From Seneca Falls to … Sarah Palin?

When Walter Mondale chose New York Congresswoman Geraldine Ferraro as his running mate in 1984, he set off the briefest of crazes. The sheer newness of the first female vice presidential candidate for a major party delighted the media and—initially—the public. She drew large crowds wherever she went; schoolgirls were brought along to witness her speeches. Her supporters chanted, "Run with a woman, win with a woman." Much of the media response was predictable—she was described as "feisty" and "pushy but not threatening," and was asked if she knew how to bake blueberry muffins. She was also questioned, in a debate with Vice President George H.W. Bush, about whether the "Soviets might be tempted to take advantage of you simply because you are a woman." When she stood before the Democratic National Convention in San Francisco, anchor Tom Brokaw announced: "Geraldine Ferraro … The first woman to be nominated for vice president … Size 6!"

It was not, to say the least, an entirely successful campaign. Much of the coverage was dominated by Ferraro's refusal to disclose her husband's tax records. Ronald Reagan carried 49 out of 50 states, and 56 percent of women voted for him, up 10 percent from 1980. But what Ferraro was most surprised by, in focus groups convened after the election, was that stay-at-home mothers had been horrified by her candidacy, despite the fact that her three children were teenagers. "What we found was that some women felt intimidated," she says now. How would their husbands view them if they were just staying at home rather than shattering glass ceilings and conquering the world? "I thought, 'God almighty, how did that happen?' … They thought it would somehow hurt them. That if I could do all these things—be a supermom or whatever—how would it look for them, if 'all' they were doing was taking care of their children at home?" They wondered, she says, if it would jeopardize their marriages.

Nearly a quarter of a century later, Sarah Palin is also being grilled about her capacity to negotiate with the Soviets (well, the Russians, but they are acting like Soviets at the moment), asked if she will still cook for her family if elected vice president and praised for her chic glasses and copper highlights. But this time, women are flocking to her, cheering her can-do attitude and her unabashed embrace of the hockey-mom label. After her nomination as the Republicans' vice presidential candidate, the Washington Post/ABC poll reported a remarkable 20-point shift toward McCain. The new NEWSWEEK Poll also finds that some movement occurred: in July, John McCain led Barack Obama among white women by 44 to 39 percent; now his lead is 53 to 37 percent. There was no shift among white men, although other polls vary. One in three white women says she is more likely to vote for McCain because he chose Palin as a running mate.

What is now known as the Palin Effect seems to be overturning almost a century of wisdom about the way women think and vote. Republican women, who have long been loath to vote for mothers of small children, are suddenly defending the right of women, or a woman, rather, to return to work three days after giving birth, and to seek higher office with five kids—one of whom is a pregnant teenager, and another a newborn with Down syndrome. Some Democratic women are threatening to defect to the Republicans—even if it means voting for pro-life candidates—just because Palin is a woman.

The hyperbole of the hour is bipartisan. Conservatives are gleeful, liberals gloomy. Republicans are pushing a simple narrative to explain the Palin bounce: for women of whatever party, Palin is one of them, a working mother whose values resonate with other working mothers even when her views may not. As the GOP chortles over the current reversal of fortune in the polls, Democrats are sputtering, also favoring a simple narrative explanation, blaming McCain's Rovean tactics and bullying of the media for Palin's star turn in the race—a star turn that has, for the first time since the defeat of Hillary Clinton, given Obama's supporters significant pause about their man's chances in November.

These competing arguments are ultimately unsatisfactory because their answers to a crucial question are unnuanced. And that question may be the fundamental one of this election: what do women really want? Men have scratched their heads for centuries over what appears to women to be either a stupid or patronizing question. Pollsters neglected to actually ask them for most of the past century. They do want a better economy, their sons and daughters brought home from war, better health care, a good educational system. They want fairer media (the NEWSWEEK Poll found that 34 percent of white women think the media have been too critical of Palin, and that one quarter of Clinton supporters agree). And to see more mothers making decisions that affect their lives. To have the chance to run for office alongside men without being called hags or fools. And, as Aretha Franklin might say, a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

What we might call the "Franklin Doctrine" (note to Charles Gibson: you can ask Palin about it next time) is a crucial one, and may help explain the swing to Palin by some women who, if they had been supporting Clinton, appear open to making an epic about-face on matters of policy in favor of voting on issues of identity in ways that women have never done before. The support for Palin along gender lines is understandable, but the past suggests that issues of policy could still trump the politics of identity. It is a story that is ever ancient, ever new: the history of women and voting in America is a tale of high hopes and harsh disappointments. Decades of experience, stretching back to the suffrage movement, suggest that the brew of excitement (for Palin), horror (from the Democrats) and drama (who knows how it will end?) is fully in keeping with the tumult of the world the women of Seneca Falls, N.Y., made all those years ago.

Throughout the campaign, something unpredictable has been stirring among women that commentators unfamiliar with the Franklin Doctrine (like Palin with the Bush one) have struggled to understand. Women have rushed to the defense of both Clinton and Palin in a visceral, angry way: they have identified with their slights and shaken fists at anyone seen to be patronizing these two historic candidates. "It turns out that women in America aren't finished yet!" cried Palin at her nomination. Asked why they don't stick to the issues, they insist sexism is an issue. Women with large, fake, heavily painted lips attended Republican rallies in support of Palin after Obama's comment that "you can put lipstick on a pig, but it's still a pig" when talking about McCain's policies. It was misinterpreted as a dig at Palin's joke that the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull is lipstick. Women like her most of all because she is a woman who is unafraid to push men around, and punch even before being provoked. She is not weak or overwhelmed. She is determined to win.