“Heels, manicure, cap on the hair-do”: Understanding Soviet Attitudes Towards Women Through Women’s Healthcare in 1970-80s Soviet Azerbaijan.

Full quote: “I had a manicurist... she said, ‘Oh, I love doctors. Heels, manicure, cap on the hairdo. Tk, tk, tk … walking down the hallway’. Can you imagine she said that?”

Introduction

Both my mother and grandmother were gynaecologists in the Soviet Union, and both believed that it was, in many respects, all that it was set out to be. It is true that one of the revolutionary goals of the Soviet experiment was to establish gender equality in all spheres of life, as written out in Article 122 of the 1936 Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) Constitution.[1] Yet, the reality of female emancipation from traditional gender roles has been widely agreed upon as paradoxical at best. Numerous accounts of women’s position in various aspects of Soviet society have been put forth by social historians, all of which have come to a general consensus – that even by the later period of Soviet rule, women were not equal to men in “all spheres of political, economic, social, and cultural activity,” as promised in the Constitution.[2] Instead, there was a clear contradiction between ideology and reality.

Across the European and central Asian Soviet republics, socialist-feminist ideology manifested itself in ways determined by the unique cultural and economic development of the region. Azerbaijan, a Muslim-majority country that, due to its massive oil reserves, witnessed modernization relatively early compared to other Muslim-majority Soviet republics, offers a great lens through which we can understand the influences affecting male-female relations.[3]  Though it may be assumed that pre-existing Muslim-Azeri cultural norms posed the greatest hindrance to gender equality, the following sections will show how the demographic crisis of the 1970s inspired the Soviet state to emphasize motherhood as a key component of femininity.  The Soviet preservation of masculine and feminine roles throughout the decades is often overshadowed by the heavy-labour taken up by women in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War (WWII). Although the post-war shortage of male labour gave women across the globe a stronger footing for demanding equal rights, this reversal of roles was short-lived, and it was not long before women resumed housework duties. [4] In that sense, the USSR was no exception.  Yet, what was unique about the Soviet model was that there was an attempt to reconcile the state’s population policies with its ideological and legislative imperative of gender equality. Overall, this reconciliation was unsuccessful. Instead, it placed a dual burden on women to contribute to society both through work and child-bearing.

The implications this had on Azeri women, and how the class- and religious-based differences shaped the Azeri version of the Soviet woman, has been analysed in depth by Farideh Heyat. Using a combination of personal accounts, Azeri women’s journals and analysis of the Azerbaijani language over time, she argues that female empowerment was not a matter of “personal autonomy,” but rather “greater authourity within the family.”[5] This is because the power of the ‘self’ was a luxury forbidden by the state from all Soviet citizens, and women’s increasing financial independence gave them more power. Nonetheless, Heyat acknowledges that this empowerment within the family were part of the wider state-imposed “paradoxes” of motherhood-ideals, which this study shows did not lead to empowerment, but became a double-burden for working women.[6] While Heyat provides a more focused account of gender relations through the precise Soviet-Azeri cultural interplay, many others have looked at women’s roles in Soviet society at large. Kathryn and Robert Bartol, for example, have examined the managerial and professional experiences of working women and concluded that, although Soviet women achieved “greater sides” than their American counterparts, the USSR was, in 1975, yet to be an exemplary model of gender equality among workers.[7] A similar disparity between the goals and facts of Soviet-feminism is suggested by Usha K.B., who argues that the “state itself […] sustain[ed] a male-dominated political culture,” seen in the minority of female political leaders.[8] Even with certain nuances, such as Heyat’s conception of female empowerment, there exists a broad consensus that gender norms persisted and the Soviet ideal of womanhood therefore fulfil the promises of gender equality in all spheres, as written on paper.

This brings us to the focus of this dissertation, namely to offer new perspectives on the matter by examining the professional and practical field of gynaecology in the last two decades of Soviet Azerbaijan. The analysis contributes to the consensus that Soviet-communism did not achieve gender equality, and emphasizes how double-sided ideals of motherhood and work prevented women from true emancipation.

Drawing on five personal interviews with retired Soviet-Azeri gynaecologists, medical textbooks, a women’s-worker journal and campaign-posters, the dissertation brings the reality of societal expectations for women into conversation with state-imposed ideals. Though oral histories are highly dependent on the interviewee’s memory and willingness to share, the value of these interviews and medical textbooks is that they reflect what key social actors, namely medical practitioners, expected of women. The fact that virtually all Soviet-Azeri gynaecologists are female is a merely coincidental bonus, which illuminates both the woman’s and the doctor’s experiences. Rabotnitsa, a women’s worker magazine, supplement to the state-owned Pravda, was the most popular Soviet magazine, with a multi-million circulation.[9] Looking at publications from 1970, 1976 and 1983, as well as public-health campaign-posters, will help to underline the state-sponsored social ideals that medical practitioners were operating under.

Though there are varied accounts of the interaction between communism, indigenous beliefs and women’s healthcare,[10] the theoretical frameworks most useful for this study are derived from British and American literatures. Ann Oakley’s The Captured Womb from 1984[11] and Mary Halas’ 1979 article on sexism in American gynaecology[12] emphasize the importance of practitioners informing their pregnant patients of procedures to avoid doctor-patient hierarchies. Along with Elder et al.’s analyses of sexist language in American gynaecology textbooks, these frameworks helped shape the questions asked from interviewees, and this study’s interpretation of Soviet medical textbooks.[13]

The study will attempt to answer the question: what does gynaecology in 1970s-80s Soviet Azerbaijan tell us about Soviet attitudes towards women? First, we will refer to secondary literature to determine a prototype of the ideal Soviet woman, specifically under the communist ideology and Soviet policy framework. The next two sections will put to the test the extent to which the Soviet goals and ideals for women were realized. To do this, we will first place the experiences of female medical professionals against the state support for female participation in the labour market, to then deduce attitudes towards the female professional body. The third and final section also aims to deduce Soviet attitudes towards women through specific women’s healthcare practices, such as natal care and birth control. The ultimate goal of both sections is to reveal the extent to which the professional and reproductive bodies of Soviet women matched the Soviet ideal, and whether the Soviet ideal truly demonstrated equality of the sexes. The definition of ‘equality’ will be informed by contemporary Western feminist concepts of the “individual power […] in public life.[14] By looking specifically at Azerbaijani women, variables beyond Soviet ideology and policies are at play. Through the focus on female medical professionals, the consensus that female workers faced a double-burden will be confirmed. As for medical practices, we will see that, although religious beliefs of the Muslim-majority population did play a small role in women’s healthcare, a more influential factor was the educational divide between rural and urban populations, through which urban populations were more forward-thinking.

Conclusion

What became of the message behind the Stalin-era “Worker and Kolkhoz Woman” statue, where the man is holding a hammer, and the woman a sickle?[1] Under Brezhnev, the iconography of male-female relations would have been more accurately immortalised with a statue of a female doctor delivering a child while cooking lunch for her family. Such was the burden on working women in 1970s and 1980s USSR.

By zooming into Soviet Azerbaijan, we firstly learn that Soviet attitudes towards women were influenced by the indigenous culture of the sub-state. Azerbaijan was a country that experienced earlier modernisation and immigration due to its oil reserves, yet its indigenous Muslim values still affected attitudes towards women. In both the professional and reproductive lives of women, Muslim values of female domesticity and sexual purity perfectly complemented the return to pre-Communist gender roles under Brezhnev.

This study has shown both how paradoxical the reinstatement of traditional roles was to communist goals of equality in public life, and how it, in some way, disadvantaged Soviet-Azeri women. The most transparent paradox was observed in the state-sponsored Rabotnitsa, where young women’s minds were shaped to believe that meaning is found in picking the right profession, but that their reality would ultimately consist of a mother’s and wife’s responsibilities. Operating under such social ideals were the medical practitioners, who actively contributed to, and were affected by, this double-sided ideal of women. Our female interviewees, though occasionally disagreeing with male-authoured medical literature, believed in hard work – but that work had to be suited to a woman’s natural instincts. They believed in treating women beyond motherhood, and offered pain-relieving methods and abortions – but they also demanded that women accept motherhood as inherent. Based on the extensive attention and care given to Soviet mothers, it is clear that, although women were not Soviet if they did not strive professionally, they were not certainly not women if they rejected motherhood.

By concluding that late-Soviet women had to balance work and motherhood, as revealed in Soviet-Azeri women’s healthcare, the study therefore adds to the vast literature suggesting that Soviet gender equality was a mirage. Still, the current state of literature would benefit from oral histories with Soviet medical patients, to reveal nuances in women’s self-perceptions across classes, and learn from their experiences with doctors. A larger study could also compare women’s healthcare in non-Muslim and Muslim Soviet sub-states to fully grasp the influence of religious practices in gender equality. 

Sidenote

I feel it is my responsibility, as a form of respect to my grandparents, their colleagues, and their collective experience, to note here that each of them expressed that their experience of life in Soviet Azerbaijan was largely positive. My grandparents, for example, shared domestic chores. If anything, my grandmother was so often bound to the unpredictable nature of working as an obstetrician, that my grandfather frequently assumed a larger portion of chores, such as cooking, ironing, and spending time with the kids. They had their own ecosystem, and it worked for both of them. They both led very successful careers as medical professionals, so much so that they retired at ages 73 and 75, and have great relationships with their children and surrounding community to this day.

When I was just about beginning my university journey, my grandfather made clear to me: anything my brother can do, I can do. That is not to take away from the fact that both of my grandparents strongly believe in the importance of having children, but that is not something I wish to criticise, nor do I see the need for that. They value education and family, and they live a life that allows them to pursue both.

I’m aware this opportunity was not given to all, but it would also be a lie to dismiss the countless positive experiences of the Soviet Union that were shared with me by people from all walks of life. It is for that very reason, that I hesitated in some aspects of my dissertation writing. I felt that the expectation from my instructors and examiners to write something negative was interfering with the investigative nature of a history dissertation. At the same time, however, one could argue that this was balanced out by the positive preconceptions of Soviet Azerbaijan that I was raised with.

I know every family’s story is different. I know this is a delicate subject. But I also know that there was a vast amount of positive aspects to what some call “Soviet Feminism”, especially in terms of state support. In hindsight, I wish I had written a more balanced interpretation, but my fears of being reduced to a Soviet nostalgist had the slight upper-hand. I don’t mean to nullify what I did write, but, for lack of a less-cheesy formulation, the pursuit of truth has no real end. At least, not one that I can pretend to reach.