Latest news with #WagesforHousework
Yahoo
23-05-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
The World That ‘Wages for Housework' Wanted
In the United States, as in many nations around the world, people are having fewer children. According to the CDC, the country's birth rate is at a record low, a trend that may eventually threaten tax bases and strain social services as the population ages and the workforce shrinks. But some who are concerned with this trend line see the problem less in practical than in spiritual terms. Among right-wing 'pronatalists' who view having children as a moral good, the declining birth rate betrays a growing reluctance on the part of American women to have babies in traditional family structures. President Donald Trump has responded to this anxiety by promising a 'baby boom.' To that end, Republicans have proposed putting $1,000 in a 'Trump account' for all newborns; the White House has also been considering an array of proposals that include giving mothers $5,000 for each birth, as well as awarding a medal to those with six or more. (As Mother Jones has noted, Stalin and Hitler handed out similar awards.) A goal for this ascendant strain of pronatalism is, as CNN recently put it, to 'glorify motherhood.' Of course, a medal is meaningless, and $5,000 is at best a few months of help, relative to the economic factors—a nationwide housing crisis, wildly expensive child care, debt—that cause many Americans not to have children or to have fewer than they might like. Glorifying motherhood, meanwhile, in practical terms, may only make mothers' daily lives worse. Claudia Goldin, a Nobel Prize–winning economist, has found that contemporary birth rates are declining fastest in highly developed, patriarchal countries—places where women can have any career they like but where it's assumed that they will do the bulk of child-care and household labor, such that motherhood and a fulfilling work life become incompatible. This is somewhat the case in the U.S.; a 2023 study by the Pew Research Center showed that though husbands and wives earn roughly equally in a growing share of heterosexual marriages, women in these households still spend more time on child care and chores. Encouraging childbearing by attaching prestige to motherhood without material support would surely make this disparity worse. But creating social conditions that are conducive to motherhood doesn't have to be part of a reactionary agenda. Indeed, one of the feminist movement's most radical and idealistic intellectual branches, a 1970s campaign called Wages for Housework, advocated for policies that, if ever implemented, genuinely might set off a baby boom. Its central goal was straightforward: government pay for anybody who does the currently unremunerated labor of caring for their own home and family. On top of that, the movement envisioned communal social structures and facilities including high-quality public laundromats and day cares that would get women out of their homes and give them their own time, such that paying them to do housework wouldn't consign them to a life without anything else. Not even at the height of the Wages for Housework campaign was it mainstream, and, as can happen on the left, it suffered from a utopianism that kept it from achieving tangible victories, as the University of Wisconsin historian Emily Callaci shows in her new survey of the movement, Wages for Housework: The Feminist Fight Against Unpaid Labor. But the campaign's ideas are worth another look. Wages for Housework was, in a sense, the opposite of $5,000 and a medal: Its activists dreamed of a society that would give women the economic freedom to do and be anything they wanted, not one that would narrowly incentivize motherhood. Callaci's deeply researched book is a compelling guide to the world the movement wanted. Callaci came to Wages for Housework through motherhood. After having children, she found that the dual demands of her professorship and her family life meant that she was doing some sort of task 18 hours a day. Caring for her sons was, she writes, 'work that I knew I could never refuse,' but so was her job. Having grown up with the girl-power feminism of the 1990s and joined the workforce in the 2010s (the era of the girlboss), she'd absorbed the lesson that professional success 'was the source of my liberation, autonomy, and sense of accomplishment.' Added to this tension was the day-care loop that many American parents of young children know well: Callaci and her husband 'rely on paid childcare; to pay for childcare, we need to work; and this entire cycle relies on the fact that the extremely skilled women who care for our children are paid less money for their work than we are for ours.' This is unjust, Callaci argues, and also implicates parents in the devaluation of child care, which is their labor as well as that of their children's nannies or day-care providers. She wanted another way. In the contemporary United States, most families don't have one. But in the writings and archives of the Wages for Housework activists Selma James, Silvia Federici, Mariarosa Dalla Costa, Wilmette Brown, and Margaret Prescod, Callaci found a pitch for a society in which care work isn't unpaid or poorly paid—because, without it, everything else falls apart. Callaci explains that Wages for Housework began with a question prompted by the Italian philosophy of operaismo, or 'workerism,' which wanted to change the workplace so that worker well-being was no longer a distant second to productivity. Dalla Costa, one of Wages for Housework's co-founders, was a militant operaista, but she was also a feminist, and she wanted to understand how operaismo was relevant beyond job sites full of men. Callaci writes that Dalla Costa started by asking, 'If factories were the places where exploitation happened, why didn't women who stayed at home feel free?' From there, she 'began to rethink the entire history of capitalism from the standpoint of the housewife.' [Read: The devaluation of care work is by design] Dalla Costa's questions led her to the idea that women who don't work outside the home produce 'the single most valuable thing, without which capitalism could not exist: labor power itself.' Mothers create workers, and especially in Italy in the '70s, mothers and wives more often than not fed those workers, clothed them, did their laundry, made the beds in which they slept at night. Dalla Costa shared her ideas with other feminists, including Selma James, who lived in London and had been married to the eminent cultural historian and Pan-Africanist C. L. R. James. Having grown up working-class in New York and come to politics partly through Black liberation, Selma James espoused a more inclusive and more intuitive feminism than that of many of her white, middle-class peers. She saw money for housewives as not just fair pay for labor but also a source of liberation from men. At the same time, she wanted the feminists she knew to identify themselves more closely with waged workers and their struggles, because, as Callaci puts it, 'women were working all the time, even if their work conditions varied.' When James added this concept to Dalla Costa's reframing of labor power, Wages for Housework was born. Dalla Costa and James spread their ideas from Europe to James's hometown of New York, where they caught on with a young Italian graduate student named Silvia Federici—perhaps the most well-known of the movement's members today. As more famous American feminists concentrated on the Equal Rights Amendment and on equity in white-collar workplaces—a focus on achievement outside the home that would later appear, in glossier form, as girlboss feminism—Federici and her Wages for Housework committee advocated instead to get cash to all women, but especially those not presently earning money for their labor. In their estimation, only economic power could lead to freedom. For instance, when various states began to recognize rape within marriage as a crime, Federici pointed out—though no legislators or more prominent feminists listened—that this recognition 'gives women the right not to be raped; but only money would give them the power to actually leave a violent relationship.' Federici's committee acknowledged that, in a sense, welfare served as the wage they wanted—but it was both restrictive and stigmatized. Margaret Prescod, who was part of Federici's committee before co-founding Black Women for Wages for Housework with Wilmette Brown, spearheaded the only material victory Callaci describes by standing up to one of welfare's constraints. She led an activist group at Queens College that, along with Black Women for Wages for Housework, got a bill passed in the state of New York that enabled welfare recipients, whom the local press described as 'savvy scammers,' to get educational grants and loans without having that money counted against their benefits. Prescod seems to have been Wages for Housework's most practical member by far. Brown, in contrast, was an expansive, systems-level thinker who saw housework as including the effort of repairing society's damage, mitigating the harm that racism or gentrification or environmental devastation have done. Dalla Costa, James, and Federici land somewhere between them, but none of the three ever seem to have lowered their gaze from the campaign's lofty overall agenda to smaller proposals for which they could have fought one by one. Callaci quotes the English feminist Lynne Segal, who wrote in her 2023 memoir that Wages for Housework's activists, when asked to consider issues less grand than or different from their own, gave responses that were 'vanguardist' and 'hectoring.' [Read: The pro-family policy this nation actually needs] As a result of this attraction to the revolutionary over the practical, the campaign alienated many women who found its aims simply implausible. Callaci interviewed Alisa del Re, a feminist operaista who, rather than joining Wages for Housework, campaigned for improved public schools and day cares—one of Wages for Housework's many stated goals, but not one that its members seem to have actively worked toward. When Callaci asked del Re why she'd made this choice, the latter said that she was a mother, and 'maybe it was not revolutionary, but I had to put the babies somewhere!' It is this point that many of today's pronatalist advocates seem not to get. When you have babies, you have to put them somewhere: in a home you can pay for, in a safe day care where they can learn. $5,000 per child cannot do that; a living wage for housework would. Even if the Wages for Housework campaign was too radical to make real headway toward the conditions its members wanted—too busy explaining the need for universal, free day care to help del Re get a place to 'put the babies'—its members undeniably understood the gravity of mothers' need. In Wages for Housework, Callaci argues convincingly that the campaign's comprehension of women's reality is important to keep in view today, when the horizons of what governments offer families are shrinking. Wages for Housework may not have been a practical movement, but a government that acted on its ideas of what wives and mothers need would be more likely to stimulate a baby boom than one offering a single check for each birth. But Callaci thinks the campaign's revolutionary tendency matters too. Researching the Wages for Housework campaign, she writes, awakened 'something in my imagination, connecting my daily efforts to lives and labors beyond the four walls of my house.' This sense of connection makes Wages for Housework a relevant rebuttal to those who would like women to devote themselves to having and raising children. Wages for Housework's activists, as Callaci shows, linked seemingly disparate lives and struggles, extending a fundamental empathy for anyone who is exploited or overworked and cannot live in the way they wish to. The campaign, which began with the premise that cleaning and cooking are labor at least as vital as assembling commodities on a factory line, ultimately wanted all women to have access to the lives they desired. For some women, that might mean being able to afford to have six children and stay home with them; for others, that might mean never marrying or reproducing, and devoting their lives entirely to art. I, for one, would like to live in a country where that vision has—or might yet—come to pass. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
23-05-2025
- Business
- Atlantic
The World That ‘Wages for Housework' Wanted
In the United States, as in many nations around the world, people are having fewer children. According to the CDC, the country's birth rate is at a record low, a trend that may eventually threaten tax bases and strain social services as the population ages and the workforce shrinks. But some who are concerned with this trend line see the problem less in practical than in spiritual terms. Among right-wing 'pronatalists' who view having children as a moral good, the declining birth rate betrays a growing reluctance on the part of American women to have babies in traditional family structures. President Donald Trump has responded to this anxiety by promising a 'baby boom.' To that end, Republicans have proposed putting $1,000 in a 'Trump account' for all newborns; the White House has also been considering an array of proposals that include giving mothers $5,000 for each birth, as well as awarding a medal to those with six or more. (As Mother Jones has noted, Stalin and Hitler handed out similar awards.) A goal for this ascendant strain of pronatalism is, as CNN recently put it, to 'glorify motherhood.' Of course, a medal is meaningless, and $5,000 is at best a few months of help, relative to the economic factors—a nationwide housing crisis, wildly expensive child care, debt—that cause many Americans not to have children or to have fewer than they might like. Glorifying motherhood, meanwhile, in practical terms, may only make mothers' daily lives worse. Claudia Goldin, a Nobel Prize–winning economist, has found that contemporary birth rates are declining fastest in highly developed, patriarchal countries—places where women can have any career they like but where it's assumed that they will do the bulk of child-care and household labor, such that motherhood and a fulfilling work life become incompatible. This is somewhat the case in the U.S.; a 2023 study by the Pew Research Center showed that though husbands and wives earn roughly equally in a growing share of heterosexual marriages, women in these households still spend more time on child care and chores. Encouraging childbearing by attaching prestige to motherhood without material support would surely make this disparity worse. But creating social conditions that are conducive to motherhood doesn't have to be part of a reactionary agenda. Indeed, one of the feminist movement's most radical and idealistic intellectual branches, a 1970s campaign called Wages for Housework, advocated for policies that, if ever implemented, genuinely might set off a baby boom. Its central goal was straightforward: government pay for anybody who does the currently unremunerated labor of caring for their own home and family. On top of that, the movement envisioned communal social structures and facilities including high-quality public laundromats and day cares that would get women out of their homes and give them their own time, such that paying them to do housework wouldn't consign them to a life without anything else. Not even at the height of the Wages for Housework campaign was it mainstream, and, as can happen on the left, it suffered from a utopianism that kept it from achieving tangible victories, as the University of Wisconsin historian Emily Callaci shows in her new survey of the movement, Wages for Housework: The Feminist Fight Against Unpaid Labor. But the campaign's ideas are worth another look. Wages for Housework was, in a sense, the opposite of $5,000 and a medal: Its activists dreamed of a society that would give women the economic freedom to do and be anything they wanted, not one that would narrowly incentivize motherhood. Callaci's deeply researched book is a compelling guide to the world the movement wanted. Callaci came to Wages for Housework through motherhood. After having children, she found that the dual demands of her professorship and her family life meant that she was doing some sort of task 18 hours a day. Caring for her sons was, she writes, 'work that I knew I could never refuse,' but so was her job. Having grown up with the girl-power feminism of the 1990s and joined the workforce in the 2010s (the era of the girlboss), she'd absorbed the lesson that professional success 'was the source of my liberation, autonomy, and sense of accomplishment.' Added to this tension was the day-care loop that many American parents of young children know well: Callaci and her husband 'rely on paid childcare; to pay for childcare, we need to work; and this entire cycle relies on the fact that the extremely skilled women who care for our children are paid less money for their work than we are for ours.' This is unjust, Callaci argues, and also implicates parents in the devaluation of child care, which is their labor as well as that of their children's nannies or day-care providers. She wanted another way. In the contemporary United States, most families don't have one. But in the writings and archives of the Wages for Housework activists Selma James, Silvia Federici, Mariarosa Dalla Costa, Wilmette Brown, and Margaret Prescod, Callaci found a pitch for a society in which care work isn't unpaid or poorly paid—because, without it, everything else falls apart. Callaci explains that Wages for Housework began with a question prompted by the Italian philosophy of operaismo, or 'workerism,' which wanted to change the workplace so that worker well-being was no longer a distant second to productivity. Dalla Costa, one of Wages for Housework's co-founders, was a militant operaista, but she was also a feminist, and she wanted to understand how operaismo was relevant beyond job sites full of men. Callaci writes that Dalla Costa started by asking, 'If factories were the places where exploitation happened, why didn't women who stayed at home feel free?' From there, she 'began to rethink the entire history of capitalism from the standpoint of the housewife.' Dalla Costa's questions led her to the idea that women who don't work outside the home produce 'the single most valuable thing, without which capitalism could not exist: labor power itself.' Mothers create workers, and especially in Italy in the '70s, mothers and wives more often than not fed those workers, clothed them, did their laundry, made the beds in which they slept at night. Dalla Costa shared her ideas with other feminists, including Selma James, who lived in London and had been married to the eminent cultural historian and Pan-Africanist C. L. R. James. Having grown up working-class in New York and come to politics partly through Black liberation, Selma James espoused a more inclusive and more intuitive feminism than that of many of her white, middle-class peers. She saw money for housewives as not just fair pay for labor but also a source of liberation from men. At the same time, she wanted the feminists she knew to identify themselves more closely with waged workers and their struggles, because, as Callaci puts it, 'women were working all the time, even if their work conditions varied.' When James added this concept to Dalla Costa's reframing of labor power, Wages for Housework was born. Dalla Costa and James spread their ideas from Europe to James's hometown of New York, where they caught on with a young Italian graduate student named Silvia Federici—perhaps the most well-known of the movement's members today. As more famous American feminists concentrated on the Equal Rights Amendment and on equity in white-collar workplaces—a focus on achievement outside the home that would later appear, in glossier form, as girlboss feminism—Federici and her Wages for Housework committee advocated instead to get cash to all women, but especially those not presently earning money for their labor. In their estimation, only economic power could lead to freedom. For instance, when various states began to recognize rape within marriage as a crime, Federici pointed out—though no legislators or more prominent feminists listened—that this recognition 'gives women the right not to be raped; but only money would give them the power to actually leave a violent relationship.' Federici's committee acknowledged that, in a sense, welfare served as the wage they wanted—but it was both restrictive and stigmatized. Margaret Prescod, who was part of Federici's committee before co-founding Black Women for Wages for Housework with Wilmette Brown, spearheaded the only material victory Callaci describes by standing up to one of welfare's constraints. She led an activist group at Queens College that, along with Black Women for Wages for Housework, got a bill passed in the state of New York that enabled welfare recipients, whom the local press described as 'savvy scammers,' to get educational grants and loans without having that money counted against their benefits. Prescod seems to have been Wages for Housework's most practical member by far. Brown, in contrast, was an expansive, systems-level thinker who saw housework as including the effort of repairing society's damage, mitigating the harm that racism or gentrification or environmental devastation have done. Dalla Costa, James, and Federici land somewhere between them, but none of the three ever seem to have lowered their gaze from the campaign's lofty overall agenda to smaller proposals for which they could have fought one by one. Callaci quotes the English feminist Lynne Segal, who wrote in her 2023 memoir that Wages for Housework's activists, when asked to consider issues less grand than or different from their own, gave responses that were 'vanguardist' and 'hectoring.' As a result of this attraction to the revolutionary over the practical, the campaign alienated many women who found its aims simply implausible. Callaci interviewed Alisa del Re, a feminist operaista who, rather than joining Wages for Housework, campaigned for improved public schools and day cares—one of Wages for Housework's many stated goals, but not one that its members seem to have actively worked toward. When Callaci asked del Re why she'd made this choice, the latter said that she was a mother, and 'maybe it was not revolutionary, but I had to put the babies somewhere!' It is this point that many of today's pronatalist advocates seem not to get. When you have babies, you have to put them somewhere: in a home you can pay for, in a safe day care where they can learn. $5,000 per child cannot do that; a living wage for housework would. Even if the Wages for Housework campaign was too radical to make real headway toward the conditions its members wanted—too busy explaining the need for universal, free day care to help del Re get a place to 'put the babies'—its members undeniably understood the gravity of mothers' need. In Wages for Housework, Callaci argues convincingly that the campaign's comprehension of women's reality is important to keep in view today, when the horizons of what governments offer families are shrinking. Wages for Housework may not have been a practical movement, but a government that acted on its ideas of what wives and mothers need would be more likely to stimulate a baby boom than one offering a single check for each birth. But Callaci thinks the campaign's revolutionary tendency matters too. Researching the Wages for Housework campaign, she writes, awakened 'something in my imagination, connecting my daily efforts to lives and labors beyond the four walls of my house.' This sense of connection makes Wages for Housework a relevant rebuttal to those who would like women to devote themselves to having and raising children. Wages for Housework's activists, as Callaci shows, linked seemingly disparate lives and struggles, extending a fundamental empathy for anyone who is exploited or overworked and cannot live in the way they wish to. The campaign, which began with the premise that cleaning and cooking are labor at least as vital as assembling commodities on a factory line, ultimately wanted all women to have access to the lives they desired. For some women, that might mean being able to afford to have six children and stay home with them; for others, that might mean never marrying or reproducing, and devoting their lives entirely to art. I, for one, would like to live in a country where that vision has—or might yet—come to pass.
Newsroom
21-05-2025
- Politics
- Newsroom
The coalition Govt just doesn't care about women
Analysis: In the 1970s, women workers the world over came together for the Wages for Housework campaign. Beginning in Italy and spreading globally, the campaign focused on the invisible and unpaid labour of housework primarily done (then and now) by women. The domestic sphere, and the domestic labour required for society to function, became visible through mass feminist mobilisation. But these feminists – housewives, mothers, waitresses, and a myriad of other workers – weren't just trying to make domestic labour visible. Neither were they just focused on showing the direct relationship between gendered oppression and labour relations. Crucially, they were demanding the wages they were due for all of the work they had been doing for free. The demands of this movement are useful in illustrating why people are rightfully angry about the chopping of the pay equity claims for these so-called Budget savings. Women's liberation movements in 2025 should be far past having to fight for equitable pay in waged work, let alone having to fight to even seek legal recognition of pay inequity. Basic recognition of inequitable pay for the labour that is paid is the very least the Government could do for women. Market-traded and paid labour would not be possible without the care work done (with and without wages) by women. The work historically and presently assigned as women's work is systemically devalued, often unpaid, and almost always underpaid. The Government's dismissal and belittling of women workers is the latest in a long history of ignoring the life-making and society-sustaining labour of women. Like some sort of cruel joke, the pay equity claims were dismissed within days of Mother's Day and May Day. Mothers, women, and workers – and crucially mothers and women as workers – are struggling each day in Aotearoa New Zealand to navigate gender injustices. We live in a country that is far from any sort of women's liberation or even gender equity. Women comprised 90 percent of job redundancies during the Covid pandemic, and their experiences of intimate partner violence surged. Women did the majority of unpaid labour caring for children and the household throughout the lockdowns, often holding down paid work at the same time. Out of OECD countries, New Zealand ranks among the very lowest for paid parental leave entitlements and has some of the most expensive childcare. In 2024, a two-parent household in Aotearoa New Zealand spent 37 percent of their combined income on early childhood education fees. If parents can't afford childcare, it is usually women who leave paid work to do childcare – for free – thus losing job opportunities and their source of independent income. National campaigned on 21,000 families being $250 a fortnight better off under its government, yet fewer than 50 families have received this promised amount. Our statistics for sexual and domestic violence are stark. For incarcerated women, the numbers are even worse. At least 75 percent of women prisoners have been victims of intimate violence, and almost 70 percent of these are wāhine Māori. Not unrelatedly, their right to vote was removed shortly before the pay equity announcement. These examples barely scratch the surface of the structural gender oppression faced by women in Aotearoa New Zealand, and they are all connected to the ability to access material resources. We can better shape our feminist politics – and our society – if we consider the lessons from the Wages for Housework movement: labour relations and gender oppression are deeply entwined in our society. That is, the primary way we access money and resources in society is to work. If the labour that our society makes women's work is paid less or not at all, then women have less access to money and resources. They therefore have less power and freedom in society. The correlation between wages, work, gender and freedom will be true so long as capital, not life, is at the centre of our economy. It is not a coincidence that these gendered matters have remained off the radar (or actively made worse) under the coalition Government. The cutting of pay equity claims is the coalition once more loudly proclaiming they do not care about women, let alone their health, safety, and financial independence.
The Guardian
16-02-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Wages for Housework by Emily Callaci review – dust off those protest banners
In the 1970s, the campaigning group Wages for Housework – women, lay down your dusters! – was thought to be cranky and cultish even by some of the second-wave feminists who should then have been most sympathetic to its cause. The story went that if someone stood up at a meeting and announced themselves as one of its members, the audience would groan, knowing a lecture was inevitable; in 1975, the Guardian compared its acolytes (it never had more than a few dozen official members) to Jehovah's Witnesses. By the time it finally fizzled out in the 1990s, its reputation was in the mud. Increasingly riven by factions, former members accused its leadership of bullying and intimidation. But some ideas take a long time to come into their own. In Britain in 2025, the issue of social care and its funding is impossible to ignore. This morning, I read of Andrea Tucker, who successfully challenged in court a demand that she repay £4,600 in carer's allowance overpayments (Tucker looked after her mother for 15 years; the Department for Work and Pensions claimed she breached weekly earnings limits, in spite of it having previously advised her otherwise). Post-Covid, just about everyone is aware of the fuzziness of the line between work and home, while the concept of a universal basic income, once thought radical to the point of loopy, is fast gaining credence. In England, a pilot scheme is running in central Jarrow, north-east England, and East Finchley, north London; Andy Burnham, the mayor of Manchester, is a vocal adherent. Emily Callaci's new history of WFH – how strange and appropriate that its acronym is the same as for working from home – is, then, rather well timed, for all that it sometimes makes for unintentionally comic reading (when Callaci, an American historian, earnestly recounts the histories of myriad splinter groups, it's impossible not to picture – freedom for Tooting! – the old BBC sitcom Citizen Smith). But even before we get to the matter of who does what in the home, her book steps on familiar present-day territory. Hello again, liberal males. How interesting to read that the women whose stories she tells were attacked not only by the right, but by those men who were meant in theory to be on their side. In Italy, where Wages for Housework was led by a Marxist academic from Padua called Mariarosa Dalla Costa, the leftwing press characterised the movement's members as bourgeois castrators. It was scandalised by the fact that she and her colleagues had the temerity to describe unwaged women as members of the proletariat, a categorisation that gave them equal status with male factory workers. Dalla Costa is at the heart of Callaci's book, whose structure takes the form of a group biography, and she's perhaps its most appealing character. As a member in the late 60s of the anti-capitalist operaismo movement, one of whose rallying cries was 'Less work, more money!', Dalla Costa would rise at 4am to leaflet petrochemical plants before returning to Padua to teach her students Rousseau. For her, class and sex intersected, and this made her a natural ally for Selma James, the American founder of the international Wages for Housework campaign (the estranged wife of the historian CLR James, she was living in the UK). James's consciousness had been raised by motherhood and the low-paid factory jobs she'd done. In 1972, she and Dalla Costa published The Power of Women and the Subversion of the Community, which effectively launched the debate over domestic labour by spelling out the fact that capitalist economies rely on those who care for the workers: who cook and clean for them; who raise their children; who tend to them when they're ill. As another activist, the Italian-American scholar Silvia Federici, later put it: 'They say it is love. We say it is unwaged work.' Such ideas made powerful sense in the moment, printed on a pamphlet or shouted through a loudhailer. But when people asked questions, their incoherence became obvious. Was the wage intended to compensate housework, and if so, who was to pay it? The state or the man's employer? (The worker was then almost always a man.) Many second wavers resented the association of housework with feminism – they didn't care to be paid for plumping pillows; they wanted careers outside the home – while others saw the campaign's demands as nothing more than a productivity deal, pounds to be offered in exchange for spaghetti bolognese and clean sheets. Federici argued that money was not the point; she couldn't say how much the wage should be. But if this was so, how would anyone know when the battle was won? It seemed that WFH required women to participate in a struggle that had no clear immediate objective. For the casual reader, however, such nitty-gritty is perhaps less captivating than the book's atmosphere more generally, a mood that is at once ridiculous and rather magnificent. Whether logical or not, WFH's ideas seeped into the ether. When the school leaving age was raised to 15 in the UK, some girls believed they should be paid for their time, since they were no longer allowed to work. Should the cash go to their parents? A teenager called Gaye thought not: 'Like, if we was naughty, they'd say, oh, you're not getting your money today…' Amazingly, Selma James regarded such a standpoint not as cheek, but as a legitimate rebellion against the stranglehold of capital. In Italy, meanwhile, an artist called Milli Gandini turned WFH into an art project. Having allowed dust to accumulate on the surfaces of her house, she used her finger to draw feminist symbols in it, which she then photographed. The cooking pots she'd once used for pasta, she painted in bright colours, after which she bound their lids shut with barbed wire. For its leaders, one senses that WFH had a personal, psychic cost: the black activist Wilmette Brown is a case in point. Callaci tries repeatedly to interview her, but she's now a practising Hindu and yogi; the closest Callaci gets is to attend an event via Zoom during which Manisha, as she's now known, discusses immigration (the talk is sponsored by a Pinner-based organisation called Tattva). Many activists drifted away; others, battle-scarred, can no longer bear even to think of those times. WFH's last gasp in the UK was at Greenham Common in the 1980s, where Brown and others are said to have sowed discontent in the women's peace camp ('Pay women, not the military,' read their banners). It may be, Callaci suggests, that WFH's global demands were simply too wide-ranging. What, after all, do women in Peru really have in common with those in Plymouth or Pensacola? Or perhaps – a happier alternative – it's simply that its time is yet to come. For all the robot vacuum cleaners in the world still can't answer the vital question: what counts as work, and when and how much is a person owed for doing it? Wages for Housework by Emily Callaci is published by Allen Lane (£25). To support the Guardian and Observer order your copy at Delivery charges may apply
The Guardian
07-02-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
‘It infuriates me': why the ‘wages for housework' movement is still controversial 40 years on
Emily Callaci is at home in Wisconsin, surrounded by the usual debris of family life. The bed behind her is unmade, she confesses, and there's 'a bunch of marbles and blocks on the floor' left by her sons, now seven and three. But on Zoom she has blurred her background so none of this is visible on screen, just as here, on the other side of the Atlantic, I've angled my laptop camera away from the mess on my kitchen worktop. We've both automatically hidden the domestic for the sake of looking professional, ironically given this interview is about making unseen, unpaid labour in the home visible. Callaci, a professor of history at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, has written a book, Wages for Housework, which chronicles the radical 1970s feminist campaign that argued for recognition of the economic value of domestic labour. In truth, she explains, it was a recipe for revolution, designed to smash capitalism and its underpinning myth that women just love keeping house so much they'll do it for nothing. Wages for Housework's founders argued that when an employer hires a worker, they get the value not only of that person's labour but that of the person at home enabling them to work in the first place by looking after the children and chores. No housework, no capitalism: yet, somehow, the housewife (and back then it invariably was a housewife) gets none of the profit. 'The idea was that if you show how much capitalism relies on that work and then actually demand that it be compensated, you see that the system doesn't work as it says it works,' says Callaci. 'It's supposed to be the most efficient way to organise an economy, but what's hidden is how much work is extracted and exploited for free. The point is to expose that and bring it crashing down by putting a price on that work.' In the book she profiles five of the movement's stars: New Yorker Silvia Federici, a philosopher, who saw the nuclear family as a prison; Selma James, an American Marxist factory worker, who ran the movement's British arm after her husband, CLR James, was expelled from the US under McCarthyism; Italian activist Mariarosa Dalla Costa; Wilmette Brown, a lesbian veteran of the Black power organisation the Black Panther party, who ran Black Women for Wages for Housework; and Barbados-born Margaret Prescod, who argued that American prosperity relied on black women's unpaid labour. From the start, there were differences of opinion about what exactly Wages for Housework meant. For Federici – whose 1975 manifesto coined the phrase 'They say it is love, we call it unwaged work' – it wasn't literally about getting paid but about the revolutionary struggle. (Though she conceded the money might help women with no other means of earning, she argued that many had other options – including not having children, as she herself didn't.) And if it wasn't really about wages, before long it was only loosely about housework, with the definition expanding to include voluntary work or political organising, rent strikes (because homes were workplaces), surviving poverty or racism, and what might now be called 'emotional labour': essentially, anything women felt obliged to do unpaid. It was when she had children, while working full-time, that Callaci began to take a professional interest in this dilemma. 'I found myself working essentially 18-hour days, which seemed like a strange way to think about liberation. As feminists, I feel like we've gotten the message that the answer is to succeed at work, and of course I love my career. But that kind of exhaustion seemed to me not …' And we're just discussing what exactly it's not when, appropriately enough, she has to stop and take a phone call from her sons' daycare centre. Anyway, she says, the well-meaning advice she received about time management for working mothers didn't cut it. 'I was hungry for more ambitious explanations about how we got here, why we live this way – even more than ideas about how we might do things differently.' More unexpectedly, she found Federici's manifesto resonated as a set text with her young university students. 'A lot of students that I teach are responding to a society that really emphasises production and consumption, and just seeing what that's done to the planet,' she says. But this generation, for whom home ownership and financial security feels out of reach even if they work hard, are also, she thinks, prioritising time with family and friends. 'They're questioning that kind of grind culture that tells us we need to be seen to be working all the time to justify our existence.' Wages for Housework was, she says, similarly about clawing back time. Though James was more focused than Federici on putting cash in female pockets, she also favoured a 20-hour working week, and guaranteed income whether you were working or not – a forerunner of today's campaign for universal basic income. Federici argued for government-funded daycare freeing mothers not to work but to do whatever they liked: making art, napping, seeing friends or having sex. (None of the five seems very interested in how any of this might be paid for, prompting some contemporary critics to see it as gimmicky, while others worried that linking wages to housework would trap women in the domestic sphere – though Federici saw making housework a paid job as a necessary prelude to quitting it.) It was this idea of what Federici calls 'joyful militancy', or seeking to be happy rather than productive, that attracted Callaci as an exhausted new mother. 'At the moment when I felt I most needed things like leisure, like exercise, like seeing my friends. I just couldn't because I had too much work. And part of me feels like why do we expect that mothers are cut off from all those things that make life worth living? Why should women have to apologise for that, why should we have to say: 'I need help so I can do my other job more efficiently'?' She also liked the inclusivity of Wages for Housework, which recognised that for many working-class women, liberating careers were out of reach; they were doing low-paid, grinding work just to survive. The movement embraced sex workers, and 'welfare mothers' protesting about being forced to take minimum-wage jobs, who argued that raising children was work enough. Initially it even tried to include men, arguing that this wasn't a battle between the sexes but between workers and capitalism. James argued that men should also get wages for housework if they chose to do it; knowing they were no longer their family's sole earner might give them confidence to stand up to their bosses without worrying about being sacked. This cut little ice however with the British trade union movement of the 1970s, while in Italy Dalla Costa encountered fierce male hostility inside a leftist movement where women were expected to be happy printing off copies of pamphlets written by men. The New York Wages for Housework committee, meanwhile, seemed to take a more confrontational approach. In her book Callaci quotes from its 1974 declaration, which she bought as a poster to hang at home: 'The women of the world are serving notice! We want wages for every dirty toilet, every indecent assault, every painful childbirth, every cup of coffee and every smile. And if we don't get what we want, we will simply refuse to work any longer!' What leaps out is the phrase 'indecent assault', as if that were just part of the 70s housewife's lot, along with scrubbing toilets, and something for which she should be compensated. The second line of Federici's manifesto – 'They call it frigidity; we call it absenteeism' – certainly suggests she saw marital sex as work, and consent as uncomfortably linked to financial dependency. 'One of the arguments Federici makes is that we think we know what it means to be liberated sexually, but how can we really know what that means if we are not financially autonomous, if we're dependent on the men we're sleeping with?' says Callaci.' Perhaps the most radical thinker was Brown, who defined housework as anything involving repairing damage – environmental or more emotional – caused by capitalism. She opposed nuclear weapons on the grounds that they caused 'nuclear housework' – such as having to look after people suffering from radiation sickness. When she was diagnosed with cancer, she described the endless medical appointments as 'the housework of cancer'. To Callaci, this is 'really capacious, imaginative politics'. But, if practically everything is housework, does the word still mean anything? What about things that take work, but which we enjoy or find deeply rewarding? Seeing everything that humans do as a product of economic exploitation leaves little room for love, maternal or otherwise. This is where she had misgivings. 'For a while, my younger son wouldn't fall asleep unless my hand was resting on his stomach, and I was like, 'Is this work, or …?' I understood that it was valuable; I guess I was glad I could do it even if it got very annoying sometimes. But did I want to call that work? I felt like I didn't want to call everything in my life a commodity.' She notes that later in life, even Federici described caring for her ailing mother as a way of resisting capitalism, and not the exploitation her earlier writing might suggest. If it could be contradictory at times, the movement had other tensions. Prescod and Brown have both since said they experienced racism within it, while Callaci's research unearthed some Guardian reports of alleged bullying and supposedly cultish behaviour. Wages for Housework's tendency to see everything through one lens could be irritating to other feminists (Federici even criticised US legislation banning sex discrimination at work, arguing that paid work was 'liberation for nobody'). Eventually, after a series of personal fallings-out and tactical differences that may not surprise those familiar with revolutionary movements, the campaign splintered. Half a century on, care did become paid work, but only when outsourced to others by mothers going out to conventional jobs. Callaci and her partner both work full-time and pay for childcare, but she writes that they are uncomfortably aware that this 'exploitative social arrangement' adds up only because skilled childcare workers earn less than professors. It bothers her deeply that care is so undervalued, whereas 'if you find a way to make me look at my phone for an extra one second and pause and click on an ad, you can make a fortune'. Meanwhile the idea of getting paid to stay home has become a rightwing, rather than leftwing, cause – embraced by conservative politicians and 'tradwife' influencers earning a living performing chores on Instagram. 'JD Vance made this case for child tax benefit to 'bring back traditional gender roles, so women can stay in the home and raise children', and it just infuriates me,' sighs Callaci. 'I get frustrated that the Democrats couldn't find a way to seize on that message in a way that was more liberating and supportive of women. Why does the right get to seize that territory?' Though she believes Wages for Housework influenced feminist thinking, she admits to feeling sad that it got nowhere in practice. But researching it has, in some ways, changed her. 'I feel much more confident in taking the time when I need it, like looking after my kid when he's sick and not feeling guilty about doing that.' She is also, she thinks, more alert to invisible work everywhere, paid or unpaid: the unacknowledged cleaning, caring and collection of trash that makes the world go round. 'It's like you suddenly get X-ray glasses, or when you can see the electricity grid in a city and it's like: 'Oh that's how everything works.'' After all, she says, we're all products of such housework somehow. It's just that some choose to see that, while others feel more comfortable if it's blurred out. Wages for Housework by Emily Callaci (Penguin, £25) is published on 13 February. 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