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At the fourteenth international AIDS conference, the gulf between the
United States and the rest of the world widened as US officials touted
policies that world health experts agree are ineffective strategies for
stemming the pandemic. Without stepped-up prevention efforts, 45 million
more people will become infected with HIV by 2010, according to the
Global HIV Prevention Working Group. Yet 29 million of these people
would never contract the virus if leaders ratcheted up preventive
strategies--most crucially teaching the use of condoms.

In European countries, including the Netherlands and Sweden, the
promotion of a variety of safe sex practices--abstinence, monogamy and
condom use--has reduced teen pregnancies and sexually transmitted
diseases. In Senegal and Uganda, it has cut the rate of new HIV
infections in half. In all these countries and in others, national
governments have supported such programs both rhetorically and
financially.

The White House, however, wants to expand programs enacted under the
Clinton Administration that tie federal funding of sex education to the
promotion of abstinence-only curriculums. While the vast majority of US
schools provide information about what HIV is and how it is transmitted,
less than half give students information about what condoms are or how
to use them, according to Centers for Disease Control surveys.

In a speech drowned out by angry protesters in Barcelona, US Secretary
of Health and Human Services Tommy Thompson touted the Administration's
$500 million drug initiative to prevent babies in Africa and the
Caribbean from becoming infected with HIV during birth or through
breastfeeding. He seemed confused when reporters later suggested that
preventing women, girls and their partners from becoming infected in the
first place might be a more productive strategy.

The evidence is clear: Campaigns that rely only on abstinence and drugs
to protect babies from AIDS won't slow the world pandemic. HIV
prevention does work when it is part of reproductive health programs
that recognize that sex is an integral component of human behavior.

"How do you feel, being there?" my friend asked on the phone from
America. I thought a minute, looking out of my Haifa hotel window at the
moon rising over the sea. "Relaxed. I feel relaxed." This seemed to my
friend an improbable way to feel in Israel on May 28, 2002. And in one
sense, it obviously was. Many people urged me not to go--some out of
fear for my safety, some with a moralistic doubt as to whether I should
accept an honor associated with the state of Israel (an honorary degree
from the University of Haifa). About the first, I felt probably I was as
safe in Haifa as in Chicago. About the second, I was determined to
affirm the worth of scholarly cooperation in the face of the ugly
campaign, waged mostly in Europe, to boycott Israeli scholars and refuse
cooperation with them. (The campaign has led to the dismissal of Israeli
scholars from the editorial board of at least one major journal, and to
a general call to boycott Israeli scholars in publications and
conference invitations.) I was also planning to deliver a speech, with
the advance approval of the rector, that said the things I wanted to say
about the situation, in a polite, detached, but unequivocal way.

But relaxed, certainly, is not how I had expected to feel. On my one
previous trip to Israel, in the relatively good times of December 1995,
I had felt edgy all the time, skeptical as I am about muscular Zionism.
I converted to Judaism at the age of 21, and I felt then, as I do now,
that Judaism is above all a moral identity, connected to the love of
justice. I felt that I was dedicating myself to a program of moral
action aimed at realizing justice in the here-and-now rather than in
some dim Christian afterlife--that, as Moses Mendelssohn once wrote,
"The highest stage of wisdom is incontrovertibly doing that which is
good." More viscerally, I felt I was leaving an elitist WASP culture
that cared not one whit for social justice to join a liberal, socially
alert Jewish family that read I.F. Stone and The Nation.

For the sort of Jew I have ever since felt myself to be, Israel was a
source of much embarrassment. Reform Jews traditionally were
anti-Zionist on the ground that Israel is a moral idea, like Kant's
Kingdom of Ends, not a place. And even if the Holocaust has caused
Reform to moderate that position, it still explains a lot of the unease
many of us have with the idea that Jews would attach themselves to a
kind of nationalism that seems in tension, at least, with the
cosmopolitan goals of justice for all that (so I think) ought to be the
goal of a good Jewish life.

But in Haifa I felt relaxed. And the reason was not just the beauty of
the silvery beach, with the large moon above, or the high quality of the
philosophy department and the philosopher-rector, a man whose work on
emotions I have long admired. It was deeper, connected to the
ambivalence I have described. Haifa, and especially its university, were
simply a different Israel from any I had seen, an Israel that still
makes justice and peaceful cooperation its central goals and, to a
surprising degree, realizes those goals. The university enrolls about 20
percent Arab students (Muslim, Christian and Druse), and the faculty,
too, has many Arab members. The first priority of the philosophy
department, I was told, was to raise funds for an endowed chair for an
Arab faculty member to teach Islamic philosophy. We like to see
ourselves as an outpost of peace and reciprocity, people kept telling
me. And the rector, the dean of the law school and the board of
governors, holding their annual meeting the day of the ceremony, made me
feel that my own sentiments about peace and respect for all humanity
were theirs also, and real pragmatic goals of university policy rather
than just slogans. Campus life seemed remarkably peaceful, as Arab and
Jewish students continued to learn side by side and interact without
suspicion.

One great sorrow I heard repeatedly expressed: their feeling that as
Israelis they are being demonized by the world community, and their
efforts toward justice are simply not being recognized, their story not
being told. (Would the American Philosophical Association pass a
resolution opposing intellectual cooperation with Israeli philosophers?
I was asked, as a past president of the association and past chair of
its Committee on International Cooperation. I said I hoped not, and that
I thought it most unlikely, though I know that things are otherwise in
Europe.)

The city, too, seemed bent on something like peace. Its economy is
clearly suffering, and the Druse villages, dependent on tourism, are
particularly hard hit. (I had to get a jeweler's young daughter to go
find him so that he could open his shop--he had gone home because there
were no customers. I concluded that the purchase of a beautiful necklace
was a virtuous deed.) But once again, there is cooperation and even
amity. The Arab-owned restaurant that had been hit by a suicide bomber
has been rebuilt and is ready to reopen. Walkers stroll along the Louis
Promenade with their dogs, as if daily life still brings joy. Flowers
abound in the Bahai gardens below; perhaps Haifa was not such an
unreasonable choice for the worldwide headquarters of a religion
committed to peace and internationalism.

So, relaxed in my moralistic heart, I put on the academic gown for the
ceremony, and I added to it the little silver Star of David from
Tiffany's that a graduating PhD student gave me but that in my
anti-Zionistic frame of mind I never wear. I gave my speech about global
justice and the limits of nationalism, and then I sang "Hatikvah" like
everyone else. And for the first time that sort of speech and that song
did not seem to be so ill suited to each other.

Last week, while Bush spoke to Wall Street about corporate malfeasance, he was beset by questions about the timing of his sale of stock twelve years ago while he served as a director of Harken En

Vice President Dick Cheney has spent most of the past year in hiding, ostensibly from terrorists, but increasingly it seems obvious that it is Congress, the Securities and Exchange Commission, th

Guerrilla Radio, published by NationBooks, is the remarkable story of B92, a Belgrade radio station founded in 1989 by a group of young idealists who simply wanted to "play rock 'n'

For President Bush to pretend to be shocked that some of the nation's top executives deal from a stacked deck is akin to a madam feigning surprise that sexual favors have been sold in her establi

For a long time now, we secular humanists and other skeptics have been denigrated as the apostles of decadence and social decay.

A half-century ago T.H. Marshall, British Labour Party social theorist,
offered a progressive, developmental theory for understanding the
history of what we have come to call citizenship. Taking the experience
of Englishmen to define the superior path, he postulated a hierarchy of
citizenships: civil rights, political rights and social rights. The last of these became the
category in which twentieth-century Europeans have understood claims on
the state to health, welfare, education and protection from avoidable
risk. They conceived of these citizenships as stages in an upward climb
toward an ever better democracy.

Marshall's schema looked only at European men. Feminists have pointed
out that women did not achieve citizenship in this order. In fact, women
often won some social rights--for example, protective legislation and
"welfare"--before achieving political ones such as the right to vote.
And women's individual civil rights were often overwhelmed and even
suppressed by legally imposed family obligations and moral sanctions.
(For example, a century ago courts generally interpreted the law of
marriage to mean that women were legally obligated to provide housework,
childcare and sexual services to husbands.) Equally problematic were
Marshall's obliviousness to British imperialism and what it meant for
Third World populations, including the fact that he conceived of the
British as civilizers rather than exploiters, and his apparent ignorance
of the conditions of second-class citizenship for racial/ethnic
subordinates within nation-states. In short, his historical hierarchy
was highly ideological.

But no one has yet done what Alice Kessler-Harris has in her newest
book, In Pursuit of Equity, reaching beyond Marshall and his
critics to suggest a new concept, economic citizenship. In this history
of how women have been treated in employment, tax and welfare policy,
Kessler-Harris--arguably the leading historian of women's labor in the
United States--synthesizes several decades of feminist analysis to
produce a holistic conception of what full citizenship for women might
entail. In lucid prose with vivid (and sometimes comic) illustrations of
the snarled thinking that results from conceiving of women as
dependents--rather than equal in heading families--she offers a vision
of how we can move toward greater democracy. In the process, she also
shows us what we are up against. Her book illustrates brilliantly how
assumptions about appropriate gender roles are built into all aspects of
policy.

She aims to resolve what is perhaps the central contradiction for
policy-makers and policy scholars who care about sex equality: the
contradiction between, on the one hand, valuing the unpaid caring work
still overwhelmingly performed by women and, on the other hand, enabling
women to achieve equality in wage labor and political power. Today, for
example, although all feminists oppose the punitive new requirements of
the policy that replaced Aid to Families with Dependent Children,
repealed in 1996, they are divided about what would constitute the right
kind of welfare system. Some find it appropriate that all adults,
including parents of young children, should be employed, assuming they
can get a living wage and good childcare. Others, often called
maternalists, believe a parent should have the right to choose full-time
parenting for young or particularly needy children. Behind this difference lie two different visions of
sex equality--one that emphasizes equal treatment of the sexes and individual rights
and responsibilities, another that seeks to make unpaid caring labor,
notably for the very young, the old and the ill, as honorable and valued
as waged labor.

Kessler-Harris would resolve this contradiction through a labor-centered
view of citizenship, a notion of economic citizenship based on equity,
or fairness, in the valuation of socially worthy labor. Previously, the
policy proposal closest to this principle of equity was "comparable
worth." Second-wave feminists saw that the Equal Pay Act of 1963 and
Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 had failed to equalize male
and female wages. Because the labor force is so segregated, and female
jobs are so consistently undervalued, equal pay alone cannot produce
justice to women (or men of color). The comparable-worth strategy called
for equal wages for work of comparable expertise and value, even when
the jobs differed. For example, consider the wage gap between truck
drivers and childcare workers. Truck drivers earned much more even than
registered nurses, whose training and responsibility was so much
greater. The women's movement's challenge to inequality in jobs took off
in 1979, when Eleanor Holmes Norton, then head of the Equal Employment
Opportunity Commission, called for evaluations of job skills to remedy
women's low wages. But her successor, Clarence Thomas, refused to
consider comparable-worth claims. Although some substantial victories
were achieved in state and union battles--for example, the American
Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees (AFSCME) won wage
increases averaging 32 percent and back pay retroactive to 1979 for
Washington State employees, 35,000 of whom shared a $482 million
settlement--the comparable-worth campaigns faded in the 1980s.

But even had the comparable-worth strategy been adopted, it could not
have recognized the hours spent in caring for children, parents,
disabled relatives and friends, not to mention the work of volunteering
in underfunded schools, cooking for homeless shelters, running kids'
basketball teams. Kessler-Harris is arguing for a citizenship that
respects unpaid as well as paid labor.

She has worked out the arguments in this book systematically over many
years. Several years ago, an article of hers with the deceptively simple
title "Where Are All the Organized Women Workers?" enlarged the
understanding of gendered "interests" from an exclusive focus on women
to take in men as well. She demonstrated that so long as men dominate,
aspirations understood and characterized as class interests often
express gender interests equally strongly. She uncovered how unions
often operated as men's clubs, built around forms of male bonding that
excluded women, primarily unconsciously but often consciously, too. In
this new book she extends her analysis of men's gendered interests to
reveal how labor unionists' inability to stop defending the privileges
of masculinity have held back labor's achievements. One vivid example
was unions' opposition to state-funded welfare programs and
health-and-safety regulation, stemming from anxiety that they would
deprive workers of their manly independence. Of course, unionist
resistance to state control over workplace and work-centered programs
also derived from a defense of workers' control. But this vision of
workplace democracy was inextricably masculinist, and workingmen's
understanding of their dignity rested on distinguishing themselves from
women.

In A Woman's Wage, Kessler-Harris showed that both Marxist and
neoclassical economics were mistaken in their joint assumption that the
wage was somehow a consistent, transparent token of the capital/labor
relation. By contrast, wage rates, wage systems, indeed the whole labor
market were constructed by gender interests and ideology as well as by
supply and demand or surplus value or the actual cost of subsistence. A
wonderful example from her new book: The Hawthorne experiments of the
late 1920s have been interpreted to show that women workers were more
tractable than men. In one study, a group of women workers adapted more
cooperatively and quickly to a speedup than did a group of male workers.
In seeking to explain this behavior, investigators examined the women's
home lives and even their menstrual cycles, while paying no particular
attention to the fact that the collective rather than individual wage
structure imposed on them was such that higher productivity could only
increase their total wages, while the men's piece-rate wage structure
offered no such guarantee--in fact, the men had reason to expect that
the piece rate would be lowered if they speeded up. We see here not a
"natural" gendered difference arising informally from culture and
socialization, but female and male workers responding rationally to a
gendered system imposed by employers.

In Pursuit of Equity argues that no one can enjoy civil and
political rights without social and economic citizenship. Marshall's
alleged gradual expansion of civil and political rights not only
excluded many others but actually strengthened women's exclusion from
citizenship. One fundamental premise of democratic capitalism--free
labor--was never fully extended to all women, whose labor was often
coercively regulated, not only by husbands but by the state.
Kessler-Harris shows how free labor developed in tandem with the "family
wage" ideal, that is, that husbands/fathers should earn for the entire
family and that women's destiny was domestic unpaid labor. The correlate
was that men "naturally" sought economic and social independence while
women "naturally" sought dependence. Ironically, most feminists of the
nineteenth century went along with this dichotomy and tried to root
women's citizenship in their essential family services rather than in
the free-labor definition of independence. That is, they argued for
rights on the basis of women's spiritual and material work in unpaid
caretaking labor.

The book demonstrates particularly effectively how the dominant modern
gender system--the family-wage norm--made it difficult for women to
become full citizens. In one closely documented section, Kessler-Harris
exposes the condescending and defensive assumptions of those who drafted
the Old Age Insurance program (which later became Social Security). The
drafters agreed, for example, that the widow of a covered man with young
children should be able to receive three-quarters of his pension until
she remarried or the children reached 18. A widow without children
lacked any rights to her husband's pension. But if this pension was her
husband's by right, as the designers insisted, then why were his heirs
not entitled to all of it as with all other parts of his property? If
the widow remarried, she would not have to give up the bank account or
house or car he had left her--why should she give up a Social Security
pension? One Social Security drafter argued that retaining such an
annuity after remarriage would make widows "a prize for the fellow that
has looked for it," assuming that women are entirely passive in marriage
decisions! The drafters were all convinced that "once a woman was no
longer dependent on the earnings of a particular male (dead or
alive)...his support for her should cease." In other words, his status
as breadwinner should continue even after his death. The drafters
rejected the idea of granting all widows of covered men an equal stipend
or one based on the number of children. It was important for her
benefits to be calibrated to his earnings so as to feed "the illusion
that families deprived of a father or husband would nevertheless
conceive him...as a continuing provider." "Why should you pay the widow
less than the individual himself gets if unmarried?" Because "she can
look after herself better than he can." Imagining women as less capable
of handling money than men, the designers removed the option of a
lump-sum benefit to widows, requiring them, unlike men, to receive
monthly stipends. To avoid "deathbed marriages," they allowed a widow to
collect only if she had been married and living with her husband for at
least a year before he died.

The concern with male status was reflected particularly comically in
discussions about the age at which a wife could start to receive her
share of her husband's benefits. Some argued for an earlier "retirement"
age for women because if both men and women were eligible at 65, this
would mean that men with younger wives--a common phenomenon--might not
get their full pension for a number of years after they retired. But
others argued that since men who married much younger women were more
likely to be those who had married more than once, granting women an
earlier retirement date might reward these men over single-marriage
retirees.

Several decades ago economist Heidi Hartmann pointed out that patriarchy
was as much a system of power and hierarchy among men as a male-female
relation, and Kessler-Harris confirms that insight. For example, the
entire debate about whether married couples should be able to report
separate incomes for IRS purposes concerned the inequalities this would
create between men with employed wives and men with nonemployed wives.
Fairness to women was not a prominent concern. The fact that employed
women's old-age insurance benefits were restricted according to their
marital status while men's weren't "did not seem like sex discrimination
[to the Social Security designers] but rather like equity to men."

At the core of In Pursuit of Equity is the understanding that
what is "fair" is historically changing. The problem we face today is
not that men deliberately built policies to subordinate women but that
when our basic economic policies were established, men and women alike
tended to see male breadwinning and female domesticity as "fair." That
standard is far, far from reality today. One result is a double standard
in which supposedly ideal family life, requiring a full-time mother, is
a privilege of wives of high-earning husbands.

In the United States, the resultant damage is worse than in Europe,
because here many fundamental aspects of citizenship flow from the labor
market. "Independence" today is generally defined as earning one's
living through wages, despite the fact that the resulting dependence on
employers leaves workers as vulnerable, if not more vulnerable, than
dependence on government stipends. Social rights vital for survival,
such as medical insurance, retirement pensions and workers'
compensation, typically derive from employment in this country, in
contrast to most developed countries, which provide such help as a
matter of right to all citizens or residents. This is one way in which
American wage workers, as Kessler-Harris says, were "in a different
relationship to the constitution than those who did care-giving work."
As a result the development of democratic capitalism, even the growth of
working-class power in some ways failed to strengthen women's economic
citizenship, even weakened it. Indeed, she shows how victories against
sex discrimination in the labor force in the 1960s inadvertently
confirmed the assumption that all women could and should work for wages,
thereby contributing to the repeal of welfare without creating the
conditions that would make it possible for poor women to support
themselves through employment.

This gendered citizenship became more visible and more obnoxious to
women as wage-earning became the female norm and as "alternative
families" gained political clout. For example, if every individual was
entitled to an old-age pension and unemployment compensation, we
wouldn't have to struggle about the inheritance rights of gay partners
or stay-at-home parents' need for support. Even today, banning sex
discrimination is difficult because it is difficult to get agreement on
what constitutes discrimination. In a few cases division among feminists
has held back the struggle. Kessler-Harris ends the book with a brief
reprise of EEOC v. Sears, Roebuck & Co., a 1980s marker of
this division and a case in which she herself played a significant role.
Sears admitted that very few women held any of its well-paying
commission sales jobs but argued that women were not interested in these
jobs because the positions were competitive, pressured, demanding.
Another historian of women testified for Sears against the women
plaintiffs, using her expertise to argue that women's primary attachment
to unpaid domestic labor led them to want only jobs which did not
conflict with it. Her arguments illustrated vividly the continuing
influence of this emphasis on male/female difference, not necessarily as
"natural" or essential but nevertheless beyond the appropriate scope of
legal remedy. Sears won the case.

There is one pervasive absence in Kessler-Harris's book--race--and the
omission weakens the argument substantially. Her understanding of how
the family-wage ideal works would have to be substantially complicated
if she made African-American women more central, for they were rarely
able to adopt a male breadwinner/female housewife family model and often
rejected it, developing a culture that expects and honors women's
employment more than white culture. Mexican-American women's experience
did not fit the family-wage model either, despite their reputation as
traditional, because so many have participated in agricultural and
domestic wage labor throughout their lives in the United States. Equally
problematic to the argument, prosperous white women who accepted the
family-wage model often didn't do unpaid domestic labor because they
hired poor immigrants and women of color to do it for low wages. These
different histories must affect how we envisage a policy that recognizes
labor outside the wage system, and they need to be explored.

One aspect of Kessler-Harris's economic citizenship concept is being
expressed today by progressive feminists trying to influence the
reauthorization of Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), the
program for poor children and their parents that succeeded AFDC. We are
pushing a House bill that would recognize college education and
childcare as work under the new welfare work requirements. This book is
a sustained argument for that kind of approach and should help it become
part of the policy discussion. It probably won't win. Some will call it
unrealistic. But today's policies are already wildly unrealistic, if
realism has anything to do with actual life. If we don't begin now to
outline the programs that could actually create full citizenship for
women, we will never get there.

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