Los Angeles: One shaped and delivered the language of feminism. The other rejected the label but showed how feminism can be done: with a microphone dusted in rhinestones, and without apology.
Gloria Steinem and Dolly Parton embodied two towering versions of the same idea: Women should know themselves well enough to make their own choices about matters intimate and societal. Their deaths eight days apart sent a double dose of grief around the world and across generations as many women (and some men) asked who would take their places at the forefront of women’s rights.
Steinem, overtly political, went undercover as a Playboy bunny to deliver an expose, founded Ms Magazine and spent the rest of her life urging women to support each other. Parton, on the other hand, defined herself as a larger-than-life daughter of the American South who told stories with music and included everybody — but refused to play politics or call herself a feminist.
“Dolly taught us to dream big. Gloria taught us to speak up,” wrote DeMond B Nason, a New York City singer. “Both reminded us that a woman could walk into a world that told her who she was supposed to be — and simply decide to become something else.”
Animated by the same idea, even if they didn’t call it the same thing. Parton didn’t say so, but Steinem insisted more than three decades ago that the pair fit together under the same feminist flag.
“If feminism means each of us finding your unique power, and helping other women do the same, Dolly Parton certainly has done both,” Steinem wrote in 1987, when Ms Magazine named the singer one of its “Women of the Year.”
Many shared the sense Steinem and Parton belonged together.
“Both believed in women: in our ability to decide who we are, make our own choices, take care of one another and shape the world around us,” wrote Swati Narayan in a column for American Kahani, an online news outlet for Indian and South Asian Americans.
Between Parton’s death on August 25 and Steinem’s on September 2, Ms Magazine re-ran Steinem’s essay with an editor’s note: “Steinem celebrated Parton not only as a gifted songwriter and magnetic performer, but as a shrewd businessperson who transformed femininity into a source of humor and power — and used her success to lift up working women, poor communities and the mountain people of her native Tennessee.”
The embrace wasn’t mutual, at least not publicly. And that, Parton acknowledged, was by design.
“I don’t do politics. I have too many fans on both sides of the fence,” she said in 2019 on “Dolly Parton’s America,” Radiolab’s podcast. “Of course,” she added, “I have my opinion about everything, but I learned years ago to keep your mouth shut about things.”
The star was asked directly whether she thought of herself as a feminist.
“No, I do not,” she said flatly, later explaining that she did not want to be associated with what she viewed as political extremes even as she advocated for women and their opportunities.
“I do not like extreme things,” she said. “I don’t believe in crucifying a whole group just because a few people have made mistakes. To me, when you say just the word feminist,’ it’s like, I hate all men.’”
Parton was clear; her lyrics were intended to shine light on women’s hardships and the realities of a world that the superstar agreed was dominated by men. She wrote about teenage pregnancy, abortion and adoption in “Down from Dover.” She supported equal pay. One of her most famous songs is called “Just Because I’m a Woman.”
“People say to me, Well, wasn’t it a man’s world back when you got in the business? ‘ I said, It sure was, and honey, I had a ball,” she said at a 2019 awards show.
She just didn’t use words like “oppression” or “patriarchy.” And unlike Steinem, Parton didn’t endorse political candidates. Asked on CNN during the 2016 presidential campaign whether she preferred Republican Donald Trump or Democrat Hillary Clinton, she replied: “I think they’re both nuts.”
Onstage at the 2017 Emmys, Parton demurred when fellow “9 to 5” co-stars Lily Tomlin and Jane Fonda took a thinly veiled shot at Trump. Parton pivoted to humour.
“They’re Lily, and they’re Jane, and I’m Dolly,” she said later. “So they did their thing, I did mine.”
Feminism splintered under the pressure of public policy debates over such issues as abortion and the rejection of Clinton in the 2016 elections, the rise of Trump and the modern-day emergence of identity politics.
Steinem’s version of feminism today is more aligned with Democrats at a time when, at least for now, the country has swung Republican. Steinem lived to see the Supreme Court overturn the 1973 ruling Roe v. Wade, eliminating the constitutional right to abortion, a pillar of the 1960s feminist movement she embodied. The Equal Rights Amendment remains unratified. And Americans have yet to elect a woman president.
To the end, Steinem insisted it wasn’t the label that mattered. What counted as feminist was whether a woman knew herself well enough to make her own choices rather than be defined as the daughter or wife of a man.
But partisanship surfaced even in the ritual public mourning for the two women.
Parton’s passing touched off an immediate expression of grief from sources ranging from Trump to her fans in the LGBTQ+ community. Trump ordered flags to be flown at half-staff as a show of “respect” for her.
In contrast, there was no such rush to recognise Steinem beyond her liberal and centrist constituency, even from conservatives who had expressed respect for her accomplishments as an influential historical figure.
Their silence two days after Steinem’s death contrasted with the outpouring of grief, thanks and respect for Steinem from leading figures on the left, particularly of her generation. Hillary Clinton, who also saluted Parton, said Steinem’s activism was built on optimism despite abundant roadblocks for women.
Follow on Twitter | Edited by Veena Nair | 
