At a dinner table last fall, I mentioned that Women’s Strike for Peace did some extraordinary things in the early 1960s, not least helping to bring down the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC). A well-known political writer sitting across from me sneered that the women in WSP were insignificant and that HUAC didn’t exist by then anyway. He was wrong on both counts, but his remark wasn’t surprising. The way people talk in decades suggests that the 1950s and ’60s never overlapped and thereby blanks out the first half of the latter decade to make the second half into “the ’60s,” that era popularly imagined as a revolutionary romp by a bunch of antiwar young men. In fact, those young men took up a revolutionary challenge raised in part by middle-aged women who launched some of the key ideas and fought some of the first battles in their defense. The radical and powerful Women’s Strike for Peace did it in the streets (and in the hearings chamber–Eric Bentley, in his history of HUAC, credits WSP with striking the crucial blow in the fall of “HUAC’s Bastille” in 1962). Jane Jacobs, Rachel Carson and Betty Friedan did it in books.
Jacobs’s The Death and Life of Great American Cities appeared in 1961, Carson’s Silent Spring came out the following year and Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique appeared in 1963. These three intellectual bombs collectively assailed almost every institution in American and indeed industrial and Western society. Jacobs ripped into the reinvented postwar city, urban planners’ obsession with segregating home from work, rich from poor, urban dwellings from the street and from commerce, business from residential, people from one another, making cities over in the new image of suburbia–and by implication, the belief in progress and technology and institutional control. Carson radically questioned the faith in big science and its disastrous new solutions to age-old problems, and maybe even the old Cartesian worldview of isolated fragments, which she replaced with a precocious vision of ecosystems in which contaminants like DDT and fallout kept traveling from their origins to touch and taint everything. Friedan took on the women’s half of the American dream, gender, patriarchy and the middle-class suburban family, bringing the assault full circle. After all, the suburbanization Jacobs excoriated was designed to produce the all-too-private lives Friedan investigated. Together, these three writers addressed major facets of the great modern project to control the world on every scale, locating it in the widespread attacks on nature, on women and on the chaotic, the diverse, the crowded and the poor. Their work transformed our perceptions of the indoor world of the home, the outdoor world of cities and the larger realm of the biosphere, opening vast new possibilities for social transformation.
It’s true, as some critics have argued, that Jacobs, Carson and Friedan mostly avoided a deeper systemic analysis. Yet such an effort is implicit in Friedan’s constant references to the marketers and advertisers who wish to keep women as good consumers, in Jacobs’s scorn for top-down solutions and grand-plan developers, in Carson’s condemnation of the chemical manufacturers and pest-prone monocropping of agribusiness. Silent Spring declares, “There is still very limited awareness of the nature of the threat. This is an era of specialists, each of whom sees his own problem and is unaware of or intolerant of the larger frame into which it fits. It is also an era dominated by industry, in which the right to make a dollar at whatever cost is seldom challenged.” Rereading their books, I wonder if they didn’t name the beast because their old-left contemporaries who did proffered such an unappealing alternative to corporate capitalism and were being persecuted for doing so. Or perhaps they just weren’t interested in that kind of broad prescription–their books, after all, were broad enough.