Betty Friedan died on February 4, in 2006, on her 85th birthday. Germaine Greer (who knew Germaine Greer was funny) wrote a wonderful memorial at the time, in the Guardian UK
In 1972, Betty and I, and Helvi Sipila of the United Nations, were together in Iran as guests of the Women’s Organisation of Iran, and once again I had difficulty in dissociating myself from Betty, who would usually take over my allotted speaking time as well as her own and inveigh against younger feminists who burned bras and talked dirty.
She remembers Betty shouting, typically, wonderfully, at some juncture:
“I will nutt travel cooped up in this thing!”
As we were leaving our farewell party to go back to the hotel, Betty propped herself in front of our Cadillac and refused to get in. “Dammit!” she shouted, “I wunt, I deserve my own car!
Shedding some light on the longstanding, heart-twisting problem of how to think about Betty Friedan. She who ignited the whole damn thing—our freedom, as women. (Whether we are handling it well. Whether one is free or not.) Nine bazillion women suddenly admitted they were going nuts with staying home keeping house, and proceeded to get mad as hell—well, women always have been angry, but—and this is so clever, this what happens when the patriarchy makes the language—the term Angry Woman means oh so much more, and at the same time less than that.
Your point is instantly discredited, no one has to take you seriously, never mind listen. But really, what is intrinsically wrong or abnormal with being a woman and being pissed off? … Ma’am. Ma’am, step away from the vehicle. Thas right, now cool down and when you are ready, tell us what is so horrifying about an angry woman. Can you even speak of it without getting into a Freudian muddle? I thought not. Here’s your license, ma’am. I’m letting you off with a warning. This time.
So. Germaine Greer sheds what feels like pretty fair light. Fair as in just; what is the way to think of Betty, in light of our profound gratitude. (This shit ain’t easy, for women.) (It’s called: Scruples.) Because Betty did act like a pill. And Germaine Greer ran intellectual circles around her. Excellent circles. But to Betty, well, as Greer says, Betty thought the movement was her. Heaven forfend, they were forced to travel together. The result?
Betty standing there in her spangled black crepe-de-chine and yelling fit to bust, “I will nutt be quiet and gedinna car! Absolutely nutt!”
Absolutely, Betty, you are remembered, with love.
Thanks, Betty. Thanks, Zo. And thank you to my mother, Rachel, who never read a word of either Betty or Germaine, but who conducted her life in a manner they both would have cheered.
Hard to believe there was a time before women were Women. And the guardian.co.uk article is hysterical. “I will NUTT get in that car.”