ENCORE: The Fight for Women's Suffrage | Created Equal | 1
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Imagine it's a sweltering morning in July 1848 in the village of Waterloo in upstate New York.

You're a farmer's daughter and glove maker. You shield your eyes from the rising sun as you creep through a field leading to your friend Abigail's house. You look around nervously, fearing you'll be spotted. You approach the fence that borders the back of Abigail's house and gingerly open the gate. Her family keeps their horse in the backyard, and the friendly animal trots up to you. Hey, girl. Easy. Now get out of here.

You pat the horse on its backside, urging it to head through the gate and toward the woods behind the house. There's a good girl. As soon as the horse gallops off, you make your way to the side of the house. You tap on a small glass window, trying to get Abigail's attention. She gets up from her bed, sees you, and the fleeing horse, and smiles. Father! The horse got out again! Hey! Hey! You duck down behind a bush as Abigail's father runs out the back door to chase the horse.

You watch as he disappears into the woods, then stand up again to face Abigail at the window. Come on. The coast is clear. Abigail runs out to join you, and together you head back the way you came, across a field to a nearby road. That should keep your father busy. Hurry up. I've got my brother's horse and wagon waiting. It's about three miles to Seneca Falls. How'd you get your brother to lend you his wagon? Did I say he lent it? Abigail shakes her head at your sheepish grin.

I still don't know about this. We could be caught. You worry too much. But if my father finds out, I'm in real trouble. He would never approve of me going to something like this. Maybe I should go back. You're not going back. This convention is too important. You might feel different once your brother finds out his wagon's gone. You stop in the field abruptly, holding out your calloused hands. I want more for myself than sewing gloves for pennies day after day.

She nods, a look of new determination shadowing her face. Then come on, let's hurry.

The pair of you break into a run. Ever since you heard about this convention, it's given you hope that there are other women out there like you. Women frustrated by their low wages and limited rights. You feel you can't sit back in silence any longer, accepting things the way they are. You're ready for more opportunities in life and more power.

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From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history. Your story. American History Tellers

On our show, we'll take you to the events, the times, and the people that shaped America and Americans, our values, our struggles, and our dreams. We'll put you in the shoes of everyday people as history was being made, and we'll show you how the events of the times affected them, their families, and affects you now.

In July 1848, 68 women in Seneca Falls, New York, signed a radical declaration affirming the equality of women and men. But just one, a teenage glove maker, would live to see the fulfillment of that day, the ratification of the 19th Amendment, guaranteeing women the vote 72 years later. Seneca Falls was the start of an epic struggle for women's suffrage, one that would take three generations and three-quarters of a century to achieve.

The fight for suffrage was not a straightforward sprint, but a marathon of progress and setbacks. It was a movement made up of women from all walks of life, black and white, wealthy and working class. They brought competing agendas and formed radical and moderate wings. These women defied convention, risking their reputations and, at times, their lives to stand up to the male-dominated establishment.

In the beginning, the push for women's voting rights was bound up with another fight in the divisive years before the Civil War, the struggle for the abolition of slavery. After that goal was achieved, there was a united campaign for universal suffrage. But soon, the bond between these two oppressed groups, women and African Americans, threatened to break apart, jeopardizing women's dreams of the ballot.

To help tell this story, we've enlisted actors Ace Anderson, Cat Peoples, and Cynthia St. Louis to voice the characters you'll hear throughout our series. This is Episode 1 in our five-part series, The Fight for Women's Suffrage, Created Equal. Elizabeth Cady was born in 1815 to the leading family of Johnstown, New York, just north of Albany. Her father, Daniel, was a prominent judge, and her mother, Margaret, was the wealthy and aristocratic daughter of a Revolutionary War hero.

But not all was happy in the Katie home. Five of Elizabeth's ten siblings died at a young age. And when she was eleven, her last surviving brother died from a sudden illness. Her grief-stricken father was left with a house filled with girls. The next day, Katie sat on her father's lap as he told her, "'Oh, my daughter, I wish you were a boy.'"

Katie took the message to heart. It was clear that her father had more affection for her dead brother than all five of his living daughters. Watching her father mourn, she became determined to fill the void in her family. She would later write, I thought that the chief thing to be done in order to equal boys was to be learned and courageous.

So she rebelled against the strict societal rules that confined women to the home. She jumped fences on horseback, studied Greek, Latin, and math, and won top grades in her co-ed school. She even gained a legal education by spending time in her father's office.

At the time, such activities for girls and young women were considered unusual, even radical. Nineteenth-century society was governed by strictly defined gender roles. Men were supposed to control the public sphere of business and politics, while women were supposed to oversee the private sphere of the home, acting as caretakers for piety and virtue. It was a division reinforced by everything from Sunday sermons to women's magazines and one upheld in the conservative Katie household.

So no matter how much young Elizabeth proved her fierce intelligence and daring spirit, her father never stopped telling her that he wished she were a boy. And in his disappointment, Judge Katie unwittingly laid the groundwork for his daughter's lifelong pursuit of women's rights. As a teenager, Katie's family wealth gave her access to an education most women were denied.

She attended an all-female boarding school, where she received rigorous instruction in history, mathematics, philosophy, and science. After graduating at age 18, she began spending more time with her cousin, a wealthy and influential abolitionist whose upstate home was a stop on the Underground Railroad. There, Katie met runaway slaves and outspoken activists and learned the politics of radical reform.

Slavery was a subject of fierce debate, and anti-slavery activism had drawn a growing number of black and white women into the public sphere over the objections of many male activists. For the first time, Katie was surrounded by women who spoke openly about their political beliefs, including equality of the sexes.

In 1839, at one of these gatherings at her cousin's house, Katie met an auditor and abolitionist named Henry Brewster Stanton. At 24 years old, Katie was petite, witty, and charismatic, with curly hair and sparkling eyes. Stanton, 10 years her senior, was smitten, and the pair quickly struck up a passionate romance. Despite her father's objections to Stanton's anti-slavery politics, the couple married in 1840.

But Elizabeth was determined to have a marriage of equals. She struck the word obey from her vows and insisted on using her maiden name. From then on, she would not be known as Mrs. Henry Stanton, but as Elizabeth Katie Stanton. For their honeymoon, the newlyweds traveled to London to attend the world's anti-slavery convention in May 1840.

Britain had outlawed slavery less than a decade before, but the practice persisted in French, Danish, and Portuguese colonies, as well as in the United States. Among the other American abolitionists in attendance was Lucretia Mott, a Quaker minister who helped found the first female anti-slavery society.

Back home, Stanton and Mott were used to being heard alongside their male peers. But in London, they were horrified to discover that women delegates were excluded from the convention. They had to sit in the balcony as spectators. This was a convention of people who championed equality, yet women were blocked from taking part. Stanton and Mott left the convention that day arm-in-arm, both resolved to hold their own convention focused on women's rights.

But those plans would have to wait, as Stanton put her reform aspirations aside to start a family. After the convention, the Stantons moved to Boston. Henry pursued a career in law, and Elizabeth gave birth to three boys. Stanton thrived in Boston, immersing herself in the company of elite abolitionists, intellectuals, and writers. But in 1847, Henry decided his career and health would be better off in rural upstate New York.

So the family moved to Seneca Falls, a quiet village with none of the excitement of Boston. Stanton described the place as depressing. She received little help from her husband caring for the children and soon found herself overwhelmed by the demands of motherhood. During this difficult time, Stanton suffered from what she would later describe as mental hunger. She wanted more for herself and for other women than merely being relegated to the position of wife, mother, and housekeeper.

Then, in early July 1848, a local Quaker woman invited Stanton to an afternoon tea party at her home in Waterloo, New York, close to Seneca Falls. Stanton's friend from the London Convention, Lucretia Mott, was visiting the area that summer and joined the party along with three other Quaker friends. Sitting about a round mahogany table, the conversation soon turned to a discussion of the injustices women suffered.

It was not only domestic duties that frustrated Stanton. In the 1840s, laws and policies made American women second-class citizens. They could not attend public universities. Almost all professions were closed to them. And when women married, their legal existence was absorbed by their husbands. They suffered what Stanton called a civil death. They could not sign contracts, own property, or keep their own paychecks. If they divorced, husbands often retained custody of their children.

Stanton would later reflect on that meeting in Waterloo, writing, "...I poured out that day the torrent of my long-accumulating discontent, with such vehemence and indignation that I stirred myself and the rest of the party to do and dare anything."

The group resolved to take advantage of Mott's visit by organizing a convention. They placed an ad in the local newspaper announcing a public meeting to discuss women's rights. The group decided to draft a statement for the convention that would be modeled after the Declaration of Independence, a demand of rights for women that boldly linked their cause to the American Revolution.

Stanton drafted the document, which began, "...we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men and women are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights." It went on, "...the history of mankind is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations on the part of man towards woman."

In the document, Stanton identified specific grievances, including women's lack of economic and educational opportunities. She and her fellow organizers included 11 resolutions for the convention to vote on, outlining the rights to which women should be entitled. But Stanton had a nagging feeling that something was missing. A final resolution so bold and so radical that the convention could not be ignored.

Imagine it's the morning of July 19th, 1848, a blistering hot morning in Seneca Falls, New York. You pull your wagon up to the Wesleyan Methodist Chapel, where the women's rights convention you've been planning is due to start within the hour. You try to open the church door, but it's locked. You tap your foot nervously, frustrated that in all your detailed planning, you forgot to make sure the reverend left the door open for you.

But then your shoulders drop in relief as you see Elizabeth Cady Stanton walking towards you, her five-year-old son following in her wake. Elizabeth always seems to know what to do in difficult situations like this. Good morning. Elizabeth, thank goodness you're here. The door's locked and people will start arriving any minute. Nothing ever goes exactly according to plan. Henry, be a good boy and crawl through that open window to unlock the door for us.

As her son climbs inside the chapel, Stanton turns to you with a fierce look in her eyes. You know, I've been feeling like our declaration is missing something. I made a last-minute addition last night. This is going to change everything. Her son opens the door from the inside, and you and Stanton enter the church. What kind of addition? I'm going to propose a final resolution, calling on the convention to fight for the right to vote.

You stare at her in shock as she walks up toward the altar. I don't understand. Stanton pulls out a piece of paper and begins to read. Resolved that it is the duty of the women of this country to secure to themselves their sacred right to the elective franchise. Elizabeth, I must urge you to reconsider. Calling for political rights will make us seem ridiculous. Nonsense.

This will be our core issue. But there are plenty of things for us to fight for. We must go slowly. If we're not careful, we could undermine our entire project. Stanton shakes her head. We can't change anything until we address our lack of political power. It is a direct contradiction of our modern democratic society. How can women be expected to submit to laws we have no hand in creating?

You look over your shoulder to see that people are starting to arrive for the convention. Stanton looks back down at her draft, pencil in hand. You admire her intelligence and determination. But you fear this new proposal is going to turn the convention into a farce in the eyes of the public, destroying your cause before it even gets off the ground.

On July 19, 1848, Stanton and Mott held their convention at a red-brick chapel in Seneca Falls, New York. Some 300 people, including 40 men, attended the two-day meeting. Among them was a 19-year-old glove maker named Charlotte Woodward, one of the few working-class women to attend. She later summed up the spirit of the convention when she recalled, I do not believe there was any community anywhere in which the souls of some women were not beating their wings in rebellion."

As the convention got underway, Stanton read the Declaration of Sentiments aloud. All resolutions passed unanimously except for the final demand for voting rights. It was something many participants, including Lucretia Mott, considered too radical. Stanton's own husband, Henry, was so opposed to it that he decided to skip the convention entirely.

Most convention participants knew that the call for suffrage would be too much for many Americans to swallow. In 1848, democracy was still a bold new experiment in government. Most men felt women were not rational enough to take on the sacred responsibility of voting. Even many women felt other priorities should take precedence. There were widespread concerns that if women entered the public sphere, it would threaten the natural, God-intended order of things, tearing apart America's social fabric.

But one of the men who felt differently was the sole Black participant at Seneca Falls. Frederick Douglass had escaped slavery to become a renowned writer and orator and would soon become America's leading abolitionist. At the convention, Douglass came to Stanton's rescue and rallied support for the passage of the suffrage resolution, leading to all 12 resolutions to pass.

But in the end, only 68 women and 32 men signed their names to the document, just a third of the attendees. Despite supporting the resolutions, most were unwilling to publicize their participation. Never before had women made such a provocative and public demand on behalf of their rights. Even for those at the convention, it was frightening.

But Stanton's resolution demanding suffrage would become the central goal of the struggle for women's rights. The path ahead would not be easy, though. In the years to come, Stanton and her fellow organizers would confront the challenge of turning the Seneca Falls Convention into a genuine movement, one that demanded courage, hard work, and most of all, new allies in the fight. Work takes up most of your time.

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Listen to Business Movers, Making the News, on Amazon Music or wherever you get your podcasts. After the Seneca Falls Convention, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and her fellow organizers hoped to build a broader movement. But their radical ideas had prompted a backlash. As news of the meeting spread through New York and nearby states, Stanton and her fellow organizers were ridiculed.

One Rochester newspaper mocked the convention for promoting a petticoat empire. A Philadelphia editorial insisted, "...a woman is nobody, a wife is everything. The women of Philadelphia are resolved to maintain their rights as wives, belles, virgins, and mothers, and not as women."

But Stanton and her allies also sparked solidarity. Already, women inspired by the Seneca Falls were staging their own meetings in New York, Massachusetts, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Indiana. Among these new activists entering the fight was a young abolitionist named Lucy Stone, who in 1847 had become the first woman from Massachusetts to earn a bachelor's degree.

In October 1850, Stone was part of a group of New England women who announced the first National Women's Rights Convention to be held that month in Worcester, Massachusetts. More than a thousand people attended Stone's Worcester Convention in 1850, which called for property rights for married women, access to education and careers, and suffrage. The convention was also the first to explicitly link women's rights to Black rights and to acknowledge the suffering of enslaved women.

Prominent Black abolitionists attended the meeting, including Frederick Douglass and Sojourner Truth, a formerly enslaved woman who struck audiences with her powerful voice and commanding presence. After Worcester, abolitionists and suffragists would work side by side for the rest of the decade, convinced their causes were intertwined.

But Elizabeth Cady Stanton did not attend the 1850 meeting. She was still in Seneca Falls, pregnant again and overwhelmed by her responsibilities at home, especially now that her husband was away serving in the New York state legislature. She complained, I am at the boiling point. If I do not find someday the use of my tongue on this question, I shall die of an intellectual repression. But the following spring, Stanton met a woman in Seneca Falls who would help her transform the suffragist cause.

Susan B. Anthony was born into a politically active Quaker family in 1820 and raised to believe that everyone, regardless of race or gender, was equal under God. Her parents passed on their strong beliefs in abolition and temperance, the growing movement to combat alcohol.

In 1845, Anthony moved to Rochester, New York, where she met Frederick Douglass and other abolitionist leaders. But after years of teaching for low wages, she was restless, ready to make a difference by becoming a reformer, declaring that she hoped to find a way to right the wrongs of society. Soon, Anthony was rising up the ranks of the temperance movement in western New York.

In the 1850s, temperance had become one of the main causes for which women could speak out publicly. Fighting alcohol abuse was personal for many women, who pointed to the excessive drinking of their husbands and male family members as a cause of violence, domestic abuse, and poverty. And it was through temperance activism that Anthony honed her talents as a reformer and organizer.

After meeting in 1851, Anthony and Stanton became fast friends and working partners. It was the start of a decades-long collaboration, one that would turn the call for women's suffrage into a full-fledged movement. In many ways, Stanton and Anthony's skills complemented each other.

Stanton's daughter described her mother as the thought to Anthony's action. Stanton was a writer, an intellectual, serving as the chief philosopher of women's rights. Anthony was nicknamed the Napoleon of the movement, a strategic genius adept at the hands-on work of recruiting and organizing.

So while Stanton was charismatic and quick-witted, Anthony was serious and plain-spoken, wearing heavy clothes and pulling her hair back in a tight bun. She also chose not to marry, insisting she could not attach herself to a man as long as men and women remained unequal. But she became a second mother to Stanton's seven children, often caring for them to give Stanton time to write.

And early on, a portion of that writing was work on the temperance movement. But both Stanton and Anthony believed that the source of married women's suffering went deeper than alcohol. So they broadened their focus to a variety of women's rights issues, including divorce reform, property rights, and equal pay for equal work.

But Anthony did not at first support voting rights for women, like many others. But after attending her first women's rights convention in Syracuse in 1852, she became convinced and threw herself into the suffrage fight. As time went on and more of her fellow activists married and had children, Anthony took on more work, pouring all of her energy into campaigning.

She faced a number of challenges. The suffrage movement was loosely structured, with virtually no money and no national organization to coordinate activities. Crucially, the Constitution and federal law did not yet have explicit protections for the right to vote. It was left up to the states to decide who could vote and who could not. Suffrage would have to be achieved one state at a time through revisions to individual state constitutions.

But without the right to vote, women could not choose elected representatives directly. They had only persuasion and petitions. In 1853, Anthony organized her first petition campaign in her home state of New York, demanding suffrage in women's property rights. By Christmas 1854, she escalated the fight, setting out to travel through all of New York's counties, organizing meetings and speeches.

She hoped to appeal to the people of New York directly, but she would soon discover the grueling path that lay ahead of her in the fight to vote. Imagine it's February 1855. You're a suffrage activist traveling alongside Susan B. Anthony in upstate New York to gather signatures for a petition.

You and Anthony have just arrived in a remote village, cold and exhausted after a long day driving in an open sleigh through deep snow and icy wind. I'll just go see the minister and make sure everything's in order. You leave Anthony in the sleigh and trudge through the snow in your uncomfortable new boots, approaching a local church where Anthony is scheduled to give a speech tonight. You shudder as you walk up the steps, hoping you'll find a fire inside to warm your hands.

The church door opens, and a minister in black robes scowls at you. Can I help you? Good afternoon, Reverend. Yes, I hope you can. Miss Anthony will be delivering a lecture in your church tonight, but there seems to be a small issue. We've just come through town, and I haven't seen any advertisements announcing it. The minister narrows his gaze, looking past you to your sleigh. Miss, I don't know what you're talking about.

That's odd. I sent advance notice about renting out the church. I never received any notice. And besides, I wouldn't host a lecture by a woman. What's she speaking about anyway? Women's suffrage and property rights. The minister looks horrified. Do you have the gall to try to do your politicking in my place of worship? If the Bible teaches us anything, it's that a woman's place is in the home, not gadding about the country.

Women have no business speaking in public, and certainly no business voting. Now if you'll excuse me... The minister motions to close the door on you, but you throw out your arm and stop him. Please, Reverend. It hasn't been easy getting here. We got stuck in a 15-foot snowdrift today. That is not my problem. Well, if not here, then where can we hold the lecture? There must be somewhere else in town.

A private business, perhaps? Go ahead and try. I hardly think you'll find a receptive audience for your godless cause. This is a good Christian town. Minister shuts the door in your face, and you're momentarily stunned by his rudeness. But you take a deep breath and prepare to regroup. You're going to have to scramble to find a new location and place handbills around town. It won't be the first time you've had to improvise to get Miss Anthony the audience she deserves.

But you can't help but wonder if her message is getting across, or whether this tour is worth all the hardship. For five months, Susan B. Anthony endured blistering cold, traveling into remote corners of New York, where she hoped to find audiences eager to see the novelty of a woman speaking in public. Money for food and hotel rooms was scarce, and she often encountered openly hostile crowds. But she needed to drum up support if she had any chance of getting enough signatures for her petition.

Despite the challenges, Anthony continued her New York campaign over the next six years. Stanton worked behind the scenes on articles and speeches, though she longed to join Anthony in the trenches. In 1860, their efforts finally paid off when the state passed a law that allowed married women to own property, keep their own wages, and retain custody of their children. But within just two years, many of these gains would be stripped back.

All the while, the national conflict over slavery was intensifying. In 1861, the Civil War broke out, and suffragists made the difficult decision to suspend their women's rights organizing to support the Union war effort. The fate of four million enslaved people hung in the balance, and the crisis facing the nation was simply too urgent to ignore.

Anthony wanted to continue her suffrage campaign, but with no one else supporting her, she grudgingly put aside the work. The suffragists joined their abolitionist allies, focusing all their energies on winning the war and ending slavery.

To that end, in 1863, Anthony and Stanton founded the Women's National Loyal League, which petitioned Congress to pass a constitutional amendment abolishing slavery. They put their formidable skills to work and gathered 400,000 signatures over the next two years. At the time, it was the largest petition drive in American history. And then, in January 1865, with the end of the war in sight, Congress passed the 13th Amendment abolishing slavery.

As the amendment went to the states for ratification, it unleashed a heated national debate over the future of formerly enslaved people and whether they would be granted full citizenship and voting rights. Sweeping changes to federal law were coming for Black Americans, and suffrage activists hoped women could also win new rights as well.

Stanton and Anthony had the same hope and introduced an expansive new vision for voting rights known as universal suffrage, voting rights for all, regardless of race or gender. Anthony explained, the time for Negro or women's specialties is past, and we propose to step on the broad platform of equality and fraternity.

In May 1866, suffragists held their first national women's rights convention since the war began. Meeting in New York City, Stanton and Anthony joined forces with their old abolitionist allies, including Lucretia Mott, Lucy Stone, and Frederick Douglass. They voted to establish the American Equal Rights Association, or AERA, with the goal of pursuing universal suffrage.

The Equal Rights Association included a broad coalition of activists, and right from the start, they didn't see eye to eye. The Black poet and novelist Frances Ellen Watkins Harper stood before the convention and delivered a powerful speech criticizing the association's white members for failing to address the particular prejudices Black women faced. Harper noted that she had been removed from a streetcar due to her race and insisted, "'You white women speak here of rights. I speak of wrongs.'"

Still, Harper urged unity in the fight for equal justice, declaring, We are all bound up together in one great bundle of humanity. The AERA soon embarked on a daring new campaign for the rights of both women and Black people. The following year, the association would take its fight to the new state of Kansas, where a conflict was brewing over access to the polls. There, the bond between the parallel movements for Black suffrage and women's suffrage would be stretched to its breaking point.

Being an actual royal is never about finding your happy ending. But the worst part is, if they step out of line or fall in love with the wrong person, it changes the course of history. I'm Arisha Skidmore-Williams. And I'm Brooke Ziffrin. We've been telling the stories of the rich and famous on the hit, wondery show, Even the Rich. And talking about the latest celebrity news on Rich and Daily. We're going all over the world on our new show, Even the Royals.

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I would define reclaiming as to take back what was yours. Something you possess is lost or stolen, and ultimately you triumph in finding it again. So I think listeners can expect me to be chatting with folks, both recognizable and unrecognizable names, about the way that people have navigated roads to triumph.

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In 1867, Kansas became a battleground for the larger debate over universal suffrage. As a November election loomed, the state planned referenda on two proposed amendments to its Constitution, one for black suffrage and one for women's suffrage. Activists from the American Equal Rights Association, including Lucy Stone, traveled to Kansas to campaign for both.

These activists pinned their hopes on the Republican Party, which had grown out of the anti-slavery movement and strongly supported black suffrage. But when it came to women's suffrage, Kansas Republicans were bitterly divided. After much debate, the party decided to support black suffrage only. They also formed an anti-female suffrage committee to oppose the Women's Amendment.

The Kansas Democratic Party officially opposed both Black and women's suffrage. But many Kansas Democrats were willing to support giving women the vote if it could help them sabotage the Black suffrage cause.

Republicans and opportunistic Democrats circulated inflammatory rumors to pit the two suffragist factions against each other. One newspaper falsely accused a white suffragist of giving a speech attacking Black people, calling them dirty and ignorant. The rumors had their intended effect, sparking tensions within the American Equal Rights Association.

The AERA had other issues as well. Their finances were dwindling. National abolitionist leaders refused to lend support and funding because they opposed combining the two causes. And so by the fall of 1867, women's suffrage leaders feared defeat. In the desperate final days of the campaign, Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton turned to an unlikely ally. George Francis Train was a wealthy, eccentric, and blatantly racist businessman.

He was also a proud Democrat. He wore flamboyant outfits and had delusions of one day occupying the Oval Office. But he was also a champion of women's rights. Train offered money to the faltering women's suffrage campaign and swept through Kansas on a speaking tour, drawing large crowds for his two-hour speeches in support of women's voting rights. His slogan was, Woman First and Negro Last. But Train's racist remarks drove a wedge through the suffrage ranks.

When Kansas voters went to the polls in November 1867, both suffrage measures lost. The two factions blamed each other, and soon after the Kansas campaign, the AERA split in two. One wing, led by Lucy Stone, maintained close ties to the Republican Party and abolitionist groups. Stone and others who thought like her still hoped for universal suffrage, but believed that if necessary, Black suffrage must come first.

Meanwhile, Anthony and Stanton insisted that black people and women be enfranchised at the same time. They advocated independence from the Republican Party and abolitionist establishment and poured their efforts into starting a women's suffrage newspaper called The Revolution. Their initial funding came from George Francis Train, whom they continued to work with, despite criticism from black suffrage activists.

The moment of reckoning for these two wings of the women's suffrage movement came at the end of 1868, when they were confronted with a proposed 15th Amendment, which would extend the vote to black men only. Lucy Stone and Frederick Douglass supported the amendment, arguing that once it was ratified, they could turn their attention to a separate amendment for women. But Stanton and Anthony could not stomach such an argument. They feared if women missed this opportunity, they might not get another chance.

As Stanton saw her hopes for suffrage slip away, there was a marked shift in her public statements. Her rhetoric became increasingly racist. Stanton was a highly educated, upper-class white woman, and she could not seem to accept that uneducated, illiterate former slaves should be allowed to make decisions about government and policy before she and other women of her station could. Her close ally, Anthony, supported these racist views.

In an article in her newspaper, Stanton invoked the racist stereotype Sambo. Comparing black men's fitness for voting to her educated suffragist friends, she wrote, "'Think of Sambo, who does not know the difference between a monarchy and a republic, who never read the Declaration of Independence or Webster's spelling book. Think of Sambo making laws.'"

Stanton's rhetoric bred anger and resentment within the universal suffrage ranks. And in the spring of 1869, a meeting in New York would expose the true depth of the fault lines of the movement, bringing the suffrage coalition to the brink of collapse. Imagine it's May 12th, 1869, in New York City's Steinway Hall. You're a suffragist and a member of the American Equal Rights Association.

This morning, a thousand people have gathered in this auditorium for the Association's annual meeting. You're using the opportunity to drum up interest in Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony's newspaper, The Revolution. Weaving your way through the crowds, you spot writer and activist Frances Ellen Watkins Harper and make a beeline for the seat beside her. Mrs. Harper, I haven't seen you since last year's meeting. What can I do to get you to contribute to The Revolution?

I'm sure our readers would be interested to read the work of such an esteemed poet. Harper stares down at the newspaper in your hands and shakes her head. You can't be serious. You expect me, a black woman, to want anything to do with that newspaper? After all the disparaging comments Elizabeth Cady Stanton has written about my race, I can't believe she's trying to stand in the way of the 15th Amendment. You stare at her in disbelief. So what are you saying?

You're happy for black men to get the vote, leaving us women behind? Us women? I'm not sure there is an us. Not so long as you and your friends fail to acknowledge the rights of black women. Oh, come on. We support the rights of all women. We're in this together. Harper moves her chair back abruptly. Are we? When you call black men Sambos...

White women have failed to advocate for our race at every turn. That's simply not true. We're trying to block the 15th Amendment in favor of a universal suffrage amendment. Votes for women and men of both races. You say you're supporting us, but the truth is you're completely disregarding our expressed wishes.

We want you to support the 15th. We have to take this chance. The safety and progress of Black Southerners depends on it. I just never expected to find so many traitors to our sex here today. Harper stands and gazes down at you, anger and regret shadowing her face. I'm not the traitor. The amendment may not be perfect, but opposing it will do nothing to further my chance at the ballot box.

You watch her walk away, frustrated to see this amendment tearing your coalition apart. But more than anything, you're terrified that if the 15th is passed, women may not get another chance at the vote. In May 1869, the brewing conflict within the American Equal Rights Association came to a head at a contentious meeting in New York City.

Frederick Douglass rose to speak and called out Stanton's racist language. Douglass believed that it was far more pressing that black men receive the vote over white women, declaring, I do not see how anyone can pretend that there is the same urgency in giving the ballot to woman as to the Negro. With us, the matter is a question of life and death.

When women, because they are women, are hunted down, when they are dragged from their houses and hung upon lampposts, when their children are torn from their arms, then they will have an urgency to obtain the ballot equal to our own. But Anthony stood tall and responded, If you will not give the whole loaf of suffrage to the entire people, give it to the most intelligent first. Let the question of women be brought up first, and that of the Negro last.

Black women found themselves in a difficult position, as their unique struggles were neglected by both wings of the movement. At the meeting, activist Frances Ellen Watkins Harper said, When it was a question of race, I let the lesser question of sex go. But the white women all go for sex, letting race occupy a minor position. In the end, Harper supported the 15th Amendment, refusing to block progress for black men by siding with white women.

It was hardly a surprise to those that attended that the tumultuous meeting would be the organization's last. Only days later, the AERA dissolved. The two wings severed ties and formed separate organizations. Stone and Douglas formed the American Woman Suffrage Association. Stanton and Anthony formed the National Woman Suffrage Association.

As the ratification campaign for the 15th Amendment progressed, Stone and Douglas' American Association supported the amendment. Stanton and Anthony's National Association opposed it, hoping to replace it with a universal suffrage amendment. But this schism in the movement would set the cause of women's suffrage back decades. The seeds sown by pioneers like Stanton, Anthony, and Stone had taken root, and women had become more visible in society and would now continue to push for more political rights.

A bold new era for women's suffrage was on the horizon, but one marked not by speeches and petitions, but by radical action. From Wondery, this is episode one of the fight for women's suffrage from American history tellers. On the next episode, a scandalous new leader emerges in the suffrage movement, shocking the nation by becoming the first woman to run for president. Dozens of women flaunt the political power structure by daring to cast ballots, and Susan B. Anthony is arrested for voting illegally.

If you like American History Tellers, you can binge all episodes early and ad-free right now by joining Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Prime members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey.

If you'd like to learn more about the suffrage movement, we recommend Suffrage, Women's Long Battle for the Vote by Ellen Carol Du Bois, and Vanguard, How Black Women Broke Barriers, Won the Vote, and Insisted on Equality for All by Martha S. Jones.

American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me, Lindsey Graham, for Airship. Audio editing by Molly Bond. Sound design by Derek Behrens. Music by Lindsey Graham. Voice acting in this episode by Ace Anderson, Cat Peoples, and Cynthia San Luis. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton, edited by Dorian Marino. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Executive producers are Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marsha Louis for Wondery.

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