Dr. Jennifer A. Smith

First Person Plural

alicia — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Imagine having three different names and three different birth dates. Deann Borshay Liem asks the viewers of her documentary film First Person Plural to do just that as she tells the story of her adoption in 1966 from Korea by American parents living in California. The film traces her childhood in America and desperate drive to assimilate perfectly into American culture, which—to all who looked at her—would say she accomplished quite successfully.

Yet, upon moving out of her parents’ house, Liem becomes haunted, literally, by memories of her past in Korea, a past that included a mother, father and four siblings. After the ghost of her father startles her by appearing in her car’s passenger seat, Liam knows that she must return to Korea and discover the truth about her adoption.

Once there, she meets her mother, brother, and sisters (her father died when she was an infant) and finds out that her real name is Ok Jin and that her identity had been switched with a girl named Cha Jung Hee (whose father had claimed her within the orphanage just weeks before her adoption was finalized). The remainder of the film chronicles her decision to have her American parents meet her Korean family because she believes this is the only way that she can hold both families together in her mind simultaneously and not have to choose between them.

The film, running at sixty minutes, follows a steady and even pace, intermixing photos and home videos from her childhood along with interviews with her American father, mother, sister and brother, and footage of the meeting between her American and Korean families. Beyond the film’s technical proficiency, its emotional impact is its greatest strength.

Her subjects are candid as they recount their reactions to her adoption and their current relationship to her, and the authenticity with which they express themselves is both refreshing and moving. For instance, Liem’s American family—in their well-meaning attempt to reassure her that she was a “real” member of the family—repeatedly dismisses the significance of her past and given name. Throughout the film, her father, mother and sister each assert that Liem’s “real” name is Deann or Cha Jung Hee, not Ok Jin, shrugging it off as a technicality. Liem’s dismay at this reaction is palpable.

Perhaps most touching is Liem’s difficulty discerning who her “real” mother is. Both of her mothers are gracious and supportive of their daughter as she struggles with this decision, and Liem comes to the realization that the only way to become closer to her Korean mother is to acknowledge that she is not, in fact, Liem’s mother after all. The scene in which Liem’s Korean mother tells her that she only gave birth to Liem and that she should do everything possible to make her American mother happy is heartbreakingly honest. Overall, the film touchingly explores the nature of identity, memory, and family, as Liem struggles to fuse her three names and two families into a cohesive whole.

While glancing over Mu Films’ website, I discovered that Liem has followed up First Person Plural with her latest documentary In the Matter of Cha Jung Hee, released in 2010. In it, she returns to Korea and the orphanage out of which she was adopted to track down the girl with whom her identity had been switched. Given the quality and power of First Person Plural, I’m sure that joining Liem on this next phase of her journey to piece together her identity will be just as rewarding.

Written by: Dr. Jennifer A. Smith, February 14th 2011

Erotic Revolutionaries: Black Women, Sexuality, and Popular Culture

tina — Tue, 23 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Shayne Lee

Hamilton Books

Shayne Lee, an Associate Professor of Sociology and African Diaspora Studies at Tulane University, sets out to make feminism more “chic” and release black women from the shackles of respectability in his latest book Erotic Revolutionaries: Black Women, Sexuality, and Popular Culture. To accomplish these goals, Lee applies a combination of scripting theory and third-wave feminism to numerous women in popular culture whom he sees as models of empowerment, thus diversifying black sexual politics, which he sees as too focused on women’s sexual victimization and objectification.

The introduction presents a clear foundation by providing the reader with background information regarding past and current scholarship in black female sexuality, establishing the methodology for his study, and outlining the overall trajectory for the book. Then, Lee jumps in with a quick rundown of sexuality’s social construction before treating his readers to a succession of eight relatively short chapters, each offering snappy observations of “erotic revolutionaries” from such popular culture arenas as music, sports, comedy, talk shows, and books. A few of these revolutionaries include Beyonce, Serena Williams, Wanda Sykes, Tyra Banks, Karrine Steffans, Mo’Nique, Laila Ali, Zane, and Sheryl Swoopes. Clearly, a strength of Lee’s analysis is the shear variety of women he includes in the study as well as the fact that his focus is not exclusively heterosexual.

However, while I appreciate the breadth of Lee’s scope and number of textual examples, I couldn’t help but want a more nuanced, complex analysis of them. Too often Lee’s discussion of books, songs, videos, images, etc. read more like a review than a careful examination anchored in precise features.

As Lee asserts, such cultural studies are vital contributions to the scholarship of black female sexuality because they are sorely lacking, and a more complex vision of what it means to be an empowered woman who enjoys a healthy and active sex life is needed. For that reason, this book is a notable contribution to the field. Yet, for me, there is a fundamental flaw in Lee’s project. He claims that “flipping the sexual script” ushers in a new discourse of black female sexual expression and in some ways, he’s correct. Women having and talking about sex “like a man” graphically exposes the sexual double standard and denaturalizes conventional gender roles as they relate to sexual practice and expression. This certainly offers women a wider range of roles to play and provides them with venues in which to practice more sexual agency.

That being said, the script seems to essentially remain the same. Sure, the actors performing the script are exchanged, but they are reciting identical lines. So, while “flipping the script” permits black women a greater range of sexual expression and certainly challenges the politics of respectability, I’m left wondering if it’s truly revolutionary. For instance, Lee praises Carmen Bryan’s memoir It’s No Secret because its “vivid descriptions of the physical anatomy and sexual habits of powerful famous men expose how memoirs embolden women with the rare opportunity to objectify men.” This is just one of many such instances where Lee praises men’s objectification. In another example, Lee praises Zane’s novels featuring the secret sorority Alpha Phi Fuckem (APF), whose members treat “men like disposable resources or ‘cum daddies.’”

I, for one, would like to see more representations of female sexuality that don’t walk within the well-established footprints of conventional male sexual expression and don’t rely on using men as a means to an end rather than as equitable partners of pleasure. That said, I’m heartened that the conversation about an empowered and active black female sexual landscape has begin in earnest with Lee’s book, but I am also left wondering: what does an empowered female sexuality look like that doesn’t repeat the vision of sexual agency assigned to men? Give me an expression of female sexuality that is not predicated on acting “like a man” and that would be truly revolutionary.

Written by: Dr. Jennifer A. Smith, November 22nd 2010

Willing and Unable: Doctors' Constraints in Abortion Care

admin — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Lori Freedman

Vanderbilt University Press

Ninety-three percent of all abortions are done in abortion clinics. Only three percent of non-metropolitan counties in the United States had an abortion provider in 2005, while thirty-one percent of metropolitan counties had at least one. After completing their residency, half of physicians who plan to perform abortions as part of their practice actually do so.

These startling facts prompted Lori Freedman to embark on the study summarized in Willing and Unable: Doctors' Constraints in Abortion Care. Freedman is a sociologist working for Advancing New Standards in Reproductive Health (ANSIRH), a collective of researchers and scholars at the University of California, San Francisco. Through this study, she “primarily wanted to find out what keeps physicians who feel positive about providing abortion from doing so.” She interviewed thirty ob-gyns—twenty-two women and eight men—who graduated between 1996-2001 from four residency programs in which abortion training is routine. The interviews, along with historical context and analysis, make up the core of the book.

While some may assume that doctors don’t “have the guts” to do abortions or are primarily afraid of violent retaliation—which is understandable given that eight abortion clinic workers and/or doctors have been murdered since 1993—the reasons are more complex and wide-ranging. The reasons Freedman uncovers include the managed care currently regulating doctors’ services, the stigma attached to being labeled an “abortionist,” the fact that abortions do not often result in a significant amount of revenue, the efficiency and quality of care provided by abortion clinics, and the extent to which physicians see providing abortion as a professional duty.

Willing and Unable begins with the introduction of Freedman’s research question and methods, establishes the various factors influencing physician autonomy, and provides context for the debate over abortion. Most notably, Freedman points out that the loss of fetal life is not, in fact, the most morally offensive element of abortion for those who rabidly oppose it—despite their propensity to wave around graphic pictures of aborted fetuses—since many support abortion in the cases of rape, incest, and fetal anomaly. Rather, the element of abortion that rankles many anti-choicers is “the notion that women can shirk the mother role. Deeply embedded in American society is the belief that women who have sex implicitly become obligated toward parenthood more so than men.” Therefore, any woman who avoids this responsibility is assumed to be irredeemably selfish.

From here, Freedman’s book covers a wide span of topics. The next five chapters trace the history of abortion care in U.S. medicine, the various ideological reasons why doctors are willing or not to provide abortions, the choices surrounding “learning, doing, and having abortions,” the various manifestation of the “institutionalized buck-passing of abortion care,” and the dynamics of miscarriage management within Catholic-owned institutions. The concluding chapter recaps Freedman’s main points and outlines ways to increase the number of abortion providers and integrate abortion into mainstream practice, both of which would lessen the stigma attached to abortion.

Freedman’s balance between analysis and physicians’ interviews is highly engaging. In chapter four, she teases apart the variety of choices involved in abortion care—not simply a woman’s choice to have an abortion or not—through the prism of Dr. Rina Anderson’s experience. After initially opting out of abortion training, Dr. Anderson chose to re-enter the program, then chose to perform abortions in private practice primarily in the case of fetal anomalies, and finally, chose to carry her own pregnancy to term despite the fact that her baby had a fatal condition and would die soon after birth. Dr. Anderson’s story is not only moving but also reveals the layers of choice involved in abortion care for both provider and patient, especially when they are one in the same.

While Freedman’s book explores a unique perspective within the abortion debate, I couldn’t help but want more—more interviews and information pertaining to a wider sampling of physicians. Perhaps I wanted more because what Freedman provides is so compelling. These are memorable portraits of physicians who find themselves confronted with the “choice” of either providing abortions or practicing obstetrics and gynecology, which—like the options available for many women faced with an unwanted pregnancy—isn’t much of a choice at all.

Written by: Dr. Jennifer A. Smith, August 21st 2010

Her America: “A Jury of Her Peers” and Other Stories

admin — Fri, 20 Aug 2010 09:00:00 +0000

Edited by Patricia L. Bryan, Martha C. Carpentier

University of Iowa Press

Popular in her own time, Susan Glaspell has somewhat fallen out of favor in contemporary academic circles while other American writers of realist fiction such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and Willa Cather have enjoyed more attention. Yet, Glaspell enjoys a mini-renaissance in Her America: "A Jury of Her Peers" and Other Stories, an edited collection of twelve short stories that joins a growing movement led by feminist scholars to recuperate her work.

Spanning the years 1914 to 1927, these stories are vibrant tales of the United States at the turn of the century and are alternately humorous and touching, speaking to timeless concerns such as individual isolation, our collective responsibility to each other, the illusions we hold about ourselves and others, and the cost of pretending to be someone we’re not. Many readers will easily see themselves and/or their neighbors in Glaspell’s vivid cast of characters—whether it’s the young adopted woman who mourns the discovery that her biological mother was not a gypsy (“Unveiling Brenda”), or the pseudo-intellectual who feels sorry for his brother’s “common” life only to learn that his brother had, in fact, felt sorry for him (“Poor Ed”).

Glaspell’s compassion for the people who populate Her America is striking. This is clear in such stories as “The Manager of Crystal Sulphur Springs” wherein a caretaker chooses to let her elderly patient die rather than have him suffer potential humiliation or in the case of the farmer from the beautifully written “Pollen,” a man who obsessively isolates himself from his neighbors until he realizes that “I can’t have good corn while their corn’s poor.” Yet, even in stories wherein Glaspell pokes fun at her protagonists, she does so with an empathetic touch, reminiscent of Mark Twain’s satirical humor. A memorable instance is the story “Looking After Clara” about a vain man whose romantic overtures are undone by his beloved’s wily cat.

While it’s somewhat unfortunate that Glaspell is almost exclusively known for “A Jury of Her Peers” and the play Trifles on which it is based, it’s no wonder that this is the case. The story focuses on Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Hale who piece together a neighbor’s motive for killing her husband. While their husbands and the country attorney belittle their attention to Minnie Wright’s jarred preserves, quilt pieces and birdcage—what the men openly mock as “trifles”— these objects hold the key to her motive. These women come to realize Minnie’s desperation, and Mrs. Hale laments, “We live close together, and we live far apart,” questioning what was the greater crime—Minnie murdering her husband or her own failure to visit Minnie. Readers enjoy a pleasant surprise at encountering the story in its original version here. Between 1917 and its inclusion in The Best Short Stories of 1917 published in 1918, Glaspell made several revisions, most significantly deleting the final line, “He [the country attorney] did not see her [Mrs. Hale’s] eyes." Reprinting the original version opens up new interpretive possibilities for a classic of feminist literature.

Besides the stories, Her America opens with a very useful introduction by the editors Patricia L. Bryan and Martha C. Carpentier. It provides background information about Glaspell’s early career and publication history while also introducing the stories’ thematic concerns and summarizing key features of Glaspell’s style. Overall, this book is a welcome text in reviving interest in Glaspell’s shorter works, and its cast of characters should definitely be introduced to a new audience. Since this collection provides just a taste of Glaspell’s skill as a storyteller, one can only hope that a complete collection of her short stories is forthcoming soon.

Written by: Dr. Jennifer A. Smith, August 20th 2010