Ted Barris

The deadline for getting my news story on the air was fast approaching. My TV producer, a long-time filmmaker and friend named Sue, made some speedy recommendations in the editing room to help me get the story finished in time. At the time, her experience was wider and deeper than mine. And thanks to her skill, we managed to get my TV story broadcast that night. That’s when I delivered that horribly cliché and patronizing line about her talent.

“That’s why you get paid the big bucks,” I said condescendingly.

“Not really,” Sue pointed out. “I’m actually getting paid less than you are.” She looked at me almost as if it were my fault. She smiled half-heartedly and, since she was one of the senior producers on our show, she went off to deal the next pre-broadcast crisis before our show went to air.

It didn’t really occur to me until some time later, that Sue had probably taken the senior position knowing its predetermined shortcomings. As she said, it paid her less than if she were a male producer. She likely took a lot of abuse from men who were envious or jealous of her title. And probably more than any of her male peers, she sensed she was always having to prove herself; and her peers were just waiting for her to trip up to make sure she looked inferior or less capable.

I’ve been mindful of Sue’s predicament because of the Randstad Canada survey published in the Toronto Star this week. In a nutshell, the poll – conducted among about 1,000 working women – showed that nearly half of those surveyed (48 per cent) said they have no interest in climbing the corporate ladder to senior positions in their places of work.

Further, the poll said that 53 per cent said they were afraid any absences from work (because of the needs of their families) would likely keep them from getting promotions to higher managerial positions. A spokeswoman for the survey, Faith Tull, told the Star the problem starts at home and in school classrooms.

“Women (need to) know (they) can aspire to greater roles,” she said.

Let me quickly point out that I always feel uncomfortable commenting on issues affecting women, particularly when I am not a woman. I’m always bothered when I see mostly men speaking out about women’s reproductive rights, feminism or women’s rights in the workplace. Let’s face it: most obstacles women face in this world are brought on by the opposite gender. If it is indeed a man’s world, it’s only because male bosses, clergy and teachers feel they can get away with that so-called birthright.

It’s the “glass ceiling” syndrome, that is, the apparently unbreakable barrier that keeps women from rising to the upper levels of decision-making. And, of course, what makes the predicament worse (as these surveys further point out) is that in many cases the women involved often have as much education and/or experience as their male counterparts. Then, when they do appear to break through and land those senior positions, they also tend to earn less (cash and respect) than men do.

I don’t mean to mix apples and oranges, but I couldn’t help thinking the recent allegations against former CBC Radio host Jian Ghomeshi – his claims that violent sexual encounters were consensual – further amplified the problem of men overstepping their seniority in the workplace. Indeed, a former student of mine intimated that she was among the women working on “Q” at CBC where she found herself placed in an awkward position because she was an intern expected to perform tasks that weren’t necessarily in her job description. It would have meant the end of her internship had she complained. Not only was the intern junior to the boss, but the intern was also a woman subservient to a demanding male host.

When my mother, Kay Barris, died, I remember discovering her high school and college report cards. She consistently scored in the 90-percentile and/or was top five in her class (in the 1930s). She had worked in accounting, when she probably could have run the department. She had worked the floor in retail, but could likely have managed the staff. And while she became a stay-at-home homemaker, I suspected that she could well have juggled family and workplace commitments and have succeeded by anybody’s standard. But my mother likely knew she could never have risen above an accounting desk or retail sales counter. The male-dominated system would never have allowed it.

I would like to think that my own daughters do not (nor will my granddaughter in future) have to face such sexism, suppression or resistance to change. But then, in the 1970s, my producer colleague Sue and I thought ours was the liberated generation that would build a more equitable society. And we didn’t. She remained senior to me on the job, but continued to take less to the bank