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Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship
Electronic copy available at: http://ssrn.com/abstract=2249849

Electronic copy available at: http://ssrn.com/abstract=2249849
Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship:
International Perspectives on Parliamentary
Reforms
Edited by
Irma Sulkunen and Seija-Leena Nevala-Nurmi

and Pirjo Markkola
Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship – International Perspectives on Parliamentary Reforms,
Edited by Irma Sulkunen and Seija-Leena Nevala-Nurmi and Pirjo Markkola
This book first published 2009
Cambridge Scholars Publishing
12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Copyright © 2009 by Irma Sulkunen and Seija-Leena Nevala-Nurmi and Pirjo Markkola
and contributors
All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
ISBN (10): 1-4438-0162-3, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-0162-1

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction ................................................................................................. 1
Irma Sulkunen and Pirjo Markkola
PART I: Radical Peripheries: Pacific Countries and Scandinavia
Suffrage, Gender and Sovereignty in New Zealand .................................. 14

Charlotte Macdonald
Colonialism, Power and Women’s Political Citizenship in Australia,

1894–1908 ................................................................................................. 34
Patricia Grimshaw
Voting Women before Women’s Suffrage in Sweden 1720–1870............ 56

Åsa Karlsson Sjögren
Suffrage, Nation and Citizenship – The Finnish Case in an International

Context ...................................................................................................... 83
Irma Sulkunen
Excluded from Universal Suffrage: Finland 1906–1917 ......................... 106

Minna Harjula
To Become a Political Subject: Enfranchisement of Women

in Norway ................................................................................................ 120
Gro Hagemann
PART II: The Dissolution of Empires and the Breakthrough

of Democracy
Women’s Victory or the Impact of Revolution? Peculiarities

of Women’s Suffrage in Russia............................................................... 146
Olga Shnyrova
vi Table of Contents
Linking Party Politics and Women’s Suffrage: The Case of Ariadna

Tyrkova ................................................................................................... 160
Natalia Novikova
“A Danger to the State and Society”: Effects of the Civil War on Red
Women’s civil rights in Finland in 1918 ................................................. 177
Tiina Lintunen
Women's Suffrage and War: World War I and Political Reform

in a Comparative Perspective .................................................................. 193
Birgitta Bader-Zaar
Slovene Women's Suffrage Movement in a Comparative Perspective.... 219

Milica Antic Gaber and Irena Selisnik
The Debate on Parliamentary Reforms in Women’s Suffrage

in Hungary............................................................................................... 242
Judit Acsády
The Struggle for Women’s Political Rights in Modern Romania. The

Crystallisation of Feminist Movement and the Constitutional Debates .. 259
Maria Nicoleta Turliuc and Catalin Turliuc
PART III: The Struggle for Women’s Citizenship
Christabel Pankhurst and the Struggle for Suffrage Reform in

Edwardian Britain.................................................................................... 278
June Purvis
What Was Suffragette Militancy? An Exploration of the British

Example................................................................................................... 299
Krista Cowman
Becoming Citizens in Ireland: Negotiating Women’s Suffrage

and National Politics................................................................................ 323
Caitriona Beaumont, Myrtle Hill, Leeann Lane and Louise Ryan
Making the National Councils of Women National: The Formation

of a Nation-Wide Organisation in Australia 1896–1931 ......................... 339
Marian Quartly and Judith Smart
Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship vii
Feminism and Nationalism: The Case of Women’s Suffrage

in Mandatory Palestine 1918–1926 ......................................................... 358
Margalit Shilo and Esther Carmel Hakim
PART IV: Contemporary Discussion on Women’s Suffrage

and Citizenship
Women as Full Citizens: Addressing the Barriers of Gender

and Race in Canadian Constitutional Development ................................ 376
Mary Eberts
Women Parliamentarians in Iran: A Show of Power? ............................. 415

Mohammed Mousavi
Catholic Family Values versus Equality – Polish Politics

between the years 2005-2007: Envisioning the Role of Women............. 427
Dorota Anna Gozdecka
European Citizenship in the Context of Gender Equality Legislation

in Eastern European Countries: The Case of Croatia .............................. 449
Snjezana Vasiljevic
Contributors............................................................................................. 470
INTRODUCTION
IRMA SULKUNEN AND PIRJO MARKKOLA
In 2006 Finland celebrated the centenary of universal and equal

suffrage. A century had elapsed since the parliamentary reform in Finland,
then an autonomous Grand Duchy of the Russian Empire, resulted in the
country becoming the spearhead of state democracy in Europe. The radical
nature of the reform is indicated by the fact that women gained the right
both to vote and to stand as candidates in parliamentary elections. This
was exceptional by international standards, and meant a great leap forward
in the general progress towards female suffrage. Finland was the third
nation-state, after New Zealand and Australia, in which women were
admitted to full political citizenship. Women immediately used their right
to vote; however, what made the Finnish case exceptional was that women
candidates were elected to Parliament. Indeed, a significant number of
women belonging to different social classes were elected to the first
eduskunta (the Finnish unicameral parliament) in 1907. In this respect,
Finnish women were global trailblazers.
Among the scholarly events organised to celebrate the centenary was a
conference held at the University of Tampere in October 2006, the theme
being the implementation of female suffrage in different countries against
the background of general parliamentary reforms. At the same time, the
conference strove to trace the various cultural, social and political forms of
gendered citizenship. The conference attracted scholars from 18 countries,
thereby opening up significant opportunities for a comparative
examination of the subject. Each participant made a valuable contribution
to the discussion on the relationship between women's suffrage and
parliamentary reforms; although in this book it is possible to include only
some of the articles written on the basis of the papers read at the
conference. These papers demonstrated just how many thematic levels the
issue of female suffrage involves. The presentation of cases from different
countries also revealed how many factors have to be taken into account to
create an even passably viable methodology for the international
comparison of reform processes. One of the most significant outcomes of
the conference was the observation that the age of suffrage narratives
2 Introduction
based on a view of universal emancipation is irrevocably over − and has

been so for some time. By contrast, the significance of deconstructive
approaches and analyses more deeply embedded in local factors has
increased.
Regionally, the point of emphasis has shifted, on the one hand, from
the so-called centre to the periphery and, on the other, from the core
countries of suffragettism to those areas where female suffrage was
realised at an early stage. This change has been accelerated by the
anniversaries celebrating the awarding of the franchise to women, which
over the last fifteen years have produced numerous anthologies and thus
opened up this field of research to new, comparative approaches.1 In the
Nordic countries, which were pioneers of women's suffrage in Europe, the
interest in the subject was bound in the 1970s to research projects studying
popular movements. For example, in Sweden the extensive research into
civil movements that began in the late 1960s initially ignored women, but
studies of women's activities in the temperance movement and
philanthropic associations set out to remedy this. Another strand in Nordic
women's studies has been research on the organised suffragette movement.
A research project dealing with the civil rights and suffrage struggle of
Swedish women has produced several new studies in the early 21st
century.2
1
See, for instance, Suffrage & Beyond: International Feminist Perspectives, ed.
Caroline Daley and Melanie Nolan (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1994);
A Suffrage Reader: Charting Directions in British Suffrage History, ed. C. Claire
Eustance and Joan Ryan (London: Cassell, 2000); Women’s Rights and Human
Rights: International Historical Perspectives, ed. Patricia Grimshaw, Katie
Holmes and Marilyn Lake (Palgrave MacMillan, 2001); Yksi kamari – kaksi
sukupuolta: Suomen eduskunnan ensimmäiset naiset, ed. Pirjo Markkola and
Alexandra Ramsay, (Helsinki: Eduskunnan kirjasto, 1997); Irma Sulkunen, Maria
Lähteenmäki and Aura Korppi-Tommola, Naiset eduskunnassa. Suomen eduskunta
100 vuotta (Helsinki: Edita, 2006).
2
See, for instance, Ingrid Åberg, “Revivalism, Philanthropy and Emancipation.
Women’s Liberation and Organization in the Early Nineteenth Century”.
Scandinavian Journal of History 13, 1988; Charitable Women – Philanthropic
Welfare 1780–1930, ed. Birgitta Jordansson and Tinne Vammen (Odense: Odense
University press, 1998); Kvinnor på gränsen till medborgarskap. Genus, politik
och offentlighet 1800–1950 , ed. Christina Florin and Lars Kvarnström
(Stockholm: Atlas, 2001); Josefin Rönnbäck, Politikens genusgränser. Den
kvinnliga rösträttsrörelsen och kampen för kvinnors politiska medborgarskap
1902–1921 (Stockholm: Atlas, 2004); Ulla Manns, Upp systrar, väpnen er! Kön
och politik i svensk 1800-tals feminism (Stockholm: Atlas, 2005); Åsa Karlsson
Irma Sulkunen and Pirjo Markkola 3
In Finland, the question of female suffrage likewise came to the fore in

the 1970s in connection with research projects studying popular
movements and civic associations. The location of political mobilisation in
its broad social context revealed the central role played by women,
particularly in the temperance movement, but also in other civic
associations at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. All these
united to spearhead the suffrage movement.3 On the other hand, the
anniversary celebrations of female suffrage have accelerated research in
which the subject has been addressed both from the point of view of the
achievement of separate rights for women and in connection with nation-
building and the creation of a civil society.4
* * * * *
In research in the Pacific countries, methodological shifts have given
rise to emphases associated particularly with the postcolonial approach,
and since the 1970s, these have also become general in feminist research.5
Here attention has been focussed on issues like the deprivation of
indigenous peoples’ common human rights and the invisibility of ethnic
groups in the struggle for female suffrage. In particular, Australian
scholars have brought the latter issue clearly to the fore and at the same
time considered the price of the early implementation of female franchise.6
Thus in the present book, Patricia Grimshaw analyses the problematic
relationship between women's suffrage and the aboriginal population at the
Sjögren, Männen, kvinnorna och rösträtten. Medborgarskap och representation

1723–1866 (Stockholm: Carlsson, 2006).
3
Irma Sulkunen, Raittius kansalaisuskontona. Raittiusliike ja työväestön
järjestäytyminen 1870-luvulta suurlakon jälkeisiin vuosiin.(Juva: SHS, 1986;
published in English: History of the Finnish Temperance Movement. Edwin Mellen
Press, 1990); Henrik Stenius, Frivilligt, jämlikt, samfällt: föreningsväsendets
utveckling i Finland fram till 1900-talets början med speciell hänsyn till
massorganisations principens genombrott (Helsinki: SLF, 1987; Kansa liikkeessä,
ed. Risto Alapuro, Ilkka Liikanen, Kerstin Smeds and Henrik Stenius (Helsinki:
Kirjayhtymä, 1987).
4
Of the centenary publications, see e.g. Yksi kamari – kaksi sukupuolta: Suomen
eduskunnan ensimmäiset naiset 1997; Sulkunen, Lähteenmäki and Korppi-
Tommola 2006.
5
For good examples of such research, see Feminism and Internationalism,ed.
Mrinalini Sinha, Donna Guy and Angela Woollacott (Blackwell Publishers, 1999);
Angela Woollacott,: Gender and Empire (Palgrave: Macmillan, 2006).
6
For example Women’s Rights and Human Rights: International Historical
Perspectives (Palgrave: Macmillan, 2001).
4 Introduction
federal state level. Grimshaw's chapter shows how colonial ideas on race
were taken for granted as a criterion of segregation in the liberals’
definition of citizenship and, on the other hand, how the regional relative
strengths of the ethnic groups determined the visibility or concealment of
different views in determining the criteria for citizenship. A more
equitable negotiating climate between the races prevailed in another
pioneering country of women's suffrage, New Zealand, where the
integration of the relatively numerous indigenous population, the Maoris,
went much more smoothly, as Charlotte Macdonald shows in her own
chapter.
Another aspect partly connected to the preceding one, has been the
shift during the past few decades in the emphasis of research on
suffragettism from a tradition that took for granted the connection between
female suffrage and the progress of feminist emancipation7 to an
examination of the phenomenon in its broader social and political
contexts. These themes, like the general suffrage reforms, recur in several
of the chapters in the present collection. In particular, the connection
between women's suffrage and nation building has been, and continues to
be in this book, a central element in the parliamentary reforms of very
different countries.
The connection seems to have been particularly close in those
countries in which democratic projects were bound up with nationalist
independence aspirations, as was the case in European countries that
adopted female suffrage at an early date like Finland and Norway, and also
in New Zealand and Australia on the other side of the world. In all these
countries, attempts were made to present the integration of women into the
nation in terms of equal political rights, thereby significantly lowering the
opposition to female suffrage. However, this was not universally the case,
as seen for example in Hungary and Slovenia. In these countries, women's
suffrage was not realised until after the Second World War, and in this
respect the process followed the pattern of the Catholic countries of
7
This research tradition coincided with the organisation of the feminist movement
and subsequently became associated with women’s studies. For a good example,
see Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Susan B. Anthony, Matilda Joslyn, and Ida Husted
Harper, History of Woman Suffrage 1–6. 1887–1922; in a way Richard Evans’
widely read work Feminists (London, 1977) is connected with a research tradition
that celebrates the triumphal march of female emancipation through suffrage. Of
those scholars who legitimated this research tradition in Finland, Alexandra
Gripenberg and her book Naisasian kehitys eri maissa (Porvoo, 1905) deserves
special mention.
southern Europe rather than the development in the Protestant countries of

the north.
A good example of the value of a comparative approach is offered in
this book by Birgitta Bader-Zaar's multi-level analysis of the influence of
the First World War on the ideological policies of the suffragette
movement and the development of political rights in four European
countries and the United States. The comparison not only shows the
multiplicity of attitudes to war and peace, but also opens up interesting
perspectives on the disparate background factors; one of the most
interesting of these, apart from the parliamentary systems, is the relations
between different religious groups. In addition to Bader-Zaar's study,
several other chapters in the collection show that in certain countries
religion played a crucial role in attitudes to female suffrage and women's
political activity in general. For example, in Israel, religion created a clear
divide between Orthodox Judaism and more liberal political orientations
over the question of suffrage, as Margalit Shilo and Esther Carmel Hakim
demonstrate. Similarly, in strongly Catholic countries, the attitude to
female suffrage was a complex one, especially after the workers’
movement gained a significant footing in them.
To generalise, it can be stated that the Social Democratic parties in
northern European Protestant countries adopted the principle of universal
and equal suffrage and emphasised the fact that the demand also
concerned women. This was particularly the case in those countries where
the suffrage reform was delayed, with the number of the unenfranchised
among men also remaining very high. Finland is an extreme example of
this. Although in principle favourably disposed to female suffrage, the
workers’ movement vacillated in those Protestant countries (like Britain)
where parliamentary reform had got under way earlier, and suffrage had
been extended to cover a significant section of the male population before
the female suffrage movement became organised.
* * * * *
As the chapters in this book also show, women’s suffrage has both
national and international dimensions. The significance of the international
dimensions and at the same the common tradition of research on female
suffrage narratives is interestingly evidenced by the reference in several of
the chapters to John Stuart Mill's work The Subjection of Women as an
important source of suffragettism. However, without denying the
importance of Mill, it should also be remembered that the struggle for
women's suffrage did not get under way on a large scale until the turn of
6 Introduction
the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, decades after Mill's book was
published. It is also important to note that as mobilisation became more
intense, attempts to promote women's suffrage in many countries were
more closely connected with the determination of the content and limits of
modern democracy than with the Millian ideological tradition of liberalism
in its classical form.
In many countries, indeed, traditional liberalism seemed to hinder
rather than to support the implementation of political rights irrespective of
sex. This is indicated in June Purvis's in-depth study of the suffragette
activities of Emmeline Pankhurst; Purvis demonstrates that it was in fact
the policy of the Liberal government with which militant British women
took issue in the final stage of their struggle for suffrage.8 In Finland, too,
the only members of the Diet who in principle opposed the inclusion of
women in universal and equal suffrage represented liberal circles. Thus,
although long historical ideological traditions go back to the liberalisation
process initiated in the eighteenth century and associated with individual
demands that political citizenship be extended to women, there was
certainly no straightforward universal progress towards emancipation. On
the contrary, from an international point of view, the realisation of female
suffrage was a long and complicated process, the nature and content of
which took very different forms in different countries.
In this collection, the perspective on women’s suffrage is opened up
through a study of general parliamentary reforms. This choice is justified
in that the simultaneous examination of reforms carried out in different
environments enables us not only to better analyse common features and
differences in the parliamentary systems but also to draw tentative
conclusions about the social factors that possibly influenced these
differences. By highlighting national differences in female suffrage, we
strive to disperse the universalising trend of research on suffragettism and
at the same time to trace the various paths taken in the formation of
modern citizenship and to outline different interpretations of it. By
locating suffragettism in the dissolution of the patriarchal-corporative
system of representation initiated in the eighteenth century and expanded
during the following centuries and against the concomitant struggle for
political power, we also seek new perspectives on the study of the whole
historical tradition of feminism. For example, we ask to what extent
‘gender’ as an analytical category can be reconciled with historical
contexts preceding the birth of the modern concept of citizenship. The
8
In addition to her chapter, see June Purvis, Emmeline Pankhurst (Routledge,
2003).
problematics of this question is addressed by Åsa Karlsson Sjögren in her

chapter on the background factors to the suffrage issue in Sweden from a
long historical perspective. She also asks how women's suffrage can be
studied before the implementation of political citizenship based on the
rights of the individual.
Again − and partly in connection with the preceding point − the
concepts ‘public’ and ‘private’, which have been used for some time in
women's studies, appear in a new light when located in different historico-
cultural contexts.9 As Natalia Novikova shows, traditional Russian society
hardly recognised this dichotomy, and the same observation is emphasised
by Irma Sulkunen and Gro Hagemann in analysing the background factors
influencing the early realisation of women's suffrage in Finland and
Norway. An undifferentiated division of life into spheres has been
regarded as applying on the one hand to the agrarian way of life and the
corporate system of representation and on the other to societies in the early
stage of industrialisation, and in them particularly to the lower orders of
society and their survival strategies, which required cooperation between
the sexes.10
An examination of the line dividing the spheres of life − or its absence
− is also important because it has been common in women's studies to
define the criteria for gendered citizenship through the dichotomy between
public and private spheres. However, the border was often fuzzy, and thus
the conception of citizenship defined in modern parliamentary reforms
was by no means always based on a dichotomous division into spheres of
life. Rather, it seems that a new dividing line was drawn based on
numerous elements connected with the concept of citizenship. In
connection with this, the definition of gender as a general category in
relation to race and class was also negotiated.
Parliamentary reforms constitute an important object of study because
they offer the opportunity to examine the criteria used by emerging nation
states to define the borders of political and national citizenship for their
own peoples. At the same time, they reveal the location of sex in the
power struggle over political citizenship. Certainly, it should be
remembered, as T. H. Marshall, Nira Yuval Davis11 (and many others)
9
For a good survey of the discussion see, for instance, Feminism, the Public and
the Private, ed. Joan B. Landes, (Oxford University Press, 1998 and 2007).
10
For Britain, see e.g. Equal of Different: Women’s Politics 1800 –1914, ed. Jane
Rendall (Basil Blackwell, 1987). See in particular the “Introduction” and the
chapter by Deborah Valenze: “Cottage Religion and the Politics of Survival”.
11
T. H. Marshall, Citizenship and Social Class (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1950); T. H. Marshall and Tom Bottomore, Citizenship and Social Class
8 Introduction
emphasise, that citizenship has dimensions other than the political one. In
this book, however, the emphasis is specifically on political/national
citizenship, although in several chapters the dimension of local/municipal
citizenship also appears as a matter of course. As many of the chapters
show, the negotiation − or rather dispute − over political power may go on
for a very long time. Rights might either be accorded or removed
according to the prevailing power configurations, as happened, for
instance, in Hungary and Israel. On the other hand, the situation could turn
out like that in Finland, where an exceptionally radical reform suffered a
rapid setback and in the course of just over a decade led to a civil war with
ensuing restrictions on citizenship.
The continuous change in the concept of citizenship and the
transnational negotiating positions created by new political conditions are
well illustrated in the last article in the collection, in which Snjezana
Vasiljic examines EU citizenship from the perspective of gender. The
issue of rights is not a permanent and static phenomenon but rather highly
volatile and transmutable. Rights are constantly being negotiated both in
Europe and in other parts of the world. An illustrative example of this is
offered by Mohamed Mousavi’s review of the opportunities for female
members of parliament in Iran. Equally illustrative is Dorota Anna
Gozdecka's chapter, in which she describes the dramatic change in how
the social position of women is regarded in Poland.
* * * * *
The structure of the book is partly thematic, partly chronological.
Thematically, suffrage, citizenship and parliamentary reforms are placed
in different socio-political contexts, the first of which is constituted by the
peripheral regions of former empires. The periphery turned out to be more
radical than the centre, and, in the cases of New Zealand and Australia, its
need for radical reforms greater than those of the centre. In beginning with
parliamentary reforms in the new world from the 1890s on, we also trace
the history of universal and equal suffrage chronologically. The citizenship
and political rights of New Zealand and Australian women lead the reader
into the intersectional construction of political rights, involving factors
other than gender. In the cases of New Zealand and Australia particularly,
the question of the relationship between ethnicity and gender prompts
(Pluto Press, 1992); Nira Yuval-Davis, Gender & Nation (London, Thousand Oaks
and New Delhi: Sage Publications, 1997).
numerous further questions worth taking into consideration in other

contexts.
The second part of the book moves to the other side of the globe,
thematically to a situation of nation-building and the construction of a
national identity. We move into the following decades when universal
suffrage was introduced in the Nordic countries: simultaneously, we take a
step back in time. Of the Nordic countries, both Finland and Norway
granted women the vote and the right to stand in elections before the
outbreak of the First World War. In Finland, a rapid reform led to Finnish
women being the first in Europe to have their political rights extended.
However, although the reform was extremely radical, some groups
remained still without civil rights. In the Nordic context, female suffrage
was implemented relatively late in Sweden, between 1919 and 1921. Even
so, the Swedish case is interesting in that it demonstrates that the extension
of women's political rights was anything but a linear process. In
connection with the individualisation process, the nature of political rights
changed in a way that problematised gender in a new way in the definition
of political citizenship. In this process, gender became a category on the
basis of which the rights and responsibilities pertaining to modern
citizenship began to be defined. In the Nordic countries, the struggle over
sex and its relation to class, language and birth led both to restrictions in
women's rights and to the birth of movements demanding rights for
women, but the process was neither straightforward nor simple.
The period after the First World War was above all characterised by
the dissolution of the great empires. When the Russian Empire and the
Austro-Hungarian Monarchy broke up, the question of nationality
actualised in numerous different ways. The Revolution brought universal
and equal suffrage to Russia, and women gained political rights in
conjunction with it, but this was not just the result of the activities of the
Bolsheviks. Russian historical research has started to study the activities
and aims of other revolutionary groups defeated in the power struggle.
This brings new dimensions to the picture of women's political rights. The
fall of the empires was certainly far from painless, as illustrated, for
example, by the bitter civil war which broke out in Finland immediately
after the gaining of her independence.
There was no common pattern in the situations created by imperial
collapse, as the break-up of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and its
aftermath demonstrates. The chapters show that each of the countries
involved pursued its own course, adapted to the context of its own
developing nation. In this process, religion was one factor influencing
conceptions of men’s and women's citizenship and political rights.
10 Introduction
The British Commonwealth constitutes a special case in the history of

female suffrage: it witnessed probably the hardest struggles over women's
political rights. In international research, the unique and bitter suffrage
struggle in Britain, in particular, was long taken as the model against
which attempts to extend or limit women's political rights in other
countries were compared. This anthology attempts to diversify this picture,
focusing also on those countries unaffected by militant suffragettism in
their implementation of universal and equal suffrage. At the same time, it
shows how the militancy of the suffragettes can be placed in its proper
context. This was no unified movement but rather incorporated many
different goals and aims.
The issue of women's civil rights is certainly not a matter concerning
only the past. The fourth part of the book takes us into the 21st century and
shows what kind of new challenges the question of citizenship presents.
Contemplated from an international perspective, suffrage, gender and
citizenship continue to be highly relevant matters.
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Sulkunen, Irma, Raittius kansalaisuskontona. Raittiusliike ja työväestön
järjestäytyminen 1870-luvulta suurlakon jälkeisiin vuosiin. Juva: SHS
1986 (published in English: History of the Finnish Temperance
Movement. Edwin Mellen Press, 1990.
Women’s Rights and Human Rights: International Historical Perspectives,
edited by Patricia Grimshaw, Katie Holmes and Marilyn Lake.
Palgrave Macmillan, 2001.
Woollacot, Angela: Gender and Empire. Palgrave Macmillan, 2006.
Yksi kamari – kaksi sukupuolta: Suomen eduskunnan ensimmäiset naiset,
edited by Pirjo Markkola and Alexandra Ramsay. Helsinki:
Eduskunnan kirjasto, 1997.
Yuval-Davis, Nira, Gender & Nation. London,Thousand Oaks and New
Delhi: Sage Publications, 1997.
PART I:
RADICAL PERIPHERIES:
PACIFIC COUNTRIES AND SCANDINAVIA
SUFFRAGE, GENDER AND SOVEREIGNTY
IN NEW ZEALAND
CHARLOTTE MACDONALD
In 2006 Prime Minister Helen Clark was just one of a concentration of

women occupying leading public offices in New Zealand.1 The
prominence of women in national life 113 years after New Zealand
women were the first in a nation state to be enfranchised in 1893 is
something nineteenth-century campaigners might only have dreamed
about. Over a century later it brought admiration from some quarters,
while from others, the anxious observation that the country had become
‘unbalanced’, or that ‘political correctness’ had gone too far.2 Similar
misgivings, though articulated much more vociferously, were prompted by
the centrality of Maori and ‘Maori issues’ (including the Treaty of
Waitangi) in contemporary political life. The newly formed Maori Party’s
success at the polls in the 2005 election (winning four seats), and more
provocatively, calls for ‘te tino rangatiratanga’ (self government or
autonomy) under the popular black, red and white Maori sovereignty flag,
affront those who insist on a nation in which ‘all New Zealanders’ stand
under one New Zealand flag.3 Gender and race identities constitute
1
The group included Governor-General Sylvia Cartwright (representing the head
of state Queen Elizabeth II), Chief Justice Sian Elias (head of the judiciary);
Speaker of the House of Representatives Margaret Wilson; Te Arikinui Dame Te
Atairangikaahu (‘The Maori Queen’), leader of the independent Kingitanga
movement, and chief executive of Telecom (the country’s largest corporation)
Theresa Gattung.
2
See, for example, ‘Girls can do…everything’, The Press, 4 Mar 2005, A1;
‘What’s left to feminise?’, The Dominion Post, 27 Dec 2004, B4; Colin Espiner,
‘Women at the top’, The Press, 24 Sep 2003, A2; Keith M. Harry, ‘Feminist
flavour’, Waikato Times, 14 April 2001, 6; Jonathan Milne, ‘Dame joins women in
power’, The Press, 5 April 2001, p.1; Brent Edwards, ‘Dame Sylvia completes
constitutional quartet’, The Dominion Post, 4 April 2001, 1.
3
Ranginui Walker, Ka whawhai tonu matou – struggle without end, rev. ed,
Auckland: Penguin, 2004; Don Brash (Leader of the Opposition National Party)
‘Nationhood’, speech to Orewa Rotary Club, 27 January 2004,
Charlotte Macdonald 15
sensitive fault lines for political contest in the postcolonial present. While
suffrage is no longer the central issue, citizenship remains entwined with
gender and with nationhood defined by conflicting versions of the national
story, ie history. 4
Women in New Zealand fought for, and won, the prized goal of
suffrage remarkably early, relatively easily and unusually inclusively.
Both indigenous Maori and Pakeha5 (white) women gained the franchise
with the passing of the Electoral Bill in September 1893. A milestone of
local and international significance, the wider history of suffrage, gender
and citizenship reveals a more complex and less triumphant story. A story
that is integrally linked to the colonial relations in which the New Zealand
nation state had been forged since its foundation in 1840 and in which, by
the turn of the century, women and indigenous Maori enjoyed a large
degree of formal equality in political rights while remaining marginal to
real political power. For Maori the overriding question was sovereignty:
the power assumed by the state from which citizenship rights such as the
franchise were derived. The legitimacy of power which had been gained
by subordinating and dispossessing indigenous Maori inhabitants over the
previous fifty years was fundamental. Gender remained a critical
determinant of political agency after 1893, women gaining the right to
stand as candidates only from 1919. It was a further fourteen years before
a woman won a seat in parliament and a further three decades before
women represented more than a tiny minority of elected Members of
http://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/PA0401/S00220.htm, accessed 31 Jan 2008. Maori

Party home page: /www.maoriparty.com.
Further information about Maori sovereignty and te tino rangatiratanga see Mason
Durie, Te mana, te kawanatanga: the politics of Maori self-determination
(Auckland: Oxford University Press, 1998).
On the issue of the flag, see, for example, ‘Letter to the Board of Transit NZ:
Maori flag’, 16 January 2008, http://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/PO0801/S00101.htm
4
Donna Awatere, Maori Sovereignty (Auckland: Broadsheet, 1984); Claudia
Orange, An illustrated history of the Treaty of Waitangi (Wellington: Bridget
Williams Books, 2004); Ranginui Walker, Ka whawhai tonu matou – Struggle
without end (Auckland: Penguin, 1990, rev ed, 2004); Stuart C. Scott, The travesty
of Waitangi: towards anarchy (Dunedin: Campbell Press, 1995); Histories, power
and loss ed. Andrew Sharp and Paul McHugh (Wellington: Bridget Williams
Books, 2001).
5
‘Pakeha’ generally describes New Zealanders of European descent, or non-Maori
New Zealanders. Its use as an ethnic category is contentious.
16 Suffrage, Gender and Sovereignty in New Zealand
Parliament (MPs).6 Political institutions, and the nation state more

generally, appeared remarkably unchanged by the early advances in
democratic rights.
Kate Sheppard, the leader of the New Zealand campaign, reflected on
these issues in a speech in 1919, nearly 26 years after women first voted in
New Zealand in 1893 but at a time when the long and hard fought
campaigns in England, the United States and elsewhere, were finally
gaining ground. She noted that while ‘progress was slow’ and had come
‘first in the smaller centres of population’, mentioning Finland, along with
Norway and Denmark, as places where women had long ‘enjoyed the
vote’, at last, ‘fossilized prejudices’ had ‘crashed in all directions’, and
‘that opposition to the right of women to full citizenship is breaking down.
The desire among women for a change in their political status may be said
to be world-wide.’ ‘How could it be otherwise?’ she asked, given the
‘[c]ontinuous appeals to reason and justice for more than half a century.’7
Reason and justice were not, as we know, sufficient in themselves to
achieve results. Moreover, the struggle through which women’s suffrage
campaigners and their supporters pressed their cause varied immensely in
timing and character, operating within specific contexts of time and place.
In discussing the history of the women’s suffrage campaign in New
Zealand this paper briefly sketches the main contours of the campaign and
the interpretations through which it has been understood, paying particular
attention to the newer frameworks in which the subject has been
approached. ‘Progressivism’, the common patterns across societies on ‘the
margins’ where women’s suffrage was won early, the British empire, and
popular forms of citizenship are considered, as is the post-1893 fate of
gender and citizenship. In the New Zealand setting, sovereignty,
understood as the source of political power is also a key concept.
What is suggested, in what must remain a very broad overview of the
subject, is that a small, newly formed state such as New Zealand was in
the late nineteenth century offered a highly pliable context for democratic
experiment. This was a context in which liberal inclusiveness supported
the nation building efforts of a settler society keen to portray itself as a
6
Elizabeth McLeay, “Women and the problem of parliamentary representation: a
comparative perspective”, in Women and politics in New Zealand, ed. Helena Catt
and Elizabeth McLeay (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 1993), 40-62.
7
Kate Sheppard, ‘President’s address to the National Council of Women’, 1919,
NCW Session, MS-Papers-1371, folder 107, Alexander Turnbull Library, in The
vote, the pill and the demon drink: a history of feminist writing in New Zealand,
1869-1993, ed. Charlotte Macdonald (Wellington: Bridget Williams Books, 1993),
82-3.
distinctive exemplar within the wider British world, but where ‘the nation’
afforded women and Maori accessory rather than integral membership.
The Suffrage Campaign

The New Zealand suffrage campaign can be briefly summarised as
follows.8 An Electoral Bill passed by majority vote in an all male two
chamber legislature was the means by which women gained the franchise
in September 1893. The elected House of Representatives and appointed
Legislative Council constituted a unitary system of government there
being no federal structure. A clause giving women the vote was only one,
but by far the most controversial, clause in the Bill. Support came from
both sides of the House (as did opposition); the measure was not one
around which party allegiances formed. While the governing
administration was a Liberal one, the key champion of the women’s
suffrage cause was senior conservative politician Sir John Hall.9 The
Liberal leader and premier, former publican Richard (‘King Dick’)
Seddon, was an opponent - he was later to change his stance, loudly
proclaiming his pride in the New Zealand women’s vote. The successful
parliamentary vote was the culmination of an energetic, concerted and co-
ordinated campaign advanced by supporters of the women’s vote inside
parliament and a large scale organised agitation by (and largely of) women
outside parliament.
Women’s rights generally, and the idea of the women’s franchise in
particular, had been a subject of sporadic public discussion from the 1860s
– notably through the work of two women who championed their ideas in
8
The classic account remains Patricia Grimshaw, Women’s suffrage in New
Zealand (Auckland: Auckland/Oxford University Press, 1972, reissued 1987). See
also, Suffrage and Beyond: international feminist perspectives, ed. Caroline Daley
and Melanie Nolan (Auckland and Annandale: Auckland University Press/Pluto
Press 1994) ; Sites of Gender. Women, men & modernity in Southern Dunedin,
1890 – 1939 ed. Barbara Brookes, Annabel Cooper and Robin Law (Auckland:
Auckland University Press, 2003) ; Raewyn Dalziel, “Political organisations”, in
Women together: a history of women’s organizations in New Zealand, ed. Anne
Else (Wellington: Daphne Brasell with Historical Branch, 1993), 52-106.
9
W. J. Gardner, ‘Hall, John 1824-1907’, Dictionary of New Zealand Biography,
www.dnzb.govt.nz, updated 22 June 2007; A. B. White, ‘Hall, Sir John (1824-
1907)’, rev. Elizabeth Baigent, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, (Oxford
University Press, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/33655, accessed
31 January 2008; Jean Garner, By his own merits: Sir John Hall – pioneer,
pastoralist and premier (Hororata: Dryden Press, 1995).
the popular press under the cover of pseudonyms. In 1869 Mary Ann
Muller, writing as ‘Femina’, published a lengthy article, An Appeal to the
Men of New Zealand, in the Nelson Examiner keenly advocating women’s
legal, educational and political rights. Mary Ann Colclough – writing as
‘Polly Plum’ – engaged in a lively correspondence in the Auckland
newspapers in the early 1870s on the question of women’s political rights
as well as their entitlement to higher education, professional work, and
equal pay.10 Muller and Colclough (and a number of their readers) were
aware of the writings of John Stuart Mill and were connected, by
correspondence as well as the circulation of books and periodicals, with
the ideas emanating from the Langham Place group, the Englishwoman’s
Journal, and arguments being made elsewhere in support of women’s
access to education and in critique of women’s dependence within
marriage.
In the colony such ideas fell into a setting where local self government
was relatively new, where full manhood suffrage was in place by 1879,
and where there was the possibility of innovation in political as well as
educational and social institutions. Between 1840, when New Zealand
became a formal part of British Empire and large scale European (largely
British and Irish) settlement began, and 1852, New Zealand was ruled
directly by Governor under instruction from London (via the Colonial
Office). With the advent of self government, through the 1852
Constitution Act, a New Zealand Parliament was established with locally
elected representatives and a high degree of self government. The
threshold for the franchise was set at a low level thereby enfranchising the
majority of adult men; by 1890 remaining property qualifications were
abolished ushering in ‘one man, one vote’. Thus, the core democratic
10
Macdonald, ed, The Vote, chapter 1. See also Jenny Coleman, ”Philosophers in
petticoats”: a feminist analysis of the discursive practices of Mary Taylor, Mary
Colclough and Ellen Ellis as contributors to debate on the ‘woman question’ in
New Zealand between 1845-1885” (PhD thesis, University of Canterbury, 1996);
Aorewa McLeod, “Mary Ann Muller 1820-1901’ and Judy Malone, ‘Mary
Colclough 1836-185”, in The Book of New Zealand Women/Ko kui ma te kaupapa
ed. Charlotte Macdonald, Merimeri Penfold and Bridget Williams, eds,
(Wellington: Bridget Williams Books, 1991), 461-464, 142-145; Judith Elphick
Malone, “What’s wrong with Emma? The feminist debate in colonial Auckland”,
in Women in history: Essays on European women in New Zealand history, ed.
Barbara Brookes, Charlotte Macdonald and Margaret Tennant (Wellington: Allen
& Unwin, 1986), 69-85.
principle had been won prior to women gaining the vote while its
achievement highlighted gender as a determinant of citizenship defined by
suffrage.
Two Bills providing for female suffrage were debated in parliament as
early as 1878 and 1879. While attracting considerable support, they fell
short of the needed majorities. Not until the mid 1880s did real pressure
begin to be applied and it was with the advent of women’s campaigning
that the women’s vote became a major political question. Central in
building this pressure was the Women’s Christian Temperance Union
(WCTU). Founded in the United States in 1874, WCTU branches sprang
up in New Zealand in the wake of Mary Clement Leavitt’s tour of 1885.11
Her message of the need for women to band together to support measures
to protect home and family from the predations of male drunkenness met
an eager response. As has been noted, temperance of the WCTU kind was
a radical manifesto in communities built on the predominant muscular
male culture of the ‘frontier’.12
WCTU branches were quickly established throughout the country.
Within its broader programme, the demand for women to have a direct
influence on law-making rather than the indirect voice of plea or
persuasion, made the women’s vote an urgent priority. As a nationwide
organisation the WCTU provided a hugely powerful body in mobilising
women into political action and in providing a highly effective
organisational tool to run a sustained campaign. In 1887 Kate Sheppard
became leader of the Franchise and Legislation Department within the
WCTU and from this point the campaign for women’s suffrage stepped
up. Forty years old when she took up leadership of the political arm of the
WCTU, Kate Sheppard had lived in New Zealand for almost twenty years
emigrating with her widowed mother and siblings from Liverpool. The
daughter of Scots parents and influenced by Christian socialism, she was
11
See, for example, report of Mrs Leavitt’s lecture at St Paul’s Church,
Christchurch on the subject ‘Woman, her Duties and Responsibilities, Lyttelton
Times, 23 May 1885, 3, in Macdonald, ed, The vote, 36-8.
12
Patricia Grimshaw, “Women’s suffrage in New Zealand revisited: writing from
the margins”, in Suffrage and Beyond: international feminist perspectives, ed.
Caroline Daley and Melanie Nolan (Auckland: Auckland University Press/Pluto
Press, 1994), 25-41; Jock Phillips, A Man’s country: the image of the pakeha male,
a history (Auckland: Penguin, 1987, rev ed, 1996); Ian Tyrrell, Women’s
world/woman’s empire: the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union in
international perspective, 1880-1930 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 1991).
an active member in her early years, in one of Christchurch’s congregational

churches.13
In letters, public meetings, pamphlets, and, from 1891, in a page she
edited in the temperance newspaper The Prohibitionist, Sheppard pressed
the case for women’s right to vote. Arguments put in her 1888 pamphlet
‘Ten reasons for supporting women’s suffrage’, and extended 1891
version: ‘Sixteen reasons for supporting women’s suffrage’ can be traced
throughout the New Zealand campaign. To claims for justice – ‘Because it
is the foundation of all political liberty that those who obey the law should
be able to have a voice in choosing those who make the law’, and
representation ‘Because a Government of the people, by the people, and
for the people, should mean all the people, and not one half’, were claims
that women would bring something unique to the political realm: ‘Because
the enfranchisement of women is a question of public well-being’,
‘Because public-spirited mothers make public-spirited sons’, ‘Because the
vote of women would add weight and power to the more settled and
responsible communities.’14
A Women’s Suffrage Bill was introduced to the House in August 1890
by Sir John Hall. Although it was stymied, the level of support was
encouraging. From 1891 the efforts of women campaigners accelerated. In
addition to meetings, pamphlets, and lobbying of local candidates, women
began gathering signatures on petitions to parliament indicating strength of
feeling amongst women of New Zealand for the vote. Petitions were a key
tactic in campaigning. The aim was to demonstrate to existing politicians
just how numerous and varied were women supporters of the measure
throughout the country. The work of circulating petitions, gaining
signatures, and returning petition sheets between small population centres
spread over a large geography was considerable, requiring much active
canvassing. In 1892 the Women’s Franchise League was formed to bring
together those women not drawn into the temperance activism of the
WCTU. A further nationwide petition and parliamentary bill that year
13
Charlotte Macdonald, “Kate Sheppard 1848-1934”, in The Book of New Zealand
Women, ed. Charlotte Macdonald et al, 604-607; Tessa K. Malcolm, ‘Sheppard,
Katherine Wilson 1847-1934’, Dictionary of New Zealand Biography,
www.dnzb.govt.nz, updated 22 June 2007; Judith Devaliant, Kate Sheppard: a
biography, Auckland: Penguin, 1992; Patricia Grimshaw, ‘Sheppard, Katherine
Wilson (1847-1934)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford
University Press, 2004, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/53522, accessed
31 January 2008.
14
Kate Sheppard, ‘Sixteen reasons for supporting women’s suffrage’, The
Prohibitionist, 7 November 1891, 3, in Macdonald, ed, The vote, 41-2.
failed to persuade sufficient legislators but added resolve to pro-suffrage

campaigning.
In the largest, and last, of the ‘monster’ petitions raised in 1893, 31,872
women (around a quarter of the total adult female population) signed
petition sheets calling for women to be enfranchised.15 Presented to
parliament with great drama on 28 July 1893 by Sir John Hall, the huge
roll formed by the glued sheets carrying a massive number of signatures,
indicated incontrovertibly, that women wanted the vote – not a few of
them, not some, but a great many, and they were prepared to get out and
say so. The petition was judged to be the largest raised anywhere in
Australasia to that date.
The petitions were not only a vital lobbying and mobilising tool, but
are highly significant as historical sources leaving a massive record of
names and addresses of women supporting the franchise. Recent theses by
postgraduate students Kirsten Thomlinson and Linda Moore have made
detailed studies of the mass of women who signed petition forms in 1893
and voted at elections from 1893 to 1954, enabling much closer study of
the composition and character of general women’s support for women’s
suffrage campaign and wider voting participation. In Thomlinson’s study
names and addresses of women on petition sheets in one locality, south
Dunedin, were closely mapped against other sources in an endeavour to
establish more closely exactly where support came from and who made up
the majority of supporters for the women’s vote behind the pamphlets and
leaders.16 Women in communities of skilled workers emerged as the most
likely to have signed but the representation was across all occupational
and residential layers. The analysis indicates that support amongst women
for the franchise was spread widely across classes, regions and
denominations. While women organised through the WCTU, workers’
organisations such as the Tailoresses Union or local franchise league were
prominent as petitioners, support for the campaign and amongst women
registering to vote at the first election was widely spread across all
15
The original petition is now held by Archives New Zealand, Wellington. Further
information and some of the original sheets can be viewed at
www.archives.govt.nz/exhibitions/permanentexhibitions/suffrage.php
16
Kirsten Thomlinson, “We the undersigned: an analysis of signatories to the 1893
women’s suffrage petition from southern Dunedin” (MA thesis, University of
Otago, 2001); Linda Moore, “Gender counts: men, women and electoral politics,
1893-1919” (MA thesis, University of Canterbury, 2004) and Linda Moore, “Was
gender a factor in voter participation at New Zealand elections?”, in Class, gender
and the vote: historical perspectives fro New Zealand ed. Miles Fairburn and Erik
Olssen (Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 2005), 129–142.
sections of the society. Gender proved the key mobiliser in the extra-
parliamentary pressure for women’s suffrage.
A Bill allowing provision for women to vote was once again before
Parliament, in September 1893. Lobbying was intense: campaigners
presented supporters inside House with white camellia flowers, symbol of
their cause, while outside an anti-franchise league sprang up in some
centres (mostly members of the drink trade). This time supporters were in
the majority in both the House of Representatives and Legislative Council
(while voting was strategic and majority only narrowly won in upper
house, the measure gained crucial support). Under the 1893 Electoral Act
both Maori and Pakeha women gained the vote (on the same terms as their
men). The Act withheld the right to stand as candidates from women,
preserving the parliament, for the meantime, as an exclusively male
domain.
Any doubts about women’s enthusiasm to exercise their vote, or
interest in politics, were cast aside by their participation in the first general
election. On Saturday 28 November 1893, just ten weeks after winning the
franchise, thousands of New Zealand women, for the first time, set off to
do something none had ever done before: cast their vote for their local
candidate in a polling booth. Apprehensions that women might be jostled
by unruly men at the booths, that houses would be abandoned by women
letting their children and kitchens languish in their enthusiasm to vote, and
most of all, by incumbent candidates, that women would vote them out of
office, proved unfounded. None eventuated. In South Dunedin, an urban
industrial area, the local paper reported women turning up to vote early in
the day, some even arriving at the booths well before opening time. Mrs
Clegg was noted as the first woman to register her vote at the principal
polling booth at Caversham Hall.17 To its relief, the Liberal government
was returned to power. Overall, a large number of women registered and
the proportion of women who then voted at poll in November, at over 80
per cent, was higher than the proportion of men (75 per cent).18
Forgotten and Disappointing Histories

While women in New Zealand took up the opportunity to vote with
alacrity, and maintained their organisational activism through the WCTU,
the National Council of Women (formed in 1896) and other groups, the
17
Thomlinson, 1.
18
Though these rates have recently been disputed by Linda Moore, see ‘Was
gender a factor’, 136 and footnote 56.
history of the struggle for the vote was soon buried in accounts which
completely discounted their active role. Gender was quickly decentuated
as the female franchise was rapidly absorbed into a larger story of national
innovation and advance. As early as 1898, William Pember Reeves, a
former member of the Liberal government and then Agent-General in
London, produced an account depicting the women’s vote as the benign
gift of a Liberal government to women who had neither agitated or
particularly sought it. Although Kate Sheppard denounced Reeves’ version
as ‘utterly false and misleading’, it became the predominant narrative. 19
The leading story of the 1890s became one of state initiatives including a
system of industrial arbitration, the female franchise and old age pensions
making New Zealand a desirable ‘social laboratory’, a target of envy to
social and political progressives across the world.20
After a long period in which the women’s campaign for the vote faded
from view, a young student took it up as the subject for her MA thesis in
the 1960s. Published in 1972, Patricia Grimshaw’s classic study
emphasised the success of the campaign in the context of a colonial
society where impediments to women’s education, employment, entry to
the professions, were much lower than in older societies. These conditions,
in addition to a liberal political culture, enabled a well run campaign to
win the victory it did in 1893.While completed before the renewed
activism of women’s liberation began, Grimshaw’s book appeared as that
movement burst exuberantly onto the scene. To feminists in the 1960s and
1970s the campaign for the vote was a big disappointment. In July 1972,
for example, several women’s liberation activists chained themselves to
railings in front of cathedral in Christchurch under a banner proclaiming:
‘Yesterday’s suffragettes, today’s marionettes’– emphasising their
distance in time and place from non-militant, temperance-focused
suffragists of New Zealand’s nineteenth-century campaign.
Two subsequent studies, strongly influenced by the 1970s resurgence
of women’s history, also found limitations and caution rather than
19
Raewyn Dalziel, “Presenting the enfranchisement of New Zealand women
abroad’” in Suffrage and Beyond: international feminist perspectives, ed. Caroline
Daley and Melanie Nolan (Auckland and Annandale:Auckland University
Press/Pluto Press 1994), 49. See also Keith Sinclair, “Reeves, William Pember
1857-1932” in Dictionary of New Zealand Biography, www.dnzb.govt.nz, updated
22 June 2007 and Michael C. Pugh, “Reeves, William Pember (1857-1932)” in
Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford University Press, 2004),
http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/38493, accessed 31 January 2008.
20
Keith Sinclair, “Reeves, William Pember 1857-1932”, in Dictionary of New
Zealand Biography, www.dnzb.govt.nz, updated 22 June 2007.
radicalism in the nineteenth-century women’s rights movement and New

Zealand’s early acquisition of the vote. Raewyn Dalziel’s 1977 article
attributed the movement’s success to the mild aspirations of campaigners,
and the value placed on the economic contribution made by women both
as paid workers, but more importantly as domestic and reproductive
workers in a small, and very fast growing economy reliant largely on
agricultural primary production. Phillida Bunkle’s 1980 essay noting the
close linking of temperance agitation to the vote, emphasised the influence
of the evangelical protestant revival. The aspirations of suffragists in New
Zealand, she argued, remained limited to transformation of the person
rather than of wider social or political relations.21
New Understandings: Progressivism, Margins, Empire

By the time New Zealand celebrated the centennial of women’s
suffrage in 1993, a new burst of work was underway, marked by the fresh
approaches emanating from Joan Scott’s challenge to gender analysis as
well as renewed attention drawn to gendered citizenship in the wake of
post-Cold War contemporary politics.22 In these more recent studies, a
focus on wins and losses, or the specifics of women’s struggle have been
less to the fore than explanations that situate women’s suffrage within
wider political movements and debates. Combined with analysis that looks
beyond national borders, these new perspectives have identified three
broad frameworks: newly formed liberal or ‘progressive’ political cultures,
the shared characteristics of white settler societies on the margins rather
than at the centre of political activity, and suffrage movements across the
British Empire. Historians working from these perspectives have
suggested that women’s enfranchisement was intrinsically bound up in a
moment in which colonies were actively engaged in nation building and
explicit nation defining. The ‘nation’ or sense of nationhood here is not so
much an ideology or nationalist movement with origins in the rupture of
war, revolution or militant struggle for independence. Rather, what was
occurring was a more gradual and deliberative process; one in which these
‘new’ societies (though only of course new to those recently settled) came
21
Raewyn Dalziel ‘The Colonial Helpmeet’, New Zealand Journal of History, 11:
2 (Oct 1977), 112-123, also in Women in History, ed. Brookes et al, 1986; Phillida
Bunkle, “The origins of the women’s movement in New Zealand: the Women’s
Christian Temperance Union 1885-1895”, in Women in New Zealand society, ed.
Phillida Bunkle and Beryl Hughes (Sydney: Allen & Unwin, 1980), 52-76.
22
Joan Wallach Scott, Gender and the politics of history (New York: Columbia
University Press, 1988).
to mark themselves off from societies from which they had been founded
as colonies. In so doing contemporaries proudly proclaimed the women’s
vote as a leading emblem of the progressive character of the ‘new’ nation.
While women gained a place ‘in’ the nation as voters they remained on the
margins of political life. The frameworks of ‘progressivism’, margins and
empire all emerge from a recognition that the conditions in which women
were enfranchised were also ones in which settler societies asserted
sovereignty over local indigenous people in relations of dominance,
coercion and dispossession. The various strands to these ideas are closely
interwoven.
Claims to New Zealand’s ‘progressive’ status were popular among
contemporary politicians and have also proved enduring in popular
historical narratives.23 Premier Richard Seddon, an opponent of the
measure in 1893, soon came to be a proud champion of the country’s
innovative empowering of ‘its womanhood’. Referring to its progressive
state and its natural bounty Seddon famously referred to New Zealand as
‘God’s Own Country’. Women’s suffrage came to be regarded as the
central ‘showpiece’, saluted as a sign of New Zealand’s status as a nation
in the vanguard of democracy. 24 William Pember Reeves’ account
discounting the women’s struggle but extolling the Liberal achievement is
very much part of this tradition. New Zealand shared with Australia and
some North American territories, a readiness to respond to appeals for
democratic rights. Early legislators were more ready than most to extend
the criteria for citizenship and in the New Zealand case, the degree of that
inclusiveness was notable for its timing (early) and in making neither
gender or race a basis for exclusion. Kate Sheppard’s face on the current
$10 banknote denotes ongoing esteem.
Yet, the ‘progressive’ narrative emphasising suffrage as the prime
measure of citizenship masks the wider, and fractured, political
mobilisation in the crucial decade of the 1890s. A mobilisation which
challenged the single nation state and unitary political institutions.
23
Dalziel 1994; Michael King, The Penguin history of New Zealand, (Auckland:
Penguin, 2003).
24
David Hamer, The Liberals (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1988);
David Hamer, “Seddon, Richard John 1845-1906”, in Dictionary of New Zealand
Biography, www.dnzb.govt.nz, updated 22 June 2007; David Hamer, ‘Seddon,
Richard John (1845-1906)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford
University Press, 2004), http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/36002, accessed
31 January 2008.
Both women and Maori created parallel representative structures, both

termed ‘parliaments’, in New Zealand in the 1890s. The National Council
of Women, formed in 1896, drew delegates from a range of activist groups
for annual assemblies. Constituted specifically as a national forum for
women to engage in political debate, the National Council of Women was
referred to as ‘the women’s parliament’. That the Council held its first,
and a number of its subsequent, meetings in the Parliament Buildings,
underlined its stature as a representative body for women and women’s
interests. While women had the vote, nonetheless they remained outside
the main parliamentary institution, inhabiting a separate space as active
political subjects.25
Within Maoridom, a new movement known as Kotahitanga (unity)
gained momentum from the late 1880s, similarly seeking to build a
national forum for Maori political interests. Kotahitanga sought to unite a
large number of Maori and Maori tribal groupings in a body able to
consolidate power as a counter to the marginalised position Maori
occupied in a dominant white society. The main gathering forum was the
Kotahitanga parliament which adopted the form, style and structures of the
Westminster parliament. It existed alongside Maori participation in the
national parliament where the Maori electorate was represented by four
seats (in a parliament of over 60). Dating back to 1867, this level of
representation proved a very weak platform for advocacy on vital issues of
land dispossession and cultural marginality at a time of crushingly low life
expectancy and widespread poverty.26 While ‘in’ the nation and lauded for
so being, nonetheless many Maori also sought a political realm outside it,
developing and maintaining separate political institutions.
25
Dorothy Page, National Council of Women - a centennial history (Auckland and
Wellington: Auckland University Press with Bridget Williams Books, 1996);
Roberta Nicholls, The women’s parliament: the National Council of Women of
New Zealand (Wellington: Victoria University Press, 1996).
26
Judith Binney, Judith Bassett and Erik Olssen, The people and the land – te
tangata me te whenua: an illustrated history of New Zealand 1820-1920,
(Wellington: Allen & Unwin, 1990). For Kotahitanga movement see Lindsay Cox,
Kotahitanga: the search for Maori political unity (Auckland: Oxford University
Press, 1993). On the history of the Maori seats see Neill Atkinson, Adventures in
democracy: a history of the vote in New Zealand (Dunedin: University of Otago
Press, 2003); John E. Martin, The House: New Zealand’s House of
Representatives, 1854-2004 (Palmerston North: Dunmore Press, 2004); Keith
Sorrenson, ‘A history of Maori representation in Parliament’, appended to Report
of the Royal Commission on the Electoral System, Appendices to the Journals of
the House of Representatives, 1986, H-3; Malcolm Mulholland, “The history of the
Maori seats”, Te Karaka: the Ngai Tahu magazine 30, (Autumn 2006):28-33.
Interestingly, the prospect that the Kotahitanga Parliament would be

created as an exclusive domain for male representatives following existing
parliamentary models, was challenged at a meeting of the Kotahitanga
parliament in May 1893. A prominent woman, Meri Mangakahia,
appeared before the assembled gathering to present a motion which would
enable the women in the movement to vote and stand as candidates in its
two houses. In support of her motion she gave a series of reasons ranging
from ‘There are many women who have been widowed and own much
land’, to ‘ There have been many male leaders who have petitioned the
Queen concerning the many issues that affect us all, however, we have not
yet been adequately compensated according to those petitions. Therefore I
pray to this gathering that women members be appointed.’ Concluding,
she noted, ‘Perhaps by this course of action we may be satisfied
concerning the many issues affecting us and our land. Perhaps the Queen
may listen to the petitions if they are presented by her Maori sisters, since
she is a woman as well.’27 Her plea failed to get sufficient support leaving
women in Kotahitanga to work through a series of separate Komiti
(committees).28
Writing in 1994, Grimshaw urged a comparative analysis focusing on
the common patterns across small settler societies of New Zealand,
Australia and western United States, located on the geographical margins
rather than the centre of political power and debate.29 The example set by
societies on the edge was also something noticed by contemporaries. Kate
Sheppard’s 1919 speech noted the success of women’s campaigns on the
margins rather than at the centre – hinting that innovation at the edges
might act as an incremental force for change (or a reassuring experiment)
on larger centres. 30 What Grimshaw was drawing attention to however,
27
Charlotte Macdonald, ‘Meri Mangakahia’, The Book of New Zealand Women,
413-415; Tania Rei, Maori women and the vote (Wellington: Huia, 1993); Angela
Ballara, ‘Mangakahia, Meri Te Tai 1868-1920’, Dictionary of New Zealand
Biography, updated 22 June 2007, http://www.dnzb.govt.nz; Angela Ballara,
‘Wahine rangatira: Maori women of rank and their role in the women’s
Kotahitanga movement of the 1890s’, New Zealand Journal of History, 27: 2 (Oct
1993), 127-139.
28
Rei 1993.
29
Patricia Grimshaw, ‘Women’s suffrage in New Zealand revisited: writing from
the margins’, Daley and Nolan, eds, pp.25-41. A recent resurgence of interest in
the history of empire, and the interaction of gender and empire underpins these
interpretations.
30
Kate Sheppard, ‘President’s address to the National Council of Women’, 1919,
NCW Session, MS-Papers-1371, folder 107, Alexander Turnbull Library, in
Charlotte Macdonald, ed., The vote, 82-3.
was not so much the innovation of the margin but the circumstances in
which white women were empowered in a colonial polity, and the interest
male legislators had in promoting ‘their’ women. Calling for a greater
attention to ‘the languages of liberalism’ on the colonial frontier,
Grimshaw was drawing attention to the interaction between gender and
colonial interests in extending the franchise.31
The margins framework has placed emphasis on the similarities across
societies of Australia and New Zealand, and the American mid-West
where women’s suffrage was attained comparatively early. This collection
points to the possibility of extending that comparison to a wider group
encompassing those societies on the European margins, Finland and
Norway: similarly small societies where women won the vote at the
national level in the pre-1914 period. Some common features identified for
the Australasian-American group are also evident in these societies: a
predominantly Protestant religious persuasion, a mobilisation of activist
women in support of women’s suffrage, and a prominence of temperance
activism - along with clear differences. A relationship between nation
building and women’s suffrage and citizenship is also evident in Finland
and Norway, though of a markedly different kind than in the ‘new world’
societies.
Examining women’s suffrage within the wider British Empire has also
emphasised the integral part the campaign had in forging imperial and
national identities.32 In Ian Fletcher, Laura Mayhall and Philippa Levine,
eds, Women’s Suffrage in the British Empire (2000), Raewyn Dalziel
argues that the discourse of ‘civilisation’, was crucial to gendered nation
building, a determining context for the early suffrage victory. Dalziel notes
the deeply ambiguous position women in New Zealand found themselves
as enfranchised but marginalised citizens. The adoption of women’s
enfranchisement as the leading symbol of New Zealand’s progress as a
nation state meant men’s work of nation building had the appearance of
liberality but afforded women little actual political power – especially in
the partial enfranchisement of 1893. And in linking ‘civilisation’ with the
enfranchisement of Maori along with settler women, the discourse
incorporated Maori into the modern nation while maintaining a racial
hierarchy. In the metropolitan centre of empire (Britain: where the
31
Grimshaw 1987, 39.
32
Keith McClelland and Sonya Rose, “Citizenship and empire, 1867-1928” in At
Home with the Empire, ed. Catherine Hall and Sonya O. Rose (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2006), 275-297; Women’s Suffrage in the British
Empire. Citizenship, nation and race, ed. Ian Fletcher, Laura Mayhall and Philippa
Levine (London: Routledge, 2000).
suffrage struggle was prolonged and torturous) the achievement of

women’s suffrage in the ‘colonial Dominions’ was both a sign of
encouragement and possibility – a useful advance, but also a source of
unfavourable comparison. Dalziel quotes Millicent Garrett Fawcett’s
plaint that British women were denied the vote at a time when even Maori
women in New Zealand could exercise the franchise.33 The argument for
women’s suffrage and extension of democracy did not necessarily dispel,
or exist in isolation from, racial and imperial hierarchies. Emphasis on the
imperial and specifically British imperial context is useful but risks
underplaying the temperance character (and crucial American origin and
impetus) in the nineteenth-century struggle.
Citizenship and Sovereignty

Recent work has also turned attention as much to consider the nature of
citizenship women won through the early achievement of suffrage and
post-1893 period as to the circumstances of the campaign through which
the franchise was won. Activist women in New Zealand were all too aware
of the partial and interim nature of what they had gained. Speaking to the
Gisborne Women’s Political Association on 19 September 1894, exactly a
year to the day after the victory of the Electoral Bill, Margaret Sievwright
pointed out that we ‘have reached one milestone, it is true, the milestone
of the suffrage, we pause, but only again to press forward’, we ‘did not …
get exactly what we asked. We gained the right to be represented without
the right to represent.’34 An organised women’s movement continued to
press for the removal of ‘disabilities’ – formal obstacles to women’s
participation in political, legal and administrative institutions, notably the
restriction on women’s ability to stand as candidates for parliamentary
representation.
The ‘goal’ of citizenship proved neither a simple – or single – thing to
grasp or place to reach. As the nation state expanded in the period
following 1893, the interaction between gender, race, national and
imperial identities, also shifted. New Zealand’s involvement in the Anglo-
South African War (1899-1902), but more particularly World War 1
(1914-18), produced sharply defined new forms of citizenship: soldier
citizenship, citizenship defined by patriotism to empire and nation. Over
33
Dalziel, ‘An experiment in the social laboratory? Suffrage, national identity and
mythologies of race in New Zealand in the 1890s’, Fletcher et al, eds, Women’s
suffrage in the British Empire, 98.
34
Margaret Sievwright ‘President’s address, Gisborne Woman’s Political
Association’, 19 September 1894, Gisborne, 1894, Macdonald, ed, The Vote, 47
100,000 New Zealanders, mostly men, fought in European battlefields

during those years, with around 17,000 left buried in distant graveyards.
Strongly pro-natalist policies in the early twentieth-century prioritised a
female duty of motherhood, while the advent of a modern welfare state
(signified especially by the introduction of a social security system in
1938) ushered in a pervasive form of welfare citizen (with a sense of
belonging and reciprocity built on statutory entitlement in return for levies
on earnings).35 To these new formulations of the nation as something to
defend through patriotic service, to nurture through reproduction and
mothering, and as a guarantee of welfare, might be added the nation in the
popular imagination and popular culture.
Sovereignty, it has been suggested, was also significant to the history
of suffrage, gender and citizenship in the New Zealand setting. Two
dimensions are outlined here.
The first is the point made by historians Barbara Brookes and Dorothy
Page, among others, and that is that late nineteenth-century women’s
understanding of citizenship was one which differed from men’s in
identifying the individual possessed of right to govern over the self (the
person). Hence, women activists sought to bring the forces of the state,
through their newly won vote, to bear on issues such as raising age of
consent, reform of the divorce law, repeal of the Contagious Diseases Act,
extending restraint on alcohol – all areas in which women sought to
protect themselves from damaging behaviour of men.36 The political
realm, as envisaged by women, was one in which legislation, regulation,
enforcement, activism, was exercised in the realm of the household and
personal behaviour seeking legislative restraint on male excess as much as
on matters beyond. In doing so they were not humourless killjoys or
‘social purity’ zealots but sought to gain autonomy and sovereignty over
bodies and households.
35
Oxford Companion to New Zealand Military History, ed. Ian McGibbon with the
assistance of Paul Goldstone (Auckland: Oxford University Press, 2000); Margaret
McClure, A civilised community: a history of social security in New Zealand 1898-
1998 (Auckland: Auckland University Press, 1998); Margaret Tennant, The fabric
of welfare. Voluntary organizations, government and welfare in New Zealand,
1840-2005 (Wellington: Bridget Williams Books, 2007).
36
Barbara Brookes, “A weakness for strong subjects. The women’s movement and
sexuality”, New Zealand Journal of History, 27: 2 (Oct 1993): 140-156; Page;
Sarah Dalton, “The pure in heart: the New Zealand Women’s Christian
Temperance Union and social purity, 1885-1930” (MA thesis, Victoria University
of Wellington, 1993) ; Susan Kingsley Kent, Sex and suffrage in Britain, 1860-
1914 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987).
The second realm in which sovereignty was linked to discourses of

political power and citizenship was in Maori political aspirations. For
Maori any sense of citizenship was (and is) incomprehensible without
recognition of sovereignty. Its significance relates directly back to the
agreement made in the Treaty of Waitangi signed in 1840 by the Queen’s
representative, Captain Hobson, and over five hundred Maori chiefs on
behalf of their people. In return for their loyalty and government, Maori
were guaranteed authority and ownership of property (land, forests,
fisheries, etc). The Queen extended to Maori her ‘royal protection’ while
they were to receive the rights and privileges of British subjects.
Differences between the English and Maori language versions of the
Treaty articles have resulted in much debate about the exact nature of the
understandings reached in 1840. What has remained central to Maori,
however, is the direct relationship signified by the Treaty between
themselves and the sovereign as head of state, and the broad understanding
that the Treaty established a partnership for occupancy and governance in
New Zealand.
In the history of settler or Pakeha New Zealand, the Treaty quickly
receded from prominence after its signing in 1840. It had no legal force
and as New Zealand had no written constitution, was not part of any
national document of that kind. Appeals to have the Treaty recognised
formed part of Maori resistance and challenge to their subordination and
dispossession from the 1850s onward (and continue into the present).
Delegations of Maori journeyed to England seeking personal audiences
with Queen Victoria and succeeding monarchs. While received politely
and given a hearing the sovereign’s response was always that as
constitutional monarch, her (and later his) power was entirely devolved
through the constitutional system, to the colonial (settler) parliament and
government. Representative democracy, in the colonial parliament, was, to
these appeals, an obstacle to political power and aspirations. In advancing
the interests of the numerically dominant white population, such
governments (as the prime agent for settlement)37 were particularly blind
to such appeals for justice, rather than the means for their fulfilment.
It is thus the legitimacy of successive governments (‘the Crown’) in
not fulfilling guarantees given in the Treaty of 1840 that has come under
increasing question. Current calls for Maori sovereignty or ‘te tino
rangatiratanga’ highlight this critique. The question is not so much one of
claiming citizenship but questioning the source and basis of power from
37
W. H. Oliver quoted in Margaret Tennant, The Fabric of Welfare, (Wellington:
Wellington Bridget Williams Books, 2007), 69.
which any citizenship might be derived. The impetus behind the current
political movement for ‘Maori sovereignty’ can be traced directly to Maori
feminist Donna Awatere’s 1984 work of same name Maori Sovereignty
(first published in feminist magazine Broadsheet).38
Conclusion
In conclusion then, New Zealand was at the forefront in political rights
but it was a cautious or modest pioneer. The campaign for the vote was
propelled by a temperance activism by which women sought greater
control over the immediate circumstances of their lives through mobilising
the power of an active state against the forces of social disorder. They won
an early success through a combination of determined agitation and
support of a crucial segment of the male electorate and legislature. They
were aware that the winning of the vote was a beginning as well as an end.
In the wider view, the story of women’s suffrage was entwined in the
history of New Zealand’s transition from a colony to a nation, the
gendered work of nation building. In this story New Zealand women
curiously became both emblems of progress and confined within a narrow
space in national and political life. The limited space afforded to women in
national life was reflected in the minor part women’s suffrage was
allocated in the national narrative. It became a minor thread in a larger
nation-building story where women were co-opted to ‘national’, ‘colonial’
and ‘imperial’ progress rather than interests in themselves, and sat at odds
with their limited actual power. For Maori women the legitimacy of the
sovereignty of the state that bestowed citizenship was as much an issue as
the fulfilment of citizenship through the exercise of the franchise. That
question is once again a matter of current political struggle and debate.
The impact of the 1893 victory might have been less resounding than
some hoped but in the postcolonial circumstances of New Zealand in the
early twenty-first century that historical campaign remains one of
significance, while issues surrounding the formation of the nation to which
it was linked, continue to be matters of political struggle. Kate Sheppard
may signify legal tender on the $10 banknote but the value placed on her
historical achievement remains as unstable as the national currency in a
global market.
38
Donna Awatere, Maori sovereignty (Auckland: Broadsheet, 1984). See also
Donna Awatere Huata, My journey, Seaview Press: Auckland 1996.
Bibliography
Dalziel, Raewyn. “Political organisations”, in Women together: a history
of women’s organizations in New Zealand, edited by Anne Else.
Wellington: Daphne Brasell/Historical Branch, 1993.
Devaliant, Judith. Kate Sheppard: a biography. Auckland: Penguin, 1992.
Grimshaw, Patricia. Women’s suffrage in New Zealand, Auckland:
Auckland/Oxford University Press, 1972, reissued 1987.
King, Michael. The Penguin History of New Zealand. Auckland: Penguin,
2003.
Macdonald, Charlotte. Merimeri Penfold and Bridget Williams, eds, The
Book of New Zealand Women/Ko kui ma te kaupapa, Wellington:
Bridget Williams Books, 1991.
Orange, Claudia. The Treaty of Waitagi: an illustrated history,
Wellington: Bridget Williams Books, 2004.
Rei, Tania. Maori Women and the Vote, Wellington: Huia, 1993.
Sites of Gender. Women, men & modernity in Southern Dunedin, 1890 –
1939, edited by Barbara Brookes, Annabel Cooper and Robin Law,
Auckland: Auckland University Press, 2003.
Suffrage and Beyond:International Feminist Perspectives, edited by
Daley, Caroline and Melanie Nolan. Auckland and Annandale:
Auckland University Press/Pluto Press 1994.
The vote, the pill and the demon drink: a history of feminist writing in New
Zealand, 1869-1993. edited by Charlotte Macdonald. Wellington:
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edited by Barbara Brookes, Charlotte Macdonald and Margaret
Tennant. Wellington: Allen & Unwin, 1986.
COLONIALISM, POWER AND WOMEN'S
POLITICAL CITIZENSHIP IN AUSTRALIA,
1894-1908
PATRICIA GRIMSHAW
The high ground of the history of women’s suffrage in Australia is

undoubtedly the passage of the 1902 Commonwealth Franchise Act that
gave all white women in Australia political citizenship: the right to vote
and to stand for parliamentary office at the federal level.1 Obviously this
attracted the most attention internationally, given that it placed Australia
on the short list of societies that had done so to date. Most women in the
world awaited the aftermath of the First or Second World Wars, or even
later, for similar rights. But within Australia the federal story of the
granting of political citizenship to white women can obscure the different
trajectories the suffrage cause assumed in the individual states – separate
colonies before federation – where significant differences existed. This
was so not only for South Australia and Western Australia, that extended
the franchise to women before 1902, in 1894 and 1899 respectively, but
also in some of the remaining four states that enacted the franchise
subsequently: New South Wales in 1902, Tasmania in 1903, Queensland
in 1905 and Victoria in 1908. Given the differences in historical
development and in the differing colonial constitutions, colonial and state
politicians came to women’s suffrage within distinctive contexts. State
politicians argued according to the pragmatic considerations of their party
and class interests of their own states. 2
1
For a comprehensive account of the suffrage movement, see: Audrey Oldfield,
Woman Suffrage in Australia: A Gift or A Struggle? (Melbourne: Cambridge
University Press, 1992).
2
This chapter is based upon my published research undertaken by myself and
colleagues on the franchise in separate states and the Commonwealth that offer
fuller accounts. See: Patricia Grimshaw, ‘White Women as “Nation Builders”:
Gender, Colonialism and the Federal Vote’, in John Chesterman and David Philips
(eds), Selective Democracy: Race, Gender and the Australian Vote (Melbourne:
Patricia Grimshaw 35
These politicians also argued with their race interests in mind,

concerned with how the white women’s vote might impact on citizenship
for indigenous people. The issue of political citizenship for indigenous
women was for many years unremarked in discussions of the women’s
vote in Australia. This neglect derived partly from the low number of
Aborigines in the total population. In 1788, when the first convict
settlement was founded, Aborigines numbered from between 300,000 to
500,000. Such was the ensuing death toll of Aborigines from killings and
European-introduced diseases that in 1901 when the colonies federated to
form the Commonwealth of Australia the number of Aborigines in the
population had shrunk tragically to around 10,0003, while the numbers of
British and colonial born – many now declaring themselves distinctively
Australian – had grown in leaps and bounds to over three million. The
inclusiveness in this paper flows from the stance that as the first peoples of
the land, the history of Aboriginal Australians has equal importance with
the history of the migrants who came so swiftly to dominate the country;
and further, from the understanding that as a country with a history shaped
by colonialism, Australia’s past can be properly understood only as a
bound-together story of Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples.
It is important to extract the particularities of these varied debates
because what occurred in states not only affected the terms of the
Circa, 2003); Patricia Grimshaw, “A White Woman’s Suffrage’”, in A Woman’s

Constitution? Gender and History in the Australian Commonwealth, ed. Helen
Irving (Sydney: Hale and Iremonger, 1996); Patricia Grimshaw, 'Comparative
Perspectives on White and Indigenous Women's Political Citizenship in
Queensland: The 1905 Act to Amend the Elections Acts, 1885 to 1899', Queensland
Review, vol. 12 no. 2, (2005): 9-22; Patricia Grimshaw, “Settler Anxieties, Race
and the Women’s Vote in Pacific Settler Communities, 1888 to 1902”, in Women’s
Suffrage in Asia ed. L Edwards and M. Roces (London: Routledge, 2004), 220-
235; Patricia Grimshaw, “Reading the Silences: Suffrage Activists and Race, in
Nineteenth Century Settler Societies”, in Women’s Rights and Human Rights:
International Historical Perspectives (Basingstoke: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2001),
31-48; Patricia Grimshaw and Katherine Ellinghaus, “White Women, Aboriginal
Women and the Vote in Western Australia,” Studies in Western Australian
History, 20, (1999): 1-19; Patricia Grimshaw and Sharon Low, ‘Looking Again at
the Women’s Vote in Tasmania’, Tasmanian Historical Studies 9 (2004):21-33;
Patricia Grimshaw, Queensland 1905’ Patricia Grimshaw, “White Men’s Fears and
White Women’s Hopes: The Victorian Adult Suffrage Act, 1908,” Victorian
Historical Journal, vol.79, no.2, (November 2008): 185-209.
3
Australian Bureau of Statistics, ‘Census of Population and Housing, 1901-2001’,
August 2004. The figure for 1901 is an estimate. One hundred years later (2001)
Aborigines numbered over 40,000 – some two percent of the total population.
36 Colonialism, Power and Women's Political Citizenship in Australia
Commonwealth legislation but even more significantly, its consequent

implementation. Without a consideration of the distinctiveness of the
several colonies and states, an interesting and complex story of the
enfranchisement of Australian women and its outcomes may be obscured.
This chapter aims to indicate the diversity of the intersections of
gender, class and race that surfaced in these processes, highlighting the
multiple ways in which the privileges of wealth and of whiteness found
political expression in these small but complex political entities. First, the
chapter considers briefly the social context of the movement for women’s
suffrage that saw women in the south-eastern colonies and states steer a
path towards political citizenship. It then considers the women’s vote in
the north, where the closing of the frontier was recent and the west, where
it was incomplete. Thirdly, the chapter reviews the ways negotiations over
Aboriginal citizenship reverberated in the 1902 Commonwealth Franchise
Act. The provisions of this Act represented the federal government’s
compromise with the states over the indigenous vote, that through
interpretation and implementation ultimately removed political citizenship
from Aborigines in states and federally.
Class and Women’s Political Citizenship

in the South-Eastern States
First, then, we consider the workings of liberalism, labour and class
interests in those south-eastern states where racial issues were muted
because indigenous Australians were few in number by the late nineteenth
century. While the part played by colonial conservatives in opposing and
delaying women’s citizenship needs acknowledgement, it is necessary to
emphasise at the outset that the relatively early enfranchisement of women
owed much to the strength of colonial liberalism. By the later decades of
the nineteenth century the six colonies on the island continent of Australia
were notable for their many effective exponents of British liberalism.
Indeed the success of colonial liberalism in itself explains much about
colonial receptivity of new ideas about women’s social position. Many
male politicians could quote John Stuart Mill’s The Subjection of Women
and in the absence of an entrenched conservative ruling class, the political
culture was sympathetic to radical democratic proposals. In response to
settler representations, the British established constitutions for their south-
eastern Australian fledgling colonies in the early 1850s with political
rights for elite men, enshrining property qualifications for elections and
holding office. They contained no colour bar. Within a few brief years the
British conceded responsible government, passing most of the internal
affairs to settler legislatures. Quite quickly the first settler governments of

South Australia, New South Wales and Victoria moved to widen the
electorate considerably. These colonies maintained property qualifications
for the upper house, the house of review, but enacted adult male suffrage
for the lower, popular house in which substantial power was invested,
although plural voting for property holders held good except in South
Australia. Again, the provisions in these colonial constitutions were colour
blind and politicians did not even debate the implications of enfranchising
Aboriginal men. The indigenous populations were already few in number,
impoverished, and living distant from the towns on reserves, at missions or
on the outskirts of country towns. A very few mission-educated Aboriginal
men would register and cast their votes over the next decades.4
A progressive politics on democratic reforms was gradually
strengthened by an emerging labour movement. Increasingly over the next
decades a surprising number of settlers could be found inhabiting cities
and sizeable towns. While the colonial economies depended largely on the
rural sector of farming and mining, commerce and small industries
flourished, stimulating urban growth in ports and regional centres. The
colonies were notable for the growth of a robust union movement that by
the later 1890s had promoted labour representatives into parliaments and
organised social democratic parties. Labour parliamentary representatives
had no political interest in blocking the women’s vote, provided the
suffrage would be universal and plural voting was abolished, and few
suffrage supporters ever argued long for restrictions based on property.
Some of the factors, therefore, that retarded the progress of suffrage
campaigns elsewhere – the force of deep-seated upper-class conservatism
and working-class opposition to a suffrage that favoured elites – did not
apply in these colonies.5
The political climate generated by liberalism and nascent labour
movements, then, sustained white male tolerance towards civil rights for
white women. The interest would not have been there, of course, had not a
vigorous women’s movement flourished in these south-eastern colonies
4
See J.Evans, P.Grimshaw, D.Philips and S.Swain, Equal Subjects, Unequal
Rights: Indigenous Peoples in British Settler Colonies, 1830-1910 (Manchester &
New York: Manchester University Press, 2003), especially Chapter 3, ‘The
Exterminating Politician.’
5
Stuart Macintyre, A Concise History of Australia (Melbourne: Cambridge
University Press, 2004); Stuart Macintyre, A Colonial Liberalism: the Lost World
of Three Victorian Visionaries (Melbourne: Oxford University Press, 1991); Stuart
Macintyre, Winners and Losers: The Pursuit of Social Justice in Australian
History (Sydney: Allen and Unwin, 1985).
and brought the issue to the fore of public attention. The cities, Sydney,
Melbourne, Adelaide and Hobart saw small numbers of middle-class
educated women associating together to press for the vote, some who were
financially supported by the incomes of spouses, some single women of
private means, and some who worked for wages, especially
schoolteachers. Working-class women were also quick to be aware of the
suffrage question, and found routes to register their interest within male-
dominated labour organizations and through alliances with feminists.6 The
colonies were also fertile soil for the Woman’s Christian Temperance
Union that vigorously promoted women’s rights alongside temperance.
The message of the World’s WCTU that United States speakers brought to
the colonies in the mid 1880s made sense to progressive evangelical
women already active in parochial reform, and these social reformers
made women’s suffrage central to their public lobbying. In South
Australia (as it had been in New Zealand, and would be in Western
Australia, the other colony where women’s suffrage was enacted by the
end of the nineteenth century, and Tasmania) the WCTU was the major
player in the suffrage campaign.7
The rapidity with which women’s suffrage moved from the first
serious mention in public debate to political reality was notable in South
Australia. In this colony women were enfranchised in 1894, beaten to the
rope by the fellow British colony of New Zealand8, but proud of their
6
See Marilyn Lake, Getting Equal: The History of Australian Feminism (Sydney:
Allen and Unwin, 1999); Judith Allen, Rose Scott: Vision and Revision in
Feminism (Melbourne: OUP, 1994); Susan Margarey, Unbridling the Tongues of
Women: A Biography of Catherine Helen Spence (Sydney: Hale and Iremonger,
1985); Susan Margarey, Passions of the First Wave Feminists (Sydney: UNSW
Press, 2001).
7
Oldfield, Woman Suffrage in Australia; for work on the WCTU and Aboriginal
citizenship see: P. Grimshaw and E. Nelson, “Empire, the “Civilising Mission” and
Indigenous Christian Women in Colonial Victoria”, Australian Feminist Studies,
vol.16, no.36, (2001): 295-309; Patricia Grimshaw, “Colonising Motherhood:
Evangelical Reformers and Koorie Women in Victoria, Australia, 1880s to the Early
1900s,” Women’s History Review, vol. 8, no. 2, (June 1999): 329-346; Patricia
Grimshaw, “Gender, Citizenship and Race in the Woman’s Christian Temperance
Union of Australia, 1890 to the 1930s”, Australian Feminist Studies, vol.13, no. 28,
(September 1998): 199-214.
8
Patricia Grimshaw, Women’s Suffrage in New Zealand (Auckland: Auckland
University Press, 1987) (rev edition); Patricia Grimshaw, “Women’s Suffrage in
New Zealand Revisited: Writing From the Margins,” in Suffrage and Beyond:
International Feminist Perspectives, ed. C. Daley and M. Nolan (Auckland:
University of Auckland Press, 1994), 25-41.
achievement of full citizenship: unlike their sister colony, South Australian

women had the right to stand for political office. Once one Australian
colony and New Zealand had acted thus, it was likely others would be
influenced to follow suit. If the enfranchisement of women in all colonies
of the south-east did not become a reality for 14 more years, the reason lay
in the unequal political power of conservatives who opposed the measure.
The constitutions of the upper houses sustained conservative influence
over and above their strength in the electorate. Entrenched conservatism
on the scale of Britain might not be common, but there were numerous
men of property and wealth, in pastoralism, business and commerce, who
were social conservatives. They fought assiduously to sustain their
advantages in colonial/state political institutions, aided first by the plural
vote and subsequently by the property qualification for upper houses. The
women’s vote was potentially threatening to the balance of power they
knew well and had for years, albeit with difficulty, negotiated in their own
interests.
The state of Victoria, the last to confer the state franchise, is the
clearest example of the capacities of resistance that colonial conservatives
could mount. The first to see an attempt in Parliament to enfranchise
women, Victoria was the last to grant it. The course of the suffrage in New
South Wales had followed similar paths, but there the legislation passed
just a few months after the federal Act. This was so also in the island state
of Tasmania, where the state legislation was just one year later, in 1903. In
the case of Tasmania, however, certain variations on colonial conservatism
rendered the granting of suffrage specially interesting. Fearful of the
‘convict stain’ on its small society, up to the year 1900 the legislature had
managed to retain a property qualification for the male franchise, though it
was low enough to exclude few men who were of long-term residence.9 Of
significance for the debate on women was the qualification that allowed
male wage earners of £100 to vote. As large numbers of Tasmanian men
gradually obtained franchise, the question of female suffrage would have
come to the fore eventually, but did so in the 1890s because of the small
but vocal activism of women reformers, mostly from the WCTU. In
Parliament reservations were expressed about giving voting rights to
Tasmanian women from the lower or labouring classes, in the fear of the
‘disreputable’ white woman. The reasoning ran as follows: if women were
granted suffrage on the same terms as men, based on their fulfilment of the
9
For the Aboriginal position in these constitutions see: John Chesterman and Brian
Galligan, Citizens Without Rights: Aborigines and Australian Citizenship,
(Cambridge & Melbourne: CUP, 1997); Evans, Grimshaw, Philips and Swain,
Equal Subjects, Unequal Rights.
required property or tax qualifications, it would be the women of the lower

and working classes earning a living who would have the right to vote,
whilst those belonging to the middle and upper classes would be excluded.
The very property or rental qualifications that allowed nearly all men to
vote but excluded ‘undesirable’ men such as itinerant labourers, were
quickly seen to have the potential to work in the opposite direction for the
colony’s women. The possibly suspect (to conservatives) working-class
women who were wage earners would gain the vote, while respectable
middle-class housewives who owned nothing in their own right would be
sidelined.
In the House of Assembly, Henry Lamb, churchwarden and member of
the Anglican Synod, argued that he ‘was an advocate of women’s rights,
but he thought the low qualification in the bill would lead to an
undesirable class of women becoming voters’.10 Bolton Stafford Bird,
member for Franklin and Leader of the Opposition, stated that ‘it would be
scandalous if political rights were granted to servant girls and farm hands
which were denied to the wives and daughters of the educated classes and
the mass of the people.’11 Similarly Jonathan Best, a former butcher and
farmer ‘could not see the force of giving the franchise to them because
they were earning wages, while the wives and daughters of their
employers were deprived of it’.12 It appeared possible for prostitutes or
domestic servants, for example, to meet the qualifications.
Such was the anxiety in this ex-convict colony that only ‘undesirable’
women might, in effect, be granted political representation that the House
of Assembly took the unusual step of trying to calculate an appropriate
income for married women and daughters who did not work outside the
home. The desire to elevate the value of ‘respectable’ women whose
house-bound duties as mothers and wives went fiscally unacknowledged
and politically unvalued led to intricate economic deliberations. An
elaborate table with equivalent monetary valuations for different domestic
services was painstakingly produced but was ultimately rejected by the
upper house, the Legislative Council.13 (The absence of any specific
reference to Aboriginal women was in part a consequence of settler belief
that no Tasmanian Aborigines had survived the white invasion). It was not
until 1900 that the Tasmanian legislature finally introduced manhood
suffrage, thus creating a more sympathetic context for serious debate.
10
Mercury, 2 August 1884.
11
12
13
Cited Oldfield, Woman Suffrage in Australia, 105.
Women’s enfranchisement for state elections in Tasmania followed three

years later.
In Victoria, with its relatively developed economy, class interests came
clearly to the fore in the fortunes of the women’s vote.14 This was the
colony that gave birth to the women’s movement, with the foundation of
the first suffrage society in 1884. There were prominent suffragists drawn
from every shade of the political spectrum and diverse background
experiences. Yet it was the last among the states to offer the suffrage
because conservative elites were comparatively strong socially and
politically and hence were able to delay the women’s vote in the colony
and subsequently the state for a considerable time. From the first serious
attempt to introduce the women’s vote in 1889 conservatives stalled its
successful passage until 1908; (it was not promulgated until 1909).
Conservatives had decided political advantages over those in the nascent
labour movement and their liberal allies. These elites had certain political
advantages that took the edge off the potential radicalism a fuller
democracy promised. First, conservatives exploited the continuing fluidity
in factional allegiances that held back the emergence of party formation
and in particular the Labor Party. Second, the plural voting in the
Legislative Assembly set in place in the 1850s was not abolished till 1899.
Third, the relatively high property qualification for voting and standing for
office in the Legislative Council, sustained the conservatives’ capacity to
block the passage of bills that came through from the lower house. They
exercised it amply in relation to the suffrage bills that appeared almost
annually, for the most part the initiative of private members.
The liberal case for a progressive path on women’s citizenship
surfaced continually in and out of Parliament. The Honourable W. H.
Edgar put a frequently heard justification when he said in the debate on the
Adult Suffrage Act in 1908, that womanhood was at the very foundation
of national life.
A woman had to stand by her home and brave many dangers of life, and it
was really she who built up the nation, and performed many important
duties which went to make up the strength of the nation’s manhood… At
this particular juncture, when it was so important to save the lives and
protect the interests of the children who were being brought up to a state of
maturity, why should women be debarred from taking any part in the duty
14
For a recent series of papers on the suffrage in Victoria see: Suffrage City Press,
‘They Are But Women’: The Road to Female Suffrage in Victoria, (Melbourne:
School of Historical Studies, 2007).
of legislation, by refusing them the right to say who should sit in the
Legislative Assembly or in the Legislative Council?15
A contrast to this argument based on an affirmation of the importance

of motherhood was the conservative view voiced by an opponent of the
suffrage. As Robert McCutcheon, the conservative member for St Kilda,
said in the second reading of the Adult Suffrage Act: ‘There is not an
atom of evidence, however, that the women of this country want the
franchise. The women who do not say anything about the matter are, in my
opinion, in a majority, and it is those who are anxious and noisy –
something like the suffragettes in England, although the ladies here have a
greater sense of decency – who are really asking for this Bill’.16
Conservatives continued to insist that respectable women had not
expressed any wish for the vote even after the 1902 Commonwealth
legislation enfranchised them at the federal level. Victorian women
showed immediately that they were quite ready to enrol and exercise their
voting rights, and a Victorian woman, Vida Goldstein, stood for the
Commonwealth Senate in 1903.
Something more than a repulsion towards feminism was certainly at
stake: it was surely the conservatives’ fear that the entrance of the mass of
women into the electoral system might jeopardise their pre-eminence in
Victorian politics on which their privileges and prosperity depended.
While the Commonwealth had assumed many responsibilities from the
states, as yet its powers to determine state agendas on land, business and
finance were untried. Conservatives were apprehensive about how the
women’s vote would affect the balance of politics: adversely for the
conservative cause, they feared. Even if women did not, as some feared,
vote as a bloc (including endorsing the prohibition of alcohol), they could
surely skew current political patterns. Would women’s emancipation
double the number of their political enemies and advocate radical reform?
There were, after all, far more working-class women than women of their
own class.
The threat of women’s capacity to challenge the balance of power in
party politics was intertwined, therefore, with embedded anxieties about
the social consequences of women’s political empowerment. If women
voted as individual agents, no longer represented by their menfolk, where
would this weakening of male authority end ? Once women had carte
blanche to act as free agents politically, might they not challenge other
aspects of the gender division of labour, most particularly women’s
15
Victorian Parliamentary Debates (VPD), vol. 18, November 1908.
16
VPD, 1908, volume 119, 20 October, 1278-9.
unwaged work within the home. Would female political rights lead to a
widening of women’s presence in the waged workforce? (For different
reasons this was a concern also of some labour men, fearful to protect
men’s jobs). Women might choose to give up their work in the home for
men and children, to seek direct access to an income. McCutcheon
continued his argument against the vote as follows:
The relations of the two sexes are becoming completely changed. The
Labour [sic] Party complain of women pushing men out of employment.
That is increasing, and it will increase under this Bill. Instead of women
being content to allow the other to represent them they are to be a separate
entity with separate aims and ambitions…. I prefer that women should link
their fortunes with men…
Another conservative, E.J. White, persisted in his on-going hostility,

claiming the vote was not in the best interests of women: ‘At present,
under our existing laws, it was found that women were encroaching on
men’s dominions, and were shutting men out of the factories and office’,
he complained, with the result that some men had become ‘street loafers’,
while the women whom the men ‘should protect and earn bread for had
become the breadwinners’. The result was a class of ‘bachelor women’
evading the high duties for which they were intended. The women of the
state surely had ‘something higher and nobler to contend for than the
franchise. They had their homes to look after, and the rearing of their
children’.17 His colleague, John Murray of Warrnambool – a politician
designated in the conservative camp but liberal on this issue - pointed out
that 25 per cent of women in the state were already in waged work and this
pre-dated the vote. Another conservative interjected that this was
reprehensible, and soon they would see women expecting ‘equal pay for
their work’. Murray rebutted him thus: ‘Yes. No one will say that doing
the same work they are not rightly entitled to the same pay’.18
Conservatives did not yield till 1908, when Victorian women had
already voted twice in federal elections. Fears that women of their own ilk
would be reluctant to engage with politics were belied with the flourishing
Australian Women’s National League that trumpeted the anti-labour case.
William Baillieu was one member of the Legislative Council who
switched his allegiance in 1908. Although he had previously voted against
the women’s suffrage, he declared himself now satisfied that ‘the majority
of women would vote in the same way as their husbands and that the
17
VPD, 1908, vol. 119, 18 November, 1423.
18
VPD, 1908, vol. 119, 18 November.
balance of the political parties would remain very much as it was at

present’.19
Racial Anxieties in the North and West

The prospect of doubling the number of potential Aboriginal voters
was not a matter of concern for New South Wales, Tasmanian and
Victorian politicians; nor had it been for South Australian politicians when
they enfranchised women in 1894. It was otherwise in Queensland and
Western Australia where Aborigines were comparatively far more
numerous and concentrated in certain electorates. In addition to the
challenge to white supremacy that political citizenship for Aborigines
would have posed, if Aborigines voted as a bloc – and if people feared
women would do so, their anxieties about Aborigines had far greater basis.
Aborigines could potentially affect the balance of power between white
parties. Thus in the west and north concerns of race took a higher profile.
The 1890s saw the emergence of a pronounced racism that accompanied a
desire to keep the colonies white through the exclusion of migrants of
colour. White women were part of the “Anglo-Saxon race” that the
colonies celebrated as they congratulated themselves on pioneering a new
land and creating prosperous and progressive societies. As one member of
parliament said when debating women’s suffrage in Western Australia:
It is admitted on all sides that, while men are only the progenitors of our
race, the women are its saviours; and that on the future of the Anglo-Saxon
race to which we are all proud to belong, and on the future of the civilised
races of the world, women are exercising a higher influence and playing a
more important part and will continue to do so, than men can aspire to do.
On these lines I claim the right of woman to have a vote.20
The colony of Queensland in the north was the first to trial a means of
restricting the Aboriginal male vote while keeping the trappings of
liberalism. The Queensland parliament introduced in the 1886 Elections
Act a racial clause that restricted the political rights of Aboriginal, Asian
and Pacific island men to those who were freeholders. The clause ran: ‘No
aboriginal native of Australia, India, China, or of the South Sea islands
shall be entitled to be entered on the roll except in respect of a freehold
qualification’. The property hurdle was high at 100 pounds. Given that
colonial authorities had denied Aborigines recognition as landowners and
19
VPD, 1908, vol. 119, 1421.
20
Western Australian Parliamentary Debates (WAPD), 1898, vol.12,(1898) 1200.
few earned sufficient income even to rent houses in country townships or

Brisbane, the property qualification almost eliminated Aboriginal men’s
political rights – but not quite.21
As was the case for the south-east, the first Constitution for Western
Australia preserved political rights for men of property, settler or
Aboriginal.22 If at some stage Aboriginal men met the property
qualifications then they would have earned the right to vote as had
propertied white men. Manhood suffrage beckoned as settlers feared that
sturdy, independent migrant workers would avoid Western Australia if
they were denied a citizenship that was offered in other colonies. Pressure
for widening the electorate for the lower house intensified when over
100,000 people, predominantly men, entered the colony in the wake of the
gold strikes in Coolgardie and Kalgoorlie in 1893.23
It was at this stage therefore, as the Western Australian Parliament
debated manhood suffrage, that it needed to decide on its stance towards
not only white men but two other categories of people. What was to be
done about Aboriginal political rights given the existing inclusion of
Aboriginal men with property in the lower house electorate? Secondly,
women’s suffrage was being discussed across the Australasian colonies:
should women of property, or all white adult women, receive the vote?
That the liberalism of white electors was severely tempered by racism
was borne out over and over again as members debated manhood suffrage.
So effectively were indigenous men and men of colour obliterated from
this debate that the Honourable John W. Hackett criticised members who
supported the maintenance of plural voting in the following way:
We all wish to attract capable and honest men to this country, and they
certainly cannot be induced to add to their own material gain and to the
material gain of the country if they are to be deprived ... of the rights and
citizenship, and are to placed on the same level as the Chinaman or the
wandering Aboriginal.24
21
Chesterman and Galligan, Citizens Without Rights; Evans, Grimshaw, Philips
and Swain, Equal Subjects, Unequal Rights.
22
Anna Haebich, For Their Own Good: Aborigines and Government in the
Southwest of Western Australia, 1900–1940 (Nedlands, 1988), 51.
23
R.T. Appleyard, ‘Western Australia: Economic & Demographic Growth, 1850–
1914’, in C.T. Stannage (ed.), A New History of Western Australia (Nedlands,
1981), 211.
24
WAPD, 1893, vol. 4, 439.
Defending the property qualification which he saw as achievable

through hard work, one member described the franchise as “the boundary
mark set between barbarism and civilization”.25
Neither Aboriginal men nor migrant men of colour were included in
the provisions for manhood suffrage for the Legislative Assembly in the
1893 Constitution Amendment Act. For these men, the property
qualification was maintained, and for this purpose, the definition of
Aborigines was extended to men of mixed European and Aboriginal
descent. The exclusion was spelt out as Queensland had pioneered. Section
21 ran: ‘No aboriginal native of Australia, Asia, or Africa shall be entitled
to be registered, except in respect of a freehold qualification’. Section 26
declared: ‘In this Act the words “aboriginal native” shall include persons
of the half-blood’.26
The discussion in the 1893 session of the possibilities of votes for
women — would it be some women or all women? — followed classic
liberal feminist arguments, which were similarly grounded in concerns
about race. When the franchise for male property-holders in the
Leglisative Council was under consideration the member for Sussex, Mr
Joseph Cookworthy, moved a motion that property-holding single women,
widows and those women defined as ‘feme sole’ should also be permitted
to vote. Such women, he argued, had voted at municipal elections for over
twenty years, they voted on School Boards, and New Zealand was on the
point of enfranchising all adult women.27 Supporters concentrated on the
contribution that spinsters and widows made to revenue, and argued that
many were well educated, ran businesses, supported their families by their
own energy and ability, and thus deserved a voice in the laws they were
bound to obey.28 Mr Simpson, who had so praised the political virtues of
the Anglo-Saxons, came out as a strong protagonist: ‘he would never give
a heartier vote so long as he had the honour of a seat in that House.
Women’s suffrage would purify elections and improve the political tone of
the whole colony’.29
Mr Simpson admitted in the debate that he saw women property-
holders as potentially a beneficial force in the colony because he believed
them to be conservative. Others, including the Premier, Sir John Forrest, a
conservative himself, nevertheless found it nonsensical to introduce a
property qualification for women in elections to the Assembly just as the
25
WAPD, 1891, vol. 1, 13.
26
Constitution (Amendment) Act, 1893, (WA).
27
WAPD, 1893, vol. 4, 148.
28
WAPD, 1896, vol. 9, 359.
29
WAPD, 1893, vol. 4, 150.
government was abolishing it for men. There was no hurry about the
women’s vote, he believed; the British had not granted it yet, and he had
not heard of Western Australian women asking for it.30
It was the Premier’s brother, Mr Alexander Forrest, member for West
Kimberley, who raised a question about the eligibility of some Aboriginal
women: ‘many of the native half-caste women had married European men,
and become respectable members of the community’, he said. If Sholl’s
amendment giving votes to property-holding women was adopted, he
asked ‘what would be the position of such half-caste women, and also
their children’? 31
Full womanhood suffrage in Western Australia passed in another Act
in 1899 that extended the vote to ‘every person’ twenty-one years and
over, who had resided in the colony, and in the electorate, for six months.
“Persons” included white women. “Persons” did not include Aboriginal
women. The exclusion of Aborigines remained untouched, except for
property-holders.32 In effect this Act enfranchised Aboriginal women who
were property-holders as the 1893 Act had done for the men, but it was
an empty right, given Aborigines’ severely impoverished circumstances.
In Queensland the women’s vote in the first years of the twentieth
century became entangled with the effort to rid the state of the plural vote,
under which men voted in every electorate where they owned property.33
It was a provision dating back to the 1870s that had enabled a minority of
wealthy men to dominate the outcome of elections in a number of rural
electorates. Labour sympathisers found this doubly threatening to their
interests because the residential qualification for the vote disenfranchised
many itinerant workers who seldom stayed in one location long enough to
qualify for registration. In the world of real politics, whatever legislators
might feel about women’s entitlement to political citizenship, the plural
vote had to be eliminated first. The increasing numbers of Labor Party
representatives in the state legislature were not disposed to vote to double,
in effect, the power of the state’s elite through enfranchising rich men’s
wives. But the elimination of the property vote would have an adverse
impact on the vestigial franchise for Aboriginal men. Hampered by the
conservative struggle to maintain the plural vote, it took the Queensland
parliament till 1905 to pass the act that introduced both one-man-one-vote
and the white women’s vote for state elections.
30
WAPD, 1893, vol. 4, 166-7.
31
WAPD, 1893, vol. 4, 254.
32
Constitution (Amendment) Act, 1899 (WA).
33
See Oldfield, Woman Suffrage in Australia; John McCulloch, ‘The Struggle for
Women’s Suffrage in Queensland’, Hecate, Vol. 30, No. 2, December 2004.
Despite scattered objections on traditional lines to white women’s

citizenship, it seemed the measure would have a reasonably easy passage,
provided the plural vote was simultaneously axed. The abolition of the
property vote, however, looked ominous for any future participation of
indigenous Queenslanders in the body politic, in addition to migrants of
colour. And that proved to be the case. The successful 1905 Act that
established the new regimen ran as follows:
Subject to the disqualifications hereafter set out, all persons not under
twenty-one years of age whether male or female married or unmarried –
(a) Who have resided in Queensland for twelve months continuously
(b) Who are natural born or naturalised subjects of the King, and
(c) Whose names are on the Electoral Roll for an Electoral District of
Queensland, shall be entitled to vote in the election of members of the
Assembly for such Electoral District.
That sounded colour-blind, but it contained this significant proviso:
‘No aboriginal native of Australia, Asia, Africa, or the islands of the
Pacific shall be entitled to have his name placed on the Electoral Roll’.
And so the last vestiges of Aboriginal political rights in Queensland,
through the freehold vote, died with the abolition of the property
qualification that eliminated the unfair privilege of white men. It was an
ironical juxtaposition.
Political Rights in the Commonwealth of Australia

The question of how the citizens of Australia were to keep their
countries white dominated the deliberations leading up to the federation of
the Australian colonies. As Alfred Deakin, a leader in the federation cause
and soon to become the country’s second prime minister, declared: ‘The
question of white Australia touches all colonists’ instinct for self-
preservation’; there was no power that dissolved divisions among colonists
so powerfully, he said, than ‘the desire that we should be one people, and
remain one people, without the admixture of other race’.34 In a situation
where white male politicians made such racial distinctions, white women
could appear to them very much part of the white circle under pressure,
dissolving divisions based on gender.
The debate on women’s political citizenship in the new nation
commenced through the 1890s during the meeting to decide on the
34
Patricia Grimshaw, Marilyn Lake, Ann McGrath and Marian Quartly, Creating a
Nation (Melbourne: McPhee/Gribble, 1994), 192. See Stuart Macintyre (ed), “And
Be One People”: Alfred Deakin’s Federal Story, (Melbourne: MUP, 1995).
Constitution for the federation. That South Australia women were

enfranchised in 1894 was crucial in the decision to give women in the new
Commonwealth of Australia. When senior politicians from the six colonies
met during the 1890s to draft the federal Constitution they intended to
make the provisions for voting rights for the new Commonwealth
Parliament the same that currently held good in each colony. Some
objected, however, that since women could vote in South Australia and
nowhere else, this one new state would have an unfair advantage. The
writers of the Constitution compromised by protecting South Australian
women’s voting rights but foreshadowing swift legislation in the new
Parliament to enfranchise women in all other states.35
With the matter of the vote for indigenous women and men, the
generosity tilted in the other direction. Queensland and Western Australian
delegates voiced their anxieties that those from the south-eastern states had
now also to face, as parliamentary representatives members of parliament
met in the new federal legislature. In the Australian Constitution that came
into effect in January 1901 federal political rights were declared identical
with those already in existence in the separate states: for South Australia
and Queensland, this meant women could vote (white women only in
Western Australia). For Queensland and Western Australia, this meant the
maintenance of property rights qualifications for Aborigines. The
women’s vote and the indigenous vote were considered together on a
nation-wide basis in the 1902 Commonwealth Franchise Act, one of the
first major pieces of legislation of the new federal parliament36 which the
new government initially hoped would strike a uniform franchise
including all women and all Aborigines. To a large extent anxieties about
the migrants of colour had been allayed with the 1901 legislation
prohibiting entry to the country of Asians and Africans and legalising the
repatriation of South Sea Islanders.37
The women’s vote was generally well received and was poised to pass
easily, but clearly on the supposition of many representatives that the
clause would apply to white women only. Many did not even know that
Aboriginal men had the vote in the south-eastern states under existing
manhood suffrage and hence that this clause would also apply to
Aboriginal women. The addition of women to the ranks of political
citizenship initially passed. Suddenly the news spread that not only
Aboriginal men but Aboriginal women also were now citizens. The
35
Grimshaw, ‘White Women as “Nation Builders”; Grimshaw, ‘A White
Woman’s Suffrage’.
36
Chesterman and Philips (eds), Selective Democracy.
37
Grimshaw, ‘White Women as “Nation Builders”.
reaction of Queensland and Western Australian senators in particular to

the possible enfranchisement of their indigenous populations was
profoundly racist: A Western Australian senator argued that the bill
‘would be all right for Tasmania, where there are no blacks, and probably
all right for such states as New South Wales or Victoria; but to give the
vote to most of the aboriginals in Western Australia would be a very
serious matter indeed’.38 Another Western Australian declared that ‘we
must take some steps to prevent any aboriginal taken at large, chosen
anywhere, from acquiring the right to vote’.39 He was, in fact, brutally
candid about his desire not to see ‘a single coloured person’ exercising the
franchise who could be excluded from it.40A common theme in the
speeches of these senators was that the Commonwealth Government did
not know what it was doing. ‘It is all very well for honourable senators to
be benevolently inclined towards aboriginals and coloured aliens’,
complained a senator from Queensland, ‘but that policy means letting
loose a large numbers of persons who will be able to affect our elections in
Queensland in a manner that will be detrimental to the interests of that
state and of the whole Commonwealth’.41
At first the introducer of the bill, the Senate leader Richard O'Connor,
appeared surprised at the outrage his bill had engendered, as well as
reluctant to legitimise the racial anxieties of his colleagues. In contrast to
Matheson and others, O'Connor suggested that the number of Aborigines
in Western Australia was 'comparatively trifling'.42 Aborigines, he argued,
were a ‘failing race’ - and where they were not failing, he added, they
were becoming civilised and thus ‘quite as well qualified to vote as are a
great number of persons who already possess the franchise’.43 In citing a
low and declining Aboriginal population, O'Connor was reminding the
Senate of the pervasiveness of white colonisation. White Australia was a
nation, he inferred, which could afford some benevolence to its original
occupants: ‘Although no one could be more staunch than I am in the
maintenance of the policy of a white Australia, I think we ought to carry
out that policy with a certain amount of reason, humanity and common
sense.’44 It would be a monstrous thing, O’Connor declared, ‘an unheard
of piece of savagery on our part, to treat the Aboriginals whose land we
38
Commonwealth Parliamentary Debates (CPD),vol.10, 29 May 1902, 13003.
39
CPD, vol.9, 9 April 1902, 11467.
40
CPD, vol. 9, 9 April 1902,11468.
41
CPD, vol.9, 10 April, 1902, 11596.
42
CPD, vol.9, 10 April 1902, 11584.
43
CPD, vol.9, 9 April 1902, 11453.
44
CPD, vol. 9, 9 April 1902, 11584.
were occupying in such a manner as to deprive them absolutely of any

right to vote in their own country, simply on the ground of their colour,
and because they were aboriginals’.45 Senator Playford of South Australia
agreed, describing Matheson's amendment excluding Aborigines as ‘a
heartless thing to do’.
The Commonwealth Franchise Act of 1902 came to be read as a denial
of the political rights of Aboriginal people, although this happened in the
south-east by subsequent interpretation rather than through the Act’s
formal wording. The crucial clause read:
No Aboriginal native of Australia, Asia, Africa or the Islands of the Pacific,

except New Zealand, shall be entitled to have his name placed on the electoral
roll….46
Section 41 of the Constitution enshrined federal voting rights for those

who legally had vote in the states. Thus the 1902 Act should have
protected the political rights at least of Aborigines in the south-eastern
states, and of Aboriginal property holders in Western Australia and
Queensland. But the Act was interpreted and bureaucratically
implemented to remove them.47
In colonies such as the Cape Colony the property qualification for men
of colour was seen as a most important liberal opening. Given how few
indigenous people owned property, the clause in Western Australia, as in
Queensland, seemed at the time little more than a whitewash. But
something is better than nothing, and the existence of this right could still
be removed lest more indigenous people in the future might be able to take
advantage of it: these two states had eliminated the loop-hole by 1907.
Conclusion
The new white nation of Australia, formed by the federation of six
British colonies in 1901, is known for the early advent of women’s
political citizenship, an outcome many saw of a society already wedded to
manhood suffrage. A concentration on this notable victory for women’s
rights at the national level, however, serves to obscure the interesting way
in which a genuinely democratic polity only emerged hand-in- hand with
45
Ibid, 11584.
46
See Chesterman and Galligan, Citizens Without Rights.
47
See Ibid; and Pat Stretton and Christine Finnimore, “Black Fellow Citizens:
Aborigines and the Commonwealth Franchise”, Australian Historical Studies, 25,
101, October 1993.
women’s suffrage. The British colonial power first established political

citizenship in the 1850s for men by virtue of their ownership of property,
not the colour of their skin. Colonial legislatures in the settled south-east
grafted manhood suffrage on to these colour blind constitutions, but
retained certain structural provisions to mitigate the force of outright
democratic institutions. When the introduction of women’s suffrage
looked like becoming a realistic cause, conservatives were able to utilise
these structures to retard its passage. But the racial anxieties of the
legislatures of Western Australia and Queensland added a further obstacle
to the women’s vote, given the symbolic and potential electoral threat to
white supremacy of Aboriginal citizenship. These states’ racism,
reinforced by general anxiety about possible mass Asian migration,
prevailed in electoral provisions for the new Commonwealth of Australia.
This was to be a white nation. Thus, as Australia became more democratic
with the inclusion of white women, conversely the exclusion of
Aborigines from citizenship became entrenched. White women’s rights
were delayed by class and racial fears but eventually prevailed; Aboriginal
women, like Aboriginal men, were the losers.
It was Eleanor Hobbs who summed up the WCTU’s interpretation of
Australian history, when in February 1901 she wrote:
Now we have entered upon the responsibilities of Nationhood, how are we

going to recognise such? Strictly speaking, we have as yet no history. We
cannot point with pride like older nations to native heroes and heroines
who have garlanded our race with glory — to mighty achievements — to
moss-grown edifices hoary with antiquity. From this standpoint we are
almost ‘vulgarly new’, but we may not be ‘splendidly null’, but splendidly
true for all that.48
Suffrage activists in the Australian colonies did not protest about the
exclusion of Aboriginal women. They were liberal in political orientation
and heirs to a tradition of evangelical humanitarianism. These women
were nevertheless part of a privileged social group who colluded in the
creation of an historical narrative that presented colonisation in a positive
light.49 It was a version of history that had justified, and continued to
justify, differential treatment of indigenous peoples. When the suffragists’
cause reached the platforms of those holding political power, politicians
made decisions based not simply on the supposed outcomes on gender
48
White Ribbon Signal, 1 February 1901, p. 73.
49
See Grimshaw, ‘Gender, Citizenship and Race in the Woman’s Christian
Temperance Union of Australia, 1890 to the 1930s; Lake, Getting Equal.
relations, but on the vote’s implications for the wealthy and for the
colonial project as a whole. Conservatives of some states delayed the
introduction of women’s political citizenship until they could endorse
women’s rights in ways that would diminish indigenous people’s impact
on settlers’ political dominance. It would be the 1930s before some white
women reformers joined Aboriginal men and women to seek the end of
these legal and political disabilities, and the 1960s before glimmerings of
real change appeared. The righting of this wrong was delayed in its
entirety another 60 years. Aborigines regained political citizenship
federally and in the separate states progressively from 1949 to 1965.
Equality under the law came with the introduction of compulsory voting
for Aborigines, in existence for non-Aborigines from 1926, in 1983.50
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VOTING WOMEN BEFORE WOMEN’S
SUFFRAGE IN SWEDEN 1720-1870
ÅSA KARLSSON SJÖGREN
In 1910 women in Stockholm were confronted with the following

message in a leaflet: ‘How can married women obtain municipal rights?’
There followed detailed instructions on how their own earnings should be
registered. Alternatively they could deposit a certain sum in a savings
account in their own names. Since the interest was taxable, this meant that
income from capital could also qualify them for suffrage in the municipal
election.1
The Swedish suffrage movement had found a loophole in the
legislation that made it possible not only for unmarried women and
widows but also for married women to vote in municipal elections.
Amendments to the tax legislation had resulted in married women being
able to pay tax in their own names, although the Marriage Code stated that
a wife was under her husband’s guardianship. Taxpayers had the right to
vote in the municipalities, where the votes were counted according to a
graded scale. Behind these regulations was the idea that the more you
contribute to society by paying taxes the more influence you should have.
The suffragists’ strategy was thus clear: by registering, paying tax in their
own names and using their votes in municipal elections, women would
appear active, competent citizens – citizens who should also obviously
have the right to use their votes at the national level, in the parliamentary
elections.2
Ever since 1862, tax-paying legally competent women had had the
right to vote in the municipalities, both in the country and in the towns and
cities, with no exceptions. But what was this right based on? What was its
history? It seems that the leading activists for women’s rights were not
1
The National Archives, Stockholm, Fredrika Bremerförbundets arkiv, Föreningen
för kvinnans politiska rösträtt, volume 1.
2
Josefin Rönnbäck, Politikens genusgränser. Den kvinnliga rösträttsrörelsen och
kampen för kvinnors politiska medborgarskap 1902-1921 (Stockholm: Atlas,
2004), 115-116.
Åsa Karlsson Sjögren 57
aware of the fact that Swedish women had the right to vote as early as in
the 18th century, and then not only in municipal elections, but also in
parliamentary elections.3 In this article I present a study of the growth and
change of suffrage in Sweden during a period spanning nearly 150 years –
from the early 1720s to the late 1860s.4 The aim is to analyse what
grounds there were for suffrage, how these differed between different
types of elections, both local and national, how they changed during the
period of interest, and what importance gender had in this connection.
The Age of Liberty: Suffrage for Women

At the turn of the century (1700) there was in Sweden a Riksdag, a
Diet of Four Estates, consisting of the nobility, clergy, burghers and land-
owning peasants. The Diet of Four Estates had a long history, but had on
the whole been inactive since the end of the 17th century. But after the
autocratic King Carolus XII had been shot in 1718, new opportunities
arose. In the so-called Age of Liberty (1719-1772) the power of the
Riksdag increased at the expense of the power of the monarch. However,
one could not characterize the period as either parliamentary or
democratic. In the Age of Liberty there was no constitution to stipulate
differences between, for example, judiciary and legislative authorities, and
thus caused much conflict and problems with bribes and corruption,
likewise difficulties in decision-making and implementation. As before,
the nobility had more political power than the other estates, but during this
period political influence of the burghers in particular grew, and kind of
two-party system developed in the Riksdag. The act on the freedom of the
press (passed in 1766) increased the political debates and the political
activities, and more people became involved in politics.
At the local level new regulations enabled broader political
participation. Some important reforms in the 1720’s and 1730’s led to
3
At least they did not use that knowledge in their political discussions or
propaganda. One example from the early 1900 however shows that some people
were aware of that fact. In the book Sweden, Gertrud Adelborg gives a description
of the Swedish women’s movement. She writes: ”Already in the eighteenth
century, women possessed of real property had this privilege, which was then,
however, of small importance.”. Gertrud Adelborg, ”Social Movements. The
Woman Question,” in Sweden. Its people and its industry, ed. Gustav Sundbärg
(Stockholm 1904), 274.
4
This article is an abbreviated and revised text of the monograph (in Swedish):
Åsa Karlsson Sjögren, Männen, kvinnorna och rösträtten. Medborgarskap och
representation 1723-1866 (Stockholm: Carlssons, 2006).
58 Voting Women before Women’s Suffrage in Sweden 1720-1870
various representatives or office-holders being appointed: there were

elections of mayors, magistrates, clergymen and members of the Riksdag.
In the provisions defining who had the right to vote in the elections, two
clear criteria are discernible: estate membership and ownership. On the
other hand, there was no mention of the sex of the enfranchised voter.5
In the towns and cities, suffrage was based on burghership, which was
a locally established citizenship in the town or city. The basis of
burghership was residence and the traditional urban occupations, such as
trade or ‘burgher’ craft, but other occupations could be taken into account.
The issue of who had the right to be a burgher was fluid. The fact that not
all residents were considered to be ‘proper burghers’ was a source of
conflicts and disputes, both between those who wanted to join the
burghership and those who already belonged, and between the towns and
cities and the state, which might be interested in more groups being
incorporated into the local citizenry.6
The political culture was very local and the election procedures varied
between the towns and cities. In some of them the votes were counted on a
graded scale based on taxation, in others per capita. The political culture
also differed locally with regard to women’s presence in the elections in
the town hall. In some towns and cities women were allowed to vote, but
not in others. In most cases it was widows who voted, but there were also
a few examples of unmarried women and wives taking part in the
elections. The polling also varied. In some towns and cities the women
voted to the same extent as the men or even to a higher extent, while in
others only a few women voted. A few general patterns can be discerned.
When suffrage was graded, women went to the polls more frequently. But
women’s participation was on the whole lower than men’s. Besides, when
women did vote, they did so more seldom in person than men, since they
more often voted by proxy.7
5
R G Modée, Utdrag utur alle ifrån den 7 December 1718 utkomne Publique
Handlingar… (Stockholm 1742-1777), 16/10 1723, 23/8 1731.
6
Sten Carlsson, Byråkrati och borgarstånd under frihetstiden (Stockholm:
Norstedt 1963); Ann-Marie Fällström and Ilkka Mäntylä, ”Stadsadministrationen i
Sverige-Finland under frihetstiden,” in Stadsadministrationen i Norden på 1700-
talet, ed. Birgitta Ericsson (Oslo: Univ. förlag, 1982).
7
These results are based on a more comprehensive study of electoral registers in
different kinds of elections in Sweden (including Finland) ca 1720 onwards. The
registers have been found in both local and central archives at the following
archives: In the National Archives: Records from the Estates and Letters from the
County Governors to the King. In the Provincial record offices of Härnösand,
Uppsala, Lund, Gothenburg and Vadstena: Records and Electoral registers in
In the Age of Liberty the graded voting scale came to be introduced on

a wide front, which led to an increasing number of elections in which
women participated. Regarding the mayoral elections, the proportion of
elections in which women were allowed to participate increased from 55
per cent of all elections to slightly more than 70 per cent. This situation
reflects a predominant idea that ownership and income, and hence ability
to pay taxes and contribute to the common weal, should also give people
the right of influence. For this reason the importance of gender came to be
neglected. The introduction of the graded scale also implies that, when the
political sphere in the towns and cities had come to include ‘the common
burghers’, leading economic groups tried to regain the political power they
had traditionally had in urban areas.
Female Voters Called into Question and Excluded

from Some Elections
Women’s participation began, however, to be questioned, first of all in
the mayoral elections. In 1758 an ordinance was issued that was
interpreted such that women would no longer be permitted to take part in
these elections; ‘neither absent burghers nor burghers’ widows’ would be
allowed to vote.8 The debate in the Riksdag prior to the decision was
above all about the problems with the proxy procedure, and the ordinance
itself speaks about ‘absent’ burghers and burghers’ widows. Another
argument concerned the significance of the oath. Since it was only men
who took the burgher oath, only men should be allowed to vote.9
At the local level it is evident that there existed an underlying distrust
of women in public life that could be brought to the surface in connection
with elections. In a conflict about an election in a town in central Sweden,
one of the arguments was that approving widows’ suffrage might lead to
their being present in ‘public places’. This might in turn ‘cause a great deal
of disorder and less quiet living among ordinary people’.10
Another change that took place at the same time was a shift in the view
of burghership, towards a more individualised, masculinised local urban
membership. Although the household with the married couple at the centre
municipal archives from different towns. For references in detail, see Karlsson
Sjögren 2006, 34 & 235-239.
8
Modée 1742-1777, 19/1 1758.
9
The National Archives, R 1323, Borgarståndets protokoll 1756.
10
The National Archives, Landshövdingars skrivelser till Kungl. Maj:t,
Västmanland, Volume 28, Köping 8/1 1759.
still constituted the base of society, the significance of marriage for both
husband and wife was being exposed to change. From the law of 1734
onwards, it was no longer possible for a man marrying a burgher’s
daughter to achieve the status of a burgher. Instead, each individual man
had to apply for burghership and be tried individually and take the burgher
oath.11 In the same period, journeymen were given the right to marry,
which meant that the title of master lost some of its importance as a part of
the lifecycle.12 Examples from Stockholm have shown that widows’
opportunities to continue running their husbands’ businesses were
questioned in the 18th century.13 Another example is the changing practice
of gaining access to urban lands. Many towns and cities owned so-called
urban lands, which were often given to the burghers for their use, to
dispose on various legal grounds. The lands could also serve as a kind of
right for the urban officials, in consideration of services rendered. In
addition to the private estates, these lands were of importance in meeting
the burghers’ needs for crops and pasture. When the towns and cities
expanded, access to urban lands was limited. Conflicts about the grounds
for distributing the lands were not unusual in the 18th century, and an
important issue was whether a man could obtain urban land through
marriage, and also whether widows had the right to take over their
husbands’ urban lands.14 These issues indicate clear restrictions on the
legal effects of marriage.
Women were still allowed to vote in the election of magistrates,
clergymen and members of the Riksdag. The question is why they were
prevented from voting in mayoral elections. The explanation is probably
that burghership was a local urban right at the time, and that the mayoral
elections were considered the most important, since the mayor’s power
and influence in a town or city were extensive in many areas.
The ordinance of 1758 affected female participation in other types of
election, however. Their opportunities deteriorated in the elections of
magistrates and members of the Riksdag, in which female voters became
increasingly rare. One reason for this may probably be found in the
masculinisation of the political culture. If women were not allowed to vote
in mayoral elections, why then should they be allowed to vote in the
11
The Law of 1734, the Commercial code 3:1.
12
Modée 1742-1777, 27/6 1720.
13
Martin Wottle, Det lilla ägandet. Korporativ formering och sociala relationer
inom Stockholms minuthandel 1720-1810 (Stockholm: Stads- och kommunhistoriska
institutet, 2000), 190-191.
14
See for exampel The National Archives, Landshövdingars skrivelser till Kungl.
Maj:t Gävleborg, volume 1, 2/5 1763 and volume 2, 10/6 1765.
Riksdag elections in the town or city hall? This was one of the arguments
used against female voters.
The masculinisation of burghership and the changes in the legal effects
of marriage also led to widows’ participation in elections being
questioned. In a Riksdag election in a town in northern Sweden in 1771, a
number of burghers protested against 25 widows having cast their votes.
They could not be regarded as ‘proper burghers… nor be said to represent
their deceased husbands, who bear no association with the now living
burghership.’15
A third argument concerned the view of representation, of the
relationship between the elector and the elected. When the widow Anna
Elisabeth Baer wanted to use her vote in the Riksdag elections in Turku in
1771, one of the counterarguments was, ‘nobody can have the right to
elect a member of the Riksdag other than a person who can be thus
appointed’.16
In the Age of Liberty, when the power of the Riksdag was increasing,
this meant that the elections of members of the Riksdag were politicised.
The mayor of a town or city had previously been sent to represent it, but
party struggles could now arise at the local level, where different
candidates fought about becoming Riksdag members.17 The inclusion of
more potential candidates led in turn to a strengthening of the connection
between the elector and the eligible person. Since the idea of a female
Riksdag member was inconceivable, it thus became difficult to argue why
women should be allowed to vote.
The party struggles in the Riksdag and at the local level, the eternal
fights about the elections of Riksdag members, and innumerable
accusations of election fraud resulted in proposals in the last Riksdag of
the Age of Liberty for the rules for the election procedures to be tightened.
In the first proposal that was presented in the Estate of Burghers in the
Riksdag, women were mentioned as potential voters.18 One member
protested against this. He referred to the legislation on mayoral elections,
15
The National Archives, Landshövdingars skrivelser till Kungl. Maj:t
Västernorrland, Volume 34, 19/6 1771.
16
Handlingar, som utwisa: huruledes walet af Åbo stads fullmägtig til 1771 års
riksdagm blifwit förrättadt…”, Åbo 1771, 24.
17
Michael Roberts, The Age of Liberty. Sweden 1719-1772 (Cambridge:
Cambridge Univ. Press, 1986); Carl-Henrik Höijer, “Borgarståndet 1809-1866,”
in Studier över den svenska riksdagens sociala sammansättning (Uppsala &
Stockholm: Almqvist & Wicksell, 1936), 96.
18
Utdrag af Borgare-Ståndets Protocill, hållit wid Riksdagen i Stockholm den 16
Januarii 1770, Stockholm 1771, 12.
but also to conditions in other countries, stating that ‘the female sex’ was
excluded from ‘public duties’ there.19 This objection also came to overturn
the Estate of Burghers’ decision, and they decided to eliminate female
voters.20 When the issue of the voter’s sex was then brought to the fore, it
was probably impossible to introduce female suffrage in the towns and
cities where women were already excluded.
The decision did not, however, work in all cases. There were still
examples of female participation in Riksdag elections, although this was
unusual. In the Estate of the Peasantry the issue of female participation in
Riksdag elections was also raised in the same Riksdag session. It was
decided that farm-owning widows ‘could not be refused permission to
participate in the election’.21 Ownership was so crucial to estate affiliation
in the Estate of Peasantry that it overshadowed the issue of gender,
although the formulation indicates that they too rather wished that women
would stay at home.
Women also continued, however, to participate in the clergy elections
in the towns and cities. There are no known cases in which women’s
participation in these elections was challenged in the 18th century. It was
specifically ownership and ability to pay taxes through graded scales that
constituted the criteria for suffrage.22 The ownership conditions implied
that that it was more likely for urban women to be qualified voters than
rural women.23 In the towns and cities the law of inheritance and the right
to matrimonial property were equal for men and women, whereas in the
country men inherited more than women. Why then was the widow’s
suffrage in the urban clergy elections not called into question? The
explanation is probably to be found in the rooms in which the elections
took place. While the mayoral and Riksdag elections were held in the town
hall, the clergy elections took place in the church. In the church the
women had their allotted places, and the church was generally an
important arena for marking social status. The town hall, on the other
hand, became an increasingly masculinized space, where women as both
voters and legal subjects more and more seldom attended.
19
Ibid., 15.
20
Ibid., 30.
21
”Förslag till valordning för bondeståndet vid riksdagen 1771-1772”, in
Frihetstidens grundlagar och konstitutionella stadgar… , ed. Axel Brusewitz,
Stockholm 1916, § 4.
22
Peter Lindström, Prästval och politisk kultur, 1650-1800 (Umeå, 2003).
23
Åsa Karlsson Sjögren and Peter Lindström ”Widows, Ownership and Political
Culture: Sweden 1650-1800,” Scandinavian Journal of History, 2004:3/4.
From Subject to Citizen

When women were excluded from the Riksdag elections, there was talk
about ‘the female sex’. In this period, at the end of the Age of Liberty,
there also emerged radical reform proposals about abolishing the society
of estates, where everybody, irrespective of ‘estate, public office, age, sex
and conditions’, would have ‘full ownership of their bodies and persons,
their properties and their way of living’.24 Interestingly, a closer look at
this debate reveals marked differences between political and civil
citizenship. While civil citizenship is supposed to be all-inclusive, it is
only men who are included in political citizenship, when ‘Brethren’s’
rights are referred to.25 The restriction of the widow’s suffrage took place
at the same time as the male burghers’ power and influence were
increasing, in both local and national politics. This change may therefore
be seen as a strong manifestation against the widows, in particular since
suffrage was linked to ownership. The widows were the only women who
both owned and administered property. But for them there was not the
same clear connection between business and handicraft, ownership and
politics and between burghership and citizenship as there was for the men.
Parallels of this development have of course been investigated
elsewhere. It is known that women had suffrage in England in the 17th
century, and in local elections for some time in the 18th century. Suffrage
was based on ownership and ability to pay taxes.26 In France women were
also able to vote, and there are examples from North America of tax-
paying women having suffrage. But for various reasons women came to be
excluded when modern citizenship developed. One reason was that women
as a group came to be defined as dependent and therefore not allowed to
vote. An independent man was assumed to have a dependent wife. In
24
Quoted from Jonas Nordin, Ett fattigt men fritt folk. Nationell och politisk
självbild i Sverige från sen stormaktstid till slutet av frihetstiden (Stockholm &
Eslöv: Symposion, 2000), 403.
25
Stockholms Stads Borgerskaps Ansökning om Privilegier för de 2:ne Närings-
Stånden, Stockholm 1771.
26
Patricia Crawford, “Women and citizenship in Britain 1500-1800,” in Women as
Australian Citizens: underlying histories, ed. Patricia Crawford and Philippa
Maddern (Melbourne. Melbourne Univ. Press, 2001); Elaine Chalus, “Women,
Electoral Privilege and Practice in the Eighteenth Century,” in Women in British
Politics, 1760-1860. The Power of the Petticoat, ed. Kathryn Gleadle & Sarah
Richardson (Basingstoke & New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000), 20; Hilda L
Smith, “Women as sextons and electors: King’s Bench and precedents for
women’s citizenship,” in Women writers and the early modern British political
tradition, ed. Hilda L Smith, (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1998).
North America, the men’s participation in the War of Liberation could

motivate why their links to the nation were stronger than the women’s.
The image of the mother in the home and the idea of ‘virtual
representation’ served as solid arguments against female suffrage.27
During the French Revolution, women participated in many contexts as
political actors, and voices were raised in favour of their also being
defined as political citizens. Nevertheless the principle of one man, one
vote emerged victorious. Several explanations for this exclusion of women
have been evinced. The background to the aversion to political women
was radical men’s criticism of women in the feminized salon culture.28
The view of women and politics was double. On a general symbolic plane,
femininity could be praised to the skies, while politically active women
were sexualized and described as a threat to the existing order. Above all
they were described as bad mothers.29
Joan Scott points out that it was the political process in itself that
enforced the idea of two separate sexes, with men in politics and women
excluded:
Women became visible in their difference in the sphere of politics only when
they were barred on grounds of their sex. Sexual difference was, then, the
effect, not the cause of women’s exclusion.30
27
Marc W Kruman, Between Authority and Liberty. State Constitution Making in
Revolutionary America (Chapel Hill & London: Univ. of North Carolina Press,
1989), 76-77; John Philip Reid, The Concept of Representation in the Age of the
American Revolution (Chicago & London: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1989); Linda
K Kerber, Women of the Republic. Intellect and ideology in revolutionary America,
(Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina Press, 1980), 15-16; Joan R Gundersen,
“Independence, Citizenship, and the American Revolution,” Signs Autumn 1987,
66 & 103-106.
28
Joan B Landes, Women and the Public Sphere in the Age of the French
Revolution (Ithaca: Cornell Univ. Press, 1988); Lynn Hunt, “Male Virtue and
Republican Motherhood,” The French revolution and the creation of modern
political culture. Volume 4. The Terror, ed. Keith Michael Baker (Oxford:
Pergamon, 1994), 196-197.
29
Darline Gay Levy, “Women´s revolutionary citizenship in action, 1791: Setting
the boundaries,” in The French Revolution and the Meaning of Citizenship, ed.
Renée Waldinger et al. (Westport, Connecticut & London: Greenwood, 1993);
Suzanne Desan, “Constitutional Amazons’: Jacobin Women’s Clubs in the French
Revolution,” in Recreating Authority in revolutionary France, ed. Bryan T Ragan,
Jr. & Elizabeth A Williams (New Brunswick, New Jersey: Rutgers University
Press, 1992).
30
Joan Scott, Gender and the politics of history. Revisited edition, (New York:
Columbia Univ. Press 1999), 208.
It is worth noting that the political changes in Sweden and the process
of excluding women from political citizenship took place earlier than the
revolutions in France and North America. There are no signs that
motherhood was a central argument against female political actors in the
Swedish context at the time. These arguments emerged only later, during
the debate about citizenship after 1809.
The development towards modern political citizenship was abruptly
stopped when Gustavus III staged a coup in 1772 strengthening the
monarch’s power at the expense of the Riksdag. He was a master of
political rhetoric and called himself a citizen, but the Riksdag lost political
influence under him and his successor. In the middle of an ongoing war in
March 1809, the then reigning king Gustavus IV was arrested by a group
of officers. A proposal for a new constitution was rapidly produced, and a
new governmental organisation was approved by the Riksdag on June 6. It
gave the Riksdag greater authority, which in turn entailed that more issues
requiring solutions could also be discussed there, for example female
policy issues and issues concerning citizenship and representation. It was
also in the Riksdag of 1809-10 that proposals were made to replace the old
Diet of Estates with a two-chamber parliament. Thereby the issue of
changing the basis of representation was placed on the political agenda.31
This theme came in many ways to dominate the subsequent political
discussion up to the representation reform in 1866, when the Diet of
Estates was finally abolished. The issue involved many problems that had
to be solved: On what foundations was the representation to rest?
The personality principle made up the basis of the demands for a
representation reform, which in brief meant that it was not groups that
should be represented due to privileges, but individuals. However, there
still remained several other issues that were dealt with in various
proposals: Should the point of departure be that all adults had suffrage or
should only so-called independent citizens be represented? Who were they
in that case? Gender was also important. Should citizenship be, or rather,
did it have to be, defined in terms of gender? On the whole, several of the
proposals that were presented indicate that the personality principle was
not necessarily democratic. Income, fortune or education could serve as
criteria for full citizenship.32
31
Axel Brusewitz, Representationsfrågan vid 1809-1810 års riksdag (Uppsala,
1913).
32
Gunnar Rexius, Det svenska tvåkammarsystemets tillkomst och karaktär med
särskild hänsyn till principernas grundläggning 1840-41 (Uppsala, 1915); Erik
Fahlbeck, Sveriges Riksdag 8. Ståndsriksdagens sista skede 1809-1866
(Stockholm, 1934); Gunnar Heckscher, Svensk konservatism före
The Diet of Estates was thus retained for most of the 19th century.
Partial reforms meant that more groups were incorporated into the
different estates, and there was still some uncertainty in this period about
what criteria should form the basis of suffrage. There are a few examples
of women voting in Riksdag elections also after 1809.33 In the Riksdag
session of 1823, the issue of women’s suffrage to the Estate of Burghers
was raised by a member. There ought to be a connection between
contribution and suffrage and the constitution ought to be amended as
follows:
Burgher Widows, if they manage a burgher business, shall, although they

cannot be elected Electors or Members of the Riksdag, nevertheless participate
in the election thereof as well as in the Riksdag Member Salary.34
According to this proposal, suffrage should thus be linked to business

activities and payment of the Riksdag member salary. On the other hand, it
clearly stated that this suffrage could not be linked to any opportunities to
represent others, neither as a member of the Riksdag, nor as an elector.
The reply from the Standing Committee on the Constitution indicates,
however, that the proposal was thought to conflict with the existing gender
order. Just as in the earlier discussion in the 18th century, the importance of
the oath was used as an argument for excluding women. It was only men
who took the oath, and it was only men who were included in public
citizenship. For this reason it was ‘against the generally approved order for
Women… to take part in public civil proceedings, which properly belong
to men.’35 In spite of this clear decision in principle in the Riksdag, there
still existed a few exceptions allowing female participation in Riksdag
elections.36
In the final phase of the Diet of Estates the issue was brought to the
fore again. In the Riksdag session of 1856-58 a constitutional amendment
was approved concerning Riksdag elections to the Estate of the Burghers.
It also turned out to be of importance in practice regarding whether women
should be allowed to vote or not. Burghership would no longer be the sole
representationsreformen II. Doktrin och politik 1840-1865 (Uppsala & Stockholm:

Almqvist & Wicksell, 1943); Berit Borell, De svenska liberalerna och
representationsfrågan på 1840-talet (Uppala & Stockholm: Almqvist & Wicksell,
1948).
33
The Provincial Record Office of Gothenburg, Åmål DXII:1 1812.
34
Quoted from Hjalmar Franzén, Representationsfrågan 1810-1830: Ett bidrag till
representationsreformens historia (Uppsala, 1914), 143.
35
Quoted from Franzén 1914, 143.
36
The Provincial Record Office of Gothenburg, Åmål DXII:1 1833.
basis of suffrage. ‘Owners of houses or sites and owners… of land under

urban jurisdiction’ would have the right ‘to elect members of the Riksdag
amongst themselves.’37
In the debate in the Estate of the Burghers, the issue of women’s
possible suffrage38 was not taken up, it is true, but the fact that the gender-
neutral formulation about ownership could be interpreted such that legally
competent women would also be allowed to vote was shown in the
preparation of an electoral register for the Riksdag election in Uppsala in
1858.39 In the register of 429 qualified voters 83 women were cut out. It is
not clear whether the women actually went to the polls, but the fact that
the register can still be interpreted as if they were regarded as potential
participants in the election is due to another circumstance: it is clearly
stated who were not allowed to vote, of whom there was a majority of
men. The most common reason for being deprived of suffrage was having
gone bankrupt (49 persons, two of whom were widows).
The widow Elisabeth Gustava Boström’s name was also listed in the
register. She was one of the two women who protested about their suffrage
in the election. With the help of her brother-in-law, a well-known
conservative philosopher, she compared women’s suffrage to ‘a right to
travel to the moon’.40 This image might reflect a conception whereby the
male political sphere could be considered just as distant from women as
the moon.
The election to the last Diet of Estates shows that opinions differed
after all about how the Constitution should be interpreted in the towns and
cities. Some interesting observations can be made in the electoral register
regarding Uppsala in 1865. It is divided into four columns. In the first
column there are women under the heading ‘Tax’. In the second column
there are also women under the heading ‘Votes proposed by the
committee’. But in the third and fourth columns there are only men, under
the headings ‘Votes approved by the City Administration’ and ‘Number of
37
1810 10/2. Kongl. Maj:ts och Riksens Ständers fastställda Riksdags- Ordning,
Dat. Stockholm den 10 februari 1810, Med de derefter, och sist wid Riksdagen i
Stockholm åren 1856-1858, af Konungen och Riksens Ständer antagna
förändringar, § 14.
38
Borgarståndets protokoll, 13/12 1856.
39
The Provincial Record Office of Uppsala, Uppsala rådhusrätt och magistrat,
Röstlängder Riksdagsmannaval 1858-65, D I A : 1, Vallängd 1858.
40
The Provincial Record Office of Uppsala, Uppsala rådhusrätt och magistratens
protokoll 1859 AVB:40, 12/7 1859.
votes.’41 The register is signed by three men, one of whom by the name of
Henschen, who became the city’s representative in the Riksdag. The City
Administration thus opposed the committee’s proposal, and to judge from
the Administration’s minutes, it was enough to motivate their opinion by
referring to the women’s sex when making the decision, ‘and several
women were divested of such a right [suffrage] merely because they were
women.’42
National Representation and Gendered Citizenship

The question of women’s suffrage can hardly be claimed to have been
a major problem in the representation issue in this period, but
contributions to the political debate were indeed made. In some cases there
appeared radical proposals for female suffrage, but there was a
predominance of arguments against women’s suffrage and political
influence. The conservative side used women’s suffrage as an argument
against the personality principle and the whole idea of popular
representation. They argued that the Liberals’ argumentation against
oligarchy would ultimately result in journeymen, servants and women also
obtaining suffrage consequences that were thus regarded as patently
absurd.43 References to the hierarchy in the family were made: ‘one must
rule in the household, just as in society, and it must be the one who is not
through pregnancy, delivery, or breastfeeding prevented from the
execution of the pertinent duties.’44
The liberal debate divides here. The issue is frequently passed over in
silence by the leading debaters, and no major discussion is conducted on
the different points of view. The historian, writer and politician Erik
Gustaf Geijer thought that women’s different calling was the reason why
they should be kept out of politics. He used moral arguments and
emphasised women’s mission as mothers in society. The idea that women
41
The Provincial Record Office of Uppsala, Uppsala rådhusrätt och magistrat,
Röstlängder Riksdagsmannaval 1858-65, D I A : 1, Vallängd 1865. The statement
about “several women” is taken to imply that the City Administration was referring
to everybody listed in the register, since the women had disappeared in the third
and fourth columns.
42
The Provincial Record Office of Uppsala, Uppsala rådhusrätt och magistratens
protokoll 1865 AVB: 46, 7/5 1765, § 267.
43
Gunnar Heckscher, Svensk konservatism före representationsreformen II.
Doktrin och politik 1840-1865 (Uppsala & Stockholm: Almqvist & Wicksell,
1943), 201.
44
Quoted from Heckscher 1943, 169.
should not be included among the politically competent citizens was,

according to Geijer, not due to his having ‘disparaged them’, but because
their spheres were ‘more intimate’ than political spheres. Women should
therefore be ‘emancipated’ from politics.45 By contrast, the writer and
feminist Fredrika Bremer thought that women as citizens would make
valuable contributions to the development of society. Women would not
lose their distinctive character by engaging in politics. Their contribution
would only be beneficial to society and to harmony, between the sexes as
well.46 For the radical writer and debater Carl Jonas Love Almqvist female
suffrage was definitely not a major issue, but the democratic aspect of the
personality principle was followed up in his proposals. He expressed ideas
about all women being given suffrage. With reference to common sense,
he thought that women, servants and poor people should be allowed to
look after ‘their interests, too, in society’.47
The suffrage issue is also embedded in other issues relating to the
mutual relations of the sexes, in the right to inherit, in freedom of trade,
and in the issue of unmarried women’s majority.48 These issues were
frequently debated in the first half of the 19th century, and reforms were
made giving women the same right to inherit and right to matrimonial
property as men, freedom of trade, and majority for unmarried women. A
conservative argument against woman-friendly reforms was that these
issues would ultimately also lead to female suffrage. The (threat) image of
women’s presence in decision-making organs was also used in the
argumentation against reforms. By contrast, liberal debaters tried to
separate the civil law reforms from political citizenship. The debaters who
linked reforms in women’s civil rights to political citizenship, above all
Fredrika Bremer, met with heavy opposition. When the issue of majority
for unmarried women was approaching a solution in the 1850s, there arose
a violent debate about Fredrika Bremer’s novel Hertha. It was stressed in
45
Gunhild Kyle ”Geijer, liberalismen och kvinnornas medborgarrätt,”
Kvinnovetenskaplig tidskrift, 1983:4, 45-46. and the quotations from Erik Gustaf
Geijer. Samlade skrifter. 9. Stockholm 1929, 126 .
46
Gunnar Qvist, Fredrika Bremer och kvinnans emancipation. Opinionshistoriska
studier (Göteborg: Läromedelsförlaget, 1969), 214 -215.
47
Karin Westman Berg, Studier i C. J. L. Almqvists kvinnouppfattning (Göteborg:
Akademiförl./Gumpert, 1962), 363-364.
48
Gunnar Qvist, Kvinnofrågan i Sverige 1809-1846. Studier rörande kvinnans
näringsfrihet inom de borgeliga yrkena (Göteborg: Scandinavian University
Books, 1960).
the debate that women should be kept out of politics because of their
difference, their ‘predominantly passive nature’.49
When the representation reform was being definitively designed, the
masculinisation of citizenship seems to have become so extreme that the
issue of female suffrage was not even up for discussion at the national
level. In addition to being a Swedish taxpayer above a certain level, the
elector also had to be a man. The representation reform of 1866 has been
interpreted as a kind of compromise between Liberals and Conservatives
making it possible to force the reform through.50 It was perhaps for this
reason that all other potential conflicts were toned down and women’s
possible suffrage, for example, became a non-issue.
For the Lower House a property/income qualification was introduced,
which resulted in many men being deprived of suffrage, but gradually
more and more men came to fulfil the financial criteria.51 The elections to
the Upper House were indirect and based on the municipal elections. In
addition, the Upper House’s eligibility criteria resulted in few people
fulfilling the financial eligibility criteria.
Even though it was ‘the people’ who were to be represented in the
nation, the conclusion did not have to be that all citizens should have
suffrage. The idea of universal rights obviously had clear limitations. The
division of labour and the ownership conditions in society caused some
citizens to be regarded as independent and others as dependent.52 The
result of the representation reform was thus not about what we include in
democratic citizenship in a modern sense.
Although the representation reform did not lead to an immediate
quantitative difference from the previous situation—still only a minority
of all men had the right to vote—there was a qualitative difference. The
person became important, not status. It was thus competence that to some
extent should be decisive for the fully qualified citizen. Financial criteria
could be seen as proof that one person was ‘better’ than another.53 But this
was obviously not a sufficient argument if the citizen was a woman. The
issue of competent women was not even discussed.
49
Qvist 1969, Quotation, 180.
50
Stig Ekman, Slutstriden om representationsreformen (Stockholm, 1966).
51
Ingrid Åberg, Förening och politik. Folkrörelsernas politiska aktivitet i Gävle
under 1880-talet (Uppsala & Stockholm: Almqvist & Wicksell, 1975).
52
Jussi Kurunmäki, Representation, Nation and Time. The Political Rhetoric of the
1866 Parliamentary Reform in Sweden (Jyväskylä: Jyväskylän Yliopisto, 2000),
80.
53
Ibid., 96.
This change in the political debate, this way of making women

invisible as potential political citizens, might be interpreted
conspiratorially—that it was necessary to ‘sacrifice’ the women in order to
force through the representation reform. Another at least equally plausible
explanation is that when suffrage for the Lower House was so clearly
based on the person, the personality, while at the same time being linked
to eligibility, existing conceptions and practices concerning gender
relations made it impossible for leading politicians and opinion makers
even to entertain the thought that women as a group were sufficiently
independent to be considered fully qualified citizens. The new ideological
meaning given to the family should be added to this line of reasoning.
Family ideals were of great importance in the formation of the liberal
middle class, and this became particularly evident after the year of
revolution 1848, which was met with a reaction from both conservative
and liberal quarters. The family was seen as the basis of a religiously
founded national upbringing, as a base for the formation above all the
lower middle classes, but also of the working classes. Women played an
important role in this upbringing.54
Two conceptual pairs used to exclude various groups from citizenship
were active – passive and independent – dependent. These were already
well-known cultural symbols from the time when citizenship developed in
France and America. Several major studies have been made of how
women came to be excluded from the concept of citizenship there, in
connection with the American and French revolutions, and of how
motherhood came to be emphasised for the women as a solid argument for
why they should be kept away from politics. In Sweden too, motherhood
thus became more important, but it did not have an impact on the political
rhetoric until the personality principle was defined in the 19th century.
Not even Fredrika Bremer participated publicly in the debate before
the representation reform. Soon after Bremer’s death in 1866, an article by
her was published in which she argued that it is the idea of women as
indirect citizens, via homes and schools, not via ballot boxes or as elected
representatives that would influence the development of society in a
positive direction.55 For the second generation of female opinion makers, it
also seems that both their religiously based views and their own self-image
prevented them from pursuing the issue of women’s political citizenship.
54
Eric Johannesson, Den läsande familjen. Familjetidskriften i Sverige 1850-1880
(Stockholm: Nordiska mus., 1980).
55
Gunnar Qvist gives plausible reasons why the article should be regarded as
authentic, although in its finished state it had been handed in to Illustrerad Tidning
by the more conservatively disposed relatives. Qvist 1969, 222-223.
Instead they concentrated above all on another important issue: women’s

right to education.56 This issue had already been an important part of the
emancipatory struggle in the 18th century, and in the Riksdag sessions of
1862 and 1865-66, proposals were made about girls’ and women’s right to
education and hold official posts.
Just as in the earlier women’s policy issues, in this debate, too, there
were some features concerning women’s political citizenship. In the
Burgher Estate the Riksdag member from Uppsala Henschen stated the
following when arguing about the issue of women’s education: ‘In the city
that I represent [Uppsala], I have contributed to women gaining suffrage in
Riksdag elections.’57 Even if the silence about women’s possible
parliamentary suffrage seems to have been total, we can thus see that in a
contemporary issue of citizenship, the experiences from Uppsala had an
impact on the debate in the Riksdag.
Gender and Local Political Participation

The abolition of the Diet of Estates in 1866 constituted an important
dividing line from the earlier Society of Estates. Besides the reform of the
Riksdag, fundamental reforms were carried out at the local level up to and
including the new municipal legislation of 1862. In the following I will
discuss what scope there was for women on different local political arenas,
and how electors and the elected were defined in the legislative work on
the basis of gender issues.
In the country the parish meeting was the most important local political
institution, where the peasants on the whole made their decisions in
consensus. It is doubtful whether women could take part in discussions
and decisions there. Earlier research has indicated this, but a closer
examination of the examples given rather yields the impression that in the
few cases in which women took part, they came from higher social groups.
Common peasant widows were conspicuous by their absence.58 On the
56
Inger Hammar, Emancipation och religion. Den svenska kvinnorörelsens
pionjärer i debatt om kvinnans kallelse ca 1860-1900 (Stockholm: Carlsson,
1999).
57
Hierta IV, 221.
58
See for example Karl Herbert Johansson, Svensk sockensjälvstyrelse 1686-1863:
studier särskilt med hänsyn till Linköpings stift (Lund: Gleerup, 1937), 195-196;
Peter Aronsson, Bönder gör politik. Det lokala självstyret som social arena i tre
smålandssocknar, 1680-1850 (Lund: Lund. University Press, 1992), 144; Harald
Gustafsson, Sockenstämmans politiska kultur: lokal självstyrelse på 1800-talets
landsbygd (Stockholm: Gotab, 1989), 81.
other hand, women running a farm could take part in the election of
various representatives. Electoral registers seldom included in the minutes
of the parish meeting, it is true, in both the 18th and the 19th centuries, but
it is still possible to discern a pattern in the registers extant. The pattern is
consistently that widows could participate in the election of various
persons, but that their personal presence was not entirely unproblematic.
They were absent more often than men and they voted by proxy more
often than men.59
In the 1840s there occurred a noticeable change of the parish meeting:
more and more representatives were assigned to different tasks, and it also
became possible for women to hold posts, especially in the social field.
The parishes’ responsibility for the care of the poor increased due to social
changes with an increasing number of poor people, and also due to
legislative changes. Although the appointments were based on the women
running farms and probably getting their appointments because the men
were unwilling to undertake them, this is an important observation of a
change. Women’s influence was no longer merely a matter of potential
suffrage, but could now in some areas also be a matter of representation.
In the towns and cities the pattern in the former half of the 19th century
resembled that of the late 18th century. A few women voted in elections of
magistrates and in some case in a mayoral election, but on the whole it
was only men who voted. Nor were any changes made in the legislation.
On the other hand, there were shifts in the balance of power between the
urban administration (including the burghers) and other influential urban
groups, among other things via the association system and the municipal
finance department. The town hall in general retained its masculine
character, but the room itself lost some of its exclusivity in the urban
dwellers’ public political life. The public space widened and women could
participate in some of the alternative forums that were created, especially
in philanthropy. As early as 1815 a women’s association was formed in
Gothenburg and more and more associations were gradually established.60
The established burghers tried as long as possible to keep their
privileges, but other growing urban groups were gaining greater influence.
On the local political level, the changes in suffrage were most sweeping in
the towns and cities, when ownership came completely to outflank
59
See for example minutes from parish meetings at
www.lokalhistoria.nu/se/index2.html.
60
Torkel Jansson, Adertonhundratalets associationer: Forskning och problem
kring ett sprängfullt tomrum eller Sammanslutningsprinciper och föreningsformer
mellan två samhällsformationer c:a 1800-1870 (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wicksell,
1985).
burghership as the basis of influence due to the municipal ordinances of

1862. Thereby it also became possible for legally competent taxpaying
women to gain suffrage in the towns and cities.
The municipal issue was thus solved four years before the reformation
of the Riksdag. The debate so far is remarkably void of a discussion based
on gender; it is more ‘genderless’ than the discussion about parliamentary
suffrage.61 This might conceivably be explained by the importance of the
existing gender-neutral parish meeting legislation. It was Sweden’s
‘independent peasantry… the finest element that can be given for
municipal autocracy—who since times immemorial have been used for
performing municipal assignments in the municipality and the hundred’
that via the parish meeting were made to serve as a kind of ideological and
institutional model for the preparation of the new municipal law in 1862.62
Ownership or ability to pay taxes were such fundamental criteria for
suffrage in the Estate of the Peasantry that the issue of gender was
neglected.
Another possible explanation for the gender-neutral discussion is the
way in which the issue was discussed. Now that the Society of Estates was
being dissolved, the municipality ought to be the stable ground on which
society was to rest. Strong local associations were considered to be both
beneficial to ‘the community spirit’ and to constitute a basis for the
constitution. Since the issue mostly came to be linked to the municipality’s
relation to the state, this led to the individual elector becoming more
indistinct than in the issue of national representation, where the whole
point was emphasising the individual elector at the expense of the Society
of Estates. For this reason the connection between the municipality’s
inhabitants and the state also assumed a different character. The right to
exert influence locally no longer entailed national political citizenship, at
least not directly. The representation reform of 1866 meant that the
61
According to Gunnar Qvist, there were some reports in the press in the 1840s on
what the parish meeting ordinance of 1843 meant for women. underlying “On the
other hand, the conservative Svenska Minerva made fun of the idea that female
servants should be able to gain both suffrage and eligibility for councils and
boards”. Qvist 1969, 212 -213, quotation p. 213, note 1.
62
Gunnar Swensson, Den parlamentariska diskussionen kring den kommunala
självstyrelsen i Sverige 1817-1862 (Lund, 1939); Håkan Forsell, Hus och hyra.
Fastighetsägande och stadstillväxt i Berlin och Stockholm 1860-1920 (Stockholm:
Stads- och kommunhistoriska institutet, 2003), quotation, 57. (quotation from Hans
Forssell, “Individualism och självstyre”, Svensk Tidskrift för Litteratur, Politik och
Ekonomi 1870, 152 -153.
municipality was not a direct source of representation the Riksdag any

more, except from the indirect elections to the Upper House.
In the preparatory work of the new municipal ordinance, it was
necessary to find out on what basis suffrage should rest and hence also
whether legally competent women should enjoy municipal suffrage. At
least regarding the towns and cities, the legislators were forced to consider
whether women should be allowed to vote in the municipalities, which
they had already been able to do in the parish meeting, at least according
to the legislation.63
During the preparation of the new law two interesting changes took
place concerning the question of how the qualified voter and the elected
representative should be described. The passage describing women’s
suffrage in detail was removed in the final edition and replaced by a
gender-neutral formulation.64 Was this merely because the formulation
was to follow accepted usage, or might there be other explanations? In this
period, the late 1850s, a solution was found to the issue of unmarried
women’s majority, preceded by a heated debate on Fredrika Bremer’s
novel Hertha. In that debate the idea of women as passive citizens was
brought to the fore. Was this the reason why explicit formulations
regarding the elector’s sex were avoided?
Eligibility was also redefined in the course of the legislative work. In
the report of 1859 there are somewhat different formulations about the
eligible representative. For the rural areas a gender-neutral description is
proposed. In the towns and cities the proponents appear compelled to
declare women out non-eligible. The estates of the Riksdag objected to
this,65 and in the final treatment it became even more obvious who should
be eligible both in the country and in the towns and cities—men.66 There
may be other reasons why this formulation was considered necessary. One
is presumably the development towards an increase in the number of
people potentially eligible for important posts. The procedure may have
been a response to the active female participation in the care of the poor
that had developed in the municipalities. It was here that the first women
fairly soon became eligible, however, for political assignments. A couple
of decades later women became eligible in poor relief boards and school
63
Underdåniga Betänkande och Förslag till 1:o Förordning om Kommunalstyrelse
på Landet. 2:o Förordning om Kommunalstyrelse i stad…, Stockholm 1859.
64
The National Archives, Civildepartementet, Konseljakt 21/3 1862 Nr 22.
65
Ibid.
66
SFS 1862 No 13 Kongl. Maj:ts nådiga Förordning om kommunalstyrelse på
landet…, SFS 1862 No 14 Kongl. Maj:ts nådiga Förordning om kommunalstyrelse
i stad…
boards (1889), and gradually more opportunities emerged in the social

field for women to function as elected representatives.
The Gender of Politics, Gender as Politics

In a modern democratic understanding of citizenship, the right to vote
is the right of an individual, but in a wider historical perspective there
were other bases for suffrage. Joan Scott points out that female
participation does not in itself have to imply that women took part as
“women”, as a separate political category.67 Nor does the exclusion of
women from participation have to be made on the same grounds; it varies
and is historically changeable.68 There are thus differences in how political
influence and suffrage are gender-defined in a diet of estates, a liberal
class society and a democratic society. In addition, different criteria of
suffrage overlap, which makes it possible to permit women in some fields
but to exclude them in others. It is reasonable to assume that the women
who participated in the various elections presented in this study were not
considered representative of the female sex in the first place.
Conceptions of differences between the sexes were given an
increasingly clear discursive content when citizenship was defined. The
conclusion concurs with Joan Scott’s theories about gender, which in her
view should be understood as a fundamental field where power relations
are articulated. She thinks that it is characteristic of gender differences that
they are created through the theories as well as practices of politics.
Politics can thus not be separated from gender; gender is constantly
present in the sense and understanding of what politics is.69
The political developments in the Age of Liberty compelled actions
and thinking about politics and gender. The masculinisation went from the
local to the national context. Women were first excluded from the mayoral
elections and only later from the Riksdag elections. The articulated
difference between the sexes that was created may be seen as a decisive
manifestation of how the ideas of gender were reformulated at this time.
The gender boundaries had previously been fluid, but now there emerged a
clearer conception of two different sexes, with men in politics and women
outside.
67
Scott 1999, 212.
68
Joan Scott, Only Paradoxes to Offer. French feminists and the rights of man
(Cambridge, Massachusetts & London, England: Harvard Univ. Press, 1996), 14.
69
Scott 1999, 42 & 207.
It cannot be claimed, however, that the changes were completely

sweeping during the period leading up to the representation reform. For a
long time in the 19th century it was still possible for women to participate
in different kinds of elections, local as well as national, on the basis of
majority, ownership and ability to pay taxes. This basis of suffrage was
also legalised in the municipal reform of 1862. Developments in the 19th
century thus went in different directions at the municipal and national
levels: national citizenship came to be defined as explicitly male, while
local citizenship was open to female participation. This resulted in the
local arena losing its masculine character, a change that was particularly
noticeable in the towns and cities. In the local urban elections, the voting
widow changed from being seen as a representative of her dead husband
and his property (up to 1758) to not being able to represent her husband,
and finally to merely representing property (from 1862). In the rural areas,
women were seen as representatives of property, and this view was
presumably strengthened through the municipal reforms of 1862.
In the national elections the individual came to be placed in the centre
when suffrage was brought closer to eligibility and when it became
universal (with a property/income qualification). Suffrage was thus moved
from a basis of property and individuality to one of individuality only (an
individual being defined as an independent male). Both men and women
were individualised in relation to marriage in the period studied. Marriage
came increasingly to be regarded as a contract between two parties, where
love and intimacy were linked increasingly closely to women and the
feminine sphere. In addition, more and more people, both men and
women, remained unmarried. But while masculinity in the political sense
was linked to an individual abstraction as part of a national construction,
femininity was embodied in the home and maternity (and marriage), and
defined as non-political.
It is true that the election reforms in the 1860s led to women being
defined out as political citizens, but relatively soon the women’s
movement and other popular movements came to redefine citizenship on a
wide front. To assist their struggle they could use the opportunities for
women’s political participation permitted by the municipal legislation. As
married women could also use their civil rights if they defined themselves
as independent economic individuals, this was also an element in the
creation of women as both a separate category with special interests, and
as independent citizens.
Bibiliography
Unprinted Primary Sources
The National Archives
Fredrika Bremerförbundets arkiv
Föreningen för kvinnans politiska rösträtt
Riksdagshandlingar
Borgarståndets protokoll
Bondeståndets arkiv
Landshövdingars skrivelser till Kungl. Maj:t
Civildepartementet
Konseljakt
The Provincial Record Offices of Härnösand

Municipal Archives
Röstlängder
The Provincial Record Offices of Uppsala

Municipal Archives
Röstlängder
Protokoll
The Provincial Record Offices of Lund
Municipal Archives
Röstlängder
The Provincial Record Offices of Gothenburg

Municipal Archives
Röstlängder
The Provincial Record Offices of Vadstena

Municipal Archives
Röstlängder
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SUFFRAGE, NATION
AND POLITICAL MOBILISATION –
THE FINNISH CASE IN AN INTERNATIONAL
CONTEXT
IRMA SULKUNEN
When Finland’s unicameral parliament convened for the first time in

March 1907, there were nineteen women among the newly elected MPs.
Social Democrats were the largest group with eighty seats, nine of which
were held by women. Among these nine were four outstanding females.
The best-known was the leader of the Domestic Workers’ Association, a
former maid called Miina Sillanpää, who was to become Finland’s first
female minister in 1926. There were also frontline labour women activists:
Hilja Pärssinen, a teacher; Ida Ahlstedt, a seamstress; and Anni Huotari, a
mother of several children. The ten women in the non-socialist group
included Baroness Alexandra Gripenberg, Lucina Hagman, Hilda
Käkikoski (also a teacher) and Eveliina Alakulju, a farmer’s wife from
Ostrobothnia. The nineteen women comprised less than ten percent of the
total of 200 MPs. Nevertheless, they were exceptional in that they
represented the first women in Europe to obtain both the vote and the right
to stand as candidates in parliamentary elections.1
This chapter 2 explores from a variety of perspectives of how this
radical reform came about. How was it possible that a solution that women
in many Western countries could then only dream of was achieved in
Finland, a geographically peripheral country that in 1809 had been
1
A comprehensive account of the first women parliamentarians can be found in
Yksi kamari – kaksi sukupuolta: Suomen eduskunnan ensimmäiset naiset, ed. Pirjo
Markkola and Alexandra Ramsay (Helsinki: Eduskunnan kirjasto, 1977).
2
The chapter is based to a great extent on my previous studies, the most important
of which is “Suomi naisten äänioikeuden edelläkävijänä” in Irma Sulkunen, Maria
Lähteenmäki and Aura Korppi-Tommola, Naiset eduskunnassa. Suomen eduskunta
100 vuotta 4 (Helsinki: Edita, 2006). The major primary sources can be found in
these studies.
84 Suffrage, Nation and Political Mobilisation
annexed as an autonomous grand duchy into the Russian Empire? What

were the cultural and political factors that allowed the reform to go
through and what was their relationship in comparison to other Western
countries? The examination will be structured, on the one hand, by the
relationship between nation-building and women’s suffrage and by the
‘public-private’ dichotomy connected with gendered citizenship on the
other. These are notions which are commonly involved in the discussion
about women’s suffrage. In addition, the linkage between women’s right
and liberalism will be critically surveyed and, in addition, the question
about the applicability of the concepts of sex and gender to the early
campaign of universal suffrage will be raised from the viewpoint of the
Finnish case.
The Socio-Political Background to the Suffrage Reform

Compared with many other countries, the implementation of female
suffrage in Finland took place not only exceptionally early but also
surprisingly rapidly and almost ‘unnoticed’. The intensive struggle lasted
only a short time, culminating in a few hectic days in early November
1905, when the whole of Finland was in a revolutionary ferment. A
general strike that had spread from Russia on 1st November had halted
traffic and closed shops and factories. Communications had broken down,
and even private households had been plunged into disorder as servants
abandoned their duties and crowded into the squares to occupy the public
space and aggressively present their demands, the most important of which
was for the implementation of universal and equal suffrage. This demand
included the right of women to vote and stand in elections.3
The rapid development of events is indicated by the fact that on the
fourth day of the strike Tsar Nicholas II issued a manifesto containing a
promise that suffrage would be granted in Finland according to the
demands of the strikers. In addition, the Tsar promised to restore ‘legal’
conditions to the country, which meant that the Russification measures
that had been instigated in Finland a few years earlier would be dropped.
In Finland, apart from a few voices of discord, the universal and equal
suffrage mentioned in the manifesto was interpreted as meaning that the
same rights would be granted to both sexes. In accordance with this
3
The most up-to-date account of the events of the General Strike can be found in
Kansa kaikkivaltias. Suurlakko Suomessa 1905, ed. Pertti Haapala, Olli Löytty,
Kukku Melkas and Marko Tikka (Helsinki: Teos, 2008); of earlier research, see
especially Jussila, Osmo, Nationalismi ja vallankumous venäläis-suomalaisissa
suhteissa 1899 – 1914 (Helsinki, 1979).
Irma Sulkunen 85
interpretation, a parliamentary reform bill was speedily drawn up and

passed in all the Finnish legislative organs in the spring of 1906. Apart
from some small details, the Tsar approved the bill presented by the
Finnish Senate as such on 3rd May 1906, and as a result Finnish women
were ready to vote and enter the parliament as full citizens, the first of
their sex to do so in Europe. They also seem to have been the first in the
world to have used both these rights to the full.4
It would be naive to imagine that the pressurising measures of the
Finns alone had forced the Tsar of Russia into agreeing to a parliamentary
reform that was exceptional not only within the empire but in fact
represented the acme of democratic progress in international terms as well.
Although there was strong pressure in support of the reform in Finland, its
realisation was undoubtedly made possible by events on the world political
stage and their impact on Russia. The defeat in the war against Japan had
further exacerbated the already inflamed domestic situation in Russia and
led to disturbances throughout the empire. A wave of strikes that broke out
in Russia in 1905 spread into its bordering countries, including Finland.
The situation was assuaged by the granting of greater democratic rights:
the Duma was established in Russia, and Finland was also assured of a
thorough reform of its parliamentary system.
On the other hand, it should be remembered that no promise of a
reform would have been given unless the demands had been regarded as
constituting a real threat. Moreover, the Finns took advantage of the
unsettled situation in Russia and strove to achieve the greatest possible
unanimity in order to get the suffrage reform through as quickly as
possible. The handling of the bill at its different stages clearly shows that
fear of missing a favourable political opportunity induced the Reform
Committee, the Senate and the members of the Diet to approve the reform
in a much more radical form than they would probably have done in a
stable political situation.
The general political situation is also considered to have decisively
influenced the fact that women were given national suffrage at an
exceptionally early date. It has even been suggested that the granting of
female suffrage was treated as a routine matter to be taken as read and was
passed ‘semi-accidentally’ as a kind of by-product of the great political
drama. According to this view, men had achieved suffrage for themselves
by their struggles and astute tactics, and along the way the same rights
4
Sulkunen 2006; On the parliamentary reform of 1906, see also Juhani Mylly,
Edustuksellisen kansanvallan läpimurto. Suomen eduskunta 100 vuotta (Helsinki:
Edita, 2006); O. Seitkari. “Eduskuntalaitoksen uudistus” 1906” in Suomen
kansanedustuslaitoksen historia V (Helsinki, 1958).
came to be accorded to women as well.5 However, this interpretation not

only ignores the active contribution of women but also leaves open some
questions regarding the political rights of women. The fact that the crisis
in Russia and the wave of strikes that it created provided Finnish
statesmen with an excellent opportunity to further their own interests does
not explain why women’s right to vote was included in the demand for
universal and equal suffrage, or why the demand was passed with relative
ease and with such little opposition. Moreover, the question of why gender
conflict generally played a surprisingly insignificant role during and
before the parliamentary reform remains open.
In one respect, the phenomenon can be explained by the fact that in
Finland − unlike many other Western countries − the corporative
parliamentary system broke down exceptionally slowly. The Diet of four
estates (Nobles, Burghers, Clergy and Peasants) that had been inherited
from the times when Finland belonged to the Swedish realm6 still
remained in force with a few extensions at the beginning of the twentieth
century. In this, Finland was exceptional by comparison with the other
Nordic countries. Norway had already adopted a unicameral system in
1814, in Denmark a two-chamber parliament had been established in 1843
and a similar system in Sweden in 1866. Male suffrage had been extended,
in many Western countries considerably, at the same pace during the
course of the nineteenth century, and at the same time the question of
female suffrage appeared on the political agenda. In Finland, on the other
hand, the parliamentary system had been reformed extremely cautiously,
for by comparison with the Russian situation even the Finnish Diet, which
met regularly, appeared progressive.
The conservatism of the Finnish parliamentary system, bound as it was
to the representation of the four estates, meant that it was unable to keep
up with the rapid progress that was taking place in society, and this
resulted in serious grievances in the late nineteenth century. Power was
concentrated in the hands of the higher estates − the Nobles and the Clergy
− who nevertheless represented an ever decreasing proportion of the
population. The Nobles, in particular, had a disproportionately strong
5
Among others, Juhani Mylly (2006, 142) has used the word läpihuutojuttu (a
routine matter to be taken as read) in describing the adoption of women’s suffrage.
Similar interpretations can be found in Osmo Jussila, Nationalismi ja
vallankumous venäläis-suomalaisissa suhteissa 1899−1914 (Helsinki, 1979) and
Mikko Perttilä, “Naisten poliittisen äänioikeuden toteuttaminen” in Naiskuvista
todellisuutee (Hämeenlinna: Gaudeamus, 1984), 152 – 62.
6
About the traditional diet-system in Sweden see also Åsa Karlsson Sjögren’s
chapter in this work.
Irma Sulkunen 87
representation in the Diet. On the other hand, during the course of the
nineteenth century, new educated groups, especially teachers, and people
working in trade and commerce who did not satisfy the corporative
conditions of their estates and thus were deprived of suffrage had
accumulated around the Clergy and the Burghers. Moreover, the rapidly
growing industrial population and other groups of urban workers were left
outside the basically patriarchal system of representation, although at the
end of the century in several cities some members of these groups could
also take part in parliamentary elections on the basis of their tax-paying
ability. In the Peasants estate, too, which was represented in the Diet in
Finland according to the general Nordic custom, the problem became the
rapid growth of unenfranchised landless groups. At the beginning of the
twentieth century, the situation reached a point where only seven to eight
percent of the total population of the country were enfranchised, and
among the peasants the percentage was even lower.7 The limitations of the
parliamentary system become even clearer by comparison with the
reforms in local elections that had been carried out. According to a decree
on rural municipalities passed in 1865, everyone who paid municipal taxes
was eligible to take part in local elections, including women who were not
subject to the authority of the master of a household. In the towns, a
reform of municipal administration passed in 1873 granted the right to
vote in municipal meetings to all tax-paying members of the town
community of good repute who had jurisdiction over themselves and their
property, be they men or women.8
7
The percentage is approximate and is based on the estimated averages of the
estates. The figure of about eight percent is based on that proposed by Pirkko K.
Koskinen in Pirkko K. Koskinen, “Äänioikeuden lainsäädäntöhistoria” in Yksi
kamari – kaksi sukupuolta. Suomen eduskunnan ensimmäiset naiset 1997. A
percentage has also been calculated for the whole population. It should also be
noted that although the proportion of the enfranchised population was low in
Finland during the time of the Diet, in relation to many other countries it was not
exceptional, for in all countries male suffrage was also limited by various kinds of
tax-paying qualifications. See also Mylly 2006, 36 – 46.
8
For a more detailed treatment of the administrative system of rural municipalities,
see Hannu Soikkanen, Kunnallinen itsehallinto kansanvallan perusta:
Maalaiskuntien itsehallinnon historia (Helsinki, 1966), and of urban municipalities
Jussi Kuusanmäki, “Kunnallisen kansanvallan kehitys ja kunnallishallinnon
organisaatio 1875–1917” in Suomen kaupunkilaitoksen historia 2 1870-luvulta
autonomian ajan loppuun (Vantaa, 1983).
The Divided Suffrage Movement: Class and Gender

Paradoxically, one can claim that the conservative parliamentary
system and the patriarchalism9 that lay behind it in fact helped to advance
women's suffrage in Finland. Since the limitations on national citizenship
affected not only women but also those huge groups of men that were
subject to the authority of their masters and thus deprived of the vote, the
sense of injustice that grew along with the changes taking place in society
did not necessarily distinguish between the sexes but rather created a
commonality of interests between different unenfranchised groups of the
population. This is well reflected in the social structure of the Finnish
suffrage movement, in which gender did not play a significant role. On the
contrary, when the suffrage movement became organised on a major scale
at the turn of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, its main current was
channelled into popular movements in which no distinction was made
between the sexes. Of these, the workers’ movement assumed a firm
position of authority and programmatic leadership, although the
programmes of some other popular movements also contained the goal of
a radical extension of the vote. Women were active in all these
organisations, and they also participated prominently in public
demonstrations in support of the implementation of universal and equal
suffrage for both sexes. This considerably increased the force of the
popular mobilisation, and at the same time from the very outset it made the
demand for the women’s vote an inseparable element in the goal of
extending democratic rights.
Of particular interest for the suffrage question was the temperance
movement, which had opted to support the goal of universal and equal
suffrage. It became the most important popular movement in Finland at the
end of the nineteenth century, and it maintained this position into the early
years of the twentieth. The movement, which organised itself into a single
national organisation, Raittiuden Ystävät (The Friends of Temperance) in
the nineteenth century, drew the vast majority of its members from the
working class. The proportion of women in the membership also rose to
about a half at the turn of the century, in some places even higher. For
example, all the leading adherents of the women's movement were active
members of the organisation, irrespective of their party-political
affiliations. They included the leaders of the non-socialist women's
movement: Alexandra Gripenberg, Hilda Käkikoski, Lucina Hagman and
9
At that time patriarchalism did not mean just the authority man over woman; it
permeated all the relations of social control, administration and power.
Irma Sulkunen 89
Maikki Friberg. On the other hand, there were also frontline Social
Democrats like Hilja Pärssinen and Miina Sillanpää in the leading organs
of the Friends of Temperance. The temperance movement adopted
national prohibition as its goal, and as the temperance struggle intensified
this aim became inextricably entwined with the demand for suffrage.
When the workers’ movement, which became organised at the turn of the
nineteenth and twentieth centuries, also decided to demand prohibition, the
front that was demanding universal and equal franchise was considerably
strengthened.10
Despite the cooperation between the temperance movement and other
popular movements, the movement for women’s vote in Finland was
divided into two main factions along the lines of the model that generally
prevailed in Western countries. One of these groups sought to promote
women's suffrage as a separate issue, the other strove to combine the
suffrage goals into a unified programme without distinctions of gender. In
Finland, however, the separate suffragette movement was never more than
a very marginal group. Even when the suffrage struggle was at its height,
the members of Suomen Naisyhdistys (The Finnish Women's Association),
which was established in 1884, and Unioni Naisasialiitto (Unioni, the
League of Finnish Feminists), which split from it in 1893, numbered
together well under 2000, while the number of women members of the
temperance movement rose in the early twentieth century to almost
20,000, and the female members of the workers’ movement numbered
almost as many. Nor did the White Ribbon Movement (WCTU), which
had been the main suffrage forum for women in Anglo-American
countries, gain any significant foothold in Finland, although its
membership did to some extent exceed the combined total of the actual
feminist organisations.11
10
Sulkunen 2006; see also Irma Sulkunen, History of the Finnish Temperance
Movement. Temperance as a Civic Religion. (Lewiston, Queenston, Lampeter: The
Edwin Mellen Press, 1990); Irma Sulkunen, “Naisten järjestäytyminen ja
kaksijakoinen kansalaisuus” in Kansa Liikkeessä, ed. Risto Alapuro, Ilkka
Liikanen, Kerstin Smeds and Henrik Stenius (Vantaa: Kirjayhtymä, 1987); Irma
Sulkunen, “Naisten äänioikeus meillä ja muualla” in Yksi kamari – kaksi
sukupuolta: Suomen eduskunnan ensimmäiset naiset 1997.
11
For a more detailed treatment of the whole subject of organisation among
women, see Irma Sulkunen, “Naisten yleinen järjestäytyminen ja naisasialiike
vuosisadan vaihteessa”. Naisnäkökulmia, ed. Katarina Eskola, Elina Haavio-
Mannila and Riitta Jallinoja (Juva: WSOY, 1979; Sulkunen 1987; Irma Sulkunen,
“The Mobilization of Women and the Birth of Civil Society” in The Lady with the
Bow. The Story of Finnish Women. (Keuruu: Otava, 1990).
The low level of support for the feminist organisations can be

explained in part by the fact that their demand for suffrage did not cover
all women but aimed only at franchise for women on the same basis as
men, in other words, according to the criteria of estate and wealth. This
stance was logical in that with the extremely conservative suffrage
situation that prevailed in Finland it was natural to assume that reform
here, too, would happen in stages in accordance with the general Western
model. In this case, wealth and social position, on the one hand, and
gender, on the other, would constitute the basic coordinates that would
determine the direction and extent of the erupting struggle for democracy.
In fact, that is what began to happen in Finland, too, in the late
nineteenth century, when the pressure for reform of the system of
representation grew as, with the advent of new forms of production,
economic liberalism gained a foothold, first in the Burghers’ Estate, whose
interests lay mainly in getting the barriers to industry and trade removed,
and then among the Clergy and the Peasants. Of particular interest from
the point of view of gendered citizenship was the Parliament Act of 1869,
which for the first time included the female sex among the limitations on
suffrage for the lower estates. Previously, widows had been able to vote in
the Peasants’ estate on the grounds of ownership of land; now they
deprived of this privilege. Gender-based limitations also affected elections
in the Burghers’ estate when a change in the constitution in 1879 excluded
‘female persons, married and unmarried’ from the right to vote.12
The limitations were in conflict with the Decrees on Rural
Municipalities (1865) and Urban Municipalities (1873), according to
which gender was not an obstacle to participation in local voting. The line
drawn by the Parliament Act was an important step in defining sex as a
major category in political rights. It also drew the line between local and
national concepts of political citizenship, with the former following the
principle of liberal economic independence, and the latter that of a
gendered division of spheres of life based on the essential dichotomy
between the male and female identities, a view that also stemmed from the
liberal tradition. However, this principle was not clearly enunciated in
connection with the passing of the act, and in the light of later
developments the role of sex as a basis for discrimination in political rights
would appear to have been unclear for a long time to many politicians.
The exclusion of women from parliamentary elections swiftly made the
issue a subject of public debate. The Finnish Women's Association
addressed the matter, and so did Minna Canth, a pioneering writer of
12
Valtiopäiväjärjestys 1869; Mylly 2006, 39 – 42; Sulkunen 2006.
Irma Sulkunen 91
realist literature in Finland and an influential advocate of social

engagement.13 The issue was also debated in the Diet of 1885, but without
any result. Thereafter, women's right to vote was raised as a separate issue
in the Burghers’ estate, first in 1897, when four of the representatives in
the Diet submitted a motion to the Burghers’ estate, demanding that:
All women in this country who fulfil the conditions laid down in the
constitution for elective franchise should be granted the same right to vote
as men.14
This proposal led to no direct results, but after it the matter continued
to be discussed in connection with other motions at several sessions of the
Diet until the parliamentary reform of 1906.15 A particular problem in
these debates raised the question of how to address the enfranchisement of
women whose wealth exceeded the threshold level for the right to vote at
the local level. Did their municipal franchise also entitle them to vote in
parliamentary elections, and more generally what was the relationship
between local and national franchise, and what role did sex play in
defining this relationship? And on an even more general level, to what
extent did the liberal principle of demonstrating qualification for voting on
the basis of personal economic or intellectual achievement include women,
and how could the principle of economic independence be reconciled with
the gendered division of spheres of life?
The debates in the Diet clearly reveal the pragmatic way in which the
higher social groups in Finland regarded the relationship between the
sexes at that time. Certainly there was talk of the ‘natural’ attributes of
women, but there was hardly any reference to their having a restricting
effect on political activity. Nor was the border between the public and the
private particularly emphasised in the discussion about political suffrage
for women. On the contrary, it was fairly generally believed that ‘women's
participation in national life would bring to it a new element, the
propensity of which for the preservation of public order was not to be
13
See e.g. Alexandra Gripenberg, Naisasian kehitys eri maissa (Porvoo, 1905);
Alexandra Gripenberg, Finsk Kvinnoföreningen 1884 – 1909 (Helsinki, 1909);
Riitta Jallinoja, Suomalaisen Naisasialiikkeen taistelukaudet: Naisasialiike naisten
elämäntilanteen muutoksen ja yhteiskunnallis-aatteellisen murroksen heijastajana.
(Porvoo: WSOY, 1983).
14
Anomusehdotus/Porvarissääty no 3. Asiakirjat, Valtiopäivät 1897.
15
For a more detailed account of the handling of the issue, see Sulkunen 2006, 36
– 50.
doubted on account of the natural character and role of women’.16 Women

were regarded as already being active in public life, not only at the
municipal level but also in many other so-called public fields: for example
a woman might be ‘the principal of a state school, a seminary or a trade
school, a teacher in a private or public school, a newspaper journalist, a
postal official, a doctor, a superintendent of a poorhouse and in charge of
numerous other municipal and private functions’. From this role ‘Finnish
men cannot hope that Finnish women will regress’, proclaimed the
members of the Diet who supported women's franchise.17
The motions to the Diet demanding a separate franchise for women
were in accordance with the policy of the middle-class women's
movement, and indeed they were often formulated within it. This was
natural simply because the Finnish Women's Association and Unioni, the
League of Finnish Feminists had close links with the bourgeois parties.18
Just how closely the line promoting a separate suffrage for women was
connected with the emerging new class division is interestingly illustrated
by some of the speeches made in the Diet. For example, in listing the
numerous fields in which middle- and upper-class women worked, no
mention was made of the appreciably greater work input made by women
belonging to the lower classes. The speeches also began to reveal a rigid
opposition between men of the lower social groups and women belonging
to the educated class:
When it happens that the same school and university education is available
to a woman as to a man, it appears to us to be much less dangerous to grant
her national franchise than that men of a lower educational level who do
not have an income anything like sufficient to ensure their economic
independence should have this franchise.19
The idea of granting the vote to women of the upper and middle
classes in order to snaffle the growing political influence of working-class
men was also voiced aloud:
The granting of national franchise to women is an act demanded not only

by justice but also by wisdom. It would bring to our political life an
element that would protect society.20
16
Lakivaliokunnan mietintö no 16. Anomusmietintö no 79. Asiakirjat, Valtiopäivät
1897.
17
Vastalause lakivaliokunnan mietintöön no 16. Asiakirjat, Valtiopäivät 1897.
18
See e.g. Jallinoja 1983.
19
Vastalause lakivaliokunnan mietintöön no 16. Asiakirjat, Valtiopäivät 1897.
20
Ibid.
Irma Sulkunen 93
Thus bourgeois circles considered that preservation of the control of

political life and decision-making in the hands of those who were deemed
suitable on the basis of position, education or wealth was more important
even than their reservations about women. The fact that the Finnish
Women's Association committed itself to this view of citizenship, based as
it was on class distinctions, is well illustrated by the suffrage policy
statements of Alexandra Gripenberg, which can be summarised in the
phrase ‘hierarchical sisterhood’. In this pyramidal structure, women of
different social classes had their own strictly limited places, which
correspondingly defined the nature of female citizenship appropriate to
each group. Only those belonging to the top social levels were entitled to
demand political rights, while those belonging to the working classes and
other lower social groups should keep to their stations and accept the
advice and precepts of their more enlightened sisters. This view blended
smoothly into Gripenberg's ideological concept of citizenship, in which
privileges and responsibilities were similarly divided according to social
class.21 Following the same principles, the feminist organisations
continued to promote a form of suffrage based on class right up to
November 1905, when they were obliged to make an abrupt about-turn in
favour of universal and equal suffrage as a result of the Imperial
manifesto. Alexandra Gripenberg, however, maintained this view to the
bitter end, continuing to draw a contemptuous line discriminating against
working-class women in her work in parliament.
Nation, Liberalism and Citizenship

Despite all the confusion associated with it, the General Strike of 1905
has been regarded as a significant turning point in the development of
Finland as a nation. Then, at a strategic moment, the party groups despite
their struggle for political power succeeded in achieving unanimity about
both the goals of the strike and the demands to be presented to Russia. The
nationalist frame of reference, which was present in all the discussions
concerning suffrage, indeed offers an important perspective on the early
granting of the vote to Finnish women. Nationalist rhetoric also permeated
all social and political activities both before the parliamentary reform and
after it. Here, too, there were several features that were common to events
elsewhere in the world, but there were also characteristics that were unique
to Finland. Nation-building and the concomitant nationalism, which had
21
For a more detailed treatment of the concept ‘hierarchical sisterhood’ and linked
emancipatory views based on class divisions, see Sulkunen 1987.
grown appreciably in the country throughout the nineteenth century, were

supported most consciously by the intelligentsia and other upper- and
middle-class groups. The strongest line with regard to Russia was taken by
the Constitutionalists, made up partly of Swedish-speaking liberals and
partly of a group called the Young Finns. A more moderate attitude to
Russia was adopted by the so-called Old Finns, whose nationalist doctrine
was based on securing legal rights for the Finnish language. Their
ideology was rooted in the Finnish-speaking peasant class, and they strove
to enlist support from this group in particular. The nationalist issue was
also commonly discussed within the workers’ movement, despite its
international orientation. Thus in the debate over suffrage, too, appeal was
made to the interests of the nation both in circles that supported extensive
democratic rights and in those that opposed them, and in the name of
national unity all groups tended to play down rather than emphasise
gender conflict.
Although the nationalist orientation curbed the acerbation of any
gender conflict, the different groups in Finland, too, attempted to lay down
the conditions for new citizenship. It was a question of how political
citizenship should be determined: who would be entitled to it and who
would be excluded from it. In this struggle, class differences often
assumed a more determining role than sex, and the arguments were
sometimes based on international ideologies, sometimes on purely
domestic practices. The motion to the Diet of 1897, which was made by
bourgeois liberals, thus reflects not only national interests but also the
views of international liberal circles about political citizenship.22
According to these principles, national suffrage should be based on a
specified ability to pay taxes. If women satisfied this tax-paying
qualification, they should be granted the same rights as men. This demand
for suffrage based on tax-paying ability was only for independent women,
however; it excluded married women. This exclusion was defended by
another argument connected with traditional liberal ideology: in addition
to economic self-sufficiency an independent position was also regarded as
a prerequisite for participation in national politics, and many persons,
including women, who were in various relations of service or under the
guardianship of a man did not enjoy such a position. The early feminists
had attacked this argument on principles of natural law going back to the
French Revolution, and in Finland, too, these arguments had already been
used back in the mid-nineteenth century. It is, however, an interesting fact
that the longer the suffrage debate lasted, the more cautious the middle-
22
Anomusehdotus/Porvarissääty no 3, Asiakirjat, Valtiopäivät 1897.
Irma Sulkunen 95
class women's movement became in using arguments based on natural

law. If they had adopted these principles logically, the demand for suffrage
would have had to be extended into one for universal and equal suffrage,
which suited neither the bourgeois feminists nor the political groups
behind them.
Those who supported universal and equal suffrage eagerly seized on
this dilemma in the early years of the twentieth century, but they found
themselves opposed by two notable political scholars, both of whom based
their views on the liberal ideological tradition. The sternest opposition to
female suffrage came from Robert Hermanson, who belonged to the
Swedish-speaking political group, and another leading member of the
Young Finns party, K.J. Ståhlberg. Hermanson was a professor who was
familiar with modern political theory, and in 1905 and 1906 he was a
member of the committee that drafted the parliamentary reform, while
Ståhlberg was a lawyer and scholar in the field of public law, and he had
extensively studied the problematics of suffrage in an international
perspective. Hermanson's arguments were based on internationally
recognised ideas about the essential nature of women, which it was
believed would be best fulfilled in the private sphere of the home and
family but would be corrupted on the merciless stage of public politics.23
For his part, Ståhlberg did not oppose female suffrage in principle, but he
believed that the time was not yet ripe for it in Finland. Ståhlberg defended
his view with the argument that women did not have the vote even in
‘more progressive’ countries than Finland, and consequently Finland
ought to follow the general Western principle and extend universal
suffrage first to men and only then address the question of female
franchise. He considered that this was also in the interests of the nascent
Finnish nation.24
Both scholars thus appealed to international concepts of political
citizenship, and in particular Hermanson's negative stance was influenced
by his knowledge of international theories of political law and suffrage. In
addition, his arguments clearly reflected the intellectual change that had
taken place in the international suffrage movement and in the debate on
23
Robert Hermansonin vastalause perustuslakivaliokunnan mietintöön.
Äänioikeusasia perustuslakivaliokunnassa. Valtiopäivät 1904−1905 pöytäkirja, 88-
89. Eduskuntauudistuskomitean pöytäkirja 12.12.1905 and Äänioikeuskomitean
mietintö. The Archive of Parliament.
24
K.J. Ståhlbergin ja Antti Mikkolan vastalause perustuslakivaliokunnan
mietintöön. Äänioikeusasia perustuslakivaliokunnassa. Valtiopäivät 1904−1905
pöytäkirja, 106; For Ståhlberg’s thorough study of the suffrage question and his
views more generally, see K. J. Ståhlberg, Äänioikeusliikkeitä (Helsinki, 1895).
political citizenship during the course of the nineteenth century.

Arguments based on differences in the essential natures of the sexes to
which Hermanson, too, appealed had become common, and the
maternalistic line based on them that was also adopted in the middle-class
women’s movement had begun to displace demands for equality based on
principles of natural law; the latter had in turn become the basis of the
arguments of those who supported radical democratic rights, and they had
intensified along with the growth of the socialist workers’ movement.25
The arguments based on the specific essential characteristics of the
sexes and a consequent division into public and private spheres of life did
not, however, gain any significant foothold in Finland. Conversely, the
arguments based on natural law did continue to strike a chord here with
men, too, much longer than in Western countries that had experienced
militant feminism. Nor did the conventional division into progressives and
conservatives arise; rather the positions were reversed over the question of
female suffrage. The strongest opponents were the Swedish-speakers, who
in other questions represented liberal opinions, while the Peasants and the
Finnish Party (the Old Finns), who were regarded as conservatives,
strongly supported a democratic system of representation. Thus the Social
Democratic Party, which had promoted a radical suffrage reform from the
very beginning, got an unexpected ally at a strategically crucial juncture.26
The views supporting universal and equal suffrage were naturally
affected by the struggle to win the souls of the Finnish-speaking commons
in the fight for national hegemony. This meant binding the ordinary people
to a common patriotic cause, and it allowed no distinction to be made
between women and men. On the contrary, the contribution of women to
the construction of national unity was strongly emphasised, as was their
crucial significance in bearing and raising a vigorous Finnish nation.
25
Of the extensive literature on the ideological policies of the women’s suffrage
movement, see e.g. Aileen S. Kraditor, The Ideas of the Woman Suffrage
Movement 1890 – 1920; Equal or Different: Women’s Politics 1800 – 1914, ed.
Jane Rendall (Basil Blackwell, 1987); Ellen DuBois, Woman Suffrage and
Women’s Rights (New York University Press, 1997); Beyond Equality and
Difference: Citizenship, feminist politics and female subjectivity, ed. Gisela Bock
and Susan James (London and New York: Routledge, 1992); Nira Yuval-Davis,
Gender & Nation. London and Thousand Oaks and New Delhi: Sage Publications,
1997); Women’s Rights and Human Rights: International Historical Perspectives,
ed. Patricia Grimshaw, Katie Holmes and Marilyn Lake, Concerning the Finnish
case, see Maija Rajainen, “Yleiset äänioikeusteoriat ja äänioikeusliike
Suomessa”.Historiallinen Aikakauskirja 1959/57; Sulkunen 2006.
26
For a more detailed analysis, see Sulkunen 2006.
Irma Sulkunen 97
These arguments were well expressed by K. Grotenfelt in his speech in

support of universal and equal suffrage:
I am not one of those who take the view that participation in national
political rights is a right conferred by birth on every group of the people
any more than on every individual; rather, in my opinion, it is a right that
will come to them only when it is regarded as being in the interests of the
fatherland. But the way in which we have striven to defend our inherited
rights and our constitution in recent years justifies the fact that we should
have universal and equal suffrage. […] The same, in my opinion, holds
true for women. Finnish women, too, have by their very activities and
participation in the common cause in recent times won for themselves an
equal position alongside Finnish men.27
Both the precarious political situation and concern over the

fragmentation of national unity thus significantly curtailed any outbreak of
a gender conflict in deciding on the contents of the suffrage reform.
Consequently, there were hardly any public debates about the principles of
granting female suffrage, not were the different alternatives critically
evaluated. There were also very few comparisons with other countries in a
situation where the national point of view was dominant. It is illustrative
that in the debates on women's suffrage in the Diet, no mention was made
of the rights that women in New Zealand and Australia had already
gained, and references to Britain were only made in speeches opposing the
right to vote for women. Ståhlberg, who regarded female suffrage
critically, was undoubtedly right when he stated that Finland was
somewhat unprepared for the situation in 1905, and this, together with the
foreign and domestic political pressure, increased the persuasive force of
the equality argument in the final handling of the parliamentary reform
bill. One can, therefore, justifiably conclude that the scant awareness of
the international debate over suffrage and the abstention from any
discussion of the principles concerning gender relations and rights turned
out, paradoxically, to benefit the early granting of suffrage to women in
Finland.
Public, Private and Civil Society

Despite these conclusions, it still remains an open question what in the
end made possible in Finland the sexually undivided cooperation that
resulted in universal and equal suffrage. And connected with this, why,
27
Riddersk. & Adelns Protokoll I. Valtiopäivät 1905-1906 pöytäkirja, 374.
apart from a few marginal notes, was no attention paid in the Finnish
suffrage debate to gender differences and the division into different
spheres of life that was based on it? One way of approaching the question
is offered by an analysis of the cultural factors that affected political
activity. This interpretation is based on the view that, in addition to
favourable political conditions, the active role that women had taken
before the suffrage reform in Finnish cultural life also lay behind their
rapid achievement of the vote. They assumed this role naturally in the
struggle for suffrage, and correspondingly it was also attributed to them
when the question of political rights was settled. The partnership view
emphasising equality between the sexes that was commonly expressed in
the Finnish suffrage debate, and which was crucial in getting the vote for
women accepted was, according to this view, more a creation of local
social traditions than an expression of innovative international political
thinking; or, to be more exact, the favourable outcome for women was a
consequence of the extraordinary, albeit short-lived, coincidence of these
two factors.
This hypothesis becomes more precise when the analysis also takes
into account the informal popular movements that preceded and partly
overlapped with the formally organised voluntary associations. It is
justified to do so because the development of a civil society, which in
Finland was closely interwoven with the building of the nation-state, was
initiated and took shape precisely through dynamic activity at the grass-
roots level, most visibly in the popular organisations in which both sexes
participated side by side on an equal footing. In them new conceptions of
citizenship were formulated, and the demand for increased democratic
rights and a concomitant new model of citizenship were adopted. In
Finland, as in most other Protestant countries, this phase of popular
organisation was preceded by powerful religious revivals, which have
received scant attention particularly in research that draws on the
traditional Habermasian-view of civil society and emphasises the
importance of bourgeois publicity. On the other hand, some gender-
historical studies had fruitfully revealed the significance of early revivalist
movements for the social activation of women.28
28
Among others, the following works offer interesting interpretations: Barbara
Leslie Epstein, The Politics of Domesticity: Women, Evangelism and Temperance
in Nineteenth-Century America (Middletown, Conn. 1981); Barbara Valenze:
Prophetic Sons and Daughters: Female Preaching and Popular Religion in
Industrial England.(Princeton University Press, 1985); Phyllis Mack, Visionary
Women: Ecstatic Prophecy in Seventeenth-Century England. (Berkeley, Los
Angeles and Oxford : University of California Press, 1992); Virginia Lieson
Irma Sulkunen 99
If the formation of a civil society is not regarded merely as an

innovation constructed by bourgeois publicity but as a comprehensive
change that simultaneously affected different strata of society, the case for
the central significance of religious revivals in the chain of events can be
argued at least on the following grounds. First, their influence reached
from the grass-roots level to the highest systems of administration and
control. Second, religious conversions based on personal experience
undermined the local social traditions, which were rooted in patriarchal
communality, and in their place created new, voluntary forms of
association. Third, the revivals presented a challenge to the spiritual
hegemony of the church, which relied on the support of the state. By
breaking down the traditional order of society at all levels and
emphasising the responsibility and conviction of the individual as the basis
of religious and social activity, the revivals thus played a significant part
in creating the social and ideological conditions for the birth of the
modern civil society.29
It is significant from the point of view of the suffrage question that in
Finland it was women who initiated the early religious movements, and in
the early stages they played an important role as leaders of them. The first
revivals that led to more widespread movements erupted in the form of
violent ecstatic experiences in the late eighteenth century. They then
rapidly spread to different parts of the country and expanded into massive
popular movements in the nineteenth century. These movements, which
recruited their followers mainly from the common people, were still
extremely powerful at the beginning of the twentieth century, when the
largest of them overlapped with movements pursuing nationalist aims.
Simultaneously, the position of women as religious leaders waned,
although at the local level they continued to play a leading role in many
places.30
The fact that women were not only actively involved in, but also
spearheaded, the social change that expressed itself in religious revivals
indicates the strong position they held in local communities. At the same
time, it also demonstrates the fuzziness of any gender-based distinction
between the public and private spheres of life, suggesting that the
traditional Finnish agrarian culture was even not aware of such a notion.
Brereton, From Sin to Salvation: Stories of Women’s Conversions, 1800 to the

Present. (Bloomington and Indiana University Press, 1991).
29
Irma Sulkunen, “Väckelsesörelser som ett förskede i organiseringens historia”.
Historisk Tidskrift för Finland 1983.
30
Irma Sulkunen, Liisa Eerikintytär ja hurmosliikkeet 1700-1800-luvulla.
(Helsinki: Hanki ja jää, 1999).
Indeed, it seems that the natural social involvement of women that

manifested itself in the revivalist movements transferred itself to the
popular organisations that became organised in the nineteenth century and
through them to a mobilised suffrage movement that demanded universal
and equal civil rights in the early twentieth century.
On the other hand, it should be remembered that there were revivalist
movements with women adherents in other protestant countries as well,
but there they did not necessarily lead to a corresponding tradition of non-
gendered public activities. For example, there were important ecstatic
women's revivalist movements in Sweden at the turn of the eighteenth and
nineteenth centuries, as there were in Germany. In Britain, too, working-
class women played a central role in the initial phase of the Methodist
revival, and other revivalist movements attracted large numbers of female
adherents in other Anglo-American countries long before this agitation
came to be channelled into the activities of the White Ribbon Movement
with its suffrage and temperance goals.31 The differences in development
reflect the various ways in which religion was implicated in the political
structures, world views and daily life of different countries, nations and
social classes. They also suggest that in Finland there must have been
factors stemming from the local culture that allowed women to take part in
public life and assume a prominent leading role in the movements.
Undoubtedly, all this makes for a complex skein of problems. Here I am
dealing with the strong agrarian tradition in Finnish society along with its
survival strategies and ways of seeing the world as just one strand of study
in this skein.
From an international perspective, the composition of the Finnish
population was exceptionally homogeneous, and differences of income
between the social classes were relatively small. The nobility constituted
only a small proportion of the population, as did the wealthy bourgeoisie.
The vast majority of Finns obtained their livelihood from agriculture, in
which small farms predominated. Subsistence was often scarce, and
survival required the smooth cooperation of both sexes. It went without
saying that women, too, had to take part in heavy labour, not only in the
household but also tending cattle and working in the fields with men, and
this fact was naturally reflected in the relationship between the sexes and
the fuzziness of the border between the private and public spheres of
activity. This tradition was still vigorous in the peak years of political
mobilisation at the start of the twentieth century, when about ninety
percent of the Finnish population still lived in the countryside. The
31
See the note 29.
Irma Sulkunen 101
majority of industrial workers also inherited the agrarian tradition, and by

comparison with other countries women constituted an exceptionally high
proportion of them. This meant that it was not only in peasant households
but also in the families of industrial workers that survival strategies
effectively superseded concerns about gender and upheld a relationship
between the sexes that was based on partnership and joint economic
responsibility.
The prevalence of this partnership outlook and the failure of a
gendered division of spheres to take root is also indicated by the copious
use of arguments referring to male and female equality in the debate over
women's suffrage. Certainly, the fact that men and women had different
work tasks was mentioned, but − apart from a couple of dissenting
opinions − this was not regarded as entailing a division of spheres of life
(male public and female private) determined by the essential
characteristics of the sexes. On the contrary, it seems that such a way of
thinking was foreign to most of the members of the Diet. It is also
illustrative that, in addition to the workers, it was the representatives of the
country towns and the peasants who were most strongly in favour of
women's rights. Both the important work input and the active social and
patriotic contribution of women were emphasised by all these groups. Nor
was gender regarded as an impediment to political activity; on the
contrary, it was believed that women would occupy an important place in
the new parliament, a place that belonged to them naturally as the
representatives of one half of the population.
These arguments were clearly influenced by the systems of sexual
complementarity characteristic of the peasant community and more
generally of the society of the estates. In these systems, sex had not yet
been analysed into the political category of gender, as had already
happened in “more developed” civil societies. The relationship between
the sexes was rather characterised by partnership, which despite the
prevailing patriarchalism of the local community bound couples together
in a way that admitted of no distinction between the rights of individuals.
The border between the public and the private in the modern sense was not
recognised, nor were men and women located according to this dichotomy.
Consequently, modern demands for democratic rights surprisingly
received support from the peasant population, a class that was regarded as
conservative in its social views. This, in turn, enabled doctrines based on
natural law to be merged with the agrarian conception of partnership
between the sexes, to produce an interpretation of equality that was radical
even by international standards.
Conclusion
In Finland, as in all Western countries, the battle to overthrow the old
system of representation also involved a power struggle within the new
one. This struggle was waged within the framework of a party system in
the process of modernisation, but it was even more intense in extra-
parliamentary lobbying activities, in which new class relations were
defined, and the question of how the relationship between gender and class
should be organised in a governmental system that was striving for
democracy was addressed. This involved a concomitant definition of
political citizenship in which, with the break-up of the estate system, two
main approaches were discernable: one was based on the principle of
classical liberalism that made wealth, independence or some other
distinction a condition of citizenship; the other aimed at radical democratic
rights and defended its view of civil rights with arguments based on
natural law. The former was generally supported by the upper classes of
society, the latter mainly by the working classes and also by many sections
of the rural population. The role of gender in both these main trends was
important, but it was delineated differently. The liberal line aligned the
sexual border for suffrage along the division between the public and
private spheres, although it made some concessions in order to reinforce
the division between the classes. The approach that was based on
principles of natural law, on the other hand, strove to include all,
irrespective of their class or sex, within the compass of political
citizenship.
Although the lines of division were internationally common in
principle, they took divergent forms in different cultures. Since,
particularly in those countries in which industrialisation had got under way
fairly early, the integration of class and gender into the structures of the
new polity had taken place over a long period of time, and a division based
on gender had gradually developed into an inseparable part of the new
class system, in Finland the process was different. First there developed an
exceptionally intense antagonism between different classes, in which, on
the other hand, there was relatively little gender distinction, and then
democracy, when the foreign political situation afforded the opportunity,
came suddenly in a short period of time. In principle, this brought to all the
previously unenfranchised groups, irrespective of gender, equal political
rights. In practice, however, some limitations deriving from liberal
doctrine were preserved in the Parliament Act,32 although by the standards
32
See Minna Harjula’s chapter in this work.
Irma Sulkunen 103
of other countries they were small. Interestingly, after the democratic

parliamentary system got under way, gender, too, was rapidly politicised;
the union between principles of natural law and the agrarian partnership
outlook weakened, and the kind of divided gender system that had become
common in Western countries began to appear as a major factor in the
Finnish civil society as well.33
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For a more detailed treatment of the problematics involved, see Sulkunen 1989
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EXCLUDED FROM UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE:
FINLAND AFTER 1906
MINNA HARJULA
Introduction
When both Finnish men and women were granted the right to vote and
the right to stand as candidates for the new unicameral parliament in 1906,
Finland suddenly had the most democratic representative system in
Europe. The exceptionally rapid and radical implementation of universal
suffrage has diverted attention from the fact that the new system still
excluded a number of citizens.1
This article examines the principles and practices of denying the vote
in the new situation. The focus will be on the early years of universal
suffrage. As local government remained undemocratic until 1917, the right
to vote in national elections created the only possibility for political
representation for most of the Finns, which added to the significance of
suffrage. By analysing marginal features and local level it is possible to
gain new insight into citizenship and suffrage.
1
For an overview of the conditions of voting in Finland, see Tuttu Tarkiainen,
“Eduskunnan valitseminen 1907-1963,” in Suomen kansanedustuslaitoksen
historia IX (Helsinki: Eduskunnan historiakomitea, 1971), 28-55; Lauri Tarasti,
Suomen vaalilainsäädäntö (Vantaa: Kunnallispaino, 1987), 42-57; Marjatta
Rahikainen, “Miten kansakunta pidetään puhtaana: rotuhygienia ja äänioikeuden
epääminen,” in Kansakunnat murroksessa: Globalisoitumisen ja
äärioikeistolaistumisen haasteet, ed. Anne Ahonen (Tampere: Rauhan- ja
konfliktintutkimuskeskus, 1995), 15-37; Markku Mattila, Kansamme parhaaksi:
Rotuhygienia Suomessa vuoden 1935 sterilisointilakiin asti (Helsinki: SHS, 1999),
100-107. For international discussion, see for example: Raffaele Romanelli, ed.,
How did they become voters? The history of franchise in modern European
representation (The Hague-London-Boston, Kluwer Law International, 1998).
Minna Harjula 107
Grounds for Restricting the Vote

Even though universal suffrage was a clearly articulated aim in early
twentieth-century Finland, it was equally clear that not everybody was
thought to be fit to vote. Leading legal scholars argued that the universal
nature of suffrage was not jeopardized even if some citizens were
excluded for special reasons. It was emphasized that suffrage could be
considered universal if whole groups of people were not excluded because
of their class, wealth or education.2
The special nature of suffrage was said to make restrictions natural. It
was claimed that political rights were different from civil rights in that
they involved the public interest of the whole nation instead of the private
interest of the individual. Accordingly, nobody could have the right to vote
merely because he or she was a citizen. Voting was said to require free but
responsible action in the nation’s best interest, of which not all the citizens
were capable and worthy. As nature itself created differences between
citizens, it seemed natural to restrict the vote.3 Practically, people were
divided into worthy and unworthy on the basis of their economic, social
and even biological fitness. These arguments reflected the ideas of
economic liberalism and eugenics, both of which had gained ground in
Finland.4
There were also political reasons for restricting the right to vote. Due
to the reform, the whole political system was open to major upheavals, as
the number of voters increased tenfold from one hundred thousand to over
a million. The high age limit of 24 can be seen as a way to restrict the
number of young voters—especially young women—who where thought
to be susceptible to political agitation. It is noteworthy that, because of the
high age limit, half of the working class was excluded from suffrage.5
2
R. Erich, “Yleisen äänioikeuden rajoituksista,” Lakimies 6 (1908):119, 136; Y.
W. Puhakka, “Äänioikeus,” in Valtiotieteiden käsikirja IV (Helsinki:
Tietosanakirja-osakeyhtiö, 1924), 703; Onni Hallsten, “Vaalijärjestelmät,” in
Valtiotieteiden käsikirja IV (Helsinki: Tietosanakirja-osakeyhtiö, 1924), 296.
3
Erich 1908, 121, 126, 131-132.
4
Mattila 1999, 100-107; Ismo Pohjantammi, “Edustus,” in Käsitteet liikkeessä.
Suomen poliittisen kulttuurin käsitehistoria, ed. Matti Hyvärinen et al. (Tampere:
Vastapaino, 2003), 386-389.
5
Komiteanmietintö (Committee report) 1906:12, 64-68, 118-124; O. Seitkari,
“Edustuslaitoksen uudistus 1906,” in Suomen kansanedustuslaitoksen historia V
(Helsinki: Eduskunnan historiakomitea, 1958), 94-97, 138-141; Tarkiainen 1971,
20-27; Pertti Haapala, Kun yhteiskunta hajosi. Suomi 1914-1920 (Helsinki:
Painatuskeskus, 1995), 143.
108 Excluded from Universal Suffrage: Finland after 1906
Yet another reason was the fact that the model for the reform was taken
from the previous four estate representation system (1869), which was
exclusive. Furthermore, it should be borne in mind that no unrestricted
voting systems existed anywhere in the world at that time.6
The Excluded
In 1906, the following nine grounds were established for excluding
individuals from suffrage in Finland:
• non-payment of taxes (until 1928)
• bankruptcy (1928)
• regular poor relief (1944)
• military service (1944)
• being under guardianship (1972)
• non-registration in population register (1972)
• loss of civic confidence (1969)
• vagrancy (1972)
• election crime (1995).7
As most of the above were abolished as late as in the late 1960s or
early 1970s, restrictions on voting became a long term practice in Finland.
The first three categories of exclusion concerned people who had not
paid their taxes during the previous two years, people who had gone into
bankruptcy and people who got regular help from poor relief. These
people had not fulfilled the requirements of economic independence: they
could not earn their living, they could not support themselves and thus
neglected the obligations of a decent citizen.
Especially the use of poor relief and non-payment of taxes as grounds
for exclusion were strongly criticized by the representatives of the Social
Democratic Party. As every adult Finn had to pay a personal tax called
henkiraha, they argued that, because of the small amount, the tax was
often left unpaid by mistake, which did not mean that the person was an
6
Valtiopäiväjärjestys (Parliament Act) 15.4.1869 § 14 and 20.7.1906 § 5; Seitkari
1958; Juhani Mylly, Edustuksellisen kansanvallan läpimurto (Helsinki: Edita,
2006).
7
Valtiopäiväjärjestys (Parliament Act) 20.7.1906 § 5; Tarasti 1987, 42-57; Lauri
Tarasti and Heimo Taponen, Suomen vaalilainsäädäntö (Helsinki: Edita, 1996),
57-58; Tarkiainen 1971, 28-53; Iivar Ahava, ed., Suomen suuriruhtinaanmaan
valtiopäiväjärjestys ja eduskunnan työjärjestys (Porvoo: WSOY, 1914), 14-23;
Rafael Erich, Suomen valtio-oikeus I (Helsinki: Otava, 1924), 274-279; Esko
Hakkila, Suomen tasavallan perustuslait sekä eräitä niihin liittyviä lakeja,
asetuksia ja säännöstöjä (Porvoo: WSOY, 1939), 378-395.
Minna Harjula 109
unworthy citizen. The poorest could be exempted from paying tax by local
government, but the practice was said to cause stigma and shame and
prevent people from voting. Furthermore, as there was no old age pension
or insurance for the disabled or sick in Finland, it was argued that
practically any decent citizen, especially the elderly, could end up needing
poor relief.8
Regular military service became an obstacle to voting in Finland in
1906, whereas in Sweden, for example, the situation was quite the
opposite, as the franchise reform of 1909 excluded those men who had not
served in the military. As Finland was an autonomous part of Russia, it
was especially in the interest of Russian government to avoid a situation
where Finns and Russians serving in the same army would have unequal
rights. The restriction was justified by the need to keep the military out of
politics and the obedience demanded in the army, which was said to
prevent independent political thinking. As the compulsory military service
of young men was abolished in Finland, this regulation only concerned
officers who now lost the right which they had had before 1906.9
Being under guardianship concerned those adults who were incapable
of taking care of their own property due to drinking, mental illness or old
age. As those persons under guardianship were not allowed to take any
legal action, they were pronounced unable to vote, too. In order to make
sure that only those Finnish citizens who lived in Finland could vote, it
was stated that the voter had to be registered in the local population
register, called henkikirja, for the previous three years.10
The last three categories of exclusion focused on criminal and
antisocial behaviour. According to the Penal Code, those who had been in
prison because of, for example, murder, theft or treason, lost their civic
confidence (i.e. civil rights), depending on the crime, for up to 15 years or
even for life. Those who had been sentenced to workhouse because of
vagrancy lost their voting rights for three years, and those who had
committed an election crime—for example sold or bought votes—lost
their voting rights for six years. All these three conditions prevented
8
Komiteanmietintö (Committee report) 1906:12, 69-70, 125-126, 176;
Valtiopäiväasiakirjat (Parliamentary documents) 1905-06, Asiakirjat II,
Perustuslakivaliok. miet. nro 1, vastalause I, 4-6.
9
Komiteanmietintö (Committee report) 1906:12, 70-71, 127, 176;
Valtiopäiväjärjestys (Parliament Act) 15.4.1869 § 12; Tarkiainen 1971, 28-30;
Ebba Berling Åselius, Rösträtt med förhinder: rösträttstrecken i svensk politik
1900-1920 (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2005); Mylly 2006,
205-206.
10
Erich 1908, 135; Tarkiainen 1971, 42-48.
people from voting after they had been released from prison or workhouse.
It was claimed that the nation’s sense of justice required these sanctions
even after the punishment.11
Mentally Ill, Prisoners and Ethnic Minorities:

Excluded in Practice
Besides the nine groups listed in the law there were other categories of
people who could not vote. Firstly, it was considered self-evident that a
person who was mentally ill could not take any legal action even though
he or she was not under guardianship. Additionally, it was said to be
unnecessary to articulate that prisoners did not have the right to vote
because in practice there was no option to vote in prison. Furthermore, all
those who were in hospitals, nursing homes or any other institution and
who could not come to polling stations during the voting day lost their
right.12
Ethnic minorities without Finnish citizenship could not vote either.
Finland was ethnically quite homogeneous but there were small Jewish
and Tatar minorities living in the country. Because of their religion they
had no chance to obtain citizenship in early twentieth-century Finland: one
had to be Christian to be a citizen. Gypsies who were born in Finland and
lived in the country were usually counted as citizens, unlike foreign
gypsies, whose immigration was strictly prohibited. As Finnish gypsies,
however, were not always listed in the local registers of population they
were therefore unable to vote.13 On the other hand, most of the Sámi
people who lived in the far north of Finland were able to vote. Despite the
aims of Russian officials, citizens of Russia were not allowed to vote in
11
Suomen Suuriruhtinaanmaan rikoslaki (Criminal law) 19.12.1889, 2 luku § 11, §
14; Tarkiainen 1971, 48-53; Bruno A. Sundström, “Onko lisärangaistus
kansalaisluottamuksen menetys poistettava,” Tidskrift, utgiven av Juridiska
Föreningen i Finland (1928): 160-163.
12
Komiteanmietintö (Committee report) 1906:12, 71. Voting in hospitals became
possible in 1955, in old people’s homes in 1969, in mental hospitals and in prisons
in 1972. Tarasti and Taponen 1996, 67-68.
13
F. O. Lilius, “Juutalaiskysymys,” in Yhteiskunnallinen käsikirja (Helsinki:
Kansanvalistusseura, 1910), 76-78; Antti Häkkinen and Miika Tervonen,
“Johdanto: vähemmistöt ja köyhyys Suomessa 1800-1900-luvuilla,” in Vieraat
kulkijat – tutut talot: Näkökulmia etnisyyden ja köyhyyden historiaan Suomessa,
ed. Antti Häkkinen et. al. (Helsinki: SKS, 2005), 24; Panu Pulma, Suljetut ovet:
Pohjoismaiden romanipolitiikka 1500-luvulta EU-aikaan (Helsinki: SKS, 2006);
Komiteanmietintö (Committee report) 1900:3.
Minna Harjula 111
Finland unless they gave up their former citizenship and applied for
Finnish citizenship.14
Due to lacking statistics, it is impossible to give the exact number of
the excluded. A rough estimate based on church registers is that as many
as 10–15 percent of the people of voting age were excluded, which means
150,000–200,000 potential voters. Comparison with the 800,000–900,000
votes cast in the first elections indicates that the number of the excluded
was not marginal; indeed, it could have affected the result of the
elections.15
The Excluded Applying for Suffrage

In outlining the reaction of the excluded it is noteworthy that not all
those without suffrage were interested in voting: in the first elections the
turnout percentage ranged from 64 to 71.16 Apparently, many of the people
who were excluded found out about their exclusion only at the polling
station on the election day. Despite the information actively spread by
local newspapers and political parties,17 it seems obvious that people were
not always aware of the need to check that their name was on the electoral
register before the election. Those who knew this and found their name
missing could appeal to the local electoral committee in charge of the
electoral registers. In towns, the city administrative council, maistraatti,
constituted the committee, whereas in the rural areas the committee
consisted of five elected members.18 The Social Democratic newspaper in
Tampere accused the local committees of being ‘weapons of non-
socialists’ and aiming at reducing the number of leftist voters,19 which
indicates the powerful political role of the electoral committees.
14
Kaisa Korpijaakko-Labba, Saamelaisten oikeusasemasta Suomessa (Kautokeino:
Sami Instituhtta, 2000), 36-37, 103, 142-147, 171-186; Teuvo Lehtola, Kolmen
kuninkaan maa: Inarin historia 1500-luvulta jälleenrakennuksen aikaan (Inari:
Kustannus-Puntsi, 1998), 164-179; Teuvo Lehtola, Lapinmaan vuosituhannet:
Saamelaisten ja Lapin historia kivikaudelta 1930-luvulle (Inari: Kustannus-Puntsi,
1996), 184-188, 205-207; Lainvalmistelukunnan ehdotus asetukseksi Venäjän
alamaisen äänioikeudesta Suomen kunnassa ynnä perustelut (Proposal of
Legislative Council) 1910:1, 4-7; Mylly 2006, 203-205.
15
SVT (Finnish Official Statistics) XXIX 1 1907-08, 2-7; SVT (Finnish Official
Statistics) XXIX 3 1909, 8-12.
16
SVT (Finnish Official Statistics) XXIX 3 1909, 16.
17
For example the newspaper Aamulehti 13.5-22.5.1908.
18
Suomen Suuriruhtinaanmaan vaalilaki (Election law) 20.7.1906 § 2-17.
19
Newspaper Kansan Lehti 26-27.6.1908.
The second election in 1908 opens up a possibility to analyse how the

practices of exclusion were created nationwide, as during that year—
because of the dissolution of Parliament—all applications sent to local
electoral committees went before the highest court of justice, the Judicial
Division of the Senate.20 In 1908, the total number of applications for
suffrage was 1,317.21 Compared to the number of people excluded, the
figure was low. However, the mere fact that these applications existed
shows the importance of suffrage for these people.
There were significant regional differences in application activity in
1908. On average, the active areas were more industrialized and populous
than the passive regions. The most active were regions around Helsinki,
the capital, with 365 applications and regions around the industrial town of
Tampere with 238 applications. Similarly, three years earlier both these
regions had been active in the general strike, which became the main
impulse for the speedy implementation of suffrage reform.22
Regarding gender, there were no major differences in application
activity: 607 men and 530 women applied for suffrage. Even though there
was a slight female majority in the Finnish population above voting age as
a whole, there were more men without the right to vote,23 since many
restrictions, such as military service and bankruptcy were gender-related.
Consequently, a small majority of those who applied for suffrage were
male.
Analysis of the Tampere area shows that applications were sent from
every social class except from farm-owners.24 This points to the powerful
position of the farmers in the local society: as the ruling class in the rural
areas the farm-owners had their representatives in the local electoral
committees and therefore did not feel unfairly treated.
20
Previously the applications were dealt with in local governor’s offices and only
those who challenged the governor’s decision appealed to the Judicial Division of
the Senate. Suomen Suuriruhtinaanmaan vaalilaki (Election law) 20.7.1906 § 9-16.
21
The following nationwide analysis of the applications is based on the list of
resolutions published in “Kort redogörelse för Kejserliga Senatens Justitie-
Departements utslag år 1908,” in Tidskrift, utgifven af Juridiska Föreningen i
Finland 46, Bilaga A (1910):1-137.
22
Pirjo Ala-Kapee, Vallankumouksen kannatus Hämeen ja Satakunnan
kansalaiskokouksissa vuoden 1905 suurlakon aikana (Tampere: Tampereen
yliopisto, 1972).
23
SVT (Finnish Official Statistics) XXIX 3 1909, 12-13.
24
Analysis of the applications in the Tampere area is based on the archival
material of the Judicial Division of the Senate. Senaatin oikeusosaston arkisto.
Päätöstaltiot vaaliluetteloa ja äänioikeutta koskevissa asioissa 1908, National
Archives.
Minna Harjula 113
The Rejected and the Approved

The outcome of the applications for suffrage in 1908 shows that a
considerable number of people had been unjustifiably excluded. In the
whole country, 27 percent of applicants were granted the right to vote,
while in the Tampere area, on which my following analysis is based, the
figure was 36 percent.25 Men were more likely to gain the right to vote: 40
percent of men’s and 32 percent of women’s applications were approved
in Tampere. There was no clear connection between the applicant’s social
status and the outcome of the application. For example, all the applications
of the educated were turned down, while 11 percent of tenant farmers got a
positive result. The most successful were manual workers, with an
approval rate of 45 percent. To explain this surprising feature, a further
analysis of the causes of rejection or approval (Tables 1 and 2) is needed.
As there were hardly any differences between women and men, I will
analyse the applications as a whole, instead of a gender-based analysis.
In Table 1, I have divided the rejected applications into two main
categories based on the reasons for rejection. The figures show that,
instead of the personal attributes of the applicants, most of the rejections
were based on formal causes. One third of the rejections was based on
defective applications, which means lacking signatures or authorizations
or late arrivals. Predictably, it was particularly the lower classes whose
applications were not properly written. As over 40 percent of the
population were still unable to write, the application procedures were
unfamiliar to many Finns. Besides, some were probably misled by
newspapers incorrectly reporting that it was possible to apply on behalf of
other persons. What the newspapers did not say was that in such cases a
signed authorization was needed.26
Surprisingly, almost half of the applications were turned down because
the applicant’s name was missing from the population register called the
henkikirja. The original purpose of the use of the henkikirja was to
exclude foreigners and the Finns living abroad from voting, but the
practice caused loss of suffrage for many Finns who had lived all their
lives in the country. Electoral registers were based on the henkikirja and
even though many people had been left out of the henkikirja by mistake, it
was the practice of the Senate that these mistakes were not rectified for
electoral registers. This practice was harshly criticized by leading legal
scholars—probably as it affected the educated as well. For example, in the
Tampere area 90 percent of the applications of the educated were rejected
25
See notes 21 and 24.
26
STV (Statistical Yearbook of Finland) 1912, 46-47; Kansan Lehti 5.5.1908.
because of failure to meet this requirement. Among others, an architect

and a school teacher could not vote because their name was missing from
the henkikirja. Furthermore, a social democratic journalist, who had been
nominated for candidacy, had to resign because of missing registration.27
Table 1. Rejected applications in the Tampere area 1908
Number Share of all

Causes of rejected rejected
applications applications (%)
FORMAL CAUSES 121 79.6
non-registration in 69 45.4
population register
defective application 50 32.9
unclear identity 2 1.3
PERSONAL CAUSES 31 20.4
non-payment of taxes 18 11.8
poor relief 10 6.6
loss of civic confidence 2 1.3
being under guardianship 1 0.7
TOTAL 152 100.0
The most common causes directly related to person’s own failure were
unpaid taxes and receipt of poor relief. There were, however, various
interpretations of these conditions. For example, according to the law, only
personal poor relief prevented voting, but in practice poor relief given to
support children could also prevent the person’s participation in the
election.28
In the Tampere area one third of the applications were approved,
mostly because the applicant had been proved to have paid taxes or to
have been exempted from paying taxes because of old age or poverty (see
Table 2). Over 70 percent of those applicants who were found to be
respectable taxpayers were skilled workers and their wives, mainly from
the factories in Tampere. The fact that the burden of proof was on the
applicant indicates that society was incapable of administrative accuracy.
27
“Oikeustapauksia,” Lakimies 5 (1907): 33-34; V. B., “Vaalilain tulkitsemista,”
Lakimies 5 (1907): 20-26; Valtiopäiväasiakirjat (Parliamentary documents) 1909
II, Asiakirjat IV, Prokur. kert., 7-9; Ahava 1914, 17-19; Hakkila 1939, 387-389;
Kansan Lehti 9.6.1908; Aamulehti 10.6.1908.
28
Valtiopäiväasiakirjat (Parliamentary documents) 1909 II, Asiakirjat IV, Prokur.
kert., 9-10.
Minna Harjula 115
The impression is strengthened by the fact that the rectification of personal

data quite often led to suffrage. Furthermore, the approvals show that the
loss of civic confidence had sometimes been misinterpreted. For example,
a local electoral committee had denied suffrage to a factory worker as he
had been fined because of drunkenness. In the Senate he was granted the
right to vote, as civic confidence was lost only because of much more
serious crimes.29
Table 2. Approved applications in the Tampere area 1908
Number of Share of all

Causes approved approved
applications applications (%)
payment of taxes 50 58.1
exempted from taxes 7 8.2
identity clarified 8 9.3
civic confidence 6 7.0
no regular poor relief 2 2.3
not mentioned 13 15.1
total 86 100.0
Applications for Denial of Voting Rights

In addition to individual applications for suffrage, there was a small
number of applications aimed at denying other citizens’ voting rights. In
1908 the Judicial Division of the Senate was presented with applications to
disenfranchise 151 citizens included in electoral registers. As a result of
these applications only 25 persons in the whole country were
disenfranchised. Most applications were rejected because of errors in the
application process.
Generally, these applications reflected the traditional power structure
in Finnish society. The applicant was usually a farm-owner, a rural police
chief or the chair of the local council, who wanted to prevent the lower
classes from participating in the election. For example, a farm-owner from
the Tampere area demanded that 23 landless people should not have the
right to vote because they had not paid taxes. However, the Senate
concluded that only two of them had actually neglected the obligation.
29
Valtiopäiväasiakirjat (Parliamentary documents) 1909 II, Asiakirjat IV, Prokur.
kert., 10.
By contrast, people from the lower classes seldom questioned the

suffrage of the upper social classes. In the Tampere area there were two
cases in which the disenfranchisement of a farm-owner’s daughter and a
farm-owner’s widow was applied for by landless people. The allegation of
the daughter’s mental illness was rejected, but the widow lost her political
rights because she was proved to be under guardianship. Although rare,
these cases clearly reflect the rising political consciousness of the landless
people and their growing courage to challenge the ruling class.
Conclusion
Judging by the standards of today, it could be argued that suffrage in
Finland was not at all universal after 1906, as 10–15 percent of people
were excluded from voting in the first elections. The citizens still had to
earn the right to vote by fulfilling all the conditions. However, compared
with the former system, where only eight percent of Finns could
participate and all the women were excluded, the new system brought a
distinct change, as over 85 percent of the adult population could now vote.
Nevertheless, the conditions of suffrage can be seen as a way to reduce
the political influence of the lower classes in society. Moreover, the
conditions of suffrage reflected the ideas of citizenship and were used as
an instrument to separate the worthy, respectable citizens from the
unworthy. However, in practice many of those who were left without
political rights were not disreputable, unworthy people. Indeed, almost any
Finn, regardless of gender and status, could be excluded. The
administrative inaccuracy of population registers became a decisive factor
in denying people the vote.
When universal suffrage was implemented in Finland in 1906, there
were profound changes and major upheavals taking place in society. In the
same way, the promises of universal suffrage were fulfilled after two other
major turning points in Finnish society. During World War II, the voting
restrictions of the military were abolished and the voting age was lowered
to 21, as young people had demonstrated their worthiness in battle and on
the home front. As a sign of rising welfare state ideology, the poor were
granted the right to vote, too. During the culturally and politically radical
years of the late 1960s and early 1970s, the suffrage of prisoners and
vagrants was granted and the voting age was lowered to 18. The last,
practically insignificant voting restriction related to election crime was not
abolished until 1995.30 Nowadays the only requirements for voting are
30
Tarasti 1987, 42-57; Tarasti and Taponen 1996, 57-58.
Minna Harjula 117
Finnish citizenship and the age of 18, and even these two have been
brought under tentative discussion.31
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31
For example: Allan Rosas, “Medborgarskap och rösträtt,” in Förhandlingene ved
det 30. nordiske juristmötet, Oslo 15.-17. August 1984 (Oslo: Det norske
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Erich, R. “Yleisen äänioikeuden rajoituksista.” In Lakimies 6 (1908): 111-
137.
Erich, Rafael. Suomen valtio-oikeus I. Helsinki: Otava, 1924.
Hakkila, Esko. Suomen tasavallan perustuslait sekä eräitä niihin liittyviä
lakeja, asetuksia ja säännöstöjä. Porvoo: WSOY, 1939.
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Helsinki: Kansanvalistusseura, 1910.
“Oikeustapauksia.” In Lakimies 5 (1907): 33-34.
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Helsinki: Tietosanakirja-osakeyhtiö, 1924.
Sundström, Bruno A. “Onko lisärangaistus kansalaisluottamuksen
menetys poistettava.” In Tidskrift, utgiven av Juridiska Föreningen i
Finland 64 (1928): 147-165.
V. B. “Vaalilain tulkitsemista.” In Lakimies 5 (1907): 20-28.
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kansalaiskokouksissa vuoden 1905 suurlakon aikana. Suomen
historian pro gradu –tutkielma. Tampere: Tampereen yliopisto, 1972.
Berling Åselius, Ebba. Rösträtt med förhinder: rösträttstrecken i svensk
politik 1900-1920. Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis. Stockholm:
Almqvist & Wiksell International, 2005.
Haapala, Pertti. Kun yhteiskunta hajosi: Suomi 1914-1920. Helsinki:
Painatuskeskus, 1995.
Häkkinen, Antti and Tervonen, Miika. “Johdanto: vähemmistöt ja köyhyys
Suomessa 1800-1900-luvuilla.” In Vieraat kulkijat – tutut talot:
Näkökulmia etnisyyden ja köyhyyden historiaan Suomessa, edited by
Antti Häkkinen et. al., 7-36. Helsinki: SKS, 2005.
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Kehityksen pääpiirteet Ruotsin vallan lopulta itsenäisyyden ajan
alkuun. Kautokeino: Sami Instituhtta, 2000.
Minna Harjula 119
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jälleenrakennuksen aikaan. Inari: Kustannus-Puntsi, 1998.
—. Lapinmaan vuosituhannet: Saamelaisten ja Lapin historia kivikaudelta
1930-luvulle. Inari: Kustannus-Puntsi, 1996.
Mattila, Markku. Kansamme parhaaksi: Rotuhygienia Suomessa vuoden
1935 sterilisointilakiin asti. Bibliotheca Historica 44. Helsinki: SHS,
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2006.
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kulttuurin käsitehistoria, edited by In Matti Hyvärinen et al, 363-412.
Tampere: Vastapaino, 2003.
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ja äänioikeuden epääminen.” In Kansakunnat murroksessa:
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Ahonen, 15-37. Tampere: Rauhan- ja konfliktintutkimuskeskus, 1995.
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franchise in modern European representation. The Hague-London-
Boston: Kluwer Law International, 1998.
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http://www.tieteessatapahtuu.fi/0105/vartia.pdf.
TO BECOME A POLITICAL SUBJECT:
ENFRANCHISEMENT OF WOMEN IN NORWAY
GRO HAGEMANN
We, the undersigned women of Drammen and the surrounding areas, take
the liberty of expressing our deepest gratitude to the Storting and the
government, and give our consent to the resolution of 7 June. We would
moreover like to express our willingness to share with the men of this
nation the responsibility and burdens likely to ensue from the decision.1
On 7 June 1905, the Norwegian Parliament, the Storting, unanimously

voted to dissolve the Swedish-Norwegian union by deposing the joint
king. Although non-violent and carried through by the parliamentary
assembly, the action was dramatic, indeed, at times even called a coup
d’état. A tense period followed with negotiations between the two
governments and war preparations on both sides of the boarder. For the
king and the Swedish government the unilateral action from the
Norwegian Parliament was hard to accept. A number of requirements were
put forward for the Norwegians to fulfil. Among them was the organising
of a referendum to find out whether the Parliament’s resolution was
supported by the people. The referendum was launched two months later,
at 12-13 August after an intense campaign to anchor the decision in the
Norwegian electorate. Everyone entitled to vote had been mobilised to
decide whether the people would accept the radical decision of the 7 June.
In 1898 this included all men of age, while no woman was eligible.
Their exclusion from the referendum was met with anger by women,
who gathered all over the country to organise an alternative referendum.
Their protest was exceptionally well organised. On the days of the
referendum, women assembled all over the country to sign with their
names on the resolution. To mark the occasion and the national attitudes,
streets and villages were decorated with flags and banners, women’s
1
Pronouncement from women in Drammen 13 August 2005, signed by 12,000
women. Quoted from Gro Hagemann, Det moderne gjennombrudd: Norges
historie 1870-1905 (Oslo: Aschehoug 1997), 214.
Gro Hagemann 121
posters being among them. Ten days later pronouncements signed by

nearly 250,000 women were handed over to the Norwegian Parliament.
From a population just a little more than 2 million inhabitants, this was
quite an impressive number. The pronouncements warmly supported the
Parliament resolution of 7 June, and even indicated a protest against the
exclusion of ‘half the population’ from making their opinions heard in
such a decisive moment for the nation. The private referendum became a
turning point in the feminist campaign for women’s franchise in Norway.
Two years later, the Storting took its first, important step to recognise
women as complete political subjects. True, not all women were included
at once. An alternative proposition for universal female suffrage was
rejected until 1913. Yet, the fundamental resistance was no longer very
strong. As the arguments went, the main opposition to female suffrage was
based on pragmatism more than on principles; women were to be included
in due time.
The early franchise of Norwegian women would not have occurred
without the organisation and systematic activity of the female suffragist
movement, which reached a definite high through the demonstration of
2005. Still, the victory may seem to have come rather easily, when the
course of time is taken into consideration. The feminists started to organise
rather late in Norway, compared to other European and Nordic countries.
Their first association, Norsk Kvinnesaksforening, the Norwegian Feminist
Association, was founded in 1884, and Kvinnestemmerettsforeningen, the
Female Suffrage Association, in 1885. Until the 1880s, women did not
have any voice within the political public sphere in Norway.
When Gina Krog, the leader of the early feminist movement, called for
a feminist association in 1884, she was well aware of the disadvantage of
being new and inexperienced in political action. She argued, however, that
the late start of organised feminism would be more than compensated for
by the ongoing political conflicts in Norway. She was obviously right.
1884 was also the year in which the constitutional conflicts reached a
peak, and a parliamentary system was put in place against the government
and king in Stockholm. The authority of the former political and cultural
elite was seriously undermined, while a new elite with more liberal and
democratic ideas was rising. Within the winning party, there was certainly
some sympathy for the feminist claims, although women’s franchise was
still controversial. The climate of the 1880s cannot explain everything,
however. The backing of women’s rights was not constant; the sympathy
definitely faded when political everyday life settled again.
In this article I will argue along two lines. First I will discuss the
characteristics of the democratic political culture in 19th century Norway,
122 Enfranchisement of Women in Norway
and search for long-term social and political patterns which provided a
breeding ground for ideas of female citizenship. Then I will analyse the
strategies of female suffragists from the 1880s, to explore their lines of
action and their self-image. How did they position themselves and
organise their campaign to adjust to the changing political situation?2
Norwegian Democracy 1814-1884

Among the Nordic countries, Norway was the first to establish a
modern democracy. In 1814, the old autocratic regime of the Danish-
Norwegian state came to an end, and at the same time a Norwegian
constitution was adopted by an assembly of democratically-minded men.
The democratic order grew from the turbulent international situation after
the Napoleonic wars; the wars dramatically changed the national relations
in the Nordic countries. Denmark was allied with the losing side and had
to give up Norway, a Danish province since the 15th century. Sweden, on
the other hand, although on the winning side, had to give up Finland in
1809. Norway was given as compensation. The new Swedish king, the
French Bernadotte, very hesitantly had to accept a high degree of self-
determination for Norway. As time went by, however, this worked out to
be quite a harmonious and equal union, in spite of the wide constitutional
differences between the two countries. Nevertheless, both the constitution
itself and the date of its adoption, May 17th, were highly significant during
the 19th century, both politically and symbolically. Throughout the century
the constitution was the accepted and normal point of reference for
political conflicts. Even serious conflicts about political hegemony and
national status took place within a constitutional framework. Each year the
constitution was celebrated with national symbols and processions. For the
labour movement it was an obvious choice, then, to make the 17th May a
day of protest marches when they started their offensive for universal
suffrage in 1890.
As a matter of course, the 1814 constitution in no way included
women’s franchise. It is worth noting, however, that the question was
touched upon during the preparatory negotiations: ‘What about women,
then?’ one of the drafts stated. ‘Since they are trusted to take care of real
property – why should they be less interested in good management of the
2
The present version relies heavily on some of my previous work in Norwegian,
Gro Hagemann, Det moderne gjennombrudd: Norges historie 1870-1905 (Oslo:
Aschehoug 1997) and Gro Hagemann, ”De stummes leir?”, Ida Blom et al, Med
kjønnsperspektiv på norsk historie (Oslo: Cappelen akademisk forlag 2005), 157-
255.
Gro Hagemann 123
State?’3 The idea never reached serious discussion. Nevertheless, it

signifies the liberal tone of the founders and some open-mindedness in
attitudes. The question was raised again in the early 1930s, when the
Storting accepted enfranchisement of widows in municipal elections.
However, the Act was never passed, since the king refused to give his
assent.4
To be sure, women were not the only ones excluded; this was also the
case for the majority of men. Until the 1880s, political citizenship in
Norway remained restricted. Only those in possession of land or holding
high positions in the state were enfranchised. Since the agricultural sector
was mostly small-scale, and independent peasants were numerous, the
electorate did not only include the social elite, however. Farmers and
peasants were numerous, and in Parliament they often acted as a group
opposing the ruling elite of higher civil servants. From the 1860s on their
opposition was supported and strengthened by grass root movements
promoting teetotalism, ecclesiastical reform and acceptance of the New
Norwegian language (nynorsk). These counter cultural movements were
most powerful in the Western part of the country. Western dialects were
also the main basis for the new national language, which was constructed
in opposition to the elite Danish-influenced variety.
By their combination of democratic attitudes and grassroot nationalism
the farmers’ group in Parliament also became influential in gender politics.
From an early date they advanced reforms improving women’s economic
rights, also within the family. It may seem surprising that women-friendly
reforms were promoted by a rural opposition with a strong affinity to strict
moral norms and Low Church pietism. Morality was not their main
reference, however. Their support was based on economic concerns and
the democratic spirit, and none of these were considered irreconcilable
with their religious beliefs. On the contrary, competent and vigorous
women were regarded positive from a spiritual point of view, since
industriousness and economic success indicated God’s blessing. As rural
areas were dominated by small farms and fisheries, economic success was
unthinkable without a competent and dependable wife, whose efforts were
as hard as her husband’s. Being economically active was a highly valued
quality of a woman, and as such she was highly appreciated within the
3
’Men fruentimmer? Betroer Staten dem urørlig Eiendom – hvorfor skulle de da
mindre være interesserede for Statens gode Forvaltning?’ citation in Anne-Hilde
Nagel, ”Politisering av kjønn – et historisk perspektiv”, in Kjønn og politikk, ed.
Nina Raaum (Oslo: Tano 1995), 61.
4
Leiv Mjeldheim, Folkerørsla som vart parti. Venstre frå 1880-åra til 1905,
(Bergen: Universitetsforlaget 1984), 338.
family. On many small family farms the husband contributed to the

family’s living by fishing or forestry. His spouse, therefore, more often
than not had to take responsibility for all the agricultural work, sometimes
even including the most strenuous parts of it, like ploughing and clearing
new land.5
When Søren Jaabæk, leader of the farmers’ opposition, in 1871 put
forward the first proposal granting property rights for married women, the
typical small family farm was his main reference. According to his
argument, gender equality in economic family matters would strengthen
the responsibility and alertness of the wives in economic matters, thus
tempering the eagerness of risk-taking husbands. Since widows and
unmarried women had recently been included as economic citizens, he
even worried about the loss of status for women by matrimony; as wives
they had to give up the economic autonomy they enjoyed before marriage.
His proposal was certainly controversial, not least among conservatives
and larger entrepreneurs, who worried about the mobility of capital if the
wives should exercise their influence on investments. Nevertheless, after
years of investigations, conflicts and political argumentation, Married
Women’s Property Act was passed by the Storting in 1888. Evidently, also
the new feminist association made this a request and affected the outcome.
Equally or even more important, though, was a hearing among the
executive committees of municipal councils confirming Jaabæk’s
reasoning. The hearing fully demonstrates the broad support in rural areas
for such a reform.6
In no way did this mean that municipal councils and the parliamentary
farmers’ faction supported women’s emancipation on a general level. They
worked against individual freedom and independence of married women,
and they took no initiatives to promote women’s enfranchisement, neither
municipal nor political. The farmers’ faction aspired to value women as
equals within the family, not to give them independence from their
husbands. From their perspective, the family or the household was the
relevant unit, which was in accordance with the economic realities of
small family enterprises. Claims such as divorce or franchise were also
regarded as far too radical by the early grass root movements. Neither the
Thrane upheaval of 1848 nor the revivalist movements were in favour of
women making speeches or public appearances, far less of being political
5
Anna Tranberg, “Ledighed taales ikke”: Plassfamilier på gardsarbeid”, Historisk
tidsskrift 69 (1990) : 512-36.
6
Hilde Sandvik, ”Kvinners rettslige handleevne på 1600- og 1700-tallet, med
linjer fram til kvinnesr myndighet i 1888”, (Dr.Art. diss., University of Oslo:
Unipub 2002).
Gro Hagemann 125
citizens. There were exceptions, however. The influential 18th century

emissary Hans Nielsen Hauge encouraged female preachers in his
movement until he was jailed for breaking The Conventicler Edict from
1741, which prohibited all religious assemblies not sanctioned by the
clergy. Hauge’s faith in women’s abilities and authority was rarely found
in later revivalists, also after the freedom of assembly was granted in
1842.7
Both the missionary and temperance movements flourished from the
1860s as parts of a growing counterculture. Women were numerous in
both, sometimes even the majority of the rank and file activists. As
feminist ideas were heard of more often, some female activists in the grass
root movements also protested against their exclusion from public
performance and decision making. Women pioneers were sent out as
missionaries in Africa, a small number of them even as preachers.8 In the
temperance movement women gradually became influential at all levels.
All over the country they involved themselves in the cause by encouraging
sales regulations and organising fraternity lodges for children and
youngsters. The most fearless among them even became genuinely
appreciated as public agitators.
More than among the rural opposition, personal freedom was a concern
of the urban middle classes, even among leading conservatives. From the
early 19th century, support for liberalism was a feature of the Norwegian
political elite – the constitution itself was based on liberal principles.
Generally, economic rights for unmarried women were easily accepted as
a normal part of their liberalism. As long as they were not provided for by
their family, access to craft and trades for women were as regarded
economically favourable also for society at large. Gradually, the liberal
attitude was extended even to include access to high schools and schools
of practical training. The urban elite set clear limits to their liberalism,
however, refusing to go along when reforms were intended to amend
power relations within the family or the state. The ruling elite took
conservative stands on all constitutional questions, including expanded
enfranchise and changes in the division of power between the legislative
Parliament and the executive king and his government. Consequently, a
7
Inger Furseth, ”Kvinnenes betydning i Haugebevegelsen”, in Til debatt: innlegg
ved Norske historiedager 1996, ”(Department of History, University of Bergen
1998).
8
Hanna Mellemsether, Kvinne i to verdener: En kulturhistorisk analyse av
afrikamisjonæren Martha Sannes liv i Norge og Afrika i perioden 1884-1901
(University of Trondheim 1994).
constitutional conflict developed when the younger generation from 1870

made claims to expand enfranchise and increase the power of the Storting.
The Norwegian democracy from 1814 interacted intimately with
nationalistic ambitions. However, in this young nation with a small and
rather homogenous population these ambitions were not expansionistic,
but of a democratic kind. In tune with the Romanticism of the times,
efforts were made to establish national symbols, to revive the heroic past,
and to search for the national identity. The national ambitions included
conflicts on the content of Norwegian cultural, on religious identity, on
lifestyle, and linguistic identity. According to the political scientist Stein
Rokkan, this distinguishes Norwegian national opposition from that
occurring simultaneously in Finland and Iceland, at the time ruled by
respectively Russia and Denmark. According to Rokkan, the Finnish
opposition was cultural, social and political, while Iceland mainly acted on
a political level.9 Also political conflicts with Sweden were mediated
mainly through a language of democracy during this period. More than a
political opposition against the Swedish dominance, Norwegian
nationalism was a cultural opposition within the country raising
Norwegian culture and identity. Culturally, the long-lasting Danish
influence more than the current Swedish rule was the main antagonist.
Nevertheless, cultural conflicts and national attitudes definitely
influenced the political system. During the constitutional conflicts from
the 1870s, a rather unusual alliance was established between democratic
minded farmers and lower urban middle classes. The conflict came to a
head in 1884, when a parliamentary system was forced through against the
wishes of the government and the king in Stockholm. The party system
was also established this year. The oppositional factions founded the Left
Party (Venstre), while their antagonists from the existing political elite and
most privileged bourgeois class founded the Right Party (Høyre).
Taking Action as Responsible Citizens

Until the 1880s, Norwegian women had no political voice, neither
inside nor outside Parliament. The early liberal reforms in favour of
women were brought about solely by men. There were single female
voices to be heard, most of all within literary circles, but from a political
perspective they were still marginal. This changed when the Norwegian
Feminist Association was founded in 1884, at the time when the
9
Stein Rokkan, ” The Growth and Structuring of Mass Politics”,in Nordic
Democracies, ed. Erik Allardt et al. (København: Det danske selskab 1981).
Gro Hagemann 127
constitutional conflicts reached their peak. The declaration promoting

membership was signed by 220, both men and women. Among them were
influential men from the Left Party, and also some from the Right. Their
first declaration strongly condemned the present society and its legislation
as outdated in their attitude to women’s position in society. Yet the reform
programme of the new association appeared quite moderate with its main
focus on women’s access to education, the professions and skilled trades.
At this point in time, female enfranchisement was considered too radical
for the Feminist Association which members were both male and female.
More radical ideas were to be found among the female members, however.
Eager to start their campaigning for political rights, they founded the
Women’s Suffrage Association in 1885 with exclusive female
membership.
Of special interest for the rise of feminism in Norway, was the young
generation of poets and artists who were growing into a progressive
cultural elite during the 1870s. Taking a critical attitude to bourgeois
society and its double standards of institutional virtue and private vice,
they formed an influential literary public sphere in a time of political
struggle. Inspired by the Danish Georg Brandes, a leading figure within
Nordic literary critique at the time, they put problems to debate by
challenging basic institutions like school, church and family. From
Brandes they even adopted present ideas of women’s emancipation. In his
literary programme of 1871, Brandes praised both Madame de Stäel and
George Sand for their critical works on gender relations. He also acted as
mediator of John Stuart Mill’s ideas on women; he immediately translated
The Subjection of Women in 1869 and added a vigorous introduction. The
Danish edition was widely read all over Scandinavia, including Norway.
During this golden age of Norwegian art and literature, Henrik Ibsen was
far from the only one to address gender relations in his art.
The burgeoning feminist movement took inspiration both from John
Stuart Mill’s book and from the sympathy with women’s emancipation
among Scandinavian authors. Feminist ideas gained ground among
employed middle class women striving for access to higher education, the
professions and participation in the public sphere. They were also opposed
to the idea of being economically independent and responsible without
being given political influence. Inspired by the radical political and
cultural climate of the time, the young generation of cultured middle class
women became bolder and more outspoken in their claims and aspirations.
One of the young pioneers in retrospect described the time spirit in these
words:
More happy individuals than the youth of 1880s never existed. It was a
time of great, general principles; all doors were wide open for us.
Everything which in itself makes life rich and worth living for young
people was there: the debating of principles, the broad stream from the
open doors to make us take possession of all the freedom of mind and all
the possibilities laying out there – which simply was our obligation, our
calling, our mission.10
This young woman took part in a circle of women privately preparing

for their matriculation from upper secondary education – since schools at
this level were open to men only. In order to discuss questions of women’s
emancipation this circle in 1884 initiated a feminist group, named Skuld
after the Norse goddess of fate. A number of older women also joined the
group, among them Gina Krog, who was unmarried and in her late thirties.
Founder of the Norwegian Feminist Association in 1884, the Women’s
Suffrage Association in 1885, and the feminist journal Nylænde in 1885,
she became the symbol of Norwegian feminists. More than any other
person, she defined how feminists were to position themselves in public,
and which strategies they ought to follow. In spring 1884, she published
her introductory articles in Nyt Tidsskrift, the most influential liberal
journal of the period, pointing out the benefits of the widespread sympathy
for women’s cause at the time and called upon women to organise. ‘The
time for non-committal talks on emancipation and feminism is over’.11
In her article, Gina Krog gave the directions for feminist agency and
pointed to the most obvious assignments. She was also preparing her
sisters for harder times when non-committal sympathy was challenged by
political action. A more serious attitude from women would inevitably
cause defection among the proponents of their cause – by those who were
tepid, anxious, or selfishly nervous about the prospect of women getting
too much power. By entering the public sphere as mature and responsible
citizens, Gina Krog claimed, women would also be exposed to mockery,
disdain, insults and condemnation. She also acknowledged that women
will be disadvantaged at first when entering a totally male-dominated
field. In contrast to their brothers, they had not been encouraged and
trained to acquire the necessary knowledge and capability. This, however,
should not be an excuse for abstaining from participation:
10
Anna Bugge (Wicksell), born in 1862, quoted from Gro Hagemann, Det
moderne gjennombrudd: Norges historie 1870-1905, (Oslo: Aschehoug 1997) 117.
11
Gina Krog, ”Noen ord om kvinnesakens utvikling og nærmeste opgaver i vårt
land”, (Nyt Tidsskrift 1884), quoted from Kari Skjønsberg ed., Mannssamfunnet
midt imot: Norsk kvinnesaksdebatt gjennom tre "Mannsaldre", (Oslo: Gyldendal
1974) 43.
Gro Hagemann 129
Even if we lose the argument at first because of our lack of competence,

the participation itself and our efforts will bring us further. It is something
far more than a paradox that nothing brings more freedom and
independence than just the fight for freedom and independence.12
In her rhetoric Gina Krog referred fervently to the contemporary liberal

discourse of equality and freedom. Her line of reasoning was mainly
carried out in the language of equality and universality. As long as women
took on the same responsibilities as men and were paying their taxes, they
should be entitled to the same independence and civil status as men. In her
programme she was underlining the commonly human nature of women as
well as men. Accordingly, she seemed reluctant to base her arguments on
gender differences and special feminine qualities and competences. In her
speech to the Feminist Association on women’s enfranchisement in 1885,
she touched upon the problematic concept of femininity: (—) in my
understanding the mission of feminism is in a certain sense to liberate the
individual woman from the collective ‘Woman’.13
On the other hand, she definitely did not reject all gender differences;
like most of her contemporaries she seemed convinced that women have
special empathies for the social questions of the time. Like many others,
she made this an argument in favour of her cause. Just because of
women’s attraction to social work, modern societies really should ensure
that they were in charge and participate: ‘The more I have been thinking
about these matters (—) the more I have come to believe that there is in
our time a yearning for women, for human beings with motherly hearts.’14
As Gina Krog formulated her programme in the 1880s, the struggle for
emancipation and political citizenship was ‘most of all a struggle to
awaken women to be aware of their human dignity and to develop their
spirit of community’.15 She was calling for women to be autonomous,
independent individuals with the civil courage to stand up even for
unpopular standpoints and risk one’s reputation. Furthermore, she
imagined the women citizens in the front of contemporary human
struggles for freedom and progress. Feminism was not the goal; it was a
means to get there.
12
Op.cit. 45.
13
Krog (1889): quoted from Anders Johansen and Jens E. Kjeldsen, eds., (2005)
Virksomme ord: politiske taler 1814-2005, (Oslo: Universitetsforlaget 2005)
speech 16.
14
op.cit.
15
op.cit.
The suffragettes started their campaign in 1888, organising public

meetings in several cities and towns and working out a private legislation
proposal for the Parliament. Their claim was simple: Female suffrage on
equal terms with men. Even now, this did not mean more than a minority
of women; the increase of male suffrage had been only moderate since
1814. The women’s basic argument was plain and logical: since women
had the same obligations – to pay taxes on their income – why should they
be excluded from the corresponding rights? At this stage, their
argumentation was mainly carried out in a language of simple justice.
In their broader rhetoric not all the leading women in the campaign
exercised Gina Krog’s wariness of a language of gender difference. Ragna
Nielsen, leader of the Norwegian Feminist Association from 1886, was
more emotional in her rhetoric, using a more gendered language.
Furthermore, she also invoked the language of slavery in her arguments;
America more than Europe seemed to be her main point of reference. In a
public speech on women’s suffrage in 1888, she referred vehemently to
modern societies in need of the ‘feminine element’. By this she was
referring to female qualities like mildness, fairness, devotion and
compassion, while the male element was represented by physical strength
and intellectual eminence.16 The difference in rhetoric between the two
suffragists should not be overestimated, however. Both argued for ‘the
social question’ as a field in special need of women’s commitment. Still
the discrepancies are worth noticing, since the two feminists split apart and
chose different strategies at a later stage in the suffrage campaign.
Seemingly the suffragettes immediately encountered a great deal of
sympathy. In 1890, female suffrage was debated in the Parliament for the
first time, commenced with the suffragettes’ private bill. Although their
proposal was rejected, the female suffragists regarded it a halfway victory.
Both the large minority supporting their proposal and the energy put into
the question by their antagonists demonstrated that female enfranchisement
was no longer a question to be sat aside without comment. In point of fact,
no Venstre Party Member of Parliament henceforth argued against female
suffrage on grounds of principle. However, the Left Party took a less
favourable attitude to female suffrage in the years to come. Although the
party increased its representation, the support for female suffrage appeared
to decrease. The suffragettes went on as they had started out, sending their
proposition to each newly-elected parliament. A new vote in 1893
revealed a withdrawal of sympathy within the Left Party; in 1896 only a
16
Ragna Nielsen, Public speech on women’s enfranchisement (1987),
Mannssamfunnet midt i mot: Norsk kvinnesaksdebatt gjennom tre "Mannsaldre",
ed. Kari Skjønsberg, (Oslo: Gyldendal 1889), 54.
Gro Hagemann 131
small number of party representatives voted in favour of female suffrage.

Because of the lukewarm responses to women’s enfranchisement, the
1890s appeared a decade of reaction for the feminists, and this version has
been adopted by the feminist historians. What caused this cooling down of
the enthusiasm from the 1880s?
Constitutional and National Conflicts

As established in 1884, the Norwegian party system reflects a wide
spectre of cultural, social and geographical divisions: Centre versus
periphery, rural language versus the urban norm, fundamentalism versus
secularism, temperance versus permissiveness, liberals versus conservatives.
Virtually all were even present within the democratic alliance constituting
the Left Party in 1884. As one might expect, this was too broad and too
manifold to be kept together within one party in the long run. Only a few
years after their constitutional success in 1884, the broad front behind the
Left Party started to divide into smaller parties after economic and cultural
lines. Still, the consensus on basic democratic principals was kept, and
among them also a rather positive attitude to women’s citizenship. The
reluctance to vote for female suffrage, then, was not mainly due to a
change in political opinion. First and foremost there were more
controversial questions coming up, imposing female suffrage to step aside.
Although parliamentary support for female suffrage was decreasing,
there were still small victories to be celebrated. In 1889, when a new
public school system was adopted, women were given access to municipal
school boards. In 1896, local child welfare boards were established with
women among their members; in 1900 poor relief boards were also asked
to appoint some women. In all cases, women were appointed because of
their assumed female competence and experience as mothers. No matter
how small, these arrangements were regarded by the suffragettes as steps
in the right direction. The most sensational resolution, though, appeared in
1894, when the Storting decided to enfranchise women in local
referendums on alcohol prohibition. Each municipality was given the right
to decide whether alcohol should be sold within their borders; to make
these decisions, all adult men and women were enfranchised. For most
advocates of temperance this was no admission of women’s emancipation.
Partly it was an acknowledgement of women’s heavy involvement in the
temperance movement, partly a tactical move from the protagonists to
strengthen the temperance interests in the referendums. Women were
considered more likely to be prohibitionists. Nevertheless, this was
considered a first and a decisive victory in the struggle for the full
enfranchisement of women.
There was more than one reason why the support for women’s suffrage
waned after 1990. The fragmentation of the broad, democratic alliance
from the 1880s exposed several deep-seated disagreements. The split
between the religious western and the more secular eastern parts of the
country increased when new issues emerged and altered the political
agenda. The support for women’s civil and political rights faded even
among radical urban intellectuals, whose interests turned toward
psychology and the feminine mystique. Moreover, the ‘social question’
was gradually entering the political agenda, accelerating after the founding
of Norwegian Labour Party in 1889.
The constitutional debates also changed during this period. Until the
1890s, the political agenda mainly dealt with conflicts on a national level
without bothering too much with the union between Norway and Sweden.
First of all, it was a conflict between the legislative parliament and the
executive government. The opposition was directed at the national
political elite of Norwegian senior civil servants, dominating the
government. Only indirectly this included the king, who chaired the
cabinet meeting and might put a veto on Parliament’s decisions. A change
occurred during the 1890s; the constitutional conflicts escalated to the
point questioning the Swedish domination of foreign policy. Increasing
national activism on both sides brought the two countries to the brink of
war in 1896. The Norwegian Parliament initiated rearmaments; new
fortresses were laid out along the border, compulsory military service was
extended.
The national and social questions both contributed to a new radicalism
into the suffrage debates, challenging the constitutional prudence which
had governed these questions so far. After entering the scene, the socialists
made universal suffrage their main issue in 1890. Thereafter, issues of
enfranchisement were turned into questions of party strategy more than
before. Their purpose was either to promote or to obstruct such a reform;
universal male suffrage was given top priority by all parties, while female
suffrage was shelved. The Labour Party avoided all elements disrupting to
their main cause and therefore postponed female suffrage in their strategy.
Accordingly, the Right Party worked against universal suffrage and gave
that issue top priority. The Left Party, on the other hand, hoped to profit
from universal male suffrage by recruiting voters from the working
classes.
Both for the Left Party and the Right Party the situation changed when
universal male suffrage was introduced in 1898. Suddenly, the Right Party
Gro Hagemann 133
now proposed limited female franchise in municipal elections. There were

protagonists of female suffrage among the conservatives too. The main
reason for this move, however, was to weigh up the effects of universal
male suffrage in municipal elections proposed by the Left Party. Oddly
enough, then, the conservatives were instrumental in this important victory
for the female suffragists. In 1901 women for the first time were included
in the electorate, and a number of women were also represented on
municipal councils.
Universal male suffrage dampened the enthusiasm for gender equality
within parts of the female suffragist movement. Women from the labour
movement now took over the tradition of demonstrations on 17th of May,
which now turned into an occasion for universal female suffrage. Middle
class feminists were hesitant about taking part in the socialist march; some
were also hesitant about the former principle of gender equality. Their
moderate claim on equal conditions for men and women suddenly became
quite a radical one: universal suffrage for women. Not all suffragettes were
willing to go so far so soon. The new situation brought about a split in the
female suffragist movement. After a heated debate on future strategy, one
group left the assembly in 1898 to demonstrate their protest against the
majority who agreed to deviate from the equality principle and go at first
for a census principle for women. The minority resigned their earlier
membership in the Women’s Suffrage Association, to establish a new and
broader suffragist organisation, Landskvindestemmerettsforeningen, the
National Women’s Suffrage Association.
There were several motives behind this split. Distinctions in political
preferences were certainly one. Most likely, the women who left were
closer to the Left Party, through family ties or by being members
themselves. Gina Krog, who led the protest, was a member of the party
from its early days, as was Fredrikke Marie Qvam, who took over the
leadership of the new association. Her husband, Ole Anton Qvam, was a
leading figure in the Left Party and a staunch advocate of female
enfranchisement since 1885. In the view of those who left, compromising
on the principle of equality would be fatal and a demonstration of class
privileges. Their strategy was to escalate their activity outside the capital
and organise their association as a broad, nationwide movement. Local
associations were founded across the country – in 1906 there were 40 of
them with 2.500 members.17
17
Anna Caspari Agerholt, Den norske kvinnebevegelses historie (Oslo: Gyldendal,
1937) 218.
The majority who carried on in the Women’s Suffrage Association was

almost certainly a mixture of more conservative women and women who
were less party bound. Their argumentation and strategy indicate varying
motives. For some, the gradual way to female enfranchise was plain
pragmatism. The chances of success would be better if they advanced step
by step. For others, there were explicit elements of constitutional prudence
in the well-known conservative sense. The leading feminist pioneer,
Ragna Nielsen, argued that only a minority of women had so far reached
the level of education and autonomy by full political subjects:
Is it not the case that men, save only a few, are politically dedicated and
consequently deserve their vote, while women, save a few, are not
politically dedicated and consequently do not yet deserve the vote?18
Ragna Nielsen’s argument is interesting because she refers explicitly to

democratic ideas and the balance between maturity and authority, rights
and obligations. Although they diverse in their conclusions in 1898, Ragna
Nielsen’s argument in a certain sense goes in accordance with Gina
Krogs’s reasoning in 1884. As long as the majority of women did not
stand up themselves to claim their rights, the time was not yet due for their
franchise. Not surprisingly, Ragna Nielsen’s statement was highly
controversial among the suffragettes at the time, and she certainly did not
get much support in public. Still, there is no reason to believe that such
ideas were exceptional among the educated middle classes. Indeed, there
were even suffragists who wanted to defend class privileges as such;
probably there were also those who preferred to keep a distance to the
ongoing political campaigns from the Left Party and its dalliance with the
socialists and escalating the conflicts within the union.
The Women’s Suffrage Association never tried to be a mass movement
or to organise women all over the country. Although they went on working
for political influence, they remained small in number of members. Their
most innovative accomplishment was their action in the municipal
elections in 1901, the first in which women voted. Against protests from
all parties, they organised an independent list of women in Christiania.
Since only two women from the list were elected, the initiative was not
regarded a success. More women were elected from party lists, four from
18
”Er det da ikke saa, at mændene paa en liden brøkdel nær er politisk
interesserede og derfor har fortjent stemmeret, og at kvinderne paa en liden
brøkdel nær er politisk uinteresserede, og derfor ikke fortjener stemmeret?”, Ragna
Nielsen, “Vort Program”, (Nylænde, special edition from the National feminist
meeting, 1898), 325.
Gro Hagemann 135
the Right Party and two from Labour; only from the Left Party were there
no women elected. In spite of criticism, the Female Suffrage Association
achieved an increase of members due to their activity in the election. The
number of members rose to 257 during the year, its highest level ever.19
There is no doubt, however, that the strategy chosen by National
Women Suffrage Association turned out more successful. As their
association was developed into a national mass organisation, the leaders
had some very effective tools at hand to influence the general public as
well as the parliamentary process. With 40 local associations, they made
sure that large numbers of resolutions were sent to all debates in the
Parliament. The geographical extensiveness also made it easier to
influence on local Members of Parliament, who often met with lists signed
by women in their districts. Systematic lobbying like this was one main
element in their strategy. Another element of great importance in their
strategy was the way the women’s suffrage campaign was linked to two
major contemporary issues, both carried forward by the Left Party. One
was the social question, which grew in political significance during the
1990s and also called for women’s voluntary work. The other one was the
national question and the growing discontent with the union. Without
underestimating the genuine involvement of women in these issues as
such, there is no doubt that both of them also functioned as means for
another purpose, political citizenship. As long as they were excluded from
the field of parliamentary politics, they were restricted to demonstrate their
political reliability through voluntary associations. It was a clever strategic
move, then, when feminists in 1896 founded the Norwegian Women’s
Sanitary Association (Norske Kvinners Sanitetsforening).
Fighting for the Nation

The Women’s Sanitary Association was initiated in a situation loaded
with nationalist sentiment and mounting tension between Sweden and
Norway. From being quite anti-militaristic, the radical faction of the Left
party took more positive attitudes to rearmament after 1895. War with
Sweden emerged as a new scenario when the Swedish government refused
further negotiations. This stimulated women activists to demonstrate their
national stance by offering their contribution in medical service, if the war
really were to break out. Suffragettes who strongly sympathised with the
radical Left, however, hesitated to associate themselves with conservative
19
Anna Caspari Agerholt, Den norske kvinnebevegelses historie (Oslo: Gyldendal,
1937), 236.
approaches to military armament and medical service. Thus, radical

women were not too happy when they were called upon in 1896 to
establish a female branch of the National Red Cross in order to recruit
women volunteer workers to provide services in case of war. They wanted
to participate, but they preferred to be active within a context more clearly
associated with liberal and democratic ideas. Accordingly, the initiative
from the Red Cross was declined to the advantage of a new and
independent association to organise medical service in case of war.
Through this association they could give full support to the Left Party
strategies in the union conflict, and also demonstrate their eagerness as
women to take responsibility in a national crisis.20
Fredrikke Marie Qvam was a central figure behind this feminist
strategy. In a pronounced way, this strategy combined feminist
commitment with social involvement. Qvam was convinced that the
struggle for women’s rights should be merged with obligations related to
major national issues, and that the two mutually reinforced each other. To
become active in social work was in her view the obvious national mission
for women. This was her main argument for the foundation of the
Norwegian Women’s Sanitary Association in 1896. She assumed
leadership of the new association, as also in the National Women Suffrage
Association two years later. Through these initiatives she became the main
strategist of the suffragette movement during the last and dramatic phase
until 1907.
Fredrikke Marie Qvam was the powerful leader of the Norwegian
Women’s Sanitary Association for nearly forty years. In short, the
association proved very successful, combining in its statutes military
support with voluntary social work in peacetime. At first, when war was
still a threat, the highest priority was general alert and first aid. Soon, the
association also started to educate nurses; this developed into the main
secular school of nursing in Norway. Across the whole country women
were activated in social work. After the war risk diminished, information
and fund-raising in the fight against tuberculosis became the main field of
activity. The Sanitary Association grew into a large organisation, the
largest in number among all women’s associations.21 In more than one
sense, women involved in both the Left Party and in the suffrage
movement had thereby established a wider space for taking action. They
might participate in and influence on issues of social policy, and
simultaneously they established a potential base for mass mobilisation.
20
Synøve Bringlid, Norske kvinners sanitetsforening: Stifting og aktivitet 1896-
1905, (Master’s thesis, University of Bergen, 1985).
21
Blom, Ida,”En nasjon – to kjønn”, Historisk Tidsskrift 72 (1993).
Gro Hagemann 137
War was avoided in 1896, but without a political solution being found.
Thereafter a reorganisation or dissolution of the union was inevitable.
During the decade to come, no other question challenged the domination
on the political agenda of bilateral relations with Sweden. Substantially,
the conflict was first of all about the right of Norway to manage her own
foreign affairs. Besides the king, foreign policy was the only shared
political institution of the union. Due to the large merchant fleet of the
country, there was a special need to have Norwegian consulates in major
harbours around the world. Thus, the Norwegians were claiming
independence also in this sector. The Swedish government was obstinate,
however, not willing to make the concessions required to rescue the union.
The events of June 7th 1905 were decisive in dissolving the union.
Although it was peacefully carried out, this was simply a coup d’état
within the structure of a well-established, parliamentary democracy. On
the 7th of June the Norwegian parliament, the Storting, decided
unilaterally to dissolve the Swedish-Norwegian union after the
negotiations between the two countries came to a break some months
earlier. Since the king had refused to sanction independent Norwegian
consulates, the Storting declared in its resolution, he was no longer king of
Norway. The dethronement of the constitutional monarch was indeed a
dramatic deed. After June 7th tension was high, with negotiations, war in
the air and hard feelings on both sides. Still, the dissolution process was
carried through peacefully. On 13th August, a large majority, 99 per cent,
of Norwegian citizens gave their support to the June 7th resolution through
a referendum. This settled the issue; the final agreement between the two
countries was signed in September, and in November the Danish prince
Karl was elected (!) King of Norway.
The events of 1905 in a very direct way inspired the suffragette
movement. The referendum organised to decide about the future of the
union bade for a splendid opportunity to demonstrate both their national
attitudes and their own cause. To organise a ‘private referendum’ was an
impressive way to influence on the public opinion. The resolution with
250,000 signatures, demonstrated that women were able to take action,
make up their own minds and express their opinions. The campaign marks
the highlight of the first wave of feminism of Norway, which started in the
1880s and developed throughout close connection with the national
democratic movement.
The feminist campaign of 1905 was also a turning point in their
struggle for the vote. Female enfranchisement was now included in the
party programmes of both Labour and Left Parties. Definitely, Finnish
women’s enfranchisement in 1906 was also a great inspiration for the
Norwegian suffragettes and was used actively in their argumentation. In

1907 another major mobilization was organised, this time directed at
Members of Parliament. More than sixty Members from all over the
country arrived at the Storting with lists signed by future female voters in
their electorate districts. Moreover, more than fifty local suffragette
associations, from Tromsø in the far north to Mandal in the south sent their
resolutions. Before the final debate, 56 local suffragist associations had
sent in their resolutions to Parliament demanding the right to vote.
Moreover, 63 Members of Parliament had been urged by hundreds of
women in their constituencies to vote for the new Act.
On 14 June 1907, the first important victory was won. More than 75
percent of the Members voted in favour of enfranchising women who were
paying taxes themselves over a certain level, or were married to husbands
who did. This time, too, the issue was a matter of disagreement, and there
was a long debate in Parliament. Still, the counterarguments were more
defensive than they had been at earlier occasions; and fundamental refusal
to accept women as voters was no longer really marked. Proposition for
universal female suffrage was rejected, indeed. As the arguments went,
however, this was more like a postponement than an absolute refusal. The
majority of women had to wait until 1913 for the vote. Nevertheless, this
was a real milestone, also internationally. Feminists everywhere celebrated
the important steps forward being taken by the Norwegian suffragettes.
Women Citizens
The involvement of female suffragettes in the conflict with Sweden
demonstrated their national attitudes, indeed. On the other hand, this
involvement also seemed to have some consequences for their
conceptualization of ‘the woman citizen’, as demonstrated through their
political rhetoric. When the feminists first organised in 1884, they mainly
emphasised the emancipation of women from the institutional power of the
old, conservative regime. They imagined the female citizens as
authoritative, competent political subjects capable of making their own
decisions and acting independently in their own right as individuals. They
also underlined the importance of civil courage, the nerve to endure social
exclusion, mockery and stigmatisation when challenging the norms of
femininity and women’s destiny.22 In 1884, Gina Krog underlined the
22
Gina Krog, ”Noen ord om kvinnesakens utvikling og nærmeste opgaver i vårt
land”, (Nyt Tidsskrift 1884), Kari Skjønsberg ed., Mannssamfunnet midt imot:
Norsk kvinnesaksdebatt gjennom tre "Mannsaldre" (Oslo: Gyldendal 1974), 45.
Gro Hagemann 139
importance of liberating “the individual woman from the collective

‘Woman’. In the late 1890s a more modern idea of the collective ‘Women’
seems to have appeared. Apparently, women’s mission as citizens was first
of all to be found within the field of social work.
The question is whether this really was a shift in political strategy.
Could it rather be understood as an implementation of Gina Krog’s earlier
statement that political maturity meant to take societal responsibility? For
feminists like her, the obvious way of taking such responsibility was
simply to support the Left Party and be active in major political questions.
She also realised that commitment in idealistic movements of different
character might open the way to political involvement for women having
no such interest in the first place. This even appeared a good strategy to
make women’s way into full political citizenship. The suffragists were
indeed aware of the arguments behind the minor steps taken toward
political inclusion, such as participation in child welfare and school boards
and the local referendums on prohibition. In these cases, female
participation was welcomed as women being devoted to the issues in
question. To make dutiful contributions within the fields of social work
and constitutional status might seem an obvious strategy to gain entry into
higher levels of politics.
Women’s enfranchisement was encouraged by nearly all women’s
organisations in the late 1890s, whether philanthropic, religious or
professional. Except for this main goal, there were lots of discrepancies
between them. Feminism in a more elaborated sense was a versatile and
contested field. There were certainly debates going on concerning the right
strategies to achieve the desired result, and also on women’s assignment
when they were permitted to enter the public and political sphere. Were
there special causes more appropriate for women to engage in, like social
policy, peace, child welfare? Should women fight for equal status in all
sectors, or should they work first of all to advance their special qualities
and competences as women? Only a few months after the discord within
the suffragette movement feminist strategies were also considered at the
first national meeting of feminists in Bergen. Those present at the meeting
included 184 delegates from a considerable number of different
associations from all parts of the country, feminist and suffrage
associations as well as professional and idealistic ones. In their presentations
women argued from different positions to link feminism to their special
cause – domestic science, philanthropy, mission, morality, peace. Even the
Norwegian Feminist Association – which in spite of the name was located
mainly in Kristiania – argued that women preferentially were to be
recruited to feminism through their experiences of voluntary work or other
practical doings. In their report to the meeting, then, they maintained that
‘the practical approach’, including domestic science, was the way to
follow to bring women to understand the ‘necessity of feminism in all
fields of society’.23
Not everyone in the Feminist Association joined this practical strategy.
The most eloquent among those who argued differently was Ragna
Nielsen, former chair of the association. She claimed to speak on behalf of
several women when she expressed concern about the present interest
among feminists in domestic science education. In her comment on the
future programme of the Feminist Association, she warned against
mistaking this kind of practical work for feminism: ‘No one ever refused
women the right to sew and cook.’24 In stead she argued in favour of a
more outspoken feminist approach, underlining the provocative character
of feminist ideas, and calling upon the courage to challenge the general
opinion: ‘A real feminist will have to cause offence by her opinions.’25
Taking the uncontested womanly as basis of women’s agency signified, in
her opinion, acceptance of conventional ideas on women’s destiny. She
argued in accordance with the stand she had taken earlier on girl’s
education. As pioneer in this field she founded the first Norwegian co-
educational school for boys and girls in 1885, and in 1996 advocated
access to secondary schools for girls on same conditions and with the same
curriculum as boys. Opposing those who wanted to adjust girl’s
curriculum to the probable future of most of them, Ragna Nielsen argued
against every form of specific curriculum for the girls: ‘Women’s destiny
is precisely the same as men’s, to become human beings.’26
Even Anna Gjøstein, feminist and socialist from Stavanger, argued in
favour of a more explicit feminist focus in women’s agency. Consequently,
she called for a nation-wide feminist movement with no other purpose
than ‘working for women’s emancipation by obtaining political, social and
economic equality with men’.27 Feminists could do with more adequate
23
”Den praktiske linje”, Report from Norwegian Feminist Association, (Nylænde,
special edition from the National feminist meeting, 1898).
.24 Ragna Nielsen, “Vort Program”, (Nylænde, special edition from the National
feminist meeting, 1898), 373.
25
op.cit.
26
Ragna Nielsen, “Betænkning afgivet af en komité for behandling af spørgsmaal
vedrørende pigeskolen”, Stortingets forhandlinger (Proceedings from the
Norwegian Parliament), Ot. prp. no 8 1996, enclosure).
27
Anna Gjøstein, ”Om nytten og nødvendigheten af at landets kvindesagsforeninger
danner et landsforbund”, .(Nylænde, special edition from the National feminist
meeting, 1898), 258.
Gro Hagemann 141
methods than acting separately in local groups. The time was right, she
argued, to follow men’s example of organising in national associations and
unions to advance their interests. Consequently, she campaigned for the
merging of local feminist associations into the Norwegian Union of
Feminists. ‘In my opinion,’ she concluded, ‘we should not leave this
meeting until such a union has been founded, basic statutes been adopted
and national board been voted for.’28
This did not happen, however. Anna Gjøstein’s proposition was not
even an object for a real discussion. It floundered among several
individual agendas and disagreements presented at the meeting. Ragna
Nielsen’s reminder was also overlooked due to her controversial and
provocative statements on universal franchise. The strongest speech at the
meeting was made by Gina Krog and others speaking for the ‘practical
causes’. They could form broader alliances which also included delegates
representing philanthropic and professional associations. No matter how
the fact should be interpreted, the rhetoric among leading suffragettes
seems to have changed. Near the turn of the century, a language of
nationalism and utility appeared more frequently, while the language of
emancipation and female integrity was heard more rarely in the
suffragette’s argumentation. Leading female suffragists declared their
patriotism and wholeheartedly entered the broad national movement and
so adapted to a broad political consensus. The authoritative, active and
competent individual citizen was downplayed, while patriotism, loyalty
and family responsibility were heard more often. Women claimed political
rights and full citizenship in favour of the family and the nation. This may
be categorised as a shift in feminist posture from a republican citizenship
to a more nationalistic and identity-based citizenship.
An Unqualified Success?
The enfranchisement of women – although limited at first – was
celebrated as a great victory, also internationally, at the meetings and
publications of the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance. Systematic
activities and clever strategies from competent feminists had achieved the
result. There were very indeed favourable conditions for feminist action in
19th century Norway. Both the political culture and social structure worked
to the women’s advantage. Nevertheless, women’s own action was
decisive for the outcome. Through the different stages of their campaign,
the suffragists cleverly made some concessions to public opinion
28
Op.cit. 265.
considered necessary to appear trustworthy and competent. As implied by

Ida Blom, they promoted their own demands by living up to men’s
expectations that they would support men’s political objectives by
extending their function as caretakers from home to society at large.29 By
promoting social work as their main field of activity, they gathered
sympathy by taking a role expected from women. Furthermore, they were
able to make very skilful use of the political situation and cultural climate.
Some of the radical feminist language of the 1880s did not have the same
resonance in the 1890s. Finally, they capably built up an effective
organisational web ready to be mobilised when the decisive moments
came.
Yet there are also some reservations regarding their success. Naturally,
there were still many milestones to be passed until women were fully
included in political citizenship. The political culture and the political
representation remained male dominated through most of the 20th century.
The suffragettes of the first wave of feminism did indeed demonstrate a
high degree of political and strategic competence when they mitigated
their most controversial claims to join the broad national consensus. On
the other hand, this might have caused a certain loss of feminist strength
and courage for the new barriers to be strained after suffrage had been
won. Like the first wave of feminist movements in many countries, the
vigorous movement in Norway, too, seemed to lose impetus and courage
after 1913. One reason may have been the willingness to accept the
prevailing gender order at the expense of a more radical strategy. By
emphasising the qualities of femininity and the usefulness of women, they
seem to have compromised their former inclination to ‘liberate the
individual woman from the collective ‘Woman’ ’.30 Social issues became a
female field in practical politics; it was surely a basis for political action,
but even an impediment for further advancement. Ultimately,
enfranchisement appeared to be the easiest part. To be represented in
parliament, included in executive bodies, and confided responsibility in
‘male’ fields appeared to be far more complicated. A second feminist
wave was needed to make political citizenship a complete reality for
women too.
29
Ida Blom, “The Struggle for Women’s Suffrage in Norway 1885-1913” in
Scandinavian Journal of History 5 (1980), 16.
30
Gina Krog (1884).
Gro Hagemann 143
Bibliography
Agerholt, Anna Caspari. Den norske kvinnebevegelses historie Oslo:
Gyldendal, 1937.
Blom, Ida. “The Struggle for Women’s Suffrage in Norway 1885-1913”
in Scandinavian Journal of History 5 (1980).
—. ”En nasjon – to kjønn”, Historisk Tidsskrift 72 (1993).
Bringlid, Synøve. “Norske kvinners sanitetsforening: Stifting og aktivitet
1896-1905.” Master diss., University of Bergen, 1985.
Furseth, Inger. “Kvinnenes betydning i Haugebevegelsen,” in Til debatt:
innlegg ved Norske historiedager 1996, Department of History,
University of Bergen 1998.
Gjøstein, Anna. “Om nytten og nødvendigheten af at landets
kvindesagsforeninger danner et landsforbund”, Nylænde, special
edition from the National feminist meeting, 1898.
Hagemann, Gro. Det moderne gjennombrudd: Norges historie 1870-1905.
Oslo: Aschehoug 1997.
—. “De stummes leir?”, in Med kjønnsperspektiv på norsk historie, edited
by Ida Blom et al., 157-255. Oslo: Cappelen akademisk forlag 2005.
Johansen, Anders and Jens E. Kjeldsen. eds., Virksomme ord: politiske
taler 1814-2005. Oslo: Universitetsforlaget, 2005.
Krog, Gina. “Noen ord om kvinnesakens utvikling og nærmeste opgaver i
vårt land.” Nyt Tidsskrif 3 (1884).
—. “Stemmeret for kvinder”, in Mannssamfunnet midt i mot: Norsk
kvinnesaksdebatt gjennom tre "Mannsaldre", edited by Kari
Skjønsberg. Oslo: Gyldendal, 1974.
Mellemsether, Hanna. Kvinne i to verdener: En kulturhistorisk analyse av
afrikamisjonæren Martha Sannes liv i Norge og Afrika i perioden
1884-1901, master diss., University of Trondheim, 1994.
Mjeldheim, Leiv. Folkerørsla som vart parti. Venstre frå 1880-åra til
1905. Bergen: Universitetsforlaget, 1984.
Nagel, Anne-Hilde. “Politisering av kjønn – et historisk perspektiv”, in
Kjønn og politikk, edited by. Nina Raaum, 31-129. Oslo: Tano, 1995,.
Nielsen, Ragna. “Public speech on women’s enfranchisement”, in
Mannssamfunnet midt i mot: Norsk kvinnesaksdebatt gjennom tre
"Mannsaldre", edited by Kari Skjønsberg. Oslo: Gyldendal 1889.
—. “Betænkning afgivet af en komité for behandling af spørgsmaal
vedrørende pigeskolen”, Stortingets forhandlinger (Proceedings from
the Norwegian Parliament), Ot. prp. no 8 1996, enclosure.
—. “Vort Program”, Nylænde, special edition from the National feminist
meeting, 1898.
Rokkan, Stein. “The Growth and Structuring of Mass Politics”, in Nordic

Democracies, edited by Erik Allardt et al. København: Det danske
selskab 1981.
Sandvik, Hilde. “Kvinners rettslige handleevne på 1600- og 1700-tallet,
med linjer fram til kvinnesr myndighet i 1888.” PhD diss., University
of Oslo: Unipub 2002.
Skjønsberg, Kari, ed., Mannssamfunnet midt imot: Norsk kvinnesaksdebatt
gjennom tre "Mannsaldre", Oslo: Gyldendal 1974.
Tranberg, Anna.“Ledighed taales ikke”: Plassfamilier på gardsarbeid.”,
Historisk tidsskrift 69 (1990): 512-36.
PART II:
THE DISSOLUTION OF EMPIRES

AND THE BREAKTHROUGH OF DEMOCRACY
WOMEN’S VICTORY OR THE IMPACT
OF REVOLUTION? PECULIARITIES
OF WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE IN RUSSIA
OLGA SHNYROVA
In comparison with long period of women’s struggle for political rights

in Great Britain or in the United States, women’s suffrage in Russia has a
very short history. In fact, we can speak about the women’s suffrage
movement only during the short period between the two Russian
revolutions of 1905 and 1917.
Therefore the notion of a ‘women’s suffrage’, with reference to Russia,
is found mostly in the works of foreign historians. Russian feminists at the
beginning of the twentieth century preferred to call themselves
ravnopravki (meaning fighters for women’s rights), as that was a wider
notion than “a suffragist”, implying a fight for equality in all spheres of
life.
The women’s movement, launched after the revolution of 1905, was
known in Russia as the ‘women’s liberation movement’, but not as a
feminist movement. In this article we will try to find out the reasons for
this, and also reveal the peculiarities of the women’s suffrage movement in
Russia.
We have to mention that the first women’s organisations appeared in
Russia in the 1850s. Their appearance is mostly connected with the spread
in Russian society of a liberal spirit on the eve of the abolition of serfdom
(1861). The Russian suffragist and a famous historian Ekaterina
Tschepkina characterizes the spirit in Russia of that time by a contemporary:
You are risking now, on coming into Russia not to recognise it. As to the
appearance everything is the same, but you feel inner renovation in
everything, you feel that a new era is coming. From all the parts there are
ideas and light views are step by step forcing out the old routine1.
1
Tshepkina E. Iz istorii zhenskoi lichnosti v Rossii. (From the history of woman’s
personality in Russia).
Olga Shnyrova 147
Under the influence of those new ideas in St. Petersburg new women’s
circles appeared. The best known became Maria Trubnikova’s circle,
which in 1855 organized a society for cheap flats for working women.
Among the women who were participants of the circle (V. Ivasheva, N.
Stasova, A. Filosofova, A. Engelgardt) appeared a core of activists who
played an important (certain) role in the organisation of the Russian
movement. On their initiative in St. Petersburg were founded Sunday
schools for girls, public educational courses for women, artels (co-
opeatives) of women translators, and a publishing house (1863). In 1878
higher education courses (known as Bestuzhevskie courses) started up. In
the 1870s higher women’s courses were started up in other cities: in
Moscow (1872), in Kazan (1876), in Kiev (1878). Their appearance led to
the foundation of societies of aid for those attending the higher women’s
courses, which rendered material support to women getting a better
education and assisted them in getting jobs.
Thus in Russia in the 1860s and 1870s appeared quite a lot of different
women’s organisations. Though in Russia both men and women had no
political rights till the first democratic revolution of 1905, the first
women’s organisations founded in Russia in the middle of the nineteenth
century had no political claims and were aimed exclusively at women’s
right to equal education and professional careers. Even this moderate
women’s activity practically stopped as a result of political repression by
the tsarist regime coming down on the Russian society after the
assassination of Alexander II in 1881, made all manifestations of social
activity almost impossible. Activity of all public organisations, including
women’s organisations, was prohibited, only the work of charity
organisations was permitted. Therefore, the first women’s organisation
founded in Saint Petersburg in 1895 in order to get the permission from the
authorities, had to name itself Russkoe Zenskoe Vzaimnoblagotvoritelnoe
Obtshestvo (Russian Women’s Mutual Aid Society) and restricted its
activities to charity and women’s education. Men and women felt equally
disfranchised, and so a huge number of socially active women incarnate
themselves not in feminist, but in revolutionist movement against the
tsarist regime.
Only the Tsarist Rescript (18 February) on People’s Representatives
adopted in 1905 under the pressure of revolution gave a chance to speak
about suffrage. In May 1905 in Moscow the inaugural meeting of Soiuz
Ravnopravia Zentshin (Women’s Equality Union), the most influential
women’s suffrage organisation in Russia was held. Its goal was to ensure
the inclusion of the words ‘without distinction of sex’ in the election law.
However at this meeting a dispute already flared up on whether to make
148 Women’s Victory or the Impact of Revolution?
the demand for political equality a fundamental principle of the Union’s

programme or not. A considerable part of participants believed that ‘due to
today’s public feelings, and particularly women’s, the Union, restricting
itself to narrow feminist frames, risks being quite unpopular and will not
be able to recruit new members’.2 Since in May 1905 the question of
suffrage had not yet been settled, it was intended to put special emphasis
not on the political, but on civil rights of women as soon as all Russian
citizens were ‘politically disenfranchised, but woman has no human
rights’.3 And only the passing of the election laws of 6 August, 17 October
and 11 December 1905, which had excluded women from the electorate
and upset the gender ‘equality in illegality’, led to the emergence of the
women’s suffrage movement in Russia.
In 1906 Zenskaja Progressivnaja Partia (the Women’s Progressive
Party) was founded with the short-term aim of achieving full political
equality between men and women.4 In that year the department of
women’s suffrage was also formed affiliated to the Russian Women’s
Mutual Aid Society. In 1907 Liga Ravnopravia Zenshin (the League of
Women’s Equality) was constituted. It should be noted that the demand for
women’s enfranchisement was supported by almost all women’s
professional organisations and mutual aid societies. Thus in 1907 a
petition was presented to the State Duma by twenty-one women’s
organisations.
Reaction followed the revolutionary peak of 1907, and excluded the
possibility of the women’s enfranchisement bill being passed through the
State Duma. Therefore, during the years from 1907 to 1917 suffragists
confined themselves to the aim of achieving the principle of equality in
view of adopting other laws that concerned women: municipal law,
education law, property rights, etc.
When the February Revolution of 1917, which had overthrown the
monarchy in Russia, gave such an opportunity once again, the Russian
suffragists were not to fail to use it. Following it, in July 1917 women
were included in the number of electors and Russia became the first great
European state to grant women the right to vote. Thus the political
situation that gave rise to the Russian women’s suffrage movement
differed fundamentally from the situation in many Western countries. The
lifetime of the women’s suffrage movement in Russia was shorter, but
2
Protocol zasedanii Pervogo delegatskogo s’ezda Soyuza ravnopraviya
zhenschin”, State Archive of Russian Federation, fund. 516, F. 5
3
Ibid.
4
“Programma Zhenskoy progressivnoy partii” (The Programme of the Women’s
Progressive Party) in Rossiiskie partii, soyuzy i ligi. Saint-Petersburgb,1906.
Olga Shnyrova 149
Russian women managed to achieve their aim sooner than their Western
counterparts.
Women’s Suffrage and Workers’ Rights

Since the women’s suffrage movement in Russia emerged on the
revolutionary wave, it led to its self-representation as the movement of
women workers and women peasants. Without resorting to the militant
tactics of civil disobedience, Russian suffragists were nevertheless at
radical platform, sometimes directly participating in revolutionary events.
Thus, members of the Women’s Equality Union (WEU) helped Moscow
workers during the armed revolt in December 1905: they organised
canteens and first-aid posts, and raised money for strikers. As a result the
WEU established close contacts with trade unions and the workers
supported their activities. To promote its ideas, WEU members worked in
different organisations: the Red Cross, the Union of Unions, the
Unemployment Commission, the Moscow Strike Committee. the
Revolutionary spirit was reflected in the fact that honourable members of
WEU were such prominent women revolutionaries as V. Figner, C.
Breshko-Breshkovskaya, V. Zasulich, M. Tsebrikova.
Workers’ rights, without disticntion of sex, were the special provision
of the Women’s Progressive Party programme. The result of propaganda
among peasant women was a huge number of petitions presented to the
first State Duma on behalf of women’s suffrage. Moreover, in the remote
areas of the Russian Empire the issue of women’s suffrage was closely
connected with the national question. WEU branches in Lithuania, Belarus
and Ukraine demanded not only political equality for women, but also
recognition of cultural and national autonomy for their populations,
closely collaborating with local organisations aimed at national liberation.
Thus, just as in England, women’s suffrage movement in Russia was
part of a wide liberal-democratic movement. Nevertheless, despite the
desire to recruit more women workers, Russian women’s suffrage societies
were smaller in number than those in Britain. The most representative
women’s suffrage organisation in Russia, the Women’s Equality Union, at
the peak of its activity in 1906 had 8,000 members and 78 branches in 65
towns5. The political repressions of 1907 decreased its numbers to 1,500
5
“Soyuz ravnopraviya zhenschin. Otchet tretiego delegatskogo s’ezda.
Stenogramma zasedania 21 Maja 1906”. (The Union of Women’s Equality of
Rights. The Report of the Third Delegation Sessions on the 21st of March), State
Archive of the Russian Federation, Fund 516, F. 5.
members and 53 branches were closed6. The Russian League for Women’s
Equality, being a successor of WEU, on the eve of the February
Revolution numbered 800 members7. Political conditions in Russia could
not contribute to the development of mass democratic movements,
including women’s suffrage movement.
Among the negative factors influencing the membership of women’s
suffrage organisations’ in Russia we should point out, first of all, a split
with women belonging to the Social Democrats. This split occurred in the
All-Russian Women’s Congress long prepared by the Russian Women’s
Mutual Aid Society with the aim of uniting all women’s organisations. But
in fact this Congress divided Russian women’s movement into two
directions: feminists, characterised as bourgeois, and social-democratic or
proletarian. In Britain such a split was conspicuous by its absence, and
many Russian suffragists wrote about it repeatedly, pointing out with
bitterness the difficulties in Russian women’s movement8. Nevertheless,
the feminists’ influence among women workers was fairly strong in big
cities even during the February Revolution, despite the Social Democrats’
efforts, initiated by A. Kollontai, to move women workers away from the
feminists’ influence.
Financial Resources of the Russian Women’s Suffrage

Organisations
Financial resources were also restricted. The budget of WEU from
1905 to 1906 was 3,800 rubles9. Expenditures were also fairly specific:
WEU made 10 per cents assessment to the Union of Unions (association of
trade unions). Moreover, 1,000 rubles (viz. one third of all revenue) were
assigned ‘to help other political organisations and strikers’10. These
expenditures WEU took upon itself even despite the fact that its members
6
Konferentsia Souza Ravnopravja Zenshin 26-27 Maja v Moskve (The Conference
of the Union of Women’s Equality of Rights in Moscow on the 26-27 of May),
Souz Shenshin, no. 2 (1907): 16 .
7
Godovoi otchet o dejatelnosti Rossiiskoi Ligi Ravnpravia Zenshin za 1916 god.
(An Annual Report about the activity of the Russian League of Women’s
Equality of Rights) Saint-Petersburg 1917, 3.
8
O. Shapir. Pervyi vserossiiskii zhenskii s’ezd (The First Russian Women’s
Congress), Zhenskaya mysl, no. 1 (1909): 9.
9
Soyuz ravnopraviya zhenschin. Proekt smety prikhoda na 1905 – 1906 god” (The
Union of Women’s Equality of Rights. The project of an estimate of receipts for
the years 1905-1906), State Archive of the Russian Federation, Fund 516, F. 5.
10
Ibid.
Olga Shnyrova 151
were generally women of the so-called ‘intelligent’ (white collar)

professions with rather low income who sometimes could not pay the
annual membership fee of 1 ruble.
Nevertheless, in 1905 the St. Petersburg branch of the WEU founded
the special mutual aid fund supplemented from voluntary donations from
its members. Forty percent of all money was assigned to the party of
socialist-revolutionist, 40 percent to the Social Democrats, 15 percent to
the Red Cross11. Unfortunately the financial documents of the WEU are
rather fragmentary, which embarrassed the analysis of its financial
resources as well as the financial standing of its branches. In any case the
WEU’s budget for 1905 – 1906, as well as politics of its Petersburg
branch, testifies that the WEU was not only a feminist, but also a radical-
democratic organisation aiming at revolutionary changes in the country in
the interests of all citizens. This was the reason its repression after the
revolutionary decline.
The financial position of the Russian Women’s Mutual Aid Society
(RWMAS) was better and could be well compared with the financial
standing of the main women’s suffrage organisations in Britain. Thus, the
annual financial report of the RWMAS for 1915 shows that its total funds
amounted to 162,862 rubles. Much of these funds were invested in real
estate: the society owned several houses in Saint Petersburg, some
canteens and hostels. Expenditures were noticeably smaller and came to
32,674 rubles. The Women’s Suffrage Department received only 1,126
rubles. Total income was formed, just as in other countries, from
donations, sales of literature, public lectures and various charity events:
bazaars, exhibitions, banquets, soirees. The most experienced organisation
in that sense was the Russian Women’s Mutual Aid Society, which for
much of its existence gained valuable experience in fund-rising. Thus, for
example, in 1903 the RWMAS organised bazaar and managed to gain
1,673 rubles12.
Under certain circumstances women’s suffrage organisations in Russia
could reckon on state subsidies. The League for Women’s Equality several
times received donations from the Ministry of Education and the
11
“Soyuz ravnopraviya zhenschin. Protocol vtorogo delegatskogo s’ezda 8 – 12
octyabrya 1905” (The Union of Women’s Equality of Rights. The Minutes of the
Second Congress on the 8-12 October 1905), State Archive of the Russian
Federation, Fund 516, F. 5, 36-39.
12
Russkoe zhenskoe vzaimnoblagotvoritel’noe obschestvo. Otchet za 1903
(Russian Women’s Mutual Charity Organization. The report of 1903). Saint-
Petersburg, 1904.
Department of Agriculture for various women’s educational courses13.

While restricting political activities, the tsarist government had nothing
against social activity in other spheres, particularly in education and
professional careers.
Methods of Struggle for Women’s Equality

Political restrictions and lack of money influenced the methods of the
women’s suffrage movement in Russia. In times of revolutionary upsurge
Russian suffragists organised mass actions: meetings and demonstrations.
In the reports of the WEU branches for 1905 – 1906 we can find
information about meetings and demonstrations, though they were not so
frequent as women’s suffrage processions in England. The most frequent
were meetings in Moscow in autumn 1905 with 2,500 women
participating in it14. In 1917 the Women’s Equality League and the
frequently founded All-Russian Women’s Union initiated a series of
meetings and demonstrations. The most impressive one was held in
Petrograd (St. Petersburg) on 19 March 1917 by the Women’s Equality
League. On that day 40,000 of women under the leadership of suffragists
came out onto the streets demanding women’s suffrage. A member of the
League, O. Zakuta, gave a vivid description of this demonstration: “in
front of the procession there were Amazons on horses for security reasons,
a huge flag of the Russian Women’s Equality League and two bands. In
the midst there was an automobile with one of the prominent champions of
freedom for Russia, Vera Figner, along with the head of the WEL Council
Poliksena Shishkina-Yavein. The following posters stood out against the
background of many others: ‘Woman’s Place in the Constituent
Assembly”, “No Women No Universal Suffrage’, ‘Women, unite!’,
‘Women-workers demand suffrage’, ‘Free Woman in Free Russia’15. It is
known that this demonstration helped the suffragists to induce the
provisional government to promise to grant women political rights. The
description of this demonstration is strongly reminiscent the women’s
suffrage processions in England and this is not by chance, since the
13
“O posobii Rossiiskoi lige ravnopraviya zhenschin” ( About the Benefit of the
Russian League of Equality of Women’ Rights ), Russian State Historical Archive,
Fund 395, F. 3469.
14
Soyuz Zhenschin, (The Women’s Union), no. 1 (1907): 6.
15
O. Zakuta. Kak v revolutsionnoe vremya Vserossiiskaya Liga Ravnopraviya
Zhenschin dobilas’ izbiratel’nykh prav dlya russkikh zhenschin. (How During the
Revolution Times The Russian League of Women’s Equality of Rights Managed
to Get Enfranchisement for Russian Women). Petrograd, 1917, 6.
Olga Shnyrova 153
Russian suffragists considered the struggle of their British counterparts an

example to be emulated and adopted a lot from the British experience.
In the long period of restrictions of any democratic activity, the
suffragists, like the representatives of other democratic organisations, had
to adjust their activity to the realities of political life. Russian suffragists
paid a lot of attention to propaganda, aspiring to cover not only middle
class but also women workers and women peasants. Enlightening activities
included publishing and distributing literature on the women’s question,
delivering public lectures, organising various women’s hobby groups. In
1906 in the framework of the Women’s Equality Union a special
commission for distributing literature among peasants was founded. In
1907 it distributed about 10, 000 pamphlets and books. According to local
reports, it was very popular, and since not all women peasants could read,
distributors (as a rule they were county schoolmistresses) organised joint
readings. The Women’s Equality League and the Russian Women’s
Mutual Aid Society had a similar mission. The Women’s Equality Union
and the Women’s Progressive Party had their own regular press: Soyuz
Zhenschin (Women’s Union) and Zhenskii vestnik (Women’s Herald).
Besides pamphlets and books Women’s Union, Women’s Progressive
Party and the Women’s Equality League printed and distributed many
leaflets addressing both women and male representatives of different
social classes to support women’s demand for political equality.
Russian suffragists, just like British ones, organised lecture tours
throughout the country. In autumn 1906 the Saint Petersburg branch of the
Women’s Equality Union formed a group for preparing agitation lecturers
and reports. The most popular were the lectures delivered by C.
Schepkina, A. Kalmanovich, Z. Mirovich, M. Chekhova, O. Volkenstein.
It is reported in the first issue of Soyuz Zhenschin that lecture of E.
Tschepkina entitled ‘Essay of the history of women’s movement’ had been
delivered for 15 times in Saint Petersburg, Moscow, Novgorod, Orel,
Kostroma, Tver, Kazan, Saratov, Smolensk and attracted audiences of 400
to 800.16 The subjects of these lectures show that the Russian audience
was also interested in the women’s struggle for their rights in other
countries. This was the subject of lectures delivered by the famous Russian
suffragists Anna Kalmanovich and Zinaida Mirovich, who repeatedly went
abroad and had close contacts with many Western suffragists. One of the
most popular lectures was delivered by Z. Mirovich on Women’s
Movement in England, successfully presented in Moscow, Vitebsk and
Smolensk. It is quite interesting that in 1907 in Ivanovo-Voznesensk this
16
lecture was prohibited. The chief of the local police thought it ‘could
embarrass local weavers’17.
It is quite logical that one of the most important directions of Russian
suffragist activity was lobbying for their interests in parliament, public
organisations and among political parties. Just after its foundation, the
Women’s Equality Union and the Russian Women’s Mutual Aid Society
presented petitions to party congresses, city councils and trade unions.
There petitions demanded inclusion in the programmes of these
organizations, the so-called heptamerous election formula: ‘universal,
direct, equal and secret ballot without distinction of sex, nationality and
creed’. Thus, as it was a question of universal suffrage, Russian
suffragists, in contrast to their British counterparts, at once demanded
political rights for all women.
To lobby for its interests from within the Women’s Equality Union
became a member of the All-Russian Organisation of Trade Unions – the
Union of Unions. As a result, in summer 1905 the women’s suffrage
clause was included in the political programmes of the trade unions, the
zemstva (local authorities in county) and the kadet party (constitutional
democrats). The same clause was included in a resolution adopted in the
Congress of City Councils. This allows us to state that on the
revolutionary wave the majority of the democratic community in Russia
was in favour of women’s suffrage and public opinion was more
favourable than in England or in France. This can be explained by the fact
that in Russia the demand for woman’s suffrage was put forward jointly
with the demand for universal suffrage backed by almost all Russian
political parties.
Women’s Suffrage and Political Parties

The programmes of the Russian political parties are quite clear on the
issue of women’s suffrage in particular and universal suffrage in general.
The left wing of the Russian political spectrum – The Russian Social
Democratic Party, socialist-revolutionaries, trydoviki (Labours) and kadets
(constitutional democrats) – demanded universal suffrage and, consequently,
recognised women’s suffrage. The political centre– Oktyabrists – were
more moderate, though they also demanded a universal, equal and secret
ballot. They believed that before it could be introduced, it would take a
long time for perfection for Russian Civil Code, and therefore, not denying
the principle of woman’s suffrage itself, considered it a matter for the
17
Olga Shnyrova 155
distant future. The right wing – monarchist parties and groups –

vigorously rejected not only women’s suffrage but also all democratic
changes. However, these parties were in minority in the first State Duma
and had no decisive influence.
Thus, women's suffrage supporters had a really good chance to have
the women's enfranchisement bill passed through the first State Duma,
since the majority of its members were representatives of the left wing18.
To convince deputies of the necessity to grant women the right to vote,
suffragists collected signatures on petitions demanding political equality
for women. To the first State Duma Women’s Equality Union presented a
petition with 5,000 signatures and the Russian Women’s Mutual Aid
Society presented its own with 4,500 signatures. The latter inspired the
famous lawyer, the deputy from the kadet party, L. Petrazhitsky, to make
an ardent speech in favour of women’s rights. In 1907, during the second
State Duma, women’s organisations jointly presented to Russian
parliament petition with the 19,984 signatures19.
It is reasonable that these figures are incommensurable with the
number of signatures on women’s suffrage petitions in Britain: in 1874 the
number reached 415,622 signatures20. However, if we will take into
account the fact that before the Revolution of 1917 there was no such
practice as collective petitioning (there was a special decree prohibiting
presenting petitions directly to Tzar), then these figures are quite
impressive for Russia. Moreover, since no such practice had been in use in
other public organisations, we could say that this was the suffragists’
innovation to Russian political life. Such methods were common in many
Western countries. Petitions were signed by both men and women, it being
known that peasants and workers signed petitions more willingly than
representatives of the middle class. We would like to quote the letter of a
young peasant from Saratov province:
18
The First State Duma was ready to vote for giving women political equality. but
was permanently before the day when the question of women’s political rights was
to be voted on. The following State Dumas were much more moderate. Moreover
the increasing political reaction did not give a chance to raise the low-priority
project about enlarging of suffrage for a vote. That is way the question about
enfranchisement of women was raised only at the times of the February Revolution
of 1917.
19
20
The Manchester National Society for Women’s Suffrage. Eighth Annual Report.
Manchester, 1875.
A schoolmistress gave me subscription list № 1038 to the State Duma

justly demanding women's equality with men. I collect men's signatures.
Yesterday, February 20, I just received this list and at once collected 64
signatures. When it reaches 100 signatures I will forward it to the
schoolmistress”21.
As early as the 1860s – 1870s many Russian women participated in the

women’s movement, became members of various revolutionary
organisations, struggled against the monarchy. During the Revolution of
1905 – 1907 women’s organisations had collaborated closely with left
parties. Many leaders of these organisations were members of political
parties. A. Shabanova, A. Kalmanovich, A. Tyrkova, S. Panina were in the
rank and file of the kadet party, O. Volkenstein was a member of the
socialist revolutionaries party, M. Gurevich was among the Bolsheviks.
The left orientation of the women’s movement in Russia had been
acknowledged by the tsarist government, and this was one of the main
reasons why the governing elite opposed women’s suffrage.
The letter of Attorney-General, I. Scheglovitov, was graphic evidence
of the official position on women’s political rights. On the occasion of the
women’s enfranchisement bill being introduced to the State Duma, he
wrote (19 March 1912): ‘careful observation of the reality shows that in
contrast to fears of Western thinkers about women’s aspiration to realise
the goals of reaction, we reveal another danger – women’s infatuation with
revolutionary ideals, and that circumstance, to my mind, obliges us to be
very cautious about women joining in political activity’22.
The Consistent democratic orientation of the women’s movement and
the high level of political activity of Russian women allowed the left wing
parties to consider women as their potential electorate and vote in favour
of women’s suffrage.
In their turn, the suffragists rendered not only organisational, but also
financial assistance to the left wing parties. Thus, in 1905 the Women’s
Equality Union raised 100,000 rubles (a vast sum of money for those
times) and donated it to the Social Democrats23. Unfortunately, the
Russian suffragists could not establish close relationships with Social
21
22
Samoderzhavie i izbiratel’nye prava zhenschin (Autocracy and Women’s
Enfranchisement), Krasnyi arkhiv vol. 6 (1936).
23
“Otvet na pis’mo C. Chapman Catt s voprosami o prisutstvii v Soyuze
ravnopraviya zhenschin sotsialistok i ikh uchastii (1907-1908)” (The Answer to the
Letter of C. Chapman Catt with Questions about the Presence of Socialists in the
Union of Women’s Equality of Rights and their Participation ), State Archive of
Russian Federation, Fund. 516, F. 4.
Olga Shnyrova 157
Democrats, especially with Bolsheviks. Even the radical Women’s

Equality Union had to record that:
Socialist parties regarded the Union with hostility, constantly considering it a

bourgeois organisation, since there was a majority of non-party members in it,
who consisted of the bulk of the Union. Moreover, some socialist groups
disapproved of the Union because it was exclusively a women’s organisation,
believing that such organisations were harmful for the struggle for socialism,
since they diverted forces from the party fights.
Conclusion
To sum up, we can state that the Russian women’s liberation
movement had its own national specificity that was conditioned by the
features of the historical and political development of Russia. It emerged
rather late; its evolution even during this short period of time had its highs
and lows, which coincided with the evolution of the Russian democratic
movement and depended on the changes in the political situation. The
national women’s organisation was founded rather late, only in 1917; the
women’s suffrage movement was not such a mass movements as those in
Britain and America. At the same time, the women’s movement in Russia
the 1905 – 1917 can be considered a women’s suffrage movement, since it
had all the features that were characteristic of women’s suffrage
movements: woman’s suffrage being the main demand in the programmes
for the majority of women’s organisations; active lobbying of woman’s
suffrage bills in Parliament; broad propagandistic campaigns aimed at
attracting public attention. The women’s movement in Russia, like
women’s suffrage in Great Britain, was an integral part of wide democratic
movement that struggled for political and social reforms and was based on
classical liberal theory. In addition, during that period the women’s
movement in Russia, in spite of its leaders constantly underlining common
of men’s and women’s interests frequently appeared an independent and
fairly influential political force.
Ultimately the women’s organisations in Russia, making the best use
of a frequently changing political situation, managed to achieve women’s
enfranchisement in a short period of 12 years. In many respects this could
be explained by specific political conditions. In Russia, on the
revolutionary wave, it was easier for women to obtain their rights, while in
Britain, despite the democratic parliamentary system, adherence to
traditions impeded fundamental political changes, and it took almost a
century to enfranchise all social groups. At the same time we should not
ignore the activity and purposefulness of Russian suffragists, because
thanks to them Russian women were among the first in Europe, to obtain
political rights.
Bibliography
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the Russian League of Equality of Women’ Rights ), Russian State
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ravnopraviya zhenschin sotsialistok i ikh uchastii (1907-1908)” (The
Answer to the Letter of C. Chapman Catt with Questions about the
Presence of Socialists in the Union of Women’s Equality of Rights and
their Partisipation ), State Archive of Russian Federation, Fund. 516, F.
4.
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zhenschin”, State Archive of Russian Federation, fund. 516, F. 5
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Archive of the Russian Federation, Fund 516, F. 5, 36-39.

Godovoi otchet o dejatelnosti Rossiiskoi Ligi Ravnpravia Zenshin za 1916
god. (An Annual Report about the activity of the Russian League of
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Women’s Progressive Party) in Rossiiskie partii, soyuzy i ligi. Saint-
Petersburgb, 1906.
Russkoe zhenskoe vzaimnoblagotvoritel’noe obschestvo. Otchet za 1903
(Russian Women’s Mutual Charity Organization. The report of 1903).
Saint-Petersburg, 1904.
Olga Shnyrova 159
The Manchester National Society for Women’s Suffrage. Eighth Annual

Report. Manchester, 1875.
Journals
Zhenskaya mysl (Women’s Thought)

Soyuz Zhenschin, (The Women’s Union)
Tshepkina E. Iz istorii zhenskoi lichnosti v Rossii. (From the history of
woman’s personality in Russia).Tver: Feminist Press, 2004 (reprint
edition).
O. Zakuta. Kak v revolutsionnoe vremya Vserossiiskaya Liga
Ravnopraviya Zhenschin dobilas’ izbiratel’nykh prav dlya russkikh
zhenschin. (How During the Revolution Times The Russian League of
Women’s Equality of Rights Managed to Get Enfranchisement for
Russian Women). Petrograd, 1917.
LINKING PARTY POLITICS
AND WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE:
THE CASE OF ARIADNA TYRKOVA
NATALIA NOVIKOVA
Introduction
Recent research has challenged the old and still influential assumption
that feminism and the feminist movement are somewhat totally ‘alien’ to
Russian culture, and those women who dared to call themselves
‘feminists’ were just extravagant ones invisible in the landscape of
Russian politics.1 The agitation for women’s suffrage in the Russian
Empire launched in the early twentieth century marked a new stage in the
history of the Russian women’s movement. Numerous proofs of women’s
activism during the revolutionary years reveals the various ways women’s
suffrage pressure groups used to construct feminist political identity and
demonstrate that, while the period for the political mobilization was
relatively short, and the democratic arena for feminist maneuvres was too
narrow, Russian suffragists proved to be an influential political force able
to fight for their own rights.2 Thousands of women all over the empire had
been enlisted to play their part in the ground-breaking transformation.
And, in trying to appreciate the role and place of the Russian suffrage
movement in the historical context, apart from other issues, we need to
explore the specific outlook and the key attitudes and values held by the
1
At a recent conference, Irina Yukina, the author of a new volume devoted to the
Russian women’s movement, confessed bitterly that she was so disappointed with
a review of her book in an influential Russian daily where she found a conclusion
that there were no women’s and feminist movements in Russia. As she said: ‘Is it
so necessary to waste more than 500 pages to prove that something did not exist?’
2
For new excellent accounts of women’s suffrage activity in the Russian Empire,
see Irina Yukina, Russkii feminism kak vyzov sovremennosti (St. Petersburg:
Aleteia, 2007), and Rochelle Goldberg Ruthchild, “Women’s Suffrage and
Revolution in the Russian Empire, 1905-1917” Aspasia 1 (2007): 1-3.
Natalia Novikova 161
first generations of Russian women politicians. Accordingly, the underlying

question is not what women who had been active feminists in that period
did but rather why those women acted in this or that way. In order to
comprehend why women made certain choices it is necessary to
understand something of their personal lives and their relationships.
Thus, the aspect of women’s recruitment into the movement
necessitates the researcher’s attention to biographical details that help to
draw the whole picture of women’s political activity. The biographical
approach is one of the acknowledged methods in historical studies
subjected to critical scrutiny. As some recent analytical studies have
shown, the process of writing biography discloses the biographer’s
subjectivity rather than constructs the ‘real’ person.3 Nevertheless, doing
history in general is an interpretative venture, and the history of women in
particular provides shining examples of competitive readings of events and
persons while the interpretation of the women’s movement’s history and
culture without studying lives of its heroines seems problematic.
The focus of my attention is one such eminent woman whose career
particularly has inspired me to think about Russian feminism as a
phenomenon and to discover more about other women pioneers of the
Russian women’s rights movement. In this chapter I attempt to reconstruct
Ariadna Tyrkova’s life and to offer an assessment of her feminist actions.
Ariadna Vladimirovna Tyrkova (1869-1962) was a noticeable figure
on the changing political scene of pre-war Russia. She was among the
founders and leaders (as a member of its Central Committee) of the
Constitutional Democratic (Kadet) Party, a liberal organization which the
great Russian reformer P. Stolypin4 used to call ‘the country’s brain’. In
this ‘male’ political discourse, she regarded herself as equal to other party
activists. Tyrkova converted to women’s suffrage soon after her public
debate with Kadet leaders on this issue, and she became an active member
of Liga Ravnopraviya Zhenshin (The League for Women’s Equal Rights).
Her experience represents a brilliant case of woman’s political activism in
late imperial Russia based on ideas and language that combined notions of
gender, suffrage and citizenship. After a brief outline of Russian pro-
feminist thought and actions history, I shall discuss Tyrkova’s case as an
example of woman’s self-identification and positioning in politics.
3
June Purvis, Emmeline Pankhurst. A Biography (London and New York:
Routledge, 2003), 6.
4
Petr Stolypin (1862-1911) was a Russian politician, the prime minister of the
Russian government of 1906-1911. He was killed by a terrorist.
162 Linking Party Politics and Women’s Suffrage
The Russian Feminist Tradition

The issues of women’s suffrage and citizenship could not appear on
the Russian political agenda until the democratic revolutions of the early
twentieth century established conditions for constitutional government and
multiparty democracy. However, the form and matter of the suffrage
campaign were determined to a great extent by heated public debate about
the so-called ‘woman question’ launched in the epoch of the Great
Reforms of the 1860s. The ‘question’ had been discussed in the context of
widespread aspiration for Russian political and economic modernization as
well as regeneration of society and reflected the process of nation-
building. In those times, the discourse around ‘the woman question’
emphasized the feminine representation of Russian culture and role of
specifically the Russian femininity in constructing a national identity.
Many argued that the role and status of women within society could be a
clear marker of progress in a society. Consequently, the Russian liberal
and radical intelligentsia regarded the ideas of women’s liberation and the
evolution of constitutionalism in the country as interrelated issues.
Russian reformers’ devotion to such a line of argument made some
scholars believe that ‘feminism had spread fairly quickly and simply in
Russia’.5 Trying to explain this phenomenon, Bianka Pietrow-Ennker
describes the influential positions of Russian intellectuals who prized
liberal values and were committed to ideas of progress and social
activism.6 The Russian researcher Svetlana Aivazova also addressed the
central issue of the nineteenth-century Russia – the inevitability of its
modernization, and pays close attention to the elements of national culture
and patterns of lifestyle or the ‘Russian national character’ which,
according to her, determined all the ‘originality’ of Russian feminism.
After prominent Russian philosophers, M. Bakunin and N. Berdyayev,7
Aivazova spoke about a ‘particular way of social life in Russia’ based on
the subordination of the individual to the community, the ‘absorption of a
5
Svetlana Aivazova, “Zhenskoe dvizhenie v Rossii: traditsii i sovremennost”
Obshestvennye nauki i sovremennost 2 (1995): 125.
6
Bianka Pietrow-Ennker, “Zhenshiny nastupayut: ob istokah zhenskoi
emansipatsii v Rossii” Otechestvennaya istoriya 5 (1993): 174-175. See also
Bianka Pietrow-Ennker, “Noviye lyudi” Rossii. Razvitie zhenskogo dvizheniya ot
istokov do Oktyabrskoi revoluzii (Moscow: RGGU, 2005), 31-75.
7
Mikhail Bakunin (1814-1876) was a well-known theorist of anarchism and
revolutionary, an opponent of Marxism. Nikolai Berdyayev (1874-1948) was a
religious thinker, a leading representative of Christian existentialism, a philosopher
and Marxist. In 1922, he was deported from Soviet Russia.
person in the community’, about the Russians’ inclination for collectivism

and communal living. As she put it, ‘such a traditional society does not
incorporate a public/private division such as existed in Western Europe…
In patriarchal Russia, there was no room for independent personality
formation; there was no space for individual autonomy. At the same time,
it was impossible to create a new liberal civilization without an autonomous
individual’.8 Aivazova concluded that ‘feminism in Russia was perceived
first of all as a movement for the emancipation of a person, either male or
female, from the custody of the kin’.9
Obviously, ‘feminism’ as it is described here represents rather a kind
of critical thinking or intellectual movement that took place primarily in
the Russian intelligentsia which, following the famous Silver Age10
philosopher N. Berdyayev, was placed in ‘a tragic situation’ between the
Empire and the Nation. As he said in ‘Russkaya ideya’ (The Russian idea),
‘[intelligentsia] had rebelled against the Empire in the name of the
Nation… Having put itself above the Nation, it suffered from the guilt and
sought to serve the Nation’.11 Inevitably, this burden of guilt generated in
the liberal public a sense of responsibility for so-called ‘slaves of society’.
It is no wonder that participants of such a powerful debate about women’s
emancipation, men with different backgrounds (they were historians,
anthropologists, lawyers, literary critics and political writers), tended to
exclude women from communication. As a result, even progressive
thinkers denied the necessity of an independent, autonomous political
movement of the ‘suppressed’; in other words, women were seen only as
objects of politics. Indeed, when women had claimed an independent voice
in politics, their initiative was supported neither in public opinion nor in
the revolutionary circles.
The new political environment of 1905 gave rise to numerous liberal
and social-democratic political parties aimed at the democratization of
social life, and among all political movements and organizations only
socialists stuck to the idea of women’s political emancipation. Comrades
in times of revolutionary struggle against the tsarist regime, the liberal
democrats preferred to ignore women’s interests in spite of women’s
8
Svetlana Aivazova, Russkie zhenshiny v labirinte ravnopraviya. Ocherki
politicheskoi istorii i teorii. Documentalnyye materialy (Moscow: RIK Rusanova,
1998), 47-48.
9
Aivazova 1998, 49.
10
Silver Age is a name given to the first two decades of the 20th century. It was an
exceptionally creative period in the history of Russian culture (especially poetry),
on par with the Golden Age a century earlier.
11
Nikolai Berdyayev, Russkaya ideya (Moscow: AST, 1999), 32.
persistent demands. ‘The rainbow of Russian freedom plays with dozens

of vague colours painfully trying to occupy the whole spectrum, - and now
we have women as well! Hold on with the woman question! Constructing
a railway across a marsh where there is not a single tiny track looks like
luxury we can’t afford! This is a task for the future generations while our
concern is to lay the foundation,’ repeated the prolific St. Petersburg writer
and critic Aleksandr Amfiteatrov at public meetings.12 Russian liberals
sought to take advantage of the favorable political situation being
preoccupied with ‘more vital’ and important reforms than women’s
suffrage. In other words, the ‘union of equals in slavery’ cracked as soon
as the opposition had opportunities for legal political work and access to
the decision-making process. According to the established model of
transformation from autocracy to parliamentary democracy, citizenship
had been developed as a gendered construct.
However, Russian women managed to make the most of their
substantial political potential, and early 1905 witnessed numerous attempts
by women to organize their protests all over the Empire.13 The largest
groups of the period demonstrated different approaches to the movement’s
strategy and had different political beliefs and expectations making it quite
problematic to place them within a traditional dichotomy, still widely used
in historical accounts, of ‘liberal/socialist’ or ‘bourgeois/proletarian’. The
issue was much more complicated. The oldest Russian Women’s Mutual
Philanthropic Society proved to be the closest to the views defined by
modern feminist theory as liberal feminism. However, while the Western
liberal tradition focused on ideas of liberty and individualism, Russian
women focused in their philosophy the concept of social justice. The head
of the society, Anna Shabanova (1848-1932) represented a specific
outlook peculiar to the first generation of Russian feminists with their
belief in human dignity and their readiness to serve for public good. The
society under her leadership, in seeking to represent women’s demands,
had to widen its sphere of activity from ‘improving the women’s way of
life’ to ‘the struggle for the human rights of women, for their equality’.14
Two methods – petitioning and uniting women in an all-Russian
association, were declared the key to political success, and to preserve its
authority as the vanguard of the women’s movement, the Russian
Women’s Mutual Philanthropic Society formed the department of
12
Aleksandr Amfiteatrov, Zhenshina v obshestvennykh dvizheniyakh Rossii
(St. Petersburg, 1907), 81.
13
See Olga Shnyrova’s contribution to this volume.
14
Anna Shabanova, Ocherk zhenskogo dvizheniya v Rossii (St. Petersburg:
Prosvesheniye, 1912), 14, 16.
women’s suffrage responsible for compiling requests, fundraising and

organizing women’s efforts. Soyuz Ravnopravnosti Zhenshin (The Union
of Equal Rights for Women) and Zhenskaya Progressivnaya Partiya (The
Women’s Progressive Party) formed in February and December 1905
respectively, from the very beginning had been positioned as political
alliances aimed at women’s enfranchisement. The former turned out to be
the largest political body of the Russian women’s movement (in 1906 the
union had 8000 members)15 joined by activists, both female and male,
from across the political spectrum. It partially explains ideological
disagreements and even conflicts within the union evident at any stage of
its short history. In May 1905, at the founding congress of the union in
Moscow, the clash between delegates with different views and
backgrounds took the form of a heated discussion. The opposition to the
‘pure feminist’ stand was not the only source of frictions at the congress;
social democrats and socialist revolutionaries insisted on the inclusion in
the union’s program of radical social and economic demands while non-
Russian delegates pushed forward the idea of national self-determination
and cultural autonomy. In the end, the union platform approved covered a
wide range of issues in which feminist claims had been dissolved.16
Finally, the Women’s Progressive Party developed a woman-centred
ideology resembling the rhetoric of some Western radical feminists.
Thus the first decade of the 20th century witnessed the emergence of
new women’s organizations with ambitious political aims. By this time,
the Russian feminist movement represented a range of perspectives with
different political principles, convictions and expectations.
Tyrkova’s Political Career

Such was the state of affairs which the thirty-six-year-old Ariadna
Tyrkova found at the beginning of her political career. Remarkably, the
prospect of joining any faction within the women’s movement did not at
this time attract her. Some biographical details would help us to
understand her attitudes, as Tyrkova’s formative years seem to play an
essential role in her personal development as a politician.
She came from a noble and wealthy family of Novgorod landowners
(their estate, Vergezha, was located in northern Russia, on the river
15
Praskovya Arian (ed.), Pervyi zhenskii kalendar na 1907 g. Part 5
(St. Petersburg, 1907), 370-373.
16
N. Mirovich, Iz istorii zhenskogo dvizheniya v Rossii (Мoscow: Tip. Sytina,
1908), 6-10. See also: Linda Harriet Edmondson, Feminism in Russia, 1900-17
(Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1984), 39-40.
Volkhov). Although the economic situation of her large family

deteriorated considerably, she received an excellent education and enjoyed
a warm and friendly environment in her home. The emancipation of the
serfs in 1861 and other liberal reforms made possible the development of
the civic society values in Russia. Tyrkova grew up in an atmosphere of
pious reverence for the liberal ideals and political principles of ‘the
generation of 1860s’ (shestidesyatniki). In her memoirs, Tyrkova mentions
the importance of books, talks and family events in the forming of her
individuality. When she was 14, her eldest brother Arkady was condemned
to exile in Siberia as a member of Narodnaya Volya (The People’s Will),
the organization responsible for the assassination of Alexander II, and a
year later she was expelled from high school as a person who ‘inspires her
friends with a spirit of protest and independence’.17 As to her intimate
friends, whom she used to call ‘inquiring minds’ and with whom she
shared ‘daring, troublous thoughts’,18 there were Lida Davydova, the
future wife of the Marxist M. Tugan-Baranovsky,19 Nina Gerd, the future
wife of P. Struve,20 and Nadya Krupskaya, the future wife of V. Ulyanov-
Lenin.21 Tyrkova confessed that in her teens she was under the strong
catalytic influence of ‘the epoch. It bore stirring needs to protest for sharp
social changes and for freedom of thought and action’.22
Several years later, the rebellious Dina (as her intimates used to call
her) blossomed out into a charming girl, and having discontinued her
studies at the Higher Women’s Courses (Vysshiye Zhenskie Kursy) she
married one of her brother’s friends. Dissatisfied with her domestic life
and relations with her husband, in seven years Tyrkova divorced and from
this time on had to earn her own living and support her two children. She
began to work as a journalist for liberal newspapers in the province,
17
Arkadii Borman, A.V. Tyrkova-Williams po eye pismam i vospominaniyam syna
(Washington: n.p., 1964), 25.
18
Ariadna Tyrkova-Williams, Na putyakh k svobode (New York: Izdatelstvo imeni
Chekhova, 1952), 9.
19
Mikhail Tugan-Baranovsky (1865-1919) was a noted Ukranian economist.
20
Peter Struve (1870-1944) was a Russian political economist and philosopher. He
started out as a Marxist, later became a liberal and was one of the founders of the
Constitutional Democratic (Kadet) Party. After the Bolshevik Revolution he joined
the so called White Movement – political and military forces opposed Bolsheviks
and fought against them during the Russian Civil War, 1917-1923. Struve
emigrated in 1920 and died in France.
21
Vladimir Lenin (born Ulyanov, 1870-1924) was the main leader of the
Bolshevik Revolution, and the first head of the Russian Soviet Socialist Republic.
22
Tyrkova-Williams 1952, 9.
including Yaroslavl – a place with strong traditions of zemstvo politics,23

developing a profound interest in social and political issues. Shortly before
the revolution of 1905, she was sentenced to prison for attempting to
smuggle the opposition paper Osvobozhdeniye (Liberation) into Russia,
but managed to escape to Europe, where she became deeply involved in
the émigré politics.
Having returned from her eighteen-month exile in late 1905, Tyrkova
found herself among participants of the first congress of the Constitutional
Democratic (Kadet) Party in January 1906, and soon after that she was co-
opted onto the Central Committee of the party, taking the responsibility for
the Kadet press department. She remained the only woman on the Central
Committee until 1917, when Sophia Panina (1871-1957) joined her in this
inner council of the organization.
It is clear from her writing that she regarded herself as equal with other
party members. As she noted:
I was completely convinced, without any doubt, that I was neither better nor
worse than men. They might be cleverer than me, and they also might be more
stupid than me, be more gifted or educated than me or not. That was not the
issue but rather than that deep perception of self as a human being seeking to
participate in life, to create it, to have rights to vote, to judge, and to fulfill this
judgment.24
Tyrkova stressed this feeling of equality and solidarity she enjoyed in

the party. Below is another remarkable passage from her memoirs, which
also demonstrates that her feminine identity was not lost in the notion of
comradeship. She gently emphasizes her atypical status as a woman (a
pretty woman) in a predominantly male party:
I was a comrade, I participated in campaigns and clashes; it was possible to

argue with ardour and to fly at me; I could be loaded with the party work
without ceremony, assigned to write an article, a booklet, to prepare a
report, to deliver a speech. They deferred to me, offering me a chair; they
were paid me numerous little attentions with which polite people
customarily favour women. However it didn’t influence our equality any…
Doing the same work, we were equal not before the law, not before an
employer but before public opinion, especially in the circles I came from.25
23
Zemstvo was a form of local government instituted during the great liberal
reforms performed under the reign of Alexander II.
24
25
Tyrkova-Williams 1952, 395-396.
Being at the centre of the liberal opposition, Tyrkova did not feel any
need to prove her equality with men and was not even well acquainted
with the liberal attitudes towards the woman question. She wrote: ‘Later,
when I actually encountered politicians, I realized with astonishment and
anger that there were a lot to be proved’.26 Her first encounter with
suffragists in 1905 did not inspire her to the women’s cause; suffragists’
ideas as such did not attract her at that time. Tyrkova converted to
women’s suffrage after a well-known open debate with Kadet leaders on
this issue.
The constitutional democrats were deeply divided over the question of
women’s franchise, and the January party congress again witnessed an
acute confrontation between suffragists and antisuffragists. Influential
Kadet leaders, such as P. Milyukov27 or P. Struve, opposed women’s
suffrage on the grounds that it would provoke peasant discontent, as rural
voters were not accustomed to seeing women as equals. Milyukov also
pointed out peasant women’s illiteracy and their unpreparedness for
political activity. These arguments were repeated in the speech of a Tatar
delegate, Jusuf Akchurin, who said:
Muslims are against women’s equality. It doesn’t accord with either our
law or our customs. Our women do not wish for equality. If you put into
your program that women, too, must vote, thirty million Muslims will not
give you their votes. I am against.28
Struve, one of the key figures in Russian liberal circles, famous for his
erudition and theoretical studies (and, according to Tykova’s evidence,
also for his eccentricity: for example, he didn’t remember the names of his
own sons), regarded the women’s question as just irrelevant at that time.
Tyrkova could not help replying to these words, and it was her first
action in Kadet politics. She argued that both the men and the women of
Russia need to be taught political work, and if women went to prison and
even to the scaffold for the sake of liberation, why did they not gain the
same political rights as men have? Anna Milyukova (1870-1935), the wife
of P. Milyukov, supported her stance refreshing the colleagues’
impressions from the first open clash, the verbal duel between spouses
26
Tyrkova-Williams 1952, 216-217.
27
Pavel Milyukov (1859-1943) was an historian and politician, the leader of the
Constitutional Democratic (Kadet) Party. After the Bolshevik Revolution, he was
one of the leading figures of the White Movement. He emigrated to France in
1918.
28
Tyrkova-Williams 1952, 241-242. See also: Edmondson 1984, 61.
occurring several months earlier over the same issue. The convincing
speech of the university professor, the distinguished L. Petrazhitski (1867-
1931), resulted the inclusion of a clause on equal political rights for men
and women in the Kadet program.
After that political début, Tyrkova wrote numerous articles, lectured
around the country, chaired meetings and spoke at feminist congresses in
defence of women’s rights. Her involvement in the feminist politics of the
time and individual contribution to the women’s cause had attested that
she was a prominent feminist campaigner in pre-war Russia.
However, one cannot help feeling that Tyrkova had always evaluated
her deeds for the suffrage movement as an enforced and auxiliary task
while she highly appreciated being invited to the Kadet party and
associated herself first of all with this political organization. In her
valuable book ‘Feminism in Russia’, Linda Edmondson noted that:
Apart from her description of events which were taking place when she
returned from exile at the end of 1905, and of the debate at the Kadet congress
the following January, she [Tyrkova] had almost nothing to say about the
women’s movement.29
The historian did not regard it as a sign of neglect of the movement and
offered explanation for this. According to her, ‘by the early 1950s, when
her autobiography was written, the topic had apparently ceased to be of
concern to her’.30 Let us assume that there is much truth in this remark, but
it cannot be an argument for Tyrkova’s strong commitment to feminism.
Tyrkova preferred to select from her past and retain a clear memory of the
most significant events in her life; thus, one can read about the nuances of
Kadet politics, find all the details of relationships with Kadet leaders and
their elaborated portraits on the pages of her memoirs. As a devoted
feminist, Tyrkova could say much more about the women’s movement and
its participants even at the distance of time; however, those subjects were
only represented as brief sketches.
Other signs rather support than confute that conclusion about
Tyrkova’s complex attitude towards feminist movement. She abstained
from membership in women’s organizations for quite a long time and
joined Liga Ravnopraviya Zhenshin (The League for Women’s Equal
Rights) in 1910. Tyrkova’s son, Arkadii Borman gives an interesting
account of the time and his mother’s activity taking for granted her
position in the movement:
29
Edmondson 1984, 174.
30
Edmondson 1984, 174.
[Mother] began lecturing trying to improve the economic conditions of the

family. She had two major themes: one was the women’s movement and
another - modern Russian literature. She took an active part in various
women’s organizations and even used to be either chairwoman or vice-
chairwoman of one of them. The question of women’s equality excited
advanced women and female youth what was so natural at that time. There
was a common feeling of injustice to women deprived of all political
rights. Therefore that topic was favoured by any lecturer, especially by a
prominent figure in the women’s movement.31
And one more point: it seems important also to indicate how Tyrkova
positioned herself in the political landscape of pre-war Russia and how she
represented her political career. Her memoirs clearly show that at different
stages of her personal evolution she had been under the determining
influence of authoritative men. For instance, Prince D. Shakhovskoi,32 a
notable figure in the liberation movement and later in the Kadet party,
introduced her to liberal democratic circles and played a key role in co-
opting her into the Central Committee of the Kadet party in April 1906.
Tyrkova devoted dozen of pages to an apologetic portrayal of this
outstanding liberal who, in her words, had opened up a new life
perspective after the breakdown of her marriage:
He put me at my ease at once even if I had to look at him from below – a

position I wasn’t used to. It did not hurt me. It should be so. I recognized
his importance at once… Every encouraging word Shakhovskoi said to me
reinforced me greatly.33
Although Tyrkova did not have the same deference for P. Struve, she
acknowledged his decisive authority in her personal development. She
spent a year and half in close contact with his family when she was in
exile in Europe and during that time took her ‘first course in political
sciences’ under Struve’s supervision. And, undoubtedly, Harold Williams,
a British journalist who was to become her second husband, played an
essential role in Tyrkova’s life after 1906. She paid her last tribute to him
after his sudden death in 1928 having published his biography The
Cheerful Giver (1935).
31
Borman 1964, 88.
32
Prince Dmitry Shakhovskoi (1861-1939) was a Russian politician and historian.
After the Bolshevik Revolution he refused to emigrate. In 1938, he was arrested
and later shot.
33
Tyrkova-Williams 1952, 25, 27.
As we could see, despite her firm belief in the equality of men and
women, Tyrkova often sought encouragement and support from men only,
preferring to be guided in the intellectual rivalry with men. She linked her
success in politics with such qualities as good memory, quick wittedness,
erudition and feminine attractiveness.34 Being strong-minded, purposeful
and competitive, Tyrkova with few exceptions mentioned no women in
her texts, one of whom is noteworthy. In her depiction of the Marxist
Aleksandra Kollontai (1872-1952) one can detect a trace of jealousy:
She was an adroit public speaker, without her own ideas, but with a great
stock of ready Marxist truisms and utterances which she skilfully
exploited. Her success was advanced by her attractiveness and elegance.
Even her political opponents were pleased to look at this pretty lady, at her
statuesque well-dressed figure, at her carefully considered gestures and the
sweet smile which accompanied her appeals for class hatred.35
All these reflections stated above are not intended to challenge

Tyrkova’s services to the women’s cause. We should rather dwell on the
question of what Tyrkova thought about women’s organized political
activism and about the role of women in society. It is also important to
reveal her personal value system and social expectations as a basis for her
actions.
‘The Paladin of Liberty’

Apparently, Tyrkova’s understanding of femininity was very close to
her essentialist views. She did not want women to be bad imitations of
men; she neither denies nor minimizes the differences between men and
women. On the contrary, she emphasized the social value of ‘feminine’
qualities, such as solicitude, empathy, and conformism and argued for the
recognition of the intellectual abilities and personal independence of
women. According to her, the new epoch had created a new woman and a
new feminine consciousness which aimed not at the abolition but the
expansion and emancipation of true womanliness in women. Tyrkova
maintained that ‘women’s logic’, so often dismissed in the past, was in
fact a quality to be prized:
34
Tyrkova-Williams, 25.
35
Tyrkova-Williams, 401-402.
We often heard people say, and sometimes had to agree with a sense of
bitterness, that there was a specifically woman’s logic. These words always
ring as a reproach to women pointing out one of the obstacles created by
Nature. And the most sincere women felt that their mode of perception of
ideas differs from that of their male counterparts. The intellect of a woman
works in a different way, being closer to the secrets of the unconscious,
always more inclined to guesses, to impulses, to the unspoken. For a long
time it seemed to be just a weakness, almost fatal, just a break impeding
our development. All this changed only when psychologists of a new
school came and pointed out at the great significance of the intuitive
(semiconscious) process of thinking for creativity.36
Tyrkova remarked several times in her recollections that she achieved

her respected position in the Kadet Central Committee only owing to her
ability to guess, to her intuition and close attention to people. As she
concluded, ‘I have found my place in the party, and found it as a woman,
not by imitating a man’.37
Tyrkova proved to be an ardent supporter of the idea of women’s
political mobilization calling attention to the fact that the women’s
movement helps to develop ‘instincts of the solidarity in women and a
sense of the community of human interests; it teaches a woman not only to
vindicate her own rights but to respect the rights of others’.38 At the same
time she often emphasized that women could work within the existing
parties instead of forming a separate independent movement of exclusively
female political groups. Such practicality in Tyrkova’s attitude towards the
women’s movement has been highlighted in historical accounts and
interpreted as her commitment to the principles of ‘real politics’.39
However, her writing as well as other evidence clearly show that chance
played some role in her life, and I would stress that her actions and
decisions appeared to be determined not by good judgment but by
emotional moves.
Indeed, the main shaping idea in Tyrkova’s worldview was the idea of
liberty. In her words, the notion of liberty had even acquired a sacred,
sublime meaning; violation of liberty is represented in her texts as the
36
Ibid.
37
38
Ariadna Tyrkova, “Izmenenie zhenskoi psikhologii za poslednee stoletiye. Rech
na Pervom Vserossiiskom s’ezde po obrazovaniyu zhenshin” in Aivazova, Russkie
zhenshiny, 404.
39
See Richard Stites, The Women’s Liberation Movement in Russia. Feminism,
Nihilism and Bolshevism, 1860-1930 (Moscow: ROSSPEN, 2004), 286-287;
Yukina, 310-317.
greatest disaster and personal disappointment. Therefore, Tyrkova, whose

motives for action and choices were determined by her sense of ‘social
compassion and need for freedom of thought and deed’ had chosen to join
the Party of People’s Liberty as the Kadets often been called. Tyrkova
often repeated that she belonged to the group of ‘Kadet romantics’. She
wrote in her diary in 1924: ‘Here, in Russia, we were dreamers,
straightforward idealists, not real politicians, not firm, not wise…’40
Meanwhile, she regarded herself as happy because she was ‘at the centre
of a party which, owing to its membership, traditions, and methods, served
as an example of a political organization’. She stated:
We dreamed of making Russia happy through peaceful means, through

parliament; we dreamed of giving Russia freedom of thought, creating decent
life for every inhabitant of the great empire. The tasks had been set properly.
But we didn’t manage to fulfil them.41
Interestingly enough, she compared the Party of People’s Liberty with

an order of chivalry and called her colleagues ‘The Paladins of Liberty’
who kept their oath and were eager to serve their motherland defending its
freedom. All these details characterize Tyrkova’s understanding of
citizenship as a concept which transcends the limits of gender or class.
Even if she expressed regret at the weakness of the Kadets’ political line
and methods until the end of her life she kept a firm belief in the
everlasting value of the liberal doctrine, and freedom for Russia had
always been not only a desired aim but also a leading principle in politics.
Tyrkova was confident that there are indissoluble ties between morals and
politics so that the morality imperative had become her credo. Her son
recalled she couldn’t stand when the ‘logic, a simple language of facts,
moral judgments have no meaning’. She was shocked when ‘the king of
England shakes hands with the murderers of his cousin’. In the end, she
said bitterly: ‘Maybe it is too far from real life to bring up new generations
in accordance with ideas of truth, honour, justice, and love?’42 As we can
see, such a romantic worldview was amazingly combined in Tyrkova with
a certain practicality and persistence so that contemporaries used to call
her ‘the only man in the Kadet Central Committee’. She did not betray her
principles. After the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 she emigrated and
became one of the unappeasable critics of the new regime.
40
Borman 1964, 211.
41
Tyrkova-Williams, “To, chego bolshe ne budet. Paris: Knigoizdatelstvo
Vozrozhdeniye – La Renaissance”, Na putyakh k svobode (1954): 389, 397.
42
Borman 1964, 211.
Conclusion
This article has explored the biography of a Russian woman in a period
when the Russian feminist movement developed into a conglomerate of
various women’s organizations with diverse political programmes and
relatively large membership. Rather than offer a simple one-dimensional
image of the movement, the public debates among feminists illustrate
competing constructions of feminist identity and the role of the women’s
organizations in politics. The ideological heritage and life experiences of
ravnopravki (as some of the movement participants called themselves,
meaning fighters for equal rights) have generated many opposing views
about the origins and nature of Russian feminism. To some extent these
contradictory judgments may be explained by the rhetoric of the
ravnopravki, which sometimes paradoxically combines notions of
women’s emancipation with patriarchal ideas.
The study of an individual biography needs to be located within the
specific context of the social, religious and political circumstances of
Russian society. Ariadna Tyrkova’s personal growth as a politician and a
feminist activist became possible in the atmosphere of rapid changes in
Russia. A representative of young women professionals, she believed in
the power of science, progress to change the world around them and in
egalitarian ideals, Tyrkova felt challenged when the issue of suffrage
appeared on the political agenda. Tyrkova’s case demonstrates that women
had various ways to show their opposition to patriarchal patterns and
stereotypes. Although participation in a feminist organization was of
secondary importance to her, she became an enthusiastic fighter for
women’s rights in the Constitutional Democratic (Kadet) Party – the main
body of the liberal movement in Imperial Russia.
Tyrkova’s influential position on the Central Committee of that party
made some other feminists and later historians claim that she was an
‘agent’ of the Kadets in the women’s movement,43 just as A. Kollontai was
often presented as a Bolshevik agent. Such judgments reflected the
contemporary diversity of opinion. Instead of a single feminist discourse,
it is apparent that several competing discourses existed in parallel. They
differed in their understanding of the women’s movement’s strategy and
aims; quite often, they did not cooperate but confronted each other.
43
See: Trudy pervogo Vserossiiskogo zhenskogo s’ezda pri Russkom zhenskom
obshestve v S.-Peterburge, 10-16 decabrya 1908 goda (St. Petersburg: Tipo-
Litographiya S.-Peterburgskoi Odinochnoi tyurmy, 1909), 769. For historical
accounts, see Stites, 278-279, 286-287.
It is obvious from Tyrkova’s writing that she acted as a conscious

subject able to follow her own agenda; her feminism revealed itself in her
deeds. Like many women of her generation she took a stand for her desire
and right to claim: ‘I want to be a free person and I will be’.44
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‘A DANGER TO THE STATE AND SOCIETY’:
EFFECTS OF THE CIVIL WAR ON RED
WOMEN’S CIVIL RIGHTS IN FINLAND IN 1918
TIINA LINTUNEN
The beginning of the 20th century was an era when several changes
affected the lives of Finnish women. First of all, women gained active and
passive suffrage in general elections simultaneously with men in 1906.
About a decade later, in 1917 and 1918, Finland was in a state of unrest:
after the Russian Revolution Finland managed to break away from the
former mother country and gained independence in December 1917.
However, the young independent country was already experiencing severe
internal friction which in January 1918 erupted into civil war, in which
women also took an active part. The nation was divided into the rebellious
Reds and the Whites who supported the government. The Reds were
mostly people from the working class whereas the Whites were mainly
bourgeois. The Reds started a Revolution on January 27th, 1918, in
southern Finland. At the same time, the Whites undertook actions in
northern Finland against the Red Guard and the Russian military troops
still deployed in Finland. The Reds themselves called these events a
Revolution, the Whites subsequently called it a Rebellion. Historians still
dispute the name of the period, but most prefer the term Civil War.
The war lasted only for three and a half months, but about 36,600
people were killed or disappeared due to the war and its aftermath.1 The
number of war victims corresponded approximately to 1 per cent of the
1
Of the total number of 36,600, ca. 1/7 were Whites, 6/7 Reds. Approximately
10,000 Reds were shot after the battles and some 13,200 Reds died in
concentration camps after the war, mostly due to hunger and diseases. Lars
Westerlund, “Aikaisempi tutkimus,” in Sotaoloissa vuosina 1914–22 surmansa
saaneet, ed. Lars Westerlund (Helsinki: Valtioneuvoston kanslia, 2004), 15; Pentti
Mäkelä, Panu Saukkonen and Lars Westerlund, “Vankileirien ja –laitosten
kuolintapaukset,” in Sotaoloissa vuosina 1914-22 surmansa saaneet, ed. Lars
Westerlund (Helsinki: Valtioneuvoston kanslia, 2004), 123.
178 Effects of the Civil War on Red Women’s civil rights in Finland in 1918
nation’s population. The loss per capita was remarkably high and the
whole war extremely bloody compared with other European civil wars.
After the victory of the Whites, 75,575 people were taken to court and
prosecuted for treason. In order to cope with these numbers, a special court
system had to be established: 145 courts dealing with crimes against the
state were set up. The court proceedings were massive and unprecedented
and 89.7 per cent of the accused were found guilty and sentenced.2 Apart
from incarceration, the Reds were punished by being deprived of their
civil rights, of which the loss of recently gained suffrage was considered
most significant.
The purpose of this article is to scrutinize the immediate consequences
of participation in the Civil War for Red women. The paper focuses on
their sentences and restricted opportunities to act as citizens after being
convicted. What happened to the political activity of these women when
they were punished for revolutionary action and lost their basic civil
rights? Finally I shall also introduce the eventful life of a woman who
survived the war and a concentration camp.
The data include women who were prosecuted for treason or for
complicity in treason after the war in courts dealing with crimes against
the state. I will concentrate on Red women from the district of Pori. Pori is
a small town on the western coast of Finland. In 1918 the population was
ca. 17,600.3 Selecting Pori as the focus of the study was meaningful,
because by number of inhabitants Pori was the second most industrialized
town in Finland and the local labour movement flourished there. The most
industrialized town was Tampere, which has already been the focus of
several studies.4 When the Civil War broke out the front line ran just north
of Pori. There were no major battles in the town but the Reds had taken
possession of it with hundreds of soldiers and a large number of women
were needed to maintain these troops.
The 267 women in this study represent a 4.8 per cent sample of the
whole population of 5,533 women who were taken to court in 1918 for
complicity in treason. The material collected is geographically restricted
but it still reveals the main trends of the situation in Finland as a whole.
By concentrating on a restricted area it is possible to take a closer look at
2
SVT (Finnish Official Statistics) XXIII 32 1918, 15.
3
In addition to the town of Pori my study also includes the rural municipality of
Pori (7,685 inhabitants) and the municipality of Ulvila (8,339 inhabitants). STV
(Statistical Yearbook of Finland) 1919, 12, 14. These municipalities were closely
interrelated: the workers came from outside the town to work in the factories in
Pori and some villages of Ulvila could actually be seen as suburbs of Pori.
4
Juhani Saarinen, Porin historia III 1809–1939 (Pori: Porin kaupunki 1972), 527.
Tiina Lintunen 179
the women’s backgrounds and to place them into a more precise local
setting. There were certainly more women around of Pori working for the
Red Guard, but they either died before trial or were not denounced to the
authorities and they managed to avoid trial. Thus there are no records of
them extant. The sample data was collected from the parish registers, from
criminal records and lists of court rulings. In addition, the record of the
court proceedings and of the investigations into these women have been
analysed and proved very valuable.5 These documents also contain a great
deal of pre-war information.
Women’s Actions in the Red Guard

When the revolution started on January 27th, thousands of women were
recruited for the Red Guard for nursing and service tasks. The women
were in charge of provisioning, clothing, cleaning and nursing among
other things. Normally politically active, elderly women with families
assumed these tasks.6 As the war continued younger women were assigned
to guard duty in order to release more men for the front line. Armed
women guarded the towns in order to prevent the Whites from sabotaging
strategically important objectives. This role was emphasized in April,
when more women were recruited. When the Reds suffered defeat after
defeat they were ready to take women from the reserve to front line
attacks.7 Women took part in the last battles in southern Finland,
especially in the cities of Helsinki, Tampere and Viipuri. All in all, there
were 2,000 combatant women in the Red Guard during the Civil War.8
This aroused strong condemnation among the Whites. Women's
participation in the masculine war was seen as unacceptable and
5
National Archive (NA), valtiorikosoikeuden (vro) aktit.
6
Marja Piiroinen-Honkanen, Punakaartin aseelliset naiskomppaniat Suomen
sisällissodassa 1918. Unpublished MA thesis in Contemporary History
(Helsinki:University of Helsinki, 1995), 22–23,31; Ohto Manninen, “Taistelevat
osapuolet,” in Itsenäistymisen vuodet 1917–1920 osa 2. Taistelu vallasta, ed. Ohto
Manninen (Helsinki: VAPK–kustannus, 1993), 138.
7
In the city of Tampere women already participated in one battle in March. This
was exceptional because they were fighting before they were sent to guard duty.
See Tuomas Hoppu, Tampereen naiskaarti. Myytit ja todellisuus (Jyväskylä:
Ajatus, 2008), 72–73.
8
Juhani Piilonen, Women’s Contribution to "Red Finland" 1918, Scandinavian
Journal of History 13, (1988/1):45; Piiroinen-Honkanen 1995, 36, 53–55, 72, 76;
Arvid Luhtakanta, Suomen punakaarti (Kulju – Tampere: Täckman, 1938), 159–
160.
reprehensible. In the eyes of the Whites, Red women transformed into

dreadful beasts when they relinquished their nursing roles and became
warriors. A woman was supposed to give birth and then preserve life.
Killing was against all the expectations of her gender role. Female
soldiers’ unconventional and mannish outfits drew public attention and
were also seen as a sign of rebellion. These women were considered
unnatural and unfeminine. The negative attitude towards this conspicuous
group was used against all Red women in the war propaganda.
The data used in this study do not include any female combatants.
Either they were killed before trial or managed to convince the court that
they had only worked as supply troops. Most (71 %) of the women studied
were in the service troops working in kitchens, cleaning or clothing. Every
fifth woman worked as a nurse and the remaining 8 per cent assisted the
Red administration. Thus we can claim that the duties of the women in this
study followed the traditional gender roles. They did not differ from the
women on the White side.9
Approximately half of the women in this study joined the Red Guard at
the very beginning of the war in January or February. Nevertheless, even
in March there were still plenty of women who enlisted in the Guard.
According to the statements recorded, the women’s reasons for joining the
Guard were mainly economic and ideological. Many of these women had
joined the Red Guard due to unemployment, because several factories had
been closed down in their home town during the war. Another significant
financial factor was that, at the beginning of the war, the Red Guard was
able to offer good salaries, which also attracted those who already had
jobs.10 As the war continued, the Red Guard could not pay the promised
salaries in cash, but in a country where inflation and shortage of food were
severe, groceries and clothing were welcome payment. Thus these women
had few alternatives in the middle of the war.
When it was clear that the Reds were doomed to lose, many women
joined the retreating Red baggage trains. They had heard rumours about
the cruelty of the Whites towards all Reds and left their homes in panic. In
fact, thousands of civilians had also fled as refugees towards Russia before
the advancing White troops, who were reputedly revengeful and violent.
Among these refugees were women who had not been members of the Red
Guard but who wanted to follow their husbands to Russia. For most people
the escape was fairly soon cut short and they ended up in prison camps in
9
Tiina Lintunen, Punaisen naisen kuvat. Vuonna 1918 tuomitut Porin seudun
punaiset naiset. Unpublished licentiate thesis in Contemporary History (Turku:
University of Turku, 2008), 131–132.
10
Lintunen 2006, 133.
Tiina Lintunen 181
Finland. Tens of thousands of people were sent to large concentration

camps where they had to wait for weeks in poor conditions before their
cases were tried.11 In bad circumstances the prisoners had to face hunger,
disease, overcrowding, dirt and vermin. The lack of food was severe
throughout Finland and the situation was especially bad in the prison
camps.12 In 1918, 13,239 Finns died in prisoner-of-war camps,
approximately 80 per cent of them in the summer of 1918. The worst
month was July, when 5,250 prisoners succumbed.13 Women survived
better at the camps due to their smaller calorie requirement and better
hygiene. Of a total of 13,239 deceased only 113 were women.14
The Verdicts
Approximately one third of the total number (N=267) of women I have
studied were exonerated of all charges due to a lack of evidence or to only
minor participation in the Red Guard.15 Throughout Finland 27 per cent of
women were released.16 The courts dealing with crimes against the state
seemed to be harsher than the normal judiciary: for example, in 1916 only
half of the women prosecuted were found guilty as charged. For men in
the same year the conviction rate was 56 per cent.17 Some of the women
acquitted had awaited trial in prison and in concentration camps for as
long as two or three months during the summer of 1918. No compensation
for the loss of liberty was paid to those exonerated, and they became
embittered. As members of the working class, these women had, however,
been obvious suspects. It has been shown that this was typical of the
Finnish Civil War. All suspicious people had to be investigated in order to
repress another attempt at a coup d'état.18
11
In each of the four biggest camps there were more than 10,000 prisoners.
12
Jaakko Paavolainen, Vankileirit Suomessa 1918 (Helsinki: Tammi, 1971), 181,
215.
13
Mäkelä & al. 2004, 123.
14
Lars Westerlund, “Naisten kuolleisuus vuoden 1918 sodassa,” in Sotaoloissa
vuosina 1914–22 surmansa saaneet, ed. Lars Westerlund (Helsinki: Valtioneuvoston
kanslia, 2004), 188–189.
15
In total 5,533 women were prosecuted in these courts. 4,003 of them were
convicted for assisting the Red Guard in attempted coup d'état.
16
17
18
Marko Tikka, “Vallankumoukselliset tuomiolla. Varkauden kenttäoikeus ja sen
tuomiot,” in Ruumiita ja mustelmia. Näkökulmia väkivallan historian, eds. Ulla
Aatsinki and Johanna Valenius. (Helsinki: Työväen historian ja perinteen
tutkimuksen seura, 2004), 21.
I have tested the significance of some independent variables for the

sentences given. The results suggest that women's previous political
activities and membership of the labour movement were clearly
aggravating factors. Before the war, 68.5 per cent of the women studied
had been politically active. Either they were members of the labour party
or had joined trade unions. Closer scrutiny of political activity and the
verdicts reveals a strong correlation. More than 75 per cent of those
convicted were members of the labour movement. The correlation of these
variables is statistically significant (p<0.001); thus we can claim that the
difference between politically organized and unorganized women was
significant.
The Whites were naturally afraid of another attempted coup. Therefore
those who could have been ideologically committed to the revolution were
regarded as especially dangerous to the state and society. Only 25 per cent
of those belonging to political organisations were exonerated. By contrast,
more than half of the women with no political organisational affiliation
were acquitted.
Nursing in the Red Guard was considered as a very culpable activity.
More than 90 % of nurses were convicted. This was an unpleasant surprise
for many of these women, because they claimed that they thought that they
had joined the Red Cross, not the Red Guard. They considered their work
to be humanitarian aid and not revolutionary activity. One of them
explained in court that when she joined the Red Cross she was advised that
it was a neutral organisation. She would not have joined it if it had been a
politically biased organisation. She added that the White and Red patients
were treated equally.19
Fifteen women worked in the administration. This, admittedly small,
group most frequently received proportionally unconditional sentences.
Mostly these women were in auxiliary tasks, but some of them had
powerful positions, for example in the Red court of law or on all kinds of
boards. These assignments were regarded as very culpable after the war.
Working in service troops seems to have been less culpable. About 30
per cent of the women who worked in catering, cleaning and sewing were
acquitted of all charges. The rest were convicted, but only eight women
out of 96 received an unconditional sentence and the others were released
on probation. Most of the refugees were exonerated. They were considered
to only have joined the baggage trains during the retreat of the Red troops
and thus had not notably helped the Red Guard. Five refugees were
convicted for harbouring stolen property or incitement to rebellion.
19
NA, vro 142/704, vro 143/276, vro 7/495, vro 9/210, vryo 24380.
Tiina Lintunen 183
According to the Finnish legislation, the minimum sentence for

complicity in treason was two years in prison.20 However, not all those
found guilty could be imprisoned. The prisons were overcrowded and the
shortage of food was severe. People were dying of hunger and disease in
the concentration camps. This disastrous situation in Finland did not go
unnoticed abroad, which was awkward for the victors. The government
was facing a difficult situation; the problem with Red convicts had to be
solved rapidly. Thus a special law was passed allowing the release on
probation of those receiving sentences shorter than three-years. If there
were no mitigating circumstances, the sentence was unconditional.21 As
mentioned, one third of the women examined were acquitted of all
charges, 10 per cent received unconditional sentences and the remaining
56 per cent, received conditional sentences and were released on
probation.
The duration of probation varied from one to five years, but the
majority were given five years. A long probation was considered to
effectively guide ex-convicts to lead a blameless life. 22 People on
probation were obliged to report regularly to a local police station. If they
neglected this duty, committed a crime or ‘otherwise caused disturbance’,
they were sent back to prison.23 This relatively vague expression in the
letter of the law enabled the local authorities to get rid of unwanted
persons with relative ease. People on probation were to a large extent at
the mercy of their probation officers.
Civil Rights of the Red Convicts

Most women received conditional sentences and avoided prison. All
adults found guilty of crimes against the state also forfeited their civil
rights for a certain period of time. They were no longer legally full
members of society. Minors lost their right to give testimony in court. The
deprivation of civil rights meant loss of active and passive suffrage in local
and general elections and loss of competence to give testimony or
represent somebody in court. Furthermore, a person having lost her civil
20
Jukka Kekkonen, Laillisuuden haaksirikko (Helsinki: Lakimiesliiton kustannus,
1991), 100.
21
In the whole country 88.3 % of male and 88.2 % of female convicts were given
conditional sentences.
22
SVT (Finnish Official Statistics) XXIII 32 1918, 19–20; Kekkonen 1991, 100–
101.
23
Lintunen 2006, 112–113; Newspaper Uusi Päivä 13.8.1918; Kekkonen 1991,
100–101.
rights was not allowed to engage in certain occupations, such as

commerce, and was not eligible for election to city councils or any
associations. The deprivation of civil rights normally lasted for 1-15 years
depending on the nature and severity of the crime committed. The most
common punishment was 5 years; more than half of the women were
given this sentence.24 Forfeiting civil rights was at the time a normal
procedure for those convicted on crimes. Thus it was not introduced after
the Civil War but seen as the most appropriate method to control the Reds
and their political activities.
After the Civil War the victors also tried other methods to restrict the
civil liberties of the defeated faction. In May 1918, the government
proposed a bill to Parliament on temporary restrictions of civil liberties,
which was said to help to maintain order and security. The new proposal
empowered the government to restrict (Red) citizens' freedom of the press,
the right of assembly and the freedom of association. An emergency
motion was proposed and the bill was passed in Parliament with an
overwhelming majority. The majority was due to the fact that only one
representative of the Social Democrats was present. The other Social
Democrat Members of Parliament had either fled, been killed or
incarcerated. This bill curbed the activities of the adversaries, which was
also the original purpose. The law empowered the local authorities to limit
association activities, dissolve meetings and confiscate the unattended
property of local workers’ associations. This was a temporary law and was
intended to remain in force until June 1st 1919, when the political situation
was assumed to have settled down. In January, 1919, the right of assembly
was restricted even further by forbidding Red convicts on probation to
participate in electoral meetings.25
After the Civil War, the labour movement was practically paralysed in
the circumstances: the local workers' associations were forbidden,
newspaper offices and most community halls were confiscated. Besides,
many people were horrified by the executions and concentration camps
and avoided everything related to the labour movement. Those on
probation had to consider their actions very carefully, because it was easy
for the authorities to send them to prison on grounds of a possible breach
of the peace. The labour movement was also dormant because the majority
of the local leaders were gone: they had either escaped to Russia, been
24
Lintunen 2006, 117.
25
Kekkonen 1991, 97–99; Marko Tikka, Valkoisen hämärän maa? Suojeluskunnat,
virkavalta ja kansa 1918–1921 (Helsinki: SKS, 2006), 100; Juhani Piilonen,
“Sisäinen rakennustyö,” in Itsenäistymisen vuodet 1917–1920 3. Katse
tulevaisuuteen, ed. Ohto Manninen (Helsinki: VAPK–kustannus, 1992), 173.
Tiina Lintunen 185
killed or incarcerated. Therefore women were in a key position while

trying discreetly to revive the activity. Especially in the district of Pori, the
wives of former movers and shakers had an important role in the
reinvigorating of the post-war labour movement.26 These women refused
to be intimidated by the white authorities. Their first meetings in the late
summer of 1918 were arranged secretly on private premises with a small
group of participants, without official minutes.27 Their primary task was to
arrange help for those Red families who had lost their breadwinner.
The social democratic women from Pori put first their effort into
establishing the main worker’s association at the end of 1918 and only
after that, at the beginning of the following year, did they proceed with
their activities in women’s own political associations.28 The labour
movement was under strict control. Police officers were even sent to the
women’s meetings to ‘maintain order’. For example, in a suburb of Pori,
the local women’s association assembled for its first meeting on January 6,
1919, with five policemen keeping watch.29 This clearly indicates that
women were also considered dangerous political actors. Besides the
police, the local civil guards (whose members were former White soldiers)
also tried to restrict the activity of worker’s associations, often even by
exceeding their authority. In the district of Pori there were many
unwarranted house searches and arbitrary arrests. In the majority of such
instances it was claimed afterwards that the persons in question had been
very suspicious due to their actions during the rebellion. The civil guard
often also accused the police of inefficiency and negligence.30
Several members of the civil guard confused all workers’ political
activities with incitement to rebellion. They saw no difference between
these two concepts. These attitudes had emerged in the summer of 1918
when the judicial administration had asked the local guards to name the
most dangerous members of the labour movement. Furthermore, they were
asked to observe the political activities of local workers in order to
investigate if new revolutionary ideas were being disseminated. Largely
due to these assigned tasks, the civil guards adopted a negative attitude
26
See Arvo Mäki, Ruosniemen Työväenyhdistys ry 1905–1985 (Pori: Ruosniemen
työväenyhdistys, 1985), 8. See also Frans Rantanen, Toejoen Sos.-dem.
Naisyhdistys 1905–1955 (Pori: Toejoen sos.-dem. naisyhdistys, 1955), 1.
27
Paavo Solimo, unpublished memoires from 1918, (1968), 139.
28
Arvi Kontula, Puolivuosisatainen työläisnaisten taival taittuu. Porin sosialidemokraattisen
naisyhdistyksen 50-vuotiskertomus (Pori: Porin sosialidemokraattisen naisyhdistys,
1954), 30.
29
Rantanen 1955, 1.
30
Tikka 2006, 76–79.
towards all kinds of leftist elements. This resulted in constant political

confrontation, which lasted for decades.31 In the district of Pori, this
confrontation led more often to violent clashes between the workers and
members of the civil guard than anywhere else in Finland.32
The important input of the left-wing women was indeed seen in 1919
in the first general election after the war: despite the great number of
people without suffrage, the Social Democrats managed to win 80 of the
total of 200 seats. In these circumstances, this was a great triumph for the
social democrats. It was the very first time in the history of parliamentary
elections in Finland that women were more active voters than men. (70 per
cent of women voted and 64.8 per cent of men.) This reflected not only
that several politically active men had recently died or lost their suffrage in
their sentences but also that women were aware of their political duties as
citizens. The electoral agitators stressed the importance of voting and the
socialists began to rediscover their faith in the parliamentary system.
Indubitably the new law of association passed during the same year eased
the rebuilding of the labour movement’s activity at the local level, for the
associations were no longer so dependent on the goodwill of the local
authorities. The new law was very liberal; within a year the legislation
had changed from one extreme to the other, after which the political
activity of the left-wing started to recover rapidly.33
This was further facilitated by the fact that, already in 1920,
approximately 38,000 former Red convicts regained their civil rights by
pardon. The Social Democrats had demanded in Parliament a total
amnesty for all but murderers and arsonists. In 1919 their parliamentary
group interpellated the government over it and argued that “the amnesty
was one of the most important questions in domestic affairs”. In the same
year, the government introduced the new bill of pardoning to Parliament,
which also resulted in the restitution of the civil rights for those already on
probation on 30 January 1920.34 Most women regained their civil rights at
this time because their sentences had been shorter and they were put on
probation earlier than men. On 21 May 1921, a new amnesty was granted
and approximately 22,000 Red convicts on probation were given back
their civil rights, if they had not violated their probation orders.35
31
Tikka 2006, 96.
32
Tikka 2006, 106–107.
33
Hannu Soikkanen, Kohti kansanvaltaa I 1899–19.
Suomen Sosialidemokraattinen Puolue 75 vuotta. (Helsinki: Suomen
sosialidemokraattinen puolue, puoluetoimikunta, 1975), 327.
34
Soikkanen 1975, 351–353; Kekkonen 1991, 103; Piilonen 1992, 228–233.
35
SVT (Finnish Official Statistics) XXIII 32 1918, 57–59; Piilonen 1992, 234.
Tiina Lintunen 187
Thereafter, the former members of the Red Guard were seen in local
municipal councils as representatives of the Social Democratic Party. On
local level, the Social Democrats did not consider a conviction in 1918 an
obstacle to a person's political career. More likely, they wanted to reward
comrades who had suffered for the common cause with a candidature in a
local election.
Direct punishments were not the only factors that restricted the
suffrage of women. Limitations in suffrage were also pursued indirectly:
after the war Red and White widows were treated unequally. The
livelihood of White widows and orphans was secured by pensions in 1919.
It was emphasized in the instructions given to local administrations that
the financial support given to the families of deceased White soldiers must
not be connected to public assistance but should be handled by other
methods.36 By contrast, the Reds had to wait for their pensions for a
further 23 years. Prior to that, Reds were given support in the form of
public assistance, which also included a strict control over the families.
Receiving this support also resulted in deprivation of suffrage, because
according to Finnish law people under any sort of guardianship were not
allowed to vote.37 By putting the widows in financially unequal positions,
the authorities, in practice, also restricted the civil rights of the Red
widows.
The Reds were disadvantaged in several ways. New citizenship as
Finns and the newly gained independence did not bring them many
improvements in the initial stages, quite the contrary: the Reds were
treated like second class citizens. This concerned whole families. If one
member of the family had been in the Red Guard, they were often all
treated equally.38 They had difficulties in finding jobs, they were not given
loans and their chances of acting as citizens were restricted in many ways,
as previously mentioned. The loss of civil rights was most certainly
frustrating for those women who had been politically active before the
war. However, the main concern of an average woman who had just
drifted into service with the Red Guard due to the lack of work, was hardly
36
The Archive of the town of Pori, town council’s annual report 1918, 136.
37
Ulla-Maija Peltonen, Muistin paikat. Vuoden 1918 sisällissodan muistamisesta
ja unohtamisesta (Helsinki: SKS, 2003), 156–157, 163; Marjatta Rahikainen,
“Miten kansakunta pidetään puhtaana: rotuhygienia ja äänioikeuden epääminen,”
in Kansakunnat murroksessa: Globalisoituminen ja äärioikeistolaistumisen
haasteet, ed. Anne Ahonen (Tampere: Rauhan- ja konfliktintutkimuskeskus, 1995),
27–28. About Red widows, see Elsa Rautee, “Naiset kansalaissodassa,”
Kommunisti 1–2 (1958), 30.
38
Peltonen 2003, 163.
to ponder her lacking civil rights. Most likely these women worried about
their missing or dead male relatives and wondered how to feed the family
next day.
Hilma Laine – A Survivor

Hilma Laine is a good example of a woman who survived the Civil
War and continued her political activities as before.
Hilma Nousio was born the daughter of a poor workman in the rural
municipality of Pori on 21 December 1881. In her twenties she moved to
the town of Pori to work as a maid in domestic service. In those days she
was introduced to the working-class ideology and interested by the labour
movement and its activities. She was one of the founders of the local
maids’ union and, for some time was its chairperson. At the same time she
also joined the Social Democratic Party. In 1916-1917 she was the
secretary of the party’s women’s association. Before the Civil War she
was heavily involved with the labour movement: besides her positions of
trust, she also worked in the office of the local social democratic
newspaper as a mail clerk for four years.
Her husband was also an active socialist; Isak Vilho Laine was the
district secretary of the party and had been a Member of Parliament in
1907-1908 and 1910-1913. They were not officially married but they
publicly declared their relationship as ‘a marriage of conscience’ in
1909.39 In those days it was not rare to announce in a newspaper that a
couple was committed to each other without the Church’s blessing. Such a
union was naturally not recognised in law.
In the Red Guard Hilma Laine was a member of the Red court of law.
She attained this important post due to her previous merits in the labour
movement. When the Reds started to retreat to the east Hilma and Vilho
Laine also tried to flee to Russia. They were afraid of what would happen
if they stayed in Finland. They did not manage to escape but were arrested
on 3 May 1918 while still in Finland and were sent to a prison camp,
where Hilma Laine waited for her trial for three months. In August she
heard her sentence: four years in prison for complicity in treason.
39
Kontula 1954, 63; Newspaper Uusi Aika 19.12.1931; Aarne Seppälä, Varjosta
valoon ja vaikuttajaksi. Työväenliikkeen nousu suomalaisessa yhteiskunnassa.
(Pori: Porin työväenyhdistys, 2005), 400, 402; Pertti Rajala, Punaista on aate.
Satakunnan Sosialidemokraatit 100 vuotta (Pori: Satakunnan sosialidemokraatit,
2005), 76.
Tiina Lintunen 189
Furthermore, she lost her civil rights for six years.40 Vilho Laine was even
less fortunate; he died in the prison camp.41
Due to the general mass amnesty Hilma Laine was released on
probation in November 1918. Already in December 1918 she was
relaunching the social democratic activities in her home town. She found a
job again with the party; she was the office employee of the social
democratic district branch for nearly 30 years (1920-1949). She acted as a
chair, secretary and treasurer of the party’s women’s association for long
periods between 1918 and 1952. In 1920 she regained her suffrage and
two years later was elected to the town council of Pori. She was a member
of the town council for more than 25 years (1922-1948).42 In addition she
had several positions of trust on municipal boards.43 She died at the age of
78 in 1960. Regardless of her rebellious history, she had managed to enjoy
the esteem of local society; at least partly due to this history she had
enjoyed the esteem of her party comrades.
Conclusion
The Whites took the view that by causing the Revolution the Reds had
jeopardized Finland's independence and acted against the legitimate
government. Everyone who had joined the Revolution had been disloyal to
the new nation and should be punished irrespective of their role in the Red
Guard. In their eyes, cleaners, nurses and cooks had an important role in
supporting the Red Guard and were therefore guilty of complicity in high
treason. Preventing any future rebellious actions was considered necessary
and forfeiting civil rights was seen as a good solution to this. A long
probation period was also regarded as an effective way of controlling the
Reds.
As mentioned, after the war, the civil liberties of the former rebels
were restricted in many ways by the White administration. Apart from
these obstacles, the civil guards put strong pressure on the workers’
associations at local level. They tried to control the political activities of
the left-wing and this pressure led regrettably often to violent conflicts
between former Red and White guardsmen.44 Against all predictions,
however, the labour movement started to recover from its losses as early
as in 1919. This may imply that the workers’ faith in the parliamentary
40
NA, vryo 8395.
41
The Finnish Labour Archives, Terror statistics, microfilm 214.
42
Kontula 1954, 30, 63–64.
43
Newspaper Uusi Aika 19.12.1931 and 20.12.1941.
44
For more information on these conflicts, see Tikka 2006.
system was gradually reviving due to their huge success in the general
election.
Restitution of civil rights fairly quickly after the war was a result of
hard work by the Social Democrats in Parliament. The right wing tried to
prolong the process, because they felt threatened by the scenario of the
former rebels regaining their full rights. This indicated that the
reconciliation between former enemies was not likely to be soon.
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WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE AND WAR:
WORLD WAR I AND POLITICAL REFORM
IN A COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE
BIRGITTA BADER-ZAAR
War as cause of political reform has commonly been viewed as the key
explanation for the success of the enfranchisement of women in several
countries since the early days of suffrage historiography. Specifically,
women’s commitment to war relief and their mobilization for the war
economy have been cited as reasons for the implementation of equal
political rights. While modifications of this model have been discussed
particularly in British historiography,1 there has been less interest
elsewhere in studying the period of the actual introduction of women’s
suffrage with its legislative history. Thus, the assumption that women’s
war effort caused electoral reform still has a firm hold on public historical
memory in general. A revived interest of women’s and gender history in
women’s mobilization and gender politics in war,2 however, presents a
1
E.g. Martin Pugh, Electoral Reform in War and Peace 1906-18 (London:
Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1978); Sandra Stanley Holton, Feminism and
Democracy: Women’s Suffrage and Reform Politics in Britain 1900-1918
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986); Gisela Bock, Frauen in der
europäischen Geschichte: Vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart (Munich: Beck,
2000), 211-215.
2
Susan Kingsley Kent, Making Peace: The Reconstruction of Gender in Interwar
Britain (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993); Christa Hämmerle,
“‘Zur Liebesarbeit sind wir hier, Soldatenstrümpfe stricken wir ...’ Zu einer
besonderen Form weiblicher Kriegsfürsorge im Ersten Weltkrieg,” Austriaca.
Cahiers universitaires d'information sur l'Autriche 42 (1996): 89-102; Susan R.
Grayzel, Women’s Identities at War: Gender, Motherhood, and Politics in Britain
and France during the First World War (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 1999); Susan R. Grayzel, Women and the First World War (London:
Longman, 2002); Nicoletta F. Gullace, “The Blood of our Sons:” Men, Women,
194 Women’s Suffrage and War
chance to reassess views on the link between war and women’s right to
vote.
This article argues that recent studies on a new cultural understanding
of political rights in the context of war emphasize the need for a more
differentiated view of the relevance of war for suffrage reform. The
attention given to women’s war effort, however, should not let earlier
analyses of war as a catalyst for reform as well as the legislative history of
women’s enfranchisement sink into oblivion. As this article shows, party
interests ultimately essentially shaped reform. Thus, the article attempts to
give an answer to Carole Pateman’s call for a common explanation of the
breakthrough of political reform. Considering the fact that hostility to
women’s rights continued after enfranchisement, Pateman has offered a
feminist version of C.B. Macpherson’s hypothesis that the significance of
the right to vote had changed and been tamed by the development of the
party system as a possible answer.3 Elected representatives had become
primarily responsible to their parties and not to their voters. Thus, who
voted was of decreasing significance. This model certainly has its flaws
when applied to the period 1917-1920, though. As the debates over
women’s suffrage in Europe and North America show, who voted was still
of great significance, worth verbal fights as well as a range of attempts to
water down the feared effects of the women’s vote.
The article is based on comparative research on the case studies of
Austria, Belgium, Britain, Germany (which is excluded from this article
due to lack of space), and the United States, countries which all introduced
the parliamentary right to vote for women in some form during or shortly
after the First World War.4 These states represent very different political,
social and legal systems and developed differing levels of activities for the
cause within national women’s movements. While Britain and the United
States represent countries with political and social systems allowing broad
public agitation and debate that had enhanced active suffrage movements
since the mid-1860s, the Austrian half of the Habsburg Monarchy is
and the Renegotiation of British Citizenship During the Great War (New York:
Palgrave Macmillan, 2002).
3
Carole Pateman “Three Questions about Womanhood Suffrage,” in Suffrage &
Beyond: International Feminist Perspectives, ed. Caroline Daley and Melanie
Nolan (New York: New York University Press, 1994), 331-348.
4
Forthcoming: Birgitta Bader-Zaar, Das Frauenwahlrecht: Zur Geschichte seiner
Einführung im Vergleich—Großbritannien, Deutschland, Österreich, Belgien,
Vereinigte Staaten von Amerika. Cologne: Boehlau Verlag.
Birgitta Bader-Zaar 195
characterised by a more restrictive political system which contributed to

limitations on women’s activities. Equal enfranchisement was partly
successful here in the context of the collapse of the state. In this article I
will only consider the case of the introduction of votes for women in the
Republic of Austria. In Belgium, on the other hand, women’s suffrage
became a special political issue between parties, with the little-known fact
of Catholics as strong supporters of the cause.
Rethinking Citizenship in the Context of War

While contentions that suffrage activities were insignificant in World
War I can no longer be accepted,5 the outbreak of the war did represent a
breach in suffrage agitation. All suffrage organizations were confronted
with the decision which activities and strategies to follow under the new
circumstances. The situation was not entirely new for all organizations,
however. In Britain, the South African War of 1899-1902 had already set
the stage in a certain sense. While the women’s movement had then split
into supporters and opponents of the war, it had been united in rethinking
notions of citizenship in a new context. Opponents of the war had
underlined the principle that government rested on the consent of the
people who all had a right to voice their opinions, in this case on entering
the war, irrespective of gender.6 On the other hand, supporters of the war,
notably the president of the National Union of Women’s Suffrage
Societies (NUWSS) Millicent G. Fawcett, had emphasized the necessary
inclusion of women in the ‘imperial mission’. As Laura Nym Mayhall has
pointed out, ‘the war represented an opportunity for British women to
demonstrate their fitness for citizenship by their willingness to perform
services for the nation and empire in its hour of need.’7 These services,
ranging from funding and nursing to sending soldiers some object of
comfort, such as books, socks, etc., were no new occurrence among
women even then. Women’s organized support in times of upheaval and
war had been a common feature in Europe at least since the eighteenth
century. In public discourse their services were linked to the process of
5
As is maintained by Martin Pugh, Women and the Women’s Movement in
Britain, 1914-1999 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2nd ed. 2000), 36.
6
Laura Nym Mayhall, The Militant Suffrage Movement: Citizenship and
Resistance in Britain, 1860-1930 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 25-39.
7
Mayhall 2003, 29.
nation-building.8 Women were recognized as vital supporters of the state,

however, without full citizenship rights attached to their role.
Most suffrage organizations at first suspended their campaigns for a
short time at the beginning of the war in order to gear their financial and
human resources towards war service.9 However, by 1915 at the latest
suffrage debates were usually running again, though at a reduced level. An
exception was the National American Woman Suffrage Association
(NAWSA) which continued its “Winning Plan” of 1916 on state level and
campaigned for a referendum to be held in New York in November 1917
despite the United States’ entry into the war in April 1917. A few British
groups, such as the Women’s Freedom League (WFL), which suspended
its militant tactics, or Sylvia Pankhurst’s East London Federation of the
Suffragettes (ELFS) and the United Suffragists also upheld ‘the urgency of
keeping the suffrage flag flying,’ besides becoming involved in the war
effort.10 Not quite the same can be said of the Women’s Social and
Political Union (WSPU). Its support of the mobilization of women for the
munitions industry, for instance by aiding the government in a spectacular
parade in July 1915, and its patriotic, anti-German and anti-Bolshevist
propaganda in the ‘Britannia’ have caused some embarrassment to
feminist historians.11 However, as June Purvis among others has pointed
out, Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst did not give up feminist goals, as
also the programme of their Women’s Party, founded in 1917, shows.
They decided to use the war to further these ‘in a context that was no
longer subversive,’ without violent militant tactics.12
8
E.g. Jane Potter “Valiant Heroines or Pacific Ladies: Women in War and Peace,”
in The Routledge History of Women in Europe Since 1700, ed. Deborah Simonton
(London: Routledge, 2006), 259-298; Frauen & Geschichte Baden-Württemberg
e.V., ed, Frauen und Nation (Tübingen: Silberburg Verlag, 1996); Ute Planert, ed,
Nation, Politik und Geschlecht: Frauenbewegungen und Nationalismus in der
Moderne (Frankfurt/Main: Campus Verlag 2000).
9
Millicent Garrett Fawcett, What I Remember (London: Fisher Unwin, 1924),
217; Holton 1986, 130-131.
10
Cheryl Law, Suffrage and Power: The Women’s Movement 1918-1928 (London:
Tauris, 1997), 16-18, quote on p. 17; Angela K. Smith, Suffrage Discourse in
Britain During the First World War (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 37-50.
11
On the WSPU’s war campaign see Gullace 2002, 119-141; June Purvis,
Emmeline Pankhurst: A Biography (London: Routledge, 2002), 268-312; Smith
2005, 21-35.
12
Purvis 2002, 269.
In general, members of most suffrage organizations in war-faring

Europe turned to a wide range of welfare work, which included nursing,
funding military hospitals, women’s welfare, child welfare, employment
services for women, protection of women workers, training women who
increasingly substituted for men in industry, agriculture and the service
sector for industrial jobs, especially in the munitions industry, as well as
provisioning of food. Suffragists formed bureaus to administrate these war
services and were eventually recognised as valuable organizers by the state
on government councils. In Britain women were even incorporated into
the military in 1917 (Women’s Auxiliary Corps for the Army, Navy and
Air Force). And Belgian women were included in a voluntary corps
founded in France which trained women to serve as military auxiliaries.13
On the other hand, rifts emerged within suffrage organizations when
the image of international sisterhood was challenged by the war and
former friends suddenly became enemies. Membership could be
considerably reduced when women stressed the argument of an innate love
for peace and preferred to join pacifist movements instead of supporting
the national war effort. Thus, active support versus non-attendance at the
women’s peace conference held in The Hague in April 1915 could become
the key to division. Fawcett, for example, declined to have the NUWSS
participate in the conference, whereupon several members left the
executive committee. They eventually formed the British section of the
Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom (WILPF), which
was founded at The Hague to advance a peaceful settlement of
international conflicts and also women’s enfranchisement.14 In the United
States pacifist members of the NAWSA preferred to join the National
Woman’s Party, which did not engage in war work.15 In Austria a minority
of Social Democratic women was appalled by their party’s policy of
Burgfrieden that supported the state’s war despite the Socialist ideology of
peace and international solidarity. They aided Clara Zetkin in her call to
join the peace conference of Socialist women she organized in Bern in
13
Grayzel 1999, 203.
14
Johanna Alberti, Beyond Suffrage: Feminists in War and Peace, 1914-28
(Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1989), 38-70; Smith 2005, 51-70; David Rubinstein, A
Different World for Women: The Life of Millicent Garrett Fawcett (Columbus:
Ohio State University Press, 1991), 219-224.
15
Sara Hunter Graham, Woman Suffrage and the New Democracy (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 1996), 101.
March 1915.16 Nevertheless, support for women’s peace initiatives did not
always result in a split of women’s movements. The Austrian League of
Women’s Associations (Bund Österreichischer Frauenvereine) fostered
peace besides featuring prominently in the war effort, arguing that both
enhanced women’s capacity to vote,17 and its president Marianne
Hainisch, who had also been vice-president of the International Council of
Women until 1914, participated in the Hague peace conference. As this
example shows, we should generally keep in mind that women were
involved in multiple activities which might also contradict each other.
As quoted above for the case of the South African War, the women’s
organizations supporting the war effort understood themselves as ‘citizens
with duties towards society’18 and viewed their relief work as proof of
‘women’s patriotism and their fitness for citizenship.’19 Suffragists’
emphasis on their war efforts as ‘soldiers on the home front,’20 thus
complemented pre-war arguments of suffrage as a natural right and
enhanced those underlining gender difference, i.e. notions that women had
special qualities which would benefit society and its welfare in general
(the so-called ‘expediency’, ‘essentialist’ or ‘relational’ arguments in
suffrage historiography).21 Suffragists evinced a wide array of reasoning in
16
Thomas Lewis Hamer, “Beyond Feminism. The Women’s Movement in
Austrian Social Democracy, 1890-1920” (PhD diss., Ohio State University, 1973),
161.
17
Der Bund 12 (June 1917): 14; Elisabeth Guschlbauer, “Der Beginn der
politischen Emanzipation der Frau in Österreich (1848-1919)” (PhD diss.,
University of Salzburg, 1974), 390-392.
18
“Verpflichtungen gegen die Allgemeinheit.” Marie Bernays, cit. in Ute Frevert,
Frauen-Geschichte: Zwischen bürgerlicher Verbesserung und neuer Weiblichkeit
(Frankfurt/Main: Suhrkamp, 1986), 147.
19
Effie McCollum Jones, “Report on Winona meetings,” May 8-9, 1917, in
Minnesota Historical Society, St. Paul, Minnesota Woman Suffrage Association
Records; also Millicent Garrett Fawcett, The Women’s Victory and After: Personal
Reminiscences, 1911-18 (London: Sidgwick & Jackson, 1920), 88; Ernestine
Fürth, “Geschichte der Frauenstimmrechtsbewegung,” in Frauenbewegung,
Frauenbildung und Frauenarbeit in Österreich, ed. Martha Stephanie Braun et al.
(Vienna: Hermes, 1930), 76; Der Bund 12 (June 1917): 8. For examples from
France see Grayzel 1999, 214-215.
20
“Der Frauentag im Kriegsjahr,” in Arbeiterinnen-Zeitung, March 7, 1916, 1.
21
On differing interpretations of the consequences of this form of suffrage
arguments see Birgitta Bader-Zaar and Johanna Gehmacher, “Öffentlichkeit und
Differenz. Aspekte einer Geschlechtergeschichte des Politischen,” in Frauen- und
this field. When the possibility of electoral reform arose in the spring of
1916, Millicent Fawcett, for example, at once addressed the rising support
for women’s suffrage, which had also become notable in the British
press,22 and attributed it to ‘the changed industrial and professional status
of women’. In an open letter to Prime Minister Asquith dated May 4, 1916
she referred to the war services of the NUWSS: ‘We believe that it is the
recognition of the active, self-sacrificing, and efficient national service of
women which has caused the recent access of strength to the movement
we represent.’23 A suffrage parade in New York City on October 27, 1917
effectively presented women in the war service and Red Cross nurses.
Women’s demonstrations of patriotism, however, confronted them with
issues of exclusion of those perceived to be unpatriotic, such as
conscientious objectors or foreigners. Thus, the WSPU linked its suffrage
demands to anti-alien campaigns,24 and the NAWSA president Carrie
Chapman Catt criticized at a Congressional hearing on January 3, 1918
that
every ‘slacker’ [...]; every newly-made citizen; every pro-German who

cannot be trusted with any kind of war service; every peace-at-any-price
man; every conscientious objector and even the alien enemy” had a vote,
while the votes of the “millions of loyal men” sent to war were not
replaced “by those of the loyal women left at home.25
While the references to women’s war service and their patriotism were
present throughout Europe and America, underlining the fact that the
suffrage movement remained a transnational movement connected, for
example, through the journal of the International Woman Suffrage
Alliance Jus Suffragii, the Labour movement especially was doubtful
about taking the war service argument too far. Marion Phillips of the
Women’s Labour League did concede that women’s war service ‘had kept
the nation going’ and had strengthened women’s claim to the vote, but
Geschlechtergeschichte: Positionen/Perspektiven, ed. Johanna Gehmacher and

Maria Mesner (Innsbruck: Studien Verlag, 2003), 170-172.
22
For examples see Grayzel 1999, 207-208.
23
Fawcett 1924, 234.
24
Gullace 2002, 132-134.
25
The History of Woman Suffrage, vol. 5, ed. Ida Husted Harper (New York:
Fowler & Wells, 1922), 578; also Carrie Chapman Catt, “War Messages to the
American People,” Woman Citizen, June 29, 1918, 93, 98.
women’s war effort certainly did not form their qualification for
citizenship.26 Similarly, Austrian Social Democrats stated that
enfranchisement had to follow society’s heavy demands on women’s war
services—not as a reward, but as a right.27
Nevertheless, references to women’s war effort did play a major role in
all legislative debates once electoral reform had become an issue.28
Supporters stated that the ‘physical force’ argument denying women
political rights because of their alleged unfitness to carry arms had been
proved to be false.29 Especially in Britain women’s war effort was the
motive by which politicians explained their change of mind.30 They
followed the astounding example of former Prime Minister Asquith who
had officially reversed his pre-war anti-suffrage stance at the end of March
1917 in the House of Commons. He had argued that women had attained
their freedom through their war effort:
I think that some years ago I ventured to use the expression, ‘Let the
women work out their own salvation.’ Well, Sir, they have worked it out
during this War. How could we have carried on the War without them?31
Even more important, however, were considerations of reconstruction after

the war when women should have ‘the power and the right of making their
voice directly heard [...] in regard to women’s labour and women’s
function and activities in the new ordering of things,’ an argument put
26
The Times, January 26, 1917, 9; also James Ramsay MacDonald, Parliamentary
Debates, 5th ser., House of Commons, vol. 93, 2222-2223; Emmy Freundlich,
“Demokratie und Frauenwahlrecht,” Arbeiter-Zeitung, March 24, 1918, 4.
27
Die nächsten Aufgaben der sozialdemokratischen Frauen: Verhandlungen der
VI. sozialdemokratischen Frauenreichskonferenz am 18. und 19. Oktober 1917
(Vienna: Vorwärts, 1918), 26; Wilhelm Ellenbogen, Arbeiter-Zeitung, May 8,
1917, 5.
28
E.g. Congressional Record, 65th Congress, vol. 56, 792 (J.H. Mays), vol. 57,
3191 (Sen. W.P. Pollock); several Catholic deputies in Belgium (Paul Segers,
Annales Parlementaires, Chambre, sess. 1918-19, 699-700).
29
E.g. Prime Minister Lloyd George, Parliamentary Debates, 5th ser., House of
Commons, vol. 92, 493; Adelheid Popp, “Was die Frauen für den Krieg leisten,”
Arbeiter-Zeitung, February 22, 1917, 6.
30
Martin Pugh “Politicians and the Woman’s Vote, 1914-1918,” History 59
(1974): 266; Pugh 1978, 145-146; e.g. Parliamentary Debates, 5th ser., House of
Commons, vol. 92, 541; vol. 93, 2351-2352, 2360; vol. 94, 1724-1727.
31
Parliamentary Debates, 5th ser., House of Commons, vol. 92, 469-470.
forth in many countries.32 That the reason for any revision of opinions
most probably was expediency is illustrated by Asquith as well. When we
read his sceptical remarks on the ‘dim, impenetrable, for the most part
ungettable element’ of women voters at a by-election in Paisley in 1920,
‘of whom all that one knows is that they are for the most part hopelessly
ignorant of politics, credulous to the last degree, and flickering with gusts
of sentiment like a candle in the wind...,’33 it seems unlikely that he had
changed his opinions on political rights for women at all.
Restricted Suffrage for Women in Britain and Belgium

In most of the countries studied here electoral reform became an issue
during the war. Only Belgium postponed debates due to German
occupation, but took up legislation at once after the war. Both in Britain
and Belgium the debate on women’s suffrage was part of a measure to
introduce adult suffrage for men, and suffrage debates as well as
legislation were strongly influenced by a new understanding of political
rights in the context of the war.
In Britain, electoral reform became an issue early in 1916 as the
unstable national coalition government could entail elections at any time.
The Conservatives especially wished to have soldiers fighting abroad
included in a new voting register. Suffrage organizations reacted quickly
and formed a Consultative Committee of Constitutional Suffrage Societies
which announced in August 1916 that it would urge women’s suffrage if
electoral reform brought new voters onto the register. In that case women
war workers would have to be recognized, but also ‘the women who have
given their husbands and sons ungrudgingly’.34 The WSPU preferred to
refrain from categorical demands for women’s suffrage. Emmeline
Pankhurst regarded a linkage between women’s suffrage and the vote for
soldiers as a ‘Liberal ruse to sink both measures’.35
32
E.g. Karl Seitz (Soc.Dem.), Stenographische Protokolle über die Sitzungen des
Haus der Abgeordneten, 22nd Sess., vol. 1, 185; William E. Cox (Indiana, Dem.),
Congressional Record, 65th Congress, vol. 56/1, 796; Senator James K. Vardaman
(Mississippi, Dem.), ibid., vol. 56/11, 10770.
33
Pugh 1974, 360.
34
Pugh 1974, 209.
35
Gullace 2002, 129-130; also Purvis 2002, 286.
From October 1916 on, the suffragists concentrated their campaign on

the speaker’s conference which had been initiated by both Houses of
Parliament to develop recommendations for electoral reform. While the
WFL took to picketing, the NUWSS, the National Council for Adult
Suffrage and a few MPs decided to negotiate a possible compromise
which actually became part of the speaker’s conference’s recommendation
when women’s enfranchisement was debated there on January 10, 1917.36
The recommendation included the enfranchisement of wives of voters and
the introduction of a higher age requirement for women of 30 or 35 years
in order to prevent them from forming the majority of the voters.37 None
of the women’s organizations was happy with this result,38 and they
campaigned to have at least female industrial workers, most of whom were
excluded by the age requirement, considered.
The coalition Cabinet did not easily reach a decision on whether to
base a bill on the report of the conference. Prime Minister Lloyd George
was at first uncertain about what to do with women’s voting rights. While
his pre-war ambivalence towards women’s suffrage had now given way to
excellent working relations with Emmeline Pankhurst for the mobilization
of women for the war, he thought about deferring reform until after the
elections. On the other hand, he saw the need to thwart the prospect of a
possible conservative majority which would have limited adult suffrage
for men.39 Towards the end of March 1917 the Cabinet finally decided to
introduce a motion in the House of Commons to adopt the report of the
speaker’s conference, thereby avoiding having to present women’s
suffrage as part of the government programme, a move which met with
major protests from the women’s organizations.40
Nevertheless, the report’s clause 4 on women’s suffrage did gain a
majority in the House of Commons in June 1917. In the opinion of the
historian Martin Pugh, the argument of women’s war effort had made it
easier for some members, especially Asquith, to officially change sides
now without loss of face.41 Pugh has also shown that only few members
(7.2 percent) actually changed their mind compared with the vote on
36
Holton 1986, 146-147.
37
Parliamentary Papers 1917/18, vol. 25, 27 Jan. 1917, Cab 8463, 391.
38
The Common Cause 8, February 16, 1917; Britannia, April 9, 1917, 355-356.
39
Pugh 1978, 90-91.
40
Fawcett 1924, 243; Ray Strachey, The Cause: A Short History of the Women’s
Movement in Great Britain (London: Virago, 1978), 356-357.; Pugh 1978, 96.
41
Pugh 1974, 367-370; Pugh 1978, 145-149.
women’s suffrage of 1911, also a period of militant truce. While Pugh’s

comparison has severe limitations, as the bills considered different
qualifications for women and were discussed under different conditions of
suffrage for men,42 he nevertheless made an important point: any changes
in voting behaviour allegedly based on women’s war effort did not weigh
much. Rather, Irish Nationalists, who had been dependent on the Liberal
government in the question of Home Rule before the War, did not oppose
women’s suffrage any longer. Furthermore, Unionists could be satisfied
with the reduced measure. Faced with a possible resurgence of militancy
after the war, the age limit secured political stability in their eyes, as
especially married women were enfranchised who might balance adult
male suffrage, and not young female workers who might present problems
regarding demobilization after the war. Fawcett commented that the act
could ‘almost be regarded as a motherhood franchise.’43 On the other
hand, the age limit effectively reduced women’s voting potential.44 The
House of Lords did not emerge as a dangerous opponent of women’s
enfranchisement either. Lord Curzon, president of the National League for
Opposing Women’s Suffrage, could only advise the Lords to at least
abstain from voting on the measure as their power to fight a bill vis-à-vis
the House of Commons had been severely reduced before the war.45
As Nicoletta F. Gullace has shown, the Representation of the People
Act, signed on February 6, 1918, defined manhood in a new way in the
context of the war: Adult suffrage was introduced for men with a
minimum age of 21 years. However, conscientious objectors were
excluded, and military men who had been in active service (including Red
Cross personnel) were already enfranchised if at least nineteen years old.46
While women were included in the military service franchise (e.g.
members of the Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps), women’s
enfranchisement in general rested on qualifications distinct from men and
42
On the contents of the bills see Constance Rover, Women’s Suffrage and Party
Politics in Britain, 1866-1914 (London: Routledge & Kegan, 1967), Appendix 1,
215.
43
Grayzel 1999, 213.
44
Pugh 1974, 370; David H. Close, “The Collapse of Resistance to Democracy:
Conservatives, Adult Suffrage, and Second Chamber Reform, 1911-1928,”
Historical Journal 20 (1977): 901.
45
Parliamentary Debates, 5th ser., House of Lords, vol. 27, 521-524.
46
Gullace 2002, 169.
partly depended on men:47 A woman was enfranchised for parliamentary

elections if she was at least thirty years old and entitled to be registered as
a local government elector based on land or premises with a yearly value
of at least five pounds or a dwelling-house, or was the wife of a husband
enfranchised for local government elections. Women with a university
degree or equivalent final examination also received the vote in university
constituencies, again with an age requirement of thirty years. Finally,
women were qualified to vote in local government elections if they met the
same requirements as a man or were at least thirty years old and married to
a man entitled to be registered. Apart from the age limit, which was only
reduced to that for men (21 years) on the local level when women
qualified in their own right, the occupation requirement excluded a
number of women from the vote: domestic servants living in the same
house as their employers and women who rented cheap furnished
lodgings, e.g. low-paid professional women such as teachers, typists and
clerks, or ‘daughters living at home, mothers living with sons, widows
who had lost their property’.48 Approximately eight and a half million
women were enfranchised in England, Scotland and Wales for the
parliamentary elections of 1918, as opposed to nearly thirteen million
men.49 Over 3,000 women were registered as military voters.50 Women
received the right to be elected with an equal age limit of 21 years only a
few months later, on November 21, 1918 in the Parliament (Qualification
of Women) Act. After the repeated introduction of bills by Liberal and
Labour MPs, equal suffrage was finally introduced in Britain under the
Conservative Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin on July 2, 1928.
In Belgium electoral reform had remained dormant due to German
occupation during the war, but the national coalition government took up
the unsettled pre-war question of adult suffrage straight away after it had
returned to full power. The quarrels among the political parties over
universal suffrage, however, nearly led to a crisis of state as the Catholics
persisted in demanding women’s enfranchisement as a balance to adult
men’s suffrage.
Catholic support for women’s suffrage, also an issue in France, reveals
a necessity to refrain from simplistic polarizations in analyses of the
47
Public General Acts, 7 and 8 Geo. 5c. 64.
48
Gullace 2002, 184.
49
Pugh 1978, 196.
50
Gullace 2002, 177.
history of women’s suffrage, especially as the party’s counterparts were

not always keen backers of the women’s vote. Socialists in Belgium did
not support immediate adult suffrage for women, but wished to
enfranchise them gradually, first on the local, then the provincial, and
finally the parliamentary levels, fearing women’s lack of political
education. Similarly, most Belgian Liberals, as also in France, opposed
votes for women, wanting them to gain better education and higher wages
as well as more rights first.
In November 1918 the coalition government under the Catholic Prime
Minister Léon Delacroix favoured new elections based on adult male
suffrage after which the Chamber of Representatives would decide on a
new constitution and women’s enfranchisement. The joint subdivision of
the Chamber and the Senate supported this plan in their report of March
1919 and argued that any other path would jeopardize the national
coalition, as women’s suffrage would safeguard the dominance of one
party (meaning the Catholics).51 The climax of the disputes between a
majority of Catholic representatives on the one hand, and Liberals and
Socialists on the other was reached in the general debate on suffrage
reform at the end of March and beginning of April 1919.52 Socialists and
Liberals attacked the Catholics for using votes for women as a leverage
against universal suffrage and attempting to destroy national union.
Catholics countered that Socialists were not true to their party
programme. Women’s suffrage was necessary to tone down adult male
suffrage. After the Parti Ouvrier Belge had declared that the Socialists
would not participate in any new government in the event of a dissolution
of the coalition, the crisis could only be resolved after negotiations on
April 10, 1919. A strange compromise, suggested by the Catholics and
acceded to by the other two parties, promised local government suffrage to
women from the age of 21 years on at the next elections and introduced
the parliamentary franchise for the widows or widowed mothers of
Belgians killed in action during the war as well as women who had been
sentenced to imprisonment or had been imprisoned for patriotic reasons
during the period of German occupation. In exchange for this measure all
parties would support state subsidies for private elementary schools
(which were usually Catholic).
51
Chambre des représentants, Documents, sess. 1918/19, doc. no. 90, 317-326.
52
Annales Parlementaires, Chambre, sess. 1918/19, March 26-27, April 2-3,
1919.
The Catholic Paul Segers introduced the measure in the Chamber as

the ‘vote of the dead’.53 It seems to have been modelled on a concept of
the familial vote the French writer and conservative politician Maurice
Barrès presented in an article in L’Écho de Paris in February 1916. Barrès
conceded that the widows or mothers of soldiers killed in action for their
country should receive the ballot to safeguard the interests of the family
the soldier had left behind.54 Incidentally, even the British National
Council for Adult Suffrage had come close to backing a familial vote
when demanding the inclusion of the widows of fallen soldiers in the
British measure.55 While the familial vote was not successful in France,
equal municipal suffrage was accepted there in 1919.
The Belgian women’s suffrage federation supported the compromise
and Segers quoted the organization’s appeal when arguing for the familial
vote in the Chamber on April 12.56 The Chamber endorsed the measure
unanimously on the same day, and the Senate complied in May without
major debates. The King signed the Loi sur la formation des listes
electorales en vue du prochain renouvellement des chambres legislatives
on May 9, 1919. Only 0.6 percent of all Belgian voters were now women,
no potential danger for any of the parties.
Despite the compromise, the Catholics were to encounter strong
opposition when they attempted to realize local government franchise.
Liberals tried to get rid of the issue through proposals of a popular
referendum.57 Nevertheless, local suffrage for women on an equal basis
was finally introduced on April 15, 1920, though prostitutes were
excluded. Further developments in women’s suffrage followed the step-
by-step strategy the Socialists and Liberals had supported. In 1921 women
became eligible for local and provincial councils, while the compromise
measure of women’s suffrage for the Chamber was extended to the Senate
and the provincial elections. Equal suffrage with men was finally
introduced in 1948.
53
Annales Parlemantaires, Chambre, sess. 1918/19, 706; Annales
Parlemantaires, Sénat, 289; also Louise Van den Plas, in Le féminisme chrétien
10 (April/May 1919): 5.
54
Grayzel 1999, 215-216.
55
Holton 1986, 149.
56
Annales Parlementaires, Chambre, sess. 1918/19, 812 (April 2, 1919).
57
Annales Parlementaires, Chambre, sess. 1919/20 I, 397, 405, 417, 423-424,
458.
Equal Political Rights in Austria and the United States

In contrast to the Belgian case, the Social Democrats were the leading
party in the Austrian half of the Habsburg Monarchy to support equal
suffrage. Adult suffrage for men had already been introduced here on the
parliamentary level in 1907. Property qualifications and taxable income,
however, still formed the foundation of the franchise on the local level.
The women’s movements had largely worked for local electoral reform
before and in the early years of the war.
By 1917, due to events in Russia, the debate on voting rights had
intensified to a degree that Social Democrats placed bills for women’s
municipal suffrage in the Viennese city council and for parliamentary
enfranchisement in the Lower House. Catholic women, who had long
opposed any political emancipation of women, began to reconsider their
standpoint on the suffrage question. They finally decided on a step-by-step
policy in December 1917, first wishing to be included in municipal
decisions on welfare. Should votes for women become inevitable, they
would only support a measure if women voted for their own representative
body, a women’s curia, an idea the Catholic theologian and later Prime
Minister Ignaz Seipel also publicly expanded on, in order to allow for
gender difference and to evade a sex war.58 Interestingly, Belgian Liberals
in 1919 and 1920 were to try to ward off women’s local government
franchise with a similar idea of their own representative body.59
Although the government promised workers on strike in Vienna in
January 1918 that women would be included in a bill on municipal
suffrage because of their war effort,60 electoral reform was finally only
realized in the midst of political upheaval in the autumn of 1918, when the
Habsburg Monarchy fell apart. The creation of the new Austrian Republic
presented the opportunity for women’s enfranchisement. Women’s
organizations from all political orientations issued a joint resolution on
58
Guschlbauer 1974, 393; Reichspost, December 11, 1917, 7. “Das
Frauenwahlrecht,” Reichspost, December 13, 1917, also printed in Ignaz Seipel,
Der Kampf um die österreichische Verfassung (Vienna: Braumüller, 1930), 32-37;
see also Birgitta Bader-Zaar, “Women in Austrian Politics, 1890-1934: Goals and
Visions,” in Austrian Women in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries: Cross-
disciplinary Perspectives, ed. David Good, Margarete Grandner, and Mary Jo
Maynes (Providence: Berghahn, 1996), 66.
59
E.g. Huysmans, in Le Peuple, March 29, 1919.
60
Guschlbauer 1974, 399-400.
November 3 embracing universal suffrage for women. The Social

Democrats were now instrumental in achieving women’s suffrage as a
political measure connected to their party programme, although some
party members still believed that women’s votes would result in a setback
for them because of women’s alleged clericalism. A law of the Provisional
Parliament, constituted by the representatives of the German-speaking
constituencies of the Habsburg Monarchy, decreed on November 12, 1918
that elections were to be held in 1919 based on universal and equal
suffrage for both sexes.
Formerly opposing parties, such as the Catholic Christian Socials and
the German Nationals, were pressured to comply within the atmosphere of
upheaval and hardly raised any opposition in the debates. However, they
were uncomfortable with the prospect of a constituency consisting of a
majority of women and searched for means to diminish the impact of
women’s votes. Thus, the political debate did not centre on the issue of
whether women should be allowed to vote, but rather on the problem of
how to manipulate women voters to party advantage. Guided by the
British example, strategies included raising the age limit for women or
reducing it for soldiers until the number of male voters equaled that of
female voters. The most explosive proposal concerned the legal obligation
to go to the polls (Wahlpflicht). This was an idea advanced by the
Christian Socials, who feared that women who were less interested in
politics and were therefore more liable to vote conservative, would stay
away from the polls, were they not forced to vote. This would leave the
field to what the Christian Socials imagined to be an enormous number of
radical women. The Social Democrats, on the other hand, understood that
compulsory voting would clearly favour the Christian Socials. After the
State Chancellor and leader of the provisional government, Karl Renner, a
Social Democrat, had pointed out that the Social Democrats had already
shown a willingness to compromise on a number of goals and had warned
that workers would rebel should votes for women not be realized without
legal riders,61 the dispute was finally resolved by leaving it to the
provinces to decide if they wanted elections with compulsory voting or
61
See the interesting minutes of the government sessions: Austrian State
Archives, Vienna, AVA, Nationalversammlung / Büro des Präs. Seitz / Staatsrat,
K. 2, 53rd session, December 3, 1918; Karl Renner, “Der Staatsrat beschliesst das
Frauenstimmrecht (1918),” in Arbeiterinnen kämpfen um ihr Recht, ed. Richard
Klucsarits and Friedrich G. Kürbisch (Wuppertal: Hammer, 1975), 307-311.
not. Electoral reform was accepted on December 18, 1918 and embedded
in the Constitution of 1920. The Constitution did not include the
disenfranchisement of prostitutes however, a measure the Austrian
parliament had enforced in 1918 as a ‘necessary and self-evident
consequence’ of women’s enfranchisement.62 Belgium, on the other hand,
excluded prostitutes from the local government franchise in 1920.
Belgians did not parallel the Austrians regarding an interest in
women’s voting behaviour, however. In Austria, all parties supported the
idea of studying women’s political leanings by distributing differently
coloured envelopes for the ballots to women and men. This was finally
realized in 1920, and some cities in Germany also adopted similar
measures. The data for Austria shows that female voters tended to vote
conservative, though there were substantial regional differences. In
traditionally ‘red’ Vienna, the Social Democrats had a majority among
women, while at least two-thirds of women voters in the western provinces
of the Tyrol and Vorarlberg, which were provinces with compulsory
voting, elected conservative candidates.
As in Austria, adult male suffrage (at least for ‘white’ men) already
existed in the United States, here both on the federal and the state levels.
Women also enjoyed equal suffrage in a number of states shortly before
America entered World War I in 1917. By the end of 1917 they were
enfranchised in six states only for presidential elections (Illinois, Indiana,
Michigan, Nebraska, North Dakota, Rhode Island) and had full suffrage in
thirteen states (Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Idaho, Kansas,
Montana, Nevada, New York, Oregon, Utah, Washington, Wyoming).
Thus, women already exercised considerable voting power before the war.
The suffrage campaign proved to be laborious in war-time in the other
states. Public transport did not work well, an influenza epidemic broke out
in 1918 and proponents of women’s suffrage were charged with being
unpatriotic, despite their war efforts.63 Nevertheless, NAWSA took up its
well-organized lobbying of Congress in Washington, D.C. again in the
summer of 1917.64 The successful referendum on women’s suffrage in
62
Beilagen zu den Stenographischen Protokollen der Provisorischen
Nationalversammlung, no. 77, 5.
63
Eleanor Flexner and Ellen Fitzpatrick. Century of Struggle: The Woman’s
Rights Movement in the United States (Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press,
enlarged ed. 1996), 280-282.
64
Maud Wood Park, The Front Door Lobby, ed. Edna Lamprey Stantial (Boston:
Beacon Press, 1960).
New York in November rendered a special breakthrough. However, the

suffrage movement also opted for a constitutional amendment to secure
voting rights for women in all states. Generally, the states which had
already introduced women’s suffrage contributed to success on the federal
level by demonstrating the harmlessness of the measure.65
The significance of the war was mainly connected to the militant
strategy of the National Woman’s Party (NWP), an organization founded
in 1916 by Alice Paul on the model of the British WSPU. The NWP
picketed the White House, criticizing President Wilson for waging a war
in Europe for democracy but not supporting full democracy at home. The
so-called ‘Kaiser Wilson-Banner’ of August 14, 1917 was especially
provocative:
Kaiser Wilson—Have you forgotten your sympathy with the poor Germans
because they were not self-governed?—20,000,000 American women are
not self-governed—Take the beam out of your own eye.66
Such tactics provoked the patriotic public and led to scuffles with the
police and imprisonment. The militants reacted with hunger strikes and
were finally released towards the end of November 1917, under
speculations that the NWP had struck a deal with the government,
promising to give up militancy if the government actively supported a
women’s suffrage amendment in Congress to be realised by 1919.67
President Wilson did in fact begin to support women’s suffrage in
Congress by trying to win over the Democrats. Southern Democrats
especially had resisted any extension of the franchise as this meant more
African-American voters in the South.68 Finally, the President advocated
the women’s suffrage amendment to the constitution as a war measure.
This was successful in the House which accordingly adopted a resolution
65
Felice D. Gordon, After Winning: The Legacy of the New Jersey Suffragists,
1920-1947, (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1986), 26.
66
Sidney Roderick Bland, “Techniques of Persuasion: The National Woman’s
Party and Woman Suffrage, 1913-1919” (PhD diss., George Washington
University, 1972), 123.
67
Bland 1972, 133; Sally Hunter Graham, “Woodrow Wilson, Alice Paul, and the
Woman Suffrage Movement,” Political Science Quarterly 98 (1983/84): 677-678;
Flexner and Fitzpatrick 1996, 277-279.
68
Nancy F. Cott, “Feminist Politics in the 1920s: The National Woman’s Party.”
Journal of American History 71 (1984): 46.
with a majority of 274 votes and 136 rejections in January 1918.69

However, the Senate was not to be won over so easily. Debates were
postponed again and again. The NWP’s patience was exhausted and it
started to organize pickets again, publicly burning one of Wilson’s
speeches.70 President Wilson again appealed for women’s suffrage to be
regarded as a war measure at the end of September and characterized it as
‘vitally essential to the successful prosecution of the great war of humanity
in which we are engaged.’71 Although the majority of the Senate voted in
favour of women’s enfranchisement in October and again in February
1919, the number of yeas did not achieve the two-thirds majority
necessary for an amendment to the constitution. The NAWSA reacted with
a re-election campaign against four opponents in the Senate and was
successful in defeating two of them, while the NWP took up picketing
again. Finally, the newly elected 66th Congress, which had more
supporters of women’s suffrage, pushed the amendment through by June
1919.72
After winning over Congress, women’s suffrage organizations still had
to continue their campaign as the constitutional amendment required
ratification by three quarters of the states. After some dramatic moments,
Tennessee became the 36th state to ratify and the nineteenth amendment
was officially included in the constitution on August 26, 1920. Framed
after the fifteenth amendment against discrimination of voting rights on
account of ‘race’, it declared that ‘the right of citizens of the United States
to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State
on account of sex’ and gave Congress the power to enforce this
proposition. Nevertheless, some states did not adjust their election laws,
e.g. Kentucky only struck the word ‘male’ from its constitution in 1955.
And several Southern states enforced measures to exclude African
Americans from voting, until the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts
began to prohibit such actions from the mid-1960s on.
69
Congressional Record, 65th Congress, vol. 56/1, 807-809.
70
Ray Stannard Baker, Woodrow Wilson: Life and Letters, vol. 8 (Garden City,
N.Y.: Heinemann, 1939), 404.
71
Congressional Record, 65th Congress, vol. 56/11, 10928.
72
The House accepted it on May 21 (304 Yeas, 90 Nays, one abstention) and the
Senate on June 4, 1919 (56 Yeas, 25 Nays), ibid., 66th Congress, vol. 58/1, 93-94,
634-635.
Conclusion
What are the links between war and women’s enfranchisement in this
comparative overview?
Firstly, the war had a major impact on women’s suffrage movements,
either by shifting their activities to the war effort or by enhancing their
conviction of women’s special mission as peace-makers. However, it
usually did not lead to a suspension of suffrage activities, especially as
governments discussed electoral reform during that period. While pre-war
spectacular strategies might be brought to a halt during the war, as in the
case of the WSPU, militancy could also be reinforced as in the American
case.
Secondly, the war effort took centre stage in suffrage discourse.
Suffragists strove to prove their patriotism and fitness for citizenship, that
they should be included in and not excluded from the nation. Thus, as
Susan R. Grayzel has argued, wartime rhetoric, which recast gender
ideology by emphasizing a definition of political rights over ‘cultural and
social understandings of their [women’s] contributions to the ‘public’ and
‘national’ good’, de-radicalised women’s enfranchisement.73 Several
contemporaries were of the opinion that this discourse brought about such
a profound change in public opinion that no further opposition to women’s
suffrage persisted.
However, the discourse of women’s war effort has led some historians
to uncritically assume that war and women’s war effort caused the
introduction of women’s suffrage, and even to contentions that women
received the vote as a reward for their service. Thus, Nicoletta F. Gullace
has stated somewhat radically that women won the right to vote ‘not by
throwing bombs but by making them; not by raising children but by
sending them to die.’74 While we can speak of a reward regarding the
specific women enfranchised on account of their military service in Britain
or their imprisonment for patriotic acts in Belgium, the notion of a reward
contradicts the enfranchisement of a wider group of persons in which war
service itself did not constitute a qualification. Contemporaries, especially
the Social Democrats, respectively the Labour movement, were usually
very careful not to suggest that enfranchisement was a reward of any
73
Grayzel 1999, 206, 224.
74
Gullace 2002, 194.
kind.75 For them this would have undermined a concept of citizenship

linked to specific rights, as also the liberal Austrian newspaper Neue Freie
Presse argued on November 23, 1918: ‘...women have not received the
vote because of their extraordinary efficiency during the war. A right
cannot be a reward.’ The newspaper rather pointed out that the effect of
the war was ‘that even the opponents have been disarmed by the conduct
of women in recent years. The mothers whose sons are buried in
inhospitable earth and who had to bear the trials of the war are mature for
the vote, [...].’
This leads to my third point that it is necessary to keep various facets
of analysis in mind. On the one hand, as Grayzel and Gullace have shown,
the war had a decisive impact on suffrage discourse. This discourse could
even be transformed into actual legislative measures, as we have seen in
the British and Belgian cases, although it did not necessarily actually
change opinions of opponents to women’s suffrage. Thus, claims that the
war delayed enfranchisement which was inevitable, as Sandra S. Holton
has suggested,76 need to be modified. The war did not only change cultural
understandings of political rights, it also brought a reordering of political
power. Thus, David Morgan’s and Margaret und Patrice Higonnet’s view
that World War I served as a catalyst of change, which had already been
initiated by the women’s movements before the war, is still true.77 War put
women’s suffrage on the political agenda.
75
National Council for Adult Suffrage, Memorandum to the Speaker’s Conference
(October 1916), 3; Cecil A. Cochrane (Lib.), Parliamentary Debates, 5th ser.,
House of Commons, vol. 93, 2207; Carrie Chapman Catt, An Address to the
Congress of the U.S. (New York: National Woman Suffrage Publishing Company
n.d. [1917/18]), 17; “Resolution der 6. sozialdemokratischen
Frauenreichskonferenz 1917,” in Die nächsten Aufgaben der sozialdemokratischen
Frauen 1918, 26; Alma Seitz, Reichspost, December 11, 1917, 7.
76
Holton 1986, 130.
77
David Morgan, “Woman Suffrage in Britain and America in the early 20th
Century,” in Contrast and Connection. Bicentennial Essays in Anglo-American
History, ed. H.C. Allen and Roger Thompson (London: Bell, 1976), 279; Margaret
R. Higonnet and Patrice L.-R Higonnet, “The Double Helix,” in Behind the Lines:
Gender and the Two World Wars, ed. Margaret Randolph Higonnet et al. (New
Haven: Yale University Press, 1987), 31-47; also Roger Fulford, Votes for Women:
The Story of a Struggle (London: White Lion, 1957), 298; Christine Bolt, The
Women’s Movements in the United States and Britain from the 1790s to the 1920s
(Amherst, Mass.: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1993), 236.
On the other hand, we should not lose sight of the practices of actual
electoral reform. As we have seen here, women were enfranchised in very
different national settings, as part of an effort to introduce adult suffrage
for men or on their own, as part of a political compromise or as part of a
party programme. The role of interests at stake here should also remain an
essential focus of analysis; there were manifold, partly successful attempts
to water down women’s suffrage. The basic problem from the view of the
parties was whom the votes of the new electorate would benefit. This is
illustrated by the efforts in Britain to have women form only a minority of
the electorate, by the interest in records of gender-specific voting in
Austria and Germany, and by the struggle of Catholics in Belgium to link
adult suffrage for men to women’s enfranchisement. In the United States
party interests already had to consider women as a significant part of the
electorate on the federal level and the Southern states tried to fend off any
rise in the number of African-American voters. Thus, the power relations
of parties were a main issue when at last war created the political
conditions making (some form of) women’s enfranchisement possible.
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SLOVENE WOMEN'S SUFFRAGE MOVEMENT
IN A COMPARATIVE PERSPECTIVE
MILICA ANTIĆ GABER AND IRENA SELIŠNIK
Introduction
The rise of nation-states in the 19th century opened up new
opportunities for feminist actions. Nationalistic groups offered new
challenges for women’s engagement in the public sphere and at the same
time new political institutions arising from the tradition of constitutionalism
legitimized the arguments of equality which could be addressed by
feminist demands. During the 19th century feminists and feminist
organizations multiplied rapidly and developed ‘culturally distinctive and
context–specific’ identities and characteristics. One can see that in that
sense a particular feminist agenda can be found which is framed in the
discourse of rights and obligations expressed by the nation, men and
children.1 Women belong to a ‘specific national body’2 and are grounded
in a specific political culture. This chapter will discuss numerous social
and political factors that profoundly influenced feminism before the
Second World War in Slovenia and analyse feminism organizationally and
tactically as well as ideologically. The focus will be put on suffrage as a
specific national and political demand.
Feminisms were all encouraged by the dense web of international
contacts which had some common concerns, one of the most important
among them being women’s right to vote. However, as Gisela Bock
writes, in Europe only in Great Britain did ‘the active’ women’s
movement for the right to vote exist in the nineteenth century.3 As Evans
1
Karen Offen, European Feminisms, 1700-1950. A Political History
(Stanford:University Press, 2000), 213.
2
Leila J. Rupp, Feminisms and Internationalism: A View from the Center. In:
Feminisms and Internationalism, ed. Mrinalini Sinha, Donna Guy and Angela
Wollacott. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), 192.
3
Gisela Bock, Ženske v evropski zgodovini. Od srednjega veka do danes
(Ljubljana, 2004), 201.
220 Slovene Women's Suffrage Movement in a Comparative Perspective
argues British feminism was the second after the American movement to
emerge in an organised form.4 While in other parts of Europe one cannot
talk about strong or numerous women’s organisations for the right to vote.
One can speak about strong individual women who did much in this vein.
Only at the turn of the century at the Conferences of the International
Council of Women in London 1899 and in Berlin in 1904 did women call
for greater mobilisation and a united front in this field.5 In 1902 the
International Woman Suffrage Alliance was established, which encouraged
suffrage activities in each of the member states. Women’s suffrage was
often considered an essential motive for international networking with
international agitation often seen as a crucial strategy for moving national
governments.6 In that context the Slovene suffrage movement will be
presented together with strategies which finally led to women’s
enfranchisement. The reasons why that ‘miracle’ of early enfranchisement
did not happen to Slovene women will be discussed as Slovenian women
gained the right to vote only after the Second World War in Tito’s new
Yugoslavia.
The Socio-Political Context before the World War I

Today’s Slovenian territory was historically divided among the
Habsburg crown lands of Carniola, Styria, Carinthia, the city of Trieste,
Gorizia and Gradisca, and Istria. This region had fallen under the rule of
the Habsburg dynasty by the 15th century. It represented so-called Inner
Austria, and together with Lower and Upper Austria, Bohemia, Moravia,
Galicia, the Bukowina, Silesia, Dalmatia, Salzburg, Tyrol and Vorarlberg
formed the Austrian half of the Austro-Hungarian Empire (also called
Cisleithania) from 1867 on. Slovenes represented the majority only in the
crown lands of Gorizia and Gradisca and especially Carniola. At the turn
of the century according to the census of 1910, 525,925 inhabitants lived
in Carniola, of which 94.4 percent spoke Slovene and 5.3 per cent or
27,885 people spoke German.7 In the Austrian half of the Habsburg
Empire Slovenes represented 4.5 percent of the whole population in 1910.8
4
Richard J. Evans, The Feminists. Women's Emancipation Movements in Europe,
America and Australasia 1840-1920 (Croom Helm London, 1977), 63.
5
Offen 2000, 214.
6
Mrinalini Sinha, Donna J. Guy and Angela Woollacott, »Introduction«. In:
Feminisms and Internationalism, ed. Mrinalini Sinha, Donna Guy and Angela
Wollacott. (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999), 4.
7
Vasilij Melik, Volitve na Slovenskem, (Ljubljana :Slovenska matica,1965), 301.
8
Melik 1965, 304.
Milica Antić Gaber and Irena Selišnik 221
In the Hungarian part of the monarchy lived only approximately 90,670

more Slovenes.9 They were the smallest of the Southern Slav national
groups and felt underprivileged compared to the Germans, who
represented the ethnic other in Carniola. One of the most problematic
mechanisms in that regard was also the nationally unbalanced ‘electoral
geometry’ heavily biased towards the German-speaking population, and
the parliamentary system based on the majority principle and the
possibility of being outvoted.10
The era of the rapid linguistic renaissance of the Slovene language
began in the 18th century under Maria Theresa, who introduced general
education on the elementary level and later during the French Occupation
of the so-called Austrian Illyrian territories. However, the greatest
advancement of Slovene literary development came with romanticism in
the first half of the 19th century.11 However, Slovenes were much less
successful in their nationalistic affirmation claims than other ethnic
groups. Slovenian language gained some concessions only in Carniola, but
even there it was not entirely incorporated into the education system.12 The
literacy rate in 1900 was the highest in the German speaking population
(men 93% and women 91%), the percentage of literate Slovenian men
(72%) and women (65%) was still under the average in Cisleithania (men
75.3 %) and (women 70 %).
As in rest of the Austrian half of the Habsburg Empire, in Carniola,
too, property qualification and higher education formed the basis for the
distinctive electoral system of corporate representation introduced in
Austria in 1861 during the shift towards constitutional government.13 The
Carniolian Diet was composed of four kurije (curiae) – corporate bodies
representing interests. These were great landowners, the cities and towns,
the chamber of commerce and industry and the rural communities. Besides
9
Jasna Fischer, Slovensko narodno ozemlje in razvoj prebivalstva. In: Slovenska
novejša zgodovina 1848-1992., ed. Jasna Fischer (Ljubljana: MK, 2005), 19.
10
Peter Vodopivec, Political Traditions in Central Europe and in the Balkans. In
the light of the experience of the first Yugoslavia«. European Studies, Vol.5, 2006,
79.
http://www.desk.c.u-tokyo.ac.jp/download/es_5_Vodopivec.pdf.
11
Robert A. Kann, A History of the Habsburg Empire, 1526-1918, (Berkley:
University of California Press, 1980), 395.
12
Peter Vodopivec, Od Pohlinove slovnice do samostojne države (Ljubljana:
Modrijan, 2006), 88.
13
Birgitta Bader Zaar, “ From Corporate to individual representation.” In How did
they Become Voters? The History of Franchise in Modern European Presentation.
ed. Raffaele Romanelli. (Hague/London/Boston: Kluwer Law International, 1998),
295.
the representatives of the curiae, the highest Catholic ecclesiastical

dignitary and, if existent, the university rector were specifically nominated
as members of the diet.14 However, for the Reichsrat (state parliament in
Vienna) slightly different principles were introduced. Representation in
the Upper House was reserved for the higher nobility and ecclesiastical
dignitaries and persons appointed by the Emperor, in the Lower House the
members of Parliament were appointed by the provincial diets. Later
reforms introduced direct elections, again based on the curiae (1873) and a
special ‘general curia’ was added in 1897 in which all men over 24 years
old could vote. Only in 1907 was universal and equal suffrage for men
introduced to Parliament. A more conservative approach towards
democratization was shown by the Austrian government if we compare the
situation in France, Germany or Switzerland, which all introduced first
manhood suffrage already before 1850.15 As Birgitta Bader Zaar states,
only 6 per cent of the entire population in Cisleithania was enfranchised in
the 1870s.16 The electoral system was based on property qualifications and
curiae and persisted for the elections of the provincial diets especially until
the end of the Empire in 1918.
Carnolia was not among the forerunners of democratization in the
Austrian part of the monarchy. It introduced the fifth – general ‘kuria’ for
the Diet in 1908 and was among the first eight crown lands to accept that
innovation (altogether 17 provinces existed).17 As in other parts of the
Cislethania in Carniola also women had the right to vote on the municipal
level. However in large cities the right to vote was given separately. In
Ljubljana the right to vote was given to women in 1887, however the right
to vote was exercised by the husband or other male proxy.18 But during
that time in the rest of Cisleithania another trend started. In 1890 the
government removed the right of propertied women to vote in local
14
Vasilij Melik, Volitve na Slovenskem (Ljubljana: Slovenska matica, 1965), 11-
13.
15
Stefano Bartolini, Enfranchisement, Equality and Turnout in the European
Democratisation Process: A Preliminary Comparative Analysis, (Working papers:
Institut de Ciències Polítiques i Socials (Barcelona, 1996), 6.
16
Birgitta Bader Zaar, From Corporate to individual representation. In How did
they Become Voters? The History of Franchise in Modern European Presentation.
311.
17
Vasilij Melik, Volitve na Slovenskem (Ljubljana: Slovenska matica, 1965), 14.
18
Vasilij Melik, Volitve v Ljubljani 1848-1918, Kronika 29 (1981), 115-124.
elections in Vienna.19 In Prague and another Czech city Liberce women

never gained the right to vote.20 For the election to the provincial diets the
women’s right to vote was abolished for Carniola and Carinthia in 1884,
Styria in 1904 and Istria 1908. Despite those developments in 1910 the
law on municipal elections for the capital of Carniola, Ljubljana was
changed and male proxy abolished. Yet women could vote only at separate
polls and women could be included in electoral committees. The number
of female voters increased as teachers and other female taxpayers gained
the personal right to vote. 21
This novelty was accepted in the context of the nationalization of
politics during which formation of centralized national parties began
increased social mobilization and creation of a national community
through the expansion of state administration. The democratization of
political life in the Slovene territory began in the second half of the 19th
century. Mass politics in Austria only developed towards the end of the
1880s. Before that only a number of exclusive clubs existed, reflecting
liberal, conservative and ethnic interests.22 Austria was in the process of
forming mass politics among countries that were latecomers in Europe.23
In Germany, for example mass political parties had already evolved in the
1870s. In Austria the German Liberals organized in 1881, in 1889 the
Christian Social Party emerged and in 1888/1889 Social Democratic Party.
In Carniola the main differentiation line was based on the same principles
as in the rest of the Austrian half of the Habsburg Empire. The ‘Kultur
Kampf’ (or Kulturni boj) characteristic of all Central Europe meant
tensions between three main parties due to religion and ideology.24 In
19
Brigitta Bader Zaar, Frauenbewegung und Frauenwahlrecht. In Politische
Öffentlichkeit und Zivilgesellschaft, ed. Helmut Rumpler and Peter Urbanitsch
(Wien, 2006), 1010.
20
Ženske in občinske volitve v Pragi in drugod. Slovenska gospodinja, 2.listopada
1907, n.11
21
Vasilij Melik, Začetki ženske volilne pravice. In Čarnijev zbornik (1931-1996).,
ed. Alojz Cindirč. (Ljubljana:Filozofska fakulteta, 1998), 254.
22
Birgitta Bader Zaar, »From Corporate to individual representation«. In How did
they Become Voters? The History of Franchise in Modern European Presentation
315.
23
John W Boyer, “Catholics, Cristians and the Challenges of Democracy: The
Heritage of the Nineteenth Century.” In Political Chatolicism in Europe 1918-45.
Volume 1. (London/New York: Routledge, 2004), 19.
24
Daniel Caramani, The Nationalization of Politics.The Formation of National
Electorates and party Systems in Western Europe. (Cambridge: University Press,
2004), 142.
Carniola the unity for the national cause was gradually replaced by
ideological polarization and the formation of the liberal and Catholic party
happened. Thus in 1894 the Liberal National Party was established and in
1895 the most important political actor since the Second World
War/World War II the Catholic Party was formed. At the end of the 19th
century in Carniola, only the Catholic (People’s) Party Slovenska ljudska
stranka SLS managed to establish a modern structure based on a network
of efficient cooperative and economic organizations.25 Finally in 1896 the
Yugoslav Social Democratic Party was formed, which was the last of the
three important political actors until the First World War. However, the
party of urban workers had little support in rural Carniola. In that intense
political struggle each political pillar established its own network of
associations. Even so-called apolitical associations like sports clubs
assumed political functions. One of the key functions of these associations
was to instruct people how to be involved in politics. In that frame every
man and woman was called to take part in politics.
Three Austrian political pillars or ‘Lager’, Catholic, liberal/German
and socialist were the model according to which three Slovenian
encampments or ‘tabori’ were also established. In Austria the polarization
between those three camps was certainly great.26 However, the intense
political conflict was even greater in Carniola. Cisleithania was
overwhelmingly Catholic. Catholicism and public authority had been
closely associated. However, while in German-speaking parts of Austria
mass political Catholicism was personified in the Christian Social
Movement whose leadership came from Vienna and had introduced a
strong anti-Semitic and economic rhetoric, supported by townsmen, the
situation was different in Carniola. Here the Catholic political group was
led by the clerics and it was restricted to the rural electorate. The main
opponent of the Austrian Christian Social Movement was the Austrian
Social Democratic party, while in Carniola the main opponents of the
Slovene catholic party were the liberals. The discourse of the Slovene
People’s Party as we can translate the name Slovenska ljudska stranka
(SLS) was mostly profoundly conservative, even clerical, which tried to
counter the increasingly weak liberal party in Carniola which had troubles
putting forward liberal ideals among small town and mostly agrarian
population.
25
Vodopivec, 2006, 84.
26
Ellen Lovell Evans, The Cross and the Ballot: Catholic Political Parties in
Germany, Switzerland, Austria, Belgium and The Netherlands, 1785-1985,
(Boston: Humanities Press, 1999), 185.
One of the reasons for this kind of structure of the political parties was
also the characteristics of the modernization process in Slovene territory.
The share of agrarian population was much higher in the Slovene regions
than in the whole of Austria on average, industrialization was slow and
towns were small.27 The conservative nature of the Slovene political
culture was also shown in the absence of the civic engagement and
political individualism which was also characteristic for the Yugoslav
Social Democratic Party which existed in Slovenian part of the Empire
and which in the eyes of Carnolians personified the fear of the world being
turned upside down.28 Some of its prominent leaders were openly opposed
to women’s right to vote as some other outstanding leaders all over
Cisleithania.29 Even the most progressive actors were framed in the
context of conservative and traditional political culture, which rested on
hierarchy and respect for the authority. Austrian Catholicism reestablished
itself in the late nineteenth century on new extremely anti-modern
ideological foundations and profoundly influenced the whole popular
culture. 30
The Women’s Movement

In the Austrio-Hungarian Empire national relations became even more
intense towards the end of the 19th Century. The demand for national and
language equality was also raised by Slovenes. Nationalist politics was
gradually to be found in every aspect of everyday life. In this context we
can find one route towards women’s engagement in the public sphere.
What P. Judson argues for German nationalism in Austria we can also
assert for Slovenian nationalism in Carniola – the early nationalist
27
Vodopivec, 2006, 84.
28
People were convinced that if socialism was to be realized that would mean
»You will not have even your own pants!« (Ivan Regent, Poglavja iz boja za
socializem. Volume 3. (Ljubljana : Cankarjeva založba : Ljudska pravica, 1961),
14.
29
Abditus - Albin Prepeluh claimed in his book that women's right to vote is just
empty adornment and pointless demand. Albin Prepeluh, Socialni problemi
(Ljubljana, 1912).
30
George Barany, “Political Culture in the Lands of the Former Habsburg Empire:
Authoritarian and Parliementary Traditions.”, In Austrian History Yearbook,
XXIX (1998), 209.
movement opened up different avenues for women’s public activism.31

Women as mothers were given a prominent position in the nationalist
movement. When in 1883 the German nationalist organization the German
School Association organized the first all-female local branch in Graz.
Women in Slovenian territory did not hesitate long. In the port of Trieste,
the fourth biggest Austro-Hungarian city, in 1887 the first all-female
branch of the local Slovene nationalistic organisation Društvo Sv.Cirila in
Metoda was established. The new context of nationalist politics had
created a niche for women’s activism.
However, in Slovenia there was a very important other way to
politically mobilize women in the 19th century. At the turn of the century
numerous catholic religious societies expanded. Female members
dominated in religious fraternities of Marist laity groups as the Marian
Society (Marijine Družbe). They had 27,310 female members and only
5,828 male members.32 Altogether in the diocese of Ljubljana there were
358 groups (parishes). Catholicism of the nineteenth century was
expressed in the female gender. As De Girorgio argues, three out of four
practising Catholics were women. The feminization of religious practices
was evident and the feminine role became recognized through the
feminization of piety and clergy. Women became closer to the catholic
faith.33 One of these aspects was a rapid growth in the number of nuns at
the turn of the century in the diocese of Ljubljana. While in 1890 there
were 227 female members of different catholic orders in 1909, almost
twenty years later there were 578 sisters.34 In the neighbouring region
Carinthian Marian Society (Gesellschaft Mariä) had much more difficulty
attracting female members.35 One of those aspects was also the slower
increase in the number of nuns. In the nearby diocese of Salzburg,
31
Pieter Judson, “The Gendered politics of German Nationalism in Austria.” In
Austrian Women in the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, ed. David Good,
Margarete Grandner in Mary Jo Maynes. (Oxford:Berghahn Books, 1996), 3.
32
Drago Zalar, Marijine družbe na Slovenskem (Ljubljana: Družina, 2001), 22.
33
Michela De Giorgio, “The Catholic Model," In A History of Women. Emerging
Feminism from Revolution to World War, ed. Georges Duby and Michelle Perrot
(Harvard: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1998), vol. 4, 169.
34
Sonja Bezjak, “Dejavniki gibanja števila redovnic v Sloveniji v 20. stoletju”,
Družboslovne razprave 24, no.57 (2008), 104.
35
Irena Destovnik, Moč šibkih. Ženske v času kmečkega gospodarjenja. (Celovec:
Založba Drava, 2002), 143.
however, we can see that in 1890 there were 676 sisters and in 1909 there
were 1,044 female members of different female orders.36
The first women’s organisation with feminist goals was established in
Vienna. The liberal Allgemeiner Österreichisher Frauenverein AÖF
(General Austrian Women’s Association) was founded in 1893. Eight
years later the Splošno slovensko žensko društvo SSŽD (General Slovene
Women’s Association) was formed in Carniola. This association was the
only Slovene women’s association which was a member of the Bund
Osterreichischer Frauenvereine (League of Austrian Women’s Societies)
established in 1902. The Vienna-based League was a member of the
International Council of Women, however, the relationship between its
own member organizations in other parts of Austria was quite weak, and
international encouragement and news did not reach Carniola. However,
the success of the Viennese Catholic Women’s Union (Christliche Wiener
Frauenbund – 1897) reached Carniola and in 1901 Krščanska ženska
zveza (the Catholic Women’s Union) was established in Ljubljana. The
motive was the same – to promote the catholic way of life in public
together with political agitation for the Catholic party. In that regard the
Social Democratic Party did not want to be left behind and in Carniola in
1900 the socialist’s women’s association Veda was established. In Vienna
the first social democratic organization for female workers existed from
1890 on. In the border regions with Carniola Social Democratic women’s
associations were founded in Graz in 1894 and Salzburg in 1895.37 From
Vienna the first female public speaker social democratic
Vertrauenspersonen (Theresia Nötscher) came to Ljubljana which was
after one lecture physically endangered by the later prominent catholic
leader Janko Brejc.38 In that context it must be mentioned that in Carniola
the first organization for female workers was not actually established by
Social Democrats but by the Christian Social Movement in 1894
(Katoliško društvo za delavke). Again this characteristic could be
interpreted in the frame of the socio-economic and cultural characteristics
of the region. Carniola was predominantly agricultural land and on the
36
Franciska Rücker, Gesellschaftliche und religiöse Motivationen der Frauen zum
Klostereintritt zwischen 1850 und 1914. Ein Vergleich zwischen Wien und
Salzburg, (MA thesis, University of Vienna, 2001), 96.
37
Gabriella Hauch, “Arbeit, Recht und Sittlichkeit -Theme der Frauenbewegungen
in der Habsburgermonarchie. ” In Politische öffentlichkeit und Zivilgesellschaft. 1.
Teilband. Vereine, Parteine und Interessenverbände als Träger der Politischen
Partizipation, ed. Helmut Rumpler and Peter Urbanitsch, (Dunaj: Der
Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaft, 2006), 978.
38
Janko Pleterski, Dr.Ivan Šuštaršič 1863-1925 (Ljubljana:ZRC, 1998), 46.
territory of modern Slovenia 66.6 percent of the population were peasants

before the First World War. The only large city in Carniola was Ljubljana
with 41,727 inhabitants in 1910, in the second largest city in Carniola -
Kranj there were 2,580 townsmen. Industrialization was relatively weak in
Carniola and only in parts where mining was developed could one find the
‘real’ proletariat.
For women in the Austrian part of the empire it was forbidden to be
members of political organisations under the Association Law of 1867.
However, in practice this did not mean that all political activities for
women were banned. This can be understood as one of the reasons why
Austrian women took up the demand for the right to vote much later and
campaigns decidedly avoided any militant action.39 As Birgitta Bader-Zaar
argues, the law which banned the integration of women into political
associations especially inhibited the work of the liberal women’s
movement, which was usually the first to demand women’s right to vote.40
Yet in Vienna the first demands for suffrage were already sent to the
parliament and government at the end of the nineteenth century while in
Carniola these demands evolved later. The fact that John Stuart Mill’s
book The Subjection of Women, which was considered a feminist Bible,
was soon translated into numerous European languages, also into German,
the same year as it was published in England, in 1869 tells us a lot about
the political context.41 The same book had very a different fate in
Slovenia. Although feminists here were aware of his ideas the book was
not translated in Slovene language until the 21st century. For many
feminists in Austria at the turn of the century the most important questions
were social rights and rights to education. In the field of politics a moral
superiority of the woman would redefine politics and society. In the frame
of those female values suffrage was not one of the most important
demands. Thus for the Habsburg Empire, including Carniola, moderate
feminism was characteristic.42
39
Birgitta Bader-Zaar, Frauenbewegungen und Frauenwahlrecht, in: Helmut
Rumpler - Peter Urbanitsch (eds.), Die Habsburgermonarchie 1848-1918, Bd. 8/1:
Politische Öffentlichkeit und Zivilgesellschaft – Vereine, Parteien und
Interessenverbände als Träger der politischen Partizipation (Vienna 2006), 1005-
1027.
40
Birgitta Bader-Zaar, “Women in Austrian Politics. ” In Austrian Women in the
Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, ed. David Good, Margarete Grandner in Mary
Jo Maynes. (Providence/Oxford:Berghahn Books, 1996), 62.
41
Richard Evans, The Feminists. Women's Emancipation Movements in Europe,
America and Australasia 1840-1920 (London: Croom Helm, 1977), 19.
42
Evans, 1977, 93-96.
There were also other differences between the feminist movement in

Carniola and urban centres like Vienna. When the AÖF prepared one of its
petitions for the right to vote for female taxpayers in 1896, 600 signatures
were gathered. When Splošno slovensko žensko društvo in 1911 supported
two petitions for suffrage at national as well as at municipal level a total of
sixteen women signed one of the petitions in 1911. Enthusiastic about the
work of the German-speaking Austrian women’s movement, in 1911
Odbor za volilno pravico žensk (the Women’s Suffrage Committee) was
established by the members of the General Slovenian Woman’s
Association. Women’s suffrage committees had been active in Vienna
(early 1890s and again 1905) and Prague (1905).43 However, the
Slovenian Women’s Suffrage Committee was probably short-lived as it
was mentioned in the historical documents only once.
Like the Viennese movement, the General Slovenian Women’s
Association was moderate and did not take radical actions, such as civil
disobedience. The moderate character of the Viennese movement became
obvious at a suffrage parade in Vienna in 1913, when women registered it
with the police as a ‘tourist trip’ and drove in their cars and carriages
instead of walking, as this was something done by the working class.44
Women in the General Slovenian Women’s Association were even more
moderate and women’s right to vote was not among the most important
demands. They were not interested in arranging any public meeting for
suffrage until World War I. Attempts to overcome the radical note of such
gatherings came from the Social Democratic Party, which succeeded in
celebrating International Women’s Day in 1911, and voiced their support
for female suffrage. However, participation in this first International
Women’s Day in Ljubljana was small, with only ten women present. By
contrast in Vienna in 1911 on the celebration of Women Day 20,000
women and men gathered.45
The question arising from the facts already mentioned is the following:
how was the electoral reform for the city of Ljubljana that introduced the
enfranchisement of female teachers and abolished the male proxy system
in 1910 possible if the women’s movement and general willingness to
43
Birgitta Bader-Zaar, Frauenbewegungen und Frauenwahlrecht, in: Helmut
Rumpler - Peter Urbanitsch (eds.), Die Habsburgermonarchie 1848-1918, Bd. 8/1:
Politische Öffentlichkeit und Zivilgesellschaft – Vereine, Parteien und
Interessenverbände als Träger der politischen Partizipation (Vienna 2006), 1013,
1019. For the petititon see: ZAL, LJU 285, Fond Splošno žensko društvo, folder 6,
Petition from 14. svečana 1911.
44
Bader-Zaar, 2006, 1023.
45
Bader Zaar, 2006, 1025.
accept such innovations was so weak? The answer may be in the

pragmatic orientation of the Slovene Catholic Party which was in power
during the change in the law on municipal elections. The image of ardent
female believers which was to support the moral authority of the priest
through voting for the Catholic party was widely accepted and even
affirmed in the elections for the municipal council of Ljubljana in 1911.
Voting results from the female voting poll showed the overwhelming
support of the votes for the Catholic party, the difference between the male
and female percentage of the vote gathered for the SLS was 10 percent.
The image of the ardent female believer was confirmed in excessive
female participation in the Marian Societies and it also included the
assumption of her influence on the rest of the family or marginalization of
the husband in the family. The Catholic imagery supported the exclusive
relationship between mother and son (a priest) thus the father was
symbolically pushed away. But the biological father in the Catholic culture
was subordinate to the spiritual father, as his moral judgment was limited
and not equal to the power of the priest. The result of this imagery was a
special relationship between mother/ a women and a priest.46
The Slovene Window of Opportunity

After World War I the window of opportunity enlarged in Slovenian
territory. The timing of independence and the end of the First World War,
which had resulted in the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire,
opened up the opportunities for the realization of the dreams and nation-
state ambitions. In the new Yugoslav state, which emerged from Croatian
and Slovene territory from the former Austria-Hungary and the Kingdom
of Serbia, all three Slovenian political parties took the path of
democratization and accepted women’s right to vote in their political
programmes and went even further. After the First World War they
established their own women’s sections; women were for the first time
public speakers and members of the parties. Readers’ letters demanded
that women become more incorporated into the political parties and that
they receive the right to vote on the Carnolian level, the liberal party even
accepted the notion of some kind of women’s quota. The party declared
that fifty percent of women should be elected to the local and central
46
Marta Verginella, Ženska obrobja. Vpis žensk v zgodovino Slovencev
(Ljubljana:Delta, 2006), 104-108. Lusia Accati, Pošast in lepotica:oče in mati v
katoliški vzgoji čustev (Ljubljana:Studia Humanitas, 2001).
committee of the party.47 Political consensus for women’s suffrage on the

municipal level also appeared in the city council of Ljubljana.
It appeared that women in the Slovenian territory of the Yugoslav state
would be enfranchised. Gaining the right to vote seemed not a miracle but
an expected development. The right to vote for women on the municipal
level was first considered in the regional government in 1920, the plan
proposed by the liberal party in power gave the right to vote only to
women who paid taxes or who had completed eight years of education.
Against such injustice the Catholic Party raised its voice and for the first
time organized massive open air demonstrations for women’s
enfranchisement. When the liberal government stepped down, the catholic
party now in power passed new voting legislation giving women the right
to vote, thereby fulfilling its earlier promise. However, the great
expectations did not materialize. Although the legislation came into force
in 1921, was signed by the king and published in the official journal, when
the catholic party found itself again in opposition, the article on women’s
suffrage was unexpectedly annulled by government decision.
The proposal for women’s enfranchisement was also addressed in the
constituent assembly in Belgrade, yet the heated debates were fruitless as a
special article in the constitution proclaimed ‘A special law will determine
about women’s right to vote.’ The same sentence was used for the next
constitution in 1931. This special law was not accepted in all 20 years of
the existence of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, even though legislation on
elections in Yugoslavia changed approximately four times the numerous
activities of the women’s movement regarding the change in the law were
without results.
Polarization Continues
Some of the characteristics that in Slovenia discouraged the struggle
for women’s right to vote became even more obvious in the interwar
period. Slovenian elites as in the times of the Habsburg Empire still
remained on the periphery yet this time the frame was different – it was
the more centralized Yugoslav state which abolished all autonomous
decision-making bodies for the Slovenian region. Slovenian elites now
found different models of governance appealing. The worldwide political
crisis did not bypass the kingdom and on Slovene territory the crises was
then spread to the democratic institutions. The state bureaucracy was
47
ZAL, LJU 285, Splošno žensko društvo, škatla 10. Zapisniki sej Splošnega
ženskega društva 3.3.1920.
considered inefficient and had even maculated the legislative norms with
obvious corruption. Political life was marked by political crises and no
government in power has successfully concluded the mandate. In 23 years
of the existence of Kingdom of Yugoslavia 39 governments were
established. The conservative frame of the most important Serbian Radical
party, which had formed 30 governments, was opposed to all forms of
radical behaviour.
Another element that may have significantly impaired the success of
the emancipatory movement is the polarization of society.48 The tensions
between political parties became even more intense in the interwar period
and the cultural struggle pervaded the whole of society. Different
associations and newspapers after the war were organised in the scope of
three politico-ideological tendencies, stimulating an increasing number of
associations. Women’s associations were no exception. They continued to
be organized in the frame of the politico-ideological trends and their
number increased dramatically. Before the First World War at least 18
women’s associations existed in Ljubljana and in Carniola there were
approximately 60 women’s associations with 3,000 members, in the 1920s
there were nearly 400 women’s organizations with 16,000 members in the
Slovene part of the state and the number was even higher in the 1930s.
Some women’s activists estimated that there was one women’s association
for 1,000 people in the capital, Ljubljana.49 The figures testify to the mass
mobilization of women in Slovenia, which meant enormous political
power. However, for these associations with exclusively female members
the priority was to mobilize women in the scope of their own political
families and only to demand women’s rights in the context of their own
political ideology and party politics, the feminist agenda was not among
the priorities.
This was also reflected in the existence of a very small number of
independent women’s associations. The most important of these was
established in 1923 after the Yugoslavian delegation went to visit the
congress of International Alliance of Women's Suffrage. On their return
they proposed that a branch of this organization should be established in
the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. The proposal was realized with the
establishment of the Feministična aliansa Kraljevine SHS (Feminist
Alliance of the Kingdom of SHS) later renamed in the Alianso Ženskih
48
Maarten van Ginderachter, “Gender, the extreme right and Flemish nationalist
women's organisations in interwar Belgium” Nations and Nationalism, 11, n.2.
(2005), 269.
49
ZAL LJU 285, Splošno slovensko žensko društvo, škatla 2, Zlata Pirnat: Naša
ženska organizacija v zrcalu sedanjosti
Pokretov -AŽP (Alliance of Women’s Movement). The main goal of the

AŽP was the struggle for women’s right to vote in the years to come, the
organization launched the most effective campaigns for suffrage and
became the most autonomous and progressive women’s group. If before
the war no demonstration for suffrage had been organized, and
immediately after the war the initiative for women’s right to vote was
taken over by women’s organizations affiliated with catholic conservative
party,50 the AŽP succeeded in carrying on the initiative in the next two
decades.
It was not just polarization that contributed to not getting the right to
vote but also opportunism. In the Narodna ženska zveza -NNŽ (National
Women’s Alliance) the largest Yugoslav women’s organization and the
Yugoslav branch of the International Council of Women with 50,000
members there were constant disputes as to what kind of standpoint the
organization should have in their policy papers as a result of tensions
between conservative and more radical members. In the congress in
Ljubljana, for example, it was impossible to gain support for the demand
that an unmarried civil servant is just as entitled to the cost of living
adjustment as a married one.51 Equally subversive was the demand for
women’s right to vote.
With the conservative image and leaders who were important members
of the elite, the NŽZ succeeded in becoming state sponsored.52 The policy
run by NŽZ was integrated into the scope of the state policy. The most
typical case was the occasion on which the Minister for Foreign Affairs
required the subvention for the visit of women’s congress in Bucharest on
condition that the Yugoslav representatives demand the exclusion of
Bulgarian women.53 But after the bilateral relationships between both
states were improved and even an alliance between both old enemies
established, the Yugoslav women’s movement developed strong
collaboration with the Bulgarian women’s movement after 1933.54
50
They published a booklet “Why women should be included in politics?”,
organised massive demonstrations not just in urban areas but also rural and send
petitions to the parliament.
51
Slovenski narod, 14.7.1922, Po kongresu.
52
Some women’s organizations in Yugoslavia even managed to get a special
ministerial decree that they were tax free and financed from the state lottery.
53
ZAL, LJU 285, Fond Splošno žensko društvo, Škatla 10, 27.6.23.
54
In 1938 the lecture was given by Vesela Vitanova (Pavla Hočevar, ''Bolgarske
žene pri nas''. Ženski svet 1938 no.6). In 1934 the lecture on the Bulgarian women's
movement was given in SŽD. The articles about the Bulgarian women's movement
were published in Ženski svet (''Tri velike kulturne delavke na Bolgarskem'' Ženski
The political culture of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and so also

Slovenian territory was conservative, pragmatically conformist and
inclined to form parallel trust networks with patronage as opposition
towards the state.55 However, one cannot forget that it was the same
country that in its constitution proclaimed democratic principles and had
emphasized social rights.
Limited Opportunities
The spontaneous wide political mobilization immediately after World
War I reached its peak and gradually in the next decade became weaker
and weaker as new, more authoritarian legislation was accepted. Parts of
the labour movement were banned, spontaneous people’s gatherings
strictly prohibited. However, on the other side the rhetoric of democracy
echoed in the newspapers and political discussions. The German Weimar
constitution had an extremely important impact on the first Yugoslav
constitution adopted in 1921. One chapter of the constitution was entirely
dedicated to human and social rights, although such imperatives were
confined to paper. The welfare state was never implemented together with
political freedoms. Instead of the state, patronage networks were used to
build trust. Each political party established its own network of parallel
charity, educational and social welfare associations. Only eager supporters
of each political direction were entitled to support. As Tilly argues, such
networks are not compatible with democracy.56
The political situation meant that expressing discontent with the
situation was very quickly proclaimed antigovernment behaviour.
Women’s organizations successfully adapted to this political reality and
even intensified their own activities. The biggest women’s organisation in
the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, the NŽZ, strengthened the ties between the
central office and its branches. Organizational reform in 1934 took into
account the administrative units of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. Such
structures are said to be the most efficient at mobilizing people.57 The
international cooperation declined only during the years of the great
svet 1940 no.5; ''Sofijski penklub in Liza Bagrjana v Ljubljani'' Ženski svet 1934
no.7-8).
55
Peter Vodopivec, ”Politične in zgodovinske tradicije v Srednji Evropi in na
Balkanu (v luči izkušnje prve Jugoslavije)”, Zgodovinski časopis (59), no.3-4
(2005): 480-482.
56
Charles Tilly, Trust and Democratization, (Cambridge:2005), 135.
57
Theda Skocpol, “The Tocqueville Problem. Civic Engagement in American
Democracy,” Social Science History 21, no.4 (1997): 472.
economic depression, but still the incorporation into the international

context focusing on the social economic position of women was a
worldwide trend. Immediately after the political and economic situation in
Yugoslavia improved in the 1930s, demonstrations for suffrage were
organized almost regularly each year and new strategies were used learned
from foreign women’s associations. Like the Czech and Bulgarian
women’s movements, the NŽZ sent questionnaires to the election
candidates asking if they supported women’s right to vote. From the
Austrian Women’s Council they used the survey about the position of
female intellectuals, from the French women’s movement they copied the
idea of sending postcards with the same text to the policymakers; the idea
of the Women’s Hour radio programme was borrowed from the
international women’s movement.58 However such radical, confrontational
tactics as civil disobedience were not used. Not even the feminist
movement could change the frame of the traditional political culture,
which was highly intolerant of all radical actions; respect for authority was
not challenged even if the authority was questioned.
Differences in Region
In the thirties the neighbouring states Bulgaria, Greece and Romania
were in the group of countries that implemented the right to vote for
women at least at the local level. Romania did this in 1929, Greece in 1930
and Bulgaria in 1937 for mothers in local elections and for the national
elections for married, divorced or widowed women in 1938.59 All of these
countries had similar political cultures with lack of civic participation and
strong political partisanship with populism and often rigged elections and
a strong patronage system. In all of these countries political instability and
dictatorships were no exception.60
The consequence of such circumstances was lack of trust in the
concept of democracy together with the institution of voting. In Slovenia
58
Alojzija Štebi, “Iz zgodovine ženskega gibanja”. Ženski pokret (3), no.9-10
(1922), 264. ZAL, Splošno žensko društvo, Škatla 5, Poročila občnih zborov.
59
Krassimira Daskalova, “Bulgarian Women in movements, Laws, Discourses
(1840s-1940s)” Bulgarian Historical Review, no.1-2 (1999), 189.
60
Krassimira Daskalova, “Women, Nationalism and Nation–State in Bulgaria
(1800-1940s),” in Gender Relations in South Eastern Europe: Historical
Perspectives on Womanhood and Manhood in 19th in 20th Century, eds. Miroslav
Jovanovic and Slobodan Naumovic ( Beograd:Udruženje za društvenu istoriju,
2001), 26.
Pavla Hočevar raised the question, how to demand the right to vote if it is
something that
Puts you in danger of losing a job, something that can be bought or sold,
something that gives the individual strength to rise to power, from where
he could be gentle with those who supported him and he could beat those
who used the right to vote for the benefit of his opponent.61
But even though she had her doubts, she continued her speech with the
argumentation for women’s right to vote on the basis of the equality of
women and men.
The women’s movement responded to the de-democratization which
went on in Yugoslavia with the transmission of the cultural (know –how)
sources through the international women’s network by personal interaction
and mass media. But the success of the movement was affected most by
collective beliefs and values.62 However, even traditional beliefs or, as
Daskalova indicates, neo-traditionalism can have an emancipatory effect.63
Yet this was not the case in Yugoslavia. In the Kingdom of Yugoslavia the
concept of equality as a justification for women’s suffrage prevailed, the
only exception being the years after the great depression. While in
Bulgaria and similarly in Romania the discourse of womanhood was
decisive for women’s suffrage as women were regarded in the context of
nation, this was not the case in Yugoslavia. In Bulgaria the acceptance of
women’s right to vote did not mean that women became equal to male
citizens of the nation, but were universal dependents affiliated to the male
citizens of the nation state. They were citizens only by virtue of their ties
to their husbands.64 In Slovenia this kind of discourse was lacking, but
nevertheless the backlash also occurred in Yugoslavia. The Catholic
women’s associations once very active in the suffrage movement were
now using traditional discourse against modernization (part of it was also
women’s right to vote). The unitarian women’s organization opposed any
61
AS II, Pavla Hočevar 1668, Ženska volilna pravica
62
Lee Ann Banszak, Why Movements Succeed or Fail. Opportunity, Culture, and
the Struggle for Women’s Suffrage (Princeton, 1996), 33.
63
Krassimira Daskalova, “Bulgarian Women in movements, Laws, Discourses
(1840s-1940s)” Bulgarian Historical Review, no.1-2 (1999), 193.
64
Krassimira Daskalova, “Women, Nationalism and Nation –State in Bulgaria
(1800-1940s),” in Gender Relations in South Eastern Europe: Historical
Perspectives on Womanhood and Manhood in 19th in 20th Century, eds. Miroslav
Jovanovic and Slobodan Naumovic ( Beograd:Udruženje za društvenu istoriju,
2001), 27.
action for suffrage because of the internal crises in the state and in the
international affairs.
Before the war in Yugoslavia the new election law was under
preparation. The arguments used to incorporate suffrage in the law were
mostly based on the concept of equality, also because in Yugoslavia there
was a lack of national socialist ideology or fascist movement, the King
was not a defender of any totalitarian regime and even less the fascist type
of system.65 However, the concepts of equality and justice were not the
most legitimate argumentation. As great mistrust in implementing the
concept of equality prevailed among people. In politics the corruption and
partisanship along with nepotism has with their own trust networks
successfully competed against a state shaken by constant government
crises. Equality was the unrealized expectation in the Kingdom of
Yugoslavia on several levels: ethnic, social, gender. The notion of
universal citizenship was contrary to the traditional society, political
opportunities and political culture.
Conclusion
Putting Slovenian territory in the broader context we can see that
Slovenian elites were prone to imitate some of the models offered to them
first from Vienna as the centre of the Empire. However, in some regards
such as accepting female suffrage, Slovenian elites were even more
progressive than the elites in Vienna, mostly due to pragmatic reasons
regarding political interests of the Catholic Party.
But why did Slovene women did not get the right to vote in the second
wave, after World War I in the group with some other European countries
like Austria, Czechoslovakia, Poland and Germany, why they had to wait
to the end of World War II? What were the reasons? There is no easy
answer; several factors contributed to this result. Slovenia gained only
partial national independence (within the Kingdom of Serbs, Slovenes and
Croats). Slovene politicians had found themselves in a new kind of
political arena partly influenced by the international circumstances where
the striving for democracy and its implementation was not the goal. The
fact that Slovene political culture was also not ready to accept the
innovations contributed significantly to the lack of enfranchisement. Some
social reforms in the direction of improvement of the everyday life of the
65
Igor Grdina, “Slovenska politika in parlamentarizem v kraljevski Jugoslaviji
(1918-1941),’’ in Analiza razvoja slovenskega parlamentarizma, ed.Barbara
Vogrinec (Ljubljana,2005), 239.
working class gained ground in some new laws but they were not
implemented in practice. Slovenia therefore stayed half way in the several
directions. None of the movements (national, social or political) was
strong enough to bring people together into a successful driving force after
World War I, which would also bring women’s right to vote. It was only
ready for a partial political emancipation giving the voting right to the
male in the Yugoslav (Vidovdan) Constitution of 1921 but not to female
citizens. It seems that after having once lost the opportunity to do it after
World War I and after the right was extend to all men extension of the
suffrage to all women presented great difficulties. But in this ‘latecomer’s
club’ Slovenia was not alone, there were countries like France, Italy,
Bulgaria, Romania and Albania. It seems that the above story can at least
partly tell why territory of Slovenia was among them.
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Newspaper
Slovenski narod
Slovenska gospodinja
Ženski svet
Archival Materials
ZAL, Fond Splošno žensko društvo
THE DEBATE ON PARLIAMENTARY REFORMS
IN WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE IN HUNGARY,
1908-1918
JUDIT ACSÁDY
By the turn of the 20th century the issue of women’s suffrage rights in
Hungary had become a widely discussed issue in political life. The
electoral law at that time had been rather exclusive and guaranteed rights
only for citizens of high social status.
Earlier in Hungarian law1 women with large real estate property could
participate in local elections by sending an authorized (male)
representative instead of themselves, but women could not be elected.
Even though progressive movements, including feminists made several
attempts to bring changes and establish a new political system based on
universal suffrage rights, the identical reform bills to make electoral rights
wider had all been rejected by Parliament until 1918. According to the law
passed in 1918, as the first law accepted by the Autumn (Democratic)
Revolution, literate women above the age of 24 were granted suffrage
right. In the spring of 1919 a new political turn swept away these
regulations and the Hungarian Soviet Republic introduced universal rights
to vote but linked the exercise of those rights with trade union
membership, so ‘non-proletars ’ were excluded from the elections2. After
the brief era of the Soviet commune, ending in autumn 1919, the new
right-wing rule that defined the following decades, overturned the
regulations and restricted electoral rights and connected it to the census
(according to age, literacy, property or family status). Universal suffrage
1
Law 1886 , Article XXII.
2
Andrea Pető and Judit Szapor. “A női esélyegyenlőségre vonatkozó női felfogás
hatása a magyar választójogi gondolkodásra 1848-1990”. Az „állam érdekében
adományozott jog” feminista megközelítésben. In Befogadás és eredetiség a
jogban és a jogtudományban. Adalékok a magyarországi jog természetrajzához.
Edited by Sajó András, 136–175. Recepció és kreativitás. Nyitott magyar kultúra
sorozat. (Budapest: Áron, 2004), 143.
Judit Acsády 243
rights were introduced in Hungary only after the Second World War in
1945.
In searching for the reasons why the reform bills on women’s political
rights were rejected in the 1910’s, this article takes into consideration the
structure of society, outlines the political decision-making process, briefly
introduces the movements for voting rights and offers a close reading of
the debates in Parliament on reform bills to understand the delay of the
reforms. The period before the First World War is otherwise often referred
to as the ‘golden age’ of modernising and developing democratisation in
society with an upsurge of civil society movements before the First World
War. Thus it was to be expected that the petition about women's suffrage
in 1907 by the Association of Feminists (founded in Budapest in 1904 as
part of the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance) might be received
more positively than it was. The contemporary arguments of the
parliamentary debate provide an understanding of why and exactly how
the reform bills were rejected postponing the enactment of women's
political rights in Hungary.
The Hungarian Parliamentary System during

the Habsburg Monarchy
Hungary was part of the Habsburg Monarchy, being in so-called
personal union with Austria, meaning that it had a common ruler, the
Emperor, who was at the same time crowned as the king of Hungary. The
Habsburg Monarchy had a peculiar social and political structure3.
Politics was defined by the structure of the so-called dualist system.
Both Hungary and Austria had their identical Parliaments. The Hungarian
National Assembly held its sessions in Budapest. In matters of foreign
policy, finance and defence Hungary did not have the right to decide on
her own as there were ‘common ministries’ for these matters. Hungarian
national interests could not be expressed directly in the Monarchy's
imperial foreign policy.4
Society was characterized by a multi-national population of 35 million
with modernist and feudal values in great variety. The development of
capitalism fused the Monarchy into an economic unit even though the
population belonged to different nations and nationalities. 5
3
Ferenc Mucsi, Magyarország története 1890-1914. (Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó,
1978), 166.
4
István Diószegi, Hungarians in the Ballhausplatz. Studies on the Austro-
Hungarian Common Foreign Policy. (Budapest: Corvina, 1983), 7.
5
Diószegi 1983, 23.
244 The Debate on Parliamentary Reforms in Women’s suffrage in Hungary
After a period of political repression (1850’s-60’), following the failed

Hungarian revolution and war for independence in 1848-49, the
Compromise (1876) was signed with the Habsburg Emperor regulating the
connection of the two countries. Yet in Hungarian political life this
agreement was judged by contradictory perspectives. And the judgment of
the Compromise had a special significance in the formation of political
forces and in the content of the policies of the political parties. In fact in
party politics the main dividing line ran between those accepting and those
opposing the system of dualism, the regulated personal union with the
Habsburgs.6
When describing political parties in Hungary, it must be pointed out
that although these parties were named after the political trends of the era,
such as conservative, liberal, democratic, radical, socialist, labour, yet the
content of their philosophies was often different from what could have
been expected on the basis their names7. The basic issues and policies of
the different parties were not necessarily similar to those of the same name
in the western democracies. Even fifty years after the lost freedom war in
1848-9 and more than twenty after the Compromise made with the
Emperor in 1867, the dividing line between political forces in Hungary
was still their identical attitude towards the Habsburg ruler.The strongest
party in the National Assembly was the Liberal Party (Szabadelvű Párt,
formed in 1875). It followed the principles of the Compromise, that is, the
pact with the Habsburgs aiming to consolidate Hungary and Austria. The
Liberal Party was thus loyal to the Monarchy yet insisted on Hungary's
separate status within the frameworks of the Monarchy. It aimed at full
independence in home affairs (but accepted the remaining common issues
in foreign affairs and defence). Kálmán Tisza, (1830 – 1902) a prominent
politician of the age was the leader of this party, and became the prime
minister. The Liberal Party governed the country for three decades.
However, Kálmán Tisza had to resign in 1890 as a consequence of losing
his popularity. One of the reasons for his failure was his loyalty to the
Emperor Franz Joseph. The party faced a crisis and dissolved in 1906 to
reform in 1910 under the name National Labour Party. 8
The second strongest party supporting Tisza’s side was the National
Party, established by the Earl Apponyi in 1892.9 It was followed by the
Catholic People’s Party (Katolikus Néppárt), formed in 1895.
6
Diószegi 1983, 261.
7
8
Mucsi 1978, 53.
9
Mucsi 1978, 68.
Judit Acsády 245
Parties in the opposition were: the Independence Kossuth Party

(Függetlenségi Kossuth Párt), the 1848 Party, the Democratic Party
(Polgári Demokrata Párt) formed in 1901, and the Radical Party
(Radikális Párt) established later in 1914. The Social Democratic Party
had no seats in Parliament even though it had a relatively significant party
membership and some political influence.
The main feature of the Hungarian opposition parties was the non-
recognition of the Compromise, that is, the system of dualism. These
political forces refused this form of coexistence with the Habsburgs. The
opposition (led by the Independence Party) therefore did not accept the
coalition with the Habsburgs. The Independence and the ’48 Party
accepted only the idea of a common ruler, but wanted independent
ministries of defence, foreign affairs and finance.
The parties were very close, however, in their attachment to classical
liberal values, meaning for them mostly economic, political mercantilism.
The Moderates, (accepting the personal union), had an agrarian
programme.
Hungarian political life was mostly preoccupied with the constitutional
question: the principles of 1848, the Hungarian war of independence, or
those of 1867, the Compromise with the Habsburgs. Parliamentary
delegations (with members of the Habsburg delegations) met annually. In
these years political storms characterized the Hungarian parliamentary
democracy. In the National Assembly there had been a limiting of the
methods (e.g. obstruction) of the opposition, in November 1904.10 Because
of the difficulties and fierce conflicts in January 1905 the king dissolved
the National Assembly. A year later in 1906 after the elections in January
the Independence Party gained strength and became able to form the
government. This was followed by political upheavals in the country.
Ultimately a coalition government was formed and Sándor Wekerle,
(1848–1921) formerly minister of finance, was appointed prime minister,
mostly because of his loyalty.
Four years later, in 1910, the National Labour Party won the elections.
It placed the fight for universal suffrage at the centre of its activities and
sought allies among extra-parliamentary forces.11
At the time the ‘restrictions of voting rights greatly limited the
parliamentary activity’.12 Rights were defined by census; electors were
10
Sándor Balogh, Gergely Jenő, Izsák Lajos, Jakab Sándor, Pritz Pál & Romsics
Ignác eds Magyarország a XX. Században (Budapest: Kossuth, 1985), 20.
11
Diószegi, Hungarians in the Ballhausplatz. Studies on the Austro-Hungarian
Common Foreign Policy (Budapest: Corvina, 1983), 270.
12
qualified by property and education. The election law had been passed
back in 1848 as part of the social and political reforms. It granted suffrage
to men above the age 20 who were Hungarian residents having property or
education. The property requirements were the following: in towns having
a family house of at least three rooms, in rural areas: land of 32 Korona13
with an annual tax, or equivalent of 8-10 hold14 estate, (depending on the
region, as values of land varied) or an annual income over 1000 Korona
(500 forint) (traders, craftsmen etc). The alternative requirement was
higher education. Those who having no property but who were
intellectuals were given the right to vote (e.g. members of academy,
artists, scientists, professors, lawyers, priests, educators in nursery schools,
engineers, sergeants, pharmacists furthermore those holding a diploma in
agriculture and mining). Noblemen also had the right to vote. The titles
were hereditary or conferred by the rulers. Apprentices, servants and
domestic servants were excluded from voting rights.
Women’s Organisations and the Struggle

for the Right to Vote
The earliest documented petition about Hungarian women’s claim to
participate in political life was a Petition of 1790 in which noble women
expressed their wish to participate as passive observers at the National
Assembly.15 The petition was written in the name of ‘mothers’. The
reasoning for their participation was that being more informed and
knowledgeable about the main debates and issues they could be their
husbands’ partners in their efforts to work for the nation’s interests and
that as mothers they could educate their sons better in a patriotic manner.
Their claim was therefore not based on an individualistic argument but
they wanted to gain the rights to participate for the sake of the community,
the nation.
The movement for women’s education and participation in public life
became stronger from the mid-19th century. The movement was part of the
national struggle for independence and to a certain extent enjoyed the
support of Reform Party politicians, as the development in women’s
education was believed to contribute to the improvement of the Hungarian
national culture and the mother tongue. Associations and institutions were
13
Hungarian currency at the time.
14
Hold is a unit of measurement of lands. 1hold = 0,57 hectares or 1,42 English
acres.
15
’Az magyar anyáknak alázatos kérések..’ Bárány Péter, 1790.
Judit Acsády 247
formed. Such as the first secondary grammar school for girls founded by
Hermin Beniczky, Pálné Veres. This was also the time when Teréz Karacs
founded the first child care centre. The initiatives were mostly carried out
by women of the middle and upper classes.16
From the turn of the century on vocational schools and courses were
established for women (in the fields of e.g. sewing, teacher training, and
commerce: accountancy, book-keeping, clerical work, official
correspondence, etc). After completing these schools women were given
permission to work.
By that time 800 women's organisations were claimed to exist
throughout the country.17 Most of these were religious or charity groups
and traditional local women's clubs. Very few of the women’s groups
articulated political claims. The charity groups, like for example the first
reported women's organisation, the Women's Charity Organisation (Pesti
Jótékony Nőegylet), founded in 1817 in Pest did not challenge the
prevailing patriarchal values and gender roles.
The organisation of white-collar women workers, the National
Federation of Women Clerical Workers (Nőtisztviselők Országos
Szövetsége) was one of the earliest feminist initiatives. The Federation was
founded by Rózsa Schwimmer (who later became the leading figure of
feminism and pacifism in Hungary) in 1897. The organisation was
important to defend employed women’s interests by helping them with the
exchange of information and giving them moral support.18
In 1895 a law prepared by the Minister of Education was passed
allowing women to attend universities, yet not all faculties, and limiting
their rights to three faculties, that is: humanities, medicine and pharmacy19
The first proposal by an MP about women’s right to vote was
presented by István Majoros in July 1874.20 He recommended that
educated women should be given the vote. However, he stresses that
women’s traditional responsibilities should not be changed. At that time
16
On women’s movements for education see: Nagyné, Szegvári Katalin. A
nők művelődési jogaiért folytatott harc hazánkban 1777-1918 (Budapest:
Közgazdasági és Jogi Könyvkiadó, 1969).
17
See Gergely Janka, “A feminizmus története” Manuscript. Hungarian National
Archive. P999. 19.cs. 33.
18
See also earler publications on women’s movements: Acsády (2004, 2007)
19
Szegvári Katalin Nagyné,.Út a nők egyenjogúságához. (Budapest: Magyar Nők
Országos Tanácsa. Kossuth Könyvkiadó 1981), 133.
20
It was the debate of the 34th law.
there was hardly anyone in Parliament supporting the proposal for

women’s rights21, so the proposal was not accepted.
In 1903 the Social Democratic Party in its programme claimed
universal rights to vote both for women and men. The most significant
campaigner for suffrage rights, the Association of Feminists, was
established in 1904 in Budapest as the Hungarian section of the
International Women's Suffrage Alliance.22 The Association had local
groups in 28 towns all over the country. The feminists aimed to achieve
equality for women in every sphere of life as well as to guarantee the right
of women to work and ‘create nation-wide feminist clubs, running
discussions and public lectures, publishing books concerning feminism
and founding a journal’.23 They considered political rights a tool to
achieve equality. Their periodical, Nő és társadalom (Woman and Society)
which also included the bulletin of the National Federation of Women
Clerical Workers first came out in 1907 and was published regularly
(monthly) until the First World War. In 1914 the journal was renamed: A
Nő (The Woman) and appeared in a different layout with a change in the
emphasis of its content: primarily campaigning radically against the war.24
The Association considered itself independent of the political parties. Its
political language was rather different from the mainstream contemporary
politics in Hungary, preoccupied with the problems surrounding the
Compromise with the Habsburgs. The feminists did not explicitly take
sides in the debate in 1848 or 1867. However, the Association had its
supporters among diverse political circles. The few politicians and famous
personalities of contemporary public life who supported women's suffrage
were mostly connected to progressive circles. Among their allies we can
find the so-called ‘middle-class radicals’ (Polgári radikálisok) and
progressive intellectual groups who influenced the feminists and had firm
contact with them. As a result of this circle of democrats, the radicals and
intellectuals, led by a group of lawyers formulated the Men’s League for
Women’s Suffrage Rights in Budapest in 1911.
The significance of the Hungarian feminist movement can be
illustrated by the fact that in 1913 the seventh conference of the
21
Nagyné 1981, 137.
22
The activity of the Association has interested several researchers recently. See
the publications of: Ágnes Horváth, Katalin Nagyné Szegvári, Irén Elekes, Claudia
Papp, Andrea Pető, Zimmermann Susan, Judit Acsády
23
Tájékoztatás a Feministák Egyesületének czéljairól és munkatervéröl. (Budapest,
1905)
24
The author of this article has published articles earlier about the activities and
the values of the Feminist Association and their journal.
Judit Acsády 249
International Woman’s Suffrage Alliance was held in Budapest.25 As

expressed in that congress, the feminists hoped that once women had the
franchise it would save society from wars. Bédy-Schwimmer in her
articles back in 1912 had already drawn attention to the impending threat
of coming war.26 During the First World War Hungarian feminists took
pacifist initiatives. Among their numerous activities they campaigned,
helped war widows and ran an employment agency for women.27
Even though from their founding their organization on the feminists in
Hungary kept arguing for general rights to vote as a part of their political
program of women’s social emancipation, they faced a dilemma. As the
organisation was part of the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance it
had to accept its premises, claiming women’s rights have to be equal with
men’s rights in any given country. Therefore as men also had limited
rights in Hungary at the turn of the century, as a first step the suffragists’
claim had to be the claim for the same rights for women.28
Women’s Suffrage and the Debate on Electoral Bills

The first proposal, the first civil initiative by feminists to the legislative
power to extend suffrage rights for women was handed in to the National
Assembly in 1907.
The procedure of having any answer for the petition was rather slow.
This was partly due to the habitually lengthy debating process. It was very
long and complicated.
On 8th May 1907 the Feminist Association and the National Federation
of Women Clerical Workers submitted their proposal on women’s rights to
the National Assembly.29 It addressed the MPs in the following way:
25
The event is well documented in the daily papers, the monthly publication of the
feminists, Nő és a társadalom [Woman and Society], and can also be traced in the
archive material of the Association (correspondence, minutes of gatherings etc.) in
the Hungarian National Archive. MOL. P999. Feministák Egyesülete
26
Kereszty, Orsolya. “Bédy-Schwimmer Rózsa, a Nő és Társadalom szerkesztője”
In Házastárs? Munkatárs? Vetélytárs? A női szerepek változása a 20. Századi
Magyarországon edited by Mária Palasik & Balázs Sipos, 86-195. (Budapest:
Osiris, 2005), 191.
27
Judit Acsády. “In a Different Voice. Responses of Hungarian Feminism to the
First World War ” In The Women’s Movement in Wartime: International
Perspective 1914-1919, edited by Alison Fell and Ingrid Sharp (London: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2007), 105-123.
28
Nagyné Szegvári 1981, 87.
29
The leaflet was originally published in 1905. (see Primary Sources: Az
országyűlési…1905).
Dear House of Representatives! We believe the only just form of electoral

rights is universal rights. Therefore we apply to the House to introduce the
same rights for Hungarian women and men.30
The arguments of the petition were mostly based on the principles of

social justice. It assumed that women’s contribution to politics was in the
interest of all and society as a whole will benefit from women’s inclusion
into politics. In this sense their argument was similar to the petition of
Hungarian mothers of 1790.
Furthermore, the Feminists stated the following: those citizens who
have legal responsibilities and pay taxes also deserve rights in making
decisions. Equality of Hungarian citizens before the law has been
guaranteed since 1868, yet electoral rights are not given equally to
everyone.
The feminists believed - as it is expressed in the petition – ‘that the
exclusion of women from political rights was based on the prejudices of a
thousand years and it was unjust. It underestimated women and suggested
that they are not citizens of the same value as men. Men are found more
responsible and morally more trustworthy (by being given right to vote)
even if young, uneducated and without family responsibilities, or are ex-
criminals.’ Feminist also criticized the fact that 75% of men were still
without electoral rights.31
Again on the basis of the principle of social justice the Association
finds it unfair that: ‘men have had the privilege to run the affairs of state
so far. Women are capable of taking their part and showing another way of
running these affairs once they are given the chance’.
The petition presented a brief history of struggles for women’s rights,
starting with the example of England, from 1832, when the first proposal
on this matter was presented to the House of Commons in England, and
mentioning J. S. Mill. The petition referred to further supporters of
suffrage rights in different countries and states, such as New Zealand,
Wyoming, Colorado, Idaho, etc. where women already gained rights by
that time. They mentioned further examples of the extension of voting
rights: in Sweden, Norway and Iceland those women who paid taxes had
the right to vote. In Austria since 1873 women of the aristocracy with
large estates and above the age of 24 had had the right to vote.
30
Translated from the Hungarian original: Hitünk és meggyőződésünk szerint
igazságosan csakis az általános titkos választójog alapján szabályozható… a
magyar nőket a magyar férfiakkal mindenben egyenlő választójoggal felruházni
/méltóztassék/ Az országgyűlési választójognak a nőkre való kiterjesztése, 3.
31
Ibid., 8.
Judit Acsády 251
In the last part of the petition the feminists made an attempt to give
answers to the most common arguments against women’s suffrage.
The reconstruction of the process of the discussion of this reform bill
according to the minutes noted during the sessions of Parliament shows
that the debate and the voting were delayed for an extremely long period.
On 13 May 1907, a few days after the petition had been handed in, the
head of the committee responsible for the preparations of proposals for
parliamentary debates presented it to the National Assembly without
referring to the title or the content of this proposal. At the same time he
asked permission to print it (so that it could be available to all the
Members of Parliament for consideration).32 It was also suggested that
after the distribution, the proposal should be put on the agenda. The
speaker of the House confirmed the presentation and assured that proposal
No. 30 would be printed out, put on the agenda and be discussed.
Several months passed. On 6th July the official responsible in the
National Assembly read out the title of the proposal: ‘Proposals of the
National Federation of Women Clerical Workers and the Feminist
Association on the subject of the extension of suffrage rights for women.’
Yet, when the floor was given again to the head of the committee instead
of to the discussion itself, he suggested that at this point the proposal
should be handed to the Minister of Home Affairs personally and not
debated by the House in its present form. The suggestion was not justified
by referring to mistakes either of the form or the content of the petition.
No explanation was given.33 Thus the debate on suffrage rights was
postponed again for more than another year. In mid 1908 several
representatives urged the Minister, Gyula Andrássy to finalise the Bill on
the Reform on Electoral Rights and make it ready for the debate. He
excused himself and promised in May, that after the summer holidays in
the beginning of the autumn session of Parliament he would prepare the
petition. A large number of Members of Parliament loudly expressed their
consent to the delay of the debate. ‘Yes, we agree! That is right’- they
shouted.34 At the same session, a representative from the opposition was
booed by a large number of Members of Parliament when he questioned
the Minister’s responsibility about the unreformed electoral rights. He
reminded his fellow Members of Parliament about the excluded masses of
32
Az 1910 évi junius 21-ére hírdetett Országgyűlés képviselőházának naplója,
1907. IX, 103.
33
Országgyűlési Napló, 1907. XII, 50.
34
Országgyűlési Napló, 1908, 273.
voters in the country. Merely because he mentioned this several people

from the government side shouted loudly that he was a rebel.35
According to the testimony of the emotional expressions recorded in
the minutes it seems that very strong interests defended the old electoral
law, namely the exclusion of a large part of the adult population from
political rights. Also, the delaying of the process on the debate of the
proposal served the interests of those who wanted to delay or avoid
changes in the electoral system.
On 11th November 1908 at the same time as the long-awaited proposal
of Minister of Home Affairs, a group of 17 other representatives handed in
their own alternative proposals to reform the electoral rights. When the
Minister, Gyula Andrássy was about to present his proposal several
members of parliament jumped up from their seats and made noises and
loud insinuating remarks.
‘Hereby I present my principles concerning electoral rights…’- the
Minister, Andrássy started his speech, but could not finish his sentence
because he was suddenly interrupted by an ironic voice from the seats of
representatives of the opposition. A few minutes later when the Minister
was about to explain the details of his proposal his words could hardly be
heard according to the keeper of the minutes of the parliamentary session.
The speaker had to ring his bell to silence the representatives.36
Finally when the Minister, Andrássy was able to resume his speech, he
argued that individual political rights and the general interest of the nation
were in contrast. He stated that it was not in the interest of the political
power to extend the rights as it might be against the nation’s interest as a
whole. He considered universal suffrage rights to be utopia. According to
Andrássy, society must be saved from extremists (i.e. socialists) and
unpatriotic elements (the representatives of ethnic minorities, or different
nationalities) who might win a majority in the National Assembly if
electoral rights were granted to the masses. Again, he stressed that it was
not in the interest of the nation.
The Minister’s vehement argumentation against the extension of
political rights was followed by shouting in the House of Representatives.
He was called feudalistic and absolutistic by the members of the
opposition. 37
However, Andrássy continued his speech by stating that democratic
practices were missing from the Hungarian population (being backward
economically and socially mostly because of earlier wars and defeats).
35
Országgyűlési Napló, 1908, 274.
36
Országgyűlési Napló 1908 XXI, 31.
37
Országgyűlési Napló 1908 XXI, 31-2.
Judit Acsády 253
People were not educated; it would be risky to give electoral rights to

ignorant people. (He argued that illiterate people should not have political
rights, and nor should those who do not speak/write/read Hungarian).
These people should be represented by someone else.
At the end of the session the Speaker proposed that the Andrássy bill
be copied in the customary way and distributed among the representatives
for further debate.
The Andrássy Reform Bill in its final form in did not become very
popular even though it was so long in the preparatory stage. It was not
constructed on the notion of universal suffrage but on eligibility. (It
proposed that all literate men above the age of 24, those above the age of
32 or having three children, who had completed secondary education and
who paid a certain amount of tax be given two votes.) Therefore it was
already unacceptable to those proposing universal rights. The bill was not
supported by many and thus it was dropped from the agenda of the
Parliament.
Besides submitting their petition to the National Assembly the
feminists tried other methods of agitation, too. In 1906 they had
distributed posters and spread leaflets all over the country, as Rózsa
Schwimmer reported at the International Suffrage Conference in the
Hague in 1906.38 In October 1907 in one of the largest city halls, the
‘Vigadó’ in Budapest, a crowd of 6000 turned up to join the public
meeting organized by the Feminist Association about suffrage rights.
Thousands of women from different social classes followed their street
demonstrations in 1907 and 1910. In 1913 the 7th Conference of the
International Suffrage Alliance was held in Budapest. The best known
suffragettes from all over the world attended. The conference received
extensive media coverage by the Hungarian press. The issue of women’s
rights to vote seemed to become better known and accepted by the public.
Yet in Parliament this issue was not on the table again for a long time.
Initiatives during the War

Ever since the beginning of the First World War the Feminist
Association in Budapest expressed a pacifist point of view. Besides the
social work to help victims of war, widows and orphans, they kept
campaigning for peace and stressed the importance of women’s political
rights.
38
Rózsa Schwimmer, Hungary. Report prepared and read by Rosika Schwimmer,
delagate, Feministák Egyesülete.” (Copenhagen: Third International Suffrage
Conference, 1906), 85-87.
The question of women’s suffrage received a new context in the war.

In their journal, A Nő (The Woman) the Association presented the idea
that women’s suffrage could be an instrument to reduce militarism, make
governments stop the war and avoid violent international conflicts in the
future’39. This point of view was shared by the MP, Sándor Giesswien40,
yet anti-war efforts were very weak in Hungarian political life at that time.
In his speech of 9th Dec 1915, Giesswien suggested reforming the election
law by diminishing discrimination against women41 and even though some
of the Members of Parliament agreed with the suffragist point of view, the
attempts to pass the Reform Bill on the election law were again refused by
the Hungarian parliament.
In the third year of the war, in 1917, a Suffrage Block (Választójogi
Blokk) was formed of the representatives of two parliamentary parties, the
Independence and ’48 Party led by Mihály Károlyi and the Radical
Party.42 They were supported mostly by progressive intellectuals from the
middle class and aristocracy. The Suffrage Block also included extra-
parliamentary forces, several social groups besides the feminists. In
foreign policy it aimed to work for the ending of the war and make an
earliest possible peace, while in home affairs it proposed reforms in the
country, including the extension of electoral rights.
In July 1918 the Assembly was again approached and the question as
to when women’s rights would be discussed and reforms were urged by
representatives.43
Following this request several reform bills were brought to discussion.
One of these was presented by Vilmos Vázsonyi, who was in favour of
extending rights but connecting these to education or marital status. In
fact, he developed his proposal in the sense that women’s rights should be
similar to men’s with the same restrictions.44 Calculations started among
the members of the National Assembly. According to the contemporary
statistics about 260,000 or 300,000 women could have gained the right to
vote depending on which version was accepted.45 However, the question
39
Acsády 2007, 105-123.
40
Giesswien, Sándor was a priest and a politician, representing the Christian-
socialist point of view. He supported ’moderate’ feminisms and for example
expressed in his article: "Pacifizmus és feminizmus" (Pacifism and feminism) A
Nő (The woman. Feminist journal) Vol. I. 1914./10, 198.
41
42
43
Az 1918 évi július 12-ére hírdetett Országgyűlés képviselőházának naplója, 166
44
In this sense Vázsonyi proposal was similar to the IWSA point of view.
45
Judit Acsády 255
was from which social class the potential voters would be from and which
party would these women vote for. Obviously none of the parties wanted
to diminish their own support.
The same year the Feminist Association announced a new campaign
with public meetings, demonstrations, pamphleteering, petitions and
personal lobbying of politicians from different parties.
As both foreign and domestic pressure from democratic forces urged it,
suffrage was discussed again. In July 1918 the prime minister Sándor
Wekerle, announced his own proposal agreeing in theory with women’s
right to vote, yet with conditions regarding education, wealth, marital
status and employment. In the debate when another representative was
given the floor, he referred to the feminists’ petitions that filled him with
anger and said that their point of view was unacceptable, yet, he claimed
that women’s right to vote must be accepted but only with restrictions. 46
Later in the debate those who supported women’s rights based their
argument on the assumption that women’s inclusion in political rights
would promote their charity and social work.
Among the concerns, besides the practical calculations as to which
party would gain and which would lose seats in Parliament, there were
concerns of family affairs. ‘What if husband and wife vote for different
parties? Politics should not be a source of marital conflicts.’47 Others were
likewise concerned that women might easily fall victims of agitation (like
pacifism) and therefore it was not a good idea to give them the vote. The
concluding argument was the following: ‘electoral rights are not the innate
rights of individuals. Legislation can confer them on those who merit such
rights to practice their rights and responsibilities’.
Finally after the debate when the question was put to the final vote,
233 representatives out of the total number of 410 did not vote, which
shows that less than half of them were present in the National Assembly
that day. By those who were present all modifications of the election bill
were rejected. At the end of the vote the Chair announced: ‘… the
Assembly has rejected all proposals concerning women’s rights to vote’.48
Conclusion
The initiatives for the reform of electoral rights failed even though the
debate in the Hungarian Parliament went on for more than a decade. The
case of women’s suffrage at that time could not be separated from the
46
Az 1918 évi július 12-ére hírdetett Országgyűlés képviselőházának naplója, 492.
47
48
issue of the extension of men’s rights. As these rights had been rather
limited at the turn of the century, being last regulated in 1848, the
introduction of universal suffrage would have enlarged the electorate by
almost 9/10. This was the main concern of the political decision-makers in
the National Assembly. It seems the good cause of universal suffrage
rights extended to both men and women was for a long time subject to
calculations and party politics of those aiming to stay in power and not
lose official positions and Parliamentary seats.
In 1908 after the first petition had been presented by the suffragettes,
the arguments in it were not even discussed in depth. Later, when towards
the end of the war in 1917 and in 1918 more political forces were
interested in the extension of rights the issue was paid more attention in
the National Assembly. Several reform bills were presented for discussion.
During the debates representatives mobilized the ideological and
stereotypical arguments of the age about gender roles, about women’s and
men’s responsibilities in society and private life. After the detailed debate
it seemed that most of the representatives were in favour of the reform and
were convinced that these changes became inavitable. Yet, they voted
against, mostly as a result of their political loyalty. The representatives
were bearing in mind their own practical personal interests and bare
calculations about how their Party’s and their own seats might be
threatened by the possible changes of the electoral system.
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THE STRUGGLE FOR WOMEN’S POLITICAL
RIGHTS IN MODERN ROMANIA:
THE CRYSTALLISATION OF FEMINIST
MOVEMENT AND THE CONSTITUTIONAL
DEBATES
MARIA NICOLETA TURLIUC

AND CATALIN TURLIUC
Preliminary Considerations
The right to vote was, in the opinion of early feminists everywhere, the
essential prerequisite for all other rights and symbolic for most of their
demands. At the time, it was thought that participation in political life
would become the panacea for women’s most legitimate demands and
most cherished hopes concerning social life as a whole. ‘The women’s
movement for free development,’ a Romanian feminist leader of the age
pointed out, ‘cannot be conceived without their participation in leadership
that would allow them to decide on their own norms of life. This
movement, barely shaped before the First World War, is decisively
constituted through the militarist cataclysm of the 20th century this war
brought about. Woman frees herself, woman triumphs.’1 At the same time,
national revolutions and accelerating tendencies towards democracy
fostered the political emancipation of women. In Romania literate women
were granted political rights since 1938, and it was only after 1948 that all
women were allowed to vote.
The aim of the present paper is to offer a comprehensive image of the
struggle of the Romanian women in order to achieve full civil and political
rights and representation. We focused our research on the parliamentary
1
Calypso Botez.”Problema feminismului. O sistematizare a elementelor ei.” In
Arhiva pentru ştiinţă şi reformă socială, Anul II, nr. 1-3, Aprilie-Octombrie,
Bucureşti, p. 26, 1920.
260 The Struggle for Women’s Political Rights in Modern Romania
debates and constitutional reforms during the late 19th century and the
first half of the 20th century. We have underlined the fact that the
Romanian case was strongly connected with the ‘Latin model’. It is also
our intention to present the main events concerning the Romanian feminist
movement during the above-mentioned period which is less known to
foreign audience.
The time lag among various European states was mentioned in order to
identify some plausible explanations as to why women gained political
rights. According to Mariette Sineau, there are two models in the civil and
political emancipation of women: the Anglo-American and the Latin
model. The determining factors of the first model are: 1. the religious
tradition (mainly Protestant/ Lutheran ethics that favoured the individual
will for protection and emancipation), 2. the legal peculiarities (obedience
to the law was regarded not only as a fact of life, but also as a means to
solve conflicts; the private and moral life were less affected in countries
that did not apply the Napoleonic Code) and 3. early industrialisation
(especially in the Anglo-American and northern countries) favouring the
massive access of women to the labour market. In a similar manner, the
countries that adopted the same model granted women the right to vote
shortly after the generalisation of the law referring to men. Consequently,
such nations witnessed an important progress of civil rights in comparison
to the states that adopted the other model.
The states subscribing to the Latin model granted political rights to
women significantly later after the adoption of universal suffrage. A
typical example is France, the first country in the world to allow men the
right to vote, but one of last European countries to grant the same right to
women. Religious, judicial and economic factors are also most important
in describing the second pattern. In many countries subscribing to the
Latin model, the Catholic or the Russian-Orthodox religion contributed
greatly to the subordination of women. According to the Napoleonic Code
adopted by many countries, the status of women was similar to that of
minors and the alienated, who found themselves in a state of economic
dependence. The nations subscribing to this model had a strong
agricultural economy and the rural environment was extremely patriarchal
and conservative. It is often said that the feminist movement was feeble in
such countries and characterised by feminist ingredients rather than
authentic feminist elements. Even if the above-mentioned assertion is an
exaggeration, the repeated failure to achieve the right to vote is due to the
weak cohesion of the feminist movement coupled with the excessive
orientation towards the social sphere to the detriment of political
emancipation.
Maria Nicoleta Turliuc and Catalin Turliuc 261
Romania is clearly included in the Latin model, not only regarding the
chronology of the process but also other specific elements. However, as
we shall describe, the history of civil rights granted to Romanian women
includes many moments and actions perfectly synchronized with the
Anglo-American and Nordic model. For instance, in 1867, J. Stuart Mill
was the first British Member of Parliament to advocate women’s right to
vote, even if his petition was rejected. One year before that, the Romanian
writer Cezar Bolliac defended the same idea in the Romanian Parliament,
but the legislative institution decided to stall the decision. The missing part
was not the want of the petitionary or lobbying activity of Romanian
feminists, nor the emergence of the feminist movement, the lack of
affiliation to international circles, or the absence of conferences and
publications promoting the dissemination of feminist ideas and the
emancipation of women, but rather the political will to support the idea.
In our paper, we will outline some of the aspects that characterized the
stages of the struggle for the complete civil and political emancipation of
women in Romania. The time period analysed includes the first years of
this movement, focusing on the debates generated by the adoption of the
constitutions of 1866, 1923, and 1938.
The Debates around the 1866 Constitution

The issue of women’s political rights came into existence in Romania
in the second half of the 19th century, being related to the process of
modernization. It was not, however, the main goal of active women, who
were more interested in education and civil and economic emancipation of
the Romanian female population. The issue of electoral rights gradually
appeared in the 1860s and became more prominent in the feminist
publications and conferences of the 1880s2. At that time, as in any other
country, the period of ideological debates preceded the organisation of the
feminist movement (from the 1880s to the first decades of the 20th
century).
The Romanian Civil Code adopted on 1 December 1865, underlined
the civil, economic and political inequalities between women and men.
The conservative stipulations of this Napoleonic-like code offended
women’s dignity, freedom and property. They represent, in fact, the
reasons behind Romanian women’s strong inclination to change their civil
and economic status. Article 195 of the Code proclaimed the legal
2
Ghizela Cosma. Femeile şi politica în România. Evoluţia dreptului de vot în
perioada interbelică. (Cluj Napoca: Presa Universitară Clujeană, 2002), 14.
incompetence of a married woman, and Article 950 included her among

the impaired. In other words, women had a status similar to that of
children and the insane. A married woman did not have the right to sign
contracts or to appear in court without the prior consent of the husband. If
she married a stranger, she would lose her nationality. Moreover,
establishing paternity was forbidden (Article 307); the procedure was only
allowed in exceptional situations. According to dowry regulations settled
before marriage (the alternatives being the common regime and the
separation of goods), the husband had the right to use the dowry without
the freedom to sell it; he could not dispense of it without the consent of his
wife. This is how a feminist militant summarized the situation:
We, Romanian women… according to the Napoleonic Code which rules us,
are placed… among children, minors, insane people and idiots. We cannot
manage our goods, we cannot sign any paper without our husbands’
authorisation, we cannot raise our children the way we want to, we cannot use
anything in our household at will, for the law assumes that in the house where
there is a man, everything belongs to him. In other words, a woman can only
move at the magic wand of marital authority3.
In the case of the Romanian Civil Code adopted on the 1 December

1865 and of the electoral law enacted on the 23 July the same year, the
debate over political rights for women was treated as a secondary issue in
the wider context of universal suffrage vehemently called for by the
Liberals, especially the more radical ones. The matter did not, therefore,
receive due attention in the debates around the new election system to be
consecrated at that time, yet it was present in the public eye, as proven by
the brochure4 signed by Ion Heliade Rădulescu5 and published at the time.
The former revolutionary therein expressed his disapproval of the proposal
made by Cezar Bolliac, who supported the right to vote irrespective of
class, wealth or sex discrimination. Obviously, Bolliac’s opinion, harshly
criticised by Heliade Rădulescu and labelled as exaggeration, Utopia and
“Bolliacism”, did not enjoy the support of the majority of the other
Liberals, who wanted a unicameral parliament, the considerable expansion
of the right to vote, and even a single electoral college6. Heliade Rădulescu
expressed his opinion on the women’s right to vote as follows:
3
Calypso Botez. Problema drepturilor femeii române. 2nd Ed., Bucureşti, 1919.
4
Ion Heliade Rădulescu. Vot şi răsvot. Bucureşti, 1866.
5
Ion Heliade Rădulescu was a very important political figure during the Romanian
Revolution of 1848 and also a well known writer and publicist.
6
See, Istoria parlamentului şi a vieţii parlamentare din România. (Bucureşti:
Editura Academiei, 1983), 154-161.
Later, women as wives or spouses, not subject to men, will be called to

vote since even in our days many sparing mothers, many wise wives… are
worthier than some prodigal, vicious men… but at other times, other
manners and other costumes7.
The Conservatives, who held the majority in the constitutional

assembly, openly expressed their concerns that expanding the right to vote
– confined at the time to a few tens of thousands of the Romanian
population of over five million – would lead to ‘the paralysis or the
annihilation of the vote of the intelligent and educated classes’, and would
generate a kind of progress ‘by fits and starts’, so that the issue of a
possible vote for women, even educated ones, was not even taken into
consideration8. Neither the Constitution nor the election law would then
sanction the right to vote for women in Romania and would practically
exclude the vast majority of Romanian society from the political decision-
making process.
The Issue of Political Rights for Women

between 1866 and 1923
Underlying the emergence and formation of the feminist movement,
the activity for the emancipation of women gathered more and more
support. It is only fair to mention that in 1866 there was no women’s
association or organisation that could demand civil, economic or political
rights, and Romanian society was still at the beginning of the long road to
modernisation and democratization. Nevertheless, insofar as a more active
presence of women in the country’s social, cultural and economic life is
concerned, it is worth noting that in 1886 the Reuniunea Femeilor Române
(Reunion of Romanian Women) was born, in Iaşi. This organisation was
to found the first technical school for girls in Moldavia. The initiator of
this association was Cornelia Emilian, the wife of university professor
Ştefan Emilian. She would transform and rename her organisation the Liga
Femeilor Române (League of Romanian Women), in 1894. Consequently,
the pioneering action that enlarged the feminist goals of the association
came into being. However, Romanian society did not seem prepared to
accept such a programme. The League’s attempts to expand its territorial
influence were not supported by the appropriate actions that would have
led to the creation of subsidiaries.
7
Ion Heliade Rădulescu. op.cit.
8
See, Alexandru Popovici. Dezbaterile Adunării constituante din 1866 asupra
constituţie şi legii electorale. Bucureşti, 1883.
The League and its publication Buletinul Ligei (The League’s Bulletin)
would function for two years and would be extremely active9. Thus, in the
very year it was founded, the League requested that the legislative bodies
legalize some rights and especially the one referring to the acknowledgment
of paternity10. Parliament rejected all the requests submitted by the league,
but the association still gave the first notable signal in the fight for
women’s emancipation in Romania.
Even earlier, in June 1876, the issue of women’s right to vote would be
incidentally revisited by the legislative bodies on the occasion of a
polemic discussion between Gheorghe Mârzescu and Dumitru Petrino, the
latter supporting women’s political emancipation. This parliamentary
episode was widely related by Iacob Negruzzi11. The issue of votes for
women was taken up again in 1882 by Alexandru Lahovari. He claimed
that universal suffrage could not be adequately enacted in any country as
long as women were not granted such a prerogative12.
The constitutional changes of 1884 made way for the debate on
women’s political rights. Sixteen deputies signed a motion to grant the
right to vote to unmarried women and widows, who could be included in
any of the three electoral colleges recommended by the law. Considering
that at the time the Romanian legislation on voting was based on eligibility
(and, thus, a vast part of the male population was also excluded from the
vote) the proposal was rejected and regarded as more of a joke13.
During the parliamentary activity of the late 19th century, personalities
such as Gheorghe Panu, Constantin Dobrescu-Argeş or the socialist
Gheorghe Morţun frequently broached the idea of universal suffrage14, but
without explicitly mentioning its extension to women. This only shows the
stage at which Romanian society was in terms of its sensitivity and
amenability to the demands expressed – albeit tentatively – by women.
At the beginning of the 20th century, the promotion of women’s
interests concerning civil and political emancipation intensified against the
9
Calypso Botez. „Problema feminismului. O sistematizare a elementelor ei.” In
Bucureşti, 1920, 79.
10
See, Petre Moşoiu. Emanciparea femeii. Bucureşti, 1899.
11
Iacob Negruzzi. „Amintiri din Junimea.”, In Convorbiri Literare, Nr. 6, Iunie,
1919.
12
Paraschiva Câncea. Mişcarea pentru emanciparea femeii în România. 1848-
1948 (Bucureşti: Editura Politică, 1976) , 55.
13
Ibidem, 55.
14
Istoria parlamentului şi a vieţii parlamentare din România (Editura Academiei,
Bucureşti, 1983), 324-326.
background of the movements for emancipation in other countries and of

the even wider expansion of socialist and egalitarian doctrines popular at
the time. The women’s fight for suffrage was no longer regarded as a mere
‘intellectual joke’ or an ‘insurrection’15. During the first decade of the 20th
century in the United States of America the International Women Suffrage
Alliance was founded, and in 1908 the International Council of Women
was created – joined in 1921 by the National Council of the Women of
Romania.16
A prominent example of the lasting cooperation with western feminists
is Eugenia Ianculescu de Reuss, a Romanian member of the Union des
Femmes in Paris. In a series of conferences held in various towns in
Romania, she constantly pursued feminist ideas, and in 1911 founded the
association called Emanciparea Femeii (The Woman’s Emancipation)
which, in 1913, became Drepturile Femeii (The Woman’s Rights). The
members of the association were both women and men, and the magazine
of the same name, Drepturile Femeii (The Woman’s Rights), upheld the
development and diffusion of feminist ideals and women’s emancipation.
The association led by Ianculescu de Reuss joined the International
Women Suffrage Alliance in 1913. In the memoir addressed to the
Romanian Parliament in 1914, the feminist organisation demanded civil
and political rights for women. Later on, the society’s name was further
changed to Liga Drepturilor si Datoriilor Femeii17 (The League for
Woman’s Rights and Responsibilities).
The efforts for the organisation of the feminist movement became
better focused in the summer of 1918, when the Association for the Civil
and Political Emancipation of Romanian Women came into being in the
auditorium of the Alexandru Ioan Cuza University of Iasi. The Association
created a network of branches in the country (Braşov, Sibiu, Cernăuţi,
Chişinău, Piatra Neamţ etc.) and became very influential by means of a
three-monthly Bulletin as well as through the support offered to its
programme by prestigious public figures such as Nicolae Iorga18, Vasile
15
See, Th. Jourdan. Suffrage des Femmes. Paris, 1913.
16
Among the early 20th century memorable characters of Romanian feminism we
should mention Tereza Strãtilescu, Eugenia Ianculescu de Reuss, Ella Negruzzi,
Calypso Botez, Sarmisa Bilcescu, Elena Meissner, Elena Popovici, Maria Pop,
Alexandrina Cantacuzino etc.
17
Victoria Şoiculescu. „Liga Drepturilor şi datoriilor femeilor (1911-1950).” In
Revista Arhivelor, 48, nr. 4, 1971, 556-557.
18
One of the greatest Romanian historians and also a significant political figure.
Goldiş19, I.G. Duca20 and others. Support to the association and its
practical action was also publicly provided by Queen Maria on the
occasion of an audience granted to the steering board of the association on
the 18th of July 191821. The feminist movement in our country was
likewise encouraged by the fact that in some European countries women
had obtained the right to vote even before the First World War.
At the peak of the First World War, in 1917, Parliament, and the
following year, the government received petitions in which the women’s
organisations demanded full civil equality between men and women. The
outcome came soon. Senator Constantin Nacu drew up a law proposal to
that effect. However, this was not debated because of the serious national
issues that took precedence over anything else in those days. Under the
Alexandru Marghiloman government of 1918, women in Romania
received, for the first time, the right to vote by means of the law initiated
by Simion Mehedinţi22 regarding the organisation of the educational
system and the Committee of School Ephors23. Yet, the laws adopted by
this government were later abolished. In 1920, Ana Conta-Kernbach also
called for political rights for certain categories of women in a petition to
the Parliament.
Romania followed the general European trend from the point of view
of complete civil and political emancipation of women while the First
World War fully proved the role and importance they had in both the
private and public spheres. One of the long-term consequences of the First
World War was an increased ‘visibility’ of women in modern societies,
their relatively rapid access to public life. In this context, a parliamentary
commission within the Assembly developed a project for an election law
which included the women’s right to vote, on the initiative of the Vaida
Voevod government in 1919. Unfortunately, Parliament was dissolved and
obviously the project was no longer discussed. The debate and adoption of
an electoral law that would ensure women’s right to vote was all the more
necessary as the Alba Iulia Assembly on the 1st of December, 1918 had
19
He was one of the most important political leaders of the Romanians living in
Transylvania.
20
Journalist, publicist and ideologist of Romanian Liberalism. He was minister and
prime minister in 1933.
21
Calypso Botez. „Femeia româncă şi reforma socială.” In Acţiunea feministă, nr.
6, 1919.
22
Famous geographer, politician, Minister of Education in 1918.
23
Calypso Botez. „Problema feminismului. O sistematizare a elementelor ei.” In
Bucureşti, 1920, 83.
decided on full civil and political equality for women, which was
henceforth an important point on the agenda of the National Romanian
Party. The same thing, namely women’s right to vote, had been decided on
in Bessarabia shortly before its union with the mother land. In the spring
of 1919, by a decree passed on May 22nd, the Vaida Voevod government
admitted women onto communal interim committees.
Discussion on the presence of women in Romanian political life, even
if only at a communal level, was resumed by Parliament in July 1921
during the administrative reform initiated by the Averescu government.
The legislation granted, in agreement with the above-mentioned decree,
women’s right to vote in communal elections. During debates, there were
suggestions about the extension of this right to county elections, too. We
will illustrate such a situation by a fragment from a speech delivered by
Senator Alexandrescu who underlined the fact that: ‘In all countries where
constitutions grant women moral capacity and dignity, family and civic
virtues, individual and civil liberties have flourished as in fertile land.’24
Other senators, however, who unfortunately formed the majority, openly
expressed their opposition to women’s suffrage under the pretext of
protecting them, as can be seen from the following statement: ‘In this
matter, the right to vote cannot be discussed as you want it… This is a
matter of the heart… it means dragging our women from the sanctuary of
our families into public life. Leave our wives at home; don’t bring them
into the gutter of politics.’25 The result of the debate was that women did
not get the right to vote in county council elections.
A remarkable opportunity to state the requirements concerning the civil
and political emancipation of women was offered by the debates organised
by the Romanian Social Institute under the chairmanship of Dimitrie Gusti
regarding the new constitution, a first priority for reunited Romania. Thus,
besides the presentation made by the feminist leader Calypso C. Botez26, a
genuine plea for women’s rights in Romania to which we will return later,
we would like to quote the socialist G. Grigorovici who said: ‘Women
must therefore have the same political rights as men, since they are part of
the nation, too. In all the states where the women’s right to vote has been
adopted, for instance in the states that make up the American federation, in
the Scandinavian states, everywhere the results have been very good,
especially in social assistance issues, child care and in fighting alcoholism,
24
Monitorul Oficial, 10 Iulie, 1921.
25
Apud Calypso Botez. Problema drepturilor femeii române. 2nd Ed., Bucureşti,
1919, 127.
26
One of the most active Romanian feminists, member of the Romanian Social
Institute and also member of the National Peasant Party.
where the results have been remarkable… The Romanian man is,
unfortunately, too close to the Orient and does not see in a woman the
element that she actually is in human society.’27 Beyond the scarcity of the
arguments used by Grigorovici and his rather strange insistence on the role
of women in fighting alcoholism, his conclusion is that we cannot speak
about a democratic constitution in the absence of women’s right to vote. A
similar view was expressed by Grigore Iunian who said: ‘We cannot,
however, accept the perpetuation of the inequality of sexes. The future
Constitution will have to acknowledge complete equality in civil and
political rights, irrespective of sex...’28 In his lecture entitled The
Principles of the New Constitution, Romul Boilă stated for his part: ‘By
the participation of women in the design and implementation of the will of
the state, we shall create opportunities for women to bring their
contribution to national life, in matters of social and political importance.
Apart from the numerous reasons we know mainly from the feminist
movements, in promoting our proposal for the future electoral system, we
mostly rely on the living national conscience of women who, in the
regions across the Carpathians, had an important role in preserving the
national spirit and who, we are certain, will also have a part in the reunited
Romanian state.’29 Other personalities who expressed their opinion on the
new Constitution and its new shape in lectures organised by the Romanian
Social Institute avoided the issue of the women’s suffrage or, as is the case
of A.D. Xenopol, opposed it.30
Calypso C. Botez sums up the role and place of women in Romanian
society at the beginning of the inter-war period by stating that:
In the field of social work, private initiative belongs exclusively to women.

Thus, in social assistance, all the societies of mutual maternity support,
schools for nurses, homes for orphans and old people, etc. were founded by
women. Some women, recently assembled in a housewives’ club
27
Gheorghe Grigorovici. “Constituţia sovietică şi constituţia democratică.” In
Constituţia din 1923 în dezbaterea contemporanilor, (Bucureşti: Editura
Humanitas, 1990), 111-112.
28
Grigore Iunian. “Abuzurile de autoritate şi garanţiile cetăţeneşti.” In Constituţia
din 1923 în dezbaterea contemporanilor, (Bucureşti: Editura Humanitas, 1990),
503-504.
29
Romul Boilă. “Principiile noii Constituţii.” In Constituţia din 1923 în
dezbaterea contemporanilor, (Bucureşti: Editura Humanitas, 1990), 555.
30
A.D. Xenopol. “Dreptul de vot şi reprezentarea minorităţilor.” In Constituţia din
1923 în dezbaterea contemporanilor, (Bucureşti: Editura Humanitas, 1990), 206-
240.
recognised by law as a juridical person, have been setting up everywhere

dispensaries for young children, weaving schools, trade cooperatives,
home-based businesses, schools supported by the women’s private
initiative, such as high schools for girls, technical schools created before
similar state schools, primary schools, kindergartens, the school for
secretaries of the National Council, etc., they have results without which
the state would be disarmed.”31
This passionate plea for the inclusion of women’s rights in the new
Constitution concluded:
…we demand today that the Romanian legislator includes full rights for
women in the Constitution, so that our national life may gather the great
momentum of egalitarian democracies.32
It is well known that neither in Romania nor in other European

countries were the full rights of women – to use the formula of the time –
easily won. In our case, the Liberal Constitutional Assembly that resulted
from the 1922 elections decided not to introduce women’s right to vote in
the Constitution adopted in 1923 although, paradoxically, Article 160 of
the project for the constitution elaborated by the Liberals stipulated the
possibility of granting full political rights for women in a special law, as
well as full civil equality of rights between sexes (art. 147). In its final
form, in the text of the 1923 Constitution, article 61 stated that ‘The
electoral law establishes all the conditions required from the one who
votes for the Deputies’ Assembly and the Senate, the incapacities and
ignominies, as well as the electoral procedure.’
Women’s Political Emancipation between 1923 and 1938

The unification of the Romanian principalities and the 1917-1923
reforms strengthened Romania’s position in Europe as the eighth largest
country on the continent and having the second largest population in
central Europe. After the 1921 agrarian reform, one the most drastic of the
time, the great land ownership – a major setback for the economic
progress of the country – disappeared. Although it was, even before the
First World War, a major exporter of grain, Romania became the
cultivation of larger and larger fields despite the reduced use of (relatively)
31
Calypso Botez. Problema drepturilor femeii române. 2nd Ed., (Bucureşti, 1919),
135.
32
Ibidem, 142.
advanced technology. Nevertheless, Romanian industrialization was

among the fastest, mainly after the crisis of 1929-1933. The most
significant growth rates were recorded in the chemical, metallurgic,
construction materials, textile and energy industries. Transport and
telecommunications grew according to the new requirements and both the
internal market and foreign trade developed. Due to the rapid pace of
industrialization, Romania became an agro-industrial state defined by the
contrasts inherent in the process of modernization and reorganization.
According to the average individual income, Romania was above Greece,
Turkey, Portugal and Bulgaria33.
This dynamic background favoured, between 1923 and 1938, the
expansion and maturing of the Romanian feminist movement. On the one
hand, the former feminist organisations were re-established and expanded
in all Romanian provinces, and on the other, new societies and
organisations were founded on firm regulations and programmes. The
growing importance of the feminist movement came as a direct
consequence of women’s involvement in the social changes affecting the
country. Similarly, the connections with feminist associations in Western
Europe and around the world were increasingly strengthened.
The women who had studied and travelled abroad, who had become
familiar with the mentalities of European countries and who had artistic
and intellectual interests became, after 1923, the promoters of the
systematic, formal emancipation of women. Eugenia Ianculescu de Reuss,
the leader of the Liga Drepturilor si Datoriilor Femeii (League for
Women’s Rights and Duties) addressed the following appeal to Romanian
women in the Drepturile Femeii (Women’s Rights) publication of
November 12th, 1924: ‘Don’t just sit there, nor get discouraged at the first
encounter. Get to work, with a programme, strong will and determination.
In solidarity, let us protect the weak. In solidarity, let us leave aside envy,
slander and hatred.’ Elena Văcărescu, another famous Romanian woman,
fought for the cause of women at the League of Nations as a member of
the Romanian delegation. Under the chair of Alexandra Cantacuzino the
‘Woman’s House’ was set up. It had a library, a conference hall, a festival
hall and it offered free legal counselling and medical examinations to
women with financial difficulties or having no income. Political meetings,
conferences, press articles, the activity in Bucharest and elsewhere in the
country, national congresses where well-known feminists from abroad
33
Ştefania Mihăilescu. Din istoria feminismului românesc. Studiu şi antologie de
texte (1929-1948) (Iaşi: Polirom, 2006), 16.
were invited, participation in international conferences, all of them finally

resulted in securing civil rights for women.
Despite the stall of integral political rights, the 1923 Constitution
stated as a principle the women’s right to be co-opted in district and
communal councils. Around the time the law for the administrative
unification was adopted, the feminist front for suffrage consolidated its
efforts and published, under the name of Alexandrina Cantacuzino, the
amendments to the legislative project. It was requested for women to be
eligible and elected in urban and rural councils, on condition that they
knew how to read and write. Unfortunately, the Law for Administrative
Unification, passed on 14 June, 1925, did not comply with the demands,
but only specified the conditions regarding the appointment of women in
local councils. Consequently, the rightfully elected councillors convened
by the mayor co-opted up to 7 women for the municipalities with more
than 250,000 inhabitants and up to 2 women for the municipalities with
less than 50,000 inhabitants.34
The feminist associations’ interest in electoral rights grew after 1925.
For instance, the issue was the main topic at the Congress of Uniunea
Femeilor Române (Romanian Women’s Union), held in September 1925.
However, it was only after 1929 that women were granted the vote but
only for local elections. According to the administrative act of 3 August
1929, only women35 over 21 years old were given the right to vote and to
be elected in municipal elections providing they met the following
requirements: a) they had graduated from a secondary, normal or
professional school; b) they served as state, district or local officials; c)
they were either war widows, or decorated for their activities during the
war; d) they were leading members of legal organizations centred on
cultural, social and social work issues and militating for the promulgation
of the law. Such restrictions imposed on women were clearly unfair and
emphasized gender inequalities, since most of the men allowed to vote
could not comply with the requirements of this law imposed on women.
Alexandru N. Gane, president of the Legislative Council, allowed the
women’s representatives to participate in the debates of the Council, to
discuss and propose measures for the reform of the Civil Code in matters
pertaining to women. It was again Alexandru N. Gane who allowed seven
women in the position of municipal counsellors in Bucharest. A total
number of one hundred women were appointed councillors in over fifty
34
Ghizela Cosma, op.cit.,50.
35
Ibidem, 52.
urban and rural municipalities from the entire country36. The women from
the local administration revolutionized social work, despite the magnitude
of the difficulties they had to face, ranging from lack of funds to, lack of
qualified personnel.
In 1930, women could finally enter the country’s political life and
some of the most active personalities became members of political parties.
While Calypso Botez and Eugenia Ianculescu de Reuss joined the National
Peasants’ Party, Maria Bãiulescu and Elena Meissner chose political
neutrality.
As a result of a motion by a delegation of feminist movement
representatives, the Minister of Justice, on 6 April 1932 – presented to the
Chamber of Deputies – the legislative proposal that abolished the civil
alienation of married woman. The Liberal N. N. Săveanu maintained that
the project was only at the beginning, calling for unrestricted political
rights, in accordance with ‘the regime of the universal suffrage’37 The
Senate promulgated the law on 21 April 1932.
Women’s associations, mainly the socialists, militated against some of
the anachronistic regulations of the Penal Code project long before its
public debate, in February 1936. Even though they advocated the right to
prove paternity, to have an abortion in medical or rape cases, to have
access to maternity assistance and social assistance for mother and child,
etc., only abortion in life-threatening cases or when one of the parent’s
mental condition could affect the foetus were admitted.
Until 1938, women had gained civil equality and in broad lines their
status was similar to that in most democratic European countries.
However, almost two decades elapsed from 1923 until the authoritarian
regime of King Carol II granted the right to vote to literate women by
electoral law. Under the constitutional reform of February 1928, women
were granted the right to vote and to be elected provided that the age limit
was extended to 30 years and that the person was employed. Such
measures diminished the electorate as a whole. Similarly, the Constitution
determined the formulation of new conditions imposed by the electoral
law. Adopted in 1939, the electoral law emphasized the restrictive
character of the voting process in favour of the literate, regardless of
gender. Considering that the right to vote was granted to men in 1921, the
elitist character of the new Constitution led to a dramatic reduction of male
voting rights. The prefiguring regime intensified the monarch’s authority
and limited the other powers of the state. Unfortunately, cultivated women
36
Ştefania Mihăilescu, op.cit., 31.
37
Apud. Ştefania Mihăilescu, op.cit., 40.
acquired the right to vote and to be elected in a parliament whose

functions were to be limited to the minimum.
The news about the introduction of voting rights, although for a small
part of women, was received enthusiastically in the feminist circles and
publications of the time. However, many organisations were deeply
concerned about the evolution of the political regime in Romania. Some of
the leading figures who had previously expressed their opinion now felt
threatened, while others welcomed the foundation of the Frontul
Renaşterii Naţionale (National Renaissance Front) and asked the
presidents of the feminist societies from the Uniunea Femeilor din
România (Romanian Women’s Union) to adhere to the Front created by
Carol II in 1938, after the abolition of the political parties.
It was only the socialist Constitution of 1948 that would proclaim
complete equality of the sexes, although the state had a different position
with respect to the public and private spheres. In the former case,
communism proclaimed the promotion of women and insisted on
egalitarianism imposed from ‘the centre’, insensitive to differences,
causing various anomalies (such as excessive ‘feminisation’ of some
masculine professions, in areas of hard physical work, etc.) In the case of
the private area, the socialist state permitted the preservation of traditional
relationships, concealed domestic violence against women and children,
discouraged divorces indicating – even though indirectly – that domestic
chores are typically a female duty.
Conclusions
One of the important criteria in the evaluation of the stage reached by
modernism and democracy in the case of the societies of the past two
centuries is, along with the situation of various minorities, the legal status
of women. It constitutes the quintessence of the degree of emancipation
and also accounts for the transformations that have occurred both on the
micro-social level and the level of society as a whole. ‘The situation of
women in family and in society,’ confessed Calypso C. Botez, a
distinguished militant for the cause of women’s political emancipation in
Romania, ‘is the most serious problem that the modern sociologist has to
ponder on and the solution given to this problem – according to the
sociologists themselves – will influence, more than any other causes, the
morals and progress of any nation.’38
38
Calypso Botez. „Drepturile femeii în constituţia viitoare.” In Constituţia din
1923 în dezbaterea contemporanilor (Bucureşti: Editura Humanitas, 1990), 124.
In broad lines, the tempo at which women obtained their civil and
political rights in Romania reflected the process of democratisation and
modernisation of Romanian society at the end of the 19th century and the
beginning of the 20th century. The legal status of Romanian women was
determined by the Napoleonic Code, which was the basis of Romanian
civil law during the whole period analysed in this paper.
The feminist movement in Romania developed gradually from the
stage of associations created in order to obtain wider economic and civil
rights to the clear statement of the claim for suffrage during and at the end
of the First World War. Unfortunately, the number of women involved in
this movement was relatively small whereas the ‘patriarchal inertia’ based
on male domination was widely accepted and present in society. The
Romanian feminist movement, closely related to the intellectual
background of most militants, was marked by personal friendships (e.g.,
Cecilia Creţulescu – Stork) and by relationships with other countries
(especially France), thus acquiring fundamental European traits.
The situation of the women in the provinces reunited with the mother
land in 1918 was, at least from the point of view of civil and, in some
cases, political rights, better than that in the Old Romanian Kingdom,
which initiated the wider debate in society and in intellectual circles on the
state of women’s rights. It is significant that the League of Nations, of
which Romania was co-founder, recognised the women’s rights from the
very beginning and Romania immediately sent Elena Văcărescu39 there.
Granting women suffrage as early as the Constitution of 1866 would
have been an absolute first in the world, with no connection to the
Romanian realities of the time. However, we consider that it would have
been both possible and beneficial in the case of the 1923 Constitution, at
least for literate women, but it was to be achieved only in 1938.
Considering that the issue of women’s political rights was mainly
supported by the extreme right or left wing movements (the legionnaires
or the communists) it is no wonder that all women were granted the right
to vote in 1948, after the communist takeover.
Naturally, from a contemporary perspective we can see that the full
civil and political emancipation of women in most societies of the world
during the 20th century brought neither lasting peace, nor the long-sought
material well-being or better morals as claimed by the feminists and
suffragettes over a century earlier. Yet, we believe that they cannot be
blamed for the naiveté of their arguments, not to mention the strong belief
39
Romanian writer, the first woman member of the Romanian Academy and well
known political figure.
that bringing women to the political stage might fundamentally change the
rules of the game or the behaviour of the countries of the world. It is
certain, however, that the access of women to the political sphere and to
the decision-making levels of societies has generated, in a boule-de-neige
effect, profound and sometimes unexpected transformations in social life
starting from very common place everyday life and not so much in the
fundamental features of political life or of international affairs.
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PART III:
THE STRUGGLE FOR WOMEN’S

CITIZENSHIP
CHRISTABEL PANKHURST
AND THE STRUGGLE FOR SUFFRAGE REFORM
IN EDWARDIAN BRITAIN
JUNE PURVIS
Introduction
Christabel Pankhurst (1880-1958) was the Chief Organiser and key
strategist of the Women’s Social and Political Union (WSPU or Union),
the most infamous of the groupings campaigning for the parliamentary
vote for women in Edwardian Britain. When the WSPU had been founded
in 1903 by her mother, Emmeline, at their Manchester home, only about
59% of adult males could vote, based on the ownership or occupation of
property of a minimum value. However, all women as well as criminals
and patients in lunatic asylums remained voteless, irrespective of these
property qualifications.1 It was the ending of this discrimination on
grounds of their sex that Christabel sought to break as for eleven years,
from 1903 to the outbreak of the First World War she and her mother led
the militant suffragette campaign to win votes for women on equal terms
with men.2
When Christabel died on 13 February 1958, many of the obituaries
claimed that she was ‘the’ leader of the WSPU. Christabel Pankhurst was
the ‘driving force’ behind the WSPU, asserted The Times, ‘possibly its
most brilliant orator’. Although the crowds did not always spare her when
she spoke at rallies in Hyde Park, ‘the most familiar cry they set up in the
neighbourhood of the WSPU platform here was “We Want Chrissie”.
Courageous and resourceful in her extreme fashion … she was a force to
be reckoned with.’ The Manchester Guardian took a similar line arguing
1
Sandra Stanley Holton, Feminism and Democracy: Women’s Suffrage and
Reform Politics in Britain 1900-1918 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1986), 53.
2
Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence was the third leader of the WSPU but she was much
less prominent than Christabel and Emmeline Pankhurst. I shall follow
conventions of the time and refer to Christabel by her Christian name.
June Purvis 279
that while Emmeline Pankhurst, the inspirational leader of the WSPU,

stirred the emotions more deeply, Christabel was ‘the’ political leader of
the women’s revolt against their lack of the parliamentary vote. The New
York Times went further, suggesting that Christabel Pankhurst ‘probably
did more than any other individual to make woman suffrage come true in
Britain in 1918.’3 Yet despite these pronouncements about the importance
of Christabel Pankhurst’s role in twentieth-century British political
history, she has been portrayed unfavourably by historians.
Dominant Representations of Christabel Pankhurst

As I have argued elsewhere, two of the most influential early accounts
of the women’s suffrage campaign appeared after women were finally
granted the parliamentary vote on equal terms with men in 1928, namely
Ray Strachey’s ‘The Cause’: a Short History of the Women’s Movement in
Great Britain and Sylvia Pankhurst’s The Suffragette Movement,
published in 1928 and 1931, respectively.4 Reprinted in cheap paperback
editions in the 1970s and 80s, both books were widely read and widely
cited, helping to establish a dominant narrative about Christabel Pankhurst
that was critical of her women-centred approach to politics.
For Christabel Pankhurst, the subjection and subordinate status of
women in Edwardian society was due to the power of men and so she saw
the separatist WSPU, which only admitted women as members, as an
important vehicle for women to foster a sense of sisterhood that would
enable them to stand on their own two feet and articulate their demands.
When peaceful tactics of persuasion failed to win votes for women, she
urged the suffragettes, especially from 1912, to engage in the destruction
of property since she believed that this would force the all-male
government to grant women their enfranchisement. Men, she believed,
would never give up their power voluntarily. She was deeply concerned
about the double sexual standard and, in these later stages of the suffrage
campaign, advised women not to marry until men had become as chaste
and clean-living as women themselves. She emphasised the commonalities
3
The Times, Manchester Guardian, New York Times, 15 February 1958.
4
June Purvis, “A ‘Pair of … Infernal Queens’? A Reassessment of the Dominant
Representations of Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst, First Wave Feminists in
Edwardian Britain,” Women’s History Review 5, no. 1 (1996): 259-80; Ray
Strachey, ‘The Cause’: A Short History of the Women’s Movement in Great Britain
(London: G. Bell and Sons Ltd., 1928, reprinted London: Virago, 1978); Estelle
Sylvia Pankhurst, The Suffragette Movement: An Intimate Account of Persons and
Ideals (London: Longmans, 1931, reprinted London: Virago, 1977).
280 Pankhurst and the Struggle for Suffrage Reform in Edwardian Britain
that all women shared despite their differences and the primary importance
of putting women first rather than considerations of social class or political
affiliation. For Christabel Pankhurst therefore, the suffrage struggle was a
‘sex war’.5
Neither Ray Strachey nor Sylvia Pankhurst were sympathetic to
Christabel’s feminist views. Both had been participants in the women’s
movement and their respective books were shaped by their own memories
and experiences within that campaign.6 Strachey, a liberal feminist, had
been a member of the main suffrage grouping, the non-militant National
Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies (NUWSS) which engaged in
constitutional, law-abiding tactics. Thus for Strachey the key players in
‘The Cause’ are Millicent Garrett Fawcett, leader of the NUWSS, and not
the unruly, wild and autocratic Christabel and Emmeline Pankhurst who
tried to force change rather than wait for the natural progression of
suffrage. In particular, Strachey avoids a gender based analysis that
highlights the power of men but speaks instead of how the NUWSS, under
Fawcett, ‘did not regard their work as an attack upon men, but rather as a
reform for the good of all’.7
As Dodd persuasively argues, Strachey uses the political vocabulary of
Liberalism to position the NUWSS and Fawcett as the ‘rational’ wing of
the women’s movement that was responsible for the partial
enfranchisement of women in 1918 and their full enfranchisement, on
equal terms with men, in 1928. In so doing, Christabel and Emmeline
Pankhurst are cast ‘out of the making of women’s history because of their
5
Susan Kingsley Kent, Sex and Suffrage in Britain, 1860-1914 (New Jersey:
Princeton University Press, 1987), 5. For discussion of these points see particularly
Dale Spender, Women of Ideas and What Men Have Done to Them (London:
Routledge, 1982), 397-434; Elizabeth Sarah, “Christabel Pankhurst: Reclaiming
her power,” in Feminist Theorists: Three Centuries of Women’s Intellectual
Traditions, ed. Dale Spender (London: Women’s Press, 1983), 256-84; Olive
Banks, The Biographical Dictionary of British Feminists Vol. l (Brighton:
Harvester Press, 1985), 146-52; Purvis, “Infernal Queens?”; June Purvis,
“Christabel Pankhurst and the Women’s Social and Political Union,” in The
Women’s Suffrage Movement: New Feminist Perspectives, ed. Maroula Joannou
and June Purvis (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1998),
157-172.
6
On this point generally see Hilda Kean, “Searching for the Past in Present Defeat:
the Construction of Historical and Political Identity in British Feminism in the
1920s and 1930s,” Women’s History Review, 3, no. 1 (1994), 57-80.
7
Kathryn Dodd, “Cultural Politics and Women’s Historical Writing: the Case of
Ray Strachey’s The Cause,” Women’s Studies International Forum. Special Issue:
British Feminist Histories, 13, no. 1/2 (1990), ed. Liz Stanley, 307.
June Purvis 281
reckless activity, their passion for change, their angry propaganda and
their autocratic organisation.’8
Such a representation of Christabel Pankhurst exercised a considerable
sway on subsequent accounts of the WSPU, but it was especially the
portrayal by her sister Sylvia, in The Suffragette Movement, published
three years after Strachey’s book, that has been influential. Throughout
this text float Sylvia’s memories of her childhood when she, Christabel
and Adela, the youngest Pankhurst girl, were taken to political gatherings
by their parents, who were involved in the radical causes of their day,
especially socialism and women’s suffrage. But it is also clear that Sylvia
felt neglected by her mother, whose favourite child, she claims, was the
clever and pretty Christabel. The rivalry between the two eldest girls is
carried over into their adult lives so that in The Suffragette Movement
Christabel is portrayed as an evil force upon their easily swayed, weak
mother, who is led from the true path of socialism. All the Pankhurst
women were paid up members of the Central Manchester Branch of the
ILP; indeed, at least three women active in the ILP had been present at the
foundation of the WSPU.9 So when Emmeline and Christabel resign their
ILP membership in 1907, Sylvia bitterly condemns the action, blaming
Christabel.10 Sylvia, unlike Christabel, wanted to keep the Union closely
allied to the socialist movement and to the working classes. When
Christabel recruits aristocratic and middle-class women of all political
persuasions to the WSPU, and insists on cross-class allegiances, Sylvia
accuses her of marginalizing the importance of class and of socialism, and
of being a Tory.11 When the loyal Pethick-Lawrences are expelled from
the WSPU in 1912 because they disagreed with the new violent forms of
militancy, it is claimed that the decision was made by the ‘sweet-tongued
and cool, although immovable’ Christabel rather than their impetuous and
fiery mother.12 From 1913, Sylvia began re-building WSPU branches
among the poor in the East End of London, forming her own grouping, the
East London Federation of the Suffragettes (ELFS). Although formally
affiliated to the WSPU, the ELFS differed from it in a number of
important respects. It advocated universal adult suffrage rather than
8
Dodd 1990, 134.
9
Karen, Hunt, “Why Manchester? Why the Pankhursts? Why 1903? Reflections
on the Centenary of the Women’s Social and Political Union,” Manchester Region
History Review XVII (2004), 2-9 notes that Mrs. Scott, Mrs. Harker and Mrs, Hall,
all active in the ILP, were present.
10
Pankhurst 1931/1977, 241, 247-8.
11
Pankhurst 1931/1977, 221.
12
Pankhurst 1931/1977, 412.
limited women suffrage, it refused to attack Labour parliamentary

candidates unsympathetic to women’s suffrage and admitted men as well
as women. Such an independent line led Christabel and Emmeline to expel
Sylvia and her organisation from the WSPU, early in 1914.
The bitterness that Sylvia felt at the way she had been treated by her
relatives intensified during the First World War which, as a pacifist, she
opposed. Christabel and Emmeline, on the other hand, became British
patriotic feminists as they offered their services to their country and called
upon all suffragettes to enter war work as a way to serve the nation – and
to win enfranchisement.13 For Sylvia, the estrangement from her mother
and elder sister deepened during the 1920s as she moved further and
further to the Left, becoming a founding member of the British
Communist Party. At the time of writing The Suffragette Movement, in the
late 1920s, she was also co-habiting with Silvio Corio, an anti-fascist
refugee, and the father of her only child, Richard, born in 1927. The
scandal surrounding the birth of a baby to an unmarried daughter of the
well known Pankhurst family not only caused friction between the atheist
Sylvia and Christabel, now a Second Adventist preaching the Second
Coming of Christ; it also hastened her mother’s death. Such life
experiences helped to shape Sylvia’s portrayal of her sister, their mother
and herself in The Suffragette Movement. Additionally, she also wanted to
challenge Strachey’s liberal feminist account of the women’s movement,
to write in the working-class women that Strachey had written out and to
re-affirm her credentials as a socialist writer by offering a ‘class-based
feminist mode of address.’14
However, in The Suffragette Movement, Sylvia does much more than
to continually criticise Christabel and their mother. She brings to the fore
of her analysis two men, namely her father and her former lover, Keir
Hardie, a key figure in the founding of the Labour Party, as well as herself.
As Jane Marcus observes, Sylvia Pankhurst presents herself as ‘the
heroine’ of the women’s suffragette movement, the daughter who keeps
13
On the divisions between the Pankhurst women during the First World War see
Jacqueline deVries, “Gendering Patriotism: Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst
and World War One,” in This Working-Day World: Women’s Lives and Culture(s),
ed. Sybil Oldfield (London: Taylor and Francis, 1994), 75-89; June Purvis, “The
Pankhursts and the Great War,” in The Women’s Movement in Wartime:
International Perspectives, 1914-19, ed. Alison S. Fell and Ingrid Sharp
(Basingstoke: Palgrave/Macmillan, 2007), 141-157.
14
Strachey 1990, 232; Kathryn Dodd, “Introduction: the Politics of Form in Sylvia
Pankhurst’s writing”, in A Sylvia Pankhurst Reader, ed. Kathryn Dodd
(Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1993), 17.
June Purvis 283
the socialist faith, the Cinderella in a tragic family romance who is

liberated by the fairy godmother figure of Hardie, while Christabel and
their mother are the ‘wicked’ people, the ‘separatist feminists’, ‘isolated
man-haters’ and ‘unsexed viragoes’ who caused split after split within the
movement. And in so doing, Sylvia presents herself as the great leader of
the militant suffrage campaign since it is her success, in June 1914, in
getting the anti-suffrage Liberal Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith, to
receive her East London delegation of working-class women that was the
key to winning the vote. Critical of the militancy advocated by the
separatist Christabel, Sylvia presents it as a hindrance rather than a help to
winning the vote. Thus, asserts Marcus, Sylvia Pankhurst claims the
suffrage victory in the name of socialist feminism, a victory less over the
government than over her ‘real enemies, her mother and sister’.15
The Pankhurst family story, as told by Sylvia, was a seductive one that
was taken up and adapted by George Dangerfield in The Strange Death of
Liberal England, first published in 1935. Writing from a masculinist
perspective that saw the suffragettes as a deviant and marginal aberration
to the main business of male political elites, Dangerfield mocks the
militant movement as ‘hysterical’ and ‘irrational’, seeing it as a symptom
of social pathology within Britain and as a psychological pathology
amongst individual activists, a form of ‘pre-war lesbianism’.16 Like Sylvia
before him, Dangerfield presents Christabel as a snobbish, ruthless woman
who, with her mother, ‘dictated every move, and swayed every heart, of a
growing army of intoxicated women’.17 As Marcus notes, as the first male
historian to treat the women’s movement seriously, the plot Dangerfield
established was one from which few subsequent historians have been able
to break free.18
The only full length biography of Christabel to date, namely Queen
Christabel, written by David Mitchell and published in 1977, is
particularly vituperative. The usual picture of Christabel is presented again
– bourgeois, snobbish, elitist, man-hating, autocratic, ruthless and divisive
– as well as charismatic and quick of mind and tongue. But, above all, she
15
Jane Marcus, “Introduction: Re-reading the Pankhursts and Women’s Suffrage,”
in Suffrage and the Pankhursts, ed. Jane Marcus (London and New York:
Routledge, 1987), 5-6.
16
George Dangerfield, The Strange Death of Liberal England (London:
MacGibbon and Kee, 1966, first published 1935), 128, 142.
17
Dangerfield 1935/1966, 155.
18
Marcus 1987, 3.
is now portrayed as a mad lesbian.19 That Christabel never married and did
not, as far we know, have a heterosexual relationship, is also a key theme
in Martin Pugh’s group biography, The Pankhursts, which appeared in
2001. Indeed, for Pugh, Christabel, like all the suffragette leaders, was
involved in ‘lesbian love trysts’.20 The Chief Organiser of the WSPU, he
claims, became ‘the centre of a devoted and idealistic circle of hero-
worshipping young women’ for whom politics ‘was a substitute for love
affairs [i.e. with men], and hero-worship an alternative to physical passion
[i.e with men].’ 21 Thus, in addition to Sylvia Pankhurst’s negative
portrayal of her sister’s feminism we now have homophobic assertions
about her sexuality and ridicule of the political seriousness of her
feminism. But there is an alternative story to tell. In particular, I shall
focus in this chapter upon Christabel Pankhurst’s effectiveness as the
Chief Organiser and key strategist of the WSPU, and her contribution to
feminism.
An Alternative Narrative: Christabel Pankhurst

as Chief Organiser and Key Strategist of the WSPU
Christabel Pankhurst was a clever woman who, at the age of twenty
five, attained a First Class Honours degree in Law, from Manchester
University, in 1906. Barred from entering the legal profession, because of
her sex, she was acutely aware of the discrimination that women
experienced in Edwardian society and of the long struggle by women for
the parliamentary vote.22 In 1904, after hearing the great American
suffragist Susan B. Anthony speak in Manchester, Christabel said to her
mother, ‘It is unendurable to think of another generation of women
wasting their lives begging for the vote. We must not lose any more time.
We must act.’23 This impatience in Christabel, this desire that women
should abandon their habit of asking politely for the vote and, instead, be
19
David Mitchell, Queen Christabel: a Biography of Christabel Pankhurst
(London: MacDonald and Jane’s, 1977), 207-8.
20
Vanessa Thorpe and Alec Marsh, “Diary Reveals Lesbian Love Trysts of
Suffragette Leaders,’ The Observer, 11 June 2000,
21
Martin Pugh, The Pankhursts (London: Allen Lane, 2001), 178, 212.
22
Sophia A. van Wingerden, The Women’s Suffrage Movement in Britain, 1866-
1928 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999), 1, dates the beginning of the organized
women’s suffrage movement to 1866 when the first women’s suffrage petition was
presented to parliament.
23
Emmeline Pankhurst, My Own Story (London: Eveleigh Nash, 1914), 37.
June Purvis 285
assertive about their democratic rights, was to be the cornerstone of her

thinking throughout the militant campaign.
Disappointingly, the early years of peaceful campaigning by the
WSPU after its foundation in 1903 had produced no results. So Christabel
decided, in the autumn of 1905, that the time had come to develop a new
militant strategy of confrontational and assertive tactics that would force
the women’s suffrage issue into the limelight. Together with Annie
Kenney, a working-class friend and WSPU member, she attended a
Liberal Party meeting on the evening of 13th October, at the Free Trade
Hall, Manchester. After Sir Edward Grey had concluded his speech, Annie
asked the question phrased in advance by Christabel – ‘Will the Liberal
Government give votes to women?’ As expected, no answer was given.
Christabel then unfurled a small banner on which was printed ‘Votes for
Women’ and repeated the question. The audience erupted into angry cries
and once the noise had subsided, the two complied with the request to put
their question in writing so that it could be handed to the speaker. They
waited patiently, but Grey gave no reply. The intrepid Annie stood on her
chair, shouting out the question again while the audience howled in
disapproval. Roughly handled and dragged outside, Christabel then
deliberately committed the technical offence of spitting at a policeman in
order to court arrest. In the police court the following day, she and Annie
were offered the option of paying a fine or imprisonment. Both chose the
latter, Annie serving three days and Christabel a week.24 As they expected,
their assertive stand became headline news, even though the press
coverage was almost universally hostile about their ‘unladylike’
behaviour. But the unprecedented interruption of male political discourse,
in order to support women’s enfranchisement, brought new recruits to the
WSPU as well as many letters of sympathy and extensive coverage in the
press.25
From now on, the heckling of MPs and a willingness to go to prison
became key tactics in the WSPU campaign to force the government to
grant votes to women. In order to do this, the WSPU had to become a
national movement, not tied to the ILP and working-class women.
Christabel had been disillusioned with socialist men for many years and
became increasingly so throughout the suffrage campaign. ‘It is not at all
impossible to have tyranny under Socialism,’ she argued. ‘Why are
women expected to have such confidence in the men of the Labour Party?
24
Manchester Guardian, 16 October 1905.
25
Marcus 1987, 9; Andrew Rosen, Rise Up Women! The Militant Campaign of the
Women’s Social and Political Union 1903-1914 (London: Routledge & Kegan
Paul, 1974), 53.
Working-men are as unjust to women as are those of other classes.’26 In

the 1906 January general election, twenty-nine Labour MPs were returned
to Parliament and five of their number drew places for private members’
bills to be presented in the House of Commons. However, they did not
support Hardie’s wish for a woman’s suffrage measure but decided that
the bills should be devoted to class issues in their Party programme, such
as old age pensions, the feeding of destitute schoolchildren and the right of
the unemployed to work. When one place remained in doubt, and
Emmeline Pankhurst demanded that it be given to votes for women, the
Labour MPs refused, deciding instead that it should be given to a
checkweighing bill that would protect the earnings of workmen.27
Christabel received the news with disdain. ‘From what I have heard it is
quite necessary to keep an eye on them [Labour MPs]’, she wrote shortly
afterwards to Mary Gawthorpe. ‘J.K.H[ardie] is the one who really wants
to help. The further one goes the plainer one sees that men (even Labour
men) think more of their own interests than of ours.’28
It was experiences such as this that re-enforced Christabel’s view that
the problem of the subordinate and inferior status of women in Edwardian
Britain was not a class issue but a problem of the inequality between the
sexes, specifically the power of men. The WSPU had to become free from
class politics, not ‘a frill on the sleeve of any political party’ but a
organisation that would ‘rally women of all three parties [Labour,
Conservative and Liberal] and women of no party, and unite them as one
independent force.’29
It was in August 1906, at the by-election at Cockermouth in
Cumberland, that Christabel first put into practice the tactic of
independence from all men’s political parties, including the Labour Party.
All the suffragettes campaigning with her adopted her lead of opposing all
the male parliamentary candidates, including the Labour candidate. While
Emmeline agreed with the new strategy, Sylvia and Adela were dismayed.
But the new tactic worked in that women who would not have supported a
Labour-affiliated organisation did join one that was independent of
political parties, at least at central level, although at the local level many
26
Christabel Pankhurst, “Women and the Independent Labour Party”, I.L.P. News
77, Vol. VII (August 1903).
27
E. Sylvia Pankhurst, The Life of Emmeline Pankhurst: the Suffragette Struggle
for Women’s Citizenship (London: T. Werner Laurie, 1935), 56-7.
28
Mary Gawthorpe, Uphill to Holloway (Penobscot, Maine: Traversity Press,
1962), 210.
29
Christabel Pankhurst, Unshackled:the Story of How We Won the Vote (London:
Hutchinson, 1959), 69.
June Purvis 287
suffragettes also retained their allegiance to Labour.30 By early 1907 the

WSPU had expanded rapidly with forty-seven branches and nine paid
organisers, some £2,959 having been collected during the past fiscal
year.31 But the policy of independence from Labour caused bitter
disagreements within the WSPU and Charlotte Despard and Teresa
Billington-Greig – amongst other disaffected socialists - left in September
1907 to form another grouping, latter called the Women’s Freedom
League. Shortly afterwards, Christabel and her mother quietly resigned
their membership of the ILP.32
From now on, the everyday executive control of the WSPU passed to
Christabel and the Pethick-Lawrences, a wealthy socialist couple with
whom she lived. Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence was the WSPU’s Honorary
Treasurer while Fred, a barrister and journalist, was supportive in a
number of ways, especially in arranging bail for women who were
arrested. Emmeline Pankhurst, a gifted orator, spent little time with
Christabel at WSPU headquarters. Instead she became a ‘nomadic
evangelist’, touring the country, speaking in endless meetings and leading
the by-election campaigns.33 Nonetheless, she was consulted on all major
policy decisions and had complete confidence in Christabel’s leadership.
Christabel and Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence understood the importance
of an efficient organisational system for running the WSPU and so the
appointment of district and travelling organisers, paid £2 per week,
became key figures in extending the Union’s work nationwide. In her role
as Chief Organiser of the WSPU, Christabel had to oversee the work of
these employees, a task she shared with Mrs. Pethick-Lawrence.34 In the
days before the telephone was extensively used, she frequently wrote to
the organisers, especially when they were temporary or had just been taken
on, offering advice and encouragement, as well as sending instructions. ‘I
30
On the link with socialism at the local level see especially Krista Cowman, ‘Mrs.
Brown is a Man and a Brother!’ Women in Merseyside’s Political Organisations
1890-1920 (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2004):77-96; Krista Cowman,
‘“Incipient Toryism”? The Women’s Social and Political Union and the
Independent Labour Party, 1903-14’, History Workshop Journal 53, (2002): 129-
48.
31
Rosen, Rise Up Women!, 83.
32
Minutes of Manchester ILP Central Branch Meeting, 17 September 1907,
Manchester Central Library.
33
June Purvis, Emmeline Pankhurst: a Biography (London and New York:
Routledge, 2002), 99.
34
Krista Cowman, Women of the Right Spirit: Paid Organisers of the Women’s
Social and Political Union (WSPU) 1904-18 (Manchester: Manchester University
Press, 2007), especially: 147-75.
have sent to you today 4,000 leaflets explaining why we protest at liberal
[sic] meetings’, she wrote on 28 November 1907 to the temporary
organiser, Jennie Baines. Jennie was staying at the Salvation Army Home
in Liverpool and was shortly to travel to Sunderland, to organise a protest
there at a Liberal Party meeting. Christabel advised Jennie that women
could easily get into the meeting if they were accompanied by a man and
informed her that Mr. Bell, an advertising and publishing agent in
Sunderland, was finding men to accompany her and the other women. ‘Do
not make any stir in the town before the meeting’, she further advised.
‘The liberals are not expecting us, and there is no reason why we should
put them on their guard.’ The instructions did not end there. ‘As soon as
the Sunderland meeting is over, will you please hurry back to your work in
Lancashire as time is short.’35 Having proved her worth, Jennie Baines
became a paid employee of the WSPU, a district organiser for the
Midlands and North of England from April 1908 until spring 1914.36
Alongside this essential work of co-ordinating and overseeing the work
of the organisers, Christabel was also writing her weekly column for the
WSPU’s newspaper Votes for Women, giving speeches and writing
pamphlets as well as devising new tactics. Her column in Votes for Women
outlined WSPU policy while her stirring speeches rallied women to the
cause. During the period 1908 to 1910 in particular she was at the peak of
her fame, courted by the press and admired by her followers.
Christabel thought up a ruse for 11 February 1908, the opening day of
the Women’s Parliament, as the WSPU meeting was called, a plan that
would emphasise women’s right to enter the men’s Houses of Parliament.
At nearly four o’clock in the afternoon, a furniture removal van stopped
outside the Commons. The back doors of the van flew open and
suffragettes rushed forward, clutching their petitions, only to be roughly
handled by the surprised police. They were among the fifty women
arrested that day.37 The publicity given to Christabel’s ‘Trojan Horse’, as
it became known, made her name a household word. But such eye-
catching stunts did not yield votes for women since neither of the two
main political parties, the Conservatives or the Liberals, was prepared to
adopt women’s suffrage as party policy. As Richard Toye has argued, the
two main parties were divided on the issue and could not agree on which
35
Christabel Pankhurst to Mrs. Baines, 28 November 1907, Baines Papers, Fryer
Library, University of Queensland, Australia.
36
Elizabeth Crawford, The Women’s Suffrage Movement: a Reference Guide
1866-1929 (London: UCL Press, 1999), 25.
37
The Times, 12 February 1908, Votes for Women, 13 February 1908, Supplement,
lxxiv.
June Purvis 289
groups of women should be included. A narrow measure, based on

property qualifications, would bring in wealthier women who were likely
to vote Conservative; a wider one was likely to include working-class
women who were more likely to vote Liberal. Such considerations of
‘party advantage’ stalled any reform.38 Indeed, time and time again, the
machinery of the House of Commons would be used to block women
suffrage bills.39 Matters became worse after April 1908 when Herbert
Asquith, a staunch anti-suffragist, became Liberal Prime Minister.
Shortly after his appointment, Asquith refused to grant facilities for
another yet women’s suffrage bill. However, he did say he would
introduce an electoral reform measure for men only that would be worded
in such a way as to admit a women suffrage amendment, provided that the
amendment was framed along democratic lines and had behind it the
support of the women of the country as well as that of the male electors.
The response of the WSPU was to show the extent of popular support for
their cause by organising a big demonstration in Hyde Park on Sunday, 21
June 1908. Christabel, in a green silk dress and graduate cap and gown
was one of about 42,000 women who converged in the park that day,
attracting crowds of about half a million.40 Discarding her academic robes
in the heat of the day, she spoke on one of twenty platforms where,
initially, she was jeered by some young men. But her skill in handling a
hostile crowd was by now legendary and she did it to great effect, even if
all her listeners did not carry her conviction. The press was enthusiastic.
The Daily News opined that if you wanted to know why this most derided
of movements has emerged from obscurity to brilliant popularity, you
have only to stop and listen to Christabel Pankhurst. ‘[H]er hair loosened
in the breeze, her eyes sparkling with the fighting spirit, her face shining
with confidence in her cause. She was born to command crowds.’41
For Christabel, an avid reader of the politics of the past and present,
the WSPU militant campaign was part of a long tradition of popular
radical struggle for constitutional liberties. This theme is evident in many
of her speeches, especially at the famous Bow Street trial of October 1908,
when she acted as lawyer for the defendants – namely her mother, Flora
38
Richard Toye, Lloyd George & Churchill: Rivals for Greatness (London:
Macmillan, 2007), 77.
39
Homer Lawrence Morris, Parliamentary Franchise Reform in England From
1885 to 1918 (New York: AMS, 1969, first published 1921), 55.
40
The Times, 22 June 1908.
41
Daily News, 22 June 1908.
Drummond and herself.42 On the evening of the 13 October, the WSPU

leaders had asked the public to help them ‘rush’ the House of Commons,
an event that led to their arrest. In a brilliant publicity coup, Christabel
subpoenaed as witnesses at the trial two Cabinet Ministers, Lloyd George
and Herbert Gladstone, since both had been in the vicinity of the area
where the demonstration took place. Her witty exchanges with the
reluctant and uncomfortable Lloyd George particularly delighted the court
room as she teased out the meaning of the word ‘rush’. The ‘Suffragette
Portia’, as she became known, succeeded in showing that her witness, who
had taken his six-year-old daughter with him to watch the scene on the
13th, did not feel endangered. In a brilliant summing up, Christabel placed
the women’s campaign within the longer, historical struggle for
constitutional liberties, accusing the Government of having ‘practically
torn up’ Magna Carta, the 1215 charter that was the cornerstone of the
liberties of the individual in English society; women were not only denied
their legal right of trial by jury but also their constitutional right to lay
their grievances in person before the House of Commons.43 The admiring
press could not praise her enough. Although all three defendants were sent
to prison, Christabel’s defence of the case brought widespread publicity
for the women’s cause and more converts.
Christabel’s reputation as an eloquent speaker continued to grow as she
urged women to take up militant action as the only way to fight the
oppression and inequalities they experienced in Edwardian society. These
aspects of her discourse were particularly apparent at the breakfast to
welcome her, on 22 December 1908, on her release from prison.
Discussing the old methods of pleading and begging for the vote as futile,
she argued:
I say any woman who is content to appeal for the vote instead of
demanding and fighting for it is dishonouring herself! the rightness of
revolt, the rightness of our militant methods does not depend upon success.
You may resist injustice and fail, or seem to fail, and still you have done
right. When you are confronted by oppression, when you are confronted
by the forces of evil, then you must go and do battle against them.44
42
See Ian Fletcher, “‘A Star Chamber of the Twentieth Century’: Suffragettes,
Liberals, and the 1908 ‘Rush the Commons’ Case,” Journal of British Studies 35
(October 1996), 504-530.
43
Votes for Women, 29 October 1908:77-79.
44
Votes for Women, 31 December 1908: 234.
June Purvis 291
As this speech illustrates, the duty of women, as voteless citizens, to

resist tyrannous governments, was at the heart of Christabel’s notion of
militancy. But more than this, militancy meant that women were throwing
off that false dignity that came with submission and earning true dignity,
through revolt. ‘Remember the dignity of your womanhood: do not appeal,
do not beg, do not grovel, take courage, join hands, stand beside us, fight
with us,’ she pleaded to her audience at a meeting in the Albert Hall in
April 1909.45 As Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence emphasised, for Christabel
militancy meant ‘the putting off of the slave spirit.’46 Such a message
struck a particular chord with younger women, frustrated in their
ambitions in a society that treated them as inferior beings.
By 1909, protesting at Liberal Party public meetings was proving
increasingly difficult since women were excluded from such gatherings,
unless they had a signed ticket. The cutting off of such legitimate means of
protest strengthened Christabel’s resolve, even more so when, by the
autumn of 1909, the prison authorities began to forcibly feed suffragettes
who went on hunger strike. Hunger strikers were protesting against the
government’s refusal to recognise them as political offenders who should
be placed in the privileged First Division in prison, rather than in the lower
divisions were common criminals were sent. Since forcible feeding was an
act accompanied by considerable force as defenceless women were held
down and rubber tubes thrust into struggling bodies, the WSPU leadership
and rank-and-file alike saw it as a form of rape by a powerful male state.
Christabel was not alone in condemning the ‘brutality’ of a government
which ‘violated’ the bodies of women.47 The very act added to the sense of
injustice felt by so many suffragettes – and a resolve to stand together until
the bitter end.48
The WSPU campaigned vigorously against the Liberals in the January
1910 election so that they lost their overall majority in the Commons
holding just 275 seats against 273 Conservative, 82 Irish Nationalist and
45
Votes for Women, 7 May 1909, 634.
46
Emmeline Pethick-Lawrence, My Part in a Changing World (London: Victor
Gollancz, 1928), 150-1.
47
The Times, 29 September 1909, letter signed by Emmeline Pankhurst, Emmeline
Pethick Lawrence, Mabel Tuke and Christabel. Members of the public and
prominent figures such as Keir Hardie also protested against the procedure, as did
a few in the medical profession –see J. F. Geddes, “ Culpable Complicity: the
Medical Profession and the Forcible Feeding of Suffragettes, 1909-1914,”
Women’s History Review 17, no 1 (2008), 79-94.
48
Sandra S. Holton, Suffrage Days: Stories from the Women’s Suffrage Movement
(London: Routledge, 1996):146.
40 Labour. But, once more, it was Asquith who formed the new
government, aware that the success of any new legislation would be
dependent on the support of MPs outside his own party.49 Realising that
the political situation might be useful to the women’s cause, Henry
Brailsford, a liberal journalist who had resigned from the Daily News
because of its editor’s support for forcible feeding, set about forming a
Conciliation Committee for Women’s Suffrage which eventually consisted
of 54 MPs across the political spectrum. Christabel, like the other WSPU
leaders, although doubtful about the new venture offered her support. She
hoped that the bills that the Conciliation Committee were to sponsor
would avert the need for ‘stronger militancy’ since she believed that mild
militancy was ‘more or less played out.’50 At the end of January 1910,
Emmeline Pankhurst called a suspension of all militant tactics, only
peaceful and constitutional methods being adopted. The so-called ‘truce’
with the government remained until 21 November 1911, apart from one
week during November 1910.
During 1910, the demonstration of 18 June, organised by the WSPU
but including over twenty other suffrage societies, gave Christabel an
opportunity to emphasis again her views about the bond between all
women, irrespective of class and wealth, and of the importance, in a male-
dominated society, of women working together in a common cause:
[T]he Procession … will include women who are rich as well as those
who are poor …it will be a festival at which we shall celebrate the
sisterhood of women. According to the old tale of men’s making, it is not
in women to unite and to work with one another. Women have only now
discovered the falsity of this, and they are rejoicing in their few-found
sisterhood.51
But Christabel’s optimism that this procession would put pressure on

the government to grant women the vote was misplaced. Although the
Conciliation Bill passed its second reading in July, four months later the
government announced that there was no time for a women’s suffrage bill
that year. Feeling betrayed, the WSPU leaders renewed their threat of
militancy and organised a demonstration to the Commons on 18
November. ‘Black Friday’, as it became known, became notorious for the
unprecedented physical and sexual abuse the suffragettes suffered as the
police tried to push them back from reaching parliament. The passing of a
49
Rosen 1974, 130.
50
Pankhurst 1959, 153.
51
Votes for Women, 20 May 1910, 550.
June Purvis 293
revised Conciliation Bill in May 1911 fared no better since Asquith

reneged on his promise to grant facilities for the bill. On 7th November of
that year he announced that the government would introduce in the next
session a Manhood Suffrage Bill that could be amended to include women.
An angry Christabel denounced the ‘crooked and discreditable scheme’
since she knew it was doomed to failure; it was not a non-party solution to
the women question but now a party question but not a party measure.52
Soon there was an escalation in the violence as suffragettes smashed
windows of shops in London’s West End as well as government buildings.
On 4 March 1912, when the police raided the WSPU headquarters with a
warrant for the arrest of the leaders, Christabel was not there. Fearing that
the militant movement would be crushed, especially if she stayed in
England and was also arrested, she decided to flee to France where a
political offender was not subject to extradition. From now until the
outbreak of the First World War, Christabel attempted to lead the WSPU
from her temporary home in Paris.
It is during these last two years of the militant campaign that violent
militancy increased and its scope widened to include not only damage to
public and private property but also arson and bombing. Many of these
acts, like the introduction of window smashing and hunger striking, were
initiated by the rank-and-file and the leadership had little choice but to
endorse them. Just as Christabel had supported the ‘broken windows’
policy, now she supported the destruction of mail in letter-boxes. The
burning of letters, she proclaimed, had as its object the abolition of the
sexual and economic exploitation of women, including the stopping of
‘hideous assaults on little girls …[and] the sweating of working women.’53
The increasing violent tactics alienated some of the public and gave the
government an excuse for treating women’s suffrage as a law-and-order
issue where it was legitimate to prohibit WSPU meetings and raid its
headquarters and printer.54 But Christabel, looking back to history and
how men had won the vote, saw matters differently. Men in the past had
not been given the vote by asking nicely; in Bristol in 1831, for example,
they had burned the bishop’s palace, the mansion house, the custom-
house, the excise office and other public buildings.55 It was only by using
such militant methods that the WSPU would win.
52
Votes for Women, 10 November 1911, 88.
53
The Suffragette, 6 December 1912, 114.
54
Jill Liddington, Rebel Girls: Their Fight for the Vote (London: Virago, 2006),
134.
55
See the front cover of The Suffragette, 16 January 1914.
Other themes too now became more prominent in Christabel’s

writings, particularly the double sexual standard, prostitution and VD. In a
male-centred society, she argued, where voteless women were kept
economically and socially subordinate and where prostitution was the
main fruit of this slavery, the only solution was ‘Votes for Women … and
chastity for men.’56 Although most historians have called her views
prudish, Marcus suggests that Christabel was deliberately fanning the
flames of sex hatred as a spur to revolutionary violence; further, Margaret
Jackson contends that Christabel’s demand for an equal moral standard
was a rational, political response to a system of male power which
institutionalized female sexual slavery in its laws and in its practices, and
justified it in term of men’s biological needs.57 Indeed, it can be argued
that the government’s trickery and provocation on women’s suffrage
meant that militancy became ‘a reactive phenomenon’, each shift in tactics
being a reasoned response to repressive treatment.58
Christabel’s distrust of men and male power deepened when, in 1914,
Sir Edward Carson announced that he would not commit the Ulster
Unionists to women’s suffrage. And she had come to so distrust the
Labour Party that she saw no difference between Labour MPs and their
Liberal counterparts; women had not profited in the smallest degree, she
believed, from the presence of Labour MPs in the Commons. ‘For
Suffragists to put their faith in any men’s party, whatever it may call itself,
is recklessly to disregard the lessons of the past forty years,’ she told
readers of The Suffragette, a new WSPU newspaper that she had
established. ‘The truth is that women must work out their own salvation.
Men will not do it for them.’59 A few months later, when the First World
War broke out, Emmeline Pankhurst called a temporary suspension to
militancy. As noted earlier, Christabel, like her mother, supported the war
effort and encouraged suffragettes to do likewise.
Conclusion
The account of Christabel Pankhurst presented here differs
considerably from that offered by her sister Sylvia in The Suffragette
56
Christabel Pankhurst, The Great Scourge and How to End it (London: E.
Pankhurst, 1913), 37.
57
Marcus, ‘Introduction’, 14; Margaret Jackson, The Real Facts of Life: Feminism
and the Politics of Sexuality c1850-1940 (London: Taylor and Francis, 1994), 49.
58
Liz Stanley with Ann Morley, The Life and Death of Emily Wilding Davison
(London: Women’s Press, 1988), 153.
59
The Suffragette, 17 April 1914, 10.
June Purvis 295
Movement, where Christabel is demonised as the betrayer of socialist

feminism, the misguided feminist whose advocacy of militancy hindered
the winning of votes for women.60 We must question Sylvia’s story.61
Christabel’s message to women to organise together, independent of male
political parties, was a powerful rallying call in the campaign for women’s
enfranchisement. It was a form of consciousness raising about the wrongs
that voteless women shared, irrespective of their class or income, and
became a means whereby women could develop their own backbone and
dignity in a society that saw them as submissive and inferior beings.
Indeed, militancy which involved not only violent actions such as setting
fire to post boxes but also non-violent actions such as noisy protests at
Liberal Party meetings, politicised thousands of women in a mass
movement that has been unprecedented in British history. It pushed the
issue of women’s enfranchisement into the mainstream political agenda so
that it became a foremost political question of the day. In advocating a
separatist feminism and in articulating the difficulties of fitting feminism
‘into’ the male-dominated political parties of the day, whether Liberal,
Conservative or Labour, Christabel Pankhurst was one of the key feminist
thinkers of the twentieth century. She pioneered a feminist viewpoint
which, if out of tune with feminism in 1920s and 1930s Britain,
nonetheless became important to radical feminists in the 1960s.62
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60
For a recent exchange of views on whether militancy helped or hindered the
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June Purvis “Radical Fighters in a Just Cause”, BBC History Magazine, February
2007, 14-21.
61
Few historians have questioned Sylvia’s narrative but I do in my Emmeline
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WHAT WAS SUFFRAGETTE MILITANCY?
AN EXPLORATION OF THE BRITISH EXAMPLE
KRISTA COWMAN
Interpreting Militancy
Women’s suffrage movements developed throughout the Western
world in the 19th century, associated with post-Enlightenment attempts to
broaden representative government. Despite their ubiquity, these
movements developed distinctive characteristics in different countries and
regions. In Britain, the campaign primarily became associated with the
phenomenon of militancy. Amongst the fifty-plus different suffrage
societies that existed in Britain on the outbreak of the First World War,
several endorsed or practised militant direct actions. The best-known of
these were the Women’s Freedom League (WFL) and the Women’s Social
and Political Union, (WSPU) the first explicitly militant suffrage
organisation. Of the two, it is the WSPU which has become almost
inseparable from the notion of political militancy in the public mind.
Given this inseparability is not surprising that it is militancy that
historians have emphasized in their analyses of the Union. Different
evaluations of militant tactics have subsequently divided suffrage
historiography every bit as ferociously as opinions surrounding its use
cleaved Edwardian society. Most historians distinguish between ‘early’
(non-violent or quasi-illegal) militancy and its later manifestations which
included arson and bombing. ‘Early’ militancy is not without support:
Rosen acknowledged its ‘effectiveness’, Garner claimed that it ‘greatly
awakened a moribund campaign’ and even anti-militant suffragists such as
Strachey admitted that the ‘extraordinary behaviour’ of militant
suffragettes ‘came as a new gospel’ which inspired a fresh generation of
recruits.1 ‘Later’ militancy, by contrast, is frequently presented as
1
Andrew Rosen, Rise up women: the militant campaign of the Women’s Social
and Political Union 1904 - 14 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1974), 79;
Lesley Garner, Stepping stones to women’s liberty (London: Heineman, 1974),
300 What Was Suffragette Militancy?
alienating and self-defeating, trapped in a ‘spiral of decline’ which

‘seemed to carry within it the seeds of its own destruction’.2 Yet, amidst
all the discussions surrounding the wisdom of militancy as a political
tactic, there have been few attempts to consider how to define the term as
utilised by suffragettes between 1903 and 1914. The task of quantifying
the breadth of militant actions is further complicated by the assumption,
dominant within suffrage historiography, that ‘mild’ or ‘early’ militancy in
some way ‘evolved’ into more violent activities, with the latter completely
replacing the former.3 This, augmented by an insistence on categorising
militancy by its chronological occurrence as much as its composition,
overlooks the variety of militancy which can be discerned in the later
phases of the WSPU’s campaign and consequently hampers attempts at
constructing a fuller analysis of militancy which might investigate aspects
such as its class base or the extent of its support. To initiate such an
analysis, this chapter concentrates on the less obvious sites of militancy
which have been largely eclipsed by more violent manifestations in
historiographical interpretations. In this way it argues that militancy was a
far more diverse and eclectic phenomenon than popular perceptions of it
suggest.
There is no clear consensus within suffragettes’ own accounts as to
precisely when militancy became part of the WSPU’s programme. In her
ghost-written autobiography of 1914, Emmeline Pankhurst offered the
date of 12 May 1905, the second reading of a Women’s Suffrage Bill in
Parliament. Over-long contributions to the preceding bill ‘talked out’ the
suffrage motion halting its process through Parliament and persuading its
women supporters to attempt what Mrs Pankhurst described as ‘a
demonstration such as no old-fashioned suffragist had ever attempted’.
Striding out of the Strangers’ Lobby, the women began a meeting
105; Rachel Strachey, The cause: A short history of the women’s movement in
Great Britain (London: Bell, 1928), 302, 303.
2
Martin Pugh, The march of the women: a revisionist analysis of the campaign for
women’s suffrage, 1866-1914 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 210; Jill
Liddington & Jill Norris, One hand tied behind us: the rise of the women’s
suffrage movement (London: Virago, 1978), 210.
3
For such interpretations see, for example, Harold L. Smith, The British women’s
suffrage campaign 1866 – 1928 (Harlow: Longmans 1998), 30; Patricia
Greenwood, Connecting links: The British and American woman suffrage
movements, 1900 – 14 (Westport: Greenwood Press, 2000), 48; Cheryl Jorgansen-
Earp, “The transfiguring sword”: the just war of the Women’s Social and Political
Union (Tuscaloosa and London: University of Alabama Press 1997), 15;. Sophia
A. Van Wingerden, The women’s suffrage movement in Britain, 1866 – 1928
(Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1999), 92.
Krista Cowman 301
immediately outside the House. Police moved them on and no formal

proceedings were taken, but Emmeline was clear what had happened.
‘This was’, she said, ‘the first militant act of the WSPU.’4 Christabel
Pankhurst placed militancy slightly earlier in February 1904 when she
attended a meeting addressed by Winston Churchill at the Free Trade Hall,
Manchester, and, uninvited, attempted to append an amendment
concerning women’s suffrage to his resolution on Free Trade.5 She found
this ‘the first militant step’, both for herself and for the suffrage
movement. Another date, suggested by Sylvia Pankhurst, was 13 October
1905, when Christabel Pankhurst and Annie Kenney were arrested and
imprisoned following their ejection from a Liberal meeting in
Manchester.6 It was this event which most later versions agree to be the
start of the WSPU’s militancy, and which later became the occasion of
annual celebrations by ex-suffragettes when it was known as ‘Prisoners’
Day.’7 Such commemorative celebrations may have unwittingly masked
much of the scope of militancy as the failure to mark the previous
occasions with similar anniversary celebrations drew historical attention to
an equation of militancy with actions leading to imprisonment masking the
fact that other models of militancy were available to suffragettes.
Despite variance of date, each of these accounts places militancy at the
heart of WSPU activities from the outset. They also agree on two further
points: Firstly, militant behaviours and tactics were not necessarily violent
or illegal; secondly, that they provoked reactions in those who observed
them which surpassed the scale of the actions themselves. The Palace of
Westminster was the site of frequent noisy protest in an era when access to
its precincts was not strictly controlled: on the same day as the suffragette
meeting, a Leicester bootmaker had been ejected for protesting inside the
Strangers’ Gallery.8 Yet the women’s actions ‘caused comment and even
some alarm.’9 Christabel Pankhurst served imprisonment, was tried for
4
Emmeline Pankhurst, My own story (London: Eveleigh Nash 1914), 43.
5
Christabel Pankhurst, Unshackled: the story of how we won the vote (London:
Hutchinson 1959), 46.
6
E. Sylvia Pankhurst, The suffragette, (London Gay and Hancock 1911), chapter
2, ‘The beginning of the militant tactics’, 24 – 39. This date was also offered by
contemporary accounts, for example in Edward Raymond Turner, ‘The women’s
suffrage movement in England’, The American Political Science Review, vol. 7.
No. 4. November 1913, 588 – 609, 604.
7
For Prisoners’ Day meetings see for example Grace Roe to Mary Gawthorpe, 30
October 1972, Gawthorpe Papers, Tamiment Library.
8
The Times, 15 May 1905.
9
Pankhurst 1914, 43.
conspiracy and eventually fled England to direct her members in attacks

on private property from France. Yet retrospectively she found her first
interruption the ‘hardest’ act as it was done ‘in the teeth of the
astonishment and opposition of will’ of an audience which contained much
of Edwardian Manchester society.10 Her later first imprisonment was for a
‘technical assault’ intended to provoke arrest after ejection for heckling at
a political meeting, but attracted national press coverage. As none of these
episodes involved any violence other than that which was meted out to the
perpetrators, why were they considered to be so outrageous or militant?
An obvious answer to this question lies in the ‘who’ rather than the
‘what’ of militant actions. Such activities attracted comment because of
the gender of the participants who demanded a more active presence ‘as
full participants in the theatre of public politics’.11 Christabel Pankhurst
acknowledged this when she told the Sunday Times in April 1906 that she
was simply in the business of borrowing tactics that men had frequently
used.12 The WSPU’s first members were socialists, members of the
Manchester branch of the Independent Labour Party who were used to
participating in a vigorous outdoor propagandising uncommon amongst
politically involved Edwardian women.13 Suffragettes drew parallels
between their activities and those of an early generation of radical men
throughout their campaign. The first suffragette arrests at the Free Trade
Hall were conveniently at the site of the Peterloo Massacre, enabling the
WSPU to claim that its members were fighting ‘as their forefathers had
done at the same place’.14 Chartist legacies were similarly invoked.15 If
10
Pankhurst 1959, 46.
11
Jon Lawrence, ‘Contesting the male polity: the suffragettes and the politics of
disruption in Edwardian Britain’, in Amanda Vickery, ed., Women, Privilege and
Power; British Politics, 1750 to the Present (Stanford: Stamford University Press,
2001), 201 – 26.
12
The Sunday Times April 1906. See also Mary Gawthorpe’s WSPU pamphlet
Votes for Men, (London: The Women’s Press, n.d. c. 1908) which describes
actions taken by male Chartists and supporters of various 19th century Reform Bills
in pursuit of their claims to the vote.
13
For more details see for example June Hannam, “Women in the Independent
Labour Party” in The Centennial History of the Independent Labour Party, eds.
David James, Tony Jowett and Keith Laybourn, (Halifax: Ryburn 1992), 205 –
228.
14
Pankhurst 1911, 29. The Peterloo Massacre took place in Manchester in August
1819 when a troop of yeoman violently broke up a reform meeting causing several
deaths and many more injuries.
15
See for example Mrs Pankhurst’s comparison of Chartist and Suffragette
demonstrations on Hunstead Moor Leeds made, amongst other places, at the Albert
Krista Cowman 303
much of what the suffragettes themselves defined as militant became so

only when undertaken by women, an examination which considers the
gendering of militancy might broaden our understanding of precisely what
it comprised.
Appropriate behaviour for Edwardian women was not solely reliant on
gender, however. Other factors such as class and age defined female
propriety alongside the less obvious but equally coherent pressures
originating from immediate social circles. Actions which attracted critical
comments to one woman might pass unnoticed if carried out by another,
meaning that militancy was a varied phenomenon from the outset. For
Alice Kedge, who was a fourteen year old ‘maid-of-all-work’ when she
encountered the WSPU in Camden Town, militancy involved a very small
action:
I went to several meetings and I bought myself a ‘Votes for Women’

badge. Tin it was, with a safety pin attached….when my mother saw the
badge, she said: “What are you doing with that thing? Take it off this
minute and throw it away!” Well, I didn’t throw my badge away but I
have to admit I tucked it under the lapel of my coat because I didn’t want
to upset my mother and I couldn’t afford to lose my job.16
Other working-class women were less reticent and felt able to brave
disapprobation and risk bolder actions leading to arrest and imprisonment
in pursuit of the vote. ‘I have gone to prison to help to get better conditions
for working women’, Manchester suffragette and factory worker Ada
Chatterton told the Labour Leader after her arrest in December 1906.17
Chatterton and her fellow Lancashire women factory workers were a
comparatively well-organised group of workers with traditions of radical
unionisation. Domestic servants like Kedge had no such resources but
worked in isolation in precarious employment which depended on keeping
their employers’ approval. Militancy thus had distinct meanings for each
of these women and manifested itself in very different ways although each
would have described their actions as militant.
Hall, 19 March 1908. Mss notebook, “Speeches by leading members of the

WSPU”, Vera Holme Papers, 7/VJH/1/1/3, Women’s Library London. On suffrage
attempts to link with other radical traditions see Laura Mayhall, The militant
suffrage movement: citizenship and resistance in Britain 1860 – 1930 (Oxford,
Oxford University Press, 2003), 43 – 4.
16
Joyce Marlow, The Virago Book of Suffragettes (London: Virago, 2001), 79 –
80.
17
Labour Record, January 1907.
If the nature of what comprised a militant action varied according to

the identity of its perpetrator, then it may be that a broader interpretation
of militancy’s chronological development is required. Militancy has been
predominantly viewed as an escalating phenomenon which passed through
progressive stages as increasingly outrageous actions became necessary in
order to retain headline coverage. Yet suffragettes themselves were
adamant that retaining an individual militant’s ability to select from
amongst a range of actions was an essential part of their campaign. In a
much-quoted speech at the Albert Hall in October 1912, Emmeline
Pankhurst urged suffragettes to:
Be militant in your own way. Those of you who can express your militancy
by going to the House of Commons and refusing to leave without
satisfaction, as we did in the early days – do so. Those of you who can
express their militancy by facing party mobs at Cabinet Ministers’
meetings, and remind them of their unfaithfulness to principle – do so
those of you who can express your militancy by joining us in the anti-
Government by-election policy – do so. Those of you who can break
windows…those of you who can still further attack the sacred idol of
property so as to make the Government realised that property is as greatly
endangered by women as it was by the Chartists of old – do so. 18
WSPU circulars referred to ‘degrees of militancy’ and recognized that

some ‘women [were] able to go further than others in militant action.’
Despite talk of ‘old’ and ‘new’ kinds of militancy within the WSPU from
1912 when widespread attacks on property were begun, the one never
wholly eclipsed the other in the suffragettes’ arsenal.19 Consequently it is
more accurate to conceptualise militancy as comprising different actions
which were continually juxtaposed rather than as a series of progressive
stages in which each new action eclipsed its predecessors. A chronological
dimension did exist as distinct types of militancy emerged a different
times, but each new type augmented rather than replaced its predecessors.
18
See June Purvis, Emmeline Pankhurst (London: Routledge, 2002), 201 – 202.
19
For the ‘old’ and ‘new’ militancy see piece of that name by Mary Gawthorpe,
the Standard, 20 September 1912,
Krista Cowman 305
What Were ‘Militant’ Actions?

What, then, were the types of activity available to women committed to
deploying militancy in support of their campaign to win the vote? The first
suffragette actions to be publicly defined as militant involved little more
than inappropriate behaviour by their perpetrators, as suggested above.
Militant suffragettes, said the constitutional suffragist Ray Strachey, ‘did
not scruple to brush aside the ordinary niceties of procedure, and they did
not care whom they shocked and antagonised’.20 Suffragette impropriety
was heavily dependent on gender, but could involve more complex matters
too. The early 20th century political meeting was not an exclusively male
preserve. Indeed, as J. Seymour Lloyd remarked in his advice manual to
political candidates in 1909, ‘in a great many constituencies the presence
of ladies is specially invited at purely political meetings…’21 The
militancy of disrupting these involved more than a female presence as it
remained grounded within a recognised political arena. At the General
Election of January 1906 Liberal Party meetings, especially those
featuring MPs heading for ministerial office, were subjected to sustained
attack by WSPU protestors in and around Manchester but also in London,
Sheffield and Glasgow. The WSPU continued to use the Party’s public
meetings to question Liberal politicians about their intentions with regard
to the women’s vote, calling this ‘pestering,’ after Sir Henry Campbell
Bannerman’s suggestion that they ought to ‘go on pestering’ if their
campaign was to succeed.22 Political participation in Britain had
traditionally involved interaction between speaker and audience. Indeed,
one of the marks of an able politician was his ability to deal with
interruptions, heckling and uninvited questions with commanding and
spontaneous wit.23 Non-electoral meetings were less open to this type of
protest, however, and suffragettes’ continued disruption of these provoked
increasingly violent responses to their choice of the ‘wrong’ meeting.24
Hecklers regularly returned from meetings ‘bruised and dishevelled’ or
worse.25 Women who did not ask questions could be similarly abused,
particularly if they had attempted to symbolically claim a public presence
20
Strachey 1928, 309 – 310.
21
John Hall Seymour Lloyd, Elections and How to Fight Them (London: Vacher
and Sons, 1909), 24.
22
Strachey 1928, .301.
23
See Seymour Lloyd, Elections, particularly 49, 23.
24
See Jon Lawrence, “The transformation of British public politics after the first
world war”, Past and Present 190 (February 2006), 185 – 216 especially 191-2.
25
E. Sylvia Pankhurst, The suffragette movement (London: Longmans, 1928): 297.
through displaying suffragette banners or colours clandestinely smuggled

into a venue.26 Many women’s reactions suggested that such treatment had
a particular effect on their self-confidence. They refused to take the
escalating levels of violence used against them passively. Connie Lewcock
took to attending meetings with a supportive male friend who held
stewards at bay with his fists whilst she vented the WSPU’s demands.27
Others determined upon even more drastic steps. Helen Ogston carried a
dog-whip when she was dispatched to heckle Lloyd George at the Albert
Hall in December 1908.28
As well as evolving direct responses to violent reactions to their
protests, suffragettes developed imaginative strategies to ensure their
continuity. When the Liberal Party excluded known suffragettes – and
later all women – from its public meetings, WSPU members were hidden
in halls for days to gain access. Politicians’ refusal to meet women in the
public political arena also led suffragettes to shift their militancy beyond
this. Jessie Kenney, who arranged militant demonstrations in London, kept
photographs of all the Cabinet Ministers on the mantelpiece of her office
in order that WSPU members might recognize them in any chance
encounters on the London streets. With Vera Wentworth and Elsie Howey,
she shadowed the Prime Minister on his holiday in Kent where the women
followed him to church and onto the golf course finally smashing his
dining room windows.29 This conflation of public and private spaces
shocked many contemporary watchers but Wentworth remained
unapologetic, explaining to her suffragette friend Emily Blathwayt that ‘if
Mr Asquith will not receive deputation [we] will pummel him again’.30
Christabel Pankhurst endorsed this, saying that as the Prime Minister had
refused all attempts by the WSPU to meet him at political venues the
Union would henceforth take its chances and meet him where they could.31
26
See Lawrence 2001, 210. The significance of political colours is discussed in
James Vernon, Politics and the people: a study in English political culture c. 1815
– 1867 (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1993), 107 – 16. Colours feature
prominently in press reports of WSPU demonstrations. See, for example, Daily
Express, 19 November 1910.
27
Mrs Connie Lewcock, interviewed by Brian Harrison, 15 April 1976, Harrison
Tapes, The Women’s Library.
28
Antonia Raeburn, The Militant Suffragettes (London: Michael Joseph, 1973), 79.
See also The Times, 7 December 1908.
29
Raeburn 1973, 113 – 114.
30
Emily Blathwayt diary, 16 August 1909, Blathwayt Papers, D2659, Gloucester
Record Office.
31
Votes for Women, 17 September 1909. For the WSPU leadership’s retrospective
embracing of tactics initiated by the rank-and-file of the Union see, for example, E.
Krista Cowman 307
Meeting rooms, party premises and the Palace of Westminster were joined
by any places where a politician happened to be, locating the political
within the physical body of the politician. In this, suffragette militancy
redrew and extended the boundaries of what might be considered political.
Hence, one implication of a broader reading of the composition of
militancy may be to widen evaluation of its efficacy to include
consideration of the extent to which its practice shifted understandings of
the nature and location of political space.
Alongside these protests, which blurred the distinction between private
and political space, the WSPU identified further targets which held even
less political resonance. Their aim in doing this appears to have been
twofold. Firstly, the protests and their subsequent press coverage contrived
to create a picture of the ubiquity of suffragettes in the public mind.
Secondly, certain targets represented key sites of power within the
Edwardian state. This is evident in the series of church protests which the
WSPU began in 1913. ‘Prayers for prisoners’ called on women to discard
appropriate religious behaviour and interrupt services. Suffragettes
broached the silence that occurred in set places within the liturgy to add
public prayers for Mrs Pankhurst and hunger-striking prisoners. Although
they were constructed within the accepted terms of religious language, the
church protests also subverted commonly held expectations of women’s
religious behaviour. Clerics and congregations were no less averse to the
challenges posed to the gendered order of their immediate environment
than political audiences, and their reactions were similarly robust. Women
were violently ejected from York Minster and Westminster Abbey; at
Liverpool Cathedral the Dean and Chapter also barred women from
attending services.32 Other protests which disrupted the contemporary
civic order included that of a suffragette debutante who used the occasion
of her ‘coming out’ presentation at the royal court to beg the King, ‘for
God’s sake, stop forcible feeding’. Further favoured locations were not
obvious sites of power but promised to deliver a reasonably captive
audience. Edwardian cities offered a variety of settings where women
could be seen alone or with other women without attracting immediate
Sylvia Pankhurst, The suffragette movement, 286; June Purvis, Emmeline

Pankhurst, 133.
32
For Liverpool, see Krista Cowman, “‘We intend to show what Our Lord has
done for women.’ the Liverpool Church League for Women’s Suffrage, 1914 –
18”. Studies in Church History 34, 1998, 475 – 86, 483. For York Minster
reactions see Yorkshire Evening Press, 16 March 1914.
hostile attention.33 Suffragettes thus used Lyons Corner Houses (described

by Roger Fulford as ‘an integral part of the women’s liberation
movement’) and innumerable cinemas and theatres throughout the country
as impromptu meeting halls, standing up to address diners or audiences for
as long as they could manage prior to being ejected.34
As with the interruptions at political meetings, the militancy in these
actions again lay in their inappropriateness. Although there is no
immediate connection between areas such as York Minster, the court of
George V, a restaurant or a provincial picture house, each location
comprised a space whose use involved formalised behaviours in which an
audience or congregation joined in a limited and pre-determined fashion.
Speech from spectators was permitted only at particular times and along
formalised lines, with the majority of their participation taking the form of
silent observation. Suffragette protests shattered these silences dismantling
the social conventions surrounding such spaces. They introduced uninvited
words shouted at unexpected moments. The Anglican liturgy was usurped
and the formal language of court replaced with clamorous female voices.
In restaurants, suffragettes refused to remain bound by the immediate
confines of their own tables. They broke into the private spaces of other
diners with impromptu speeches, further subverting the purpose of the
restaurant interior by standing up on delicate dining chairs to deliver their
orations. Small wonder that the mother of May Bloomfield, the debutante
who used her own ‘coming out’ to stage the protest described above, felt
that her daughter’s uninvited six words were a crime of such enormity that
she and her family sought a period of self-imposed exile abroad to atone
for it.35 Yet, as with the disruption of political meetings, no violence was
used in these protests except against their perpetrators. This is despite their
occurrence towards the end of the WSPU’s campaign, by a point at which
it is popularly believed that only violent militancy was available. Although
they post-dated destruction of property as an accepted militant tactic, they
had much more in common with so-called ‘early’ militancy. Women again
gained a particular access to each of these venues via their gender:
Anglican congregations were predominantly feminine; mothers presented
33
There is now an extensive literature on this theme. See, for example, Rachel
Bowlby, Carried away: the invention of modern shopping (London: Faber, 2000);
Elizabeth Wilson, Cities, culture, women (London: Sage 2000); Elizabeth Wilson,
The sphinx in the city: urban life the control of disorder and women (London:
Virago, 1991).
34
Roger Fulford, Votes for women, the story of a struggle (London: Faber, 1957),
103.
35
Raeburn 1973, 234.
Krista Cowman 309
daughters at court; restaurants such as Lyons marketed themselves as a

safe environment where respectable women could dine alone. In return for
this access, certain behaviours were expected. In each instance here,
suffragettes pushed against the boundaries of socially acceptable
behaviours in these spaces, evincing continuity rather than displacement in
the suffragette’s range of available tactics.
Alongside actions that flouted political and social conventions within
the confines of particular spaces, contemporary observers noted another
type of militancy emerging. Rather than creating protests through
transgressive actions designed to disrupt or disturb established proceedings
in pre-determined locations, some suffragettes transformed their own
bodies into sites of political dissent.36 Lisa Tickner has refocused our
attention on the ‘spectacle of suffrage’, the large, staged pageants and
demonstrations which made the WSPU a familiar visible presence on the
streets of most Edwardian cities.37 Barbara Green has extended this
analysis to argue that the suffragette became ‘the missing link between the
passante and the flaneuse, between woman-as-spectacle and woman-as-
spectator’.38 Large demonstrations played a part in this, but smaller
initiatives at branch level, often connected to advertising the WSPU’s
newspapers, were arguably more important as they were both more
frequent and, because of their more immediate location, were accessible to
all suffragettes. The transformation of women from spectacle to spectator
discomforted many contemporary observers. Nowhere was the anger that
such public presence of suffragettes provoked as apparent as in the
reactions recorded by those suffragettes who braved hostility to sell the
WSPU’s newspapers Votes for Women and The Suffragette in the streets.
These sales marked an individual’s transition from observer to activist,
thus were often the first task assigned to would-be suffragettes as a means
of testing their commitment and ability, ‘the acid test’ as one paper-seller
put it.39 The visual symbol of commitment embodied in this work
transformed the act of paper-selling into an act of militancy.
36
For a useful discussion of how this operated, see Wendy Parkins, “Protesting
like a girl: embodiment, dissent and feminist agency”. Feminist Theory 1, April
2000, 59 – 78.
37
LisaTickner, The spectacle of women: imagery of the women’s suffrage
campaign (London: Chatto and Windus, 1987), particularly chapter 3, “Spectacle”.
38
Barbara Green, Spectacular confessions: autobiography, performative activism
and the sites of suffrage, 1905 – 38 (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997), 38.
39
Kitty Marion, Typescript Autobiography, Suffragette Fellowship Collection,
Museum of London.
Public paper-sales were not without risk. They were legal, but many
suffragettes found themselves threatened with rather literal interpretations
of by-laws regarding obstruction. ‘Always off the kerb by law’, Gertrude
Harding noted on the back of a photograph of herself selling The
Suffragette which had featured in the Daily Mail.40 Keeping mobile during
the sale and walking in the gutter precluded charges of obstruction being
brought against suffragettes but infused them with connotations of
uncleanness and prostitution. These often resulted in sexual insults being
deployed against them; Mary Richardson’s autobiography describes in
detail her encounter with the ‘dapper little man’ who returned specially to
her pitch to ‘whisper… a most filthy remark in [her] ear’.41
Contemporary responses to suffragette paper sellers objected to their
political purpose rather than merely their public presence. Women were a
common feature on Edwardian streets selling a variety of wares. Evelyn
Sharp’s account noted how quickly they befriended her during her paper-
sales.42 As these women went unmolested (unlike Sharp) it would appear
to be the suffragette message which provoked rather than simply the
female presence. Suffragettes’ actions when on street sales were not those
of easily defined or, presumably, controllable women engaged in hawking
or even in prostitution. Rather, there was a degree of unpredictability to
their public appearance and intent. Paper-sellers did not appear every day,
nor were they selling to provide an income for themselves. Furthermore,
the papers they sold endorsed many levels of militancy and thus suggested
acts which might have been considered more severe. The government took
serious steps to suppress The Suffragette once the arson campaign began,
threatening its publishers and obtaining lists of subscribers from the Post
Office. Viewed in this context, selling the paper becomes a more overtly
politicised act.
Verbal attacks on paper-sellers were not class-driven. Some paper-
sellers were working-class. Sally Simmonds, the eponymous servant
heroine of Gertrude Colmore’s 1911 novel Suffragette Sally, was thrown
off guard during her first paper sale by an unexpected encounter with the
sisters of her employer: Colmore’s description of the encounter reminds us
that working women risked livelihoods alongside reputations when
40
Gretchen Wilson, With all her might; the life of Gertrude Harding, militant
suffragette (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1998), 120. See also Diane Atkinson,
The suffragettes in pictures (Stroud: Sutton, 1996), 55.
41
Mary Richardson, Laugh a defiance (London: Wiedenfeld & Nicolson, 1953),
80.
42
Evelyn Sharp, “Filling the war chest”, in Angelique Richardson, ed., Women
who did (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 2002), 340-341.
Krista Cowman 311
working for suffrage43 Yet this form of militancy was not an easy option
for middle or upper-class women either. Margaret Haig felt that it was
‘almost the done thing’ in her own family to go to prison. Her husband’s
family took a different view and disapproved of her public affiliation with
the WSPU, hence she frequently hid from her mother-in-law when
engaged in suffragette paper sales.44 Women of all classes found the public
paper-sale with its immediate possibility of detection, confrontation and
disapprobation to be a difficult challenge. Whilst it may appear historically
inconsequential when set alongside more violent militant actions, it was
clearly accepted as militant by many of its practitioners. Furthermore, this
form of militancy remained in place throughout the WSPU’s campaign
and increased in importance in the final years as many local branches took
over the entire process of distributing and selling The Suffragette
themselves as a reaction to Government threats against the paper.45
Militancy and the Law

Whilst none of the militant tactics so far described was actually illegal,
others involved small-scale violations of the law. These took place on the
largest scale in London during deputations emanating from the ‘Women’s
Parliaments’ that the WSPU organized there from February 1907.
Newspapers reported eagerly on all aspects, particularly the identities and
behaviours of deputation members. They professed equal horror at the
presence of ‘Lancashire Lassies’ whose ‘clogs clattered’ in the yard of the
House of Commons and the sight of more elite participants prepared to
‘shriek and fight….like amazons’.46 Headlines consistently made reference
to the sex of participants, emphasizing the gendered dimension to their
transgressiveness. The actualité style photography and reports were
augmented elsewhere in the press by crude hand-drawn illustrations which
portrayed the protesters as ugly, elderly and mannish or young, naïve and
apolitical, all underlining the inappropriateness of their actions.47
Parliaments always saw several arrests.
43
Gertrude Colmore, The suffragettes, (London: Virago, 1984 [1911]), 69.
44
Margaret Haig, This was my world (London: Macmillan, 1933), 161, 155.
45
See, for example, local reports by Helen Jollie and Margaret West of the efforts
of Liverpool and Leicester WSPU branches to arrange their own distribution of the
paper. The Suffragette, 31 July, 7 August 1914.
46
Daily News, 18 February 1907.
47
See, for example, illustrations in Daily Express, 14 October 1908; Daily Graphic,
15 February 1907.
Suffragette militancy did not stop at arrest but spilled into the
courtroom. Mary Leigh received a more severe sentence than her
comrades after her first arrest because she unfurled a banner in the dock.48
Ada Chatterton refused to stand up in the dock, or to leave the court
quickly, declaring that she did ‘not believe in any time by men’, until she
was carried out of the court by officials.49 Other suffragettes found that
silence could provide another form of disruption. Several women refused
to communicate in any way after arrest and were sentenced and
imprisoned without ever revealing their identities to the authorities despite
the Government’s adoption of state-of-the-art surveillance including
telephone tapping and covert photography.50
Suffragettes carried their refusal to recognize the authority of the legal
system into prison. Prison experiences formed a central part of suffragette
memoirs and have been subject to recent historical reappraisal, notably by
June Purvis and Alyson Brown, who both concur that suffragette militancy
continued inside prison, where it took many forms.51 Ostensibly it was
directed against the Government’s refusal to award suffragettes the status
of political prisoners, thus further negating their claims to participation in
the political arena. Yet when viewed within the context of an evaluation of
suffragette militancy, the campaigns of disobedience mounted by
suffragettes in prison demonstrate similarities with militant actions outside
of prison which refused to accept women’s exclusion from established
political and civic forums. Suffragette prisoners objected to prison dress
and refused to have their fingerprints taken.52 They ignored rules about
silence, and revealed the inadequacies of many procedures by keeping up
regular contact with the outside world through smuggled letters written on
lavatory paper. And, when these methods failed to win their objectives,
they adopted the hunger strike. Again, militancy within prison was based
on inappropriateness and disruption rather than violence. The Edwardian
48
March 23 1907 from Wonter & Sons Solicitors to Chief Clerk, Metropolitan
Police, TNA MEPOL 2/1016.
49
Daily Graphic, 15 February 1908.
50
For details of photographic surveillance of suffragettes see TNA HO45/12915;
TNA PRICOM 7/252.
51
June Purvis, “The Prison Experiences of Suffragettes in Edwardian Britain,”
Women’s History Review vol. 4., no. 1 (1995): 103 – 133; Alyson Brown,
“Conflicting Objectives: Suffragette Prisoners and Female Prison Staff in
Edwardian England”, Women’s Studies: An Interdisciplinary Journal 31, 5,
(2002): 627 – 644.
52
See, for example, “Copy of Miss Kerr’s Statement”, (n.d. ?1912). Pethick
Lawrence Papers PL9 121, Trinity College, Cambridge.
Krista Cowman 313
penal code was predicated on a notion of reform, and the idea that prison
would make ‘bad’ girls – or women – ‘good’. For the most part,
suffragettes were women had had no contact with the law prior to their
arrest, but resolutely refused to submit to prison discipline. Their numbers
in prison gave the potential to ‘disrupt prison discipline’ on a large scale,
subverting the purpose of the project to manifest themselves as ‘good’
women becoming ‘bad’.53
Less or non-violent forms of suffragette militancy are best understood
as symbolic actions. They emphasized women’s political exclusion, their
infantilisation through restrictions placed upon them in aspects of public
life, and suffragettes’ determination to challenge such exclusions and
restrictions as loudly and publicly as possible. Symbolic militancy drew
disproportionate reactions from private and public alike; many suffragettes
were exiled from family or friends by their actions, whilst in court repeat
offenders were given more severe sentences, often without the option of a
fine.54 Within this context some suffragettes broadened the range of
militant tactics, adopting more violent actions as previous initiatives had
adopted different locations, and fuelling interpretations of militancy as a
reactive phenomenon.55 In June 1908 Mary Leigh and Gladys New
became the WSPU’s first window-breakers. More co-ordinated attacks on
public buildings were deployed by suffragettes the following year. Mass
window-smashing targeting commercial as well as political property was
used in 1911 and in 1912. From 1911, the tactic was joined by arson, first
against pillarboxes then against property, and, finally, by bombs.
Suffragettes thus repositioned aspects of their campaign by transforming
themselves from victims to perpetrators of violence.56
53
See Leon Radzinowicz. & Roger Hood, “Suffragettes: crimes as propaganda”, in
A history of English criminal law and its administration from 1750, volume 5, the
emergence of penal policy (London: Sweet and Maxwell, 1985).
54
See for example the third court appearance of Patricia Woodlock where she was
given one month with no fine option to “give everybody warning that if they were
convicted in this manner on more than one occasion they would share [her] fate.”
Guardian, 22 March 1907.
55
See Liz Stanley with Ann Morley, The life and death of Emily Wilding Davison
(London: The Women’s Press, 1988), 153. For a critique of militancy as reactive,
see Christopher Bearman, “Suffragette Violence”, English Historical Review, 120,
no. 486, (April 2005) : 365-397, 374.
56
The history of women who commit violence has been investigated in the context
of domestic violence by, for example, Elizabeth Foyster, Marital violence: an
English family history 1660 – 1857 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2005). Historical engagement with more generally violent women is less
pronounced, but can be seen in, for example, Barry S. Godfrey, Susanne Farrall
In commencing attacks on property, suffragettes were at great pains to

emphasize that much of their violence remained symbolic. In 1911,
however, suffragette attitudes to violence underwent a marked shift. In
February 1910, the WSPU called a truce and suspended illegal militancy
whilst a cross-party ‘Conciliation Committee’ of MP’s drafted a Women’s
Suffrage Bill. In November 1910 the Government dropped the bill
provoking a large WSPU demonstration which ended in extreme violence
against demonstrators.57 For many suffragettes, this marked a turning point
in their attitude towards more direct violence. ‘If there are young women
here who do not approve of window-smashing’, Mrs Beldon told a
meeting at Steinway Hall, London, ‘I should like them to hear of my
experience [on November 10]. I was kicked, knocked down, bruised and
most abominably treated’.58 WSPU treasurer Emmeline Pethick Lawrence
noted a change in the mood of her membership with ‘women who had
never approved of breaking windows….saying it was better to break a
pane of glass than have the bodies of women broken’. The WSPU
countered a further setback for the Conciliation Bill in November 1911
with a small public meeting and a simultaneous attack on West End
windows involving over 150 women, a tactic which was repeated the
following March.
While mass stone-throwing evolved as a reaction to the treatment of
women on successive deputations, other forms of suffragette violence
which emerged between 1912 and 1914 responded to different forms of
repression against the WSPU’s organisation. One unexpected paradox of
the Union’s decision to embrace the destruction of property was that a
and Graham Karstedt,. “Explaining gendered sentencing patterns for violent men
and women in the late-Victorian and Edwardian period”, British Journal of
Criminology 45, 2005, pp.696 – 720. For an overview of literature offering
historical and sociological perspectives on younger women’s violence see “A view
from the girls: exploring violent behaviour,” University of Glasgow/Economic and
Social Research Council (http://www.gla.ac.uk/girlsandviolence/index.html). In
the context of political violence, Valentine Moghadam has suggested that women’s
participation legitimates revolutionary demands and dampens its violence whilst
Walter Laquer, by contrast, suggests that female revolutionaries are more fanatical
– and violent – in their actions than males. See Valentine Moghadam, “Gender and
revolutions” in John Foran, ed., Theorizing Revolutions, (London: Routledge,
1997), 137; Walter Laquer, The New Terrorism: Fanaticism and the Arms of Mass
Destruction, (London: Phoenix, 2001), 38-9.
57
The evidence can be seen in TNA HO 144/1106/200455.
For a full analysis of the material see Caroline Morrell, “Black Friday”: violence
against women in the suffragette movement (London PUB 1981).
58
Police report on WSPU meeting, TNA HO 45/10695/231366/21.
Krista Cowman 315
number of its key workers now found themselves punished even if they
had taken no direct part in such actions. Harriet Kerr, the WSPU’s office
manager, took up her job in 1906 on the understanding that she would not
go to prison, but was sentenced to 12 months’ hard labour for conspiracy
in 1913 despite never having even marched in a deputation.59 Police raids
on the WSPU’s offices became common place. In a complete policy
reversal arrested suffragettes were now encouraged to take the option of a
fine in court and actions where avoiding rather than courting arrest became
the objective evolved.60 The firing of letter boxes was joined by a more
general policy of committing arson against property. This was co-
ordinated by WSPU organizers, but carried out in secret, often in elaborate
plots involving several individuals who were not known to each other
before the event. Non-violent militancy continued but the authorities
increasingly refused to recognize a difference between this and the more
overtly criminal manifestations. Consequently, some suffragettes felt that,
as they were bound to suffer a severe penalty for any action publicly
connecting them with the WSPU, there was little point in not committing
the more serious acts. At the same time, however, the inclusion of more
violent forms of militancy also expanded the varieties of supporting
activities available to suffragettes, who sought other ways to demonstrate
their commitment to this work beyond the level of direct personal
involvement. The numbers of actual arsonists may have been small, but
the campaign was only made possible through a vast, national network of
women who facilitated their work, moving them around the country in
secret and providing board and lodgings at short notice. In the context of
the authorities’ expanded threat of arrest to anyone found to have a slight
connection to the WSPU, such practical support was every bit as risky as
stonethrowing, thus the arson campaign expanded rather than narrowed
many women’s understanding of what participation in militancy meant.
Conclusions
A serious analysis of suffragette militancy must confront the question
of the extent to which the adoption of such phenomena as arson within a
political campaign should be interpreted as an embracement of terrorist
59
Harriet R. Kerr to Edith How Martyn, 22 January 1928, Suffragette Fellowship
Collection, Museum of London. See also Harriet Kerr’s niece to David Mitchell,
27 July 1975, Mitchell Collection, Museum of London.
60
See interview with Nellie Hall, Canadian Weekly, 16 October 1965, which
describes how one of her first jobs as a WSPU organizer was to raise money for
fines following this tactical shift.
tactics intended to force political change through the deliberate use of

violent or dangerous methods. Authors such as David Mitchell have drawn
direct comparisons between the “terrorist touch” of the WSPU and the
activities of later 20th century terrorist groups, seeing ‘Ulrike Meinhof as a
Mrs Pankhurst-cum-Christabel of the New Left’.61 Mitchell’s view is not
without support, but is in opposition to interpretations of feminist
historians such as Earp, who have differentiated the WSPU’s ‘reformist
terrorism’ which ‘seeks only limited change’, from movements relying on
violence to achieve a change in systems of government.62 It is also
necessary to remember that the WSPU’s members remained excluded
from many of the formal political mechanisms of their time. As voteless
women seeking a reform which could only be granted from within a
Parliamentary system which excluded them, suffragettes were dependent
on the goodwill of others – notably politicians and male voters – to enact
change on their behalf. They could not effect change through the system
themselves through voting in a different government better disposed
towards their cause. Yet acknowledging Edwardian women’s political
powerlessness ought not to allow analysis to completely sidestep the
implications of the direction of one aspect of WSPU militancy. There has
been emphasis on the contained aspects of more violent militancy,
following the WSPU’s own assertion that their targets were carefully
selected and controlled to ensure that no person or animal risked injury
from a suffragette fire or bomb.63 It is also worth remembering that the
WSPU’s more daring members were not short of models of political
violence which went far beyond the symbolic including the Feninan
bombing campaigns of 1881 – 5; anarchist activities and, perhaps more
pertinently, the assassination of Sir Curzon Wylie, a senior Indian Civil
Servant, in London in July 1909.64 The curtailment of all aspects of the
militant campaign by the outbreak of World War One in August 1914
makes this a comfortable interpretation as, at the point of suspension, only
61
David Mitchell, Queen Christabel,(London:Macdonald and Janes, 1977), 322.
62
Jorgansen-Earp 1997, 2.
63
See, for example, Liz Stanley with Ann Morley, Emily Wilding Davison, 151-2;
Sandra Holton, “In sorrowful wrath: suffrage militancy and the romantic feminism
of Emmeline Pankhurst,” in Harold L. Smith, ed., British feminism in the twentieth
century (Aldershot: Longmans 1990), 19.
64
See K. R. M. Short, The dynamite war (Dublin: Gill and Macmillans, 1989);
Hermia Oliver, The international anarchist movement in late Victorian London
(London: Croon Helm, 1983). For Wylie’s assassination and reactions to it see The
Times, 3 July 1909 I am grateful to Ian Packer for these suggestions and
references.
Krista Cowman 317
Emily Wilding Davison had died as a result of a suffragette act.

Nevertheless, there is evidence that not all who participated in this type of
militancy were committed to respecting its boundaries. As early as 1909 a
distraught Emily Blathwayt confided her concerns about some of the
younger members of the WSPU and their plans to sabotage Churchill’s
motor car.65 Janie Allan had discharged a loaded weapon into a police
crowd in Edinburgh, albeit without scoring a direct hit.66 And, although
Christabel Pankhurst attempted to keep abreast of the pace of the
campaign from her Parisian exile, the evidence would suggest that, at
some point, suffragette violence would shift its target from symbolic
property to selected persons.67 This point requires acknowledgement and
consideration if militancy is to be successfully reassessed and re-evaluated
by historians. If militancy is to be subjected to serious analysis as a
political tactic in all its diverse forms, it is less than honest to ignore its
less palatable manifestations, however uncomfortable they may be.
Yet, although this question must be faced, it ought not to be the only
category on which militancy is evaluated. Ultimately, it must be
remembered that this possible apex – which was never actually reached –
was a small proportion of all the acts which were considered as militant by
their suffragette perpetrators between 1903 and 1914. Few women
committed arson or criminal damage in pursuit of the vote; many more
marched, heckled, sold newspapers in the street or wore the WSPU’s
colours in the face of hostile friends or employers. Most of the activities
which suffragettes themselves considered as militant whilst they undertook
them involved no violence on their part, and many were not classified as
illegal. Even reactive militancy did not necessarily involve an escalated
response but could merely concern itself with extending definitions of a
political target or with evolving imaginative disguises or ruses to access
more obvious sites for political conflict against attempts to close these to
women. A focus which is overly concerned with militancy’s
comparatively few violent manifestations misses much of its subtlety as
well as the extent of its support.
An investigation into non-violent militancy also suggests that the
continued division of the WSPU’s tactics into ‘early’ and ‘later’
65
Emily Blathwayt diary, 1 August 1909, Blathwayt Papers D2659, Gloucester
Record Office.
66
Wilson 1998, 150.
67
See, for example, the letter from Christabel Pankhurst, 3 March 1913, to an
(unidentified) newspaper editor which draws his attention to the fact that
suffragettes had no involvement in an explosion at Devonport in which a boy was
injured. Mary Phillips Papers, Camellia PLC.
manifestations and the equation of these with ‘violent’ and ‘non-violent’

forms offers an inadequate reflection of how such tactics were deployed
during the campaign. There was no linear progression from non-violent to
violent militancy. Indeed, the later militant tactic of ‘prayers for prisoners’
involved no violence or criminality. When more violent tactics emerged
these augmented rather than replaced other militant activities. A definition
of militancy which derives in part from the gender of its perpetrator rather
than the nature of the action committed helps us to focus on the breadth of
activities which suffragettes and their contemporaries saw as militant.
When the action alone is considered, continuities in militancy can be
missed as more violent actions tend to eclipse the less flamboyant
activities of inappropriate interruptions, uninvited public presences, and
even the simple visual identifications by women adopting the WSPU’s
colours. If a broader definition of militancy is adopted, more effective
assessments of its success or failure might also be attempted. Finally, only
when the full extent of actions comprising suffragette militancy is
acknowledged will it be possible to address what such behaviours meant to
the women who adopted them.
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Camellia PLC; Mary Philips Papers.
Gloucester Record Office; Blathwayt Papers.
Museum of London; Mitchell Collection; Suffragette Fellowship
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The National Archives, Great Britain; Metropolitan Police Papers MEPOL
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The Tamiment Library, New York; Mary Gawthorpe Papers.
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The Women’s Library, London Metropolitan University; Harrison Tapes;
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Krista Cowman 319
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BECOMING CITIZENS IN IRELAND:
NEGOTIATING WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE
AND NATIONAL POLITICS
CAITRIONA BEAUMONT, MYRTLE HILL,

LEEANN LANE AND LOUISE RYAN
Introduction
The term ‘Irish Suffrage Movement’ may be applied to a loose
amalgam of scattered groups of varying sizes, which began in the 1870s
and reached the peak of its activity between 1908 and 19141. Membership
was fluid and fluctuating, making it difficult to accurately assess but, at its
height, the movement claimed to have approximately 3,000 members
(Irish Citizen June 1912).
Unlike the British suffrage movement, the Irish suffrage movement
was not dominated by two key groups nor can it be easily split into two
British-style camps of militants and constitutionals. The vast majority of
Irish suffragists were constitutional, opposing any form of militancy.
Although these two movements were part of the same campaign for
female enfranchisement from the British government at Westminster, it is
important to emphasise that they were operating in very different social,
political and cultural contexts. Despite the fact that there was a good deal
of contact and some close personal friendships across the two movements,
tensions around unionism and nationalism led to several disagreements,
especially in relation to the autonomy of the Irish movement. Since the
Act of Union of 1800, which dissolved the Irish parliament in Dublin,
Ireland was ruled directly from Britain. Thus Irish Members of Parliament
took their seats in Westminster. From the late nineteenth century, while
1
For a history of the suffrage movement see Rosemary Cullen Owens, Smashing
Times: A History of the Irish Women’s Suffrage Movement 1899-1922 (Dublin:
Attic Press, 1984) and Irish Women and the Vote: becoming citizens, edited by
Louise Ryan and Margaret Ward (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 2007).
324 Becoming Citizens in Ireland
Irish nationalists campaigned for Home Rule, Irish self-determination and

the restoration of an Irish parliament, they were opposed by unionists who
demanded that Ireland remain within the United Kingdom. Irish
suffragists, who included both nationalists and unionists in their number,
struggled to maintain a fragile unity against a background of growing
political unrest generated by these conflicting ideologies.
The suffrage movement was considerably overshadowed by the wider
constitutional crisis and, therefore, never achieved a lasting place in the
Irish popular imagination. In fact, until recently the Irish suffrage
movement had been almost completely excluded from Irish history,
especially as that particular period has become totally identified with the
rise of militant unionist and nationalist movements. It has been almost
impossible to imagine that another social movement with a very different
agenda existed at the same time. In addition, the suffrage movement was
quite fragmented, with numerous small groups scattered around the
country, from Belfast in the north to Dublin and Cork in the south.
Although it is apparent that there were several charismatic personalities
and several brilliant public speakers, there was no one outright leader.
One way of analysing the debates, conflicts and disagreements
between the various suffrage groups is through the suffrage newspaper, the
Irish Citizen, published between 1912-1920. Although edited by members
of the Irish Women’s Franchise League2, it was the only Irish suffrage
paper and presented itself as a forum for the whole movement. Hence, the
tensions and disagreements between groups are very clear and easily
discernible. It is remarkable just how many suffragists are represented in
the pages of the Irish Citizen3. In addition to the invaluable letter pages
and activities noticeboard, which provide an insight into the views and
activities of all suffrage groups, regular articles were penned by men and
women representing the broad spectrum of groups, local branches and
supporters.
In June 1912 the first mass meeting of Irish suffragists was held in
Dublin to demand the inclusion of a female enfranchisement clause in the
forthcoming Irish Home Rule bill to be brought before the British
Parliament. The Irish Citizen devoted a great deal of coverage to this event
and listed all participants. Nineteen suffrage societies and their respective
2
The Irish Women’s Franchise League was established in Dublin in 1908 by
Hanna Sheehy Skeffington and Margaret Cousins. It was one of the largest
suffrage groups in Ireland and engaged in some minor acts of militancy between
1912-13.
3
For a history of the Irish Citizen newspaper see Louise Ryan, Irish Feminism and
the Vote (Dublin: Folens Press, 1996).
Caitriona Beaumont, Myrtle Hill, Leeann Lane and Louise Ryan 325
branches were represented, demonstrating not only the geographical

spread of suffrage groups across the island, but also the various splits and
divisions within the movement. While many of the societies were
affiliated to the umbrella group, the Irish Women’s Suffrage Federation4,
nonetheless, they remained scattered and independent. The splits between
those who defined themselves as Irish nationalists and as British unionists
traversed several suffrage societies, e.g. the Munster Women’s Franchise
League5 contained both committed unionists and ardent nationalists. The
pages of the Irish Citizen were frequently given over to heated debates
about the relationship between female enfranchisement and Irish Home
Rule. These tensions became progressively more irreconcilable as unionism
and nationalism became more militant in the period surrounding the
nationalist uprising at Easter 1916. However, prior to this period the
women did manage to maintain very loose networks of cooperation
centred around their shared collective identity as ‘suffragists’.
In discussing the activities of early twentieth century Irish feminists it
is important to appreciate their broad campaign for the full rights and
duties of citizenship for women in Ireland. This chapter will explore this
campaign within the context of the tensions generated by unionism and
nationalism.
Unionism and Suffrage in the North
As a result of eighteenth-century settlement patterns, Ireland’s Protestant
minority was heavily concentrated in the north-eastern counties, the only
really industrialised region of the island, which retained close links with
the rest of the United Kingdom. With Protestants convinced that their
political and economic strength and social and religious wellbeing were
dependent on the constitutional union with Britain, this area became the
focal point for opposition to Home Rule. That this would cause tensions
amongst local suffragists became evident as early as 1881 when
Gladstone, the British Prime Minister, introduced the first bill advocating a
limited degree of independence for Ireland. For Isabella Tod, the north’s
foremost spokesperson on women’s rights and founder in 1871 of the
Northern Ireland Women’s Suffrage Society, this bill carried ominous
implications. Like many of her fellow Presbyterians, Tod feared the
4
The Irish Women’s Suffrage Federation, established by Louie Bennett in 1911, as
an umbrella group representing over twenty smaller societies. These societies
represented the different religious, political and geographical divisions in Ireland at
that time.
5
The Munster Women’s Franchise League was based in the southern counties of
Ireland and its members included the well known novelists Somerville and Ross.
dominance of Roman influence over the Catholic Church, and thus over
Ireland as a whole, and predicted that Home Rule would bring an end to
the types of social reform in which she and other progressive women had
been engaged.6 Her consequent opposition to Home Rule alienated many
of her contemporaries in the women’s movement who viewed the ending
of British rule in Ireland as a desirable goal.
However, despite this early example of underlying tensions amongst
politicised women on the island, the north-east was well represented in the
proliferation of new suffrage societies in the early twentieth century. The
joint membership of the northern branches of the Irish Women’s Suffrage
Federation and the Irish Women’s Suffrage Society, for example,
accounted for about one third of the Irish total in 1912, and records
indicate that the local campaign was well integrated into the wider
movement, in Ireland, Britain and internationally.7
Indeed, the Belfast branch of the IWSS, which maintained close links
with the English-based WSPU, was the most vociferous and proactive of
the Ulster groupings. It was from this base that militant action in the north
was launched in 1912 with stone-throwing, window-breaking and arson
attacks on post boxes bringing suffrage to the forefront of public
attention.8 Although militant tactics were divisive, as they were in the
south, it was the wider constitutional debate regarding the future union of
Ireland and Britain that proved to be a greater threat to the unity of the
suffrage movement in the north. The reaction to the 1912 Home Rule bill
was dramatic9. In the north hundreds of thousands of men and women
signed the Ulster Solemn League and Covenant pledging to use whatever
force necessary to maintain the Union with Britain. The following year an
armed Ulster Volunteer Force was established in the north to defend the
Union and in reaction the Irish Volunteers took up arms in the south to
fight for Home Rule. By 1913 Ireland was on the brink of civil war.
Unionist women in the north flocked to join the ranks of the Ulster
Women’s Unionist Association which upheld women’s duty to protect
6
Heloise Brown, “An Alternative Imperialism: Isabella Tod, Internationalist and
‘Good Liberal Unionist’”, Gender & History 10, 3 (November 1998): 358-80, 365.
7
Diane Urquhart, Women in Ulster Politics, 1890-1940: a history not yet told (
Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 2000), 12.
8
Irish Citizen, November 1912; Irish Citizen, July 1912; The Ulster Echo, 13 May
1913; Irish Citizen, 12 July 1913.
9
In 1913 the Home Rule Act was passed by the British parliament, however, the
granting of Home Rule to Ireland was delayed because of the outbreak of World
War One in 1914.
‘the sanctity and happiness of home life’ from the threat of ‘a priest-
governed Ireland’.10
Relations between the female unionist and suffrage camps were
strained, with each group aware of the dangers of their cause being
marginalised by the other’s activities. In a similar vein to the criticism of
women who placed Irish nationalism above gender equality, those women
who prioritised the unionist cause were treated with scathing disdain.11 In
the spring of 1914 unionist leader Sir Edward Carson declared his
complete lack of support for the suffrage cause. As a result the Belfast
branch of the WSPU embarked on a greatly intensified campaign of
militancy.
Their attacks focused on unionism in all of its manifestations: unionist
paramilitary displays were infiltrated and five unionist-owned buildings
were destroyed; recreational facilities such as a bowling club, a tennis
pavilion, a tea house, a golf club and a race stand were also damaged,
while senior political figures were publicly confronted and harassed.12
But in an atmosphere already made tense by the threat of civil war and
growing concern about war in Europe, neither the establishment nor the
wider public had much sympathy with the suffrage cause. A total of
thirteen suffragettes were arrested in Ulster between March and August
1914 enduring hostile actions ranging from hair pulling to attacks on their
homes.13 In defence of their militancy Ulster suffragists argued that they
were merely following a similar strategy to unionist paramilitaries who
were taking up arms in defence of their political loyalties and refusing to
obey laws with which they disagreed. Since this male organisation
appeared to be successfully influencing policy on the issue of Home Rule,
suffragists demanded that their cause also deserved to be given similar
positive consideration as votes for women was an equally important
political issue.14
Such parallels with unionism, however, were not likely to appeal to
those suffragettes for whom Irish self determination was an ultimate goal
if not an immediate priority. Emmeline Pankhurst’s decision to halt the
10
Belfast Evening Telegraph, 18 Jan 1913.
11
Irish Citizen, 13 September 1913; Irish Citizen, 11 April 1914; Brown, ‘Isabella
Tod’, 359.
12
For details of the 1914 militant campaign in Ulster see Urquhart, Women in
Ulster Politics, Appendix B, 206-9.
13
Belfast Newsletter, 1 June 1914; Rosemary Cullen-Owens, A Social History of
Women in Ireland 1870-1970, (Dublin: Gill & MacMillan, 2005) 101-2; Irish
Citizen, 14 June, 1914.
14
Irish Citizen, 13 September 1913.
activities of the WSPU and to disband the organisation following the

outbreak of the First World War appeared to confirm the accuracy of this
perspective, and though the IWFL filled the vacuum by establishing an
Ulster Centre in Belfast, opportunities for suffrage work diminished in the
north as both political and public attention turned to the war in Europe.
The course of the suffrage campaign, and the discourse surrounding it,
reflect the centrality of contested notions of identity and the inherent
fragility of the women’s movement. Both nationalist and unionist women
were divided on the issue of suffrage while, as Margaret Ward points out,
it was possible for suffragists to find themselves in the contradictory
position of supporting or rejecting the militancy of the WSPU only to find
themselves on the ‘wrong side’ in terms of their nationalist or unionist
aspirations.15 While the relationship between Irish suffragist and
nationalist aspirations has been the subject of considerable scholarly
analysis, the views of politicised women who supported the unionist
position has attracted less interest in the post-colonial period. However,
even a brief survey of the sources suggests that some supporters of
suffrage in the north identified more closely with London than Dublin, and
that an understanding of the region’s distinctive social and cultural
character, local government politics and patterns of employment is a
necessary prerequisite to assessing the local campaign.16
Nationalism and Suffrage in the South

While many women within the nationalist movement supported the
demand for the female franchise they opposed the idea of campaigning for
the vote from a British parliament, arguing instead that equal rights would
organically follow the granting of Irish independence. By contrast, women
who prioritised the suffrage over the national campaign argued that
without female enfranchisement an independent Ireland would be
representative of only half the population. Many suffragists argued that it
was dangerous for women to shelve the demand for equal rights and to
rely on the good will of Irish men in a future Irish parliament. This view
appeared to be reinforced when the nationalist group, Sinn Fein, ruled the
15
Margaret Ward, “Conflicting Interests: The British and Irish Suffrage
Movements” Feminist Review, 50 (Summer, 1995): 127-47, 138.
16
Claire Eustance, Laura Ugolini and Joan Ryan, “Introduction: Writing Suffrage
Histories – the ‘British’ Experience”, in A Suffrage Reader: Charting Directions in
British Suffrage History, ed. Claire Eustance, Laura Ugolini and Joan Ryan,
(London and New York: Leicester University Press, 2000), 1-19, 8.
question of women’s suffrage out of order when some women delegates

attempted to raise it during the party convention in 1914.
In keeping with the dominant discourse of separate spheres, nationalist
women, even when they did engage within the political arena, performed
tasks which reflected their domestic role. For example, in 1914 a female
auxiliary unit, Cumann na mBan (the women’s council) was set up to
support the all-male Irish Volunteer Force. Cumann na mBan typically
engaged in first-aid work, cooking, nursing, and the delivery of
messages.17 However, many suffragists found the auxiliary role of women
in nationalist organisations problematic and the Irish Citizen criticised the
‘slave-like mentality’ of Cumann na mBan18.
These tensions between nationalist women and women in the suffrage
campaign have resulted in a historiography of Irish female politicisation in
the early decades of the twentieth century which focuses on division.19 In
recent years, however, a more nuanced reading has emerged as a result of
the examination of a broader range of literature from the suffrage
campaign and research on a wider group of women activists of the period.
A close reading of the Irish Citizen indicates how the paper provided a
space in which suffrage women, whether nationalist, unionist, militant or
constitutional, could discuss their political differences.20 The right to
citizenship, in all its manifestations, was a linking theme across the
suffrage movement. Margaret Ward notes that, within the context of a
small movement, there was contact, cooperation and even friendship
between suffragists despite their political differences.21 Attention previously
17
For work on Cumann n mBan see Margaret Ward, Unmanageable
Revolutionaries (London: Pluto Press, 1995); Cal MacCarthy, Cumann na mBan
and the Irish Revolution (Cork: Collins Press, 2007).
18
‘Current Comment’, Irish Citizen, 9 January 1915, also see Louise Ryan, Irish
Feminism and the Vote.
19
See Rosemary Cullen Owens, Smashing Times: A History of the Irish Women’s
Suffrage Movement 1899-1922; Ward, Unmanageable Revolutionaries, Women
and Irish Nationalism (London: Pluto Press, 1995); Maria Luddy, Hanna Sheehy
Skeffington (Dundalk: Historical Association of Ireland, 1995); Myrtle Hill,
Women in Ireland: A Century of Change (Belfast: Blackstaff, 2003). It should be
noted that women in the militant organisation Irish Citizen Army, established by
James Connolly in 1913, had equal membership with men. The majority of women
who took an active part in the nationalist uprising at Easter 1916, including
Countess Markievicz and Winifred Carney, were members of the Citizen’s Army.
20
Ryan 1996, 147.
21
Margaret Ward, Hanna Sheehy Skeffington: A Life (Cork: Attic Press, 1997), 58.
Ward cites the friendship of Hanna Sheehy Skeffington and Constance Markievicz
as an example.
focused on polemical speeches and journalist writing or retrospective

autobiographical accounts, has now been widened to include an
examination of more immediate narratives of the suffrage campaign such
as diaries. An examination of the daily diary of Rosamond Jacob, active in
the suffrage and nationalist campaigns, indicates that women did not
neatly compartmentalise the various campaigns in which they
participated.22 Instead of absolute division between the apparently binary
oppositions of suffrage and nationalism, various stratagems were used by
women such as Jacob to resolve the incompatibilities and strains which
participation in more than one form of political activism made manifest.
Research on members of Irish suffrage societies such as Jacob also
facilitates the emergence of a deeper understanding of the tactics used to
win support and disseminate information. Jacob acted as a reporter,
educating herself in the issues of nationalism and suffrage through her
reading and attendance at meetings. Despite prioritising nationalism over
suffrage, Jacob sold copies of the Irish Citizen during rallies against
British army recruitment in Ireland in March 1915, and she continued to
attend suffrage activities in her home town of Waterford. 23 She brought
the aims and values of the suffrage campaign into such diverse forums as
the Gaelic League, the organisation set up in 1893 to revive the Irish
language. 24 It is important to note how she tried to maintain commitment
to the issue of female suffrage although she felt that she could not formally
join a suffrage society.25 This testifies to the manner in which division
could be circumvented.
Looking at Jacob also reveals some of the dilemmas in negotiating
active involvement in suffragist and nationalist movements. Although she
intermittently attended IWFL meetings from early 1912, Jacob was
opposed to what she perceived as the links between the militant campaign
in Ireland and the British suffragettes, the WSPU. Increasingly, Jacob
came to see the Irish nationalist cause as one that had to take precedence
over suffragism. She did not join the local suffrage group, the MWFL,
‘partly because I was a Separatist & partly because they did nothing but
import English speakers’.26 The perceived pro-British stance of the MWFL
proved to be problematic for several nationalist suffragists. For example,
22
Rosamond Jacob Diary 1898-1960, Ms 32,582 (1)-(171), National Library
Ireland. Hereafter RJD.
23
7 March 1915, 9 March 1915, 12 March 1915, RJD Ms 32,582(28).
24
28 November 1906, RJD Ms 32,582(13).
25
13 February 1914, RJD Ms 32,582(26).
26
RJD, 17 October 1913, Ms 32,582(25).
the out-spoken nationalist campaigner Mary McSwiney27 left the group in

1914 in disgust at the members’ decision to raise funds to support the
British war effort at the outbreak of the First World War. In contrast some
suffragists, such as Hanna Sheehy Skeffington, managed to reconcile their
support for nationalism with their commitment to the suffrage movement.
Women like Jacob and McSwiney believed that there could be no
freedom for women in political rights granted by a foreign parliament.28
Nonetheless, Jacob believed that gender equality should be crucial in an
independent Irish state. This is reflected in Jacob’s suffrage novel,
Callaghan; the marriage between the republican activist Andy Callaghan
and the suffrage campaigner Frances Morrin can be read as a paradigm for
Jacob’s view of the centrality and importance of feminist ideals within the
nationalist campaign.29
Accessing Justice and Citizenship

The suffrage movement in Ireland encompassed a wide range of
concerns relating to the position and status of women in society. These
included the right of women to social and economic equality, for example
equal pay, as well as a moral equality, in particular the desire for fairer
treatment of women convicted of prostitution and for women and children
who were the victims of violent and sexual assaults.
It is in this context, therefore, that the links between the treatment of
women within the legal system, wider debates about social justice and full
citizenship rights and the suffrage campaign can be best understood. The
many articles and letters dealing with domestic violence and sexual assault
published in the Irish Citizen not only reveal a hidden and secret aspect of
Irish society in the early twentieth century, but also provide an insight into
the diversity of issues taken up by suffragists. Critiques of legal
institutions, and the male-defined morality that underpinned them, reveal
sophisticated feminist analysis and nuanced negotiation of the ‘secrecy’
and ‘publicity’ that cross cut the private and public spheres.
Irish suffragists such as McCracken and Marion Duggan were
particularly concerned about domestic violence and sexual assaults on
women and girls. They argued that the legal profession and the judiciary
27
For more information on Mary McSwiney see Charlotte Fallon, Soul of Fire
(Cork: Mercier press, 1986).
28
See Hanna Sheehy Skeffington, ‘Sinn Féin and Irishwomen” in Women in
Ireland 1800-1918. A Documentary Histor, ed. Maria Luddy (Cork: Cork
University Press, 1995), 301-303.
29
F. Winthrop, Callaghan (Dublin: Martin Lester, n.d [1920]).
did not take such offences seriously. The fact that women were barred
from practising as lawyers and could not sit on juries, one of the basic
duties of democratic citizenship (until 1919) resulted in male dominated
institutions that did not provide a system of justice for women and girls.
Such was their mistrust of the legal system that a number of concerned
suffragists set up a committee to monitor court cases involving girls and
women. Reports of these cases were regularly published in the Irish
Citizen. However, the women’s presence in court, especially in cases
involving ‘indecency’, was not always welcomed.
In early twentieth century Irish society the ideology of separate,
gendered spheres, ‘public man’ and ‘private woman’, was propounded by
all social institutions, especially the Churches30. Women’s proper sphere
was within the confines of the home where she was under the so-called
‘protection’ of her father or husband. The public world of politics,
business, the law, higher education and the media, were regarded as the
rightful domain of men. However, the prevalence of the separate spheres
ideology should not lead us to assume that this was an accurate distinction
between ‘public’ and ‘private’. Feminist historians are increasingly
suggesting that the public/ private dichotomy was an ideological tool that
did not reflect the true levels of complex interconnections between privacy
and publicity 31. As articles in the Irish Citizen show, Irish feminist writers
had a sophisticated understanding of how the public and private spheres
were configured. ‘Public’ did not simply refer to formal political
institutions, it also included public sociability and public spaces. In
addition, ‘private’ did not simply mean the family, the home or the
individual, it also referred to closed, exclusive associations with secret
decision-making processes. Hence, the simple dichotomy between the
private, domestic sphere and the public world outside may obscure the
multiple meanings of ‘public’ and ‘private’.
In May 1914 a group of suffragists set up a committee to monitor court
cases involving women and girls and to lobby for reforms for equal
treatment before the law. In many of the cases reported by the WTC
30
See for example, Cliona Murphy, “The Religious Context of the Women’s
Suffrage Campaign in Ireland,” Women’s History Review, 6, 4 (1997): 549-565;
Louise Ryan, “Traditions and Double Moral Standards, the Irish Suffragists”
critique of nationalism’ Women’s History Review, 4, 4 (1995): 487-503 and
Louise Ryan, Gender, identity and the Irish Press, 1922-37: Embodying the
Nation, (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 2002).
31
Jane Rendall, “Women and the Public Sphere,” Gender and History, 11, 3
(1999): 475-488 and Ryan, M. Women in Public: between ballots and banners
(Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990).
committee, barristers and judges, and probably the juries also, excused
male behaviour on the grounds that men could not help acting on their
natural urges, especially if women had encouraged them in any way32. For
example, in a ‘seduction’ case, Mr. Justice Dodd reminded the jury of the
‘natural and irresistible impulses animating the man’33. This notion that
men’s sexual urges were natural and irresistible, Duggan argued,
explained the apparent sympathy and tolerance towards men who
committed ‘outrages’ on children34.
Issues of mobility and access were crucial to this moral crusade.
Feminists used a range of strategies to negotiate and traverse public spaces
from which they had been traditionally excluded. For example, in the face
of attempts to physically remove them, suffragists had to argue for their
right to remain in court when cases involving rape and child abuse were
being discussed35. This meant that feminists frequently found themselves
in unfamiliar places confronting shocking and taboo issues such as
prostitution, venereal disease and incest.
Court reports by the WTC committee aimed to shatter the ‘conspiracy
of silence’ around sexual crimes in Irish society. This is particularly
important in the context of the Irish nationalist movement which was
growing in influence and militancy. As nationalists fought for political
independence from Britain, there was growing emphasis on the
distinctiveness of Irish cultural and religious identity. Cultural nationalists
and the Catholic Church constructed Irish society as the bastion of
morality and clean living in contrast to the decadence of Britain. Reports
of incest and other child sexual abuse cases were shrouded in secrecy.
There was an attempt to deny or conceal that such crimes could occur in
‘holy, Catholic’ Ireland. Hence, the work of the WTC committee and the
regular reports in the Irish Citizen offer an important counter narrative to
the dominant discourses about Irish society in the early decades of the
twentieth century. In addition, the work of groups like the WTC
committee reveal the range of issues taken up by the suffrage movement in
Ireland and so demonstrate the extent to which this was far more than a
single issue, votes for women movement.
32
For more information on the WTC see Louise Ryan “‘Publicising the private:
suffragists’ critique of sexual abuse and domestic violence” in Irish Women and
the Vote, ed. Louise Ryan and Margaret Ward. (Dublin: Irish Academic Press,
2007).
33
Irish Citizen, 11 July 1914.
34
Irish Citizen, 4 September 1915.
35
Irish Citizen, 14 August 1915.
After the Vote

The passing of the 1918 Representation of the People Act marked an
important victory for the Irish suffrage movement. Under the terms of this
legislation, Irish women who were over thirty, ratepayers or the wives of
ratepayers were eligible to vote in national elections for the first time and
to take seats in the Westminster Parliament. In the December elections of
that year two Irish women stood as parliamentary candidates for Sinn Fein,
Constance Markievicz in Dublin and Winifred Carney in Belfast with
Markievicz becoming the first female MP elected to the British House of
Commons.36
Under the terms of the 1920 Government of Ireland Act the country
was divided into a twenty-six county Free State in the south while six
counties in the north remained part of the United Kingdom with a
devolved government dominated by a unionist majority. The Abolition of
Proportional Representation and the redrawing of electoral boundaries in
1923 limited the ability of nationalists to be elected. Unionists controlled
local government as well as parliamentary politics. In the first election to
the Northern Ireland parliament, the Ulster Women’s Unionist Council
promoted male rather than female candidates in order to ‘preserve the
safety of the Unionist cause’.37 Two women were elected, both widows of
Unionist MPs. There were never more than four women at any one time
in the lifetime of the Northern Ireland parliament and none of the women
elected represented the nationalist community.
Any optimism on the part of former suffrage campaigners in the south
that the vote would bring about greater equality for women in the new
Irish State was to be short-lived. Legislation enacted by the Cumann na
nGaedhael and Fianna Fail governments during the 1920s and 1930s was
seen to undermine and limit the citizenship rights of women. The 1924
Juries Act gave women but not men the right to exempt themselves from
jury service on the grounds that domestic duties took precedence over the
other duties of citizenship. The 1927 Juries Act required women to register
for jury service whilst men’s names were added automatically to jury rolls.
With jury service a fundamental duty for all citizens, this distinction
between the obligations of men and women, based solely on the grounds
of sex, sent out a clear message that the concept of citizenship was
different for men and women in the Irish Free State.
36
As a member of Sinn Fein Constance Markievicz did not recognise the
Westminster parliament and refused to take up her seat.
37
Myrtle Hill, Women in Ireland (Belfast: Blackstaff Press, 2003), 90.
When the Fianna Fail government came to power in 1932 it was soon
clear that like Cumann na nGaedheal before them the new administration
had no qualms about differentiating between the citizenship rights of men
and women. In 1935 Section 16 of the Conditions of Employment Act
gave the Minister for Industry and Commerce the right to limit the number
of women working in any given industry. Women’s organisations,
including many former suffrage groups, quickly mobilised to campaign
against any attempt to limit the citizenship rights of women. These
organisations benefited from the high profile of leading members such as
Hanna Sheehy Skeffington, Jenny Wyse Power, former leader of Cumann
na mBan and a Senator and University College Dublin Professors Mary
Hayden, Mary Macken and Agnes O’Farrelly.38 These women guaranteed
considerable coverage in both the national and regional press. This fact
coupled with tactics learned during the suffrage campaign of street
demonstrations, letter writing campaigns and mass meetings meant that,
despite the small numbers, their campaigns did make a significant impact
on the politics of the day.
So, in spite of the victory of the suffrage movement, it is clear that the
Irish Free State considered the citizenship rights of men and women to be
inherently different. This fact was made all the more apparent with the
publication in 1937 of the draft of the new Irish Constitution. It contained
a number of articles which women campaigners believed further
undermined the citizenship rights of women. As a result of a well
organised and well publicised campaign, women’s groups were successful
in bringing about a number of key amendments to the new Constitution.
Articles 9 and 16, which dealt with citizenship qualification and voting
rights, were amended and the term ‘without distinction of sex’ inserted
into Article 16. Article 45, on the right of citizens to engage in paid work,
was amended with the removal of the phrase ‘inadequate strength of
women’, a term women’s organisations argued could allow for further
restrictions on the rights of women workers. Despite mounting protests
from feminist campaigners, the controversial Articles 40 and 41, which
clearly linked the role of women in Irish society with their domestic
duties, remained intact.
38
For a full account of the history of the women’s movement during these years
see C. Beaumont, “Women and the Politics of Equality: the Irish Women’s
Movement, 1930-1943” in Women and Irish History, ed. M. Valiulis and M.
O’Dowd (Dublin: Wolfhound Press, 1997) and C. Beaumont, “Gender, citizenship
and the state in Ireland, 1922-1990”, in Ireland in Proximity: History, Gender,
Space , ed. S. Brewster, V. Crossman et al (London: Routledge, 1999).
Yet in spite of the dynamic opposition campaign the Constitution was

narrowly passed by the electorate. The official historical record suggests
that the women’s campaign against the Constitution ended in failure. It can
be argued, however, that the failure to prevent the implementation of the
Constitution should not overshadow the achievement of women’s societies
in bringing about key amendments. Moreover, their campaign did, at least
in the short term, bring the issue of women’s rights as citizens to the
forefront of national and political debate. This was a very important and
significant achievement in a rural, conservative and predominantly
Catholic country during the 1930s.
Conclusion
As we have shown in this chapter, the suffrage movement in Ireland
worked hard to maintain a fragile unity across the political divisions.
However, the partitioning of the island and the ongoing animosity and
sectarianism made it virtually impossible for women’s groups to co-
operate in the decades following enfranchisement. Party loyalties and
political affiliations partly explain why women voters did not prioritise an
equal rights agenda. As has been argued in the case of Northern Ireland:
‘the determination of women themselves to strengthen both the local
unionist powerbase and the all important link with Britain should not be
underestimated’.39 Nevertheless the continued campaigning of former
suffrage activists in the Irish Free State throughout the 1920s and 1930s
kept alive a small but vocal feminist agenda. This discourse may not have
radically improved the lives of Irish women in the short term, but it did
draw attention to the fact that, once granted, citizenship rights for women
within a democratic society had to be defended.
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MAKING THE NATIONAL COUNCILS
OF WOMEN NATIONAL:
THE FORMATION OF A NATION-WIDE
ORGANISATION IN AUSTRALIA 1896–1931
JUDITH SMART AND MARIAN QUARTLY
Although National Councils of Women (NCWs) were formed in all the

Australian states in just fifteen years between 1896 and 1911, it took
another two decades for a nation-wide organisation to be established. It
would deal with national questions and represent Australia abroad as well
as coordinating communication with the International Council of Women
(ICW). After attending the ICW world congress in Chicago in 1893—
known as the first Quinquennial—librarian Margaret Windeyer formed
Australia’s first National Council of Women, the sixth in the world, in
New South Wales in 1896.1 The Tasmanian association was formed (and
affiliated) in 1899 by Emily Dobson, wife of a former Tasmanian premier,
followed by Victoria in 1902 (affiliated 1903) and South Australia soon
after, Queensland in 1905 (affiliated 1906), and Western Australia, formed
and affiliated in 1911.2 The anomalous position in which this placed the
International Council of Women was recognised very early by Mrs
Dobson. The New South Wales and Tasmanian Councils had been able to
affiliate individually without difficulty since they represented separate
self-governing colonies within the British Empire, but the federation of the
six colonies into the Commonwealth of Australia in 1901 created a
1
Heather Radi, “Windeyer, Mary Elizabeth and Margaret”, Australian Dictionary
of Biography (ADB) 12 (Melbourne: Melbourne University Press, 1990), 537–39;
Ada Norris, Champions of the Impossible: A History of the National Council of
Women of Victoria, 1902–1977 (Melbourne: Hawthorn Press, 1978), 4–5. New
South Wales, Victoria, Tasmania. Queensland, South Australia and Western
Australia were all individual colonies of Great Britain before 1901, and federated
as states of the Australian Commonwealth in that year.
2
See Helen E. Gillan, “National Council of Women of Australia: First Annual
Report”, NCWA, November 1932.
340 Making the National Councils of Women National
different context for the affiliation of the Councils formed after that date,
as well as rendering the separate status of the first two Councils
anachronistic. Under pressure from the ICW the state Councils reached a
compromise agreement about national representation. But only in 1924
was a federal council formed, and it took another seven years for the
National Council of Women of Australia to take shape. This paper
examines the difficulties that stood in the way of agreement among the
constituent Councils on national identity, purpose and organisation, and
discusses the ways these problems were broached and eventually
overcome. It also considers the strength of the internationalist, imperialist
and provincialist attachments within which the understanding of nation at
this time was framed.
Minimalist Cooperation and Strategic Compromise

Benedict Anderson has written of national identity as dependent on
‘imagined communities’ in the sense that the relationships evoked are to
people we have not met; the connections have to be imagined before they
are felt and acted upon.3 Commentators agree that one may belong to more
than one abstract or imagined community, so long as these multiple
identities are not in direct conflict.4 Thus Leila Rupp, in writing of the
three major international organisations of women that dominated global
women’s activism in the first half of the twentieth century, speaks of the
leaders building on rather than challenging existing national identities.5 In
Australia, however, the reverse seems to be true for the National Councils
of Women. It was a case of constructing a national sense of self and
belonging out of or alongside prior international and provincial identities.
And international identity was further complicated in the Australian case,
as Angela Woollacott has made clear, by the strength of the ties to the
British Empire.6
For the elite women who founded the NCWs at the Australian
periphery of ‘Greater Britain’, these ties were especially powerful. They
3
Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and
Spread of Nationalism (Revised Edition, London and New York: Verso, 1991), 6.
4
Paul James, Nation Formation: Towards a Theory of Abstract Community
(London, Thousand Oaks and Delhi: Sage, 1996), xii.
5
Leila Rupp, Worlds of Women: The Making of an International Women’s
Movement (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997), 228.
6
Angela Woollacott, To Try Her Fortune in London: Australian Women,
Colonialism and Modernity (New York et al.: Oxford University Press, 2001),
164–71.
Judith Smart and Marian Quartly 341
were supported by family connections to different parts of the Empire

through the armed forces, the civil service and business, as well as by
racial assumptions, history and sentiment.7 These founding mothers seem
unlikely pioneers for women’s rights. Their feminism was almost entirely
of the ‘relational’ kind described by Offen8 as premised upon an
essentialising difference between men and women. In practice, this could
mean so ready an acceptance of the existing relations between men and
women that in the 1920s more progressive contemporaries accused them
of a deliberate strategy ‘to prevent any real work being done’.9 The gender
conservatism of the Australian Councils ran together with a social
conservatism reflecting the class affiliations of their leadership. In the
early years the founders and leaders of the Councils were the wives of the
landowners and businessmen who were the nearest thing that Australia had
to an aristocracy. These women had access to viceregal society—and
indeed governor’s wives actively helped to found the first Councils, and
presided over some of them for a decade or so, guaranteeing their local
prestige and influence. During their frequent visits ‘Home’ to London,
these elite colonials already moved in the same exclusive circles as the
aristocratic women who led Britain’s NCW. And it was these wealthy
women who became the delegates to the conferences of the ICW, adding
Berlin or Paris to their itinerary. Their internationalism was coterminous
with their Empire loyalty, and they understood their activity in the ICW as
an expression of their Britishness; the national for them was an unfamiliar
and uncomfortable identity—only barely imagined. Emily Dobson,
founder, long-term leader and patron of NCW Tasmania, and Janet Lady
Clarke, first president of the Victorian Council, exemplify these elite
colonials.10 They also typify the early Council leaders in being intensely
7
The research of Antoinette Burton among others has shown how this worked,
though not so much in the white settler colonies. See Antoinette Burton, Burdens
of History: British Feminists, Indian Women, and Imperial Culture, 1865–1915
(Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1994).
8
Karen Offen, “Defining Feminism: A Comparative Historical Approach”, Signs:
Journal of Women in Culture and Society 14, no. 1 (1988): 119–57.
9
Especially members of the rival Australian Federation of Women’s Societies
(later Voters) affiliated with the International Alliance for Suffrage and Equal
Citizenship, and local branches of the Women’s International League for Peace
and Freedom. The quote is from a letter from Harriet Newcombe to the president
of AFWS, Bessie Rischbeith, 30/11/1921, Rischbeith Papers, MS 2004/8/3,
National Library of Australia (NLA) (hereafter Rischbieth Papers). See also Rupp,
20.
10
Sylvia Morrissey, “Clarke, Lady Janet Marion”, ADB 3 (1969), 415–16. The
biography of Emily Dobson remains to be written.
political women. Both had politician husbands, and both were active in
women’s organisations that supported the conservative forces then
emerging to contest the entry of the labour movement into Australian
politics.11
The issue of a nation-wide Australian Council first arose not from any
sense of common national interests but as a result of the constitutional
needs of the International Council. Given the federation of the Australian
colonies in 1901, when the new Victorian Council applied for affiliation to
the ICW in 1903 it was doing so as a state organisation not as a national
one. This was against ICW rules and raised the problem of what to do
about New South Wales and Tasmania, as well as future Councils in the
other states, and, perhaps more importantly, national groupings in
multinational empires such as Austria-Hungary.12 An American-instigated
request that the combined Australian representation at congress be limited
to the three votes allowed to other national delegations drew an aggressive
response from the Victorian executive; ‘so long as each Australian Council
is on the same financial basis as those of the U.S.A. & Canada then voting
power should be on a similar basis’.13 Lady Ishbel Aberdeen, the leading
representative of the British Empire in the senior echelons of the ICW,
undertook the task of persuading the Australian Councils to unite, with
Emily Dobson as her local champion. During 1904–05 Dobson was the
driving force behind three interstate conferences held to plan for ‘the
federation of the national councils of the several states’.14 Against inertia
and outright opposition, she finally persuaded a special conference in
October 1905 to accept ‘a limited federation in matters such as finance and
11
Marian Quartly, “Defending ‘the purity of home life’ against Socialism: The
Founding Years of the Australian Women’s National League”, Australian Journal
of Politics and History 50, no. 2 (2004): 178–93; “The Australian Women’s
National League and Democracy, 1904–1921”, Women’s History Review 15, no.1,
(2006): 35–50.
12
On this last problem, see Susan Zimmermann, “The Challenge of Multinational
Empire for the International Women’s Movement: The Hapsburg Monarchy and
the Development of Feminist Inter/national Politics”, Journal of Women’s History
17, no. 2 (2005) 87–117. Zimmermann argues that the ICW took the conservative
position of suppressing the aspirations of national groupings without their own
states.
13
National Council of Victoria (NCWV), Executive Minutes, 18 March 1904,
NCWV Records, NCWV Office, Melbourne (hereafter NCWV Records).
14
NCWV, Executive Minutes, 24 March 1904; Annual Meeting, 28 October 1904,
NCWV Records; Argus, 29 October 1904. See report of letter from Mrs Dobson
requesting final 1905 conference in an account of the monthly meeting of the
NCWV, 25 May, in Una III, no. 4 (June 1905): 54.
representation’.15 Under this arrangement the Australian Councils would

jointly pay the full affiliation fee to the ICW and, for purposes of ICW
conference representation, form a single delegation with an Australian
president appointed from among them. However, they would retain their
separate affiliation, reporting to and corresponding with the ICW
individually.16 This compromise was accepted by the 4th ICW
Quinquennial at Toronto in 1909 as a special case, on the grounds that
distance and considerable differences in legislation and social policy
between the states made further steps towards federation impossible at this
stage. All five affiliated states were represented there in an Australian
delegation of ten under the presidency of Emily Dobson, and were later
congratulated by Lady Aberdeen for the new arrangements.17
The effect of this deal in Australia was to reinforce provincialism and
commitment to states’ rights over national interests by minimising any
necessity for the state Councils to acknowledge or work for common
national concerns. A further consequence was the creation of vested
interests in the existing system, bolstering the sense of self-importance,
uniqueness and individualism of each Council. This allowed individual
women to develop positions of power and influence as conduits of
international communications, positions they were reluctant to relinquish.
Perhaps most importantly, the compromise arrangement provided the
leading spokeswoman for the ideals of the Council movement in Australia,
Emily Dobson, with the prestigious title of Australian President, a position
that automatically entitled her to a vice-presidency of the ICW.
Yet this system may also have increased awareness of international
issues among member societies throughout the states. Certainly it forced
all the state Councils to structure their local work in terms of the
categories of activity defined by the standing committees of the ICW.
Initially there were four such committees: Social, Legal and Economic;
Education; Press; and Peace and Arbitration. After the 1904 Berlin
Quinquennial, a fifth committee—Suffrage and Rights of Citizenship—
was added, though it was not actually formed till 1906.18 Direct access to
ICW standing committees could foster a heady sense of the international
purchase on local issues. At the first meeting of the Victorian Council after
15
Reported in the Argus, 26 October 1905, and in Una III, no. 9 (November 1905):
130.
16
Norris 1978, 66.
17
Norris 1978, 66; “Hon. International Secretary’s Report”, in The National
Council of Women of Victoria Report for 1910 (Melbourne: NCWV, 1910), 7.
18
Rupp 1997, 22; NCWV, Hon. Home Secretary’s Annual Report for 1905–6
(Melbourne: NCWV, 1906), 4.
its formation in 1902, several of its affiliated societies raised the issue of
the treatment of women prisoners held in unsanitary city ‘lockups’ staffed
entirely by male gaolers. Submissions were taken to government and
promises made of a new women’s gaol with female warders—promises
that were finally met in 1909. In the meantime, a Victorian report to the
ICW Commission des Lois Concernant la Position Légale de Femmes put
the issue of gardiennes de prison on the international agenda.19
World peace was perhaps the issue most attractive to Australian
women drawn to an international outlook. Council members choosing to
convene local Peace and Arbitration committees included idealist former
suffragists like Rose Scott in New South Wales, and wives of clergymen
like Janet Strong in Victoria.20 The international campaign for peace was
immediately congruent with the local activities of church-related affiliates
like the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union and the Young Women’s
Christian Association, and much of the Australian NCWs’ work for peace
was in fact carried forward by these bodies.21
The founding of the ICW standing committee for Suffrage and the
Rights of Citizenship impacted substantially on the concerns and the
composition of the NCWs in Australia. From 1902 all white Australian
women had the franchise for the national parliament and even the right to
stand; in state elections women could vote everywhere by 1905, except in
Victoria, where the battle was not won until 1908. The early NCWs had
interpreted their founding objective, ‘to accomplish good, useful, humane
work in the best interests of the nation’,22 in philanthropic terms, avoiding
the political. Many leading members had been active in the anti-suffrage
campaign. But after the Berlin decision the NCW in Victoria was obliged
to engage in the struggle for the franchise, and all the Councils had to deal
explicitly with concrete issues of political equality, political responsibility
and political citizenship.
19
Helen E. Gillan, A Brief History of the National Council of Women of Victoria
1902–1945 (Melbourne: NCWV,1945), 11.
20
Second Annual Report of the Fifth Quinquennial Period. 1910–1911,
International Council of Women, 95; NCWV, Hon. Home Secretary’s Annual
Report for 1905–6 (Melbourne: NCWV,,1906), 5.
21
See, for example, the Tasmanian correspondent’s report to the Standing
Committee on Peace and Arbitration, Second Annual Report of the Fifth
Quinquennial Period 1910–1911, 94–5.
22
Australian Woman’s Sphere, December 1901; Preamble to the constitution of the
NCWV, following the wording of that of the ICW, NCWV Council Minutes, 26
February 1904, NCWV Records.
Conservative Mobilisation and Patriotic Consolidation

At the same time, the affiliates of the Australian Councils came to
include specifically political women’s organisations. The most impressive
of the new political interest groups were those that supported conservative
parties, the Women’s Liberal League in New South Wales and, largest of
all, the Australian Women’s National League (AWNL) in Victoria.23 Non-
party organisations also emerged, notably Vida Goldstein’s Women’s
Political Association in Victoria, Rose Scott’s Women’s Political and
Education League in New South Wales, and Western Australia’s Women’s
Service Guild, formed by Edith Cowan and Bessie Rischbieth. Labour
Party women were precluded by their own party rules from joining the
NCW. Partly by default and partly because of the continued elite character
of Council leadership, political discourse was increasingly dominated by
conservative views, especially in Victoria, where the AWNL exercised
considerable weight.24 These conservative women were suspicious of
central political authority, continuing to defend states rights even as the
national government was developing policy and legislation in the sphere of
social reform and acquiring greater economic and industrial powers. Fear
of central authority carried over into resistance to national unification of
the Councils themselves.
Between the outbreak of war in 1914 and 1920 there were no ICW
congresses, and meetings and reports of the international standing
committees were suspended until the end of hostilities.25 Lady Aberdeen,
though recommending the attitude of the Society of Friends,26 ‘thought it
best “if the women of every country do what appears to them to be their
duty as citizens of their countries”’. Thus ‘all regular communication
between the International Council and the National Councils stopped for
six years, leading to a “loosening of the ties of common work within the
23
52,000 members by 1914. See Judith Smart, “Eva Hughes: Militant
Conservative”, in Double Time: Women in Victoria—150 Years, ed. Marilyn Lake
and Farley Kelly (Melbourne: Penguin, 1985), 179–89; Quartly (2006), 35–50.
24
See especially Kate Gray, “The Acceptable Face of Feminism,: The National
Council of Women of Victoria, 1902–18” (MA thesis, University of Melbourne,
1988), 101–03.
25
Maria Ogilvie Gordon, “The International Council of Women (1888–1938)”,
International Council of Women Bulletin10 (June 1938), (Jubilee Edition): 78.
26
Letter cited in NCWNSW Executive Minutes, 25 March 1915, Minute Book
1910–17, Box MLK 03009, MS3739, NCWNSW Records, Mitchell Library,
Sydney (hereafter NCWNSW Records).
international body’”.27 The loss of international contact narrowed the

outlook of the NCWs in Australia, as did the all-encompassing obsession
with the war effort. Red Cross comforts and fund-raising work took over
from the activities of the standing committees, which were mostly
disbanded during the war years. In Victoria, in particular, the previous
concern of the ICW with peace and international arbitration was now
dismissed as tantamount to treason. This forced long-time senior vice-
president and representative of the Sisterhood of International Peace Janet
Strong to resign in 1915 after the Council decided that the question of
peace should not be discussed at all.28 Neither NSW nor Western Australia
and Queensland took such a strong position, instead setting up study
circles on peace and international relations while still largely supporting
the war effort.29 A few months later the Victorian Council came very close
to adopting a party political position, and one that interfered with the
autonomy of member organisations. They refused to admit outspoken
pacifist Adela Pankhurst as the Women's Political Association delegate
because she ‘had taken a prominent part in much peace propaganda, had
expressed sentiments with which the majority of the Council felt that they
could not in any way agree’.30 Police were called to evict her from a
subsequent meeting after a special by-law was passed making all delegates
subject to the Council's approval.31 Rejection of the women’s section of
the Socialist Party as ‘unsuitable’ for affiliation, resolutions against all
things German including the German NCW, and outright support for
conscription in the referendum campaigns of 1916 and 1917 were even
clearer indications that NCW Victoria had forsaken ICW principles for
militarist and patriotic ones.32 In Western Australia there was also conflict
and division during 1915 and 1916, mainly over war-driven state
legislation for compulsory notification of venereal disease and mandatory
treatment. It smacked of contagious diseases legislation, long opposed by
feminists as prejudicial to women, but now supported by the NCW
27
Quotations from Ishbel Aberdeen to Gertrud Bäumer [German], April 1915,
HLA, 84–330(8), LB; Anna Backer, “Annual Report of the Corresponding
Secretary”, ICW Annual Report, 1920–22. Both cited in Rupp 1997, 26.
28
NCWV Minutes, 11 May 1915; 8 June 1915; 13 July 1915; NCWV, Report for
1915 (Hawthorn: NCWV, 1915), 6. For more detailed discussion about internal
conflicts, see Gray, 109–10. The Sisterhood of International Peace was to become
the first branch of WILPF in Australia.
29
NCWNSW Executive Minutes, 27 May 1915, and Council Minutes, 17 June
1915, 1 July 1915 and 5 August 1915, Minute Book 1910–17, NCWNSW Records.
30
NCWV, Report for 1915. 5. See also Gray, 111–16.
31
NCWV, Report for 1915, 5–6. See also Woman Voter, September 1915, passim.
32
See especially Gray 1988, 116, 120–21.
Western Australia under Edith Cowan’s presidency. The three largest

affiliates—the Women’s Service Guild now led by Rischbieth, the WCTU,
and the Women’s Labour Social Club—were opposed and eventually
withdrew from the Council in 1916.33 The NCWWA now also gave
unalloyed support to the campaigns for conscription.34 In NSW, too, there
was conflict over the issue of compulsory service before a majority of
delegates voted for the Council to affiliate with the pro-conscription
Universal Service League.35
By 1916, then, most of the Australian NCWs seem to varying degrees
to have become mouthpieces for pro-war political conservatism and
patriotism. Much of it was still Empire focused, as demonstrated by the
Victorian Council’s letter to the prime minister in May ‘congratulating
him’ not only on his electoral victory over the Labor Party, but ‘on the fact
that Australia had proved her loyalty to the Empire’.36 But, as the
Commonwealth government took on more powers and assumed national
conduct of the war, the Councils were forced to acknowledge the
importance of a national focus in their own work. The Red Cross activities
that preoccupied so many of them could be taken as a model, one in which
the governor-general’s wife, Lady Helen Munro Ferguson, efficiently if
not always harmoniously co-ordinated the efforts of the state governors’
wives.37 The fact, too, that many NCW leaders had sons fighting and
dying in the Australian armed services added to a growing national
sensibility alongside the older imperial loyalties. From 1916, on the
suggestion of the Queensland Council, steps were taken to put customary
interstate representation at the various state conferences on a more formal
basis, with genuinely interstate conferences and an ongoing organising
committee.38
33
Noreen Sher, The Spirit Lives On: A History of the National Council of Women
of Western Australia 1911–1999 (Perth: NCWWA, 1999), chap. II.
34
Dianne Davidson, Women on the Warpath: Feminists of the First Wave (Perth:
University of Western Australia Press, 1997), 46–59.
35
NCWNSW Executive Minutes, 26 August 1915, 1 and 20 September 1915, and
Council Minutes, 5 and 12 August 1915, Minute Book 1910–17, NCWNSW
Records.
36
NCWV Executive Minutes, 8 May 1917, NCWV Records.
37
Melanie Oppenheimer, “‘The Best P.M. for the Empire in War’?: Lady Helen
Munro Ferguson and the Australian Red Cross, 1914–1920”, Australian Historical
Studies 33, no. 119 (2002): 108–24.
38
NCWQ Executive Minutes, 28 February 1916, Minute Book No. 5 1916–19,
NCWQ Records, UQFL402 Fryer Library, University of Queensland (hereafter
NCWQ Records); NCWNSW Executive Minutes, 30 March 1916, 2 May 1916, 19
September 1916, 16 November 1916, Minute Book 1910–17, NCWNSW Records.
Preliminary Steps and External Pressures

A conference held in Melbourne in November 1916 attended by
representatives of the Tasmanian, New South Wales and Queensland
Councils produced an interim interstate committee.39 In May 1917, a
follow-up conference, also in Melbourne, established its aims and
objectives. There is some indication that Emily Dobson questioned the
wisdom of holding these gatherings, but New South Wales and Victoria
determined to go ahead.40 However, further negotiation was delayed when
bitter civil conflict caused the scheduled 1918 Sydney conference to be
postponed till after the war. In 1922, when a further interstate conference
took place in Hobart, it was on the initiative and under the presidency of
Lady Rachel Forster, who, as the wife of the governor general, was a
patroness of each state Council.41 Forster claimed a personal interest in the
issue; she had been a branch president of the NCW in Great Britain and
may have been personally acquainted with Lady Aberdeen. Her
commitment to the federation of the Councils was in any case a key factor
in bringing them together again, and her position and prestige acted as a
counter-balance to that of Mrs Dobson. Yet, though the Hobart meeting
passed thirty resolutions on matters common to the states as well as
recommendations for the next ICW Quinquennial, still no formal
continuing organisation emerged, and ‘no proper official report of what
took place’ or what ‘rules were passed or not passed’ was made or kept.42
By this stage the need for a permanent national organisation was
becoming more urgent. Australia had succeeded in gaining independent
representation to the League of Nations, and from 1922 the federal
government was committed to appointing a woman as an alternate
delegate—a woman supported by a truly national women’s organisation.
Bessie Rischbieth was anxious to bring together the more progressive
feminist organisations in Australia for the purpose of affiliation with
ICW’s more radical offshoot, the International Women’s Suffrage
39
NCWV Executive Minutes, 12 November 1916, 13 March 1917, 20 March
1917, 17 April 1917, 12 May 1917, 18 May 1917, NCWV Records.
40
NCWNSW Executive Minutes, 2 November 1916, Minute Book 1910–17,
NCWNSW Records; NCWV Executive Minutes, 19 February 1917, 17 April
1917, 26 February 1918, NCWV Records.
41
Norris 1978, 67.
42
Norris 1978, 67; NCWV Council Minutes, 29 September 1921, NCWV Records;
Minutes of the Interstate Conference of the National Councils of Women of
Australia, Melbourne, October 1924, Box 11, National Council of Women of
Australia Papers, MS7583, NLA (hereafter NCWA Papers).
Alliance. In 1921 she formed the Australian Federation of Women’s

Societies (AFWS) (later the Australian Federation of Women Voters) in
order, as she said, to take women’s organisation in Australia beyond ‘the
colonial stage of development’.43 When Rischbieth straightway organised
a delegation of AFWS women to the International Women’s Suffrage
Congress held in Rome in 1923, their claim to represent Australian women
provoked an outpouring of wrath and resentment by the NCWWA. The
Victorian and Western Australian NCWs mounted a determined campaign
among their international contacts to cast doubt on the credentials of
Rischbieth and her co-delegates.44 But the Victorian and Western
Australian Councils could not justifiably claim to represent Australian
women either, given the lack of a national voice for the six Australian
Councils within Australia itself.
Equally anomalous was the fact that several of the organisations
affiliated with state NCWs had by 1923 formed or mooted national bodies:
among them the WCTU, the Red Cross, the Australian Federation of
University Women and the Housewives’ Associations. The initiative to
federate the NCWs was now taken by Victoria’s Eleanor Glencross, also
the first president of the Federated Housewives’ Associations of
Australia.45 At a meeting of the NCWV on 22 March 1923, her arguments
were cogent and pragmatic: ‘she was convinced of the necessity of
forming an Australian Council’, given that ‘several of the affiliated
organisations already had Federal Associations … As a Council we are
weakened as a force if we have not a strong federated body’. She moved:
‘That the delegates and associates of the National Council of Women
strongly recommend that the next Interstate Conference adopt a scheme
whereby a Federal body be formed, drawn from the various States’
Councils with the object of enhancing the power of Councils in dealing
43
Bessie Rischbieth, “AFWV: An Impression of Twenty-seven Years Activity for
Equal Citizenship in the Australian Commonwealth”, Rischbieth Papers.
44
Davison, chap. 5; Sher, 23–5; NCWV Council Minutes, 26 April 1923, NCWV
Records; “Statement by the Executive of the W.A. National Council of Women”,
printed pamphlet distributed to affiliated societies and the press.
45
On the Housewives’ Associations, see Judith Smart, “The Politics of
Consumption: The Housewives’ Associations in Southeastern Australia before
1950”, Journal of Women’s History 18, no. 3 (2006): 13–39, and “A Mission to the
Home: The Housewives’ Association, the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union
and Protestant Christianity, 1920–40”, Australian Feminist Studies 13, no. 28
(1998): 215–34.
with matters of Australian concern’. The resolution was ‘carried absolutely

unanimously’.46
From Tasmania Mrs Dobson made a bid to stymie proceedings.
Victoria’s resolution, she wrote, was ultra vires as the Australian Council
was formed and its affiliation accepted by the I.C.W. in consequence of a
resolution uniformly voted by the Australian Councils’ back in 1905. Her
solution was to strengthen the ICW-recognised office of Australian
President (her own) by directing through it the international channels of
communication and influence currently enjoyed by the individual
Councils. Purely Australian matters could be dealt with by agreement that
‘the President and Secretary of the Hostess-State of each Conference shall
act as President and Secretary of the Australian Council until the next
Interstate Conference’.47 The issue of a permanent federal body was the
first business of the interstate conference that opened in Melbourne on 21
October 1924. All states were well represented, and Lady Forster once
again agreed to chair proceedings. Again, Mrs Dobson protested that an
Australian Council was already in existence in the form still recognised by
the ICW, but the Victorians had responses prepared. ‘What we are
proposing … is really an Interstate Council, which will have nothing to do
with the I.C.W. If we choose to have an Interstate Conference or an
Australian Council merely for the sake of certain questions which concern
Australia only, I do not see what that has to do with the I.C.W.’. While
both Dobson and Forster favoured a council (albeit differently constituted)
that would deal with international matters as well, the tentativeness and
conservatism of the majority on this issue carried the day: ‘We are rather
afraid that if this Council deals with international affairs as well as
Australian, we will lose our separate autonomy and our direct touch with
the International, and simply become provincial Councils’. The resolution
finally carried simply read: ‘That a Federal Council be formed from the
State National Councils of Women of Australia’.48
The remaining four days of the conference saw the formulation of a
constitution that preserved the existing agreement for ICW representation
and finance, but added responsibility for ‘internal questions which concern
the Commonwealth as a whole’ and ‘such other matters as may be referred
to it by any State Councils’. The Federal Council would meet annually,
46
Meredith Foley, “Glencross, Eleanor”, ADB 9 (1983), 27–8; Book 7, Loose
Material. Foundation Australian NCW, 1, Box 2, NCWV Records.
47
Book 7, Loose Material. Foundation Australian NCW, 4 and 8, Box 2, NCWV
Records.
48
Australia, Melbourne, October 1924, Box 11, NCWA Papers.
would comprise the president, secretary and four other delegates from
each state, and would elect its own office-bearers each year, no president
to hold office for more than five consecutive years. In addition, two
conferences would be held in each Quinquennial period.49
Limited Federation to National Organisation

The first official meeting of the Federal Council in Melbourne in
September 1925 saw the last serious effort to block the trajectory towards
a national organisation and identity for the NCWs. Its defeat marked the
waning of Emily Dobson’s previously unquestioned pre-eminence, as
another generation of women, made confident by the war years and
subsequent organisational experience, dared to challenge her tutelary
position and expertise.
In the period between the 1924 interstate conference and the first
meeting of the Federal Council, an Australian delegation led by the
NSW’s Ruby Board had attended the ICW Quinquennial congress in
Washington. Emily Dobson had in the meantime been appointed an
honorary life vice-president of the ICW, and her status did not therefore
depend on the title of Australian President. But she clearly regarded her
authority as greater than Ruby Board’s, and also continued to dispute the
validity of the Federal Council. Mrs Dobson first questioned the minutes
of the 1924 conference, and then challenged the delegation’s report of the
outcomes of the ICW Board of Officers in Washington. After the meeting
confirmed the establishment of the Federal Council in the form agreed to
the previous October, Dobson proposed a series of constitutional
amendments that were all aimed at keeping power in the hands of the
states and rendering the new council redundant. They all failed.50 When
the president moved to welcome the honour that Dobson’s ICW life vice-
presidency conferred on Australian Councils as a whole, Dobson
responded with a long statement, which by agreement was not recorded in
the minutes. Miss Board ‘expressed regret’ about Dobson’s statement and
hastened to move: ‘That we place on record the very sincere admiration
we have for Mrs. Dobson and thanks for all the work and long service she
had given to Australia’. The meeting also immediately agreed to make
provision in the Federal Council constitution for the award of honorary life
49
Australia, Melbourne, October 1924, Box 11, and “Constitution of the Federal
Council of the National Council of Women of Australia”, Box 12, NCWA Papers.
50
First Annual Meeting of the Federal Council of the National Councils of Women
of Australia, 22–26 September 1925, Melbourne, Box 11, NCWA Papers.
vice-presidencies to those who have ‘given special service to the whole of

the Australian Councils’, but significantly ‘without the right to vote’. The
first such award was not surprisingly to Mrs Dobson, who recovered her
dignity sufficiently to thank the Council ‘for the honour conferred’.51
Over the ensuing two years, the Federal Council worked hard to
demonstrate its efficacy, and in her presidential addresses at the annual
meetings in 1926 and 1927 Lillias Skene emphasised the achievements. In
both years, the Council’s nominees as substitute delegate to the League of
Nations were appointed. Progress had been made in lobbying the federal
government on the issues of uniform marriage and divorce laws, and the
need to redress the problem of the nationality of married women. New
South Wales’ Mildred Muscio had been appointed to the Commonwealth
royal commission into child endowment, and the government’s
‘confidence in the Council’ was further illustrated by the appointment of
its nominees to the Industrial Commission. In 1926 Mrs Skene’s
recommendation that the interstate conferences be absorbed into the
annual meetings of the Federal Council was accepted without controversy.
But, for all that, the pressure that transformed the Council into a fully
federated body came from outside. In 1925 the ICW had taken steps to
form what came to be known as ‘the Joint Standing Committee of the
Women’s International Organisations’, mainly ‘to push for the appointment
of women to the League of Nations’.52 This was not discussed by the
NCW Federal Council in Australia until after the national general
secretary of the Young Women’s Christian Association (YWCA) took the
initiative in February 1928 of informally calling together representatives
of the five national organisations of women with international affiliations53
to form a provisional standing committee to deal with representation of
Australian women at the imminent Pan Pacific Women’s Conference. In
July, this committee (including NCW representatives) went ahead with the
selection of delegates and appointed Bessie Rischbieth as leader. At the
Federal Council meeting in Sydney in July, Mrs Muscio reported these
events and assured state Council representatives that she had made it clear
that ‘the National Councils of Women must decide for themselves at their
annual Federal meeting whether they wished the Joint Standing
Committee to continue, and unless they did so, it could not have any
51
First Annual Meeting of the Federal Council of the National Councils of Women
of Australia, 22–26 September 1925, Melbourne, Box 11, NCWA Papers.
52
Rupp 1997, 37.
53
Australian Federation of University Women, Australian Federation of Women
Voters, Australian National YWCA, Australian WCTU, and the Federal Council of
the NCW.
official status as far as they were concerned’. The ensuing discussion

revealed confusion and anxiety, for it was obvious that the prestige and
pre-eminence of the Councils were under threat. Most felt that the standing
committee would be a concession of power to the other organisations but
agreed that some links were necessary, preferably, as Mrs Glencross
suggested, by ‘giving Internationally affiliated bodies representation on
the Federal Council’ where they would operate under the aegis of the
NCWs.54 But events overtook them once more.
On her return to Australia in November, Rischbieth convened a
conference of the same five organisations to formalise the joint standing
committee and establish a permanent body, the Australian Women’s Co-
operating Committee of Federal Organisations. This would not only act as
the nucleus of the Australian Pan-Pacific Women’s Conference Committee
but also have power to recommend the names of Australian women
qualified for service on the committees and commissions of the League of
Nations, ensure election of nominees to represent Australia at important
international conferences, and receive correspondence from abroad ‘in
which action of Australian women as a national entity may be sought’.55
The NCWs were left scrambling to catch up without losing face. To add
insult to injury, it was pointed out that there were problems in admitting
the Federal Council to full membership of the Co-operating Committee
since it did not have international affiliation in its own right. For the time
being, the Federal Council decided to adopt observer status on both the
Co-operating and Pan-Pacific Committees but the underlying problem had
to be resolved.
At the 1929 annual meeting in September in Perth, the Queensland and
New South Wales Councils took the lead, Queensland moving for the
establishment of an Australian Council having international affiliation in
place of the existing Federal Council. Most of the delegates expressed a
conservative distaste for ‘concentration of power’ as well as a predilection
for ‘no change’ and ‘staying our hand’. Even the report of an interview
with Lady Aberdeen, ‘who expressed the keenest desire that an Australian
Council should be formed’, failed to impress. Then Mrs Muscio vacated
the chair to argue a systematically constructed case for a national Council
that dealt with all the traditional sources of opposition and fear.
Differences between the states were exaggerated; indeed ‘[w]e are on the
whole more homogeneous, our laws more similar than in other country of
comparable size’. ‘Progressive improvements’ in communications had
54
Annual Meeting of the Federal Council of the National Councils of Women of
Australia, July 1928, Sydney, Box 12, NCWA Papers.
55
White Ribbon Signal, 8 July 1929, 103.
made the problem of distance and expense of travel irrelevant. The state
Councils would continue to be the building blocks of the national
organisation and ‘would suffer no loss of importance, or prestige, or
identity’. ‘[W]e have to make up our minds to come into line with the rest
of the world’ and do more as Australians—Australia is becoming one
unit’. But, although this appeal to national identity now had some
resonance, Muscio’s clinching argument resorted to imperial loyalties:
‘Are we going to … embarrass an International President, who is a British
woman and finds it difficult to meet foreign criticism of Councils within
the Empire?’ Her fellow New South Wales delegate and Federal Council
secretary, Miss E.M. Tildesley, drove home the necessity for national
organisation by frankly acknowledging that ‘the real danger is not finance
or centralised control, but [the] Joint Standing Committee. The next Pan-
Pacific Conference over, the Australian Co-operating Committee will go
on and evolve to a super-N.C.W. unless we have something else to offer’.
The resolution finally passed approved ‘the principle of one N.C.W. for
Australia’ and instructed the Federal Executive to prepare a draft
constitution for circulation among the states prior to discussion at the next
annual meeting.56
The last meeting of the Federal Council took place in Hobart in
January 1931, where a constitution was agreed to that was ‘designed to
make the minimum of alteration in the existing constitution’, and the name
of the new body unanimously endorsed was the National Council of
Women of Australia.57 The key change to the constitution was the addition
of a new first object, which read ‘to be the link between the State Councils
of Women of Australia and the International Council of Women’. But in
order to assert itself as at least equal in status to the Australian Co-
operating Committee, the Council added to its voting membership, along
the lines of Mrs Glencross’s suggestion in 1928 and a resolution agreed to
in 1929, the ‘President or her proxy of each women’s organisation having
international affiliation with the State Councils in each State of the
Commonwealth’.58
The first meeting of the new NCWA Executive was held in Melbourne
in October. New officers were elected, Lady Aberdeen’s acknowledgement
of the new constitution was received, and a strategy was discussed to deal
56
Australia, September 1929, Perth, Box 12, NCWA Papers.
57
Australia, January 1931, Hobart, Box 12, NCWA Papers.
58
Australia, January 1931, Hobart, Box 12, NCWA Papers.
with Western Australia’s decision not to join the national body.59 At the
Australian Council’s urging, Lady Aberdeen finally decreed that the
affiliation of the new national body automatically cancelled individual
state Council membership and the right of direct communication.60 By the
first conference in Melbourne in November 1932, Western Australia had
reluctantly agreed to join.61 Now only the matter of the Co-operating and
Pan-Pacific Committees remained to be resolved, the NCWA finally
swallowing its pride and agreeing to become a full member of both in
January 1934, hence implicitly conceding that it could no longer claim to
speak for all Australian women.62
Conclusion
The incremental progress of the NCWs in Australia towards national
organisation was marked by reluctance and reaction to external pressure as
much as by the growth of a sense of national identity. Though the NCWs
were able to imagine a national identity by the 1920s, the development of
a national body was retarded by an entrenched commitment to states rights
and loyalties. Competition for national and international influence forced
them finally to reach an accommodation. Leila Rupp has written of the
making of the international women’s movement that internationalism grew
out of nationalism, but, for many in the Australian women’s movement,
nationalism had still not fully emerged from an imperial identity and was
premised on the desire for a place on the world stage as part of the British
family of nations. This began to weaken in the 1920s but the attachments
remained strong and defining until the Second World War.
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Executive Committee NCWA, Melbourne, 13–14 October 1931, Box 12,
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60
Sher 1999, 42–4.
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Minutes of the First Annual Meeting of the NCWA, Melbourne, 22–25
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FEMINISM AND NATIONALISM:
THE CASE OF WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE
IN MANDATORY PALESTINE, 1917–1926
MARGALIT SHILO
AND ESTHER CARMEL HAKIM
National and Female Awakening

In our national revival… the Hebrew woman has also come back to life.
Proud, bold, and full of spirit, she stands before us like her nation, the
nation of wonders, she too being one of the wonders of the world.1
These words that were spoken at a gathering of women in the fall of

1919 in Palestine clearly point to a strong connection between national
revival and the awakening of feminist consciousness. The first signs of
feminist consciousness were already evident among the first female
settlers, particularly among the girls of the Jewish community (Yishuv2) in
Ottoman Palestine. This consciousness also found vigorous expression in
the spoken words and in the writing of both female laborers and city
dwellers, (the socialist workers and the bourgeois). This important gender
awakening is particularly interesting in light of the undeniable fact that the
Jewish national movement had strong masculine features and resolutely
worked at glorifying masculinity.3 Feminist research both in Israel and
around the world indicates that this paradoxical duality follows from the
very nature of nationalism and from the very nature of the civil identity of
women.4 In other words: masculinity is one of the central components of
1
Miriam Lichtenstein, Asefat Nashim, ha-Aretz, 10 Nov., 1919
2
Yishuv: The Jewish community in pre-state Israel, before 1948.
3
Sheila H. Katz, Women and Gender in Early Jewish and Palestinian Nationalism,
(Gainesville , Fla. 2003).
4
Orna Sasson Levi, Zehuyot be-Madim, Gavriyut ve-Nashiyut ba-Tzava ha-
Yisra'eli, (Jerusalem, 2006), 19.
Margalit Shilo and Esther Carmel Hakim 359
nationalism,5 and it is also a highly influential liberating force of feminist

consciousness.6 Parallel phenomena have been noted in other national
movements, e.g. in New Zealand7 and in Slovenia.8
The Balfour Declaration (November 2nd, 1917) which recognized the
Land of Israel as the National Home of the Jewish people, was
accompanied by the British rule over Palestine which began at the end of
1917. These dramatic events aroused the deepest national feelings of the
Jewish people and the following year was named the epoch of big dreams.
The new British rule served as an unequivocal spur to democratic
organization in the Jewish yishuv both on the local level (cities and
villages) and on the level of the entire yishuv (national institutions). The
Jewish leaders hoped that establishing a representative body would lead
the British to grant the Jewish population the desired national authority.
Preparations for the establishment of the first National Assembly advanced
slowly but surely. This activity accelerated the shaping of the political
identity of the Jews in Palestine and raised the question of women’s right
to vote. It served as fertile ground for the growth of feminist political
organization.9
The campaign for women’s suffrage in the Jewish community in
Palestine which took place at the beginning of the British Mandate period
1918 – 1926 had a very unique and controversial nature. Women’s
suffrage, more than any other issue, symbolized in the eyes of all those
who took part in the campaign the nature of the newly reestablished
Jewish society whether it was to become a modern egalitarian Western
entity or a traditional, patriarchal society.10 Moreover, the very nature of
5
On the difficulty of distinguishing between masculine values and national values,
see Joane Nagel," Masculinity and Nationalism: Gender and Sexuality in the
Making of Nations", Ethnic and Racial Studies 21 (2), (1998), 242 – 270.
6
Sheila H. Katz, Women and Gender in Early Jewish and Palestinan Nationalism,
(University Press of Florida, 2003), 8.
7
Irma Sulkunen, “Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship in Finland: A Comparative
Perspective” (paper presented in International Conference on Suffrage, Gender and
Citizenship Conference, Tampere, Finland, October 16-17, 2006).
8
Milica Antic' Gaber and Irena Selisnik, “Slovene Women's Suffrage Movement
in Comparative Perspective” (paper presented in: International Conference on
Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship, Tampere, Finland, October 16-17, 2006).
9
Haggai Boaz, "Parashat ha-Ma'avak al Zekhut ha-Behirah le-Nashim bi-Tekufat
ha-Yishuv: ha-Status Kevo vi-Yetzirat Kategoriyot Hevratiyot," Te'oriyah u-
Bikoret 21 (2002), 114 (Hebrew).
10
Fogiel-Bijaoui Sylvie “On the Way to Equality? The Struggle for Women’s
Suffrage in the Jewish Yishuv, 1917-1926”, in Pionners and Homemakers –
360 Feminism and Nationalism
this complicated struggle for suffrage expressed the unique nature of the
Zionist national movement whose aims were to merge modernity and
tradition.
Our aims in the following article are three: To summarize the story and
paradoxical characteristics of the campaign for suffrage; to show that
polarized gender conceptions were at the root of cultural differences
between the various segments of society; to elucidate the complicated link
between nation building and women’s rights, i.e. the clash between
feminism and nationalism. On the one hand nationalism was a catalyst in
drawing women into public life, but on the other hand, women remained
the symbol of tradition and home life.
The Divided Jewish Community of Palestine

The small Jewish community, the forerunner of the State of Israel,
comprised in 1918 approximately 56,000, a tenth of the overall population
living in Mandatory Palestine. This multifaceted community was divided
quite evenly into two main sectors: ‘The New Yishuv’, namely, the modern
and mainly secular Zionists who aspired to establish a Jewish national
homeland, and ‘The Old Yishuv’, the ultra orthodox religious Jewish
community whose aim was to live in the Holy Land and devote their lives
to prayer and to the study of the holy books. ‘The New Yishuv’ held
modern liberal ideals and ‘the Old Yishuv’ cherished traditional patriarchal
values. The leaders of ‘the New Yishuv’ aspired to be regarded as the
legitimate representatives of all the Jewish people in Palestine including
the ultra-orthodox Jews.
The debate concerning granting voting rights for women in the first
elections for the planned national assembly, came as a quasi-surprise. The
national Zionists who favored suffrage pointed out that the Zionist
movement, the national Jewish movement calling for the rebuilding of the
National Home, granted women’s rights at a meeting prior to the second
Zionist Congress11 which took place in Switzerland in 1898. The decision
concerning women's suffrage was taken then and there without any debate,
as a fait accompli. However, granting rights does not always mean
implementing them. As is well documented, no women held leading roles
in the early years of the Zionist movement. In the utopian novel Altneuland
Jewish Women in Pre-State Israel, ed. Deborah S.Bernstein (New York, State
University of New York Press, 1992), 274.
11
The Zionist Congress was established in Basel in 1897 by Theodore Herzl in
order to organize the Jews who believed in the revival of a Jewish State.
(Old- New Land), depicting the building of the new Jewish state, written
by the founder of the Zionist movement , Theodore Herzl, Sarah, the wife
of the hero, explicitly declares that raising children is much more
important and gratifying than participation in communal life.12 In 1907 the
wives of the Zionist leaders who lived in Europe established a Zionist
organization to engage in philanthropic activity. The political Zionist arena
was left for the men.
Yet within the collective Zionist memory, Theodore Herzl, the founder
of Zionism, is remembered as the one who introduced the idea of women’s
equality into the Jewish national movement. The complex and inferior
status of women in the Zionist movement and in the renewed Jewish
settlement in Palestine did not hinder the Zionist rhetoric and expectations,
that the new Jewish society in the Land of Israel, would be an egalitarian
society.
Sara Azaryahu, one of the leaders of the Hebrew feminists, who was
the first to write their history,13 testifies in her memoirs to the inseparable
connection between her initial Zionist consciousness and her nascent
feminist consciousness: ‘From my earliest childhood, I began to ponder
two problems: a) the bitter fate of my wandering and persecuted people;
and b) the discrimination against women in the family.’14 According to
Azaryahu's belief feminism was an integral part of the Zionist Movement.
Not only did Zionist tradition include suffrage in its agenda, in the
newly established Jewish entity in Palestine some women, bourgeois and
socialists alike, took part in some public activities. Accordingly, in the first
preparatory committee for the founding of the elections for the National
Assembly, which gathered for the first time right after the British
conquest, a woman, Rachel Yanait, (later to become the second First Lady
in the State of Israel) was an active member. In an ironic manner, she and
some other women participated in the committees which prepared the
forthcoming elections for the National Assembly, which was to decide
whether women would be granted full membership.
In contrast to all this, the Old Yishuv society held firmly to its
patriarchal values and traditional social order. The researcher Ruth
Abrams explained that: ‘Orthodox Jews who were part of the non-Zionist
old Yishuv were not committed either to liberal democracy or to the full
12
Theodore Herzl, Old-New Land ( Altneuland), Translated by Lotta Levensohn,
(New York, 1941), 75.
13
Sarah Azaryahu, The Association of Hebrew Women for Equal Rights in
Palestine (Haifa, 1977) (Hebrew).
14
Sarah Azaryahu, Pirkei Hayyim (Tel-Aviv, 1957), 12 (Hebrew).
participation of women in public life. Most of the Zionist parties were

committed to women's equality on paper but had not made it a priority.’15
Women's Images according to Jewish Canonical Texts

The various debaters in the public debate over suffrage all based their
opposing views on the same rich and multicolored cultural Jewish
tradition. An examination of a few examples of the various opinions
illuminates the intense cultural process which was an inseparable part of
the wearying legislative movement for achieving voting rights for women.
In order to understand the roots of this paradoxical struggle, women's
participation in the preparations for the forthcoming elections on the one
hand, and the possibility of being rejected from it on the other hand, one
has inter alia to be acquainted with the complex conceptualization of
women in Judaism. One can trace this conflictual concept already in the
two versions of the story of creation presented in the opening chapters of
the Book of Genesis. Eve, the first woman in Genesis is introduced as both
equal to, and inferior and dependent on the man, Adam.
Yet, the Jewish tradition as it has been shaped throughout more than
two thousand years mainly gave way to a patriarchal way of thinking,
stressing the inferior nature of women. Women have been almost totally
forbidden to participate in the loftiest of all Jewish goals – the study of
canonical texts. The tradition of Jewish sages offers many particularly
harsh expressions concerning the nature of women, as well as
unprecedented praise.
These cultural influences can be traced in the writing of both men and
women involved in the struggle for suffrage. The more traditional
segments of the Jewish community adopted the concept of women as
inferior to men and consequently negated completely the possibility of
granting them the right to vote. For example, a rabbi who headed the
Jerusalem Orphanage for Girls viewed women as being essentially
different in their substantive nature from men.16 Furthermore, the famous
Rabbi Kook who became the first Chief Rabbi of the Jewish community in
Israel during the British Mandate of Palestine, wrote that a man is: ‘the
laborer, the legislator, the conqueror, and the subjugator’ whereas the
15
Abrams Ruth, "Pioneering representatives of the Hebrew People" Campaigns of
the Palestinian Jewish Women’s Equal Rights Association, 1918 – 1948, in: Ian
Christopher Fletcher, Laura E. Nym Mayhall, and Philippa Levine, Women's
Suffrage in the British Empire, Citizenship, Nation and Race, London and N.Y.
2000, 122.
16
Zeev Minzberg, This is the Law of the Bible, Jerusalem, 1920 (Hebrew).
woman is: ‘employed, legislated, conquered and subjugated.’ He concluded

that ‘a man’s soul is superior to the soul of a woman, who is viewed as
raw material to be formed and shaped’.17 Rabbi Kook reiterated the
Aristotelian concept which viewed women as inferior to men.18
Surprisingly or not, women leaders who firmly opposed these concepts
also based their sayings on similar Biblical verses. For example, The
young Rachel Yanait, who was very active in the efforts to organize the
Jewish community, and who as a socialist believed in women’s equality,
criticized women for being laggard in making a contribution to society as a
whole. She too began her writing on the women's question by quoting
from the verses in the Book of Genesis, which describes the creation of
Adam and Eve. She did not conclude that women were inferior to men, but
stressed that they were different. She stated that all creatures were created
in their own right, apart from the woman who ‘was not created in her
name and in her own right’19 other than as a partner for the man. Yanait’s
words bear a striking resemblance to those of de Beauvoir written more
than thirty years later: ‘Not even her birth was independent. God did not
spontaneously choose to create her as an end in herself’.20 The idea that in
practice women are inferior to men was deeply rooted even in feminists’
minds.
Yanait explained that the inferior status of woman in society does not
stem from her possessing a different nature, but is rather the product of her
biological role – motherhood, with its attendant cultural and social
conditions. She viewed motherhood as bonds of slavery. When she wrote
these words she was a thirty-year-old single woman refusing to accept
motherhood and the education of children as a noble female achievement.
She was of the opinion that women’s abilities were not maximized as a
result of her clearly defined biological role.21 This insight, too, is repeated
and woven into de Beauvoir’s book: ‘It is in maternity that she must be
transfigured and enslaved.’22
17
A. haCohen Kook, Olat Reiyah (Jerusalem, 1963), 71 (Hebrew).
18
For a full analysis of the Rabbis' conceptions, see: Margalit Shilo,The Image of
Woman According to Rabbinic Scholars, in: Tova Cohen and Aliza Lavie, To Be A
Jewish Woman, Vol.3, Proceedings of the Third International Conference: Woman
and her Judaism, Jerusalem, 2005, 239 – 254 (Hebrew).
19
“Yanait, haAvoda vehaOvedet, Ben HaZemanim ,A collection of articles, 1916,
Safed, 8 (Hebrew) , (hereafter: haOvedet).
20
S. de Beauvoir, The Second Sex (Translated and edited by H.M. Parshly) (New
York, 1953), 141.
21
Yanait, haOvedet, 12.
22
de Beauvoir, 1953, 171.
This legacy of the inferior concept of women was shared by men and
women, by Jews and gentiles alike. As a rule, the cultural perception of
woman was the principle shaping the mindset of all those who favored
granting women the right to vote. The common cultural heritage that was
the infrastructure for the opposing concepts of women was responsible for
both the male demand that women renounce their claim for suffrage and
for the female claim that they deserve it.
The Women's Party

Feminist Jewish women in Palestine understood that their prospect of
gaining suffrage was not to be taken for granted, and that decisions
regarding the issue would be made in the political arena. They began to
organize politically first locally and then nationally. In the suffrage debate
which took place in the Jewish colony Rishon Lezion, which was
documented in a protocol of the second general meeting of the residents of
the colony convened at the beginning of December 1917, one can read the
women's arguments:
We can no longer live without equal rights. We who have built the
community together with the men, we deserve the right to vote for the
council… We demand all of our rights. Let us live like you.23
A careful reading of these words indicates that they presented the

demand for equality as a goal second to none and leaving no room for
compromise. They were not merely demanding an improvement in the
status of women; for them it was a matter of life and death. Nevertheless,
they based their demand not only on ‘natural’ human rights, but also on
the many efforts and great investment on the part of women in the building
of the land. For it was they who built the land together with the men.
Women's contribution to the national project, both in toil and in suffering,
is repeatedly cited by many suffragettes both in Palestine and abroad as the
basis for their demand for the right to vote. The national vision served as
an impetus for the growth of feminine consciousness, and women’s active
participation in the national project was seen as a fitting basis for their
demand for civil equality.
A similar claim, in 1918, was raised in another forum of Jewish
women in Palestine concerning the right of women to enlist in a fighting
force. An argument took place between the committee of women who
23
Protocol no. 2 of the moshavah (village) meeting, Saturday night, 2 December
1917, Rishon le-Zion Archives 1/17-16.
volunteered to join the British army, led by Rachel Yanait, and officers of
the governing British army poised to conquer the northern part of Palestine
from the Turkish army. The women's volunteer committee presented the
arguments for enlisting in their contributions to the national effort in
building the country. These women, too, did not base their claims for
enlistment on the principle of equal rights, but rather on their partnership
in the enterprise of building the country:
. . .we worked hand in hand with our compatriots with spades and shovels. . .
the concept of volunteerism was also one we created and nurtured
together.24
While struggling for suffrage, these women did something that had
probably never been done before in any other place: they created an all-
female independent political party, the Association of Hebrew Women for
Equal Rights in Palestine. They realized that they had to combine their
forces and work together to establish a national women’s organization
whose role would be to achieve women's political and social rights.25 This
party consisted of the women’s local associations in various communities
in the country as its branches and its centre was in Jerusalem.26
The first letter published by the Association of Hebrew Women for
Equal Rights in Palestine to be given prominence in the press in June 1919
- reads as follows:
The Hebrew woman in the land of Israel now knows how to defend her
rights, not out of boredom to be drawn into the modern suffragist
movement which has spread throughout the modern world today; our
interest is born of the desire to play an equal role in building the country.27
According to this unequivocal declaration, the first members of the

women's association did not identify themselves with the international
feminist struggle. Rather, they sought the feminist goal – the right to vote
– in order to realize a national goal. They viewed the suffragettes across
24
A letter from the Volunteering Committee to Allenby, dated July 9, 1918, Israel
State Archives, Yanait Archive,P 2061/36.
25
Azaryahu 1949, 7 -12.
26
Hannah Safran, “International Struggle, Local Victory: Rosa Welt Straus and the
Achievement of Suffrage, 1919 – 1926”, in Jewish Women in Pre-State Israel,
Life, History, Politics and Cultur, ed. Ruth Kark, Margalit Shilo and Galit Hasan-
Rokem (Brandeis University Press, 2008), 217 – 228.
27
A Letter from the Association of Hebrew Women for Equal Rights dated June
24, 1919, Central Zionist Archives, (CZA), J1/879.
the world as egotistical seeking to improve their status for reasons of

personal interest, e.g., equality in pay.28 The authors of this declaration
emphasized that their own efforts did not stem from personal motives, but
rather from nationalist motives – their desire to play an equal part in the
building of the land. Suffragettes around the world also presented the right
to vote as a means of allowing women to contribute to society and the
national effort.29
The declaration that women are eligible for basic rights in accordance
with their contribution to society entailed several dilemmas which were of
concern to women throughout the world: is the right to vote a ‘natural’ or
an elective one? Should the longing for social justice be emphasized, or
should the resultant benefit to society be stressed instead?30 These
dilemmas were discussed in women’s organizations' discourses in other
countries as well.31 The concept of the right to vote as a national
obligation, and not as an essential human right, led to the view that Jewish
women in Palestine are in a different social position compared to women
in other parts of the world.
Shortly after the publication of the above-mentioned first letter of the
Association of Hebrew Women for Equal Rights in Palestine, two most
influential women joined the association, and apparently brought a certain
change to their ideology. Sarah Azaryahu (Latvia, 1873 – Israel, 1962),
who became the secretary of the association, studied education at a Swiss
university and immigrated to Palestine in 1906 with her husband and
eldest son. She was the first female teacher of geography in the country.
After the British conquest, Azaryahu initiated and won the fight for
women’s suffrage in the local Jewish Community Council of Haifa. In the
summer of 1919 she moved with her family to Jerusalem and there she
joined the newly established women's organization.32. Azaryahu was the
association’s most important spokesperson for the Hebrew public.
28
Johanna Alberti, “A Symbol and a Key - The Suffrage Movement in Britain,
1918 – 1928,” in Votes For Women, ed. June Purvis and Sandra Stanley Holton
(London and New York 2000), 275.
29
Nancy Woloch, Feminism and Suffrage, 1860 – 1920, Women and the American
Experience, (USA, 2000), 333.
30
A. Kraditor, “The Two Major Types of Suffragist Argumen”, in Major Problems
in American’s Women History, ed. M.B. Norton, (Lexington, Massachusetts,
Toronto 1989), 262-266.
31
Ruth Abrams, “Jewish Women in the International Women Suffrage Alliance
1899 – 1926”, (PhD diss., Brandeis University 1998), 50.
32
Azaryahu 1957, 154 -171.
Dr. Rosa Welt Strauss, (1856, Romania - 1938, Geneva) the vigorous
president of the association, was a most exceptional character in the
unique gallery of members of the first Jewish feminist political party that
arose in the yishuv. Welt Strauss completed her medical studies in Vienna
and moved to New York, where she married a wealthy businessman and
gave birth to their only daughter, Nellie. Welt Straus became involved in
the activities of non-Jewish feminist organizations and was among the
founders of the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance.33 Nellie (1892-
1933), her daughter, was captivated by the charms of Zionism and
immediately following the end of World War I immigrated to the Holy
Land. Her mother, sixty three years old, joined her and they both arrived in
Jaffa on 1 June 1919.34
The fact that for most of her life Welt Strauss had been very far from
Judaism makes her integration into Mandatory Palestine all the more
astonishing. 35 In her letters, she expresses her genuine love and
appreciation of the country:
In your wildest imagination you could not picture Palestine. It has

expanded in all directions, new sections built up everywhere… There are
manifestations in all phases of life that the Jews have struck roots here.36
In stark contrast to the initial declaration of the Association of Hebrew

Women for Equal Rights in Palestine, in which the women distanced
themselves from feminists the world over, very soon, in the wake of Welt
Strauss's joining the organization, the association established international
connections with the International Women’s Suffrage Alliance. Welt
Strauss represented the women's association in all the international
conferences. The Association of Hebrew Women prided itself on the fact
that it was the first Jewish organization in Palestine to be involved in non-
Jewish international activity. Joining the International Women’s Suffrage
Alliance constituted an unequivocal statement that the struggle in the
yishuv was part of a universal campaign, a campaign which set the
feminist goal as its primary objective. This goal became the motto of the
women's association: One law for both men and women.
An examination of the activity of the association indicates that
Azaryahu and Welt Strauss were unwilling to waive or set aside their own
goal in favour of what was presented as an overriding national goal, the
33
Safran 2008.
34
Letter from Nellie Strauss to Alice Seligsberg, 1919, CZA A375/238.
35
Azaryahu 1977, 16.
36
Rosa Welt Strauss to Alice Seligsberg, 11 November, 1932, CZA A375/303.
unification of all the sectors of the Jewish community in one organization,

the National Assembly. The members of the Old Yishuv threatened to quit
the National assembly unless women abstained from the vote, the men of
the New Yishuv did not fight back in spite of their approval of women's
suffrage. The chairman of the National Assembly turned to the women's
association in an emotional letter, writing: ‘I disagree with you… I plead
with you that for the sake of the organization and for the sake of achieving
this goal it is necessary to back down at this time… I see before me only
destruction…’.37 Rosa Welt Strauss, the president of the women's political
party resolutely rejected this proposal: ‘We, the women, must vigorously
object to this clash with our human rights.’38 She described the National
Assembly executive committee proposal as follows:
They are not discussing with us the question whether to give women the
right to vote, but how to deny it from them, a situation that is the first of its
kind in the history of the women's liberation movement, and one that will
not bring honour to our new country.39
Was the supremacy of the national dimension replaced by the

supremacy of the feminist dimension under the leadership of Welt Strauss?
A careful examination of the documents that have survived from this
struggle suggest that in the course of the struggle in the Jewish community
in Palestine, the feminist dimension was recognized as a vital principle,
both in itself, and as a means for nation-building. In contrast to the picture
painted at the beginning of the struggle according to which the right to
vote was meant to raise the status of women, during the struggle it became
clear that the principle of equality was meant also to raise the quality of
the Yishuv society in which the principle of equality would be an important
foundational stone. The feminist dimension was recognized as a principle
that strengthens the nationalist dimension. The struggle in Palestine
paralleled the international struggle.40 An examination of the connection
between the nationalist dimension and the feminist dimension suggests
that each depended upon the other. It became clear that feminist identity
was equal in value to nationalist identity. What appeared at the outset as a
37
David Yellin to the Association of Hebrew Women, June, 18 (1925), CZA
A153/151.
38
Rosa Welt Strauss, Le-She'eilat ha-Referendum, ha'Aretz, 25 June, 1925.
39
Report of the words of Rosa Welt Strauss in a women's public meeting in
Jerusalem, , 10 June 1925 ; 15 June 1925, ha'Aretz,
40
Nancy Woloch, Feminism and Suffrage 1860 – 1920, Women and American
Experience, (U. S. A. 2000), 347.
paradox of gender proved to be composed of two components, the one

complementing the other41 Contrary to the concept that nationalism
endorses masculinity, one can add that at the same time it is an incentive
for feminism.
The Struggle and the Victory

The disagreement concerning the right of women to vote dictated the
pace of decision making. Despite the fact that was already mentioned that
a woman was a member of the ad hoc committee which prepared the
elections, this disagreement postponed the elections six times. In the
meantime, while preparing for the first general elections, the women's
party presented an attractive list of female candidates. This step forced
some other parties who supported women’s suffrage to put women high
enough on their lists to ensure that they would be elected. The first
elections were held on 19 April 1920 with women's participation. It was
decided that the first democratically elected delegates, the National
Assembly, would thereafter be responsible for solving the suffrage issue.
The members of the Old Yishuv who negated suffrage did take part in the
elections, hoping that by joining the National Assembly they would be
able to shape its nature and prevent the women's right to vote. The
outcome was a surprise. Not only did women vote but were also elected to
the assembly, which was a victory in itself. 42 Thirteen women out of 314
delegates from both the women's party and other parties with female
candidates were elected, amounting to 4.5 % of the total seats.43 This was
a great success for the women, but only a partial one. The crucial decision
concerning women's votes had yet to be taken, but the sides were unable to
reach agreement. Thus, the struggle for suffrage continued for another five
years. The representatives elected democratically formed the National
Institutions, which in time became the self- governing bodies of the Jewish
people in Mandatory Palestine. The fact that the ultra orthodox (the Old
Yishuv) participated in these elections in the first place is what gave
legitimacy to the ‘Elected Assembly’ as a representative body of the whole
Yishuv.
The next years did not diminish the ultra orthodox party’s demands.
They raised the issue again and again. The Zionist leadership, fearing a
41
Joan Wallach Scott, Only Paradoxes to Offer, French Feminists and the Rights
of Man (Cambridge, Mass. London, England, 1996), 1–18.
42
Manachem Friedman, Society and Religion, The Non-Zionist Orthodox in Eretz
Israel 1918 – 1936, Jerusalem, 1977, 166 – 169 (Hebrew).
43
Azaryahu 1977, 18 – 19.
split in the assembly, asked the women to leave the meetings so as to

prevent the sessions from deteriorating. However, the women
representatives refused and did not give in.
During the years 1920 – 1925 great demographical changes took place
in the Jewish community of Palestine. The Jewish population nearly
doubled due to the fact that thousands of new Jewish immigrants had
arrived in the country. Most of them held progressive views about
women’s status. In fact, some 30% of these immigrants were women,
many of them from Russia, where women had enjoyed suffrage since
1917. The balance of power in the Yishuv had changed in favour of the
New Yishuv and those who favoured women's suffrage felt that they could
withstand the pressure of the Old Yishuv.
All further attempts to find a compromise failed, and the ultra orthodox
parties boycotted the second elections which were held at December 1925.
The results were a great success for the feminists. Women won 25 seats
out of 220, which was 12% of the seats in the newly elected assembly.
Half of the elected women were members of the women's party, and the
rest were members of the socialist and progressive parties.44 At the first
meeting of the second Elected Assembly the women’s vote was
legitimized in the following resolution: ‘Equal rights for women in all
aspects of life in the Yishuv - civil, political and economic.’45 This
declaration was legally ratified by the British governing body in Palestine
in 1927. 46 The struggle of Jewish women for suffrage became one of the
cornerstones of Israeli democracy.
Academic and Non-Academic Conclusions

In her research on voting rights in England47, Susan Kingsley Kent
explains that this is not solely a struggle for civil liberties, but a much
deeper cultural conflict, and one which relates to the concepts of sex and
gender. Ellen DuBois emphasizes that the suffragettes were not just
critical of the civic status of women, but sought to recreate a new social
44
Sylvie Fogiel-Bijaoui, “On the Way to Equality? The Struggle for Women's
Suffrage in the Jewish Yishuv, 1917 – 1926,” in Pioneers and Homemakers ,
Jewish Women in Pre-State Israel, ed. Deborah S. Bernstein (State University of
New York University Press, 1992), 271.
45
Azaryahu 1977, 38.
46
Fogiel-Bijaoui 1992, 272.
47
Susan Kingsley Kent, Sex and Suffrage in Britain 1860-1914 (Princeton 1987),
184-219.
order, an overall revolution to alter the consciousness of women.48 There

was, therefore, considerable psychological, ideological and cultural
significance in granting voting rights.49
In Palestine, this struggle was a compelling element in shaping the
national identity of the Jewish community. The multifaceted perception of
women emerging from the documented evidence surrounding the clash
over voting rights is categorical proof of the complex cultural process
which was part and parcel of the acceptance and rejection of new gender
perceptions. Another struggle, and one which is only hinted at here, points
to the changing of attitudes as a result of the struggle itself. A careful
scrutiny highlights the inclusion of two goals: a national goal and a
universal feminist one. Traditional Judaism, which promoted the
patriarchal approach (similar to other Western cultures) easily enabled the
adoption of the national, masculine goal, but had difficulty in internalizing
the universal goal, which sought to challenge and defeat the concept of
masculine hierarchy. Even the socialist outlook adopted by the labor sector
in Palestine gave priority to the national approach.
Sheila Hannah Katz, a sociologist, suggested that the right to vote, a
basic human right, was understood not as correcting an injustice done to
women, but as a means to advance the national masculine enterprise.50
Research on nationalism and feminism often dealt with the existing
tension between these two social movements. An overview of the struggle
which took place in Palestine clearly points to the manner in which even
avowed feminists gave priority to masculine national aspiration. In this
struggle the combination of the national and the feminist goals,
contributed on the one hand to the unique power of the struggle, and on
the other hand to its winding path.
In sum, looking back from a researcher's point of view, we have
several insights:
It is easier for women to receive rights in institutions at their inception,
when they are still weak and need support and assistance. Women’s rights
have to be guarded and protected. There will always be male political
forces that will try to take them away. Rights that are practised are easier
to conserve, thus, one should plan the implementation of these rights the
day after receiving them. Cooperation with women’s organizations is a
potential source of political, financial and organizational strength. Women
48
Ellen DuBois, "The Radicalization of the Woman Suffrage Movement",
Feminist Studies. III. No ½ (Fall 1975): 63-71.
49
Alberti, 2000, 267-290.
50
Katz, 2003, 143-144.
have to be watchful and fight for their rights without any hesitation.
Political rights can be achieved only by unified political struggle.
One cannot overestimate the achievement of women's suffrage in pre-
state Israel because it contributed to the establishment of a norm of civil
equality in the Yishuv. This was a necessary step, but not a sufficient one,
on the way to true gender equality. The struggle for full equality continues.
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Kingsley Kent, Susan. Sex and Suffrage in Britain 1860-1914. Princeton

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PART IV:
CONTEMPORARY DISCUSSION
ON WOMEN’S SUFFRAGE AND CITIZENSHIP
WOMEN AS FULL CITIZENS:
ADDRESSING THE BARRIERS OF GENDER
AND RACE IN CANADIAN CONSTITUTIONAL
DEVELOPMENT
MARY EBERTS
This chapter* is a brief account of the milestones reached by women in

Canada in their struggle for full legal personhood and substantive equality,
particularly in the domain of citizenship and public life, and the many
challenges that remain. Securing citizenship in its more traditional sense
of the state’s formal recognition of membership1 has been part of that
broader quest for equality. For many Aboriginal women, attaining full
recognition of their rights under the Indian Act of Canada2 and within their
own First Nations, has added a further very difficult dimension to the
search for full equality.
The Chief Justice of Canada has observed that Canada’s tradition is
one of evolutionary democracy, moving in uneven steps toward the goal of
universal suffrage and more effective representation3. The steps toward
universal suffrage and full citizenship for women have been uneven
indeed, and in Canada women still lack effective representation. It is clear
that progress by women in Canada to full enjoyment of civil and political
rights has been impeded by long-standing state racism, directed at both
persons of colour generally and also Indigenous peoples in particular. It is
*
The author wishes to thank Christine Soukup, BA and Kasari Govender, BA,
LL.B. for their help in preparing this paper.
1
A leading jurist of the Supreme Court of Canada has stated: “Citizenship is
membership in a state: and in the citizen inhere those rights and duties, the
correlatives of alliance and protection, which are basic to that status”. Rand, J. in
Winner v. S.M.T. (Eastern) Ltd., [1951] S.C.R. 887 at pp. 918-19.
2
R.S.C. 1985, c. I-5.
3
Reference re Provincial Electoral Boundaries (Saskatchewan), [1991] 2 S.C.R.
158 at p. 186, quoting her earlier observations in Dixon v. B.C. (A.G.), [1989] 4
W.W.R. 393 at p. 409 (B.C.S.C.)
Mary Eberts 377
also evident that the achievement of formal equality – rights inscribed or

entrenched in law – is incomplete, fragile, and still subject to pressure.
The achievement of full substantive equality, reflected in substantial or
equal representation in institutions of government, remains an elusive
goal4.
We also now see that the goals of formal equality in citizenship and
suffrage espoused by activist women in the late nineteenth and for much of
the twentieth century were, like many of the women themselves, strongly
identified with the world of white privilege. Addressing the exclusion of
all women, regardless of race or ethnicity, from public life and citizenship
was not included in the formal equality project of white feminists, if,
indeed, such exclusion was even noticed.
A striking example of the unconscious but thorough-going focus on the
rights of white Canadian women is the iconic ‘Persons Case’, in which the
Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, then Canada’s final appeal court,
declared in 1930 that the word “Persons” in the Constitution Act, 1867
includes female persons, who thus became eligible for the first time to be
4
The Supreme Court of Canada has declared that the equality contemplated by
section 15 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms is not mere sameness
or formal equality; it accommodates difference in circumstance. Indeed, the Court
has recognized that true equality may require distinctions in treatment. The Court
has also recognized that inequality derives not just from the formal terms of a law,
but from its impact. Law Society of British Columbia v. Andrews [1989] 1 S.C.R.
143 at para. 31. British Columbia (Public Service Employee Relations
Commission) v. British Columbia Government and Service Employee’s Union
(B.C.G.S.E.U.) (Meiorin Grievance), [1999] 3 S.C.R. 3 at paras. 27-29; Gosselin v.
Quebec (Attorney General), [2002] 4 S.C.R. 429 at paras. 17 and 26. This nuanced
concept of equality has echoes of the “differentiated citizenship” of Iris Marion
Young. Young, Iris Marion. “Polity and Group Difference: A critique of the Ideal
of Universal Citizenship,” Ethics 99, no. 2 (1989): 258 as quoted in Kymlicka,
Will, “Three Forms of Group Differentiated Citizenship in Canada,” in Seyla
Benhabib, ed., Democracy and Difference: Contesting the Boundaries of the
Political. (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996) at p. 153. The full
substantive equality of women would probably have quite similar attributes to
citizenship “recast in a feminist and plural perspective” (Yuval-Davis, Nira and
Pnina Werbner, eds. Women, Citizenship and Difference. London: Zed Books,
1999 at pp. 3, 5 and 28) or “full substantive citizenship” (Monks, Judith. “‘It
Works Both Ways’: Belonging and Social Participation Among Women with
Disabilities” in Yuval-Davis, Nira and Pnina Werbner, eds. Women, Citizenship
and Difference at p. 65).
378 Women As Full Citizens
appointed to the Senate of Canada5. The five activists who brought this
case6, shared the financial and class privilege of the women who were
campaigning for suffrage at the same time7. Regrettably, some of them
also espoused the beliefs in eugenics which were current in that era8.
The Persons Case became a focal point for a renewed Canadian
women’s movement as the case approached its fiftieth anniversary. Its
significance was recognized by the National Action Committee on the
Status of Women, then the largest women’s group in Canada, which
commissioned a medal to commemorate it9. The inspiration of the Persons
Case animated women’s activism in 1980-1982 to secure strong equality
guarantees in the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, entrenched
in the Canadian constitution in 198210.
5
Edwards v. Attorney General for Canada, [1930] A.C. 124, reversing Reference
as to the Meaning of the Word “Persons” in Section 24 of the British North
America Act, 1867, [1928] S.C.R. 276.
6
Emily Murphy, Nellie McClung, Louise McKinney, Irene Parlby and Henrietta
Edwards. They are sometimes known colloquially as “the five Persons”; another
term is the “Famous Five”. Eleanor Harman, “Five Persons from Alberta”, in Mary
Quayle Innis, ed., The Clear Spirit: Twenty Canadian Women and their Times
(CFUW, University of Toronto Press, 1966), 163.
7
Catherine L. Cleverdon. The Woman Suffrage Movement in Canada. (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1974), 4.
8
Robert J. Sharpe and Patricia I. McMahon, The Persons Case: The Origins and
Legacy of the Fight for Legal Personhood. Toronto: Osgoode Society for Legal
History and University of Toronto Press, 2007 at pp. 201-202. A similar shadow is
cast over Clara Brett Martin, the first woman called to the bar of Ontario;
revelation of her anti-Semitism while practising law caused the Ontario
government to withdraw its decision to name after her the office building of the
Attorney-General’s Ministry. These opinions have caused concern among
contemporary observers, in the case of the five Persons, understanding of the
historical context of those views seem to have edged out the inclination to
condemn them.
9
The original maquette of the medal was presented to the Supreme Court of
Canada to honour the appointment of the first woman to the Supreme Court of
Canada, the Honourable Madame Justice Bertha Wilson. The Medal was made by
noted Canadian sculptor, Dora de Pedery Hunt.
10
One of the papers prepared by the Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of
Women and distributed to Canadian women in 1980 traced women’s awareness of
constitutional issues to the Persons Case: Mary Eberts, “Women and
Constitutional Renewal”, in Doerr, Audrey and Michele Carrier, eds., Women and
the Constitution in Canada, (CACSW, 1981), 7-9. I was asked to become involved
in the Council’s Charter work because of an earlier article I had written on the
Persons Case for the National Action Committee on the Status of Women
Mary Eberts 379
The expansive interpretation describing the constitution as a ‘living

tree’ propounded by the Privy Council in the Persons Case has been
adopted by the Supreme Court of Canada as the foundation of its approach
to the guarantees of the Charter of Rights11 and inspired the name of
Canada’s premier women’s legal advocacy organization, the Women’s
Legal Education and Action Fund (LEAF).
LEAF celebrates Persons Day (October 18) every year with
fundraising breakfasts across the nation. Early in the life of this campaign,
a student working in the LEAF office drew the organization’s attention to
the fact that in 1930, when the Persons Case was decided, large numbers
of women in Canada were not, in fact, persons. Large numbers of women
were excluded from the franchise because of their race, and subject to state
racism embedded in legislation and policy. Her challenge to the
organization led to changes in the event format to recognize the race bias
which hindered achievement of full ‘Personhood’ for all women in Canada
and was part of the long, not always easy (and not yet complete) process in
which the Canadian women’s movement was brought out of complacency
and unawareness of race issues12. Indeed, a perceptive critique of the race
and class privilege of LEAF’s early litigation activities has itself become a
catalyst for efforts to broaden the scope of concern of the women’s
movement13. Bringing to light the extent to which state racism has
publication: Status of Women News, Vol. 1, No. 2, Winter, 1974, cover and pp. 2-
3. Resolutions at the grassroots Ad Hoc Conference of Canadian Women on the
Constitution, held in February 1981, relied on the Persons Case to argue for
wording changes to the draft Charter: Bayefsky, A.F. and Mary Eberts, Equality
Rights and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. (Toronto: Carswell,
1985) Appendix VII.
11
Hunter v. Southam Inc., [1984] 2 S.C.R. 145 at pp. 155-6; Reference re
Provincial Electoral Boundaries (Saskatchewan) at pp. 180, 187. The Persons
Case is also commemorated in the Governor-General’s Gold Medal in Honour of
the Persons Case, created in 1979 to recognize substantive contributions to
women’s equality, and a statue of the “Famous Five” who brought the case,
commissioned by the Famous Five Foundation, was placed on Parliament Hill in
October 2000. See Sharpe and McMahon, op. cit. supra, note 8 at p. 201
12
The student was Avvy Go, later co-counsel with me in the head tax redress case:
Mack v. Canada (Attorney General) (2002), 60 O.R. (3d) 737. This was the
beginning of my own interest in this issue.
13
This work is Razack, Sherene, Canadian Feminism and the Law: The Women’s
Legal Education and Action Fund and the Pursuit of Equality. Toronto: Second
Story Press, 1991; see also Chappell, Louise A., Gendering Government: Feminist
Engagement with the State in Australia and Canada (Vancouver: University of
British Columbia Press, 2002) 130-134.
impeded the achievement of equality in citizenship for all women in

Canada will, I hope, contribute to the success of those efforts.
Citizenship
The first fully articulated statute dealing with Canadian citizenship
came into effect in 194714. The 1947 Citizenship Act sought to clarify
confusion over the terms ‘citizen’ and ‘national’ employed in earlier
legislation15 and to “create a unifying symbol for Canadians”16. The Act
created two classes of Canadian citizens, ‘natural-born’ (born in Canada or
on a Canadian ship) and ‘other than natural-born’. It contained two
features of previous citizenship legislation that disadvantaged women
citizenship by descent for those born outside of Canada continued to be
through the male parent; a child born abroad could acquire citizenship
14
The Canadian Citizenship Act, S.C. 1946, c.15.
15
The 1910 Immigration Act had defined ‘citizen’ as a person born in Canada who
had not become an alien, a British subject domiciled in Canada (which required
five years of residence) and a person naturalized in Canada who had neither lost
domicile nor become an alien: Immigration Act, R.S.C. 1927, c.93, s. 2. In 1921,
Canada passed the Canadian Nationals Act, S.C. 1921, c.4 with the aim of defining
a particular class of British subjects who, in addition to having all the rights and
obligations of British subjects, had particular rights because they are Canadians:
Statement of Minister of Justice, 1921, as quoted in Taylor v. Canada (Minister of
Citizenship and Immigration), 2006 FC 1053 at para. 99. Section 2 of the Act
defined as a Canadian national any British subject who is a Canadian citizen within
the meaning of the 1910 Immigration Act, the wife of any such citizen, and any
person born aboard whose father was a Canadian national at the time of the birth.
16
Taylor, supra note 15 at para. 122. Roy points out that even after passage of this
Act, the Japanese Canadians were “not quite first-class” citizens. For example,
post-WWII Canadian government schemes for “repatriation” to Japan of ethnic
Japanese, including over 2000 Canadian-born adults and more than 3500 of their
dependents, stirred controversy in the period around introduction of the Citizenship
Act until they were finally withdrawn early in 1947. Wartime restrictions on
mobility of ethnic Japanese, which had stayed in place after the end of WWII, were
another cause of conflict in a nation with a growing consciousness of human rights.
In mid-1947 the government of Canada lifted restrictions on the movement of
Japanese east of the Rockies; it was not until April 1, 1949 that people of Japanese
ancestry, including Canadian citizens, were permitted freedom of movement
everywhere in Canada, including the British Columbia coast. Roy, Patricia E., The
Triumph of Citizenship: The Japanese and Chinese in Canada, 1941-67 (UBC
Press, 2007), 186-232.
Mary Eberts 381
through his or her mother only if born ‘out of wedlock’17. Similarly, the
Act continued to provide that women, but not men, would acquire
citizenship through marriage to a Canadian citizen.
The Royal Commission on the Status of Women was appointed in
1967 to inquire into and report on the status of women in Canada and
recommend what steps might be taken by the federal government to
provide women equal opportunities with men in all aspects of Canadian
society18. Its report in 1970 criticized the differential treatment of men
and women under the 1947 Citizenship Act. It recommended several
amendments: to provide for the automatic resumption of Canadian
citizenship by women who had lost it because they married aliens before
January 1, 1947; to ensure that there was no difference in the residence
requirements for the acquisition of Canadian citizenship by a non-
Canadian man or woman who married a Canadian, and to ensure that a
child born outside Canada is a natural-born Canadian if either of his
parents is Canadian19.
These changes were accomplished in the 1977 Citizenship Act20. The
1977 Act also contained remedial provisions allowing a child born abroad
of a Canadian mother, before the 1977 Act came into force, to apply for
and receive citizenship following an application process that included
several potential hurdles, like a security check. Children of Canadian
fathers before 1977 had received their citizenship automatically. The
Supreme Court of Canada has ruled21 that this remedial provision violates
the equality guarantees of section 15 of the Charter, because it perpetuates
the distinction between children born abroad before 1977 of Canadian
mothers and Canadian fathers. This Supreme Court decision mandated
equal treatment for those born abroad before 1977 of a Canadian mother or
father22.
17
Section 5(b). This privilege to the male parent continued in a 1950 amendment
to the Act allowing a grant of citizenship to an adopted child if the male parent
were Canadian. Taylor, supra note 15 at para. 129.
18
Report of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada (Ottawa:
September 28, 1970) at p. vii “Terms of Reference”.
19
Ibid. at pp. 362-364.
20
An Act Respecting Citizenship, S.C. 1974-75-76, c. 108. See Taylor, supra note
15 at paras. 145 and 154
21
Benner v. Canada (Secretary of State), [1997] 1 S.C.R. 358.
22
There remain several serious problems with existing provisions affecting those
born abroad of Canadian parents; a requirement that they confirm their citizenship
at age 18, which was not well publicized, has resulted in a large group of “lost
Canadians”, who did not complete the necessary steps and are now seeking by
court action and legislative reform to reclaim their citizenship. See Taylor, supra
Not apparent from a simple review of women’s evolving equality

under the Citizenship Act is the extent to which legislated racism and
structural discrimination have restricted women’s access to even formal
equality in this sphere. From 1885 to 1923, the Government of Canada
enacted a series of Chinese Immigration Acts which required immigrants
of Chinese origin to pay a head tax, increasing from $50 in 1885 to $500
in 1903, approximately two years wages for a Canadian worker23. When
even such a heavy tax failed to prevent immigration, Canada passed the
Chinese Immigration Act, 1923, banning virtually all immigration of
persons of Chinese origin24. This Act was not repealed until 194725. It was
only in 1947 that earlier Chinese immigrants who had paid the head tax
finally became eligible for citizenship26.
However, the federal government did not repeal at that time Orders-in-
Council passed by the Cabinet in 1931 barring entry to all Asians except
the wives and unmarried children under the age of 18 of Canadian citizens
residing in Canada. A reform of Canadian immigration policy in the
1960s, accomplished after years of campaigning by the Chinese
community and its allies, finally ended these exclusionary immigration
practices27. After another lengthy and hard-fought campaign, the
government of Canada finally provided, in 2006, an apology and redress
(mostly symbolic) to the surviving head tax payers, their widows or first
generation descendants28.
Very few of the Chinese men who came to Canada between 1855 and
1923 brought families with them. Economic hardship in China, coupled
with the high head tax, made it too expensive to do so29. The overt
hostility and discrimination toward Chinese in Canada were further
deterrents30. Throughout the head tax and exclusion period, conjugal
family life among Chinese-Canadians was rare, and the Chinese
note 15, and Richard Foot, “’Lost Canadian’ hopes new bill will fix dilemma”,
Ottawa Citizen, December 3, 2007, at p. A5.
23
Dyzenhaus, David and Mayo Moran, Calling Power to Account: Law,
Reparations, and the Chinese Canadian Head Tax Case (Toronto: University of
Toronto Press, 2005), 6-7.
24
S.C. 1923, c.38 Known colloquially as the Chinese Exclusion Act.
25
S.C. 1947, c.19, s.4.
26
Dyzenhaus and Moran, supra note 23 at p. 7..
27
Roy, supra note 16, 263.
28
Clark, Campbell, “PM offers apology, ‘symbolic payments’ for Chinese head
tax”, Globe & Mail, June 23, 2006, p. A4.
29
Li, Peter S., Chinese in Canada, 2nd ed. (Toronto: Oxford University Press,
1998), 64.
30
Ibid., 64-65.
Mary Eberts 383
community consisted predominantly of ‘married bachelors’ who sent

remittances home to families in China31. In some provinces, legislation
sought to limit the opportunities for contact between men of Chinese
origin and non-Chinese women32.
During the head tax period, the prevailing legal and social view that a
woman was the adjunct of her spouse produced an exception of the
Chinese Immigration Act. A woman of Chinese origin married to a man
not of Chinese origin was deemed to be of the same nationality as her
husband and the children of the couple were deemed to have their father’s
nationality33. They were thus permitted entry to Canada without paying the
head tax. The Chinese Immigration Act, 1923 provided that a person shall
not be deemed to be of Chinese origin or descent merely because his
mother or his female ancestors or any of them are of Chinese origin or
descent34. A person with this particular configuration of mixed race
ancestry would not be excluded from Canada.
31
Ibid. 63.
32
A man of Chinese origin was prohibited by statute in Ontario from employing
(An Act to Amend the Factory, Shop and Office Building Act, S.O. 1914, c.40, s. 2)
or having under his direction or control (S.O. 1929, c.72, s. 5) “any female white
person” in any factory, restaurant or laundry, a rule which endured until 1947 (the
prohibition, by then s. 28 of The Factory, Shop and Office Building Act, R.S.O.
1937, was repealed by The Statute Law Amendment Act, 1947 (No. 2), S.O. 1947,
c.102, s. 1). In Saskatchewan and British Columbia, similar legislation prohibited
the employment of white women and girls in a laundry or restaurant without a
permit, thus giving local authorities the discretion to refuse authorization to
business owners of Chinese origin (An Act to Prevent the Employment of Female
Labour in Certain Capacities, S.S. 1912, c. 17; An Act to prevent the Employment
of Female Labour in Certain Capacities, S.S. 1918-19, c.85; The Female
Employment Act, R.S.S. 1920, c. 185; The Female Employment Act, 1926, S.S.
1925-26, c.53; Women’s and Girl’s Protection Act, S.B.C. 1923, c.76). These laws
endured until 1969 and 1968, respectively. The Saskatchewan law was repealed
by The Labour Standards Act, 1969, SS 1969, c.24, s. 73(l), and the British
Columbia law was repealed by the Statute Law Amendment Act, 1968, S.B.C.
1968, c.53, s. 29. For an engaging account of the Saskatchewan law, see
Constance Backhouse, in “’Misalliances’ and the ‘Menace to White Women’s
Virtue’: Yee Clun’s opposition to the White Women’s Labour Law,
Saskatchewan, 1924” in Colour-Coded: A Legal History of Racism in Canada,
1900-1950, Osgoode Society and UofT Press, 1999, at pp. 132-172, 347-371. The
Supreme Court of Canada upheld the Saskatchewan legislation in R. v. Quong-
Wing (1914), 49 S.C.R. 440.
33
Chinese Immigration Act, S.C. 1906, c.95, s. 3.
34
Chinese Immigration Act, 1923, supra note 24 at s. 2(e).
The child of a non-Chinese mother and Chinese father was not

similarly protected. A white woman could be severely penalized at law, as
well as socially ostracized, for a relationship with a man of Chinese origin.
In 1939, eighteen-year-old Velma Demerson of Toronto was arrested and
jailed for ten months under the provisions of a nineteenth-century statute
punishing incorrigible behaviour by women, because she had a
relationship with a Chinese-Canadian man. Their son was born during her
imprisonment. When she later married Harry Yip, she lost her Canadian
citizenship35, the fate until 1947 of women citizens who married non-
citizens36.
Indian Status
The Indian Act, too, has manipulated the race and civil rights attributed
to married women. This statute of Canada contains a comprehensive
scheme for those registered under it, ruling their lives in minute detail.
Those registered as ‘Indians’ under the Act (often referred to as ‘status
Indians’) are organized into ‘Bands’, with a system of governance dictated
by the Indian Act. This system deliberately supplanted the traditional
forms of organizing and determining community membership practised by
Indigenous peoples37, and has largely supplanted as an instrument of
governance the Treaties signed by various Indian Nations with Great
Britain or Canada. The Act includes a system of land tenure for the lands
“reserved” by the Canadian government for the use of registered Indians.
These lands comprise but a small percentage of the lands to which
Indigenous peoples claim entitlement by reason of their historical use and
occupation.
35
Demerson, Velma. Incorrigible. (Waterloo: Wilfried Laurier University Press,
2004); Scott Piatowski, “An Honest Woman”. This Magazine, July/August 2005
Issue. Online: http://www.thismagazine.ca/issues/2005/07/honestwoman.php (5
December 2007); and Michele Landsberg, “Plight of ‘incorrigible’ women
demands justice”, Sunday Star, May 6, 2001,
http://www.rapereliefshelter.bc.ca/issues/demand_justice.html (8 December 2007)
36
See also Backhouse, op. cit. supra note 32 at pp. 145-146.
37
The continuing allegiance of many First Peoples to their original governing
practices and institutions has caused them not only to resist participation in Indian
Act Band governance, but also to refrain from voting or seeking office in the
Canadian state. This sovereigntist or traditional approach does not, in my view,
lessen the significance of Canada’s decision to exclude Indian Act registrants from
political rights: it compounds the harm. Trying to supplant Indigenous forms of
governance and making participation in the Canadian state conditional on
surrender of Aboriginal identify was a policy of multiple violence.
Mary Eberts 385
The basic architecture of the Indian Act has changed little from the
nineteenth century, when it was created as an instrument to “civilize” and
assimilate Aboriginal peoples38. The Indian Act imposes on Aboriginal
peoples the patriarchal family and social organization of nineteenth
century England and Canada. This choice was not simply the product of
ethnocentrism. Women’s role and power in traditional societies – many of
which were matrilineal or matrifocal – were seen as obstacles to the
colonial assimilationist project, and were deliberately targeted for
destruction. The loss occasioned by this substitution of Victorian norms
for Indigenous philosophies and practices is incalculable, not only for the
Indigenous peoples involved but also for settler society. For example, the
contribution of the Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) people to United States
ideas of governance39 and of Haudenosaunee women to North American
feminism40 has been conclusively demonstrated. The Indian Act precluded,
or made exceedingly difficult, future contributions of this sort.
Registration as an “Indian” under the Act is, in many ways, the
equivalent of citizenship in the statutory world created by that legislation.
From registration as an Indian are derived all the other entitlements under
the Act: the right to be a Band member; to share in Band revenues and
participate in land-holding on reserve and in governance of the Band; the
right to be present on Band lands; and the ability to confer registered status
and Band membership on one’s children. Bands under the Indian Act are
defined as being comprised of registered Indians, and funding to Bands
from the Government of Canada is determined on the basis of the number
of registered Indians in the Bands. This closed statutory system, a form of
apartheid, has been for a century and a half Canada’s primary legal
relationship to Indian people, superceding Treaty commitments, and
38
An Act for the Gradual Enfranchisement of Indians, S.C. 1869, c.6. For an
overview of the legislative history, see Eberts, Mary and Beverly K. Jacobs,
“Matrimonial Property on Reserve” in MacDonald, Marylea and Michelle K.
Owen, eds. On Building Solutions for Women’s Equality: Matrimonial Property on
Reserve, Community Development and Advisory Councils (Ottawa: CRIAW-
ICREF, 2004), 7.
39
Johansen, Bruce. Debating Democracy: Native American Legacy of Freedom.
(Sante Fe, N.M: Clear Light Publishers, 1998); Indian Roots of American
Democracy, , ed. Jose Barreiro (Ithaca N.Y., Akwe:kon Press, 1992).
40
Wagner, Sally Roesch, Sisters in Spirit: Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) Influence on
Early American Feminists. Summertown Tenn.: Native Voices, 2001 and “The
Indigenous Roots of United States Feminism” in Feminist Politics Activism &
Vision, ed. Luciana Ricciutelli, et al., (Toronto: Inanna Publications, 2004), 267-
284.
precluding the development of other legal and constitutional relationships

until comparatively recently41.
Historically, there was ambiguity about whether registered Indians
born in Canada were citizens under Canadian law, with conflict between
court pronouncements42 and scholarly opinion43. After status Indians
received the federal franchise in 1960, there arose a new debate as to
whether Indians were, or should be, seen as “citizens plus”44 because they
possessed Treaty and other rights in addition to the attributes of Canadian
citizenship. Tolerance or advocacy of the “citizens plus” approach is
strongly opposed by the present government of Canada, which wants
Aboriginal Canadians to have the “same” rights as other Canadians,
decrying any “special” treatment45. Though it may have suited the state to
consider Indians as “citizens” for certain purposes, it did not characterize
them as “persons”, which we have seen to be of enormous practical and
symbolic significance46. The Indian Act of 1876 defined “person” so as to
41
The term Indian used in this paper refers to those registered under the Indian
Act. Registered Indians are a subset of the larger population of Aboriginal peoples
whose rights are recognized by section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982. The
exclusion of many Aboriginal persons from the Indian Act, by their choice or by
government fiat, has had a destructive effect on Aboriginal nations and families.
Those excluded from the Act did not receive even its meagre benefits. Because
Canada preferred to deal with Aboriginal peoples through the Indian Act rather
than through the Treaties, Aboriginal persons not registered under the Act were
treated for over a century as if they had no formal legal relationship, as
Aboriginals, with the Canadian state.
42
R v. Strongquill (1953), 8 W.W.R. (N.S.) 247 (Sask. C.A.) at para. 63.
43
The Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples maintains that “legally, status
Indians were not Canadian citizens at all, nor were they treated as such by the
Indian affairs branch”. Report, Vol. I, pt. 2, p. 257. RCAP recounts that the
Deputy Superintendent of Indian Affairs insisted that Indians were liable to be
conscripted under the Military Service Act in WWI; after an Order-in-Council
clarified that they were not liable for conscription because they could not vote, the
exemption was not publicized. Report, Vol. I, pt. 2, p. 251.
44
H.B. Hawthorn, ed. A Survey of the Contemporary Indians of Canada, Vol. 1
(Canada, Indian Affairs Branch, October 1966), 6, 262; Alan C. Cairns, Citizens
Plus: Aboriginal Peoples and the Canadian State, (Vancouver, U.B.C. Press,
2000).
45
Tom Flanagan, First Nations? Second Thoughts (McGill-Queen’s University
Press, 2000).
46
Dando-Collins, Stephen, Standing Bear is a Person (Cambridge, Mass.: Da
Capo Press, 2002) at p. 134 describes as a “momentous, groundbreaking decision”
a ruling in 1879 that Standing Bear, clan chief of the Ponca Tribe in Nebraska, was
Mary Eberts 387
exclude “Indian”47, a provision that stayed in the Act until removed in

1951, 75 years later48.
Within this closed statutory scheme, which created profound
disadvantage for all Indians, women were particularly oppressed, “citizens
minus”49. Until the middle of the twentieth century, women could not hold
any interest in land on reserves, or take part in Band governance as
electors or elected officials. Status was derived from the husband and
father, even where both parents were registered Indians, their child’s status
was derived from the father alone. An Indian male who married a non-
Indian woman would confer Indian status on her, and their children would
have status. An Indian woman could not in her own right confer status on
her child unless the child was born out of wedlock, and no one came
forward to prove that the father was a non-Indian. An Indian woman who
married a non-Indian male (“married out”) lost her Indian status and could
not alter reclaim it even if widowed or divorced. The children of that
marriage would, like their father, have no status.
The Royal Commission on the Status of Women recommended the
abolition of this penalty for women marrying out50. An attempt by
Jeannette Corbière Lavell to challenge the exile of Indian women on their
marriage to non-Indians under the ‘equality before the law’ provision of
the Canadian Bill of Rights, a non-entrenched predecessor to the present
Charter51 reached the Supreme Court of Canada in 1974. The majority of
the Supreme Court ruled that equality rights of Indian women were not
violated by the “marrying out” provision, because the Bill of Rights
mandated only equality in the administration of the law, rather than
substantive equality. This formalistic standard was considered met because
all Indian women were treated in the same way, and Indian women were
treated in the same way as all other Canadian married women52. Such a
restricted application of formal equality analysis spurred women’s efforts
a “person”, able to invoke habeas corpus to challenge the Tribe’s forced eviction
from tribal land.
47
Unless the context clearly requires another interpretation: The Indian Act, 1876,
S.C. 1876, c.18, s. 12; see also The Indian Act, 1880, S.C. 1880, s.28, s. 12
48
The term ‘person’ was defined so as to exclude ‘Indian’ in Indian Act, R.S.C.
1886, c.43, s. 2(c); Indian Act, R.S.C. 1906, c.81, s. 2(c); Indian Act, R.S.C. 1927,
c.98. s. 2(i); Indian Act, S.C. 1951, c.29.
49
Kathleen Jamieson, Indian Women and the Law in Canada: Citizens Minus,
Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women and Indian Rights for Indian
Women, April 1978.
50
Report, op.cit. supra note 43, p. 237.
51
Canadian Bill of Rights, R.S.C. 1960, c.44, s. 1(b).
52
Lavell v. Canada, [1974] S.C.R. 1349.
in 1980 and 1981 to place in the Canadian Charter of Rights and

Freedoms strong guarantees of substantive equality53.
Following the coming into force of the Charter’s section 15 equality
guarantees in 1985, and condemnation of these Indian Act provisions by
the United Nations54, the government of Canada enacted amendments to
the Indian Act, known colloquially as “Bill C-31”, to restore Indian status
to women who had lost it by marrying out55. These amendments did not
remove the Indian status acquired by non-Indian women marrying Indian
men. Although they removed male privilege with respect to future
conferrals of status, the amendments did not repair the effects of past male
privilege. Women restored to status under the 1985 law receive a more
dilute version of status than their male peers have had, and the children of
such women have a reduced capacity to pass status to their children,
compared with those who had derived status from their father in a mixed
marriage. In a powerful decision rendered in 2006, Madam Justice Ross of
the B.C. Supreme Court agreed with the argument of Sharon McIvor and
her son Jacob Grismer that women continue to be discriminated against by
the 1985 changes56. The government of Canada has appealed that decision.
Not only the right to be registered under the Indian Act but also
eligibility for Band membership has been contested terrain for women.
Before 1985, a woman was required to transfer to her husband’s Band
upon marriage, losing her ties with her own Band57. The couple’s children
were assigned to the husband’s Band. Although this mandatory
assignment to the husband’s Band ceased in 1985, there remain many
problems at the level of Band membership. The 1985 legislation
recognized Indian Bands’ jurisdiction to determine their own membership,
essentially free of federal government control. Some Bands’ opposition to
the return of “Bill C-31” women and their families has resulted in long-
running and bitterly contested litigation58. The government’s approach to
Bill C-31 has divided First Nations and even families against one another,
53
Andrews, supra note 4 at para. 33.
54
Lovelace v. Canada, 36 U.N. GAOR Supp. (No. 40) annex XVIII at p. 166, U.N.
Doc. A/36/40 (1981). The woman who brought this challenge, Sandra Lovelace
(Nicholas), has since been appointed to the Senate of Canada.
55
Indian Act, R.S. 1985, c.I-5, s. 6.
56
McIvor v. The Registrar, Indian and Northern Affairs Canada, 2007 BCSC 827
57
See Indian Act, S.C. 1951, c.29, s. 14.
58
Sawridge Band v. Canada (T.D.), [2003] 4 F.C. 748 (T.D.), aff’d [2004] F.C.J.
No. 77; Sakimay First Nations No. 74 v. Bunnie, [2007] S.J. No. 400 (Q.B.);
Scrimbitt v. Sakimay Indian Band Council (T.D.), [2000] 1 F.C. 513 (T.D.).
Mary Eberts 389
and has become the classic example of how not to deal with reform of the
discriminatory provisions of the Indian Act.
Section 67 of the Canadian Human Rights Act59, another element of
the state discrimination against Indian women, persisted until finally
removed by legislation in 2008. Section 67 barred complaints under the
Canadian Human Rights Act with respect to the Indian Act and actions
taken pursuant to it. Placed into the Act, at its passage in 1977, section 67
was intended to prevent women from using the Human Rights Act to attack
the marrying out provisions of the Indian Act,60 providing an opportunity
for consultations leading to reform of the Indian Act. No such reform took
place, and this “temporary” measure endured for over thirty years.
Although the Supreme Court of Canada has ruled that it is contrary to the
Charter to deny access on one ground to human rights legislation which
purports to be general in its scope61, it took ten years from the time of that
decision until repeal of s. 6762.
The legislation repealing section 6763 makes clear that the repeal does
not derogate from the constitutional protection of Aboriginal and Treaty
rights. It also makes provision for the repeal of section 67 effective
immediately in complaints against the government of Canada for actions
done pursuant to the Indian Act, but delays the coming into force of repeal
for three years in complaints against First Nations governments, band
councils and tribal councils. This hiatus provides a period for these
governments to bring their policies and practices into line with the Human
Rights Act. Parliament recognized the concern of many First Nations that
the Human Rights Act not override their own legal traditions and
customary laws, but with a proviso that the balancing of individual rights
and interests against collective rights and interests may only be done “to
the extent that they are consistent with the principle of gender equality”.
There is considerable uncertainty about the meaning of this proviso, and
how it will be applied.
59
Canadian Human Rights Act, R.S.C. 1985, c. H-6.
60
Sally Weaver, “First Nations Women and Government Policy 1970-92”, in
Changing Patterns: Women in Canada, ed. Burt, Sandra et al. (Toronto:
McClelland & Steward Inc., 1993), 102-103.
61
Vriend v. Alberta, [1998] 1 S.C.R. 493.
62
The Native Women’s Association of Canada called for repeal of the section.
Eberts, Mary and NWAC, Aboriginal Women’s Rights are Human Rights. Online:
http://www.justice.gc.ca/chra/en/eberts.html (12 December 2007).
63
An Act to Amend the Canadian Human Rights Act, S.C. 2008. c. 30.
Suffrage and Political Life

Under Canada’s federal constitution, the Parliament of Canada has
control of the franchise for national elections (including for members of
Parliament) and the provincial legislatures have control over provincial
elections, including those at the municipal level as well as election of
members for the provincial legislature64.
Cleverdon observes that by 1900 activists were concentrating their
attention on securing the franchise for elections to the Canadian
Parliament and provincial legislatures65. She reports that “their efforts
achieved complete success between 1916 and 1922”, except in Quebec,
where it was not until 1940 that women secured the franchise in provincial
elections66.
Provincial legislatures67 in western Canada and Ontario were the first
to accord women the franchise in provincial elections68. The Atlantic
provinces extended the franchise to women after World War I69. Quebec
women secured the franchise in provincial elections in 194070.
Newfoundland, which joined Confederation in 1948, had first allowed
women to vote in 1925, but only at age 25, even though the franchise was
available to men at 2171. The age for women was lowered to 21 in 194672,
and upon Union with Canada, the age of 21 was confirmed for women
voters in elections for the provincial legislature73.
The Wartime Elections Act74, passed during the First World War,
granted the franchise in national elections to the wife, widow, mother,
sister, and daughter of men serving overseas in the Canadian forces, on the
64
Constitution Act, 1867, s. 41.
65
Cleverdon, op. cit. supra note 7 at p. 5.
66
Cleverdon, op. cit. supra note 7 at p. 5.
67
All the information about the dates at which the provincial franchise was
awarded to women is derived from Cleverdon.
68
Statutes of Manitoba 1916, c. 36; Statutes of Alberta 1916, c. 5; Statutes of
Saskatchewan 1916, c. 37; Statutes of Ontario 1917, c. 5, c.6, c.43.
69
Statutes of Nova Scotia 1818, c.2 and c.23; Statutes of New Brunswick 1919,
c.63; Statutes of Prince Edward Island 1922, c.5. However, it was not until
Statutes of New Brunswick 1934, c.22 that women had the right to hold public
office.
70
Statutes of Quebec 1940, c.7.
71
Acts of General Assembly of Newfoundland 1925, c.7.
72
Acts of the Honourable Commission of Government of Newfoundland 1946, No.
16.
73
Terms of Union of Newfoundland with Canada, 1948, Term 15.
74
Statutes of Canada 1917, c.39.
Mary Eberts 391
theory that it would be difficult to get the votes of all of the 300,000 men
serving overseas and justice to them required that their influence be felt in
the election. Thus, the government enfranchised “those of their kin at
home who would be most likely to vote the way the soldiers would”75. The
government of the day was re-elected in large measure because of the
votes of these newly enfranchised women76. A subsequent Act permitted
female persons who were British subjects, at least 21 years of age, and
possessed of the qualifications which would allow a male person to vote in
the province in which she resided, to vote in national elections77. The right
of women to be elected to the Canadian Parliament was inserted into the
Dominion By-Elections Act of 191978. In 1920, the government established
uniform suffrage throughout the country for federal elections. The voting
requirements for both men and women were that they be British subjects,
21 years old, and resident in the electoral district for two months before
the election79. This statute made permanent the right of women to be
elected to the House of Commons80.
Cleverdon’s claim that Canadian women had won “complete political
emancipation” by 1922, totally overlooks the differential availability of the
franchise on the basis of race81. Both before and after extending the
provincial franchise to women82, British Columbia excluded “Asians”
from voting, driven by profound, irrational racial fears and a desire to stem
the tide of immigration and restore racial homogeneity83. “Chinese” and
Canadian Indians were prohibited from voting in B.C. municipal elections
before 188884; by 1897, the ban had been extended to “Japanese”85, and in
75
Secretary of State Arthur Meighen, quoted in Cleverdon, op. cit, supra note 7, p.
125.
76
Cleverdon, op. cit. supra note 7, p.130.
77
Statutes of Canada 1918, c.20.
78
Statutes of Canada 1919, c. 48, s.69.
79
Dominion Elections Act, S.C. 1920, c. 26.
80
Cleverdon, op. cit. supra note 7, pp. 137-138.
81
Cleverdon, op. cit. supra note 7, p. 18.
82
Provincial Elections Amendment Act, 1917, S.B.C. 1917, c.23, ss. 2 and 3
permitted women to vote on the same terms and in the same manner and subject to
the same conditions as men.
83
Ward, W. Peter. White Canada Forever: Popular Attitudes and Public Policy
Toward Orientals in British Columbia, 3d. ed., (Montreal: McGill-Queens
University Press, 2002), 92-93.
84
Municipal Act, R.S.B.C., c.88, s. 32. Statutory terms for members of minorities
are placed in quotations in these paragraphs.
85
Municipal Elections Act, S.B.C 1897, c.68, s. 8.
1908 “other Asiatics” were swept into the prohibition86. The prohibition
on “other Asiatics” had been repealed by 194887, but it was not until 1949
that “Chinese”, “Japanese” and “Indians” were permitted the municipal
vote88.
Similar restrictions were in effect with respect to voting in B.C.
provincial elections. A ban on voting by “Chinese” and Canadian Indians
was in effect by 187489. “Japanese” were prohibited from voting in 189590,
a move upheld by the Judicial Committee of Privy Council91, and
“Hindus” were added to the ban in 190792. Although “Japanese” who had
served in the Canadian armed forces in World War I were given the
franchise in 193193, the franchise was not extended to “Chinese” and
“Hindus” until 194794, and the exclusion of “Japanese” and Canadian
Indian voters only came to an end in 194995. The province of
Saskatchewan also denied the franchise to persons of Chinese origin, from
1908 to 194496.
From 1885 to 1898 the Electoral Franchise Act of Canada permitted
male Indians east of Manitoba to vote in federal elections. To be eligible,
an Indian on a reserve had to be in possession of a separate and distinct
tract of land on the reserve, to which he had made improvements to the
value of at least $150. An Indian was included within the general term
“person” used in this legislation; a “person of Mongolian or Chinese race”
was not, and could not vote97. After repeal of this short-lived franchise,
elections legislation at the federal level incorporated various forms of
restrictions on voting by status Indians until 1960.
86
Municipal Elections Act, S.B.C. 1908, c.14, s. 13(1).
87
Municipal Elections Act, R.S.B.C. 1948, c.19.
88
Municipal Elections Amendment Act, 1949, S.B.C. 1949, c.18, s. 2.
89
An Act to make better provision for the Qualification and Registration of Voters,
S.B.C. 1874, No. 12, item 3.
90
1895, c.20, s. 2.
91
Cunningham v. Tomey Homma, [1903] A.C. 151. Even though Tomey Homma
was a naturalized citizen of Canada, the province could prohibit him from voting,
on the basis of his racial origin.
92
Provincial Elections Amendment Act, 1907, S.B.C. 1907, c.16, ss. 2, 3.
93
Provincial Elections Amendment Act, 1931, S.B.C. 1931, c.21, s. 3.
94
Provincial Elections Amendment Act, 1947, S.B.C. 1947, c.28, s. 14.
95
Provincial Elections Amendment Act, 1949, S.B.C. 1949, c.19, ss. 2, 3.
96
The Saskatchewan Election Act, S.S. 1908, c.2, s. 11, item 2; An Act to Amend
the Saskatchewan Election Act, S.S. 1944, c.2, s. 2.
97
The Electoral Franchise Act, S.C. 1885, c.40, ss. 2, 11(c), repealed by The
Franchise Act, 1898, S.C. 1898, c.14, s. 3. This property-based franchise was
comparable to that granted to non-Indian voters by this legislation.
Mary Eberts 393
A direct ban on voting directed at all “Indians” for federal elections in

Saskatchewan, Alberta and Yukon Territory was in effect from 1906 to
191798. Subsequently, Canada refused the franchise to Indians “ordinarily
resident on an Indian reservation”, from 1919 to 196099. This prohibition
was relieved somewhat by grants of the franchise to Indians who had been
members of Canada’s armed forces in World War I and II, and on active
service after September, 1950100, and after 1948 to the wives of such
members101 Shortly before the ban on Indian voting was lifted altogether,
on-reserve Indians were permitted to vote if they signed a waiver of the
exemption from taxes on personal property conferred by the Indian Act102.
The Inuit were excluded from the vote in federal elections in 1938, and
restored in 1951103. Provincial disqualifications on the basis of race were
imported into federal legislation until 1948.104
All women in Canada did not achieve the federal franchise until 1960,
when all registered Indians were finally permitted to vote in federal
elections105, without giving up their Indian status (which had under
previous “enfranchisement” schemes, been the price of the vote).
Although some provinces never did prohibit voting by registered
Indians106, and others had withdrawn the ban before 1960107, the provincial
98
Dominion Elections Act, 1906, S.C. 1906, c.6, ss. 31-33 repealed by The War-
time Elections Act, S.C. 1917, c.39, s. 1.
99
The Dominion By-Elections Act, 1919, S.C. 1919, c.48, s. 2; Dominion Elections
Act, S.C. 1920, c.46, s. 29(1); Dominion Elections Act, 1938, S.C. 1938, c.46, s.
14(2)(f); An Act to amend the Dominion Elections Act, 1938, S.C. 1948, c.46, s.
6(1); Canada Elections Act, R.S. 1952, c.23, s. 14(2)(e); Canada Elections Act,
S.C. 1960, c.39, s. 14.
100
S.C. 1920, c.46, s. 29(1)(d); S.C. 1938, c.46, s. 14(2)(f); S.C. 1948, c.46, s.
6(1); R.S. 1952, c.23, s.14(2)(e).
101
S.C. 1948, c.46, s. 6(4); R.S. 1952, c.23, s. 14(4).
102
R.S. 1952,, c.23, s. 14(2)(e).
103
The Dominion Elections Act, 1938, S.C. 1938, c.46, s. 14(2)(e); restored
Canada Elections Act, R.S.C., c.23, s. 14(2).
104
The Dominion Elections Act, R.S. 1906, c.6, s. 10; The War-time Elections Act,
S.C. 1917, c.39, s. 1; The Dominion Elections Act, 1938, S.C. 1938, c.46, s.
14(2)(i); repealed by An Act to amend the Dominion Elections Act, 1938, S.C.
1948, c.46, s. 6(3). An exemption permitted voting by those otherwise excluded
by racial prohibitions in provincial legislation, if they had served in the military of
Canada in WWI. It was contained in S.C. 1938, c.46, s. 14(2)(i).
105
Canada Elections Act, S.C. 1960, c.39.
106
Indian people in Nova Scotia were apparently never prevented from voting in
provincial elections after the adoption of universal male suffrage. When
Newfoundland joined Confederation in 1949, there were no registered Indians
recognized. Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Vol. 1, part 2, p. 85.
franchise was withheld from registered Indians in several provinces until

well into the 1960s.108
It was not until a decision of the Supreme Court of Canada in 1999 that
registered Indians living off-reserve were permitted to vote in Band
Council elections109. Up until that time, provisions of the Indian Act had
restricted voting in Band Council elections to members living on reserve.
Many women Band members had been forced to leave reserves if their
marriages broke up, because of an absence of matrimonial property laws to
govern disputes about reserve land110, and many more women, who had
regained status under Bill C-31, had not been able to return to their
reserves. Preventing off-reserve band members from voting thus had a
disproportionately severe effect on women status Indians, perpetuating the
effects of past statutory discrimination against them, and excluding them
from the only form of Indian governance recognized by the government of
Canada.
The denial of the vote to status Indians was a fundamental element of
Canada’s assimilationist policy. Indians were seen as needing education
and training in “civilized” (European) behaviour before they could handle
the responsibilities of full citizenship. Living on reserve (where property
was held in common) and paying no income tax were associated with the
107
British Columbia in 1949, op. cit. supra, note 87; Manitoba prohibited Indians
from voting from 1880 (Consolidated Statutes of Manitoba, 1880, Chapter III, s.
LXV(3)) until 1952 (Statutes of Manitoba 1942 (First Session), c.18, s. 5); in the
nineteenth century Ontario allowed Indians to vote if they did not “reside among
Indians” (S.O. 1875-1876, Cap. X, s. 4) or share in the annuities or other monies of
a tribe (Election Law Amendment Act, 1884, S.O. 1884, c.4, s. 12), in 1920
extended the franchise to Indians who had served in the military (The Election
Laws Amendment Act, 1920, S.O. 1920, c.2, s. 6) and finally repealed the ban in
1954 (S.O. 1954, c.25, ss. 4, 5); Saskatchewan’s prohibit against Indian voting
(The Saskatchewan Election Act, S.S. 1908, c.2, s. 3) was repealed in 1960 (An Act
to Amend the Saskatchewan Election Act, S.S. 1960, c.45, s. 1).
108
Prince Edward Island and New Brunswick withdrew the ban on Indian voting in
1963 (The Prince Edward Island Election Act, P.E.I.S. 1963, c.11; An Act to
Amend the Elections Act, N.B.S. 1963, c.7, s. 1); Alberta repealed the exclusion in
1965 (An Act to Amend the Elections Act, S.A. 1965, c.23, s. 3); and the
prohibition on voting by Indians in Quebec endured until 1969 (An Act to Amend
the Election Act, S.Q. 1969, c.13, s.1).
109
Corbière v. Canada (Minister of Indian and Northern Affairs), [1999] 2 S.C.R.
203.
110
Jacobs and Eberts, op. cit. supra note 31.
Mary Eberts 395
“training” phase, as was absence of the franchise111. When fully prepared,

Indians would be assimilated into mainstream Canadian society, moving
off reserve, getting individual tracts of land, paying taxes and voting. They
would no longer be Indians at all. Single or married Indian men, or single
Indian women, of sufficient “accomplishment” could apply to be
enfranchised; they would gain the right to vote in Canadian elections, and
individual property rights, but permanently lose their Indian status The
wives and children of married men would be enfranchised with them.
Gaining the vote in federal elections through enfranchisement was
intended to be a full and final severance from Indian identity.
Enfranchisement was introduced in 1857 and endured until 1975. It
was extremely unpopular. Only one Indian voluntarily enfranchised
between the passage of the Gradual Civilization Act in 1857 and the
passage of the 1876 Indian Act112, and only 250 in total between 1857 and
1920113 From 1920 to 1922, and again in 1933, compulsory
enfranchisement was put in place114. Compulsory enfranchisement for men
and for whole Indian bands was eliminated in 1960115. Starting with the
1951 Act, women marrying non-status males could be involuntarily
enfranchised116. From 1965 to 1975, when involuntary enfranchisement of
women marrying out was ended administratively,117 5,035 women and
111
Indian Affairs Minister T.A. Crerar stated in the late 1930s: “It was thought
their reserves would become training schools in which they could learn to adapt
themselves to modern conditions, and from which they would graduate as soon as
they were qualified”. Quoted in H.B. Howthorn, ed., op. cit. supra note 44, at p.
368 and p. 368, n.1.
112
J.R. Miller, Skyscrapers Hide the Heavens: A History of Indian-White
Relations in Canada, Rev. ed. (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1989) at p.
114.
113
J.R. Miller, op. cit. supra note 112 at p. 190.
114
J.R. Miller op. cit. supra note 112 at p. 206. The involuntary enfranchisement
introduced by S.C. 1932-33, c.42, s. 7 was continued by S.C. 1951, c.29, s. 112 but
did not survive into the 1970 legislation: R.S.C. 1970, c.I-6, c. 109. The Royal
Commission on Aboriginal Peoples observes that this compulsory enfranchisement
scheme after WWI was aimed at activist war veterans, who were unwilling to
accept second class status at home after winning equal respect on the battlefield.
Report, Vol. I, pt. 2, p. 256. The usual grounds for compulsory enfranchisement
included graduation from university, and pursuing “learned” professions like
minister of religion or law.
115
By S.C. 1960-61, c.9, s. 1. Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal
Peoples, Vol. I, Part 2, p. 98.
116
Indian Act, S.C. 1951, c.29, s. 108(2), still in effect in R.S.C. 1970, c.I-6, s.
109(2).
117
Report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples, Vol. I, Part 2, p. 88.
children were involuntarily enfranchised when the woman “married out”,

compared with only 228 voluntary enfranchisements of both men and
women118. There were more enfranchisements during this period than at
any other, most of them involuntary, and of women, a sign of the extreme
gender bias built into the language and administration of the Indian Act.
The right to vote in elections for Parliament of Canada and provincial
legislatures is now entrenched in section 3 of the Canadian Charter of
Rights and Freedoms; section 28 of the Charter emphasizes that the right
to vote, like other rights guaranteed in the Charter, is available equally to
men and women. These strong guarantees, however, have not prevented
the recent emergence of controversy concerning voting by Muslim women
with fully veiled faces.
In the Quebec provincial election in the spring of 2007, the province’s
Chief Electoral Officer required women to unveil in order to be identified
for voting. The Chief Electoral Officer of Canada then took the position
that the new Canada Elections Act, passed in June 2007, does not require
unveiling, and stated that he would not insist on it during upcoming
federal by-elections in Quebec. His position was controversial, and
resulted in the government of Canada tabling a bill in October 2007 to
require unveiling of voters119. This incident, reflecting the broader debate
in Quebec and Canada about the degree to which religious practices
should be accommodated in an ostensibly secular, but pluralistic, society,
as well as a worrying anti-Muslim sentiment in the wake of “9/11”,
demonstrates once again the vulnerability of the franchise, even in an age
of entrenched constitutional guarantees.
Representation
The achievement of formal political equality by women, through
acquisition of the franchise and entrenched constitutional rights, is a
necessary, but not sufficient, condition for the achievement of women’s
substantive equality. A study for the Royal Commission on Electoral
Reform and Party Financing observed in 1991 that the most significant
gender gap in Canadian society remains the glaring imbalance between
118
Jamieson, Kathleen, Indian Women and the Law in Canada (Ottawa: Minister
of Supply and Services Canada, 1978), 62-64, 88.
119
Elections Canada, Media, Statements and Speeches “The Chief Electoral
Officer of Canada, Marc Mayrand, clarifies application of the new voter
identification provisions of the Canada Elections Act”, September 10, 2007 and
Bill C-6, An Act to amend the Canada Elections Act (Visual Identification of
Voters), First reading, October 26, 2007.
Mary Eberts 397
men and women in the distribution and exercise of political power120.

This gap remains, more than fifteen years after that study, and over 75
years from the decision in the Persons Case. It remains despite the fact
that Canada has ratified several international Conventions affirming the
right of women to participate fully in public life121, and purports to accept
the principles of the Beijing Platform for Action, calling for equality in
women’s access to public life.122
Canada is failing women in all of the dimensions of political
participation described in a study on gender equality by the U.N. Research
Institute for Social Development: representation in the legislatures,
support to women’s non-governmental organizations, and the role of
women in constitution-making123.
Although stating that the number of women in formal politics is not the
best indicator of the intensity of women’s political participation, or
necessarily a reflection of the level of civil society activism on women’s
issues, the U.N. Gender Equality Study has for some purposes embraced
120
Janine Brodie with Celia Chandler, “Women and the Electoral Process in
Canada’, in Megyery, Kathy, ed., Women in Canadian Politics: Toward Equity in
Representation (Toronto: Dundurn Press, 1991), 48.
121
International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights. G.A. Res.
2200A (XXI), UNGAOR (16 December 1966), Articles 2, 3 and 15 (Ratified by
Canada on August 19, 1976); International Covenant on Civil and Political
Rights. G.A. Res. 2200A (XXI), UNGAOR (16 December 1966), Articles 2, 3, 25
and 26 (Ratified by Canada on August 19, 1976); Convention on the Elimination of
All Forms of Discrimination against Women. G.A. Res. 34/180, UNGAOR (18
December 1979), Articles 2, 3 and 7 (Ratified by Canada on January 9, 1982);
International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial
Discrimination. G.A. Res. 2106 (XX), UNGAOR (21 December 1965), Article
5(c) (Ratified by Canada on November 15, 1970).
122
Beijing Declaration and Platform for Action, Fourth World Conference on
Women, 15 September 1995, A/CONF.177/20 (1995) and A/CONF.177/20/Add.1
(1995), paras. 1, 10, 40 and 44; “Statement by the Secretary of State (Status of
Women and Multiculturalism) of Canada, the Honourable Sheila Finestone at the
Fourth United Nations World Conference on Women, Beijing, September 6,
1995”. Online:
http://www.un.org/esa/gopherdata/conf/fwcw/conf/gov/950906204201.txt (11
December 2007); “Canada’s National Response to the UN Questionnaire on the
Implementation of the Beijing Platform for Action”. Online: http://www.swc-
cfc.gc.ca/pubs/unquestionnaire/unquestionnaire_e.pdf (11 December 2007) at pp.
49-54.
123
United Nations Research Institute for Social Development (UNRISD), Gender
Equality: Striving for Justice in an Unequal World. Geneva, 2005 at pp. 147-149,
170 (“U.N. Gender Equality Study”).
the “critical mass” theory: women as 30% of the actors in the formal
political process can have an impact on the culture, outcomes, and practice
of politics124. For good reasons, Canada does not appear on its list of
countries where this critical mass has been reached125.
Following the 2006 federal election, there were 65 women Members of
the Canadian Parliament out of a total of 305, or 21.3%. There were 32
women Senators, out of a total of 93, or 34.4%. Historically, there have
been 191 women MPs out of 4021, or 4.8%, and 74 women Senators of
875, or 8.5%126. There are now 109 woman Chiefs among the 633 Indian
Bands in Canada (17.22%)127. In its 2005 analysis of female representation
in the provincial and territorial assemblies, the Canadian Feminist Alliance
for International Action has identified only Quebec, at 32%, with a
“critical mass” of female representatives128. FAFIA points out that the
124
UNRISD, op. cit. supra note 123 138 at p. 149.
125
UNRISD, op. cit. supra note 123 at p. 148.
126
See Oliver Moore, “No big gains in Parliament for Women”, “The Globe and
Mail”, October 16, 2008, at p. A11, which reports the “record” elections of 22
women Members of Parliament in the 2008 election, but hold only 22% of the
seats, a slight increase over the last House of Commons. Parliament of Canada.
“Members of the House of Commons”,
http://www2.parl.gc.ca/parlinfo/Lists/Members.aspx?Parliament=0d5d5236-70f0-
4a7e-8c96
68f985128af9&Riding=&Name=&Party=&Province=&Gender=&New=False&Cu
rrent=True&Picture=False (11 December 2007); Parliament of Canada.
“Senators”.http://www2.parl.gc.ca/parlinfo/lists/senators.aspx?Parliament=0d5d52
36-70f0-4a7e-8c96-68f985128af9 (11 December 2007) This paper was written
before the federal election of 2008, but after that election, figures on the
representation of women would be roughly comparable to the pre-2008 data.
Parliament of Canada. “Members of the House of Commons”.
http://www2.parl.gc.ca/parlinfo/Lists/Members.aspx?Parliament=0d5d5236-70f0-
4a7e-8c96
68f985128af9&Riding=&Name=&Party=&Province=&Gender=&New=False&Cu
rrent=True&Picture=False (11 December 2007); Parliament of Canada.
“Senators”.http://www2.parl.gc.ca/parlinfo/lists/senators.aspx?Parliament=0d5d52
36-70f0-4a7e-8c96-68f985128af9 (11 December 2007).
127
Information provided by the Assembly of First Nations, March 15, 2007
(communication to the author).
128
The Canadian Feminist Alliance for International Action, Women’s Civil and
Political Rights in Canada 2005; Submissions to the U.N. Human Rights
Committee, September 2005 at pp. 52-53. The other proportions are 11% for
Northwest Territories and Nunavut, 12% in Nova Scotia, 13% in New Brunswick,
16% in Alberta, 17% in Yukon, 19% in Saskatchewan, 21% in Newfoundland and
Labrador, 22% in PEI and Ontario, 23% in Manitoba and 24% in British
Mary Eberts 399
governments of Canada have not taken positive measures to ensure equal

political participation of women, despite several recommendations from
bodies reviewing the question129. Nor have they followed recommendations
designed to increase representation of Aboriginal peoples130.
In addition to this under-representation in form, Canadian women are
also affected by inadequate substantive representation131. It was hoped
that Canada’s ratification of CEDAW, and the coming into effect of the
equality guarantees of the Charter, in the early 1980s, would provide a
new, and stronger, impetus toward women’s substantive equality.
However, the 1980s and beyond have been a period of radical rightward
movement in Canadian social and economic policy132. Social programs
with national standards were largely eliminated, budgeting decisions were
hostile to the equality of women and to the basic security of the poorest
and most vulnerable members in society, and disadvantaged groups had to
engage in costly litigation to try to enforce governments’ legal obligation
to comply with the Charter133.
The U.N. Gender Equality study suggests that the numbers of women
active in women’s organizations, or even the numbers of active women’s
organizations in a country, might be a far better indicator of women’s
Columbia. Elections have been held in several provinces since the FAFIA
calculations, but no notable upward trend in women’s representation has been
detected.
129
FAFIA, op cit. supra note 128 at pp. 53-54.
130
FAFIA, loc. cit.
131
Brodie, op. cit. supra note 120, p. 47-49 and Manon Tremblay of the Research
Centre for Women and Politics at the University of Ottawa has also concluded that,
numbers aside, current research suggests that the “substantive representation”
(whether the needs, requests and interest are taken into account) of Aboriginal
women in Canada’s parliamentary system is inadequate: Tremblay, Manon, “The
Participation of Aboriginal Women in Canadian Electoral Democracy”, Elections
Canada, Electoral Insight, November 2003 at p. 3.
http://www.elections.ca/eca/eim/article_search/article.asp?id=26&lang=e&frmPag
eSize=&textonly=false (12 December 2007).
132
See the comparative analysis of Great Britain, the United States and Canada in
Sylvia Bashevkin, Women on the Defensive: Living through Conservative Times.
(Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1998).
133
See Eberts, Mary, Section 15: The Next Twenty Years (2006) 5 Journal of Law
and Equality 47 at pp. 54-56 and the superb retrospective study on federal budgets
1995-2005 done for FAFIA by Armine Yalnizyan, Canada’s Commitment to
Equality: A Gender Analysis of the Last Ten Federal Budgets (1995-2004).
Ottawa: FAFIA, 2005.
http://www.fafia-afai.org/files/CanadaCommitmentToEquality.pdf (12 December
2007).
political participation than the level of formal female representation in

elected bodies134. The women’s movement in Canada, once a formidable
engine for the advancement of women’s substantive equality from outside
of government, has been severely eroded in the past twenty years by
cutbacks in spending on social programs and in core funding to civil
society organizations. Federal government actions since the 2006 election
have deliberately accelerated the devastation.
In that time, the government has eliminated funding to the Court
Challenges Program of Canada, which had provided valuable, if modest,
funding to disadvantaged persons doing litigation under section 15 of the
Charter to advance equality in Canadian federal law. It has closed the
Law Commission of Canada, long involved in efforts to modernize
Canadian legislation, and more recently engaged in work on the place of
Indigenous legal traditions in contemporary legal systems. Government
cuts to the Women’s Program of Status of Women Canada have resulted in
closure of 12 of 16 regional offices, and removal of $5 million from its
operating budget. The word “equality” has been removed from the
mandate of Status of Women Canada, and a no-lobbying no-advocacy rule
has been imposed on women’s organizations which receive federal
funding. The National Association of Women and the Law, an effective
voice for thirty years in reforming discriminatory laws, was forced to
dismiss its staff and close its offices in September 2007 because of this
new funding policy. At the same time, the government has been
privileging REAL Women of Canada, a right-wing anti-abortion group
advocating traditional family values, which it sees as its natural ally135.
The Canadian government’s hostility to the substantive equality
aspirations of women is clear. It has cancelled the national child care
program negotiated with the provinces by the predecessor government, has
introduced a resolution against abortion into the House of Commons, and
cancelled the Kelowna Accord, previously negotiated with the five
national Aboriginal groups (including the Native Women’s Association of
Canada) to provide multi-year funding for health, education and economic
134
UNRISD, op. cit. supra note 123, at p. 147.
135
B.C. Coalition for Women’s Equality and Human Rights, “Minister Bev Oda
stonewalls women’s equality organizations“, March 3, 2007; “No Advocacy No
Lobbying Rule Stalls Women’s Equality”, March 7, 2007; Canadian Feminist
Alliance for International Action, “Put Equality Back on Track: Women Across
Canada Call on Harper to Do Better”, March 8, 2007; “FAFIA dismayed by
closing of key women’s group”, September 21, 2007; Tom Flanagan, Harper’s
Team: Behind the Scenes in the Conservative Rise to Power (McGill-Queen’s
University Press, 2007), 264.
Mary Eberts 401
development. In 2007, Canada was one of only four countries to oppose

passage by the U.N. General Assembly of the Declaration on the Rights of
Indigenous Peoples, of which Canada (including Canadian Indigenous
women) had up until recently been a major architect. Despite
documentation of persistent pay inequalities, the government of Canada
has refused to proceed with pay equity legislation. A Pay Equity Task
Force appointed by the government of Canada in 2001 made
comprehensive proposals in 2004 for reform of federal pay equity law,
which the present government has shelved136. Nor is it willing to address
the fact that only a third of women are eligible for pregnancy leave
through Canada’s Employment Insurance Program, or remedy the many
shortcomings drawn in its attention by successive U.N. Treaty Bodies137.
136
See Revital Goldhar, “Restructuring Pay Equity – A Review of the Report ‘Pay
Equity: A New Approach to a Fundamental Right’” (2004) 3 Journal of Law and
Equality 137.
137
Concluding observations of the Committee on Economic, Social and Cultural
Rights: Canada . E/C.12/1/Add.31. 4 December 1998.
http://www.pch.gc.ca/progs/pdp-hrp/docs/cesc/cescconc_e.cfm (Response to
Canada ’s third periodic report – see paras.14 – 18, 28-29, 53-54 particularly) ;
Concluding Observations of the Human Rights Committee on the Consideration of
reports submitted by States parties under article 40 of the Covenant on Civil and
Political Rights: Canada. CCPR/C/79/Add.105. 7 April 1999
http://www.pch.gc.ca/progs/pdp-hrp/docs/iccpr/session65_e.cfm (Response to
Canada ’s fourth periodic Report - see paras.19 and 20 particularly); Concluding
Observations of the Human Rights Committee on the Consideration of reports
submitted by States parties under article 40 of the Covenant on Civil and Political
Rights: Canada . CCPR/C/CAN/CO/5. 20 April 2006.
http://www.pch.gc.ca/progs/pdp-hrp/docs/iccpr/session85_e.cfm (Response to
Canada ’s fifth periodic report – see paras.22-24 particularly); Concluding
Observations of the Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination Against
Women: Canada. 31/01/97.A/52/38/Rev.1,paras.306-343. (Concluding Observations/
Comments re Canada’s fourth report):
http://www.unhchr.ch/tbs/doc.nsf/(Symbol)/A.52.38.Rev.1,paras.306-
343.En?OpenDocument ; Concluding Observations of the Committee on the
Elimination of Discrimination Against Women : Canada . 31/01/03. A/58/38.
(Response to Canada ’s fifth Periodic Report) http://www.pch.gc.ca/progs/pdp-
hrp/docs/observe_new_e.cfm; Concluding Observations of the Committee on the
Elimination of Racial Discrimination : Canada . A/57/18, paras.315-343 (5-23
August 2002). (re Canada’s 13and 14th periodic reports).
http://www.pch.gc.ca/progs/pdp-hrp/docs/cerd/cerdconc13-14_e.cfm (see para.18
in particular); Concluding Observations of the Committee on the Elimination of
Racial Discrimination : Canada . (1-19 August 1994) (re Canada ’s 11 and 12th
Similar erosion is manifest in the area of women’s constitutional

rights. Canadian women acted vigorously in 1980-1981 to secure
improved equality guarantees in the Canadian constitution138, with
Aboriginal women asserting the interests of women’s equality at the
context of the Aboriginal rights guarantees. As political scientist Alan
Cairns points out, inclusion of guarantees for women in the patriated
constitution gave women a new confidence as stakeholders in the political
order, with a constitutional standing as citizens that requires the state to
reckon with them139. However, both the restrictive equality jurisprudence
of the Supreme Court of Canada140 and abolition of the Court Challenges
Program funding mean that women no longer have the means of enforcing
governments’ Charter obligations. This is a grave drawback in a political
climate as toxic to equality as Canada’s has become.
Aboriginal women resorted to legal challenges in order to seek a seat
in the 1991-1992 Charlottetown Accord discussions on the Constitution, at
which substantial guarantees of Aboriginal sovereignty were under
consideration141. The Native Women’s Association of Canada was
concerned that the official representatives of Aboriginal peoples who had
been invited to the table by Canada (pursuant to a constitutional obligation
to consult such representatives when making changes to the Constitution
affecting Aboriginal peoples) were male-dominated organizations with
little, or no, sympathy for women’s rights. The largest of those, the
Assembly of First Nations, represents the Band Council governments
created by the Indian Act, a bastion of male power for over a century.
periodic reports) – does not mention women: http://www.pch.gc.ca/progs/pdp-

hrp/docs/cerd/cerdconc_e.cfm.
138
Alexandra Dobrowolsky. The Politics of Pragmatism, Oxford: Oxford
139
See Alan C. Cairns, Reconfigurations: Canadian Citizenship and
Constitutional Change Selected Essays (edited by Douglas E. Williams). (Toronto:
McClelland & Stewart Inc., 1995), 175-179.
140
Two excellent collections of essays critical of recent Supreme Court equality
jurisprudence are: McIntyre, Sheila and Sanda Rogers eds., Diminishing Returns:
Inequality and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Markham, ON:
LexisNexis Canada Inc. 2006 and Faraday, Fay, Margaret Denike, M. Kate
Stephenson, eds., Making Equality Rights Real: Securing Substantive Equality
under the Charter. (Toronto: Irwin Law, 2006).
141
For an overview of Aboriginal Women’s constitutional activism, see Joyce
Green. “Balancing Strategies: Aboriginal Women and Constitutional Rights in
Canada” in Alexandra Dobrowolsky and Vivien Hart, eds., Women Making
Constitutions: New Politics and Comparative Perspectives (Hampshire: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2003), 36-39.
Mary Eberts 403
NWAC was deeply concerned that unless women represented themselves

at the negotiation table, any new orders of self-government put in place
would be characterized by the same structural discrimination against
women that had permeated the Indian Act system. The Native Women’s
Association of Canada argued for the right of women to represent
themselves in the constitutional talks on the basis that section 28 of the
Charter guaranteed to women equal rights to the freedom of expression
guaranteed by section 2(b) of the Charter.
The women’s claims were not successful in the Supreme Court of
Canada142. Justice McLachlin, now Canada’s Chief Justice, opined that the
government was entitled to consult whom it pleased on matters of policy,
overlooking completely the fact that the discussions underway were
actually negotiations with “representatives of the Aboriginal people of
Canada” being held pursuant to a constitutional obligation. In a previous
decision, she had stated that Canada is a representative democracy, and
that representation comprehends the idea of having a voice in the
deliberations of government143. Yet, in the context of Aboriginal women
claiming a right to represent themselves in the founding discussions for
new orders of self-government under the Constitution, she did not advert
at all to these earlier observations on representative democracy, and the
Court in effect reaffirmed the right of men to represent both themselves
and women.144
With the political defeat of the Charlottetown Accord, discussions
about Aboriginal self-government have moved out of the constitutional
sphere to negotiating tables where self-government agreements,
comprehensive land claims and specific claims are being worked out.
Once again, Indian Act Band Councils and their regional or national
organizations are central to these discussions, and vigorously advance
142
[1994] 3 S.C.R. 627.
143
Reference re Provincial Electoral Boundaries (Saskatchewan), [1991] 2 S.C.R.
158 at para.49.
144
One of the plaintiffs in the original NWAC case, Sharon McIvor, and two of the
organization’s lawyers, participated in the Women’s Court of Canada, a feminist
initiative to critique Supreme Court of Canada judgments by rewriting them
according to feminist theories and perspectives. Their judgment appears in the first
volume of the Women’s Court of Canada decisions: Mary Eberts, Sharon McIvor
and Teressa Nahanee, Native Women’s Association of Canada v. Canada, (2006)
18 Canadian Journal of Women and the Law 67 (Special Issue: Rewriting
Equality).
claims to a role in determining policy on Aboriginal matters145. Aboriginal

women’s organizations, in particular the Native Women’s Association of
Canada, now recognized by Canada as one of the five National Aboriginal
Organizations with which it will deal, continue to press for inclusion and
representation in these talks, although their efforts are seriously hampered
by lack of adequate resources and government preference for dealing with
the Indian Act structures.
The Coalition for Women’s Equality, a non-partisan collective of
equality-seeking women’s groups, prepared before the 2006 election a
pamphlet entitled Still in Shock, to provide Canadian voters with
background and questions on women’s equality to ask candidates and
party leaders. The paper covers a wide range of key issues, including that
of women’s representation in the political system. The perspective of this
paper shows an encouragingly different perspective from that of C.L.
Cleverdon and the women whose work she chronicled:
CWE understands the profound influence exerted by race, class,
sexuality and ability on the lives of women and girls in Canada. The
issues described in this election tool are experienced more deeply by
women and girls from these populations. When these experiences
intersect our life chances are further diminished. In particular, we are
more likely to live in poverty, experience violence both in our homes and
from our state, be imprisoned, and have limited access to resources and
opportunities. We can only truly comprehend the experiences of women
and girls in Canada by understanding where we are situationed in relation
to privilege and access146.
Canadian women, guided by these new understandings, must continue
to struggle for an equal place in our democracy, against formidable and
enduring challenges.
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Mary Eberts 413
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WOMEN PARLIAMENTARIANS IN IRAN:
A SHOW OF POWER?
MOHAMMAD ALI MOUSAVI
Women’s rights activists involved in what is generally known as the

women's movement are mostly middle-class and university-educated, but
otherwise span a broad political and religious spectrum. The movement is
an informal grouping of individuals and organizations that includes both
secular and Muslim women, most of whom are university students and
middle-aged affiliated with the parliamentary reformists who tried to
change the state policies from within in the late 1990s, and women aligned
with the ‘religious-nationalists’ who have stayed resolutely outside the
state since a year after the 1979 revolution. Hence, one can find within the
movement's ranks religious women who shy away from the term feminist,
such as ‘Islamist feminists’, who argue that women's rights can be
provided for by Islamic law, ‘Muslim feminists’ who come from religious
backgrounds but do not necessarily use Islamic laws as their point of
reference, and ‘feminists’ who would prefer a secular approach.
Parliament or in Iranian Majlis has been the centre of this socio-political
movement after the Islamic Revolution of 1979, as it is an open forum for
women politicians to openly raise issues concerning women and initiate
any changes of law in favour of women. Hence, this paper examines the
success and failures of women parliamentarians from the First (1980-84)
to the Seventh Majlis (2004-08) in boosting such movement.
The First Eight Years at War

The Iraq-Iran War (1980-88) which for eight years mobilized the
country’s resources was an impediment to the advancement of debate on
the condition of women. The plight of Islamist women social activists was
overshadowed by the predominant (Majlis) values of self-denial, devotion
and sacrifice, rooted in the Shi’a culture and internalized by the young
volunteers. The centrality of war issues in the management of the country
caused women’s social problems to be ignored. Hence, the government
was devoid of specific economic, social, and cultural policies on women,
416 Women Parliamentarians in Iran: A Show of Power?
to the point that ‘women had no place in the First Plan implemented
during the war.’1
Women parliamentarians who occupied 1.5% of the seats of the First
(1979-83), Second (1983-87), and Third (1987-1991) Majlis and defended
women’s Islamic needs and rights were at a distinct disadvantage. Ms.
Dabbagh, a member of the second, third, and fifth Majlis points that
I [ and two other women parliamentarians] worked diligently to prepare a

motion relevant to women who had lost their heads of households… We negotiated
with them [male members] for several months to no avail. Eventually the same
motion was passed by the Fourth Majlis which was credited with its initiation.2
The majority of women parliamentarians of the First to the Third

Majlis came from established religious families.3 Azam Taleghani was
more preoccupied with general political discussions, as she has pointed
out: ‘While I actively participated in heated debates along with my
political allies, I had a rather individual activity with regard to women’s
issues’.4 She combined her gender sensitivity and political ambitions to
found a political group called Women’s Society and publishing Payam-e
Hajar magazine from 1979.
Regardless of their differences, they agreed that ‘the Islamic Republic
has been attentive to women’s rights.’5 During this period, most of their
efforts were focused on preparing motions to more adequately defend
women’s Islamic rights in the private sphere of the family. The divorce
law thus became one of the controversial issues of the First Majlis. The
majority of these problems facing women had been initiated by the
abrogation of the Family Protection Law of 1967 and the implementation
of a new civil code based on Islamic law, in which overwhelming
1
M. Siddiqi’s interview, Reyhaneh, 2nd September 1996, 11.
2
Dabbagh, M., Zanan va Naghsh anan dar Majlis, (Women and their role in the
Majlis: a round table), Nida, 17-18, Winter 1996, 9.
3
G. Dastgheyb and A. Rajaii (members of First to Third Majlis), M. Dabbagh
(member of Second, Third and Fifth Majlis), M. Behruzi (member of First to
fourth Majlis) were candidates of the Islamic Republic Party, and the Tehran
Society of the Combatant Clergy, both of which were Islamist Parties. Except
Dastgheyb who holds MA degree, the rest hold religious degrees. A. Taleghani
(First Majlis) daughter of prominent revolutionary Ulama was a more liberal
Islamist activist.
4
Interview in Kian, A., Women and Politics in Post-Islamist Iran: the Gender
Conscious Drive to Change, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, V 24, No1,
May (1997): 75-96.
5
M. Behruzi’s interview in Jomhuri-e Eslami, 17 April 1982.
Mohammad Ali Mousavi 417
privileges had been granted to men, particularly in matters of marriage,

divorce and child custody. Women parliamentarians were not mobilized to
defend their cause.
The Reconstruction Period: The Post-War Era

The values of devotion and self-denial, which dominated the previous
period, began to weaken, and the population, exasperated by the eight-year
war, articulated economic, social, political and cultural demands. In 1988,
the Socio-Cultural Council of Women was founded to promote women’s
economic and social activity, and in 1992, the Office of Women’s Affairs,
an offshoot of President’s office, was created to improve women’s status,
using government leverage.
Women lobbied the four female deputies elected in 1980 to the First
Majlis of the Islamic Republic with demands for redress, especially the
restoration of the Family Protection Law. Due to these persistent
complaints and the advocacy of women parliamentarians, the Third Majlis
(1988-1992) enacted some modest improvements for women in matters
like child custody and divorce, but was far from the statute that was in
place before the revolution.
A positive shift was seen during the Fourth Majlis, when, despite the
sweeping victory of conservatives, it convened in 1992, the number of
women doubled to reach a total of nine (3.3%). In addition to their
numerical increase, they were also more educated than their predecessors.
The average age of Fourth Majlis women parliamentarians was 46 years as
opposed to 55 for the previous women deputies. Moreover, except for 5
woman deputies from Tehran, for the first time, four women were elected
from the provinces.6 Some of these members presented amendments to the
articles of the personal status law and prepared motions to fill the gaps,
accusing judicial authorities of the ‘non-execution of the existent laws
beneficial to women’7. However, these women deputies were not ready to
6
A. Derakhshandeh (high school teacher), F. Amirshaghaghi (BA in French
Literature), F. Homayun Moghaddam (BA in Planning), B. Alavai (MD &
gynecologist) from other cities than Capital- of Kermanshah, Tabriz, Tabriz, and
Mashad respectively. The five women elected from Tehran were M. Behruzi
(religious education), N. Fayyazbakhsh (MA Islamic philosophy) P. Salehi (MA in
health), M. Vahid-Dastejerdi (MD & gynecologist) and M. Nobakht (MA
Philosophy).
7
In motion at Ujratolmesl Tasvib Shod (Household chores’ payments was
approved), Salnameye Zan (February 1993), 28.
confront the conservative resistance on this motion and to criticize their

viewpoint.8
Reformist Policy of the State: the Fifth Majlis

as a Turning Point
By the mid nineties, a major change in the social structure of Iranian
society was underway: Population demography shifted toward the young
people born in the late 70s and early 80s. However, the needs and requests
of this new post-revolution generation were different those that of the
revolutionaries.9 Major changes in international politics, the end of the
Iraqi imposed war – which had no real meaning for the new generation – a
reinterpretation of ideology, increasing access to as well as a desire for
higher education among women, increasing Internet access to find out
about world affairs are among reasons for such a change.
In the Fifth Majlis, while the number of women elected increased by
five to fourteen members, a major socio-political shift took place from
conservatives to gender-conscious Islamist women. In 1996, many of the
candidates were known as promoters of women’s rights on the public
scene. Often highly educated and articulate, they represented the new
generation of Islamist women technocrats whose ongoing interaction with
the state and religious circles and an emerging civil society led them to
perceive politics as a potent and necessary activity towards the acquisition
of women’s rights. Interestingly, during the election campaign, they
disassociated themselves from the previous women parliamentarians by
criticizing their lack of determination to tackle women’s problems. By so
doing they were responding to the demands aired by the female population
who sought changes in the civil code, better access for women to
employment opportunities, and the reform laws to promote women’s status
in both private and the public spheres. Among the qualified women
candidates for the Fifth Majlis, mostly were independent ones.
In the Fifth Majlis, although women’s representation remained slight,
the five newly elected women were more vocal, much younger, with an
8
On a similar occasion on another motion, H. Aminlu an opposition deputy stated
that “because women [deputies] preferred to delegate their power to men in the
discussion relevant to this motion, they would also prefer that the men take care of
them” printed at Tarhe Comisune Vijeye Omure Zanan dar Majlis (The proposal
for the special commission of women’s affair in Majlis) Zane Ruz,V. 26, February
1993, 11-12 .
9
On such demands, among others, see Nemayandegane Majlis va Khasteye Zanan
(The Majlis deputies and women’s demand), Payame Zan, V.52, June 1996, 4-7.
average age of 37.5 years, and more experienced in women’s issues than
their predecessors. Five from Tehran and nine from other cities were
elected: three candidates from the right wing conservatives, two from the
moderate-centre Islamists, three as independent candidates, and two
supported by major factions. 10 Equal opportunities for women in sport and
at sport facilities; better job conditions for women at work; reform laws in
view of protecting women’s rights in the family, at work and society were
some of the bills they attempted to pass in the Majlis.
The emergence of the modernist interpretations of Islam by some
religious intellectuals and clerics in the 90s found tremendous support
among educated Islamists, including gender-conscious women, who rely
upon these modernist views to advocate change.
The Fifth Majlis, in 1996, approved a motion presented by women
deputies to create the Special Commission of Women and Family Affairs
composed of thirteen members, nine of whom were women. The
objectives of this commission were reform laws to improve the protection
of women’s rights. Some of them argued that the dynamism of Islam
should be reflected in the civil code in this regard. It is in this respect that
Fatemeh Rafsanjani (Daughter of the president at this time) argues that:
women’s right is annihilated by the civil code, the courts and the society.
Women’s social, educational and cultural problems cannot be resolved as long
as the number of conscious and active women remains slim in the Majlis11
The Rise of Islamist Feminists

The Sixth Majlis (2000-2004), which took office at the peak of the
reformist movement's power, boasted 13 women members. The previous
Parliament had 14, but unlike their predecessors, the new female deputies
entered office boldly declaring their intention to change the law in favour
of women.12 Along with male reformist allies, they formed a Women’s
10
In the Fifth Majlis, F. Ramezanzadeh (MD & gynecologist) (, M. Dastejerdi, N.
Fayyazbakhsh, M. Nobakht, F. Rafsanjani (BA Political science), S. Jelodarzadeh
(MSc Engineering), M. Seddiqi (MSc Engineering), M. Dabbagh, S. Amani-
Angineh (MA Public Management), B. Alavi.
11
Ettela’alt, 15 January 1996, 3.
12
Women who had been involved in the revolution, or who came of age at the high
point of revolutionary fervor in the early 1980s, went on to play a central role in
the popular reform movement that swept the country after the election of Khatami
as president in 1997. Their emergence as a formidable voting bloc served as a
precursor to their rapid and often politically charged entry into the public sphere.
Bloc to promote their agenda. The government Office for Women's

Participation lobbied officials and high-ranking clerics to support their
goals, such as ratification of the UN Convention on the Elimination of
Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) of 1979, which Iran has never
signed. Ultimately, the CEDAW bill and numerous other reformist-
sponsored measures aimed at enhancing women's rights in marriage,
divorce, inheritance and other areas were rejected or severely curtailed by
the Council of Guardians.
In December 2002, 11 of the women parliamentarians submitted a bill
to the Majlis that would impose a moratorium on executions by stoning of
women accused of engaging in extra-marital or premarital sex. The bill
was not approved, but Hojjatoleslam Mohsen Gharavian, a leading figure
in the conservative-controlled judiciary, told the IRNA news agency that
‘stoning has been provisionally suspended due to its negative effects.’ This
feeling of disappointment intensified among the women parliamentarian
over the course of 2003, as the Council of Guardians13 (Senate form of
Iranian Majilis) blocked more and more of the record 33 legislative
measures introduced by women deputies. Nonetheless, the reformist era
provided a space for women to study, organize, develop a gender analysis
and create a vocabulary of resistance.14
During the reformist era of 1997-2004, the government's declared commitment to

nurture civil society allowed many of these women to establish advocacy
organizations independent of official bodies. Secular women, marginalized for 20
years by the sweeping Islamicization of politics, culture and society, also found a
new opening for their gatherings and activities, even at government-owned cultural
centers. Some religious women, whose organizations were sometimes sarcastically
referred to as "gongos," short for governmental NGOs, became increasingly
concerned with gender-based inequality and discrimination and gradually
developed an autonomous feminist identity. The result was a burgeoning number
of independent women's associations who advanced their agendas through
seminars, workshops, print publications and the Internet. Although political and
religious divisions prevented the different women activists from establishing a
larger umbrella organization, periodic collaboration contributed to a growing
mutual respect.
13
Based on the constitution of Iran, Council of Guardians is consists of 14
members, seven of which are religious jurisprudents appointed by the religious
leader. The other seven members are elected from lawyers and judges. On any
contradiction of passed bills by Majlis with shari’a (religion), the first seven
members have a say while on any contradictions with the constitution, the second
seven members argue.
14
Shekarloo, M., Iranian Women take on the Constitution, at
http://wwww.merip.org/mero/mero072105.html, July 21, 2005.
In this Majlis major steps in favour of women took place. Majlis, with
the leading role of the Women’s Special Commission, passed 17 important
bills, and among them were alleviation of the official marriage age for
Iranian girls, increasing the period of guardianship of children by the
mothers, and girl’s right of travel out of the country. It is worth noting that
18 more bills were discussed and approved in the Commission but never
presented to the Majlis Forum, either due to lack of time in the Majlis for
scheduling these bills or the assurance that such bills would be rejected.
A Return to Conservatism
In February 2004, Iran's reformist era ended as the conservatives’
regained control of Parliament. 13 women deputies were elected to the
Seventh Majlis, consisting 4.4 percent of the Parliament.15 This is while 10
percent of all candidates were women. Table 2 shows that regardless of a
continuous increase in women’s candidacy from Second to the Seventh
Majlis, the number of women elected did not follow the same path. A
noticeable shift from 7.3% candidacy of women for the Sixth Majlis to
10% in Seventh Majlis, an overall 60% increase in numbers of women
candidates did not lead to an increase in numbers of women deputies in
these periods. Hence, in spite of an increasing desire among women for
political participation and infiltration of major decision-making circles,
this did not contribute in increasing their political power.
In this Majlis, the women deputies shifted their interest from fighting
for women’s right through established Special Committees to increasing
the membership of various high-powered committees. Nonetheless, due to
their general and common educational backgrounds, and lack of
experience, women deputies were successful in achieving membership of
politico-economically non-important committees. Out of thirteen women,
only three deputies were elected to the Education Committee, two to
Health, Four to Cultural, One to Judicial and only one to Foreign Affairs
and the Security Committee. No one could enter in Economic Committee,
Social Affairs, Plan and Budget, Energy, Industry, Agriculture, Civil
15
Women deputies include N Fayyazbakhsh (PhD in Philosophy), L Eftekhari
((PhD in Theology), F Alya ((MA, Political Science), E Aminzadeh (PhD in Int’l
Law), F Rahbar (BA, Visual Communication) all from Tehran. F Ajorlu ((MA
Psychology), M Morovvati (Post-Diploma), N Akhavan-Bitaraf (MA, Religious
Studies), E Shariati (MA, Planning Management), R Bayat (Sociology PhD
Student), H Tahriri (PhD Philosophy), E Shayegh (Diploma) are the other deputies
from other cities than the capital.
Committees.16 This led into a silence among women parliamentarians in

the Seventh Majlis as they lost their Forum (the Special Women’s
Committee) and were also unable to increase their bargaining power in
other committees. Some of them argue that Article 20 of the Constitution
which provides ‘equal protection of men and women by the law’ and
Article 21 which stipulates that ‘the government must ensure the rights of
women in all respects’ are in conformity with the Islamic criteria. In their
view most of the personal status laws that discriminate against women in
marriage, divorce, inheritance and child custody derive their legitimacy
from the state's interpretation of Islamic law. As such, one major focus of
parliamentarian women has been to offer interpretations of Islamic
jurisprudence that encourage gender equality. However, the Guardian
Council and other appointed bodies invested with the power of official
legal interpretation have consistently propagated the concept of equality or
‘balance’ of rights.
On the other hand, some others have shifted their focus from gender
issues to general socio-cultural problems of society. They have
occasionally tried to express themselves individually on general and
mostly political issues (as was the case in the First to the Third Majlis).
For example, R. Bayat (elected from Zanjan) suggested dialogue with the
American Secretary of State by saying:
Women should come and talk about international challenges because men don't
want to agree that peace and security have other definitions. Dialogue about
women's issues is especially important in Iran now in light of recent concerns
expressed by Amnesty about the status of women in the country.17
Conclusion: A Comparative Analysis

The following two tables show how the role of women in parliaments
has grown extremely slowly.
16
The membership of internal committees of the Majlis is based on an initial
nomination of the individual, classification by a special committee and the final
voting of the Majis deputies.
17
Jomhuriye Eslami, Feb 1384, 2.
Table 1: Proportionate distribution of women candidates in Majlis
Women Women elected No. of Women

Majlis Parliamentary into the Deputies
Candidates, % Parliament, %
First 3.0% 1.7% 4
Second 2.0% 1.7% 4
Third 2.0% 1.7% 4
Fourth 3.0% 3.6% 9
Fifth 6.4% 5.6% 14
Sixth 7.3% 4.4% 13
Seventh 9.9% 4.4% 13
Eighth 3.3% 8
Source: Ministry of Interior, Gozareshe Entekhabat Majlis-e Shoraye Eslami
(Majlis Election Report), various numbers.
Table 2: Number of Bills related directly to the status of Women, passed

by each Parliament
Majlis Bills passed by Majlis

First(1980-84) 16
Second (1984-88) 13
Third (1988-92) 6
Fourth (1992-6) 8
Fifth (1996-2000) 21
Six (2000-04) 17
Seven (2004-08) 13
Source: ISNA, Gozaresh Tarh va Lavayeh Marbut be Zanan va Khanevadeh dar
Majlis Sheshom (A Report on Bills Passed by Majlis on Women and Family
Issues), Iran-e Emruz, May 2005, 6.
To arrive at a fair and overall conclusion one should look at Iran’s

polity as a whole. In Iranian post-revolution polity, to look into the
success/failure of Majlis in reforming the existing laws and approving new
legislation to improve the status of women, other than the core strength of
women deputies and their bargaining power, one should consider the
politico-social direction of the government and the Majlis in power. The
experience of the past seven Iranian parliaments shows three criteria.
One of which is whenever both elected government and the parliament
in power were conservative minded or traditionalist, we have noticed a
very inactive parliament with respect to women’s issues. This has been
regardless of the strength of women whip in Majlis. It is because of the
ideological approach of traditionalist Islamist who prefers the active
participation of women more in the family than society. Hence, most
efforts in Majlis with respect to women’s affairs are centred on family
issues. This was the case in the First to Third Majlis (1980-90) and
Seventh Majlis (2004-08). The winning party in the Eighth Majlis (2008-
2012) election has been conservative as is the government (2005-2009),
there is a possibility for the same results as of the former Majlis.
Another criterion is that if the political criteria of both government and
the parliament has been reformist/moderate (the Sixth Majlis, 2000-04),
regardless of increasing demand from the Majlis women lobby, the Majlis
has been unable to pass the necessary bills to really improve women’s
status. This is not due to the lack of determination of women deputies or
resistance by the male dominated Majlis, but because of rejections by
Council of Guardians of such reform bills or new laws. A tense relation
prevailed between the two, and the efforts of Majlis, the women’s lobby in
particular, were in vain.
And finally, with a centrist/moderate government in power, and a
conservative parliament, the bills passed on women even though they were
not significant but were in accordance with the bargaining power between
the government and Majlis on the one hand and the less rejectionist
approach of the Council of Guardians on the other. This was the case in
part of Fourth Majlis (1994-1996) and in the Fifth Majlis (1996-2000).
The major obstacles confronting women in Majlis include the following
1) state policies and programmes regarding women’s participation 2)
inadequate access to funds for women candidates 3) inadequate laws in
support of women at the managerial levels 4) lack of professional
experience among women 5) causing custody clichés and taboos regarding
women’s role and capacity in holding key positions in politics 6) lack of
self-confidence in women in areas of power and decision-making 7)
inadequate numbers of women present in political parties, resulting in a
smaller number of women candidates and 8) conservative interpretation of
religion combined with the patriarchal traditions.
All in all, despite claims and efforts by women’s social movements and
some political factions to promote women’s participation in Iranian high
politics and in the decision-making process, there are impeding laws,
gender clichés and social obstacles which have effectively closed the doors
to women in the area of power and decision-making. Although a major
effort took place during the Sixth Majlis to enhance women’s status,
leading to an increase in the number of women managers from 1989 to
2004 by 63 percent, such a development proved slight in comparison to
the role of men in managerial and political circles. Women’s issues in the
Seventh Majlis were overshadowed extensively by state economic issues
and international political problems of the country.
The beginning of the Eighth Majlis (2008-2012) in June 2008 shows a
continuation of the decrease in women’s power in the Majlis; the number
of women parliamentarians declined to eight, a forty percent decrease
from the Seventh Majlis.
Bibliography
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Ministry of Interior, Various issues.
Zanan va naghshe anan dar Majlis (Women and their role in Majlis, a
round table), Nida, 17-18, Winter 1996, P12.
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the Islamic Republic f Iran (Beijing + 10), Tehran: Barge Zeytoon,
2005.
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Sheshom (A Report on Bills Passed by Majlis on Women and Family
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special commission of women’s affair in Majlis) Zane Ruz,V. 26,
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women’s demand), Payame Zan, V.52, June 1996.
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in the Majlis: a round table), Nida, 17-18, Winter 1996.
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Revolutionary Iran, PhD Thesis, University of Durham, 1999.
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Siddiqi, M, interview in Reyhaneh, 2nd September 1996.
CATHOLIC FAMILY VALUES VERSUS
EQUALITY - POLISH POLITICS
BETWEEN THE YEARS 2005-2007:
ENVISIONING THE ROLE OF WOMEN
DOROTA A. GOZDECKA
Introduction
From autumn 2005 to autumn 2007 the gender equality of Polish
women was under the influence of conservative and religious ideology
promoted by the governing parties. When the conservative party Prawo i
Sprawiedliwosc (PiS – eng. Law and Justice) won the Parliamentary
elections in September 2005 in Poland and subsequently succeeded in
raising their candidate to the position of the President of the Republic,
many feared how this political setting would influence the situation of
women in the country. And, indeed, the fears proved to be justified, since
one of the first changes introduced by the first conservative government
was to close down the institution of the Governmental Plenipotentiary for
Gender Equality in November 2005.
The institution was highly controversial for conservative politicians.
The right wing, strongly affiliated to the Catholic Church, could not
forgive the speech of Professor Sroda, the former Plenipotentiary, at a
conference in Stockholm in 2004, where she stated that Catholicism,
through influencing the culture, might be an indirect influence increasing
family violence against women. These words met with an immediate
reaction after the elections. The first political decision of the government
led by PiS was to close down the institution. Some of the tasks of the
Plenipotentiary were transferred to a division in the Ministry of Labour.
The other institution in charge of laws concerning women, belonging to
the legislative, not the executive branch was the Parliamentary Committee
for Family Matters and Women’s Rights, led by the ultra-conservative MP
Alina Sobecka (LPR). As shown later in this article, the Committee tended
to promote a Catholic family model. The politicians spoke primarily of
428 Catholic Family Values Versus Equality
‘Catholic’ or ‘Christian family values’ and the ‘traditional role of the

family’ sometimes openly opposing the idea of gender equality1. The aim
of this article is to combine a political discourse analysis and a legal
analysis to as certain how strongly the conservative politics in Poland
attempted to lessen and weaken gender equality in social life. It addresses
the question whether the law could be an effective safeguard in this
situation.
The Catholic Church in Polish Society and Politics

After 1989
The Catholic Church played an important role in the re-establishment
of the democratic system in Poland in 1989. In the country where more
than 90% of a population reaching almost 40,000,0002 is considered to be
Catholic, the Church naturally supported movements leading to the fall of
the former Eastern Bloc. The election of a Pope from Poland also affected
the marked reinforcement of religion in Polish society and politics. At the
time of the Solidarity movement, the involvement of the Church in the
processes leading to the fall of the old regime was seen as a political
victory of freedom of religion rather than a danger to other democratic
freedoms3.
After the re-establishment of the democratic system, however, the
Church started to gain more and more political power. The political parties
originating from the Solidarity movement declared their Catholic
commitment and during the period of domination in the parliament
brought in new laws introducing Catholic religious instruction in schools
and tightening the abortion regulations. During the 20 years of democratic
changes in Poland, the centre and right-wing parties affirmed their origins
in the Solidarity movement and in a stronger or weaker way their
commitment to Catholicism and Catholic values or at least to Christianity
and Christian values. The side of the political scene which remained
neutral in religious matters was the social democratic movement, which
1
The opening speech of Prime Minister Kaczynski, p.8, 19.07.2006.
2
According to the Central Statistical Office of Poland, in the year 2006 the
population of Poland was 38,125,479: Demographic Yearbook of Poland 2007,
Glowny Urzad Statystyczny, Zaklad Wydawnictw Statystycznych, Warszawa 2007
while according to the Statical Centre of the Catholic Church (SAC), the amount of
Catholics in 2006 was 95,4%, http://www.iskk.ecclesia.org.pl/statystyka_2006.htm
3
See: Sila-Nowicki W., 1984-1986, The role of the Catholic Church in Polish
Independence Movement, New York Law School Journal of International and
Comparative Law 6, 703-707.
Dorota A. Gozdecka 429
consisted of many members who had previously belonged to the former

structures of the governing communist party. The left side of the political
scene evolved over time into what is commonly considered a social
democratic movement and embraced in their programmes the values of
human and constitutional rights including social rights, state neutrality in
religious matters and also women’s rights, including reproductive rights.
The right wing parties referred to the left wing as ‘post-communists’, heirs
of the old regime and enemies of national and Catholic values. The centre
parties remained milder, but usually reaffirmed their Solidarity heritage
connected with the role of Catholicism. The post-Solidarity political bloc
refused to cooperate with the social democratic bloc. This political
polarisation became particularly visible in the pre-electoral discourse in
2005. During their election campaign PiS used as their leading mottos
slogans about clearing the debts of the past and full ‘decommunization’.
At the same time, the stronger the parties identified themselves with the
political right wing, the stronger role in their programmes was given to
Catholic values as one of the means of reaffirmation of Polish national
interests and opposition to ‘communist’ values professed by the socialists.
In the political discourse led by the right wing parties, Catholic values
became synonymous with patriotic values and opposed to socialist, ‘post-
communist’ and even European values, seen as foreign and oppressive.
The Church itself did not oppose the right wing’s use of Catholic slogans
and in the instance of the Catholic radio station, Radio Maryja, mentioned
below openly supported PiS and other right wing parties.
Catholic Values as a Political Programme

The situation of women in the context of the pressure of the Catholic
Church and its role in politics has been researched from various
perspectives, but most often in the context of abortion issues4. The
perspectives for gender equality development in Poland drawn by the
researchers were usually optimistic and underlined the growing importance
of the activist movement and future accession to the European Union as
4
See for example: Wanda Nowicka (1996), ‘Roman Catholic Fundamentalism
Against Women’s Reproductive Rights in Poland’, Reproductive Health Matters,
No 8, November 1996, 21-29, Francois Girard, Wanda Nowicka (2002), ‘Clear
and Compelling Evidence: The Polish Tribunal on Abortion Rights’, Reproductive
Health Matters, No 10(19), pp. 22-30 or Heinen Jaqueline, Matuchniak-Krasuska
Anna (1991), ‘Abortion in Poland: A Vicious Circle or a Good Use of Rhetoric. A
Sociological Study of the Political Discourse of Abortion in Poland’, Women’s
Studies International Forum, Vol.18, No 1, 27-33.
hopes for improvement in the sphere of female equality. The victory of the
ultra-conservative powers came as a shock. For the first time in the history
of post-communist democracy, the governing politicians put strong
emphasis on Catholic and traditional family values, and introducing them
to law and social life became one of the aims in their programmes and
reforms. The official political programme document of PiS affirmed:
PiS considers Christian values the basis of our culture and the fundamental
basis of a strong family. We therefore oppose abortion, euthanasia, cloning
or embryo cell research (…) We want to propagate these values supporting
the family and proper family models and ethics.5
During their term of office PiS also actively tried to maintain and
strengthen the belief that Poland had always been Catholic and true Polish
values equalled Catholic values. This equating of Catholicism with
patriotism has always been very common among right-wing Polish parties.
PiS affirmed it in another programme document, a 56-page brochure titled
‘Catholic Poland in Christian Europe’. The brochure started as follows:
Throughout all our history – from the baptism of Mieszko the First,
through the coronation of Boleslaw Chrobry, death of priest Popieluszko to
the papacy of John Paul II and the existence of the Solidarity movement,
Christianity has been an essential part of our nationality. 100 years ago
Catholicism was considered to be the Truth for believers and civilization
for non-believers. Unfortunately, nowadays we live in a reality where this
civilization is questioned and subject to attack.
Basing their political programme on the last of the above-quoted

sentences, PiS chose defending Catholicism as one of their political aims.
PiS politicians intensified their connections with the Church, among other
things, by cooperating actively with the fundamentalist Catholic radio
station Radio Maryja and the television channel Trwam, belonging to the
convent of Redemptorists. The politicians presented their programmes in a
couple of instances, first on the air of using above-mentioned stations and
only later in other media6.
The conservative programme and ideological fundamentals became
even stronger when another ultra-conservative and ultra-Catholic party,
Liga Polskich Rodzin (LPR, Eng. The League of Polish Families), joined
the governmental coalition together with the populist party Samoobrona
(Self-Defence) in May 2006 The leader of the LPR was appointed to the
5
Programme of PiS, 81.
6
For example while signing the new political coalition treaty on 27.04.2006.
position of Minister of Education, which shocked intellectuals, teachers

and students and resulted in many protests7. The ideologisation of the
school programmes had been widely feared ever since of and numerous
initiatives proposed by the Minister, like that of introducing patriotic
education or the final high school examination in religion, proved the fears
to be justified. The LPR had been always considered to be ultra-
nationalistic and an ultra-Catholic party that never supported the neutrality
of the state in ideological matters and promoted Catholicism in the public
sphere. Among the main aims of the LPR we could find the following:
Political, professional and social activity should be a service to God,

Poland and Nation (…) We must protect the traditional Polish family (…)
We oppose abortion, euthanasia, cloning, homosexual relations and all
laws that are contrary to Christian ethics and morality.8
These attempts at merging church and state are expressions of the

Catholic moral doctrine of natural law based mainly on the teachings of
Saint Thomas Aquinas. The doctrine assumes that human made laws,
including the sphere of human rights cannot contradict the natural law, the
expression of the law of God.9
A Woman Equals a Mother

A woman when referred to by conservative Polish politicians was
considered to be primarily a mother or a future mother. One of the
conservative politicians, Marian Pilka, actively working for the promotion
of the Catholic family model defended his opinion that a woman is
happiest and most valuable in the role of a mother, stating: ‘Feminist
ideology should be condemned because it makes women feel inferior if
they don’t make a career. Meanwhile giving birth to a child and raising it
is the most valuable thing in life.’10
This pro-family and pro-motherhood promotion was also introduced to
the realm of law. One of the first changes in the law after the election
7
These protests were widely described and analysed by Polish media especially on
13.05.2006 right after the Minister received his appointment to the office.
8
Programme of LPR, 1 and 7.
9
Robert John Araujo (2003) ‘The Catholic Neo-Scholastic Contribution to Human
Rights: The Natural Law Foundation’, Ave Maria Law Review No.1, 159-174.
10
In the debate: „Zawod: matka” (Profession: mother) – Debata Gazety
Wyborczej, 6.10.2006, available at:
http://www.gazetawyborcza.pl/1,76498,3406619.html?as=1&ias=3&startsz=x
victory and forming the conservative government was passing a bill on

support for mothers. The bill introduced a small social benefit of 1000 zl
(about 250€) for the mother of a newborn baby. This step was justified by
the concern of the government for Polish families and the demographic
crisis and was supposed to encourage Polish women to bear more children.
Women’s rights were hardly ever mentioned during the governance of
the conservative government or even openly criticized together with the
idea of human rights in general11. The former Prime Minister Kaczynski12
said directly in his speech opening the activity of his government:
We differ from other countries (…). I want to emphasize that as far as

gender equality is concerned, the position of women in society and their
role in the family, I support everything that should lead to the protection of
women from oppression that they often meet. But we are against gender
equality as far as other questions are concerned. I sustain my former
opinion on this.13
The legal discourse on rights was replaced by a discourse on values.

And the primary values promoted officially by the authorities in Poland
were Catholic family values as those integral to the existence of the Polish
nation. A woman, if she appeared at all in the new law proposals, appeared
mainly as a part of a family or a subject of special protection. No
initiatives towards modernization of the existing law and improving the
gender equality were taken. As dangers to the development of Polish
society the conservatives mentioned proposals concerning same sex
marriage or the growing number of divorces, co-habiting and children
born out of wedlock. Therefore the emphasis was put on the traditional
Catholic family and cooperation with the Church as the method of
restitution of the traditional family model. In the programme of PiS we
could read the confirmation of that assumption: ‘PiS can see an ally in the
fight against demoralisation and the downfall of the institution of the
family in the Roman Catholic Church.’14 Similar principles could be found
in the political programme of the LPR.
11
See: interview with Jaroslaw Kaczynski: We mnie jest czyste dobro (There is
pure good inside me), Gazeta Wyborcza 4-5.02.2006, 12-14.
12
The second Prime Minister and the head of the second government since the
electoral victory of PiS.
13
See: Opening Speech of Prime Minister Kaczynski, 8.
14
Programme of PiS, 82.
Visions of Changes in the Law and New Laws Introduced

during the Conservative Coalition
As mentioned above, one of the first changes aiming at strengthening
the role of motherhood was passing the bill on social support for mothers
of newborn babies. Every mother, regardless of the financial situation of
the family is nowadays entitled to receive this support.
Another proposal was that of extending maternity leave. It was only
partially introduced by the amendment to the Labour Code passed in
October 2006. The change dealt exclusively with maternity leave, which is
the leave that can be taken immediately after childbirth and mostly by the
mother. The father can use only 14 days of it, but only if he applies for it
in writing. The leave was extended from 16 to 18 weeks at the birth of the
first child, from 18 to 20 at the birth of each next child and from 26 to 28
weeks at the birth of more than one child at once. In the long-term plan the
government aimed at introducing maternity leaves as long as 52 weeks by
the year 201115. The change included the obligation of the employer to
employ the mother after the leave and not to make her redundant within a
period of two and a half years afterwards. It is easy, however, to imagine
that full implementation of a one year long maternal leave, without the
option of sharing it equally between both parents, would have influenced
women’s chances in the difficult Polish job market rather negatively.
Potential employers would be very reluctant to employ women and abuses
such as detailed questioning on family plans and health would have been
more and more common in the already difficult labour market. This
change, if introduced according to the full plan, would have placed more
women in the home and aggravate the inequality on the labour market.
Further changes proposed were of an even more serious nature since
they concerned the Constitution. The amendment included in the project
prepared by the LPR touched women directly. The LPR put to the vote a
proposal of introducing a provision on the protection of life from the
moment of conception. This amendment would have led to introducing an
absolute ban on abortion, which was one of the political aims of the LPR.
The child would have been considered superior in every case and the
health or life of the mother would no longer be grounds for allowing
abortion.
The proposal failed the vote even if the majority of Parliament voted in
favour of it. 269 out of 443 supported the motion. This, however, was not
15
See: Tomasz Zalewski, Wszyscy pracuja nad poprawianiem prawa pracy
(Everybody Works on Improving Labour Law), Gazeta Prawna nr 57, 21.03.2006.
enough to meet the qualified majority of 2/3 of all votes required for
accepting constitutional amendments. But only 27 votes were missing in
order to pass this requirement and as many as 24 out of 90 members of
PO, the party which won elections in October 2007 and formed the new
government, supported the motion.16
Another proposal which was widely and for long time discussed was
initiated by the chair of the Parliamentary Committee for Family Matters,
Alina Sobecka together with the MP Marian Pilka. Sobecka and Pilka at
first proposed changing the pharmacy law by either expressly limiting
access to contraceptives or by introducing a conscience clause for
pharmacists. The conscience clause would allow them to refuse to sell
contraceptives on grounds of religious convictions. Later, knowing that no
such radical limitation proposal would be passed and that, in point of fact,
the pharmacists agreed to use the conscience clause in their professional
code of ethics in 200617, Sobecka and Pilka intended to propose a bill that
would label contraceptives as ‘Health hazardous’18. The warning would
have been placed on contraceptives in the same way as the warnings on
cigarette packages. This proposal was withdrawn during the preparation of
the project of the National Programme for Family Support. The
justification for preparing the Programme, approved by Sejm, included
though, among others, the fact of the growing number of relationships
other than marriage, divorces and demographic crises. The project was
never finished due to the collapse of the government and new elections.
The Activity of the Committee on Family Matters

The same aims as those mentioned in the Programme seemed also to
be dominating the activities of the Parliamentary Committee for Family
Matters or the projects of the Ministry of Health and the Ministry of
Education concerning education.
The Parliamentary Committee for Family matters put the main
emphasis on its activity for the protection of unborn life. At numerous
meetings on the subject, most of the experts providing expertise in front of
16
See: details concerning voting under:
http://orka.sejm.gov.pl/SQL.nsf/glosowania?OpenAgent&5&39&79.
17
Kodeks Etyki Farmaceuty-Aptekarza Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej (The Ethical
Code of Pharmacist) Naczelna Izba Aptekarska, Warszawa 2006, article 4. The
legality of using such a clause to refuse selling medication, which is legally
approved for sale in a democratic country could be disputed here.
18
„Klauzula "niebezpieczne dla zdrowia" na lekach antykoncepcyjnych?”(Health
Hazardous Warning on Contraceptives), Gazeta Wyborcza, 10.11.2006.
the Committee could hardly be called impartial. They were representatives

of Catholic hospitals, schools and the Episcopate of Poland19. Most of the
opinions presented included negative conclusions concerning abortion and
contraception20.
The Committee also held one extraordinary meeting during which the
person of Saint Gianna Beretta Molla was introduced to the members of
the Committee as a model of motherly love21. The saint’s son was received
with honours in the Polish Parliament and the example of his mother was
shown as the proper model for each woman. Saint Gianna Beretta Molla’s
main virtue was letting the doctors save the life of her unborn daughter
instead of her own.
During the conservative coalition, the Committee also debated on a
project of a Parliamentary resolution on the defence of life, family and the
rights of nations, which included three paragraphs. The first stated that
abortion is evil and should be forbidden in every country. The second
opposed the ‘propaganda of homosexuality’ as a phenomenon harming a
natural family, while the third affirmed that all nations of Europe should
have the right to self-determination. The resolution was never accepted by
Parliament.
As far as education is concerned, a detailed study of the school
curricula concerning the so-called ‘preparation for family life’ education
was conducted by one of the weekly political magazines Przeglad22. Their
analysis provided the reader with the outlines of the family policy of the
former governing parties. Expressions such as: ‘emancipation of women is
an example of a negative attitude towards the role of a mother and a
serious identity disorder’ or ‘a woman was created to sacrifice herself and
she should sacrifice herself for the good of the family’ could be found in
the handbooks officially recommended by the Ministry of Health on that
subject. The authors of the article also observed that the most of the
handbooks negated the role of condoms in preventing HIV and sexually
transmitted diseases and recommended only natural family planning
19
See details under: http://orka.sejm.gov.pl/Biuletyn.nsf/fkskr5?OpenForm&ROD
20
The exact minutes of these meetings are available on the Sejm’s homepages and
each of the opinions is publicly available.
21
The Chairman of the Committee, Alina Sobecka, stated that this heroic example
of motherly love should be an example speaking to the bottoms of everyone’s
heart. The full minutes of this meeting available at:
http://orka.sejm.gov.pl/Biuletyn.nsf/0/5FEDF345A0A8A592C1257148002ADEE0
?OpenDocument.
22
Chmielewska Katarzyna, Zukowski Tomasz, Przyzwoicie i po bozemu (Decently
and according to God), Przeglad No 29, 35-37.
methods as the healthiest and as reliable. Except for one, the rest of the
eight recommended handbooks were apparently inspired by Catholic
ideology and with the support of Ministry of Health and Ministry of
Education they propagated it in public schools as official and impartial
knowledge.
The proposals concerning introducing Ministry funded natural family
planning teaching in schools instead of impartial sex education were also a
recovering topic in the political discussions during the governance of the
conservative coalition23. However, at the end of the year 2006 the Ministry
refused to fund projects of such teaching.
Could the Constitution or International Obligations of

Poland Secure Religious Neutrality and Gender Equality?
Theoretically, the Constitution of the Republic of Poland, secures the
system against the introduction of laws contradicting constitutional
provisions or provisions of international agreements of major
importance24. The Constitution distinguishes a few types of control of
conformity of laws. The control of constitutionality is conducted by the
Constitutional Tribunal.
The first type of control concerns, among others, the conformity of
statutes and international agreements with the Constitution, the conformity
of a statute with ratified international agreements and the conformity of
legal provisions issued by the central state organs with the Constitution. In
the process of this control the legal act already introduced to the legal
order may be annulled. This type of control does not require any specific
situation when somebody’s rights have been infringed. The bodies entitled
to apply to the Tribunal to implement such control are only the important
organs of the state: the President of the Republic, the Marshal of the Sejm,
the Marshal of the Senate, the Prime Minister, 50 Members of the
Parliament, 30 Senators, the First President of the Supreme Court, the
President of the Supreme Administrative Court, the Public Prosecutor-
General, the President of the Supreme Chamber of Control and the
Commissioner for Citizens' Rights.
23
For example: Rodzić bez przymusu (To give birth without being forced to),
Gazeta Wyborcza, 17.11.2006.
24
See: Constitution, article 91.2. The treaties referred to in this article are those
ratified upon prior consent granted by statute in matters of major importance
mentioned therein.
In the political situation during the governance of the conservative

coalition the possibility of effective control a of new law through this
method of control was distinctly limited however, all the above-mentioned
institutions except for the President of the Supreme Court and the
President of the Supreme Administrative Court and members of the
legislative bodies belonging to the opposition were represented by
politicians and experts strongly affiliated with the governing powers. Even
the position of the Commissioner for Citizens’ Rights (the Ombudsman) was
filled by a highly controversial person Kochanowski LLD recommended by
PiS. Political commentators noticed that the Ombudsman had in his
scientific career on some occasions criticized the existence of human
rights.25
The control in the form of a Presidential veto to the proposed bill was
likewise not effective in the former political setting. President Kaczynski
used his right of veto against a project submitted by his political allies only
once and in an ideologically neutral matter concerning property rights.26
Another method of control is the so-called constitutional complaint.
Everyone whose constitutional freedoms or rights have been infringed has
the right to appeal to the Constitutional Tribunal for its judgment on the
conformity with the Constitution of a statute or other normative act upon
which basis a court or organ of public administration has made a final
decision on his freedoms or rights or on his obligations specified in the
Constitution27. But this complaint lets the Tribunal adjudicate only on the
basis of a specific situation when an alleged infringement has already
occurred. Moreover, the complaint may be submitted only after the normal
judicial procedure has been exhausted and must concern rights included in
the constitutional chapter on rights and freedoms. The decision of the
Tribunal may lead to the law being annulled on which the decision was
based.
However, the main problem concerning the above-mentioned proposals
and actions was the fact that few of them created any grounds for issuing
individual judicial or administrative decisions which could constitute a
legal ground for the constitutional complaint. Moreover, regarding
abortion issues, if the Constitution had been amended a complaint would
not have been possible due to lack of a legal ground for it. The list of
constitutional rights and freedoms on which a constitutional complaint
25
See for example: Kochanowski na urzedzie (Kochanowski took the office),
Gazeta Wyborcza, 16.02.2006, 7.
26
Ustawy z dnia 13 lipca 2006 r. o zmianie ustawy - Kodeks cywilny oraz
niektorych innych ustaw.
27
The Constitution, article 79.
might be based is also quite limited as far as such mainstreaming actions

as the above-mentioned are concerned. I agree with the opinion of
Professor Osiatynski28 that the decomposition of the legal system was
attempted without direct infringement of the constitution and
constitutional rights.
In my opinion, the strongest ground for any complaints to the Tribunal
concerning the law proposals of the former government could have been
article 25.1. It is supposed to guarantee the religious impartiality of the
state and it reads as follows:
Public authorities in the Republic of Poland shall be impartial in matters of

personal conviction, whether religious or philosophical, or in relation to
outlooks on life, and shall ensure their freedom of expression within public
life.
According to Jaroslaw Szymanek, the word impartiality in this

provision does not equal neutrality and allows the state to be ‘friendly’ and
cooperate with churches of different denominations29. I agree with this
opinion but I consider that the above-mentioned article of the Constitution
expressly forbids any ideological or religious influence on the activity of
public authorities. Introducing laws and strategies supposed to propagate
only one religious outlook on life, in my opinion, contradicts this
provision. However, the weakness of article 25.1 is that it could not be a
ground for a complaint submitted by an individual. Article 25.1 is not a
part of the constitutional list of the rights of an individual. It could be a
ground of a complaint submitted only by the above-mentioned public
organs. Moreover, as mentioned before, few of the actions of the
government regarding women’s reproductive rights and negative gender
mainstreaming, gave grounds for individual judicial or administrative
decisions, which could be later questioned before the Tribunal. And as
mentioned above, the organs which could submit such a complaint to the
Tribunal were rather limited in the former political setting.
International Obligations of Poland

As far as international law is concerned, the human rights provisions of
the treaties ratified by Poland and European Union law should
28
Osiatynski Wiktor, Demontaz prawa przezyje PiS (Deconstruction of law will
survive PiS), Gazeta Wyborcza 4-5.03.2006, 14.
29
Szymanek Jaroslaw (2004), ‘Bezstronnosc czy neutralnosc swiatopogladowa
panstwa’ (Religious Neutrality or Impartiality of the State), Panstwo I Prawo, No 5.
theoretically provide safeguards from excessive ideological or religious

mainstreaming not conforming to modern democratic standards. Ratified
international treaties are one of the constitutional sources of law in Poland.
A ratified international agreement is a part of the domestic legal order and
is to be applied directly. International agreements of major importance
take precedence over statutes if they cannot be reconciled with the
provisions of such statutes.30
Thus human rights treaties and European law take precedence over
statutes in the Polish legal system. According to the case law of the
European Court of Justice, European law, if necessary, takes precedence
even over the constitutions of the Member States of the European
Community.
However, the problem in applying international obligations in
situations like that of Poland between 2005 and 2007 is such that it might
be very difficult to show an infringement of any specific rights. European
law is binding as far as equal working conditions are concerned. The
above-mentioned prolongation of maternity leaves, if it had been
conducted in accordance with the full 52-week plan without extended
option for paternal leave, may have raised the interest of the European
Commission as to whether it could realistically deteriorate the position of
females in the Polish labour market and whether it complied with the
directive on parental leave, which recommends that:
Men should be encouraged to assume an equal share of family

responsibilities, for example they should be encouraged to take parental
leave by means such as awareness programmes.
But as far as education, abortion or reproductive rights are concerned

there are so far no binding rules that could effectively prevent introducing
ideology to school programmes or law. This sphere is controlled through
resolutions, guidelines and communication documents31. Effective
measures could be only taken in the cases of laws and actions affecting
30
See: the Constitution, article 91.2. The treaties referred to in this article are those
ratified upon prior consent granted by statute in matters of major importance
mentioned therein.
31
E.g.: Commission of the European Communities, Communication from the
Commission to the Council, the European Parliament, the European Economic and
Social Committee and the Committee of the Regions: A Roadmap for equality
between women and men, 2006-2010, COM(2006) 92 final, SEC(2006)275 (1
March 2006) at 1; Ministers on Gender Equality, Ministerial Declaration of the
Conference of Ministers of Gender Equality, 10th Anniversary of the Beijing
Platform for Action, Luxemburg (4 February 2005).
women’s working conditions. Even though all the Member States of the
European Union ratified the Convention against All Forms of
Discrimination against Women and adhered to the principles of the Beijing
Declaration and the Platform of Action, they still vary in their reproductive
health policies and gender mainstreaming strategies. Agreements within
the EU concerning reproductive health are not yet of a nature to create
specific reproductive health rights or the right to sex education.
Reproductive rights were recognized as necessary for achieving
development in developing countries and supporting the aid policies of the
European Union32. However, yet no legally binding commitment has been
achieved within the Member States themselves to recognize reproductive
rights as rights proper. No strong actions were taken against Poland
regarding the negative gender mainstreaming. The European Parliament
adopted a resolution condemning homophobia in Poland33 and in the same
resolution named Poland as a country of ‘growing intolerance stemming
from racism, xenophobia, anti-Semitism and homophobia’. The concerns
at the situation of European women however, that the organs of the
Community expressed mostly concerned labour market conditions.34 No
particular actions were taken or recommendations made in the context of
Poland.
As far as human rights are concerned, the best-developed system of
protection in which Poland participates is the system of the European
Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental
Freedoms. But in the judgments of the European Court on Human Rights,
states enjoy a wide margin of appreciation in matters of morality.35
Religion in particular is highly protected and considered to be a justified
ground for moral restrictions. In case of the conflict of two rights, one of
them being of a religious nature, it is often the religious right that is given
precedence. The Court has many times expressed the opinion that the
32
Regulation (EC) No 1567/2003 of the European Parliament and of the Council
of 15 July 2003 on aid for policies and actions on reproductive and sexual health
and rights in developing countries, Regulation (EC) No. 1567/2003, 15 July 2003,
OJ L224/1 (6 September 2003); ACP-EU Joint Parliamentary Assembly.
33
European Parliament resolution of 26.04. 2007 on homophobia in Europe,
P6_TA(2007)0167.
34
Report from the Commission to the Council, the European Parliament, the
European Economic and Social Committee and the Committee of the Regions on
equality between women and men– 2007, COM(2007)49, Brussels, 7.2.2007.
35
For more details on the judgments and rules in such cases see among others:
Case of Handyside v. United Kingdom (5493/72), Muller v. Switzerland
(10737/84), or Otto-Preminger-Institut v. Austria (A295-A).
states are closer to understanding the local conditions and thus they are
entitled to impose limitations necessary to protect morals and order. This
wide margin of appreciation is applied in cases such as abortion or
limitations concerning publishing or exposing materials of a sexual nature.
In the Open Door case the Court refused to examine if restrictive abortion
rights constitute a breach of the right of females for protection of their
private lives. The Court was satisfied with the violation of freedom to
receive information and did not find it necessary to deliberate on the
difficult issue of abortion as a right.
However, one case against Poland concerning the refusal of legally
allowed abortion was won before the Tribunal during the time of the
conservative coalition. The judgment concerned a situation which
occurred before their electoral victory. In their judgement the Tribunal
agreed with the complaint of A. Tysiac against Poland and affirmed that
the Polish system lacked an effective mechanism for securing her right to
privacy in the context of the decision whether she was entitled to a
therapeutic abortion. The Court acknowledged that the system did not
ensure that the right provided by Polish law would be practical and
effective and not only theoretical and illusory. The Court refused to
examine the question of whether the applicant was discriminated against in
her right to privacy on the ground of being a woman. Nor did the decision
construct the right to abortion on the basis of the right to privacy. The
judgment stated only that the applicant had no way to exercise effectively
her legal right to abortion, which Polish law theoretically granted her and
thus it infringed upon her right to privacy.
However, conservative politicians took that judgment as a decision
creating the right to abortion and the government appealed against the
decision of the Tribunal. The appeal was rejected and the judgment upheld
just a month before the elections ending the era of the conservative
coalition’s governance. The applicant was later a victim of stigmatization
by religious organizations such as the Committee for the Promotion of
Marriage, Family and Life supported by the Episcopate of Poland, which
distributed a protest appeal among believers to condemn the decision and
send a social protest to the Tribunal and the President of the Republic. In
their speeches, the priests compared the judges of the Tribunal to Josef
Mengele and Rudolf Hess.36
Complaints concerning situations occurring in Poland during the
conservative coalition are likely to be put before the Court especially on
36
“Nagonka na Alicje Tysiac” (Mocking Alicja Tysiac), Gazeta Wyborcza,
8.10.2007.
the basis of provisions on freedom of religion. However, their impact on

the general situation in the country will in all likelihood be limited for at
least two reasons. Firstly, even in the case of a violation, the judgment
concerns only the particular situation and not the entire legal system.
Secondly, the procedure before the Court is time-taking and the judgments
will be issued long after the conservative term in office.
The other international Convention ratified by Poland which should
protect the situation of women and prevent political attempts at
minimizing gender equality, is the Convention on the Elimination of All
Forms of Discrimination against Women. In February 2007 the Committee
on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women, in the monitoring
process of the implementation of the Convention, issued their Concluding
Comments on Poland’s report.
The report included numerous critical remarks, concerns and
recommendations. Among others the Committee regretted that the Polish
Parliament rejected comprehensive law on gender equality and abolished
the institution of the Plenipotentiary for Gender Equality. Moreover, the
Committee expressed their deepest concern at the persistence of deep-
rooted prejudice and stereotypical attitudes regarding the traditional
division of roles and responsibilities of women and men in the family and
in society and the lack of gender studies at the universities. Further, the
Committee urged Poland to ensure access to health care and strengthening
measures aimed at the prevention of unwanted pregnancies, including
extensive availability of contraceptives at an affordable price and
increasing knowledge and awareness about different methods of family
planning by, providing age-appropriate sex education as a part of
educational curricula. The Committee condemned the use of a conscience
clause for refusing legally allowed abortion. In addition, the Committee
recommended cooperation between the government and the NGO sector
promoting gender equality and requested wide dissemination of their
Concluding Comments in the country.
Such dissemination on wider scale never took place and the
Concluding Comments are available in Polish mainly on the portals of
non-governmental organizations and as one of many documents on the
official governmental page. The findings of the Committee were not
addressed and references to the right to abortion or widening access to
contraception were treated as an attack on Polish sovereignty and
tradition37.
37
Abp Michalik o zaleceniach ONZ: to hanba (Archbishop Michalik about UN
recommendation: it’s a scandal), Catholic Information Agency, KAI, 9.11.2004,
available at: http://ekai.pl/serwis/?MID=8511.
The abortion situation in Poland was also a subject of interest of the

UN Committee on Human Rights. The observations concerning the Polish
report submitted to the Committee in 2004 included advice on
liberalisation of abortion laws and practices. The Committee also
expressed concern at the high costs of contraceptives. These observations
concerned the period before the period of conservative government.
During the PiS-LPR-SO era none of the recommendations were taken into
consideration, but on the contrary, together with abortion recommendation,
they were criticized, rejected and portrayed as attack on religion, tradition,
Polish patriotism and the right to self-determination.
Conclusions
Catholic values have always been present in the political discourse in
Poland but only during the era of the conservative coalition of PiS-LPR-
SO did they become a part of official state policy propagated by the
authorities. In the speeches of leading politicians of conservative parties
women were portrayed as destined for different social roles than men and
gender studies and equality policy were even named ‘a danger of
demasculinisation’38. The programmes designed to turn back the wheel of
emancipation were long-term and subtle. Their aim was to shape the
society and make it believe that Catholic family values are the only
acceptable and morally correct model for a family. The belief that the
division of social roles between women and men is natural was included in
these programmes against the recommendations of the human rights
monitoring committees. Through stress on education, the mainstreaming
techniques started from early childhood and in all likelihood already
affected some young people. According to the report on sex education,
prepared by the ASTRA Network, an umbrella organization for
institutions promoting women’s rights in Central and Eastern Europe, over
40% of young Poles do not use modern methods of contraception and do
not know about the prevention of sexually transmitted diseases.
Instead of protecting gender equality, the law was a tool in the hands of
the ‘new moral revolutionaries’39. Avoidance of decisive action against
Poland was reached by careful mainstreaming and avoiding direct attacks
on international law areas which reached legally binding status, like
38
Giertych Maciej, Demasculinization of males, Opoka w kraju No 56, March
2006.
39
This term has been widely used in the Polish media. It is based on usage of the
term “moral revolution” by the leading politicians of PiS to describe the party’s
axiological postulates.
working life equality. In the case of recommendations, to be taken into

consideration by the state, the conservatives defended their actions by
portraying them as attacks on the essence of Polish sovereignty and thus
not legitimized. The aim of pushing females out of public and political life
could have been achieved step-by-step. This phenomenon left many
negative issues to be resolved in the future. The new government just
started shaping their programme and closed the Parliamentary Committee
for Family Matters and Women’s Rights. Hopefully, the office of the
Plenipotentiary will be re-established. The greatest challenge, however,
will be changing the deeply-rooted stereotypes, which were strengthened
during the conservative era.
This article shows how weak the legal protection is if governments
lack democratic commitment. Weak monitoring mechanisms of the
specialized international Conventions, avoiding direct solutions to
important “moral” problems and leaving a wide margin of appreciation for
the states or lack of decisive intervention within the European Union,
contributed to the deterioration of the position of women in Polish society.
Human rights and the rule of law can be enforced mainly on the national
level. If the Constitution and the national law are manipulated, the rights
of citizens and maintaining democratic principles can easily be
endangered. International law is not yet an efficient safeguard against such
situations and it can be easily undermined by governments who do not
adhere to internationally recognized standards.
Bibilography
Polish Law
Konstytucja Rzeczypospolitej Polskiej [The Constitution of the Republic
of Poland], 2.04.1997, Dziennik Ustaw No 78, item 483.
Kodeks Pracy ze zmianami [The Labour Code with amendments],
26.06.1974, Dziennik Ustaw 1998, No 21, item 94 and further.
Ustawa o systemie oswiaty ze zmianami [Law on the system of education
with amendments], 7.09.1991, Dziennik Ustaw No 173, item 1808.
Ustawa o zmianie ustawy o świadczeniach rodzinnych [Law on
amendment of law on family social benefits] 29.12.2005 Dziennik
Ustaw No 267, item 2260.
International Law References

Case of Handyside v. United Kingdom (5493/72).
Case of Muller v. Switzerland (10737/84).

Case of Open Door and Dublin Well Woman v. Ireland, (Application no.
14234/88; 14235/88).
Case of Otto-Preminger-Institut v. Austria (A295-A).
Case of Tysiąc v. Poland, (Application no. 5410/03).
Commission of the European Communities, Communication from the
Commission to the Council, the European Parliament, the European
Economic and Social Committee and the Committee of the Regions: A
Roadmap for Equality Between Women and Men, 2006-2010,
COM(2006) 92 final, SEC(2006)275 (1 March 2006) at 1; Ministers on
Gender Equality, Ministerial Declaration of the Conference of
Ministers of Gender Equality, 10th Anniversary of the Beijing
Platform for Action, Luxemburg (4 February 2005).
Directive 2006/54/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 5
July 2006 on the implementation of the principle of equal opportunities
and equal treatment of men and women in matters of employment and
occupation.
Council Directive 2004/113/EC of 13 December 2004 implementing the
principle of equal treatment between men and women in the access to
and supply of goods and services.
Directive 2002/73/EC of the European Parliament and of the Council of 23
September 2002 amending Council Directive 76/207/EEC on the
implementation of the principle of equal treatment for men and women
as regards access to employment, vocational training and promotion,
and working conditions.
Council Directive 96/34/EC of 3 June 1996 on the framework agreement
on parental leave concluded by UNICE, CEEP and the ETUC:
Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women, 15.01-
2.02. 007, Concluding comments of the Committee on the Elimination
of Discrimination against Women: Poland.
European Parliament resolution of 26.04. 2007 on homophobia in Europe,
P6_TA(2007)0167.
Human Rights Committee, 13.01.2004, Consideration of Reports
submitted by States Parties, Fifth periodic report: Poland.
Regulation (EC) No 1567/2003 of the European Parliament and of the
Council of 15 July 2003 on aid for policies and actions on reproductive
and sexual health and rights in developing countries, Regulation (EC)
No. 1567/2003, 15 July 2003, OJ L224/1 (6 September 2003); ACP-
EU Joint Parliamentary Assembly.
Report from the Commission to the Council, the European Parliament, the
European Economic and Social Committee and the Committee of the
Regions on equality between women and men – 2007, COM(2007)49,

Brussels, 7.2.2007.
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[The Constitution of the Republic of Poland – Project of Prawo I
Sprawiedliwosc], Dokumenty Programowe Prawa I Sprawiedliwosci
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Church –SAC]
EUROPEAN CITIZENSHIP IN THE CONTEXT
OF GENDER EQUALITY LEGISLATION
IN EASTERN EUROPEAN COUNTRIES:
THE CASE OF CROATIA
SNJEZANA VASILJEVIC
Introduction
The recognition of European citizenship by the Maastricht Treaty
introduced a novel legal institution into the European construction,
hitherto unknown in international law. However, in its current form, it
offers a very limited list of rights. Nevertheless the possible development
of the concept of European citizenship, founded on the recognition of the
fundamental right of equality between the sexes and general parity, has the
potential to act as a powerful tool for democratic change, to benefit
women and European society in general. The paper provides an
opportunity to discuss the issue of citizenship, gender justice and the
problematic nature of the concept of European citizenship in the context of
legal norms protecting sex equality. The implications of European
citizenship in the context of sex equality legislation in the Eastern
European legal framework will be explained in the case of Croatia.
Different approaches and criticism could be seen from the perspective
of fundamental rights enhanced in the basic European Union legislation.
All aspects lead to the same conclusion: a human rights component is
missing from the current concept, and the scope of fundamental rights is
rather limited in the existing EU legislation. Until recently, fundamental
rights were neglected and invisible at the level of the EU. Market
freedoms and market integration have been crucial in the discussions and
legal documents of the Union. Free movement of people opened up a place
for new debates on the concept of European citizenship and human rights
issues. Even though the concept has a lot of positive implications of that
concept, there are still open questions that lead us to further discussion on
the credibility of the concept first introduced by the Maastricht Treaty
450 European Citizenship in the Context of Gender Equality Legislation
in Eastern European Countries
(1992). This concept has been subjected to criticism over the past few
years. Despite the fact that many European legal scholars (Meehan, 1993;
Everson, 1996; Shaw, 1997; Kostakopoulou, 1998; De Burca, 2002) have
concluded that the concept as such is rather plastic and empty, more
research is needed to detect gaps and offer a possible solution to this
problematic issue.1
Lastly, the equality law recently became a cornerstone of Union
politics. This is especially apparent in the politics in respect of the
candidate and accession countries, who are obliged to follow certain
equality standards in order to meet the conditions for the membership in
the Union.
The Concept of Citizenship from a Gender Perspective

Since the late 1970s there has been a significant growth in theoretical
and empirical work in fields related to gender, law, citizenship and rights.
This work has proceeded together with efforts by women's movements
worldwide to advance programmes of reform aimed at securing gender
equality in the spheres of law, politics and social rights. While there are
many shared analytical concerns and common themes in this growing
international corpus, there are also noticeable regional differences in
theoretical orientation and empirical focus which reflect regional
specificities. To some degree, research priorities are shaped by the
prevailing political and policy climate of the region or country under
study, and the analysis of legal processes requires due appreciation of the
situated nature of justice. In recent years, debates over women's rights
have become more intensely regionalised, demanding closer scrutiny of
the particular context within which they are framed and fought for. In what
follows, the focus will be on the ways in which the Eastern European
views on gender equality and citizenship rights in the case of Croatia have
contributed to the advancement of gender justice. In recent decades there
has been remarkable progress across the region in women's rights.
However, this must be understood as emanating from the context of a
particularly favourable opportunity: although this gave momentum to the
reform process, it also imposed definite limits on its advance.
Gender justice and the meaning of citizenship are situated, or context-
dependent, because the cultural, political or institutional context defines
strategic priorities and sets limits to what can be done to advance gender
1
Antje Wiener. European Citizenship Practice: Building Institutions of a Non-
State (London: Westview Press 1998).
Snjezana Vasiljevic 451
justice. Citizenship has its origins in Western liberal political philosophy.

However, it is a concept that has become more pluralised as its meaning
has been contested and to some extent radicalised by social movements,
legal pluralists and democratic theorists. Today there is greater recognition
of the significant variations in what ‘really existing citizenship’ entails—
both in terms of the rights it confers on citizens and the meaning it has for
those it inscribes. Seen in this way, citizenship is simply the legal
foundation of social membership and, given variations in law, custom,
and, most critically, gender formations, the meaning of citizenship and the
rights it signifies are to some degree variable.
The meaning of citizenship for women can be defined in three main
ways: first, the rights and responsibilities that citizenship entails are
specified within a particular legal tradition and guaranteed by a particular
state form. Whether this can be defined by religious doctrine or variations
of secular liberalism, the implications for gender relations are clearly far
reaching. Second, citizenship signifies social and political membership of
a nation state and makes claims on loyalty and identity within a set of
specific cultural understandings in which ideas of womanhood are often
central. Third, within political practice, struggles for citizenship rights are
played out within different political discourses and opportunity contexts.
The variability of each has implications for how gender issues are framed,
and affects the degree to which women can participate and the manner in
which they do so—as in the case of collective rights, which impose limits
on women's individual rights.2
Citizenship ‘constructs the subject of law’ (Collier Maurer and Suarez-
Navaz 1995) in a particular state3, where the subjects of the state are
defined through legal processes that specify the rights, entitlements, and
obligations of people in relation to each other and to the state in which
they live (Lister 1997).4 Citizenship describes the terms and conditions
and benefits of membership of a political community. For women,
membership of such a community—even on the basis of the idealised and
rarely realised liberal notions of citizenship rooted in equal individual
rights—does not guarantee gender justice. But this formal membership is
2
Maxine Molyneux, Refiguring Citizenship: Research Perspectives on Gender
Justice in the Latin America and Caribbean Region, 2007.
http://www.idrc.ca/en/ev-111813-201-1-DO_TOPIC.html (accessed January 7,
2008).
3
Jane F. Collier, Bill Maurer and Liliana Suarez-Navaz,. “Sanctioned Identities:
Legal Constructions of Modern Personhood”, Identities 2 (1995): 1–27.
4
Ruth Lister, Citizenship: Feminist Perspectives. (New York/Basingstoke: New
York University Press/Macmillan 1997), 29.
an indispensable part of the struggle to attain gender justice. A definition

of gender justice is given by Anne Marie Goetz who argues that
gender justice can be defined as the ending of inequalities between women

and men that result in women's subordination to men. These inequalities
may be in the distribution of resources and opportunities that enable
individuals to build human, social, economic, and political capital. Or, they
may be in the conceptions of human dignity, personal autonomy and rights
that deny women physical integrity and the capacity to make choices about
how to live their lives. As an outcome, gender justice implies access to and
control over resources, combined with agency. In this sense it does not
differ from many definitions of 'women's empowerment. But gender justice
as a process brings an additional essential element: accountability. Gender
justice requires that women are able to ensure that power-holders—
whether in the household, the community, the market, or the state—can be
held to account so that actions that limit, on the grounds of gender,
women's access to resources or capacity to make choices, are prevented or
punished. The term ‘women's empowerment’ is often used interchangeably
with ‘gender justice’, but gender justice adds an element of redress and
restitution that is not always present in discussions of women's
empowerment.5
Around the world it has been the universal language of citizenship that
has provided socially excluded groups with a lever to demand inclusion
and their fair share of public resources and social recognition. What has
been promised to 'all men' in formal constructions of citizenship cannot be
denied to women—or to ethnic or racial minorities—without exposing
flagrant social discrimination on the part of formal legislators. The
majority of states currently grant women more or less fully equal
citizenship rights with men, at least on the paper upon which their
constitutions are written. However, the achievement of gender justice on
the basis of claiming these rights seems to be a practical impossibility for
women. In order to understand why this is so, we need to understand how
authority and justice systems in states actually work, as opposed to the
idealised version taught in civics classes. This means recognising that in
recently-constituted states, as well as in weak states traumatised by
conflict or economic collapse, the public sector’s dominance as a legislator
and rights-guarantor is far from established. In fact, it competes with many
other sources of social power and dispute adjudication that are far more
5
Anne Marie Goetz. Gender Justice, Citizenship and Entitlements: Core Concepts,
Central Debates and New Directions for Research, 2006.
2008).
meaningful and legitimate to participants than is the distant modern public

authority.6 We need to understand how these ‘acknowledged’ communities
(Kabeer 2002), as opposed to the only weakly ‘imagined’ community of
the state, not only limit the capacities of women to claim their rights, but
also deny the legitimacy of constitutional notions of equal rights—even
where women claim those rights.7 These older, more established systems
of social organisation deny the state any remit in matters relating to
injustices between women and men. They also profoundly penetrate state
institutions by supplying powerful informal norms and prejudices in the
decisions of state actors. These norms and the behaviours they endorse
make state agencies and actors at best reluctant advocates of women's
rights, and sometimes even direct perpetrators of gender-based injustices.
In response to the limited penetration and legitimacy of notions of
citizenship based on equal rights before the law, a variety of practical
responses have been proposed in order to challenge tyrannical traditional
social relations. According to Anne Marie Goetz, there are possible three
responses: positive engagement with legal pluralism, interpreting
customary law in the light of international human rights norms and
activation of claims to citizenship rights through collective action.8 An
engagement with legal pluralism represents a pragmatic engagement with
the real ‘legal worlds’ of women (Mani, 1992), for whom formal law may
be inaccessible due to financial and mobility constraints, and may not in
any case be recognized as legitimate by women themselves or their
communities.9 The emphasis is on identifying and building upon those
aspects of customary law and practice that accord women rights over
resources. The most convincing case for this has been made in relation to
land use rights in African communities, where customary practice accords
women significant access to and control over clan controlled land
6
This issue is discussed in detail in the book Mukhopadhyay, Maitrayee and
Singh, Navshapan. 2007. Gender Justice, Citizenship & Development. New Delhi:
Zubaan/IDRC.
7
,Naila Kabeer, “Citizenship and the Boundaries of the Acknowledged
Community: Identity, Affiliation and Exclusion”, IDS Working Paper 171.
Brighton: Institute of Development Studies 2002.
8
Anne Marie Goetz. Gender Justice, Citizenship and Entitlements: Core Concepts,
Central Debates and New Directions for Research, 2006.
2008), 3.
9
Lata Mani. “Multiple Mediations: Feminist Scholarship in the Age of
Multinational Reception” in Knowing Women: Feminism and Knowledge, ed.
Helen Crowley and Susan Himmelweit (Cambridge, England, Polity Press in
Association with the Open University 1992).
(Nyamu-Musembi 2002).10 If we take into consideration the issue of

interpretation of customary law in the light of international human rights
norms, we can take as an example the issue of progressive interpretations
of Islam defended by the feminist human rights lawyer Shirin Ebadi in
Iran, winner of the 2003 Nobel Peace Prize, who has defended, through
her legal practice in Iran, progressive interpretations of Islam that award
women substantial rights in relation to men, and has attempted to revise
Islamic jurisprudence by exposing some of its inconsistencies.11 For
instance, she points out that a father is liable to a harsh punishment if he
assists his wife in obtaining an abortion, yet should that same father kill
his own fourteen-year-old child, he will face only a monetary fine. Nine-
year-old girls and fifteen-year-old boys are prosecuted as adults for certain
crimes, yet not deemed to have the agency to travel without parental
consent. In exposing such contradictions, Ebadi appeals to the rationality
and humanity of Islamic clerics and lawmakers, and has had some success
with more progressive figures in government. Her strategy is also to
expose the politics that underwrite appeals to religion as the justification
for male authority, and much other chicanery besides.
The last point that should be stressed is the issue of activation of
claims to citizenship rights through collective action. Struggles to make
public service provision more responsive to the needs of the poor, as
opposed to those who offer the highest bribes or who are connected to
service providers by virtue of clan, class or skin are important examples of
efforts to strengthen citizenship rights. By asserting rights to decent
standards of education, health care, local infrastructure and the like, people
who have been neglected by the public service delivery system are
engaging directly in a struggle over the proper entitlements of citizens and
the responsibilities of the public sector to guarantee them.
10
Celestine Nyamu-Musembi “Are Local Norms and Practices Fences or
Pathways? The Example of Women's Property Rights”, in Cultural
Transformation and Human Rights in Africa, ed. Abdullahi A. An-Na'im (New
York, Zed Books Ltd 2002).
11
Shirin Ebadi, a 56-year-old lawyer and human rights activist has become Iran's
first Nobel Peace Prize winner, third Muslim and 11th woman to win peace prize.
“Any person who pursues human rights in Iran must live with fear from birth to
death, but I have learned to overcome my fear”, Shirin Ebadi, interview 1999,
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/3181992.stm (accessed February 2, 2008).
Implication of European Citizenship for Gender Equality

The European Union has long faced a problem: as the Community has
shifted from common market to Union, with certain attributes of a state, it
needs a people who are its members, who identify with its objectives, and
with whom it has a relationship. The principle of citizenship introduced by
the Maastricht Treaty was intended to create this link between nationals of
the Member States and the European Union (Barnard, 1999).12 Even
though the first intention of the Maastricht Treaty was to create a link
between nationals of the Member States and the Union, since then a little
has been done to bring citizens closer to the EU. Citizenship of the Union
does not replace the citizenship of a Member State. Instead, it has evoked
multiple identities as citizenship practice involved a growing number of
target groups, such as workers, wage earners, students etc. and created
access to certain social rights, new voting rights, a ‘European’ Passport,
changed rules of border crossing and practices that would contribute to
create a feeling of belonging.
The rights and duties listed in the Amsterdam Treaty are simply not
enough to obtain full membership in the Union. Let me support this
argument by quoting Marshall, who argued that
citizenship involves full membership of the community which has gradually

been achieved through the historical development of rights, starting with civil
rights (basic freedoms from state interference), political rights (such as
electoral rights) and, most recently, social rights, including rights to health
care, unemployment insurance and old age pensions – the rudiments of a
welfare state.13
Yet, the Marshallian approach to citizenship, as Fredman claims, is on one

level full of promise for women. The recognition that civil and political
rights are illusory without social rights is particularly appropriate for
women. Moreover, it inevitably legitimates a positive interventionist state,
which is permitted to treat its citizens differently according to their
different needs. Moreover, since a European citizen is defined as one
holding the nationality of a Member State, the concept as such is
12
Catherine Barnard. “Article 13: Through the Looking Glass of Union
Citizenship”, in Legal Issues of the Amsterdam Treaty, David O’Keeffe and Peter
Twomey (New York: Wiley. 1999), 375.
13
Thomas H. Marshall, Citizenship and Social Clas. (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press 1950).
exclusionary. The concept excludes a priori third-country nationals.14

Among third-country nationals, women constitute the most vulnerable
group. That topic has been thoroughly explored in the literature.15
Since the list of citizenship rights contained in the Treaty is rather poor
and very limited, the concept as such is questionable. However, Article 13
of the Amsterdam Treaty was designed to foster citizenship of the Union. I
would agree with Barnard who says that ‘depending on the nature of the
legislation adopted, Article 13 has an important role to play in this
evolutionary process, where the emerging concept of citizenship is
complex and multi-faceted, involving relationships between individuals,
their own and other States and the Union.’ She also argues that legislation
alone is not enough:16
Here lies a further paradox: rights intended to foster a commitment to the

Union are actually being exercised against the Member States. This
highlights the complex nature of citizenship – it is multi-tiered, and these
17
different tiers are reflected in the very definition of citizenship.
The issues of gender equality and European citizenship have been

thoroughly discussed in the legal literature (Shaw, 1997; Everson, 2000;
Hervey, 2000; Beveridge, 2000; De Burca, 2003). The question of women
and citizenship of the European Union initially seems to be a simple one
of whether the new Union citizenship is constructed to ensure that women,
as well as men, will be fully included within Europe, and that they too will
have their say in the democratic governance of the Union. Such simplicity
notwithstanding, two immediate and complementary problems nevertheless
arise.18 According to Everson, first, even the most vociferous supporters of
contemporary liberalism have come to accept that their traditional version
of constitutional citizenship has failed to fully include women within
14
This link between citizenship and nationality has prompted the criticism that the
concept of citizenship is exclusionary: citizenship rights are for those who belong
and not for outsiders. Thus, citizenship is defined in terms of the statist concept of
nationality which starkly draws the line between those who are included and
benefit from the (albeit limited) rights of citizenship and those, in particular legally
resident third-country nationals, who are excluded. Barnard, supra n. 2 at 383.
15
Theodora Kostakopoulou “European citizenship and immigration after
Amsterdam” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 24(4) (1998): 639-656.
16
Barnard 1999. Supra n. 2 at 379.
17
Barnard 1999. Supra n. 2 at 384.
18
Michelle Everson, “Women and Citizenship of the European Union” in Sex
Equality in the European Union, ed. Tamara K. Hervey and David O’Keeffe.
(Chichester: Wiley 1996).
modern society.19 Following this argument, I would agree with Fredman,

who argues that legal systems throughout the centuries have treated
women as subordinate to men. It is only in recent times that women have
been granted equal rights with men; explicit anti-discrimination statues are
still more recent.20 Yet even now, women remain substantially
disadvantaged, in the workplace, in political life, and in the home. Second,
the merest glance at the limited catalogue of individual rights found in the
Treaties of Rome and the European Union reveals that Union citizenship is
not the fully-fledged civil, social and political citizenship historically
associated with the constitutions of Nation States. It is quite obvious in the
Treaty itself that nationality of a Member State is a prerequisite to the
exercise of the majority of the rights available. This approach could be
dangerous, because it may leave some gaps in the field of EU anti-
discrimination legislation. In my view, there is a need to strengthen
citizenship rights in this current shape defined by the Amsterdam Treaty.
Shaw introduced two proposals for strengthening citizenship rights:
first, the proposal to introduce a general non-discrimination clause going
beyond the range of factors covered by EC law at present (gender and EU
nationality), and also extending to race, religion, other nationalities,
sexuality, age and other relevant factors; and second, the suggestion that
citizens should be given some form of ‘right to open government’ which
goes beyond the rather vague notions of transparency and closeness’.
These two aspects, in Shaw’s view, aptly illustrate the tensions inherent in
citizenship itself.21 Concerning the first point, I would definitely argue for
the introduction of a general non-discrimination clause. This is certainly
needed if we want to cover all different types of discrimination. Specific
legislation in such a huge area has not been proven to be sufficient.
Moreover, it leaves possible gaps, which result in even greater
discrimination. The question that comes to my mind, having considered
the concept of European citizenship and general prohibition of
discrimination, is what would happen if Member States had adopted in the
Amsterdam Treaty a general clause prohibiting discrimination? Shaw
argues that if the Member States had adopted in the Amsterdam Treaty a
general clause prohibiting discrimination, and leaving the courts wide
discretion in the interpretation and enforcement of that clause, they would
have been following the lead taken at state level in terms of the process of
19
Everson 1996. supra n. 18 at 5.
20
Sandra Fredman, Women and the Law (Oxford: Clarendon Press 1997).
21
Jo Shaw, “European Union Citizenship: the IGC and Beyond”, European Public
Law, 61(3): (1997) :293-317.
constitution-building by Canada and South Africa, among other countries

in recent years.22
Following the other argument, there is certainly a concern that the
concept of European citizenship introduced by the Maastricht Treaty does
not offer very much, even in terms of protection of political rights. The
weaknesses of the concept become most apparent here because the whole
concept revolves solely around political rights. For instance, De Oliveira
emphasizes that rights of political participation are weak, whilst social
rights are evidently non-existent.23 It must be stressed that the whole
problem of European citizenship is not only the problem of which rights
are incorporated or omitted from the concept; there is a more serious and
significant namely a lack of an adequate human rights policy. Weiler
argues:
The real problem of the Community is the absence of a human rights

policy with everything this entails: a Commissioner, a Directorate-General
(DG), a budget and a horizontal action plan for making effective those
rights already granted by the treaties and judicially protected by the various
levels of European courts. Most of those whose rights are violated have
neither the knowledge nor the means to seek judicial vindication. The
Union does not need more rights on its list or more lists of rights. What are
mostly needed are programmes and agencies to makes rights real, not
simply negative interdictions which courts can enforce.24
Looking at the concepts of European citizenship and equal

opportunities incorporated into the Treaty of Amsterdam, one could ask
what these two concepts actually offer women. In the context of sex
discrimination, the EC has adopted and ‘equal opportunities model’ which
is based on sex equality. The other side of the coin is a problematic nature
of the European citizenship concept. This leads us to two main
observations given by Jo Shaw. In the first place, Shaw claims that there is
an urgent need for gender to be inserted as a category of analysis into areas
of EC law, outside the domain of sex equality and rights to non-
22
Shaw 1997. Supra n. 21 at 294.
23
Hans D’Oliveira, “Citizenship: Its Meaning, Its Potential”, in Europe After
Maastricht: An Ever Closer Union?, ed. Renaud Dehousse, 126-148. “The political
dimension of EU citizenship is underdeveloped.’ The instruments for participation
in the public life of the Union are lacking as this public life itself, as distinguished
from the public life in the Member States, is virtually non-existent: a weak
Parliament, next to no direct access to the European Courts, and so forth.
24
Joseph H. Weiler, “A Constitution for Europe? Some Hard Choices.” Journal of
Common Market Studies, 4: (2002) : 563-580.
discrimination. The second one refers to the fact that women are not yet –
and perhaps may never be – full citizens of the European Union.25
Consequently, there is a legitimate question whether the citizenship
chapter should be broadened or whether it would be better to broaden the
definition of citizenship. From my perspective, simply adding a broader
definition will not achieve any improvement. On the other hand, adding
more rights to the list could have a negative effect in terms of
diminishing/curtailing rights that already exist. This problem deserves
special attention in the literature and more research is still needed in order
to provide possible solutions.
Are Women Going to Achieve Full Citizenship Rights?

The Example of Croatia
Enlargement of the European Union involves a unique and complex
process through which the external becomes internal so that the
characteristics and priorities of new Member States become integral to the
evolution of political cultures and policy priorities at the EU level.26 The
proposed Eastern enlargement, to include countries undergoing fundamental
and unprecedented transition, raises many questions concerning the EU’s
capacity to absorb new members while also maintaining commitment to
established principles. At this point, there is great concern with the ability
of an enlarged EU to maintain and consolidate its commitment to the
principle of gender equality.27 Most feminist authors argue that the
citizenship approach opens a gender-sensitive perspective on the transition
process in Eastern and Central Europe.
Gender issues are considered in the accession period primarily, but not
exclusively, in the context of the third Copenhagen criterion, concerning
readiness for membership. One major criticism is that gender has not been
‘mainstreamed’ within the accession process, but confined to the
legislation and other measures on equal opportunities between men and
women. The prime focus of the acquis here - elimination of sex
discrimination in employment, requiring legislation on equal treatment in
employment and occupation, social security, occupational social security
schemes, parental leave, and protection of pregnant women, women who
have recently given birth and women who are breastfeeding. Sexual
25
Shaw 1996, 299.
26
Charlotte.Bretherton, Gender Mainstreaming and EU Enlargement: swimming
against the tide? Journal of European Public Policy 8 (2001), 60-81.
27
Bretherton 2001. Supra n. 26 at 61.
harassment at the workplace, the protection of part-time employees and

the burden of proof in discrimination proceedings are also included.28
Gender equality legislation in CEE countries nowadays recognised as
Member States does not offer much in terms of adjusting national legal
systems to the EU law. The basic goal of these countries is to become an
equal partner on the European market place. Therefore I argue about how
citizens of those countries will be placed on an equal position in the
European market place, and how they will be included in free movement,
if they are not treated equally in their countries. Will they be then equally
treated as European citizens in all Member States? How to equalise the
starting points of those who are now treated as third-country nationals and
should be treated in the near future as European Union citizens? How will
their rights be protected in the transitional period? 29
Eastern European countries have created gender equality norms aiming
at promoting equal opportunities for men and women which in practice do
not offer much for their citizens. They can be described as “gender-
sensitive” norms but are only gender-sensitive in terms of offering a
general framework for action combating gender discrimination.
Unfortunately, they offer nothing more. One of the biggest gaps in the
existing legislation of former and current accession countries is the lack of
emphasis on the protection of individual rights. Women’s rights are
recognised as group rights and the legal protection is justified as an
28
,Fiona Beveridge, Sue Nott and, Kylie Stephen, “Making Women Count in the
United Kingdom”, in Making Women Count: Integrating gender into law and
policy-making, ed. Fiona Beveridge, Sue Nott, and Kylie Stephen (Darmouth:
Ashgate, 2000).
29
It is important to emphasize that with inauguration of democracy and the rule of
law in post-socialist countries, the opinion that a liberal-democratic political
system, in combination with a market economy, stands for sufficient guarantee of
individual prosperity and political equality prevailed in public political debates and
among the majority of social scientists. As a result the liberal capitalist concept of
freedom prevailed as the model of ‘citizenship’. New democracies have only paid
limited or no attention to the principle of the inclusion of new actors and agendas
in the new and changed political environment so as to enable the participation of
individuals who are outside traditional political institutions. An over-narrow
definition of the ‘political’ has blocked initiatives for a greater level of political
participation on the part of women in post-socialist systems. Accordingly, demands
for the introduction of mechanisms that would ensure the equal participation of
women were often understood as illegitimate and unacceptable., Vlasta Jalusic,
and Milica Antic, Women – Politics – Equal Opportunities: Prospects for Gender
Equality Politics in Central and Eastern Europe (Ljubljana: Peace Institute 2001),
11-12.
improvement in the protection of ‘minority group’ rights. However, the

strongest objection to this conclusion is that women do not represent a
minority. They are citizens, the same as men, equal in their rights and
duties. The purpose of gender-sensitive legislation is not supposed to
promote women’s rights only, but the rights of all citizens equally.
Women’s rights protection is another side of the coin, and as such
deserves a special place and special attention. Moreover, equal treatment
does not always necessarily refer to equal treatment between men and
women. For example, requirements and conditions for obtaining
citizenship of the member state have not yet been harmonised. Such a
differentiated position arises by virtue of divergences within the various
concepts of citizenship found in the Member States. Therefore, certain
women in Europe will be better placed to exercise their rights of Union
citizenship than others. In other words, this fact determines that some
European women may already possess generally a greater degree of
freedom of choice and might thus have a generally greater capacity to
exercise their rights than others.30 Even though equal opportunities politics
as a reform politics has a long tradition in Western Europe, Scandinavia,
North America and Australia, it would be possible to argue that the
formerly socialist countries of Central and Eastern Europe did have some
policies and mechanisms designed to promote women, but most of them
lost legitimacy with the fall of the communist system, with only the
groundwork for these mechanisms lingering today.31
The lack of full understanding of the basic concepts of equality,
compounded by misinterpretations of their meaning, neglecting the case
law of the European Court of Justice, has led to the creation of a gender
equality legislation in the CEE full of gaps and definitions, often literally
adopted from the EU legislation. The possible consequence of such
meaning is non-implementation of recently adopted norms of gender
equality because the judges and national mechanisms responsible for their
implementation will not know how to apply certain rules. This leads us to
the classic conclusion that due to failure to understand basic norms they
usually remain only on paper and are never used in practice. The logical
30
Everson 1996. Supra n. 8 at 17.
31
“Equal opportunities politics can be defined as a politics or endeavour to
introduce measures that could diminish structurally conditioned discrimination
against some social group – in this case women; these measures may pertain to
various areas, such as employment, public and political participation and
education, and/or may endeavour to change inadequate legislation that incorporates
the elements of institutionalised and structural discrimination.” Everson 1996,
Supra n. 18 at 16.
question here would be why we adopted rules which are never going to be
applied? How much Eastern European countries, in terms of promoting
gender equality, lag behind other Member States I will illustrate in the
following text with a comparison between the United Kingdom and
Croatia.
The Republic of Croatia has made a certain advance in the regulation
of the equality between men and women at a legislative level. The
Croatian Constitution Article 3 guarantees that ‘gender equality is one of
the supreme values of the Croatian constitutional order’.32 Article 14 of the
Constitution guarantees rights and freedoms to everyone regardless of sex.
Today, Croatia has a Gender Equality Act (GEA)33, adopted by the
parliament in July 2003. After recent parliamentary elections held in
November 2007, the Croatian Constitutional Court abolished the Gender
Equality Act but the Constitutional court decision was published in
January 2008. The main reason behind this decision is the fact that the
GEA was adopted without a qualified majority of votes by all members of
parliament provided for by the Croatian Constitution, which is obligatory
for all pieces of legislation considering fundamental rights. Despite this,
the GEA has until recently been considered an applicable law.34 In July
2008 the Croatian Parliament adopted the ‘new’ Gender Equality Act,
which is more precise than the ‘old’ one and completely harmonised with
the EU law. In the meantime, the draft of a general anti-discrimination law
has been prepared and the Croatian Parliament in July 2008 also adopted
Law on suppression of all forms of discrimination.
Before adopting the ‘first’ GEA, Croatia had only constitutional
provisions protecting gender equality. The Croatian government established
a Committee for Equality in spring 1996. The Committee was originally
established to fulfil the government’s obligation as signatory to certain
treaties and under pressure from the international community. Its role is
still not clear, although one thing that is noticeable in its name is that it
does not mention gender equality - nor has there to our knowledge been
any attempt by the Committee to properly define gender equality. The
Croatian Government also established the Committee for Gender Equality
in 2001. The parliament adopted the national programme promoting
equality between men and women for the period 2001-2005. This
programme opens three areas for promoting equality: family, workplace
and society. The national programme also opened up a space for the
32
The Constitution of the Republic of Croatia, Official Gazette 41/01.
33
Gender Equality Act, Official Gazette 116/03 and 82/08.
34
GEA is nullified on 16 January 2008 by the Croatian Constitutional Court,
Decision U-I / 2696 / 2003. Available at: http://www.usud.hr/.
introduction of a gender mainstreaming policy into Croatian society. The

Gender Equality Act is a product of achievements in harmonising the
legislation with EU law as a requirement under the Stabilisation and
Association Agreement (SAA) Croatia signed in 2001. Since then Croatia
has done a lot in the field of gender equality as one of the areas important
for Croatian accession to the EU. Moreover, most of the norms
incorporated into this Act were taken from EU Directive 2002/73/EC on
equal treatment that set up an obligation for all Member States to fulfil the
conditions enacted by this Directive. The Directive also imposes an
obligation on all Member States to harmonise the legislation in the field of
gender equality by 5 October 2005. Certain positive aspects are introduced
by this Act. For instance the Act, for the first time in Croatian legislation
introduces the concepts of direct and indirect discrimination. Moreover,
there is a definition of discrimination based on sex taken from the UN
Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against
Women (CEDAW).35 One of the most important provisions in this Act is
the one that forbids harassment and sexual harassment. The definition of
harassment and sexual harassment are extracted from the EU directives
and the American literature. The Act recognises two forms of sexual
harassment, quid pro quo and hostile environment. What is more
significant is that Croatian Labour Law in its recent amendments, adopted
in 200336 has also incorporated a definition of sexual harassment and bans
sexual harassment at the workplace. The employer is responsible for
protecting victims of sexual harassment at the workplace and ensuring an
environment free from sexual harassment. If the employer fails to do so,
he or she will be responsible for damage. According to the GEA and
requirements set by the EU secondary legislation, the burden of proof is on
the employer in all cases of sexual discrimination, if the employee presents
facts that employer acted against the provisions of the GEA. In the light of
protection the underrepresented sex, the Act enables the appliance of
positive measures (positive action, affirmative action) in all areas,
especially concerning political rights of women and application of quotas.
This is not an obligation that derives from European sex equality
directives but from European Court of Justice practice. Positive measures
(the CEDAW uses the expression ‘special temporary measures’) are
widely accepted in the legislation of Member States, under the influence of
35
UN Convention on Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women,
entered into force 1981. Croatia has been a state party of the Convention from
1991. Croatia also signed the Optional Protocol to the Convention in 2000, Official
Gazette, International Agreements 04/01.
36
Amendments to the Croatian Labour Law, Official Gazette 114/03.
ECJ practice. It is important to note that the amendments to the Croatian

Labour Act of 2001 introduced a provision concerning positive
discrimination. Unfortunately, two years later these provisions were
abolished because they proved to be inefficient. It is interesting from the
legal point of view how someone could claim inefficiency of some
particular legal norm after only two years of that norm entering into force.
Today, no provision regarding sexual harassment exists in criminal law
either. The provisions of the Criminal Law define sexual abuse and do not
make any distinction between abuse and harassment. What is positive is
that in some firms there is a trend towards putting rules about sexual
harassment into the collective agreements because of the increasing
number of complaints from individuals (mainly women) that they had
been exposed to some form or other of sexual harassment at the
workplace. This is in line with the Rules of the Commission of 1991 on
practical measures for suppressing sexual harassment of 1991, and with
the Commission’s Recommendation concerning the protection of the
dignity of men and women at work.37 Although these are not obligatory,
states applying for EU membership are bound to follow them in the
process of harmonising the national legislation with EU law. Croatia, too,
took on this obligation when it signed the SAA.38 The Republic of Croatia
also committed itself to respect the norms of international law, and this
obligation derives from the constitutional provision according to which
international laws that have been ratified and published are ipso facto a
part of the internal legal system. Bearing in mind the criteria for the
protection of human rights, it is certainly noteworthy that in Croatia both
direct and indirect discrimination on grounds of gender and sexual
orientation are forbidden. The Croatian Gender Equality Act also
guarantees equality of men and women in all areas, particular with respect
to employment, work, pay, promotion and further training; equal pay for
equal work, or work of equal value; the equality of men and women in the
area of social security; application of affirmative action; freedom of sexual
orientation; and court protection and damages in all cases of violation of
the right to equality between the sexes.
The aim in including provisions about equality between men and
women in the Croatian legal framework was to introduce standards for the
identification of various forms of discrimination with respect to gender
37
Recommendation on the Protection of the Dignity of Women and Men at Work
(92/131/EEC of 27 November 1991) and Code of Conduct meant to Combat
Sexual Harassment, OJ L 49 of 24 February 1992.
38
Stabilisation and Association Agreement of the Republic of Croatia, Official
Gazette, International Agreements, no. 15/2001.
and sexual preference, and mechanisms for its obviation, including the
protection of the courts. There is still some room for improvement and for
the harmonisation of domestic legislation with the EU law. Respect for the
criterion of equality between men and women and legal protection against
sexual discrimination is one of the most dynamic areas of European law.
Hence for the Republic of Croatia it is exceptionally important to keep up
with the changes and to bridge the existing gap. Founding a special
independent body to which complaints about sexual discrimination and
infringements of the principle of equality between men and women can be
addressed and the drawing up of a national programme for the battle
against sexual discrimination would certainly expedite this process up.
Conclusion
European legislation has been proven to be insufficient in protecting all
European citizens equally against gender discrimination. Certainly, more
research is needed in order to explore the link between two concepts:
European citizenship and gender equality. The current legislation covering
citizenship rights and sex equality has been proven to be insufficient. In
conclusion, European Union law does not provide an adequate legal
framework for all different types of sexual discrimination. Moreover, the
problem of multiple discrimination has not so far been recognised so far at
the EU level.39 There is no consistent policy on implementation of gender
equality legislation. Even the existing legislation is rather limited in its
scope and focused only on sex equality (not gender equality). Maybe this
is a reason why the gender component has not so far been taken seriously
into account. As a logical consequence, the gender component has not
been seen as an important component of the citizenship concept. It is
evident that EC sex equality law is a highly complex field whose aims are
mixed and whose impact is inevitably constrained, not only by the inherent
limits of the formal concept of equality which has often informed
Community law-making in this field, and by the essential focus on
39
This problem and its relationship with citizenship rights is especially visible at
this moment in the U.S. "As Sens. Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama vie for
women's votes, feminist groups are divided over whether feminists should
automatically support the first woman with a real chance of the presidency. ...
'What does this simplistic solidarity say to feminists of color?' said Kimberle
Crenshaw, a professor of law and executive director of the African American
Policy Forum. 'If the idea is, vote for the person who looks like you, what am I
supposed to do as an African-American woman?'" Alexandra Alter, “Democratic
Race Causes Feminist Rift”, Wall Street Journal, February 9, 2008
employment-related discrimination, but also by the limits of the law’s

capacity to bring about change, particularly in the face of ingrained social
patterns and gender roles. There have been attempts in some European
countries; with good legal and social outcomes, but in practice there are
still many problems. In the light of citizens’ rights protection, there is a
need for revision of the Amsterdam Treaty, in particular the citizenship
chapter, in order to make visible a gender component including Article
141, which is limited to equal pay for equal work and, for example, its
attention was not to cover sexual orientation discrimination.
One of the solutions would be to incorporate a ‘non-discrimination’
clause into the Treaty. Most secondary legislation is limited to
discrimination occurring at the workplace. The detection of weaknesses in
the domestic laws of the Member States proves that more effort should be
put into the adjustment and harmonisation of the national legal systems
with EU law. It will be interesting to see what will happen with gender
equality legislation in practice in CEE after joining the EU. There are
justified accusations that those countries harmonised their legislation in
the field of gender equality only because of the EU pressure. If this is true,
why have some countries adopted gender equality legislation and some
not? There are also many gaps in the content and meaning of legal norms
protecting gender equality and promoting gender mainstreaming in
recently adopted legislation in CEE countries.
One of the problems is that EU norms have been literally transposed
into domestic legislation (misunderstandings and misinterpretations of
gender equality concepts became apparent at the first reading of those
norms). Most of the problems can be detected in the translation of English
terms such as ‘gender mainstreaming’. ECJ decisions and their
significance in the interpretation of EU law have been totally ignored in
most cases. There is a question whether domestic legislation is ended fully
harmonised with the EU law.
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CONTRIBUTORS
Judit Acsády is a researcher at the Sociology Research Institute of the

Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest. Her research interests include
history of Hungarian first wave feminism, debates about gender relations
since the 19th century, second wave feminism and its impacts, gender
relations after the transition in Hungary, interpretations of emancipation in
Hungarian public life, and gender policies.
Milica Antić Gaber is an Associate Professor of Sociology and Sociology

of Gender at the University of Ljubljana, Faculty of Arts and Department
of Sociology. She has published numerous articles in Slovenian and
international journals and chapters in edited volumes dealing with the
issues of women, political representation and quotas. She is also an author
or co-author of three books: Women in the Parliament, Women – Politics-
Equal Opportunities, Prospects for Gender Equality Politics in Central
and Eastern Europe, Women in Parliamentary Politics. Hungarian and
Slovene Cases Compared.
Birgitta Bader-Zaar is an Assistant Professor in the Department of

History at the University of Vienna. She has published several articles in
the field of women's history, on the history of suffrage in general and on
legal rights of foreigners in the nineteenth century; forthcoming is the
book Das Frauenwahlrecht: Zur Geschichte seiner Einführung im
Vergleich—Großbritannien, Vereinigte Staaten von Amerika, Österreich,
Deutschland und Belgien [Women's Suffrage: A Comparative History of
its Introduction—United Kingdom, United States of America, Austria,
Germany, and Belgium].
Caitriona Beaumont is a Senior Lecturer in History at London South

Bank University, London, UK. Her recent publications include ‘Moral
Dilemmas and Women’s Rights: the attitude of the Mothers’ Union and
Catholic Women’s League to divorce, birth control and abortion in
England 1928–1939’, Women’s History Review (2007) and ‘After the
Vote: women citizenship and the campaign for gender equality in the Irish
Free State 1922-1943’ in Irish Women and the Vote: Becoming Citizens,
ed. L. Ryan and M. Ward (2007).
Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship 471
Esther Carmel-Hakim is the director of Women and Gender Studies at

the Max Stern Academic College of the Jezreel Valley and a researcher in
the Department of Land of Israel Studies of the University of Haifa, Mt.
Carmel, Israel. Her book: "Hanna's Maisel's Lifelong Mission:
Agricultural Training for Women”, which is based on her dissertation was
published in Hebrew in 2007. Her teaching and research interests include:
Women's Zionist Organizations; Women in Israel; Women on the Kibbutz.
Krista Cowman is a Professor of History in the Department of

Humanities, University of Lincoln UK. She has published Mrs Brown is a
Man and a Brother: Women in Merseyside’s Political Organisation 1890
–1920 (Liverpool, 2002) and Women of the Right Spirit: Paid Organisers
of the Women’s Social and Political Union 1904–18 (Manchester, 2007).
She is currently working on British perceptions of France during the First
World War and on the connections between second wave feminism and
feminist history.
Mary Eberts is one of Canada's foremost equality litigators. She has been
counsel in many of the leading cases of the Supreme Court of Canada on
equality law, and teaches, lectures, and writes on women's equality and
Aboriginal women's rights in Canada and abroad. She is a co-founder of
the Women's Legal Education and Action Fund.
Dorota Gozdecka is a Master of Laws from Krakow University. She is a

doctoral researcher at the Department of Criminal Law, Procedural Law
and General Jurisprudential Studies at the University of Helsinki. Her
research topics concern the relation of law, religion and politics in
contemporary Europe, and she has published articles dealing with
blasphemy, legal definition of religion and conflict between religion and
reproductive rights.
Patricia Grimshaw is a Professorial Fellow in the School of History at

the University of Melbourne, Australia, where she has taught and
supervised in the area of gender history for thirty years. Her books include
Women’s Suffrage in New Zealand (rev. edition 1987); Paths of Duty:
American Missionary Wives in Nineteenth Century Hawai’I (1989); the
co-authored Creating a Nation (1994) and Equal Subjects, Unequal
Rights: Indigenous Peoples in British Settler Societies, 1830-1910 (2003);
and the co-edited Women’s Rights and Human Rights: International
Historical Perspectives (2001).
472 Contributors
Gro Hagemann is Professor of Modern History at the University of Oslo,

and senior researcher at the Forum for Contemporary History. Her
research focuses on gender, class and politics in Norway and Scandinavia
during the 19th and 20th centuries. Her last book in Norwegian was
Feminisme og historieskrivning [Feminism and historiography] (2003).
Among her publications in English are the edited volumes Twentieth
Century Housewife: Meaning and Consequences of Unpaid Work, with
Hege Roll-Hansen (2005) and Reciprocity and Redistribution: Work and
Welfare reconsidered (2007).
Minna Harjula is an adjunct professor in the Department of History at the

University of Tampere. Her work has focused on the history of disability
and health in Finland. Her research interest has been centred on questions
of normality, deviance and the "social contract" of health between the state
and its citizens. She is currently working on a project concerning voting
rights in Finland.
Myrtle Hill is a senior lecturer in social, religious and women’s history.

She has published numerous articles and chapters in these areas. Her
books include Women in Ireland: A Century of Change (2003) and Women
of Ireland, Image & Experience c 1880–1920, with V. Pollock (1999).
Recent articles on feminism and women’s history include e.g. ‘Ulster:
debates, demands and divisions: The battle for (and against) the vote’, in
Irish Women and the Vote, ed. L. Ryan and M. Ward (2007).
Åsa Karlsson Sjögren is an associate professor in history at the

University of Umeå. She has studied the judicial status of women in 17th
century Swedish towns; gender, citizenship and representation in Sweden
1720–1870 and language and political culture in 18th century Finnish
towns. She is currently working on the project ‘Marriage, property and
citizenship in Sweden 1870-1920’ and is also studying questions of
taxpaying and citizenship in a longer chronological perspective.
Leeann Lane is co-ordinator of Irish Studies at Mater Dei Institute of

Education, a College of Dublin City University. She is currently finishing
a biography of the writer and female activist, Rosamond Jacob (1888–
1960) and working on the children's novelist, Patricia Lynch.
Tiina Lintunen works as a postgraduate researcher at the Department of

Contemporary History at the University of Turku, Finland. She defended
her licentiate thesis successfully in April 2006 and holds a five-year
position as a researcher. The topic of her forthcoming doctoral thesis is
Women in the Finnish Civil War.
Charlotte Macdonald lectures in History at Victoria University of

Wellington/Te Whare Wananga o Te Upoko o Te Ika a Maui, New
Zealand. Her publications include A Woman of Good Character: single
women as immigrant settlers in nineteenth century New Zealand (1990);
‘My Hand Will Write What My Heart Dictates’: the unsettled lives of
women in nineteenth-century New Zealand as revealed to sisters, family
and friends, with Frances Porter (1996) and Women Writing Home: female
correspondence across the British Empire (2006). She is currently
working on projects in the fields of gender and empire in the 19th century
and the cultural history of bodies, sport and spectating in the 20th century.
Pirjo Markkola is Professor of Nordic history at Åbo Akademi

University, Finland. Her publications include studies on women’s social,
political and religious mobilization in the Nordic countries in the 19th and
20th centuries. She has written several articles on gender, Lutheranism and
the Nordic welfare states. Currently she is part of a research network
NordWel (The Nordic Welfare State – Historical Foundations and Future
Challenges) which holds a status of the Nordic Centre of Excellence in
Welfare Research.
Mohammad A. Mousavi, is a Ph.D. in Political Economy from the

University of Durham, England. He received his BA from Tehran
University and his MA degree from Manchester University, both in
Economics. Currently he is professor of American Studies at the
University of Tehran, Faculty of World Studies. He has published various
articles, e.g. in the fields of globalization, regionalism and multiculturalism.
His latest book is “The Political Economy of Globalization” in Persian.
Seija-Leena Nevala-Nurmi is a postgraduate researcher at the

Department of History and Philosophy at the University of Tampere. Her
research interests are focused on gender history in the 20th century, family
history, microhistory and history of youth and children. The topic of her
forthcoming PhD thesis is Gender and Generation in the Voluntary
Defence Movement in Finland 1918–1944.
474 Contributors
Natalia Novikova is a Senior Lecturer at the Department of History,

Yaroslavl State Pedagogical University, Yaroslavl, Russia. She is the
author of European Women in the 19th Century: Different Ways of
Constructing Gender. Study Guide for Students of History Departments
(2002) and Liberal Feminism in Russia and in the West: a comparative
analysis (2000). She has published several articles on British and Russian
suffrage movements and is currently working on a project “The problem
of national culture and national identity in women’s movements in the
early 20th century: British and Russian cases”.
June Purvis is Professor of Women’s and Gender History in the School of

Social, Historical and Literary Studies at the University of Portsmouth,
UK. She has published extensively on the history of women’s education
in nineteenth-century England and on the suffragette movement in
Edwardian Britain. Her books include The Women’s Suffrage Movement:
New Feminist Perspectives (edited with Maroula Joannou, Manchester,
Manchester University Press, 1998); Votes for Women, ed. with Sandra
Stanley Holton (2000), and Emmeline Pankhurst: a Biography (2002). She
is the Founding and Managing Editor of the journal Women’s History
Review and also the Editor for a Book Series on Women’s and Gender
History with Routledge.
Marian Quartly is Professor Emeritus at Monash University. She has

published extensively on nineteenth century Australian social history, with
special reference to the history of women and the family, and the history
of religion. Her current projects take her into the twentieth century. In
addition to a history of the National Council of Women (with Dr. Smart)
she is working with a group of scholars on a history of the adoption of
children in Australia. She is currently editor of the journal History
Australia.
Louise Ryan is deputy head of the Social Policy Research Centre,

Middlesex University. She has been researching and publishing on the
Irish suffrage movement for many years and she has also published widely
on issues related to migration, nationalism and identities. Her books
include Irish Feminism and the Vote: an anthology of the Irish Citizen
Newspaper, 1912–1920 (1996); Irish Women and Nationalism, co-edited
with Margaret Ward (2004); Irish Women and the Vote: becoming citizens,
co-edited with Margaret Ward (2007. She is currently co-editing with
Wendy Webster a book Gendering Migration: Masculinity, Femininity
and Ethnicity in Post-War Britain (to be published 2008).
Irena Selišnik is a historian and sociologist who received her PhD degree
at the Department of Sociology at the University of Ljubljana, Faculty of
Arts, in 2007. Currently she works as a researcher on the Faculty of Arts in
Ljubljana, Department of Sociology. She has been involved in many
studies addressing the question of women in politics and history. She has
made several presentations at Slovenian and international conferences in
which she has mainly dealt with gender history and published several
articles about social history and gender.
Margalit Shilo is a Professor in The Land of Israel Studies and

Archeology Department at Bar Ilan University in Israel. Among her books
are: Princess or Prisoner? Jewish Women in Jerusalem, 1840–1914
(2005), nominated for the National Jewish Book Award, 2005 and the
Bahat prize by Haifa University; Voices of Jerusalem Women, 2003
(Hebrew) and "The Challenge of Gender, Women in the Early Yishuv",
2007 (Hebrew).
Olga V. Shnyrova is Associate Professor at the Ivanovo State University

(Russia), Director of the Ivanovo Center for Gender Studies, member of
the Russian Association of Political Studies, Russian Society of
Intellectual History, member of the Coordination Council of the Russian
Committee of International Federation of Researchers in Women's
History.
Judith Smart is a principal fellow at the University of Melbourne and an

adjunct professor at RMIT University. She has published on Australian
women's organisations in the first half of the 20th century, as well as on
women and political protest, women and religion, and the Miss Australia
beauty contest. Current projects include (with Professor Marian Quartly) a
history of the National Council of Women of Australia. She is present
editor of the Victorian Historical Journal.
Irma Sulkunen is Professor of Finnish History at the University of

Tampere, Finland. Among her publications are the history of the Finnish
temperance movement (1986), published in English as ‘History of the
Finnish Temperance Movement: Temperance as a Civic Religion’ (1990).
She is also the author of three biographies of women (1989, 1996, 1999)
and a book on Finnish nationalism (2004). Her study of the suffrage of
Finnish women from an international perspective was published in Finnish
(2006) and in Swedish (2008).
476 Contributors
Maria Nicoleta Turliuc is Associate Professor at the “Al.I.Cuza”

University of Iaşi, Faculty of Psychology and Sciences of Education. She
is the author of four books and numerous studies and articles. Together
with Catalin Turliuc she has edited the volume Condiţia femeii în
societatea modernă (Women’s Condition in Modern Society), 2004. She is
interested in the contribution of the feminist perspective to all domains and
has participated in numerous international conferences addressing feminist
issues.
Catalin Turliuc is Senior Researcher at “A.D. Xenopol” Institute of

History, Romanian Academy, where he is Head of Contemporary History
Department and also Professor at the “Al.I.Cuza” and “Petre Andrei”
Universities of Iaşi. He was a Fulbright visiting scholar at the University
of Illinois, USA, and visiting tutor at Oxford University, U.K. He is
interested in topics such as minorities, nationalism, modernization,
feminism etc. He authored numerous books and more than 200 studies and
articles.
Snjezana Vasiljevic is currently employed in the Faculty of Law,

University of Zagreb, European Public Law Department. Her main areas
of professional interest are discrimination in the EU, including equality
between men and women, racial discrimination and protection of ethnic
minorities. She was an associate of the United Nations Development Fund
for Women (UNIFEM) and the United Nations Development Programme
(UNDP) Croatia.

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Suffrage, Gender and Citizenship

Electronic copy available at: http://ssrn.com/abstract=2249849

Irma Sulkunen and Seija-Leena Nevala-Nurmi

This book first published 2009

Cambridge Scholars Publishing

12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

ISBN (10): 1-4438-0162-3, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-0162-1

PART I: Radical Peripheries: Pacific Countries and Scandinavia

Suffrage, Gender and Sovereignty in New Zealand .................................. 14

Colonialism, Power and Women’s Political Citizenship in Australia,

Voting Women before Women’s Suffrage in Sweden 1720–1870............ 56

Suffrage, Nation and Citizenship – The Finnish Case in an International

Excluded from Universal Suffrage: Finland 1906–1917 ......................... 106

To Become a Political Subject: Enfranchisement of Women

PART II: The Dissolution of Empires and the Breakthrough

Women’s Victory or the Impact of Revolution? Peculiarities

Linking Party Politics and Women’s Suffrage: The Case of Ariadna

Women's Suffrage and War: World War I and Political Reform

Slovene Women's Suffrage Movement in a Comparative Perspective.... 219

The Debate on Parliamentary Reforms in Women’s Suffrage

The Struggle for Women’s Political Rights in Modern Romania. The

PART III: The Struggle for Women’s Citizenship

Christabel Pankhurst and the Struggle for Suffrage Reform in

What Was Suffragette Militancy? An Exploration of the British

Becoming Citizens in Ireland: Negotiating Women’s Suffrage

Making the National Councils of Women National: The Formation

Feminism and Nationalism: The Case of Women’s Suffrage

PART IV: Contemporary Discussion on Women’s Suffrage

Women as Full Citizens: Addressing the Barriers of Gender

Women Parliamentarians in Iran: A Show of Power? ............................. 415

Catholic Family Values versus Equality – Polish Politics

European Citizenship in the Context of Gender Equality Legislation

IRMA SULKUNEN AND PIRJO MARKKOLA

In 2006 Finland celebrated the centenary of universal and equal

based on a view of universal emancipation is irrevocably over − and has

In Finland, the question of female suffrage likewise came to the fore in

Sjögren, Männen, kvinnorna och rösträtten. Medborgarskap och representation

southern Europe rather than the development in the Protestant countries of

problematics of this question is addressed by Åsa Karlsson Sjögren in her

numerous further questions worth taking into consideration in other

The British Commonwealth constitutes a special case in the history of

In 2006 Prime Minister Helen Clark was just one of a concentration of

http://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/PA0401/S00220.htm, accessed 31 Jan 2008. Maori

Parliament (MPs).6 Political institutions, and the nation state more

The Suffrage Campaign

an active member in her early years, in one of Christchurch’s congregational

failed to persuade sufficient legislators but added resolve to pro-suffrage

Forgotten and Disappointing Histories

radicalism in the nineteenth-century women’s rights movement and New

New Understandings: Progressivism, Margins, Empire

Both women and Maori created parallel representative structures, both

Interestingly, the prospect that the Kotahitanga Parliament would be

suffrage struggle was prolonged and torturous) the achievement of

Citizenship and Sovereignty

100,000 New Zealanders, mostly men, fought in European battlefields

The second realm in which sovereignty was linked to discourses of

The high ground of the history of women’s suffrage in Australia is

These politicians also argued with their race interests in mind,

Circa, 2003); Patricia Grimshaw, “A White Woman’s Suffrage’”, in A Woman’s

Commonwealth legislation but even more significantly, its consequent

Class and Women’s Political Citizenship

affairs to settler legislatures. Quite quickly the first settler governments of