ROANOKE TIMES

                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: FRIDAY, February 1, 1991                   TAG: 9102010737
SECTION: VIRGINIA                    PAGE: B1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: MARGARET EDDS LANDMARK NEWS SERVICE
DATELINE: RICHMOND                                LENGTH: Medium


VMI FIGHT POINTS UP WOMEN POWER GAP

Female lawmakers and lobbyists say Virginia Military Institute is only a sideline skirmish in a longer and infinitely more crucial campaign to win power for women in the General Assembly.

More than a decade after female legislators began to coalesce as a political force, major battles involving property rights and family law have been won. A weekly women's roundtable draws crowds of close to 100. The not-so-distant days when some male lawmakers openly joked about sexual assault and divorce laws are past.

But Virginia still ranks 39th among the states in the percentage of women lawmakers, and all of the most influential committee chairmanships and caucus posts are held by men.

In a survey of legislative effectiveness done late last year by the Norfolk Virginian-Pilot and Ledger-Star, only one woman ranked in the top 20 percent of the House of Delegates, and none ranked higher than 31st in the 40-member Senate.

"I'm very proud of what the women are doing. Their objectives are maturing . . .. They're doing substantive things," said former Norfolk Sen. Evelyn Hailey, who was in the Senate from 1982 to 1984 and was the second woman elected to that body. "But it's slow. Gosh, it's slow."

One example of how slow, argues Sen. Emilie Miller, D-Fairfax, is the legislative reluctance to admit women to VMI. "They're scared to death of

the issue," said Miller, suggesting that many legislators prefer to let Gray dispose of an explosive bill on procedural grounds.

Aware of the emotional overtones in the VMI fight, some female lawmakers fear the fate of Miller's bill might be viewed as a test of their clout.

"Don't make VMI a women's issue. It's the least issue we've got in the General Assembly," complained Del. Mary Marshall, D-Arlington, whose 23 years in the Assembly make her the senior woman.

Far more significant, say Marshall and others, are a host of issues ranging from child-support enforcement to inheritance taxes for widows. On such matters, "we're just a lot more powerful. The issues we're interested in get more consideration."

The women's legislative caucus reached the pinnacle of its influence with the elevation in the mid-1980s of former Del. Dorothy McDiarmid, D-Fairfax, to chairwoman of the House Appropriations Committee. But McDiarmid's retirement again left women without a plum chairmanship.

Three of 20 House committees - Labor and Commerce; Counties, Cities and Towns; and Militia and Police - are headed by women, but they are not the most powerful posts.

In time-honored tradition, the newer breed of female lawmakers includes four women who occupy seats once held by their husbands. But it also encompasses Dels. Leslie Byrne, D-Falls Church, president of a public-relations consulting firm, and Jean Cunningham, D-Richmond, a lawyer. Byrne and Cunningham, who have been in the assembly five years, ranked at the top of their class in the recent newspaper effectiveness survey.

Those steeped in women's legislation during the past 10 years say the change in attitude is palpable - the VMI bill notwithstanding.

When she began lobbying at the assembly in 1978, said Sylvia Clute, a Richmond lawyer, family law was "something you could do out of your hip pocket," there were "disastrous inheritance laws," and even a joint bank account was considered essentially the property of the person - often male - who put money into it.

Banding together for the first time to push a bill that would give homemakers a stake in property settlements in divorce cases, several women, including Clute, testified before an all-male House subcommittee. Clute still remembers the reaction when she suggested that "some women are so economically dependent on their husbands that they're ready targets for physical abuse."

"They laughed at us. They were rude. I was shocked," she said.

Her best gauge that times have changed, Clute said, is a simple one. "They don't laugh at us anymore."



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