Gloria Steinem was right – whoever has the power gets to say what’s important

Gloria Steinem died recently, and all sorts of writers and journalists memorialized her, which was fitting. One of the first things I thought, when I heard that she died, was to recall her trenchant, yet hilarious, 1978 essay, “If Men Could Menstruate.”

Reader, are you still there or have you already turned away?

The essay dared to imagine a world where, instead of the secret world of dealing with “the curse,” men would bring their bodies’ life-giving marvels to the fore of everyday life. She envisioned the male species boasting about cramps and bloating, mood swings and the amount of flow. In Steinem’s imagination, male celebrities would tout products used to deal with nature’s monthly way. In other words, having a period would be a badge of honor.

Instead, throughout history, menstruating women were separated from the rest of the tribe, being sequestered in huts or tents during “those days.” Such practices tend to confer the notion of uncleanness and, of course, shame.

Traditional Jewish law follows the book of Leviticus, which requires menstruating married women (and according to some sources, even unmarried women) to prevent others from having contact with her until her period has ended.

Some theologians argue that this is not to convey an “ick” factor, but to mourn that a life was not created. Honestly, I could almost be persuaded by this argument when you consider that menstruation occurs because the egg has not been fertilized, but that’s a lot of mourning during a female’s fertile years.

The observant Jewish female must then wait more days after her period ends. Some sources say five, some say seven. Finally, she takes a ritual bath to fulfill the requirements of purification.

As a Christian, I had a much simpler and straightforward experience. In fifth grade, all of us girls and our mothers were invited to attend “a special talk” during the school day.

This information turned out not to be a talk, but a film with an upbeat tone, meant to help us celebrate growing up. The presentation was factual and positive, yet when the growing up visited each of us in turn, there were no parties, no whoops of joy.

Instead, we whispered to each other in euphemisms using names like Aunt Flo or, inexplicably, George, or we resorted to using crude phrases. Somehow clearly naming our body parts and its functions, even though the film had done all of those things, was off-putting.

We were stoic and secretive and some of us suffered terribly. Still, we got on with it and didn’t make a big deal of what was happening to our bodies on a regular basis.

Which was one of Steinem’s points. If any of this happened to men, they would name and claim and celebrate having periods because as holders of cultural power, they could elevate a natural body function and bring it center stage.  

In short, she stated that “the characteristics of the powerful, whatever they may be, are thought to be better than the characteristics of the powerless — and logic has nothing to do with it.”

Although the essay’s cultural references to John Wayne, Joe Namath, Muhammad Ali, and Robert Blake have not aged well, the intent holds up beautifully. It should be required reading for all young people during their high school years, although in today’s political climate, Moms for Liberty would raise a stink about it, I’m sure.

And wouldn’t that be a rich irony, that an essay that mentions true-blue Americans like John Wayne and Joe Namath would be considered too woke and too dangerous for kids who don’t even know who these people were.

Still, once youth understand the milieu in which the essay was written and receive historical background, discussion should center on power dynamics and the justifications that power engenders. Steinem just wanted women to realize their inherent power and how a patriarchal society did its best to suppress it.

Steinem was loved and loathed and tireless in her advocacy for those who had little agency. This early essay was just the beginning of the ways that she nudged people to think about who decides what gets elevated in the public square and why. It was an early salvo in her fight for equality for women, for the LGBTQ community, and for indigenous people, among many others.

She left behind a prodigious body of writing and a legacy of listening and activism. This essay has never left me. In fact, I have recommended it to young equality-minded women who had never heard of it. I hope they checked it out, and I hope you do, too. You can find it freely on the internet.

Joan Zwagerman writes from Storm Lake.