According to their own survey responses, anti-abortion voters are hostile to gender equality in practically every aspect.
The Catholic church, an unabashedly misogynist institution that to this day refuses to allow women into positions of power, had long opposed abortion (but not for all that long – until about 150 years ago, the Catholic view was that abortion was permissible through the first few months of pregnancy).
The birth control pill brought with it an avalanche of opportunities and freedoms, and women, finally fully able to have sex for fun and prevent pregnancy, took full advantage. The ability to delay a pregnancy – and later, the ability to legally end one – meant that women didn’t have to choose between romance and ambition (and it meant women could be choosier about romance, making a more considered decision about who and whether to marry).
This undermined the whole rightwing Christian project, which was, and remains, thoroughly invested in a nuclear family with a father at the head. And indeed, rightwing arguments against abortion used to invoke conservative gender tropes much more often – that abortion undermined the traditional family, for example.
Despite a senior colleague’s protests, Jean Purdy’s name was not included on memorial.
They called it the épuration sauvage, the wild purge, because it was spontaneous and unofficial. But, yes, it was savage, too. In the weeks and months following the D-Day landings of June 6, 1944, Allied troops and the resistance swept across France liberating towns and villages, and unleashing a flood of collective euphoria, relief and hope. And then the punishments began.
The victims were among the most vulnerable members of the community: Women. Accused of “horizontal collaboration” — sleeping with the enemy — they were targeted by vigilantes and publicly humiliated. Their heads were shaved, they were stripped half-naked, smeared with tar, paraded through towns and taunted, stoned, kicked, beaten, spat upon and sometimes even killed.
To mark the anniversary of women’s suffrage, we republish this essay from International Women’s Day 2018 by Ātea editor Leonie Hayden – how Māori women can find their way back to equity through the stories of the past.
1893 was the first time New Zealand women were given access to the Westminster vote, but traditionally Māori women and children already had a say on important issues in their own communities. As that right was slowly eroded by encroaching colonisation, Māori women joined the fight for suffrage.
A bright and spirited girl, 18-year-old Margaret chastised her spendthrift brother with the words: “Were I not a girl, I would be a soldier!” The following year she set out on the path towards that unlikely ambition when she exchanged her skirts for breeches and enrolled as a medical student at Edinburgh, shrewdly reducing her age to explain her hairless chin and petite frame.
Barry was the second child born to Jeremiah and Mary-Ann Bulkley, and was given the name Margaret Anne. . . . A third child appeared in the Bulkley family and was named Juliana. Although presented as being Barry’s sister, it is likely that she was Barry’s daughter as a result of childhood sexual assault, as the charwoman who discovered Barry’s sex when laying out the body stated that pregnancy stretch marks were present.