Tag Archives: women

I don’t want to be a feminist

This post is about just what it says. I don’t want to be a feminist. Or, more accurately, I wish I didn’t HAVE TO BE a feminist. But, I live in a world that requires a feminist response.

I’ve stolen the title “I don’t want to be a feminist” from Amy Vernon, who just posted this smart piece on how a post-feminist world simply hasn’t happened yet–not even in the workplace, where we might imagine it would be relatively easy to make things equal, at least on paper. (How hard is it to write contracts with equal vacation time, seriously?) Vernon’s reflections struck a chord with me because I’ve been in very similar situations to the ones she describes–as I’m sure most women have.

Once, when I was teaching a course on women’s and gender studies, I told two different stories on two different days about being compensated less in the workforce because I am a woman. A male student said, “This sure happens to you a lot” with the clear implication that it’s not about my embodiment, but about my being a whiner. I felt a brief flash of embarrassment–oh no! I’m whining! How unattractive!–before firing back that, yes, it does happen to me a lot. I don’t ever get to take off my “woman body” and just be “normal” and reap “normal” benefits. If you’re tired of hearing me talk about these things, imagine how tiring it must be to live them all the time. That’s the point. To that student’s credit, he heard me. I really didn’t think he’d be able to, but he did.

A few weeks after that conversation, I got a check in the mail from Wal-Mart–one of the employers I had been talking about in that WGS class. I worked for Wal-Mart when I was 16, and it turns out that I was one of the beneficiaries of a class-action gender discrimination lawsuit. Part of me didn’t want to cash that ridiculous $9 check intended to make up for months of discrimination that occurred more than a decade ago; I didn’t want be complicit in the notion that $9 was adequate compensation.

But I also wanted to establish that I’m still here, and I still don’t live in some post-feminist world where blatant workplace discrimination is a thing of the past. So I cashed that damn check. And I hope everyone else that got one did, too.

Paying (critical) attention to advertising

Just some food for thought for today.

Arkansas abortion law

The following is pulled directly from a breaking New York Times story. Notice that ultrasound–a medical digital imaging process that pro-lifers often try to frame as objective–features prominently in the lede. 

“Arkansas adopted what is by far the country’s most restrictive ban on abortion on Wednesday — at 12 weeks of pregnancy, when a fetal heartbeat can typically be detected by abdominal ultrasound.

The law, the sharpest challenge yet to Roe v. Wade, was passed by the newly Republican-controlled legislature over the veto of Gov. Mike Beebe, a Democrat, who called it “blatantly unconstitutional.” The State Senate voted Tuesday to override his veto and the House followed suit on Wednesday, with several Democrats joining the Republican majority.

The law contradicts the limit established by Supreme Court decisions, which give women a right to an abortion until the fetus is viable outside the womb, usually around 24 weeks into pregnancy, and abortion rights groups promised a quick lawsuit to block it.”

Read the whole story.

The Right to Choose

I just spotted this headline on CNN.com: “Surrogate mother had right to choose.” (If you need the background for this short opinion piece, go here. The short version, though, is that a surrogate mother refused to abort her pregnancy when the parents asked her to.) While I certainly don’t agree with everything Dan O’Connor has to say about this issue, I do think he introduces some smart nuances to this debate.

The most interesting to me is this: “The problem stems from our conflicted understanding of what we mean when we say a woman has the right to choose what she does with her body.” While this is very smart it come ways, it also underscores a really problematic assumption. O’Connor–like most people–seems to assume that a woman in the modern U.S. does indeed HAVE choices about her body. This is something Rickie Solinger‘s politics of choice thoroughly refutes. Women may have “choices,” but they are severely limited and influenced by oppressive systemic forces of law, politics, social pressures, and economics.

This politics of choice is also something that O’Connor gets at in a roundabout way. Consider this quotation: ”Like most surrogates, [Kelley] is not financially well-off; note the distinct lack of fully employed, millionaire surrogate mothers.” Here, O’Connor gets it exactly right. Kelley may have “chosen” to be a surrogate, but that was a choice that was heavily influenced by her economic circumstances. One might consider a poor woman’s decision to become a surrogate less a choice than an act of survival or desperation.

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Anne Boleyn

Yesterday I attended a talk by Susan Bordo previewing her upcoming book The Creation of Anne Boleyn, which will be released in April. (Read more about it here.) My favorite part of Bordo’s talk was when she discussed her interviews with the women who have portrayed Anne Boleyn on screen. For example, Natalie Dormer, who played Anne on The Tudors, discussed her conversations with writer Michael Hirst and the effects on the ways she played Anne. Dormer said, “Our job is to be the vehicle of the text.” As a result, she resolved to change parts of the text that she felt might betray Anne’s legacy. Bordo talks  more about this here. I am excited by Dormer’s explicit feminist intervention!

Bordo also discussed perceptions of Dormer’s Anne as a third-wave icon, full of contradiction and complexity. She focused on how this Anne’s intellectualism and fire resonated with popular audiences and especially with young women. Dormer’s Anne disrupts the more conventional depiction of Anne as a home-wrecking whore juxtaposed against Catherine of Aragon’s chaste and virtue. (And it is this conventional depiction, I would argue–regardless of historical “reality”–that requires feminist recoveries of Anne.) Bordo also read aloud many critiques of The Tudors and suggested that this level of critique is justified by a modern context in which audiences are increasingly unable to critically analyze visual texts at the level of representation.

I’m not sure I buy this argument. While I certainly believe that modern audiences read visual texts differently than 16th century audiences, and while I certainly believe that cultural and historical critiques of popular works are important, I’m not sure I believe that modern audiences are limited to literal understandings of visual texts. (To invoke Rudolf Arnheim’s scheme, we still have signs and symbols as well as pictures.) I’m not sure I believe that the introduction of Renaissance perspective and the modes of visuality that have arisen since have limited our readings of visual texts so much as transformed them. I’ll have to read the book to get some more context for this train of thought!

Bordo also made some interesting distinctions throughout her talk about the differences between literary critics, writers, and historians. I was left hoping for more explanation of what qualifies a person to be a historian. I hope, also, for the book to include some discussion of the validity of “historical” versus “literary” approaches to storytelling. Bordo noted, for example, that most extant primary sources about Anne were written by her political enemies, since Henry had her writings destroyed. So, how does one earn the label “historian”? And, perhaps more importantly, what are we missing because of our focus on what is “fact” and what is “fiction” rather than focusing on perspective?

Finally, I’ll end with an apparent feminist reaction to an image Bordo showed but did not critique. To be clear, I enjoyed The Tudors series immensely, but their advertising less so. What is going on in this image? Aside from the obvious fragmentation of female bodies (And, yes, I get that this is a play on Henry’s beheading two of his wives. But what about the others? And, anyway, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard did still possess heads–and personalities–during their lives.), why are there only five women depicted? What is the reasoning for rendering an entire woman’s body–and life?–completely unapparent? Is it entirely aesthetic? If so, what are the implications? And which wife is it who has been erased?

Tudors