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Their discomfort was painful to watch. Sen. Orrin Hatch apologized over and over for using graphic language. Sen. Arlen Specter could hardly bring himself to say the word "breasts." Sen. Edward Kennedy remained judiciously quiet, facing as he does questions of sexual indiscretion in his own life. Other members of the Judiciary Committee warmed to the sound of their own voices at times, but mostly they seemed at a loss on the subject of sexual harassment.
Why were 14 men sitting in judgment on such a sensitive social issue? Because the U.S. Congress remains a resolutely male world. Women are outnumbered 98 to 2 in the Senate and 406 to 29 in the House-and they still have to fight for equal gym privileges. From the government-issue leather wing chairs to the ceremonial spittoons, Congress has the feel of an exclusive men's club. The Senate cloakroom reeks of two centuries of dealmaking and cigar-smoking. Contrast that to the "Women's Reading Room," a demure suite where history is never made. Male bonding is the sport of choice, as members slip away for a game of one-on-one between votes. (They did stop sunbathing in the nude on the Speaker's Porch after Rep. Patricia Schroeder wandered out one day in 1973.)
In this world of overdeveloped egos, there are few rules. Congress exempts itself from the laws it passes for others, including civil-rights legislation and sexual-harassment guidelines. Women who work on Capitol Hill learn quickly whom to avoid, sharing the information in an underground network as if it were a family secret. Sen. Strom Thurmond, for example, has a reputation for being "a groper" on the Senate elevator, but at 88, he's excused. Powerful men tend to prey on powerless women. And there are plenty of them on Capitol Hill. Every congressional entourage has its quota of young women, happy to make coffee just to be there. A survey this year of the Senate staff showed that 82 percent of the women are in secretarial or support jobs.
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There are some signs that the institution is waking up. Earlier this year, the Capitol Hill Women's Political Caucus, a group of some 300 mostly staffers, published a sexual-harassment policy that censors a range of behavior from outright propositions to the "abuse of familiarities ... such as honey, sweetheart, darling, dear or baby." After Anita Hill's charges broke, at least a dozen lawmakers rushed to add their signatures to the policy, which now has 212 voluntary sponsors (out of 535 lawmakers). Last year California Rep. Jim Bates lost his bid for re-election after the House Ethics Committee cited him for sexual harassment.
But Congress remains the ultimate glass ceiling. Tune in to any routine hearing on C-Span, and it looks like a rerun of the Soviet coup plotters' press conference: a long gray line of men in blue suits. The power imbalance shows up in legislation. A majority of GOP women support the family-leave bill, while their male counterparts vote against it. Last spring, women lawmakers were furious at the male leadership for capping compensatory damages only for women in civil-rights legislation. Stung by the outcry, House Speaker Thomas Foley created a slot in the leadership for Rep. Barbara Kennelly. "If you're not inside the room, you're not represented," says Kennelly, the first (and only) woman on the Intelligence committee.
The phrase most heard this last week was, "They just don't get it." It's doubtful too many congressmen will be calling their female staffers "gals" anymore. But it's unlikely that Congress will really change until women get not only respect, but power.
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