Twenty years of romance make a woman look like a ruin; but twenty years of marriage make her something like a public building. – Oscar Wilde
I just had the pleasure of watching the film The King’s Speech: twice. I loved it. Great actors giving great performances, a lovely sensitive script, and interesting information about a critical point in recent history. What’s not to love about a likeable underdog prince overcoming painful family struggles, externalized verbally and visually, with aid of a very clever speech therapist/jester with a heart of gold? It’s very deserving of its lavish Oscar recognition (I mean the Academy’s little gold statue, not Oscar Wilde–I’ll get back to him later). And I’m glad to see those deliciously risk-taking Weinsteins are back in the game.
One of the things that resonated for me about the film was the idea of the public pressure of higher offices: that there is something dreadful about the price of fame that isn’t often considered seriously.
In the last few years, I’ve been fortunate to see at least 4 women presidents speak at various conferences and functions: presidents of colleges and universities. And every time, I couldn’t help from listening for clues to their private lives.
The most prominent women president, from a large university on the East Coast, told a great story about her infatuation, and eventual encounter, with Madeleine Albright. She was seated near her role model on a train, and was too shy to speak until someone mistook her for Margaret Thatcher. The lady professor mustered the courage to jump in and correct the fellow with a heartfelt account of her appropriate title, career highlights, and bibliography including “Read My Pins.” Albright took her card and sent her a lovely note and a gift. This president had a husband and family: she was proud of her daughters and mentioned them in her speech.
The second women university president I will mention presided over a satellite state school in a conflicted border town. She told of working her way up through the institution and of her commitment to the mission to serve the unique needs of the bi-lingual and low income students of her region. She spoke most candidly of the surprise of becoming a public person, someone who people would whisper about when she was shopping or in the airport. And how there was a constant pressure to uphold the reputation of the institution in every action she took or word she said. She never mentioned a husband or a family, and admitted that she had yet to figure out any life/work balance. Her life was her work.
The third, from an up-and-coming public doctoral university spoke of her unplanned path, how one job lead to another, driven by her early widowhood and her need to take care of her children. In some ways, she was the most relaxed and confident and also the most cavalier. She had big plans at the time I saw her speak, and knew there were risks involved. She was removed or left her position after only a few years, reportedly over a scuffle with the athletics department. That made me sad to hear.
The fourth was a lovely, salt-and-pepper haired, hard-working woman from a small four year college with a religious affiliation. She was deep into budgeting and finances and trying to make the place stay afloat. She gave no hint of her marital or family status, but her struggle seemed like anyone I’ve known who’s run a cultural or social service non-profit.
All four of these women made deep impressions on me. In some ways, they had become public buildings.
I am the kind of feminist who is uncomfortable being called a feminist. I do think, however, that the institutions that we have inherited have old rules and customs and practices that continue to support the oppression of women. I also think that there are inherent differences between men and women—like there are differences between any group of people—but that fundamentally, we are all equal.
Women’s history (and in some cases, the present) is the rule of the domestic sphere. In some countries, like Iran under the Shaw, women arguably got liberation in the 1970’s, and then got re-oppressed under different rule. In America, we’ve made more consistent strides to put women in the public sphere: and thus, they are doing more public speaking and public service. The challenges to women as we start to fill in these roles remain: how do I do this, and be a wife, and/or a mother, in the public eye?
Like George VI in The King’s Speech, we have to have the courage to let go of what we think our roles are, and our duties to our families, and the doubts that they have placed in our abilities. We have to take seriously the burden of public service. We can’t always do what we want, but we must do what is best for everyone. These women presidents that I was fortunate enough to see speak all had different paths, but each one overcame many issues to lead a college or university and make a great speech.
But we won’t all be presidents. Some of us may choose to play the role of The Queen Mother: who undeniably had great influence over her husband and her daughters, although she never directly ruled. Both the domestic and the public spheres need to be managed, nurtured, and lead, but in different ways and with different styles, in order to face the trying times around us.
We all need great Kings and Queens, and great women and men presidents, too. Both of our public institutions, and of our homes.
Fun Facts:
Somewhere between 15-30% of higher ed presidents are women.
Here are just some of these top women and their institutions:
• Ruth Simmons, Brown University
• Shirley Tilghman, Princeton University
• Susan Hockfield, MIT
• Drew Gilpin Faust, Harvard University
• Mary Sue Coleman, University of Michigan
• Nancy Cantor, Syracuse University
• Amy Gutmann, UPenn
Source: Thoughts on business, engineering and higher education by Aurelie Thiele licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.