The Impact of Women in Congress (Gender and Politics Series)

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The Impact of Women in Congress

Gender and Politics represents the most recent scholarship in the areas of women, gender, and politics, and is explicitly cross-national in its organization and orientation. Recognizing the contribution of women’s studies to gendered political analysis, the goal of Gender and Politics is to develop, and to publish, frontier analysis, the empirical research exemplary of the intersection between political studies and women’s studies. The series is edited by Professor Karen Beckwith at the Department of Political Science, College of Wooster and Professor Joni Lovenduski, Department of Politics and Sociology, Birkbeck College.

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The Impact of Women in Congress Debra L. Dodson Center for American Women and Politics (CAWP) Rutgers, The State University of New Jersey

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3 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford ox2 6dp Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto With offices in Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in the United States by Oxford University Press Inc., New York ß Debra L. Dodson 2006 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published 2006 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this book in any other binding or cover and you must impose the same condition on any acquirer British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Typeset by SPI Publisher Services, Pondicherry, India Printed in Great Britain on acid-free paper by Biddles Ltd., King’s Lynn ISBN 0–19–829674-6 978-0-19-829674-4 hbk ISBN 0-19-829673-8 978-0-19-829673-7 pbk 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Sydney and Greg

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Acknowledgements

A funny thing happened to this book on the way to completion—the vicissitudes of politics. Originally planned as a look at women’s impact in the 103rd Congress which happened to usher in record numbers of women, the focus was on showing that women do make a difference, that policy outcomes in particular and the process that shapes those outcomes are different because women hold office. Its purpose was to go beyond the quantitative evidence of gender difference in the Center for the American Women and Politics’ (CAWP) earlier studies. We wanted to know more about how the increased diversity was contributing to a legislative process that would serve women and men equally well, more that might reveal how the values and norms of institutions that had long been solely the domain of men would affect what women did and how they went about making a difference. However, the 1994 elections complicated that picture, offering far richer opportunities than ever expected to explore these questions and forcing us to look more closely at the nature of that difference. This book comes out of projects that spanned several decades and in which I became involved when in 1987 Ruth Mandel and Susan Carroll generously invited me to join their research team at the CAWP in a project they had designed to explore the impact of women in public office. Following the completion of that project, the continued generosity of the Charles H. Revson Foundation allowed us to build on these earlier studies of women’s impact to explore the implications of their increased presence in the US Congress following the 1992 elections. Yet when 1992’s Year of the Woman was followed by 1994’s Year of the Angry White Male, CAWP knew its research could not stop with the 103rd. It was through the generous support of the Ford Foundation and the Dirksen Congressional Center/Caterpillar Foundation that we were able to continue, bridging what seemed like two different political eras. Our appreciation also extends to the many members of Congress, Hill staff, and lobbyists who generously gave of their time to talk with us about their perspectives, sharing with us information available nowhere else. They too made this study possible.

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I am deeply grateful to my coprincipal investigators on this project, Ruth Mandel and Sue Carroll, for their wisdom, their mentoring, their collegiality, and their support in a data collection effort which became a massive collaborative undertaking that only seemed to grow. Professional staff, graduate students, volunteers, and undergraduate assistants made this study possible and enriched it in many ways varying from thoughtful theoretical discussions to handling the daily logistics of scheduling and data organization. Among them were Ronnee Schreiber, Kathleen Casey, Deborah Liebowitz, Temma Javerbaum, Krista Jenkins, Liz Felter, Debbie Walsh, Sarah Stecker, Shanta Matavan, and a host of undergraduate interns from the Rutgers Political Science Department and the McNair Program. Alice Kleeman and Linda Phillips did flawless jobs of transcribing hours of interviews with staff, lobbyists, and members. My thanks extend beyond CAWP. Carolyn Farrell’s invitation to spend several days at the Gannon Center, discussing my work with a variety of Loyola audiences, began to transform my thinking about gender difference and women’s impact. Cindy Simon Rosenthal’s invitation to participate in the Carl Albert Center’s symposium, Women Transforming Congress, brought new ideas that substantially changed my approach to these questions. Sue Thomas and Kira Sanbonmatsu came to my rescue with insight and tactfulness at critical points in the writing process, and Karen Beckwith’s encouragement and support throughout helped me persevere at times when it was tempting to abandon the effort. As I reflect on the too many years devoted to this project, I am reminded of dozens of my women and politics colleagues whose support on panels, over dinner, and in e-mails has provided insight and reinforcement. Their comments only strengthened my work; any weakness that remains is purely my own fault. The patience of the series editors, Karen Beckwith and Joni Lovenduski, Oxford editor Dominic Byatt, and Oxford assistant commissioning editor Claire Croft made it possible to craft an analysis of difference and women’s impact that (I hope) transcends the boundaries of two historic congresses and points us in new directions conceptually and practically. I am deeply grateful. Finally, I thank my family. My parents Dorothy and Newton Dodson provided the type of encouragement that made it possible for me to undertake a project such as this. My daughter, Sydney, was an inspiration, reminding me of the importance of women’s presence in public office and my hopes that that would create a better world for her and her generation. My husband, Greg Nease, lived amid a project that consumed my life and our shared space. Encouraging me to persevere to its completion, but seldom asking when it would be done, and never reminding me of a missed deadline, his contribution to this project is incalculable, and I am deeply grateful. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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My hope is this volume will spark new questions and inspire us all to think more deeply not only about the need for gender parity in politics to make a democracy more responsive to all citizens, regardless of gender, but also the contribution that each of us—regardless of gender or willingness to run for public office—can make to realizing that difference.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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Contents

Acknowledgements

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Part I. Introduction: The Best of Times, The Worst of Times 1. Rethinking Difference 2. Capturing the Process

1 7 32

Part II. Representing Women: Consensus and Complexity 3. Representing Women: The Elite to Elite Connection 4. Representing Women: The Constituency Connection

47 53 65

Part III. Difference, Negotiation, and Constraints in the Policy Process 5. Reproductive Rights: Gender Difference and the Paradox of Power 6. Reproductive Rights: Redefining the Meaning of Critical Mass 7. Women’s Health: Staying the Course with a Critical Mass 8. Women’s Health: A Shelter in the Storm 9. Health Care Reform: The Convergence of the Politics of Presence and the Politics of Ideas 10. Health Insurance Reform: Institutional Structure, Contingent Meanings

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Conclusion: Looking Toward the Future Methodological Appendix Bibliography Index

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85 106 128 154 180 195

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Part I

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Introduction: The Best of Times, The Worst of Times

The 1992 elections practically doubled the number of women serving in the US Congress, and their numbers did not decline after the 1994 cycle.1 However, these two election cycles—the first dubbed the ‘Year of the Woman’ and the second ‘The Year of the Angry White Male’—produced strikingly different Congresses; these differences call into question the relationship between descriptive representation (the extent to which representatives look like those they ostensibly represent) and substantive representation of women (the ability of representatives to act for women constituents as women constituents would act for themselves if they could).2 While the newly elected women of the 103rd Congress captured the postelection spotlight when they put forward a bipartisan agenda of shared concerns as women—concerns consistent with the spirit of the US women’s movement (Browning 1992)—the newly elected Republican women of the 104th drew national attention when, at a postelection celebration, they presented Rush Limbaugh with a plaque, assuring him there was not a Femi-Nazi among them (Merida 1994). The 103rd Congress passed record numbers of bills aimed at helping women, children, and families (Congressional Caucus for Women’s Issues 1994); the 104th Congress was routinely decried by feminists as antiwomen. Taking advantage of the unique opportunity these two strikingly different, yet consecutive, Congresses provide, this book compares and contrasts gender’s impacts on policymaking as the environment changes, examining how women’s efforts to bring (feminale) gendered perspectives to the policymaking process affect and are affected by (masculine) gendered institutions,3 assessing the implications for the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women, and exploring what this may mean for representation of all citizens, regardless of gender, in a representative democracy.

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THE HI L L –TH O M A S HE ARI N GS , TH E YE A R O F A ND TH E YE AR O F TH E AN G R Y WH I T E MA L E

THE

WO M A N ,

The 1991 Hill–Thomas hearings drove home the message to many that women’s underrepresentation among officeholders matters, and they undoubtedly contributed to women’s record gains in the US Congress during the 1992 election cycle that followed (Wilcox 1994). The images of the all-male Senate Judiciary Committee grilling Anita Hill about her allegations of sexual harassment against Clarence Thomas raised serious questions for many women about the ability of institutions comprised almost exclusively of men to represent both male and female citizens when gendered interests and perspectives diverge and, particularly, when the issues on the agenda confront the power imbalance between women and men.4 Cries of ‘they just don’t get it’ echoed throughout the nation during the autumn of 1991, as congresswomen marched on the Senate, feminist activists spoke out, and average women expressed outrage at the way the Senate, with its 98 percent male membership, treated Anita Hill (Wilcox 1994).5 In the 1992 election cycle that followed, record numbers of women ran for Congress (and won) and contributions to women’s PACs hit record levels (Center for the American Woman and Politics 1992; Wilcox 1994; Nelson 1994). When 1992’s ‘Year of the Woman’ yielded record increases in the number of women elected to Congress, many hoped their increased presence would improve substantive representation of women by ensuring the realities of women’s lives, voices, needs, and interests were made present more frequently in a policymaking process that in the past had all too often centered male experiences, acting as though only men’s interests existed. Such expectations took a step closer to becoming reality when all twenty-four newly elected women in the House— half of its total female membership—held a press conference one month after the election to present a bipartisan women’s agenda: full funding for Head Start, passage of family and medical leave, codification of Roe vs. Wade, and the extension of federal laws against sexual harassment to Congress itself (Browning 1992). Energized by the increased numbers of women members, the Congressional Caucus for Women’s Issues (CCWI)—to which forty-two of the forty-eight women in the House belonged—outspokenly advocated numerous matters of concern to women members; and, perhaps as a result, the 103rd Congress passed a record sixty-six bills aimed at helping women and their families (CCWI 1994). If the accomplishments of the 103rd Congress suggested descriptive representation affects substantive representation of women (Dodson et al. 1995), the record of the 104th Congress called this relationship into question, as feminists’ gains of the past came under attack, women members spoke out in favor of their roll back, and prospects dimmed for continued progress toward gender equity (as defined by the contemporary feminist movement). Several factors contributed to this change. v

INTRODUCTI ON : THE BEST OF TIMES , THE WORST O F TIMES

3 First, women members collectively shifted to the right. Women’s proportional presence may have remained relatively stable across both Congresses (albeit at what Kanter [1977] considers token levels) and the majority of women members in both Congresses may have been Democrats sympathetic to the women’s movement, but women members as a group shifted to the right ideologically in the 104th, with the defeat in the House of eight Democratic women incumbents and the election of seven new Republican women, six of whom were hostile to the contemporary women’s movement.6 Among those six, one dubbed the League of Women Voters the ‘League of Women Vipers,’ one insisted on being called Congressman rather than Congresswoman, and another charged that the white man was the most endangered species (Hall 1994; Rosen 1995). This cohort of new congresswomen gave a different twist to the notion that ‘women make a difference’ when two of them were among the three House members alleged to have close ties with the militia movement following the Oklahoma City bombing. Moreover, the contrast between the women of the 103rd and the 104th called into question the link commonly assumed to exist between increased descriptive and substantive representation of women, raising questions about whether evidence of such a link had actually been due more to the increased presence of liberal women than to the increased presence of women per se (for a similar point see Beckwith and Cowell-Meyers 2003). Second, women’s positioning within Congress changed between the 103rd and 104th, but whether this strengthened or weakened women remains open to debate. Although the fact two women chaired standing committees in the 104th (compared to none in the 103rd) might suggest to some that individual women were better positioned in the 104th,7 others would assert that collectively women’s positioning became less favorable in the 104th. In both the House and Senate, women were a smaller proportion of the majority party in the Republicancontrolled 104th (7.2 percent and 5.7 percent, respectively) than in the Democratic-controlled 103rd (13.6 percent and 8.9 percent, respectively). The new Republican-controlled House leadership defunded all Legislative Service Organizations (LSOs), depriving the CCWI of the staff and other resources that had previously helped it forge bipartisan consensus, create a bipartisan forum, and raise awareness of the importance of selected policies to women and their families (Gertzog 1995, 1998). Although the CCWI continued as a Congressional Members’ Organization (CMO) in the 104th, their lack of resources reduced the potential their agenda would compete with that of the Republican leadership (Gertzog 2004). Add to this the sharp decline in Caucus membership among women of the majority party, and the added burden on the diminishing number of women ‘insiders’ to carry such an agenda mounted, particularly with a Grand Old Party (GOP) leadership perceived as hostile to the women’s movement. Third, Congress changed internally in ways that might well have affected the link between descriptive and substantive representation of women even had there INTRODUCTI ON : THE BEST OF TIMES , THE WORST OF TIMES

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4 been no changes among women as a group. Control of Congress shifted to a Republican majority whose male leaders were (even) less sympathetic to the women’s movement and less connected to such groups than their Democratic predecessors had been. Add to this that the GOP leadership credited their 1994 victory to their Contract with America, and this set an antigovernment, antiregulatory, antitax, budget-balancing agenda for the House (and to a lesser extent the Senate) that seemed far removed from (and at worst, a direct attack on) the concerns and preferences of the organized women’s movement. That the GOP had won control of Congress despite a substantial gender gap suggested they would have little incentive during the 104th (and certainly less than Democrats had in the 103rd) to reach out to women voters. The power of the conservative Republican leadership was enhanced beyond its numbers on the House side as those leaders tightened controls over the institution, making intraparty challenges more difficult and making Republicans who might reach across the aisle targets of suspicion.8 Moreover, as will become apparent in later chapters of this volume, the strong desire for party unity among Republicans euphoric over their newly acquired majority status discouraged rebellion among the handful of moderate Republican women, thereby creating distinct, competing institutional pressures further discouraging bipartisan cooperation among women in the House and, to a lesser extent, in the Senate. v

THE PL AN

The 103rd and 104th Congresses offer an almost ideal quasi-experimental design. The abrupt and dramatic changes (e.g. changes in partisan control of both chambers, the ideological balance in Congress generally and—to a lesser extent—among its women members, women’s position within Congress), amid at least some elements of stability (Democrats continued to control the executive branch and women members’ proportional presence in the institution as a whole held relatively stable), provide a unique opportunity to explore the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women and the effects of individual- and institutional-level changes on women’s impact in the policymaking process. Chapter 1 reviews the literature on gender difference and the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, summarizing the findings and highlighting matters that remain (implicitly or explicitly) contested. Chapter 2 develops a model sufficiently flexible to accommodate an explicitly comparative, multidimensional, qualitative analysis of the dynamic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation that is generalizable over time and which may be meaningful even in periods when the answer to the question of whether women make a difference seems to be more frequently ‘no’ than ‘yes’. Chapters 3 and 4 examine change and stability in women’s views about representing v

INTRODUCTI ON : THE BEST OF TIMES , THE WORST O F TIMES

5 women, delving beneath the surface of their apparent consensus regarding their responsibility to women to explore the diverse meanings that belie similar words. The remaining chapters examine the dynamic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women through three case studies of highly visible policy issues (women’s health, reproductive rights, and health care) which had strikingly different legislative outcomes in the 103rd and 104th Congresses. They explore the connection between women members’ abstract understandings of their roles and responsibilities vis-a`-vis women and their actions in an effort to understand women’s impact on substantive representation of women, how (masculine) institutions affect that impact, and how women, in turn, affect these institutions. Taking the analysis beyond the limits of the simple question of whether women make a difference, the results should provide some degree of resolution to the contested matters surrounding women’s impact, insight into factors that encourage and facilitate substantive representation of women, and awareness of the ways women affect, and are affected by, (masculine) political institutions. v

NO T E S

1 The number of women in the House rose from twenty-nine (plus one delegate from the District of Columbia) in the 102nd Congress to forty-seven (plus one delegate) in the 103rd Congress and from two to six (and later seven) in the Senate during that same time period (Center for the American Woman and Politics 1991/1993). Forty-seven women were elected to the US House in the 1994 elections, the same number who had served in the 103rd. One additional woman was added to the Senate as a result of that election, bringing the total up to eight from the previous high of seven women serving during the 103rd Congress. During the second session of the 104th Congress, two more women members were added to fill vacancies—one in the House and one in the Senate—bringing the total to forty-eight in the House and nine in the Senate (Center for the American Woman and Politics 1995). 2 For further discussion of these various types of representation see Pitkin 1967; for discussion of the connection between them, see Duerst-Lahti and Verstegen 1995 and Mansbridge 1999; also see Phillips 1995. 3 ‘The term ‘‘gendered institutions’’ means that gender is present in the processes, practices, images and ideologies, and distributions of power in the various sectors of social life’ (Acker 1992: 567). 4 For discussions of the need for descriptive representation under these conditions see Phillips (1995) and Mansbridge (1999). 5 Hill’s treatment by the Judiciary Committee was particularly disturbing to professional women; they could understand why she had kept in contact with a man she accused of such offensive behavior, and they could write checks to support the campaigns of women running for office (Wilcox 1994). Although public opinion in October 1991 (CBS News Poll 10/91) actually favored as the more believable Clarence Thomas by a 3:1 margin over Anita Hill (60 percent vs. 20 percent), his credibility advantage eroded under

INTRODUCTI ON : THE BEST OF TIMES , THE WORST OF TIMES

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6 continued media attention. A September 1992 survey by Princeton Survey Research Associates found that almost a year later the public was evenly split (38 percent vs. 38 percent) over whether Thomas or Hill was the more believable. 6 This shift was substantially muted on the Senate side where the addition of moderate Republican Olympia Snowe actually pulled Republican women senators toward the center, even though it slightly shifted women senators as a group (the majority of whom were Democrats) to the right by reducing the proportion of Democrats within the ranks of women. 7 No Democratic women chaired standing committees in the 103rd, but two Republican women chaired them in the 104th—Nancy Kassebaum (Senate Labor Committee) and Jan Meyers (House Small Business). Moreover, while Democratic women seemed to have felt marginalized by their party’s (male) leadership in the 103rd, Republican leaders, especially on the House side, seemed to make a special effort to put GOP women in highly visible positions in the 104th, showcasing their party’s women in ways unparalleled by their Democratic predecessors (this volume; also see Gertzog 2004). 8 The leadership worked to control the agenda and the content of legislation by taking control of committee assignments. The Committee on Committees was replaced by a Steering Committee dominated by the Speaker and other GOP leaders (Gertzog 2004). Committee chairs and the thirteen cardinals were required to provide written assurances of support for the Contract (Drew 1996 cited in Gertzog 2004). In four cases the leadership deviated from the seniority system to appoint chairs who would be ideologically dedicated and tough enough to move legislation that came out of the Contract with America (Garrett 1994; Naylor 1994a, 1994b; Cohen 1996; Davidson 1996); appropriations subcommittee members agreed in writing to their removal if they failed to follow the GOP Conference agenda (Davidson 1996); and committee chairs were warned that their tenure as chair depended on their reporting out items from the Contract even if they personally opposed them, which led in some cases to markups without hearings and with little member input (Davidson 1996). The Speaker reduced the size of committee staff and increased the size of leadership staff by 30 percent (Naylor 1994b), relied on leader-designated task forces often to the exclusion of committees in shaping policy (Davidson 1996), used omnibus appropriations/budget bills as vehicles to reduce debate and limit amendments, used the Rules Committee to shape and expedite legislation (Davidson 1996), and created a new type of multiple referrals (additional initial referrals) that allowed the Speaker to decide whether, when, and how long committees could consider the legislation (Davidson 1996). The GOP majority engaged in symbolic changes as well, for example, renaming committees to remove references to Democratic constituencies (e.g. Education and Labor became Economic and Educational Opportunities; the Committee on Banking, Currency, and Urban Affairs became the Committee on Banking and Financial Services [Gertzog 2004: 63]). These moves, combined with a euphoric spirit of party unity, enhanced GOP leadership power and control within the chamber (for discussion of these see Davidson 1995, 1996).

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Rethinking Difference

PR E VI O U S RE SE A RC H

ON

DI F F E R E N C E

Although early skeptics of a connection between descriptive and substantive representation charged that what people did (and not what they looked like) was what mattered for representation (e.g. Pitkin 1967), a growing body of research suggests the increased presence of women in public office has the potential to transform representation, by centering women, their lives, and their perspectives in the policymaking process and thus increasing governmental responsiveness to women’s needs, interests, and perspectives. Compared with their male colleagues, women officeholders’ policy attitudes are more liberal and more feminist (Johnson and Carroll 1978; Stanwick and Kleeman 1983; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Mandel and Dodson 1992; Gehlen 1977; Leader 1977; Welch 1985; Poole and Zeigler 1985; Thomas 1989; Havens and Healy 1991; also see Mezey 1994; Vega and Firestone 1995; Clark 1998), and women officeholders have a greater connection to women constituents than their male colleagues do, more often seeing women as a component of their constituency, recognizing them as a group with specific political concerns, identifying with them as a group, and/or feeling a responsibility to speak out for them (Githens 1984; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Dodson et al. 1995; Tamerius 1995; Dodson 1998a; Gertzog 1995; Reingold 1992, 2000). Whether the focus is on the final aggregative stage of the policymaking process when roll call votes are taken or the earlier deliberative stages when agendas are being developed, priorities set, and legislation crafted, women officeholders are reshaping the governmental agenda, giving higher priority than their male colleagues to women’s rights issues as addressed by the contemporary women’s movement, as well as to children and family issues often associated with women’s more traditional roles as caregivers in the family and society more generally (Frankovic 1977; Gehlen 1977; Leader 1977; Flammang 1985; Welch 1985; Kathlene 1989; Thomas 1989; Dodson 1991; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Havens and Healy 1991; Mandel and Dodson 1992; Reingold 1992; Burrell 1994; Thomas 1994; Dodson et al. 1995; Vega and Firestone 1995; Kathlene 1995; Clark 1998; Dodson 1998; Bratton and Haynie 1999; Carroll 2001; also see Saint-Germain 1989;

8 Boles 1991; Welch and Thomas 1991; Berkman and O’Connor 1993; Barrett 1995; Gertzog 1995; Tamerius 1995; Wolbrecht 2002).1 While the existing literature provides compelling evidence that women in public office make a difference, the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women that belies these claims is neither simple nor certain. This study of women in two strikingly different (yet consecutive) Congresses provides a unique opportunity to explore the complexity of this relationship, focusing both on challenges to the notion that women make a difference and on the controversies that often lurk beneath the surface of such assertions, ignored. I focus my discussion in this book largely around three such points: (a) the probabilistic rather than deterministic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women; (b) the contested legitimacy of women representing women; and (c) disagreement about what it means to represent women. Confronting these controversies should increase understanding of how women’s presence facilitates substantive representation of women, and it should move the literature toward a better integrated understanding of how gendered forces at the individual, institutional, and societal levels combine to reinforce and redefine gendered relationships to power in the public sphere. This should help us move beyond a focus on women per se to a more intellectually (and politically) productive focus on the gendering of political institutions (Kenney 1996), the way institutional and extra-institutional forces affect conceptualizations of feminism, feminist protest (Katzenstein 1998), and the gendered stakes surrounding substantive representation of both women and men, over time and across settings. v

THE PR O B L E M

OF

PR O B A B I L I S T I C RE L A T I O N S H I P S

Although feminist empirical scholars’ choice of words may have sometimes (unfortunately) conveyed an image of unity and consistency among women that (like other areas of behavioral research) downplayed sizeable error terms, feminist empirical researchers have long realized that: (a) the shared experience we presume unites women is no guarantee of shared behavior; (b) the relationship between gender and attitudes/behaviors is probabilistic rather than deterministic; and (c) the variance between some subgroups of women and men actually may be smaller than the variance among women or among men in general.2 Even when women as a group are more liberal and more feminist than their male colleagues, there are inevitably individual women who are more conservative than their average male colleague just as there are individual men who are more liberal and more feminist than the average woman. Add to this that not all studies find substantial gender differences (Mezey 1978; McGlen and Sarkees 1991; Beck 1991; Tolleson Rinehart 1991; Reingold 2000) and that others find gender differences that vary over time (cf. Poole and Zeigler 1985; Welch 1985; Burrell 1994; Vega and Firestone 1995), across issues (e.g. Leader 1977; Poole and Zeigler 1985; v

RETHI NKIN G DIFFERENCE

9 Thomas 1989; Burrell 1994; Tamerius 1995; Clark 1998), and across ideological subgroups (Dolan and Ford 1998; Martin 1991; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Dodson 2001), and the implications of descriptive representation for substantive representation of women become even murkier. The picture is further clouded because women officeholders’ self-reported attitudes about representing women are not good predictors of their behavior (Reingold 1998), women who claim to act for women may sometimes square off against one another in support of opposing legislative alternatives (Dodson et al. 1995; this volume), and men sometimes ‘act for’ women (Dodson et al. 1995; also Gelb and Palley 1996). Admittedly, the link between descriptive and substantive representation of women would be more convincing and the arguments that increasing women’s presence in public office would make policy more responsive to women’s perspectives would be more persuasive if the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation were deterministic rather than probabilistic; however, the probabilistic nature of the relationship should not undercut gender’s importance. Probabilistic, rather than deterministic, relationships are the norm in behavioral research. Additionally, the only reason political women win on any votes within largely male institutions is that at least some men are willing to join with them. Nevertheless, those who find little consolation in these pragmatic justifications (yet still believe gender matters) can take some solace in Anne Phillips’ assertion that what distinguishes gendered from nongendered concerns is not that all women are the same or that women and men are polarized, but rather that the needs, interests, and perspectives of similarly situated women and men differ from one another (Phillips 1995). This means women’s and men’s (conflicting) gendered interests may coexist with shared interests, even when other interests divide women (as they may divide men) among themselves. If this reality were not messy enough (particularly when we try to force the relationship into a regression equation or compute a correlation coefficient), it reaches new heights in Anne Phillips’ appeal that we, for all practical purposes, embrace the error term that inevitably haunts this relationship: Changing the gender composition of elected assemblies is largely an enabling condition . . . but it cannot present itself as a guarantee. It is, in some sense, a shot in the dark: far more likely to reach its target than when those shooting are predominately male, but still open to all kinds of accident. (Phillips 1995: 83)

Unfortunately, while this logic may make it easier to accept a less than perfect relationship between gender and substantive representation of women, it sheds little light on why this ‘shot in the dark’ hits its ‘target’ only sometimes. Rather than simply accept the error term as an inevitable part of the equation, I believe we must understand why so many exceptions to the rule exist if we are to avoid, in the long run, the disillusionment sure to follow women’s slow progress in transforming governmental institutions and to escape, in the short run, RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

v

10 essentialist traps that set unrealistically high expectations women will make a difference based on monolithic images of women with which many are unable to identify (see Cleaver 1997; Gilmore 1997; Romany 1997; Wing 1997). Granted, part of the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women may reflect that unity of action among women not only requires gender to outweigh the importance of other factors, but it also requires that gender evoke similar understandings of alternatives and rank-orderings of those alternatives. This is a classic problem in predicting motivated behavior (Mohr 1982) and one that seems to have inspired explicitly antiessentialist approaches like Katzenstein’s analysis of feminist protest within masculine institutions. Yet at least some of the inconsistencies almost certainly reflect the conceptual and empirical weaknesses of the gender literature. Inconsistent answers to the common, simplistic, and limiting question of whether women make a difference (Kenney 1996) may be less likely to put gender scholars on the defensive, less likely to call into question whether gender matters at all, and more likely to make a contribution to untangling gender power relations if we at a minimum: (a) develop models that better recognize and incorporate diversity among women in explanations of the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women; (b) take the actions we study out of a contextual vacuum by explicitly incorporating the internal and external political environments into our analysis; and (c) reexamine the appropriateness of empirical models that structure our analyses. While it may initially seem to some I am unfairly ignoring the progress that has been made in the literature, I ask the readers’ patience as I explain my concerns in greater detail. v

Diversity, Difference, and Nondeterministic Relationships

Differences in the life experiences, perspectives, needs, and interests of white women and women of color, poor women and wealthy women, women in developed and developing countries, rural women and urban women, gender conscious and the unconscious, feminists and nonfeminists, African-American women and Latinas mean that different kinds of women face different kinds of problems, different kinds of women who face similar problems may be better served by different types of policies, and women whose own life experiences differ or who represent women with different types of life experiences may disagree about the problems that exist, the appropriate range of solutions, and which solutions actually will remedy the problems they agree exist. Although it has become almost cliche´ to discuss diversity in theory, capturing in practice the multiplicity of ways women’s gendered preferences and interests may be manifested at any given time is difficult using quantitative empirical models that accept or reject hypotheses based on the proportion of variance explained and that judge gender’s impact based implicitly (if not explicitly) on uniformity of v

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11 behavior (or direction of behavior) among women (juxtaposed with uniform behavior among men that is diametrically opposite). The complex reality of difference amid diversity comes through in Anne Phillips’ observation that: We live in a gender order that is also structured by class, which means that women experience their womanhood in different ways and that their unity as women is continually disrupted by conflicts of class. Draw in race to complete the triangle and you can see how complex the geometry becomes. No one is ‘just’ a worker, ‘just’ a woman, ‘just’ black. The notion that politics can simply reflect one of our identities is implausible in the extreme. (Phillips 1987: 12)

Consider, for example, that old feminist adage, ‘Every woman is just one man away from poverty.’ It is more likely to resonate with middle class, heterosexual, white women than with poor women, highly paid professional women, women of color, lesbians, and others who have less chance or need of being rescued from poverty by a man (Malveaux 1990). Or take sexual harassment. All women are vulnerable to sexual harassment, but the potential costs of sexual harassment are not identical for all women. Even the feminists who mobilized around Anita Hill seemed to ignore how race heightened the potential economic costs she, as an African-American woman, would have faced by quitting her job or by suing her boss, just as they also seemed oblivious to the social costs she bore by airing the community’s ‘dirty laundry’ to a predominantly white audience (Taylor 1997). Most empirical studies of gender differences in the impact of officeholders generally cast the explanatory net broadly and vaguely, attributing these gender differences in policy preferences and priorities to gender differences in life experiences or to the effects of the women’s movement (Mandel and Dodson 1992; Thomas 1994). This lowest-common-denominator explanation in theory has the advantage of allowing for diversity in the specific experiences, preferences, and needs of women differently positioned within society at the same time it provides some seemingly meaningful commonalities that contribute to a unified image of women and their experiences, and in turn, to their political clout (Gelb and Palley 1996; also see Kingdon 1984). In practice, however, it has two disadvantages. First, it usually conjures up images that resemble the realities of middleto-upper-middle class white suburban women more than the realities of less privileged women. Secondly, vague references to women’s life experiences may be (mistakenly) defined in narrow terms that suggest women’s integration into the (masculine) workforce/public sphere will diminish difference because employment is the sum total of those life experiences (see Reingold 2000) without considering the multidimensional nature of these life experiences. While vigilant efforts to recognize both the diversity in women’s lives and that the depth of women’s gendered life experiences goes far beyond their mere participation in the workforce (even if in traditionally male occupations) might help overcome the disadvantages associated with general references to women’s life experiences, we RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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12 must still cope with another, and perhaps more intransigent, factor that contributes to the probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women: gendered perspectives among those similarly positioned within society may vary greatly when virtually identical experiences are filtered through very different ideological perspectives. Ideological diversity has been acknowledged as a reason liberal women officeholders are more likely than moderate or conservative women to support government efforts to redress gender inequality (e.g. Dodson and Carroll 1991). Although not always, variation in the degree of commitment to individualism may lead those who claim to be acting for women to advocate sharply different solutions, as what Phillips casts as the ‘politics of presence’ is filtered through the ‘politics of ideas’. Overlay the (ostensibly nongendered) politics of (partisan) ideas with the diversity in women’s views about gender and gender roles and the stage is then set for a cacophony of gendered claims of problems, solutions, and actions that may be diametrically opposed to one another but have not been fully explored in the literature on substantive representation of women. Just as the intersection of gender with race, class, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and so on, means women will differ in experiences, needs, and almost certainly perspectives, the prospects for a probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation increases further when we consider that the group called ‘women’ includes both gender identified women who feel a strong connection to other women and women who do not, for those who are gender identified should behave differently than those who are not. Because gender identification (unlike objective membership in the category female) may trigger the use of genderrelated self-schemas that call attention to aspects (i.e. conditions, problems, or solutions) that might otherwise be deemed as politically irrelevant (Conover 1988), gender-identified women (in contrast to women who are not genderidentified) operating within masculine institutions might well bring distinctive perspectives to (the narrow range of) issues most commonly associated with women, as well as to the evolving understanding of ostensibly nongendered issues (Conover 1988). To the extent that the population of officeholders includes some women who are gender-identified and others who are not (as it does), then a probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women seems inevitable because women will diverge in the values they use to define conditions as problems, the sources from which they draw solutions, the constraints that separate acceptable and unacceptable solutions, and the groups both inside and outside the institution to whom they feel a responsibility. We do know from the few studies of women’s impact in public office that have looked at ideology that if women in public office make a difference, feminist women make the most difference (Dolan and Ford 1998; Martin 2001; Dodson 2001; also see Carroll 1984). While this could mean that the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women is v

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13 an inevitable result of variations over time and across settings in the genderrelated ideological perspectives of women (as well as men) officeholders, understanding the way these ideological views affect what women do may be a first step to understanding how to facilitate substantive representation of women and to understanding why, as one Democratic Congresswoman complained in an interview with CAWP following the 104th Congress, some women members ‘can talk the talk, but can’t walk the walk.’ One problem may be that we assume all those who sound like they talk the talk of feminism are actually feminists. In such a case, when some of the women behave as feminists and others behave in ways indistinguishable from their male colleagues, the diversity among women calls into question the importance of gender. Yet, with the women’s movement having transformed US culture and values in many respects, feminist-sounding women do not necessarily see the political world in the same ways. Gender-identified women who manifest a sense of minority, gender, or feminist consciousness may see women as sharing a common situation and/or as being unjustly disadvantaged vis-a`-vis men (Conover 1988; Sigel 1996; also see Gurin 1985; Cook 1989; Conover and Sapiro 1992; Tolleson Rinehart 1992); yet these various forms of gender-related group consciousness have different implications for behavior that have been explored by scholars at the mass level (e.g. Conover 1988; Cook 1989; Sigel 1996), but virtually ignored in elite studies of representation and women’s impact in public office. Women with high levels of either feminist or minority consciousness support the goals of the contemporary women’s movement, reject confining women to traditional roles, desire equality, feel equality has not been attained, see women as being treated as a disadvantaged minority and themselves as disadvantaged by virtue of being a woman, believe institutional structures have been arranged to benefit men and meet their needs, and resent inequality (Sigel 1996). While this may mean they often sound alike, they differ in other important ways that may contribute to behavioral differences. Feminist conscious women (unlike those with minority consciousness) not only see women as a group, but they see themselves as a part of that group and are willing at least in some ways to take up the political battle on behalf of the group for gender justice (Cook 1989; Sigel 1996). Minority conscious women, in contrast, are less concerned about power, less committed to fundamental social change, less committed to acting on behalf of women as a group, have little or no expectation that government can or should solve these problems, see injustice and inequality as having privatized, nonpolitical solutions that are the responsibility of individual women to discover on their own and carry out for themselves, and give their ties with men priority over solidarity with women because they feel they have more in common with men (or at least with some men) than they do with other women (Sigel 1996; also see Gurin 1987). Thus, pro-women sentiments that collectively create an image of unity among women officeholders may obscure complexities that fuel diversity of RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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14 behavior. Recognizing the difference between women with high levels of feminist consciousness and women with high levels of minority consciousness may be a critical step for understanding the imperfect link between descriptive and substantive representation of women, the future potential for substantive representation of women, and strategies for increasing substantive representation of women’s needs and interests. Yet if we argue that ideological diversity contributes to the probabilistic relationship between gender and action (in effect, giving diverse meanings to gender rather than rendering it meaningless), then we must also confront the question of why women who are not feminists sometimes act like feminists. When nonfeminists join with feminists to act on behalf of women, their actions strengthen claims that there is a link between descriptive and substantive representation of women. Yet the issue of why nonfeminists may behave as feminists is often skirted, couched in vague references to gender differences in life experiences, the diffusion of feminist ideas throughout the culture to feminists and nonfeminists alike, or perhaps chalked up to the ‘I’m not a feminist, but . . .’ syndrome. And for at least some feminist scholars, perhaps hope springs eternal that maybe these nonfeminist women are beginning ‘to see the light’. However, skirting the issue lends itself to post hoc explanations that in the long run are difficult to generalize across settings. At least part of the solution (and one this study will explore) is how the intersection of gender consciousness, attitudes about gender roles, and identification with, attachment to, and commitment to action on behalf of women (Tolleson Rinehart 1992; Sigel 1996) contribute to similarities and differences in the actions of feminist and nonfeminist women and the probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. It is all too easy to forget that pro-women words may come from gender conscious women, who (by definition) share a commitment to the cause of improving the status of women as a group (Cook 1989; Sigel 1996), but differ over whether women’s place is in the home or the public sphere. Yet assuming gender conscious women are equally likely to act politically regardless of their views about women’s roles (a point open to challenge, cf. Kaplan 1982; Cook 1989; Tolleson Rinehart 1992), their efforts on behalf of women may sometimes pit them against one another (cf. Kaplan 1982; Klatch 1987; Katzenstein 1998), for only those whose gender consciousness takes a feminist form will be committed to fundamental social change of the sexual division of labor in traditional private sphere roles as well (Cook 1989; Tolleson Rinehart 1992). Breaking away from essentialist assumptions that all women will or should diverge in uniform ways from their male colleagues, and instead recognizing how diversities redefine what women do (or should do) on behalf of women, not only should bring our models of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women closer to ‘the target’, but also may make it more difficult v

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15 for gender difference skeptics to discredit the link between descriptive and substantive representation of women by embracing either the nearest conservative woman who demonstrates no obvious gender consciousness or the nearest man who supports feminist policies. The growing presence of women in public office from not only left-leaning, but right-leaning, parties (Beckwith and CowellMeyers 2003) demands that we confront these matters. Doing so will ensure a more realistic understanding of gender—one that allows for the possibility that gender is given meaning through the intersection of individual characteristics with the political environment—and will raise awareness of the ways the institutional and larger political environments affect the likelihood that women officeholders not only talk feminist talk, but walk a feminist walk. It is to this contributor to the probabilistic nature of the relationship I now turn. v

Taking Behavior out of a Vacuum

Variation in the political environment—the institutional environment and the extra-institutional environment—may be another likely reason the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women varies across studies and across individuals in the same studies as well, for as Cindy Simon Rosenthal notes, ‘. . . to understand fully the gendered dimensions of the US Congress, it is essential to look beyond the individual members to consider the contributions of congressional staff, interest groups, media, policy advocates, and voters’ (2002: 10). The intersection of presence with these myriad factors gives meaning to numbers, likely rendering the same level of proportional presence more conducive in some cases than others to substantive representation of women (Beckwith and Cowell-Meyers 2003). Although both the institutional and extrainstitutional environments are important variables, they will be discussed separately because they affect behavior differently and the ways they may be manipulated to affect that relationship differ as well. I begin with the institutional environment. The institutional environment has an impact on the behavior of individuals because, as Katzenstein notes: Institutions . . . have structures, functions, and rules. . . . [I]nstitutions are denoted by a set of norms and beliefs shared among a given population. . . . [I]nstitutions do more than structure people’s daily routines; they also assign value to what people do, and they shape the very self-definitions people come to hold. (Katzenstein 1998: 33, emphasis added)

Indeed, New Institutionalists criticize social scientists for too often studying political behavior in an institutional vacuum, seeing institutions as convenient laboratories in which to observe behavior, while ignoring the way the environments of those institutions affect what people can do, believe they ought to do, the relative valuation of alternative actions, and what they choose to do (March RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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16 and Olsen 1989; Katzenstein 1990; Searing 1991).3 The practical implications are that women who behave a certain way within a given institutional environment might behave quite differently if transplanted into a different institutional environment, for what is perceived as doable, appropriate, and valuable may vary across these settings. New Institutionalists’ warnings seem particularly appropriate for studying women’s impact in Congress, for congressional scholars have long recognized the powerful effect of norms or folkways that define appropriate and acceptable behavior within that institution; yet a feminist analysis of that literature suggests that both classic and (most) contemporary analyses of Congress have often failed to acknowledge what may have been one of the strongest norms of all in shaping the institutional environment of Congress—masculinism (for an exception see Rosenthal 2002, passim).4 While invisible to many, masculinism has long been a force within Congress (and most other political institutions as well) that required the token women members who served in Congress during earlier years to alter their attitudes and behaviors in ways their male colleagues never had to consider doing—if, that is, they wanted to be accepted: [I]f men did not demonstrably define themselves as men, it was because the House was already a male institution and it prescribed orientations and patterns of behavior that men had already internalized. Most women, on the other hand, were expected to ‘unlearn’ patterns of speech, patterns of social interaction, policy priorities, and habits of thought that had grown out of the gender role they had learned. ‘Men never need to think about their ‘‘maleness’’,’ said one female informant. . . . [T]he women most admired by congressmen were those who had adjusted most effectively to the workways and habits of the House . . . who took pains to speak for their districts, their states, or some major interest group in these geographical units, but not for other women. (Gertzog 1995: 65)

Although the congressional literature may have overlooked masculinism’s power, gender scholars are becoming increasingly aware of the environment’s effects on the women who serve in masculine institutions (Kenney 1996; Katzenstein 1998; Duerst-Lahti 2000; C. S. Rosenthal 2002); and this requires going beyond the simple question of whether women are different from men (a question answered affirmatively sometimes and negatively other times) to explore how the intersection of environmental and individual factors affects the relationship between descriptive representation and substantive representation of women (Kenney 1996) and to recognize that the potential impact of women’s increased presence may be neutralized by the masculinist pressures from within institutions that welcome them, on the one hand, yet expect that they will behave as men would, on the other hand (Duerst-Lahti 2002; also see Kimmel 1996). While women have become more accepted as members of US political institutions in recent years, masculinism, nevertheless, remains a force (Gertzog 1995; C. S. Rosenthal 1998; Duerst-Lahti 2000; Swers 2002b; C. S. Rosenthal 2002):5 v

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17 many women officeholders feel marginalized (Reingold 2000); men’s fear of being outnumbered causes them to ‘circle the wagons’ in order to protect masculine privilege (Kathlene 1994); and at least some male legislators lament that the increased diversity among lawmakers has eroded collegiality and bonds among those serving in the legislature (A. Rosenthal 1998). If masculinism contributes to inequality among those who are ostensibly equals, it may limit women’s access to the institution, their power once there, and their potential to make a difference by constraining the range of attitudes and concerns women feel comfortable raising within an organizational environment. Indeed, if an institution explicitly or implicitly values the masculine over the feminale (see Duerst-Lahti 2000),6 women who want to be accepted by those (male) colleagues who control access to rewards may be forced either to choose between remaining true to feminale values and obtaining desired institutional rewards or, at the very least, they may have to redefine and reframe their goals (and even their own views of self) in ways more consistent with the values and norms dominant within the institution (Katzenstein 1998). Thus, if the environment affects behavior, then a weak relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women in policy areas where theoretically we might anticipate a stronger connection may be due as much to the political environment of the institution as it is to the attitudes and perspectives of women serving within those institutions. Thus, changes in the environment may strengthen or weaken the level of substantive representation of women and the link between descriptive and substantive representation of women observed among the same group of officeholders. In this particular study, taking behavior out of an institutional vacuum means integrating more recently recognized gendered factors associated with masculinism with (ostensibly nongendered) institutional factors commonly included in congressional analyses—for example, norms, seniority, committee systems, and the ideological perspectives dominant within the institution. Only when both are taken together can we fully explore how institutional factors affect the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. Inclusion of these factors traditionally considered in institutional analyses already has contributed to a more sophisticated understanding of gender difference than would otherwise have been the case (e.g. Blair and Stanley 1991; Dodson and Carroll 1991; McGlen and Sarkees 1993; Kathlene 1994; Thomas 1994; Dodson et al. 1995; Norton 1995; Eisenstein 1996; Arnold and King 2002; Norton 2002; C. S. Rosenthal 2002; Swers 2002b; also see Kenney 1996). Yet the challenge in moving the literature forward is to interweave into the analysis these (ostensibly) nongendered factors with previously unrecognized gendered forces in ways that provide insight into how institutional dynamics affect women’s willingness to challenge (or even contemplate challenging) masculinist values, how women perceive themselves and are perceived by others, and ultimately the likelihood of RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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18 substantive representation of women (by anyone) and the form such efforts may take. As important as the institutional environment is, however, we cannot fully understand the institution, its members, or what happens in it, if we analyze it in a cultural vacuum, for the larger environment in which that institution is embedded almost certainly plays a role as well in shaping behavior and in contributing to the probabilistic nature of the descriptive-substantive representation link. Oft-ignored extra-institutional environmental forces—cultural values, social change, constituent and gender gap pressures, interest group activity, social movement pressures, actions of other coequal branches of government, along with random events—are a necessary component of any explanation of women’s impact in office, for elected representatives are a reflection of the society from which they are drawn, and (as added insurance that they continue to reflect it in US political institutions) they are subject to periodic elections. The larger extra-institutional environment thus contributes both to the way gender is negotiated, contested, and potentially transforms political institutions like Congress and to how descriptive representation ultimately affects substantive representation of women within those institutions. Women candidates with similar views who face two different climates—one that is supportive of gender difference and another hostile to it—may not only fare differently in primaries (Matland and King 2002), but they may differ in the incentives they have to act for women once elected. As such, it is possible that successful strategies for increasing women’s impact in public office or substantive representation of women should focus as much on changing the extra-institutional environment—cultural understandings of gendered needs, voters’ attitudes, social pressure, or the composition of coequal branches of government—as on changing the composition of women members of these institutions. This argument that behavior of members of an institution cannot be understood in an institutional or cultural vacuum is particularly important when the focus is on women’s impact in political institutions, for the inherently (masculine) nature of politics may make the external political environment the most likely source of new ideas and pressures for change: More than any other kind of human activity, politics has historically borne an explicitly masculine identity. It has been more exclusively limited to men than any other realm of endeavor and has been more intensely, self-consciously masculine than most other social practices. (Brown 1988: 4)

Indeed, these external forces may provide critical windows of opportunity for action in much the same way external forces allowed feminist protest to occur within the military (Katzenstein 1998); yet, even as the nature of these pressures (i.e. the courts and cultural change) shaped the direction and form of such protest within the military (and their absence shaped the direction of protest v

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19 within the Church), they may also be critical for understanding women’s impact within Congress and why impact diverges across parties. Unfortunately, integrating the extra-institutional political environment into the analyses of individual behavior is easier said than done. One hurdle is a seemingly inescapable tradeoff between generalizability and contextual depth. National studies (e.g. a national sample of state legislators, town council members, or mayors) may be generalizable to populations that are of interest to a broad range of scholars and practitioners, but such samples are often devoid of all but the most basic information about the institutional and cultural environment in which the officeholders interact. While a national sample includes individuals from a variety of settings, so many different locations are included in such a sample that capturing the full picture of the environment is beyond the scope of most researchers (e.g. Welch 1985; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Thomas 1994; Clark 1998). Add to this that most often these studies employ crosssectional designs that provide a single snapshot in time, and the lack of environmental information is compounded. Thus, while we can speak with confidence about the findings from national samples, in many cases those studies provide little opportunity to understand how the confluence of institutional and extrainstitutional environments with individual factors facilitate or hinder substantive representation of women. When we factor into the mix that women in Congress must negotiate the intersecting and conflicting pressures they experience as members of two institutions—party caucuses and the Congress—the challenges become more apparent. On the other hand, the generalizability of case studies of policymaking that are qualitatively rich in contextual detail about institutional and extra-institutional pressures (e.g. Beck 1991; Boles 1991; Blair and Stanley 1991; Sherman 1991; Kathlene 1989, 1994; also see Kenney 1996) is often perceived as limited, for they are commonly (and often out of necessity) conducted in settings of limited interest (e.g. a handful of town councils, a county committee) and they usually employ cross-sectional designs which give little insight into the impact of environmental changes or variations. This comparative study of the 103rd and 104th Congresses breaks free of this tradeoff. Congress is a laboratory of considerable interest in its own right and the tradition of congressional literature suggests that conclusions from this study should be generalizable across Congresses and to other legislative institutions as well. The case studies of three different policy areas across two strikingly diverse Congresses take advantage of a unique opportunity to explore the impact of institutional and extra-institutional environments on member behavior. As such the study seems to avoid many of the weaknesses plaguing previous work on the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, taking us beyond the oft-asked question of what women officeholders do or whether they make a difference, and instead exploring how the convergence of RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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20 institutional, extra-institutional, and individual-level factors affect the gendered environments of political institutions, the potential of women successfully challenging, renegotiating, and redefining gender power within those institutions, and ultimately the practical meaning of women’s presence for substantive representation of women within masculine institutions. v

Rethinking the Model

Finally, a third contributor to the probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation may be the failure to appropriately conceptualize the empirical model underlying their linkage. In short, we may be judging by variance theory standards phenomena that are more appropriately captured by process theory. (For a more detailed discussion of these points consult Mohr [1982] which serves as the basis of the discussion which follows.) Implicit, if not explicit, in discussions of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women is a variance model—a model that is most commonly represented by a regression equation, in which the goal is to explain the variance in a given dependent variable. At least in theory, the independent variable (X)— gender, in this case—is a necessary and sufficient condition for the dependent variable (Y)—in this case, substantive representation of women (however defined). Variance models treat time ordering of multiple independent variables as irrelevant, but taken together simultaneously, the independent variables explain the variance in the dependent variable. The problem, of course as noted earlier, is that our predictions are imperfect: sometimes descriptive representation seems to increase substantive representation and other times it does not; even when it does, there are always individuals whose behavior does not fit and substantive representation may manifest itself in one way, but not another. If New Institutionalists are correct that behavior within institutions does not occur in a vacuum, but instead is influenced by the internal (and external) environment, the linkage between descriptive and substantive representation of women may be more appropriately captured in a process model than in this more familiar variance model. As this book will show, the story of women’s impact often does have a haphazard feel—with women bringing their gendered perspectives to bear on some matters and not others and with those women who do act for women not always doing so on the same matters. As Part III of this volume shows, women’s impact often seems to be more a story of how all the right conditions happened to come together than a neatly defined process easily captured in a regression equation model. Simple analyses can show us that women are more likely than men to raise certain kinds of issues or that once raised women are more likely than men to support feminist and liberal policies. But these analyses can’t explain why some issues drift on and off the governmental agenda (even as women’s presence v

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21 remains stable) or why women’s impact may not qualify as feminist by some standards. Nor can regression analyses explain why gendered approaches appear sometimes in policy debates but not others, or why one strategy may be used one time (e.g. sponsorship) and a different strategy the next (e.g. blocking a bill). Nor can they capture women’s impact on policy when virtually all actors support a policy, but do so largely because women successfully convinced their male colleagues to join them. The process model approach used in this book, I believe, has greater potential to capture the complex reality of gender and policymaking at the same time it can reveal how to make processes within a masculine political institution operating within a masculine society more women-friendly. Difference and substantive representation of women are products of sometimes unexpected combinations of intersecting forces. A process model, in contrast to a variance model, tells a story about the way that probabilistic encounters lead to a specific outcome (Mohr 1982)—in this case, substantive representation of women, but in other cases agenda setting (Kingdon 1984) or decision-making in universities and other organized anarchies (Cohen et al. 1972). As such, it is sufficiently flexible that it can accommodate the possibility that the story of women’s impact on any particular policy is really different stories depending on the stage of the policy process—agenda setting (the problems government officials pay close attention to individually or collectively), definition of alternatives, and the decision-making process—or that the conclusion regarding women’s impact might well have been different if the same actors had been placed in a different context. And, as the case studies in this book will show, a process model provides order for what can sometimes seem to be a random, haphazard, shot in the dark process of substantive representation of women. Providing that order can give insight into the multiple factors that affect substantive representation of women and the multiple strategies that may be required to improve such representation. As an empirical feminist scholar, the probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women has troubled me greatly. As such, the proposed strategies—operationalizing gender in ways that capture its diversity, embedding our analysis of gender and gendered behavior within the institutional and cultural contexts, and rethinking the model that describes the way gendered behavior does (and does not) occur should free us to devote more attention to two other troubling, but oft-skirted, matters that strike at the conceptual heart of any analysis of women’s impact: the legitimacy of women acting as substantive representatives of women and the contested meaning of gender difference. v

TH E LE G I T I M A C Y

OF

WO M E N RE P R E S E N T I N G WO M E N

In the 1960s and even 1970s, talk about gender difference would have made many women officeholders very uncomfortable, for many (and some might say most) RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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22 of these pioneering women were simply struggling to fit into political institutions immersed in masculinist values and to win (re)election in districts where constituents shared many of these biases. The last thing many of these token women wanted was to be tagged as a ‘woman’. Since ‘appropriate’ political behavior was masculine behavior, many women who wanted acceptance struggled with how to do the masculine, but within the transgendered constraints posed by being female. With politics being defined as though only one gender counted, the legitimacy of recognizing women’s gendered political concerns was cast in doubt by institutional and extra-institutional cultural forces that viewed the needs and interests of women as concerns of the private, rather than public, sphere. That is, until the women’s movement raised awareness of gender difference in perspectives, needs and interests, chipped away at the wall between public and private, and convinced more voters and officeholders of the weaknesses of a policymaking process that ignores women’s perspectives. While feminist scholars, feminist activists, and women officeholders have become increasingly willing to embrace the notion that women make a difference, this has often been done without seriously confronting sticky questions about the legitimacy of gender differences among representatives of single-member majority districts comprised of both male and female constituents. For example, is it legitimate for women in Congress to make a difference given that they are elected with the votes of both male and female constituents and are charged with the responsibility of representing a geographic district that includes roughly equal proportions of women and men (Reingold 2000)? Alternatively, is it any more legitimate that these geographic constituencies comprised of roughly equal proportions of women and men are more often represented by men who (previous research suggests) are less likely than their women colleagues to be aware of or concerned with women’s needs and interests? While feminist scholars seem to have found ample grounds in theory for the legitimacy of women elected by a geographic district to represent women unconstrained by geographic boundaries (e.g. Carroll 2002), Chapters 3 and 4 suggest this remained a nagging question in practice for political women who operated within an institution that deemed the district as the legitimate focus for representation and who were accountable to constituents who may not always have valued women’s contribution to gender difference (see King and Matland 2003). Unfortunately, questions about the legitimacy of women’s difference are seldom raised by empirical feminist scholars. One reason may be that the direction of women’s impact is often consistent with what feminist scholars believe is the appropriate direction policy should take, for early studies of the 1980s and early 1990s generally found women were more liberal and more feminist than their male colleagues. For those who would question whether consistency between the actions of women elites and the women’s movement is by itself evidence of legitimacy (cf. Phillips 1991; Mansbridge 1995), parallel gender gaps in policy v

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23 preferences at the mass and elite levels have provided an additional source of legitimacy within the USA. The pervasiveness and persistence of these gender gaps in policy attitudes at the mass (constituent) and elite (representative) levels have given moral authority to women’s impact in ways that few other things could within a political culture that highly values ‘the myth of constituency control’ (Mansbridge 1998), sending an implicit message that women in public office make a difference because women voters want them to do so. As such, this gives women officeholders’ more liberal and more feminist perspectives greater legitimacy than if they were ‘merely’ guided by feminist principles or acting out of commitment to the women’s movement; and as subsequent chapters will show, it also increases the legitimacy of their ‘deviance’ among male colleagues who need women voters’ support to win re-election and who sometimes turn to their women colleagues as experts on the topic. Add to this women officeholders’ willingness not only to see women as a component (albeit one among many others) of their constituencies (Reingold 1992) but to also talk about the responsibilities they feel to women (in addition of course to the responsibilities they feel to their geographic districts and any number of other interests), and the implication is that gender difference is the result of a mandate women officeholders have from female constituents. Yet the gender gap’s simple ‘mandate’ is far from simple in a representative democracy that structures representation around single-member majority districts. If legitimacy of representation is grounded solely in traditional views of accountability to a geographic district consistent with the principal-agent notion, then the complexity of the gender gap mandate challenges notions of the legitimacy of women as substantive representatives of women. For one thing, women voters who create gender gaps are not necessarily voting for women candidates— even when those women candidates have a male opponent. The parallel gender gaps in policy preferences at the mass and elite levels may have been given ‘political teeth’ by gender gaps in candidate preferences, but these gender gaps in candidate support usually result from women voters being more likely than men to vote for Democratic (not women) candidates (Center for the American Woman and Politics [various dates]; Gelb and Palley 1996). Add to this that the much touted gender gaps in attitude preferences are typically small—differences of degree rather than kind (Reingold 2000), that Republican voters view Republican women candidates more negatively than Republican men candidates and are less likely to support women in primaries than Democratic voters are (Matland and King 2002), and that sometimes women take a low profile when their efforts to act for women may be at odds with district preferences (Carroll 2002), and it becomes clear that the legitimacy of women officeholders’ efforts to represent women may be subject to a plethora of challenges if grounded only in models (such as representation by promising [Mansbridge 1998]) that tie representatives to the preferences of a geographic constituency at the time they were elected. RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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24 Concentration on the gender gap in public opinion and voting preferences may legitimize women’s difference in masculine institutions, may shield women representatives from accusations that gender difference in policy impact is the result of feminists run amuck, and may sometimes avoid direct confrontation with institutional norms that define appropriate actions as those focusing on the needs of the district; however, in practice it also can create intellectual blinders that obscure consciousness of the many legitimate faces of representation (Mansbridge 1998) that could facilitate substantive representation of women. What if, for example, the parallel gender gaps are a mere coincidence of women at the elite and mass levels being drawn from the same society rather than from any deliberate attempt by women elites to respond to women in the mass public on gender-related concerns? Our work often assumes deliberate efforts on the part of women to act for women, while providing little evidence of causality or the intensity of commitment to women. (For an exception see Carroll 2002.) Testing these assumptions may provide critical insight into the most effective ways to strengthen both substantive representation of women and the link between descriptive and substantive representation of women, and it may also reveal hurdles to substantive representation of women. For example, grounds for legitimacy of women’s impact that exclusively rest on the myth of constituency control may slow the evolving awareness of gendered needs and interests. The ‘politics of ideas’—issues with competing arguments that are well articulated and understood as a result of their presence on the political agenda dividing the parties for generations—are a striking contrast to gendered issues that fall into the category of the ‘politics of presence’ (Phillips 1995). The gendered dimensions of political interests and needs associated with the politics of presence are only beginning to be recognized; as such their evolving, uncrystallized state means constituent preferences expressed on election day (which ‘representation by promising’ treats as the marching orders for the victor) are not necessarily the standard (or at least the sole standard) against which we should judge the legitimacy of women officeholders’ actions on behalf of women (also see Mansbridge 1999). Holding representation of gendered concerns to this standard could slow the evolutionary process that increases understanding of gendered dimensions of issues, making it difficult to shape the kind of pragmatic strategies for action as well that are required when actions on ‘peripheral matters’ clash with the dominant wave of political thought within society. When it comes to uncrystallized gendered concerns, constituents’ preferences change over time, voters may have had little information on election day about candidates’ feelings on these often marginalized matters, candidates may have little information about how the voters felt on these issues (of which they may or may not be aware), and whatever information voters and candidates had about one another’s preferences on election day may be completely irrelevant to the policymaking agenda after election day. This makes women’s presence in public v

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25 office critical, for the gendered meanings of policies evolve gradually and at least partially through debate and deliberations within masculine institutions over which women members (as a proportionate minority with less seniority) often have little control, and thus which may affect them even as they attempt to affect the institution itself (Phillips 1995). Understanding the legitimacy of substantive representation of women and its relationship with descriptive representation requires understanding not only the preferences of the constituency on election day, but also the way the evolving understanding of these interests is developed and communicated throughout the legislative process within political institutions. Indeed, Anne Phillips’ warning that ‘Representation depends on the continuing relationship between representatives and the represented, and anyone concerned about the exclusion of women’s voices or needs or interests would be ill-advised to shut up shop as soon as half those elected are women’ (Phillips 1995: 82), seems particularly appropriate for uncrystallized, evolving concerns like those of gendered interests and needs that are being contested within institutions (like Congress) where women (and feminale values) have been historically underrepresented. The communication that accompanies sustained relationships— whether directly between representative and represented or indirectly through lobbying efforts of interest groups or reports by the media or pollsters—may provide representatives with insight into the evolving views of the constituency as new issues rise on the agenda and the gendered nature of old issues becomes more apparent; it may also provide women officeholders with opportunities to educate their constituents about their own evolving understanding of the gendered stakes of policies and give those constituents some level of insurance against the women who represent them being co-opted in institutions with long histories of masculinism. While the quantitative approach (e.g. roll call votes, polling data) of many national studies makes it difficult to fully capture the texture of the process surrounding these slowly evolving, uncrystallized issues (Kenney 1996; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Thomas 1994), we cannot truly understand women’s contribution to substantive representation of women unless we understand this process of communication and the sense of connection to women. This requires that we expand the focus beyond the aggregative stages of representation when votes are cast for or against bills, to explore the deliberative process that precedes it—when agendas emerge, specific provisions of bills are shaped, and the needs and interests of individuals, groups, and society are debated in committees and on the floor (Mansbridge 1999); it also requires sensitivity to the convergence of extra-institutional forces (e.g. the media, interest groups, social movements, and polls) with the institutional environment (Mansbridge 1998). These requirements (discussed at length in the previous section) simply cannot be met solely by quantitative analyses of roll call data, for they require understanding the behavior of individuals within the context of an institution and a larger culture beyond the RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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26 institution. The richness of the in-depth interviews allows me to go beyond simple (and simplistic) assessments that compare women’s actions against the standards of the women’s movement, that compare voter preferences at Time 1 against representatives’ actions at Time 2, that compare women’s actions to those of men, or that simply take women’s claims to represent women at face value; instead, I explore the dynamic processes that contribute to substantive representation of women and opportunities for enhancing it in the future. By explicitly incorporating these forces into the understanding of substantive representation of women, I can better convey the dynamic process underlying representation even as I build on previous works that have implicitly recognized the multidimensional nature of the process. Exploring how women themselves legitimize their efforts on behalf of women and how it affects their relationships within the institution, rather than forcing all women into some preconceived model of legitimate behavior, may open our eyes to new ways of encouraging women’s efforts on behalf of women. It may also raise awareness of the possibility that definitions of legitimate behavior not only vary across individuals, and across parties, but also across issues and over time within a single individual, as members struggle with their understanding of their responsibilities to women and to other segments of their constituencies, constrained by US political culture, the culture of their districts, the pressures from within their party caucus, and institutional norms of Congress. Confronting these questions of legitimacy may provide insight into strategies that affect substantive representation of women and encourage such action, and this, in turn, may increase our understanding of the probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. This, however, cannot resolve a third controversy: the contested meaning of representing women. v

THE CO N T E S T E D ME A N I N G

OF

RE P R E S E N T I N G WO M E N

The link between descriptive and substantive representation of women is also open to challenge because there is no consensus about what constitutes substantive representation of women. Unlike the question of legitimacy which focuses on the how and why women do what they do, the contested meaning of representing women focuses on what they actually do. What qualifies as ‘women making a difference’? Does feminist protest within masculine institutions undertaken by women who rejected the feminist label constitute substantive representation of women (see Katzenstein 1998)? How feminist must women’s difference be to qualify as actually making a difference? Must it be feminist at all? Is gender difference in advocacy of issues that indirectly affect women in their social roles as mothers (e.g. education, children, health, poverty) as legitimate as evidence of gender difference on matters that affect women directly but are not mediated by their roles as caregivers? Can we say there is really a connection between descripv

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27 tive and substantive representation if female self-proclaimed representatives of women ‘make a difference’ by being more conservative and less feminist than their male colleagues even as they attribute it to gender? Is substantive representation possible if the expressed preferences of women officeholders and their (women) constituents are similar (e.g. antifeminist or simply nonfeminist), but if those preferences diverge sharply from what might be objectively viewed as their ‘interests’ or ‘needs’ by the organized women’s movement? Is it possible (or even worthwhile) to differentiate between anti-feminist actions undertaken by gender-identified women with the intent of acting for women constituents and those undertaken to build credibility with male colleagues who control masculine institutions but without concerns for women in the mass public? Until studies of women’s impact in public office explicitly confront this matter, gender differences may shape the agenda or contribute to passage of legislation that some feminists see as victories for women and other feminists dismiss as insignificant or even oppose as counterproductive to the larger goal of gender equity. Moreover, instances when women square off against one another as they act for different kinds of women may be indistinguishable from instances when women acting for women square off against women who act as women (rather than for women) to enhance their political capital as women by providing political cover and legitimacy to men engaging in (what some may define as) antiwomen legislative action. These scenarios have very different implications for substantive representation of women and are increasingly important as the numbers of women in public office and their ideological diversity increase. Until the mid-1990s, this was more of a controversy in theory than in practice, for the vast majority of these pioneering token women who entered public office in the first decade or two following the emergence of the second wave of feminism were either feminists or at least sympathetic to the goals of contemporary feminism. With empirical feminist scholars tending to treat almost any gender difference in policy attitudes, priorities, or actions as evidence of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women (so long as women can be considered more feminist in some way), the more relevant, but politically uncomfortable, question is whether any evidence that women push policy in a feminist direction—incremental or innovative—actually is progress for women that merits the label ‘representation of women’, or whether feminist reforms that have the capacity to protect the state must be distinguished from those that subvert the state, chipping away at the foundation of patriarchy that privileges men over women (cf. Costain 1992; Eisenstein 1993; Spalter-Roth and Schreiber 1995; Gelb and Palley 1996). Adopting the standards of liberal feminism, substantive representation of women, women’s impact, and women making a difference have generally been considered to occur when women (as a group) diverged from their male colleagues (as a group) or when women clearly have brought their male colleagues on board as supporters of policies that further feminist goals. RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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28 At least part of the (potential, but oft ignored) tension is between, on the one hand, the purists who argue that women’s struggle for true equality will be confrontational and openly challenge the system, and, on the other hand, the pragmatists who attribute the women’s successes to their willingness to push for incremental changes using arguments consistent with (rather than in opposition to) the prevailing liberal democratic values. This controversy is well illustrated in Diamond and Hartsock’s by-now-classic exchange (1981) with Sapiro (1981) over whether women must explicitly and intentionally challenge prevailing political paradigms or whether women’s demands can be integrated into the existing political system. Is it enough that women simply seek equality for women, often through limited incremental changes consistent with prevailing values and political paradigms shaped by men? Or does substantive representation require that women explicitly and intentionally challenge prevailing masculine paradigms by introducing new ways of thinking about the political, eschewing the individualist ethos of liberalism and infusing politics with new paradigms that emphasize needs over interests, caring over rights, group well-being over the wellbeing of the individual (Diamond and Hartsock 1981; Sapiro 1981) in ways that build consciousness among women of their oppression and of their identity as a sexual class (Eisenstein 1993)? Along the same lines, is it possible to argue that feminist protest within institutions is evidence of difference, if that difference poses little or no challenge to masculinist values central to an institution but advances the careers of women as a political class? This aspect of the controversy so often ignored by empirical feminist scholars is not really between opponents and supporters of fundamental change, but rather between feminists who see some redeeming quality in incremental changes and those who believe these small changes thwart the possibility of educating and mobilizing women for more radical change. Acknowledging it forces us to confront the reality that the goal is less one of difference between women and men than it is transformation of the (masculine) political sphere. The question becomes, ‘What constitutes transformation?’ Is any movement (no matter how small) toward accomplishment of feminist goals a contribution to transformation or can some progress be counterproductive? Some pragmatists would argue that although incremental is often a synonym for small, it need not always be, for ‘it is sometimes possible to achieve significant change in the guise of incrementalism if the importance of a seemingly narrow issue is not recognized by key political actors’ (Gelb and Palley 1996: 8). What is really at issue is whether small, incremental changes actually serve women or serve the state (Eisenstein 1993), whether feminist goals have been better achieved through careful framing of issues in ways consistent with the liberal democratic language of rights and opportunities or through embracing controversy (Costain 1992), and whether fundamental changes are valuable if they are packaged as incremental change and sold in ways that reduce controversy—framing issues as matters of role equity v

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29 rather than role change, defining issues narrowly to maintain unity, and controlling the parameters of the debate (cf. Eisenstein 1993; Spalter-Roth and Schreiber 1995; Gelb and Palley 1996). Moreover, how do we deal with the reality that these women members of Congress may be engaged in struggles on two levels—to secure their acceptance within the political institutions in which they serve (just as is true of women in many other settings—corporate, military, religious, academic, etc.) and to harness governmental power to secure the kinds of legislative and judicial gains for women on the outside that facilitate feminist protests throughout society (see Katzenstein 1998)? Perhaps because these controversies are difficult to capture in quantitative analyses or perhaps because even incremental progress is extraordinarily difficult to achieve (as this volume shows), empirical feminist scholars often ignore the pragmatist/ purist debate. Seemingly small mundane victories—say expansion of access to mammography coverage—that some may deem insignificant may seem far more important if we consider the enormous energy that these incremental policy victories require. The case studies in Part III offer an ideal opportunity for putting such victories and losses (and the degree of victory or loss) into context by considering not only what women do or aspire to do for women, but also how the political environment—internal and external—defines what is desirable, doable, or even possible. The case studies also provide opportunities to explore whether small victories indicate a lack of commitment to feminist principles by political women, the price that must be paid when the politics of presence is filtered through the politics of ideas, or the fact we are in the early stages of transformation into a society that provides gender equity. Confronting the question of how different women’s difference must be to qualify as difference is needed as well because the increased presence of conservative women in public office requires consciously rethinking standards for assessing gender difference. Talking about substantive representation of women broadly as, ‘women’s perspectives, interests, and needs’ was much easier to do when we could be more certain those needs and interests contributed to some type of feminist action (or at least policies that were not counter to feminist principles). Such sweeping generalizations face a serious challenge with the increased presence of conservative women who are willing to tout themselves as representatives of women, as they advocate for policies at odds with the goals of the contemporary women’s movement. If more conservative women are emboldened to reshape the agenda, taking social issues or feminist issues as priorities more often than their male counterparts, but advocating anti-feminist positions (or at least positions that conflict with those of feminists), does that qualify as ‘making a difference’ or substantive representation of women? Although some studies provide convincing evidence that conservative, traditional, or even antifeminist women can bring gendered perspectives to bear on policy matters, challenging masculine understandings of politics (Katzenstein 1998; Kaplan RETHIN KING DIF FERENCE

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30 1982; Klatch 1987), we must navigate a fine line between recognizing real intragender diversity and embracing essentialist images of women that either distort reality by accepting anything women do as substantive representation of women or create rigid standards isolated from institutional realities. The challenge posed by ideological diversity was almost certainly the reason that in the 104th Congress the bipartisan CCWI ended its long tradition of a scorecard reporting the number of bills passed aimed at helping women, children, and their families. Instead, its report on the 104th Congress entitled The Record: Gains and Losses for Women and Families in the 104th Congress seemed to leave it up to the reader to sort out legislative gains from losses for women, in effect implying that substantive representation of women was in the eye of the beholder. Yet confronting the contested intersection of gender difference and substantive representation of women becomes critical if we are to avoid essentialist assumptions that any gender difference or any action by women is by definition substantive representation of women, if empirical feminist scholars are to avoid widening the gulf between themselves and feminist theorists by embracing gender difference indiscriminately, and if feminist empirical scholarship is to have any relevance to practitioners who feel passionately about the direction of public policy yet must carefully navigate the minefields of political institutions in order to succeed. By exploring the legislative process across three policy areas over the course of two strikingly different congressional environments, the hope is to avoid these pervasive (but avoidable) weaknesses. v

CON CLUS ION

This chapter has begun a discussion of women’s impact in public office by exploring three of the controversies that often lurk, ignored, beneath the surface: (a) the probabilistic rather than deterministic relationship between gender and substantive representation of women; (b) the contested legitimacy of women’s claims that they represent women; and (c) a lack of consensus about what it means to represent women. Putting these at the front and center of the research agenda should bring new insight to the work on women’s impact in office. By confronting the increasing diversity of women elites who take on these nontraditional roles and by moving us beyond the limiting question of whether women make a difference, the aim is to increase understanding of how gender affects and is affected by the political context and institutional structures within which members operate. As in many cases, the challenges are easier to discuss than to overcome. Nevertheless, Chapter 2 takes a step toward addressing these challenges by developing a model that can take us beyond the simplistic question of whether women make a difference—a question that I believe is doomed to inconsistent answers—to an inquiry that promises more robust answers that can weather the

v

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31 political dynamics driven by the circulation of elites and the vicissitudes of the political environment. It is to the model I now turn. v

NO T E S

1 The impact of increased descriptive representation goes beyond those policy matters that fit comfortably within definitions of substantive representation of women to include increased responsiveness to constituents in general (Beck 1991; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Thomas 1992; Richardson and Freeman 1995) and a more open, inclusive, consensusbuilding style of leadership (Blair and Stanley 1991; Havens and Healy 1991; Kelly, Hale, and Burgess 1991; Kathlene 1994; Jewell and Whicker 1994; A. Rosenthal 1998). 2 The different paradigms within which feminist empirical scholars and feminist theorists operate has often led to much misunderstanding between the two camps, and this gulf may explain why Anne Phillips (1995), for example, posits that empirical work asserts exactly the opposite—that is, that shared experience guarantees shared behavior. Empirical scholars’ discussions of these relationships have been largely consistent with the behavioral researchers’ tendency to emphasize relationships, downplaying sizeable ‘error terms’. 3 Yet ironically, our lack of answers is partially attributable to the very recognition that the institutional environment is important; it was not until women began to move beyond mere token levels, struggling to survive in institutions often hostile to their presence, that it seemed fair to ask what difference women made (Carroll 2001). 4 ‘Masculinism is an ideology that justifies and naturalizes male domination. As such, it is the ideology of patriarchy. Masculinism takes it for granted that there is a fundamental difference between men and women, it assumes that heterosexuality is normal, it accepts without question the sexual division of labor, and it sanctions that political and dominant role of men in the public and private spheres. . . . In general, masculinism gives primacy to the belief that gender is not negotiable—it does not accept evidence from feminist and other sources that the relationship between men and women are political and constructed’ (Brittan 1989: 4). 5 Showing empirically that the credibility of women who ‘make a difference’ does not suffer (Reingold 2000) is inadequate to refute the power of masculinism as a force, particularly when these same subjects lament the ‘old boys club’ and when the design is capable of only looking at what women actually did (ostensibly constrained by masculinism) rather than what they might have done in the absence of the constraints posed by masculinism. 6 This idea is drawn from Duerst-Lahti (2000). As she observes masculinism is that which is associated with males and feminale is that which is associated with females.

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v

2

v

Capturing the Process

If simple, straightforward quantitative analyses of women’s impact in public office seem doomed to provide inconsistent answers over time and across settings to the question ‘Do women make a difference?’ (Kenney 1996; Beckwith and Cowell-Meyers 2003; also see Reingold 2000), the challenge for those who believe gender matters is to find an alternative approach. Chapter 1’s discussion of the multiplicity of forces that contribute to (or hinder) women’s impact in public office suggests productive alternative approaches will deconstruct the category woman, recognize the attitudes of members—individually or collectively—are only the beginning of the inquiry, and capture the convergence of presence with political opportunity that may be beyond women’s control at this point. Granted, if we scour the legislative record for evidence of gender difference we can almost always find some difference and in some cases it may be a dramatic difference, but this is only a small part of the story for as Part III of this volume shows: sometimes women members rallied around a particular gendered issue in the agenda-setting stage and sometimes not; sometimes women worked collectively to shape legislation so it was more women-friendly and then to pass it and sometimes they did not; sometimes their work was done as individuals, other times it was done collectively, and sometimes gendered dimensions of legislation were ignored. Occasionally new issues or new twists on women’s previously recognized gendered concerns might appear on their agendas. Understanding this ‘shot in the dark’ process presents conceptual challenges that are too often ignored, not captured well by the quantitative approaches usually employed, yet critical if we are to move beyond the status quo to more robust explanations that can predict the depth and breadth of gender difference, where difference will (or will not) appear, and the changes (beyond improvements in descriptive representation) that might enhance substantive representation of women. Cohen, March, and Olsen’s (1972) garbage can model of decision-making in organized anarchies holds promise for meeting these requirements. Although developed to explain decision-making within university settings (where the emphasis seemed to be less on organized than on anarchy), the garbage can model has been successfully adapted to other settings such as Kingdon’s

33 application (1984) of it to health and transportation policymaking at the federal level (where he notes the emphasis should be less on anarchy than on organized). While the US Congress may be somewhat less of an organized anarchy than either universities or the federal government as a whole, Congress exhibits to varying degrees the traits that define decision-making in the garbage can: fluid participation, problematic preferences, and unclear technology (Cohen et al. 1972). First, formal and informal processes of Congress contribute to fluid participation because different people at different times are ‘decision makers’ as bills move from subcommittee, to full committee, to Rules (in the House), and to the floor—not to mention through party caucuses and leadership strategy sessions. Second, problematic preferences—discovering preferences through action more than acting on the basis of preferences (Cohen et al. 1972)—are sometimes the order of the day in Congress, just as in universities or at the federal level of government as a whole. In some cases (as noted elsewhere and as these case studies will show) bill supporters may downplay certain provisions, even asking certain lobbyists who support the provisions to keep a low profile or focusing floor statements on the more popular (rather than less popular but perhaps even more personally important) reasons for supporting the bill. In the end, policies may pass not because a majority agreed on the same goal, but because they could forge a coalition united in the belief that the bill would address a goal of importance to them—one that varies across bill supporters and which may not be apparent to others who voted the same way. Third, technology is unclear as well, for even members who agree on a goal in theory (e.g. ending welfare as we know it, economic equality for women) often differ over the means for best accomplishing those ends (see Kingdon 1984). My adaptation of the garbage can model uses modified labels consistent with the conceptual spirit of the model as applied previously: (a) the participant stream; (b) the condition stream; (c) the problem stream; (d) internal/institutional structural stream; (e) the internal/institutional political stream; (f) external political stream and (g) the solution stream. The remainder of this chapter sets the stage for the analysis in the subsequent chapters, discussing each of these streams separately, the connections among them, and how they can overcome some of the contested issues surrounding impact outlined in Chapter 1. v

TH E PA R TI CI P A NT STRE AM

The individuals in the stream of participants provide the energy for action and the mix of values, priorities, preferences, experiences, and perspectives within the institution (see Cohen et al. 1972). While the existing research suggests women can make a difference (and thus that the gender composition of the stream of participants matters), the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women also suggests that other CAPTURING THE PROCESS

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34 factors—ideological diversity, diversity in gender consciousness, as well as diversity stemming from the intersection of gender with race, ethnicity, class, sexual orientation, and so on—give meaning to gender and contribute to the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women as well. As such, the stream of participants is critical in shaping agendas, crafting policies, and determining which bills pass and which fail, for it affects the definition of conditions and problems and the means considered appropriate for remedying problems. Take, for example, reproductive health. There is probably more agreement about the objective status of reproductive health in the USA (e.g. that poor women often cannot afford abortions, that poor women have more unplanned pregnancies, that federal employees’ health insurance exclusion of abortion services makes their insurance coverage different from most private insurance plans, protests are occurring outside of abortion clinics, abortion services are unavailable in many counties within the USA, or medical schools are not training doctors to perform abortions) than about which of these conditions are reproductive health problems. And thus, as suggested in Chapter 1, whether or not these conditions are defined as problems—and especially whether they are deemed important political problems—and the priority attached to them will depend partially on the composition of the stream of participants, especially (this volume argues) women’s presence among the participants and which women are participants. For example, women who feel responsibilities to poor women may perceive this stream of conditions differently than do women more connected to middleclass women. Many individuals participate in policymaking within Congress, but not all are part of the ‘stream of participants’. This volume’s focus on women in Congress suggests the stream of participants should be defined narrowly, including only Members of Congress. Doing so avoids blurring the distinction between elected representatives who enjoy the privileges and power of office (including the right to vote on proposed legislation) and ‘outsiders’—lobbyists, activists, or even staff who must persuade these insiders (either directly through lobbying or grassroots mobilization) entitled to cast votes. Moreover, it is particularly important since the focus is on gender, for while women historically have had (and continue to have) easier access to informal influence as outsiders, these roles are not interchangeable for only members of Congress ultimately have a vote on legislation. This distinction, I believe more accurately captures the process, while providing for richer and more insightful speculation about the multitude of strategies (some that emphasize increasing women’s presence within the ranks of officeholders and others that emphasize changes within the institution, heightening external pressure, etc.) likely to strengthen substantive representation of women. Additionally, the garbage can approach facilitates exploration of the impact of diversity within the participant stream to a greater extent than variance models v

CAPT URING THE PROCESS

35 (e.g. regression) do. Typically analyses using cross-tabulations, difference of proportions, or regression direct attention to modal trends as we attempt to explain how one group (e.g. women) differs from another (e.g. men). While this need not be the case, and while interaction can be accommodated by such models, the notion that those who do not fit contribute to an error term suggests ‘success’ is produced by homogeneity of action within groups and polarization of action between groups. The concept of a stream of participants (at least in theory) offers the opportunity to describe the policymaking process in ways that can acknowledge that breadth and depth of diversity among participants varies over time and across settings, with substantial effects on impact. Yet how these values, views, and perspectives within the stream of participants translate into action depends on the composition of the stream of problems produced by the convergence of the stream of participants and the stream of conditions. v

TH E CO N D I T I O N ST R E A M /TH E PR O B L E M ST R E A M

The stream of conditions includes all situations—political and nonpolitical, widely acknowledged and virtually invisible (Cohen et al. 1972; Kingdon 1984). Sometimes the content of the stream of conditions changes abruptly—the tragedy of 9/11 raised awareness of domestic terrorism’s threats, the civil rights movement increased consciousness of racism, the women’s movement redefined gender injustice, the Vietnam War protests shattered US citizens’ trust in government, the crash of 1929 ultimately caused a reevaluation of the role of government and rugged individualism, or random events like the O. J. Simpson case for example, which catapulted the daily occurrence of domestic violence to the top of the national agenda. Other times the stream of conditions changes more slowly, for example when old (nongendered) conditions take on new (gendered) meanings, when new issues with gendered stakes become visible (e.g. women’s health), or when social movements (e.g. the women’s movement, the civil rights movement) gradually seep further into the culture after their substantial initial impact. At any rate, when changes occur, those inside and outside forces must be prepared to move before the policy window closes (Cohen et al. 1972). The conditions may or may not have changed, but perceptions of the extent of the problem may increase. The merger of the stream of conditions with the stream of participants affects not only which conditions gain institutional recognition, but also which conditions are ‘promoted’ to the actionable status of ‘political problems’ (Cohen et al. 1972; Kingdon 1984) that makes them ripe for policymaking remedies. This stream of problems changes as objective conditions change, as veteran participants become more concerned about previously ignored conditions, or as new participants enter bringing new values, perspectives, and conditions. To the extent gender affects awareness of conditions, the values that define conditions CAPTURING THE PROCESS

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36 as problems, and the relative saliency of problems, then women’s increased proportional presence should affect the congressional decision agenda, as should changes in the intersection of gender with race, class, ideology, and other relevant memberships within the stream of participants. Yet what is done with these depends not only on participants and their understandings of problems as individuals, but also on the political environment. v

THE PO L I T I C A L EN V I R O N M E N T

Responding to the spirit of New Institutionalists’ concerns that social scientists too often study behavior in an institutional vacuum requires that we not only understand the way the institutional environment affects individual and collective behaviors, but that we also explore how the larger extra-institutional environment (the cultural and social forces within which the institution is embedded) affects behavior within those institutions. To facilitate this analysis, I separate those contextual forces into three streams: the internal structural stream; the internal political stream; and the external political stream. v

The Internal/Institutional Structural Stream

The ‘internal structural stream’ within an institution like Congress includes at least three interrelated substrata which may affect the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, encouraging or discouraging feminist behavior among women who embrace the feminist label, the goals of the contemporary women’s movement, and/or feminist policies (see Eisenstein 1996: 162) and ultimately affecting the responsiveness of institutions to women’s needs and interests. These interrelated substrata are: (a) the institution’s partisan structure; (b) members’ positioning within these intersecting institutional structures of Congress and party caucuses; and (c) the structure of accountability. Phillips’ warning that no woman is simply a woman is certainly relevant to congressional behavior, for structural partisanship defines access to decisionmaking opportunities, lines of accountability, and creates communication channels, and this can (but may not necessarily) divide women members and privilege some women (e.g. those of the majority party, members of the leadership, committee chairs or ranking members) over others. As such, efforts to enhance the clout associated with small numbers through bipartisan unity may fall victim to the cross-pressures created by structural partisanship even when women see themselves as representatives of women. As such, variations in the partisan pressures women members of opposing parties experience may contribute to diversity in the meaning of gender for action over and above what we might expect from mere individual level ideological differences. Consequently, if v

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37 subgroups of women differently positioned within the institution experience different levels of dis/encouragement to act on gendered concerns or aspects of those concerns, the result may be the emergence of something resembling different feminisms (Katzenstein 1998). Bringing to life the structural realities women face within their respective parties as well as within the Congress more generally may illuminate the forces fueling the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. The gendered consequences of a ‘gender-neutral’ partisan structure are magnified further when the majority of women happen to be members of the minority party (as in the 104th). Although women in theory are equally entitled to advocate for women regardless of party, if winning is the goal, the control enjoyed by the majority party places much of the burden for pushing any bipartisan women’s agenda on the minority of women who are members of the majority party since they should have better access to decision-making opportunities and to those who control the institutional agenda. Bipartisan collaboration among women maximizes the likelihood at least some advocates for women will be of the majority party no matter which party is in control, but it also means majority party women who act for women collectively may sometimes confront challenges to their credibility as members of a party — particularly when women are largely drawn from the minority party (as in the 104th). Because these dynamics potentially reduce the likelihood for women’s presence to make a difference, the relationship between presence and impact must be interpreted in the context of structural partisanship. Underlying structural partisanship is a second intersecting contextual dimension—positioning. Although each member of Congress has only one vote (and thus all are technically equals), committee assignments, positional power within committees and the party leadership, and seniority privilege some members more than others. Indeed, in both the 103rd and 104th, the privileging of men over women had gendered consequences. Granted, scholarship on women’s impact emphasizes the importance of committee assignments for understanding the potential for women to make a difference (Swers 2002; Norton 2002), yet the comparative analysis of the 103rd and 104th Congresses in Part III of this volume suggests committee assignments are meaningful mediators of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women only so long as they provide real access to decision-making. They were less meaningful in the 104th after the largely (some would say exclusively) male leadership shifted the locus of decision-making from committees to ad hoc task forces comprised of loyal Republicans, in effect shutting out the majority of women (who were Democrats) even as the shift created an inner circle that included no Republican women (Molinari 1998 cited in Gertzog 2004). However, when committees are meaningful forums for decision-making, members will vary in their clout, with those who chair committees trumping CAPTURING THE PROCESS

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38 less senior members. In most cases, for example, committee chairs may introduce their own versions of bills to their own committees, and they can move issues from low to high prominence on the agenda if they decide it is important. Although their formal authority does not ensure passage, it does mean that people will see a reason to work on it, advocate solutions to remedy the problem, and keep the matter in the public eye. Such privileging is gender-neutral in theory, however, if women are relative newcomers or less likely than men to chair committees or subcommittees than their male colleagues (as they were in both the 103rd and 104th) this will have gendered consequences that disadvantage women. As such, the laboratory offered by these strikingly different Congresses should provide an unusually extensive array of contexts in which to explore the link between gender and behavior, as party control, women’s institutional positioning, and the locus of decision-making power vary over time and across issues, contributing to the probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. The formal mechanisms of accountability within the institution are a third component of the internal structural stream that may fuel the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. When lines of accountability give considerable power to legislative leaders—as in a party list system or when leaders willingly deviate from seniority to punish disloyalty in making committee assignments—members will have more reason to adhere to the party line (and thus, disincentive to give voice to gendered concerns). As such, the dynamic mechanisms of accountability within parties may contribute to variations in the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation over time, across institutional settings, and across individuals operating in the same setting. Understanding these may suggest useful strategies for strengthening the relationship between women’s presence and substantive representation of women that go beyond the obvious matter of increasing women’s presence in public office. Yet while the formal structure may compound these centrifugal forces of diversity among women by creating within the same institution divergent subenvironments which possibly foster emergence of different feminisms or at least different types of opportunities for feminist protest in the face of intersecting and divergent pressures, these centrifugal forces may be increased further by the pressures of the internal political stream(s).

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The Internal/Institutional Political Stream

While the internal structural stream provides a factual understanding of the way an institution works (e.g. committee assignments are made through party committees, the majority party controls the legislative agenda, and jurisdiction over matters in the earliest stages are concentrated within subcommittee, committees, or ad hoc groups designated by the leadership), the internal political stream v

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39 determines how it operates in practice (e.g. whether a party uses its control to enforce party discipline, whether the majority tilts [or veers] to the right or left, the level of tolerance for deviation from the caucus positions). It includes the not obviously gendered factors typical of congressional analyses (e.g. norms regarding seniority, specialization, apprenticeship, and focus on one’s geographic district and the level of partisan animosity) as well as obviously-gendered forces (e.g. masculinism, availability of safe spaces such as a women’s caucus) often ignored in congressional scholarship. Together with the internal structural stream, the institutional political stream affects what participants can accomplish, as well as what participants may want to accomplish, the meaning of gender, the value of what they do in their own eyes and in the eyes of their peers, and the potential that women’s increased presence in practice will facilitate substantive representation of women. Take, for example, ideological perspectives about the role of government. The relative strength of conservatives and liberals within the institution will affect the content of agendas, the flow of legislation, and the way issues are framed. No matter what the minority of women might be prepared to add to the mix, the more dominant ideological perspective will determine the kinds of policies that have a chance of passing in that institution, the range of conditions that are generally seen as problems, and the relative access of various outside groups and interests. A change in the ideological balance of power has the potential to reduce the connection between women’s presence and substantive representation of women if women’s groups are seen as allied with the opposition. Add to this that rampant partisanship hinders the forging of bipartisan coalitions that might otherwise increase the political clout of a proportionate minority and that fear of the price for cooperating with the ‘enemy’ may depress the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, particularly when (as in the 104th and every Congress through the 109th at least) the majority of women also happen to be members of the minority party. Indeed, even institutional norms that emphasize the geographic district as the legitimate focus of effort have gendered consequences, for the gendered dimensions of most policies transcend the geographic district. While feminist scholars defend the legitimacy of women’s efforts to act as surrogate representatives on behalf of women (see Mansbridge 1999), in practice, the institutional environment provides no such validation. The availability of informal or formal structures which can function as ‘safe spaces’1 allowing women to validate their feminale perspectives amid masculinist counterpressures dominating the institutional culture is critical for helping women to more forcefully voice the feminale, or even recognize that it exists (Katzenstein 1998; Duerst-Lahti 2002). Safe spaces within institutions dominated by masculinist values can nurture feminist protest, and they can foster a sense of group identification that might encourage the articulation of women’s needs, CAPTURING THE PROCESS

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40 concerns, interests, and perspectives considered ‘inappropriate’ or trivial elsewhere within institutional settings. Thus, a decline in either the availability of safe spaces (e.g. the defunding of the women’s caucus in the 104th) and/or women’s willingness to avail themselves of these safe spaces (e.g. when the influx of conservative women led to a decline in Caucus membership, when the shift of power to the GOP and the male leadership’s willingness to include Republican women reduced the value of the caucus for Republican women [see Gertzog 2004]) may make women’s presence within the institution less conducive to substantive representation of women. This may be true, if for no other reason, than no matter how accountable political women might feel to the women’s movement (Mansbridge 1995) or to women as a group, women in Congress are accountable to varying degrees to party leaders and their party caucus which control access to many rewards. Variation, however, in these pressures across party lines may contribute to partisan differences in the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women and manifestation of feminist protest. Yet while the 103rd and 104th Congresses provide a unique opportunity to explore how convergence of a dynamic institutional environment with a dynamic stream of participants affects the relationship between women’s presence and substantive representation of women, since Congress draws members from society and has procedures for keeping them accountable to those whom they represent, the explanation cannot be complete without casting the net wider to include the substrata of extra-institutional factors.

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The External Political Stream

Institutions are embedded within societies, and as such the convergence of the political environments inside and outside the institution should affect the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women by affecting who is part of the stream of participants, and thus the values, priorities, and perspectives dominant within that institution which constrain the range of possible acceptable solutions. For example, just as Australians’ sense of ‘go fair’ facilitated femocrats’ advocacy of social welfare policies that helped women (Eisenstein 1996), the organized women’s movement in the USA has been forced to formulate its political demands in ways that do not overtly challenge liberalism (Eisenstein 1993). Although liberal feminism may have a radical potential (Eisenstein 1993), the greater emphasis on limited government, individual rights, and capitalism in the USA has made at least some solutions advocated and implemented to help women in other societies unthinkable there (Eisenstein 1993). Thus, the external political stream may affect the relationship between the condition and problem streams, predispositions of the participant stream, and even the nature of the internal political stream. As such, the v

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41 external political stream constrains conceptualizations of legitimacy as well as the meaning of substantive representation of women within society at the same time that it also provides opportunities for those on the outside to affect the strength of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation within the institution. In the case of Congress, these exogenous forces that affect what is doable, acceptable, desirable, and conceivable include constituency pressures, public opinion, cultural norms, social movement pressures, interest group activities, actions of the other coequal branches of government, and random current events that touch people’s lives directly or indirectly through, for example, the media. Through these mechanisms the external political environment mediates the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation. Indeed, even members of Congress who enter with similar views may behave differently as a result.2 Thus, unless the analysis of the link between individual attitudes and behaviors breaks free of a contextual vacuum so we account for the powerful effect of the extra-institutional environment on behavior and differences in the way they are experienced across parties, we may not only under- (or over-) estimate the consequences of women’s increased proportional presence, but we may also overlook the value of strategies that go beyond simply increasing women’s presence. Take, for example, the influence of the women’s movement which has been experienced across party lines both similarly and differently. The second wave of the women’s movement transformed cultural expectations about women’s roles in public life and their rights as citizens, chipping away at the wall between public and private, opening women’s and men’s eyes to gender bias that once was accepted as normal, encouraging more women to (consciously or unconsciously) reject traditional gender roles by seeking public offices long the domain of men, and legitimizing the efforts of elected women to use their positions to address gender injustices previously overlooked or even accepted. The women’s movement not only created a pool of potential participants willing to challenge traditional roles by running for office, but it also provided the intellectual/philosophical/legal foundation for attacking gender inequality in both the public and private spheres as political problems rather ignoring it as simply the way the world is. In short, it is difficult to imagine that there would be any gender difference in impact to study in Congress or that it would be recognized had there not been a women’s movement that changed societal norms and perspectives more generally. Indeed, the transformative potential of the women’s movement is evidenced in the gender gap which seems to heighten substantive representation of women in two ways. First, it allows women to cast their arguments on behalf of women in terms that are consistent with institutional norms—the desire for re-election— and party norms—the desire to maintain (or attain) control.3 Second, the gender gap is a countervailing force to masculinism’s devaluation of the feminale, for women’s votes become a sought-after commodity for those who hope to win reCAPTURING THE PROCESS

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42 election. This comes through in subsequent chapters of this volume that illustrate the critical role that feminist-oriented interpretations of the gender gap played in facilitating substantive representation of women, and in previous research that has found that high levels of mobilization among women’s groups on the outside may make it easier for women on the inside to push for changes (Gelb and Palley 1996) particularly in the absence of countermobilization (Eisenstein 1996; also see Gelb and Palley 1996). Other external forces are more uniformly experienced by members. For example, Supreme Court decisions may create public outrage that makes the need for action more obvious, legitimizes demands, or provides a mechanism to ensure action is taken (see Katzenstein 1998). Control of the executive branch matters as well, for although technically an outside actor, the administration has an insider’s advantage in setting the agenda, shaping policy, and determining whether bills passed by Congress become law (unless of course support is sufficient to override a veto). Neither the executive nor judicial branches may affect women officeholders’ attitudes about fighting violence against women, sexual harassment, or anything else, but these exogenous forces may open (or close) windows of opportunity within the institution, thereby affecting prospects that their attitudes may be turned into actions that will bear fruit, the ease with which they may garner political support for their efforts and elevate these efforts to the top of the political agenda, and the intensity of opposition they might face internally for their work on these matters. Indeed, the change of administrations played a major role in ushering the previously vetoed Family Medical Leave Act through early in the 103rd Congress. Putting these battles into context can not only explain why descriptive representation matters despite its probabilistic relationship with substantive representation of women, but it may also provide insight into strategies that may create more windows of opportunity for substantive representation of women in the future. Yet other, more ephemeral forces in the external political environment are critical. Whether or not one is able to take advantage of a window of opportunity created by random events depends on whether there are solutions ready, standing in the wings, to attach themselves to these problems. Thus, it is to this final stream—the stream of solutions—I move to complete the picture of this dynamic process.

v

THE SO L U TI O N S ST R E A M

The stream of solutions exists independently from the stream of problems, and it is a composite of remedies that have been crafted by actors both inside and outside of Congress. Far from being carefully tailored answers to pressing public problems, the garbage can model portrays solutions as hovering, preceding the v

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43 emergence of problems, and waiting to find a problem to which they may attach themselves (Cohen et al. 1972). Although this may yield a ready pool of solutions for many different types of problems, the solution chosen from this stream may be less than perfectly tailored to the problem at hand; nevertheless, having solutions at the ready is important because the absence of a politically feasible solution may mean some pressing problems are simply ignored or that opportunities for action are missed when policy windows open only briefly (Cohen et al. 1972; Kingdon 1984). Solutions attached to problems that fall off the agenda remain in the stream and may be dusted off to address those same problems when they later reemerge, or they may attach themselves in the meantime to new problems that appear on the agenda (Kingdon 1984). The convergence of the stream of participants with the internal structural, internal political, and external political streams will affect which solutions are deemed legitimate and important. Implicit in the notion that women make a difference is the expectation that women will draw on different types of gendered life experiences and perspectives than their male colleagues do in crafting solutions and evaluating alternatives offered by others. While this may reflect gender differences in personal experiences and ideological perspectives, it also may reflect gender differences in the people and groups with whom members interact. The relative access solutiongenerating actors have to decision-makers will vary depending on who happens to be in the stream of participants at a particular moment. If, for example, women in the stream of participants are tied more closely to women’s organizations than their male colleagues are, this too may lead to gender differences in the solutions they advance and ultimately gender differences in impact. If descriptive representation affects substantive representation of women, then women’s presence in the stream of participants—as members in the case of Congress—is important because members (rather than actors in the other streams) are uniquely situated to determine which solutions will be seriously considered within these [masculine] institutions, and which outside solution-generating sources will be consulted as they shape agendas, craft policies, and vote. Therefore, if women and men actually do bring different values, perspectives, experiences, and connections to political life, the increased presence of women in the stream of participants may mean more openness to women-centric solutions offered by women members themselves, women’s groups, women’s advocates, and women constituents. It may also mean a greater willingness among those in the stream of participants to seek out women’s counsel, thereby enhancing ongoing communication about evolving gendered matters and creating a more balanced distribution of gendered perspectives in the stream of solutions than if the participant stream were comprised of only men. To the extent that those in the stream of participants can be influenced by outside actors (and that these influences can offset the effects of other influences both inside and outside the institution), it only reinforces Anne Phillips’ warning that once women are CAPTURING THE PROCESS

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44 elected, the women who elected them should remain a presence to remind them of their ties. The intersection of the stream of participants with the stream of solutions is not the only contributor to the dynamic nature of the agenda. Changes in the internal structural and political streams can alter the power that participants have to pursue some solutions rather than others. Clearly, the change in party control and the ideological shift to the right in the 104th Congress diminished the power and influence that most women (who were Democratic and liberal) had to pursue feminist solutions to problems. In addition, the external political environment further redefines the stream of solutions, as cultural forces affect participants’ understandings of what is doable, desirable, and demanded (Cohen et al. 1972; Kingdon 1984), and thus, the external pressures (e.g. interest groups, constituents, and lobbyists) brought to bear on participants serving in institutions. Indeed, the power of these external forces to shape what is considered should not be underestimated, for solutions proven effective at solving problems in one culture may never be seriously considered in another where different political values dominate the search for a solution to a common problem. v

CON CLUS ION

The framework outlined in this chapter contrasts sharply with the more simplistic expectations that in practice dominate most of our work on women’s impact in public office, for it shows how a myriad of factors beyond descriptive representation come into play in shaping the meaning of presence for substantive representation of women and for shaping the understanding of gender in a particular context. The framework makes it clear that individual attitudes and experiences are potentially only one of the numerous factors that may affect whether policies address the needs and interests of women as well as they address those of men. The model has provided an invaluable framework for conceptualizing the dynamic process of substantive representation of women. Yet while it informs every chapter that follows, explicit references to the concepts that are its foundation are limited, largely because they often seemed stilted. Therefore, the reader should be cautioned that the chapters that follow integrate the spirit of the model, more often than not however, while avoiding the awkward terminology of the ‘Garbage Can Model’. Part II takes the first step toward applying this framework by exploring how women members of the 103rd and 104th conceptualized their roles and responsibilities to women as women officeholders. That section deconstructs these roles, exploring not only how different meanings emerge among women, but also how the institutional environments within which they operate may contribute to partisan divergence in understandings of their multifaceted roles as women in v

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45 elected office. The emphasis is on their understandings of their roles in theory more than practice, with the practical implications becoming the focus of the policy case studies in Part III. v

NO T E S

1 These informal structures may take a more structured form (as with the CCWI) or a less structured form (e.g. regular dinners planned by the women Senators or Republican women House members). What is important is that they provide opportunities for women both to confront challenges they face as women operating in masculine institutional contexts and to shape strategies mitigating masculinism’s impact on the relationship between women’s presence and substantive representation of women. 2 Cindy Simon Rosenthal’s study (1998) of leadership styles, for example, finds that political culture of states shapes leadership styles directly as well as indirectly through its impact on women’s presence in legislatures. 3 The power of extra-institutional pressures to affect the value attached to women members’ perspectives within the institution and to overcome at least some of the obstacles posed by masculinism is illustrated in the experiences of the Australian femocrats. In that case, male politicians’ perception that they needed to bring women into government so they could draw on their expertise and boost their election chances, opened the door for Australian femocrats to enter the bureaucracy; at the same time, if the Australian femocrat experience is any indicator, such a need (or some might say willingness to use women) may give women a very narrow mandate to make a difference and allow them few institutional resources to address women’s concerns: ‘The femocrats I interviewed recalled that they had been supplied with the most amazingly sweeping briefs to carry out, with no conception of exactly how this was to be accomplished, and certainly without any significant resources. In general, Labor party governments wanted to keep the women’s vote, by getting credit for doing pro-women things, but on the cheap and without the risk of embarrassing gaffes’ (Eisenstein 1996: 48).

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Part II

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Representing Women: Consensus and Complexity

Although concern about women’s underrepresentation in public office can be justified simply on the grounds that fairness requires the full and equal participation of both women and men at every stage of the democratic process, evidence of a positive correlation between descriptive and substantive representation of women’s needs and interests provides an additional (and perhaps even more compelling) moral imperative for gender balance among officeholders within representative democracies. If women are willing to speak publicly of both a sense of responsibility to women and perceptions of gender differences in needs and interests (as Part II will show they were), then women’s increased presence has the potential to improve substantive representation of women. The real question then becomes whether that potential is actually realized. Recognizing that women officeholders speak and act within a context that gives meaning to gender and affects the relationship between gender and actions, Chapters 3 and 4 deconstruct women members’ own words, often spoken in the abstract, about their connections to women, doing so in ways sensitive to the contested issues surrounding gender difference raised in Chapter 1. I examine women’s own (diverse) perceptions of constraints on their actions, bearing in mind that these women officeholders: are ostensibly charged with representing both women and men (no matter how big their gender gap might have been [Reingold 2000]); are members of a masculine institution with deeply entrenched traditions that change only slowly; operate within a partisan structure that creates intersecting (but not identical) institutional pressures and incentives for Democratic and Republican women members; are drawn from a culture whose awareness of the gendered stakes of policy continues to evolve (Phillips 1995; Mansbridge 1999); and negotiate the political ladder within a society and an institution that disagrees over what it means to represent women, what women’s needs and interests are, and whether they matter (Phillips 1995; Mansbridge 1999).

48 Deconstructing congresswomen’s words about their connections to women may allow those who care passionately about women’s representation in the policy process to recognize new ways to strengthen substantive representation of women. At the very least, it may shed light on why some women, as one congresswoman complained, seem to ‘talk the talk, but not walk the walk’. v

ME T H O D O L O G Y

This introduction and Chapters 3 and 4 draw on in-depth interviews with women members of the 103rd and 104th Congresses. (See Methodological Appendix for details.) Content analysis of the interview transcripts provides a quantitative reality check to supplement the richness of the interviews’ qualitative data. The decision to do content analysis of the interviews, however, was not made lightly. The arguments against doing so1 were outweighed by the arguments for doing so. For example, strategic use of quotes reflecting the perspective of the average member could illustrate ideas and motives underpinning women’s expressed responsibility to represent women, but bombarding the reader with supporting quotes could have the unintended consequence of leaving a monolithic image of women that does not reflect reality. Juxtaposition of quotes reflecting contrasting views among women could avoid this weakness, but without some sense of how many felt each way, the (sometimes) mistaken impression might be left that women were more divided than they actually were. Add to this that virtually any perspective could be supported by some quote pulled from one of the many lengthy interviews, and the arguments favoring content analysis prevailed. To maximize validity, interviews were coded after reading the entire interview (rather than just the answer to one or two of the seemingly more relevant questions); this was done because the semistructured nature of these conversations with women members gave them much freedom to set the agenda, raising issues that were of concern to them at any time during the interview. To maximize reliability, I personally read each interview in its entirety at least twice, coded it, and then later verified the results by rereading the interview and comparing the results with the previously recorded conclusions. In most cases, the quantitative results will be presented with qualitative data to bring the numbers to life in ways that reflect women’s diversity and that give insight into the nuanced nature of gender’s impact amid diversity. v

IN TH E I R OW N WO R D S : WO M E N ’S RE S P O N S I B I L I T Y RE P R E S E N T WO M E N

TO

Research that suggests women in public office make a difference often cites women’s own self-descriptions of their ties to women (Dodson and Carroll v

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49 1991; Reingold 1992; Dodson et al. 1995; Swers 2002), and thus is not surprising that virtually all women members of the 103rd and 104th Congresses interviewed in each of the three waves (91 percent, 100 percent, and 97 percent, respectively) expressed some sense of responsibility to women—supporting other political women desiring a seat at the table, working to shape policies that further the goals of the contemporary feminist movement, expressing a special connection with women constituents inside or outside their district, or consciously shaping policies in ways more consistent with women’s needs and interests. The excerpts below from these interviews and the similarity of sentiments expressed by different types of women across all three waves suggest that women’s presence in the stream of participants has the potential to make masculine political institutions more responsive to women, women’s needs, and women’s interests: I feel a responsibility, and I always have, as a woman who . . . paves the way for . . . that next group of women coming along, as we show that maybe we can do it, and do it well. (Congresswoman Tillie Fowler, R-FL, wave 1) I think that women have more of an emphasis on women and children and families, and I feel a responsibility to look out for women’s issues. . . . I know that if I don’t look out for them, no one else will. (Congresswoman Carolyn Maloney, D-NY, wave 1) I do feel that . . . in women’s hearts I was their candidate. . . . I sensed it in parades, and I sensed it going around talking. . . . There wasn’t a real organized effort, however. . . . I sensed it. (Congresswoman Deborah Pryce, R-OH, wave 1) Because there are still so few women in Congress, . . . you really do have to represent much more than your own state . . . . Women from all over the country really do follow what you do, and rely on you to speak out for them on the issues of women’s health care, reproductive choice, condition of families, domestic priorities, environment, . . . equal pay for equal work. (Senator Barbara Boxer, D-CA, wave 2) When I first came to Congress . . . I really didn’t want to be stereotyped as the woman legislator. . . . I wanted to deal with . . . things like banking and finance. But I learned very quickly that if the women like me in Congress were not going to attend to some of these family concerns—whether it was jobs or children or equity, pension equity or whatever—then they weren’t going to be attended to. So I quickly shed those biases . . . , and said, ‘‘Well, nobody else is going to do it. I’m going to do it.’’ (Congresswoman Marge Roukema, R-NJ, wave 2) I know a lot more about the shape of women’s lives and the pattern of women’s lives [than my male colleagues do], so I need to look and see how . . . public policy affects those patterns and how [it] will . . . help or hurt. (Congresswoman Nancy Johnson, R-CT, wave 2) I am very interested in looking at the conditions of working women. . . . [T]he women’s story is generally not told, and yet they’re the ones that are the most exploited. . . . So I do feel a particular responsibility . . . to help them [women] be

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50 economically whole and to at least have a voice. (Congresswoman Marcy Kaptur, DOH, wave 2) [B]ecause most of us [women] are so involved with the affairs of our family . . . it makes us more sensitive to [how] the legislation that we’re passing . . . would impact on families, and especially single mothers or children. (Congresswoman Ileana RosLehtenin, R-FL, wave 3) I do [feel an obligation to represent women in addition to representing my district], because I am a woman. . . . Going through a divorce and raising teenagers as a single woman made me very sensitive to the concerns that single women have to deal with. (Congresswoman Helen Chenoweth, R-ID, wave 3)

Yet beneath these words evidencing connection to women spoken by women of different parties and serving in different Congresses was little bipartisan consensus on their implications for action. Especially in the Republican-controlled 104th, considerable frustration and bitterness seemed to emerge among the women, most emphatically expressed by liberal Democratic women House members. These frustrations that sometimes simmered beneath the surface in the wave 1 interviews,2 appeared more clearly after the GOP took control of Congress, particularly within the more ideologically diverse ranks of women serving in the House. Indeed, the charge of one Democratic congresswoman, for example, that, ‘They [Republican women] talk the great talk, but they don’t walk the walk . . . . They talk a good game, but when you put choice . . . on the board, they are not there,’ seemed almost mild compared with another Democrat’s assertion that, ‘[With only one exception] the Republican women that were elected [for the first time in 1994] are not women from our perspective. They are anti-choice, they are not environmental, I don’t know what they are.’ Similarly frustrated, another Democratic woman House member reflecting on life in the 104th Congress dominated by Speaker Newt Gingrich opined: It’s been tough, because Democratic women work [together] fine . . . and [Republican CCWI cochair] Connie Morella. But Connie can’t bring in the rest of the Republican women. They are out there on another planet. . . . I don’t know what the initiation process is like for joining the Republican party. But there must be a hazing process that includes a little bit of mind control or maybe some vampirism where they suck out your natural blood and then they infuse you with Republican masterbeing blood. . . . These are women by gender, but they have a new kind of thinking. It’s Newt think! (wave 2)

The reality of these heightened tensions after the 1994 elections was reinforced further by the more tactful efforts of other Democratic women who requested the tape recorder be turned off so they could speak frankly, who retroactively declared as off the record critical/sarcastic remarks that slipped into the conversation, who attempted to deflect questions about bipartisan cooperation by focusing instead on intraparty cooperation among Democratic women, or who simply v

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51 spoke in less colorful ways about their disappointment with their female Republican colleagues. Do the inconsistencies between words and action that contributed to Democratic women’s clear frustration in the 104th occur because the similar sounding pledges of concern actually mean different things, because the pro-woman intentions of some are more easily derailed than others by pressures from inside and outside the institution that vary by party, or because social desirability causes some women to paint (consciously or unconsciously) a picture of themselves that is at odds with reality? Answering these questions requires that we overcome the weakness of the analytical strategies of the past, that might be described as a needle-in-a-haystack strategy (i.e. looking for any evidence of concern for women, their needs, or interests) or the search for the lowest common denominator (i.e. treating any pro-woman words as equal). The problem is studies that employ such strategies, without considering the frequency of such words, the inconsistency between words and action over time and across situations, or diversity in the depth and breadth of those feelings, may convey an image of women as a united monolithic force—an image that fails to reflect reality and may, in the extreme, suggest these pro-women words are meaningless. Moreover, accepting at face value and uncritically that what women say they do to help women is actually substantive representation of women, may mean we fail to carefully scrutinize the diverse meanings and differing implications of seemingly similar pro-woman words. As Chapter 1 implies, it is absolutely critical to find a middle ground between, on the one hand, an essentialist approach that assumes anything women do is evidence they are representing women and, on the other hand, a rigid standard that ignores the possibility of legitimate diversities among women who are sincerely trying to represent women but define women’s needs and interests differently and envision women as a group differently. The search for such a middle ground will inevitably require shattering monolithic images of women by acknowledging the varied and multiple meanings gender may have as it intersects with other politically relevant identities rooted in race, class, and ideologies and with the environment inside and outside institutions. At the same time, we must be aware that attitudes are contextual. The literature on group consciousness tends to treat measures of minority, feminist, or gender consciousness as indicators that may vary across women, but that will not necessarily vary in their impact on a single individual’s perceptions across situations (e.g. if a woman scores high on feminist consciousness in the abstract, then we would expect her high level of feminist consciousness to leave its mark on all genderrelevant behavior, over time and across various settings). These assumptions, however, are highly contestable on two levels vis-a`-vis women officeholders. First, women officeholders, like their male colleagues, are members of parties whose policies tend to advantage some more than others, resulting in class, racial, and regional differences in the party coalitions. Indeed, unlike either the women in Katzenstein’s (1998) comparative analysis of women in the military and women REPRESENTING WOMEN : CON SENS US , COMPLEXITY

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52 religious or Kanter’s (1977) study of women in corporations, women members of Congress are simultaneously participants in the same institution—Congress—and mutually exclusive, competing institutions—the Democratic caucus and the Republican conference. These party coalitions are the first hurdle any woman must overcome to win election to office, and, once elected, the leaders of their own party are what stands between them and desired committee assignments and many other rewards. Thus, with the politics of presence in effect being filtered through the more well entrenched politics of ideas that divide the major parties, the result may be intragender diversity in conceptualizations of women, their needs, and their interests. And if it is the case that institutions shape the way women come to understand feminism and their strategies for feminist protest within various institutions, then we must recognize that these women operate within two very different institutions that have the power to create different environmental pressures. Second, feminist protest within representative institutions is unique, for women members of Congress fight battles for equity on at least two distinct levels—as professionals seeking acceptance within an institution and as advocates on behalf of women constituents. Like women in corporations, the Church, or the military, women in Congress must fight battles for acceptance as peers within an institution largely populated by men; yet unlike the women in these other organizations, women in Congress have a responsibility to represent others, sponsoring and cosponsoring bills and using legislative power to not only help themselves and their female colleagues, but also (from the views of many) to advance equity within the society more generally by providing the resources needed for feminist protest elsewhere. For this reason, women members’ connections to women political elites and women constituents in the mass public are explored separately in Chapters 3 and 4, with an eye toward understanding more clearly the complexities of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, particularly as they relate to ideological and demographic diversity, diverse definitions of legitimate behavior, and diverse views about just how different women’s difference must be to make a difference. Chapter 3 begins this analysis with connections among political women. v

NO T E S

1 The arguments against it included: the interviews varied in length; the questions posed to members varied across interviews and over time; and some views could only be gleaned indirectly from responses to questions on tangential matters. 2 Take, for example, one Democratic congresswoman’s observation in the wave 1 interviews: ‘The veteran women have been wonderful, totally supportive of me, and I’m sure of all the other women. They are delighted to have us here. . . . [But] It’s [my contact with women is] very partisan. Although some of the veteran Republican women are secure enough in their own right, . . . they aren’t the ones that are pushing and supporting me.’ v

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3

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Representing Women: The Elite to Elite Connection

In many ways, substantive representation of women is less controversial when the focus is on connections among women elites. Granted, these efforts by political women to act for women at either the mass or elite levels must confront credibility challenges resulting from a clash between masculinist and feminale values, but (so long as partisan rancor is low) these connections among women colleagues can be consistent with traditional institutional norms of bipartisan collegiality. Therefore, if women members of both parties experience similar levels of masculinist pressures, it would not be surprising that these women who find themselves in the proverbial ‘same boat’ build coalitions across party lines. The result might not only enhance their political clout, but an exchange of ideas could create more common ground for addressing those problems as women. If, however, either partisan differences in perceptions of masculinist pressures emerge (meaning women are no longer in ‘the same boat’) or partisan rancor increases (making it potentially more costly to be caught in ‘the same boat’), a reduction in common ground and communication may increase partisan differences in gender’s meaning among political women. That, in turn, will only contribute to partisan differences in actions on behalf of women. Thus, given the changes in the institutional environment between the 103rd and 104th Congresses, this chapter begins the empirical inquiry into the impact of the dynamics of the political environment on the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of political women. When the interview transcripts were analyzed for evidence that members (implicitly or explicitly) conceptualized political women as a group with shared experiences and comradery, common concerns, and/or interrelated fates, overwhelming majorities of Democratic women members of Congress interviewed in each wave (80 percent in waves 1 and 2 and 96 percent in wave 3) and Republican women in two out of three waves (100 percent, 31 percent, and 75 percent, respectively) conveyed such images in their discourse—images brought to life, for example, by newcomer Karan English (D-AZ) (who lauded those veteran women who ‘offered over and over again to help us understand the system. . . . It’s Republicans and Democrats. And it’s a pretty immediate bonding that takes

54 place. . . . They helped us get here, . . . and they’re helping us be successful’ [wave 1]); newcomer Anna Eshoo (D-CA) (who, lamenting a lack of political women who could serve as role models for herself as a child went on to explain in a wave 1 interview: ‘So [for that reason] I think that it’s very important for us to be trailblazers, to be role models, and . . . bring others along as well.’); or fellow class of ’92 member, Jane Harmon (D-CA) (who several years later in her Wave 3 interview emphasized the importance of women mentoring women, opining, ‘It’s not just representing women. . . . It’s hard as hell to get here, and I think one of the critical obligations is to help those coming behind’). Nevertheless, the shared sense of masculinism as a bipartisan institutional obstacle that put women in the ‘same (bipartisan) boat’ seemed to erode in the 104th when the Republican party’s (male) leadership began to showcase its women members in unprecedented ways. This comes through in the (some would say overly) optimistic assessments of Republican women like: Sue Kelly (R-NY), who observed, ‘The Republicans have used their women very differently than the Democrats. Poor Pat Schroeder was never in charge of a committee in Congress, but a great many of the Republican women have been’ (wave 3); Helen Chenoweth (R-ID) who noted, ‘We (Republicans) have more women in leadership (than the Democrats do). . . . [T]he leadership has . . . not given us any reason to believe there is a glass ceiling in our conference’ (wave 3); and veteran Congresswoman Vucanovich (R-NV) who echoed their sentiments, opining, ‘. . . [T]he Democrats are less helpful for women than the Republicans. . . . [O]ther than to get them to come up and speak when . . . they wanted to have women representing them, . . . they just didn’t feature them’ (wave 3). Indeed, even some Democratic women members like Congresswoman Barbara Rose Collins reluctantly admitted, ‘[T]his is the only good thing I can say about the Republicans: they really showcased their women. . . . Some people who had one or two terms under their belts were given very plum assignments. Democrats never do that’ (Collins, D-MI, wave 3). Speaker Newt Gingrich’s regular meetings with Republican women during the 104th further increased this sense of new opportunity, for they were, as Congresswoman Marge Roukema saw it, evidence ‘that the women members on both sides (of the abortion issue) are an important element in the party. . . .’ (Roukema, R-NJ, wave 2). Add to this the defunding of the CCWI (which deprived women of ‘safe space’ and resources to forge bipartisan agreements) and increasing partisan rancor (which increased the potential cost of collaborative bipartisan interactions), and the costs of bipartisan collaboration among women might seem to outweigh any benefits for Republican women who were beginning to achieve some of the positional power in the 104th that had eluded Democratic women in earlier years. Indeed, this newfound sense of opportunity may explain why Republican women’s references to political women as a group declined to a mere 31 percent v

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55 during the wave 2 interviews conducted in the early months of the 104th Congress, even as Democratic women’s increased to 96 percent. Granted, this could have been merely an artifact of the differences between wave 1’s newcomer-only sample and wave 2’s sample of newcomers and veterans serving in the 103rd; however, the fact Republican women’s willingness to talk about women as a political group rebounded during Wave 3 interviews (interviews whose timing coincided with the easing of partisan bitterness as the 105th Congress began, greater unity among the CCWI, and time for reality to temper Republican women’s initial excitement about the prospects of shattering the GOP’s glass ceiling), suggests changes in the institutional environment may have been important forces contributing to the dynamics of gender’s saliency among Republican women members. The dynamics of the political environment appeared to affect Democratic women as well, for although Democratic women continued to talk about political women as a group across all three waves, by wave 3 Democratic women survivors of the bitterly partisan 104th talked about political women in more partisan terms, more exclusively focused on Democratic women. With patterns consistent with Democratic women responding to the environment by gravitating back to the confines of their own party in defining their community of political women and Republican women being discouraged from thinking about women as a political group by new opportunities available to them, the patterns suggest the sense of connection among political women may be affected not only by the perspectives women bring with them to the institution, but also by institutional forces which are often beyond their control. Another factor that may influence the political relevance of these ties among women elites is whether those who acknowledge women are underrepresented in Congress attribute group underrepresentation to gender bias or simple gender differences in personal preferences (see Sigel 1996). These perceptions varied even within parties. Republican Congresswoman Deborah Pryce, for example, seemed to lean toward gender bias (and thus make the condition of underrepresentation a condition worthy of problem status) as the reason for women’s underrepresentation, noting in her wave 1 interview, ‘I had run two very successful races and led the ticket both times. Nobody came to me seeking me out [for the open House seat in my Republican district]. I don’t know if . . . because I was a woman they had just passed me over, or what.’ In contrast, Republican Congresswoman Sue Myrick seemed to resign herself to the inevitability of personal choice as the ‘culprit’ in her wave 3 interview, opining, I don’t think there are enough [women in Congress]. . . . Part of that is due to the fact that a lot of women won’t run, because they don’t want to take the risk. . . . [Also] a lot of women have children. Living in two places and having children is extremely difficult, unless you’ve got somebody competent . . . you can trust to take care of them.

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56 Thus, while these two women members both embraced the appropriateness of women in nontraditional roles as officeholders and acknowledged gender-related obstacles to women’s involvement in public office, Pryce’s greater willingness to cast this as a problem rooted in insidious environmental obstacles—for example, gender bias driven by masculinism rather than a ‘benign’ condition—would suggest Pryce might be more actively involved in working for change on behalf of political women (which she was). To explore these attitudinal differences more systematically, interview transcripts were analyzed to determine how many spoke of gender-related obstacles facing political women and implied they were problems that should be addressed—in much the same way as Deborah Pryce did. There was considerable variance across parties. Interestingly, within the Democratic dominated newcomer cohort comprising the wave 1 sample, Republican women were actually more likely than Democrats to volunteer concern with these obstacles as problems that should be addressed (100 percent vs. 65 percent, respectively). However, the pattern reversed itself later, when Republican women were less likely than Democrats to imply this was a problem that should be addressed in both waves 2 (46 percent vs. 77 percent, respectively) and 3 (42 percent vs. 65 percent, respectively). While this reversal following wave 1 could be an artifact of the first wave including only newcomer women to the House (and only three of these newcomers being Republicans), it is also plausible that at least part of the change results from the intersection of the GOP showcasing of its women in the 104th with preexisting party differences in perceptions of the meaning of women’s presence. Let me explain. Indeed, Republican women members appeared to see descriptive representation as something to be judged in terms of whether women and men were positioned equally well to speak out, with no sense women were diminished politically if they did not speak with one voice, or even on behalf of women. This sentiment, for example, comes through in the words of Congresswoman Susan Molinari (R-NY) who, when asked to compare women’s impact in the 104th Congress (where feminist gains of the past were under constant attack) and the 103rd (which passed record numbers of bills aimed at helping women and children), responded: Certainly from a Republican perspective, women are having much more of an impact. . . . Right now in the 104th, you have two women in leadership, . . . two women as heads of committees, women as heads of subcommittees on Appropriations, more women on Rules. . . . [W]e are able to affect the policies that we care about maybe a little bit easier. (wave 2)

Even Nancy Johnson (R-CT) (who was among the Republican women most likely to lead opposition to GOP challenges of feminist gains of the past) echoed Molinari’s sentiments: v

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57 Frankly, it isn’t the increased presence of women, it’s the increased number of women in power [that matters]. When the Republicans took over, they didn’t shrink from giving the women the positions that they earned by seniority. . . . Women just had a far stronger voice under Republicans than they had ever had under Democrats. (wave 3)

When Republican women spoke of the value of women colleagues, they seemed to focus on the notion of presence and the comradery, hewn by shared life experiences, rather than a collective policy agenda. Congresswoman Barbara Vucanovich (R-NV, wave 2), for example, admitted freely and unapologetically, ‘On the Republican side, you don’t see a lot of people . . . deal with women’s issues,’ yet she went on to add, ‘but one of the nicest things has been to have other women . . . [with whom] you can sit down and talk to about your kids, . . . the hours, . . . your office, or things . . . that are just personal. . . . There’s a very warm feeling that you don’t have with men.’ Congresswoman Tillie Fowler (R-FL) echoed those sentiments, explaining that while Democratic women outnumbered Republicans, [M]ost of us get along really well. . . . As women members of Congress, we share a lot of the same personal situations . . . trying to raise children, run households. . . . We each need a wife. . . . We might disagree on some policies and some politics, but overall we get along well as people, . . . and that helps. (wave 3)

Republican women’s emphasis on solidary rewards accompanying women’s increased presence contrasts sharply with Democratic women’s emphasis on policy which left little room for connections to women elites based merely on shared life experiences. Such sentiments came through in observations like those of Congresswoman Corrine Brown who asserted that the informal group of African American women members of which she was a part was united around ‘Issues, issues, issues, issues, just issues’ (wave 1), or Congresswoman Anna Eshoo’s admission (wave 1) that one of her ‘biggest surprises coming here was that the Women’s Congressional Caucus had never taken a position on choice,’ for although acknowledging that in previous years ‘the Caucus kept itself together based on a mutual regard . . . of Democrats for Republicans and Republicans for Democrats,’ she was quick to distance herself from that tradition, pledging, ‘. . . I am not willing [for the sake of unity with women] to give up what I was elected on, what I campaigned on, what I believe in, what I believe we need to accomplish in the Congress [i.e., choice].’ The inextricable link between policy and presence (combined with complete frustration at having been shut out by the new majority) almost certainly contributed to the emergence of a Democratic Women’s Caucus during the 104th. As Congresswoman Elizabeth Furse (D-OR), who left the CCWI for a time, explained: [S]o many of the Republican women were so anti-choice that I realized that choice would not be an issue for the Caucus. . . . I have to work on choice, and I don’t have time to work with one more group [that is] . . . less than a strong voice for choice. And the Democratic Women’s Caucus is pro-choice and strongly so. (wave 2, emphasis added)

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58 The potential partisan tensions created by differences in perspectives about the purpose that women’s increased presence should serve and the standards for judging its value were heightened in some cases by the moral tenor belying their divergence, even among Democratic women. Far from being the old-time pols whose passionate conflicts on the floor were followed by congratulatory slaps on the back later for having fought hard and fought well, women members saw Democratic women colleagues as taking policy disagreements very personally— particularly when the battle focused on reproductive rights. One Democratic woman member’s observation that, ‘If they [women] don’t respect the right of a woman to make such a personal decision, then I do think their policies are antiwoman,’ contrasted sharply with the views of another Democratic woman who, seeing her opposition to public funding of abortion as consistent with the wishes of her district, observed in an understated tone, ‘I think there were some that were distressed [I voted against Medicaid funding of abortion]. . . . [S]ome . . . probably took it more personally than others’ (emphasis added). The entry of six very conservative (antifeminist) Republican women in the 104th increased ideological diversity, compounding the tensions among women in Congress and jeopardizing the justification for women’s presence in the minds of some. Only two Republican women (both in wave 3) interviewed during the three waves of interviews volunteered that unity among women was critical for women to achieve their goals; however, Democratic women were much more likely to mention unity as critical to success, with 8 out of 30 (27 percent) doing so in wave 2 and 7 out of 26 (27 percent) in wave 3. Pat Schroeder (D-CO) conveyed the threat posed by women’s disunity after the 1994 election ‘just blew it all out of the water’ this way: This whole group of women who didn’t want anything to do with the [Women’s] Caucus . . . came with an entirely different kind of agenda. And at that point . . . when you stand up and talk about any issues, invariably they could get a woman up on the floor to talk about just the opposite side. What happened . . . is [then] people say, ‘I don’t have to vote for this until all the women make up their mind.’ You and I know that . . . all women don’t think the same way. But unfortunately when they are such a small minority in a body such as that, the only way . . . you get people to take seriously what you’re saying is for all the women to look like they have a consensus. (wave 3, emphasis added)

These tensions among women in the 104th were only compounded because the majority of women who were Democrats needed the minority of women who were Republicans more than ever to lead the charge on behalf of their collective agenda if they were to maximize their potential for success. Yet numerous factors worked against this: these Republican women on whom Democrats depended were less likely to see unity around policy as key to women’s success; Republicans had fewer ties to either the CCWI or the women’s movement more generally; Republican women were even more of a token presence in their party’s conference v

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59 than Democratic women had been in the Democratic-controlled 103rd; and with positional power within their grasp, Republican women seemed to have more to lose by challenging their party than Democratic women ever had had during the years of Democratic hegemony. As such, Anne Phillips’ caution that no woman is just a woman seems especially important in understanding the nature of the relationship among women political elites in an institution like Congress, for unlike other institutions in which female participants are on the same ‘team’ (e.g. the military, the Catholic Church), women members of Congress are members both of the same ‘team’— Congress—and competing ‘teams’—their own party’s legislative caucus which controls (to varying degrees) access to legislative rewards and whose success determines the size of the power pie which may be divvied up by its leadership. Indeed, a conflict between competing identities of party and gender could go a long way toward discouraging action on behalf of women. Sometimes, as came through in the interviews, this could happen when there was bipartisan agreement a wrong had been experienced, as when, for example, a bipartisan protest over a Democratic elder statesman’s sexist remark to Republican Nancy Johnson fizzled after the Republican woman who authored the letter of protest was seen as crafting it as a general attack on all Democrats. In other cases, bipartisan protest might never occur due to partisan disagreement over whether a wrong had occurred, as when Democratic (but not Republican) women rallied around Loretta Sanchez in the 105th Congress following a prolonged challenge to her election. Democratic, but not Republican, women saw the sustained investigation in gendered terms. The situation was mentioned by only one Republican woman member interviewed in wave 3, and she saw gender as irrelevant to what she described as an election fraud issue. Democratic women viewed this both as a wrong rooted in a gender and a partisan attack that required the collective clout of women Democrats to draw on the more extensive resources of the Democratic Congressional Committee, for as Lynn Woolsey (D-CA) recalled: There was a day I saw her [Loretta Sanchez] unraveling on the floor. . . . So I said, ‘Okay, we [Democratic women] are all having dinner tonight’. . . . That very night we brought Martin Frost [to talk with us]. . . . [Then] we called this [other] leader, . . . met with him, all within two hours, got a commitment from both of them that the DCCC would work with us. . . . [It happened that way] because here were all these women saying, ‘Why isn’t the DCCC doing more? You do it for all the men, so help us.’ And they did. (wave 3)

While Republican women may have been more focused on the benefits of women’s presence for comradery rather than policy, and while they may have spoken positively of connections with women sometimes despite their party ties, Republican women’s multiple identities came through as well in the greater priority Republican women attached to connection with Republican women THE EL IT E T O ELITE CON NECTI ON

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60 colleagues. Indeed, both before and after the Republican’s takeover of the Congress, Republican women in the House spoke of party unity and solidarity among women of their own party as a critical concern, even if to the exclusion of advancing a policy agenda consistent with the goals of the contemporary feminist movement. Take, for example, Jennifer Dunn (R-WA) who, although acknowledging that ‘. . . something . . . makes our being women in politics a common interest,’ chose not to join the Women’s Caucus in the 103rd because, as she explained, I found out they had taken a position on abortion, so I’m not going to join that group because I think it should be an inclusive group. . . . [W]e shouldn’t get into endorsing particular political points of view on some of these problems where our approaches are diverse. That keeps out people who are friends of mine, like [Republican] Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, . . . [Republican] Helen Bentley, or [Republican] Barbara Vucanovich. (wave 1, emphasis added)

Or consider the sentiments of veteran Republican (and CCWI member) Marge Roukema who, at the beginning of the 104th opined that, ‘. . . on the abortion question . . . , I would hope that we [women] would be able to work together,’ yet seemed to privilege party unity over policy advancement, adding, however, ‘we have to resolve the differences [among women] within our own party before we can reach out [to work with the Democratic women]’ (Roukema, R-NJ, wave 2). Indeed, Barbara Vucanovich may have spoken warmly and in nonpartisan terms of being able to connect with women colleagues as women, and this nonmember of the CCWI may have sounded positively feminist when she opined, ‘[Women] all face some discrimination. . . . [I]t has been a man’s world [in the legislative arena]’ (wave 2). Yet hers was not a sense of obligation oblivious to partisanship, for while she admitted in that same interview, ‘. . . . [So] anytime there is a woman that I know who is running for Congress, I reach out to her and see if I can help her,’ she went on to add, ‘I must say, I am partisan about that. . . . I worked very hard to bring more [Republican] women here’ (Vucanovich, R-NV, wave 2, emphasis added). The complexity of these bonds among political women revealed in women members’ own words validates Phillips’ (1995) caution about the importance of multiple and intersecting identities, and therefore gender’s implications for difference. Members of Congress must negotiate these on multiple levels—as individuals, as part of an informal group of political women, as members of a political party, a party caucus, and/or the CCWI, Members of Congress, and as elected representatives accountable to specific geographic districts. Thus, even if all women members felt some connection to at least some of their political sisters (which most did), the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women would be probabilistic (rather than deterministic) if women who share membership in a particular political institution were, nevertheless, more strongly influenced by pressures of affiliation with competing institutions. This would be most likely to contribute to the probabilistic nature of the relationship if those competing instiv

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61 tutions differed in the relative priority of gender (compared with party, ideology, race, ethnicity, class, or the intersection of these), the degree of tension between gender-related and other priorities, and understandings of commitment to women. With women working for different partisan ‘teams,’ even the gender gap, which opened windows of bipartisan opportunity for feminale perspectives, could divide women along party lines, for its political value for women was rooted in partisan competition for women’s votes and the relative success of political women on opposing ‘teams’ working against each other for the advantage of their own ‘team.’ Diverging perceptions of opportunities for women within the parties, combined with women’s value to their own party (which was tied to the competitive advantage they could provide in the struggle for women’s votes) had the potential to only compound the divisions between Republican and Democratic women. The importance of their respective party ‘teams’ came through in Jennifer Dunn’s discussion (wave 3) of the ‘permanent majority project’ which she explained, aimed to close the GOP’s gender gap by teaching the men to ‘finish their sentences,’ in Sue Myrick’s view (wave 3) that what some saw as harsh policies toward juvenile crime would be seen as less harsh if those same policies were advocated by women, and in Tillie Fowler’s view (wave 2) that it was easier for her as a woman to speak out for keeping the same military standards for women and men without being worried that she was ‘politically incorrect’. In each of these cases, women used their identities as women to provide political cover/ guidance to their party to reduce the political costs of a predetermined course that was at odds with the agenda of most feminists. (This was in a spirit similar to Katzenstein’s military women [1998] who never challenged the values of war or militarism as they struggled to make a case for gender equity.) Yet even as team players, women faced different obstacles than their male colleagues—obstacles rooted in masculinist culture that could constrain their efforts on the behalf of political women even as they were forced to prove themselves on behalf of all current and future generations of women who might seek political office. Tillie Fowler’s (R-FL) observation that, ‘We need to be good role models, and we need to do well so it makes it easier for other women to get elected ’ (wave 3, emphasis added) suggests that women and men must negotiate their paths through the institution in different ways. Under such conditions, the actions of ‘tokens’ in institutions (Kanter 1977) are undoubtedly constrained in ways the dominants will almost certainly never experience. The power of such constraints comes through in newcomer Jennifer Dunn’s (R-WA) comment—a comment impossible to imagine a man making about himself and his male colleagues—that ‘I will be interested over a long period of time to see . . . if we [women] wear out our welcome’ (wave 1, emphasis added). The emotional burden accompanying fears of one’s group ‘wearing out our welcome’ is perhaps even greater when one fears one’s own failure would be evidence of the collective incompetence of all women. This perspective, ironically THE EL IT E T O ELITE CON NECTI ON

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62 voiced more often by the women newly elected in 1992’s Year of the Woman (the class often touted as creating a ‘critical mass’ of women), is illustrated in observations like . . . I have a fourteen-year-old daughter. . . . If this is what she wants to do, then I want her to have that option . . . and not [to find her path blocked] because her mother made a mess of things. . . . [I want to ensure] they can’t look and say, ‘We can’t send women to Congress. . . . Look what they do! Look what they don’t know.’ (Congresswoman Karen Thurman, D-FL, wave 1)

It is illustrated as well by a concern that as . . . [t]he first woman to ever be elected in her own [right to Congress from my state]. . . . you feel a sense to make sure that your performance isn’t [disappointing] so that other women will not have that chance. (Congresswoman Eva Clayton, D-NC, wave 2)

Thus, whether it was the ‘critical mass’ of women in the 103rd or the Republican women who ‘broke the glass ceiling’ within the GOP conference during the 104th, navigating a political institution such as Congress could be a transgendered experience. Yet the implications of this transgendered experience hinted at across all three waves of interviews were not static. Women were most likely to express a willingness to work on behalf of political women in wave 1—when 45 percent of Democratic women and 100 percent of the [three] Republican women newcomers volunteered this information. The likelihood of broaching this topic varied over time, but varied most among Republican women. Indeed, while Republican women were about as likely as Democratic women to volunteer in wave 2 interviews (39 percent vs. 34 percent) their willingness to work for women, by wave 3, a mere 16 percent of Republican women did—the lowest level for either party in any wave and certainly lower than the 31 percent of Democratic women who volunteered such sentiments during the wave 3 interviews. Although we can only speculate about the reasons for variation across time in the proportion expressing these commitments, the divergent dynamics of an institutional environment with partisan differences in perceived opportunities and constraints almost certainly played a role. Indeed, a subtle change over time seemed to occur among Republican women: by wave 2 Republican women began to speak more overtly than Democrats did of their concern for working on behalf of political women by supporting women of their own party. Whether this reflected the increased partisan rancor of the 104th Congress or a real sense of need for more women in their party conference is unclear. However, with Republican women in the 103rd and 104th outnumbered more than 2:1 by Democratic women, with women being a much smaller proportion of the GOP conference than of the Democratic caucus, and with partisan rancor within the institution making bipartisan collaboration more costly for women of

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63 the new majority party, there was a real sense of need to increase their ranks. That comes through, for example, in the words of Tillie Fowler (R-FL) who explained: . . . [T]he press pays very little attention to Republican women. They pay much more attention to Democratic women . . . and [we Republican women are] trying to get that turned around. . . . [I]n January or February, . . . we . . . had the editors . . . from some of the major magazines here in Washington to meet with us to talk about this, and say [to them], ‘Hey, we do exist. We are women who are pretty outstanding in our own right. These are the things we stand for and do. . . .’ [I]f you want to encourage more Republican women to run, the only way you can do that is for them to see there are Republican women here doing things. . . . [Otherwise] how can they get motivated and encouraged and say, ‘I want to do this, too!’? . . . (wave 2)

Whatever the case, it is likely that women’s own conceptualizations of themselves as political women and of their connections to other political women were reflected in the values, perspectives, and experiences as individuals they may have brought to Congress with them, but also by the intersection of these with the constraints, opportunities, and dueling institutional and extra-institutional pressures they experienced as members of the institution. v

CO N C L U S I O N

Beneath the veneer of unity and connectedness revealed in the words of women members of Congress as they speak of their female colleagues is considerable complexity which may account for the sometimes tense relationships among gender conscious political women. Their sense of connection, commitment, and responsibility to women is shaped not only by ideological perspectives and views about their roles as political women, but also by the institutional environments of Congress and their competing party caucuses. The outcome in this case was diverse understandings of the relevance of gender vis-a`-vis competing identities as well as differences in definitions of ‘doable’ and compelling evidence that relative stability in women’s proportional presence can be accompanied by substantial shifts in its interpretation. Whether increasing numbers of women will contribute to a critical mass ready and more able to work on behalf of women depends on much more than numbers. The shift to a Republican-controlled Congress may well have made more relevant partisan differences in women’s fundamental understanding of the meaning of women’s presence—whether advancing equality within the ranks of members is a laudable goal in and of itself, or whether women’s presence is a worthy goal because it is a means for transforming society through infusion of feminist perspectives into policymaking. Just as Katzenstein’s study of women (1998) in the Church and military concluded the direction of feminist protest within an institution is influenced by the convergence of internal and external pressures, women members of THE EL IT E T O ELITE CON NECTI ON

v

64 Congress seemed to be influenced by this mixture of forces, which sometimes contributed to bipartisan similarities and other times differences. Yet since women’s political currency was derived from helping their own party boost its relative standing with the mass public and navigate the perils of the gender gap, partisan competition rather than cooperation could emerge—particularly when women felt they were being included rather than marginalized. The diverse meanings of gender that result, and the relative priority of these diverse meanings as they intersect with other identities, created different understandings among the women in their connection to political women, their action on behalf of their fellow female political elites, and even the saliency of gender. This chapter provides a foundation for Chapter 4 and moves the analysis toward more common conceptualizations of representing women and the connection between descriptive and substantive representation—the role of elite women acting on behalf of women in the mass public. If conflicting views about the relevance of gender, how different women’s difference must be to be worthwhile, and which women they are responsible to, all contributed to differences in the attachments of women elites among themselves, the opportunity for conflict expands further when the focus shifts to women in the mass public, where the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women may even more often seem like ‘a shot in the dark.’

v

TH E ELI TE TO ELITE CONNECTION

4

v

v

Representing Women: The Constituency Connection

CO M M O N A L I T I E S

Across each of the three waves virtually all women members interviewed regardless of party expressed (implicitly or explicitly) a sense of responsibility to women in the mass public (Table 4.1). Although sometimes discussed only after the interviewer broached the subject (or in a few cases, with initial early denials being contradicted later in the interview), evidence of connectedness to women constituents came to life in the words of both the likeliest and the unlikeliest of ‘suspects’: I think where the [gender] difference [among members] is is in the responsibility to our publics. . . . I think women feel a tremendous responsibility to their gender. (Congresswoman Karan English, D-AZ, wave 1) No, I really don’t [bring different priorities to Congress because I am a woman]. . . . But my sensitivities are just going to be different. I’m a mother. I’ve raised two little kids . . . as a single mother. . . . I know what it’s like not to have a voice. (Congresswoman Jennifer Dunn, R-WA, wave 1) [I]n addition to representing my district, I feel I’m on the front lines representing women everywhere, both nationally and internationally, whether it’s on education or economic development, . . . health or crime, . . . or even speaking out on sexual harassment. (Congresswoman Nita Lowey, D-NY, wave 2) . . . [B]efore I came here, I worked for a congressman. . . . I saw that women’s issues were not part of the national agenda. . . . It hasn’t changed. So [while] it is our responsibility to participate in every single issue . . . and every debate that we have here, . . . if we don’t force others to focus on women’s issues, . . . it will not be part of the debate. (Congresswoman Nydia Velezquez, D-NY, wave 2) We need to integrate the perspective of women into the policy-making process. . . . [W]e automatically think, ‘Gee, how will this affect the environment? How will this affect the working people at the work site?’ But we don’t really think, ‘How is this going to affect women who work at home? Women in the workplace with home responsibilities? Women who are single parents?’ And so I do feel a special responsibility to . . . think through how will this affect women. (Congresswoman Nancy Johnson, R-CT, wave 2)

66 Table 4.1 Women members implicitly or explicitly expressing a sense of responsibility to represent women in the mass public

All Democrats Republicans

Wave 1

Wave 2

Wave 3

83%(N¼23) 80%(N¼20) 100%(N¼3)

95%(N¼43) 97%(N¼30) 92%(N¼13)

95%(N¼38) 96%(N¼26) 92%(N¼12)

. . . A woman member brings to the table a greater focus on women’s issues than a man might, even though men can be quite as zealous on an issue-by-issue basis. . . . [T]he kind of concentrated, systematic focus that goes from bill to bill . . . is what I think women mean when they say, ‘We represent women.’ It means . . . we regard ourselves as an avant garde who, in addition to everything else we do, keep a watch for women’s issues. (Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton, D-DC, wave 3) If women don’t speak up for women, who in the world will? . . . [W]orking for male legislators, . . . I was in the backroom when . . . the first thing that fell off the table was anything that affected women and children. Their outward faces, ‘I’m pro-woman and I care about your issues,’ were very different from when they went in the backroom and cut the deals. (Congresswoman Carolyn Maloney, D-NY, wave 3) I think the number of women in Congress is good, not so much because of . . . the difference in the way that they deal with women’s issues, but in the fact that you get a woman’s perspective on all issues. . . . And since this country is 50 percent women, I think it’s extremely important that we have that experience of being a woman brought to Congress. (Congresswoman Jan Meyers, R-KS, wave 3) . . . [I]t’s a voice that needs to be heard. Women tend to look at things differently. . . . When we are able to bring women’s issues forward, there are sometimes things that men haven’t even thought of because they don’t see them in the same light that we, as females, do. (Congresswoman Sue Myrick, R-SC, wave 3)

The vast majority of women members not only spoke (implicitly or explicitly) of representing women, but also conveyed a sense of personal identification with women and women’s needs, interests, concerns, and life experiences that went beyond a sterile, objective, impersonal, detached knowledge of the conditions and problems facing women that a man who recognized but had not lived these life experiences might convey. Seventy percent of women members interviewed in wave 1, 86 percent in wave 2, and 89 percent in wave 3 left such impressions. Moreover, the fact that within each wave at least a plurality spoke of women’s concerns, needs, and interests in ways that acknowledged the dual concerns both as caregivers and as autonomous individuals (Table 4.2), suggests the women’s movement’s influence in raising the gender consciousness of women across the ideological spectrum and chipping away at the wall dividing the personal and political (Tolleson Rinehart 1992; also see Klatch 1987; Carroll 1989; Hartmann 1989). However, the challenge is to reconcile this image of elected women as a force for women with what is often the probabilistic, shot-in-the-dark nature of v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

67 Table 4.2 Proportion of female members who conveyed sense of personal identification with women, controlling for conceptualization of women’s issues

Wave 1 (%) Wave 2 (%) Wave 3 (%) (N¼23) (N¼43) (N¼38) Focus exclusively on women’s traditional concerns as caregivers Focus exclusively on women (as individuals) General reference to traditional and nontraditional concerns or gendered perspectives

4

5

—

22 43

33 51

29 61

the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women that fuels doubts about gender’s relevance. Doing this requires deconstructing women’s seemingly similar concerns for women constituents. Implicit in the argument that women make a difference not only is an assumption that women officeholders will be more aware than their male colleagues of conditions more commonly associated with women’s lives, but that they will more often define these conditions as gender injustices that are problems which should be addressed (rather than just the way things are). Indeed, regardless of party, the majority of women members met this standard, broaching the topic of gender injustices in ways that suggested they were problems, in wave 1 (55 percent of Democrats vs. 66 percent Republicans), wave 2 (93 percent of Democrats vs. 85 percent of Republicans), and wave 3 (85 percent of Democrats vs. 67 percent of Republicans). Yet if these attitudes are meaningful indicators of their potential to act for women by bringing their own (women-centered) genderschema to the public policy process, why do women all too often either fail to follow up their words with action or find themselves pitted against one another? One possibility is that women members who speak of women are really thinking of different subgroups of women. As such, women might make a difference, but the agendas, policy preferences, and compromises they pursue will likely serve some women better than others because there are real differences in the life experiences, perspectives, needs, and interests of white women and women of color, poor women and wealthy women, women in developed and developing countries, rural women and urban women, African Americans, and Latinas. Different kinds of women face different kinds of problems, different kinds of women who face similar problems may be better served by different policies, solutions to the problems faced by some women may have no (or even a negative) effect on other women, and women with different life experiences (or who represent women with different life experiences) may disagree over what the conditions are, what the problems are, and what solutions will best address them. This intersection of the politics of presence associated with gender and the politics of ideas associated with partisanship is easily overlooked when we merely THE CO N S T I T U E N CY CON NECTI ON

v

68 focus on whether or not political women seem to feel a connection to women constituents as a group, speak of a responsibility to represent women, or make a difference. Their intersection is a useful starting point for understanding the complexities of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women among these self-described representatives of women. v

CO M P L E X I T I E S

v

Diversity of Perceptions

Content analysis of interview transcripts suggests images of different kinds of women belie Democratic and Republican women’s shared concern for women (Table 4.3). Taken in context, Democrats’ general references to women seemed to have much in common with the kind of women likely to be found in the Table 4.3 Type of women focused on when speaking of women

Wave 1 (%)

Wave 2 (%)

Wave 3 (%)

Dems Reps Dems Reps Dems Reps (N¼20) (N¼3) (N¼30) (N¼13) (N¼26) (N¼12) General reference to women General reference that sounds like women in district/ re-election coalition Middle-aged/older women Latinas African-American women/ women of color Poor women Friends/ family Breast cancer survivors/ women with health concerns Affluent women Mothers/women in traditional roles Teens/young women Workers Small business owners Crime victims Federal employees Single mothers Rural women Feminists Military women/veterans v

55 45

66 33

73 27

62 15

92 73

92 58

5 10 5

— — —

7 3 27

— — —

19 4 35

17 8 —

25 — —

— 33 33

37 — —

8 41 —

62 8 12

8 17 33

5 —

— —

— 20

15 41

4 19

17 25

— — — — — — — — —

— — — — — — — — —

7 20 — 10 10 7 7 10 10

8 15 8 15 — 8 — — —

15 35 — 12 4 42 12 — 15

8 8 17 33 8 67 — — 8

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

69 Democratic coalitions, and thus in their own re-election constituencies. In addition, Democrats more often than Republicans specifically referenced middle-aged and older women, Latinas, African-American women, poor women, rural women, women workers, feminists, and military/veteran women. Republican women were relatively less likely to reference specific kinds of women in waves 1 and 2, speaking of women in more generic, undifferentiated, and monolithic terms. However, when they did (implicitly or explicitly) refer to specific kinds of women, they more often than Democrats referred to women relatives and friends, women in traditional roles, single mothers (rather than poor women), crime victims, and women small business owners (rather than women workers) (Table 4.3). Clearly, even if Democratic and Republican women officeholders agree on everything else (which they do not), differences in the types of women on whom they focus when they think of women could contribute to different priorities, support for different policies, and (assuming different types of women define their needs and interests differently) a probabilistic (rather than deterministic) relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. While this suggests the politics of presence is filtered through the lens of partisanship, the complexities go beyond partisanship. The implications of focus on diverse types of women become clearer when we compare the discourse of women members who share much in common, but whose constituencies and life experiences make the needs of different kinds of women more salient. Take, for example, Congresswomen Carrie Meek and Carolyn Maloney—both liberal, Democratic, freshmen women, who during their wave 1 interview mentioned working on the ‘Zoe Baird’ issue (the issue of withholding for domestic workers). Meek’s desire for a legislative solution ‘that would cause that to be less laborious to the employer, the female employer, to have a domestic worker’ was echoed by Congresswoman Maloney who discussed her work on a package ‘that would simplify the filing of the papers’. Yet the shape of an adequate solution was discussed in different (although not necessarily conflicting) terms by these two women. While Maloney (who represented an affluent Manhattan district) spoke of reforms to ‘raise the threshold amount to a more realistic level before you start paying their Social Security,’ and that ‘would give you a credit for that amount that you pay in Social Security for your nanny,’ Meek (who represented a less affluent district) hoped as well to lessen reporting requirements so ‘They [female employers] would be able to do it [report] quarterly when it was $300.’ Yet Meek (unlike Maloney) was careful to note a strong concern for workers rooted in her own life experiences, explaining, ‘I’m not against reporting, . . . I’m very much concerned about domestic workers, because my mother . . . was a domestic. I was one. My sister was one. We never got any benefits, so I certainly want to see that turned around.’ Thus, while these two women were not necessarily at odds, their concerns taken together made present a wider swath of women than would likely have been true with either acting alone. THE CO N S T I T U E N CY CON NECTI ON

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70 The impact the focus on different kinds of women has on legislation is illustrated even more dramatically in the contrasting views of Congresswomen Jennifer Dunn and Karen McCarthy as they talked about seeking out ‘welfare mothers’ for input about reforms. Dunn (R-WA) worked in committee during the 104th to amend the welfare reform bill so that women who initially had their welfare payments reduced for failure to identify the father of their child could recoup the money later if they revealed his identity. While she admitted, ‘I was worried that the women get the funding,’ she was quick to add, ‘I think it’s also terribly important that the woman be required to identify the parent [father]. . . . That is where the responsibility should be, on the parents of that child, not on the state or the federal government or the people that I represent that have to pay taxes’ (Dunn, R-WA, wave 3, emphasis added). Dunn’s image of women on welfare as ‘other’ contrasted sharply with Karen McCarthy’s (D-MO) starting point that, ‘Nobody really wants to be on welfare.’ McCarthy’s positive assessment of reform provisions (rightly or wrongly) emphasized its benefits for women recipients as seen through their eyes, for as she explained, ‘. . . [T]he women I’ve talked to in my community, welfare mothers . . . who have received the training and are out in the workforce earning a living . . . are thrilled—thrilled with their new stature in the community, the way their children look to them with a new kind of respect, the fact that they are able to support a family’ (McCarthy, D-MO, wave 3). Yet while differences like these in the subgroups of women most salient to women members could very well contribute to the probabilistic relationship between presence and action on behalf of women—not to mention raising questions about the standard actions must meet to be considered substantive representation of women—ideological diversity may mean some find it more difficult to act on these concerns. In the wave 1 interviews, 67 percent of Republicans compared with 5 percent of Democrats mentioned ideology as a constraint on their support for policies of particular relevance to women. While only 31 percent of Republicans noted such caveats in wave 2, they remained more likely to do so than their Democratic counterparts (3 percent). The pattern persisted into wave 3, with 67 percent of Republicans compared to only 8 percent of Democrats, speaking of such constraints. Republicans spoke of such constraints vis-a`-vis action on at least what some would describe as ‘women’s issues’—constraints rooted in concerns that ranged from accusations of government incompetence (e.g. ‘. . . Medicare has frankly proven that the central government cannot run a health care system. . . . [I]t results in formulas that arbitrarily penalize reimbursements because of volume. That’s irrational’ [Johnson, R-CT, wave 2].) to principled opposition to big government (e.g. ‘. . . [W]e still have a lot of people who believe in the welfare state, and to me that keeps people down rather than bringing them up’ [Fowler, R-FL, wave 3], or ‘I have a view of the federal government that it is narrow in its responsibilities. So my question to them [welfare mothers I interviewed in the community] was v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

71 what, within the defined areas that the federal government should take over in our lives, . . . could we do that would make it easier on you, [and] that is realistic?’ [Dunn, R-WA, wave 3]). At the same time changes in the institutional environment between the 103rd and 104th could compound these preexisting centrifugal forces of diversity, contributing to changes in the direction of women’s behavior that could strain bipartisan relationships among even veterans, making what was once acceptable on behalf of women sometimes unacceptable, as illustrated by Congresswoman Patsy Mink’s (D-HI) inability to muster the strong bipartisan support for displaced homemakers evidenced in the past: I had a simple amendment this year on vocational education . . . to retain the earmarked money for displaced homemakers. . . . And they [Republicans] stripped it. . . . The Sex Equity Coordinator that each state had to appoint under the old law was eliminated. And so a bunch of us . . . sponsored an amendment [to restore the provisions]. . . . Connie Morella . . . agreed, but the [other] Republican women all lined up against it. . . . We weren’t asking for more money. . . . I don’t understand. . . . If you say you’re for women, how could you be against this, this small thing? (Congresswoman Patsy Mink, D-HI, wave 3)

She was not alone. Indeed, in contrast with 1992’s postelection bipartisan agreement in principle among newcomer women on a women’s agenda that included reproductive choice, family/medical leave, Head Start, and women’s health, by wave 3 some interviewed seemed to feel the only common ground left among women was breast cancer research and preserving the Lindy Boggs Room as the Congresswomen’s Lounge. Why the change? v

The Power of the Institutional Environment

The potential for diversity of actions even among women who represent women in the mass public is heightened further if they differ both in the range of issues they see as gender-related and in the content of the gender schemas used to understand those concerns they agree are gender-related. Although the circulation of elites may, as with the entry of six new conservative Republican women into the 104th, fuel this diversity, New Institutionalist critiques of social science remind us the institutional environment may fuel diversity of actions as well. Because the institutional environment changed so dramatically between the 103rd and 104th, content analysis across these three waves of interviews may provide useful insight into the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. Women members were not explicitly asked to define ‘women’s issues’, yet virtually all revealed at least some thoughts about the concept during their interviews (Table 4.4). However, their conceptualizations seemed to evolve over time, in ways reflecting shared and divergent institutional pressures. Let me explain. THE CO N S T I T U E N CY CON NECTI ON

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72 Table 4.4 Members’ definitions of women’s issues

Wave 1 (%)

Typical feminist issues Smaller subset of typical definition Children’s issues only Women’s point of view Combines typical feminist issues and others not generally cast as such All issues are women’s issues, but with no anticipation of gender difference All issues are women’s issues with anticipation of gender difference No such thing

Wave 2 (%)

Wave 3 (%)

Dems (N¼20)

Reps (N¼3)

Dems (N¼30)

Reps (N¼13)

Dems (N¼26)

Reps (N¼12)

55 15

33 33

37 7

8 46

31 4

33 8

10 5 —

— — —

— — 37

15 8 15

— 4 54

— 17 42

—

33

7

23

—

8

10

—

7

0

8

25

5

—

—

—

—

—

In wave 1’s interviews with House newcomers, a majority of Democrats spoke of women’s issues in terms consistent with those of the contemporary feminist movement. The three newcomer Republican women differed not only from their Democratic counterparts, but also from one another, with one seeing women’s health as about the only ‘women’s issue,’ another seeming to embrace a conventional feminist agenda while admitting she had encountered few gender-relevant policy questions during her first few months in office (a point some of her Democratic colleagues would have disputed), and another focusing on the importance of ‘a woman’s voice’ at the table. Yet notwithstanding the diversities they brought with them to the 103rd, these newcomer women (as noted earlier), overcame partisan differences to formulate a bipartisan women’s agenda even the relatively more conservative Republican women interviewed in wave 1 suggested was quick, efficient, and relatively noncontroversial. However, the partisan gap in women’s conceptualization of women’s issues increased between waves 1 and 2 (Table 4.4), reflecting changes within both parties. Democratic women continued to discuss women’s issues in ways consistent with the conventional agenda of liberal feminists, but they broadened the scope to include issues whose gendered stakes were only beginning to be recognized. Republican women, on the other hand, either focused on a v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

73 subset of the women’s agenda embraced by Democratic women or touted all issues as women’s issues, albeit without any indication of gendered stakes. More changes occurred between waves 2 and 3, as Republican women began to embrace many topics typically associated with the feminist agenda and to expand the women’s issue agenda to include new issues (e.g. tax cuts, opposition to gun control)—albeit with policy goals that clashed with those of feminists. Democratic women too expanded the agenda, but without an obvious consensus among themselves, as military and national security, Social Security, gun control, gendered needs arising from race and poverty, universal access to health care, and minimum wage were among those implicitly or explicitly mentioned by one or more Democratic women as ‘women’s issues’. Thus, the meaning of ‘women’s issues’ became even more contested as institutional dynamics and circulation of elites drove the dominant conceptualizations of Democratic and Republican women further and further apart, and in so doing, further muddying the waters when it came to substantive representation of women and the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. The centrifugal forces of ideological diversity among the women in the 104th were almost certainly accelerated in the institutional atmosphere where heightened partisan bitterness discouraged consorting with the ‘enemy’ (even if they were women), where defunding of the CCWI made it difficult to stem the increasing isolation of women of opposing parties from one another, and where the GOP leadership’s showcasing of GOP women members heightened the potential costs (and reduced the potential benefits) of bipartisan collaboration for Republican women. The potential of diversity in the conceptualizations of women and women’s issues (driven by forces at the institutional and individual levels) was almost certainly compounded by constraints at the individual and institutional levels that could limit women’s willingness to act on what were previously seemingly noncontroversial symbolic acts on behalf of women’s needs and interests—the display of works by women artists in the Capitol, displaced homemaker programs, and even moving a statute of suffragists from the basement to the Capitol rotunda. One critical constraint is the priority given to gendered concerns relative to other priorities. Women’s warm words about the ties they feel to women, their resentment of gender inequality, and their pledges to work to advance women’s collective fortunes as a group may be meaningless for their legislative behavior if nongendered concerns are relatively more important. The mitigating impact of competing priorities on the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women in the mass public was seldom mentioned by the newcomers interviewed in wave 1, but it became a more dominant theme in subsequent waves—particularly among Republicans. For example, by wave 2, 54 percent of Republican women, but only 10 percent of Democratic women, (implicitly or explicitly) mentioned tradeoffs between ostensibly nongendered THE CO N S T I T U E N CY CON NECTI ON

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74 and gendered policy. This partisan gap among women persisted into wave 3 with 67 percent of Republican, but only 27 percent of Democratic, women members interviewed mentioning competition between nongendered and gendered concerns shaping their action on ‘women’s issues’. Sometimes competing gendered and nongendered concerns may not have even been recognized by women members, as when Congresswoman Marge Roukema (who had described herself as representing women earlier in the same interview) justified her unsuccessful amendment to the Labor and Education health care reform bill which would have barred illegal aliens from receiving WIC benefits—a stand some would describe as antiwomen—on the grounds that, ‘. . . [W]e must do everything to enforce the laws and take action against illegal immigrants. . . . [T]hey should not be receiving sustainable support like welfare, like unemployment benefits, like WIC, etc.’ (Roukema, R-NJ, wave 2). While her resolution of [implicitly] competing principles/priorities would seem to some inconsistent with her claims of feeling a responsibility to women, Marge Roukema expressed no conflicts when discussing her child support enforcement amendment to crack down on deadbeat dads—an amendment widely hailed as a critical to the economic well-being of women and their children. Yet another Republican woman member, Helen Chenoweth (R-ID), did. Although this self-described ‘friend of women’ and single mother may have ‘had no alimony and no child support’ (wave 3), Chenoweth was one of only five members who voted against Roukema’s child support enforcement amendment, doing so, as she explained, because, ‘I’m a civil libertarian, too. . . . [D]ads should pay child support and they should be required to pay it. But . . . before seizing someone’s wages or taking away a license . . . there ought to be due process, so that there is justification rather than . . . [simply] an accusation’ (Chenoweth, R-ID, wave 3). Other constraints stemmed from extra-institutional pressures. Breast cancer survivor Barbara Vucanovich brought these to life when she explained the difficulties she faced as a conservative Republican member of Appropriations working to fight breast cancer: One of the biggest problems for me was that . . . I do support a balanced budget. . . . [S]o any time you’re [supporting a program that requires funding it is like] saying, . . . ‘That doesn’t apply to this issue.’ [I]t’s hard to be credible. . . . [Plus,] being a conservative Republican, you come home and people say, ‘Oh, yeah, you’re on Appropriations, and here you are spending all this money.’. . . It’s very hard. (Vucanovich, R-NV, wave 3)

In other cases, it was painfully apparent the gender-related concerns women discussed were not priorities, as seemed the case when one Republican woman (who ultimately described herself as representing women) was so surprised when the interviewer shifted from questions about her major accomplishments to whether she saw herself as representing women that she requested time to pause for a moment so she could make the leap from the ‘important’ issues to that v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

75 [ostensibly unimportant] issue. While it is easy to label this as evidence of insincerity, the power of the institutional context to further depress that relationship between presence and impact came through in the words of Congresswoman Connie Morella who noted in her wave 3 interview: You go to a big conference with all of the Republicans, and even though you have more Republican women than before, you don’t have that many. Then you have the guys talking about macho things, ‘Let’s get rid of the Department of Commerce, the Department of Education . . .’ Stand up there and talk about women’s issues . . . ?!!!

If masculinist values pervasive within the institution of Congress and particularly within their conference could discourage Republican women from raising feminale concerns, ironically, external pressures could compel those same purveyors of masculinist values to turn to female colleagues for insight into ways to lessen the gender gap threat. Their need enhanced women’s value at the same time it put Republican women in the somewhat uncomfortable situation of being valued for unique knowledge of that which was previously devalued. This paradox was not lost on Republican women. For example, Congresswoman Jennifer Dunn acknowledged, ‘It’s a funny catch 22,’ when asked about the difficulty she faced being charged with developing messages aimed at attracting women to a party where many staffers interviewed cautioned women had to be careful not to do ‘too much’ on women if they want to maintain their credibility. Asserting that GOP ‘policies are the best for the long term strength of families,’ Dunn described her gender gap project—the ‘permanent majority project’—in ways that gave greater emphasis to its value for the GOP’s male leadership than for women constituents: . . . It [will] give women a much greater responsibility in being a messenger of the Republican message. . . . [W]omen . . . believe in our principles of less government and more money for them and more personal choice than in Democratic principles. But we’re [Republicans] just not getting it across very well. . . . I intend to continue to feed my male colleagues . . . communicating devices that are effective and [give them] the encouragement they need to do more talking to women.

Yet this effort to challenge the means (rather than the ends) highlights still another obstacle confronting the integration of the feminale into masculine institutions: gender difference in access to power. Republican women proudly touted their visibility under the new regime, but the Speaker and other [male] insiders were largely shaping the agenda without particular concern for women as a political group, and they were doing so in ways that left little room for the feminale. Indeed, when asked whether women were working together less in the 104th than in the 103rd, Congresswoman Marge Roukema, for example, explained ‘. . . probably only because the . . . focus of the agenda is so different. It’s more partisan because of the nature of the subjects.’ Yet if Republican women’s power THE CO N S T I T U E N CY CON NECTI ON

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76 over the agenda seemed decidedly less than men’s, Democratic women’s was even less. Carolyn Maloney, a member of the new minority party explained the situation this way, ‘You don’t control the agenda so you don’t know it’s coming up. You have these bills thrown at you from eight different directions, undermining the women’s agenda’ (Maloney, D-NY, wave 3). While the interviews painted an image of women limited in acting for women by institutional constraints, a less pervasive (but nevertheless important) theme from the interviews was that the institutional environment might channel women’s efforts on behalf of women in some directions rather than others. As Congresswoman Susan Molinari explained it: . . . [Y]ou look for gaps. . . . [F]or the women, that just became the natural evolution. . . . Ninety-nine per cent of the Crime Bill was what has always been in a Crime Bill and been debated, and the Republicans and the Democrats bring these issues and ideas to the forefront [anyway, whether women are there or not]. [But] . . . dealing with . . . violence against women, . . . a 1-800 number, and . . . money to the states so that judges and police can be trained in dealing with this . . . are rather novel ideas. . . . [T]he time was right to bring them up, and we [women] were just all there. (Molinari, R-NY, wave 2)

Granted, gender difference in interest arising from women’s presence is important—as Ileana Ros-Lehtenin noted, ‘[Y]ou’ll always have voices to speak on behalf of more prison construction, but it’s a little tougher to find somebody who is willing to be fighting for tougher rape laws.’ Yet more was at work, for as Ros-Lehtenin explained, women were ‘the new kids on the block,’ which meant that while ‘women . . . take that cause on for personal reasons, . . . because no one is fighting those battles for us,’ they do it also in response to the opportunity structure created ‘because the guys have been around a lot longer, and they have hogged up all those [traditional crime] issues [like prison construction and minimum mandatory sentences for drug traffickers]’ (Ros-Lehtenin, R-FL, wave 2, emphasis added). This sense of gender difference fueled by pragmatic advocacy—a cross between ‘If I don’t do it no one else will’ and ‘If I don’t do this, I will not be able to do anything,’—suggests substantive representation of women may be strengthened by women’s advocates inside and outside Congress working to expand awareness of new important gendered aspects of policies so that women members searching for turf to call their own might easily recognize otherwise neglected problems with gendered dimensions. Yet even when they find a ‘gap’, the need to build support (and the pressures they feel to construct their coalition in one way rather than another) may allow institutional forces to further constrain their efforts, as this story Jennifer Dunn told illustrates: . . . Nat Collins and Dave Camp and I were charged with writing the child support section [of welfare reform]. . . . We’re all new on the [Ways and Means] Committee, and we . . . crashed on the first run. The committee laughed us out of the room v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

77 because we gave the IRS the ability to look into the bank accounts of . . . deadbeat parents (10 percent of whom are mothers by the way) . . . who left the state. . . . (Those are the kids that end up not getting the money). . . . [However,] that was not something our committee liked. We were just too invasive, so we had to rewrite it. (Dunn, R-WA, wave 3)

The different cultures of the major parties could not only further expand the partisan gap in the extent and direction of women’s impact, but also limit women’s potential to educate colleagues and constituents about the gendered stakes of policy. Take, for example, Nancy Johnson’s (R-CT) arguments for increasing the childcare component of welfare reform. Rather than articulating the problems posed by inadequate childcare vis-a`-vis gender equity or women’s more traditional roles as caregivers, her focus was on ‘hard nosed reality,’ explaining: I wouldn’t call it sensitivity, I would call it hard nosed reality. . . . You can’t go to work and leave your children alone, period. . . . So the Republican women won because we posed it in those terms, we didn’t pose it in the sort of liberal, cushy, you know, these children need care. We said it would not be a responsible decision for an adult woman in our society to go to work and leave her children alone. Now would that be a responsible decision for a single father? No. (wave 3)

The challenge that Republican women faced particularly in the Republicandominated 104th Congress was how to help women in ways consistent with antigovernment, antispending rhetoric that dominated the Republican Caucus. Left to their own devices, Republican and Democratic women would not have been of one mind on this or anything else probably. Yet with more to gain from supporting their party than Democrats likely felt, and with the need to acknowledge the shift to the right, rather than challenge their party’s conceptualization of its mandate, Republican women offered arguments consistent with the values dominant within their party—albeit in ways that could bring that policy perhaps a bit closer to the feminale. v

The Clash between the Women’s Movement and [Gendered] Institutional Norms

Indeed, assuming women in public office are more willing than their male colleagues to work on behalf of women, then equal representation of citizens’ concerns regardless of gender may require women more often than men citizens to rely on the willingness of representatives from outside their own geographic districts to articulate their gendered concerns—so long as women remain proportionately underrepresented in public office. We talk about the consequences for those women constituents who cannot hold accountable those ostensibly acting in their interest, and we may even consider the thankless burden of using political capital to work for those who cannot legally vote for them on THE CO N S T I T U E N CY CON NECTI ON

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78 Table 4.5 District focus on matters unrelated to women

Wave 1 (%)

District focus generally dominates No specific focus on district No mention/unclear

Wave 2 (%)

Wave 3 (%)

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

85

67

70

85

65

58

15

33

10

—

23

42

— 100 (N¼20)

— 100 (N¼3)

20 100 (N¼30)

15 100 (N¼13)

12 100 (N¼26)

— 100 (N¼12)

election day. Yet what is often overlooked is the potential costs women officeholders incur by acting at odds with institutional norms that encourage members to focus on their districts. The norm of focusing largely on the geographic district seems to be operative among women, for most women members focused (entirely or at least largely) on their own districts when speaking during interviews of items on their legislative agendas unrelated to gender (Table 4.5). However, few confined their attention solely to their districts when their focus turned to representing women (Table 4.6). While their willingness to represent (consciously or unconsciously) women outside the boundaries of their district increases the likelihood that women’s needs and interests will be represented despite women’s disproportionately low presence within the ranks of officeholders (Phillips 1995; Mansbridge 1998; Carroll

Table 4.6 Centrality of district in representing women

Wave 1 (%)

Represents women without specific focus on district Mixed focus on representing women inside and outside district Represents women with a specific focus on district Does not mention/denies representing women in the mass public

Wave 2 (%)

Wave 3 (%)

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

45

67

70

69

46

67

25

—

27

15

31

17

10

33

—

8

19

8

20

—

3

8

4

8

100 100 100 100 100 100 (N¼20) (N¼3) (N¼30) (N¼13) (N¼26) (N¼12) v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

79 2002), a focus on women unconstrained by district boundaries may further intensify the already controversial notion of ‘representing women’. This would be particularly true if women members see little overlap between representing their district and women or if they perceive serious conflict between these two constituencies;1 conversely, district-centric norms might not discourage representation of women if they believe the concerns of women and their district are complementary. Content analysis of transcripts from CAWP’s interviews with women members suggests women have diverse views about the compatibility of representing both their district and women (Table 4.7) and that at least by wave 2, the compatibility (or at least absence of incompatibility) between representation of the geographic district and women comes through more clearly in the discourse of Democratic than Republican women. Congresswoman Barbara Vucanovich’s response to the direct question about whether she saw herself as representing women illustrates the hurdles created to representation of women when these two constituencies are seen as incompatible: I don’t think of things that way. . . . My district is . . . 86 per cent federally owned, so most of your issues are very provincial. You’re trying to protect your ranchers and your miners and your cowboys. . . . our major industry is gaming, and the second one is mining. So if you’re going to do the job, you really aren’t focused that way [on representing women]. (Barbara Vucanovich, R-NV, wave 3)

Fostering the notion that representation of women and the geographic constituency are compatible goals may be critical for increasing substantive representation of women; yet such efforts are complicated because ‘women’s issues’ are

Table 4.7 Perceived intersection and conflict between representing geographic district and representing women

Wave 1 (%)

Some overlap, no conflict Some overlap, some conflict (potential or real) No overlap, no conflict No overlap, some conflict (potential or real) No mention/unclear

Wave 2 (%)

Wave 3 (%)

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

25 5

33 —

43 —

8 —

85 —

25 —

35 25

67 —

37 17

38 38

4 —

42 25

10 100 (N¼20)

— 100 (N¼3)

3 100 (N¼30)

15 100 (N¼13)

12 100 (N¼26)

8 100 (N¼12)

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80 customarily discussed as matters that cut across district, state, and even sometimes national boundaries, with little attention to the specific (and sometime unique) relevance of these policies to women within their districts. This suggests that tailoring conventional ways of talking about women’s issues to highlight the (sometimes unique) relevance of gendered policy stakes for geographic districts could advance substantive representation of women in two ways. First, it might well raise the legitimacy and saliency of the feminale for those less inclined to embrace such perspectives. Connie Morella, for example, noted that this strategy (rather than what might be described as a global appeal to sisterhood) helped her build support among conservative women for women’s health issues (wave 3). Second, tailoring conventional ways of talking about women’s issues to highlight the (sometimes unique) relevance of gendered policy stakes for geographic districts may expand awareness of gendered issues by, for example, encouraging women to bring out the gender stakes of ostensibly nongendered problems. As a representative of a district hard hit by Hurricane Andrew, for example, Congresswoman Carrie Meek initially talked of her pledge to her constituents in language almost any male member might have used, noting, ‘. . . I promised the people of my district that I would do my best to be sure that (1) they got federal aid, (2) we would reconstruct that area;’ yet she went on to elaborate on the gendered consequences of that natural disaster in ways that a male occupant of her position might not have done, explaining, ‘. . . A lot of women and children have been traumatized by that hurricane. Spousal abuse is higher than ever . . . So we’ve been working on that, . . . and some of the primary care centers now are offering that kind of mental health delivery that they didn’t have before (Meek, D-FL, wave 1). Connecting the concept of gendered stakes to their geographic districts may reduce the need to overtly (and perhaps unnecessarily) choose between their responsibility to women and compliance with institutional norms even as it increases the comfort more recalcitrant subgroups (men and conservative women) feel with the idea of representing women. In the process this may contribute to the evolution of gendered stakes, increasing the depth and breadth of substantive representation of women as it reduces the cost of doing so. Recognizing the gendered stakes of policy may be the first step to action, but it is only a step. As noted earlier, the willingness of women who talk of a responsibility to represent women to also confront masculinism is important as well, for women who are ‘rejectors’ should be the more likely to take action on behalf of women than ‘acceptors’. The sense of resentment came through, albeit at low levels in Sue Kelly’s initial assertion that ‘the men are listening to us,’ which she went on to qualify by acknowledging (albeit in the spirit of at least mild rejection) that, ‘[S]o long as we are a numerical minority, we work in a man’s world. . . . [S]ome of the older men. . . don’t even know that they have these stereotypes. . . . We just work around them. The women on Capitol Hill are strong women, they have to be . . .’ (Kelly, R-NY, wave 3). Resentment of injustice came through more v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

81 clearly and strongly, however, in what Carolyn Maloney described as the ‘most telling story’ of gender inequity—denying Pat Schroeder credit for her role in passing Family Medical Leave. Noting, ‘The President told me it’s one of the most popular things he ever did,’ she went on to add, ‘. . . [T]he Family Medical Leave Act was first proposed by Pat Schroeder. She worked very hard on it. People ridiculed her, . . . ‘‘it’s not important.’’ Yet once a president was elected who would sign it, it became more appealing to her male colleagues who outranked her.’ Maloney went on to explain, ‘Because she is not the senior member on the committee . . . , they take her name off and put their name on [her bill]. . . .They went to the bill signing. . . . Even if she wasn’t the chairman of the committee, she should have been invited to the stage. She wasn’t even invited to the stage’ (Maloney, D-NY, wave 3). It came through as well in the sentiments of those who saw women’s efforts to put women’s lives on the agenda usurped by men who saw last-minute political benefits, but also in the perspectives of women like to Congresswoman Karan English who saw attempts by male colleagues to pigeonhole women, limiting their focus to women’s issues and limiting their access to committees: There was a great tendency by some of the old bears—the guys that have been around forever—to push us [women] all into one category, the social programs, [and] to not let us participate in the full spectrum of policy making. . . . [Reportedly,] there were certainly a lot of private discussions, some by chairmen, in which there were . . . very blatant comments like, ‘I’m not going to have any women on that subcommittee,’. . . [or], ‘Okay, I’m going to have a woman, one woman on the committee. . . .’ And that happened all the time. (English, D-AZ, wave 2)

Since ‘resenters’ should be more likely than the [tacit or explicit] acceptors of the status quo to act on behalf of women (Sigel 1996), the in depth interviews CAWP conducted with the women members were analyzed to determine how the women members felt about cultural, social, and institutional forces that privileged the perspectives of men and/or in effect confined women to private sphere roles. While the results presented in Table 4.8 do not address the causal link between attitudes of resentment and the likelihood of acting for women, they do show that a substantial proportion of women members expressed some sense of dissatisfaction with the way women are treated—whether it be as members of Congress and/or within society more generally. Moreover, while majorities of both Democrats and Republicans voiced at least some challenge to masculinist values (from the perspective of either a feminist or a traditionalist), this varied over time and across parties. Yet by wave 3 the party gap narrowed as Republican women became somewhat more outspoken and thus, in theory, would have greater reason to act (and fewer reasons not to act) on their commitments to women.

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82 Table 4.8 Response to masculinism

Wave 1 (%)

Challenges masculinism Mixed/muted challenge Denies masculinism exists or implicitly/explicitly accepts traditional gender roles No mention/unclear/other

v

Wave 2 (%)

Wave 3 (%)

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

Dems

Reps

40 10 15

33 — 67

50 17 17

8 54 15

38 38 8

25 42 33

35 — 17 23 15 — 100 100 101 100 99 100 (N¼20) (N¼3) (N¼30) (N¼13) (N¼26) (N¼12)

CON CLUS ION

This analysis of women’s self-described roles as representatives of women has found both convincing evidence of consensus among women members as well as an abundance of complexity. The results point to the importance of looking not only at what women say they feel with regard to their responsibilities of representing women, but also at other factors as well that can give meaning to these words: perceptions of women (mass and political elites) as a group, perceptions of gender-related problems facing women as they go about their lives inside and outside politics; a sense of commitment to working to advance women; and the relative priority assigned to working for women. In addition, the results suggest we must look beyond words like ‘women’ and ‘women’s issues’ to explore the different meanings women give to these words, for the different meanings belying similar words may result in very different actions, on different issues, benefitting some women more than others. Finally, the results are mixed on the notion of surrogate representation. Logically, with women much less likely than men to be represented by a samesex representative, the fact that the majority of women members talked about representing women in ways that suggested they were unencumbered by geographic boundaries meant more women may had their gendered concerns addressed than if political women eschewed the role of surrogate. Yet a focus on women as a national constituency runs counter to district-centric institutional norms that remained a part of congressional culture which women accepted—as reflected in women members’ focus on their districts in speaking about policy concerns unrelated to women. While majorities of Republicans and Democrats spoke about representing women as a group unconstrained by geographic boundaries to some extent, Democrats held views less likely to pit representation of women against congressional norms. Democrats were more likely than Republicans to present an image of women that focused on those v

THE CONS TIT UENCY CONNECTION

83 both inside and outside their districts and they were more likely to suggest there is no conflict and even some overlap in efforts to represent women and efforts to represent their districts. Changing the way that gendered issues are talked about, so that representatives see women’s issues that are national in scope as having clear relevance to the female half of their own districts could decrease ambivalence on these matters by reducing the cost of action, but also help expand the range of concerns seen as gendered. If resentment increases the likelihood of women working to effect change in women’s lives, the Republican party’s efforts to advance the careers of individual women in its conference may discourage bipartisan action, for Republican women seem less intense in their criticism of masculinism within the institution or society. At least some of this may reflect efforts by the GOP’s male leadership to make Republican women feel included in the inner circle of the party. The marginalization that forced pioneering women to choose between roles as women and roles as politicians with little hope of acceptance in either role may have lessened in recent years as a result of internal and external pressures created by women. However, as the chapters that follow will show, not only did masculinist forces continue to make it more difficult for women to act for women, but new institutional opportunities for women seemed to increase the costs as well, perhaps contributing to divergent feminisms among those women members of Congress who nevertheless harbored competing loyalties as partisans operating in an institution structured by partisanship. v

NO T E

1 This potential discontinuity between acting for women and the geographic district (half of whom are women) comes through in Congresswoman Pat Danner’s response when she was asked if she had been working with the CCWI on any particular issues of concern: ‘I’m spending a lot of time in my district. That’s where I’m putting my dedication, and visiting with people who come here from my district. Taking care of my constituents is what I’m concentrating on right now’ (wave 1). Similar sentiments were expressed by then newcomer Blanche Lambert (D-AR) who responded to this question with: ‘Oh, they’re a great group. Definitely. I haven’t limited myself to that, simply because my issues for my [rural] district are much broader than that. You usually find that the Women’s Caucus issues are more for urban areas’ (wave 2).

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Part III

v

Difference, Negotiation, and Constraints in the Policy Process

The willingness of virtually every woman member of Congress interviewed to speak of a sense of connection with and/or responsibility to women at some point suggests the potential for women in public office to make a difference; however, the diametrically different records of the 103rd and the 104th Congresses, notwithstanding the relative stability of women’s proportional presence in Congress, makes a compelling case that scholars must look at the political environment in which women operate to understand gender’s impact. Spanning two Congresses that are arguably the most diverse contiguous Congresses in the past half century allows us to explore how the institutional environment both affects and is affected by women. These two contiguous Congresses are a unique and as yet unparalleled laboratory for exploring how the convergence of institutional, extra-institutional, and individual-level factors affect the gendered environments of political institutions, the potential for women successfully challenging, renegotiating, and redefining gender power within institutions steeped in masculinist traditions, and ultimately the practical meaning of women’s presence for substantive representation of women within political institutions whose rules and norms were shaped largely by men. This knowledge, in turn, may shed light on the contested issues surrounding gender difference in impact and perhaps highlight effective strategies for increasing substantive representation of women. Part III uses a combination of methodological approaches to explore the dynamics underlying three legislative case studies that span the 103rd and 104th. Individually, the substantive area of each had to be relevant to the 103rd and 104th Congresses so the policy’s evolution and women’s impact on it could be traced across diverse institutional environments. Focusing on a single Congress would have allowed us to compare and contrast how women go about challenging (or acquiescing in) masculinist perspectives on problems, solutions, and priorities across different types of issues, as well as how diversity among women, structural, and political factors within the institution, and the extra-institutional political

86 environment affect women’s impact. However, the addition of a second congress—one which happened to increase diversity among women, place control of the institution in the hands of a different party with sharply different ideological perspectives, and create a strikingly different type of record in many of the same types of policy areas—creates a quasi-experimental design that may offer insight into the myriad ways that women’s impact within masculine institutions may be facilitated, hindered, manifested, and defined. Spanning diverse institutional environments alone was not sufficient. Collectively, the case studies needed to encompass a range of policies, varying from those with widely recognized gendered stakes to those not yet recognized as such; this would allow us to consider the influence of individual, institutional, and extrainstitutional forces on the evolving gendered dimensions of policies. The case studies selected include one controversial policy area closely tied to the agenda of the contemporary women’s movement (reproductive rights), another with gendered stakes that avoids controversy over gender role change (women’s health), and a third not commonly considered a ‘women’s issues’ (health care). Although the specifics of the case studies will be described in greater detail in the separate chapters devoted to each, a brief explanation of the logic underlying their selection and the strategy to be followed is in order. It is hard to imagine two more different ‘women’s issues’ than reproductive rights and women’s health. Although many would argue that reproductive rights is a critical component of women’s health, in practice the ‘mom and apple pie’ issue of women’s health had been deliberately isolated by the Caucus from the highly controversial issue of reproductive rights. Although both reproductive rights and women’s health enjoyed bipartisan support within each of these two Congresses, reproductive rights was and continues to be far more partisan and controversial in practice. Add to this the role change implications implicit in the struggle for reproductive rights (but not women’s health), along with a wellmobilized opposition to reproductive rights (but not women’s health), and the political stage was set for different responses to these two obviously gendered issues. As such, juxtaposition of these two case studies provides a more realistic and nuanced picture of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women in dynamic institutional and extra-institutional environments than either alone does. In contrast, the more general issue of health care has not been widely embraced as a women’s issue, or even an issue with integral gendered dimensions. Perhaps because the health care sector of the economy (during the time reform was debated) controlled one out of every seven dollars, it had generally been (and continues to be) conceptualized as an economic issue and debated in terms that strike at the heart of partisan differences over the role of government, far removed from what feminist scholars would argue are its obvious connections to gender. Yet an argument can easily be made that it is gendered: health care is integrally v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

87 connected to women’s roles as caregivers; women access the health care system more often than men; women’s access to the system is less secure and more costly because the employer-based system of insurance on which most Americans depend for coverage is better tailored to the employment patterns of men than women; women are less likely than men be covered by private health insurance; the feminization of poverty makes coverage less affordable for women than for men; and proportionately women dominate the health care workforce, although they are more likely than men to hold the lowest paying positions. Of the three policy areas, this is the one where the politics of presence will most clearly clash with the politics of ideas that have long been articulated by the major parties as these matters have waxed and waned on the decision agenda of Congress. Substantive diversity of the topics addressed in these case studies alone cannot overcome one problem that perpetually plagues case studies: generalizability. Even if they provide evidence that women make a difference and that substantive representation is related to descriptive representation, and even if they allow us to explore these oft-ignored, yet contested, issues related to women’s impact raised in Chapter 1, the nagging question remains: Is this handful of case studies an idiosyncratic collection of time-bound memories or are the conclusions drawn from them generalizable across issues, across institutions, and over time? I believe they are highly relevant to the challenges women face today, and I believe that the chapters which follow will make those implications clear. Yet because resources available were inadequate to support the infinite number of case studies that might have been ideal, I set the stage for Part III by analyzing ratings issued by a diverse array of ten advocacy groups who rated individual members’ records between 1993 and 1996 on matters central to their groups’ agendas. This quantitative look at the gender differences—differences often taken for granted as indicators of substantive representation of women—adds to the breadth of the study, provides continuity with past studies of women’s impact in Congress (e.g. Welch 1985; Clark 1998), and facilitates deconstruction of the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation by providing both a longitudinally stable standard (i.e. the agendas of interest groups) against which change and consistency of actions can be judged and a reality check against which the qualitative data may be assessed. v

SETTI NG TH E STA GE : AN A L Y S I S RA TI NG S

O F IN T E R E S T

GR O U P

The ratings of these groups (obtained from Voter Information Services or directly from the groups) across the four year period include: three with agendas obviously related to the goals of the contemporary women’s movement (American Association of University Women [AAUW]; National Right to Life Committee [NRLC]; National Abortion and Reproductive Rights Action League [NARAL]); DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

v

88 four not explicitly related to gender, but which, it could be argued, reflect women’s more traditional roles as caregivers in the family and in society more generally—the environment (League of Conservation Voters [LCV]), education (National Education Association [NEA]), peace (PeacePAC), and social justice (Friends Committee on National Legislation [FCNL]); and three (American Conservative Union [ACU]; Americans for Democratic Action [ADA]; and Christian Coalition) that tap more traditional political concerns regarding the role of government.1 Unfortunately, the small numbers of women in the Senate— particularly with only one Republican woman during the first half of 1993— required that the quantitative analysis in this section concentrate on change and stability within the House of Representatives. To explore what these interest group ratings reveal about the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, sex (coded 1 for women and 0 for men) is regressed (separately within each party) on each set of advocacy group ratings. The constant (regression intercept) is the mean of the dependent variable (the group rating) for the group coded 0—men in this case— and the regression coefficient for sex is the difference between the estimated mean on the dependent variable for the group coded 1 (women) and the group coded 0 (men)—also known as, the gender gap. If women make a difference, the absolute value of the regression coefficient should be sizable and (if the direction of that difference is consistent with expectations) the sign of the regression coefficient for sex should be positive when it is regressed on the ratings of feminist and liberal groups (indicating that women are more feminist and liberal than their male colleagues) and negative when regressed on ratings by opponents of the contemporary women’s movement or other conservative organizations.2 When sex is regressed on group ratings across the four years, within each party women as a group are more liberal and more feminist than their male colleagues.3 Yet while gender’s influence seems to vary over time across types of interest groups, it (notably) does not always vary consistently across parties. The gender differences are greatest on the indexes most obviously associated with the agenda of the contemporary women’s movement—NRLC, NARAL, and AAUW (Table III.1), but even they fare differently across parties over time. In the 103rd Congress, the regression coefficients for sex indicate gender gaps were from two to more than four times greater among Republicans than among Democrats. However, by the 104th the gender gap narrowed noticeably among Republicans, yielding gender gaps of comparable sizes within both parties on these three indexes. Although this pattern could occur if women were ‘converting’ their male colleagues (the ultimate goal of impact many might argue), Republican women were the ones changing, moving closer to the voting records of their male colleagues (Table III.1), for the constant for Republicans (i.e. the mean among men) hovers in about the same range across all four years, while the regression coefficient (reflecting the gender gap) declines in value. v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

Table III.1 Regression of gender on ratings issued by interest groups with agendas most closely associated with gender, controlling for party affiliation 1993 (103rd)

NRLC sex constant

DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

adj. r2 N NARAL sex constant adj. r2 N AAUW sex constant adj. r2 N

1994 (103rd)

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat


36.581*** (8.170) 85.665*** (2.133) .098 175


21.641*** (6.385) 27.641*** (2.352) .039 257


55.625*** (11.982) 80.625*** (3.165) .107 171


17.155* (7.000) 20.096*** (2.618) .020 242


25.210*** (7.165) 79.857*** (1.931) .047 233


20.206** (6.503) 34.724*** (2.483) .042 198


26.005*** (6.393) 87.130*** (1.683) .063 230


22.387** (7.159) 27.766*** (2.819) .045 186

42.205*** (7.091) 11.128*** (1.852) .164 175

23.254*** (6.213) 67.031*** (2.288) .048 257

42.273*** (9.023) 12.727*** (2.349) .106 176

15.400** (5.990) 79.457*** (2.215) .022 255

28.543*** (7.244) 13.986*** (1.953) .059 233

22.794** (7.135) 72.306*** (2.763) .044 199

25.050*** (6.678) 12.186*** (1.785) .052 237

20.429** (6.972) 68.829*** (2.780) .038 194

41.622*** (8.530) 16.628*** (2.227) .115 175

21.416*** (5.338) 73.870*** (1.966) .055 257

52.624*** (9.691) 22.543*** (2.531) .140 175

12.888** (4.525) 82.398*** (1.673) .027 255

22.163*** (5.934) 12.212*** (1.555) .053 232

12.500** (4.634) 85.000*** (1.795) .031 199

15.611*** (4.790) 7.919*** (1.280) .039 237

16.033*** (4.775) 77.515*** (1.909) .051 193

v

89

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

90 Even though the possibility of veterans being co-opted or simply pressured to conform by party leaders loomed large given the increased power the GOP leadership exerted over the institution and the frustration some Democratic women expressed over Republican women, the regression analysis, however, shows replacement and, to a far lesser extent, conversion contributed to the narrowing of the gender differences among Republicans on these three indexes inextricably linked to the contemporary women’s movement (Table III.2). First, the cohort of Republicans who left the House at the end of the 103rd Congress (the ‘103rd only’ subgroup)—a cohort in which women (all two of them) as a group were more feminist than their male colleagues (as indicated by the value of the regression coefficient for sex)—was replaced by a conservative cohort (the ‘104th only’ subgroup) in which women did not differ significantly from their male colleagues (as indicated once again by the regression coefficient). A second, and smaller, contribution to the narrowing of gender differences was a shift to the right among veterans (the ‘both 103rd/ 104th’ subgroup). Women veterans of the 103rd serving in the 104th, continued to be significantly more feminist in their scores than their male colleagues; however, the gender gap among veterans on one of the three indexes—the AAUW index which includes a broader array of women’s concerns than the reproductive rights issues tapped in either the NRLC or NARAL scores—shrank in the 104th. Combine the fact that veteran women moved closer to men on the AAUW score with the fact that Republican men’s AAUW scores indicated that they were shifting slightly rightward as well (as reflected in the declining value of the constant) and the growing gap between the contemporary women’s movement and Republicans—male and female, newcomers and even veterans—comes into focus more clearly. Thus, an increasing presence of conservative Republican women with records opposed to the goals of the contemporary women’s movement and, to a lesser extent (evidenced on the AAUW index), a shift to the right among veteran Republican women (who nevertheless were more feminist than their GOP male colleagues even after their shift), narrowed the gender gap on these interest group ratings most obviously related to the agenda of the contemporary women’s movement.4 Yet Democratic men’s consistently more feminist scores on these three indexes relative to Republican women (Table III.3) raise questions about the implications of descriptive representation for substantive representation of women. These concerns (and questions about whether women’s advocates benefit more from increasing the presence of Republican women or Democratic men and women) are only reinforced when we move on to the four ostensibly nongendered issue indexes that could be associated with women’s traditional concerns as caregivers. While gender gaps emerge on all four indexes—LCV, NEA, PeacePAC, and FCNL (Table III.4), these were (not surprisingly) smaller than the gender gaps on v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

Table III.2 Circulation of elites vs. transformation among Republicans: Regression of gender on ratings issued by interest groups with agendas most closely associated with gender, controlling for retiree (103rd only), veteran (both 103rd and 104th), and newcomer (104th only) status

1993 (103rd)

NRLC sex constant

DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

adj. r2 N NARAL sex constant adj. r2 N AAUW sex constant adj. r2 N

1994 (103rd)

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

retiree

veteran

retiree

veteran

newcomer

veteran

newcomer

veteran


29.500 (24.669) 79.500*** (7.438) .020 21


37.621*** (8.672) 86.521*** (2.210) .104 153


16.667 (37.268) 66.667*** (11.785)
.044 19


62.394*** (12.586) 82.394*** (3.228) .135 151


1.128 (10.011) 82.986*** (3.038)
.013 75


42.652*** (9.478) 78.252*** (2.392) .110 156


3.536 (8.553) 89.250*** (2.546)
.011 78


44.262*** (8.641) 86.262*** (2.116) .145 149

37.750 (21.453) 14.750* (6.468) .091 21

42.875*** (7.540) 10.625*** (1.921) .170 153

34.211 (24.036) 15.789* (7.418) .049 20

43.671*** (9.829) 12.329*** (2.489) .108 155

1.851 (9.844) 11.435*** (2.988)
.013 75

47.721*** (9.655) 15.279*** (2.437) .131 156

3.369 (9.564) 10.917*** (2.847)
.011 78

40.327*** (8.879) 12.973*** (2.241) .112 156

46.500 (24.019) 20.000** (7.242) .116 21

40.440*** (9.195) 16.160*** (2.343) .107 153

55.447* (26.097) 28.053** (8.054) .149 20

51.679*** (10.523) 21.821*** (2.673) .131 154

.181 (9.546) 12.319*** (2.700)
.014 74

35.255*** (7.414) 12.245*** (1.871) .122 156


1.190 (6.901) 8.333*** (2.054)
.013 78

27.177*** (6.363) 7.823*** (1.606) .100 156

91

v

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

92

v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

Table III.3 Predicted ratings of interest groups with agendas most closely associated with gender: Democratic men vs. veteran Republican women

1993 (103rd) Democratic men NRLC 27.64 (N=223) NARAL 67.03 (N=223) AAUW 73.87 (N=223)

1994 (103rd)

Republican Democratic veteran women men 48.90 (N=10) 53.50 (N=10) 56.60 (N=10)

20.10 (N=209) 79.46 (N=221) 82.40 (N=221)

1995 (104th)

Republican Democratic veteran women men 20.00 (N=10) 56.00 (N=10) 73.50 (N=10)

34.72 (N=170) 72.31 (N=170) 85.00 (N=170)

1996 (104th)

Republican Democratic veteran women men 35.60 (N=10) 63.00 (N=10) 47.50 (N=10)

27.77 (N=158) 68.83 (N=164) 77.52 (N=163)

Republican veteran women 42.00 (N=9) 53.30 (N=10) 35.00 (N=10)

Table III. 4 Regression of gender on ratings issued by interest groups with possibly gendered agendas reflecting women’s traditional roles as caregivers, controlling for party affiliation 1993 (103rd)

LCV sex constant adj. r2 N NEA sex

DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

constant adj. r2 N PeacePAC sex constant adj. r2 N FCNL sex constant adj. r2 N

1994 (103rd)

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

21.854*** (5.725) 30.396*** (1.495) .072 175

13.847*** (3.103) 71.982*** (1.143) .069 257

22.067*** (6.278) 17.349*** (1.630) .060 177

14.348*** (4.336) 65.824*** (1.603) .038 255

9.955 (5.835) 14.986*** (1.573) .008 233

15.184** (5.440) 73.282*** (2.107) .033 199

12.724* (5.682) 20.217 *** (1.518) .017 237

8.839 (4.839) 72.226*** (1.929) .012 194

16.630 ** (5.900) 15.787 *** (1.541) .038 175

9.396 ** (3.385) 83.404 *** (1.247) .025 257

29.084 *** (6.749) 17.916 *** (1.752) .090 177

9.384 *** (2.787) 80.158 *** (1.030) .039 255

2.981 (3.140) 4.431 *** (.837) .000 234

7.684* (3.387) 83.316*** (1.334) .019 200

3.575 (3.144) 5.072 *** (.840) .001 237

5.791* (2.655) 88.402 *** (1.059) .019 194

7.486 (5.023) 15.598 *** (1.312) .007 175

14.648 *** (4.422) 66.238 *** (1.629) .037 257

13.054 ** (4.809) 14.446 *** (1.249) .035 177

17.930 *** (4.413) 55.928 *** (1.624) .058 255

3.684 (4.502) 13.963 *** (1.214)
.001 233

12.504 ** (4.364) 75.829*** (1.690) .035 199


.638 (5.275) 18.873 *** (1.410)
.004 237

12.205 ** (4.873) 69.085 *** (1.943) .026 194

9.260 (5.003) 13.573*** (1.306) .014 175

17.029*** (4.497) 67.085*** (1.656) .049 257

4.379 (3.487) 15.705 *** (.905) .003 177

14.138*** (4.233) 48.462*** (1.565) .038 255

4.809 (3.212) 18.427*** (.864) .005 234

12.077** (4.627) 67.123*** (1.788) .028 200

4.186 (4.240) 15.520*** (1.133) .000 237

12.456** (4.306) 67.963*** (1.717) .037 194

93

v

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

94 three ratings from the groups more closely identified with women and women’s concerns, and they played out differently within each party. Among Democrats, women were significantly more likely than men to take liberal/feminist positions, with regression coefficients reflecting gender gaps of ten points or greater emerging from the analysis of all four indexes in each session of the 103rd and on three of the four indexes in each session of the 104th (Table III.4). (Even in the case of the 104th exception, the NEA score, Democratic women still scored slightly higher on education policy than their male colleagues, but with a gender gap smaller than ten percentage points.) Among Republicans, gender gaps on these indexes, however, were relatively less common and smaller when they did appear. Regression coefficients (gender gaps) of at least ten points emerge in analyses of only two of the four 1993 indexes (LCV and NEA) and in three of the four (LCV and NEA, along with PeacePAC) 1994 scores (Table III.4). Moreover, in the 104th, gaps of at least ten points appeared on only the LCV index (environmental policy) and even there were virtually half of the size of those observed in the 103rd. The gender gap on education (NEA ratings) closed as Republican men shifted to the right on education policy in the 104th and Republican women shifted even more to the right vis-a`-vis their 103rd scores. The narrowing of the gender gaps on these four ratings is due largely to the entry of the cohort of conservative women (Table III.5). Indeed, the regression analysis among Republican veterans indicates gender gaps of at least ten points on six out of eight ratings during both the 103rd and the 104th, with women taking the more feminist/liberal position in each instance. In contrast, among newcomers to the House, gender gaps approaching ten points appeared on only two of the eight 104th indexes, and in both cases (PeacePAC 1996, FCNL 1996) the gender gap appeared because women actually were more conservative than their male colleagues.5 Thus, the instability of results over time suggests the patterns of gender difference we associate with substantive representation of women could easily disappear if women candidates are drawn from a more ideologically diverse pool than in the past or if Republican primary voters filter out those women (as they may well have been doing [see King and Matland 2003]) who are suspected of differing from their male counterparts. At the same time, the fact these veteran Republican women (who were clearly more liberal and feminist than their Republican male colleagues) nevertheless had predicted index scores that were decidedly less liberal and less feminist than Democratic men’s in both Congresses (Table III.6) raises important questions about the value of bipartisanship which will be pursued further in the chapters that follow. Although the ACU, ADA, and Christian Coalition agendas are more commonly viewed as partisan than gendered, an argument can be made that these indexes which deal with the role of government actually are gendered: women are more likely than men to depend on government to meet the basic needs of themselves and their children; their understandings as caregivers should make v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

Table III. 5 Circulation of elites vs. transformation among Republicans: Regression of gender on ratings issued by interest groups with possibly gendered agendas reflecting women’s traditional roles as caregivers, controlling for retiree (103rd only), veteran (both 103rd and 104th), and newcomer (104th only) status 1993 (103rd)

LCV sex constant adj. r2 N NEA sex

DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

constant adj. r2 N PeacePAC sex constant adj. r2 N FCNL sex constant adj. r2 N

1994 (103rd)

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

retiree

veteran

retiree

veteran

newcomer

veteran

newcomer

veteran

13.000 (17.562) 29.500*** (5.295)
.022 21

23.679*** (6.066) 30.521*** (1.546) .085 153

17.395 (14.899) 19.105*** (4.598) .018 20

22.878*** (6.941) 17.122*** (1.752) .059 156


5.114 (8.279) 13.971*** (2.513)
.008 75

20.635** (7.824) 15.565*** (1.975) .037 156

5.573 (9.098) 21.569*** (2.708)
.008 78

17.354* (7.358) 19.646*** (1.857) .028 156

27.350 (13.920) 17.650*** (4.197) .120 21

14.372** (6.510) 15.528*** (1.659) .025 153

38.553** (14.317) 17.947*** (4.418) .238 20

27.188*** (7.537) 17.912*** (1.902) .071 156


3.129 (7.372) 6.986** (2.223)
.011 76

6.900** (.607) 3.000*** (.607) .044 156


5.671 (6.596) 8.528*** (1.963)
.003 78

9.251** (3.080) 3.449*** (.777) .049 156

20.200 (10.460) 14.300*** (3.154) .115 21

5.022 (5.612) 15.778*** (1.430)
.001 153

14.474* (6.365) 8.526*** (1.964) .173 20

13.189* (5.466) 15.211*** (1.379) .030 156


8.729 (6.852) 17.014*** (2.080) .008 75

11.690* (5.873) 12.510*** (1.482) .019 156


9.921 (7.708) 22.778*** (2.294) .008 78

4.918 (7.053) 17.082*** (1.780)
.003 156

3.600 (14.427) 16.400*** (4.350)
.047 21

10.219 (5.366) 13.181*** (1.367) .017 153

3.316 (4.583) 10.684*** (1.414)
.024 20

4.946 (3.945) 16.354*** (.996) .004 156


4.171 (6.012) 20.457*** (1.813)
.007 76

10.603** (3.678) 17.497*** (.928) .045 156


9.579 (6.993) 17.722*** (2.082) .011 78

13.337** (5.298) 14.463*** (1.337) .033 156

95

v

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

96

v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

Table III. 6 Predicted ratings of interest groups with possibly gendered agendas reflecting women’s traditional roles as caregivers: Democratic men vs. veteran Republican women

1993 (103rd) Democratic men LCV NEA PeacePAC FCNL

71.98 (N=223) 83.40 (N=223) 66.24 (N=223) 67.09 (N=223)

1994 (103rd)

Republican Democratic veteran women men 54.20 (N=10) 29.90 (N=10) 20.80 (N=10) 23.40 (N=10)

1995 (104th)

Republican Democratic veteran women men

65.82 (N=221) 40.00 (N=10) 80.16 (N=221) 45.10 (N=10) 55.93 (N=221) 28.40 (N=10) 48.46 (N=221) 21.30 (N=10)

1996 (104th)

Republican Democratic veteran women men

Republican veteran women

73.28 (N=170) 36.20 (N=10) 72.23 (N=164) 37.00 (N=10) 83.32 (N=171) 9.90 (N=10) 88.40 (N=164) 12.70 (N=10) 75.83 (N=170) 24.20 (N=10) 69.09 (N=164) 22.00 (N=10) 67.12 (N=171) 28.10 (N=10) 67.96 (N=164) 27.80 (N=10)

97 them less enamored of rugged individualism and more willing to embrace government as a means for ensuring the public welfare; and governmental support can facilitate women’s autonomy and independence from men. Add to this that previous research has long observed gender gaps on these types of measures, and, by this logic, women’s increased presence should increase substantive representation of women by boosting support for government programs. While the patterns among both Republicans and Democrats suggest this is indeed the case in the 103rd (with gender gaps ranging from fourteen points to twenty-nine points among Republicans and from ten to fifteen points among Democrats), disappearance of the sizable gender gaps among Republicans in the 104th and their less pronounced decline among Democrats, call into question gender’s continued relevance (Table III.7). As with the other ratings, the erosion of the gender gap among Republicans on these three ratings in the 104th is due largely to the influx of the new cohort of conservative Republican women (Table III.8), for while gender gaps of at least ten points continue to appear among veteran Republicans on ACU, ADA, and Christian Coalition ratings across both sessions of the 103rd and 104th (Table III.8), comparable gender gaps did not appear among conservative Republican newcomers to the 104th. With comparison of the constants indicating that newcomer men were about as conservative as veteran men, gender differences were produced by the more moderate views of veteran women whose ratings from the three interest groups remained relatively stable in the face of institutional change.6 While the fact that veteran women did not alter their political behavior is a positive for those who believe women make a difference and women’s presence is needed in both parties, the disappearance of gender gaps among newcomers calls into question the long-term prospects for women to make a difference in the GOP. Add to this that Democratic men’s predicted scores were consistently more liberal and feminist than those of veteran Republican women in both the 103rd and 104th (Table III.9), and these data raise the now familiar question (which will be pursued later in the sections) about whether a more efficient strategy for women’s advocates would be electing more Democrats, even as they can also be seen as reinforcing the argument that women of both parties can make a difference. v

PA R T Y UN I T Y

AND

PR E SI DE N TI A L SU P P O R T

Discussions of women’s impact in public office often risk creating a caricature that overemphasizes differences between women and men while neglecting the similarities women share with their male colleagues of their own party. I have tried to avoid this pitfall by focusing on gender differences within parties and by juxtaposing the index ratings of Republican women with the ratings of Democratic men. Yet since all of these behaviors occur within an institution structured by partisanship, New Institutionalists would almost certainly agree it is important DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

v

Table III.7 Regression of gender on ratings issued from interest groups with (ostensibly nongendered) agendas tied to the role of government, controlling for party affiliation

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

ACU sex constant adj. r2 N ADA sex constant adj. r2 N Christian Coalition sex constant adj. r2 N

1994 (103rd)

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrats

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat


13.958*** (4.274) 88.624*** (1.113) .052 176


10.276 *** (3.088) 19.619*** (1.137) .038 257


17.316*** (5.100) 85.066*** (1.324) .056 177


11.408** (3.614) 22.036*** (1.336) .034 255


8.410* (3.901) 82.880*** (1.052) .015 233


7.665* (3.287) 19.165*** (1.273) .022 199


7.860* (3.911) 89.624*** (1.045) .013 237


9.859** (3.750) 16.213*** (1.495) .030 194

13.132 *** (3.847) 12.285 *** (1.002) .057 176

15.046*** (3.989) 72.668 *** (1.469) .049 257

14.252 *** (3.416) 10.331 *** (.887) .085 177

15.435 *** (4.150) 67.851 *** (1.535) .048 255

3.491 (4.268) 9.156 *** (1.148)
.001 234

7.973* (4.068) 79.427*** (1.572) .014 200

5.339 (3.216) 9.955 *** (.859) .007 237

9.777** (3.687) 73.707 *** (1.470) .030 194


18.267 *** (4.775) 89.267 *** (1.243) .072 176


12.281** (3.817) 21.767 *** (1.406) .035 257


27.144 *** (6.873) 82.811 *** (1.795) .077 175


11.255 ** (4.201) 16.541 *** (1.556) .024 254


6.657* (3.361) 92.774 *** (.906) .012 233


12.661** (4.733) 19.198*** (1.796) .031 199


5.009 (3.724) 92.833 *** (.995) .003 237


13.582** (4.825) 21.421 *** (1.924) .034 194

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

98

v

1993 (103rd)

Table III.8 Circulation of elites vs. transformation among Republicans: Regression of gender on ratings issued from interest groups with (ostensibly nongendered) agendas tied to the role of government, controlling for retiree (103rd only), veteran (both 103rd and 104th), and newcomer (104th only) status

1993 (103rd)

ACU sex constant adj. r2 N

DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

ADA sex constant adj. r2 N Christian Coalition sex constant adj. r2 N

retiree

veteran


5.595 (16.807) 83.095*** (4.956)
.042 22


15.331*** (4.124) 89.431*** (1.051) .077 153

13.810 (8.227) 11.190*** (2.426) .076 22
11.381 (16.702) 83.381*** (4.925)
.025 22

retiree

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

veteran

newcomer

veteran

newcomer

veteran


5.211 (14.052) 74.211*** (4.337)
.045 20


18.969*** (5.374) 86.469*** (1.356) .068 156

4.186 (6.503) 85.967*** (1.974)
.008 75


17.956*** (4.657) 81.456*** (1.168) .081 156

2.931 (6.444) 89.069*** (1.918)
.010 78


15.563** (4.820) 90.163*** (1.216) .057 156

13.056** (4.306) 12.444*** (1.097) .051 153

15.526* (6.369) 9.474*** (1.966) .198 20

14.058*** (3.855) 10.442*** (.973) .073 156


7.571 (9.059) 12.714*** (2.731)
.004 76

10.376* (4.211) 7.524*** (1.063) .031 156


3.343 (5.489) 10.486*** (1.634)
.008 78

11.228** (3.969) 9.762*** (1.002) .043 156


19.325*** (4.826) 90.125*** (1.230) .089 153


23.211 (22.916) 66.211*** (7.072) .001 20


26.786*** (6.870) 84.986*** (1.745) .084 154

4.805 (6.243) 92.623*** (1.895)
.005 75


14.841*** (3.758) 93.041*** (.951) .085 156

7.256 (7.490) 91.458*** (2.229)
.001 78


13.439*** (3.917) 93.639*** (.989) .065 156

99

v

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

1994 (103rd)

100

v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

Table III.9 Predicted ratings of interest groups with (ostensibly nongendered) agendas tied to the role of government: Democratic men vs. veteran Republican women 1993 (103rd) Democratic men ACU ADA Christian Coalition

19.62 (N=223) 72.67 (N=223) 21.77 (N=223)

Republican veteran women 74.10 (N=10) 25.50 (N=10) 70.80 (N=10)

1994 (103rd) Democratic men 22.04 (N=221) 67.85 (N=221) 16.54 (N=220)

Republican veteran women 67.50 (N=10) 24.50 (N=10) 58.20 (N=10)

1995 (104th) Democratic men 19.16 (N=170) 79.43 (N=171) 19.19 (N=170)

Republican veteran women 63.50 (N=10) 17.90 (N=10) 78.20 (N=10)

1996 (104th) Democratic men 16.21 (N=164) 73.71 (N=164) 21.42 (N=164)

Republican veteran women 74.60 (N=10) 21.00 (N=10) 80.20 (N=10)

101 to augment these with insights about institutional forces. Presidential support and party unity scores should provide at least some context. Because identical party unity or presidential support scores may mean very different things within different parties, I discuss the results separately by party, beginning with the Republicans. Republican women members had consistently lower party unity scores than Republican men and they were more likely than their male colleagues to support the Democratic president’s position on key votes. Yet the gender gaps in the ten point range observed in the 103rd narrowed in the 104th (Table III.10) due to a combination of replacement and, to a lesser extent, conversion effects (Table III.11). The intercept values suggest a considerable similarity between veteran and newcomer Republican men’s presidential support and party unity scores during any specific session; however, veteran and newcomer Republican women differ from each other in potentially important ways. Republican women who served in both the 103rd and 104th Congresses had higher presidential support scores and lower party unity scores than did their veteran male colleagues in each of the four years; nevertheless, in the 104th the gender gaps among veterans narrowed as women veterans drifted closer to their male colleagues. Yet these drifting veteran Republican women look quite moderate compared with the GOP women newcomers in the 104th, who, when compared with their newcomer male colleagues, scored even lower on presidential support and even higher on party unity. While these gender gaps generally made veteran Republican women look like rebels within their party, the parallel difference among Democrats made Democratic women appear to be even greater party loyalists than Democratic men. At the very least this suggests institutional pressures made gender difference politically more difficult in the GOP than Democratic party. This potentially greater likelihood that difference would put Republican women at odds with their party combined with the fact that women shared much more in common with their male colleagues of their own party than they did with female colleagues from across the aisle once again raises the question of whether it is more beneficial to elect Democratic men than Republican women. The answer to this, I believe will become more apparent as we move through chapters that follow. v

IM P L I C A T I O N S

The regression analysis of interest group ratings suggests increased descriptive representation will enhance substantive representation of women, for within each party women tended not only to earn more feminist/liberal ratings than men, but the pervasiveness of the gender difference suggested the potential for gender to affect a wide array of policy concerns (not just those most obviously associated with the women’s movement). Nevertheless these seemingly clear-cut findings coexist with dilemmas that must be confronted—dilemmas rooted in the DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

v

102

v

DIF FERENCE , NE GO T IA T IO N , CONSTRAINTS

TABLE III.10 Regression of gender on Presidential support and party unity scores, controlling for party affiliation

1993 (103rd)

Presidential Support sex constant adj. r2 N Party Unity sex constant adj. r2 N

1994 (103rd)

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

Republican

Democrat

13.420*** (3.815) 38.830*** (.993) .061 176


.004 (.591) 79.297*** (.591)
.004 256

14.170*** (3.329) 47.747*** (.864) .088 177


.664 (1.538) 78.550*** (.570)
.003 254

4.408* (2.270) 22.710*** (.612) .012 233

6.284* (2.654) 77.349*** (1.030) .023 198

3.190 (2.148) 38.869*** (.574) .005 237

3.195 (1.739) 77.030*** (.693) .012 194


11.698*** (2.772) 88.115*** (.722) .087 176

5.786** (1.890) 87.928*** (.698) .032 256


10.952*** (3.146) 87.952*** (.817) .059 177

5.099* (2.421) 87.386*** (.897) .013 254


3.831** (1.461) 93.184*** (.394) .025 233

9.179** (3.292) 82.088** (1.272) .033 200


3.710 (2.043) 89.534*** (.546) .010 237

7.870** (2.633) 83.098*** (1.050) .039 194

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

Table III.11 Circulation of elites vs. transformation among Republicans: Regression of gender on Presidential support and party unity scores, controlling for retiree (103rd only), veteran (both 103rd and 104th) and newcomer (104th only) status

1993 (103rd) retiree Presidential Support sex

adj. r2 N Party Unity sex constant adj. r2 N

1995 (104th)

1996 (104th)

veteran

retiree

veteran

newcomer

veteran

newcomer

veteran

5.452 (12.370) 39.048*** (3.648)
.038 22

15.001*** (3.977) 38.799*** (1.013) .080 153

3.316 (7.102) 53.684*** (2.192)
.041 20

15.920*** (3.645) 46.980*** (.920) .104 156


3.157 (4.344) 23.157*** (1.310)
.006 76

9.662*** (2.520) 22.438*** (.638) .081 155


4.798 (3.737) 39.083*** (1.112) .008 78

8.738*** (2.575) 38.762*** (.649) .063 156


12.071 (7.680) 86.571*** (2.265) .063 22


11.540*** (.762) 88.340*** (.762) .083 153


9.789 (8.092) 85.789*** (2.497) .023 20


11.031** (3.437) 88.231*** (.867) .056 156

1.471 (1.747) 93.529*** (.527)
.004 76


7.573*** (2.024) 92.973*** (.512) .077 155

3.687 (2.829) 89.028*** (.842) .009 78


8.735** (2.754) 89.735 (.695) .055 156

Standard errors in parentheses. *** p#.001 ** p#.01 * p#.05

v

103

DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

constant

1994 (103rd)

104 probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, questions of the legitimacy of women representing women when elected by both men and women, and continued debate over just what substantive representation of women means. The perceived disparity between the words and actions of newcomer Republican women to the 104th Congress illustrates well that increased descriptive representation comes with no guarantee of increased substantive representation of women—at least as conventionally defined. At least some of these conservative women may have spoken of a connection to women in Chapters 3 and 4, but often there was little evidence their feelings affected their actions at the final stage of the policy process on matters relevant to a diverse array of interest groups’ agendas. At the same time, it is difficult to understand Democratic women’s frustrations with their veteran Republican women colleagues in the 104th. Compared to the Republican women newcomers, veteran Republican women’s voting records were reasonably consistent with their pro-woman words, with records that put them somewhat at odds with their party in both the 103rd and 104th. They demonstrated a remarkable level of stability in their voting record across the 103rd and 104th despite a considerable amount of pressure within their conference during the 104th. Is it just the product of natural tensions likely to occur among partisans operating within a bitterly partisan environment or might it reflect tension between embracing diversity and promoting substantive representation of women? Although gender’s impact need not polarize women and men, the fact that Democratic men’s ratings as a group were actually more feminist than those of Republican women’s as a group in both the 103rd and the 104th once again raises the difficult question (for those who are bipartisan boosters of women in politics) of whether the interests and needs of women would be better served if there were simply more Democrats—preferably women, but also men—in public office. (And the seriousness of this question is enhanced when we consider that this holds even when all Democratic men are compared with the more liberal veteran Republican women who served in the House in both the 103rd and 104th.) Add to this that gender (at least imperfectly operationalized as sex) explained much less variance in interest group ratings than party did, and the strategic value of increased descriptive representation for increasing substantive representation of women becomes all the more questionable within a partisan institutional setting like the US House.7 This practical, empirical paradox is important to keep in mind as we proceed through the rest of this volume, which aims to provide a deeper, more meaningful understanding of gender difference and substantive representation of women within the institution of Congress.

v

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105 v

NO T E S

1 Although it seemed likely initially that the Christian Coalition, a leading organization of cultural conservatives, should be grouped with those whose focus is most clearly gendered, factor analysis revealed their ratings shared more in common with the ACU and ADA ratings, than with the NRLC, NARAL, or AAUW ratings. 2 I begin the analysis using sex as the operationalization of gender. Granted, not all women (or men for that matter) are willing to acknowledge how the social construction of gender based on interpretations of what it means or should mean to be born male or female might shape one’s life, life experiences, and perspectives. Moreover, even those who do acknowledge it may be reluctant to define it as relevant to the public sphere of policymaking. Nevertheless, understanding the differences between the actions of women and men—albeit probabilistic—is an important starting point for any analysis of gender and gender difference. With much of our discourse focused on the need for more women in office, and with PACs promoting women candidates having a variety of gendered views, the approach is an appropriate starting (but not ending) point for the analysis. 3 Since we are working with a population rather than a random sample of that population, statistical significance is actually irrelevant. 4 The possibility that the reduction in the size of the gender gap might result from change in the kinds of districts Republican women represent was tested by adding personal and district demographics to the regression equation that previously included only gender as the independent variable. The results showed that gender’s impact was consistently smaller in the 104th than in the 103rd among Republicans, even after controlling for member and district characteristics. (Results not shown.) 5 Once again, reduction of the gender gap among Republicans between the 103rd and 104th appears not to be a product of change in the types of districts women represent. Gender continues to have an impact on index scores of veteran members but not newcomers even after taking into account demographic characteristics of individual members and of the districts they represent. (Results not shown.) 6 And this change in the gender differences, once again, cannot be attributed to a change in the kinds of districts represented by Republican women, for after considering the demographic characteristics of the member and the district (results not shown) the regression coefficient associated with gender continues to behave very differently among newcomers to the 104th than it does among veterans in either Congress. 7 The value of descriptive representation for substantive representation of women seems more apparent if the real choice in a district is not between a Democratic man or a Republican woman, but rather who from a particular party—male or female—will win the election.

DIF FERENCE , NEGOTIATION , CON STRAI NTS

v

5

v

v

Reproductive Rights: Gender Difference and the Paradox of Power

THE GE N D E R E D ST A K E S

OF

RE P R O D U C T I V E RI GH TS

Although often couched in terms of individual rights or morality rather than gender, no contemporary issue has become more symbolic of ‘women’s issues’ than reproductive rights.1 The most obvious reason is that women’s experiences with pregnancy and childbirth are more direct than are men’s,2 for even men who are eager partners are relatively distanced from the physical burdens and the life/ health threats posed when a pregnancy goes wrong. Even when nothing goes wrong, socially constructed gender roles leave women more likely than men to assume the lion’s share of caregiving responsibilities and allow men more freedom to decide exactly how involved they wish to be. The resulting sexual division of labor at ‘best’ increases the average woman’s economic dependence on men (more often than the reverse) and at worst (in the absence of government programs that serve as alternative sources of support) fuels the feminization of poverty. Given the gender differences in the burdens of parenting and pregnancy, women officeholders’ tendency to be more supportive of pro-choice policies (Stanwick and Kleeman 1983; Dodson and Carroll 1991; Thomas 1994; Dodson 1995, 1997; Swers 2002) makes perfect sense. Yet the probabilistic nature of that relationship—the narrowing gender gaps in reproductive rights support among Republicans at the congressional (Introduction to Part III, this volume) and state legislative levels in recent years (CAWP 2001), along with the increased presence of antifeminist women officeholders willing to challenge the women’s movement—calls into question whether substantive representation of women might be more efficiently advanced by increasing the presence of Democrats of either sex rather than increasing the presence of women regardless of party. I use comparative case studies of reproductive rights policy across the 103rd (this chapter) and the 104th (Chapter 6) to explore how dynamics in the institutional and the extra-institutional environments affect the likelihood of substantive representation of women and the form it takes, the meaning of gender and gender difference, the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women, and the potential that increased descriptive representation

107 of women will increase substantive representation of women as many suggest. The conclusions should be of value not only when the answer to the question, ‘Do women make a difference?’ is ‘yes,’ but also when it is ‘no’. Unless otherwise noted the qualitative data used in this chapter come from CAWP’s post-103rd (wave 2) interviews and those used in Chapter 6 come from post-104th (wave 3) interviews. (See Methodological Appendix.) v

TH E SE T T I N G

Reproductive rights supporters scored numerous victories in the Democraticcontrolled 103rd Congress, including passing the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) bill (making it a federal crime to use force, or the threat of force, to intimidate abortion clinic workers or women seeking abortions), lifting the bans on abortion coverage for federal employees and women in federal prisons, and reversing the ban on the District of Columbia using locally raised tax funds to pay for Medicaid abortions. (For more details see CCWI 1994.3) Although a handful of prolife women House members served in the 103rd, overall women’s image was one of unity captured in the words, for example, of this House staffer who noted, ‘. . . [O]n anything having to do with reproductive health . . . you know you will get at least forty, forty-five [women to support] from both sides of the aisle. It’s bipartisan. It’s the unifying issue.’ This was true in both the House (where the CCWI for the first time took a pro-choice stand and worked actively as a Caucus to promote it [Abortion Report, January 7, 1993]) and in the Senate (where the five Democratic women senators, for example, acted collectively on their vow to ‘aggressively fight abortion restrictions that are attached to federal appropriations bills’ [Abortion Report, July 22, 1993]). Women’s unity and increased proportional presence, however, could only take this small minority of women members who did not control the agenda so far. A closer look at their successes and failures sheds light both on some of the oftignored contested issues surrounding difference and on the strategies likely to increase substantive representation of women. v

TH E 103RD CO N G R E S S : FACE VE RSU S FOCA

The Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) bill and Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) were pro-choice priorities before the 103rd, but the infusion of record numbers of women (along with the election of a pro-choice President) contributed to a political environment that made passage of both more likely. Women were, after all, overrepresented among cosponsors of both bills4 and the newly elected women in the House had demonstrated a willingness to embrace controversy by making FOCA a priority before they even took office (Browning 1992). GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

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108 Nevertheless, the Year of the Woman could only change so much, for men retained the lion’s share of positional power in Congress. Men authored both bills in the House and Senate,5 chaired the panels through which they (and any alternative versions the women might have proposed) would move,6 and engaged in little consultation with their female colleagues in drafting them (although Charles Schumer did add Constance Morella as the chief cosponsor of his FACE bill in the House after it was written).7 Moreover, the legislative priority around which women initially rallied—FOCA—ultimately fizzled while FACE (which was seldom mentioned as a priority by women early in the session) eventually passed. What do these paradoxes tell us about the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women in the US Congress? Let me begin with FACE, the successful half of the legislative pair. Institutional rules and norms may have made it unwise for women to offer their own versions of FACE since better positioned members (who happened to be men) with more control over the process opted to sponsor it,8 yet wave 2 interviews suggest women’s energy was particularly important in keeping Schumer’s bill moving through the House. The women of the CCWI collectively pressured Judiciary Chair Jack Brooks (D-TX) (described by one Democratic House staffer as a ‘crusty, moderate-to-conservative southern guy, . . . .technically pro-choice, . . . but he didn’t do anything to get the bill passed’) and Crime Subcommittee chair Charles Schumer (D-NY) (pro-choice, but overextended and under pressure from the White House according to staff) to move FACE. Describing women as ‘really the driving force’, displaying ‘just this dogged persistence’, another House staffer, this one Republican, went on to explain, All the women were going to Jack Brooks constantly and to Chuck Schumer (and over to the Senate side as well) . . . saying, ‘You must pass this. You must do it quickly. We cannot afford to wait recess after recess.’ It kept getting put off. . . . ‘We’ve got to get this done. This is a high priority. Please pass it. Pass it, pass it, pass it.’

And as this Democratic House staffer (who clearly privileged the masculine over the feminale) explained, with a subcommittee chair whose highest priority was the Crime Bill: ‘I think it helped that there were women and others in the House leadership pushing him to keep . . . it [FACE] moving at times when the committee was distracted (and rightfully so) by other larger pieces of legislation.’ Women’s collective efforts were all the more effective because a few women members (Pat Schroeder on Judiciary, Louise Slaughter on Rules, and Barbara Kennelly in the House Democratic leadership) combined commitment with sufficient positional power to keep FACE moving even if it was not their bill. Schumer’s decision to introduce FACE reportedly short-circuited Pat Schroeder’s plan to do so, but Schroeder used her seat on Judiciary to jump in to carry Schumer’s bill at critical times when it might easily have languished. As one staffer opined, ‘It was my impression that FACE would not have happened v

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109 without Pat Schroeder. From everything I have seen, that was her bill.’ Indeed, determined not to let it fall between the cracks, this staffer went on to explain, ‘It was Schroeder organizing some good, behind the scenes pressure to keep this moving forward, get it conferenced, get it back, get the conference report voted on.’ The importance of the intersection of presence and position came through on Rules, as well, where its only woman member, Democrat Louise Slaughter, worked with outside groups to construct a winning strategy in Rules which she admitted sometimes required suggesting to one or two prolife male Democrat committee colleagues ‘Let’s just [you] don’t vote on this today.’9 If the partisan structure of Congress meant advocates were likely to be more effective reaching colleagues within their party rather than across party lines, less than monolithic Democratic support for reproductive rights enhanced the need for Republican advocates who could better reach Republican persuadables. Republican Connie Morella converted what could have been a largely symbolic role as a chief cosponsor of FACE10 into what one Democratic House staffer, echoing the sentiments of others, described as ‘our lifeline to all moderate Republican women and moderate Republicans in general. . . . The bill could not have passed without Connie Morella. She was incredible.’ As one Republican House staffer explained, ‘Morella’s office was really the main office doing all the lobbying on the Republican side . . . getting those people [supporters] together, making sure they were fully cognizant of any possible amendment that would be introduced, and how . . . they should vote and why.’ The value of a Republican advocate went beyond differential patterns of access in an institution structured by partisanship or greater ease of talking to those on one’s own side of the aisle. The problem (noted by both Republican women members and staff) was that Republican men often ignored Democratic women because they were ‘too strident’. Thus, the willingness of Republican women like Congresswoman Morella and Senator Nancy Kassebaum (the only Republican woman on the Senate Labor Committee and its ranking member who took on a somewhat analogous role on behalf of FACE in the Senate process, modifying bill language to gain the support of other, more conservative, Republican senators who opposed the violence but did not support abortion rights) was seen by many as critical to constructing the bipartisan majority required for passage. A second institutional constraint, seniority, posed obstacles to women’s impact within both parties, for it defined for many what was appropriate. FOCA, for example, may have been a top priority for the women members, but if less senior women members attempted to tread on someone else’s turf to pursue that priority, they could become the target of criticism as did Senators Boxer and Feinstein (at least among some moderate pro-choice Republican Senate staff) soon after their arrival: GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

v

110 . . . They [Senators Boxer and Feinstein] sent out a ‘Dear Colleague’ basically saying we’re going to take the lead in the Freedom of Choice Act. . . .We thought it offended a lot of people over here who had been working on this bill for years and years and years. . . . The pro-choice, moderate Republicans’ staffers . . . were going, ‘This is not okay; this is offensive, this is very offensive.’

While some lamented the limitations women faced, others interviewed were concerned that if women successfully challenged the norms, laying claim to political turf men had previously claimed, the result could be what several described as the ‘ghettoization’ of the issue, for as this pro-choice lobbyist explained: A member who once had a high-profile on abortion rights, who is male and got X column inches in ink or got on the news [leading on the issue], [if] he sees that diminished, he’s going to become a more forceful advocate on the equity of our tax policy or something [else]. . . . Did it make sense that women took leadership roles in pinpointing the strategy and developing the talking points and being visible? Yes. Did it make sense to make that exclusive of male members? No, because it cuts your power.

If credit claiming was an incentive for ‘heavyweights’ to lead reproductive rights battles, credit claiming was desirable due in part to external pressure created by the persistent gender gap, reinforced by what this pro-choice lobbyist described as ‘The climate that [the] Anita Hill [incident] set . . . [which] shook up the male hierarchy in both bodies.’ These forces touched a broad swath of members and went beyond any persuasive influence women members could have over their male colleagues for as that same lobbyist explained: It wasn’t . . . that these guys suddenly ‘got it’ or that they suddenly just woke up with an epiphany one morning. . . . No. No. They got it the way politicians get it. . . . They got burned by the press, they got burned by their constituents, and they suddenly experienced the potential power of this woman’s issue in a lightening bolt fashion.

These external forces touched some men more directly than others. Indeed, Charles Schumer may have assumed leadership on FACE because he ‘inherited’ the bill from the Crime Subcommittee’s retiring [male] chair, but interviews with some like this pro-choice activist who noted, ‘Chuck Schumer was thinking of running for governor and had been advised that he had to get the women’s vote, and hadn’t done anything for women,’ suggested more was at work. Women serving on the inside could pressure male colleagues to act and could sometimes even carry the ball for them, but male officeholders’ need for the support of women voters who were perceived as expecting something different than men did gave legitimacy to elected women’s arguments. At the same time, FOCA, when juxtaposed with FACE, shows the gender gap is no silver bullet, particularly in a changing environment. The imminent threat to reproductive rights during the 1992 campaign—that a second Bush term would lead to Supreme Court appointments tipping the v

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111 balance against an already weakened Roe—was abruptly deflated when Bill Clinton won the 1992 election. When factors in the external political environment contributing to women’s increased presence (e.g. reapportionment, a high number of open seats, a desire for outsiders rather than insiders, and outrage over Anita Hill’s treatment by the all-male Senate Judiciary Committee) converged with factors contributing to an increased presence of racial minorities (e.g. creation of more majority minority districts during reapportionment) (Abortion Report, March 16, 1993), the result was increased diversity among women members that, when combined with the abrupt reduction in threat to reproductive rights, redefined women’s priorities. As this Democratic House staffer explained: [W]here you very strongly felt the increased diversity is in . . . what the focus on abortion was going to be. At the beginning of the 103rd Congress, the incumbent [veteran] congresswomen . . . were talking primarily about the Freedom of Choice Act . . . and [saying] we’ll have it passed by the House in the summer. And primarily the African-American congresswomen said, ‘Wait a minute. That’s not our priority. Our priority is funding and removing the restrictions on poor women’s funding under Medicaid. It really means nothing for women to have this right to choose if they can’t afford to pay for it and there isn’t any funding.’

To that end, women of color members organized informally to focus on reproductive rights and other concerns of women within their communities, particularly, but not exclusively, on those related to reproductive rights. Although these women of color were communicating with the more liberal white women from practically the very beginning,11 this ‘safe space’ was intended, as Congresswoman Cynthia McKinney who led this effort explained, ‘to get away from the perception of the issue of choice as being an elite issue for middle-class white women, and also to help Black women understand that their involvement was also needed on this issue.’ Change in the political environment converged with the agendas of this more diverse group of women to test the depth of women’s unity around reproductive rights. After Senator Carol Moseley-Braun withdrew her sponsorship of FOCA because she saw a ‘Freedom of Choice Act that left out people based on age and class was just wrong,’ fear (especially among Democrats) increased that women members might divide along racial lines.12 As a result, the predominately Democratic bipartisan Caucus became more responsive to the priorities of its AfricanAmerican women members. Responsiveness to these demands came at the expense of at least some Republican women who feared that they were setting their goals unrealistically high, thus either (at best) missing an opportunity to set in place safeguards that might be needed later or (at worst) portraying women as united behind policies they personally opposed.13 With the dramatic decline in the sense of threat surrounding Roe being accompanied by rising expectations, with little possibility that women—lacking GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

v

112 positional power—could introduce an alternative FOCA bill without harming their cause, and with even less possibility a bill acceptable to a majority of women would pass if introduced, women’s collective energies seemed to shift from the now problematic FOCA to less problematic FACE. FACE could advance the pro-choice cause even as it addressed internal pressures to demonstrate white women were concerned about the needs of poor women. It lessened the external pressures that doomed FOCA (which one antiFOCA lobbyist described as ‘. . . the perfect vehicle for the best pro-life arguments,’ for by facilitating talk of the ‘most egregious and unloved abortions, . . . we turned people around’). It allowed pro-choice women to frame the problem in less controversial terms as illustrated in then-Congresswoman Olympia Snowe’s (R-ME) floor statement: What kind of clinics have been targeted for these tactics? Clinics which provide not just reproductive health services such as abortion, but clinics which provide essential pediatric care, prenatal care, childhood immunizations, diagnosis and treatment of STDs, contraceptive services, Pap smears, mammograms for breast cancer, and other forms of counseling for women—even for battered women seeking solace and refuge from abusive relationships. In fact, more than 90 percent of clinics provide these health services in addition to abortion. (Olympia Snowe, Congressional Record, November 18, 1993)

Moreover, a window of opportunity for action opened with changes in the external political environment—the murder of Dr. David Gunn and a Supreme Court decision that held that existing civil rights laws did not apply to the antiabortion blockades of clinics14—the result being, as one Republican House staffer explained when it came to FACE, ‘people finally realized that this was not just the wailings of a bunch of fanatical female feminazis.’ Add to this the absence of the same level of intense grassroots opposition generated against FOCA by the Catholic Church’s campaign to get parishioners to send five million postcards to members of Congress (Abortion Report, January 29, 1993)15 combined with their pragmatic framing of this problem as a crime rather than gender issue, and, as this Democratic House staffer explained, they gave those in the middle ‘some political cover’. This strategy did little to advance the evolving understanding of the gendered stakes, but did make the matter safe enough politically that abortion rights supports could use the gender gap threat to maximize support, fragmenting prolifers rather than being fragmented themselves by antiabortion forces. Thus, while women’s increased presence seemed to bring a disproportionate increase in enthusiasm for advancing reproductive rights, the form that energy took was affected by the intersection of individual and environmental forces which women did not control. The importance of these internal and external pressures converging to give meaning to women’s presence comes through as well in the 103rd battles over abortion funding. v

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113 v

AB O R T I O N CO V E R A G E U N D E R T H E FE DE R AL EM P L O Y E E S BE N E F I T PR O G R A M A ND ME DI C AI D

Some of the highest stake battles by women on behalf of women, their needs, and their interests during the 103rd were over appropriations rather than authorizing legislation. In part, that reflected the beliefs of veterans like Senator Barbara Mikulski (D-MD), whose view, in the words of one Democratic staffer ‘always was that the Appropriations Committee was where that power was, because that’s where the purse was’ and who therefore made that a ‘moving force of her strategy’. Those beliefs had more chance of shaping policy when women’s increased presence in Congress (which enabled them to send a collective message one pro-choice lobbyist described as, ‘You’re not going to do this any more to women’) coincided with both the retirement of longtime [male] leaders of the abortion rights efforts and numerous newly created vacancies on Appropriations. The result was an influx of new women members onto Appropriations and into the ranks of pro-choice leadership in Congress.16 Their struggle to guarantee reproductive rights to all women played out at numerous sites in the appropriations process during the 103rd Congress, but two of the most visible and illustrative were the efforts to cover abortion under Medicaid and the Federal Employees Health Benefit Program (FEHBP). They share with FACE and FOCA now familiar patterns: women were more supportive of these abortion funding measures in floor votes than their male colleagues of the same party,17 and women were a disproportionate source of the energy pushing these measures through the appropriations process and to the floor. Moreover, as with FOCA and FACE, the complexity of the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women is highlighted by the numerous paradoxes: Medicaid funding which women initially embraced more enthusiastically never became law while FEHBP coverage which was initially lower on their collective agenda ultimately passed; some ostensibly pro-choice women voted for the Hyde ban on abortion funding which the Caucus energetically opposed; women’s FEHBP victory on the House (but not Senate) side occurred with little involvement from women—at least initially; and women did not take advantage of the opportunity to reverse their first session defeat when the appropriations cycle in the second session offered a window of opportunity to revisit the Hyde ban on Medicaid funding. Yet believing that, as with FOCA and FACE, these inconsistencies should provide insight into the institutional and extra-institutional environments’ contribution to the meaning and direction of difference, moving us beyond time bound, inherently unstable answers to the simple question of whether women make a difference to conclusions with greater generalizability over time and across institutions and with more promise of shaping effective strategies, I begin with the more successful of the two—FEHBP funding. GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

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114 The effort to lift the ban on the House side was initiated not by women members or at their behest, but by their better positioned male colleague, House Treasury-Postal Subcommittee chair, Steny Hoyer, who seemed (according to interviews with staff and lobbyists) to have set this as a priority independently from women members, with whom he nevertheless did consult. Although women in the House were eager to call the shots on reproductive rights, since no women served on the House Treasury-Postal subcommittee, having the chair’s involvement was even more important. Yet while the prochoice women members’ advocacy seemed driven by principle—principle that would cause some to fall on the sword for Medicaid funding, for example— Hoyer’s actions seemed to result from the convergence of attitude with opportunity, typified by the observation of one Democratic staffer who noting, ‘It was in the President’s budget; it was sort of a no-brainer,’. . . went on to explain, ‘. . . Hoyer . . . knew that this was something that ought to be done. It was a commitment that he had made . . . that if he were ever the chairman that he would see through, and . . . he believed that he had the votes.’ Hoyer, as a cardinal, enjoyed advantages unavailable to the average member (regardless of sex). He reportedly quelled a potential challenge from some Democratic members of his subcommittee, including one who reportedly had to be talked out of offering the Hyde Amendment, leaving only a Republican challenge in subcommittee. And once Hoyer got his clean Treasury Postal bill through his Democratic-controlled subcommittee (after a failed voice vote on Lightfoot’s [R-IA] amendment to reinstate the abortion ban [Congressional Quarterly 1994]), the norms continued to work in Hoyer’s favor. Despite Appropriation Chair Bill Natcher’s opposition to abortion rights, there was, as this Democratic House staffer explained ‘an unwritten rule of the Appropriations Committee, that every (subcommittee) chairman gets to go their own way on things like this,’ which meant that ‘Even the full committee chairman [William Natcher] would not have said to Hoyer, ‘‘Don’t do this.’’ ’ Forces in the internal structural stream (Hoyer’s elevation to chair of the Treasury-Postal Subcommittee), the internal political stream (the willingness of his subcommittee/committee to support it), and the external political stream (a relative absence of a mobilized opposition to lifting this ban on coverage) converged in ways that raise questions about the relationship between women’s presence and substantive representation of women—that is until it reached the Senate. Controversy dogged the Treasury-Postal bill each step of the way through the Senate, beginning when the Treasury-Postal subcommittee’s prolife Democratic chair joined Republicans in supporting Bond’s (R-MO) amendment to restore the ban on federal workers’ health plans covering abortion (Congressional Quarterly 1994). The only woman on that subcommittee—Senator Barbara Mikulski—decried the action, putting women front and center, saying, ‘This is the wrong place to offer an amendment. The issue of abortion is determined best v

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115 by her and her doctor. It is not the subject of the U.S. Senate’ (Congressional Quarterly 1994). Yet, while she clearly raised the visibility of gender stakes to a greater extent than did Hoyer with his ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ strategy, her appeal (unlike Hoyer’s) failed in subcommittee. The disparity could suggest masculinist forces privileged men over women as advocates for women’s issues; however, not only did Mikulski ultimately prevail in the Senate, but also the women on the House LHHS subcommittee working for Medicaid coverage of abortion prevailed in the short-term over their (male) pro-life chair. Let me explain by detouring the discussion from coverage for federal employees to Medicaid funding battles. Women’s presence made it possible to challenge previously unchallenged norms, and, with the right mix, to succeed. The addition of three pro-choice Democratic women (all veterans) to the House Labor Health and Human Services Appropriations subcommittee in the 103rd—Representative Rosa DeLauro (D-CT), Nancy Pelosi (D-CA), and Nita Lowey (D-NY)—transformed the committee. Described by one lobbyist as ‘the ones who really corralled this issue and made it happen,’ the three women led the successful effort to lift the Hyde Amendment from the Labor/HHS Appropriations bill in closed session of the subcommittee against the wishes of subcommittee (and full committee) chair William Natcher. As this Democratic House staffer put it, the LHHS subcommittee was ‘fundamentally . . . changed by their presence’. Noting, ‘We probably had a majority for years on rape and incest [exceptions],’ the same staffer went on to explain, ‘But as a courtesy to Mr. Natcher [the subcommittee chair], in fact, people did not raise that as a subcommittee issue. It was always dealt with in full committee or on the floor.’ However, the cost of courtesy was obviously too high for these three women members when balanced against women’s lives. Motivated by both a commitment to women integrally related to reproductive rights and a tremendous sense of obligation to women of color colleagues who felt the needs of less privileged women had been ignored, the three Democratic women on the LHHS took on this controversial challenge in subcommittee. Yet this was neither an easy nor costless feat, for as one Democratic House staffer explained, ‘. . . when you’re dealing with powerful committee chairs, it becomes very hard to advance a legislative agenda [if it runs counter to their wishes], even when that agenda is the position of the Democratic party.’ Lacking Hoyer’s prerogatives as ‘cardinal,’ their actions (unlike Hoyer’s) violated the unwritten norms, leaving in their wake a cardinal who was, in the words of that same Democratic House staffer, ‘. . . not happy. He was not happy.’ This was not good, because as that same staffer went on to explain, ‘Nobody wants to get Bill Natcher angry at them, because there are just too many consequences to that.’ Women’s leadership on this issue was challenged further when David Obey (D-WI) announced the day before the full committee markup he would offer an amendment with a health exception.18 Torn between pragmatism (as one staffer, explained, ‘The way the court has interpreted it, health is almost anything’) and GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

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116 principle (it would appear to be a compromise), the women’s dilemma was further complicated by Natcher’s intention to offer in the more conservative full committee a newly expanded Hyde amendment complete with the rape and incest exceptions women had fought for unsuccessfully in the past when less seemed possible to achieve. Their last minute decision to support Obey’s amendment as the lesser of evils was seen by their critics as indecisiveness, indicative of a lack of political skill and knowledge. More sympathetic observers like this Democratic House staffer, however, viewed their angst as an indicator of their deep commitment that distinguished them from their male colleagues, explaining, One of their concerns about voting for it [the Obey amendment] was . . . if we’re going to lose, why put our imprint on the compromise? . . . But . . . I think it was more . . . they felt it deeper in their gut. . . . It wasn’t like a game. . . . It was like, gosh, we don’t support this; could we vote for this?

Their angst was for naught, for the committee overwhelmingly voted for the expanded Hyde Amendment (Merida 1993a), defeating Obey’s health amendment. The problems posed to women’s impact by the committee’s more conservative ideological composition were almost certainly compounded by the committee’s standards for fairness, for even if ‘aggressively enforced in a fair fashion,’ women, a proportionate minority and with less seniority, were at a disadvantage. As this Democratic staffer who observed, ‘. . . [S]eniority is important on every committee and in every institution,’ went on to add, ‘The procedures of the committee, . . . are to recognize seniority first, to recognize subcommittee leaders first. . . . So it [seniority] was a factor. [But] It was not something that, in my view, had any larger role than seniority does in any other issue.’ The gendered consequences of ‘fair’ enforcement, however, seemed less fair from the perspective of another staffer, more sympathetic to the women, who recalled: When it came time to debate [the Hyde Amendment], . . . one of the clocks had gone off for a [floor] vote, and people started to yell, ‘Lunch, lunch!’ (which is what they do. . . . The Appropriations Committee is like a Moose Lodge). Then people started to yell, ‘Vote, vote!’ because they wanted to get out of there to vote and . . . don’t like to . . . come back if this is your one thing left. . . . Nita Lowey was the only person who stood up and who said, . . . ‘I think this is a very important issue, and I think we should take the time to discuss it.’ . . . [That] made people yell, ‘Vote, vote, lunch!’ and she had to sit down. . . . They voted, and there was no debate.

Belying the staffer’s description seemed a sense of outrage at the gendered consequences of this ostensibly ‘gender-neutral’ structure. Describing the Appropriations Committee as ‘the last vestiges of the old-boys’ network,’ that staffer went on to explain: People don’t give a shit. . . . They wanted to go to lunch. . . . Nita was really nervous . . . , her voice was quivering because it’s very intimidating to speak in that committee. . . . v

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117 But nobody else stood up. . . . [T]hat was a sign of how far we [women] have not come. . . . Nita’s standing up did not carry the weight or authority . . . [it would have] if somebody else who was a cardinal had stood up and said, ‘This is a very important issue; I think we need to come back and discuss this.’

If the women’s loss on Hyde in committee reflected to some the persistence of the old boys’ network, modifications to the Hyde Amendment that saved it from defeat ironically reflected the influence of women inside and outside the institution which as one staffer put it, forced people to realize ‘. . . frankly, if they did not broaden it to include the rape and incest provision, they might lose the Hyde Amendment entirely.’ Inside Congress moderate Republican women newcomers (including even one Caucus member) figured prominently in Hyde’s decision to soften his amendment so it would not be defeated—a move Congresswoman Deborah Pryce described as ‘a great accomplishment of ours’. Yet while Hyde was listening to women of his party (along with other moderates) and making the very changes that Democratic women had attempted unsuccessfully to win in previous years, Natcher’s tenacity in pushing to include restrictions pitted him not only against women of his party and the majority of his caucus, but it was also out of character. With Natcher being described by those on opposing sides as one who,‘. . . really didn’t care what was on the bill, as long as it wouldn’t hurt the bill,’ and as a prolife member for whom reproductive rights was not his cause ce´le`bre, staff and lobbyist interviews suggested his atypical behavior was driven by at least two external forces. First, there was an absence of pressure from the pro-choice President that could have reinforced women’s demands. Although the media generally portrayed inclusion of Hyde as a defeat for the White House, staff and lobbyists interviewed noted that while the President had come out for a ‘clean’ Treasury-Postal bill, he was perceived as willing to ‘compromise’ on Medicaid funding of abortions. One of the braver House staffers who described Clinton as ‘very ambivalent,’ explained, ‘He took it [the Hyde Amendment] out of his budget, but he put a footnote in the budget, saying that he wanted to work with Congress to find a provision in this area that would preserve states’ rights. . . .’ Yet while this meant Natcher was not forced to choose between passing his bill and acting on his pro-life views, his willingness to legislate on an appropriations bill in a way at odds with his reputation as an appropriations purist and for something that was not his cause ce´le`bre was driven by a second force, constituency pressure. One prolife lobbyist explained: The pressure . . . from his Kentucky constituents grew overwhelming . . . relentless lobbying, . . . getting his constituents to petition him again relentlessly, getting his local papers to editorialize, taking out ads in the local papers, [to the point] where he said, ‘All right, all right, I hear you. . . . I will get it done for you.’ And he did.

Recognizing they could not win a straight up or down vote on abortion coverage under Medicaid, the women members challenged the Hyde Amendment GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

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118 as legislating on an appropriations bill in violation of House rules—with the hope this would force a vote on a clean bill. Yet their surefire strategy misfired when Democrat Natcher and Republican Hyde pooled their considerable parliamentary expertise in a bipartisan effort to find a strategy around the rules, wording the amendment in the passive voice. The women were angry, feeling that the parliamentarians had misled them by not alerting them to this ‘loophole’. Yet if the good news for the Caucus (albeit only briefly) was that the amendment could be offered only in the highly unusual situation of the Committee of the Whole rejecting the motion to rise, the bad news for the Caucus was Natcher had an advantage over them when it came to savvy, positional power, and old-fashioned clout. As one House staffer recalled, ‘He retained his position as chairman of the subcommittee and of the full committee, and said, ‘‘I’m going to offer the motion to rise, but I am not going to vote for it.’’ . . . That gave every Democrat . . . the instruction to vote against the motion to rise.’ At the same time, positional power and political clout enabled Natcher to reportedly work out a deal with the House leadership (Congressional Quarterly 1994) to allow Hyde to offer his amendment, and it insulated him from the possibility that the leadership would come to the aid of these women members who were, after all, aggressively promoting a stand favored by a majority of the caucus. Although as this House staffer explained, ‘The leadership could have come in and pulled the bill when they saw this thing was going down in flames,’ the staffer went on to explain, ‘But they didn’t do that . . . because you can’t go in and pull Natcher’s bill. He’s the chairman of the Appropriations Committee.’ Add to this obstacles rooted in a culture of masculinism. One Democratic House staffer described that obstacle as ‘a whole process of mentoring and of learning that . . . the women don’t get.’ A second way that obstacle was manifested was in the low priority given to it by the leadership, as another Democratic House staffer echoing the views of others, explained ‘The leadership’s interest is to not . . . spend political capital if they don’t have to, and of course reproductive rights is an expenditure of political capital. . . . And they [the leadership] were simply not willing to make the investment.’ Indeed, the sense of women left to their own devices in the floor battle over Medicaid funding contrasted sharply with the experience of women’s efforts on FEHBP in the Senate. Although Senate women did not have a supportive subcommittee chair, their cause was aided by the presence of a veteran Democratic woman within their ranks who by her own report had been mentored in earlier years by male colleagues including Paul Sarbanes, Edward Kennedy, Christopher Dodd, Robert Byrd, George Mitchell, Patrick Leahy, and Tom Harkin. Barbara Mikulski characterized her days as the only Democratic woman Senator saying, ‘though I was all by myself, I was never alone.’ These earlier experiences not only gave her valuable knowledge she would share with the newcomer women in her ‘empowerment workshops,’ but had created collegial bonds that maximized the value of being in the majority and allowed her to find v

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119 common ground with more powerful male colleagues such as the pro-life Democratic chair of the Appropriations Committee, Robert Byrd. As this participant explained, She [Mikulski] did her homework. She had consulted him [Byrd] on strategy. He helped define the strategy . . . [in a way] that was not in conflict with his substantive position, [and] that was in alignment with his philosophical position on how the Appropriations Committee should act.

In the full committee, Mikulski chose to fight the newly included abortion ban not by offering a new amendment that would allow abortion coverage, but rather by using what one staffer described as a ‘very rarely used procedure’—a motion to table the abortion ban provision added in subcommittee in order to allow the full Senate to debate the issue when the bill moved to the floor. Her motion, pushing it off to a floor fight, carried on a 15–14 roll call vote (Congressional Quarterly 1994). One staffer remembering that day fondly, described it as ‘glorious,’ ‘why you’re in power,’ and indeed Mikulski won again on a procedural vote (rather than substantive vote) when the bill moved to the floor. Clearly ‘power’ benefitted women senators fighting for FEHBP coverage more than it benefitted women in the House who fell on the sword to stop the Hyde amendment—even though women in both chambers faced Appropriations Committee chairs who were substantially opposed to the women’s pro-choice goals. The difference between Natcher’s actions on Medicaid and Byrd’s on FEHBP coverage could have reflected a simple reality—that employee benefits was an easier issue than Medicaid. That may have been a factor, notwithstanding that when the ‘clean’ Medicaid funding bill moved from Senator Tom Harkin’s Senate LHHS subcommittee to the full committee, Byrd acted in the same way toward it as he had toward federal employees’ coverage. Indeed, the full Senate Appropriations Committee chaired by prolife Senator Byrd approved 26–1 a spending bill that would have lifted the Hyde ban on Medicaid funding (Congressional Quarterly 1994), thus reaffirming the actions of Harkin’s subcommittee. Pro-life forces on the committee chose to postpone their fight—not even debating the issue—until the bill reached the floor after Chairman Byrd asserted he had the votes to defeat Nickle’s amendment in committee. Yet once it reached the floor, the women could not overcome the stronger political currents against funding for poor women, as Senator Byrd, joined by five other Democratic men expected to vote against Hyde, voted for the ban when that substantive question (rather than the procedural question offered in the Federal Employees Health Benefit Program) was put to a vote. There were two important differences, however. While women in the House felt misled and abandoned, the women in the Senate, though disappointed, nevertheless decided to cut their losses, preserving their credibility for the upcoming battle for health care reform and GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

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120 emphasizing why this was not a precedent for health care reform19 which promised a more permanent solution. Second, the confluence of outsider status and the passion this critical mass of women of color brought to an institution that was long the domain of white men created a different political environment in the House. The issues of class (as those like this pro-choice lobbyist saw it, ‘[I]t’s [FEHBP] an easier lobby [than Medicaid funding] . . . [I]t’s a middle-class issue. Sad but true,’) were intensified by racial overtones that catapulted to the surface in an unusually heated floor exchange between women of color and their antiabortion rights nemesis Henry Hyde when he charged, ‘We tell poor women, ‘‘You can’t have a job, you can’t have a good education, you can’t have a decent place to live. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. We’ll give you a free abortion because there are too many of you people and we want to kinda refine, refine the breed.’’ ’ Pro-choice Corrine Brown responded, ‘It’s still all white men in blue suits that know what’s best for poor people,’ while Cardiss Collins ‘leapt to her feet’ responding to Hyde, ‘I am offended by that kind of debate.’ Hyde, who represented a Chicago district adjoining Collin’s district replied, ‘I’m going to direct my friend to a few ministers who will tell her just what goes on in her community’ (Merida 1993b). The focus of their bitterness was bipartisan, coming through in an angry exchange between Democratic Representatives Corrine Brown and David Obey, when pro-choice Brown objected to mixed record Obey taking the floor to explain why he had opted not to offer what he considered a pro-choice amendment (Abortion Report, July 1, 1993). Yet while their outrage and anger made visible an oft obscured problem, Medicaid funding suffered a resounding defeat once rape and incest exceptions were added. To add insult to injury, the Medicaid funding defeat freed up resources just in time for an eleventh hour attack in the House on coverage for federal employees. Indeed, when the Treasury-Postal bill which included FEHBP funding moved from conference, back to the full House, growing partisan tensions between House Republicans and the Administration over staffing issues unrelated to reproductive rights converged with an eleventh hour attack by the pro-life Caucus to nearly defeat the conference bill. Ironically, obfuscation of the bill’s gendered stakes, combined with the Caucus’ extraordinary commitment, saved the day for Hoyer’s bill. While Hoyer had reportedly assured women members on the day of the vote that there was no danger of a pro-life challenge,20 women later obtained different information when, as one Democratic House staffer explained, a pro-choice staffer for a pro-life member informed a Caucus members’ office, ‘ ‘‘something is going on tonight with Treasury Postal, because my boss keeps getting these calls.’’ Presumably they’re whip calls, right? So [staff] . . . faxed something to all the women members [of the Caucus] saying, ‘‘Get to the floor: there’s an ambush on this.’’ ’ v

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121 The same energy that women seemed to have contributed to saving FACE when Schumer was distracted by other concerns came through as well as they alerted Hoyer and worked with him to call the vote earlier than originally planned, hoping to short-circuit the attack. With this bill passing by a single vote, 207–206, women’s energy on behalf of women, combined ironically with their willingness to obscure the gendered stakes, probably contributed to their win. As one staffer explained, ‘They [women members] went to the floor and just acted like normal whips and just did the thumbs up, vote yes, to people who came in.’ Obscuring the gendered stakes enabled one woman member who ‘grabbed at least one Democrat, prolife, and stood with him while he voted the right way, and did not tell him what was going on,’ to get the vote of at least one Democrat who was described as never having cast a pro-choice vote in his life. Despite a sense among many that FEHBP coverage was easier than Hyde, the impression being that they ‘lucked out that the other side was waiting for the Hyde Amendment, so they didn’t contest any of this stuff up until [later, after] the Hyde Amendment [had been passed]’, this debate illustrates a paradox of impact where there is controversy. Women members’ desire to advance their collective policy goals even if in ways that were not at the top of their political agenda when the 103rd began, their political need to build the case for abortion coverage in health insurance reform, and the reality of what it would take to win within the institution, contributed to women having an impact in ways that furthered substantive representation of women, but did little to educate women in the mass public about what was at stake or to help sustain this win in the future. Thus, while the results suggest the importance of electing more women, they also remind us it is only a first step—the ideological composition of the institution and the success of interest groups in raising public support are also needed to increase the gender gap threat on a controversial matter like this if the victory is to be sustained in the future. In short, as Chapter 6 will show the passion that women bring to public office is more likely to yield gains (and less likely to be an exercise in futility or likened to falling on the sword) when the ire of women voters can be evoked to add credibility to their challenges to masculinist values. v

A PO S T S CR I PT

No legislative victory is ever permanently won, and no legislative loss is irreversible, particularly when it comes to the annual appropriations cycle. But the institutional environment can go a long way to determining not only which are won, but also whether these battles are even fought. The second session of the 103rd in theory offered a new opportunity for women to reverse their disappointing loss on Medicaid funding. The elevation of David Obey to chair of Appropriations following the death of pro-life Democratic LHHS subcommittee chair/ GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

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122 full committee chair Bill Natcher was a net plus for pro-choice women (despite the tempestuous encounter in the first session with Obey). What had been widely seen as a racist attack on pro-choice women of color, to borrow the words of one pro-choice lobbyist, ‘set the tone . . . for them [women of color] to take on this issue, since it is an issue that primarily affects poor women, disproportionately affects Black women.’ Yet the fact women of color members did not take it on again in the second session sends a telling message about the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation. One obstacle was differences among pro-choice women over priorities and optimal solutions, for while women of color remained convinced the solution was to lift the Hyde Amendment, other Democratic women tended to see health care reform as the preferred political solution. As one Democratic congressional staffer explained, ‘If Medicaid were folded into a whole new healthcare system, . . . whatever restrictions applied to everybody’s health insurance (or if no restrictions applied to everybody’s health insurance abortion coverage), then that would be the case for Medicaid too.’ The weaknesses of health care reform as a solution were particularly disturbing to women of color members, for not only was it ‘not a done deal’ (as one observer was quick to note), but the lag between passage and implementation of a new system would leave poor women without access for years. A second obstacle was that women did not control the agenda. It was ‘out of the hands of the women’s caucus,’ as one lobbyist put it, for while, as one reproductive rights lobbyist explained, they ‘had arranged this meeting with the Black women members to sort of strategize on what we would do . . . around the Hyde amendment,’ the chair and ranking member of Appropriations agreed that funding would be decided under health care reform rather than Hyde.‘It sort of got decided for us that nothing would be done on it,’ as that lobbyist explained. Passion could not offset the disadvantage of lack of positional power, particularly in the absence of a gender gap threat. v

CON CLUS ION

In some ways, the 103rd Congress was a ‘best case’ scenario for exploring the ofttouted relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. Reproductive rights was seen as a great unifier of women despite the presence of a handful of [relatively silent] pro-life women members. The gender gap within each party was unmistakable—not only in the votes cast for pro-choice policies, but also in the passion that women seemed to bring to these efforts on behalf of women, as evidenced not only in their willingness to pursue these priorities, but also in their [generally unreciprocated] willingness to come to the aid of more influential male colleagues who were in danger of dropping the ball. v

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123 Yet consistent with New Institutionalists’ warnings that behavior cannot be understood in an institutional vacuum, the complexities belying evidence of women’s impact provide insight into the strategies likely to enhance the potential for substantive representation of women even when women might believe they have a ‘critical mass’. First, these case studies suggest the dynamics of the political environment combine with the composition of women members themselves to shape the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. The contested meaning of substantive representation of women reflected and fueled differences among women who recognized women as having different needs and interests. The consequences of this for action were compounded by the limited control women had over the institutional agenda. While the analysis makes a compelling case that women make a difference and that women’s presence matters, women’s collective reproductive rights priorities changed as they confronted dynamics largely beyond their control—changes in the political environment (the declining threat to Roe, perceptions that more was possible to accomplish), increasing diversities within the ranks of women that brought new connections to different types of women with different needs and different views about the role of government, and institutional obstacles to action that were compounded when their priorities were not reinforced by perceptions of gender gap threats. Consequently, FOCA faded as a priority, as other priorities—Medicaid funding, coverage for federal employees, and FACE—that could meet the changing political demands replaced it. Women could nevertheless point to some success because their extensive agenda allowed them to shift priorities as opportunities changed. At the same time, the presence of a pro-choice President in the White House and the fact that Democrats controlled Congress (even if their leadership was not a reliable advocate) increased the potential payoff of investing energy in attempts to advance this agenda and raised their expectations. Yet the decision of women of color not to challenge in the second session the Medicaid ban they saw as anathema only reinforces this point that substantive representation of women cannot be understood in a political vacuum. Second, these case studies highlight the critical role of the gender gap (as well as its limitations) in realizing the potential that women will make a difference. The gender gap made FACE a piece of legislation over which women and men competed for ownership, and it made credit claiming around it worthwhile for those looking toward the next election. Yet it could provide little leverage for those who hoped to convince Congress to protect the needs of both privileged and marginalized women through a version of FOCA acceptable to women of color or through Medicare funding. Thus, while these case studies suggest the need to bring more women into office, they remind us of the need to reach out to women voters in order to fuel the type of external pressures needed to challenge masculinist values. Women voters provide the leverage GEN DER DIFF ERENCE AND T HE PARA DOX OF POWER

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124 women officeholders need to maximize the transformative potential of women’s presence. Third, the results make a compelling case for an active and engaged women’s movement despite increasing numbers of women in office. The strategies that helped women members of Congress sway their male colleagues—emphasizing clinic violence as a crime issue rather than women’s issue, acquiescing in a ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ strategy, or seeking to win on procedural matters by sidestepping the substantive issues—could further their policy goals in the short term. Yet given the importance of the gender gap in leveraging change, these pragmatic strategies might make victory more difficult to achieve. Public education within society and winning majority support within an institution may sometimes seem like mutually exclusive goals; this makes the work of women’s groups particularly critical as they attempt to work directly and indirectly through the media with women to make sense of their lives and to provide the foundation on which women’s potential for impact may be realized. Fourth, women’s presence within the institutional hierarchy, not merely their presence in the institution overall or even their presence on key committees, was critical. The dramatically increased presence of women on Appropriations opened a window of opportunity for women to act on their agenda, and that window of opportunity was opened even wider because the retirement of many (albeit not all) male leaders of the pro-choice effort from earlier congresses left a void that women could fill; victory and influence is possible even without positional power, but the range of success and potential for success will be greater if they continue to gain positional power within these institutions, and if those gains are not contingent on abdicating their responsibilities to women. Only when women secure positional power will fears about the ‘ghettoization’ of these issues be rendered meaningless. Thus, it is important not only that more women with a commitment to women enter public office, but that they remain in office. Finally, the way conflicts among women over these matters were resolved suggests some interesting realities that must be confronted within partisan institutions. With Democratic women outnumbering Republicans by a 3:1 margin in the 103rd, and with the women’s movement taking (or being pushed to take) a hard look at the inclusiveness of its own agenda, one could easily overlook the tensions that increased diversity played in narrowing the gap between the politics of presence and the politics of ideas. Republican women may have felt that abandonment of FOCA was a serious mistake, but appeasing this minority of caucus members who lacked institutional power was overshadowed by concerns of Democrats that women might split along racial (not party) lines. At the same time the Caucus took on an effort to lift the Hyde Ban, ostensibly pro-choice Republican women newcomers (some Caucus members, some not) turned to their Republican male colleagues to convince them to change their strategy in v

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125 order to defeat the efforts of women. At any rate increased diversity among gender conscious women members means the concerns of a broader array of women are brought to the table. Yet unless these women agree on the boundaries of gender’s relevance, the potential for impact by a substantially underrepresented sector of members may be limited, as it was in the case of FOCA and Medicaid funding of abortion. Chapter 6 continues the exploration of the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women in reproductive rights policymaking, this time in a decidedly different institutional context and as the diversity among women increased with an influx of women on the right. In the process, the case studies in Chapter 6 also point the way toward a deeper understanding of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women that goes beyond essentialist assumptions to reflect women’s changing behavior as a group in the 104th (with the entry of a new cohort of conservative women) as they simultaneously shed light on changes in behavior among other women who might have previously been seen as stronger advocates for women. Like this chapter, Chapter 6 reinforces the importance of increasing descriptive representation, even as it also highlights the critical role that other factors play in shaping the probabilistic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation, in strengthening or weakening perceptions of legitimacy surrounding gender difference, and in defining and redefining the meaning of substantive representation of women. And the case studies in Chapter 6 shed light on the conditions under which we might one day find that women do not make a difference—a day that may be closer at hand than many would like to admit (Center for American Women and Politics 2001). It is to this new institutional environment I now turn. v

NO T E S

1 Some, however, suggest gender is less relevant to abortion than it is to other ‘women’s issues’ (Sanbonmatsu 2002; Cook, Jelen, and Wilcox 1992), citing for example that: attitudes about abortion and gender roles are only moderately correlated; women are as divided over abortion as men; and (with only a few exceptions) the gender gap is generally small or nonexistent on reproductive rights policy. 2 For various perspectives, see contributions in Jaggar 1994. 3 Not all pro-choice victories were initiated by Congress. Shortly after his inauguration, President Clinton issued five executive orders reversing policies from the Reagan-Bush era: lifting the gag rule and the federal ban on fetal-tissue research; calling for a review of the import ban on RU-486; easing abortion policy at overseas military facilities; and reversing the ban on aid to international family planning agencies that provide abortion-related services (Toner 1993). 4 In both the House and the Senate, Democratic women were the most likely to cosponsor FACE (78 percent and 100 percent, respectively), followed by female Republicans

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126 (42 percent and 50 percent, respectively), and male Democrats (37 percent and 38 percent, respectively), with Republican men least likely (7 percent in each chamber). Substantial gender gaps prevailed within each party as well on FOCA, where in the House, 72 percent of Democratic women, 45 percent of Democratic men, 42 percent of Republican women, and 4 percent of the male Republicans cosponsored it. 5 FOCA’s chief Senate sponsor was George Mitchell (D-ME) and House sponsor was Don Edwards (D-CA). Edward Kennedy (D-MA) sponsored FACE in the Senate and in the House Charles Schumer (D-NY) wrote the FACE bill, adding Connie Morella (R-MD) as a chief cosponsor after it was written. 6 Edward Kennedy chaired the Labor and Human Resources Committee which had jurisdiction over FACE and FOCA. Jack Brooks chaired the House Judiciary Committee which had jurisdiction over both bills, with Don Edwards chairing the Constitutional Subcommittee (through which FOCA had to pass) and Charles Schumer chairing the Crime subcommittee which dealt with FACE. 7 The interviews suggest this was true of both bills, but was lodged as a complaint largely against Don Edwards, chair of the Subcommittee on the Constitution. 8 As one Senate staffer explained: ‘I think they all [women senators] quickly became aware of how important it is, if you have an important piece of legislation that is going to be controversial, that you have somebody who is a committee chairman who is leading the way on the issue and who is 100 percent committed on the issue. . . . I think they must have all seen it as totally to their advantage to have Kennedy introduce it [FACE], [and] write it in such a way that it got referred to his committee (which meant he completely controlled the timing and the manner in which it was taken forward).’ 9 As Representative Louise Slaughter (D-NY) explained: ‘The majority of the Rules members were prolife. . . . We [prochoice Democrats] were always short. This came up time after time. There were times when I’d literally say to a couple of the members, ‘‘Please don’t come [to Rules].’’. . . And [then] we were able then to muster enough votes that we could get it down to the floor.’ 10 As one staffer put it, ‘This is my personal opinion about it, but I think Chuck Schumer thought Connie was just going to be nice and quiet about it, and let him do all the talking. But . . . she was kind of excited about it, that this was something she could go with and really try to get something done that was very important.’ 11 This collective effort created some tensions and fueled rumors, as this women’s health activist explained, ‘When the African American women began to organize, there were some tensions, and one of the messages that went out from one of the groups to staff people on the Hill was that well, ‘‘The Black women are organized and they don’t want to work with the white women.’’. . . [I]n fact, Nita [Lowey] and Cynthia [McKinney] were talking all along.’ 12 As this Democratic House staffer recalled, ‘After Carol Moseley-Braun went off FOCA . . . in the Senate, [some were] very concerned about there being a similar fissure in the House between black and white women. . . . I think the women of color were very concerned that FOCA was the only thing that NARAL and Planned Parenthood, the main groups, cared about. . . . [However] the women in the House stayed together, didn’t let it sort of tear them apart.’ 13 As one Republican House staffer who shared this view explained: ‘[As for] the Freedom of Choice Act, I place a tremendous amount of blame on the minority women v

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127 who said, ‘‘It doesn’t matter if we have the Freedom of Choice Act in place, because if we don’t have funding for poor women for abortion, it’s meaningless’’. . . . [I]t would have been a terribly hard battle to get the Freedom of Choice Act passed. That would have been amazing to really do it. But you had Carol Moseley-Braun in the Senate who pulled her cosponsorship and . . . other minority women in the House also balked at it, and that was its death—quickly.’ 14 In Bray vs. Alexandria Women’s Health Clinic the Supreme Court ruled the 1871 Ku Klux Klan Act could not give federal judges the authority to stop clinic demonstrations (Greenhouse 1993). 15 As this Democratic House staffer explained, when it came to FOCA, ‘. . . The right wing . . . (the churches and the groups) . . . blind sided us. . . . [W]e got over a thousand letters on the issue itself, saying, . . . ‘‘I don’t believe in killing of children’’. . . . [T]hat really had an impact.’ 16 As this Democratic House staffer noted: ‘Before [the 103rd Congress] the head of the abortion rights group was [Representative] Les AuCoin [(D-OR)], which I think kind of irritated a lot of women members. Not that he was ineffective, or that he didn’t have good people working for him. . . . [But] Mr. AuCoin left, and . . . the women have taken over more.’ 17 In the House, support for the Hyde Amendment banning Medicaid coverage of abortion was consistently higher among men within each party, with 14 percent of Democratic women, 42 percent of Democratic men, 50 percent of Republican women and 92 percent of Republican men supporting the newly revised ban. On the Senate side, all Democratic women, but only 58 percent of Democratic men, voted in favor of striking a Hyde-like amendment attached to the Medicaid funding appropriations bill; however, neither Republican woman supported striking the Hyde amendment while 14 percent of Republican men did. There was no up or down vote on abortion coverage under the FEHBP when the Treasury Postal Bill went to the Senate floor. The closest thing to it was a vote on whether Nichol’s attempt to ban abortion coverage under FEHBP was germane. In that case, there was more than a twenty point gender gap among Democrats (with 100 percent of the women compared to only 77 percent among Democratic men opposing it); however, the gender gap went the ‘wrong’ way among Republicans, with neither Republican woman opposing the measure’s germaneness, while 17 percent of Republican men did so. 18 This presented several problems, as this Democratic House Staffer explained: ‘I think Obey. . . was doing this to make a point: . . . You need to find some sort of middle ground. . . . Obey did not appreciate that his amendment was really not middle ground. I mean, his amendment was so way far better than anything we had that in fact it was a pro-choice position.’ 19 As this Senate staffer explained, ‘. . . [W]e knew we didn’t have the votes, so senators . . . decided that it would be better to lose with a minimum of fanfare rather than win and put ourselves in a disadvantaged position for health care reform. In other words, lose with the strategy that ‘‘Well, this is different from health care reform’’. . . . It was sort of a cut-the-losses strategy.’ 20 Chris Smith (R-NJ), a leader of the effort, noted that the priority of protecting the Medicaid funding ban had compromised their effectiveness in fighting coverage for Federal employees, noting that pro-life lawmakers ‘lacked the time to focus on the abortion language [in the Treasury-Postal Appropriations Bill] because they had been preoccupied with rounding up support for the Hyde Amendment’ (Abortion Report, October 5, 1993).

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6

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Reproductive Rights: Redefining the Meaning of Critical Mass

The 104th Congress gave reproductive rights supporters many losses: banning abortion coverage for federal workers, Peace Corp workers, women in federal prisons, and poor women in the District of Columbia; banning privately funded abortion for military personnel and dependents; restricting Internet discussion of abortion; restricting abortion-related litigation by the Legal Services Corporation; lifting requirements OB/Gyn training include abortion procedures; and banning federal funding for research using human embryos (Clemmitt et al. 1997). Moreover, debates over the morality of ‘Partial Birth Abortion’ eclipsed the previous framing of ‘Who Decides?’, putting pro-choice supporters on the defensive as never before. These changes occurred despite: the persistence of the gender gap in reproductive rights support among members of Congress (discussed in the introduction to Part III), no decline in women’s proportional presence, and women members’ continued collective desire to push the reproductive rights agenda beyond the accomplishments of the 103rd.1 The declining relevance of women’s collective agenda to the reproductive rights record of the 104th reflected a convergence of forces within the institution. Defunding the Caucus deprived women of resources to fight reproductive rights opponents, an infusion of conservative women tarnished the image of unity that previously helped them cast opposition to abortion rights as antiwomen, and the shift to Republican control brought, as one pro-choice activist explained, ‘. . . 221 solidly antichoice votes in the House . . . and . . . people like Henry Hyde and Bob Livingston in control of committees that all the [reproductive rights] stuff has to move through.’ Consequently: [T]he work of the Women’s Caucus for that whole [104th] Congress was far more reactive than proactive. . . . We struggled terribly. . . . We lost the staff at the Women’s Caucus . . . that Contract with America left us just unable to do anything but to try to quickly react when crises erupted. . . . [W]e had so many abortion votes coming at us from so many directions. . . . We just had to try and maintain the status quo. . . . That alone was victory. . . . (Republican House Staff)

129 Granted, pro-choice victories had not come easily even in the 103rd, as women redefined their priorities when new obstacles emerged. Yet the advantages the shift to Republican control gave reproductive rights opponents are illustrated by the shifting fortunes of abortion coverage under the Federal Employees Health Benefit Act, when the narrow win for it in the 103rd became a sizable defeat in the 104th. Losing control of Congress meant losing control of the agenda. As chair of the Treasury-Postal Subcommittee, Steny Hoyer could simply introduce a ‘clean’ chairman’s mark without a ban in the more moderate 103rd (Chapter 5 this volume), but as ranking member in the 104th, he was forced to offer amendments in committee and on the floor in an (unsuccessful) attempt to lift the abortion coverage ban included in the chairman’s mark (Abortion Report, June 29, 1995)—a strategy that might have brought defeat even in the 103rd which had never cast an up or down vote on the floor of either chamber on the merits of coverage (Chapter 5, this volume). Although Hoyer’s amendment won so much greater support among women than men within each party that it would have remained a covered provision under the FEHBP in the 104th if men had voted as women of their own party did, it failed, 188–235 (Abortion Report, July 20, 1995),2 suggesting to some the need for more women, but to others (given substantially greater support among Democratic men than Republican women), the need for more Democrats. Despite women’s lower proportional presence in the Senate, the more moderate Senate defeated (on a 41–52 vote, opposed by all women senators, Republicans and Democrats, 84 percent of the Democratic men, but only 26 percent of Republican men) the House-passed life-only exception to the ban. Yet once Nickels added rape and incest exceptions, the revised ban passed the Senate 50–44 despite opposition from a majority of women in both parties and Democratic men. The shift to Republican control deprived the ban’s chief Senate Democratic opponent, Barbara Mikulski, of the institutional advantages which contributed to her success in the 103rd by allowing her to turn a substantive question into a procedural question.3 There was no turning this into a procedural question this time. While this case study makes a compelling case for the need for more women, a closer look suggests as well that the implications of presence cannot be understood in a contextual vacuum because the ‘pro-women’ position around which women united changed over time in response to change in the institutional environment. Women saw amendments to allow ‘medically necessary’ abortions under Medicaid or within a reformed health care system as unacceptable in the 103rd, but they obviously became more acceptable by the 104th when Mikulski (unsuccessfully) attempted to add such an amendment to the Treasury Postal appropriations bill (Abortion Report, August 7, 1995).4 When faced with the Istook amendment which would have made rape and incest coverage under Medicaid a state option, pro-choice women House members embraced the very version of the Hyde Amendment that they had fallen on the sword to defeat in the 103rd. REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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130 Even more interesting, increased racial diversities among women members which fueled debate over the relevance of Caucus priorities to marginalized women in 103rd no longer seemed to have such an effect in the 104th, when victory was redefined as merely holding onto the status quo and sometimes winning that which one had only recently opposed. With no reason to believe women’s modal policy preferences had changed, comparisons across the 103rd and 104th allow us to explore how changes in the political environment may redefine the meaning of substantive representation of women and can transform a one-time critical mass into something far less influential—without any decline in proportional presence. Unless otherwise noted, quotes used in this chapter are taken from CAWP’s post-104th (wave 3) interviews with members, staff, and lobbyists. (See Methodological Appendix.) I begin with the Partial Birth Abortion Ban. v

THE PA R T I A L BI RTH AB O R T I O N /IN T A C T DI L A TA TI O N A ND EX T R A C T I O N (D&X) BAN ACT

Arguably, the most politically difficult component of the 104th’s reproductive rights agenda for pro-choice members was the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act, which sought to ban the dilation and extraction (D&X) procedure, generally used after the 20th week of pregnancy. Except when the preponderance of evidence indicated it was the only way to save the life of the woman, the ban proposed to make performing this procedure a felony, subjecting doctors to prison terms of up to two years, fines up to $250,000, and civil suits brought by the woman who sought the abortion, the father of the fetus, or (in the case of a minor) the woman’s parents (Abortion Report, June 16, 1995). The D&X procedure was not completely new, having been discussed at the 1992 meeting of the National Abortion Federation and running as the cover story in Life Advocate a few months later. However, it was not widely discussed by the public, the media, or Congress or even labeled ‘partial birth abortion’ (according to a 60 Minutes Report) until the 1994 election gave abortion rights opponents a platform previously denied them, for as one pro-life Republican House staffer summed it up: ‘Democrats never would allow a bill like this to even be talked about. . . . If Republicans had not gained control, then the Partial Birth Abortion Ban certainly would never have passed, because it would never have been voted on.’ Charles Canady (R-FL), assisted by the National Right to Life Committee, invented the term Partial Birth Abortion to sensationalize the procedure and authored the bill (Abortion Report, December 5, 1995; Abortion Report, June 3, 1996). His elevation to the chair of Judiciary’s Constitution Subcommittee along with Henry Hyde’s (R-IL) rise to chair of the House Judiciary Committee, gave reproductive rights opponents positional power that opened the window of opportunity even wider than did the general rightward shift within the membership, v

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131 for as one reproductive rights activist explained, ‘You couldn’t have found two more hostile, antiabortion people.’ They controlled the agenda. Canady’s ban was advantaged further also because it fitted well with the Republican leadership’s short-term legislative strategy of making abortion more difficult to obtain (e.g. bans on abortion procedures at military hospitals overseas, banning foreign aid for groups that ‘promote abortion,’ and nullifying accreditation guidelines requiring abortion training for all OB/Gyn residencies) without outlawing it completely (Abortion Report, June 19, 1995; Abortion Report, June 14, 1995). But this new ‘problem’ was even more appealing (and dangerous politically for the majority of women who were pro-choice) because it spotlighted a procedure (which one Democratic Senate staffer described as one) ‘nobody likes to have to defend’. Retaining a focus on ‘Who Decides?’ was politically difficult in the face of images like these: The abortionist delivers the living baby’s entire body except for the head. . . . Then the abortionist jams scissors into the baby’s skull. The scissors are opened to enlarge the hole . . . which kills a living human child. Next, . . . the abortionist removes the scissors and inserts a suction catheter into the baby’s skull. The child’s brains are removed, causing the skull to collapse, and the delivery of a dead child is completed. (Charles Canady, Congressional Record, September 19, 1996)

These images compounded the inevitable difficulties the rightward shift in congressional membership posed for the Caucus, allowing reproductive rights opponents to divide moderates and liberals while enabling Republican leaders to maintain unity within their coalition of cultural and economic conservatives (Abortion Report, May 15, 1995). One could argue that even with this worst case scenario, women’s underrepresentation had consequences, for if male members had voted the same way female colleagues of their own party did in the first floor vote, the Partial Birth Abortion Ban would have gone down to defeat in both chambers (rather than passing overwhelmingly in the House [288–139] and comfortably in the Senate [54–44]).5 (On the other hand, one could argue this suggested the need for more Democrats since Democratic men were less supportive of the ban than Republican women.) A closer look at this case study, however, suggests both the limitations of proportional presence and the value of a mixture of strategies that includes, but goes beyond, increasing women’s presence if the aim is to strengthen the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women while we inch toward parity. v

The Limits of Descriptive Representation

Women’s presence on the House Judiciary Committee increased by 200 percent in the 104th when Democrats Zoe Lofgren (D-CA) and Sheila Jackson-Lee (D-TX) joined Democrat Patricia Schroeder (D-CO) on that panel, but the committee defeated on party line votes6 virtually everything the three supported. Nevertheless, REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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132 women’s presence increased the level of challenge the ban faced and the dimensions on which it was challenged. The 9 percent of the female HouseJudiciary Committee members offered 38 percent of the amendments on which recorded votes were taken in committee and those amendments went beyond the more traditional political fare on which men’s amendments focused—tort law, constitutional rights, standards of evidence7—to center threats to women’s health and women’s lives,8 drawing on a combination of personal experiences9 and political savvy to interweave the realities of women’s lives— women who wanted to be pregnant, who had children and wanted more—into the debate at the earliest stages when the minority had greater freedom than they would later to shape the House debate. With polls indicating public support both for such a ban and for allowing abortion in cases of threat to the health of the woman,10 the potentially contradictory preferences suggested voters might be open to persuasion by these elected women—provided they could disseminate their case beyond the relative isolation of the House Judiciary Committee. The public’s potential receptivity, combined with the Clinton campaign’s decision women must be a key component of their 1996 campaign strategy (Abortion Report, March 29, 1995) to offset their inevitable loss of support among men (Abortion Report, June 7, 1995), opened a window of opportunity for elected women to stop this politically difficult legislation. However, the House Rules Committee, controlled by the same Republican leadership that supported the ban, posed an ominous institutional hurdle which threatened to shut that window by silencing women. Women were overrepresented among the pro-choice witnesses (three men [all Democrats] and four women [three Democrats and one Republican]) before Rules where the rhetoric of witnesses was largely consistent with the gender differences in arguments observed in Judiciary. Nancy Johnson’s participation illustrated the potential for bipartisan opposition. At the same time, Sam Farr’s (D-CA) joining with Zoe Lofgren (D-CA) to push for a floor vote in the full House on the life and health of the woman amendment Lofgren offered unsuccessfully in Judiciary seemed a harbinger of men’s increased willingness to adopt the new, more women-centric, yet not overtly feminist, framing introduced by the women members in Judiciary. Yet the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women in this debate is less obvious when we move from the witnesses to Rules Committee members. In theory, a 100 percent increase in women’s presence as members of Rules in the 104th might have bode well for more women-centric arguments. Yet if the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women was an exercise in futility on Judiciary, its meaning was simply more ambiguous on the Rules Committee. Setting aside for the moment the more conservative bent of the Republican women serving on Rules, institutional norms which suggested that committee ‘essentially enforces what the leadership has decided (Republican v

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133 House staffer)’ meant its members would face considerable pressure to do the bidding of a leadership indebted to the cultural right.11 This was true despite the presence of an ostensibly pro-choice Republican, Deborah Pryce, a sophomore initially elected during the Year of the Woman. Notwithstanding her mixed pro-choice credentials (signing on to the newcomer women’s agenda which had included support in theory for FOCA but working, for example, to encourage Hyde to expand exceptions to cover abortion in cases of rape and incest rather than chance the ban’s defeat in the 103rd), Rules Committee transcripts suggest she was more sensitive than her male colleagues to Republican witness Nancy Johnson’s concern that the ban threatened women’s health. Indeed, rather than simply accepting bill sponsor and fellow Republican Charles Canady’s (R-FL) assertion that an exception to the ban only in cases of threat to the life of the woman was justified because 80 percent of the procedures were elective, Pryce pressed Canady to tell her about the 20 percent of the cases that were not elective, challenged him on the clarity of the exceptions for threats to the life of the woman, and questioned why the affirmative defense provision could not be changed to allow doctors to argue their actions were legal without first being arrested and tried in a court of law. Although Republican James Quillen (R-TN) was unique among Republicans in raising similar concerns, Rules Committee transcripts show Pryce posed these questions to both Charles Canady and Patricia Schroeder, while Quillen asked these questions only of Canady, declining to ask the same questions of Schroeder. Moreover, Pryce appeared to challenge the leadership’s preference for a closed rule by asking that Nancy Johnson’s amendment be brought to a floor vote. Asserting the affirmative defense provided no real exception for the life of the woman and that doctors should not have to defend themselves from jail, her nearly successful motion failed on a 6–6 tie vote, with three other Republicans (Dreier, Goss, Linder) and the two pro-choice Democrats on the committee (Beilenson and Frost) supporting her motion. Pryce further challenged the partisan constraints as the only Republican supporting the motion to grant a floor vote on the Farr/Lofgren amendment (allowing doctors to act to protect women’s health and fertility). Yet many would question just how much difference she made, for once these amendments failed, she voted with her party for the closed rule and then for the unamended bill that lacked the provisions she previously argued were needed to protect women. This raises serious questions about what constitutes substantive representation of women and whether even inconsistent actions should be recognized as such if at some point they seem to make women present to a greater extent than might otherwise be the case. In another blow to the notion the increase in women’s proportional presence will advance substantive representation of women, the very consistent actions of Republican Rules member Enid Greene Waldholtz were even more likely to call into question the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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134 of women. Waldholtz was part of the cadre of newcomer conservative Republican women that eschewed traditional women’s issues in favor of a campaign driven by antigovernment themes, and she had been embraced by a GOP hoping to increase its appeal among women and minorities by softening the message without altering its policies (Abortion Report, June 1, 1995). A leadership favorite, Waldholtz was a rarity on Rules—a freshman and a woman. Her presence on Rules offered an early look at whether this new cadre of conservative women might bring feminale, albeit not feminist, perspectives to the debate that would set them apart from both pro-life men and pro-choice women. The Rules transcripts provide little sense that she approached this differently from her like-minded male colleagues; for the most part, she was only an occasional contributor to the debate in Rules, not particularly active in the Rules Committee hearings. Notwithstanding her low profile, her symbolic value as a woman supporting the ban was not lost on the leadership. As one Republican House staffer explained, ‘People were very pleased to see her be willing to come out in front on this.’ The reason went beyond gender, for as that staffer continued, ‘Being pregnant, here she comes waddling down on the floor with her stomach sticking way out to talk about unborn children. . . . [T]he other side of the aisle . . . can’t attack her too much because here is this big pregnant woman.’ Yet while the enthusiasm with which her visibility was greeted could suggest the need to appeal to women voters meant the marginalization that once forced political women to choose between identities as politicians and women (Githens and Prestage 1977), with little hope of being accepted in either, had become history in the Republican party, the role she assumed is also consistent with those tokens in Kanter’s classic (1977) who in effect would do men’s ‘dirty work’. Was the legitimacy of these intersecting identities narrowly defined by the Republican leadership facing external pressure to allow women to do the dirty work so the GOP could escape the antiwoman label or were women free to express the feminale (albeit not feminist) perspectives opposing reproductive rights as politicians while maintaining leadership favor? The answer, I believe becomes clearer during the floor debate when women were clearly sought out by the ban’s male leadership (even to the point of one male leader imploring pro-life women to come forward to speak). v

Gendering a Debate with Contested Gendered Stakes

As in Judiciary, women’s presence increased the energy available to fight the ban on the floor of the House and enhanced the visibility of the gendered stakes in that debate. Women provided 23 percent of the votes against the Partial Birth Abortion Ban, but took 58 percent of turns speaking against it. Indeed, while women and men in the House had competed for leadership in shaping the reproductive rights agenda in the 103rd, the potentially high political costs of v

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135 the Partial Birth Abortion Ban seemed to mean, as one Democratic House staffer explained, ‘It was all women, top to bottom. . . . Even the men who would be involved . . . feel like this is a woman’s issue and so the women ought to be out front.’ Content analysis of the official debate on the House floor reinforces impressions of women’s impact on the debate even as they also hint at women’s influence on their male colleagues (see Methodological Appendix for details). By the time the bill moved to the floor, women’s alternative framing of this as a threat to women’s health seemed to have gradually been embraced by men even though they had not appeared to do so in committee. Majorities of both female and male speakers opposing the ban expressed concern that the Congress was depriving women of a method that could preserve their ability to have future successful pregnancies, although the majorities were notably larger among women than men (90 percent vs. 59 percent, respectively). Similarly, majorities of both female and male speakers opposing the ban criticized weaknesses in its protections for women’s health and lives, but once again women did so more often than men (95 percent vs. 78 percent, respectively). Men seemed more willing than they had been in Judiciary to adopt the women’s strategy of letting ‘the women’s stories tell themselves,’ referencing stories of how this procedure had saved the lives, health, and fertility of specific women who in some cases held strong pro-life views12— although women speakers nevertheless referenced these stories at twice the rate of men speakers (62 percent vs. 31 percent, respectively). Thus, women’s impact was evidenced not only by their outparticipation of like-minded men, but also by their contribution to the discourse of like-minded male allies who gradually were adopting women’s style of rhetoric that enhanced the visibility of gendered stakes. Gender differences in style of argument appeared as well when women were more likely than men who spoke against it to paint a multidimensional picture of those women who might choose these procedures, either embedding them within webs of relationships as mothers, wives, daughters, and members of families or emphasizing the ban’s harmful effects on husbands, families, and children (86 percent vs. 33 percent, respectively). Women members’ greater contextualism, a perspective often associated with women (see Kathlene 1989; Chodorow 1974; Gilligan 1982), spread the costs of the ban beyond those borne by the pregnant woman herself, to the men and the children who needed them, thereby emphasizing (to a greater extent than like-minded men) the social acceptability of their motives and their status (and worth) as ‘good mothers’. Indeed, female, more often than male, ban opponents justified opposition to the ban on the grounds that the pregnancies terminated by this procedure were wanted pregnancies (76 percent vs. 44 percent, respectively) and that the fetus at best would die shortly after birth (81 percent vs. 59 percent).13 Yet these women embraced the feminale without rejecting the masculine. Women were almost as likely as men to justify opposition to the ban by drawing on instrumentalist perspectives (i.e. concerns about abridgement of individual rights, constitutional rights, the right of privacy, the right to life, the right to REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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136 choose, or the guarantees of Roe v. Wade) linked with the masculine (48 percent vs. 52 percent). Moreover, women did not ignore the ban’s consequences for men, for they were even slightly more likely than their male counterparts to criticize the penalties imposed on the largely male medical profession (76 percent vs. 64 percent) and almost as likely as men to criticize the ban as hindering doctors’ abilities to provide the best care to women (48 percent and 52 percent, respectively). While more men than women speakers opposed the restrictions as unfairly placing doctors in legal jeopardy (44 percent vs. 33 percent, respectively), women were actually more likely than men to object to the penalties as intrusions into the right of doctors to practice medicine (38 percent vs. 26 percent, respectively). Furthermore, more women than men speaking against the ban acknowledged the intersecting interests of doctors and women, casting doctors either as important advisors of women or as advisors who had women’s interests foremost in their minds (71 percent vs. 56 percent, respectively). Thus, pro-choice women’s rhetoric combined both aspects of masculinism and feminalism as they attempted to influence the discourse surrounding the ban and ultimately the outcome of the vote. Yet even more interesting was the apparent influence pro-choice women’s discourse had on the newly expanded (but still small) ranks of pro-life women. While women remained a smaller proportion of ban supporters than ban opponents (5 percent vs. 23 percent respectively), and while men were still leading the charge for the ban, this 5 percent of female ban supporters took 15 percent of the turns speaking in support of the bill—outparticipating like-minded men just as female ban opponents had outparticipated male ban opponents. This contrasted sharply with the impressions of their relative silence in past congresses— silence that as one pro-choice lobbyist put it had left ‘a lot of women speaking on the prochoice side, both Democrats and Republicans, and . . . virtually all men on the other side.’ The growing visibility of women among reproductive rights opponents challenged CCWI’s image of women united around choice and called into question whether opposition to reproductive rights was actually antiwomen, even as it seemed to increase the comfort level and credibility of the men who continued to lead the effort.14 What was less clear was whether women’s increased visibility also seemed to have a gendered impact, that would (obviously be) at odds with feminist expectations of difference. The potential pro-life women speakers would also bring new gendered (albeit not feminist) perspectives to the debate was heightened by the fact they were even more likely than pro-choice women speakers to ground their credibility in gender (43 percent vs. 33 percent, respectively). Yet their focus remained on the fetus rather than the consequences for women, with few pro-life speakers of either sex making women the primary focus of their floor statements on even one occasion (14 percent of women and 7 percent of men) and the vast majority (100 percent of women and 87 percent of men) focusing primarily on the fetus during at least one floor statement. Yet rather than being a battle among women over images of v

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137 womanhood, or even competing gendered images that valued women’s contributions as mothers over their right to autonomy, something else seemed at work. Perhaps because pro-life women did not readily connect their stand on reproductive rights with any responsibility they might feel to women (or perhaps because being a woman gave them license to attack their female opponents without being seen as ‘anti-women’ or because they listened to what their female opponents were saying),15 female ban supports undercut the arguments of their female pro-choice opponents in a different way than did their male colleagues. Pro-life men tended to sidestep pro-choice women’s charges that the ban threatened the health of women, simply defending it as posing no threat to women’s lives; but women speakers for the ban more often than men explicitly denied that the ban posed a danger to women’s health (85 percent vs. 31 percent, respectively) and justified banning the procedure on the grounds that it was largely elective (71 percent vs. 37 percent, respectively). Though more willing than like-minded men to take on some of the most politically difficult charges lodged by pro-choice women, their engagement on these matters seemed more limited in other ways, for women speaking for the ban were less likely to tie the ban to broader efforts to outlaw abortion entirely (14 percent) than were either their like-minded male colleagues or female opponents of the ban (46 percent and 57 percent, respectively). Thus, the discourse of women on opposing sides took the form of dueling truths, in a way that may have been politically possible only because of the potentially transgendered perceptions of advocates. Moreover, rather than adding new perspectives regarding the gendered stakes, pro-life women’s contributions seemed to undercut the notion of gendered stakes, challenging pro-choice women’s credibility as representatives of women even as they spoke ‘as women’ for a cause that remained under the leadership of men. As such, their actions were consistent with those of corporate tokens studied by Rosabeth Moss Kanter. Men who rejected the notion of gender stakes, but who nevertheless recognized their need for the political cover these women could provide, seemed happy to extend to them showcasing opportunities that might have been enthusiastically claimed by men in the past. Denial of gendered stakes by both men and women supporting the ban, however, did not preclude gender differences in arguments supporting the ban. Pro-life women speakers were more likely than their male colleagues to focus on fetal pain (57 percent vs. 17 percent, respectively), which might reflect women’s concerns as caregivers within the family and society, and the eleven point gender gap in references to instrumentalist perspectives often associated with masculinism was greater among ban supporters (43 percent of women vs. 54 percent of men), than among opponents. Further evidencing gendered styles, pro-life women speaking for the ban more often than men validated their arguments by citing medical professionals’ support for the ban (71 percent vs. 37 percent, respectively). REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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138 Women’s increased involvement in the antireproductive rights efforts brought gender differences more easily characterized as acting as, rather than for, women, providing political cover for male colleagues who shared their view of the irrelevance of gendered stakes, but were more vulnerable than these women to the political heat generated by the gender gap. Despite passing overwhelmingly in the House, 288–139, the ban’s move to the Senate promised an institutional environment more favorable for pro-choice women’s efforts. Lacking both a cadre of conservative women comparable to those in the House and the restrictive rules constraining debate in the House, but having a dedicated contingent of pro-choice Democratic women, the Senate promised ban opponents more opportunity to reframe this as a debate over women’s health. However, the extra-institutional pressures of Republican presidential politics within an institution controlled by conservative Republicans almost changed that. Senator Robert Smith (R-NH), a long-time abortion rights opponent and the ban’s Senate sponsor, moved to put the House-passed version of the bill directly on the Senate calendar, bypassing the committee stage. This would have limited further development and dissemination of the women’s health arguments, perhaps guaranteeing a veto-proof margin (as one staffer predicted, ‘85 to 15’), and dashing the hopes of a Presidential veto. Majority Leader and presidential candidate Bob Dole (R-KS), eager to curry favor with cultural conservatives (without further alienating moderate Republicans who hoped to soften the GOP’s antiabortion plank), initially supported this highly unusual effort to expedite the bill (Abortion Report, September 12, 1995)—an effort ‘generally reserved for national emergencies’ as one prochoice lobbyist put it. The move was thwarted, however, when Democratic women’s disproportionate commitment to fighting the ban converged with the strategic insight of a supportive male colleague, for this Democratic Senate staffer recalled: . . . Kennedy had the brainstorm of asking for a referral to [the Senate Judiciary] committee. . . . Boxer quickly agreed. . . . We bluffed the Republicans into believing that we had the votes to refer it to committee. (The truth is we didn’t. . . . But they had no vote count at all. . . . ) They didn’t want to have a humiliating defeat on a procedural matter that could be interpreted as a sign of [substantive] weakness on this issue. . . . So they decided to all vote with us, [90–7, for referral to the Senate Judiciary Committee].

The referral to the committee was granted for only several weeks and given the committee’s composition, there was little hope that the bill would be improved there. However, the referral bought time to further disseminate the message of a women’s health threat to the public and the hearing gave a platform for raising the new problem’s visibility outside of Congress. Noting, ‘People only had one side of the story . . .’ this Democratic Senate staffer went on to explain, that because of the hearing, ‘. . . TV magazine shows picked up on these real women’s stories and ran very accurate and (for our side very helpful) stories about women who’ve had to have these procedures. That really did change the debate.’ v

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139 Highlighting women nurtured a countervailing force to ban supporters’ graphic imagery that had rendered women invisible, but there was a sense women’s presence was critical for simply maintaining the fight, for as this Democratic Senate staffer echoing others, explained, ‘I think the bill would have whizzed through the Senate if [not for] Barbara Boxer and Patty Murray in particular. Those two were the most courageous in terms of standing down there and saying, ‘‘You men don’t have the right to do this’’. . . . [A] handful of men . . . joined them for short statements. But the women held the floor, and they made people look at the issue of health of the woman. . . .’ As another Congress-watcher observed, Boxer, ‘. . . then got out on the floor with these big blow up pictures of the women behind her, . . . [creating] a counter to the Republicans’ sketches and drawings of perfectly healthy fetuses being aborted at nine months. . . .’ The political heat women generated could not defeat the bill in the Senate, but did force some modifications. Indeed, Bob Dole and Robert Smith who had earlier failed to rush the House version directly to the Senate floor offered an amendment explicitly stating the procedure could be offered in cases of threat to the life (not health) of the woman. That passed overwhelmingly (98–0) along with another Republican sponsored amendment (which passed on a voice vote) allowing only those fathers married to the woman (rather than just any man who had fathered a child) to sue and exempting personnel other than doctors from prosecution. Pro-choice women senators, however, were able (unlike women in the House) to force a recorded vote on a women’s health amendment. Although they lost, the vote not only forced their opponents to go on record against women’s health, but also provided political cover to allies who, as this Senate watcher put it, could say, ‘Well, the bill doesn’t have the health or life exception I wanted, so how could I vote for it?’16 As such, women’s impact was reflected in the substantially smaller margin of victory for the Ban in the Senate (54–44) that left it far short of a vetoproof margin.17 Just as women’s efforts to raise the threats to women’s health reportedly made opposition to it politically feasible, their relatively safe women-centric focus on preserving her future fertility, and avoiding leaving children already born motherless, converged with the Clinton campaign’s gender gap strategy (Abortion Report, April 12, 1996) to increase the chances of a presidential veto.18 Women members arranged for women whose lives and health had been saved by the availability of this procedure to meet with the President—meetings which Congresswoman Zoe Lofgren thought ‘had a powerful impact on him,’ and Congresswoman Pat Schroeder opined, ‘really touched the President.’ Their conclusions were validated by media reports, for example, that ‘Clinton’s decision to ‘‘dramatize’’ his veto of the bill with ‘‘tearful testimony’’ from women who have had the procedure’ represented a calculation ‘by the White House’ that it ‘needed to put a human face on a potentially damaging issue’ (Abortion Report, April 12, 1996). REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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140 Staving off enactment of the Partial Birth Abortion Ban was a ‘victory’ for the women that nevertheless exacted a political toll even from its most tenacious advocates. Although the real possibility of a presidential veto probably made challenging the ban something other than fighting a losing battle, the siege mentality that prevailed among women (and Democratic women in particular) during the 104th, the difficult issues the ban raised for pro-choice members,19 and the decreasing availability of pro-choice Republicans who would lead when they were needed most all chipped away at the once strong relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women on reproductive rights. Not only were some once staunch pro-choice Republican women perceived as being influenced by the GOP leadership,20 but some congress-watchers suggested cooperation and coordination among Democratic women senators ‘. . . started to unravel in the 104th’ (Democratic Senate staffer). That trend continued, as that same staffer went on to explain, ‘. . . it’s unraveling further in the 105th. A couple of days ago . . . no woman Democratic senator would fight the Republicans . . . on the provision that denies reimbursement for abortion expenses in the Federal Employees Health Benefits insurance program. . . . [T]hat was a fight we won in 1993. . . . [But] Now none of the women were even willing to offer an amendment. . . . They all know they would lose.’ Women’s policy preferences had not necessarily changed, but when the political environment reduced chances for success, the cost-benefit ratio became less favorable, particularly as this Senate Democratic staffer explained, with an election looming: ‘If you’re losing . . . fighting for disaster relief for your state, . . . you are a martyr. But losing on Federal Employee Health Benefits abortion coverage when you are in cycle [facing re-election], I mean who needs it?!’ The Partial Birth Abortion Ban case study makes a compelling case both for the importance of increasing women’s presence in public office and for its limitations. Despite the persistence of a gender gap in reproductive rights support that rendered women members more pro-choice than men of their own party, and despite stability in their proportional presence, the pool from which women members are drawn, their committee assignments, the ideological composition of Congress and the executive branch, centrality of control and institutional freedom, and the ability of women to harness the power of the gender gap all give meaning to presence and shed light on the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. These are likely to become even more important forces as the agenda of cultural conservatives continues to increasingly align with partisanship and as increasing numbers of women hostile to the agenda of the contemporary women’s movement throw their hats in the ring. The contingent meaning of women’s presence is not an artifact of the controversial nature of this procedure, as the discussion of battles over the far less controversial family planning programs in the next section shows. v

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141 v

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The shift to the right following the influx of Christian Coalition endorsed members into the 104th not only opened a window of opportunity to define previously unrecognized conditions (such as Partial Birth Abortion) as problems, but also to redefine previously popular, well-established solutions like Title X and international family planning programs as problems. Both domestic and international family planning were targets of the Christian Coalition’s Contract with the American Family and came under serious attack in the House. Yet Title X funding increased by $5.2 million over the course of the 104th, while international family planning funding ended the 104th with a 30 percent funding cut, delays in release of funding, and a complicated metering scheme which wreaked havoc on agency budgets and operations (Clemmitt et al. 1997). This attack occurred in the absence of a decline in women’s proportional presence and even though these programs that touched the lives of so many women received substantially greater support from women than men in each party during floor votes.21 Women’s commitment to both programs was clearly conveyed in interviews with members, staff, and lobbyists. The Caucus may have lost its staff and many may have felt they were trapped in a political firestorm, but ‘Title X was such a priority issue [for women members], that was one place where the lack of staffing did not show itself ’ (Democratic House staff). Republican women—Nancy Kassebaum, Jan Meyers, Olympia Snowe, Connie Morella (along with Democrats Pat Schroeder, Nancy Pelosi, and Nita Lowey)— were ‘go to’ members. As one pro-choice lobbyist explained, ‘[W]henever you need something, you go to these women. In fact, you don’t even have to go to them, they know that this is something they have to watch. . . .’ This would have seemed to help this program in a Republican-controlled Congress where partisan structure (as one Democrat noted, ‘[Republican women] were able to talk to their colleagues in caucus, which is probably where you have the most blunt, honest discussions of issues,’) and ideological bias (as this Republican Senate staffer explained, ‘[Male] Republican members . . . are much more likely to listen to the Republican women. . . . [S]ome . . . Democratic women, are viewed by the Republicans as being those liberal, abortion rights . . . arch-feminists. . . .’) hampered the ability of Democratic women to sway Republican men, for as one pro-choice lobbyist put it, ‘It makes a difference when the Republicans are in charge and in control of the Congress that you have Republican leaders.’ Rather than simply attributing Title X’s greater political success to the more controversial nature of international aid when all other things (in this case women’s support) are equal, a closer look suggests more was at work, and sheds light on the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. At the very least, the results show the need for strategies beyond those focusing on increasing women’s presence. REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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142 Let me be clear, there may have been the sense, as one Republican Senate staffer put it, that ‘[P]eople would look up, take notice, when the Republican women were down there [speaking]; [but] when the Democratic women [were], they’d just be like, ‘‘Oh, same old, same old, making noise.’’ ’ Yet it did not mean that pro-choice advocacy was comfortable for Republican women. Even the staunchest reproductive rights supporters among Republican women remained as anxious to avoid becoming the ‘abortion person’ in the 104th as they had been in the 103rd lest that label impugn their credibility with male colleagues. Intermixed in a political environment which marginalized this issue was a growing undercurrent of concern not heard in the 103rd. For example, stalwart reproductive rights supporter, Congresswoman Nancy Johnson, had been a critical ally in reaching out to her moderate pro-choice Republican colleagues on the far more controversial matter of the Partial Birth Abortion ban,22 but, she was careful to note, ‘I no longer take the lead on that’ when asked about family planning. Positioning within the institutional structure made Jim Greenwood, Appropriations Committee member and pro-choice caucus cochair, a more ideal leader. Yet her deference was more than simply having found a better positioned ally, for as Congresswoman Johnson went on to explain, ‘. . . women’s issues aren’t just about abortion; they are across the board. . . . [Therefore] [w]e have consciously done that issue [family planning/abortion] in the prochoice caucus and not the congresswomen’s caucus.’ Unlike Democratic women in the 103rd who impatiently vied with their male colleagues for control of the reproductive rights agenda which some at least seemed to feel by all rights should belong to them, Republican women who cared about reproductive rights were not anxious to take the lead on reproductive rights if someone else would. We could attribute Title X’s more favorable outcome relative to international family planning to the fact its most visible advocate was a man. Congressman Jim Greenwood, like both Johnson who had happily ceded this issue to him and Jan Meyers took the lead on international family planning, had access to the Republican moderates in the Tuesday Lunch Bunch whose support was more critical than ever for sustaining the once noncontroversial domestic family planning programs. However, his advocacy as a man provided a certain level of shock value unattainable by the ‘usual [female] suspects’ like Johnson and Meyers. Although that could have aided his cause over international family planning, an even stronger contributor to the divergent fates of these two programs may have been that in addition to Greenwood, Title X enjoyed the support of the subcommittee chair with jurisdiction over the program, John Porter (R-IL). Ironically, the influx of record numbers of Christian Coalition-endorsed members into the 104th Congress elevated John Porter, a long time supporter of family planning, to LHHS subcommittee chair, and delayed an attack on Title X until it moved to the full committee. There it came under attack from Appropriations Chair Bob Livingston (Abortion Report, July 13, 1995), tied to the Christian v

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143 Coalition and hand-picked by the leadership (over members with more seniority) to do its bidding on Appropriations (Congressional Quarterly 1996a). Livingston offered an amendment to zero out the $193.3 million in federal family planning services under Title X of the Public Health Service Act, transferring that money to the Maternal and Child Health Block Grant and the Community and Migrant Health Center Block Grant (Clemmitt et al. 1997). Livingston’s willingness to take on a favorite program of the subcommittee chair was a departure from norms of the past that generally gave subcommittee chairs wide latitude and freedom from interference by the full committee chair (a factor that had helped Hoyer pass a Treasury-Postal bill which included abortion coverage [see Chapter 5]). It was, however, consistent with the new era of tighter leadership control aimed at implementing the conservative agenda. With cultural conservatives dominating Appropriations, the committee voted 28–25 over subcommittee Chair Porter’s objections to defund Title X and distribute the funds to other health programs less controversial than Planned Parenthood.23 Nevertheless, Porter’s support was a plus—especially given the stature of its opponents; ceteris paribus, his positional power gave Title X an advantaged over international family planning which had no comparably well positioned counterpart on the House side. While Porter was on the losing side in committee, this support, nevertheless, was an asset. ‘To have the chair of a subcommittee opposing these efforts . . . when we were having these discussions about rules . . . made a big difference,’ as one Republican House staffer explained. It was a difference that may have gotten them a floor vote to restore Title X’s funding (Abortion Report, July 27, 1995) because positional power brought with it resources that could help overcome to some extent the ideological shift to the right. Ultimately, the Greenwood-Lowey-Morella amendment to restore the $193 million funding for Title X passed 224–204, a ‘pro-choice landslide’ by 104th Congress standards. Fifty-seven Republicans voted with 166 Democrats and one independent to preserve Title X (Abortion Report, August 3, 1995), with women being more likely than men of the same party to support funding.24 Women’s impact is evidenced not only in the fact that it carried among women of both parties, but also by the fact that Title X actually would have failed, 213–215 (including the one independent voting for funding) if women had voted as men of their own party did. At the same time, that only a slight majority of Republican women (53 percent) actually voted to save Title X in the 104th—about the same proportion of Republican women who had opposed the far more controversial Hyde Amendment in the 103rd and far lower than the 81 percent of Democratic men who voted for it—suggests the tenuous nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation. International family planning had long enjoyed bipartisan support and, like Title X, was advantaged by having a Republican willing to spearhead the effort on its behalf in the House. Yet even though Jan Meyers’ (R-KS) role as advocate was described by pro-choice lobbyists as ‘critical,’ because, ‘. . . she was a senior REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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144 Republican woman, . . . member of the International Relations Committee,’ she lacked positional power available to Title X’s advocates, for her efforts had neither the backing of the Appropriations subcommittee chair (Sonny Callahan [R-AL], chair of its Foreign Operations subcommittee), the authorizing committee chair (International Relations chair Ben Gilman [R-NY]), nor the House Appropriations Committee Chair (who had launched the attack on Title X). Some of these obstacles reflected the increased presence of conservative Republicans tied to the cultural right;25 others were due to the tightening of leadership control over the House. Take, for example, Ben Gilman, chair of the House International Relations Committee and family planning supporter, who was seriously weakened by his struggle to secure the chairmanship (by most but not all reports). As such, while Porter was active (albeit not as visible as Greenwood), Gilman was, as this pro-choice activist described, one who ‘did not really take much of a role in . . . supporting . . . family planning,’ and was ‘very hamstrung.’ As such, the burden of saving international family planning fell to members with fewer positional resources like Jan Meyers (or even Connie Morella who stepped in when Meyers was unavailable to offer an amendment). Notwithstanding Meyers’ dedication and her status as a senior Republican on the committee, in this sharply more conservative House her fight failed; however, the fact that it ultimately failed less badly because it found a powerful ally in Senate Appropriations Chair Mark Hatfield, makes a compelling case for the importance of positional power. More than in the past, the 104th was the time, as this prochoice lobbyist explained, that ‘. . . [Y]ou needed the power of [Senate Appropriations Chair] Hatfield.’ Granted, Hatfield was not carrying this burden alone, for Republicans Olympia Snowe and Nancy Kassebaum in particular were credited by those interviewed for their behind the scenes effort to sustain support within the Senate during what became a two year long battle,26 as was the Administration’s standing firm on this (as they did not do with Medicaid funding in the 103rd [Chapter 5 , this volume]), thus making made a veto threat a possible deterrent.27 Yet with a process ‘controlled by a very small group of House and Senate leadership folks’, neither these women senators nor Meyers had the same access to the decision-making opportunities Hatfield had as chair. The realities of institutional life that meant, as this Republican Senate staffer explained: Often times he [Hatfield] would be the only one in the room who was trying to gain support for family planning. . . . [E]veryone else in the room was very negative and very anti-family planning. So if he hadn’t have been in the room, . . . we wouldn’t have ever had the kind of debate that we had. . . . [W]e were far more successful than we would have been if he had not been chairman.

Thus, in a conservative dominated Congress where women’s numbers remained low, it was not just the number of women or whether they were united; it was also a question of who had power and whether intentionally or unintentionally v

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145 potential allies who could help women accomplish more either escaped being filtered out (as Porter had) or were not subject to such a filter (as with Hatfield). Yet in addition to these institutional factors which worked more consistently to the advantage of Title X, extra-institutional factors such as the gender gap advantaged Title X by adding to women’s clout and reinforcing the incentive for men to listen to their female colleagues. Harnessing the gender gap threat was easier for Title X’s advocates than for supporters of international family planning, for Title X was not only more likely than international family planning to touch the lives of women in every member’s geographic constituency, but it was far easier to explain than the seemingly never ending battles over international funding, the Mexico City Policy, and metering. Indeed, four times in the first session the same House that voted against defunding Title X voted to reinstate the Mexico City Policy.28 While the Senate voted to reject those restrictions each time (Clemmitt et al. 1997) and ultimately won concessions to remove the Mexico City Policy from the final bill, the price of ‘victory’ was retaining metering, which one Republican Senate staffer described as ‘a very clever way that his [Chris Smith’s] staff came up with . . . to destroy the program.’ He went on to explain: What this metering does is it takes out all the flexibility that AID has and really ties their hands in how they can allocate their funding. . . . [But] you can’t go to the public and make the case that metering is a bad thing. . . . It’s [consequences are] not something that you can explain to the public in a way that’s understandable.

The 104th’s battles over international family planning funding dragged into the 105th Congress due to an agreement (in exchange for compromises on funding levels and other restrictions) that none of the monies could be spent before July 1997 unless both the House and the Senate voted by the end of February 1997 to release the monies. In February 1997 forty-four Republicans voted against the majority of their conference to approve the presidential finding that international family planning programs were being harmed by the restrictions—thereby satisfying the preconditions stipulated in the original bill for releasing the monies earlier than July 1. Interviews suggested the slight reversal of fortune was the product of concerns about the gender gap due to the 1996 election’s ‘gender canyon’ and women’s groups (hoping to intensify any gender gap concerns that were already there) doing more than ever to frame this as a vote on women rather than choice, reproductive rights, or even family planning. Although as this pro-choice lobbyist explained, ‘This particular vote had a direct impact on women in developing countries,’ it became more because, as she continued, ‘symbolically we argued that this was a vote on how you stood on women’s issues in general and on family planning in general. . . .’ This effort to make this ‘the first women’s vote in the 105th Congress’ was no accident as that pro-choice lobbyist went on to explain: REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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146 . . . [W]e played that up . . . in a big way. A lot of women’s organizations who, while supportive of the international family planning program, have never made it central to their agenda . . . , bought into working hard on this campaign in a way that they never had done before. . . . They saw it also as the first vote on women’s issues, and they had a big stake in it going right.

Efforts to reframe this more explicitly as a women’s issue converged with increased Republican apprehensions of being seen as antiwomen and White House pressure to affect the leadership’s handling of this matter. Another pro-choice lobbyist, who noted Livingston had ‘made a deal with the White House that he was going to let this be fair,’ recalled that on that first ‘women’s vote’ of the 105th: . . . Bob Livingston as chairman of the Appropriations Committee had to manage the Republican time. He stood up, introduced it, said this is what it is, we’re dividing the time. We’ve got pro and con Republicans here and we’ve got pro and con Democrats. We’re dividing the time four ways and here we go. And he walked off the floor and let the people go at it for a while. It was a very calm debate, fairly rational, went on for a couple of hours. He came back and said all right, we are going to vote, this is it. . . . Let the people . . . vote the way they wanted. He left the floor. . . . That is very different than saying, ‘I urge all of my Republican colleagues to join me,’ and to go up and put his card in the slot. He waited until the end, he played it as fair as he could.

Thus, the analysis of the struggles over family planning funding in the 104th Congress provides support for both those who believe that women will make a difference and skeptics. Difference is more likely to be reflected in policy when the leadership does not practice a deliberate strategy of filtering out those most likely to make a difference. Criticism of seniority systems for their bias against newcomers like women is justified, but the replacement of this system with a hybrid that allows the leaders to reward and punish loyalty can create (and did in this case) even greater obstacles for these women and their agenda. The analysis also suggests that elected women cannot go it alone; women on the inside must have the support of women on the outside to maximize the potential of challenging masculinist assumptions. The gender gap is critical, for it can not only provide a political tool for building support among male colleagues looking to the next election, but it also has the potential to lessen leadership pressure to toe the party line on matters that ostensibly are not partisan issues. Yet the advantages of gender gap pressure may be lost unless women inside and outside can make these stakes clear—as with the Partial Birth Abortion Ban—but that is often beyond the control of elected women. v

CON CLUS ION

Evidence of gender difference in attitudes on reproductive rights policy tells only part of the story as these comparisons across the 103rd and 104th Congresses suggest. v

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147 The increased presence of women in the 103rd Congress worked in much the way we would expect, with women raising new issues and providing an infusion of energy that kept their priorities on the agenda. The increased presence of women of color spotlighted the needs of previously marginalized segments of women, igniting debates and renegotiation of priorities as Democratic women in particular worked to avoid the appearance of splintering along racial lines—even at the expense of distancing themselves from Republican women. Yet the 104th was a different world for women, transforming what some had (overoptimistically) touted as a critical mass into a token group—without a decline in numbers. A new cadre of conservative women brought a different source of diversity onto the radar screen, but one that did little to expand substantive representation of women in these debates. With concerns about women seemingly irrelevant to their views about reproductive rights, theirs was a contribution to diversity that narrowed gender differences and provided little insight into the gendered stakes of reproductive rights policy for conservative women. While work on gender difference in impact assiduously avoids partisan judgments, lauding the notion of difference at whatever level it appears within parties, the case studies make a compelling argument that the partisan/ideological change in the institutional environment transformed the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. Whatever tensions might have existed regarding the relative priority of concerns and their relevance to marginalized subgroups of women in the 103rd seemed to vanish from the radar screen in the 104th as pro-choice women—regardless of party—responded to an agenda set by others—fighting battles over issues ranging from Medicaid funding and family planning funding to the Partial Birth Abortion Ban—rather than setting their own. At the heart of the problem was that women—Democrats and Republicans, pro-choice and otherwise—lost whatever control they had over the reproductive rights agenda. Granted, no matter who was in control, the influx of conservatives would have been an obstacle, but so too were other factors like the ever strengthening alliance between cultural and economic conservatives which was gradually moving the politics of presence into the politics of ideas and pro-choice Republican women’s less aggressive advocacy than Democratic women. Republican women were showcased, became chairs, but lacked the positional power needed to influence the leadership’s reproductive rights agenda. Their lack of power was compounded by a (predominately male) leadership willing to use its power to cement control over committee chairs and others in the House. Moreover, the GOP’s greater willingness to deviate from the seniority system, which might have been considered a pro-woman reform at some times, made it even more difficult to find moderate Republican allies within the ranks of powerholders. REDEF INING THE MEANING OF CRI TI CAL MA SS

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148 While most women members would say on the record that they felt no pressure, behind the scenes interviews suggested the difficulties Republican women faced not only in advancing a peripheral issue, but in crossing the leadership on critical votes. As Katzenstein’s analysis of feminist protest would suggest, in an environment in which advancement in the institution was unlikely for these women or success in their general policy agenda was a pipedream, outright challenge of the leadership would have been more plausible. But reproductive rights was only one of many concerns for them. The possibility as majority party members of advancing other elements of their policy agenda, the potential of advancing the political opportunities of Republican women (as well as themselves), and a sense of gender consciousness that encouraged them to look beyond this issue to try to find common ground among themselves certainly made this a much trickier issue. The handful of pro-choice Republican women differed from the pro-choice Democratic women who held sway in the 103rd; they were not only more than willing to find male colleagues to carry the burden, but some were seen as distancing themselves from pro-choice groups and the prochoice agenda as they balanced the cross-pressure. Thus, the change in political control that showcased women members as never before shut out the majority of women and diminished the ability of the showcased women to act unfettered for women in the reproductive rights policymaking process. External forces could offset some of the masculinist pressures, but the fact women of the two parties inhabited different political subenvironments meant some external pressures were more useful than others. Pro-choice advocacy groups could be a valuable resource to women of both parties, but they came with more political baggage for pro-choice Republicans than pro-choice Democrats. The support of a pro-choice President willing to veto a bill could be reassuring, but with the President being a Democrat, it once again came with more political baggage for Republicans. The safest external pressures seemed to resonate from the gender gap, for women’s votes were a desirable commodity regardless of party. Sustaining the gender gap and enhancing awareness of it is important for encouraging women of both parties who want to act for women. Even in the more optimal political environment of the 103rd Congress, the gender gap seemed to give political teeth to difference; in the less hospitable 104th, it could encourage support among male colleagues, increase the willingness of moderates to cross their party’s leadership, and contribute to a political environment where a presidential veto was a possibility. The gender gap in voter support allowed women of both parties to base appeals aimed at advancing substantive representation of women less on the moral imperative for gender equality than on the institutionally legitimate goals that they shared with men of increasing the potential for a victory in the next election cycle. At least as far as reproductive rights is concerned, the 103rd and the 104th Congresses demonstrate what was once a critical mass can disintegrate into v

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149 something far less without a decline in numbers. Those who hope that women’s increased presence will contribute to increased substantive representation of women would be well advised to combine efforts to increase women’s presence with other strategies geared to recruiting women who feel a responsibility to women: to sustain those ties with them once they are in office, to not only position them well in the committee structure but to ensure the reigns of leadership are controlled by supporters rather than opponents of their goals, to design institutional processes that will not select out women who will make a difference, and to increase external pressures by sustaining the gender gap threat. The importance of these factors and the message that women cannot succeed alone is brought to life in the case studies of women’s health in Chapters 7 and 8. v

NO T E S

1 The provisions of the Women’s Choice and Reproductive Health Protection Act of 1995, a component of the Women’s Health Equity Act championed by the CCWI, focused on: abortion funding for rape and incest victims; clinic violence; contraceptive and infertility research programs; family planning programs; prohibition of the ‘gag rule’; evaluation of RU486; nationwide screening programs for breast cancer, cervical cancer, and chlamydia; protection of Roe; fairness in insurance coverage for reproductive health services; and abortion access for military personnel overseas (Abortion Report, June 29, 1995). 2 Ninety-three percent of Democratic women, 72 percent of Democratic men, 41 percent of Republican women, and 16 percent of Republican men supported Hoyer’s amendment. 3 The revised ban won the support of 83 percent of Republican men, 33 percent of Republican women, 27 percent of Democratic men, but none of the Democratic women senators. 4 Mikulski’s amendment was supported in the Senate by 100 percent of Democratic women, 80 percent of Democratic men, 67 percent of the Republican women, but only 15 percent of Republican men. Her amendment would have passed if men had voted for it at the same level women of their party did. 5 In November 1995, HR1833 carried in the House among Republicans regardless of sex, but garnered less support among women than men of the same party, with 10 percent of Democratic women, 42 percent of Democratic men, 71 percent of Republican women, and 95 percent of Republican men voting for the ban. In the Senate’s December 1995 vote, the Partial Birth Abortion Ban carried only among Republican men. Proportionately it drew consistently less support from women than men of the same party, with none of the Democratic women, 23 percent of Democratic men, 33 percent of Republican women, and 88 percent of Republican men supporting it. 6 The bill passed out of subcommittee on a 7–5 vote and out of full committee on a 20– 12 party line vote (See Congressional Quarterly 1995: 7–30). 7 Men’s amendments weakening the bill centered doctors to a greater extent than their women patients: striking the provision which would have allowed the patient to sue the doctor for damages (passed 31–1, offered by Representative Martin Hoke [R-OH]);

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150 prohibiting any party from suing (failed on a party line vote of 12–14, offered by Representative Barney Frank [D-MA]); banning suits by third parties (e.g. father of the fetus or parents of the woman) if the pregnancy has resulted from the plaintiff ’s criminal conduct or the plaintiff consented to the abortion (passed by voice vote, offered by Representative Melvin Watt [D-NC]); requiring the prosecution prove the mother’s life was not at risk and that other procedures would have worked (failed 10–16 on a near party line vote, offered by Representative Melvin Watt [D-NC]). 8 Women’s amendments included two which failed on party line votes. One would have exempted doctors from prosecution if the abortion was done to preserve the ‘life and health of the woman, including threats posed by severe fetal abnormalities’ (Congressional Quarterly 1996b), and the other would bar indictment if the procedure was done to save the life of the woman. 9 As one Democratic House staffer explained: ‘Zoe Lofgren had a particular interest and a particular connection to this issue because her friend Vikki Wilson had to go through this terrible and tragic procedure with a very wanted pregnancy in her 8th month. If she did not have this procedure available, her future fertility would have definitely been jeopardized and possibly her life.’ The value of experience was clear as well, for this pro-choice lobbyist echoed the sentiments of others, opining, ‘I think in terms of women members, it was absolutely crucial that in the subcommittee and then in the full committee . . . Pat Schroeder [the only woman on the Constitution Subcommittee] was there. . . . She immediately understood the danger of this piece of legislation, and . . . how we had to play the issue.’ 10 In October 1996 by a 2:1 margin, the public sided with abortion rights opponents when asked if ‘partial birth abortion’ should be banned; however, by more than a 2:1 margin these same voters sided with pro-choice groups when asked if ‘late-term abortions should be banned even in cases where the woman’s health is endangered’ (Dodson 1998b). 11 One lobbyist was quick to note, ‘When you have the chairman of the Appropriations Committee, Bob Livingston, being quoted on the front page of the Washington Post that the Christian Coalition put us here and it’s pay back time, and we’re going to vote with them, that tells you something about what is going to happen.’ 12 Typical of such statements by women members about these women was this: ‘Mrs. Costello and her husband hold strong pro-life views, but were suddenly faced with the terrible and painful truth of the problems with her pregnancy. . . . Coreen Costello then considered a caesarean section, but the doctors at her hospital were adamant that the risk to her health and life were simply too great. She and her husband chose not to risk leaving their other children motherless by opting for a D & E procedure. Because of the safety of the procedure, Coreen is now pregnant again’ (Nancy Johnson, Congressional Record, March 27, 1996). This was no accident, for as one Democratic House staffer explained, ‘What we did was to let the women’s stories tell themselves. . . . There is no better reason for opposing this ban than their stories.’ 13 As Congresswoman Cardiss Collins asserted: ‘The only women who seek such rare, third-trimester abortions are overwhelmingly in tragic, heart-rendering situations in which they must make one of the most difficult decisions of their lives. . . . [They] . . . discover very late in their pregnancy—in some cases even after they already know the sex of the child, have picked out a name and gotten the baby’s crib—that their child has horrific fetal v

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151 anomalies that are incompatible with life and will cause the baby terrible pain and tragedy before the end of its short life’ (Cardiss Collins, Congressional Record, September 19, 1996). 14 As one pro-life Republican House staffer put it, ‘. . . [M]orale-wise, it’s nice for [prolife] men who are handling this issue to have a woman by their side. I don’t think it should be that way, but it just is.’ As another, this one a pro-choice activist, explained, the presence of women in the pro-life ranks had lent credibility to their opponents’ cause: ‘[I]t is significant that every time this issue comes up, now you see Dear Colleagues coming from these conservative women, and they are speaking on the floor. That certainly gives some credibility to their side that they never had . . . fifteen years ago, when there were no women on their side speaking.’ 15 The irrelevance of reproductive rights to any responsibility to represent women came through in post-104th interviews with pro-life women such as these: Sue Myrick who responded when probed, ‘That doesn’t apply’; Ileana Ros-Lehtenin who asserted, ‘. . . I don’t know that it’s ever portrayed that way, but I see the prolife position as being the pro-child position’; Barbara Vucanovich who replied, ‘I see them as totally separate. I really do. I just don’t think they are tied together.’ Helen Chenoweth was unique in her willingness to acknowledge at least some connection between the two concerns, responding: ‘. . . in the debate over abortion . . . we have to concentrate on saving the baby because indeed it . . . is innocent of anything. But, nevertheless, I do think that as women and as women leaders, . . . we need to stretch our thinking to being very concerned about the mother and what her future is.’ 16 Boxer’s health of the woman amendment was supported by 100 percent of Democratic women, 83 percent of the Democratic men, 67 percent of Republican women, but only 14 percent of Republican men. 17 Women of both parties were more likely than their male colleagues to oppose the ban (among Democrats, 100 percent of the women compared with 78 percent of the men; among Republicans, 67 percent of the women compared with only 12 percent of the men). If men had voted the same way women of their own party did, the ban would have failed in the Senate (18–80) just as it would have failed in the House. 18 There was no empirical evidence at that time that this issue was hurting the President, for polling in late September 1995 showed more thought Clinton had better ideas on abortion (43 percent) than thought the GOP did (29 percent) (Abortion Report, October 6, 1995). 19 As one Democratic Senate staffer explained, when asked about a specific pro-choice member, ‘I think [she] has been turned off by this whole late term abortion thing, this whole partial birth thing, it just drove [her] nuts, very conflicted. You go to your mother’s church and an old church lady gets off a bus and spits on the ground in front of you. That happened to [her]. She was very upset and agitated at the pro-choice groups and felt that they didn’t do their jobs.’ 20 On the House side, for example, this was the source of considerable frustration. When asked about ostensibly pro-choice Susan Molinari voting with her party on the Partial Birth Abortion Ban, this pro-choice lobbyist opined that, ‘. . . getting into the leadership really did influence her decisions . . . [because] the rhetoric I heard from her was the same rhetoric I heard from the other side. . . . The leadership was clearly united

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152 on this, . . . and she stayed with them.’ Another pro-choice lobbyist was frustrated by Molinari’s less than stable stand on international family planning, observing, ‘Susan Molinari . . . was so busy trying to build herself up into the Republican leadership that . . . she ran as a prochoice Republican and yet voted with Chris Smith a couple of times. . . . She would . . . split her vote. She would go down and vote with the good women and then an hour later vote with Chris Smith.’ 21 The Title X domestic family planning program won with greater support among women than men within each party in the House (with 100 percent of Democratic women in the House, 81 percent of Democratic men, 53 percent of Republican women, and 23 percent of Republican men supporting it). The same patterns emerged on international family planning votes, but while a majority of Republican women supported the positions of reproductive rights advocates in the Senate (which had not had the influx of new conservative, antifeminist women the House had), Republican women in the House were more evenly divided between reproductive rights advocates and opponents. 22 Nancy Johnson’s opposition to the Partial Birth Abortion Ban went beyond appearing before the Rules Committee and voting against it, for as this pro-choice activist recalled, ‘Nancy Johnson was actually in the 104th Congress extremely helpful on this. . . . She had brought some of the women in, did briefings with them, made sure they would meet with other pro-choice Republicans. . . . And she was really out front on the issue when it got to the floor.’ 23 These longtime beneficiaries of federal family planning dollars were seen by some as supporting abortion because they allegedly condoned premarital sex and had failed to decrease births to unmarried women (Christian Coalition 1995). 24 Livingston’s substitute to that amendment which would have transferred Title X money to block grants failed on a 207–221 vote, with support from none of the Democratic women, 18 percent of Democratic men, 47 percent of Republican women, and 79 percent of the Republican men. Title X funding won support from all Democratic women in the House, 81 percent of Democratic men, 53 percent of Republican women, and 23 percent of Republican men. 25 The importance of ties to the right comes through in the observation of this prochoice activist, who, after noting Callahan represented an area around Mobile, Alabama, went on to explain: ‘He personally was not ideologically driven by these debates, but he does understand Human Life International and the Family Research Council and the Right to Life Committee, and the Christian Coalition have a lot of members in his district. If the House Republican leadership was going to pay attention to Chris Smith, then he needed to pay attention to Chris Smith.’ 26 As this pro-choice activist explained, ‘Now, I would add, . . . Senator Hatfield wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for having the continual backing of the full Senate, and that was largely a result of the work that was done by Olympia Snowe and Nancy Kassebaum, not alone, but they were key players.’ 27 Hatfield was not standing alone on that, as this congresswatcher explained, ‘Mark Hatfield was key. . . . But so was the administration. If the administration hadn’t stood forthrightly and insisted that they would veto any bill that would have this [Mexico City] policy language on it, including a continuing resolution which would have shut the

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153 whole government down last September . . . right before the election, . . . it wouldn’t have happened.’ 28 The Mexico City Policy, instituted by the Reagan administration and lifted on the second day of the Clinton administration by presidential memorandum, banned US funding of NGOs that used their own funds for abortions or related services (Clemmitt et al. 1997).

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Women’s Health: Staying the Course with a Critical Mass

Women’s health policy, like reproductive rights, united women across party lines in the 103rd and yielded numerous victories. Yet in contrast with reproductive rights, the women’s health successes in the 103rd were a continuation of a trend established in earlier Congresses when fewer women served and that, relatively speaking, would not come under attack in the 104th when almost every other policy area of importance to women did. As such, juxtaposition of women’s health policy both across Congresses and with reproductive rights allows us to go once again beyond the simple question of ‘Do women make a difference?’ to explore both how the confluence of individual, institutional, and cultural factors gives meaning to gender and shapes the sometimes divergent relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women over time and across policy areas, and what those who believe government has failed to serve men and women equally well can do to advance equity. However, since the foundation for women’s health in the 103rd was (to a greater extent than other policy areas) set in earlier Congresses, I begin the analysis with a look back into earlier years when women were initially defining and framing women’s health as a political issue and succeeding despite small numbers. I then will proceed to discussion of the 103rd and (in Chapter 8) the 104th. Unless otherwise noted, quotes used in the chapter are taken from post-103rd (wave 2) interviews conducted by CAWP with staff, lobbyists, and women members. (See Methodological Appendix.) v

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Only a few years earlier women’s health had been a ‘special interest,’ unlikely to find its way onto the decision agenda of a Congress led by men and still not fully embraced by all women members as a legitimate political issue.1 One women’s health activist noting, ‘Now they are all pandering on the issue of breast cancer,’ was quick to recall the challenge women like Congresswoman Mary Rose Oakar— ‘a lone voice’—had faced. Not only was it the case, as she explained, ‘Nobody paid any attention to her,’ but when they did, victory on, for example Medicare coverage of mammograms, would be fleeting, for, ‘She’d get it in the bill and it would go into conference and they’d take it out because it was too expensive.’

155 Women’s health issues became more difficult to ignore when women members’ increasing interest in women’s health converged with the Caucus’ need for a new bipartisan cause. Given the absence of what one women’s health activist described as a preexisting ‘broader, visionary’ women’s health agenda that had been shaped by interest groups and went beyond reproductive health issues or mammography, women’s health was, in theory, a blank slate. Women in Congress might have crafted a complex and controversial agenda consistent with feminist ideals, including not only research and services to fight breast cancer and other diseases that disproportionately afflict women, but also research on sex and race differences in the symptoms of and progression of diseases, efforts to rectify the gendered biases of a capitalist health care system (e.g. access to private health insurance, lower wages, lesser wealth), redefinition of benefits (e.g. maternity benefits, contraception, and mental health coverage) to meet women’s and men’s needs equally well, and changes in medical protocols that ignore root causes of injuries and disabilities such as domestic violence, caregiver stress, and poverty (e.g. Dan 1994). Although the agenda that did emerge initially challenged masculinist values by its very existence, it was framed more narrowly, planted firmly in what Anne Phillips would describe as the ‘politics of presence’ rather than the ‘politics of [partisan] ideas’. Yet their agenda and ultimately the changes they might aspire collectively to make were products of a much broader array of institutional and extra-institutional constraints that included, but went beyond, the Caucus’ need to use women’s health as a force for bipartisan unity, including: the public’s limited understanding of women’s health; the range of experiences women members brought to the table; the nature of external pressures that filtered into the institution; women members’ accountability to constituencies comprised of both women and men; unwritten institutional standards of credibility and legitimacy shaped largely by the values and life experiences of men; and the limitations a token group of members with little positional power faced, particularly (as one women’s health activist put it) ‘. . . in an era when there was no chance of broad [health care] reform that would increase access for all women.’ The CCWI cochairs added to their positional power by enlisting the support of Health and Environment Subcommittee chair Henry Waxman to request a GAO audit of the National Institutes of Health (NIH). That alliance ensured a timely response to the women members’ concerns, provided an official institutional platform for airing the audit’s findings that NIH was not complying with its own standards for inclusion,2 and increased the probability the problems uncovered would make their way onto the congressional (and not just the Caucus) decision agenda. Their strategy which centered around gender equity in federally funded clinical trials narrowed the conceptualization of women’s health even as it opened a window of opportunity for the feminale to challenge the masculinist values long dominant within the institution. STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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156 Although as one staffer, noted, ‘. . . most people aren’t looking to be a participant in a clinical trial,’ women’s exclusion from government-funded medical research had symbolic relevance that reached far beyond that population of would-be clinical trial participants, for as she added: This was confirmation, affirmation, of what almost every woman at some time has encountered when she had gone to her doctor and has been given no information, little information, patted on the head, and [the doctor] said, ‘Let me worry about that; don’t worry your pretty head about this, dear.’

The political impact of making this injustice visible was intensified by its media appeal, for as one women’s health lobbyist explained, ‘. . . [I]t was a real easy thing to get press over. . . . When they start talking about women’s health in the Letters to the Editor of People magazine, I figure it has penetrated the American consciousness. . . . And it did!’ Public outrage made this a political problem of concern not only to the Women’s Caucus, but also to every member who was accountable to women and hoped to win re-election. Yet it was the institutionalization of these long marginalized concerns that made what might have been a fleeting concern a force that could sustain the external pressure beyond the next news cycle. None was more influential in this than the Breast Cancer Coalition whose work made breast cancer research synonymous with women’s health. The Coalition’s political success combined a media strategy that resonated with average women (Kedrowski and Sarow 2002), with mobilization efforts that recognized both district-centric institutional norms and that the majority of members (who were men) were unlikely to act as surrogate representatives of women. Whether it was bringing busloads of breast cancer survivors and their families to Washington to lobby their own members, organizing citizens to inundate their own members of Congress with faxes and telephone calls, or more emotional efforts to drive home the message, such as a display on the Hill of photographs of breast cancer victims, they tied the problem clearly and emotionally to the needs of members’ own districts.3 Congress-watchers interviewed spoke of how the Breast Cancer Coalition’s efforts made the fight against breast cancer politically relevant to the members’ own political fates. As such, with no questions about the legitimacy of surrogate representation to muddy the waters, forces in the external political environment (i.e. constituency pressures) went a long way toward countering institutional pressures of masculinism; as one Republican staffer observed, ‘The [members of the] grumpy-old-men caucus even realized, ‘‘I don’t want to be the guy who goes home and gets told Congressman So-and-So voted down all sorts of breast-cancer screening.’’ ’ Indeed, while the 102nd failed to amass the supermajority needed to transfer money out of Defense for domestic programs including, but not limited to, women’s health research, a mixture of substantive support and gender gap fears drove the Senate’s 89–4 passage of the initial appropriation of Defense v

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157 Department funding for breast cancer research only weeks before the 1992 election (CCWI, undated memo). As one women’s health activist explained, It passed by that much of a margin because . . . a number of senators who voted ‘no’—Republican senators—[were warned by] their colleagues, [when they] saw that it was going to pass, . . . ‘You don’t want to be seen voting against breast cancer [research], do you?’ So a number of senators rushed back into the room and changed their ‘no’ vote to ‘yes’.

Public outrage over the shortchanging of women in federally funded research may have opened a window of opportunity for action, but women members’ willingness to tolerate diverse definitions of women’s health within their own ranks not only allowed a relatively broad solution—the Women’s Health Equity Act (WHEA)—to attach itself to the relatively narrow problem they highlighted, but it also maximized the amount of time the window of opportunity for action remained opened. Let me explain. WHEA had something for everyone. Acknowledging, ‘It never started from a place of let’s sit down and think of everything women need,’ one women’s health activist went on to explain: The members came to the table with some things they wanted in—breast cancer, osteoporosis, DES. Then the advocacy groups came in with some things that they wanted, and there was just give and take. . . . So we saw this as never more than an increment, but an important increment. We also believed that victory builds on victory.

Consequently, while women’s exclusion from clinical trials may have been WHEA’s raison d’eˆtre, the Women’s Health Equity Act of 1990 included eighteen research, service, and prevention bills sponsored by eleven women House members, and it went far beyond this problem to provide a plethora of solutions ranging from authorization of offices to promote gender equity in health research and clinical trials, to research/services related to breast cancer, contraception, AIDS, osteoporosis, adolescent pregnancy and health, infant mortality, obstetrical coverage for federal employees, and cervical cancer (CCWI, July 1990). It expanded to twenty-two bills in 1991, combining carry over provisions with new ones addressing ovarian cancer, mental health coverage, Medicaid coverage for mammograms, and alcohol abuse among women, all while granting members considerable freedom to define women’s health on their own terms (terms which could sometimes clash with those of feminist health advocates and each other).4 With each member responsible for moving her own WHEA components and with women continuing to be relatively free to introduce whatever solution they saw fit,5 women could avoid confronting their diversities while uniting under the women’s health banner. This heightened their political clout, for as this women’s health lobbyist explained, it ‘allowed everyone to take their pet projects that related to women’s STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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158 health, . . . put them together, . . . and then broaden the support. . . . You then said, ‘‘Well, we have all these women and all these groups supporting this big bill.’’ ’ This tolerance of diversity among women members, along with the absence of organizational opposition that had dogged reproductive rights advocates and the mobilization of women constituents, denied would-be opponents (cf. Gelb and Palley 1996) legitimacy and credibility, thereby making women’s health (as narrowly defined) difficult for politicians to oppose. However, women’s health advocates faced invisible opponents—institutional structure, institutional norms, and the persistence of masculinist values—which compounded the disadvantages of their token presence and threatened the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. The ‘Grumpy Old Men’s Club’ might have feared being perceived as opposing the fight against breast cancer, but a lack of positional power seriously disadvantaged women then as it would in the 103rd. As one House staffer explained, ‘. . . [Y]ou don’t have the women who are subcommittee chairs or full committee chairs . . . (In that position . . . you move what you want to see moved, and your subcommittee staff works on those bills . . . ).’ Positional disadvantage which meant they did not control the agenda combined with institutional reluctance to authorize new programs to make appropriations bills preferred vehicles, creating a second invisible opponent—institutional norms against earmarking. Earmarking for NIH research was opposed as violating scientific freedom, but also as this Democratic House staffer explained, for favoring politically popular programs at the expense of less favored ones: . . . you earmark all of this in the base, you don’t increase the appropriation too much, and you end up cutting. For instance, urology research dropped by 30 per cent as a result of this [emphasis on breast cancer]. Some rebalancing is appropriate. But he [the chair] felt that we shouldn’t let this sort of political agenda dominate the science.

Yet women members overcame to some extent both a lack of power and antiearmarking norms (and the masculinist values protected by them) when pressures from women inside (conventional as well as invading a conference committee as one staffer recalled) and outside (as activists and voters) converged. Indeed, while the Appropriations Committees’ report language in the first session of the 101st (1989) reiterated support for basic research as the most productive avenue for finding cures for numerous cancers, including breast cancer,6 by the 102nd Congress breast cancer had graduated to ‘highest priority’ and created momentum that seemed to carry other women’s health concerns as well. Indeed, not only did the actual expenditures for breast cancer research outpace increases in NCI funding overall during each session of the 102nd (56.4 percent vs. 13.7 percent in the first session and 45.9 percent vs. 1.6 percent in the second session), but so too did increases in research on cervical cancer (32.7 percent and 37.5 percent increases, in the first and second sessions, respectively), v

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159 ovarian cancer (52.2 percent and 57 percent, in the first and second sessions, respectively), and even prostate cancer (127.5 percent and 62.7 percent in the first and second sessions, respectively). In addition, by the second session of the 102nd, funding increases for research on osteoporosis and lupus were outpacing increases for National Institute of Arthritis and Musculoskeletal and Skin Diseases (NIAMS) at 8.4 percent, 37.2 percent, and 4.6 percent, respectively (NIAMS 1999). Clearly, breast cancer seemed to have coattails not only for the male political equivalent of breast cancer—prostate cancer (Kedrowski and Sarow 2002)—but also for research and services associated with other areas of women’s health. Take for example screening for breast and cervical cancer. Even without a cure, in 1989 estimates were the mortality rate from breast cancer could be cut by one-third7 and the mortality rate for cervical cancer would be virtually zero if the screening technology currently available were simply fully utilized. Yet women were neither arriving by the busloads to lobby for increased funding for breast cancer screening (as they were for breast cancer research) nor were they mobilizing in any comparable way on behalf of cervical cancer research or services. Nevertheless, the Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention Act included in the WHEA of 1990 passed in the 101st, and enjoyed a $72.3 million appropriation by the end of the 102nd Congress (FY 1993). One Democratic House staffer who recalled longingly, ‘We had no opposition. . . . I wish all legislation were so relatively non-controversial to get through’ was also quick to note ‘breast cancer was really the moving force there.’ Yet if WHEA’s Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention Act imbued cervical cancer with some of breast cancer’s political currency, the question was not only whether that momentum could be sustained, but also whether the record increases in women’s presence would change that context and affect the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women vis-a`-vis women’s health. Thus, it is to the 103rd I now turn. v

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The commitment, energy, and unity that had inspired women’s earlier bipartisan collaboration on women’s health persisted into the 103rd, continuing to make it difficult to distinguish between the rhetoric of Republican and Democratic women: ‘. . . [I]t’s common ground. . . . It’s just a natural for all women to come together’ (Congresswoman Marilyn Lloyd [D-TN]); ‘Women’s health is an issue that affects all women. . . . You can’t have partisan politics on something like that’ (Congresswoman Helen Bentley [R-MD]); ‘. . . [W]omen came together on a bipartisan basis . . . because we are united in believing that not enough money has been put into healthcare research for women’s diseases’ (Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison [R-TX]); ‘. . . [H]opefully we can help our daughters and grandchildren have better research done for them than we’ve done for us’ (Congresswoman Tillie Fowler [R-FL]); ‘I was stunned when I came here to find out that the whole STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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160 issue of research on women’s health concerns was almost nonexistent. . . .’ (Congresswoman Rosa DeLauro [D-CT]). The importance of women’s presence sometimes came through even as women sang the praises of their male colleagues (e.g. noting: ‘. . . once you bring those [women’s health] issues up, they [men] are fairly bipartisan in their acceptance of it’ [Susan Molinari, R-NY]). Women members’ personal experiences and their sense of connection to women contributed to a sense of responsibility often unencumbered by geographic boundaries (Chapter 4, this volume; Carroll 2002); yet efforts to put women’s health on the radar screen of male colleagues were more successful when reinforced by the realities of their district—as this Democratic congressional staffer for a male Senator highly involved in work on behalf of breast cancer research explained: . . . [I]t’s women on the local level in grassroots [organizations] who make health issues a priority in Congress as much as the women in Congress. . . . The women in [our state] were very adept at working the political process. . . . I remember arguing vehemently [with other staff] that [Senator’s name deleted] despite a scheduling conflict, had to go down to the floor and talk on this issue [breast cancer]. . . . Well, [the Senator] got it. He knew it was important because of the women in [our state] who had been talking to him about it. . . . [W]hen you’re a senator who has a strong base of support from women, . . . it’s important to have issues that you’re advancing that affect them.

Yet given the previous advances in women’s health funding and the contribution gender gap pressures before the Year of the Woman seemed to make with only a few women there to put it on the congressional radar screen, it was unclear how much more progress would be made with a near doubling of women’s numbers in Congress. At the very least, the record number of women members suggested an increase in energy that would allow them to attempt more. The Caucus introduced a WHEA in the 103rd with a record number of provisions (thirty-two compared with only twenty-two in the 102nd), twenty-three of which were entirely new, ranging from improving health education to examining federal environmental policies that have an impact on women’s health (CCWI, November 30, 1993: 13). While the expansion undoubtedly reflected a natural evolutionary process of work on health policy (which thus might have occurred without a dramatic increase in women’s numbers), the availability of more women to do more work, and the increased diversity of life experiences and ties to subgroups of women this record number of women brought to their work, contributed to inclusion of a more diverse array of problems and priorities reflecting the intersection of age and gender in the minds of both older women (e.g. ‘Most men simply do not think about NIH funding for menopause. Marjorie MargolisMezvinsky and I get there . . . and we realize, ‘‘My God, the menopause treatments today are the same as our grandmothers or mothers received. What’s going on here?’’. . . It’s not that men don’t care. It’s just not on their radar screen’ [Congresswoman Lynn Schenk].) and younger ones (‘I remember attending one v

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161 meeting [of the Women’s Caucus] . . . so that I could talk about the importance of Pap smears. The discussion in the meeting was all about breast cancer, so I never really got a chance at the meeting to talk about Pap smears. . . . Breast cancer is important to all women, . . . but for the vast majority of younger women, it’s about Pap smears. . . .’ [Cynthia McKinney]). Congresswoman McKinney’s point that, ‘The whole range of women’s health issues has to have advocates from the whole range of women’s population in order to be addressed’ is reinforced further by (oft-buried) tensions that belied women members’ image of unity around women’s health across racial, partisan, and ideological boundaries. Women of color members, for example, articulated a certain level of discontent when asked directly about WHEA—a sense that women of color had been shortchanged even more than white women due to factors ranging from racism,8 to ignorance and indifference toward those unlike themselves,9 to class bias deeply rooted within the institution.10 That generally came as a surprise to white women members who were often quick to note in their interviews not only that breast cancer and osteoporosis affect all women, but that WHEA included provisions (some sponsored by white women) of particular relevance to communities of color and the women in them: AIDS, female genital mutilation, lupus, and increased minority representation in clinical trials and research. Alternatively, more conservative women seemed to desire a narrower definition of women’s health, with some, for example, quietly suggesting cuts in AIDS research funding so more funding could go toward more universally recognized women’s health issues such as breast cancer research.11 To explore these complexities belying the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women on this mom and apple pie issue of women’s health, the remainder of the chapter focuses on three case studies of women’s health policy in the 103rd: NIH funding for women’s health research; reauthorization, expansion, and increased funding for the CDC’s Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention Act aimed at low-income women; and a unsuccessful attempt to improve veteran women’s health services. Comparisons across case studies of women’s health in the 103rd allow us to explore how the composition of women members intersects with institutional and extra-institutional forces to give meaning to women’s presence and to affect the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation across different areas. Moreover, when juxtaposed with evidence from previous and subsequent Congresses, these case studies allow exploration of how presence, changes in the ideological tenor of the institutional political environment, access to institutional power, and salience of competing external forces shape the meaning of gender among participants who are subject both to competing pressure from within their respective parties and to identical pressures as members of Congress. STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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162 v

FE D E R A L FU N D I N G F O R WO M E N ’S HE A L T H RE SE A RC H : BR E AS T CA N C E R AN D BE Y O N D

As the 103rd Congress began, the problems that sparked nonincremental growth in funding for breast cancer research earlier remained: there was no cure for breast cancer, breast cancer remained the most commonly diagnosed cancer among women, and medical research was still playing catch-up after a long history of neglecting women’s health issues. Indeed, breast cancer research fared well in the 103rd. The CCWI proudly proclaimed victories for women’s health research, touting, for example appropriations of more than $500 million for research on breast cancer in FY95, including $350 million at the National Cancer Institute (CCWI, September/ October 1994). Expenditures for breast cancer research outpaced the increases for the National Cancer Institute as a whole in both the first (26.5 percent vs. 4.9 percent, respectively) and the second sessions (15.4 percent vs. 2.6 percent, respectively) of the 103rd Congress (NIH 1999). While some interviewed attributed these successes to women’s increased presence in Congress, (which as one House staffer explained, meant, ‘More got done [in the 103rd] . . . because of more women being there to make noise about it . . .’) others gave greater weight to their success in claiming seats on key sub/committees such as the House LHHS subcommittee.12—a change that shifted the Caucus from an outside strategy (as that same House staffer explained) of ‘the Caucus as a whole lobbying the subcommittee for money’, to an inside strategy of ‘make sure that the three congresswomen on Labor/HHS are taking care of business’. At the same time, the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women on women’s health was not linear. Indeed, the NCI spent $42 million dollars less on breast cancer research than the Caucus had predicted it would in FY95, and the rate of increase in breast cancer research expenditures at NCI (but not the level of actual expenditures) actually declined from 45.9 percent in the second session of the 102nd (before women’s dramatic increase in presence) to 26.5 percent in the 1st session of the 103rd and to 15.4 percent in the second session. This might have happened if women were simply expanding their agenda, dividing available resources among an expanding range of women’s health research needs previously shortchanged or if they believed breast cancer research was funded adequately. However, other factors—countervailing masculinist pressures—seemed to be at work. The grumpy old men’s club may have feared being on the wrong side of this issue, but as this Democratic House staffer explained, ‘. . . [T]here was a real backlash against that in the last two years [1993 and 1994]. . . . [A]ll of a sudden you had people saying . . . ‘‘Hasn’t breast cancer gotten enough lately?’’ ’ The stakes were heightened further by budget cutting pressures created by a shrinking pie. Consequently, as another Democratic House staffer explained, v

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163 women members’ push in Appropriations for increases frustrated men who were torn between their own priorities and fear of being labeled as opposed to breast cancer funding. Their response to the women seemed to be, ‘Come on, I don’t oppose you on that, but we’re trying to cut things. We can’t find an increase for that.’ Although women’s presence on Appropriations and in Congress coincided with the decline in the rate of increase for breast cancer funding—a quantitative pattern that calls into question the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women—their impact in advancing the cause of breast cancer research is more obvious from qualitative data from interviews with members like Congresswoman Rosa DeLauro who asserted, ‘It was the work of Nancy Pelosi, Nita Lowey, and myself that drove the process to get as much funding as we did on the health agenda. . . . I truly believe that without our work on that committee, it would not have happened in the 103rd Congress,’ like this Democratic House staffer who asserted ‘. . . the breast cancer increases would not have continued . . . had they [women] not been on the subcommittee,’ and others like this Democratic House staffer who saw women on the subcommittee as a critical countervailing force in the face of discreet opposition: Mr. Porter [the Ranking Republican] . . . made the point over and over again about how he didn’t like . . . ‘targeted funding’ for breast cancer and AIDS research . . . , that that was not appropriate, that that somehow hurt ‘other research’. . . . Every time he was able to raise his concerns, we had three women to say, ‘Wait a minute. There’s a reason we’re doing this. It’s because they [these issues] have been neglected for so long.’

The possibility that without women inside the Appropriations subcommittee, breast cancer research might have failed to garner any increases comes through as well in the words of this women’s health activist who explained: The reality of politics in Washington . . . is you need to have a friend on the right committee. (You can have tons of women on the Hill, but if they’re not on the right committees, . . . they are not going to get anything done.) . . . It’s very easy to get members of Congress to say they’re for more money for breast cancer research, or they of course want to see the breast cancer epidemic ended. . . . But it’s not so easy to find members of Congress who are willing to actually pick up the banner and go into battle on the issue. Nita Lowey, . . . Nancy Pelosi, . . . Rosa DeLauro—the [Democratic] women members who were on the [Labor, Health and Human Services Subcommittee of the] Appropriations Committee really went into battle on this issue.

Women’s increased presence at key decision-making opportunities heightened the energy available for women’s advocacy and meant attempted cuts would be spotlighted.13 Yet their presence was seen by some like this Democratic House staffer as having a transformative effect, chipping away at a committee culture shaped by men: When you added three [Democratic] women onto an entity [the LHHS subcommittee] that had not had women on it . . . , it merely accelerated and increased an

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164 influence that was already felt because of . . . people outside of the subcommittee. . . . But it was a very significant change. . . . They worked as a team, and that was something really quite new for the committee. . . . The women were clearly leading and putting together a package pushing for larger amounts of money.

Yet they made a difference not simply because they were women, but rather because they were gender conscious women. Indeed, the three Democratic and one Republican woman on LHHS were described as [variously] supportive of the women’s health agenda and each spoke empathically of their concerns about women’s health when interviewed by CAWP; however, it was the three Democratic women who were most consistently mentioned in staff and lobbyist interviews as ‘going to bat’ for breast cancer and other women’s health funding. Although the fact Democrats were in the majority may have contributed to their higher level of activity than that of subcommittee Republican colleague Bentley, difference in levels of gender consciousness seemed to contribute to the variance among women, especially when we compare Bentley’s actions with those of breast cancer survivor Republican Congresswoman Barbara Vucanovich, a member of the full committee, who did not sit on the subcommittee, but was seen as a liaison to Republicans about breast cancer funding. The comparison between the technically better positioned Bentley and lesswell positioned Vucanovich is telling. While Vucanovich’s interviews conveyed a very mixed picture of her sense of connection to women as a political group, Vucanovich’s sense of connection to (the largely female population of) breast cancer survivors as a political group was unmistakable as she spoke in interviews of her efforts to work on their behalf by reaching out to male colleagues. Her words suggested a psychological commitment to women as a political group akin to ties associated with gender consciousness, but one with a decidedly narrower focus, centered around the shared risk of breast cancer. While this connection, notwithstanding its limits, gives meaning to presence and increases the chances that words will be followed up by action (thus explaining the lesser efforts of better positioned conservative Bentley relative to the greater efforts of less well positioned conservative Vucanovich), it drives home the importance of factors beyond party and beyond gender in creating the potential for gender difference in impact. Yet because anti-earmarking norms surrounding appropriations for NIH medical research had created a particularly arcane process in which legislative ‘victories’ were a mixture of hope and threat, women’s health victories not only needed the convergence of pressure from well-positioned gender conscious women members and women constituents, but also women in the agencies. The problem, as this congress-watcher explained, was: If you get a copy of the Labor HHS Appropriations Bill . . . you won’t see a line item for . . . breast cancer, let’s say. . . . (The administration sends up its budget request, v

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165 . . . wherein they indicate if we are appropriated x dollars, y dollars of that we intend to spend on breast cancer.) . . . [However,] You’ll go through the committee reports and it will say, ‘The committee expects,’ or, ‘The committee encourages,’ or whatever, ‘this institute (or this agency) to spend x amount.’ Or sometimes they’ll say, ‘The amount included in the budget request (or the budget justifications) [is x]’. . . . But that doesn’t mean that all of that money is really going to be spent that way. . . . It’s up to the agencies.

Yet with women committed to women and women’s health inside the agencies, as this Senate staffer explained, this meant women advocates on the inside ‘were able to then point to that language in there [the committee report] and say, ‘‘That’s our money. The committee appropriated that money, the committee wanted us to do that.’’ ’ If women inside agencies echoed the intent of elected women in-between appropriations cycles, the fact that the men to whom women in the agencies were accountable also knew they would be held accountable by elected women on the committee (as this Democratic House staffer explained, ‘If they [agencies] don’t [follow the report language], they’re going to get grilled by somebody when they come up next year for their budget request. . . . They don’t want to bite the hand that feeds them.’) increased the likelihood that legislative victories for women’s health research in spirit would be realized in practice. The positive of breast cancer research becoming synonymous with women’s health (as evidenced in numerous member and staff interviews) was that with no one wanting to be seen as opposing the fight against breast cancer, members would certainly think twice about doing something that might be seen as opposing women’s health (for which breast cancer had become a synonym); the danger in breast cancer becoming a synonym for women’s health was that breast cancer could obscure other women’s health needs—particularly given that breast cancer survivors were so much more well mobilized than any other disease group (with the exception of AIDS) and given the perception of class bias that caused some like this Senate staffer to describe breast cancer as this ‘rich, Volvo-driving suburbanite issue,’ or others like this lobbyist to see it as driven by ‘affluent women [activists] whose issue is not access. What they are looking for is cures. . . .’ However, the positive of the attention to breast cancer seemed to outweigh the negative, for the concern about breast cancer opened a window of opportunity for women members who cared about a wider array of women’s health issues to add them to WHEA and sometimes force them onto the congressional decision agenda. As in the 102nd, at least some less visible women’s health research concerns which lacked a mobilized grassroots movement (e.g. uterine cancer, cervical cancer or the male counterpart of breast cancer research, prostate cancer) thought to advantage breast cancer research seemed to benefit from heightened concern with women’s health, increasing at a greater rate than NCI funding overall (albeit at lower rates than breast cancer research).14 Thus, in much the same way that mobilization of women activists around breast cancer research seemed to have STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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166 had positive spillover effects for prostate cancer funding (Kedrowski and Sarow 2002), it also seemed to have this effect for other women’s health concerns before a ‘critical mass’ of women either served in Congress or on key subcommittees. Women members on the inside seemed to leverage the momentum behind breast cancer research to take on new issues—in a sense compensating for class bias among those women who mobilized at the grassroots. Yet while the political environment seemed to make women’s health sacred, it did not change the realities of institutional life. Absence from critical decisionmaking opportunities limited what women could accomplish and which strategies would be most effective. For example, while Appropriations Committee member Congresswoman Carrie Meek’s authorizing legislation addressing lupus perished in an authorizing committee on which she did not serve, as an Appropriations Committee member she could advance her legislative goals through the appropriations process, as this Democratic House staffer explained, . . . [S]he identified a little part of the National Institutes of Health that funds research in this area [lupus]. . . . Even though we could not earmark it . . . , she was successful in getting the committee chairman to increase the amount of money that went to that particular part of NIH, and also [was able] to get language in the report . . . which indicated that Congress was very interested in seeing that funding for lupus would be increased by this amount. . . . There are many ways to do it in Congress. Appropriations is one way . . . [Y]ou can do things administratively, you can do things on the authorizing side, on the appropriating side, you can do things through taxes, you can do all kinds of things—especially in health areas.

Indeed, increases in funding for research on lupus outpaced increases in funding for the NIAMS in both the first (15.6 percent vs. 5.1 percent) and second sessions (14.2 percent vs. 3.5 percent) (NIAMS 1999) of the 103rd. However, the spillover effects of mobilization around breast cancer research which women members seemed to harness to address other women’s health problems did not stop with research, as the next section shows. v

CDC BR E A S T PR E V E N T I O N

AND

CE R VI C A L CAN CE R MO R T A L I T Y

As noted earlier, the highly popular CDC Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention program enjoyed impressive double-digit appropriations increases even before the influx of women into the 103rd Congress.15 Yet appropriations for it paled in comparison to those for breast cancer research and fell short in several ways of adequately addressing the problem it ostensibly aimed to remedy. First, because the CDC screening program was operative in fewer than half the states, it failed to address the scope of this national problem. Congresswoman Nita Lowey’s sentiments that, ‘The fact that there aren’t sufficient funds to v

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167 provide mammographies and Pap smears in every state is a disgrace’, were echoed by other women’s health supporters inside and outside of Congress.16 Second, even if every woman had access to screening, breast and cervical cancer mortality rates might not have decreased, for screening saves lives only when coupled with treatment and there were no provisions for treatment under the program as the 103rd began. Indeed, once breast or cervical cancer was detected, it was up to these women (who often took advantage of the screening program precisely because they lacked health insurance coverage) to piece together whatever arrangements they could for treatment. The result too often was (perhaps life threatening) delays (Lockwood-Shabat 2001). Third, with heart disease (not cancer) being the number one killer of women and with lung cancer (not breast cancer) being the number one cancer killer of women, it seems fair to say that women’s lives were being shortened by other diseases barely visible on the Caucus radar and that lacked the political cache breast cancer enjoyed. More comprehensive solutions were needed. Women members recognized all of these as problems, and they were ready to define at least two of these three conditions as problems relevant to WHEA in the 103rd, for not only did WHEA of 1993 include the Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention Act, sponsored by Senator Barbara Mikulski and Congressman Henry Waxman (which would have reauthorized the program, increasing its funding so that it could expand to more states), but it also included the Women’s Preventive Health Amendments, sponsored by Congresswoman Rosa DeLauro and Congresswoman Olympia Snowe, which proposed to establish three demonstration projects expanding screening beyond breast and cervical cancer. As one House staffer explained, the idea was that ‘While you’ve got these women in there and you’re giving them a Pap smear and a mammogram, well, why don’t you check their blood pressure and their cholesterol, or whatever preventive service the state proposes?’ (Ensuring treatment for those found to have screened positive would have been achieved through their simultaneous work on health care reform which was not a part of WHEA, but it was far more controversial both within Congress and among women members.) While the program was reauthorized at a higher level of funding and with the Women’s Preventive Health Amendments attached to expand its scope, whether this victory ‘in theory’ would become a victory in practice rested with appropriators, for conference committee negotiations resulted in an agreement that as one House staffer explained: ‘. . . you have to have $100 million before you could kick in these demonstration projects on the other preventive services.’ Thus, expanded screening would require appropriations increase more than 35 percent. This would not be easy, particularly since the political environments surrounding breast cancer screening and breast cancer research differed in important ways that could limit the coattail effects of the research. First, while the White House had never been the driving force behind the women’s health agenda, the Clinton administration’s willingness to earmark for breast cancer research and to push for other preventive programs STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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168 contrasted sharply with its silence regarding the inadequate scope of this program, leading those like this women’s health lobbyist to lament: It is hard to understand why the administration that has a summit about breast cancer and talks about the importance [of fighting it] hasn’t come out saying, ‘It is a disgrace that this program is not in every state in the union.’ It’s the same administration who has said, ‘We have to have immunization programs all over.’ But they haven’t set up this [prevention] program to be nationwide.

Second, screening was perceived as competing for scarce federal dollars with research—which benefitted from highly mobilized affluent women grassroots activists, for as this Democratic House staffer observed: There was some tension within the women’s health community between . . . the screening money at CDC, and the research money. I was always amazed that the women from [groups] like the Breast Cancer Coalition, sort of the upper-middle-class women who were concerned about this, would always come in and want to talk about the research money, whereas you can argue the place that lives are being saved today is the CDC money. And poor women and older women—not the kind of women who were active in the Breast Cancer Coalition— . . . got the short end of the stick.

Yet despite the absence of substantial external pressure to increase funding for screening and even hints of a backlash against breast cancer research, appropriations for the screening program rose from $72.3 million in the second session of the 102nd (FY1993) to $100 million in the second session of the 103rd, thus allowing establishment of the demonstration projects expanding screening services beyond breast and cervical cancer. While as one lobbyist put it, ‘It was only as a result of congressional interest that the funding went up . . . ,’ a closer look suggests women members were important catalysts for that interest, channeling the external fervor surrounding breast cancer research to advance screening services in much the same way as they seemed to channel fervor for breast cancer research into support for research into other reproductive related cancers as well. As such, women’s impact once again was a product of a more complicated process. Let me explain. As with research funding in the 103rd, women’s increased presence on Appropriations (and the presence especially of gender conscious women) converged with pressures of a political environment generally supportive of the fight against breast cancer, to increase funding for screening even in the absence of massive grassroots mobilization. As one lobbyist who worked ‘very closely’ with DeLauro, Pelosi, and Lowey, as well as other progressive members of the subcommittee, explained, compared to the 102nd Congress when no women served on the subcommittee, ‘The real difference was having the women in key spots on the subcommittee, and the fact that there were several of them. It made it harder to ignore women’s health issues. . . .’ The combination of commitment with presence came through in the assessment of this Democratic House staffer who explained: v

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169 I can say this unequivocally because of all the meetings I was privy to: without Rosa DeLauro and the other two [Democratic] women [on the LHHS appropriations subcommittee], that program [the CDC Breast and Cervical Cancer program] would not have seen the increases it saw over the last two years. I don’t think there’s anybody that could question that.

Yet their success in the absence of grassroots activism on behalf of screening does not mean that women officeholders can make a difference if they only care enough to try. In much the same way that grassroots pressure on behalf of breast cancer research in particular and Caucus support for a women’s health agenda more generally came together to boost support (albeit at lower levels) for funding for other types of women’s health research (as well as prostate cancer research), that same pressure seemed to create an environment in which women could harness the tendency to treat breast cancer research as a synonym for women’s health to their advantage, advocating for increased funding (albeit still inadequate) for related services. With a seat at the table and without mobilized opposition to their efforts, women members’ own personal dedication to the cause of women’s health in effect allowed them to transport some of this sense of urgency surrounding breast cancer research to other women’s health conditions that were not the direct focus of massive grassroots pressure, thereby mitigating at least some of the class bias inherent in congressional culture or the agenda of grassroots activists. Yet the difficulty of maximizing accomplishments while minimizing the political cost of miscalculations in order to weave coattails onto breast cancer research comes through in the discussion of veteran women’s health in the next section. v

VE T E R A N WO M E N ’S HE A L T H

Just as the 1990 GAO report raised awareness that women were being shortchanged in taxpayer funded civilian medical research, a 1991 GAO report echoed a comparable theme with respect to the VA hospital system, finding poor women veterans unable to obtain the same quality of health care as their male counterparts.17 The problem, as one congress-watcher explained, was: When women veterans go to the hospital, they don’t have separate changing rooms or dressing rooms, there are not separate facilities for women to be examined. In many instances, we found that VA hospitals were not even equipped with the proper . . . medical equipment . . . for doing Pap smears, gynecological exams. Many women veterans testified before the committee that it was a very humiliating and demeaning experience for them to have to go for treatment to the VA hospital.

Objectively, the potential for outrage within the veteran population should have been compounded by other realities: cancer is about twice as likely to appear among women veterans than in the general population of women, wartime STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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170 experiences and sexual harassment within the military leave women veterans vulnerable to serious mental illnesses that were once thought to affect only men (Women’s Policy Inc. 1996: 61–2), and (without action) the number of veterans receiving substandard care simply by virtue of their sex would only grow as increasing numbers of women enter and exit the military. Inequalities such as this in the civilian population would certainly have fueled loud protests, but did not among the impoverished women veterans entitled to these services. These conditions which were ripe for designation as problems may not have benefitted from grassroots mobilization or the level of media attention that focused on the shortchanging of women in medical research, but as was true with the screening programs, the presence of women members within the institution raised awareness of these conditions, resulting in a new addition to WHEA in the 103rd—the Veteran Women’s Health Improvement Act sponsored in the House by Pat Schroeder and Marilyn Lloyd and in the Senate by Jay Rockefeller. Although other bills aimed at aiding gender equity within this population had preceded it, this bill sought to establish women’s health services and research within the VA health system, offering (to qualifying veterans) prenatal care and delivery services, mammograms, Pap smears, treatment for sexually transmitted diseases, osteoporosis screening, and sexual trauma. This solution eventually moved from the Caucus agenda onto the congressional decision agenda. It passed the Senate Veterans’ Affairs Committee and the House Veterans’ Affairs Committee (albeit in different forms) with no opposing votes, and it passed the House and Senate twice on voice votes. Yet the outcome of this effort no one seemed to oppose was summed up as ‘What began in 1993 as a legislative effort to expand medical services for women veterans ended . . . as little more than a routine construction authorization measure’ (Congressional Quarterly 1995:414).18 Indeed, the gap between the kind of solution the CCWI intended and what Congress ultimately passed (especially when juxtaposed with women’s health research or even the CDC screening accomplishments) once again illustrates the need to deconstruct the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women to explore how variance in the counterpressures of the external environment may affect the ability to overcome masculinist values. Objectively, the institutional structure was more of an obstacle for the Veteran Women’s Health Improvement Act than for reauthorization or appropriations for breast cancer research at NIH or the Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Act, for fewer women sat on committees of jurisdiction dealing with Veterans’ Affairs. Yet in contrast with conventional expectations surrounding proportional presence, the institutional political structure and environment seemed a more insurmountable obstacle to passage in the House than the Senate—even though no women served on the Senate committee with jurisdiction and fewer women served in the Senate than the House.19 Caucus members had enlisted the chair of the Senate Veterans’ Affairs Committee as a chief cosponsor, but neither of the congresswomen v

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171 cosponsors from the House side served on its House counterpart. As such, they had to work as outsiders, in effect, depending on ‘insiders’ like Congressman J. Roy Rowland, chair of the Hospitals and Health Care Subcommittee, who agreed to add their legislation to a bill he was sponsoring, but not before weakening it in ways that some would suggest reflected the particularly strong masculinist culture of these committees. Indeed, similarities and differences in the ideological pressures of these committees limited what women could accomplish as outsiders, perhaps even to a greater extent than did their proportional presence (or absence). The Senate version of the WHEA bill was introduced without compromise, while Chair J. Roy Rowland axed the pregnancy-related care provisions in the WHEA bill and Senate version from the House version, citing cost (Congressional Quarterly 1995). Yet in an institution which was considering transforming the VA hospitals from a system which treated disease and disability to provider of a continuum of care, some would argue cost was symbolic of the culture of masculinism within the committee that was (if not hostile) at best unwelcoming of women, tacitly accepting gendered disparities in treatment of veterans as legitimate, and implicitly defining veterans as men. While this may seem too harsh to some, to object to increased funding for women’s health research in the civilian population on the grounds that it would exact a toll from men might well have been political suicide; not so, however, when talk turned to the Veterans’ Administration, as illustrated by those like this Republican Senate staffer who explained the problem with the proposed legislation this way, ‘There’s an opportunity cost. If we give women veterans a complete continuum of care, without adding the resources, then . . . some other [male] veteran will not get care because we are providing for a woman’s [health needs] for instance.’ Congresswoman Corrine Brown, a member of the full committee in the 103rd, recalling the committee’s uncharacteristic concern with cost when talk turned to women, brings the dilemma to life from a different perspective: The [Veteran] Women’s Health Bill came up. . . . The men whipped out the charts and talked about how much it would cost. . . . [T]hey had elaborate presentations. I said, ‘Well, wait a minute. I’ve been on this committee going on two years, and we have never discussed costs when it relates to an issue pertaining to men veterans. So the moment we start talking about women, you talk about how much it costs.’. . . [Y]ou would have thought we were the appropriating committee!

In some ways, the WHEA bill was quite consistent with an emerging desire to transform the VA from a hospital system, with authority as one Republican Senate staffer explained, to provide ‘hospital care . . . to treat for disease or disability’, into a more comprehensive health care system.20 Indeed, as that same staffer went on to explain, ‘. . . [I]f it’s [the VA system is] going to be a health care system, it needs to provide a complete continuum of care. If you are a woman veteran, that complete STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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172 continuum of care is going to include, for instance, a lot of reproductive health care.’ The problem, of course, as that staffer explained, was offering ‘pregnancy related services . . . changes the entire focus of what VA is doing.’ Indeed, that women can get pregnant triggered a controversy that went beyond abortion, for the WHEA provision and the Senate version of it included what one Senate staffer, for example, called a ‘very radical’ and ‘very big deal provision’ that ‘paled in comparison to abortion’—prenatal care. As this House staffer recalled: They [committee members] were flipping out about this concept that all of a sudden all veteran women would want to come and deliver their babies there . . . That would cost the system too much, they weren’t set up to do that. . . . It was very, I thought, misogynistic. . . . [T]he only women who would have been eligible for services would be the same ones who would be eligible for other services there . . . —the severely disabled or the very, very poor. . . . So on the House side they threw out anything to do with pregnancy.

If concern over costs worked to the advantage of entrenched masculinist values despite some bipartisan support for the notion of providing a continuum of care, the stakes were heightened further by the seemingly ubiquitous controversies surrounding abortion and health care reform raging elsewhere within the Congress—controversies that managed to attach themselves to this bill as both sides sought to use it to create a favorable precedent for the larger health care reform debate.21 As this staffer explained, ‘[W]e were in the midst of health care reform; we don’t want any language passing the House or the Senate that defines women’s health or women’s reproductive health as not including abortion, because then you set a precedent.’ With some suggesting that members on both sides of the abortion debate (including pro-choice Democratic women) were ready to kill the bill if it set an undesirable precedent for health care reform, the unanimous public votes taken in support of the bill reveal little of the relationship between women’s presence and substantive representation of women. Once the bill passed the Senate (by voice vote in May 1994), the Senate version with pregnancy-related services had to be reconciled with a House version (passed in November 1993) that did not include them (CCWI, April/May 1994: 4). Yet with the negotiations going down to the wire in the 103rd Congress, Chris Smith and his antireproductive rights forces engaged in last minute maneuvering with the result being that Congress gutted the bill, deleting virtually all women’s health services and leaving only the research and sexual trauma provisions (CCWI, September/October 1994: 7). Anticipating a better environment in the 104th that would allow the noncontroversial measures to carry the controversial measures to reality, one staffer explained, We gutted the bill. . . . We felt that if we put in the non-controversial women’s health things, like osteoporosis, . . . Pap smears, and mammograms, you’d never be able to v

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173 get prenatal care and delivery passed the following year. . . . You have to attach it to something that is so desirable that people don’t want to vote against it. And since we were quite confident that we would just be able to bring it up in January, . . . waiting from October to January did not seem like a huge loss.

Amongst the items that fell out of the bill were guidelines on mammography standards, for as this Republican House staffer explained, the mammography guidelines . . . directed the VA to adopt the same guidelines that are used for HHS for provision of mammography services, like checking the machines by a certain group and performing a certain number of exams. The same standards . . . would [have] exist[ed] in the VA as they do in the private sector. . . . Standards for VA mammographies are much different than they are in the private sector. In the VA, utilization is not as great, so consequently people stand a chance of having an exam . . . read incorrectly, not catching an early-developing cancer.

These masculinist forces within the committee culture which defined men as more legitimate beneficiaries of VA services were serious obstacles to equity, but they were compounded by the absence of any grassroots mobilization in support of gender equity within the VA comparable to the power of the Breast Cancer Coalition. Granted, there were lobbyists working on behalf of veteran women’s health. Yet with little grassroots effort specifically focused on this matter,22 with women members not as well positioned to advocate for it on the inside as they were with CDC screening or research funding, with the ability of opponents to work against it behind the scenes, and with the legitimacy of women’s health needs being called into question within the VA system, masculinism was a more difficult obstacle to overcome in the case of Veteran Women’s Health. As such, the political environment surrounding gender equity in VA health care was less hospitable to women members’ demands, as the potential electoral threat posed to members seemed to fade (yet did not completely vanish) when the focus shifted from civilian breast cancer research to Veteran Women’s Health.23 In absence of this grassroots pressure, some might argue that women members should have taken on the challenge of educating and mobilizing women about the culture of masculinism that threatened the health of poor women veterans. The problem of course, is that there was no reason to believe this would ignite a firestorm of controversy among women constituents (most of whom were not touched by the quality of VA health services) as the shortchanging of women in government funded health research had. Moreover, I would argue that without confidence that protest would emerge, such efforts might well have been counterproductive, sending a message that women voters would not retaliate on behalf of poor women for failure to remedy gender inequality at the same time the women members who needed the support of male colleagues might well have alienated them. In the end, while women members clearly had a role in putting gender disparities in health care access within the VA on the agenda, other factors STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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174 made it difficult for them to define the solution or usher it through the Congress: unfavorable positioning within the institutional structure; a relatively low proportional presence within the institution; conservative forces within the veterans committees (particularly on the House side); the absence of grassroots force mobilized around this noncontroversial issue; and the intertwining of women veterans’ health with other more controversial political debates. All these seemed to dilute women’s impact even as the case study of veteran women’s health demonstrated the influence of descriptive representation on the political agenda. v

CON CLUS ION

The case studies in this chapter reinforce the conclusions of other works which argue that women’s presence improves the likelihood of substantive representation of women. At the same time, these women’s health case studies make a compelling case that women’s increased presence alone may not achieve the hoped for goals vis-a`-vis women’s health. Increased diversity expanded the range of issues related to women’s health on the CCWI agenda, but the reflection of the diversity of concerns was not necessarily immediately apparent in policy outcomes, as newcomer women struggled not only to integrate themselves into the institution but to lay a foundation for addressing a host of political priorities. The absence of grassroots support surrounding the Veteran Women’s Health Act seemed only to compound the problems this bill aimed at poor women faced when it collided with strong norms of masculinism surrounding the VA; this environment could transform an argument about equity into one about the price men would pay for addressing women’s needs. The importance of women’s presence is reinforced by the case studies exploring women’s impact on women’s health research as well as the CDC screening program, but juxtaposition with the fate of Veteran Women’s Health benefits also suggests the importance of pressure from women on the outside—women activists with the potential to stir up the ire of women voters and the gender gap which makes their ire potentially relevant to every Member of Congress. At the same time, the case studies suggest that women members of Congress have the potential to offset at least some of the class bias that may emerge from the dependence on pressure from women on the outside, as evidenced by the success in increasing support for women’s health (and men’s health) problems beyond breast cancer research. Masculinist values remained a reality of Congressional life, even when dealing with ‘mom and apple pie’—but they could be muted by the gender gap threat. If women on the outside need women on the inside as advocates, women on the inside need those on the outside to help them forge winning coalitions and retain legitimacy within the Congress. When that gender gap threat was less relevant (as with veteran women’s health), then the struggle for gender equity became all the more difficult. Increasing women’s presence is important, and may eventually v

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175 change the culture of committees which implicitly see men as the more legitimate beneficiaries of their services. However, until we move much closer to parity, women’s increased presence is likely to have a clearer impact on policy when accompanied by pressure from women on the outside. When women members of Congress for all practical purposes were forced to go it alone as they were on veteran women’s health (which lacked broad grassroots support and faced opposition on several levels), success was more elusive. Moreover, challenges to the legitimacy of women’s actions on behalf of women vis-a`-vis women’s health seemed less common than in the case of reproductive rights—at least when the focus was on women’s health research or the CDC screening program. For the most part, those who dared to question the legitimacy of women’s assertions did so quietly—unless of course women were a less legitimate segment of the population, as with the military. In that case, the challenge was less one of whether women should be speaking for women in the population under consideration, but instead, whether women were a legitimate component of the population that deserved to be treated equitably with men (rather than identically). The qualitative data bring to life the importance of descriptive representation in ways that elude quantitative analyses of these policy areas (areas where men are reluctant to vote against legislation even though they may not support it). Yet, proportional presence alone is only part of the story. If gender conscious women are filtered out through an external process (e.g. primary votes) or an internal process (e.g. committee assignments or leadership selection) the potential for gender difference to be manifested at any level of proportional presence is reduced. Yet the importance of their presence in the institution, on key committees, as activists, and as a persistent electoral threat in the policymaking arena suggests that those who would put all their eggs into the ‘electing more women’ basket may need to diversify their strategies more to maximize the effectiveness of presence. In addition to increasing women’s presence, substantive representation of women will be facilitated by public education efforts that raise the gender consciousness of women in the mass public, by efforts that reinforce the gender gap and continue to define it as a concern for Republicans, and by women’s advancement within the institutional hierarchy. Success at making a difference requires mobilization by women inside and outside the institution. At the same time, the analysis raises the contested issues surrounding the meaning of substantive representation of women, for in each case what women aimed to accomplish fell short of the ideal in certain ways. Women were a constant catalyst for increased funding of women’s health research, but there was a sense that this focus better served the interests of more affluent women than of poor women who often were unable to take advantage of the preventive screening tools currently available. However, efforts by women members of Congress to increase the allocations for and scope of screenings to some extent offset the class biases that seemed endemic to action inspired by grassroots pressure. STAYING THE COU RS E WITH A CRI TI CAL MA SS

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176 When emboldened by grassroots support, women members of Congress seemed to aim higher than they otherwise might have done, and seemed to find more men willing to take responsibility for these concerns, in hope, I would argue of finding support from women voters for their efforts. Yet when that grassroots support was not specifically focused on a given policy, the goals of the women members seemed to be set lower (as with other women’s health research issues and CDC). The Breast Cancer Coalition’s activism and persistent worries about the gender gap made breast cancer research an uninviting target for those looking toward the next election. Not so in the absence of women’s mobilization as with veteran women’s health. Moreover, these case studies suggest the factors that count go beyond merely women’s presence, to the intersection of presence with positioning in the institution, and to the ideological composition of the institution and committees within it. Indeed, despite women’s absence from the Senate Veterans Committee, that committee supported a bill more similar to the WHEA provision than did the House committee; and despite women’s absence from the Senate committee, women members within the Senate as a whole seemed to have more influence over the actions of the committee than did House women on the ‘inside.’ This suggests that what women aspire to accomplish on behalf of women as well as what they can feasibly hope to achieve will be affected by the ideological perspectives of their male colleagues—especially so long as women are a minority of members. The importance of ideology, not merely presence, within the institution (and within the committee where bills are shaped) raised critical questions for the fate of women’s health in the 104th Congress to which I now turn. v

NO T E S

1 For example, as Senator Nancy Kassebaum explained, ‘. . . [A]t the time that legislation [targeted funding at NIH] was first introduced, I felt we had gone too far. . . . I am still reluctant to . . . earmark . . . for the Institutes of Health, although I believe what was done, now, was really very wise.’ 2 GAO reported on June 18, 1990 before the Energy and Commerce Subcommittee on Health and the Environment that little progress had been made in implementing the existing policy to encourage inclusion of women in research, the policy had not been communicated to the scientific community or used in the grant review process, and NIH had failed to collect data on women’s inclusion in clinical trials as required (CCWI undated memo). 3 One Democratic staffer described the display as ‘one of the most remarkable things that I ever saw’, ‘sort of like the Vietnam War Memorial with pictures . . . these most compelling photographs of women,’ a display where there ‘wasn’t a dry eye in the place,’ and she noted, ‘Many senators went because there were people on those walls who were from their hometowns.’ 4 Some feminist health activists interviewed, for example, saw WHEA provisions for routine bone density measurement as being pushed by corporate interests eager to take v

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177 advantage of women with good health insurance rather than concerned that women might experience fractures in the next 20–30 years, arguing that preventive measures could improve the lives of women most likely to experience fractures without ever knowing bone mass. Defining OB/Gyns as primary care physicians was highly popular among the elected women (and men) serving in Congress, but strongly (albeit quietly) opposed by feminist health advocates. Feminist health advocates supported the FDA’s restrictions on silicone breast implants which had been linked to a variety of health problems; however, some women in Congress opposed these restrictions arguing that women should have the right to choose. 5 As one policy advocate reflecting on the history of WHEA explained, ‘They [the members of the Caucus] have a very hard time saying no to each other. . . . When we put together the first one, we were really determined to try not to have a ‘disease of the month club’ bill. . . . We could say until we were blue in the face . . . , but if a member was tenacious enough . . . , Pat and Olympia never told them no’ (wave 3). 6 House report language (echoed in the Senate) from the first session of the 101st stated, ‘The [National Cancer] Institute’s highest priority is the support of basic research. . . . Basic science studies of rare tumors . . . often have profound implications for more common tumors, such as lung cancer, breast cancer, or colon cancer. . . .’ Two years later, the House Appropriations Committee sounded a different tune (echoed by the Senate as well), noting that ‘As a result of the testimony presented to the Committee, however, the highest priority was given to women’s health issues which received more than one third of the increases’ (emphasis added). 7 There was an annual mortality rate of about 43,000 women from breast cancer and another 6,000 from cervical cancer (House Appropriations Committee Report, 2nd session 101st Congress). 8 As Congresswoman Eddie Bernice Johnson saw it when asked about women’s health, ‘. . . Racism is not just with one gender. . . . That has always been the problem actually in the women’s movement. Black women have felt their issues have never been addressed . . . by the women’s movement.’ 9 Congresswoman Carrie Meek took a somewhat kinder and gentler tact when she opined, ‘I think there were areas for improvement [in the Women’s Health Equity Act]. I don’t think . . . the white women know enough about minority health to really focus. . . . [But] when it is brought to their attention, their issues, many times, override the minority issues. There needs to be . . . more understanding and more interest in some of the minority issues.’ 10 As Senator Carol Moseley Braun saw it: ‘Many of the issues having to do with poor women are health issues that are exacerbated by the fact that they’re poor. And dealing with issues pertaining to poverty is something that, quite frankly, these legislative bodies are singularly challenged by.’ 11 One Democratic Senate staffer summarized the tensions (and thus the challenges of diversity) this way, ‘Women of all stripes get breast cancer—Democrats, Independents, Republicans. . . . [M]any people still think of AIDS as a disease that affects a certain segment of our society exclusively. . . . But breast cancer, it’s a women’s issue, it’s a Republican issue, it’s a Democratic issue, . . . because it affects everybody.’ 12 Two of the newly elected women senators (Dianne Feinstein and Patty Murray) joined veteran Democrat Barbara Mikulski on the Senate Appropriations Committee in

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178 the 103rd and the number of women on the House Appropriations Committee rose from three to seven, with four—three Democrats and one Republican—moving onto the Labor Health and Human Services (LHHS) subcommittee which had not in recent years had women members. 13 As one Democratic House staffer explained, ‘It really takes, I think, a woman there monitoring it. . . . It’s hard for them [men] to say, ‘‘I’m offering an amendment to cut $300 million from breast cancer.’’ But they can say, ‘‘On Line 19, strike the figure $500 million and put in the figure $300 million’’. . . . Particularly in Appropriations bills, it is easy . . . , so somebody has got to be keeping an eye on it.’ 14 Compared with total actual expenditures during FY 1993 (with appropriations set during the 2nd session of the 102nd Congress), total actual expenditures of the National Cancer Institute for FY1994 (set in the 1st session of the 103rd Congress) increased by 4.9 percent. Expenditure increases exceeded that rate not only for breast cancer (26.5 percent), but also for uterine cancer (14.3 percent) and prostate cancer (9.8 percent). Between FY1994 and FY1995 (set in the 2nd session of the 103rd Congress), NCI expenditures increased 2.6 percent overall, but by 15.4 percent for breast cancer research, 14.6 percent for prostate research, 7.6 percent for cervical cancer, and 6.9 percent for uterine cancer. 15 The amount appropriated over the years had clearly increased at a relatively high rate: FY 1990—$5.1 million (House Appropriations Committee Report, 101st Congress, 2nd Session); FY 1991—$29.3 million (House Appropriations Committee Report, 102nd Congress, 1st session); FY 1992—$49.96 million (Senate Appropriations Committee Report, 102nd Congress, 2nd session); FY 1993—$72.3 million (House Appropriations Committee Report, 103rd Congress, 1st session); FY 1994—$78.1 million (House Appropriations Committee Report, 103rd Congress, 2nd session); and FY 1995—$100 million (Clemmitt et al. 1997:128). 16 During the appropriations process in the 2nd session of the 102nd Congress, the CDC program was operative in thirty states, although comprehensive programs operated in only twelve of them (Senate Appropriations Committee report, 102nd Congress). By the end of the 103rd Congress (FY 1995) comprehensive programs were funded in thirtyfive states and nine American Indian tribal organizations and eighteen other states, territories and the District of Columbia received capacity building grants which would help them move toward comprehensive programs in the future (Senate Appropriations Committee Report, 104th Congress). 17 With only one in eight facilities meeting the VA’s definition of comprehensive services for women veterans (Women’s Policy Inc. 1996: 62), deficiencies highlighted in the report included: lack of privacy for women veterans; long waiting lists due to shortages of gynecologists; absence of routine cancer and osteoporosis screening; failure to reach out to women veterans and inform them of their benefits; lack of equipment required for female examinations; the unavailability of Women Veterans Coordinators at many locations and improperly trained ones at other locations; and staff insensitivity and inattentiveness to women’s health needs (CCWI, June 29, 1993: 12). 18 While progress seemed to move slowly on the authorizing front, there was steady (albeit slow) progress on the Appropriations side. In FY 95 $14.5 million of the $16.2 billion appropriation for VA medical programs was earmarked for programs addressing the needs of women veterans. This was a $3 million dollar increase over the FY 94 appropriation level for these programs (CCWI, June 1994: 7). v

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179 19 Senator Mikulski was unequivocal in her view that having women in the Senate changed the way that the Senate thought about veterans, and that as an appropriator for the Veterans Committee (although not a member of that authorizing committee) she was positioned well to be heard on these matters. As she told CAWP in her post-103rd interview, ‘I chair the subcommittee that funds VA, the veterans’ health care. Because of my work quite frankly, there is a greater sensitivity to women and to women’s health in the VA. Women are also being included in VA medical research in a way that they were not before. When the Veterans’ Administration wanted to weaken the clinical lab standards or give themselves an exemption that private and non-profit labs have to meet, I just stopped that dead in their tracks.’ 20 The conflict between support for changing the way the VA worked and perception of responding to a special interest comes alive in the words of this Republican Senate staffer who explained, ‘We could be criticized, we criticized ourselves, because this was in essence eligibility reform for one segment of the veteran’s population, which is now 4 per cent; it will grow to be maybe 10 per cent as the women on active duty now become veterans. But now women are 4 per cent of the veteran population.’ 21 As one House staffer explained, ‘WHEA we kept separate, on the whole, from health care reform and financing of services for women. . . . we didn’t try to either write a health care reform package separately and on our own or try to incorporate some of these coverage issues in WHEA. WHEA was left to things in and around research, service delivery, education, things . . . that we felt were distinct, in large part, from health care reform.’ 22 As one breast cancer advocate replied when asked about the Veteran Women’s Health bill, ‘I’m totally unfamiliar with that act.’ 23 As one women’s health advocate explained, ‘It’s very rare that Congress sort of campaigns against an issue, certainly a women’s health issue. What they will do is just kill it by ignoring it’ (wave 3).

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8

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Women’s Health: A Shelter in the Storm

Women members continued to shape the women’s health agenda in the 104th, expanding WHEA1 to address more concerns of particular relevance to communities of color (e.g. Nydia Velazquez’s Fairness to Minority Women Health Act and Maxine Waters’ Women’s Cardiovascular Disease Research and Prevention Act) and other previously unaddressed matters (e.g. eating disorders and mental health coverage). Thirteen WHEA provisions became law in some form during the 104th (Clemmitt et al. 1997)2—a striking contrast with the seemingly endless reproductive rights defeats women endured. However, women members’ assessments of success in the post-104th (wave 3) interviews varied from upbeat (e.g. Republican Connie Morella’s description of ‘great achievements’ and Republican Tillie Fowler’s touting of ‘great strides forward’) to neutral bordering on negative (e.g. Democrat Pat Schroeder’s view, ‘we had enough momentum that they couldn’t undercut it as much as they wanted’, and Democrat Eddie Bernice Johnson’s opinion that ‘we did get a few more dollars into research related to women’s ailments’). This chapter draws on interviews with members, lobbyists, and staff to explore the patterns of change and stability. Unless otherwise noted, the post-104th (wave 3) interviews are the source for quotes. One thing that did not change between the 103rd and 104th was women’s image of unity around women’s health. Their bipartisan message that shortchanging women’s health ‘isn’t acceptable and we’re not going to stand for it’ (Democratic House staff), echoed the theme of earlier congresses, but particularly noteworthy in the 104th was that these words of support came from newcomer Republicans. Moderate Republican sophomore Jennifer Dunn saw concern for women’s health as ‘just a natural thing. . . . When you have 46,000 women dying in a year from breast cancer, then what can we do to help?’ Even more compelling, these sentiments were expressed by members of the cadre of six ultraconservative Republican women who had taken a visible role in the attack on the pro-choice agenda—members like Sue Myrick who expressed support despite her acknowledged absence of work on its behalf (e.g. ‘I was focusing on other things, but supported most of those [women’s health] issues’), or Helen Chenoweth who called for women leaders to use their ‘bully pulpit’ to advocate gender equality in

181 medical treatment.3 And thus, the prediction, expressed by one women’s health activist, that ‘we’d see much more attention paid to women’s issues and women’s health issues if there were more and more women,’ remained reasonable in the 104th as in the 103rd. Nevertheless, intertwined with stability was a sense of subtle change: members were perceived as freer to vote against women’s health with impunity,4 awareness of diversity in women’s health needs that began to take root in the 103rd was replaced by a strategic focus on commonalities,5 women’s health legislation was scrutinized more carefully for its cost-effectiveness,6 and reluctance to spend money on women’s health heightened,7 contributing to, as one staffer put it, ‘no major ‘‘write-home-to-mom’’ victories.’ In addition, some saw a growing gap between women’s rhetoric and actions, the result being ‘women’s health among Republicans is suddenly both very much in vogue and also not’ (Democratic House staffer). While Congresswomen Nancy Johnson and Connie Morella were described as having ‘fortunately been willing to use their positions as Republican women to advance these women’s health causes’ (Democratic House staff), they were perceived as unique, for (as that staffer continued), ‘the vast majority of the Republican women out there aren’t willing to do that. They don’t want to participate. They aren’t introducing bills on these issues8. . . . They don’t want to be seen doing ‘‘women’s issues’’.’ This gap may have been a continuation of Republican women’s lesser willingness to put new feminist issues on the agenda when their party was in the minority (see Wolbrecht 2002). Yet, more seems to have been at work. Despite Republican women’s claims that the GOP’s glass ceiling was being shattered, the legitimacy of substantive representation of women seemed to have been more questionable within the GOP. As one Republican House staffer explained, ‘It goes back to the . . . voting patterns, the gender gaps in both parties. . . . You can be free to focus on women’s issues as a Democrat when most of your votes are coming from women.’ However, in a party that had sailed into power on the ‘wrong side’ of the gender gap, this staffer cautioned, ‘You should be a little concerned about focusing on that totally as a Republican when most of your votes are coming from men.’ These partisan differences in how external pressures from the gender gap were experienced made it more difficult for Republican women to challenge masculinist values. Yet if the GOP’s dependence on the votes of men caused Republican women to be ‘very leery of being pigeonholed as always talking about women’s issues’ (Republican House staff), the GOP’s uneasiness with the implications of its ‘women problems’ (since women are a majority of the electorate) opened a window of opportunity for Republican women to enhance their value as women within their conference, even as they gently challenged masculinist values. One staffer who saw the gender gap as having ‘empowered the female members of Congress like almost nothing else’, explained the same force that legitimized A SHELTER IN THE STORM

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182 what might otherwise have been a marginalized issue which marginalized its advocates,9 threatened to obscure the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women by compelling men to act for women: These issues [women’s health] are becoming more of a political issue in terms of their ability to influence a member’s luck in a campaign. . . . Yeah, that has become a huge political issue which they [male members] are responding to. . . . [T]his election cycle, everybody who is up has a women’s issue, and it’s a women’s health issue.

If Republican women’s focus on bridging the gender gap for the sake of the party’s future success (rather than for the sake of serving women as a constituency with needs and interests of their own) gave their efforts legitimacy in a spirit akin to feminist protest among military women who emphasized gender equity’s contribution to military readiness rather than the right of women to a military career (see Katzenstein 1998), advocacy on behalf of women still posed greater problems for Republican than Democratic women in Congress—even when that advocacy centered around mom and apple pie matters. Not only did many Republicans apparently perceive women’s groups as aligned with their Democratic opposition, but women were an even smaller proportion of the GOP’s conference in the Republican-controlled 104th (7.2 percent) than of the Democratic caucus during the Democratic-controlled 103rd (13.6 percent). Moreover, women’s proportional presence on key committees like Appropriations which had been so central in the past to advancing women’s health not only declined between the 103rd and 104th, but the proportional presence of women in the majority party on key committees dropped even more substantially.10 Add to this the GOP’s defunding of the CCWI and the result was a ‘nightmare’ that pushed WHEA’s introduction into the second session, and almost certainly distracted members from pursuing such efforts on their own. As this Democratic House staffer recalled: [WHEA was introduced late] because the Women’s Caucus was in massive disarray at the beginning of the 104th Congress. . . . The Women’s Caucus had had staff and office space and dedicated research. . . . All of that was wiped out. . . . [A] brand new staffer . . . had to take on all the work of the Women’s Health Task Force, including organization of WHEA, a bill she [the staffer] knew nothing about, had never done before. . . . At the same time we had this legislative crush at the beginning of the 104th Congress that was holding everyone up from reformulating their bills and introducing them again. It was a whole nightmare.

Yet the adverse political environment seemed to inspire a certain level of rebellion against the long-observed constraints aimed at maintaining the ‘mom and apple pie issue’ image of women’s health.11 In much the same way that a sense of futility inspired women religious to give voice to feminist protest by setting goals that would never be embraced by the male leadership of the Catholic Church (Katzenstein 1998), rebellion came through when abortion-related provisions (the Women’s Choice and Reproductive Health Protection Act of 1996 and Women’s v

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183 Right to Know Act of 1996) were added to WHEA despite the long history of separating abortion from the women’s health agenda. Described by a Republican House staffer as ‘a reaction to the assault on choice’ reflecting, ‘a real sense that the status quo was in danger’, and by a Democratic House staffer as legislation that they knew, ‘would never go anywhere,’ it was, as that same staffer went on to explain, a ‘pre-emptive effort to say, ‘‘Don’t even think about trying to bring this ban back.’’ ’ Yet WHEA was more than a message. The same political environment that forced women to work harder to advance women’s health came with a sense of unpredictability and the sense that less could be accomplished; this made WHEA an even more valuable pool from which solutions could be drawn quickly if a window of opportunity opened. Because women of neither party seemed to have control over the agenda, (as one Democratic Senate staffer explained, ‘You can’t anticipate [in] what order things are going to appear, what the actual bills are going to be, . . . you’re not writing them . . .’), WHEA’s women advocates could only hope to take advantage of windows of opportunity when they did happen to briefly open, as this Democratic staffer explained: You never really know what issue might gain a life of its own. For example, the Newborns and Mothers bill, we didn’t think that would go anywhere in the beginning of the year. Then all of a sudden it gained a life and a constituency and it went right through. . . . A lot has to do with the press getting the word out, and the public responding positively. It’s hard to put your finger on it. Issues come of age . . . [M]ental health parity was similar. The insurance companies had pretty much put the cap on that going anywhere, then all of a sudden it gained momentum. . . . You never know when all the factors are going to fall together.

To explore how elements of the environment come together to affect the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women and to give meaning to substantive representation of women across Congresses and policy areas, I return to the case studies which were the focus of Chapter 7—funding for women’s health and Veteran Women’s Health. v

WO M E N ’S HE A L T H FU N D I N G

Despite the ‘slash and burn’ environment in the wake of the 1994 election, NIH expenditures on women’s health continued to increase; breast cancer research expenditures rose 2.9 percent to $317.5 million in the first session and 4.6 percent to $322 million in the second session; cervical cancer research expenditures rose 13.4 percent to $51.6 million in that first session and then 8.1 percent to $55.8 million in the second session. Ovarian cancer research funding rose 7.7 percent to $36.5 million in the first session and 14.2 percent to $41.7 million in the second (NIH 1999). Why did they not succumb to the same forces that threatened many other gains of the past? A SHELTER IN THE STORM

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184 The simple [and incorrect] answer focuses on substance, de-emphasizing the importance of descriptive representation; as one Republican House staffer echoing others, explained, the Republican leadership ‘has always been very supportive’ of women’s health. Yet if we compare this to the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) which no one wanted to be seen as opposing either, it is clear that some mom and apple pie issues had more trouble than others, for VAWA would have been funded in the 104th at levels substantially lower than its authorized levels had Republican women not ultimately prevailed on their leadership to increase funding. This was the case, I might add even though VAWA and WHEA shared another political advantage: there was no mobilized opposition to either. Furthermore, if Republican leaders had always been supportive of women’s health research, why in Chapter 7 did a critical mass of women on key committees combined with the gender gap threat made all the more real by the passion belying the mobilization of women seem so important for sustaining increases in funding for women’s health research in the 103rd and for overcoming what some saw as a backlash against breast cancer? If instead, the presence of women in Congress was key, then why was that presence effective for advancing women’s health, but not reproductive rights (which was often handled by the same committees)? Moreover, if presence matters, increased funding in the face of women’s declining presence in the majority party and on Appropriations12 calls into question earlier assumptions about the importance of women’s positioning within the institutional structure. At the very least, simple explanations fail to account for the complexity belying the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women because the change in the political environment brought to the forefront a different confluence of forces. Women’s presence mattered (a point to which I will return later), but those interviewed also gave much credit to the male chairs—Senate Appropriations Chair Mark Hatfield and the chair of the House Labor, Health and Human Services Subcommittee, Congressman John Porter, an unabashed defender of the National Institutes of Health (‘Mr. NIH’). (This was a change from the 103rd when chairs were seldom mentioned and, when mentioned, seemed to be at odds with women over earmarking.) As a Democratic staffer, noting, ‘NIH was one of the very, very, very few agencies in the federal budget over the past few years that has not been cut,’ went on to explain, ‘That’s because the chairman of the Labor HHS Appropriations Subcommittee here on the House side, John Porter, is a major booster of medical research.’ Positional power mattered on the Senate side as well, adding, ‘. . . [O]f course Mark Hatfield, who is chair of Senate Appropriations, always made sure that NIH was very well taken care of, including over the past two years.’ Yet even if, as that Democratic staffer concluded, ‘These members that were in powerful positions and committed to medical research made a huge difference’, v

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185 despite initial fears inspired by what even a Republican House staffer described as ‘talk of slashing and burning . . . cutting, cutting, cutting’, their contribution to substantive representation of women came with two caveats. First, it actually occurred because these two men managed to escape Republican leadership efforts to reward ideology and compel conformity in the award of subcommittee and committee chairs. With even one Republican member interviewed describing women as ‘lucky’ that Porter rather than some other Republican became chair, further tightening of leadership control on these panels as with others might have yielded different outcomes or at least more of a struggle. Second, although as chairs these male supporters of federally funding medical research shielded NIH from budget cuts other domestic policy areas were enduring, their efforts were qualitatively different from those of women. As this Democratic staffer explained, ‘While I think Hatfield and Porter in particular were very receptive to women’s health concerns, it wasn’t like they were sitting there and singling out women’s health for special treatment. There was this across-the-board increase that . . . helped women’s health as well.’ Indeed, the willingness of women to hitch their agenda to the medical research the chairs supported is suggested by women’s markedly changed rhetoric between the 103rd (when the CCWI proudly touted its victory [without caveats and in what was ultimately an overly optimistic forecast], announcing appropriations of ‘$350 million in breast cancer funding at the National Cancer Institute—a 17 percent increase over FY94 . . . [CCWI, October 12, 1994]) and the 104th (when Women’s Policy Inc. carefully noted, ‘While Congress did not earmark funds for specific areas of cancer research’ this would probably mean more money for breast cancer research, explaining, ‘The National Cancer Institute estimates it will have spent $336 million in FY 1996 and $341 million in 1997 of its funds on breast cancer research’ [Clemmitt et al. 1997: 90]). Women’s previous efforts had established a foundation for sustained support that shielded women’s health research from the budget cutting storm, but Porter’s role as protector was a change from his role in the 103rd when as ranking member he was among the more frequently mentioned challengers of earmarking, seeing it as an unjustified constraint on scientific freedom (Chapter 7, this volume). Yet changes in the political environment cast Porter’s antiearmarking views in a different light. Not only did Republicans like Congresswoman Constance Morella, Republican cochair of the Caucus in the 104th, sing his praises as ‘one, unlike many of the other . . . Republican members of that subcommittee, who really believed in the NIH,’ even as she gently noted, ‘We had to work a bit harder,’ but so too did Democrats like Congresswoman Nita Lowey, Democratic cochair of the Caucus in the 104th and Appropriations Committee member, who, despite clashes with Porter over his antiearmarking stance in the 103rd (Chapter 7), acknowledged in the 104th, ‘Chairman Porter would rather not have the advocacy and would like to see the National Institutes of Health make the decisions,’ but A SHELTER IN THE STORM

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186 Congresswoman Lowey went on to explain, ‘Our chairman is very supportive of the National Institutes of Health.’ Yet the fact that support of the subcommittee chair and women members’ vigilance could not save the Title X domestic family planning program (Chapter 6, this volume) from nearly being defunded suggests that we must look deeper to understand why women’s health research fared so well. Indeed, women’s health was differentiated from Title X by its lack of mobilized opposition which may have advantaged it in both the 103rd and the 104th by stoking gender gap fears: yet gender gap fears in the absence of mobilized opposition to VAWA could not spare women a fight to ensure more than minimal funding for VAWA in the 104th—a fight they won after Republican women convinced male colleagues they would not want a public fight over this. What may have been critical in minimizing struggle was the combination of the chairman’s support, women’s vigilance, and the existence of an unopposed mobilized grassroots effort which continued to attract media attention in ways which might ignite the gender gap.13 Congresswoman Nita Lowey, echoing the sentiments of others, emphasized the importance of external pressure, explaining, ‘The women around America have been extraordinary advocates. The women who march or run in the Race for the Cure, the women from the breast coalition groups that walk the Halls of Congress, have made it a bipartisan issue.’ Republican Congresswoman Connie Morella echoed the importance of external pressures cautioning, ‘Women themselves have got to respond . . . —constituents— . . . letting Congress know that this is important,’ and those like this Republican Senate staffer who, when asked about the impact of women in Congress on women’s health policy, went so far to say, ‘I’m not sure that it was the women members in particular. . . . I think it came more from the outside, from outside women’s groups, from the Breast Cancer Coalition and advocates who really pressed hard on breast cancer in particular.’ Yet the value of pressure emanating from both inside and outside Congress came through in Nita Lowey’s warning that,‘. . . [I]f we [the women on Appropriations] didn’t keep our advocacy strong and passionate, I still don’t feel confident that the numbers would continue to improve’; it came through as well as in the words of those like this women’s health advocate who responded, when asked about the importance of someone like Democrat Nita Lowey on Appropriations in a Republican Congress, . . . Even after the change in leadership, it was still very important. . . . It’s important that you have supporters on those committees . . . able to bring your voice to the table when a deal is being cut behind closed doors, which happens . . . all the time. So it was extremely important that Nita was on the committee.

That this pressure for action on women’s health emanated from women on multiple levels—women members, women’s groups, and women voters—was particularly important in the 104th, for it was more likely that messages from at v

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187 least one source would register with Republicans as legitimate. This was particularly important given the perception that, as one breast cancer advocate explained, ‘it was very difficult to get taken seriously by the Republican leadership,’ because even women’s health groups ‘. . . were seen as tied to the choice issue, which is seen as tied to the Democratic party. So a women’s group by definition must be liberal, must be pro-choice.’ Combined with criticism from constituents that those breast cancer research funding supporters like Congresswoman Vucanovich faced (‘. . . [B]eing a conservative Republican, you come home and people say, ‘‘Oh yeah, you’re on Appropriations and you’re spending all this money.’’. . . [T]hey trash you in your newspapers, and it’s hard’), the price of advocacy for women’s health was almost certainly higher among Republican than Democratic women, for the countervailing forces (e.g. constituency pressure) were less likely to offset the cost at the very time partisan rancor and the change in partisan control made the advocacy by Republican women more important than ever. Indeed, sustaining Republican support was critical in a Republican congress, particularly on more controversial women’s health funding issues like breast cancer research through the Department of Defense. This came through in the observation of one women’s health advocate, who, when asked about Barbara Vucanovich’s role, explained: She became helpful toward the end of her tenure, and was very supportive, for example, of the Department of Defense programs that fund breast cancer, . . . ovarian cancer, and research on osteoporosis. . . . But it really was a situation, . . . of our reaching out to her and saying to her, ‘Look, we need you. This is what we want you to do, and this is who we need you to talk to.’ And she was certainly happy to do it, . . . she did have access to the leadership of the Republican party in the House that we didn’t have access to, and she used that access.

That Vucanovich was willing to go to bat for women’s health research when she had been a less visible player in the past suggests not only the value of having bipartisan support in a competitive two party system, but also the value of connections between women on the outside and on the inside and the potential that a change in the institutional environment may encourage those previously less active supporters to assume more responsibility for advancing an agenda. Yet the change in the political environment also seemed to lower standards for success, for $50 million was described as a victory even though $75 million was previously allocated (Clemmitt et al. 1997). Breast cancer’s coattails generated in earlier years continued to sustain women’s health progress in other areas, despite the continued absence of a visible grassroots mobilization. As noted earlier, funding for research for reproductive cancers (cervical, ovarian, uterine, and prostate) continued to increase, with the rate of growth for these rivaling and sometimes even exceeding the rate of growth in expenditures for breast cancer, although never approaching the funding levels for breast cancer. Indeed, despite the fact that Congresswoman Carrie Meek, A SHELTER IN THE STORM

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188 who had championed lupus research in the 103rd, lost her seat on Appropriations when the Democrats went from majority to minority, lupus research nevertheless continued to enjoy expenditure increases proportionate to those of the institute within which it was located. Indeed, lupus expenditures increased 5 percent in FY 1996 and 6.9 percent in FY 1997, slightly more than total appropriations for NIAMS did in those same years (4.6 percent and 6.4 percent, respectively) (NIAMS 1999a, 1999b). Yet even more surprising in this congress that many saw as hostile to the needs of the poor and that had clearly ridden the defeated Clinton health care reform plan to victory, funding for breast cancer screening, not merely research, continued to increase. The Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention Act enjoyed steady increases across the 104th Congress, rising from $100 million in FY 1995, to $125 million in FY 1996, and $140 million in FY 1997despite the budget cutting fervor and despite a lack of grassroots activism specifically aimed at increasing it. Yet if appropriations for screening increased because (as one women’s health lobbyist put it), ‘Congress loves that issue. They love that program and they love the issue of mammography because it’s easy, it’s easily understood,’ Congress seemed to love screening in some cases more than others. Even as the 104th Congress increased funding for the CDC screening program, the House voted down amendments offered by Benjamin Cardin and Anna Eshoo to improve Medicare coverage for mammography screening—another ostensibly ‘easy issue’. What seemed to distinguish the ‘loved’ CDC Breast and Cervical Screening program from the less loved idea of covering annual mammograms and pelvic exams under Medicare was the price tag. As this women’s health activist explained, when you talk about improving Medicare coverage for mammography, ‘You’re talking a lot of money. . . . [The] mammography screening issue in the Medicare population is an expensive issue . . . that would cost the government a great deal of money. So they’re . . . more loathe to vote for that.’ However, inexpensive ‘solutions’—even if they are of dubious value—were almost sure to pass in a Congress that wanted to allay gender gap pressures, for as that same lobbyist explained: [P]rovisions . . . like the new breast cancer stamp that will supposedly sell for more than face value and raise money—don’t cost the government any money. So those are easy votes. As a matter of fact, that’s the way they’ve been described to me by some members who say, ‘I know this isn’t good policy, but it’s an easy vote and I can’t be seen to vote against it.’

Expense remained a key factor in Veteran Women’s Health as well, which not only had to contend with a more conservative environment, but also one in which insurmountable obstacles lowered the bar for success. v

VE TE R AN WO M E N ’S HE A L T H

As expected, legislation to provide more equitable access to VA health services resurfaced in the 104th, but in a decidedly less favorable environment: v

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189 a Republican controlled Congress determined to cut the budget, no sign of greater concern about gender equity within the VA than in the past, and a decline in women’s proportional presence on the Veterans Committees (the number of women declined from three in the 103rd to two and later only one in the House— which included no Republican women). Yet authorizing legislation to improve gender equity in access within the VA health care system passed in the 104th despite its failure in the 103rd. A closer look at this victory sheds light on the contested issues surrounding impact and the complexities that belie the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women. Although few women members were well positioned to influence this legislation, women nevertheless continued to be a catalyst for action on behalf of women veterans.14 Congresswoman Maxine Waters (D-CA), a member of the Veterans Committee for the first part of the 104th, sponsored the successor to the 103rd’s failed attempt, the Veteran Women’s Health Improvement Act, which proposed to establish ‘a primary and preventive health care package for women veterans covering mammography, Pap test, cardiac care, menopause services, sexual assault, homelessness, and addressing both needs for services and research. Congresswoman Corrine Brown (D-FL), the only woman who served on the committee throughout the entire 104th Congress, drew from Water’s bill to shape what became less bold legislation aimed at advancing women’s health equity in the VA. Yet the old familiar resistance to women veterans having different but equally legitimate claims to services remained an obstacle to success, for Congresswoman Brown explained, just as in the 103rd, ‘When I was talking about some benefits to women . . . the men had come with their charts and were showing how much it costs. . . . I sat on this committee for three years now, and not one time have we discussed how much services cost for a male veteran.’ With no sign of decline in masculinist pressures within the committee and with new conservative pressure to cut government spending, the prospects of even meager gains were small. Yet, while meager gains would have been seen as doing more harm than good in the 103rd—offering both an inadequate solution to veteran women’s needs when a more adequate alternative would seem possible and setting a potentially dangerous precedent for the larger issue of health care reform—the demise of health care reform and struggles to hold onto the gains of the past made even meager gains appealing. The concern expressed in the 103rd about the sensitivity of white women to the needs of women of color (who are a disproportionate presence among impoverished veterans) and fears of how precedent with veteran’s health might affect coverage for all women seemed to vanish from interview responses. ‘I had to take what I could get’, Congresswoman Corrine Brown observed, by ‘cutting out the whole reproductive system. . . . I just had to go with the services I could improve on, and we just have to work on the other services when we can get more of them.’ A SHELTER IN THE STORM

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190 Working with members on both sides of the aisle of this virtually all-male committee, Congresswoman Brown attached three women’s health provisions supported by both Democrats and Republicans successfully to a veteran’s health bill aimed at those exposed to Agent Orange or who had served in the Persian Gulf War: (a) a requirement that the VA implement standards consistent with the Mammography Quality Standards Act of 1992; (b) a requirement to survey VA medical facilities to identify personal privacy deficiencies for women patients, develop plans to correct the deficiencies, and give cost-efficient plans high priority in the VA construction process; and (c) a requirement that the Center for Women Veterans assess use of VA health services to identify obstacles to use and report back to Congress (Clemmitt et al. 1997: 94). Though this legislation was only a shadow of its earlier self, Congresswoman Brown explained, ‘It took a lot of negotiations. It was not an easy thing to get passed.’ Yet the impact of women—a token presence by statistical standards—was limited by the prevailing ideological tide of the Congress as a whole. The shift to the right that occurred with the arrival of a new cadre of conservative women seemed to limit the energy available for action conventionally seen as pro-women, but it also created what could be seen as a challenging balancing act for women’s advocates—the need in a two-party system to appear bipartisan and the reality that by doing so, one would almost certainly aim lower, for less was possible by traditional standards in the conservative Republican environment. v

CON CLUS ION

This chapter shares with previous research a sense that women make a difference in work on women’s health and that improvements in descriptive representation increase the probability of substantive representation of women even on those pieces of legislation that also enjoy strong support from men. Yet, as important as women’s presence is, and as important as their presence on key committees is, in particular, other factors give meaning to that presence. What women can accomplish on behalf of women is determined by a number of other forces, not the least of which has been the success of the women’s movement outside of Congress in contributing to a mobilized and gender conscious female electorate that can create the kind of gender gaps that give elected women clout in fighting against the forces of masculinism. This chapter validates the conclusions of earlier chapters that concentration exclusively or even largely on improvements in descriptive representation may well fail to yield the desired policy changes because there are other critical components which give meaning to descriptive representation of women: (a) the political environment of Congress—an environment that is determined for now largely by the male majority that serves—affects not only what women can achieve, but also what they even aspire to achieve; (b) the institutional structure v

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191 which determines who has power, and (c) the gender gap pressures that depend on the sustained consciousness of voters. Moreover, the fact that forces in the external political environment—the gender gap, the mobilization of women around women’s health—seemed to play critical roles in shaping what was possible for women to accomplish and that these forces in combination with internal forces affected what women were willing to attempt to achieve, make a compelling case that as Katzenstein suggests, ‘[I]nstitutions do more than structure people’s daily routines; they also assign value to what people do, and they shape the very selfdefinitions people come to hold’ (Katzenstein 1998: 33, emphasis added). Thus, while women citizens need elected women, elected women need both women voters and an energized women’s movement to maximize the promise of presence. The argument has been made elsewhere that masculinist biases in our political system mean women’s needs and interests are disadvantaged when parties fail to divide over issues in ways that allow voters clear information about the choice before them (Sanbonmatsu 2002). However, given the peripheral nature of these matters within both parties and considering the implications for women’s health needs given a competitive political system, it would seem that women fared better than they would have if the sea change that affected most other policy areas had affected this one as well. Yet there is good reason to question whether women’s health policy has remained within the domain of the politics of presence in a way that allows it to expand and advance without colliding with the politics of ideas. After the 104th Congress, the omnibus wishlist of ideas—a pool from which solutions (and problems) could readily be drawn as the institutional climate changed—was relegated to history, as the Caucus decided to take on a more narrow agenda—one that focused on what they could expect to accomplish within the present congress and one (I would add) that was less likely to lay the foundation for changing perceptions of problems and solutions for future action. Since that time, even the more conservative women members who entered in the 104th have come out in support of particular women’s health provisions (States News Service Feb. 2005), but the issues often reflect the agenda established in the mid-1990s—Pap smears, mammography coverage, or continued funding for breast cancer research—or matters that are more limited in scope, such as obesity education (Staff and Wire Reports 2003; Lockwood-Shabat 2001), rather than efforts that would address the more controversial aspects related to the economic forces belying gender inequity. Would women’s health fare better by electing more Republican women or more Democratic men? While the institutional environment seemed to make it easier for women to craft and advance their women’s health agenda in the 103rd than in the 104th, the fact that this policy area had been crafted with particular attention to avoiding the politics of ideas allowed it to avoid the reversals and firestorms that seemed to engulf other issues such as reproductive rights and affirmative action. The presence within the Republican ranks of women who supported the A SHELTER IN THE STORM

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192 women’s health agenda almost certainly provided a quiet core of supporters that helped shelter these gains of the past. Yet their influence almost certainly was aided by gender gap fears—fears that could find no shelter in a mobilized opposition to women’s health, as opposition to reproductive health did, but that were also not sufficiently strong within the GOP’s ranks to prevent the shift toward low- or no-cost solutions that were not always seen as the best public policy. The need to find support within one’s own party caucus undoubtedly limited what women of either party could do, but in a Republican party determined to cut the size of government, that search for men’s support (and for ways to maintain unity among Republican women members) changed the transformative potential of difference. If Republican women continue to feel that consorting with women’s groups tags them as disloyal to their party, but if whatever women do is by definition ‘acting for women’ (particularly if they define it as such), then there is the risk that new initiatives on behalf of women could drift further and further from conventional gendered understandings of policies. Indeed, that danger was clear and present several believed when one Republican member turned to women in a male dominated industry (women who were not challenging the underpinnings of gender bias in application of their policies) for guidance on shaping one women’s health provision. The result, according to some was that the bill initially produced worsened the situation of women rather than improving it. As Anne Phillips (1995: 82) has noted: Representation depends on the continuing relationship between representatives and the represented, and anyone concerned about the exclusion of women’s voices or needs or interests would be ill-advised to shut up shop as soon as half those elected are women.

This seems particularly appropriate for uncrystallized, evolving gendered interests and needs that are being contested within institutions (like Congress) where women have been historically underrepresented and where the powers that be seem more eager to be vindicated than enlightened. The passion many elected women felt about these matters seemed particularly well equipped to effect change because the perceived relevance of these matters to average women voters made it an issue that male colleagues could not afford to ignore and it made it a safe focus for feminist protest against masculinist bias for women of either party. Yet partisan differences in connections to women outside the institution and within it, in the range of acceptable government action, and what would qualify as in the best interest of their party (rather than women’s groups or even the opposing party) varied, and with it, as the next chapters suggest, came the sense that bipartisan evidence of gender difference and women’s impact might well reflect the emergence of separate feminisms tailored to the very different partisan sub-environments these women members

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193 of the same institution might face. This potential becomes more obvious in the case studies of health care/health insurance reform. v

NO T E S

1 The House version included sixteen new bills and the Senate version nineteen new ones in addition to twenty carry-overs from previous congresses. The Senate’s three additional measures were: Accurate Mammography Guidelines Act, Newborns’ and Mothers’ Health Protection Act of 1996, and Obstetrician-Gynecologists as Primary Care Providers (Women’s Policy Inc. 1996). 2 These victories included: increased funding for NIH along with language urging the NCI increase its budgetary commitment to breast cancer; additional funding for breast cancer research at the Department of Defense; increased funding through the Department of Defense for research on ovarian and cervical cancer and osteoporosis; increased funding for breast and cervical cancer screening; increased funding for the Public Health Service Office on Women’s Health; and legislation to improve women veterans’ access to VA health facilities (Clemmitt et al. 1997: 119–20). 3 As Congresswoman Helen Chenoweth explained, ‘I haven’t been [very actively involved in anything related to women’s health] because of the committees I’ve been on. . . . But I am still concerned. . . .’ 4 For example, as Congresswoman Elizabeth Furse observed, ‘There were a number of [women’s health] bills that came to the subcommittee. Many of them were just beaten down by the Republicans. It was an amazing sight, where people could vote against women, seemingly without it hurting them.’ 5 As one Democratic Senate staffer observed, ‘I think that [my female boss] tries to appeal to the commonalities that women share, regardless of race, class, creed, or economics. Health issues, everybody is looking at let’s say heart disease or osteoporosis or scleroderma, certain health issues know no color. Almost all of them, as a matter of fact. And that way it’s pretty easy.’ 6 Congresswoman Blanche Lincoln observed, ‘I think it [women’s health] had to be fought [for] . . . much more in the 104th. It wasn’t something taken for granted. It was not motherhood and apple pie. It was, is it cost-effective . . . ? There was a different atmosphere.’ 7 One Republican House staffer who noted, ‘. . . a lot more emphasis on low cost initiatives,’ went on to discuss the difficulties of passing a bone mass bill aimed at ensuring uniform standards across states in eligibility for screening for osteoporosis. The aim was to reduce these fractures which account for 3 percent of the Medicare cost. As she explained, ‘In this case it’s already covered by all the local carriers. We just want it to be uniform in who’s eligible across all the states. But the reason that bill has a chance is because everybody covers it now, and it’s not hopefully going to be much of a cost.’ 8 Five of the newly elected women in the House—all Democrats—had sponsored at least one WHEA provision in the Democratic-controlled 103rd; yet not one component of the 104th’s WHEA of 1996 was sponsored by a freshman or even sophomore Republican woman. Nor was there much evidence from interviews they were working independently of the Caucus on these issues.

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194 9 As one women’s health advocate explained, fear could also contribute to bad policy. ‘A number of members of Congress admit to me that they knew that a particular piece of legislation was not good public policy, but they would be crucified if they voted against it, because on its surface it seems like it was an advancement for women’s health, when in fact it was at best meaningless and at worst harmful.’ 10 For example, women were 13.5 percent of the House Appropriations Committee’s Democratic caucus in the Democratic-controlled 103rd (and fully 33 percent of the Democratic caucus on the LHHS subcommittee). In contrast, women were a mere 3 percent of the Republican caucus on the House Appropriations Committee in the Republican-controlled 104th, and not a single Republican woman served on the LHHS subcommittee in that Congress. 11 Post-104th interviews suggested that this deviation from the tradition of minimizing controversy was unlikely to happen in the future, as concerns with attracting the support of all women supplanted the priority of advancing reproductive rights or sending a message. 12 Women’s proportional presence on the House and Senate Appropriations Committees dropped precipitously in the 104th, losing one of the three women on the Senate Appropriations Committee, three of the seven on the House Appropriations Committee, and two of the four who had served on the LHHS subcommittee. Moreover, only one woman from the majority party served on either the House or Senate Appropriations Committees during the 104th (compared with eight in the Democratic-controlled 103rd). 13 The importance of grassroots advocacy was the message from this women’s health activist who explained, ‘Well, there are a number of committee staffers who have said to me that the National Institutes of Health owe a great debt to the AIDS and breast cancer activists, because we made funding for those diseases an issue for Congress. . . . Congress has begun to pay attention to those issues. Now, the head of the National Institutes of Health would not admit that for one moment. He thinks it’s because of the incredible science that he has managed to convince some in Congress . . . , and that’s why they’ve gotten more money. But it really has come about because of the advocacy work of the AIDS activists, the breast cancer activists.’ 14 Indeed, Congresswoman Brown was one of several women members on whom activists working on behalf of women of color would traditionally rely to advocate for their constituents when they felt the CCWI was not sensitive to their concerns. As the staffer explained, ‘Individual women veterans . . . came forward and expressed concern that when we were talking about women veterans’ issues . . . we include minority women veterans, because they have special needs that maybe or might not be included in the whole realm of women’s health care, and . . . outreach to them is sometimes limited.’

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9

v

Health Care Reform: The Convergence of the Politics of Presence and the Politics of Ideas

When the focus shifts from reproductive rights and women’s health to the more general area of health care policy, the meaning of substantive representation of women becomes even more contested and uncrystallized, as the politics of presence and the politics of (partisan) ideas converge, calling into question gender’s relevance and the legitimacy of women representing women and forcing us to confront the clashing perspectives on women’s needs and interests. Indeed, while some argue that ‘health care is fundamentally not a women’s issue’ (as one female staffer interviewed emphatically stated since it serves both men and women), others take the middle ground, acknowledging that while there may be some gendered aspects (e.g. abortion coverage, mammography coverage, etc.), the really important aspect—restructuring one-seventh of the US economy—has nothing to do with gender. Others, however, argue that the gendered stakes of health care policy are central, and much broader than commonly recognized.1 This latter perspective makes a multidimensional case for gendered stakes and, thus, for gender difference. Women have traditionally been underrepresented in the medical elite who shape the system, but overrepresented among both that sector’s lower-paid workers (Conway et al. 1999) and consumers.2 Women’s longer life expectancy than men (5.8 years among whites and 8.1 years among African Americans) means women access the system for more years than men do and are a disproportionately higher percentage of nursing home residents (Conway et al. 1999). Moreover, their caregiver roles put them on the frontlines, seeking care for family members and others. At the same time, as uncompensated or poorly paid caregivers in a society that ties health coverage to employment, women’s access to health care is more vulnerable than men’s. Women are about as likely as men to be insured, but less likely to be insured through the employerprovided private health insurance plans (Health Line, May 11, 1994) that doctors and hospitals prefer (Conway et al. 1999). When insured, insurance is less adequate for women’s needs than for men’s (cf. Norsigian 1993; McBride and McBride 1993; and Dan, Jonikas, and Ford 1994; also see Wuest 1993). For example, reproductive health services exclusions (e.g. family planning) and preexisting condition exclusions (which leave about one-fourth of pregnant

196 women without coverage) force women to pay more out of pocket costs for health care than do men (Conway et al. 1999: 46; Women’s Research and Education Institute 1994: 6–9). Yet while the gendered stakes of health care policy remain contested, the existing literature suggests that if only more women served in office, health care would be a higher priority on the decision agenda. This chapter and Chapter 10 deconstruct gender differences in support for health care reform (Chapter 9) and later health insurance reform (Chapter 10) to explore the contested issues surrounding gender difference when the politics of presence veer directly into the path of partisan politics. v

DO WO M E N MAKE

A

DI F F E R E N C E ? DO WE CA RE ?

Typically claims of women’s difference are rooted in empirical evidence of gender gaps in the priority of health care policy, sponsorship or cosponsorship of health care bills, willingness to speak out on health care, or recorded votes on the floor and in committee. There was qualitative and quantitative evidence of difference from the 103rd. Women members were perceived as more dedicated to health care reform’s advancement,3 two of the four Republican women sitting on committees with primary jurisdiction actually introduced their own alternatives to the Clinton plan in the 103rd,4 Republican women were perceived as more open to bipartisan compromise (as one House staffer explained, ‘[I]f some of the Republicans would have crossed over at all, the women would have been the prime targets.’), and women were more likely than men to cosponsor the more ambitious single payer and Clinton health plans and less likely to cosponsor the relatively modest Republican alternatives.5 Women members were more likely to work to improve preventive screening provisions in health care reform and maintain abortion as a provided (or at least not explicitly excluded) service in the major bills under consideration (Dodson et al. 1995). Add to this that the health insurance reform which ultimately passed in the 104th was spearheaded by a woman, and the conclusion that women make a difference when it comes to health care policy seems empirically supported—at least on the surface. Nevertheless, a look beneath the surface reveals a murkier picture of gender difference, women’s impact, and its contribution to substantive representation of women. For example, the already moderate gender gaps in cosponsorship of health care reform plans narrowed even further after controlling for partisanship,6 suggesting that ideology and/or partisanship, rather than gender, may account for apparent gender differences in support. The need to deconstruct the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women becomes clearer when we add to this that health insurance reform was: (a) spearheaded in the 104th by a Republican woman seen as unconnected with the women’s movement; (b) passed by a Republican Congress which perceived v

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197 women’s groups as a Democratic constituency; (c) virtually ignored by Democratic women and dismissed by many in the women’s community as having no value for women; and (d) devoid of most provisions commonly associated with women’s needs and interests in health care reform. Focusing on health care reform in the 103rd, this chapter lays the groundwork for comparative analysis across the 103rd and 104th, exploring the dynamic relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women in health care policymaking across a changing political environment and confronting the (not completely intersecting) relationship between gender difference and substantive representation of women. The goal remains moving beyond what has become for some the intellectually boring question of whether women make a difference (and for others frustrating answers riddled with instability) to an understanding of how political environments structured by partisanship (creating both shared and distinctly separate environmental pressures for Democratic and Republican women) and steeped in masculinist values affect, and in turn can be affected by, the feminale. To that end, unless otherwise noted this chapter uses data from wave 2 (post-103rd) interviews with staff, lobbyists, and women members, with wave 3 (post-104th) being used in Chapter 10. v

ST R E A M S O F CO N D I T I O N S , ST R E A M S T H E 103R D

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With women members being, as one health care lobbyist put it, ‘complicated people who have districts that they want to get re-elected in,’ bipartisan unity around health care reform would have been difficult even in absence of the partisan bitterness that marked health care reform. Objectively, some districts had more to gain (and others more to lose) from reform.7 Variation in district needs,8 constituency ideology,9 and party pressure (not to mention personal ideological perspectives)10 contributed to differences in women’s support across party lines11 and within parties. Notwithstanding these diversities among women that left Republican women more likely to doubt the need for reform at all and despite a long tradition of conceptualizing health care reform in partisan rather than gendered terms, the CCWI’s adoption of its Statement of Women’s Health Principles, borrowed from a coalition of feminist health groups, suggested that women in Congress actually could overcome less than ideal environmental conditions to forge bipartisan common ground on health care reform, bringing new (gendered) perspectives to a debate previously entrenched in the politics of (partisan and masculine) ideas. Beginning with the idea that ‘Health care coverage should be available to all . . . ,’ the CCWI’s Statement of Principles went on to urge that any health benefits package include important services for women, encourage more women to be service providers, eliminate gender stereotyping that hampers CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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198 diagnosis and treatment of medical conditions, and support research promoting good health and preventing disease in women. Their bipartisan attempt to ‘focus both on the need to ensure that women have access to coverage, regardless of their employment or marital status, as well as the need to make sure that coverage responds to the unique and special health care needs of women throughout their life spans’ (Schroeder and Snowe 1994: 105) in theory moved the women members of the House collectively toward a broader feminist agenda that highlighted previously unrecognized gendered conditions and problems which otherwise might have remained unrecognized, forging bipartisan common ground within an intensely partisan debate (also see CCWI, September 14, 1993). In practice it did not. Regardless of party, few women members interviewed spontaneously referenced the Principles. When women members were queried specifically about them, some were unfamiliar with them and others disagreed over whether they were controversial or consensual.12 Indeed, even Caucus cochairs Patricia Schroeder and Olympia Snowe, who spoke out in support of the Statement of Principles, diverged over solutions, with Schroeder supporting plans providing universal coverage and Snowe supporting plans providing universal access. The yawning gap between theory and practice was a product of numerous factors. One set of factors was women’s lack of positional power in a particularly fierce competition for the one-seventh of the economy which was at stake (which meant everyone would be affected and resulted in all sorts of interest groups ‘riding into town,’ as one lobbyist aptly described it). The result was women had less control over the health care reform agenda, than they had had over WHEA, for while they wrote WHEA, they could for all practical purposes, only respond to what was presented on health care reform, attempting to modify at the margins the proposals of those with more positional power. And indeed, one women’s health activist who pointed out that ‘[W]omen have a tenuous connection to the paid labor force, much more so than men,’ saw the willingness of women’s groups to line up behind the Clinton Plan, with its employer mandate, as ‘just a very telling kind of example about the health care reform debate and women’s place in it.’ A second factor was that the recognition of the gendered stakes of health care reform that existed in theory (e.g. Statement of Principles) was difficult to put into practice because these did not resonate with women—mass or elite—in the same way that the shortchanging of women in clinical trials had. As one health care lobbyist explained, ‘A lot of male legislators and some female legislators did not understand why women did not have the same access as men (it wasn’t just simply a matter of getting a babysitter). . . . [I]t took a lot more to explain it.’ Thus, if women members did not universally recognize these as problems, much less these as political problems, in need of a government solution, this situation was only made worse by partisan bitterness and the v

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199 sense that average women voters were not demanding equity in the same way they had when NIH was found not to be enforcing gender equity standards in decisions regarding taxpayer funded health research. As a result, there was a sense that those concerned with making progress for women could do little more than attempt to attach solutions-in-waiting to the small range of problems on which they agreed. Thus, the starting point for women’s collective agenda was the same conditions and problems that had (more or less) reliably united them in the past when they worked on a narrowly crafted women’s health agenda rooted firmly in the politics of presence. As Congresswoman-turned Senator Barbara Mikulski noted ‘. . . when health insurance came along, we knew several things: . . . women’s health research was important, . . . our access to . . . mammograms, Pap smears, the regularity and the frequency of it, . . . that OB/Gyn was counted as primary care, and not a specialty service . . . and issues of reproductive freedom.’13 It was an agenda that reflected the ‘mom and apple pie’ WHEA agenda as well as women’s (not so mom-and-apple-pie) long-term struggle to rectify (largely unsuccessfully) women’s less than full access to reproductive health services through the appropriation process. By establishing a precedent for government funding of such services, their victory on abortion coverage for federal employees opened a window of opportunity even as their defeat on coverage for Medicaid recipients drove home the risk that ‘a Hyde type limitation would be applied . . . to every woman in the country under a private insurance plan . . .’ (Senator Carol Moseley Braun). Yet moving beyond this starting point of preexisting solutions/problems to the broader array of gendered dimensions was complicated by what some like this Democratic House staffer saw as the reluctance of women’s groups on the outside to ‘dilute their focus’ by taking on structural issues14 or to focus on ‘how much health care reform was a women’s health issue. . . .’ (As that staffer explained, ‘Who are in nursing homes? Elderly women. Who is on AFDC? Women and their children’.) Yet with a highly partisan environment making it difficult for women to expand their range of acceptable bipartisan solutions and problems, and with a host of competing dimensions vying for attention, those intent on finding bipartisan common ground among women embraced a limited political agenda: The financing we knew from the very beginning we’d never (don’t even bother trying to) get consensus on. . . . So we had to focus within each bill [on one question]: how does each bill address women’s health? So [for example] we could get all the women behind the benefits package in the Williams bill . . . but that didn’t mean that they all supported the Williams bill. (House staff)

Moving beyond this narrow agenda was complicated as well by the difficulty they faced in making sure their common agenda was integrated into the health care reform bill that would be sent to the Congress. Even if their previous efforts had created an environment where, ‘. . . in order to be politically correct, there CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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200 had to be at least some acknowledgment . . . of women’s needs’ (Democratic staffer), and even though the presidential task force writing the reform bill was headed by then-First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton, there was a constant collective struggle. Indeed, as an observer close to the task force put it, ‘Every male member of the [prochoice] White House administration was pretty much ready to jump ship on that [abortion coverage] issue early on.’15 As such, women members’ ‘fairly frequent’ contacts with the administration kept abortion coverage in the bill. Yet their perseverance was needed on noncontroversial matters as well. Women were forced to publicly protest inadequate preventive screening provisions—mom and apple pie matters—in the President’s plan, lodging harsh bipartisan criticism aimed at improving it; one can only imagine what might have emerged without their vigilance in the earliest stages.16 The result was as this Democratic congressional staffer explained: Women in general . . . had a major impact in . . . making sure that women’s health wasn’t relegated to the kind of back-bench status that it had received in previous years. . . . I’m not just talking about access to abortion, but I’m talking about mammograms and Pap smears, . . . raising the level of understanding of how important and how critical those things were.

Nevertheless, advancing (much less expanding) this narrow collective agenda seemed hampered not only by time pressures facing any policy window and partisanship that made bipartisan collaboration potentially costly, but also by a clash with masculinist values that marginalized their concerns. This came through in observations like those of this Republican staffer who rejected any gendered aspects to the delivery system or structure, yet was highly critical of women’s limited collective agenda, noting, It’s true that if all women have breasts, then . . . they may get a service that relates to their breasts that wouldn’t be relevant to a man. But . . . at the level we were dealing with it, . . . we’re looking at the nature of the delivery system and the structure. . . . and the specific details are not the main question.

It came through as well in the frustration of one Democratic House staffer who saw her feelings that benefits should be a high priority as being shared by a public for whom ‘the number-one thing [on their minds] is what do they get,’ but felt a disconnect with the powers-that-be on the [all-male] Democratic controlled Finance Committee who ‘didn’t think it was that important. It wasn’t a key issue.’ While the CCWI provided a safe space in which the feminale—women’s concerns as individuals and caregivers, as well as a sense of connection and responsibility to constituents—could be reinforced,17 the transformative potential of this safe space was limited by realities of partisanship. This was even more the case for Republican women caught between acting on their sense of responsibility to women and institutional pressures that not only devalued women’s v

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201 focus on reproductive rights, but also (in the case of pro-choice Republican women like the one described by this House staffer) that put them at odds substantively with the majority of their party caucus: [S]he was in all the meetings, and when the subject [of banning abortion] came up, she spoke up . . . , ‘We’ve got to keep abortion out of this’. . . She really worked hard, . . . [but] didn’t want to be pigeonholed as ‘the abortion person,’ . . . which means you have to really walk a fine line. So therefore she spoke up, she made calls . . . to lobby her colleagues, but she didn’t do it in a very public way.

Republican women’s fears of being pigeonholed were no idle worry, for numerous Republican staff and lobbyists voiced pride in the fact that Republican women members had not diminished their credibility by focusing on women’s issues as Democratic women had (see Chapter 10, this volume); yet as troubling as the concessions made to accommodate these constraints can be to those looking for evidence that women make a difference, an equally troubling situation is that articulation of the feminale was sometimes welcomed by male leaders. I am not talking about when women’s needs appear on the radar screen of men and (helped by the gender gap) they ‘get it’, but rather when giving attention to the feminale is seen as strategically useful way to achieve a legislative goal shaped by men without women in mind and unaltered by awareness of those needs— particularly when it helped undercut the legitimacy of women’s groups’ arguments on behalf of women. Take, for example, Republican women’s short-lived effort to convince women voters that the Clinton plan was detrimental for women. Congresswoman Deborah Pryce’s (R-OH) view ‘. . . that the Clinton health care plan was a negative, not just for the country but for women in particular’ centered the concerns of women as caregivers with good benefits who might be confronted with limited choices. As she saw it, ‘[Y]ou had one physician and only one [in the Clinton plan], and most families have a pediatrician and an OB/Gyn and a general practitioner.’ Pryce was not alone, for Congresswoman Jennifer Dunn, ‘really wanted to take a lead’ according to knowledgeable Republican staff, in steering the efforts of this GOP leadership-established subgroup on women’s health. ‘She [Dunn] thought we needed to have a few women who . . . were talking about its [the Clinton Plan’s] impact on women specifically. . . .’ As that staffer explained, their logic was that ‘Women [citizens] tend to be much more sympathetic with the Democrat plans. She [Jennifer Dunn] really thought it was important that we counter that. . . .’ By adding these feminale concerns to the debate they hoped to challenge those conventionally understood as speaking for women (as Congresswoman Deborah Pryce explained, ‘[W]hether or not women’s groups were lined up behind it, we were trying to reach the American people and influence their decision’), and in so doing increase the political effectiveness of a party populated largely by elected men, but needing to reach both women and men voters. CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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202 This short-lived effort illustrates an often ignored complexity belying simple conclusions women make a difference. On the one hand, their ostensibly womencentric concerns clashed with the ideals of third wave feminism, for they were used to argue against a policy that would have improved the lives of many marginalized women (and their families) who had been priced out of the health care system (although the Clinton plan which women’s groups and most Democratic women members supported would probably have been less helpful to marginalized women than the single-payer plan). Add to this that these Republican women attempted to reframe understandings of gendered needs and interests at least partially to build support for the ends their male leadership had chosen and that their success could strengthen arguments for women’s presence (since men might not have thought of this or been credible messengers), and it is tempting to write this off as a case of old-fashioned co-optation. Yet to do that would miss the sense of courage that often seemed to belie Republican women’s efforts to speak out on behalf of women within a party where women were seen as a component of their opponent’s coalition—the kind of courage that belied feminist protest in the military (see Katzenstein 1998) even as ‘protestors’ embraced uncritically the institution’s goals. Clearly, the concerns Republican women raised would have been close to the hearts of women whose families had good health benefits; moreover, their actions were not without danger in a party where women members feared being marginalized as the ‘abortion person’ or talking too much about ‘women’s issues’. If we agree that consequences can be gendered without affecting all women, but rather affecting similarly situated women and men differently (Phillips 1995), then even the concerns of middle class women as caregivers of their own families are gendered. If, however, women’s efforts are considered gendered only if they benefit all women or if they benefit those women most marginalized within our society, then their actions seem more akin to co-optation. Clearly, their ‘impact’ implores us to look more carefully at the meaning of gender difference. Indeed, by facilitating rather than challenging the ends desired by a predominately male institution (in much the same way military women argued for gender equity on the grounds of military readiness [Katzenstein 1998]), Republican women’s addition of this new dimension of concerns that men likely could not or would not use allowed the roles of politician and women to converge in more acceptable ways within the Republican conference; yet just as military women depended on outside forces (in their case legislation and the courts) to open a window of opportunity for making a masculinist institution respond positively to their arguments that gender equity would advance the widely supported goal of military readiness, so too did Republican women’s efforts to introduce the feminale. In their case, the critical outside force was the gender gap. In a party that perceived the women’s movement as aligned with its partisan opponents, but could recognize the danger of writing off a subgroup that was the majority of the v

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203 electorate, Republican gender gap/women problems opened a window of opportunity for Republican women (as it did for Democratic women with other concerns)18 to carve out a women’s piece that challenged at least some masculinist values (e.g. that there was no gender difference in needs and interests, that gender was irrelevant in reaching women voters) within their party without challenging others (e.g. defeat of the Clinton Plan). The power of the external pressures created by the gender gap to legitimize the feminale within an institution largely guided by masculinist values is well illustrated in efforts to grant OB/Gyns primary care status. Designating OB/Gyns as primary care physicians was opposed not only by health policy experts,19 but by the feminist health community. One feminist health advocate summed up feminist opposition to what another women’s health advocate said was a ‘surgical subspeciality’ this way: ‘. . . if every woman in the country started off with a nurse practitioner or a nurse midwife or a family practice doctor, and only went to see an OB/Gyn if she needed to, . . . women would get better care and better outcomes in pregnancy, and [have] less unnecessary intervention.’ And though it was one of those oft-trivialized benefit issues, it took on more legitimacy as a political issue, for not only, as that feminist health activist conceded, was it the case ‘most women don’t feel that way,’ but neither did women members of Congress who embraced it as recognizing the realities of women’s lives,20 nor did their male colleagues who feared being seen as standing between a woman and her gynecologist. Thus, if feminale perspectives that might not be considered feminist or even good health policy by some could become virtually uncontested components of a pro-women agenda within an institution steeped in masculinist values and norms, the key was not only the critical role of women’s presence in public office to put women’s life experiences on the radar screen, but also the power of women voters as a force raising the credibility of what might otherwise be marginalized. Thus, if women are to make a difference—a real difference—in challenging masculinist values and putting women’s needs and interests on the radar screen, that difference is likely to be maximized by an energized women’s movement whose messages resonate with women. Women officeholders do not and cannot do this alone. Thus far, the analysis has focused on dual institutional pressures mediating the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women— the pressures as members of Congress and related (but divergent) institutional pressures as members, for example, of competing party caucuses which not only created partisan differences in pressures (particularly for those who wanted to climb the political ladder and bring home the bacon for their district) but could divide women among themselves as they sought success as women and on behalf of women. Yet the environment in which they operated was further complicated, I would argue, by another layer of obstacles and opportunities provided by suborganizations—that is, committees. These presented women with different CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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204 challenges, different opportunities, and different levels of access to selected decision-making venues; and for research purposes they provide additional laboratories in which to explore how the environment shapes the meaning of gender and women’s impact. Three House and two Senate committees shared primary jurisdiction for health care reform, and four of these (House Ways and Means; House Education and Labor; Senate Labor; and Senate Finance) produced bills. The collective efforts of women members of Congress to present a unified image may have affected the health care reform bill shaped by the task force but once it was sent to Congress, it would be shaped by multiple committees, which in turn produced bills with varying degrees of sensitivity to women’s needs and interests. With distinctly different political cultures, and with variations in accessibility to women, women’s proportional presence, and women’s power as women within them, the convergence of pressure from women members on the inside and women voters and activists outside the institution could better reach some places within the institutional structure than others. The result was that as multiple committees worked to construct their own alternatives, provisions generally considered ‘women’s issues’ fared differently in different settings. This variation provides a naturally occurring quasi-experimental design that can help us better understand the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women and strategies likely to strengthen substantive representation of women. Several lessons can be drawn from cross-committee comparisons. First, even if acknowledgement of women’s health needs had become the ‘politically correct’ thing to do, and even though the few, less well positioned women who served in earlier years had been able to advance their novel notion of women’s health, on the high-profile issue of health care reform women’s presence in committees mattered. The women’s health provisions were least favorable on the one committee lacking women members at the time, the Senate Finance Committee. The fact that abortion remained a covered benefit even in the Finance bill, despite amendments to remove it as a basic benefit and prevent health subsidies from paying for plans that offer such services, suggests women’s presence solely within the decisionmaking process was not completely determinative. However, the passage of restrictive amendments that did not appear in other committees—striking requirements that employers offer their employees benefit packages that include abortion services, allowing states to maintain some of the restrictions they currently placed on abortion such as waiting periods and parental notification, and preventing states from being required to offer abortion services where they were not currently available (Health Line, July 5, 1994)—suggests the importance of descriptive representation at every level where decisions are made. While some attributed the Finance Committee’s greater restrictions to the more conservative culture of the committee, others interviewed, like this lobbyist, v

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205 attributed the gap between women’s collective demands and the Finance Committee’s provisions to women’s absence: ‘While we had defenders and supporters [on Finance], it was really the Democratic women in the end who took it upon themselves . . . to make sure that choice remained a part of health care reform . . . , but we did not have that driving force in the [all-male] Finance Committee.’ Women’s absence on Finance was felt as well on the seemingly less controversial ‘mom and apple pie’ matter of preventive screening, for while as this lobbyist observed, ‘anyplace that there [were] women, there was an insistence that things like Pap smears and mammographies be spelled out, because those were things that insurers tended not to cover,’ that same lobbyist went on to note, ‘one of the things they didn’t do in the [all-male] Senate Finance Committee of course was spell out what the benefits would be.’ It was more than women’s absence. There was a sense women’s absence on Finance struck a double blow for the feminale, not only devaluing that which women members had made a priority in their roles as representatives of women, but also devaluing that which women on the front lines as caregivers would view as important, by giving the benefits package ‘a pretty low priority’.21 The result, as that Democratic Senate staffer continued, was ‘a statement about how the Senate Finance Committee viewed women.’ Although it is tempting to assert that putting a woman on Finance would have been the solution, interviews with those familiar with Finance suggested change was more complicated. As this Democratic Senate staffer opined when asked if having a woman on the committee would have mattered, ‘It depends. If the woman on the Senate Finance Committee were the chair, it would have made a hell of a difference. If they’re the most junior member on the Senate Finance Committee, it makes less difference.’ Yet when we also consider (as will be shown subsequently) that improvements in women’s health benefits in the Ways and Means, Education and Labor, and the Senate Labor Committee health care bills were directly traceable to the influence of women serving on those committees, then the importance of women’s presence at key points within the institutional structure becomes clearer. The House Education and Labor Committee was in some respects the antiFinance Committee, for it produced the bill with the most generous women’s health benefits of any committee.22 With a committee culture widely anticipated as likely to provide more generous benefit packages than either Finance or the House Ways and Means Committee, the intersection of that more liberal committee culture with women’s presence on the committee seemed to raise the visibility of women’s needs and interests to a higher level than might have been the case if Education and Labor had an all-male membership. Yet while women’s presence was almost certainly important, it was only a part of the equation for the kind of impact women had on this committee’s bill. CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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206 Six women served on Education and Labor (four Democrats and two Republicans), but the clout of the four Democratic women was enhanced not only by their being members of the majority party, but also by the chair’s need to forge a majority for a Clintonesque bill from the committee’s divided (but liberal) Democratic caucus. With this being the goal in a bitterly partisan environment, ‘The markup process, in many ways, occurred before the actual markup, . . . within the Democratic caucus in terms of putting together a ‘chairman’s mark’ to package the best thoughts, ideas, reasonable solutions . . . of different members of the committee’ (Democratic House staffer). The women’s health portions that emerged from this collaborative process were very popular among Democrats, as evidenced by Labor and Education Committee member Patsy Mink’s sense, ‘they [men] were out there like they authored it [the women’s health provisions],’ or Congresswoman Lynn Woolsey’s recollection that ‘. . . every time he [the chairman] talked about his plan, it [the women’s health package] was the first or second thing he brought forward.’ The fact that the most favorable provisions across the four committees emerged from the committee with the most Democratic women (Republican women were for all practical purposes shut out, of course, like Republican men) was dismissed by some as a mere coincidence— suggesting the outcome would have been the same regardless with a chairman attuned to women’s concerns. Yet women members’ role as the catalyst for committee action comes through not only in the general impressions of women who served on that committee (e.g. Congresswoman Woolsey explained, ‘It [women’s health] was not on his [Chairman Williams’] radar screen. . . . [I]t had to come from us [the women members]’), but also in the chronology of events leading up to it. Indeed, as Congresswoman Patsy Mink, the leader of what ultimately became the committee’s informal women’s health task force, recalled: ‘. . . When we first met in our Education and Labor caucus, it [women’s health] was not an issue of any paramount concern, so I volunteered to write that portion. . . . But once . . . we had people understand what we were trying to do, everybody wanted to take ownership of it.’ Women’s contribution to the women’s health portion went beyond the sum of their own individual concerns,23 for as Congresswoman Jolene Unsoeld, a member of that task force, explained: It [the women’s health task force] was pretty informal. . . . We didn’t initially sit down and think that that’s what we were going to do. We thought we were just going to support each other on what individual women members might know more about and might see a greater need for. . . . Then we found there was really a need for a more comprehensive approach and package.

Yet if the synergy their collaboration gave to their effort was seen as enhancing women’s expectations of the bill, the partisan bitterness that engulfed the issue v

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207 institutionwide in the 103rd spilled over into women’s collaborative efforts within the committee.24 Just as was true on other committees, women’s initial bipartisan unity during the earliest stages before the bill went to committee began to diminish as the stakes rose during markups. As such, the presence of Democratic women on key committees became the critical conduit of the Caucus agenda. This did not have to be the case. Certainly that every district is roughly evenly divided between male and female constituents gives male representatives as much of a responsibility in theory as women to act for women; moreover, the Caucus’ high-profile media efforts on women’s health and its inclusion of men within its membership ranks meant that men might have drawn on Caucus resources to make women’s health improvements one of their priorities, contacting the Caucus directly for information. However, even on this liberal committee, the presence of Democratic women on the committee was critical. As one staffer close to the process recalled: ‘[Congresswoman] Patsy [Mink] came to us with the package, the preventive package, that they [the Caucus] had introduced. . . . So we tried to pick up as much of them as we can. I didn’t really interface at all with the Congressional Caucus [for Women’s Issues].’ Thus, while openness to women members’ concerns was heightened by a mixture of ideology and pragmatism, women’s presence within the majority party caucus on the committee gave women critical access likely to facilitate efforts to make a difference. This came through as well on the Senate Labor Committee, where women’s presence, committee culture, and the ideological compatibility of the chair all converged to yield a chairman’s mark that provided more benefits to women, children, and the disabled than did the Clinton bill or the Senate Finance Bill. It helped that the chair, Senator Edward Kennedy, had a long history of receptivity to the agenda of women’s groups—so much that he was dubbed ‘an honorary girl’ by one women’s rights lobbyist interviewed. Nevertheless, the presence of women on the committee—especially a Democratic woman—was important as well. Although two women served on Labor (one Democrat, one Republican), it was Barbara Mikulski, the only Democratic woman on Labor, and thus the best positioned woman Senator to act for women, whose efforts seemed to have shaped these provisions. Although both women on the committee cared about health care reform, Mikulski’s stronger sense of gender consciousness (to say nothing of majority party status) made her the more likely of the two to act for women and her position as chair of Labor’s Aging subcommittee, her role as dean of the Democratic women, years of work on WHEA, and some would say the status she enjoyed as an appropriator all made her ‘the starting point for a lot of issues, particularly for the Democratic women . . .’ (Democratic Senate staffer). Moreover, she saw the value in bringing women together as a collective force. Mikulski brought women together for a bipartisan hearing on women’s CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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208 health, but she also, as that same staffer explained, set up ‘a series of meetings among the [Democratic] women members and staff on issues that were important to women in health care reform.’ The result was, as she continued, ‘a lot of those issues then came into the bills’ not only ‘because there was strong and very vocal support by the women senators’ but also because a window of opportunity for their input expanded when ‘the Democratic men ceded responsibility and the voice on a lot of these issues to the women [members].’ Indeed, by having in Kennedy a male chair whose staff worked with Mikulski’s staff to ensure the women’s health provisions in his bill were ‘reflective of the women senators’ desires’ (Democratic Senate staff), the Labor Committee posed a sharp contrast with Finance where ‘more of the concern [about women], particularly around abortion, [was] of what will the reaction be or how will this be handled in a political strategic sense. But never the idea of inviting people in for helpful input. Never’ (Democratic Senate staff). The importance of committee culture and ideological perspectives of male colleagues in giving meaning to women’s presence comes through as well on Ways and Means where women fared less well than on the Labor Committees. As on Labor two women—one Democrat, one Republican—served on that committee. As with Education and Labor, all the women were members of the Caucus, and thus at least in theory aware of concerns shared by women. Their track records as advocates on behalf of women were clearly established and increased the potential for them to work collectively on behalf of women. Yet the chairman’s mark introduced in Ways and Means included women’s health provisions that fell short of the CCWI’s standard and were less favorable to women than either the Education and Labor or the Labor Committees’ bills.25 Part of this was the more conservative nature of the money committees. No one would have expected the provisions in the Ways and Means bill would be as generous to women (or any other group for that matter) as those of either Labor and Education or the Senate Labor Committee. Yet through the interviews one can get a sense that more was at work—that the forces of masculinism were stronger on Ways and Means than on committees that gave more generous women’s health benefits. That Kennelly would ultimately win changes dealing with mammography coverage and definition of OB/Gyns as primary care providers (to say nothing of other concessions near and dear to the heart of her district located in the insurance capital) shows that women could overcome a less than ideal political environment. Yet the forces of masculinism and masculinist values are clear in the words of this health care lobbyist who opined: I will not say that Rostenkowski and Gibbons ever worked in a partnership with Barbara Kennelly. And Barbara Kennelly was one of many members of the Ways and Means with a very strong chairman who . . . never saw it to their advantage to highlight the fact that they had a woman on their committee.

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209 A sense that masculinist values were stronger on Ways and Means, than on Labor, for example, is validated by staff and lobbyists’ comments that more often than on other committees seemed to challenge women’s credibility for doing what any Representative might do,26 such as speaking out for district interests or challenging a witness testifying about a topic that was her area of expertise. It also came through in the observations of this Republican House staffer whose perceptions seemed more common among those associated with money committees like Ways and Means or Finance:27 Some of the Democratic women got themselves identified with a women’s issue, and by doing so . . . hurt themselves. Because you know how people are: ‘. . . I bet that’s all she cares about.’. . . To get in the room you had to know ERISA, . . . long-term care, . . . Medicaid, . . . what a reserve was in an insurance company, you had to understand all these things. And so they [women] were seen as maybe more singleissue than the men. . . . (You look at somebody like Pat Schroeder, and it’s like, ‘Oh God, here we go on abortion again.’) When you look at a Nancy Johnson . . . you might think of the insurance industry because she’s from Connecticut, and you might think of long-term care, but you don’t automatically think of ‘Nancy Johnson, abortion’. . . . When you talk about abortion or . . . mammography, that is such a sliver. . . . You become, in a sense, less relevant. That is why a Kennelly and a Johnson stayed in. . . . While they might have had amendments on mammography . . . they stuck to the bigger issues where sort of the big boys were, slugging it out at the table.28

Yet in contrast with Ways and Means, women’s health was taken more seriously on the Senate Labor and House Education and Labor Committees. Indeed, Senator Mikulski’s efforts on women’s health were not seen as diminishing her credibility within her party, certainly given the willingness of the Chair to work with her,29 and the willingness of Chairman Williams to tout the women’s health provisions of his bill on Education and Labor suggests the Democratic women’s concerns were taken seriously there. Yet, while Ways and Means shared much in common with its Senate counterpart, Finance (for as one Democratic Senate staffer explained: ‘. . . in the Finance Committee the big issues were the overall financing and some of the really big-ticket [items]—you know, the employer mandate and that sort of thing. We just didn’t spend a whole lot of time talking about things like screening, mammography, or even abortion.’), it also shared one characteristic in common with Education and Labor—women’s votes could not be taken for granted. On Ways and Means, the chairman’s need for every possible Democratic vote in a divided Democratic caucus made Congresswoman Barbara Kennelly’s limited demands on behalf of women and her focus on concerns valued by the ‘Big Boys’ impossible to ignore, as this Democratic House staffer explained: The reason that each [Democratic] member had so much influence was the razorthin 20–18 majority. . . . Jim McDermott voted no on recommending to go to the

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210 House. . . . That meant that each and every Democrat . . . had to [support it]. They had to get to consensus. They had to plow through it issue by issue by issue. . . . 30

Thus, with the goal of the chair seeming to be to get an acceptable bill through the committee, the focus was on building a majority from the committee’s Democratic Caucus, and the resulting need for women’s votes gave women clout to overcome masculinist pressures in ways that would have been far more difficult either for non-members of the panel or under more favorable political conditions. Take for example shortchanging of older women’s health needs in the bill the chairman introduced in committee. It initially covered annual mammograms only for women between the ages of 50 and 64, with those 65 and over reverting back to the age 40–49 standard of biennial exams (Cloud 1994; AAUW/Campaign for Women’s Health 1994). Barbara Kennelly, the only Democratic woman on the committee ultimately forged a $40 million deal with Chairman Gibbons (Cloud 1994) to extend the medically recommended annual mammogram coverage to women aged 65 and older. That her amendment passed by voice vote in committee suggests the possibility a male colleague would have taken on what might seem a noncontroversial issue in her absence. Yet the lack of any competition from her male colleagues for this ‘mom and apple pie issue’ that became ‘rather contentious’ (because as one Democratic House staffer explained, ‘She had to come up with funding to do it, which was extremely difficult,’) suggests the importance of a Democratic woman’s presence on the committee in making this happen.31 Indeed, the presence of a member on the committee willing to make this a priority was critical due to institutional procedures, as this Republican House staffer explained: She [Mrs. Kennelly] was able to offer that amendment at the Ways and Means Committee and find the revenue to pay for it. . . . [A]n amendment like that would almost certainly have never passed on the floor . . . [because] for all practical purposes, the tax portions of it are locked off . . . any bill that comes out of the Ways and Means Committee. They are not subject to amendment.

Although women members presented as much of a united bipartisan front around preventive care and abortion within Education and Labor,32 Ways and Means,33 and the Senate Labor Committees as they could in a highly partisan environment,34 the politics of presence associated with benefit packages and WHEAesque concerns collided with partisan politics once they moved beyond a narrow women’s health agenda. Hints of this appeared even with a focus on women’s health provisions. Some tensions reflected partisan differences not over goals, but rather over means. For example, both Democrat Barbara Kennelly and Republican Nancy Johnson attempted to amend the chairman’s mark to provide more adequate coverage for preventive screening among women (older women for Kennelly and middle-aged women for Johnson), however, Kennelly’s earlier noted solution to v

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211 improve coverage for older women put faith in government to define benefits, while Johnson’s amendment to institute a less specific standard for mammography coverage of women in their 40s put faith in market forces. Although some might suggest Johnson’s strategy on the surface seemed an antiwoman costcutting move rather than one to benefit women, her efforts had a decidedly different ring, given Johnson’s logic that Ways and Means . . . struggled for five years to get mammograms as a Medicare benefit. Now, if five years down the road science finds we need more mammograms, it could be a very long wait. It is far better advice to say that it is up to the doctors’ groups to decide what is best for women. (Legi-Slate, May 19, 1994)

The sense that Republican women, despite their party’s opposition to the Clinton plan, cared about health care came through in the fact that of the four Republican women serving on committees with primary jurisdiction over health care, two—Congresswoman Marge Roukema and Senator Nancy Kassebaum— introduced their own health care reform alternatives to the Clinton bill. Yet labeling their efforts substantive representation of women can be questioned on several levels. First, should actions consistent with substantive representation of women be labelled as such if neither the woman who seems to be making a difference nor those close to her ever cast her (perhaps inadvertent) difference in gendered terms? Second, should difference that might meet conventional definitions of substantive representation of women be interpreted as such if these efforts are interspersed with others that some would see as antiwomen? Let me begin with Nancy Kassebaum. While one Republican Senate staffer opined, ‘I think she is naturally sympathetic to these kinds of [women’s health] issues,’ that perception was qualified by this observation that ‘. . . probably an overriding view on her part is that you can’t just pick things out, no matter how much you personally might want them, because everything gets picked out and then you have something that is unmanageable.’ In contrast with her Democratic counterpart on Labor, Senator Mikulski, Senator Kassebaum herself had neither strong ties to women’s groups nor connected her work on health care with gender.35 One could also argue that hers was a constituency-driven focus rather than a reflection of feminale values, for as that Republican Senate staffer went on to explain, ‘Her primary interest was restraining costs, and this was very constituent-driven. . . . Kansas is 95 per cent small business, so many people have to buy their own insurance and were being priced out of the market.’ Alternatively, one could argue that her willingness to confront these concerns was gendered in the sense that she seemed more connected with what people needed. Yet her efforts to create what she saw as a doable, affordable bill actually threatened women members’ common ground forged around women’s health benefits, for her unsuccessful amendment in the Labor Committee markup to shift the benefits package to a commission (in the hope of cutting costs by taking it out CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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212 of the hands of politicians contemplating re-election) would have undone what the majority of women were trying to do (Legi-Slate, May 19, 1994), as this Democratic Senate staffer explained: She [Kassebaum] actually had a couple of amendments that would have removed the outlined benefit package and given responsibility to a benefits commission. So she did a lot to destroy some of the work for women’s health. . . . You know, we were able to say that it’s important that women have mammographies between the ages of 40 and 49 every other year upon consult with physicians. And if it had gone to a commission, there would have been far less control over that kind of benefit. . . . Part of her argument . . . was that Congress should not be in the business of determining what health benefits should be. We should leave it up to the experts, and if they think this is an appropriate . . . device, then that will be included, with the understanding that cost is an issue. (emphasis added)

Roukema’s contribution to gender difference presents somewhat different challenges than Kassebaum’s did in assessing its relationship to substantive representation of women. While Roukema, like Kassebaum, was seen as more supportive of health care policy than the average Republican, her efforts were clearly tied (by herself and others) to her gendered experiences as a caregiver. Yet while her sponsorship of a health care bill is consistent with expectations women will make a difference by reshaping the agenda and while she (unlike Kassebaum) spoke of the feminale as a motivating force for her actions, one could question whether it should be considered a manifestation of substantive representation of women since the bill would hardly be recognized as prowoman by the standards of the contemporary women’s movement which ostensibly emphasizes sensitivity to marginalized subgroups of women ignored by the women’s movement in earlier years; the bill’s mandate that everyone obtain coverage was harshly criticized as doing nothing for poor women. At the very least, this suggests empirical analyses that simply look for gender differences in sponsorship, cosponsorship, or amendments in a particular policy area may include actions by women that fit comfortably within feminist standards, as well as differences whose meanings are more controversial—perhaps reflecting an ethic of care, albeit one aimed at those perceived to be like themselves rather than different (Tronto 1987: 249). Yet other manifestations of women’s greater focus on issues such as health go even further in challenging the relationship between difference and substantive representation of women. This is well illustrated by Roukema’s unsuccessful amendment to the Williams bill to bar illegal aliens from receiving WIC benefits (Legi-Slate, June 22, 1994). While her efforts in support of some type of health care reform may have been consistent with an ethic of care, a gender difference that at least some would consider substantive representation of women, when caregiver concerns converged with competing issues (law enforcement) and a v

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213 conceptualization of women that reflected the more privileged nature of her suburban district and re-election constituency, gender seemed to be rendered irrelevant. Indeed, as Roukema explained: I strongly believe . . . that if we have definitions of what is legal and illegal immigration, then we must do everything to enforce the laws and take action against illegal immigrants. . . . They should not be receiving sustainable support like welfare, . . . unemployment benefits, . . . WIC, etc. . . . The law is the law, and we should be doing everything possible to see to it that we are not attracting illegal immigrants through various . . . benefit programs.36

Now if these case studies caution us that not all gender differences are substantive representation of women, they also suggest that while positional power can be a valuable resource that allows women to turn gender difference in attitudes and perspectives into real impact, it is not always the asset we would expect. These contradictions are reminders that strategies to enhance substantive representation of women must go far beyond improvements in descriptive representation— even within the ranks of those with ‘power’. The value of positional power is illustrated, for example, by Senator Barbara Mikulski’s actions. As a member of Labor, Barbara Mikulski had the ear of the chair when it came to shaping the women’s health provisions. As chair of the Labor Subcommitttee on Aging herself, she had broad powers to set the agenda for that panel; she availed herself of those, calling a special hearing on women’s health that brought together the women of the Senate across party lines in a way that most suggested a male colleague probably would not have done,37 spotlighting women in a manner analogous to that of the CCWI on the House side, employing a strategy with symbolic effects that surely would have been unavailable to her were she merely a member of the subcommittee,38 and taking advantage of the convergence of pressure by women members on the inside and women voters and activists on the outside.39 Yet positional power seemed less advantageous for Republicans Marge Roukema (ranking member of the Labor-Management subcommittee of Education and Labor) and Nancy Kassebaum (ranking on the Senate Labor Committee) in acting for women in the context of health care reform. Indeed, rather than being a voice for compromise and bipartisanship as she had in the past, Roukema, as this Democratic House staffer opined, ‘chose to play the role that Gingrich had decided that all of them play, which is . . . do everything you can to keep progress from happening.’40 While some might see this as a lack of will or what others described as willingness ‘to talk the talk, but not walk the walk,’ there was reason to believe the political environment they had to navigate discouraged gender difference, and thus presence was but a first step in advancing substantive representation of women. Let me explain. Although Roukema, herself, acknowledged the constraints she faced as a ranking Republican on the subcommittee with jurisdiction over health care,41 CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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214 congress-watchers like this Democratic House staffer were quite willing to elaborate, explaining: She [Roukema] was constantly having to watch her right flank. The problem that women on the Republican side have is that if they’re moderates, they’re always being challenged. So any position of leadership they get, they’re vulnerable because of the more extreme right-wing types.

Republicans, like this staffer, validated those perceptions, noting: [T]here were certainly ideas, proposals, that had she not been in the position of, we’ll say, leadership—having to carry the views and concerns of her members on that subcommittee—she might have proposed on her own and pushed for with other members. . . . So I would say it’s fair [to say] that there were things that she was not able to do because of that. (emphasis added)

This pressure to toe the party line did not completely preclude Roukema from efforts to act for women in ways conventionally defined, as when she offered an amendment to the Williams bill eliminating pregnancy as a preexisting medical condition under employer health plans—an amendment which passed the committee on a voice vote (Legi-Slate, June 16, 1994). Yet part of the reason this was acceptable to the GOP leadership may have been because they believed it reduced the Williams bill’s likelihood of passage by increasing the cost, and in so doing facilitated the GOP’s goal of killing the Clinton Plan. Moreover, being ranking member seemed to do nothing to help her advance her own health care reform, for as one Republican House staffer explained, It was clear you couldn’t just say, ‘Get out there and now you all have to buy health insurance’ without some way to pay for it. . . . I wouldn’t go so far as to say the leadership forbade her from doing this, but in her role as the leader of the subcommittee, she was strongly discouraged [from advancing her own bill], and it was made very clear that our side of the aisle just would not muster support for that. (emphasis added)

These same forces may well have contributed to the paradoxical behavior of Nancy Kassebaum. Rather than her position as ranking member of the Senate Labor Committee giving her the freedom to advance her own plan (which as one Democratic staffer explained, ‘a lot of the Clinton Bill was very similar to that’), she took, as that same staffer explained, positions ‘more conservative than we would have guessed her to come out with. . . . (She had some pretty conservative members on that committee)’ and ‘was very quiet as the bill moved to the floor. . . . From what we understand, Sen. Dole had asked her not to be visible.’42 At the very least, her position as ranking provided no reprieve from the pressure all Republicans ostensibly were feeling to toe the party line.43 This pressure was felt as well by Nancy Johnson whose ‘power’ was rooted in her expertise (rather than in an official committee position). Though considered the most knowledgeable Republican on health care by some, working on it before v

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215 it was in vogue and, once it was, working to bring her colleagues who long ignored the matter up to speed on it, her knowledge and party credentials could only take her so far as a ‘leader’, for as one Republican insider explained, Now, the real story about Nancy Johnson and Republican leadership is that early on there was suspicion about her, because of the fear that she would cave in to the Democrats too easily, that she would be too willing to go along with the Clinton plan. But she surprised people by changing over time and becoming a staunch opponent of the Clinton plan, and was seen as leading the opposition. . . . [After that] she was pretty much included, because she was supposed to be head of the Republican health care reform effort.

Yet despite her expertise and her role in educating her party about these issues, after work began on the House bipartisan alternative to the Democratic leadership plan, Johnson’s role was decidedly reduced. Her considerable knowledge made her an important resource, but not, as this staffer echoing others explained, important enough to secure herself a visible place at the table in forging bipartisan challenges to the Clinton plan: Basically it was a marriage of the two camps of Cooper-Grandy and RowlandBilirakis. . . . It ended up being Bill Thomas, Fred Grandy, Denny Hastert, Mr. Rowland, Mr. Bilirakis, Mr. McCurdy, Stenholm, and others. So to my knowledge, none of the female members were actually . . . part of the working group that was charged with pulling these issues together, but . . . they did bring in Nancy for longterm care issues, tax clarification, long-term care policies, Medicare reforms. v

CO N C L U S I O N

Whether measured by cosponsorship or more subjective assessments, this chapter validates the conventional wisdom that women were making a difference in the debate over health care policy. At the same time, however, it highlights many of the contested issues surrounding gender difference. At the heart of this controversy was the reality that health care reform in its broadest sense simply did not register with many women as having gendered stakes that reached beyond benefits to the broad structural issues associated with health care—dimensions deeply entrenched in the rhetoric of partisan politics, making the class stakes more real to women than the gendered stakes. As such, health care reform posed a stark contrast with the relatively new issue of women’s health which had not been cast as a partisan issue before it became a gendered matter in the minds of officeholders and voters. Yet, the meaning of gender difference was not only complicated by the fact that women varied in the degree to which manifestation of the ethic of care was consistent with the sensibilities of third wave feminism (due to differences in ideological perspectives about the role of government, the relative priority of commitment to women as a CONV ERGENC E O F PO L IT I CS

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216 political group, the needs of those they represent, and their own life experiences), but also by questions of whether Republican women’s focus on what they saw as the antiwomen aspects of the Clinton plan was evidence of substantive representation of (more privileged) women, co-optation, or perhaps a form of feminist protest that carved out a niche for women members that could enhance their value within a masculinist institution forced to acknowledge the feminale. At the same time, this case study suggests one cannot truly understand gender differences in an institutional vacuum. Much of women’s efforts were channeled toward health care reform rather than some other area because it was a presidential priority. The opening of this window of opportunity to expand understandings of the gendered stakes was limited not only by women’s underrepresentation on committees such as Finance and Ways and Means but also by the more pervasive environment of masculinism on these prestige committees which, when combined with partisan pressure, made it difficult to expand awareness of the gendered stakes. Nevertheless, masculinist values could be overcome by public pressure, thus suggesting not only the importance of women’s presence on committees, but also the critical role played by sustaining the gender gap and electing men more open to the concept of gendered stakes. This case study also raises serious (and classic) questions about the intersection between empirical evidence of gender difference in action and conceptualization of substantive representation of women which we all too often sidestep in the effort to show that women’s presence matters. To what extent must that difference challenge masculinism and on what level must the challenge occur? Among that evidence of women’s greater concern for health care as caregivers in the family and within society more generally were sharp differences in what constituted care—differences that reflected the ideological, partisan, and economic diversity among themselves and their districts. This was true even among those whose discourse suggested they perceived themselves as surrogate representatives of women. This diversity left women of color supporting a more comprehensive alternative to the Clinton plan that would better address the needs of their districts, left many other Democratic women supporting the Clinton Plan’s employer mandate which many saw as serving the needs of men better than the needs of women, and left some Republican women who purported to be acting for women sharply at odds with the contemporary women’s movement. Republican women’s critiques of the Clinton plan embraced a different theme than Republican men’s did at times—a focus on the threats posed to the health care coverage currently enjoyed by the more privileged as seen through the eyes of women caregivers within those families. With this evidence of difference was a clear quandary—can advocacy of these gendered stakes be considered substantive representation of women given that it reinforces what some suggest is the class bias that the women’s movement long seemed to ignore? Where is the line between substantive representation of women and co-optation, particularly v

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217 when the focus is on an issue entrenched in partisan politics and in which even the mention of gendered perspectives or stakes might seem to challenge masculinism, and thus be a form of feminist protest? The sea change that followed the 1994 election offered a new opportunity to explore the connection between descriptive and substantive representation of women in a completely different environment, as Republican women moved from the opposing party to the party charged with control of Congress. Chapter 10 explores how that change in the environment affected their behavior, shaped the leadership’s response to women’s priorities, and continued to force those who assert women make a difference to take a critical look at exactly what constitutes difference. That case study as well makes a compelling case that women make a difference but that the larger political environment affects the potential for difference to be manifested, even as it also suggests that difference and impact is sometimes in the eye of the beholder and that women’s presence must be accompanied by other forces inside and outside the institution if the feminale is to compete with the masculine on high stakes matters. v

NO T E S

1 The Campaign for Women’s Health was a notable exception in 1993, for their principles became the foundation for the Caucus Statement of Women’s Health Principles. 2 In 1994, women made 60 percent of visits to physicians, while they were only 51 percent of the population (Conway et al. 1999). 3 For example, Congresswoman Kennelly opined, ‘I think if it weren’t for the increased number of women that we had in the 103rd, it [health care reform] might have died earlier. Women wanted it very much. Women understand very definitely the need for health care, and the number of women, whether it be due to their income [or] if their job is only parttime . . . [who] don’t have health care. . . . We were very aware of how important it was.’ 4 Senator Nancy Kassebaum and Congresswoman Marge Roukema sponsored their own separate health care reform plans in the 103rd. 5 For example, in the House, women members were more likely than men to cosponsor the Clinton plan (with 33 percent of women compared with 22 percent of men) and the McDermott single payer plan (29 percent vs. 19 percent), but less likely than men to cosponsor the Republican alternative, the Michels bill (19 percent of women compared with 34 percent of men). However, there were no gender differences in the likelihood of cosponsoring the bipartisan Cooper bill. 6 The ten point gender gap in support for the McDermott single payer plan in the House, narrowed to seven points among Democrats since no Republicans of either sex cosponsored it. Likewise, the fifteen-point ‘reverse’ gender gap in cosponsorship of the Michels bill narrowed to only five points among Republicans. The Cooper bill which had no overall gender gap had a five point reverse gender gap among Democrats and a twelvepoint gender gap among Republicans. The ten-point gender gap in the Clinton plan cosponsorship overall narrowed to six points among House Democrats.

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218 7 As one women’s health lobbyist explained: ‘[T]he Wellstone-McDermott [Single Payer] Bill being the most progressive on the political spectrum would have gone the farthest in serving underserved populations, . . . so it’s no surprise that the vast majority of women signing on were minority women.’ 8 This Republican House staffer explained one moderate Republican woman’s lack of interest in crossing party leaders this way, ‘[H]er feelings on this were . . . health care reform should not end up with more people paying more for less health care. For 80–85 percent, it is working largely well. . . . [T]his may . . . be colored by her constituency, where access to health care and uninsurance was less of a problem . . . [but her thought was] ‘‘it is very clear that a lot of my constituents are going to wake up and find out they have less.’’ ’ 9 Variations across districts contributed to differences among Democrats. Congresswoman Elizabeth Furse (D-OR), one of the few white women members who cosponsored the single payer plan, explained the tendency for women of color to be more supportive of single payer than white women this way: ‘It [Single Payer] was a very controversial bill. . . . This added to our bill of tax-and-spend liberal. And a lot of women didn’t want that, and couldn’t survive it. It certainly hurt me. . . . [But] a lot of women of color knew . . . it would affect their districts very beneficially.’ 10 As this Republican House staffer explained, ‘ ‘‘Access to preventive health at all costs,’’. . . might be the buzzword of the [Women’s] Caucus. . . . [I]n the case of someone like Marge Roukema or Nancy Johnson, because of their positions in the debate and their knowledge of the debate, it is not as easy for them to say, ‘‘at any cost’’. . . and still be perceived as professional or intelligent on the subject.’ 11 As one health care lobbyist explained, ‘They [Republican women] did not, for the most part, think of the system as needing fundamental reform. Therefore, the sub-issue of whether womenwere disproportionately suffering under the current system was not before them. And I don’t think this had to do so much with whether or not they wanted to be ideologically identified with feminism. . . . [I]t was more a question of fiscal Republican-style politics.’ 12 For example, when asked about the women’s health principles, Congresswoman Nancy Johnson responded, ‘I can’t remember them. . . . [But] when the Congresswomen’s Caucus did things like that, I agreed with two-thirds of them, [but] then some of them actually ended up reflecting a belief in a more capable central power than I think is possible in health care.’ Congresswoman Tillie Fowler remembered them and rejected them saying, ‘I wasn’t involved in issuing the eight-point plan, and I’m not sure there were any Republican women involved in that. . . . They [the Caucus] would say they were speaking for the women, and they weren’t.’ Partisan tensions seemed to be with good reason, for as one feminist health advocate explained, ‘The problem, of course, is those Principles are not ‘mom and apple pie’ kinds of issues. These are real hard-core restructuring of the existing health system kinds of issues for men and women. . . . It is not something that anybody, obviously, could find much common ground on.’ Yet others, like this Republican House staffer, viewed them as ‘common ground,’ noting their limited scope, ‘They [the women] were pretty much in agreement. . . . that women should have access and women should have sufficient care and women should be considered. . . . It was bipartisan.’ 13 Even those interviewed who initially responded that women had no impact on health care reform usually conceded, when asked directly, that women had made a difference in women’s health provisions and/or abortion coverage. v

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219 14 One House Democratic staffer attributed the failure to expand the concerns considered women’s issues to both elected women as well as women’s rights activists, ‘. . . The structural issues, the issues of community ratings . . . are issues that really, really do have an impact on women, but they were . . . not perceived as women’s issues. So when we [staff] tried to get them [women’s groups] to help lobby on some of these other issues while they were doing their primary stuff, they were like, ‘No, no, no, we don’t want to dilute our focus.’ But in fact, . . . when Congress does incremental reform, it’s not going to be focusing on a women’s preventive benefits package. . . . And the women’s groups. . .left the structural issues to the business community and the insurance industry and the unions, and I think that was a real mistake.’ 15 According to Health Line of October 1, 1993: ‘Before President Clinton’s speech, White House policy advisor Ira Magaziner said the administration was willing to accept a plan without abortion coverage. It took a spine-stiffening visit from the Congressional Women’s Caucus and a pre-emptive press conference by prochoice leaders to get the administration back on track.’ Indeed, pressure came from the Senate side as well, for as Senator Barbara Boxer explained when asked about the necessity of pressure from women to maintain abortion coverage, ‘I think clearly we had to push very, very hard on that because there were countervailing pressures. So it was a constant thing. We had many emergency meetings in my office.’ 16 For example, in October 1993, thirty-seven women members of the House came together to urge improvements in the President’s plan for preventive screening and to reiterate their demands for abortion coverage (USA Today, October 4, 1993: 4A). 17 As one congressional staffer recalled, ‘We held what is called a . . . Summit on Women’s Health. . . . We had about sixteen women who told stories about . . . their health care: women with breast cancer, young women, a woman who had been raped, domestic violence. . . . The congresswomen and Secretary Shalala listened and . . . responded to what they had heard. . . . And then all of these women sort of launched off on the Hill to go do lobbying ( . . . it was at the time of a lot of the markups). I think the women themselves, the congresswomen, got a lot out of it . . . , hearing these stories.’ 18 As this Senate staffer observed: ‘ I think it’s [the gender gap] crucial to the success of the women senators in lobbying. I think they’d get fairly little if there weren’t . . . the prospect of all these women voters . . . ready to take their anger out on male senators, Democrat or Republican’ (emphasis added). 19 One health care advocate summed up the debate this way, ‘For lack of a better way of describing it, some academics and some intellectuals . . . decided . . . there ought to be a primary-care physician for women, and . . . OB/Gyns ought not to be that, without talking to women. . . . [I]t was a struggle, but I think the thing that made the difference was . . . people who knew nothing about health care or why one should have a primary-care physician . . . just thought it was ludicrous.’ 20 As Senator Mikulski noted, the women members wanted ‘. . . to insure that OB/Gyn was counted as primary care, and not a specialty service because for many women, particularly young women, their gyn physician is their primary care physician.’ 21 As this Democratic Senate staffer noted, ‘It [the benefit package] was so low [in priority] that they would allow a temporary newcomer [to the staff] to take [responsibility for] it.’

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220 22 It included annual mammograms for women over 50, biennial exams for women 40–49; annual Pap smears for women of child bearing age (AAUW/Campaign for Women’s Health 1994). Furthermore, in contrast to the Ways and Means bill, Education and Labor’s bill defined breast and cervical cancer screening and family planning visits as preventive health services, and had no co-payments. And contraceptives would be free to women with family incomes 200 percent of poverty level or below (CCWI, June 1994: 10). 23 On several occasions staff and lobbyists made vague references to women’s disabusing men of ridiculous assumptions. Patsy Mink recalled one such humorous moment in the committee, ‘I mean to say that you had to limit the number of Pap smears you had is absolutely the height of ridiculousness; . . . I’d say, ‘‘Who would abuse a Pap smear?’’. . . And everybody would laugh . . . —at least the women laughed; the men didn’t know what we were talking about.’ 24 The reason for this was disputed. While Democrats suggested they were invited but declined, Republicans attributed it to an environment in which Republicans were shut out. 25 For example, its required co-payments for most of the women’s health services, including breast and cervical cancer screening and family planning visits (CCWI, June 1994: 11) created greater economic barriers to health care access for poor women than did the Education and Labor bill. 26 The most infamous of these was Peter Stark’s observation when Nancy Johnson disagreed with [Dr.] McDermott that she had gotten her medical knowledge from pillow talk (Health Line, March 17, 1994). While rare, such a blatantly sexist remark was not unique. As one health care lobbyist noted, ‘There were two remarkable women who played a tremendous role on the [Ways and Means] committee, and both of them are from an insurance state, and both of them took an enormous amount of flak because they were women. At one point . . . he [one male member] called [name of female member deleted] ‘the whore of the insurance industry.’ Now, when Jim Bunning from Kentucky or L. F. Payne from Virginia were shilling, as it were, for the tobacco industry, he didn’t call either of them ‘pimps for the tobacco industry.’ Yet because [the member whose name is deleted] was a woman, he felt that he could get away with [it]. . . . And he apparently made a similar comment to [another member whose name is withheld] on the floor of the House, not on the microphones. Now that’s one particularly abusive member; [but] it happens to be an abusive member who has a lot of power.’ 27 These sentiments were echoed by a Republican Senate staffer as well when talk turned to Mikulski who observed, ‘I think some of the debate . . . was so trivial in the scheme of things. You know, someone like Barbara Mikulski, who will identify so narrowly, will focus on should mammograms be a covered benefit or not, which is just not important when you’re talking about restructuring this kind of huge segment of the economy. . . . [Y]ou could get sidetracked by some of these very smaller issues that make you irrelevant in the discussion.’ 28 One Republican House staffer, incensed at the idea focusing on women in health care reform was trivial, defended it, saying, ‘Women make up 52 percent of the population, so . . . it’s not trivializing their needs to go and look at what the benefits are going to be, and whether they were going to get appropriate and necessary coverage.’

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221 29 When asked about the ability of members to influence the Labor Committee’s actions, one Senate watcher explained, ‘Well, the chairman was the driving force, but he has got strong relations with all of his Democrats on that committee, . . . especially Ms. Mikulski, since she is also an appropriator.’ 30 Indeed, while discussion about members of other committees seemed to suggest that women who were clearly on-board early were discounted (no need to expend political capital to win votes already won), those who remained on the fence often got the concessions on gendered and nongendered demands. 31 Although Congressman Sundquist offered an amendment eliminating limits on women’s health screening services, such as mammograms and Pap smears, he withdrew it before a vote was taken, suggesting it would not be approved by both sides (Legi-Slate, June 22, 1994). 32 Roukema and Molinari voted with the Democratic women (as well as the majority of Democrats on the committee) to preserve abortion as a covered benefit, sometimes providing the margin to maintain abortion as a service covered under the bill. Antiabortion amendments that had been defeated in the subcommittee resurfaced in the full committee where they failed again, but by much narrower margins. However, of the Republicans, only the two women—Roukema and Molinari—held firm when the full committee vote was taken on a second Klink amendment designed to prevent the federal government from regulating state abortion laws. It would have allowed states, for example, to pass laws banning insurance coverage of abortion services. It was defeated, 20 to 23 (Legi-Slate, June 23, 1994), but would have passed if the two pro-choice Republican women had voted with their party instead. This made it more difficult for the Democratic leadership to weaken or eliminate abortion coverage when it attempted to combine the bills that had been passed by committees with primary jurisdiction over health care reform as the Majority Leader, Dick Gephardt put together the Gephardt bill. 33 The only two women on Ways and Means, Nancy Johnson (R-CT) and Barbara Kennelly (D-CT), took a bipartisan leadership role in the reproductive rights debate—even though this put Johnson in the minority among Republicans—arguing against abortion restrictions offered by both Democratic and Republican men which ‘would take away a service millions of women now have available in their private health insurance plans’ (Broder and Priest 1994), voting against amendments that would expand the conscience clause so that it would be easier for health care professionals to opt out of providing abortions (defeated 5–33)(Legi-Slate, June 22, 1994), allow abortion coverage only for victims of ‘forced rape’ (defeated 15–23) (Legi-Slate, June 22, 1994), and prevent health care reform from overriding state law on abortion (defeated 16–22) (Legi-Slate, June 22, 1994). Nancy Johnson also attempted unsuccessfully to amend the conscience clause so that those who did not wish to provide certain services (e.g. abortion) would have to refer the patient to another provider (Legi-Slate, June 25, 1994). 34 Reportedly, Republican women declined invitations to join with Democratic women in the Senate or with Democratic women on Education and Labor to work on these changes at the committee stage. 35 One health care lobbyist drew the following distinction between Kassebaum and Mikulski this way: ‘Certainly Mikulski was much more visible in raising women’s issues. Nancy Kassebaum has, I believe, always felt that she is a senator first, who happens to be a woman. I think Barbara Mikulski sees herself as a woman who happens to be a senator. . . .

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222 [But] I think Nancy Kassebaum is certainly much better on most women’s issues than most Republicans in the Senate.’ 36 Yet what was pro-law enforcement to one Republican woman could be antipublic health to another Republican woman. Although Republican Congresswoman Ileana Ros-Lehtenin was not among the most active, most visible, or best positioned in the debate, her conceptualization of her responsibility as a representative of a district with high numbers of immigrants seemed more obviously consistent with an ethic of care. As she explained, her job was ‘making sure that immigrants, because of the population I represent, would have access to medical care. . . . We wanted to make sure that from a public safety viewpoint, folks who are here would have some access to adequate health care, because if not, . . . then you’d have more outbreaks of meningitis and tuberculosis and all kinds of diseases that could be preventable.’ 37 As one lobbyist explained, ‘Barbara Mikulski . . . brought things to her [sub]committee that probably wouldn’t even have been within the purview of her committee, just so that they would get an airing. . . . Like the mammography screening. . . . If a man had been the head of the Aging Subcommittee, I don’t think that issue would have had a hearing.’ 38 As one lobbyist explained: ‘She [Senator Barbara Mikulski] could have [held the hearing simply as a member of the Labor Committee], but it would have been a very difficult one. . . . She would have had to talk one of her male colleagues into letting her temporarily chair a committee. . . . It wouldn’t have had the same symbolic strength as it did. . . . [H]ere were all these women, and then Kennedy shows up and Dodd shows up and Pell shows up to give a statement, and they’re obviously very uncomfortable there, and they’re obviously playing second fiddle to the women . . . by virtue of the fact that she [Mikulski] was . . . the rightful chair of that subcommittee.’ 39 As one Democratic staffer recalled: ‘It was a good hearing, a really good hearing. . . . Because it was such a good example of bipartisanship, as well as a good showing of women on women’s issues in the Senate. And there were just some great lines in it. Dr. Lee was talking about how the science around mammography is not clear. . . . And there was a moment in which Dr. Lee was somewhat condescending in talking about empowering women, and Sen. Boxer just took him to task and said, ‘‘What you’re looking at are empowered women, and we still have these questions.’’ And it was just very well done, and the women senators were really into it, and it was really kind of fun.’ 40 The same sentiment was echoed by others like this health care lobbyist who explained, ‘This is the biggest thing that . . . subcommittee and committee had done, in terms of health care, forever. And she needed to toe the party line. . . . [S]he is not particularly unreasonable on those issues, and she is somewhat progressive on social issues, but she was not on this.’ 41 Indeed, when asked during CAWP’s post-103rd interview whether she might have been more willing to compromise had it not been for her responsibilities as ranking member, Congresswoman Roukema admitted, ‘. . . . That’s probably true.’ 42 Indeed, Kassebaum’s relatively low visibility on this issue came as a surprise to some like this Democratic staffer who had expected her to be much more active: ‘And interestingly enough, we never saw Nancy Kassebaum. She really took a back seat on this. She had been a very big leader on the committee; she was very active during the Labor

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223 markup. People had thought she would come forward, especially on some of the preventive programs.’ 43 As this Republican Senate staffer explained: ‘They all were [under pressure]. . . . They [Republicans] were always being brought to the woodshed. . . . She was not singled out because she’s a woman; they were all under pressure.’

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Health Insurance Reform: Institutional Structure, Contingent Meanings

CHAN GI NG EN V I R O N M E N T , NE W OP P O R T U N I T I E S , CO N T E S T E D ME A N I N G S O F RE PR E S E N T A T I O N O F WO M E N

The 104th brought a dramatically different political environment to Congress that made it unlikely the persisting conditions that had inspired the Health Care Security Act in the 103rd—the rising number of uninsured and the vulnerability of health care coverage—would continue to be defined as problems. The President’s leverage over the congressional agenda evaporated with the rise of a conservative Republican majority determined to reduce the power of the federal government, cut federal spending, and return power to the states. With the Contract-dominated 104th Congress providing few moving vehicles onto which health care expansion (much less women’s needs and interests related to it) could hitch a ride, with the shift to the right being reinforced by increased leadership control in the House (Gertzog 2004), and with cuts in Medicare and Medicaid being high on the decision agenda, the probability seemed very low that the status of health care access would be defined as a political problem worthy of congressional attention, much less action, during the 104th. Nevertheless, health insurance reform aimed at increasing access, known as Kassebaum-Kennedy on the Senate side and the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) on the House side, passed the Senate unanimously and with only two dissenting votes in the House in the 104th Congress. The wave 3 interviews with staff and lobbyists provide unique insights into the power of the political environment in shaping opportunity and the meaning of gender. Although Kassebaum-Kennedy was far more limited than the Clinton plan (lacking price caps or definition of benefits, subsidies to help those unable to afford health insurance, or provisions to help the vast majority of those currently uninsured [see Clemmitt et al. 1997]), in a Congress with the view, as one Republican House staffer put it, that ‘these kinds of matters are appropriately regulated at the state level,’ and that had in the first session focused heavily on,

225 ‘devolving additional authorities down to the state level and giving states more authority over different programs than they’d had previously,’ it was an ideological u-turn. As that staffer explained, ‘. . . For fifty years, federal law had reserved the regulation of health insurance to the states . . . scope of benefits, premiums, portability, continuity of benefits. . . . Kassebaum-Kennedy . . . for the first time, begins to federalize the regulation of the business of health insurance.’ Yet Kassebaum-Kennedy was clearly limited: requiring insurers to sell to and renew group health policies for all employers who wanted coverage for their employees; guaranteeing renewability of individual policies; barring insurers from denying insurance to those moving from group coverage to individual coverage; limiting the length of time coverage could be denied on the basis of a preexisting condition; prohibiting insurers from defining pregnancy as a preexisting condition; and including antidiscrimination provisions to protect domestic violence victims and those with genetic predispositions to disease. Moreover, it has many of the hallmarks of a case study likely to show women making a difference. It deals with a social welfare issue that could be considered tied to caregiving concerns, and in so doing it challenges the wall between public and private. The simple fact its catalyst was a moderate Republican woman— Senator Nancy Kassebaum, the new chair of the Labor Committee who had opposed the Clinton plan in the 103rd, but whose collaborative style provided an island of bipartisanship in the 104th—hints at the possibility of gender’s impact in both style and substance. Moreover, scratching slightly beneath the surface revealed sentiments like those of this Republican Senate staffer who explained: They [Republican women members] played more of a role than people realized in putting health care on the agenda in a Republican Congress. . . . They were much more vocal and visible and . . . willing to, in my opinion, take on some of these issues that . . . they felt their constituents were really clamoring [for], . . . against the will of the majority, or certainly the leadership in both houses of Congress, and . . . some of the more traditional Republican interests, like businesses or health insurers.

Yet the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation we almost automatically assume to belie gender difference in priorities is called into question on several levels. First, it is complicated by the diversity of selfimages among the Republican women who led on these matters, with some evidencing little of the connection to women we assume should exist in the hearts of those who are ostensibly acting for women. Although Senator Nancy Kassebaum’s style of negotiating was seen as different from that of her male colleagues—a consensus-building style often associated with women, it was difficult to find evidence of any conscious effort to act on behalf of women or to challenge the masculinist values of the institution. She was not completely comfortable with the special attention given to women’s health in health care reform (Chapter 9, this volume); she was perceived by others as unconnected to INST ITUTI ON AL STRUCTU RE , CONTI NGENT MEA NINGS

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226 women as a political group;1 her bill was devoid of the hooks—benefits—onto which women had been able to attach their women’s agenda for health care reform; and by expanding access only to those who could pay their own (uncapped) premiums, her bill failed to meet third wave feminists’ challenge to address the needs of marginalized subgroups of women.2 However, the motivations of other moderate Republican women working to advance health insurance reform on the House side were spoken of in ways clearly tied to gender. Republican Marge Roukema, the House sponsor of KassebaumKennedy, had disappointed some in the 103rd by doing little to advance health care reform as ranking Republican on Labor-Management, but the impact of the feminale came through when asked whether women made a difference on health insurance reform. Asserting, ‘women are more sensitive just by their experience,’ she went on to explain, After all, who are the caretakers in the family? Who takes care of the sick babies? Who takes care of Grandma and Grandpa if Grandma and Grandpa can’t get into a nursing home?. . . So it’s practical experience. It’s pragmatic. And then, I hate to say this, but I think there’s an awful lot of evidence that our male colleagues, whether Republican or Democrat, [approach these issues] far more in the analytical terms, the bottom line, . . . and they’re looking at it from an accountant’s point of view.

Others, like this Republican House staffer, spoke in similar terms about the commitment to health care of Congresswoman Nancy Johnson (who took a lead in pushing for a bill on the House side and ultimately winning modifications to the Republican leadership bill to make it more women-friendly and who ‘put that more human touch on it’), explaining: She championed . . . home-care issues, which people were pointing to as fraud. She represented New England towns that still relied on the traditional visiting nurse and the voluntary organizations. . . . [S]he kept on bringing home, ‘‘Look, these are our parents. . . .’’ [S]he was caring for someone on Medicare herself.

Less contested than gender’s influence on support for health insurance reform was the fact that values and perspectives like these were a minority within the new majority party and probably not far from a minority perspective among Republican women members whose ranks in the House had been expanded by a headline-grabbing cadre of extremely conservative newcomer Republican women, willing, as one lobbyist put it, ‘to cut the guts out of Medicare’. Yet one factor that gave meaning to presence, keeping the more moderate veteran women’s views from being drowned out by the conservative tide, was that the shift to Republican control intersected with the institutional structure in ways that ironically positioned one of these moderate Republican women to act on her long held concerns about health care. As this Republican staffer observed: v

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227 Clinton’s failure with his ambitious plan was largely responsible for Republicans being elected to both the House and the Senate . . . and in the process it elevated Kassebaum [to chair of the Labor and Human Resources Committee]. . . . She felt from the start that if it didn’t get done this time around . . . that it would be a long time and maybe never before we would actually do health reform. . . . I think for her it was important to try to achieve as much as we could.

Nancy Kassebaum’s potential to put health insurance reform on the agenda stemmed from many of the same factors that have given men influence in Congress, for as this Democratic House staffer explained: ‘. . . [S]eniority counts, position counts . . . Senator Kassebaum [was] sitting there as chair of a very, very powerful and important committee; there was no one like her.’ Yet Kassebaum’s rise to chair by itself cannot explain why she and other moderate Republican women (albeit never acting publicly as a collective force) seemed more willing to challenge the GOP leadership in the 104th than in the 103rd. Indeed, Kassebaum was the top ranked Republican on the Labor Committee in both congresses, but in the 103rd as ranking member she, like Marge Roukema, ranking member of the Labor-Management subcommittee, had toed the party line. Not-so-simple simple answers could explain the change between the 103rd and 104th: that Republican women who cared about acting for women recognized the responsibility that came with majority party status and found social rather than feminist legislation more comfortable priorities in a party divided over cultural issues (Swers 2002), or that these moderate Republican women (who as members of the minority could merely tinker at the margins with the Democratic plans) could now define their own solutions. Yet while these are a part of the picture, a truly adequate explanation requires delving further into the institutional and extra-institutional political environments. As a high priority on the decision agenda of the 103rd, health care reform was in the spotlight, bringing with it myriad pressures from inside and outside the institution; yet in the Contract-driven, leadership-controlled House, efforts to cut Medicare and Medicaid in order to fund other priorities seemed at least for a time to push expansion of health care access off the decision agenda. Even the less Contract-obsessed, Republican-led Senate was otherwise occupied, making the work of Kassebaum’s Labor Committee on health insurance reform seem an exercise in futility as this lobbyist, who had had to defend her investment of resources in the Labor Committee, explained: My boss at the time said, ‘You’re wasting your time. This is the Labor Committee. Nothing is ever going to happen.’ . . . I said, ‘Here’s the problem: . . . This Congress is focused on . . . Medicare reform and the budget. . . . Everybody was focusing on that, and the tax writing committees [e.g. Finance] were going to be focusing on that.’ I said, ‘These people over here [on Labor] are working . . . on a practical level and a bipartisan level. . . . [W]hat’s going to happen is the tax writing committees aren’t going to have time to deal with this issue, and they [Labor] will be the preeminent

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228 committee on the health issue.’ Well, I can’t tell you how much hee, hee, ha, ha ha’s I got for months and months and months, and even a year.

With institutional irrelevancy shielding Labor from the intense partisan pressure that had engulfed health care reform, with a pragmatic goal of accomplishing whatever could be accomplished to expand portability of insurance (even if small—as it was), and with no budgetary price tag that would interfere with the Republican leadership’s priorities, Kassebaum worked across party lines within her committee to build support among its members,3 taking great care to do what was necessary to preserve the image of bipartisanship required to sustain credibility within a partisan institution.4 Yet, this oasis of bipartisanship was severely constrained by the reality that the same interest groups that killed health care reform in the 103rd could kill Kassebaum-Kennedy as well. ‘Kassebaum and Kennedy sat down for months, trying to sort through with various different groups (business, insurers, and consumers) . . . what was doable,’ according to one Republican Senate staffer who went on to explain the price for consensus:5 The first thing off the table right from the get-go was . . . benefits. . . . That forty-eight hour bill was a benefits mandate and the employers hated it. The package for mental health . . . was another benefits mandate. . . . If you require mammographies, . . . that’s a specific benefit. The business community does not want to be told what has to be in their benefit packages.

Removing benefits minimized opposition among previous health care reform opponents, but it simultaneously removed virtually all the hooks onto which women members could attach their bipartisan, collective agenda forged during the earlier health care reform debate.6 At the same time, its limited scope further reduced (the already slim) prospects of forging new bipartisan common ground among women around the gendered economic stakes of health care largely ignored by the Caucus in the 103rd. As one Senate Republican staffer explained, ‘If they had that [helping people who had lost their jobs] plus rate regulations, which Phil Gramm and others would have said are federal cost controls, . . . they didn’t think they could get the bill through.’ The irrelevance of women’s benefit-focused collective agenda of the past to Kassebaum-Kennedy was compounded by changes in the internal political environment which threatened a broad range of progressive policies benefitting women, minorities, and the poor that had been won under the Democrats’ watch. The seemingly endless attacks on abortion rights, and almost every other topic on their collective agenda as a Caucus (to say nothing of the attacks on the social safety net of particular concern to Democrats and Democratic women), severely taxed their meager resources, forcing women on the inside and outside alike to engage in what might be called political triage.7 Congresswoman Patsy v

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229 Mink described Kassebaum-Kennedy as ‘such a small speck in the total issue,’ and indeed she was not unique, for as this Republican Senate staffer explained: What I’ve heard from so many of them [women’s groups] was that you’ve only got so many resources. . . .What was going on with Medicaid and welfare was really a top priority for many. . . . All the abortion amendments in so many of the different bills took an enormous amount of time and energy . . . Remember . . . they came in and just slashed appropriations budgets . . . [affecting] a lot of issues other than health that women’s organizations get involved with.

Yet if many of the past advocates for women’s health on the inside and outside were distracted by other more pressing priorities while Labor worked on health insurance reform,8 the political foundation women created around women’s health before the 104th combined with gender gap fears to encourage support for at least some provisions relevant to the narrow matter of portability. For example, once the ban on treating pregnancy as a preexisting condition had been embedded quietly in the chair’s mark, gender gap fears discouraged efforts to remove it. As one insurance lobbyist explained, ‘[N]obody is going to go out and fight [it]. . . . It is political suicide to go out [and fight it]. . . . That’s a political loser to oppose.’ Yet gender gap fears had little impact on newer, more complex, emerging women’s health problems that were less likely to resonate with the public and thus to lend themselves to negative ads. Such was the case with the use of genetic information in defining preexisting conditions. This newly emerging issue surrounding use of genetic information was an example of the evolving, uncrystallized nature of the gendered stakes of health care policy, driven in this case by convergence of scientific progress on the human genome project, emergence of portability and preexisting conditions on the political agenda, and sustained mobilization of the politically influential breast cancer lobby.9 A looming threat to both women and men suffering from innumerable diseases and disabilities, the discovery of a breast cancer gene gave this not-yet-well-understood political problem special relevance to women. Several (mostly women) members without a seat on Labor, offered solutions to this emerging problem by proposing bills which became part of WHEA;10 however, Labor Committee member Senator Tom Harkin, rather than the bill’s female sponsor, put this matter on Labor’s radar screen. Senator Harkin’s past record of work with breast cancer (and disability) advocates, his seat on Labor, his connections with women’s groups, a unique atmosphere of bipartisanship on Labor that allowed the Democratic minority to voice its concerns, and the void created as the Democratic women who had previously led the efforts on behalf of women’s health in health care reform focused on other priorities all made him a likely early advocate. Indeed, one Democratic Senate staffer explained, at the time of the Kassebaum-Kennedy markup, ‘There weren’t a whole lot of people who were expressing interest in it [a ban on treating genetic INST ITUTI ON AL STRUCTU RE , CONTI NGENT MEA NINGS

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230 information as a pre-existing condition] . . . when he [Senator Harkin] raised it. After he raised it, there were a number of people who expressed interest in it.’ Harkin added two related provisions to Kassebaum-Kennedy—a ban on discrimination on the basis of health status (which included specifically ‘genetic information’) and a ban on defining preexisting conditions based solely on genetic information in the absence of diagnosed diseases. These were in theory ‘mom and apple pie’ issues, given their connection to the fight against breast cancer, but in practice interviews revealed the definition of genetic information was highly controversial. What separated this from the also controversial ban on pregnancy as a preexisting condition and made it more vulnerable to attack by the insurance industry was its complexity. Add to this a concern that restrictions on the use of genetic information might violate the deal Kassebaum and Kennedy had cut with insurers in order to move their bill,11 and as this Republican staffer explained, ‘The only way really to get it in without having the whole thing fall apart completely was to not define it.’ If external factors (e.g. scientific progress, political mobilization of the breast cancer movement) converged with internal factors (e.g. a focus on portability, Caucus consciousness raising around women’s health) to add to the agenda new solutions to potentially problematic emerging conditions facing breast cancer victims, the wave of political support for domestic violence victims ignited in the 103rd carried over into in the 104th. Media attention to the difficulties faced by (largely women) victims at the hands of insurance companies combined with gender gap pressures12 and the committee’s focus on portability, opening a window of opportunity to make health insurance reform a solution to this problem. As with genetic information, WHEA included multiple bills to address discrimination against domestic violence victims.13 Yet with Labor’s women members preoccupied by other priorities, Senator Paul Wellstone (a chief cosponsor of one of those WHEA provisions) added to Kassebaum-Kennedy a [limited] ban on health insurers discriminating against victims of domestic violence.14 Further complicating the picture of the relationship between women’s presence and substantive representation of women is the role of the [male] President. Once Kassebaum-Kennedy successfully navigated the political terrain of the Labor Committee (passing 16–0), it might well have died without a window of opportunity opened by external pressure from the White House and the public. President Bill Clinton’s mention of Kassebaum-Kennedy in his 1996 State of the Union message was widely seen as forcing it onto the decision agenda. Although Clinton’s endorsement itself carried little weight with a Republican Congress that had shut down the government and whose Senate Majority Leader hoped to put the incumbent president in the unemployment line after the November elections, it provided a jump-start by raising public visibility, as this Republican Senate staffer explained, v

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231 Clinton’s mentioning it in the State of the Union was very important; it gave it attention, and that got the ball rolling. People started asking about it, and then there was enough interest. Otherwise, . . . it was a small bill [like many others]. And there are hundreds of bills killed every year with holds. There was no reason to believe that this wouldn’t be among them. Getting something . . . elevated to that level of attention [sufficient] to get it moving, especially a small thing, is tough. . . . The President did provide the jump start. . . .

While the President forced the hand of his soon-to-be rival in the upcoming elections, Senate Majority Leader Bob Dole,15 Clinton’s support was more effective because the Labor Committee’s most likely internal rival—the Senate Finance Committee (Labor’s powerful rival in the battle over health care reform in the 103rd)—was, as one Republican Senate staffer explained, ‘excessively preoccupied with welfare reform and budget and Packwood [ethics charges].’ Add to this leadership changes on Finance amid the government shutdown, and, as that staffer put it, ‘It [health insurance reform] didn’t have the same priority.’ The increasing momentum behind Kassebaum-Kennedy on the Senate side spilled over into the contract-driven House,16 as the convergence of political pressure from women inside and outside Congress made it all the more difficult for the (largely male Republican) House leadership (conflicted over what, if anything, to do about health insurance) to continue to ignore it. The women on the inside who mattered were Republicans. No woman in the House could match Senate Labor Committee Chair Nancy Kassebaum’s influence over health insurance reform in the Senate during the 104th, but Congresswoman Nancy Johnson probably came the closest.17 Early in the 104th, Johnson challenged the Republican leadership in ways she had not done in the 103rd, offering her own health insurance reform bill (which did not move) and joining with Kassebaum and Kennedy to send the message that, as she explained, ‘we have to do this, we have to make insurance more available. This isn’t everything, but it’s got to move.’ While Congresswoman Johnson saw her actions as sending a message back to the House that ‘we do need to do this, this is reasonable to do, and . . . we are going to keep pushing,’ in a Congress intolerant of deviation from the leadership agenda (Gertzog 2004), she, as a Ways and Means subcommittee chair, was clearly challenging the norms, as this Republican House staffer observed: They don’t like committee or subcommittee chairs to go out independently and push in front of an issue like that, particularly when there has been no decision yet at the leadership level as to how they want to handle it. They just don’t want you to break rank [as Nancy Johnson did]. So there was angst over that. But in the long run, . . . I don’t think it hurt her terribly. She got her views, I think, heard by working with Bill Thomas later on in the process, by talking to people like Denny Hastert who chaired the Task Force, and she spoke to people at the leadership level and made public statements. . . . And I think they got over it.

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232 Johnson’s expertise on health care, her seniority, and membership in the majority, rather than the minority, party positioned her well to challenge the Republican leadership as she had not done in the 103rd. Yet in a congress dominated by a commitment to reducing government and characterized by leadership control, her challenge gained traction less because she changed the hearts and minds of her colleagues on the substance of the bill (which she may or may not have done) than because her effort converged with gender gap pressures that made Republican men realize that it was in their own best interest politically to move on this issue. As one Republican staffer explained: When we closed the government down . . . we of course blew the women’s vote completely. . . . That’s what helped HIPAA [Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act] . . . [T]hey were doing anything to get back the constituents that they could see just walking right off. . . . Everything goes back to this November– December period in 1995: the shutdown, the debt limit, the Part B premium being on there, the vetoes, and then watching our poll numbers just hit bottom, and then scrambling with HIPAA . . . to try to get some of that [support] back at a price. At a price!

The Republicans, had pursued their Contract-driven agenda without recognizing its gendered implications, as this lobbyist explained: I think some Republicans were surprised when they were hearing . . . that the Medicare issue had hurt them with women. . . . And some of them started coming to the realization that, ‘Wait a minute, . . . who winds up helping out grandma and grandpa when they’re running low on money and can’t pay doctor bills, or have to move into a home? It tends to be mom.’ So they figured out that it wasn’t just generational; it was gender-driven. So I think in the summer of ’96, you did have a substantial number of Republicans who realized they had created for themselves a problem, and the health-insurance bill fit into that [as a solution] . . . because it fell in the broader category of ‘reasonableness.’

With increased pressure from women voters converging with the more moderate Senate’s decision to move its bill, the window of opportunity for action on health insurance reform opened wider. Nevertheless, champions of health insurance reform operated under very real political constraints. The nature of these becomes clearer if we compare the experiences of its two major women advocates on the House side, Congresswoman Marge Roukema and Congresswoman Nancy Johnson. When constituents began calling the House members to ask them to support Kassebaum-Kennedy, they had an excuse—there was no companion bill in the House. Congresswoman Marge Roukema did away with that excuse when she became the House sponsor of Kassebaum-Kennedy. Yet while she, like Nancy Johnson, challenged the leadership by publicly supporting that bipartisan bill, Roukema’s effectiveness was compromised, as this health care lobbyist explained:

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233 You have to do these things [challenge the leadership] in a way where you’re not being counterproductive. . . . Marge Roukema has somehow found a way to do it where it is counterproductive. . . . She repeatedly is not a team player. . . . [A]fter a while you just get obsessed by the idea of, ‘We’re not going to do anything to reward this person.’ And I think that has happened to Mrs. Roukema for sure. . . . [When] people know . . . you’re willing to play on the team, . . . it makes it a little easier to kind of go out and do your own thing later.

While Nancy Johnson offered her own health insurance reform bill early in the session and joined her Senate colleagues in press conferences to push KassebaumKennedy when the House leadership was undecided, Johnson, described as someone who ‘will pick her fights,’ engaged in efforts that identified her with the House leadership’s goals of cutting costs and cutting government, for as that same lobbyist explained: So she [Johnson] will be kind of a little bit independent sometimes, but other times she will play on the team and work with the rest of the team. A good example of that is . . . the 1995 Balanced Budget Act . . . . [I]t had the huge Medicare spending reduction in there; the Speaker and others put her out front in terms of being a lead spokesperson defending what was in that bill. . . . [I]t was a risky political thing to do, to go out and defend . . . a . . . Medicare reduction. And she did it. And that’s smart, because that builds up some relationship capital in the bank. People know you’re serious and you’re willing to play on the team, and it makes it a little easier to kind of go out and do your own thing later.

Roukema was less willing to accommodate the leadership’s more partisan demands in this institution whose partisan structure was made all the more relevant by the intense bitterness. Roukema wanted a legislative solution that could win majority support in the House and be signed into law by the President; the Republican leadership wanted a bill acceptable to a majority of the GOP conference—not merely a majority of the House. This put Roukema at odds with the Republican leadership, as this Senate Republican staffer explained: The Republicans in the House said that they weren’t going to just pass the core provision of Kassebaum-Kennedy. . . . They needed, . . . [in order] to maintain the support of their own conference, to put some other things in the bill which had . . . strong Republican support, like medical malpractice reform and medical savings accounts, things that were not . . . part of the core bill in the Senate. And Roukema . . . failed and there were very few Republicans who voted with her. But the Republican leadership in the House was . . . quite concerned that that effort might yield the Senate bill, that that would be difficult for their conference to follow because . . . a lot of Republicans ( . . . even though in the Senate it passed . . . three times . . . without one dissenting vote) . . . initially were very concerned that . . . there were particular parts of the bill that the health insurance industry . . . didn’t want.

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234 Roukema deepened her problems with the GOP leadership by focusing on amassing large numbers of supporters in Congress while ignoring the norms of her party, for as this Republican House staffer explained:18 . . . [She was] presented with a list one day of let’s say 175 Democrats who wanted to cosponsor her bill. Marge . . . had been trying to follow the model . . . on the Senate [side], which is keeping the cosponsorship balanced. . . . Marge . . . decided that she couldn’t not put their names in . . . because they wanted to do it and it really should be done. . . . I think that . . . lessened her credibility in the eyes of her own leadership. I think there were some who thought Marge was simply becoming a stalking horse for the Democratic leadership, in an attempt to embarrass the Republican leadership. That complicated things.

Yet if Marge Roukema’s failure, by some standards, to act as a ‘team player’ on health insurance reform isolated her from the leadership, the health insurance reform case study clearly shows that even a team player like Nancy Johnson with a seat on a committee having primary jurisdiction, faced enormous institutional obstacles in shaping provisions of the bill. In theory, Johnson and the other Republican women who sat on the three committees with primary jurisdiction—Ways and Means, Economic and Educational Opportunities (formerly Education and Labor), and Commerce (formerly Energy and Commerce)—had a seat at the table during the normally critical decision-making forum of committee markups to make their concerns (both gendered and otherwise) known. Yet the tightening of control by the Speaker (with the blessings of the GOP conference) made seats on committees less meaningful even for members of the majority party. With leadership using handpicked ad hoc teams to shape important legislation (such as this), presenting the result virtually as a fait accompli to the committee members, and with no women serving on the health insurance reform ad hoc task force drafting the leadership’s health insurance bill, women were virtually ‘shut out,’ because they lacked positional power, as this Republican staffer explained: . . . [T]he way . . . the House . . . managed health [insurance] reform is that it was . . . delegated to a leadership task force that was run by the Chief Minority Whip, Denny Hastert, and then [comprised of] the full committee and subcommittee chairs of the three committees that had jurisdiction. None of the members were women. . . . When they saw that Kassebaum-Kennedy was actually going to move, . . . all the negotiations were handled exclusively by this group of seven. . . .[T]hey gave committee chairmen very little ability to craft their own policies, respond to their own members. . . . You would have members going to our subcommittee chairmen and full committee chairmen and [them responding to them,] saying, ‘I can’t do that; leadership won’t go along with it’. . . . [I]nsurance reform . . . was basically being run by leadership. (emphasis added)

Of course, women’s absence from this elite group shaping the House version of health insurance reform did not guarantee substantive representation of women’s v

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235 needs and interests would be ignored. Women’s groups, after all, had found allies on the Senate Labor Committee in members Tom Harkin and Paul Wellstone who took on issues of importance to breast cancer and domestic violence victims. However, this did not happen on the House task force, perhaps due either to the fact that the [male] Republican leadership had virtually no ties with women’s groups (even those dealing with the ‘mom and apple pie’ issue of women’s health) or to the breakneck pace at which the House worked.19 This responsibility fell to Republican women like Nancy Johnson and Susan Molinari. The Ways and Means member credited with inserting into the bill protections on the use of genetic information analogous to those already in KassebaumKennedy while it was in that committee was Nancy Johnson, who explained: I added that [genetic discrimination protections] to the Kassebaum bill when it came out of our committee. . . . Nobody had thought about it. . . . [W]e hadn’t had hearings on it, didn’t know a lot about it. So it was . . . thin, just a sentence. (Now we are working on a much fuller provision in that area; but I knew it was something that really needed to be done.). . . [T]his was an indicator of what the Congress thinks on this so that the insurance companies don’t start down that path. (emphasis added)

Yet even a ‘team player,’ in the majority party, sitting on a committee with primary jurisdiction, focusing on a matter clearly relevant to portability, and advocating for a politically popular and well mobilized group like breast cancer survivors, could face tremendous obstacles within the streamlined decisionmaking process. As this Republican staffer explained: I will tell you that Nancy Johnson and [her staffer] Kate Sullivan . . . were responsible for getting that genetic information as a protected pre-existing condition worked in there [the Ways & Means Bill]— . . . sweated bullets to get that included . . . . [I]t was so difficult . . . because they delegated this to the committee chairman, [who] in effect, delegated it to committee staff, who were not open to taking any changes.

Johnson offered an en bloc amendment in committee to ban use of genetic information to either deny coverage or raise premiums and to narrow the definition of a preexisting condition to those conditions diagnosed within three months of employment. Though these seemingly noncontroversial amendments passed Ways and Means on a voice vote, their passage was reportedly preceded by an enormous amount of effort behind closed doors, as that same Republican House staffer went on to explain: . . . [I]t was sheer determination. . . . Mrs. Johnson argued forcefully for it behind closed doors before we went into session. . . . She had a package of amendments that made the bill . . . more closely identical to the Kassebaum-Kennedy Bill. . . . ([Otherwise] the House bill would have been much more restrictive and offered less protection than the Kassebaum-Kennedy Bill.). . . She just felt that the genetic information was very important, because she wanted to encourage people to find

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236 out their genetic status so that they could then be on the lookout for these kinds of problems, and get them treated before they made their health care much more expensive.

While Nancy Johnson was working to add one aspect of the expanded women’s health agenda included in Kassebaum-Kennedy to the House bill, another Republican woman, Susan Molinari, Vice-Chair of the Republican Conference, reportedly convinced the House Leadership to add protections for domestic violence victims to their bill. Her role was not obvious in the record,20 for she was not a member of Ways and Means where the amendment was first offered on the House side. Her position as Vice-Chair of the Republican Conference may have given her better access than most Republican women to the leadership and thus given her the potential to play what some saw as a ‘critical’ role, but the pressures the leadership was feeling from a growing gender gap (rather than her ability to convert the hearts and minds of her male colleagues), seemed to transform that potential into reality, for as one Republican House staffer explained,21 ‘They [the leadership] gave that amendment to a congressman who was very threatened in his re-election. . . . That was sheerly a political call. They gave it to Phil English, whose marginal district was in danger and needed a women’s issue.’ Interviews with staff and lobbyists repeatedly pointed to the power of the gender gap in building support for these [very limited] gender-related proposals being made inside the Republican Conference.22 Yet the gender gap not only served as a way for gender conscious Republican women to win over recalcitrant male colleagues on the terms their male colleagues would understand—winning and losing elections,23 but the gender gap’s potential as a political weapon seemed to raise visibility of these concerns among some Democratic men, many of whom had not taken the lead on behalf of women’s health during the debate over health insurance reform in the 103rd. Across the House committees it was Democratic men, rather than Democratic women, who offered a number of [futile] amendments to health insurance reform clearly aimed at appealing to women—amendments that were not necessarily being advocated by women’s groups on the outside but which forced Republicans to either vote against the party line or against ‘mom and apple pie’. Gerald Kleczka in Ways and Means and Frank Pallone and John Dingle on the Commerce Committee unsuccessfully offered the forty-eight hour maternity stay bill as an amendment to health insurance reform. Democratic men on the Commerce Committee were particularly active on women-related amendments, all of which failed: an amendment offered by Bart Stupak to prevent an individual from losing coverage due to the death or divorce of a spouse; an amendment by Peter Deutsch to guarantee continued coverage for the families of police and fire fighters injured in the line of duty; and amendments offered by Frank Pallone and by John Dingle to require coverage of bone marrow transplants as a treatment for v

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237 breast cancer. However, rather than being a harbinger of the mainstreaming of women’s needs and interests, a sign issues of gender equality were shifting from peripheral to central, or an indicator that the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women was diminishing at least within the Democratic party, it probably is more accurately cast as an indicator of the growing awareness of the power of the gender gap to give a seemingly powerless Democratic minority a political weapon, for as this Democratic House staffer suggested: For Democrats really to get anything passed, you really have get the public behind it very strongly. In the 104th Congress, . . . I think some of the male members saw an opportunity with certain things [related to women], the maternity legislation being one of them. . . . It looks like Congress isn’t going to help mothers and newborns. . . . It makes it difficult for them [Republicans] to vote against something like that when all the public and the media is focusing attention on this problem.24

Yet even as Democratic men attempted to embarrass their male colleagues in the opposing party by fanning the flames of the gender gap, and even as Republican women were enjoying opportunities for acceptance as politicians (as evidenced by the showcasing of women members at levels unparalleled by Democrats), masculinist values seemed to temper Republican women’s actions as representatives of women on even noncontroversial, mom and apple pie issues. This struggle, and the transgendered nature of substantive representation of women belying it, was brought to life by the recollections of those inside and outside Congress who worked with Republican women members—like this staffer for a Republican woman, who explained: People were constantly approaching us on women-specific things. . . . [W]hen you’re trying to put together very serious things on . . . setting national policy, . . . it would be detrimental. . . . I think it’s more important to have men coming in and arguing on some of the things for breast cancer. . . . [I]n crafting policy, I tried not to identify with these issues that were uniquely women only, because at that point, you almost get into this eye-rolling kind of thing. . . . We had greater issues . . . (not just drive-by deliveries or mastectomy length of stay) . . . indicative of broader problems with managed care. (emphasis added)

Thus, if fear of being on the ‘wrong side’ of the gender gap may have encouraged Republican men to showcase women and accommodate at least some substantive policy demands Republican women made on behalf of women, those fears failed to give substantive representation of women constituents’ gendered needs equal legitimacy with representation of other concerns—even when they focused on ostensibly noncontroversial problems like breast cancer. The biases of masculinism were only reinforced in the GOP by the increasingly strong ties between the contemporary women’s movement and the Democratic party which made it easier for Democratic than Republican women to publicly identify themselves INST ITUTI ON AL STRUCTU RE , CONTI NGENT MEA NINGS

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238 (within their party or to their own constituency) as representatives of women. As this lobbyist explained: I think . . . Democratic women, . . . do tend to be representative of the ‘women’s groups,’ and they’re quite proud of it; and they’re not afraid of being type-cast as representative of those groups. By contrast, many of those groups are seen as being Democratic and liberal in leaning, at least to the Republicans. And therefore, Republican women are probably concerned about being type-cast by their male colleagues as representative of those liberal groups.

Women voters, however, as a pool from which a margin of victory could be constructed, were a more legitimate force on which Republican women could draw. Yet the moderate cast of the women whose votes were up for grabs were likely to be attracted by far less liberal or feminist appeals than demanded by many feminist groups. One Democratic House staffer characterized the gender gap struggle this way: . . . [T]ake a district like my boss’, where 40 per cent of the people are Democrats and 40 per cent are Republican . . . and the battle is for the 20 per cent in the middle . . . .[T]hat’s why people talk about ‘soccer moms’. The whole election was geared towards soccer moms: middle-class women who . . . vote Republican sometimes, . . . Democrat other times. It wasn’t a campaign for welfare moms. . . . The part of Medicaid that appeals to soccer moms . . . are the portions dealing with the elderly. . . . These women have mothers or fathers in nursing homes. . . . [I]f you portray Medicaid as just a women’s issue, you’re really looking at either elderly women or low-income women, and you’ve already sort of gotten those groups. So the appeal is to that 20 per cent in the middle.

With the logic being to win enough women’s votes to defeat their general election opponents, the challenge for each party was to hold onto its base while reaching out to those in the middle. This created different constraints on Democratic and Republican women attempting to influence their male colleagues who were looking toward their next election. Yet given that substantive representation of women’s needs and interests is only a small part of the goals that drive political women of either party, the opportunities for political advancement that seemed to be more available to Republican than Democratic women increased both the potential cost to Republican women of challenging their party and the potential benefits of accommodating masculinist demands. Stirring up ‘trouble’ could be costly to individual women, but helping male leaders deal with their gender gap problems could build their credibility and drive home the value of having women members within the GOP. These diverging opportunities for advancement within the parties combined with diverging relationships with women activists and voters to create different environmental pressures on those who ostensibly served in the same institution. v

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239 One lobbyist captured these partisan differences in the political environments women faced, explaining, ‘There doesn’t seem to yet be a comfort zone [in the Republican Party] around . . . the fact that women do look at issues different from men.’ Her assessment comes to life (unintentionally) in the observations of this high level Republican House staffer who explained: Women members should represent their districts. . . . There is a difference between the sexes, and women will pick up on different issues, different concerns, than sometimes men will. That’s important to recognize and good. I think it’s a mistake when women members just go up and say, ‘This is a women’s issue,’ because what are women’s issues? Well, you know, they should be many of the same issues . . . men care about, except they have a different perspective, maybe a different tone to it, maybe a different style of talking about the issue, a different style to understand the issue. . . . But I would hope that women . . . and men care about the same issues . . . economy, defense, welfare. . . . [I]t’s good for women members to go beyond just what would seem a parochial, if you will, sexual politics. (emphasis added)

This implicit devaluation of the feminale relative to the masculine came through as well in observations like those of this female lobbyist who worked for interests aligned with the Republicans: I don’t look at them necessarily as ‘women’s issues’. I look at them as . . . health issues. . . . I think in some ways it’s sort of denigrating to women to sort of classify, ‘Well, those are women’s issues, so they clearly are less important than male issues,’. . . Family leave . . . I guess you could classify as women’s issues, but I think . . . that’s sort of a negative to them. (emphasis added)

Or take the sentiments of this Republican House staffer who saw Republican women members as having learned from the mistakes of Democratic women: I think they [Republican women members] saw that happen to their Democratic [women] colleagues . . . in health reform . . . ‘[G]uys get to do the sexy issues of premiums and health-cost containment and administration; . . . you gals talk about mammograms, . . . Pap smears, and everything else.’ And I think that that’s where . . . Jennifer Dunn is important because she gives voice inside that circle of guys, . . . like, ‘Heck, some of us are businesswomen, and we can talk about the rough-and-tough economic issues too, and speak to their constituency, which in a lot of Republican districts is small businessmen and even business owners’. . . . [T]hey don’t want to get pigeonholed. . . . It’s also their way of gaining credibility: ‘I can sit here and I can talk about premiums, I can talk about insurance regulation and everything else, and I’m going to become an expert in that, and you’re going to listen to me!’. . . And it helps them in their district too, because they appear to have a broader [focus]. You know, they can speak to economics.

The convergence of masculinist values with partisan differences in perspectives about the role of government and the dearth of engagement over the gendered stakes of portability in particular and the structural issues more generally INST ITUTI ON AL STRUCTU RE , CONTI NGENT MEA NINGS

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240 contributed to different institutional and extra-institutional pressures on Democratic and Republican women. These could easily obscure awareness of the relevance of gender in favor of partisanship. And the centrifugal forces of masculinist values and partisanship were compounded by the virtual absence of women’s organizations from the debate25 and the defunding of the CCWI, making it even less likely that women would engage across party lines to debate the gendered stakes of what might otherwise seem a nongendered matter. The consequences of this void are illustrated in the debate over Multiple Employer Welfare Associations (MEWAs) which were considered by the House Economic and Educational Opportunities Committee. The result was an absence of awareness of the charges these would shortchange women (much less of a debate among women of the gendered consequences) and, consequently, an understanding of them heavily influenced by partisanship. In the 103rd, Democratic and Republican women diverged sharply in their support for health care reform alternatives, but they seemed to agree that if benefits were specified, there should be gender equity in their adequacy. This was consistent with the spirit of earlier bipartisan efforts by women in state legislatures to ensure health plans covered benefits such as mammography and in Congress to ensure women were not shortchanged in federally funded medical research. Yet, ironically, when the topic of MEWAs—provisions that would have allowed associations to come together to form self-funded insurance programs immune from state mandates regarding benefit levels, in effect undoing the statelevel benefit mandates to cover services such as mammography screenings, Pap smears, and newborn infant care (Editorial Writers Desk 1996)—emerged in the 104th, the women of the House seemed to evaluate them through a partisan rather than a gendered lens.26 One Democratic Senate staffer well versed on the gendered stakes of this provision, explained that MEWAs would ‘allow employer groups who are purchasing insurance . . . more exemptions from state regulation, . . . get them out from all the state mandated benefit laws, which the women’s groups have really, really worked hard to get into place. Most of those benefits are women’s benefits.’ Yet this notion of MEWAs as having gendered stakes seemed to come as a surprise to many in interviews. When pushed to consider the gendered stakes, some, like this health care lobbyist, argued that if there were any, MEWAs were pro-women, for as he explained: . . . You could just as easily argue that supporting the Fawell Bill (which was the MEWA bill) was . . . pro-women, because going to this mandate-free zone, . . . more small businesses . . . would have bought health insurance for their employees. To the extent that affects women business owners, which is the fastest-growing area of small business in this country, and to the extent that . . . a fair amount of uninsured . . . are working moms, you could have argued that . . . pro-MEWA . . . was . . . prowoman . . . . That MEWA bill was . . . trying to allow us to buy health insurance v

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241 without mandates, . . . the way big business buys health insurance today. . . . [If they] self-insure, . . . they’ve got the ERISA protection, and I’ve never heard of ERISA described as a women’s issue. Maybe I’ve just missed it. But I don’t buy that one.

He was by no means alone in his skepticism that MEWAs were a net loss for women. When asked if MEWAs would allow avoidance of benefit mandates that women’s health groups had worked for in the states, one [female] health insurance lobbyist who had initially rejected the notion of gendered stakes of MEWAs, arguing it empowered small business, admitted, ‘I think that’s a possibility. I just haven’t really looked at that point of view.’ Despite women’s track record in bipartisan support for a women’s health agenda, despite the bipartisan common ground they had forged in supporting gender equity in benefits if they had been specified under health care reform, despite at least one anti-MEWA ‘Dear Colleague’ authored by some women members, MEWAs were largely evaluated through the lens of partisanship rather than gender. The reality of the vacuum created by the low level of activism by women’s groups on this and other aspects of Kassebaum-Kennedy came through clearly in Jan Meyers’ thoughts about the issue, for as this WHEA supporter explained, The reason I supported that (MEWAs) was . . . unless you did a program like that, it made it difficult for small businesses to have their own health plans across state lines. And in the Kansas City area, that’s extremely important, of course, because people have a business . . . with one flower shop in Kansas and one in Missouri, or one restaurant in Kansas and one in Missouri. . . . I realize that ERISA has some problems, and that might not be an ideal solution. . . . I don’t know whether that [a detrimental effect on women’s health benefits] is a real problem or not.

The limited visibility of women’s interest groups in the discussion of MEWAs was compounded by the complexity of MEWAs. Mammography coverage, banning pregnancy as a preexisting condition, and the unfairness of using tax dollars collected from women and men to support federal research disproportionately relevant to men easily lent themselves to messages that resonated with women voters. In contrast, MEWAs were not well understood by many members, much less that they might contribute to a gender gap in adequacy of women’s health coverage. As such, the gendered inequities they might exacerbate would be unlikely to resonate with the public when MEWAs remained something of a mystery to their elected representatives, as the Democratic House staffer explained: I don’t even think members knew what that [MEWAs] was. . . . We were talking in a Democratic staff meeting, caucus, . . . about this provision, the MEWA provision. One of the members just didn’t understand. And he looked at [a member] and he said, ‘What the hell are they talking about?’ [The member] tried to explain it, he couldn’t, and all of a sudden [someone] . . . from Ed and Labor walked in, and they said, ‘Hey,

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242 can you explain to this guy the MEWA thing?’ And he said, ‘What? You mean the fact that they’re ERISAfying MEWAs?’ And the members started just screaming. So I don’t know if anybody ever knew what that meant, other than they were bad.

If Democrats assumed they were bad, Republicans were willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, as this lobbyist explained: You’re talking about extremely complex ERISA intersection with state law. . . . More than a couple sentences [into an explanation of it and] . . . eyes glaze over. And it’s really hard. . . . One of the things that ultimately almost helped the Republicans on the House side win the issue was the technical difficulty of it.

Thus, if simple messages, easily understood, that play well in the media have been important for mobilizing women voters and overcoming masculinist values within Congress, a potential women’s issue that could leave members with eyes glazed over, and whose gendered stakes were contested even among women with a history of supporting women’s health, seemed unlikely to pose a gender gap threat to Congress that could move this matter from the politics of partisanship to the politics of presence.27 Because this provision was deleted in conference, it is tempting to see it as due to gender gap fears. Instead, it was deleted in response to opposition from the insurance lobby. With ERISA already accounting for a fairly healthy portion of the insurance pool, and MEWAs taking a similarly low-risk segment of the insurance pool, conventional insurance companies would be left with only a high-risk pool, as this congress-watcher explained: They [women’s groups] had no impact on that [deleting MEWAs]. They had no impact on this issue. . . . Concerns from the insurance industry, concerns from large businesses . . . really made a difference. I mean, the groups that were concerned about mandates, women’s groups, . . . were not visible. I certainly didn’t hear from them. I don’t think Nancy Johnson, or any members, when they heard about these things, were concerned about what they were hearing. v

CON CLUS ION

The story of health insurance reform in the 104th brings to life many of the contested issues surrounding gender difference in impact and illustrates the importance of going beyond quantitative evidence of gender difference to look carefully at the substance of the difference and the context in which it arises. Qualitative data make a compelling case that although health insurance reform passed with virtually unanimous support, it was driven onto the agenda and propelled to victory by virtue of the tenacity of women members—but only a select group of them. As the moderate Republican women in the newly emerged majority party embraced this as a priority, Democratic women chose to pursue other priorities they seemed to think better served the needs of their constituents. v

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243 If the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women was called into question by diversity of commitment to this among women, and by questions surrounding the extent that women recognized gender as a force behind their action, the contingent nature of gender difference only becomes more apparent when we consider that their impact was possible because one who would make a difference happened to be elevated to chair of a committee with jurisdiction, competition for control of the issue was minimized in the Senate as Finance dealt with other more pressing matters, the President’s State of the Union speech raised public awareness of it, and the Republican’s gender gap problems caused them to embrace this as a solution to their own looming political problems. Those concerned about substantive representation of women not only need to be concerned about increasing the presence of women within the ranks of officeholders, but also making sure that those women have access to powerful positions, that the gender gap remains a potent political force until gender equity is achieved, and that there is a sufficiently large pool of men who are willing to join forces with women as coalition partners in efforts that may nevertheless be spearheaded by women. The questions that might have been raised about the legitimacy of their efforts were minimized, as Republican women worked for health insurance reform in ways that clearly addressed a particular segment of the population resembling their own districts—those already covered through their employers but who might stand to lose coverage. That, as such, could strike fear in the hearts of their male colleagues concerned with retaining the support needed to win the next election. Their impact was consistent with an ethic of care or even what might be considered feminist protest, for they attempted to erode the wall between public policy and private needs, in effect extending their insights as caregivers to their work as policymakers, as they took advantage of the political weapon offered by the gender gap to move their male colleagues to action. While gender gap pressures helped overcome some of the obstacles created by the masculinist values that dominated within the institution and particularly the Republican conference, it had less effect on others. Although the Republican leadership was goaded into action to move health insurance reform by the gender gap, the gender gap did nothing to further expand understanding of the gendered stakes of health care policy. Intense partisan bitterness, the defunding of the CCWI whose staff had devoted its resources to carving out bipartisan common ground where possible, the dangers of consorting with women’s groups assumed to be aligned with the opposition, and transgendered pressures regarding the raising of ‘women’s issues’ (good for men, a cause for eye-rolling when done by a woman) converged to limit the prospects for expanding awareness of the gendered stakes of health insurance reform. Given that the gender gap battle is generally seen as a struggle for women in the ideological center—soccer moms, security moms—gender gap pressures can help women’s voices be heard, even INST ITUTI ON AL STRUCTU RE , CONTI NGENT MEA NINGS

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244 raise the political capital of women to whom the men turn to try to understand what women voters want; but these pressures are unlikely to advance goals that fall outside of the ‘mainstream’. At the same time, this analysis of health insurance reform raises red flags about difference. What Republican women’s efforts accomplished fell far short of what Democratic women likely would have at least attempted to accomplish had their party retained power, and without the focus on women’s health benefits that Democratic women almost certainly would have demanded. The emphasis on the importance of bringing women’s life experiences into the mix has created a situation in which women are deemed the experts on women’s needs, even as the value of their gendered perspectives is called into question with respect to matters such as MEWAs—matters which they have not considered in those terms and where the type of discourse that might increase understanding is discouraged. Whether it is the absence of effort by women’s organizations to raise awareness of the gendered stakes of some issues as they focus on others, or whether it is masculinist pressures that discourage women officeholders from becoming too closely identified with women’s groups or with issues that may affect women differently than men, the result may be gender differences that are unrecognizable as substantive representation of women to some, but embraced as such (some times in ad hoc ways) by others. Thus, quantitative evidence of gender difference can be a first step in understanding the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women, but it is only a first step. Increased diversity among women combined with increasing awareness of the needs of previously marginalized subgroups of women has made the substance of difference all the more important, common ground more elusive, and the legitimacy that once emerged from women’s life experiences and perspectives more questionable. The results not only beg that we go beyond what has now become the simplistic question of ‘Do women make a difference?’ and (what are often unintentionally essentialist) assumptions that women’s life experiences (which all women have in one way or another) will of course contribute to gender differences that advance substantive representation of women, but confront as well how tradeoffs among women fit with our understandings of difference. It is to the strategies that will hopefully aid in this process that I now turn. v

NO T E S

1 As one lobbyist candidly explained, ‘She really didn’t pay a lot of attention to women’s issues. . . . I don’t know anyone in the women’s community who considered her a women’s rights [supporter] or women’s health [supporter] or [more generally] a particular supporter of women’s issues.’ Another lobbyist echoed these sentiments explaining: ‘She [Senator Kassebaum] never framed anything as a women’s issue. She always framed it as you have a right as an employee, or your family has a right. . . .’ v

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245 2 As one women’s health lobbyist bluntly explained, ‘We didn’t really advocate either way for Kassebaum-Kennedy. . . . For many people, specifically no- and low-income women, this bill really had nothing for them, because it didn’t require employers to provide health care.’ 3 As one Republican staffer recalled: ‘They [Kassebaum’s staff] didn’t just work with Kennedy’s staff. They really did work with each member. . . . She got a sixteen to nothing vote [to pass it in committee]; people don’t seem to realize what that means on the Labor Committee. Because you have probably one of the committees that is most polarized.’ 4 As one lobbyist explained, ‘[N]ot only did she want to make sure that she had the ranking minority member on board with her; but also . . . she wanted the co-sponsors to be equally Democratic and Republican. That really was her edict, so to speak. . . . [S]he felt, and rightly so, that if they were to do anything, that it would have to be done bipartisanly.’ 5 Taking benefits off the table may have been easier for Kassebaum (who had supported a benefits commission during health care reform anyway) than it was for Kennedy, yet this concession required both to oppose inclusion of benefits they clearly supported if they were to have any hope of passing their bill. For Kassebaum, it was the ‘Newborns’ and Mothers’ Protection Act of 1995,’ she cosponsored with Senator Bradley which guaranteed forty-eight hour maternity stays to women; for Kennedy, it was voting against mental health parity which he long supported. 6 This diminished bipartisan interest in health care reform, as one Republican staffer explained: ‘The Women’s Caucus did not get too involved in health care reform [in the 104th Congress]. . . . It was just such a different bill [than it had been in the 103rd]. One of the issues they were involved in in the 103rd is the coverage of abortion, and that was not an issue [in the 104th] because it was not relevant to the bill. . . . The 104th Congress didn’t address benefits packages or a lot of things where women’s groups weigh in. . . . The two bills were so different.’ 7 The image of triage comes through, for example, in the observations of this health care lobbyist who explained: ‘Quite frankly we were pleased in the end that it [KassebaumKennedy] passed. . . . But it was not as significant a step forward as say block granting Medicaid would have been a step backward. It’s a nice little thing on the pre-existing conditions and so forth; but . . . the magnitude of the change is little.’ 8 For example, Barbara Mikulski who led the women’s health effort in health care reform was not particularly active in health insurance reform even though she sat on Labor. One Senate staffer, noting that Mikulski and Kassebaum had a strong bond rooted in their experiences as the only two women in the Senate before the 103rd, explained, ‘. . . [W]hile Mikulski didn’t play a real role in some of this legislation, she would show up at a lot of the hearings, . . . and she would always compliment Kassebaum. I think more than anything she wanted to see a woman succeed as a chair of a committee.’ 9 However, as one Republican House staffer explained, ‘Many of the women’s groups were the ones that helped put this on the map . . . March of Dimes, the Women’s Legal Defense Fund, and the National Breast Cancer Coalition are the three that come to my mind immediately.’ 10 Two bills were included in the Women’s Health Equity Act dealing with this issue (Genetic Information Nondiscrimination in Health Insurance Act of 1996 sponsored by

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246 Rep. Louise Slaughter and Senator Olympia Snowe; and Improved Patient Access to Clinical Studies Act of 1996 sponsored by Rep. Nita Lowey and Senator Olympia Snowe) and Dianne Feinstein sponsored the Genetic Fairness Act of 1996. Although Feinstein and Connie Mack were mentioned by Senate staff as having played an important role in getting the measure in the bill, neither served on Labor. 11 The problem was summarized by one Democratic Senate staffer, explaining, ‘. . . Kennedy and Kassebaum were trying to work out a deal that was supported by as broad a range of people as possible, and basically did not have the opposition of the majority of the insurance industry. So they had sort of cut their deal with the insurance industry, and this was something that the insurance industry didn’t like. So my sense was that even though Kassebaum was personally supportive of it, she was concerned about the prior agreement she had.’ 12 As one Senate staffer explained, ‘It’s an issue that, for a man makes them look good. [W]hen we’re talking about the gender gap . . . [T]hey’re up for re-election, you see the constant increase in the voter participation by women, and the polls showing . . . domestic violence continues to become an issue that is more important. . . .’ 13 Three such bills were offered as part of the Women’s Health Equity Act (Victims of Abuse Insurance Protection Act sponsored by Rep. Bernard Sanders, Rep. Constance Morella, and Senator Paul Wellstone; Insurance Protection for Victims of Domestic Violence Act sponsored by Rep. Constance Morella and Rep. Charles Schumer; and the Domestic Violence Victims Insurance Protection Act of 1996 sponsored by Rep. Susan Molinari). 14 Through internal negotiations, Wellstone had added to the chairman’s mark some nondiscrimination language, but working in committee he successfully offered an amendment that banned group health plans from excluding women who suffer from domestic violence. He withdrew a second amendment he offered, which would have allowed domestic violence victims to continue their coverage even if they are no longer part of a group plan (Legi-Slate, August 2, 1995). 15 As one health care lobbyist explained:‘It’s my understanding that Senator Dole, still at that point Majority Leader, promised her [Nancy Kassebaum] a vote on the floor of the Senate, and I think without that promise to her, the bill probably never would have gone anywhere. I don’t think anyone would have looked carefully at it if it weren’t certain to have a vote on the floor of the Senate, I think it would have sat in ‘bill limbo’ without that promise. . . . But I don’t think at that point he had looked beyond the implication of that vote, which is why he was much less certain when it came to the amendments, in terms of which direction he wanted to go.’ 16 As one health care lobbyist opined, ‘I think there were people who, despite their discussions and rhetoric of incrementalism, would have just as soon not seen anything passed. But everybody’s hands were kind of forced through the State of the Union Speech in 1996 and when Kassebaum and Kennedy both pledged to keep that bill clean of additional things.’ 17 Nancy Johnson was no newcomer to the area, proposing the original insurance reform portability bill in 1991, serving on the [Minority] Leaders’ Health Care Task Force in the 103rd Congress and on the Leader’s Health Care Task Force in the 104th during Medicare Reform, and (as noted in Chapter 9) taking a major role in educating her Republican colleagues about health care. v

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247 18 Others thought it was her seeming obliviousness to differences in the technical standards of the two chambers that doomed her effort. As one Republican House staffer explained, ‘Marge Roukema . . . simply introduced the Kassebaum Bill without any changes—that was like a no-brainer there. . . . I really like her, I have great admiration for her staff—[but] they’ve never seen a bill in the Senate that they haven’t liked and introduced without giving it any thought!’ 19 These obstacles to substantive representation of women by women were compounded by the tight time constraints. As one Republican House staffer explained, ‘Well, at that time, we were in a crunch where we actually moved from the decision to do legislation, to [getting] legislation done, and passed on the floor in about 30 days. That’s an extraordinarily short amount of time to accomplish that kind of work.’ Part of that tight time frame was political, however, as this lobbyist explained, ‘I personally think the House could have quite happily gone on without anything happening. . . . It was only when the Senate essentially shamed them into action that they then wrote a bill . . . that they passed on the floor before the Senate, so they were ostensibly the ‘sponsors’ of pieces of legislation that had been drafted on the Senate side for over a year.’ 20 As one Republican Senate Staffer explained:‘Susan Molinari was one of several House members, and probably the most prominent woman in the House, who championed the same or similar bill to the Wellstone effort in the House. I think largely at her urging the Republican leadership in the House included a domestic violence provision in the House bill. . . . She was critical in putting it in the House bill.’ 21 The day after Ways and Means added those protections to its bill, Commerce did the same when Congressman Bilirakis offered an amendment that would insert similar protections to that committee’s bill. 22 The gender gap threat made a compelling argument for support of women’s health matters in terms Republican men could understand, for as one lobbyist put it, ‘The socalled drive-by deliveries issue in ’96— . . . was that driven by the fact that there were more women in Congress? Or was that driven by the fact that you have . . . substantial numbers of Republican members of Congress afraid of appearing too harsh to women voters and wanting to find a way to empathize with their daily lives? I’m inclined to think that the voter issue loomed larger.’ Women’s image of bipartisan unity was an obstacle to would-be opponents. Drive-through delivery ban opponents dreamed of finding a female opponent of the ban who could act as a symbolic representative of women. As one lobbyist explained: ‘Who better to oppose this kind of thing than find a woman to do it? But most of the Republican women either were sympathetic to this, or . . . staff just said, ‘‘She doesn’t take the lead on health care issues.’’ ’ 23 As one lobbyist who thought Republican women and men would probably be equally likely to favor bans on ‘drive through’ mastectomies or deliveries added, however: ‘I’m going to say this as honestly as I can. . . . A woman Republican, my guess would be, would be more likely to be motivated by actually wanting to get it done, and a man Republican would be more motivated by the political fear of what happens if you don’t get it done.’ 24 This Republican House staffer explained the difficulty of such issues this way, ‘Literally in the case of the forty-eight hours [maternity stay], they’re motherhood and apple pie issues. Any strong philosophy of the appropriate role of the federal government in health care seems to go out the window (with a few exceptions) when we get into these issues, because they are so highly sensitive with the public.’

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248 25 The exceptions were Women’s Policy, Inc. (the organization formed by the staff of the old CCWI after it was defunded) touted portability as particularly important for women, and the Women’s Legal Defense Fund undertook a public education effort to show why Kassebaum-Kennedy was beneficial to women. 26 Those supporting this exemption, similar to that enjoyed by large corporations with self-funded insurance programs covered by ERISA, argued it would allow more small businesses to afford health care coverage for their employees since they could finally purchase more basic coverage than allowed under state law. The matter did not emerge in the Senate, however, reportedly because of the constraints under which Kassebaum and Kennedy were operating. 27 Left to their own interpretation of gender’s relevance, Democratic and Republican women could come up with very different conclusions, particularly if they (as seemed to be true in this case) looked at it from the perspective of women with very different stakes, for as this Republican House staffer explained more generally, ‘The problem with some of these other women’s groups [for Republican women] is that they have a bigger feminist agenda. . . . Some of our women just . . . can’t get into that whole thing. . . . They can relate more to a business woman or self-employed [woman] . . . and look at it from that perspective and speak to that.’

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Conclusion: Looking Toward the Future

The case studies in this volume make a compelling argument for increasing women’s presence in public office, for they suggest that women’s presence not only reshapes the agenda, but also can slowly begin to regender institutions. However, by going beyond the simple question, ‘Do women make a difference?’ and delving into the meaning of elected women’s sense of connection to women using the dynamic framework provided by the modified version of the Garbage Can Model described in Chapter 2, this volume also provides insight into factors that encourage substantive representation of women and shape the meaning of gender, reminding us that women may not only transform institutions, but be transformed by them and the larger political environment. Drawing on findings from this study, supplemented by more recent media coverage and with an eye toward the contested issues surrounding difference, this conclusion suggests strategies to enhance the potential that improvements in descriptive representation vis-a`-vis gender will increase governmental responsiveness to all citizens, regardless of gender. Moving beyond the simple question ‘Do women make a difference?’ has never been more important, for our high hopes women would transform politics in the aftermath of 1992 ’s ‘Year of the Woman’ have been sorely tested. Although we can find evidence in every subsequent congress of women making a difference,1 disappointments at the slow pace of gains in women’s proportional presence are only compounded by a sense one must look longer and harder for evidence of gender difference in impact, the increasing rarity of women coming together as a collective bipartisan force on behalf of women (Gertzog 2004), the willingness of women to lead the charge (sometimes individually2 and sometimes collectively3) against the agendas of mainstream women’s groups, and a women’s policy agenda that may have expanded in limited ways (e.g. women in high technology [Newsbytes 2001], women and venture capital [Washington Daybook 2002]), but bears

250 a striking resemblance to the agenda of the mid-1990s (e.g. child care, reproductive rights, mammography and breast cancer, violence against women, sexual assault of military women). The shift to the right among women members collectively is only part of the story. Appropriation and reauthorization cycles not only open new opportunities for advancing agendas as the case studies illustrated, but also force women to refight previously won battles on ostensibly noncontroversial matters such as the Violence Against Women Act (e.g. Boxer 2000) or even the Breast Cancer stamp (e.g. Feinstein 2001). Add to this both the difficulty of finding vehicles to which these concerns often deemed peripheral can be attached (a condition important even in the more liberal, Democratic-controlled 103rd when more seemed possible for women to accomplish and the agenda seemed more relevant to their concerns) and evidence that difference comes at the risk of institutional marginalization (e.g. ‘being pigeonholed’ as suggested by women in these two congresses and later congresses [e.g. Camia 2000]) or even electoral defeat at the hands of conservative voters who perceive women as more liberal than men (King and Matland 2003), and the perception that the rate of progress has slowed is understandable. Yet given the sense that at least some new causes around which women have rallied feel like afterthoughts undertaken by women at the behest of men feeling gender gap pressures and hoping to build support for policies they designed with no thought of improving women’s lives,4 and it certainly raises questions about the transformative impact of women’s increased presence within Congress. Add to this, for example, the near-complete silence regarding the gendered stakes of high-profile issues like social security reform (despite some attempts to get the message out early on [e.g. Mikulski 1999; also see Lee 2001 on bankruptcy legislation]), a glass ceiling (ostensibly shattered in the 104th) which continues to limit women’s advancement within the GOP leadership (Torry and Riskind 2005; Riskind 2005b),5 pressures on even outspoken advocates for women to ‘do the masculine’ in policy areas where the feminale is particularly devalued (see Swers 2005), and women’s seemingly endless struggles to remain on the radar screen of male powerholders (Gillman 2004; Werner 2003) despite their increased numbers, and it is clear that enhancing women’s proportional presence is merely a first step in enhancing substantive representation of women. By confronting the contested issues surrounding difference across the diverse political environments of the 103rd and 104th Congresses, this volume provides critical insight into some of the strategies likely to make women’s presence an even stronger force for institutional transformation. Now is the time to begin to more consciously implement them; otherwise, one day we may be just as surprised that gender parity has failed to provide the high level of anticipated gains in substantive representation of women as term limit advocates undoubtedly were that term limits actually contributed to declines in women’s proportional presence within state legislatures where they have been implemented (Carroll and Jenkins 2001).6 v

CONC LU SIO N : LOOKING TO W AR D TH E FUTURE

251 Ironically, some strategies to increase substantive representation of women may only heighten the contested issues surrounding women’s impact. Take, for example, Strategy 1. v

ST R A T E G Y 1

Strengthen the voices of women on the outside in order to encourage those on the inside to challenge masculinist values within the institution and to help them amass the majority they need to effect change. The case studies in this volume suggest the gender gap in the mass public has made women’s arguments on behalf of women far more persuasive by allowing women to cast them in terms even men hostile to the women’s movement could understand—the difference between winning and losing. The value of dual pressures from women officeholders on the inside and women voters on the outside in advancing the feminale within this traditionally masculinist environment came through across all three policy areas and in both the Democratic-controlled 103rd and the Republican-controlled 104th Congresses. Granted, the gender gap in the mass public was no silver bullet (e.g. it certainly did not carry Medicaid funding of abortion to victory), but it made some matters almost politically impossible to oppose (e.g. breast cancer research, mammography coverage in a reformed health care system, drive-through delivery bans, and bans on treating pregnancy as a preexisting condition), and other efforts more than merely an exercise in futility (e.g. women’s fight against the Partial Birth Abortion Ban). Gender gap pressures also had the power to redefine ‘women’s issues’ (e.g. when ‘soccer moms’ rebelled at proposed Medicaid cuts for the elderly, but not children [Chapter 10, this volume]) in ways that no degree of advocacy on the part of elected women alone could have done. The gender gap threat has been integral to Republican women’s arguments for (and success in achieving) a greater presence in the GOP leadership (e.g. Riskind 1997) and to GOP leaders’ willingness to give women a more visible role for the good of their party. Since elected women continue to face political dangers from introducing feminale values into this institution long dominated by the masculine (Camia 2000; Gertzog 2004; Swers 2005), the gender gap threat is a critical complement to women’s presence in furthering substantive representation of women. At the same time the case studies also suggest it can even encourage men to champion bills or amendments they might not otherwise advocate in order to appeal to women voters—even if they have to take the bill away from the less well positioned women who have long championed it. However, these case studies also suggest women’s presence within the institution shapes the meaning of the message women voters are attempting to send. In some cases, their role may be to remind those who survived the election that the CO N CL U S I O N : LOO KI NG TO WA R D T H E FUTU RE

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252 gender gap is nevertheless a problem for the future or to remind their party’s male leadership of the political debt they owe the women who put them in office. But in other cases, women members were critical in expanding the meaning of the message women citizens were sending, especially when those women had mobilized around simple messages that emphasize only a part of the problem—often, some would say the part that is more relevant to privileged women. For example, as Chapters 7 and 8 showed, elected women were key in harnessing the momentum around breast cancer to make it a synonym for women’s health and in so doing create momentum behind a broader women’s health agenda than otherwise. In addition, Republican women have been in the forefront of those arguing the GOP’s gender gap problems can be overcome by allowing women to carry the party’s message, and thus making women’s presence a political necessity. At the same time, elected women needed these women on the outside. The passion of women on the outside generated a gender gap threat that not only encouraged women on the inside to act for women on the outside, but also could limit the range of issues around which battles ensued by defining some matters as ‘political suicide’. Thus, while women’s increased presence in public office is necessary for regendering political institutions like the US Congress, these efforts will be more successful when accompanied by efforts that mobilize women voters, thereby allowing those women officeholders to cast the stakes in terms that politicians understand—the threat of electoral defeat. v

ST R A TE GY 2

Elect the ‘right’ men. These case studies provide compelling evidence that so long as women are a proportionate minority of members and underrepresented among powerholders, the profile of the men serving within the institution as the majority of members and as leaders mediates the relationship between women’s presence and women’s impact. When male colleagues are willing to see women as a political group whose needs and interests are legitimate, valued political concerns, women passionately committed to women can take on more, for the political environment is less resistant to the feminale and its relevance to the political is more obvious. Constructing coalitions is easier, fewer resources will have to be invested in defending the gains of the past (freeing resources to expand the agenda), and the pool of leaders willing to act for women may be expanded beyond the small number of women. Indeed, when men who are supportive of women’s attempts to integrate feminale concerns into the political agenda have positional power, they can ameliorate some of the disadvantages women endure when underrepresented among powerholders within the institution. While this strategy, like Strategy 1, adds additional layers of complexity to our understanding of women’s impact by ironically increasing the probabilistic nature of that relationship between gender and substantive represenv

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253 tation of women (thereby raising questions about the need for women’s presence), it can advance the ultimate goal of increasing substantive representation of women. Yet the institutional context complicates its implementation. While in theory the ‘right men’ could be concentrated in one party, the possibility the balance of power among the parties will shift abruptly (as it did between the 103rd and 104th) not only means that the ‘right’ men should not be concentrated in a single party, but also that taking behavior out of an institutional vacuum requires models which recognize the intersecting but not identical nature of pressures experienced by these women who are officially members of a single institution but experience very different constraints and opportunities as either Democratic or Republican women. Simple views of institutional life emphasizing shared institutional pressures experienced across party lines were more appropriate in the days when women, although divided by ideology, were nevertheless ‘in the same boat’—a boat to nowhere in terms of institutional power or societal/institutional willingness to acknowledge either the existence of gendered stakes or that the gendered stakes for women should be legitimate political concerns when the interests of women and men diverge. Yet with women of both parties climbing the leadership ladder, with the women’s movement having raised the gender consciousness of even women who would reject the feminist label (e.g. Katzenstein 1998), with the parties’ relationships with women activists and women voters diverging, and with a sense that women who want to advance in the Republican party must temper their moderate instincts (amassing voting records that may seem to out-conservative their conservative colleagues [Torry 2001; also see this volume]), the potential costs of acting for women and the opportunities to do so while maintaining credibility may vary across party lines. The result may be instances of feminist protest unrecognizable as such to their women colleagues in the opposing party (e.g. Judy Biggert’s push for her comp-time bill substantially similar [but with stronger employer penalties] to one offered in previous years by Senator John Ashcroft and whose ‘bipartisan’ support came from Democratic men rather than women [Biggert 2003; Milligan 2003] or Republican women rallying around women judicial nominees opposed by women’s groups [Republican National Committee 2005]). The result may also be differences in the implications of positional power for gender difference in impact. Indeed, we need only recall how Democratic Senator Barbara Mikulski and Democratic Congresswoman Patsy Mink used their positions to improve the women’s health provisions in the ill-fated Clinton Plan (Chapter 9), but the (granted more conservative) Republican women serving as ranking members on relevant panels toed the party line far more closely during committee proceedings, thus avoiding being too far ahead of their potentially rebellious party caucuses on the panels which they were ‘leading’. Thus, maximizing openness to women’s gendered perspectives not only requires cultural changes so women can find support among voters to whom all elected officeholders are periodically held accountable, but also it requires men CO N CL U S I O N : LOO KI NG TO WA R D T H E FUTU RE

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254 willing to see the different problems women raise on their ‘radar screen’ and accept women as colleagues on the same terms as men. Although men may have become more comfortable having women as colleagues than in the early 1990s (Abrams 2000), both Democratic and Republican women continue to believe women must prove themselves in nontraditional areas and that they are pressured to funnel their efforts into a narrow range of issues about which women ‘should’ care (Roth 2003). Moreover, Republican women’s claims of shattering their party’s glass ceiling in the 104th appear to have been premature given accusations of gender discrimination after women were skipped over as committee chairs in subsequent congresses (Carter 2001), Deborah Pryce’s characterization of her attempt to become the first female House Republican Conference Chair as doing this ‘for the girls’ (Auster 2003), rumors that Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison considered leaving the Senate to challenge an incumbent Republican governor out of frustration at being forced to take far more conservative stands than she favored as a member of leadership (Weyrich 2005), and women’s continued need to avoid being seen as ‘too pushy’ if they want to advance their political careers (Auster 2003). Variation in men’s resistance to the feminale not only seems to contribute to the probabilistic nature of the relationship between descriptive and substantive representation of women by making it more difficult for women to achieve their goals in some situations than others, but the cross-committee comparisons in the case studies provide compelling evidence that these varied environmental conditions may affect the depth and breadth of the agenda women seriously pursue on behalf of women. The case studies suggest that partisan differences in men’s ideological perspectives and connections to women as a constituency base may not only have given rise to partisan differences in manifestations of feminist protest, but also to transgendered perceptions of women’s advocates that, on the Republican side in particular, enhance the value of men as advocates if the goal is to sway male colleagues. This is not to say that the efforts of Republican men would have been identical in the absence of women, for observers often suggested that women played behind the scenes roles at least even in men’s high-profile advocacy efforts on behalf of women’s needs and interests—whether it was recruiting the men who would take the lead, sustaining institutional support for a prolonged battle on provisions that might otherwise have been marginalized, or planting the ideas about women’s needs and interests in the minds of male colleagues. Yet given that pragmatism in the face of painfully slow progress toward gender parity requires additional strategies that can help regender political institutions so they are more hospitable to the feminale, and given the importance of parties as institutions within this institution, electing within each party men who see women as a political group with needs and interests that are legitimate political concerns distinct from those of men is critical in realizing the potential of women’s presence for substantive representation of women. v

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Strengthen recruitment processes to attract gender conscious women, while nurturing gender consciousness among women inside and outside the institution. Our proclamations that women make a difference and our reliance on women’s life experiences and perspectives as the explanation for their impact in those earlier years when feminists or closet feminists dominated the ranks of elected women gave women’s contribution to gender difference an aura of motherhood and apple pie. Of course, feminist scholars who study women’s impact in public office recognized feminist and liberal women were the most likely to make a difference (Dolan and Ford 1998; Martin 2001; Dodson 2001; also see Carroll 1984), but evidence of gender gaps in attitudes and actions across the ideological spectrum (even though much smaller among conservatives [e.g. Dodson and Carroll 1991]) validated our unqualified message that women make a difference and allowed us to put gender difference above politics in a sense. Yet the increased presence in the mid-1990s of conservative women willing to embrace a rhetoric of difference in order to argue for their own place at the table while undertaking (all too often it seems at the behest of male colleagues) gendered roles which pitted them against the women’s movement (Rosenberg 1997; Chapter 6, this volume) compels us to go beyond women’s life experiences and perspectives to explain the value of women’s increased presence. At the very least, diversity of attitudes and actions among women calls into question the implications of women’s presence for substantive representation of women. Work by scholars who study gender’s impact on political activity within the mass public holds promise in this regard (e.g. Tolleson Rinehart 1992; Sigel 1996). Indeed, at any given level of proportional presence, their work suggests that substantive representation of women will be enhanced when women see women as an identifiable group with whom they identify, recognize conditions that shortchange women and their needs and interests, see these as problems (whether by traditionalist or feminist standards), and feel a responsibility to act for women that can outweigh competing priorities. This makes increasing the presence of gender conscious women through recruitment processes that reach out to such women a critical strategy for ensuring that women’s presence increases substantive representation of women. At the same time, the counterpressures of congressional norms and values and the increased diversity of the women elected (ironically due to the success of the women’s movement in mainstreaming women’s demands for a presence in the policymaking process) make the nurturing of gender consciousness (or even its potential) once women enter Congress more difficult, yet even more important in cultivating common ground. Although the CCWI before the defunding of legislative service organizations in the 104th came closer to the ideal than anything since in providing a safe space for congresswomen (complete with resources to research and disseminate ideas CO N CL U S I O N : LOO KI NG TO WA R D T H E FUTU RE

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256 about the gendered stakes of policy), less formal safe spaces have emerged: Senator Mikulski’s bipartisan empowerment workshops/ women’s power coffees (Anderson 2000); Nancy Johnson’s efforts to bring Republican women in the House together and create a supportive environment for them at regular dinners (Part II, this volume); or simply instances of informal exchange of ideas among women colleagues in the context of a committee, as women on Education and Labor did in devising the women’s health provisions for their committee’s health care reform bill and, in so doing, going beyond what they might do individually as women (Chapter 9). The value of ‘safe spaces’ is evidenced by the fact that there has been more bipartisan advocacy on behalf of women recently than might have been expected in the midst of the 104th. Republican women who once distanced themselves from women or lined up in opposition to the majority of women on certain policies (and who continue to do so), in effect, giving their male colleagues political cover, seem to have found common ground with feminists in challenges to masculinist values on a variety of discrete issues that vary from safe motherhood (American Health Line, August 1999), to support for gender equity in the new Iraqi government (Griffith 2003; U.S. Fed News 2004), to women members’ own struggles for equity in access to the House gym (Yan 2001). One can debate whether these are adequate or whether they are differences that make a difference, (although they are qualitatively different from the gender differences that emerged among pro-lifers in Chapter 6 which found women opposed to reproductive choice more willing than like-minded men to take on pro-choice women’s arguments). Yet they suggest a willingness among a diverse group of women members to be identified with women notwithstanding its ‘pigeonholing’ potential. While these collective efforts may reflect women’s recognition of injustices due to their own life experiences, they have been encouraged by efforts of gender conscious women within their own party who carved out ‘safe spaces’ that could nurture gender consciousness among women within the institution. Women like Nancy Johnson, Deborah Pryce, and Jennifer Dunn took advantage of windows of opportunity forced open by public opinion and male colleagues’ awareness of gender gap threats, to reach out to Republican women and sometimes Democratic women on matters such as the role of women in the new Iraqi or Afghan governments. Being associated with ‘women’s issues’ seemed to have been a mixed bag for Republicans—so much so that some sidestepped suggestions from party leaders that they be liaisons between women and party leaders (Gertzog 2004). Nevertheless, unlikely suspects such as Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, a pro-life Republican who did not join the Caucus until the 105th, and Ginny Brown-Waite who received a 100 percent score from the Christian Coalition (Solochek 2004) have served as cochairs of the CCWI and joined together in other endeavors which challenge masculinist values v

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257 (e.g. sexual assault in the military [Moffeit 2004]; Take Your Daughter to Work Day [States News Service, April 2005]; Violence Against Women [States News Service, March 2005]; Hate Crimes Legislation to protect gay and transgendered people [Rothaus 2005]; Mental Health Programs for Seniors [States News Service 2005]; or establishment of the bipartisan House After-School Caucus [MacPherson 2005]). This suggests the powerful force interaction between attitudes and environment plays in giving meaning to gender. Although all of these can be criticized as a mere shadow of the broader and more visible collective efforts women once undertook, for example, in the 103rd (see Gertzog 2004) or criticized as too dependent on the kinds of windows of opportunity that are opened when men appeal to women for help in aiding their political goals (e.g. Iraqi women’s rights), there seems to have been more visible collective action on behalf of women by women than might have been anticipated in the 104th—almost certainly due to gender conscious women within each party reaching out within their ranks. Yet, delving beneath the surface of these results also suggests these efforts at strengthening the presence of gender consciousness/feminist conscious women must go beyond the confines of the institution or the recruitment process to the base of the pipeline—women voters. Overcoming a sense of complacency and cultivating the level of connection to and responsibility for the well-being of other women that makes integration of the feminale into public and private life most appropriately a collective endeavor offers promise in ensuring the pool of eligibles includes gender conscious women and that elected officials will experience the kind of gender gap threats that seemed to give credibility to women officeholders’ difference (Tolleson Rinehart 1992). Meeting this challenge requires public education efforts to raise public awareness of persistent gender inequalities and injustices and to instill in future generations of women political leaders a sense of gender consciousness/feminist consciousness that is a prerequisite for seeing the fight against discrimination as a collective rather than individual endeavor (Sigel 1996). But if gender consciousness that gives rise to collective action by women is to be sustained within future generations, it also requires efforts to address what some see as an epidemic of relational/social/girl bullying that begins in childhood and which ultimately can destroy the sense of connection among women (Simmons 2002) that is essential to the emergence of a feminist consciousness (see Sigel 1996). Thus, cultivating the kind of gender consciousness needed to help women maximize the potential for gender difference requires diverse strategies that include, but reach beyond, immediate recruitment efforts. Gender consciousness can make the costs of collective action worth bearing (e.g. Katzenstein 1998). Yet while its combined effects at the mass and elite levels can increase the legitimacy of gender difference, even more is needed to maximize legitimacy within institutions such as Congress. The next two strategies attempt to address those needs. CO N CL U S I O N : LOO KI NG TO WA R D T H E FUTU RE

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Increase the legitimacy of substantive representation of women by casting achievement of such goals in terms consistent with institutional norms, avoiding framings that unnecessarily conflict with those norms and that might exacerbate any internal conflict women feel in advocating for women. Given that institutions ‘assign value to what people do and shape the very selfdefinitions people come to hold’ (Katzenstein 1998: 33), this volume suggests that how women’s impact is framed may affect the potential it will be manifested. This is nothing new in some ways (e.g. Katzenstein 1998), but in other ways it calls into question standard ways of talking about women’s impact. Take, for example, surrogate representation of women. Although scholars feel comfortable with it, even touting it as the mechanism that allows women to be better represented than their numbers within political institutions would suggest (e.g. Carroll 2002), women members of Congress were less comfortable with the concept—particularly Republican women who were more likely than Democrats to perceive a conflict between representing women and their districts (Chapter 4). One might attribute this difference between Democratic and Republican women to ideology, or less benignly to a deficit of political courage, were it not for evidence there could be good reason for Republican women’s concern. Indeed, as this volume showed, lobbyists and staff associated with the Republican side conveyed a hostility toward the notion of surrogate representation of women to a greater extent than did those allied with the Democrats. Bearing in mind that this was once a significant restraint on women’s actions in both parties (Gertzog 1995), these partisan differences in women members’ perceptions of the appropriateness of roles may well reflect partisan differences in the political environments they experience by virtue of the emergence of a persistent gender gap. Thus, lauding women’s actions as surrogate representatives of women could intensify the potential costs Republican women face for it may cast their efforts on behalf of women as particularly contrary to institutional norms. Yet by making challenges to masculinist values on behalf of women consistent with other norms, such as representing the district or acting in the best interests of the party, challenges can be more acceptable. The power of strategic choices about framing came through in the case studies, as, for example, when breast cancer advocates shaped an appeal that was both national in scope and relevant to members’ districts. More recently, it has been exemplified by appeals like those of Senator Lisa Murkowski who framed her effort to boost funding for domestic violence nationally by directing attention to the serious problem within her own state of Alaska (Office of Sen. Lisa Murkowski 2004) and Congresswoman Sue Kelly who emphasized the needs of her own district in unveiling plans for a national child abuse register (U.S. Fed News 2005).

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259 While Republican women’s recent advocacy on behalf of Iraqi and Afghan women is hard to tie to the district, the Republican women leading this bipartisan effort have handled it in a way that demonstrates they are ‘team players’ whose gender is a symbol that adds credibility to the administration’s agenda, even as they undertake efforts driven by sincere concern for women but which is part of an agenda they did not shape independently (Griffith 2003) and which was a response to Administration requests for help in building support for its Iraq policy (Thompson 2004). Yet even as they pursue the path of a ‘team player,’ the sincerity of their efforts to respond to pleas for help from women in these war torn countries of the Middle East (Riskind 2005a; Kiely 2005; Griffith 2003) is only reinforced by what at times has seemed to be a willingness to potentially push the Administration beyond where it might have otherwise gone,7 and by their successful efforts to attract support from Democratic women (U.S. Fed News, June 2004). Yet these might not have been undertaken by Republican women had the invasion been ordered by a Democratic president, and in any case they may or may not be successful in changing women’s lives (Wong 2005). The importance of institutional norms combined with the dynamics of political pressures inside and outside the institution not only suggest the need to carefully think how efforts to address women’s needs and interests which clash anyway with masculinist norms and values of the political institution can be framed as consistent with other norms and values. Yet because these norms and values are not static, in the process it validates Strategy 1’s emphasis on mobilization of women voters and Strategy 2’s emphasis on the importance of which men serve; as a majority of members, men’s perspectives and the pressures they feel can go a long way toward defining institutional constraints. Much work needs to be done to make the most of women’s potential for impact at every level of proportional presence. Certainly taking the study of women’s impact in public office out of an institutional vacuum can help bring this process of impact which has been described as ‘a shot in the dark’ (Phillips 1995) closer to the mark. Yet doing so within an institution like Congress requires that we must recognize distinctly different political environments (internally and externally) in which women’s actions as members of the same institution are embedded. Thus, in much the same way the different environments women faced within the military and the Catholic Church gave rise to distinctly different manifestations of feminist protest (Katzenstein 1998), so too may the different political environments facing Democratic and Republican women who must appeal to different powerholders to achieve their professional and policy goals. The result may be increased divergence in the agendas of women of the two parties, making even more important that we confront a second dimension of the legitimacy question—what gives women’s declarations of acting for women legitimacy. CO N CL U S I O N : LOO KI NG TO WA R D T H E FUTU RE

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Move beyond the framework which grants legitimacy to women’s contribution to gender difference by virtue of their life experiences and the resulting perspectives which all women have by definition, even as we recognize that these are important in shaping behavior. The success of the contemporary women’s movement both in making what was once a nontraditional role for women appealing to feminist and traditionalist women and in creating an environment where (as these case studies show) men find it politically advantageous to demonstrate they are not antiwomen creates new challenges for talking about gender difference and women’s impact— particularly since our talk of women’s impact, rooted in the different gendered life experiences, gives almost any woman legitimacy in speaking for women. With increasing ideological diversity among women and efforts by men to take advantage of these forces for reasons other than making women’s lives better (see Chapter 6, this volume; also Thompson 2004), the need to confront the legitimacy of women’s claims to act for women is increasingly critical. Although either feminists or antifeminists can speak for women (although there is no reason for anyone to be equally happy to hear their messages), at issue is who is setting the agenda for women and why it is being set. Anne Phillips’ assertion that, ‘Representation depends on the continuing relationship between representatives and the represented, and anyone concerned about the exclusion of women’s voices or needs or interests would be ill-advised to shut up shop as soon as half those elected are women’ (Phillips 1995: 82) suggests that women officeholders—notwithstanding their women’s life experiences and resulting perspectives—cannot be counted on to sustain their efforts on behalf of women without sustained support, input, and feedback. Partisan differences in elected women’s connections to women, which are in some ways a reflection of differences in party coalitions and norms ‘team players’ must follow, have implications not only for what women who say they represent women might actually do in one situation as opposed to another, but also for the legitimacy of their actions as these case studies illustrate. With the gendered stakes of policy still evolving and pressure to appear pro-women sometimes strong, at issue is whether the cacophony of women’s needs and interests that may emerge reflect efforts sincerely undertaken to make women present or whether they are the result of some women being co-opted by male colleagues who need them to lend their imprimatur to policies and priorities that have nothing to do with needs and interests of women. That women may undertake efforts to act for women at the behest of men who sometimes open windows of opportunity because women can further men’s own political goals need not impugn the legitimacy of their efforts on behalf of women, for women’s historic lack of power and the marginalization of the v

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261 feminale traditionally has forced women to attach their solutions to the problems others have defined in order to have any hope of moving them as these case studies have shown. Women’s lack of control over the institutional agenda is what made the process model employed across the case studies so useful. Whether gender differences occur when women respond to the pleas of men or whether they are quiet instances of gender difference which empirical feminist scholars may describe as substantive representation of women, seemingly arising from elected women’s life experiences as women that they might even deny are related to gender, what is at issue in establishing women’s legitimacy to speak on behalf of women and to act for women is: the how and why women respond to the opening of windows of opportunity, how elected women are seen by the women whose future depends on their actions, and how willing elected women are to push for changes in the face of resistance from men. My argument is not that elected women must be carrying a to-do list for women’s groups, but rather that we must move beyond what has become a tendency for women to have instant legitimacy as spokespersons for women simply by virtue of being female and having a claim to ‘women’s life experiences’. At the same time our standards must not be so restrictive that they arrest society’s evolving understanding of the gendered stakes of policy or that they allow only feminists to have legitimacy in speaking for women. Take, for example, the ban on treating pregnancy as a preexisting condition which Senator Kassebaum quietly inserted in her health insurance reform bill (Chapter 10). If the absence of consultation with women’s groups, the sense of those well positioned in the process that this was never talked about in gendered terms, or the fact Senator Kassebaum was not known as one who ever attributed her actions to gender all call into question whether her action can legitimately be seen as substantive representation of women, other factors legitimize it as such in an environment where power as chair allows one to minimize political conflict by slipping provisions quietly into one’s bill—the substance of the policy, the fury generated among female Republican staff when their male peers suggested its removal, any fight against it being dubbed political suicide, and gender gap threat induced concessions male Republican House leaders made to the provision. Yet whatever standards we ultimately embrace in seeing gender difference as a legitimate effort by elected women to act for women, disagreements among women should no more impugn the legitimacy of their efforts than the involvement of a woman should insulate them from these. The danger posed by essentialist assumptions about what women just naturally know about the gendered stakes of policy came through clearly in the surprise of some women when confronted with the argument that MEWAs (which they saw as prowoman because they would make it easier for small businesses to insure their workers) would exempt millions of women from the state mandated health benefits that Democratic and Republican women fought for years to pass in CO N CL U S I O N : LOO KI NG TO WA R D T H E FUTU RE

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262 state legislatures (Chapter 10). Yet, at other times women can legitimately claim to be representing women even if they disagree, as in the case of elected women’s support for making it easier for women to see their OB/Gyns—a position clearly supported by average women and informed by their own life experiences, but quietly opposed by feminist health activists (Chapter 9; also see Meckler 1999). Fundamentally, in political environments where the gendered stakes of policies continue to evolve in the context of competing and complementary forces, where women who feel a connection to women imagine different women, and where acting for women is both ‘in vogue’ and not, empirical feminist scholars must confront more clearly the intersection between gender difference/women’s impact and substantive representation of women, as activists work to strengthen women’s networks and elected women’s connections to women in ways that will make a qualitative difference in women’s lives and women’s sense that the public sphere is relevant to them. At the same time, we must also confront the possibility that with the parties providing remarkably different pressures and opportunities, the versions of feminist protest that emerge across party lines may be unrecognizable as such to the women of these opposing parties (just as feminist protests of military women and women religious were [Katzenstein 1998]). Yet women’s ability to see themselves as connected to some women— whether it be their women colleagues who felt like second class citizens when it came to the House Gym, breast cancer victims, military women, mothers struggling to help their children, women of color struggling with understudied illnesses more likely to strike them than other women, or women candidates in their own party or in other countries—may provide critical connections that not only legitimize women’s efforts on behalf of women, but also nurture the kind of safe spaces that hold promise for moving women’s consciousness of their responsibilities to address injustice further than they imagined. These connections not only have the potential to legitimize and expand elected women’s efforts on behalf of women, but also to create a political environment in which more is possible. If anything, these case studies remind us that no woman can do it alone. Transformation of political institutions that were long occupied and shaped only by men is a slow process. Bringing more women into public office is part of the solution, but only part. Women on the inside not only need the support of their female colleagues and women voters on the outside who can reinforce their message and fuel their political courage, but they also need active, engaged women with strong gender consciousness who are available to join them in public office, whose expectations and values are that gender equity can and must prevail, and who are willing to reach across divisions that weaken women’s political clout—divisions of class, race, region, sexual orientation, religion, and ethnicity—to better understand and educate other women, elected women and v

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263 voters alike, about the shared political stakes of policies that affect the quality of their daily lives. Yet effecting the kind of change that inspires women to open their checkbooks to support women candidates is a far broader effort that demands the energies of women at all levels of our political system to make the most difference in women’s lives and opportunities. We cannot escape the reality that the larger political environment in which women operate affects what they do. The increased presence of women of color in the 103rd—particularly in an environment with a Democratic Congress and the new hope a Democratic president brought—at long last opened a window of opportunity for women of color to push women in Congress toward a more ambitious collective agenda than in the past; yet the drastic change in the 104th silenced these demands as women of color turned their energies toward preserving the gains of the past not just for women, but also for people of color and the poor. Certainly, while policies are put forth highlighting the underserved needs not only of women, but of women of color in particular, the tone is decidedly different, reflecting decidedly lower expectations (PR Newswire 2003; American Health Line 1999). What constitutes ‘substantive representation of women’ from any perspective, but certainly from a feminist perspective, is not static; it is subject not only to evolving support for gender equity within the larger society, but also to the political environment of an institution which women do not yet have the numbers, cohesion, or clout to control. Heightened awareness of the gendered consequences of an expanded array of policies has the potential to fragment women, reinforcing partisan divisions, but it also has the potential of drawing more women into the effort on behalf of women. Certainly, concerns about the welfare of one subset of women— whether breast cancer victims as with Congresswoman Barbara Vucanovich, military women in the case of Heather Wilson, immigrant women in the case of Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, or Anne Northrup’s concern about gender inequality in members’ access to the House Gym—fall short of feminist ideals, but these type of concerns may provide the seeds for expanding gender consciousness among women that, when combined with the external pressures created by the continued integration of the principles of gender equity throughout all areas of our society, have the potential to give more women courage to center these peripheral matters on the agenda in ways that demonstrate their value to others. In so doing, it have the potential to gradually effect slow cultural change that not only nurtures feminist protest in traditionally masculine institutions throughout society, but that transforms the political environment so women in public office are empowered to push further in creating policies which advance the well being of society by advancing human rights and women’s rights.

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Confront the contested meaning of substantive representation of women in theory and in practice, moving beyond definitions that allow almost anything women call women’s needs and interests to be considered as such, yet accommodating the realities women face as actors within institutions with norms and values beyond their control. Face it, the gap between, on the one hand, feminist ideals of gender difference which would mean a better, kinder, gentler, and more altruistic policymaking process that values the masculine and the feminale equally, and, on the other hand, declarations that women are making an impact based on their elevation to more visible positions by a party looking for help in softening the image of a policy agenda crafted with little input from women, presents problems. The danger is that the public may become inured to proclamations that women make a difference, at worse, seeing such claims as empty political rhetoric. Yet countervailing forces within the broader political culture make a well defined standard for substantive representation of women impractical. Indeed, the case studies of women in the 103rd Congress suggested that the gendered dimensions of a variety of policies were beginning to be more clearly understood through an evolutionary process that was both expanding the reach of feminist analysis to a wider range of issues than in the past and more frequently recognizing the stakes created by the intersection of race and gender; this meant old assumptions of what was doable or desirable needed to be reevaluated. Yet the change in the political winds in the 104th Congress silenced such concerns, as marginalized groups struggled to hold on to whatever was possible. To do otherwise would have been political folly in an environment where gains by old standards were near impossible but losses might be avoided. The change in the political environment lessened tensions over the relative priority of ‘women’s issues’ that sometimes occurred among Democratic women in the 103rd. After all, not only did women seem to rally around gains of the past that were most important to poor and minority women, but with so many policies under fire from so many directions there was a feeling that almost any gain—no matter how small and no matter which group of women it might advance from a progressive policy perspective—was a victory. Their efforts turned to emphasizing that which united, with little of the protest that might have surfaced in the 103rd over such efforts. While one can understand how the dynamics of the political environment might alter our understanding of substantive representation of women, the reaction of Republican women forces us to even more directly reflect on the value of gender difference, its relationship to substantive representation of women, and ultimately its potential to regender political institutions such as Congress and the partisan caucuses within which much power lies. Defenders of Republican women would assert that they too responded pragmatically to a v

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265 political environment where the potential for feminist policy changes was nil, with an eye to what was possible given the shift to the right within the institution, their party caucus, and their own ranks of Republican women. By responding to the needs of their party from the perspective of male colleagues, they forced at least surface changes in who was at the table, perhaps setting in place traditions that will only ensure women’s presence at the table increases. In much the same way that the different opportunities and constraints shaped different manifestations of feminist protest within the military and women religious, changes inside Congress combined with partisan differences in external pressures to give rise to different ways of acting for women within the two major parties. At the same time, the Republican women demonstrated their value to their gender gap-threatened colleagues by attempting, it seems, to redefine the meaning of pro-women—shifting the standard to how well the party treats its women members rather than how it uses the power of government to narrow gender disparities within society, touting policies’ positive impact on women (even though the likelihood was that in some cases men benefitted more than women and in others the benefits women enjoyed accrued to the more privileged segments of women), or finding new language for selling old ideas and old policies to women. They touted these men’s sensitivities to women and gender equity even as they talked about fears of being pigeonholed, as others talked about the price women might pay to be considered team players, and even though they were never on the inside in the same way their male colleagues seemed to be (see Molinari 1998). They were progressing up the political ladder in a gendered institution. The real questions are whether in the short term the benefits that accrued to some women outweighed the costs to others, whether in the long term whatever compromises they made in order to comply with the constraints facing ‘team players’ will contribute to the regendering of this political institution or simply mean more political jobs for women who reinforce long established norms, and whether ultimately we can expect ‘regendering’ within Congress to transform the nature of partisan political debate, making all more open to using the power of government to advance the ideals of women as caregivers in the family and society more generally and to eradicate gender disparities within each segment of our society, or whether regendering of Congress and political institutions more generally will simply reinforce the divisions of contemporary partisan politics. These fundamental aspects of the questions surrounding difference can only be answered with the passage of time. Yet, as these case studies suggest, the ultimate answer will depend not only on what the women who serve in these institutions do, but also on efforts of women in the electorate and women activists. As these case studies suggest, making a difference is a ‘team effort’, facilitated by women’s CO N CL U S I O N : LOO KI NG TO WA R D T H E FUTU RE

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266 presence in public office, but ultimately dependent on actions of women at all levels of society to reinforce and inspire these efforts that challenge the very notions of the political and women’s place in it. v

NO T E S

1 Examples of difference include: Congresswoman Heather Wilson’s fight against congressional efforts to further limit the jobs military women can hold (Sisk 2005); bipartisan action to advance equal rights (and basic human rights for women and children) in Afghanistan and Iraq (Riskind 2001; Gamboa 2001; Riskind 2003; Kiely 2005); Deborah Pryce’s effort to secure more money for the fight against child abuse (Lowe 2002); Republican women’s success in securing an additional $2 billion in Child Care Block Grants (White House Bulletin 2002); efforts by Democratic and Republican, conservative and liberal women to end sex trafficking and reach out to its victims (Trobee 2005; Strode 2005; Eaton 2005); Caucus outrage at the military’s insufficient concern about sexual assault within its ranks (Herdy and Moffeit 2004); bipartisan support for quit-smoking campaigns (PRNewswire 2005); explicit references to the impact of international policies on marginalized groups such as women (Federal News Service 2005); and Republican women’s efforts (opposed by Democratic women) to change labor laws to allow workers to choose between overtime or comp-time in an effort to accommodate the demands of families (Atlanta Journal Constitution 2003) and to rally support for the Bush administration’s high-profile, conservative women judicial nominees (Riskind 2005c). 2 Examples in the reproductive rights area include the ‘Unborn Victims of Violence Act’ sponsored by Melissa Hart (R-PA) (McFeatters 2004) and the ‘Child Interstate Abortion Notification Act’ sponsored by Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (Stolberg 2005). Another high-profile example was Marilyn Musgrave’s (R-CO) introduction of a constitutional amendment intended to protect ‘traditional heterosexual marriage from the negative impacts that homosexual marriage will bring to society and the institution of marriage’ (Bourge 2004). 3 A prime example is efforts led by Deborah Pryce to rally Republican women in support of controversial women judicial nominees who are likely to roll back the gains women have made through the courts (Riskind 2005c). Her efforts were in opposition to most organized women’s groups. 4 Examples include their support for Afghan women and children (Kalson 2001; Riskind 2001), a push for rights for Iraqi women following Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz’s request for help in building support for Iraq on Capitol Hill (Thompson 2004), and extolling the value of tax cuts for women (Auster 2003). 5 One example is Deborah Pryce’s decision to pursue the job of GOP Conference Chair after other women convinced her ‘that she needed ‘‘to do this for the girls’’ ’ (Auster 2003). 6 Indeed, those who put their faith in descriptive representation need only look at the Iraqi National Assembly to see how women’s guaranteed presence is ironically allowing male leaders there to force battles over women’s rights onto the world stage as women versus women struggles (Worth 2005). Granted, the presence of women on all sides of the ideological spectrum makes a compelling statement that women do have the same rights as men to shape policy (and women’s right to serve may be one of the few things on which v

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267 these women [as well as conservative and liberal women in the USA and elsewhere] agree), but it is rarely what advocates for gender equity anticipate when they write checks to support women candidates. 7 White House spokesman Ari Fleischer pledged the administration’s continued intent to speak out about oppression of women in Afghanistan, but by noting, ‘We’re talking about different regions of the world where people have their own cultures and histories,’ he implied the new government would not be forced by the Administration to grant broader rights for women (Sobieraj 2001).

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Methodological Appendix

IN T E R V I E W S

WITH

WO M E N ME MB E R S

All women members of the 103rd and 104th Congresses were invited by the Center for American Women and Politics (CAWP) to participate in the study. Most interviews were about thirty minutes in length, but they varied from as short as ten minutes to more than an hour in a few cases. Although most interviews were conducted in-person, a few were conducted by telephone. All participants allowed the interviews to be taped. The taped interviews were then transcribed by professional transcribers. A total of fifty-five (forty-one Democrats, fourteen Republicans) women (including Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton) served in the 103rd Congress, seven (five Democrats, two Republicans) in the Senate and forty-eight (thirtysix Democrats, twelve Republicans) in the House. CAWP conducted two waves of interviews in the 103th Congress. During the wave 1, conducted between March and May 1993, we interviewed all twenty-four (twenty-one Democrats, three Republicans) of the women newly elected to the House in the 1992 elections. Due to technical problems, only twenty-three produced transcribable tapes (twenty Democrats, three Republicans). The wave 2 interviews were conducted between June 1995 and February 1996 with forty-three (thirty-eight representatives, five senators; thirty-one Democrats, twelve Republicans) of the fifty-five women members of Congress. Of the thirty-eight representatives interviewed, twenty-eight were Democrats and ten were Republicans. Of the five senators interviewed, three were Democrats and two were Republicans. Seventy-eight percent of the women serving in the 103rd Congress participated in the wave 2 interviews. Combining statistics for the two waves of interviews, CAWP interviewed a total of forty-nine of the fifty-five (thirty-six Democrats, thirteen Republicans; forty-four representatives, five senators) women who served in the 103rd. Of the forty-four representatives interviewed, thirty-three were Democrats and eleven were Republicans. Of the five senators interviewed, three were Democrats and two were Republicans. Thus, 89 percent of the women members of the 103rd Congress participated in at least one of the first two waves of interviews.

269 A total of fifty-eight (thirty-seven Democrats, twenty-one Republicans) women (including Delegate Eleanor Holmes Norton) served in the 104th Congress, nine (five Democrats, four Republicans) in the Senate and forty-nine (thirty-two Democrats, seventeen Republicans) in the House. CAWP interviewed thirty-nine women members (thirty-six representatives, three senators; twentyseven Democrats, twelve Republicans) between October 1997 and April 1999. Of the three senators interviewed, two were Democrats and one was Republican. Of the thirty-six representatives interviewed, twenty-five were Democrats and eleven were Republicans. Technical difficulties resulted in only thirty-eight transcribable tapes (twenty-six Democrats, twelve Republicans). In all, 67 percent of the women serving in the 104th Congress participated in the wave 3 interviews. v

IN TE R V I EWS

W IT H

STA FF

A ND

LO B B Y I S T S

Interviews with staff and lobbyists provided behind-the-scenes insights into the policymaking process. In each congress our contact list began with several key staffers and lobbyists. At the conclusion of their interviews suggestions of other staff members and lobbyists involved with the issue were solicited. Interviews were attempted with those recommended, once again soliciting suggestions at the end of interviews regarding additional congress-watchers who should be interviewed. The goal was to construct a balanced sample of relevant knowledgeable staff and lobbyists, including Republicans and Democrats, feminists and antifeminists, liberals and conservatives, and allies and opponents of the women members on these issues of interest. However, it is important to bear in mind that different people were privy to different types of information about the process. Thus, the task of analysis comes closer to the assembly of an historical puzzle than to analysis of a public opinion poll. Interviews regarding women’s impact in the 103rd Congress were conducted between August 1994 and August 1995 with 190 staff and lobbyists. These are referenced as wave 2 interviews, albeit since no wave 1 interviews were conducted with staff they represent the first wave that included staff. Most were conducted in-person. The focus was on their recollections of the process surrounding the issues that they regularly followed during that Congress. This book uses data from the subset of interviews which dealt with the three policy areas in this study. Reproductive rights was the focus of sixty-one staff, fourteen lobbyist, and one advocate interview, for a total of seventy-six wave 2 interviews. Health care reform was discussed in fifty-eight staff, sixteen lobbyist, and four advocate interviews for a total of seventy-eight wave 2 interviews. Women’s health was discussed in forty-nine staff and fifteen lobbyist interviews, for a total of sixtyfour wave 2 interviews. Interviews with staff and lobbyists involved in the 104th were conducted between November 1996 and November 1997. A total of 107 staff and lobbyists METHODOLOGICAL AP PE N D IX

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270 were interviewed in wave 3, largely by phone, about their recollections of the process surrounding the issues that they regularly followed during that Congress. This book uses data from the subset of interviews that touched on the three policy areas in this study. Reproductive rights was a focus of forty-four interviews, thirty-eight with staff, four with lobbyists, and two with advocates. Health insurance reform was discussed in fifty-one interviews, thirty-nine of which were with staff, eleven with lobbyists, and one advocate. Women’s health was discussed in thirty-four interviews, thirty with staff, three with lobbyists, and one advocate. The interviews with staffers and lobbyists ranged from ten minutes to almost two hours, but averaged about forty-five to fifty minutes and were typically taped. Participants were given assurances that their names would not be associated with their quotes and that they would be identified in only the most general terms (e.g. Republican House staffer). Without such guarantees of anonymity, many of the staffers and lobbyists who participated either would have declined to be interviewed or would have been far less candid in the interview. ‘After all,’ as one leery lobbyist explained, ‘I still have to work with these people.’ To comply with these guarantees, minor changes were made to a handful of quotes to prevent obvious hints about the speakers’ identities (e.g. changing from first person, inserting a proper name in the place of references to ‘my boss,’ etc). The small amount of information lost to the reader through generic labeling is more than offset by the greater breadth of individuals who chose to participate and greater wealth of information they divulged in the interviews. v

CON T E NT AN A L Y S I S O F FL O O R STA TE ME NTS RE GA RDI NG HR1833 (TH E PA R T I A L BIR TH AB O R TI O N BAN )

Analysis in Chapter 6 includes the results of content analysis of floor statements by House members regarding the Partial Birth Abortion Ban. Analysis was confined to House statements since the House offered greater opportunity to understand both gender differences among like-minded members and differences within the ranks of women. All statements made about the bill from January 1995 through December 1996 were downloaded and then analyzed on a number of dimensions. The framework for analysis of statements differed for opponents and supporters of the ban, in an effort to balance the desirability of uniformity with common sense. In most cases, the unit of analysis is the member, rather than the speech, in an effort to acknowledge the challenges posed by time constraints.

v

ME THODOLOGICAL APPENDIX

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Index

abortion: and funding of: in 103rd Congress 113–22 in 104th Congress 129 and health care reform 204–5 and Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act 130–40 and women’s health agenda 182–3 American Association of University Women (AAUW) 87–97, 105n.1, 210, 220n.22 American Conservative Union (ACU) 87–100, 105 n.1 Americans for Democratic Action (ADA) 87–100, 105 n.1 Ashcroft, John 253 Bentley, Helen 60, 159, 164 Biggert, Judy 253 Boxer, Barbara 49, 109–10, 139, 151 n.16, 219 n.15, 222 n.39, 250 Bradley, Bill 245 n.5 Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention program 159 and 103rd Congress 166–9 and 104th Congress 188 breast cancer: and Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention program 157, 159, 166–9, 188 and emergence as issue 156–7, 159 and health insurance reform 228, 229–30 and impact of focus on 165–6, 169 and research funding:

103rd Congress 158–9, 162–3 104th Congress 183, 187–9 as synonym for women’s health 165 Breast Cancer Coalition 156, 168, 173, 186, 245 n.9 Brittan, A. 31 n.4 Brooks, Jack 108, 126 n.6 Brown, Corrine 57, 120, 171, 189–90, 194 n.14 Brown, W. 18 Brown-Waite, Ginny 256–7 Byrd, Robert 118–9 Callahan, Sonny 144, 152 n.25 Canady, Charles 130–1, 133 Cardin, Benjamin 188 Center for American Women and Politics (CAWP) 13, 79, 81, 107, 130, 154, 164, 179, 222 n.41, 268–9 Chenoweth, Helen 54, 73, 74, 151 n.15, 180–1, 193 n.13 Christian Coalition 87–100, 105 n.1, 141, 142–3, 150 n.11, 152 n.23, 256 Clayton, Eva 62 Clinton, Bill 111, 117, 125 n.3, 132, 139, 152 n.18, 153 n.28, 167–8, 219 n.15, 227, 229–30 Clinton, Hillary Rodham 200 Cohen, M. 32 Collins, Barbara Rose 54 Collins, Cardiss 120, 150 n.13 Congress: and decision-making process 32–3 condition stream 35 external political stream 40–2

286 Congress: (cont.): internal/institutional political stream 38–40 internal/institutional structural stream 36–8 participant stream 33–5 problem stream 35–6 solutions stream 42–4 and institutional environment 16 and masculinism 16–17, 80–1 Congressional Caucus for Women’s Issues (CCWI) 2, 30, 45, 38 n.1, 255, 256 and defunding of 54, 73, 182, 239, 243 and family planning programs 141 and Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) bill 108 and health care policy 194 n.14, 200, 207, 213, 245 n.6, 248 n.25 Statement of Women’s Health Principles 197–8, 217 n.1 and The Record: Gains and Losses for Women and Families in the 104th Congress 30 and reduced influence in 104th Congress 3, 40, 50, 58, 128, 136, 228, 240 and reproductive rights 57, 60, 107, 120, 149 n.1 and women’s health 155, 156, 157, 160, 162, 170, 174, 185, 191 Congresswomen: in 103rd Congress: bipartisan approach 1, 2, 71, 72 record of 1 in 104th Congress: Democrat frustrations 50–1, 104 impact of Republican control 4 increased partisanship 71, 73 positioning of 3 record of 1 rightward shift 3, 44, 87–104 and accountability 38 and connections among women elites 53–64 v

INDEX

attitude toward underrepresentation 55–6 avoiding failure 61–2 ideological diversity 58–9 impact of competing identities 59–61 impact of political environment 53–5 party unity 60 policy disagreements 58 value of women colleagues 57–8 and impact of partisan structure 36–7 and institutional environment 39–40, 90–101 competing identities 51–2, 59 and interest group ratings 87–100 and positioning 37–8 and representing women 82–3, 151, 225–6 common attitudes towards 65–8 confronting masculinism 80–1 district-centric norms 77–80 diverse perceptions of women 68–71 ideological constraints 70–1, 76 impact of institutional environment 71–7 influence on policy agenda 75–6 perceptions of women’s issues 71–3, 79 relative priority of women’s issues 73–5 responsibility for 48–50 surrogate representation 39, 77–80, 82–3, 239, 258 see also Democratic women; Republican women; women constituency control 23, 24 constituents, and women representatives 24–5, 43–4 Contract with America 4 Danner, Pat 83 n.1 decision-making, garbage-can model of 32–3, 249

287 and condition stream 35–6 and external political stream 40–2 and internal/institutional political stream 38–40 and internal/institutional structural stream 36–8, 90–1 and participant stream 33–5 and problem stream 35–6, 67–9, 228–30 and solutions stream 42–4 DeLauro, Rosa 114–5, 159–60, 163, 167, 168–9 Democratic Congressional Committee 59 Democratic men: and health insurance reform 235–7 and substantive representation of women 90, 94, 97, 101, 104, 131 Democratic women: and competing identities 59 and frustrations in 104th Congress 50–1, 104 and health care policy 206–10 and health insurance reform 236 and interest group ratings 87–97 and lack of influence over policy agenda 76, 147 and masculinism in Congress 81 and party unity 101 and political environment 55 and pressures on 254 and primacy of issues 57–8 and representing women 82–3 influence of ideology 70 perceptions of women’s issues 72, 73 relative priority of women’s issues 73–4 types of women 68–9 and women’s movement 237 Democratic Women’s Caucus 57 descriptive representation, relationship with substantive representation 1–3, 5 n.1, 7, 47, 55–7, 89–91, 94, 101–4, 128–9, 147, 250

and contested meaning of representing women 26–30 and empirical model underlying 20–1 and health care policy 196–7, 211–3, 216–7 and health insurance reform 225, 242–4 and impact of diversity 10–5, 123 and impact of extra-institutional environment 18–9, 148 and impact of institutional environment 15–8 and legitimacy of women representing women 21–6 and probabilistic nature of 8–10, 10–21, 65–8 and reproductive rights 123–5 and role of Democratic men 90, 94, 97, 101, 104, 131 and women’s health 174–6, 184–5, 190–3 Deutsch, Peter 236 Diamond, I 28 Dingle, John 236 diversity: and descriptive/substantive representation relationship 10–5, 50–2, 65, 157–8, 161, 192–4 and class 11, 201–2, 212–3, 222 and ideology 13–5, 29–30, 33–5, 51, 58, 70–1, 73, 90–100, 190–1, 210–2, 225–7, 255 and participant stream 34–5 and partisanship 57–8, 62–3, 68–72, 89–105, 151 181–2, 213–7, 265–6 and race 10–2, 110–2, 121–2, 161, 177, 194 Dole, Bob 138, 139, 214, 229–30, 246 n.14 domestic violence 230, 234–6, 259 Duerst-Lahti, G. 5 n.2, 31 n.6 Dunn, Jennifer 60–1, 65, 70–1, 75, 76–7, 180, 201, 239, 255–6 Edwards, Don 126 n.5, n.6, n.7 Eisenstein, H. 45 n.3 English, Karan 53–4, 65, 81

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288 English, Phil 235 Eshoo, Anna 54, 57, 188 extra-institutional environment: and decision-making process 40–2 and impact of 18–9 and reproductive rights 148 and women’s health 156, 174–5, 186, 191 Fairness to Minority Women Health Act 180 Family Medical Leave Act 42, 81 family planning programs: and 104th Congress 141–5, 146 and 105th Congress 144–6 Farr, Sam 132 Federal Employees Health Benefit Program (FEHBP): and 103rd Congress 113–5, 118–21 and 104th Congress 129 Feinstein, Dianne 109–10, 177 n.1, 246 n.10, 250 feminist consciousness 13–4, 51 feminist protest 8, 10 and external pressure 18, 192 and institutional constraints 39, 63, 148, 216–7 and multiple dimensions 51–2, 29 and partisan differences in 38, 40, 182, 202, 243–4, 253–4, 259, 262–3, 265 as substantive representation of women 26, 28 Fleischer, Ari 267 n.7 Fowler, Tillie 49, 57, 61, 62–3, 70, 159, 180, 218 n.12 Frank, Barney 150 n.7 Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) bill 107, 108–9, 112 Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) 107–12 Friends Committee on National Legislation 87–97 Furse, Elizabeth 57, 193 n.4, 218 n.9 garbage can model, see decision-making, garbage-can model of gender: and decision-making process 32–3 v

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condition stream 35 external political stream 40–2 internal/institutional political stream 38–40 internal/institutional structural stream 36–8 participant stream 33–5 problem stream 35–6 solutions stream 42–4 and descriptive/substantive representation relationship 47, 100–4 contested meaning of representing women 26–30, 32, 56–7, 82–3, 90–91, 94, 123, 129, 135, 136–8, 157, 177, 180, 192, 198–200, 236–7, 240–2, 255–9, 262–5 Democratic men 90, 94, 97, 101, 104, 131 empirical model underlying 20–1 impact of diversity 10–5 impact of extra-institutional environment 15, 18–9, 40–2, 110–1, 117, 124, 140, 146–8, 151, 154, 169, 170, 173–6, 181–3, 186, 198, 227–8, 240, 241–2, 244, 262 impact of institutional environment 15–18, 32–45, 53, 59–61, 70–1, 78, 146–7, 154, 162, 167, 170, 190–1, 232–3, 238–9, 244 legitimacy of women representing women 21–6, 53, 148, 174–5, 181–2, 187, 258–62, 264 probabilistic nature of 8–10, 10–21, 65–8 gender bias, and underrepresentation of women 54, 55 gender consciousness 14, 51, 66 and improving substantive representation 255–8 and women’s health 164 gender gap: and health care policy 202–3, 229, 230–2, 236–8, 242–1

289 and health insurance reform 229, 230–2, 235–7, 241–3 and impact of 41–2, 181, 190, 191 and improving substantive representation 251–2 and interest group ratings 87–100 and legitimacy of women representing women 22–4 and policy preferences 22–3 and political value of 61, 146, 148 and reproductive rights 123–4 and Republican women 202–3 gender identification, and impact of 12 gendered institutions 1, 5 n.3 genetic information, and health insurance reform 229–30, 234–5 Gertzog, I. N, 16 Gilman, Ben 144 Gingrich, Newt 50, 54, 213 Gramm, Phil 228 Greenwood, Jim 142, 143 group consciousness 13, 51 Gunn, Dr. David 112 Harkin, Tom 118–9, 229, 233, 235 Harmon, Jane 54 Hart, Melissa 266 n.2 Hartsock, Nancy 28 Hastert, Denny 231, 234 Hatfield, Mark 144, 152 n.26, n.27, 184, 185 health care policy: in 103rd Congress (health care reform) 215–7 abortion 204–5, 221 attempt at bipartisanship 197–8 Clinton Plan 197–8, 201, 202, 211, 214, 216, 217 n.5, n.6, 253 Cooper Plan 217 n.5, n.6 co-optation 201–2, 217 Democratic women 206–10 external pressures 202–3 gender gap 202–3 gendered stakes 86–7, 197–8

House Education and Labor Committee 205–7, 209 House Ways and Means Committee 208–11 institutional environment 216 lack of resonance with women 198–9, 215 limited agenda 199 masculinism 200, 208–9, 216 McDermott Plan 217 n.5, n.6, 218 n.7 OB/Gyns 203, 262 positional power 213–5 Republican women 196, 200–3, 211–2, 213–5, 216 role of committees 204–10, 216 Senate Finance Committee 204–5, 209 Senate Labor Committee 207–8 Statement of Women’s Health Principles 197–8, 217 n.1 women’s lack of agenda control 198–9, 204–5 women’s record 196, 198–201 in 104th Congress (health insurance reform) 196–7, 224–5, 242–4 absence of women’s groups 239, 241, 242 bipartisan approach 228, 229 breast cancer 229, 230 Democratic men 236–7 Democratic women 228–9 domestic violence 230, 235–6 gender gap 229, 230–2, 236–8, 242–3 institutional environment 227, 234 limited scope of 228 masculinism 237, 239–40 Multiple Employer Welfare Associations (MEWAs) 240–2, 262 partisanship 240–2 political environment 224, 227–9, 230–3, 237–8 positional power 226–7, 234

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290 health care policy: (cont.): presidential support 230–1 Republican women 225–7, 231, 232–6, 238, 242–3 use of genetic information 229–30, 234–5 Women’s Health Equity Act (WHEA) 230 and gender’s relevance 85–7, 195–6, 240–4 Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA) see health care policy health insurance reform, see health care policy Hill, Anita 2, 5 n.5, 11, 111 Hill-Thomas hearings (1991) 2 Hoke, Martin 149 n.7 Hoyer, Steny 114, 115, 120, 121, 129, 143 n.1 Hutchison, Kay Bailey 159, 254 Hyde, Henry 120, 128, 130 Hyde Amendment 115, 116–8, 121, 122 ideas, and the politics of 12, 24, 67, 155, 190–1 identities, and impact of competing 59–61 ideology: and health care policy 196 and impact of diversity in 12–4, 58, 70–1, 73 and policymaking 39 incrementalism 28–9 in-depth interviews 48 and advantages of 26 institutional environment 16 and competing identities 51–2, 59 and decision-making process: internal/institutional political stream 38–40 internal/institutional structural stream 36–8 and descriptive/substantive representation relationship 15–18 and district-centric norms 77–80 and health care policy 216 v

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and health insurance reform 227, 234 and impact of 71–7, 85, 97–101 and improving substantive representation 258–60 and women’s health 190–3 interest groups, and ratings of member records 87–97 Jackson-Lee, Sheila 131 Jaggar, A.M. 125 n.2 Johnson, Eddie Bernice 177 n.8, 180 Johnson, Nancy 49, 55–7, 59, 65, 70, 76–7, 132, 133, 142, 151 n.12, 152 n.22, 181, 210, 211, 214–5, 218 n.10, n.12, 220 n.26, 221 n.33, 226, 230, 231–2, 233–4, 246 n.17, 256 Kanter, Rosabeth Moss 3, 52, 134, 137 Kaptur, Marcy 49–50 Kassebaum, Nancy 6, 109, 141, 144, 152 n.26, 176 n.1, 211–12, 213, 214, 217 n.4, 221 n.35, 222 n.42, 225, 226–8, 231, 241, 244 n.1, 245 n.3, n.5, n.8, 246 n.11, n.13, n.16, 248 n.26, 261 Kassebaum-Kennedy see health care policy Katzenstein, M. F. 10, 15, 51, 61, 63, 190, 191, 198 Kelly, Sue 54, 80, 258–9 Kennedy, Edward 118, 126 n.5, n.6, n.8, 138, 207, 208, 228, 231, 245 n.3, n.5, 246 n.11, n.16, 248 n.26 Kennelly, Barbara 108, 208, 210, 217 n.3, 221 n.33 Kingdon, J. 32–3 Kleczka, Gerald 236 Lambert Lincoln, Blanche 83 n.1, 193 n.6 Leahy, Patrick 118 League of Conservation Voters 87–97 League of Women Voters 3 Legislative Service Organizations (LSOs), and defunding of 3, 54

291 legitimacy of women representing women 22–4 and improving substantive representation 260–4 liberal feminism 40 life experiences: and impact of diversity in 11 and moving beyond as basis of legitimacy 260–4 Limbaugh, Rush 1 Livingston, Bob 128, 142–3, 146, 150 n.11, 152 n.24 Lloyd, Marilyn 159, 170 Lofgren, Zoe 131, 132, 139, 150 n.9 Lowey, Nita 65, 115, 116–8, 126 n.11, 140, 141, 143, 162, 163, 166–7, 185–6, 246 n.10 McCarthy, Karen 70 McDermott, Jim 209, 220 n.26 McKinney, Cynthia 111, 126 n.11, 160–2 Mack, Connie 246 n.10 Maloney, Carolyn 49, 66, 69, 76, 81 Mansbridge, J 5 n.2, n.4 March, J. 32 Margolis-Mezvinsky, Marjorie 160 masculinism: and confronting 80–1, 120, 256–7 and health care policy 200, 208–9, 216, 237, 238–9 and impact of 16–7 and veteran women’s health 169–73, 189 Medicaid, and abortion funding 113, 115–8, 119, 120, 121–2 Meek, Carrie 69, 80, 166, 179 n.9, 188 methodology: and case studies 85–7 and content analysis 48, 271 and in-depth interviews 26, 48, 269–70 and interest group ratings 87–97 Mexico City Policy 145 Meyers, Jan 6, 66, 141, 142, 143–4, 241

Mikulski, Barbara 113, 114–6, 118–9, 129, 149 n.4, 167, 177 n.12, 179 n.19, 199, 207–8, 209, 211–3, 219 n.20, 220 n.27, 221 n.29, n.35, 222 n.37, n.38, 245 n.8, 253, 256 Mink, Patsy 71, 206, 207, 220 n.23, 228–9, 253 minority consciousness 13–4, 51 Mitchell, George 118, 126 n.5 Mohr, L.B. 19 Molinari, Susan 37, 56, 76, 151 n.20, 160, 221 n.32, 234, 235–6, 246 n.13, 247 n.20, 265 Morella, Connie 50, 75, 80, 108, 109, 126 n.5, n.10, 141, 143, 144, 180, 181, 185, 186, 246 n.13 Moseley-Braun, Carol 111, 126 n.12, 177 n.10, 199 Multiple Employer Welfare Associations (MEWAs) 240–2, 262 Murkowski, Lisa 258–9 Murray, Patty 139, 177 n.12 Musgrave, Marilyn 266 n.2 Myrick, Sue 55, 61, 66, 151 n.15, 180 Natcher, William 114, 115, 117, 118, 119, 121–2 National Abortion and Reproductive Rights Action League (NARAL) 87–97 National Abortion Federation 130 National Cancer Institute 162, 185 National Education Association (NEA) 87–97 National Institute of Arthritis and Muscoskeletal and Skin Diseases 159 National Institutes of Health 155, 161 and funding of: 103rd Congress 164 104th Congress 183, 184–6 National Right to Life Committee 130 and ratings of member records 87–97

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292 New Institutionalism 15–6, 20, 57, 71, 97–8, 123 Northrup, Anne 263 Norton, Eleanor Holmes 66 Oakar, Mary Rose 154 Obey, David 115, 116, 120, 121 Olsen, J. 32 Palley, Marian L. 28 Pallone, Frank 236 Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act 130–40 and gender’s role in debate on 134–9 and limits of descriptive representation 131–4 and presidential veto 139–40 participant stream, and decision-making process 33–5 PeacePAC 87–97 Pelosi, Nancy 115, 141, 162, 163, 168 Phillips, Anne 5 n.2, n.4, 9, 11, 12, 25, 31 n.2, 36, 43–4, 59, 60, 155, 192, 260 Pitkin, H. 5 n.2 Planned Parenthood 143 policy preferences, and gender gaps 22–3 political environment: and decision-making process: external political stream 40–2 internal/institutional political stream 38–40 internal/institutional structural stream 36–8 and descriptive/substantive representation relationship 15–20, 75–6, 111–2 and gendered consequences 36–8, 40–2, 51, 155, 157–8 and health insurance reform 226–9, 230–4, 236–9 and impact of 85, 109, 190, 240, 256–8 Democratic women 55 Republican women 54–5 and reproductive rights 110–11, 112, 123, 128 v

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and women’s health 181–3 politics, and masculine nature of 18 Porter, John 142, 163, 184, 185–6 positioning of Congresswomen 37–8 in 104th Congress 3 and health care policy 213–5 and health insurance reform 234 and influence on policymaking 34 and reproductive rights 124 and women’s health 158 presence, and the politics of 12, 24, 67, 155, 190–1, 210 problem stream, and policymaking 35–6, 67, 228–30 process theory 20–1 prostate cancer 159, 165–6, 187 Pryce, Deborah 49, 55, 56, 57, 117, 133, 201, 254, 256, 266 n.1, n.3, n.5 Quillen, James 133 race, and gender order 10–2, 110–2, 121–2, 194 reproductive rights 86, 147–9 in 103rd Congress 106–25 abortion funding 113–25 bipartisan approach 107 credit claiming 110, 123 Democratic advocacy 108–9 Federal Employees Health Benefit Program (FEHBP) 107, 113–5, 118–25 Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) bill 107, 108–9, 112, 122–5 Freedom of Choice Act (FOCA) 107–12, 122–5 gender gap 123 and health care reform 204–45 impact of diversity 111, 121–2, 124–5, 126 Medicaid 113, 115–8, 119, 120, 121–2 political environment 110–11, 112, 123 positional power 108, 114, 124

293 Republican advocacy 109 seniority constraints 109–10, 116 women’s impact 108, 113, 116 women’s movement 124 in 104th Congress 128–46 abortion funding 129–30 family planning programs 141–9 Federal Employees Health Benefit Program (FEHBP) 129, 140 gender gap 144–5 impact of diversity 147 Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act 130–42, 147–9, 149 n.5 political environment 128 positional power 130–1, 144 Republican women 141, 144–5, 147–8 women’s loss of agenda control 147 women’s impact 135–6, 141, 143–5 in 105th Congress 140, 145–6 as gender issue 106 women’s health agenda 154, 182–3 Republican Party: in 104th Congress 4, 6 n.8 and gender gap 202–3, 231–2 and reliance on men’s votes 181 and women in 54, 56, 75, 83 Republican women: and challenging masculinist values 256–7 and competing identities 59–60 and contribution to impact 109, 152, 187, 225, 231 and health care policy 196, 200–3, 211–2, 213–5, 216 and health insurance reform 224–7, 231, 232–6, 238, 243 and interest group ratings 87–97 and lack of influence over policy agenda 75–6, 147 and masculinism in Congress 61–2, 74–5, 81, 142, 201, 237–9, 254–5 and need to increase numbers of 62–3 and opportunities for 54, 56, 237

and partisan pressures on 76–7, 201, 206–7, 253–5, 258–9 and party unity 97, 101–3 and political environment 54–5 and presidential support 97, 101–103 and representing women 265 ideological constraints 70–1, 76 perceptions of women’s issues 72–3 relative priority of women’s issues 73–4 types of women 69 and reproductive rights 141, 144–5, 147–8 and rightward shift 3, 44, 89, 141, 189 and role in Republican Party 75, 134, 137, 260–1 and underrepresentation, attitudes towards 55–6 and value of women colleagues 57 and women’s health 181–2, 187, 191–2 Rockefeller, Jay 170 Rosenthal, Cindy Simon 15, 45 n.2 Ros-Lehtenin, Ileana 50, 76, 222 n.36, 266 n.2, 257, 263 Roukema, Marge 49, 54, 60, 74, 75, 211, 212, 213–14, 217 n.4, 218 n.10, 221 n.32, 226, 232, 233–4, 241 n.18 Rowland, J Roy 171 safe spaces 39–40, 256 Sanchez, Loretta 59 Sanders, Bernard 246 n.13 Sapiro, V. 28 Sarbanes, Paul 118 Schenk, Lynn 160 Schroeder, Patricia 58, 81, 108–9, 131, 133, 139, 141, 150 n.9, 170, 180, 198, 209 Schumer, Charles 108, 110, 121, 126 n.5, n.7, n.10, 246 n.13 seniority constraints 109–10, 116 Slaughter, Louise 108, 109, 126 n.9, 246 n.10 Smith, Chris 126 n.20, 152 n.20, n.26, 172 Smith, Robert 138, 139

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294 Snowe, Olympia 6, 112, 141, 144, 152 n.26, 167, 198, 246 n.10 solutions stream, and policymaking 42–4 Stupak, Bart 236 substantive representation of women 1, 53 and Democratic men 90, 94, 97, 101, 104, 131 and hopes for 2 and positional power 76, 77, 115, 118, 119, 123, 124, 126, 129, 132, 142, 144, 162–5, 184, 198, 203–11, 213–5, 222, 226–7 and relationship with descriptive representation 3, 7, 47, 101–4 contested meaning of representing women 26–30 empirical model underlying 20–1 health care policy 196–7, 211–3, 216–7, 226–7 health insurance reform 224, 241–3 impact of diversity 10–5 impact of extra-institutional environment 18–9, 148 impact of institutional environment 15–8, 203–10 legitimacy of women representing women 21–6 probabilistic nature of 8–10, 36 measurement 108, 162 reproductive rights 123–5 women’s health 174–6, 184–5, 190–3 and strategies for improving: confronting meaning of 264–6 consistency with institutional norms 258–60 electing the right men 154–6, 252–5 establishing legitimacy 260–4 increasing gender consciousness 255–8 mobilizing women voters 251–2 Supreme Court, and impact of 42 surrogate representation 77–81, 258 v

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technology, and decision-making 33 Thomas, Clarence 2 Thomas, Bill 231 Thurman, Karen 62 Title X, and 104th Congress 141, 142–3, 145 Tuesday Lunch Bunch 142 underrepresentation, and attitudes towards 55–6 Unsoeld, Jolene 206 VA Hospital system: and 103rd Congress 169–74 and 104th Congress 188–90 variance theory 20–1 Velazquez, Nydia 65, 180 veteran women’s health: and 103rd Congress 169–74 and 104th Congress 188–90 Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) 184, 186 Voter Information Services 87 Vucanovich, Barbara 54, 57, 60, 74, 79, 151 n.15, 164, 187, 263 Waldholtz, Enid Greene 133–4 Waters, Maxine 180, 189 Watt, Melvin 150 n.7 Waxman, Henry 155, 167 Wellstone, Paul 230, 235, 246 n.13, n.14 Wilson, Heather 263, 266 n.1 Wolfowitz, Paul 266 n.4 women: and descriptive/substantive representation relationship 3, 7, 47, 101–4 contested meaning of representing women 26–30 empirical model underlying 20–1 impact of diversity 10–5 impact of extra-institutional environment 18–19, 148 impact of institutional environment 15–8

295 interest group ratings of members 87–97 legitimacy of women representing women 21–6 probabilistic nature of 8–10 and diversity among 67 and impact on policymaking 7 see also Congresswomen; Democratic women; Republican women Women’s Cardiovascular Disease Research and Prevention Act 180 Women’s Choice and Reproductive Health Act 182–3 women’s health 86 in 103rd Congress 174–6 bipartisan approach 159–60 Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention program 166–9, 177–8 breast cancer 162–3, 165–6 constituency pressures 160 difficulties in opposing 165 funding of 162–6 role of agencies 164–5 veteran women’s health 169–74 Women’s Health Equity Act (WHEA) 160, 167, 170, 171, 172 Women’s Preventive Health Amendments 167–8 in 104th Congress 180–3, 190–3 bipartisan approach 180–1 Breast and Cervical Cancer Mortality Prevention program 188 breast cancer 183, 187–8 external pressures 186, 188

funding of 183–8 political environment 181–3 positional power 184 Republican women 181–2, 187, 191–2 veteran women’s health 188–90 Women’s Health Equity Act (WHEA) 180, 182, 183 and absence of mobilized opposition 186 and emergence as issue 154–9, 177 breast cancer 156–7, 159 difficulties in opposing 158 positional disadvantage 158 research funding increase 158–9 Women’s Health Equity Act (WHEA) 157–8 Women’s Health Equity Act (WHEA) 157–8 and 103rd Congress 160, 167, 170, 171, 172 and 104th Congress 180, 182, 183, 230 women’s issues: and perceptions of 72–3 and relative priority of 73–4 women’s movement: and Democratic women 237 and influence of 42, 66, 190, 203, 257 and reproductive rights 124 Women’s Policy Inc 185 Women’s Right to Know Act 182–3 Woolsey, Lynn 59, 206 Year of the Woman (1992) 1, 2, 108 Year of the Angry White Male (1994) 1, 2

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