006. According to Stef Jansen, references to mobility are generally present in people’s memories of socialist Yugoslavia. Longing for the “big country” and free travel is the result of the post-Yugoslav restriction in mobility caused by war, difficult economic circumstances, and visa policies. See Stef Jansen, Antinacionalizam: etnografija otpora u Zagrebu i Beogradu (Belgrade, 2005), 224. Conversation with Mirka Jovanovic´, Malcˇa village, July 8, 2004. Conversation with Grozdana Ðokic´, Leskovik village, July 15, 2004. Conversation with Ilinka Despotovic´. Conversation with Velika Jovanovic, Gornji Komren, July 14, 2004. See Naila Ceribašic´, Hrvatsko, seljacˇko, starinsko i domacé: Povijest i etnografija javne prakse narodne glazbe u Hrvatskoj (Zagreb, 2003), 20. A large number of local folklore groups were established in the area of Niško Polje as a part of the overall process of “emancipating the people.” Conversation with Olga Stankovic´, Donja Studena village, July 10, 2004. Conversation with Životka Stankovic´, Brzi Brod village, July 13, 2004. Conversation with Dragan Todorovic´. Conversation with Velibor Stankovic´, Prosek village, January 31, 2006. Interview with Jevica Bogdanovic´, Prosek village July 9, 2004. Other people who were attracted by the presence of a research team, often reacted by laughing when they heard that we were interested in local festivals. Jansen, Antinacionalizam, 32. See also Daša Duhacˇek, “Women’s Time in the Former Yugoslavia”; Hana Havelkova, “A Few Prefeminist Thoughts”; and Andjelka Milic´, “Women and Nationalism in the Former Yugoslavia,” both in Gender Politics and Post-Communism: Reflections from Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Union, ed. Nanette Funk and Magda Mueller (New York, 1993). See also Laurie Occhipinti, “Two Steps Back?: AntiFeminism in Eastern Europe,” Anthropology Today 12, no. 6 (1996): 14; Mirjana Morokvasic´, “The Logics of Exclusion: Nationalism, Sexism and the Yugoslav War,” in Gender, Ethnicity and Political Ideologies, ed. Nickie Charles and Helen Hintjens (London, 1997), 65–90, 72; and Tanja Rener and Mirjana Ule, “Back to the Future: Nationalism and Gender in Post-Socialist Societies,” in Women, Ethnicity and Nationalism: The Politics of Transition, ed. Rick Wilford and Robert L. Miller (London, 1998), 120–32, 121. Jansen, Antinacionalizam, 46. In the post-Yugoslav context, the period after the dislocation of the country was marked by negative interpretations of the socialist past


Notes


42.

43. 44.

45. 46.

47. 48.

49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55.

Notes

and the so-called confiscation of memories or collective amnesia. See Dubravka Ugrešic´, Have a Nice Day: From the Balkan War to the American Dream, trans. Celia Hawkesworth (New York, 1995), 275; and Jansen, Antinacionalizam, 220. Kenneth J. Gergen and Mary M. Gergen, “Narratives of the Self,” in Memory, Identity, Community: The Idea of the Narrative in the Human Sciences, ed. Lewis P. Hinchman and Sandra K. Hinchman (New York, 1997), 177. Edward M. Bruner, “Experience and Its Expressions,” in Victor W. Turner and Edward M. Bruner, ed. The Anthropology of Experience, 152. This attitude is probably a result of the feeling, among many people in southeastern rural Serbia, that war was happening far away and that they were not personally involved in it, while the NATO bombing had a completely different meaning for them and was recognized as the first “real war” after World War II. Jansen, Antinacionalizam, 21. The women I spoke with made no reference to interethnic relations, nationalism, or war. In rural areas of southeastern Serbia, ethnic conflict was perceived differently than in other regions of the former Yugoslavia since the former is an ethnically homogenous and poor area that has experienced no significant population migrations and is quite remote from Croatia and Bosnia. However, it is possible that the women simply avoided this topic, believing that it was inappropriate (or unsafe) to express their opinions about politics. Their attitudes can help us rethink dominant scholarly narratives of the former Yugoslavia, which have a tendency to reproduce stereotypical images about nationalism and ethnic conflict in the region. Conversation with Ilinka Despotovic´. Lazarice and kraljice were communal customs connected to the spring ritual cycle: groups of girls visited every house in the village, danced and sang the appropriate songs dedicated to household members, and gathered gifts (eggs). Conversation with Verica Mitic´, Kamenica village, May 2, 2004. Conversation with Vukašin Mitic´, Trupale village, January 31, 2006. The term grad-anin in the narrow sense refers to a citizen—a person who lives in the city. This phenomenon is broadly present in post-socialist societies. See Christian Giordano and Dobrinka Kostova, “The Social Production of Mistrust” in Postsocialism, 89. Michael Herzfeld, Kulturna intimnost: Socijalna poetika u nacionalnoj državi (Belgrade, 2004), 186. Predrag J. Markovic´, Trajnost i promena: Društvena istorija socijalisticˇke i postsocijalisticˇke svakodnevice u Jugoslaviji i Srbiji (Belgrade, 2007), 31. Hann et al., “Introduction,” in Postsocialism, 3. Radstone and Hodgkin, Memory Cultures, 10.


272


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56. As Maria Todorova claims, “Do we blame socialism for what it has done, or for what it has not done?” Maria Todorova, “The Bulgarian Case: Women’s Issues or Feminist Issues,” in Gender Politics, 31. 57. Funk, “Introduction: Women and Post-Communism,” Gender Politics, 3. 58. Olson, Performing Russia, 13. 59. Michael Lambek, “Memory in a Maussian Universe,” in Memory Cultures, p. 211. 60. Ulf Brunnbauer, “From equality without democracy to democracy without equality? women and transition in Southeastern Europe,” in Gender Relations in South Eastern Europe: Historical Perspectives on Womanhood and Manhood in 19th and 20th Century (Graz, 2002), 220.

Chapter 12 1. Małgorzata Fuszara interviewed by the author, Warsaw, June 1991. I use the term “communism” throughout the text, which is the terminology used by the interviewees for this chapter and by most other Poles that I have interviewed for other purposes. 2. Agnieszka Graff, “A Different Chronology: Reflections on Feminism in Contemporary Poland,” in Third Wave Feminism: A Critical Exploration, Expanded Second Edition, ed. Stacy Gillis, Gillian Howe, and Rebecca Munford (New York, 2007), 144. 3. Sławomira Walczewska created Pełnym Głosem (“In Full Voice”), the first academic journal of feminist research and debate to appear in post-1989 Poland, now defunct. With Beata Kozak, she co-founded Zadra, a popular feminist magazine still operating today, and the “eFKa” publishing house. 4. The oral histories in Feminists in Their Own Voices (Kraków, 2005) are part of the Global Feminisms Project: Comparative Case Studies of Women’s Activism and Scholarship, Site: Poland, Kraków Women’s Foundation “eFKa”, 2003–2005, housed at the Institute for Research on Women and Gender at the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor. Walczewska’s earlier book, Damy, rycerze i feministki. Kobiecy dyskurs emancypacyjny w Polsce (Kraków, 1999) is a study of Polish women’s history between the eighteenth and twentieth centuries. 5. In addition to the Global Feminisms Project cited in note 4 above, see Shana Penn, Solidarity’s Secret: The Women Who Defeated Communism in Poland (Ann Arbor, 2005). 6. The oral history projects include Sławka Walczewska’s Feministki (Kraków, 2005), part of the Global Feminisms Project; Ewa Kondratowicz, Szminka na sztandarze. Kobiety Solidarnosćí 1980–1989 (Warsaw, 2001); and Penn, Solidarity’s Secret. 7. See, for example, Shana Penn, “Media Representation of the Holocaust in Poland,” Rethinking Poles and Jews: Troubled Past, Brighter Future, ed. Robert Cherry and Annamaria Orla-Bukowska (Lanham, MD, 2007).


Notes


Notes

8. See, for example, recent books by Boz˙ena Umin´ska-Keff, Postac´ a Cieniem. Portrety z˙ydowek w Polskiej Literaturze (Warsaw, 2001); BARYKADY. Kroniki obsesyjne lat 2000–2006; Wydawnictwo eFKa, (Kraków 2006); and Utwór a Matce i Ojczyznie Wydawnictwo (Warsaw, 2008). 9. See Joanna Weschler, “Hidden Victims: Women in Post-Communist Poland,” Human Rights Watch Report IV, no. 5 (March 1992): 6. Also see Małgorzata Tarasiewicz’s own account, “Kobiety w NSZZ Solidarnosć´,” in Pełnym Głosem, 1:33; and Penn, Solidarity’s Secret, 284–90. 10. I have a personal connection to the Network of East-West Women, as I was its first executive director, between 1991–1996, when the organization was based in Washington, D.C. 11. Interview with Małgorzata Tarasiewicz, Global Feminisms, 9. 12. Interview with Umin´ska-Keff, Global Feminisms, 5. 13. Ibid., 6–7. 14. Ibid., 6, 13. 15. During the Nazi occupation, Pawiak was a Warsaw prison for political prisoners, members of the resistance movement, and those caught during street round-ups. Its inmates were typically sent to concentration camps (60,000 people) or executed (37,000). 16. In Poland, more women than men survived World War II. See Jerzy Holzer, “Changes in Age Structure and Vital Statistics of the Western and Northern Territories of Poland,” Studies and Monographs (Warsaw, 1960), 11, which shows age and sex distribution of the population of the northern and western and remaining regions in Poland, including figures for the larger numbers of women to men who survived World War II. 17. Poles from Germany and Poland moved in to replace the former German population. The majority of new settlers were voluntary, like Tarasiewicz’s family. Poles expelled from the eastern areas absorbed by the USSR made up about 26 percent of the new westerners; others included Poles who had been freed from forced labor in Nazi Germany, and tens of thousands of Holocaust survivors. 18. Interview with Tarasiewicz, Global Feminisms, 5. 19. Ibid., 6. 20. See Jerzy Tarasiewicz, In an Open Boat (Tavernier, FL, 2005). 21. Interview with Tarasiewicz, Global Feminisms, 5. 22. Z˙ydokomuna is a variant on the idea of “Judeo-Communism”—a combination of anti-Semitism, anti-Communism and anti-Sovietism—which had a strong influence in East European countries such as Poland with large interwar Jewish minorities. 23. Interview with Umin´ska-Keff, Global Feminisms, 9. 24. Adela Hase, “Marzec,” Midrasz, 3/1998 (“March 1968”, English translation ms by permission of the author). 25. Ibid., 1–2. 26. Interview with Umin´ska-Keff, Global Feminisms, 9–10. 27. Ibid., 10. 28. Joanna Szcze˛sna, interviewed by the author, Princeton, NJ, June 1990.


274


275

29. See Umin´ska-Keff interview by Katarzyna Bielas, “Nielegalny plik,” Gazeta Wyborcza, May 27, 2008, http://wyborcza.pl/1,76842,5250183,N ielegalny_plik.html (accessed July 20, 2008). 30. Ibid., website pages 11 and 14. 31. Boz˙ena Umin´ska-Keff, “Would Z˙eromski Throw Gas into the Gas Chamber?” Res Publica Nowa, Warsaw, August 1999. 32. Interview with Tarasiewicz, Global Feminisms, 8. 33. Ibid., 9. 34. Ibid., 10. 35. See Anna Reading, Polish Women, Solidarity and Feminism (London, 1999), 201–12. 36. Penn, Solidarity’s Secret. See Chapter 2. 37. Teresa Hołówka, ed. Nikt nie rodzi sie˛ kobieta: Antologia tekstow feministycznych (Warsaw, 1982). According to Umin´ska -Keff, this same anthology is used in gender studies courses and remains the only second wave feminist reader in Poland today. 38. Interview with Umin´ska-Keff, Global Feminisms, 12. 39. Barbara Pomórska, interviewed by the author, Warsaw, July 1991. 40. Though Umin´ska-Keff views herself first and foremost as an artist whose political concerns are mainly expressed through her writings, she was nonetheless very active in feminist organizing in the late 1980s and early 1990s; in various publications from the New York Times to Barbara Einhorn’s Cinderella Goes to Market, she is treated as a key spokesperson for the Polish Feminist Association. 41. “Poland Ends Subsidies for Birth Control Pills,” The New York Times, May 9, 1991, http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullpage.html?sec=health&res=9D 0CE6DB113FF93AA35756C0A967958260. 42. Interview with Tarasiewicz, Global Feminisms, 9. 43. Konstanty Gebert, interviewed by the author, Warsaw, June 1990. 44. The first most important and prolonged public debate in post-1989 Poland was on reproductive rights; the second, begun in 2000, was on Polish anti-Semitism during the Holocaust. 45. For the situation of reproductive rights and other feminist concerns in the 1990s into the twenty-first century, see Penn, Solidarity’s Secret, 279–330.


Notes





Ulf Brunnbauer is chair of Southeast and East European History at the University of Regensburg, Germany, and director of the Southeast Institute in Regensburg. His publications include Urban Life and Culture in Southeastern Europe: Anthropological and Historical Perspectives (with Klaus Roth) (2008); Die sozialistische Lebensweise (2007); and (Re) Writing History: Historiography in Southeast Europe after Socialism (2005). Malgorzata Fidelis is assistant professor of East European and Polish History at the University of Illinois at Chicago. Her recent publications include “‘A Nation’s Strength Lies Not in Numbers’: DeStalinization, Pronatalism, and the Abortion Law of 1956 in Poland” in Geschlechterbeziehungen in Ostmitteleuropa nach dem Zweiten Weltkrieg: Soziale Praxis und Konstruktionen von Geschlechterbildern, ed., Claudia Kraft (2007); and “Red State, Golden Youth: The Student Culture and Political Protest in Poland in the 1960s,” in Between the Avant Garde and the Everyday: Subversive Politics in Europe, 1958–2008, ed. Timothy Brown and Lorena Anton (forthcoming 2009). Donna Harsch is a professor in the Department of History at Carnegie Mellon University. She has written two books and various articles on modern German history. Most recently, she published Revenge of the Domestic: Women, the Family and Communism in the German Democratic Republic (2007). Ana Hofman is a PhD candidate in the History Department at the Faculty of Arts in Ljubljana, Slovenia. Since 2007 she has worked on the research project “Sozialistische Diktatur als Sinnwelt” (“Socialist Dictatorship as a World of Meaning”) at the Institute for Contemporary History in Prague.


Contributors

Isabel Marcus is professor of Law and director of International and Graduate Programs at the University of Buffalo Law School. She is a 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

Contributors

cofounder of the university’s Institute for Research and Education on Women and Gender. She was a Fulbright Scholar (Romania 1997, Macedonia 2003–2004), a fellow of the Bunting Institute, and an International Scholar for the Open Society Institute (Soros Foundation) Higher Education Support Program in Eastern Europe. She has taught extensively in universities in Eastern Europe and Asia. Jill Massino received her PhD in East European and Cultural History at Indiana University. Her recent publications include “Gender as Survival: Women’s Experiences of Deportation from Romania to the Soviet Union, 1945–1950,” Nationalities Papers 36, 1 (2008); and “Something Old, Something New: Marital Roles and Relations in State Socialist Romania,” Journal of Women’s History (forthcoming, 2010). She is currently working on a book manuscript titled Engendering Socialism: Women, Gender, and Everyday Life in State Socialist Romania. Joanna Mishtal is an assistant professor of Cultural Anthropology at the University of Central Florida. She received her PhD from the University of Colorado at Boulder in 2006. Her theoretical and research interests include gender and politics, democratization, political economy, global women’s health, feminism, and women’s movements. She has been involved in reproductive health advocacy with nongovernmental organizations in the US and in Europe. Basia A. Nowak received her PhD in History from Ohio State University in 2004 and is currently working on her monograph on the League of Women in Poland during the Communist era. She teaches part-time in the History department at OSU and works as a copyeditor for H-Net Humanities and Social Sciences Online. Shana Penn is a visiting scholar at the Center for Jewish Studies at the Graduate Theological Union, in Berkeley, California. She is the author of Solidarity’s Secret: The Women Who Defeated Communism in Poland (2005). The founding director of the Network of East-West Women, she is currently working on a new book of oral histories with Czechoslovak women dissidents in Charter 77 and VONS. She also directs the Taube Foundation for Jewish Life & Culture in San Francisco.


278

Raluca Maria Popa is a PhD candidate in Comparative Gender Studies at Central European University, Budapest, where she is working on her dissertation titled Hungarian and Romanian National Women’s Councils Working “On Behalf of Women”, 1957–1989: Towards a Transnational 10.1057/9780230101579 - Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe, Edited by Shana Penn and Jill Massino

Contributors

279

Eszter Zsófia Tóth’s research focuses on gender in state-socialist Hungary and the Hungarian revolution of 1956. Her publications include “Testimonies of the City: Identity, Community and Change in a Contemporary Urban World,” in The Cultural Identity of Semi-Skilled Women Workers in Socialist Hungary, ed. Richard Rodger and Joanna Herbert (2007). She is currently a researcher at the Institute for Political History in Budapest. Kimberly Ellman Zarecor is an assistant professor of Architecture at Iowa State University. She received her PhD in Architecture from Columbia University. Her article, “Czechoslovakia’s Model Housing Developments: Modern Architecture for the Socialist Future,” will appear in Sanctioning Modernism: Architecture and the Making of Postwar Identities, ed. Vladimir Kulic´, Timothy Parker, and Monica Penick (forthcoming).


and Relational History. Raluca also works as a researcher for the Center for Policy Studies at CEU, where she contributes to projects on gender equality policies in Europe.





abortion: in Bulgaria 90–91, 257n22; Church opposition to 129, 133–34, 140–41, 143–44, 146, 148; in Czechoslovakia 162, 168, 257n22, 264n65; in East Germany 106–7, 109–10, 111, 112; legality of, across socialist states 257n22; and morality discourse 143, 146; in Poland, restrictions on 134, 143–45, 146, 148; in Poland, support of 119, 133, 137, 256n2; and rape 99, 144; in Romania 19, 91, 257n22; vs. single motherhood 93, 94 Acsady, Judit 213, 214 activism: and International Women’s Year 60–61, 64–65, 73–74; practical activism 49–51; social activism 46, 232n5 adultery: and divorce in East Germany 97, 100–101, 102–4, 105, 110, 111; postwar increase in 99; prosecution of 92 agriculture/agrarian 17, 86, 174, 226n17 Alami, Chahnaz (Shahnaz) 63 Albania 8, 81 alcohol abuse: and divorce 110, 111, 123–24, 129; and domestic violence 108, 115–16, 124–26 Alltagsgeschichte (history of everyday life) 4, 15 Amnesty International 204, 213 Andrei, Florica 63, 64, 242n19 anti-Semitism 181, 203, 204, 205, 209, 274n22, 275n44 Apró, Antal 65 architecture, socialist: as reflecting socialist agenda and values 151, 155, 156,

160; Stavoprojekt 155, 157, 161, 163, 262n27. See also Czech housing design Aresin, Lykke 109 Asbot, Judit 72 Association of Hungarian Women 72 Balaton, Lake 42–43, 65 Bar Mleczny cafeterias 139, 145 barter economies 84 beauty. See fashion and beauty Beauvoir, Simone de 215, 267n48 Bebel, August 14 Belarus 144–45 Benjamin, Hilde 104, 106 Beran, Rudolf 261n14 Berkovitch, Nitza 59, 239n1 Berlin World Congress of Women 62, 66, 67–68 birthrates: vs. abortion rates 90; declines in 88–89, 92, 139, 143, 168; extramarital 93; increases in 91, 112 Bokor, Hanna 65 Bosnia 272n46 Bras¸ov, Romania 16–17 Brown, Freda 66, 67–68 Brownmiller, Susan 215 Bruner, Edward 193 Budapest Hosiery Factory. See Liberation Brigade (Hungary) Bulgaria: abortion 90–91, 257n22; divorce rates 248n82; Family Codices 85, 91; folk heritage 270n16, 270n18; gender policy and double burden 83–87; gender policy, overview of 77–80, 94–96; pro-natalist policies 78, 79,


Index


Index

87–89, 92; single motherhood in 92–94; state support for women’s emancipation 80–83, 94–95 Bulgarian Women’s Union 81, 87 Buzatu, Stana 60–61, 71–72, 244n58 Bystrzycka, Zofia 175 capitalism: and Bildungsromanen 19; family’s role in 84; in post-socialist Poland 217–18; women’s inferior status under 17–18, 94, 153 car ownership 33, 38, 40, 180 Catholic Church: and divorce liberalization 129; and East German Family Code 102; in Poland’s postsocialist era 133–34, 136, 141–47, 148–49, 217, 218, 256n5; in Poland’s socialist era 134–38, 140–41, 142, 147, 148, 204, 259n47; property ownership 140, 258n40 Catholics for Free Choice 144 Ceaus¸escu, Elena 20, 227n30, 255n9 Ceaus¸escu, Nicolae: censorship under 24, 228n45; Golden era of 22; promotion of working women 19, 228n57; reproductive policies of 2, 15, 124, 148, 257n22; and state police 127 censorship 24–25, 176, 181, 215, 228n45 chapter organization, overview of 7–10 Chen, Martha 63 childcare facilities: closing of 145, 147; quality of 84, 105; and women’s work 83, 87, 139, 254n91 childcare subsidies 16, 88–89, 93. See also social welfare benefits Christian iconography 122 CIAM (International Congress of Modern Architecture) 157 “Cinema of Women” film festival 215–16 Ciobanu, Lina 67 Circles of Rural Housewives (Poland) 47, 233n9 civil disobedience 213 civil unions 80, 135 CNF (National Council of Women in Romania): and compulsory gynecological exams 226n27; and Femeia 241n16; and International

Women’s Year divisions 66–69; and International Women’s Year, overview of 60–62, 73–74; and International Women’s Year preparations 64–66; and International Women’s Year proposal 62–64; Party ties 69–70, 71 cohabitation 79, 112 Cold War divisions 60, 74, 140, 219, 240n7 collective amnesia 271n41 Collective House, Litvínov 156–61, 168, 263n37 Committee for Home Economics Affairs, Poland 48, 49, 233n13, 233n15. See also League of Women (Poland) communal domestic services: Bar Mleczny cafeterias 139, 145; in Litvínov Collective House 156–58, 160–61; promises to improve 87; women’s emancipation through 49–50, 83, 152; women’s reluctance to use 84 communism: collapse of 1, 23–24, 134, 147, 193–94, 217–19 (see also postsocialist era); as emasculating men 139, 218; family’s role in 84, 85; “goulash communism” 36, 41; methods of resistance to 98; nostalgia for 7, 16, 24–25, 31, 78, 192, 195, 227n42; and Second Wave feminism 139–40; as Soviet import 17; vs. state socialism 221n1, 231n2, 240n9, 244n4, 249n1, 265n3, 273n1; women’s groups as promoters of 4–5, 46, 47, 58, 60; women’s Party membership 28, 137, 153, 257n18. See also propaganda; state socialism; and specific communist parties concentration camps 207, 274n15 consumerism: and Filipinka magazine 177–78; Hungarian state-promoted 33–34, 36, 40, 41–43, 226n26, 231n32; and images of working women 19; Polish statepromoted 172, 173, 175, 184, 226n26; production of consumer goods 174; as threatening to the state 180–82


282


contraception: Church opposition to 129, 140–41, 144, 148; ignorance of 101; lack of 91, 94, 109, 119; and marriage counseling 111; methods available, overview of 106, 138, 258n29; the pill 109, 112, 137, 138; sterilization 257n21, 258n29 cosmetics 50, 52, 182, 234n15 Croatia 189, 272n47 Czech housing design: Collective House, Litvínov 156–61, 168, 263n37; and postwar architecture, overview of 151–52, 154–56; T-series housing types 155, 161–67, 168; and women’s hybrid identity 152, 153–54, 155, 160, 167–68; “working” kitchens 161, 165, 263n56 Czech Republic 144–45 Czechoslovakia: abortion 162, 168, 257n22, 264n65; avant-gardism 154, 155, 156, 158–59; consumerism 226n26; contraceptives from 106; Prague Spring 8; refugees from 99; Two-Year Plan 154, 160, 161–62, 165, 262n22; women’s Party membership 137, 153. See also Czech housing design Czyz˙ewska, Elz˙bieta 267n29 Daskalov, Rumen 81 Decade for Women 62, 239n1 Democratic Women’s League of Germany 67, 103, 104 Devaki, Jain 63 Deveˇtsil artists’ collective 158–59 Dimitrov, Georgi 81 divorce: and adultery 97, 100–101, 102–4, 105, 110, 111; and alcohol abuse 110, 111, 123–24, 129; decreasing stigma of 94; and domestic violence 108, 123–24, 129–30; East German laws on 97–98, 102–5, 108, 112; as increasing women’s authority 85; men more likely to seek 99, 102; Polish laws on 135; Romanian laws on 80, 91; statistics 110, 248n82; women more likely to seek 87, 129

283

Dluhosch, Eric 151 Dobreva, Yana 79, 96 Dobrin, Tamara 65, 67 domestic responsibilities. See communal domestic services; double burden of work and family; housework domestic violence: and agency of battered women 130–31; causes, overview of 124–26; and criminal law 126–29; and divorce 108, 123–24, 129–30; failure to keep statistics on 123–24; and family law 129–30; ongoing reform efforts 131–32; research methodology 117–18; and socialist gender constructions 120–23; and socialist ideology of sex equality 118–20; “wife beating” as common term 115–16 Dorazil, V. 162–63 double burden of work and family: and Bulgarian gender policy 83–87; as “normal” 2, 79–80, 86–87, 100, 172; Polish attempts to alleviate 49–51, 139; wives renegotiating household responsibilities 14, 29–30, 222n6; women’s vs. men’s average day 153, 154 Dunin, Kinga 143 East Germany. See German Democratic Republic economic autonomy: as by-product of socialism 1–2, 14; as increasing women’s authority 94, 110; marriage less important than 34, 44 economic crisis of the 1980s 23, 27, 52–54, 78 education, increases in 21, 78, 81. See also social welfare benefits eFKa (Poland) 146, 202, 273n3 Eigen-sinn (self-constructed meaning) 26 emancipation: from housework 49–50, 83, 152; “liberation through work” 1–2, 14, 17, 29, 30, 81; vs. pro-natalism 78; through singing 189–91, 195–96; and social welfare benefits 68, 119, 139, 243n50; state support for 2,


Index


Index

80–83, 94–95, 118–20, 139, 188, 192; symbols of 18. See also sex equality employment levels, women’s: in Bulgaria 81, 82, 95; in East Germany 112; in Hungary 34; in Poland 139; in Romania 16, 21, 226n13, 228n57; in socialist vs. Western states 2, 16–17, 95, 222n5, 226n13 Engels, Friedrich 1–2, 14, 17, 29, 30, 81 equality. See sex equality Erdei, Edit 65, 67, 242n19, 242n33 European Union 7, 16, 95, 144, 219 extramarital childbirth 92–94, 99, 101, 109, 112 factory work: as difficult 22–23, 26–27; as fulfilling 23, 33–34, 36; holidays 42–43; in Romania 16–17, 22–23, 26–27; skilled vs. unskilled 103–4; as undesirable 38. See also Liberation Brigade (Hungary) fashion and beauty: communist women’s supposed disinterest in 52, 171–72; cosmetics 50, 52, 182, 234n15; Elz˙bieta Czyz˙ewska as symbol of 267n29; glamorization of working women 19; hairstyling 45, 50, 52, 235n37; miniskirts 177, 267n31; wives’ beauty reserved for husbands 188 Fatherland Front (Bulgaria) 79, 87, 89 Feinberg, Melissa 153 Femeia (Romanian women’s monthly): gender conceptions in 15; and heroine workers 18; and International Women’s Year 62, 70, 71; publication details 241n16 femininity, socialist constructions of 121–22, 124–26 feminism: Cold War use of the term 61, 68; “communist feminism” 4–5, 60; East/West divisions in 66–68, 74, 140; existence of indigenous feminist groups 4, 201, 202; and film festival 215–16; “literary feminism” 113; and Marxism 142;

and Polish dissident groups 212–15; and Polish fall of communism 217–19; Romanian doctoral thesis on 71–72; Western feminism denounced 139–40, 180, 219, 267n48; Western feminism embraced 213, 215, 275n37 feminist awakenings 145–46, 201, 203, 204, 211 feminist historiography 74, 202, 219 festivals, state-sponsored: decline of 194–95; male resistance to female public performance 187–89; objectives of 186–87; post-socialist memories of 192–94; and state holidays 270n15; and village quality of life 191–92; and women’s emancipation 188, 189–91, 192 Filipiak, Izabela 202 Filipinka (Polish youth magazine) 175–79, 180, 182–83, 266n14, 266n23 Film (Polish magazine) 176 film festival (Warsaw, 1986) 215–16 folk heritage: in Bulgaria 270n16, 270n18; decline of, in former Yugoslavia 194–95; lazarice and kraljice 194, 272n48; state co-opting of 191, 270n18; state promotion of 186–87, 271n33 food shortages: in East Germany 99; in Poland 52, 53, 54, 183, 237n49; in Romania 23 forced labor 22, 207, 227n36, 274n17 Free German Youth 100 Freedom and Peace movement (WiP, Poland) 213–14 Friedan, Betty 66 Fuszara, Małgorzata 133, 138 Gâdea, Suzana 226n27 Gal, Susan 139, 145 Gazeta Wyborcza (Polish daily) 144 gender identity: broadening of 2, 13–15, 30–31; female workers acting masculine 128, 181; female workers downplaying 26, 37–38, 44; female workers as threats to male identity 26; “girl” vs. “woman” 176, 183; housing design and women’s hybrid


284


285

Index Grudzin´ska, Irena 181 gynecological exams, compulsory 226n27

19,

hairstyling 45, 50, 52, 235n37 Hann, Chris 195 harassment 20, 22, 26–27, 28, 40 Hartman, Heidi 142 Helsinki Accords 64 heroine workers 18–19 Herzfeld, Michael 195 High Stalinism 100 Hilský, Václav 156, 157 Hochberg, Agnes 213 holidays 42–43 Holland, Agnieszka 216 Holocaust survivors 204, 274n17 Hołówka, Teresa 215 home economics programs: in Poland 49–51, 52–54, 233n13, 233n15, 234n19, 235n36, 237n54; in Soviet Union 238n62 homosexuality 7, 107, 216, 224n24 Honecker, Erich 112, 254n91 Honzík, Karel 159 housework: average hours spent on 153; communist view of 152; Polish home economics programs 49–51, 52–54, 234n19, 235n36, 237n54; reduction of, through housing design 162, 165, 166–67; statistics on gendered division of labor 85–86; and technological “advancements” 50, 177, 235n25; women’s emancipation from 49–50, 83, 152 housing design. See Czech housing design housing shortages 92, 130, 156 Hungarian Council of Women. See MNOT (National Council of Hungarian Women) Hungarian Socialist Workers’ Party (MSZMP) 39, 65, 69, 244n55 Hungarian State Prize: award ceremony 35–36; and consumerism 33–34, 40, 41–43; criteria 229n3; and János Kádár 38–39, 40; men as usual winners of 37; prize money 33, 229n1


identity 152, 153–54, 155, 160, 167–68; vs. Jewish identity 202, 203, 210; as one of many identity factors 6, 202; Polish Catholic redefinition of 143; as propaganda tool 3, 5, 15; socialist constructions of 120–23, 124–26, 255n12; women’s use of female pejoratives 45, 55, 232n3. See also “modern girl” image gender relations 25–28, 40, 113. See also domestic violence; marriage gender roles: Bulgarian exploitation of traditional 79, 87, 89, 91, 95; communism’s early attempts to revolutionize 49–50; within dissident groups 213–14; and public expression 188–89; Romanian reformulation of 19–20; wives discouraged from wage labor 100, 103, 189, 212, 218; women’s support of traditional 50, 57, 86, 177, 183. See also double burden of work and family Gergen, Kenneth 193 German Democratic Republic: Berlin World Congress of Women 62, 66, 67–68; consumerism 226n26; divorce statistics 110, 248n82; Family Code of 1954 102–5; Family Code of 1965 106, 109; family law in, overview of 97–99, 112–13; International Women’s Year activism 73; postwar family crisis 99; promotion of marital stability 105–9; sexual mores 100–102, 109–13 Gheorghiu-Dej, Gheorghe 19 Ghodsee, Kristen 94 Gierek, Edward 184 Ginzburg, Moisei 156 Glemp, Józef 141 Gomułka, Władysław 173–74, 181, 184, 209 Gordon, Linda 213 “goulash socialism/communism” 36, 41. See also “sauerkraut-stew socialism” Greer, Germaine 66 Groza, Maria 67


286

Hungary: abortion laws 119, 257n22; Association of Hungarian Women 72; Budapest Hosiery Factory founding 229n6; consumerism 33–34, 36, 40, 41–43, 226n26, 231n32; domestic violence in 123, 126–29, 131; establishment of workers’ brigades 37; and János Kádár 38–39, 40, 44; migration to cities 33–34, 43; Politburo actions on women’s status 61, 69, 243n49; postage stamp commemorating International Women’s Year 70; reception of International Women’s Year 69–73; women’s employment levels 34. See also MNOT (National Council of Hungarian Women) imprisonment 7 income. See wage disparities industrialization: of Bras¸ov, Romania 16–17; male domination of heavy industry 21, 82; and Poland’s Six-Year Plan 174; women’s employment as crucial to 17, 82, 119; and workers’ housing 156, 157, 158, 159, 166 International Alliance of Women 65 International Congress of Modern Architecture (CIAM) 157 International Council of Women (ICW) 64, 72 International Federation of Women in Legal Careers (IFWLC) 64, 65 International Planned Parenthood Federation (IPPF) 138 International Union of Students 65 International Women’s Day 17, 18 International Women’s Year: divisions among delegates 66–69; Eastern Europeans’ contributions to 62–64, 73–74; objectives of 60–61, 62, 64, 71; postage stamp commemorating 70; preparations for 64–66; reception in Hungary and Romania 69–73, 74; significance of 59, 73 Israel 209 Jackiewiczowa, Elz˙bieta Janion, Maria 202

179

Jaruga-Nowacka, Izabela 51, 235n29 Jewish Socialist Bund 205 Jews and Judaism: gender vs. Jewish identity 202, 203, 210; German-Jewish sexology 107; and leftist movements 205, 209–10; Poland’s prewar Jewish population 204–5, 257n15; Polish debate on anti-Semitism 275n44; and Polish feminism 217, 218; Polish government’s anti-Semitic campaign 203, 204, 205, 209 John Paul II, Pope 141, 143, 259n47 Kádár, János 38–39, 40, 44, 244n55 KGD (Committee for Home Economics Affairs, Poland) 48, 49, 58, 233n13, 233n15. See also League of Women (Poland) Kielce, Poland 205 Kinsey, Alfred 109 Kisielewski, Stefan 267n31 Kittrich, Josef 159 Kligman, Gail 139, 145 Kobiety i Z˙ycie (Polish women’s magazine) 216, 266n23 Koleva, Daniela 86 Komsomol 93 Kopacz, Ewa 148 Kostash, Myrna 213 Kozak, Beata 273n3 Kubadinski, Pencho 89, 91 Kubik, Jan 259n47 Kurz, Iwona 176 Kuusinen, Hertta 63, 242n25 labor. See factory work; wage labor; working women labor productivity 17–18, 20, 37, 229n3 land ownership 41–42, 174 law enforcement, popular views of 126–29, 256n15 Lazarkiewicz, Magdalena 216 Le Corbusier 157 League of Women (Poland): goals, overview of 45–49, 57–58; health and beauty programs 51–52; home economics programs 49–51, 52–54, 233n13, 233n15, 234n19, 235n36, 237n54; origins of 46,


Index


233n8; Party ties 46, 47, 57–58; and socializing 54–57 leisure activities 41–43, 54–57 Lenin, V. I. 81 lesbianism 216 Liberation Brigade (Hungary): biographical profiles 229n2, 230n12, 230n13, 230n14; and consumerism 33, 41; documentary film on 229n8; downplaying of gender identity 37–38; and János Kádár 38–39, 40, 44; photo of 36; prize money won by 33, 229n1; relations with colleagues 40 Linhart, Evžen 156, 157–58 Lipowska-Teutsch, Hanka 137, 146–47 literacy rates 81 Lithuania 144–45 Litvínov, Czechoslovakia 156–61, 263n37 Lüdtke, Alf 26 Lutheran Church 102 Macedonia 189 manual labor 21–22 Markov, Georgi 89 Markovic´, Predrag 195 marriage: average age at 91; Bulgarian laws 80; counseling 99, 102, 106–9, 111; East German “crisis of young marriage” 98, 105, 106; East German rates of 100; as patriarchy 121–22, 126, 158; vs. solitary lifestyles 94. See also divorce Marshall Plan 174 masculinity, socialist constructions of 121, 124, 255n12 Masters and Johnson’s sex research 109 maternity benefits: Muttipolitik (“mommy policies”) 112, 254n91; overtime exemptions 227n37; paid leave 88–89, 254n91; in Poland 135, 145; as reinforcing essentialist gender notions 3; in Yugoslavia 189. See also childcare facilities; childcare subsidies Michel, Andrée 71, 72 Michnik, Adam 141, 142–43 Mickiewicz, Adam 181 Miliutin, N. A. 156

287

Millett, Kate 215 Miloševic´, Slobodan 194 “minimum dwellings” 157, 159, 263n41 Mita the tractor driver 18 MNOT (National Council of Hungarian Women): and International Women’s Year divisions 66–69; and International Women’s Year, overview of 60–62, 73–74; and International Women’s Year preparations 64–66; and International Women’s Year proposal 62–64; and No˝k Lapja 230n18, 241n17; Party ties 65, 69–70 “modern girl” image: decline of 183–84; and Filipinka magazine 175–79, 180; “girl” vs. “woman” 176, 183; origins of 172–73; re-created as traditionally feminine 182–83; as threatening to the state 180–82 motherhood: average age at childbirth 92; balancing career and 82; as civic duty 19–20, 89–90, 91; single mothers 92–94, 99; women’s rights as antithetical to 143. See also maternity benefits; pro-natalist policies Muslims 80, 88 Muttipolitik (“mommy policies”) 112, 254n91 Narodna mladezh (Komsomol newspaper) 93 Nasza praca (Polish women’s bulletin) 48, 49, 233n15 National Council of Hungarian Women. See MNOT (National Council of Hungarian Women) National Council of Women in Romania. See CNF (National Council of Women in Romania) nationalism: and anti-Semitism in Poland 209–10; and Catholic Church in Poland 134, 141, 142–43; and labor productivity 17–18; and state-sponsored festivals 186–87, 270n15; Yugoslav ethnic nationalism 8, 193, 194, 272n46 NATO bombing of Yugoslavia 194, 272n44


Index


Index

Nazi Germany: forced labor in 274n17; occupation of Czechoslovakia 153; occupation of Poland 206–7, 274n15; sexual mores 101, 107 Nenova, Liliana 85 Network of East-West Women 204, 274n10 Neubert, Rudolf 106, 107, 109 Niško Polje, Serbia 185–86, 187, 188, 191, 269n4, 271n33 No˝k Lapja (Hungarian women’s weekly): and International Women’s Year 62, 66–67, 68; and Liberation Brigade 37; publication details 230n18, 241n17 nomenklatura 120 nonviolent civil disobedience 213 Nowa Wies´ (Polish magazine) 171 Nowakowska, Urszula 214, 216 Nowicka, Wanda 145–46, 148 nudism 100, 112, 113 objectification of women 180–81 oral histories: influences on 6–7, 15–16, 48; methodology 35, 186, 202; of Polish feminists, overview of 202, 273n4, 273n6 Oras¸ul Stalin (Stalin City) 16 Orthodox Church 129, 257n15 Ortner, Sherry 215 Ostrava, Czechoslovakia 166 Ottinger, Ulrike 216 Ottoman rule 90, 256n15 papal infallibility, doctrine of 141, 258n43 Papp, Anna 67 Party of National Unity (Czechoslovakia) 153, 261n14 patriarchal attitudes: in Bulgaria 77–78, 81; challenges to, in propaganda 18; and domestic violence 108, 117; as generational 27; socialism’s failure to overcome 2, 4, 14, 28, 30, 98. See also double burden of work and family; harassment patriarchy: defined 255n4; marriage as 121–22, 158; in post-socialist Poland 218; state socialism as 60, 120

Pauker, Anna 255n9 Pawiak Prison 207, 274n15 Pawłowska, Anna 176 pay discrimination. See wage disparities PCR (Romanian Communist Party) 65, 69 Pease, Neal 136 Pełnym Głosem (Polish journal of feminist research) 273n3 Pesheva, Raina 77–78 Pius XII, Pope 135 Plakwicz, Jolanta 216 Planned Parenthood 138 Poland: anti-Semitic campaign 181, 203, 204, 205, 209; church-state relations in post-socialist era 133–34, 136, 142–47, 148–49, 217, 218, 256n5; church-state relations in socialist era 134–38, 140–41, 142, 147, 148, 204, 259n47; domestic violence in 123, 124, 125–29, 130, 131; feminism, evolution of 212–19; feminist historiography 202; hospitality in 55, 238n61; modernization efforts 173–75; Nazi occupation of 204–5, 206–7, 256n15, 274n15; openness to Western culture 184, 266n17; refugees from 99; religious diversity of, before World War II 257n15; reproductive rights, restrictions on 133–34, 143–49, 202, 204, 217, 218, 257n21; reproductive rights, support of 119, 133, 137–38, 256n2; student protests 173, 181–82, 184, 203, 209–11; women’s experiences under socialism, overview of 137–40. See also League of Women (Poland); Solidarity Polish August 209 Polish Federation for Women and Family Planning 144, 148 Polish Feminist Association 216–17, 275n40 Polish October 173 Polish United Workers’ Party (PZPR): and Boz˙ena Umin´ska-Keff 205; and Catholic Church 135, 137; and League of Women 45–46,


288


47, 57; and modernization efforts 175 political persecution 79 politics: socialist vs. Western women’s participation in 119; women’s discussion of 56, 238n70, 272n46; women’s underrepresentation in 2, 4, 95, 98, 120, 137, 152 Pomaks 80 Pomórska, Barbara 216 population growth 88, 92, 95, 162, 174 population of women vs. men 104, 274n16 post-socialist era: and Catholic Church in Poland 133–34, 136, 142–47, 148–49, 218, 256n5; and domestic violence 116, 125–26, 131–32; negative socioeconomic conditions of 7, 16, 23–24, 192; in Yugoslav republics 192–96 practical activism 49–51 Prague Spring 8 premarital sex: as common 93, 101, 146; and pregnancy 92, 93, 98, 101, 109; statistics on 248n89; warnings against 92, 178–79 professional fields, women in: architects, lack of 154; balancing career and family 86–87; employment levels 21; judges 105, 128; lower wages of 21, 28, 69; and new market economy 217–18; propaganda supporting 20 pro-natalist policies: in Bulgaria 78, 79, 87–89, 92; in Czechoslovakia 162; in Romania 19–20, 90, 124; in Yugoslav republics 193 propaganda: against abortion 91; for motherhood 19–20, 89–90; on women’s emancipation 81, 119–20; for women’s employment 17–19, 82–83, 172, 228n57; on workers’ brigades 37, 44; on working women 17–20 Prus, Bolesław 267n43 Pullai, Árpád 61 PZPR. See Polish United Workers’ Party (PZPR) queer identity

7, 224n24

Ramšak, Mojca 269n11 rape 99, 144 rationing 25, 27, 36, 53 recreational activities 41–43, 54–57 refugees 99 religious education 135, 136, 140 reproductive rights: in Bulgaria 87–94, 257n22; Church opposition to 129, 133–34, 140–41, 143–44, 146, 148; in Czechoslovakia 162, 168, 257n22, 264n65; in East Germany 106–7, 109–12; in Hungary 119, 257n22; in Poland, restrictions on 133–34, 142–49, 202, 204, 217, 218, 257n21; in Poland, support of 119, 133, 137–38, 256n2; in Romania 2, 15, 19, 91, 148, 226n27, 257n22; in Yugoslavia 257n22. See also pro-natalist policies Res Publica Nowa (literary journal) 211 resourcefulness, in hard times 53–54, 236n47 rock music 107, 177, 212 role models 203, 208 Roma 80, 185 Romania: Anna Pauker’s leadership 255n9; cultural isolation of 244n63; domestic violence in 123, 124, 127–29, 131; folk heritage 270n18; industrialization of Bras¸ov 16–17; nostalgia for communist era 16, 31, 227n42; personal accounts of women’s work 20–25, 26–27; pro-natalist policies 19–20, 90, 124; propaganda about working women 17–20; reception of International Women’s Year 69–73; reproductive rights 2, 15, 19, 91, 148, 226n27, 257n22; Romanian Communist Party (PCR) 65, 69; women’s rights in, vs. Bulgaria 81; women’s views of sex equality 28–30; working women, overview of 13–16. See also CNF (National Council of Women in Romania) Rosenthal, Gabriel 35 Russia. See Soviet Union Sas-Zdort, Barbara 216 “sauerkraut-stew socialism”


289

Index

184


Index

Scânteia (Romanian communist daily) 17, 18 scientific socialism 153 Scott, Joan 185 SED. See Socialist Unity Party (SED, East Germany) Semrád, Stanislav 159 Serbia: male resistance to female public performance 188–89; Miloševic rule 194; Niško Polje 185–86, 187, 188, 191, 269n4, 271n33; perceptions of ethnic conflict 272n46; post-socialist memories of festivals 192–94; Trupale Village Gathering 190; village festivals and quality of life 191–92, 194–95; women’s emancipation through singing 189–91; 195–96 women’s rights in, vs. Bulgaria 81 sex: East German mores 100–102, 109–13; female expectations of fulfillment 101, 110, 111–12, 113; as male entitlement 121, 122; postwar crisis of 99. See also premarital sex sex education: in East Germany 98, 101–2, 106, 107, 109; in Poland 134, 137–38 sex equality: as achieved by socialism 29, 68, 138, 145–46; Bulgarian retreat from 78, 95; different terminology for 61, 241n14; as International Women’s Year objective 60–61, 62, 64; Polish retreat from 142–46; Romanian women’s views of 28–30; as theorized by socialism 2, 14, 61, 80, 94, 95, 98, 116, 118–20; as “unnatural” 212; workplace laws on 69–70, 228n54. See also emancipation Shulman, Alix Kates 215 Siemien´ska, Renata 214 singing: current disinterest in old songs 194; male resistance to female public performance 188–89; Polish girl groups 176; post-socialist memories of 192–94; women’s emancipation through 189–91, 195–96 single women: foreign travel and 171, 172, 180; married vs. solitary lifestyles 94; as mothers 92–94, 102, 105

Sipilä, Helvi 59, 63, 64, 65, 68 Slovakia 144–45 Smolett, Eleanor 84 social activism 46, 65, 232n5 social welfare benefits: and civic identity 3; loss of 201; and quality of life 2, 3, 14; and women’s emancipation 119, 139, 243n48; women’s greater dependence on 78, 145, 147; workers’ holidays 42–43 socialism. See state socialism Socialist Unity Front 65 Socialist Unity Party (SED, East Germany) 97, 98, 104–5, 107–10, 112, 249n1 Society for Family Development (TRR, Poland) 138, 140, 144 Solidarity: as antifeminist 142–43, 212–13, 214, 218; and Catholic Church 141, 142–44, 147, 259n47; formation of 203, 208–9, 217; women’s activism within 3, 203, 213 Soviet Union: abortion laws 90, 257n22; avant-gardism in 155; and collective-house type 156, 159; and communal domestic services 49; divorce rates 248n82; folk heritage 270n18; forced labor in 22, 227n36; home economics programs 238n62; Hungary’s “liberation” by 36; as Jewish World War II refuge 205; mixed results of gender policies 94; occupation of Germany 99; occupation of Poland 204, 207; women’s rights in Russia vs. Bulgaria 81 Spasovska, Liliana 84, 85, 87 Stalin Works factory 156, 262n29 Stamova, Nina 78, 79 state socialism: collapse of 1, 23–24, 134, 147, 193–94, 217–19 (see also post-socialist era); collective amnesia of 272n41; vs. communism 221n1, 231n2, 240n9, 244n4, 249n1, 265n3, 273n1; defined 221n1, 244n4, 269n6; failure of, to overcome sexism 2, 4, 14, 28, 30–31, 94, 98; gender identity broadened by 2, 13–15, 30–31; “goulash socialism” 36, 41; and law enforcement 126–29, 256n15; monolithic views of 196;


290


nostalgia for 7, 13, 16, 31, 78, 195, 227n42; as patriarchy 60, 120; paucity of research on gender and 1; Polish women’s experiences under, overview of 137–40; “scientific socialism” 153; sex equality as achieved by 29, 36, 68, 145–46; sex equality as theorized by 1–2, 14, 61, 80, 94, 95, 98, 116, 118–20. See also communism; propaganda; and specific socialist parties Stavoprojekt (Czechoslovakia) 155, 157, 161, 163, 262n27 Steagul Ros¸u factory (Romania) 16, 26 Steinem, Gloria 66 sterilization 257n21, 258n29 Strumin´ska, Felicja 266n23 student protests of 1968 173, 181–82, 184, 203, 209–11 subjectivity 185 Szczecin, Poland 176 Szcze¸sna, Joanna 211 Szczuka, Kazimiera 139, 146, 202 Tarasiewicz, Małgorzata: career overview 203–4; current work 219; on fall of communism 217; family background 206–9; and WiP 213–14 Teige, Karel 158, 161, 263n41 telephone justice 127, 256n17 television 174–75, 191, 194 textbooks 235n29 Todorova, Maria 81, 86 Tractorul factory (Romania) 16 travel 42–43, 171, 180, 189, 271n27 Trotta, Margarethe von 216 TRR (Society for Family Development, Poland) 138, 140, 144 Trupale Village Gathering 190 Tryzna, Miroslav 159–60 T-series housing types 155, 161–67, 168 Two-Year Plan (Czechoslovakia) 154, 160, 161–62, 165, 262n22 Ukraine 144–45 Ulbricht, Lotte 105 Ulbricht, Walter 105–6, 107, 112

291

Umin´ska-Keff, Boz˙ena: on anti-Semitism 211–12; career overview 203–4; current work 219; family background 204–6; and feminist activism 215–17, 275n40; on identity 211; on loss of reproductive rights 217; and student protests 209–11 Unia Pracy (Poland) 235n29 United Nations: Commission on the Status of Women 62–64, 73, 242n26; Decade for Women 62, 239n1; first woman assistant secretary general 59, 65; Hungary’s reluctance to attend women’s meetings 72–73; World Conferences on Women 60, 66–68, 140, 239n7; World Population Year 140. See also International Women’s Year USSR. See Soviet Union vacations 42–43. See also travel Vándor, Vera 65, 242n33 Vassilev, Dimituˇr 90 Vatican. See Catholic Church Verdery, Katherine 79, 139 victimhood 130–31 Village Gatherings. See festivals, statesponsored vocal groups. See singing wage disparities: in East Germany 103–4, 112; and gendered occupations 21, 82; in medical professions 28, 69; throughout the region 2; in Western states 18 wage labor: Engels’s theory of liberation through work 1–2, 14, 17, 29, 30, 81; and self-identity 13–15, 36–37, 83; wives discouraged from 100, 103, 212, 218; women’s reasons for working 20–21, 83. See also employment levels, women’s; factory work; wage disparities; working women Walczewska, Sławomira 146, 202, 206, 216, 273n3, 273n4 Walka Młodych (communist youth weekly) 180–81 War Resisters International 213–14 Weimar Republic 107


Index


Index

Western cultural influences: and fears of sexual disorder 107; on hairstyling 235n37; on images of working women 19; miniskirts 177, 267n31; as objectifying women 180–81; Poland’s openness to 184, 266n17; on Polish activists 212, 213; on television and film 174–75, 176. See also consumerism wife beating. See domestic violence WiP (Freedom and Peace movement, Poland) 213–14 Women of the Whole World (international women’s journal) 61, 70 Women’s International Democratic Federation: establishment and composition of 241n15; and International Women’s Year divisions 66–68; and International Women’s Year preparations 64–66; and International Women’s Year proposal 62–64, 242n26; journal published by 61 Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom 64, 65 Women’s organizations: and domestic violence 131; as “feminist” 61, 68; and film festival 216; in Hungary 72 (see also MNOT); and International Women’s Year preparations 64–66; Party ties 4–5, 46, 47, 57–58, 60, 65, 74. See also specific organizations Women’s publications 124, 233n15, 236n47. See also specific publications Woolf, Virginia 213 working women: downplaying their gender identity 26, 37–38, 44; glorified in propaganda 17–20; as masculine 128; in Romania,

personal accounts 21–25, 26–28; on strike 268n64; as threats to male identity 26. See also double burden of work and family; Liberation Brigade (Hungary); professional fields, women in World Conferences on Women 60, 66–68, 140, 239n7 World Congress for International Women’s Year (Berlin, 1975) 62, 66, 67–68 World Federation of Democratic Youth 65 World Health Organization 65 World Population Year 140 World War II: Bras¸ov, Romania, during 16; and Poland’s religious diversity 257n15; Polish experiences of 205, 207; and population trends 207, 274n16, 274n17; socioeconomic problems arising from 99; and women’s employment levels 17 Wyszyn´sski, Stefan 135 youth population 174 Yugoslavia: abortion laws 257n22; cultural expenditures 187, 270n14; ethnic nationalism in 8, 193, 194, 272n46; maternity benefits 189; NATO bombing 194, 272n44; state- sponsored festivals 185–86, 191; travel among republics 189, 271n27. See also Serbia Zadra (Polish feminist magazine) 273n3 Z˙ eromski, Stefan 211–12 Zhivkov, Todor 93 Zinsser, Judith 62 Zółkiewski, Stefan 175 Zsögön, Éva 67 Z˙ydokomuna 209, 217, 274n22


292


Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe

State and Society in Post-Socialist Economies (Studies in Central and Eastern Europe)

Gender and Everyday Life

Strategic Alliances in Eastern and Central Europe

Socialist Spaces: Sites of Everyday Life in the Eastern Bloc

Church, State, And Society in Eastern Europe

Gender, Politics and the State

Intellectuals and Politics in Central Europe

Eastern and Central Europe (Eyewitness Travel Guides)

Globalization: perspectives from Central and Eastern Europe

Religion and the Conceptual Boundary in Central and Eastern Europe: Encounters of Faiths (Studies in Central and Eastern Europe)

Youth Entrepreneurship and Local Development in Central and Eastern Europe

Linguistic Minorities in Central and Eastern Europe (Multilingual Matters)

Gender and Welfare State Regimes (Gender and Politics)

East Central and Eastern Europe in the Early Middle Ages

East Central and Eastern Europe in the Early Middle Ages

Transformation Of Cities In Central And Eastern Europe: Towards Globalization

Power's Promise: Electricity Reforms in Eastern Europe and Central Asia

Greening Public Budgets in Eastern Europe, Caucasus and Central Asia

Adapting to Climate Change in Eastern Europe and Central Asia

Prospects for improving nutrition in Eastern Europe and Central Asia

History of domestic mammals in central and eastern Europe

Social Justice and the Welfare State in Central and Eastern Europe: The Impact of Privatization

Central and Eastern Europe: Europeanization and social change

European Union and NATO Expansion: Central and Eastern Europe

Architecture and Revolution: Contemporary Perspectives on Central and Eastern Europe

Everyday Politics: reconnecting citizens and public life

Surveillance and Security: Technological Politics and Power in Everyday Life

The Politics of Ethnicity in Central Europe

Socialist Modern: East German Everyday Culture and Politics (Social History, Popular Culture, and Politics in Germany)

Gender Politics and Everyday Life in State Socialist Eastern and Central Europe

State and Society in Post-Socialist Economies (Studies in Central and Eastern Europe)

Gender and Everyday Life

Strategic Alliances in Eastern and Central Europe

Socialist Spaces: Sites of Everyday Life in the Eastern Bloc

Church, State, And Society in Eastern Europe

Gender, Politics and the State

Intellectuals and Politics in Central Europe

Eastern and Central Europe (Eyewitness Travel Guides)

Globalization: perspectives from Central and Eastern Europe

Religion and the Conceptual Boundary in Central and Eastern Europe: Encounters of Faiths (Studies in Central and Eastern Europe)

Youth Entrepreneurship and Local Development in Central and Eastern Europe

Linguistic Minorities in Central and Eastern Europe (Multilingual Matters)

Gender and Welfare State Regimes (Gender and Politics)

East Central and Eastern Europe in the Early Middle Ages

East Central and Eastern Europe in the Early Middle Ages

Transformation Of Cities In Central And Eastern Europe: Towards Globalization

Power's Promise: Electricity Reforms in Eastern Europe and Central Asia

Greening Public Budgets in Eastern Europe, Caucasus and Central Asia

Adapting to Climate Change in Eastern Europe and Central Asia

Prospects for improving nutrition in Eastern Europe and Central Asia

History of domestic mammals in central and eastern Europe

Social Justice and the Welfare State in Central and Eastern Europe: The Impact of Privatization

Central and Eastern Europe: Europeanization and social change

European Union and NATO Expansion: Central and Eastern Europe

Architecture and Revolution: Contemporary Perspectives on Central and Eastern Europe

Everyday Politics: reconnecting citizens and public life

Surveillance and Security: Technological Politics and Power in Everyday Life

The Politics of Ethnicity in Central Europe

Socialist Modern: East German Everyday Culture and Politics (Social History, Popular Culture, and Politics in Germany)

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