Kids interview Betty Friedan
by Charactorium · Betty Friedan (1921 — 2006) · Society · Literature · Politics · 5 min read
Two twelve-year-old students, on a school trip, push open the door of a small New York living room. A gray-haired lady with bright eyes invites them to sit down. Her name is Betty Friedan, and she spent her life fighting for women.
—Is it true that it all started with a simple questionnaire you sent out?
Yes, my child, and it overwhelmed me. In 1957, I tracked down my former classmates from Smith College, my alma mater. I mailed a questionnaire for their reunion, fifteen years after graduation. Imagine sheets of paper filled out by hand, coming back one by one to my mailbox. I expected to read about happiness. But no. These intelligent women, married, mothers, described an immense emptiness. A malaise that had no name. I read those letters dozens of times. And I understood that this emptiness wasn't theirs alone: it was shared by millions of women.
I expected to read about happiness. I read an immense emptiness.
—How old were you when you gave up your studies? Were you sad?
I was twenty-one. I was brilliant, you know, graduating from Smith College with honors in 1942. I was offered a scholarship to study further, at Berkeley, in California. A dream! But around me, everyone whispered the same thing: a serious young woman should get married, not become a scholar. So I said no to the scholarship. I gave it up. And that, my child, hurt me for years. It was as if I'd been told my intelligence had no right to grow. That grief later turned into useful anger.
It was as if my intelligence had no right to grow.
—After that, you still worked, right? How did it go?
I wrote articles for newspapers while raising my three children. A real balancing act! And then one day, while I was expecting my second baby, my boss fired me. Simply because I was pregnant. In my day, that was allowed, you know, no one found it scandalous. At first, I thought it was my fault, my bad luck. Then I met other women to whom it had happened. All of them. And then I understood something huge: it wasn't an accident. It was a whole system, well organized, that pushed women out. Understanding that was already starting to fight it.
It wasn't my bad luck. It was a whole system.
—Where did you live when you wrote your book? What was it like?
I lived in a pretty suburban house, by the water, in Rockland County, near New York. In the morning, I got my three children ready for school, like all the moms in the neighborhood. And that's the strangest part, my child: I was living exactly the life I was criticizing in my book! On the table lay women's magazines, McCall's, Ladies' Home Journal. I cut them up, I studied them. They always showed the same image: the perfect housewife, smiling, happy to wax her floor. I told myself: this image is a pretty trap. It locks women in by making them believe they chose it.
That image of the smiling housewife was a pretty trap.
—That emptiness you talk about, you finally gave it a name, didn't you?
Yes, and it became the heart of my book, The Feminine Mystique, published in 1963. I called that malaise “the problem that has no name.” Listen to how I wrote it back then: “The problem is buried, unnamed, for a long time in the minds of American women.” Imagine thousands of women, each in her kitchen, convinced she was the only one feeling sad for no reason. Each believed it was her fault. My job was to say out loud: no, you are not alone, and you are not crazy. That book sold over three million copies. Some women hid it under their beds.
You are not alone, and you are not crazy.
—Is it true that a big organization was invented on a napkin?
Absolutely true, and I was there! It was in 1966, in Washington, during an official conference on women's lives. There were a few of us, around a table, angry that people talked a lot but never acted. So, during dinner, I grabbed a paper napkin and scribbled on it the first rules of a new organization. Just like that, on a corner of the tablecloth. We called it NOW, the National Organization for Women. Imagine: one of the largest women's organizations in history was born on a piece of paper you'd usually throw away. That day, I stopped writing about the world. I started changing it.
That day, I stopped writing about the world to change it.
—What did you say to people to convince them to follow you?
I spoke from the heart, but I also wanted concrete actions. The day we launched NOW, I gave a simple speech. I said: “The time has come for a new march toward true equality for all women in America.” You see, I wasn't asking for charity. I was asking for equality: the same pay, the same open doors, the same respect. Our organization didn't just talk. We wrote to politicians, filed lawsuits, marched in the streets. In 1970, in New York, fifty thousand of us paraded. Fifty thousand, my child! Just thinking about it still gives me chills.
I wasn't asking for charity. I was asking for equality.
—Did everyone agree with you? Did you ever argue?
Oh yes, and sometimes with my own friends! In 1981, I wrote a book called The Second Stage. I said something in it that upset many people: the women's struggle must not become a war against the family, or against men. Listen to what I wrote: “Feminism that denies the reality of the family, of care, of love, betrays its own values.” Some activists found me too lukewarm. I thought that loving, raising children, is not a prison if you truly choose it. Arguing with friends who want the same thing is hard. But I preferred to tell the truth.
Loving and raising children is not a prison if you choose it.
—At night, when you came home, were you happy with your life?
Not always, my child, and I'll be honest with you. During my marriage, evenings were often tense, in our house by the river. My husband and I argued a lot. He wanted a quiet wife; I had a fire in my head that wouldn't go out. After my divorce, in 1969, I moved into an apartment in Manhattan. There, I worked late at night, surrounded by my papers, I welcomed friends to talk and laugh. It was harder, but truer. I learned that a woman has the right to her own life, even when it disappoints those around her.
I had a fire in my head that wouldn't go out.
—If we, the girls and boys of today, were to remember one thing from you, what would it be?
What a beautiful question to end with. Listen: when I wrote The Feminine Mystique, I wasn't seeking glory. As I later told, I simply knew I had to write that book, because millions of women were living trapped in a role too small for them. So here's what I leave you, to you and your friend. No one has the right to decide for you who you have the right to become. Not your neighbor, not a magazine, not an old habit. Look closely at the things around you that are considered “normal.” Sometimes, what seems normal is simply unjust. And then, my child, it's your turn to speak.
Sometimes, what seems normal is simply unjust.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Betty Friedan's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.