Zelda D'Aprano fought for equality all her life. The fire in our bellies is her legacy
Leena van Deventer
As women, we have allowed ourselves to be the frogs in hot water. Zelda isn’t here any more to see us fix it, but fix it we will.
Zelda D’Aprano was an unstoppable force, and if you didn’t like it, you best got out of the way. It’s through my work as a director of the Victorian Women’s Trust that I got to know Zelda, and she has been a personal hero of mine ever since. I feel lucky for every conversation we had together. Each time I walked away feeling like I could do anything, and she utilised those powers very skilfully. She told me to ask for more from the world, even if I wanted the sun. So, to honour my friend: I’ll have your moon too, thanks.
Zelda D’Aprano passed away on Wednesday, at the age of 90. A staunch feminist, labour unionist, and pay justice advocate, Zelda had a profound and everlasting impact on the women’s movement and labour movements within Australia. She also took the time in her later years to mentor and nurture young feminists. I, and many others, are benefactors of that kindness, and we find ourselves grieving an immense loss.
She left school at 14 to join the workforce, and it was in this factory work she began to witness first-hand the inequity between male and female workers. With each job she took she would point out the injustice of this disparity to her employers and would be swiftly sacked. She didn’t care about personal consequences, she cared about fairness.
In 1969, fed up with the lack of progress for women, Zelda secured herself to the doors of the Commonwealth Building to protest the dismissal in the arbitration court of the equal pay case, of which she was a test case with the Australasian Meat Industry Employees Union (AMIEU). In an all-too-familiar pattern, for this “outspokenness” she was fired from the AMIEU.
Women weren’t allowed to drink in pubs, just in the ladies lounges, so she held pub crawls and invited all her friends. Women were only making 75c to the dollar, so she only paid 75% of her tram fare. I remember suggesting on one of my visits that she was the head of the “Ain’t Havin’ It Union” and she laughed.
The legislation Zelda fought for has been all but eroded. The Equal Pay Act of 1972 has been aggressively watered down to become the “Fair Work Act” and no longer even mentions “pay equity”, “gender discrimination” or “equal pay”. We allowed ourselves to be the frogs in the hot water. Zelda noticed, and I’m heartbroken she couldn’t stay long enough to see us fix it. But fix it we will.
When Zelda was chained to the doors of parliament, a police officer (foolishly underestimating her commitment) began to chastise her. “Aren’t you embarrassed? It’s just you on your own,” he said. Without hesitating, she replied “No. Because soon there will be three, then there will be five, and then there will be …”. She was right. Ten days after her protest she was joined by Alva Geikie and Thelma Solomon. From that action, the three women founded the Women’s Action Committee and the Women’s Liberation Centre, from which the Women’s Liberation Movement in Melbourne was born. This changed the landscape of feminist organising in Australia forever.
In her 1995 biography, Zelda described wanting to get more women involved in activism, because “we had passed the stage of caring about a “lady-like” image because women had for too long been polite ... and were still being ignored”. She didn’t care about what people thought of her, she cared about fairness.
The Women’s Action Committee organised the very first pro-choice rally in 1975, with an impressive turnout of over 500 women. It was reported by the media as a “hoard of angry barefoot women” taking to the streets. Zelda assured me they were definitely wearing shoes. She really did walk the walk, throughout her entire life.
As she outlived many of her friends and comrades, in her later years she described herself as lacking “good conversation” with fellow lefties and unionists. Someone from the Trades Hall’s women’s team would come every month to talk shop, and it was a highlight for everyone involved.
In 2015, the Victorian Trades Hall Council introduced the Zelda D’Aprano Award for union activism. In a bittersweet coincidence, the nominations for the 2018 award opened on the very day she passed away. The flag at Trades Hall was lowered to half mast in her honour.
The legacy of Zelda D’Aprano cannot be contained within memorial writings or obituaries, and it cannot die. It lives within the hearts of feminists – young and old – who, inspired by her spirit, will continue to fight for equality and fairness. It lives in the fire in our bellies. It lives in the smirk we wear when we are doubted. Even through the heartache of loss, it lives.
“Oh sisters, you’ve done me proud” – Zelda D’Aprano, 2015.
• Leena van Deventer is a writer, game developer and teacher from Melbourne
Leena van Deventer
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| Zelda D’Aprano chained to the front doors of the Commonwealth Building in Melbourne in 1969. |
Zelda D’Aprano was an unstoppable force, and if you didn’t like it, you best got out of the way. It’s through my work as a director of the Victorian Women’s Trust that I got to know Zelda, and she has been a personal hero of mine ever since. I feel lucky for every conversation we had together. Each time I walked away feeling like I could do anything, and she utilised those powers very skilfully. She told me to ask for more from the world, even if I wanted the sun. So, to honour my friend: I’ll have your moon too, thanks.
Zelda D’Aprano passed away on Wednesday, at the age of 90. A staunch feminist, labour unionist, and pay justice advocate, Zelda had a profound and everlasting impact on the women’s movement and labour movements within Australia. She also took the time in her later years to mentor and nurture young feminists. I, and many others, are benefactors of that kindness, and we find ourselves grieving an immense loss.
She left school at 14 to join the workforce, and it was in this factory work she began to witness first-hand the inequity between male and female workers. With each job she took she would point out the injustice of this disparity to her employers and would be swiftly sacked. She didn’t care about personal consequences, she cared about fairness.
In 1969, fed up with the lack of progress for women, Zelda secured herself to the doors of the Commonwealth Building to protest the dismissal in the arbitration court of the equal pay case, of which she was a test case with the Australasian Meat Industry Employees Union (AMIEU). In an all-too-familiar pattern, for this “outspokenness” she was fired from the AMIEU.
Women weren’t allowed to drink in pubs, just in the ladies lounges, so she held pub crawls and invited all her friends. Women were only making 75c to the dollar, so she only paid 75% of her tram fare. I remember suggesting on one of my visits that she was the head of the “Ain’t Havin’ It Union” and she laughed.
The legislation Zelda fought for has been all but eroded. The Equal Pay Act of 1972 has been aggressively watered down to become the “Fair Work Act” and no longer even mentions “pay equity”, “gender discrimination” or “equal pay”. We allowed ourselves to be the frogs in the hot water. Zelda noticed, and I’m heartbroken she couldn’t stay long enough to see us fix it. But fix it we will.
When Zelda was chained to the doors of parliament, a police officer (foolishly underestimating her commitment) began to chastise her. “Aren’t you embarrassed? It’s just you on your own,” he said. Without hesitating, she replied “No. Because soon there will be three, then there will be five, and then there will be …”. She was right. Ten days after her protest she was joined by Alva Geikie and Thelma Solomon. From that action, the three women founded the Women’s Action Committee and the Women’s Liberation Centre, from which the Women’s Liberation Movement in Melbourne was born. This changed the landscape of feminist organising in Australia forever.
In her 1995 biography, Zelda described wanting to get more women involved in activism, because “we had passed the stage of caring about a “lady-like” image because women had for too long been polite ... and were still being ignored”. She didn’t care about what people thought of her, she cared about fairness.
The Women’s Action Committee organised the very first pro-choice rally in 1975, with an impressive turnout of over 500 women. It was reported by the media as a “hoard of angry barefoot women” taking to the streets. Zelda assured me they were definitely wearing shoes. She really did walk the walk, throughout her entire life.
As she outlived many of her friends and comrades, in her later years she described herself as lacking “good conversation” with fellow lefties and unionists. Someone from the Trades Hall’s women’s team would come every month to talk shop, and it was a highlight for everyone involved.
In 2015, the Victorian Trades Hall Council introduced the Zelda D’Aprano Award for union activism. In a bittersweet coincidence, the nominations for the 2018 award opened on the very day she passed away. The flag at Trades Hall was lowered to half mast in her honour.
The legacy of Zelda D’Aprano cannot be contained within memorial writings or obituaries, and it cannot die. It lives within the hearts of feminists – young and old – who, inspired by her spirit, will continue to fight for equality and fairness. It lives in the fire in our bellies. It lives in the smirk we wear when we are doubted. Even through the heartache of loss, it lives.
“Oh sisters, you’ve done me proud” – Zelda D’Aprano, 2015.
• Leena van Deventer is a writer, game developer and teacher from Melbourne
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