Harvard Law School was founded in 1817; however, it did not admit its first female cohort until 1950.^[i] The inclusion of women in Harvard Law’s previously all-male class was an initiative spearheaded by the Law School’s Dean, and later the United States Solicitor General, Ermin Griswold, who felt his willingness to allow women to attend the prestigious Harvard Law School reflected well on him and showed openness to progressive ideals.[ii]

Dean Griswold quickly established an annual tradition of inviting admitted female students to what became known as the “Griswold Dinners.”^[iii] Despite his seemingly-progressive views regarding women in higher education, Griswold dedicated a portion of the evening to interrogate each woman in attendance, inquiring what their intentions were in attending Harvard Law School, why they thought they deserved to be there, and why they thought they deserved to take a seat from a qualified man.^[iv]

Through his questioning, Griswold demanded that each women justify her presence at Harvard Law School. In doing so, he effectively forced these students, already deemed qualified enough to be admitted by his own standards, to defend their own worthiness, thereby eviscerating any feeling of belonging before it ever had a chance to grow. 

When future Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg (RBG) joined the class of 1959 and attended her own infamous “Griswold Dinner,” she entered an unforgiving environment that was only beginning to recognize women as capable individuals — able to succeed in higher education and professional settings based on capability and merit, rather than being solely defined by their biology.^[v]

In Bradwell v. Illinois (1873), the Supreme Court considered whether a female citizen, qualified in age, character, and learning, could claim under the Fourteenth Amendment, the right to practice law.^[vi] The Court upheld Illinois’s refusal to admit Myra Bradwell to the bar because she was a woman. The plurality declared that the “paramount destiny and mission of woman are to fulfill the noble and benign offices of wife and mother.”^[vii] Justice Bradley, in his concurring opinion, strongly asserted that women did not belong in the courtroom.^[viii] The decision reflected deeply entrenched gender norms of the time, and utilized the Constitution to reinforce a provincial view of womanhood. Its declaration that a woman’s “paramount destiny” was to be wife and mother set the baseline for nearly a century of constitutional silence on gender equality.

It is ironic that Bradwell was never formally overturned but gradually lost all authority as constitutional doctrine evolved “under the Fourteenth Amendment."^[ix] Various cases, such as began applying heightened scrutiny to gender discrimination, which chipped away at the systems that had excluded women from the legal profession.[x]

The tides of jurisprudence began to shift after Reed v. Reed recognized arbitrary sex-based discrimination, deemed violative of the intended goal of the legislation, as unconstitutional under the Fourteenth Amendment.[xi] There, the law arbitrarily mandated selecting men over women as executors of estates.[xii] The court invalidated the law at issue, holding that “To give mandatory preference to members of either sex over members of the other . . . is to make the very kind of arbitrary legislative choice forbidden by the Equal Protection Clause . . . “[xiii]

While the court only relied on a rational basis test, the win opened legal pathways to more nuanced complaints of Equal Protection violations on the basis of sex.  For example, five years later, Craig v. Boren (1976) established intermediate scrutiny, a more heightened standard of review, that has since proven to be an invaluable tool in sex-discrimination litigation. Under intermediate scrutiny, the government to demonstrate that laws using gender classifications are "substantially related” to achieving a "legitimate government interest.”[xiv] 

Ginsburg’s own litigation strategy in Moritz v. Commissioner (1972) helped enshrine these doctrinal shifts into the law by characterizing discrimination as a structural problem that burdened both men and women. This incremental approach undermined Bradwell’s vision of fixed roles by showing that equality benefited all people, and likewise, that discriminatory conduct equally hurts all people. When coupled with statutes like Title IX, which mandated equal access to educational programs, legal attitudes began shifting from be grudging, conditional acceptance insulated within entrenched social and gendered hierarchies, such as Griswold’s Dinners.

Ginsburg’s own career illuminates how the social and legal climate of the time guides the shifts in the law. In Mortiz v. Commissioner, she pursued what she called incremental litigation, designed to shift the law according to progressive ideals.^[xv] Rather than asking the court for large, sweeping changes to the existing law, she crafted a case about a tax deduction denied to a single male caregiver, which provided the necessary angle that laws discriminating on the basis of gender disadvantaged both men and women.^[xvi]

The contrast between Griswold’s dinners and professional conduct today showcases the stark contrast of between anti-discrimination laws, or more precisely, their absence, and their robust presence now. At the time of Mortiz, Title IX, among its many provisions, prohibited sex discrimination in educational programs receiving federal funding. While it is best known for transforming women’s athletics, its reach extended to higher education, including law schools. Title IX normalized the presence of women in the law school classroom, not as “spectacles” or concessions, but as fully qualified members of the academic and legal community.[xvii] The admission of women into law school, once framed as an “intrusion” into traditionally male spaces, became a federally protected right. 

Still, the Griswold Dinners are worth examining. They reveal how thin the line can be between reform and performance, between inclusion and spectacle. Griswold most likely believed he was carving space for newly admitted female students, positioning himself as a progressive leader. Yet the structure of his dinners placed these students on trial, forcing them to justify their own deservingness before they had even opened a casebook.

The lesson is not simply to condemn Griswold, but to recognize how progress is often contingent on the climate of the time. Just as Bradwell eroded through slow doctrinal shifts, so too do cultural expectations evolve, giving way to new norms. 

Today, the work of dismantling gender discrimination continues, from addressing pipeline disparities to tackling intersectional barriers for women of color, first-generation students, and caregivers. Progress requires not only changing the rules, but changing the rituals and ensuring that no student feels compelled to justify their presence at the table. We must ensure the seats we occupy in the law school classroom are not conditional, and that we are not going back.