Olympian Women -- They Are Changing Both Style And Substance In Legislature
OLYMPIA - In the 1970s women who strolled through the testosterone-soaked Capitol Rotunda were candidates for the Leg of the Day award.
Male legislators, who dominated the House and Senate back then, chose the winner from among women sitting in the gallery.
Today, women in Olympia are a bigger presence - and a stronger force - than ever before. They're the ones who dole out the awards. But instead of being rewarded for sexy legs, it's fiery rhetoric that might earn a woman membership in the tongue-in-cheek club called the Mean Old Bitches.
As the good-old-boys club in the Capitol has faded through the years, it has been replaced by groups such as M.O.B., and before that the Women's Sewing Club and Terrorist Committee and the Higher Education Rabble-Rousers Society (HERRS). These loosely knit groups formed by women provide support, solidarity and a sense of sisterhood.
This year a record 60 women are serving in the House and Senate. They make up more than 40 percent of the Legislature, a higher percentage than in any other state.
Among the Democrats who control the Senate, women outnumber men 2-1. Male caucus members have formed a Last Man's Club, with a bottle of wine awaiting the last survivor.
"The women are outnumbering us," said Sen. Michael Heavey, D- Seattle. "You never know."
Governmental girl power is evident in bills ranging from women's health to domestic violence, in the way legislators represent their constituents, and even in women legislators' dealings with colleagues of both genders.
Women legislators say they still encounter remnants of the days when men ruled the rostrum. But lawmakers of both genders agree women are changing the climate here in both style and substance.
It shows as they go about their business just up the hill from the birthplace of the riot-grrl culture, the new-wave feminist movement born in downtown Olympia's punk-rock scene. These are sensible-shoed, smart-suited women who aren't shy about touting their show of force.
During the governor's State of the State Address, they gave themselves a standing ovation when he mentioned their record numbers. Two weeks ago they hosted a bipartisan news conference to promote female-sponsored legislation.
Women are good listeners, say both male and female lawmakers. They are more open and inclusive in decision-making.
"Maybe that's because we didn't play football, and it didn't matter who got the touchdown or the home run," said Sen. Betti Sheldon, D-Bremerton.
This session women are flexing their muscles by proposing legislation that would create a women's commission to promote gender equality. They want to ensure screening for breast and cervical cancer for low-income women and more protection and services for victims of domestic violence.
Several have introduced legislation to create a state office of women's health. And they have secured bipartisan support in both chambers mandating insurance coverage for female contraceptives.
Courage in a lapel pin
The women lawmakers are proud of the informal clubs they have formed to help them cope with working in a traditionally man's world - even the Mean Old Bitches, which doesn't have a membership list or meetings. Women simply give a knowing wink or nod when they meet up with others wearing the tiny golden M.O.B. lapel pins.
"I wear it when I'm feeling feisty," said Rep. Karen Schmidt, R-Bainbridge Island.
The women say the group's name comes from male colleagues' reactions when they stand up for their beliefs.
"I've been accused of being aggressive. I wonder what they would call me if I was a man doing the same thing," said Schmidt, who recently had a book on her desk called "Leadership Secrets of Attila the Hun."
"If you work and fight hard for something you believe in, why is it different depending on what sex you are?"
Former Sen. Jeannette Wood, R- Woodway, said she would rub her M.O.B. pin while enduring hostile testimony in committee.
"Sometimes during the Legislature, things get tense," said one lobbyist M.O.B. member. "It gives us courage."
Such bonding has given women strength to change the system in ways both big and small. When they learned of the legendary Open Fly, an all-male summer golf tournament for lawmakers and lobbyists, they created the Double Cup tournament for ladies.
A national trend
The accomplishments of women have been significant. In 1990, six of them, dubbed the Steel Magnolias by their male colleagues, wrote the Growth Management Act, created to help deal with urban sprawl. Women also wrote and promoted the citizens' initiatives that created a state spending limit and the commission regulating campaign spending.
The difference that Washington women are making parallels national trends. A survey of state legislators nationwide, completed last summer, shows women are more likely to bring citizens into the legislative process, to govern openly rather than behind closed doors, and to be more responsive to groups such as minorities and the disadvantaged, which traditionally have not had a strong voice in government.
Regardless of party affiliation, women tend be more liberal, according to the survey.
"The difference in perspective is brought to bear on policy issues, and that is something that has been missing before women were in the state Legislature," said Gilda Morales, spokeswoman for the Center for the American Woman in Politics at Rutgers University, which con ducted the survey.
Such differences recently surfaced in Olympia over a bill that would outlaw discrimination against women who breast-feed at work. Several women were appalled when male legislators said the bill should be assigned to a judicial committee because it involved "indecent exposure."
"Guys look at this, and say it's indecent exposure. Women look at this, and say this is an issue for the workplace," said Sen. Darlene Fairley, D-Lake Forest Park, who eventually moved the bill to her Labor and Work Force Development Committee. "That little way of looking at policy is a difference."
When Rep. Helen Sommers, D-Seattle, first was elected to the House in 1973, she was one of just 12 women in the Legislature. By 1985 their number had grown to 35. Today it's nearly double that.
"The Legislature has changed in tone and tenor enormously since I came here because society has changed," said Sommers. "There's no more locker-room kind of approach."
Sometimes the women's sheer numbers make all the difference. In the late 1980s Mary Margaret Haugen, then a House member, rallied about 20 women from both sides of the aisle to leave the House floor and storm into then-Gov. Booth Gardner's office when they learned he planned to veto a bill mandating insurance coverage for mammograms.
"I think he maybe was surprised," said Haugen, now a Democratic senator from Camano Island. Gardner changed his mind, and the bill became law.
Such boldness was missing when women were rarities in the state Capitol. "Certainly, it was a different atmosphere," said Sen. Sid Snyder, D-Long Beach, who in 1949 started his career in the Legislature as an elevator operator at the Capitol. "Things have changed in 30 or 40 years."
Former Lt. Gov. Victor Meyers once told a joke on the Senate floor about a politician who took his homely wife with him everywhere because he didn't want to kiss her goodbye.
"If you told that story today, you might as well forget about your political career," Snyder said.
Even women lobbyists were at a disadvantage.
"It's a fact you can't lobby the men in the washroom," said Margaret Casey, who recently retired from a 22-year career as a lobbyist on children's issues.
No more `little lady'
Some women legislators rose to power despite the odds. In the 1950s, Rep. Julia Butler Hansen shattered stereotypes when she stood before her committee and expressed outrage at a male lawmaker who challenged her on a transportation issue.
"Somebody had better tell that son of a bitch to buy lots of road graders, because they're not going to have any paved roads in his district," she reportedly said.
But those were also the days when women were called "honey" and on occasion were patted below the back. Women legislators and lobbyists usually were shut out of closed-door meetings, where men made important decisions. Committee chairs nearly always belonged to men.
"That doesn't happen any more," said Rep. Ruth Fisher, D-Tacoma, who recalled being insulted during a committee hearing about 15 years ago by a powerful state administrator. "No one has called me `little lady' for a long time."
The Washington Legislature actually was more friendly to women than most early in its history. Susan B. Anthony's 1870 speech to territorial legislators was the first delivered by a woman to a legislative body. An 1853 vote on women's suffrage was foiled by a single male lawmaker who reportedly denounced the plan because it didn't extend privileges to Native American women.
Women are quick to point out that just because their numbers are higher now doesn't mean they've reached Utopia.
"One (male lawmaker) always says, `Hi, girls' when he sees us," said Sen. Jeri Costa, D-Everett. "And on the campaign trail, people are always asking whether I'm married or have kids I'm leaving behind. I don't see them asking the male candidates that."
Washington's women should count themselves lucky, said Rep. Jeanette Greene, a Republican in the Alabama state Legislature. Alabama ranks at the bottom of the states in number of female legislators, with 11.
"It's just the traditional thing for men to run the government here," she said. "It's that Southern mentality that let's let father do it."
But Greene, a freshman legislator and former English teacher, said she's not nervous about being outnumbered.
"I handled 10th-graders for years," she said. "I can handle those men in the Legislature."
Dionne Searcey's phone message number is 360-236-8268. Her e-mail address is: dsearcey@seattletimes.com