Autostraddle, Portraits of Lesbian Writers, 1987 – 1989 (these are awesome)
Folk Radio, Grace Petrie: Queer as Folk review
Autostraddle, Portraits of Lesbian Writers, 1987 – 1989 (these are awesome)
Folk Radio, Grace Petrie: Queer as Folk review
This week we’ve seen a lot of feminist discussion about issues of speech, silence and oppression, so I decided that now would be a good time to post some thoughts on the poetry of Judy Grahn.
Grahn is a lesbian feminist poet and activist whose work is very much concerned with speaking back to power. Her project is one of radical redefinition rooted in a centering of the lives of ordinary women. The Work of a Common Woman brings together poems published between 1964 and 1977, a period when feminists were fighting to break free of patriarchal modes of representation and wrestle back control of the narratives through which women’s experiences had been mediated by culture. This was a time when one of the top feminist priorities was to get women’s voices out there, which obviously meant finding ways to bypass the gatekeepers of publishing and the media. Grahn was an important figure in this effort, co-founding the Gay Woman’s Liberation Movement and The Women’s Press Collective, as well as making her own work available in an accessible pamphlet form that could be easily circulated by women’s groups.
From Riotgrrrl Collected
Found via @ekphora on twitter
Throughout my life somebody has always tried to set the boundaries of who and what I will be allowed to be: if working class, an intellectual, upwardly mobile type who knows her place, or at least the virtues of gratitude; if a lesbian, an acceptable lesbian, not too forward about the details of her sexual practice; if a writer, a humble, consciously female one who understands her relationship to “real” writers and who is willing to listen to her editors. What is common to these boundary lines is that their most destructive power lies in what I can be persuaded to do to myself — the walls of fear, shame and guilt I can be encouraged to build in my mind […] I have learned through great sorrow that all systems of oppression feed on public silence and private terrorization. But few do so more forcefully than the systems of sexual oppression, and each of us is under enormous pressure to give in to their demands.
Dorothy Allison, ‘Public Silence, Private Terror, in Skin: Talking about Sex, Class and Literature, (New York: Firebrand Books, 1994), p. 117
In between everything else, I’m working my way through The Second Wave: A Reader in Feminist Theory, edited by Linda Nicholson. The book leaves out a lot because it’s limited to more highly theoretical feminist writing, but it contains some very influential work. I’ve only read the first section ‘Early Statements’ so far, but I already feel like I’m gaining a better understanding of how we got to where we are today.
One interesting factor, which Nicholson draws attention to in her introduction, is the division between the ‘Woman’s Rights Movement,’ which emerged in the early 1960s, and the Women’s Liberation Movement, which emerged out of the New Left in the later 1960s. The Women’s Rights Movement was basically what we now call liberal feminism. It was largely made up of professional women who put pressure on organisations to end discrimination against women in the work force. It drew on the dissatisfaction felt by a lot of middle-class housewives at the time. The Women’s Liberation Movement developed the approach now known as radical feminism. It was concerned with getting women and men ‘to recognise the importance of women’s oppression, its presence across large stretches of history and its fundamentality as a principle of social organisation. This meant developing a theory that explained the origins of women’s oppression and the means by which it has been sustained’ (2). Of course these different strands were not completely independent of each other but they represent quite radically different approaches to the same problems and it’s important to be aware of them. While much of the creative thinking (and therefore most of the essays in the book) came from the Women’s Liberation Movement, the Women’s Rights Movement has been hugely influential in determining the feminist agenda. These days you quite often seem to get people working with a combination of the two strands in ways that can be problematic.
The first chapter is the ‘Introduction to The Second Sex’ (1953) by Simone De Beauvoir. In trying to account for the historical oppression of women as a group, De Beauvoir argues that physiological differences between men and women gave men the opportunity to define themselves as subjects and women as ‘other.’ Biology therefore became elaborated as gender:
‘It amounts to this […] there is an absolute human type, the masculine. Woman has ovaries, a uterus; these peculiarities imprison her in her subjectivity, circumscribe her within the limits of her own nature. It is often said that she thinks with her glands. Man superbly ignores the fact that his anatomy also includes glands, such as testicles, and that they secrete hormones. He thinks of his body as a direct and normal connection with the world, which he believes he apprehends objectively, whereas he regards the body of woman as a hindrance, a prison, weighed down by everything peculiar to it.’
I love the opening quote: “For a long time I have hesitated to write a book on women. The subject is irritating, especially to women; and it is not new. Enough ink has been spilled in the quarrelling over feminism, now practically over, and perhaps we should say no more of it’ (11).
The quarreling about feminism over? In 1953? Oh how we laugh now!
The second chapter is from Shulamith Firestone’s The Dialectic of Sex (1970). Drawing on Marx and Engels Firestone continued the project of trying to account for women’s oppression by locating the problem in biological differences, specifically reproduction, arguing that women’s capacity to bear children put them in a relation of dependence on men which allowed men to oppress them. The solution:
‘to assure the elimination of sexual classes requires the revolt of the underclass (women) and the seizure of control of reproduction: not only the full restoration to women of ownership of their own bodies, but also their (temporary) seizure of control of human fertility – the new population biology as well as all the social institutions of childbearing and childrearing.’ (24).
Is that all then?
It’s a powerful argument, but also a problematic one. As Nicholson notes in her introduction to the book: ‘Are not all of us dependent on each other in some way or other?’ Does the existence of relations of dependence really explain the oppression of more than half the human race? What about all the women who have never born children with men? And why should reproduction automatically be interpreted as a reason to oppress women? Why was it not interpreted as a source of power, as seems to have been the case in some early societies? Perhaps Firestone answers these questions in the rest of her book, but I think her argument also puts women with children in a difficult position with regard to feminism because under current conditions there is no way they can seize total control of human fertility. In having children with men at all, they are doing something arguably anti-feminist.
I prefer Gayle Rubin’s argument in the following essay, ‘The Traffic in Women’ (1975), which locates gendered oppression in the exchange of women which takes place within kinship systems. I also love this essay for its sheer audacity. Rubin manages to weave together Marx, the anthropology of Levi-Strauss, and the psychoanalysis of Freud and Lacan. I’m going to write a separate post on this one because I think it deserves a more in-depth discussion than I can provide here.
The next chapter is The Combahee River Collective’s ‘A Black Feminist Statement’ (1979), which I also think deserves a post of its own. Basically, the statement defends identity politics, rejects separatism and insists that gender cannot be abstracted form race and class:
‘The most general statement of our politics at the present time would be that we are actively committed to struggling against racial, sexual, heterosexual, and class oppression and see as our particular task the development of integrated analysis and practice based upon the fact that the major systems of oppression are interlocking. The synthesis of these oppressions creates the conditions of our lives.’ (63).
More on that when I have a moment
The final essay in this section is the ‘The Equality Crisis,’ the one Women’s Rights Movement piece in this section and I haven’t read it because… I can’t get up much energy for liberal feminism at the moment. I may go back to it later, but right now I have skipped to the next section which is on feminism and Marxism and interests me more.
I’ve been thinking about feminism and exclusion a lot recently. Over the last 10 years, I’ve taken part in running two feminist groups and have been tangentially involved with several others. In most cases these groups were made up of predominantly white, middle-class, university-educated, and non-disabled young women. There were very few women with children involved and older feminists who did communicate with us were often wary about working with younger feminists. When we talked about these issues within the group, people would say things like, “But we’re really trying!” “What can we do if [insert group] don’t want to come to our events? We’re open to everyone,” and “Well, we have had one or two [insert members of group] coming to events sometimes, so we’re getting somewhere.”
Of course this says something about me and the kind of groups I tend to get involved with, but I think it’s still worth talking about because the experience made me aware of subtle structural ways in which exclusion is practiced. At no point did we put up posters saying “Mothers not welcome!” or “No disabled feminists!” because these exclusions were implicit in the way we did things. Without our being aware of actively doing anything to cause the problems, we created a situation in which the experiences of a particular group of women were being centred and, as a consequence, the groups were most accessible to these women.
When your group is predominantly made up people from fairly similar backgrounds, it is very easy for assumptions about women and feminism to be perpetuated and accepted as facts, rather than the culturally specific positions they actually represent. I think this is part of the reason why our discussion nights sometimes felt more like therapy than consciousness raising. When you’re in a group and most people there are saying thing like “Yes, yes, I had that experience too” an illusion of homogeneity can be created and it’s easy to start imagining that these experiences are those of women in general, rather than of a specific group of women.
When we asked what kind of things people wanted to talk about, the majority tended to request topics that most impacted or angered them. This is perfectly understandable, but because most people came from similar backgrounds, they tended to be interested in similar issues and this sense of agreement affirmed assumptions about which issues are the most important ones for feminism. Hence, our discussions were heavily weighted in favour of the media, porn, lads’ mags, anything to do with sex, beauty and body image issues etc. Hardly anyone wanted to talk about work, for example, because they didn’t perceive themselves as having much of a problem in this respect, most being either quite high-powered, or expecting to be high-powered in the near future.
Take motherhood as another example. It’s much easier for women without children to attend meetings, especially meetings in the evenings, than it is for women with children. This meant that hardly any women with children got involved, which allowed the group to make all kinds of assumptions about feminism and motherhood because there were no mothers present to challenge them. It also contributed to the illusion of homogeneity – “Wow! We all have the same experience!” One woman with a child asked if we could hold a few meetings on weekends which would make it much easier for her, and any other women with children on the mailing list, to attend. But the majority who did not have children did not want to make concessions to the few who did, and so they continued to be effectively excluded. Because there were no mothers present to challenge what was being said, not having children even started to be touted by some members as a feminist act in itself, setting up a pro-childfree undercurrent which would have made it even more uncomfortable for women with children if they had been able to attend.
I’ve also noticed that a lot of feminist events involve travel or weekends away. In the UK they are concentrated in London. Getting to them requires money, time and a lack of other commitments, which again makes them accessible mainly to a certain group of people, e.g, younger women, students and those with more disposal income. I remember a meeting once, at which a busy older woman had to patiently explain why it was not possible for her to drop everything and travel to the latest Ladyfest that weekend.
Hardly any women of colour came to our meetings, a phenomenon which was generally regarded as “them” not wanting to come, rather than a consequence of our group being racist. No one really stopped to ask “Why on earth would women of colour want to come to this group?” There was also little understanding that women of colour groups have good reason to be wary of white feminists when they come calling. I have been involved in two feminist organisations in which people suddenly became interested in working with women of colour when it became necessary to show “diversity” on funding applications. The people concerned were quite offended when they got no response, as if women of colour groups are not aware that white feminists are prone to this kind of thing.
Because most of the members were university-educated, often to postgraduate level, the group soon became rather elitist. Again, this was not the fault of any one individual, or even a conscious thing, it was down to an inability to see just how specific our experiences were. It wasn’t even simply a case of simply being university-educated because the subject areas people had studied also tended to be pretty specific. The group was heavily weighted in favour of the arts, humanities, social sciences and media studies — no doubt because these are subjects in which feminist theory tends to get taught as par for the course. This doesn’t mean that women from other subject areas or (gasp!) women who did not go to university are not feminists or that they can’t grasp the concepts being discussed, but I can imagine why they might be wary of entering a feminist group of this kind for fear of being judged.
It’s important to remember that elitism is practiced at the level of language. I was at a feminist event in the winter at which a large proportion of people attending had degrees in the humanities. They were happily talking about “post-feminism” and “third wave” feminism as if these terms are in general use. After the conversation had gone on for some time, an older woman put up her hand and asked, “But what on earth is post-feminism? I have no idea what you’re talking about”. Another woman had never heard of third-wave feminism. These were both women who considered themselves feminists, but had little contact with academia or investment in the internet or academia. Neither was prepared to accept the notion of “waves” which everyone else seemed to be taking for granted. Twice I’ve had women tell me at the end of meetings that they didn’t know what was going on half the time because no one stopped to explain the language they were using. Theoretical terms are just tools and need to be clearly explained, or they can become exclusive (to paraphrase Albert Einstein, if you can’t explain it clearly you don’t understand it yourself!). These tools should help people understand what’s going on, not become ways of keeping the knowledge limited to one group.
We didn’t have many disabled women coming to meetings either. In fact, it wasn’t until a disabled woman got more involved that we realised our meeting venue wasn’t even accessible. I still wonder to myself how we could have missed such an obvious issue and have to concede it just comes down to sheer ableist privilege. And it wasn’t just us: when we went to FEM 08 conference, the party afterwards was at a venue some distance from the university, so we had to call a taxi to get there. My friend was using her crutches that day, but if she’d been using her chair we probably would have had to go home because the venue was small with narrow doorways and the way to the disabled toilet was blocked. After the party, we couldn’t get a taxi because it was late on a Saturday night and no transport was laid on, so my friend had to walk back to our accommodation with the knowledge that she would be in extreme pain the next day.
Also disturbing is the way in which women who challenge the illusion of homogeneity are positioned as “difficult.” I noticed this in our group when working-class feminists did attend and expressed views which challenged the middle-class comfort zone. There was a definite feeling that they were making “trouble”, being awkward or “aggressive”, refusing to see “sense,” “sense” being nothing more than the views of the majority of people in the room at that moment.
The sort of exclusions unconsciously practiced in small grassroots groups can have far larger implications. In a sense, they lead logically to a national event like FEM 08 at which a specific kind of feminism was centred, presented as FEMINISM and people who might challenge it were actively excluded as “troublemakers.” This was what made it possible for Julie Bindel to respond to the one person who asked what she would say to people who disagreed with her with “Tell them to piss off and stop silencing the rest of us.” I know I harp on about it, but it really bothered me because that one comment seemed to sum up so much that is wrong with feminism at the moment. Of course there was no “us” and I’m sure plenty of women in the room disagreed with what was being said, but the way it was set up created an illusion of “us” – we’re all feminists and this is what we think because we’re feminists, so anyone who disagrees with “us” is not only not a feminist but is actively attacking “us”. Now, if you’re a feminist writer who regularly gets published in major news outlets and are speaking at a national conference, no one is silencing you – seriously! But the situation allowed the comment to be made and even get a bit of a clap. If anyone was being silenced at that event it was the people who didn’t dare express dissent, or who were not allowed in.
Anyway, those are my hopefully self-reflexive thoughts on how we can practice feminist exclusions.
A mixed bag of posts that have made me think recently.
A post about the difficult relationship between feminism and spirituality from Fatemeh at Feministe: The Elephant in the Feminist Classroom. Some of the most interesting and challenging discussions we had in Mind the Gap were on this topic and one of these days I'll get round to blogging about it.
Don't understand why people cut? Read this post from Elizabeth McClung: Lesbian Cutters Goth Cutters
I am wary of strongly anti-porn feminist men and while I just might possibly be seeking out material which confirms some of my already-held suspicions here, this post from Renegade Evolution raises some important issues: Kyle Payne: There is no debate here, This is wrong
And this post from Sudy at A Womyn's Ecdysis is just a must read if you're interested in addressing some of the problematic aspects of feminism in its current form: … Or else you're just a feminist.