Patricia Edgar reflects on a lifetime shaped by feminism – and asks why, despite its gains, relationships between men and women now feel more fractured than ever.

There is a growing awareness in the west that things have gone rather horribly wrong in the relationships between the sexes.

Research is showing fewer young people want or can’t find a partner; they are more reluctant to marry and bear children, so the population replacement birthrate is at 1.5 and falling; more young people are reporting loneliness and mental illness than the elderly; reports of domestic violence are escalating: and dating sites, one of the few places to meet a partner, are both an intentional marriage ritual and a meat market that commodifies its users.

Senator Matt Canavan, the new leader of the Nationals, among others of the political right, knows things are amiss for the society and the economy, with birth rates dropping at an alarming rate. But his solution is akin to the early twentieth century idiom “Close your eyes and think of England” advising British women to endure unwanted sexual intercourse by distracting themselves with patriotic duty. It symbolised marital submission, apathy toward sex, and the resignation to unpleasant duties, like housework, cooking and cleaning. He doesn’t say these words but that is the nostalgic fanciful world he and a growing group of conservatives, evangelicals and the red pill brigade conjure up.

I grew up in that world. Now in my 90th year I have lived through the positive revolution feminism brought but have also seen the disruptions. Here I reflect on what has led to this unease between the sexes when I continue to believe what most of us want in life is companionship and a partner to live alongside through challenging times.

I was born the third girl to a father who wanted a son to carry on the family name, take camping and fishing, and share men’s business. I wasn’t told I was a disappointment, but I was aware. I thought I couldn’t be what I wanted to be, a lawyer, a pilot, someone in charge of something. The only role models in the remote town of Mildura in 1937 were the men who ran everything, like my father, and the women, like my mother, who stayed at home, bore the children, cooked, washed and took care of the house, went to church, the CWA, the Red Cross, and did meals on wheels. Their day out was to have afternoon tea.

Yet I absorbed the idea through films I saw and books I read that I need not live that life, and it was my mother, who rarely gave advice, who told me, “You do what you want to do, Patricia.”

I liked my boyfriends, I did want to marry and have children, but I intended to work as well. In essence all I wanted was a fair go and for the burdens of life to be equally shared in a partnership. That was what I understood feminism to be about: equal opportunity and equal status. Surely decent men couldn’t object to that, and decent men did not.

I became a teacher – fully qualified, but paid less for the same work than a man. I had to resign from the teaching roll when I married and could not be superannuated. The discrimination women experienced was overt; we were considered inferior beings.

These were the days when it was legal to specify gender and age in job advertisements. An example: Wanted Special Girl Friday, bright young bird, aged between 20-35, who likes doing lots of interesting things. Put on a pretty face and apply as our receptionist, telephonist, and coffee girl. Charming young boss and lots of fringe benefits. You will need to be well groomed and efficient.

My epiphany, the most important book I ever read, was by Simone de........

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