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October 11th, 2008

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Book value

Three researchers tap into women's lives — past, present and future

By Dave Faries
Staff Writer, The Prague Post
September 12th, 2007 issue

VLADIMÍR WEISS/THE PRAGUE POST

Kateřina Šaldová, Barbora Tupá and Marcela Linková compiled stories of working world struggles into one volume, and now they intend to change popular perceptions.

Linková

Tupá

Šaldová

The authors

Marcela Linková
Age: 33
Occupation: Researcher, Institute of Sociology, Czech Academy of Sciences
Education: Master's degree, Charles University
Hometown: Prague

Barbora Tupá
Age: 27
Occupation: Researcher, Institute of Sociology, Czech Academy of Sciences
Education: Working toward a master's degree, Charles University
Hometown: Prague

Kateřina Šaldová
Age: 28
Occupation: Researcher, Institute of Sociology, Czech Academy of Sciences
Education: Master's degree, Charles University
Hometown: Prague

Marcela Linková laughs when asked why she publishes obscure books on women in science.

“I want to change the world, right?” she says.

Her colleagues from the Institute of Sociology at the Czech Academy of Sciences share in the moment. They are crowded around at a table at Red, Hot & Blues and the three of them — Linková, Kateřina Šaldová and Barbora Tupá — know the idea sounds a bit far-fetched.

Cultures don’t divert from a course centuries long at the behest of one slim oral history volume, you see. And the voices of eager researchers rarely echo when their work merely discloses the tribulations of female scholars, the tug-of-war between work and family, the gender prejudice imposed so casually.

Scientists exist on the margins of popular consciousness, after all. And a certain amount of sexism is entrenched — in many cultures.

A local reporter inadvertently illustrated this not long ago. Linková spent some time explaining the challenges faced by women in nontraditional careers. But when the story appeared, it opened, almost predictably, with a trite description of the 33-year-old’s outfit, hairstyle and makeup, as if nothing she spoke of held any real value.

Recounting the incident draws another round of laughter, followed by a reminder directed at our hovering photographer that hair is very important, as well as an anecdote from one of their encounters with a scientist, also related to cosmetic beauty.

But the lighthearted tone of their banter cannot disguise the character of the young colleagues. They are determined to nudge and heave and push until the dead weight of bias begins to shift.

“No matter where you go,” Linková finally says, “you’re reminded of the expectations of gender.”

Yes, they define themselves as feminists, in a nation where the term and the ideas behind it have yet to appear in full battle regalia.

It wasn’t until last week that Adriana Bašovská, a former diplomat, won a major gender-discrimination case. And almost every day they cope with the usual incredulity —“you’re not ugly enough to be a feminist” and other jibes. But their first book, Vlastní pokoj, or A Room of One’s Own (the title borrowed from Virginia Woolf’s famous essay) has changed the world just a little.

The book is just 94 pages of straightforward questions posed to women who entered the field in the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s. In terse prose and precise anecdotes, the interviewees lay out the perseverance necessary to break through whatever barriers tradition and politics set in their path.

That’s enough, however, to open a few eyes.

The transition began six years ago, when the trio began contacting venerable female names from the local scientific community and settling in to hear their biographic details.

It was pretty simple work, a project funded by the Education Ministry in response to a European Union initiative, complicated only by a 40-year span of history.

“Sometimes it was difficult to ask about their involvement in the Communist Party,” Tupá explains. “I would feel ashamed to ask, because I didn’t want to judge.”

These women are not born advocates. Instead, they are accidental sociologists, in many ways. Linková, 33, grew up in one of Prague’s ubiquitous paneláky. At Charles University, she studied American literature. Then, during a graduate stint in the United States, she was introduced to gender studies as an academic discipline.

“I thought ‘Okey doke, this is for me,’ ” she recalls.

Finding the way

When a position opened at the institute and administrators asked if she had any interest, Linková responded, “Hell, yeah.”

Tupá is a 27-year-old master’s degree student at Charles University with a background in social work.

“During my studies, I volunteered at a center for sexually abused women,” says Tupá, a Prague native. For two years she heard quivering stories.

“That wasn’t the beginning, but that was the way.”

Tiring of the harsh reality of broken relationships, Tupá sought a more theoretical field.

Šaldová, a student of philosophy and sociology at Charles University, heard about the ministry grant after graduation and wandered into the institute office looking to help out.

Their conversations with older scientists confirmed the unique double-whammy Czech culture dealt women over previous decades, as traditional notions regarding gender teamed with party policy.

Mathematician Věra Kůrková, for instance, fought with her mother for the chance to violate traditional feminine roles. Sociologist Marie Čermáková first earned a position in an economics program — until the department chairman declared he would not approve a female hire. “This was in 1973,” Čermáková recalled in one interview. “I still have that piece of paper at home.”

The government prevented Věra Majerová of the Agricultural University in Prague from further study after she completed elementary school, merely because her father had settled in Czechoslovakia as a refugee back in 1921.

“I was desperate,” she told the researchers. “Children with very bad grades could go to apprenticeship and I was not allowed to even study to be a ‘waiter, waitress.’ ”

The published oral history reveals her 15-year path from factory worker through “gaps in the system” to graduation day at Charles University.

For Šaldová, the only one with formal training in sociology, listening to personal triumphs and frustrations of older female scholars was fascinating.

“We grew up under communism,” she says, “so we’re educating ourselves.”

Research led them almost naturally into the study of political influence on scientific careers between 1948 and 1989 — which will be their third book. No. 2 in the series, out this month with an English translation expected by November, focuses on the lives of a new generation of Czech scholars.

Social change isn’t really evident flipping through the two volumes.

“How they are forced to confirm traditional gender roles and expectations is the same,” Tupá explains, comparing the lives of younger and older professionals. “They still try to be perfect wives, perfect mothers, perfect scientists.”

Nudging a culture from somnolence over a potentially controversial issue is an excruciating process, however — one of incremental gains. Working on the books made the three more steadfast in their desire for change and more assured in their beliefs, but all those hours listening to the hard-won battles fought decades ago also instilled a measure of patience.

These authors carry feminism as a swagger, an easygoing confidence — charismatic, enthusiastic, unbeatable: the kind of manner that wins converts, one by one.

“We don’t accept things automatically,” Šaldová points out. “We keep thinking about how we behave and how we judge others’ behavior. Things don’t have to be the way they are.”

When people confront them with the big question — “What are you, a feminist?” — they usually counter with an offhand “That depends what you mean by ‘feminist.’ ”

It’s one of those “-isms” people define for themselves, with little reference to the broader purpose. Opponents wallow in assumptions or paste labels, such as “lesbian,” on adherents of gender equality.

Responding with a nonchalant “That depends,” has disarmed more than one challenger, forcing them to consider the question anew.

“The answer confuses them,” Tupá explains, reveling in small victories. “They’ve asked about something they know nothing about.”

Linková’s father detested the very idea of feminism for many years. “You and your ****ing gender issues,” he once shouted.

“It took a long time to sway him,” she says. “That I could make a living at this was a huge surprise to him.”

Persistence pays off. It’s one of the lessons the three young researchers learned from their first oral history project. In the second, due in print this month, they found a generation of enthusiasm. The third might just turn them into outright advocates.

“Sometimes we get e-mails saying ‘This is a useless project,’ ” Linková says. “But we mostly have to deal with a lack of interest on the political level.

“Big surprise,” she adds, rolling her eyes.

Being part of a respected organization lends credibility to their thoughts on the subject of equality. As Šaldová says, “ ‘Sociologists from the Academy of Sciences’ sounds different than ‘young Czech feminists.’ ”

However, she says, the institution wields more power than one individual, or even three. If funding flows toward other research issues, they will be urged to go along.

Still, Šaldová explains, “it’s better to fight within the institution than do nothing.”

Sticking to their guns

Those are battles yet to come, with outcomes unknown. Sipping on coffee at Red, Hot & Blues, their thoughts return to that first book, to the older woman who scoffed at their zeal, then yielded to their logic. “If that is a feminist, I might become one myself,” she had told them.

Once again, they burst into laughter.

“This is a direct outcome of what we do,” Linková explains, serious once again, though still smiling broadly. She does — they do — indeed hope to change, if not the world, perhaps the Czech Republic, or, at the very least, the prospects for future female scientists.

At one point in time, Linková admits, she might have given up. One little book and the friendship it created among colleagues changed that.

“I don’t want to give this up,” Tupá says, speaking for them all.

Dave Faries can be reached at dfaries@praguepost.com

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