If you’re a woman who has spent her life navigating sexism at home, at work and out in the world for most of your life, perhaps you are looking forward to the sweet respite afforded to us in death – silence from a world of misogynists and mansplainers. But guess again, my friends, because there is no rest for sexism – even when we’re long gone.
This week, the New York Times ran an obituary of Adele Morales – an artist and actor who also happened to once be married to novelist Norman Mailer. Morales, who died at 90 years old and is survived by two daughters and two granddaughters, was remembered in the first line of the newspaper’s obituary as a woman “who made headlines in 1960 when [Mailer] stabbed and seriously wounded her at a drunken party”. As if to make clear that Morales’ most important life achievement was being violently assaulted by a famous man, the paper’s front-page headline for the obit was “Wife Mailer Stabbed Dies at 90”.
It’s not the first time the newspaper has run a questionable obituary about a woman. In 2013, the New York Times came under fire for opening an obituary for a rocket scientist with an ode to her domestic life and cooking: “She made a mean beef stroganoff, followed her husband from job to job and took eight years off from work to raise three children. ‘The world’s best mom,’ her son Matthew said.” The second paragraph, finally, read that Brill “was also a brilliant rocket scientist”. Also.
Morales’ obituary comes on the heels of another sexist tribute earlier this year to Australian author Colleen McCullough, who wrote 25 novels, including The Thorn Birds, which sold 30 million copies worldwide. The Australian chose to open this massively successful woman’s obituary with a missive about how unattractive she was: “Plain of feature and certainly overweight, she was, nevertheless, a woman of wit and warmth.” Thank you?
The piece inspired the viral hashtag #myozobituary and the Washington Post ran a satirical piece if men were written about in the same way. “Teddy Roosevelt: resembling a fat walrus in little spectacles, he was, nevertheless, president at one point or another.”
That there is such a thing as post-mortem misogyny might be funny if it weren’t so depressing. Because as unbelievably eye-rolling as they are – a literal rocket scientist reduced to a dinner dish – they’re also a clear reminder to women that their most important accomplishments will always be shadowed by their gender.
The dozens of books they’ve written pale in comparison to whether or not they can catch a man. Their scientific contributions aren’t nearly as interesting as their domestic flair. The most violent and likely unpleasant experience of their life will be used to define them, because a famous man was involved.
Fighting against sexism is hard – there are laws to enact, cultures to change. By comparison, you’d think honoring a talented woman after her death would be easy. Apparently, that is not the case.