Andrea Gittleman

Ourselves Unborn: A History of the Fetus in Modern America

mandy — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Sara Dubow navigates the complexities of an impassioned and divisive issue in Ourselves Unborn. She takes a calculated historical look at how Americans have interpreted the fetus and pregnancy throughout ever-shifting political realities. Her thesis: Americans have cast their social and cultural anxieties onto the fetus, which often results in abortion-related policies that serve ulterior motives.

Dubow explains that, for centuries, Americans’ insecurities about racial, social, and economic issues were projected onto the bodies of pregnant women. In the nineteenth century, for example, when White Americans were consumed with taking over western territories, abortion politics became paramount. Women were urged to reproduce in order to populate the expanding country, and the fetus became not a private symbol of a growing family, but a social symbol of a growing nation. Racial tensions about the decreasing fertility rate among White Protestant women were played out on the fetus, and women’s role as mothers became even more of a national imperative.

I’m glad the author points out that these biased sentiments are not linked to one historical moment; instead, she writes that this theme resonates in recent Islamophobic statements about the need for Christian women to increase their fertility rates to match those of Muslim women.

Dubow explains the many ways in which otherwise inexplicable phenomena were projected onto the fetus. Unsure about the scientific and medical aspects of human development, social ills were found to be rooted in pregnancy. Dubow shares information about how social problems from drunkenness to criminality were traced back to mothers’ emotional states during pregnancy. The mother was always the culprit.

Stretching into the twentieth century, Ourselves Unborn is punctuated by cases where pregnant women were considered medically incompetent. These cases highlight how the medical and legal professions painted pregnancy as a mysterious state where the fetus takes precedent and a woman becomes simply a vessel for new life. Dubow describes how the “fetal pain” and “abortion trauma” mantras of the 1980s played into this narrative.

Dubow ends her discussion with the 2007 Gonzalez v. Carhart case, a 5-4 decision that upheld the Partial Birth Abortion Ban Act without an exception for the health of the woman. The decision portrays Dubow's points with stark clarity, as Justice Kennedy supports his decision is by claiming the Court is protecting women from a decision they would later regret. Readers can understand that Kennedy is not concerned with the unborn, but with the proper place of women in society. That proper place, as dictated by centuries of policy, is a child-bearer.

Using Dubow’s lens, today’s abortion controversies relate to larger questions about the interplay of race and gender in American politics. This can be seen in the GOP’s recent attacks on Planned Parenthood and state laws that curtail abortion rights. Dubow’s theories illustrate how these and similar anti-abortion efforts stem more from policymakers' discomfort with women’s agency in making their own medical choices rather than from a sincere desire to protect fetuses.

Written by: Andrea Gittleman, April 7th 2011

Passage to Manhood: Youth Migration, Heroin, and AIDS in Southwest China

tina — Fri, 25 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Shao-hua Liu

Stanford University Press

Heroin. AIDS. Migration. Development programs. Gender roles. In Passage to Manhood: Youth Migration, Heroin, and AIDS in Southwest China, Shao-hua Liu examines each of these issues and how they relate to Nuoso youth. An anthropological researcher, the author delves into how China’s evolution from the traditional to the modern intersects with drug use, disease, and development. The book focuses on the Nuoso, a poor and marginalized group in southwest China that has been disproportionately affected by the drug trade and HIV/AIDS.

The author does a commendable job of stressing the interconnected nature of migration, gender, drug use, and political economies. While these issues are naturally linked, too many authors focus on one of these aspects while ignoring the myriad forces that shape cultures and communities. Passage to Manhood features a fresh approach to understanding why heroin use and HIV took over the Nuoso to such a great extent. The author presents an answer that relies on the intersection of marginalization, stigmatization, modernization, and power dynamics within communities.

The author’s honest approach to gender stood out in the book. Instead of making sweeping generalizations about gender politics among the Nuoso, the author explains how she approached the subject and details the difficulties she had using male translators to interview women.

Acknowledging that her access to information was limited, the author conveys the basic framework of what she found. While drug use and HIV/AIDS shaped the entire community in some way, it affected men and women differently. The author explains that young men were first drawn to heroin because it was fashionable and demonstrated a particular social status. Drug use overlapped with the definition of masculinity among the Nuoso, which was based on a desire for adventure and mobility. The gender hierarchy, which placed women subordinate to men, played out in heroin politics: Women encountered the drug trade through small dealings and followed their husbands or partners, who were responsible for the larger trades.

The author is careful to note that gender dynamics not only shaped the details of the drug trade among the Nuoso, but also determined the effectiveness of state-managed intervention programs to combat drug use and HIV/AIDS. In a careful dissection of the failures of these intervention programs, the author examines how the program administrators viewed cultural taboos about sex as barriers to their work. Instead of acknowledging the fluidity of cultural norms, state-managed interventions overlooked honest sex education and contributed to misinformation about HIV/AIDS. By ignoring the unique cultural context of the Nuoso and using global AIDS messages from elsewhere, the architects of these programs inadvertently instilled a stigma about AIDS where one previously did not exist. This case study presents a sobering lesson for those working on global AIDS prevention programs; such interventions must be designed as a cooperative exercise between local groups and the program implementers, not cookie-cutter programs delivered from above.

It is difficult to pluck one nugget of information from the author’s interconnected web, but perhaps the greatest take away from the book is that AIDS and drug use do not exist in a vacuum. Gender politics, economics, migration, and urbanization each exact pressure on people’s actions and perceptions. A thorough understanding of drug use and HIV/AIDS within a community must begin with an expansive interpretation of how individuals, families, and societies grapple with these ever-changing forces.

Written by: Andrea Gittleman, February 25th 2011

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

mandy — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Oliver Stone

20th Century Fox

I knew when I bought my ticket that Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps would not be a feminist film. I had an idea of the storyline: Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas) returns for Oliver Stone’s modern depiction of the beginnings of the current economic crisis, told through the eyes of Jake Moore (Shia LaBeouf), a young ambitious businessman, and his girlfriend Winnie (Carey Mulligan), Gekko’s daughter. I entered the theater prepared for a film starring and made for men.

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps is a hyper-masculine telling of extremely wealthy business executives engaged in dangerous and unethical games with each other. Apart from the lack of strong female characters, which I would expect in a “business thriller” film, there are parts of the movie that betray a more pervasive and insidious destruction of women. The film’s treatment of Winnie made my jaw drop on several occasions—not only because of the harsh ways she was manipulated by other characters but also by the sheer banality of this kind of treatment. Little energy is spent questioning the ways Jake hurts her, and Winnie's routine mistreatment normalizes such behavior.

In a key moment, Jake deceives Winnie into handing over her hefty fortune to his pet project, all the while assuring her that this means she will be “doing something with her life." Jake implies that her actions are only worthwhile if done in support of his business goals, not her own passions. This felt hollow and manipulative to me, but not to Winnie; she signs away her millions with a smile. Jake’s dishonesty and colossal mistake with Winnie’s money is a blip in the film, and its effect on their relationship is shockingly negligible. Winnie is simply a piggy bank who doesn't complain about being the plaything of an ambitious businessman.

This isn't the end of Winnie's misuse, as Jake uses her as a bargaining chip for his own gain when he discovers she is pregnant, a development that brings the idea that a woman’s worth is in her womb to the fore. When the characters meet after a brief time apart, Jake clasps Winnie’s growing belly. What should have been a time to discuss the dishonesty that had driven them apart becomes a moment of instant reconciliation.

By juxtaposing male economic success with female pregnancy, the film compares traditional male and female creation. This dichotomy could make for an interesting discussion of gender role expectations. Unfortunately, Stone lets this point fall flat. Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps doesn't discuss social attitudes nor does it adequately confront the issues it raises surrounding the male ownership of female bodies.

While Winnie's objectification stands out as the most problematic aspect of the film, if we take a distanced look we can make some larger conclusions about how women have been treated during the financial crisis. Women, on average, are more severely affected and are more likely to live in poverty than their male counterparts, and pop culture’s focus on the downfall of wealthy men narrows the film's narrative about those most vulnerable to the crisis. Like most of what is coming out of Hollywood, this film doesn’t focus on the real victims, but on a few stylized anti-heroes.

Even without a feminist lens, Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps lacks intrigue and depth. It misses the mark by not telling an interesting story about the dangers of our economic habits nor about the personalities involved in our nation’s latest catastrophe. Stone merely captures a few fleeting moments in the lives of the country’s richest businessmen and throws in some objectification of women for good measure.

Written by: Andrea Gittleman, October 7th 2010

Surviving the Witch-Hunt: Battle Notes from Portland’s 82nd Avenue, 2007-2010

admin — Thu, 19 Aug 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Emi Koyama

Confluere Publications

Surviving the Witch-Hunt is collection of artifacts and commentary from 2007 to the present and catalogues the community forces that emerged after the City of Portland removed its controversial Prostitution Free Zones (PFZ). These zones had allowed the police to issue exclusion orders for those who had been arrested for sex work, even if they had never been charged. For ninety days, anyone arrested for prostitution in the designated area was not allowed to return without submitting an appeal, segregating public space and criminalizing behavior without actual legal indictment.

The uproar from community figures after the removal of the PFZs demonstrated the discriminatory sentiments of many of those living in the 82nd Avenue neighborhood. Those who opposed the end of the PFZs claimed that there was an increase in crime and a correlating decrease in their property value, and they united to fight the “problem” of sex work in their communities. Emi Koyama collected documents that demonstrate their anger toward sex workers and bolsters these artifacts with some social justice commentary, raising arguments that protect the rights of all women and advance a more holistic view of community development. This booklet uses the 82nd Avenue case study as an example of how multifaceted problems cannot be solved via law enforcement but through broader advances in social and economic justice.

Countering the arguments of outraged neighbors near 82nd Avenue, Koyama’s documents describe the harm PFZs do to women who work in the sex industry. The fliers in the collection address the underlying causes of sex work, and explain that improved access to housing, employment, and treatment services are a better response than criminalization. The documents also catalogue the efforts of anti-prostitution advocates who focus on educating men about the social dangers of purchasing sex. This was the most interesting part of the compilation to me, since many anti-prostitution feminists are pushing educational programs as a way to end sex work. Koyama’s work shows that decreasing the demand for sex work, while a seemingly laudable goal, actually harms women. Decreasing demand also reduces the price for services, so sex workers have to do more acts for less money, and it pushes sex work to more remote areas, causing potential dangers for workers. Also, johns who are rational regarding risk taking will be taken out of the pool, leaving a group of riskier men purchasing the services of sex workers. These men are more likely to act violently towards sex workers and are less likely to take safe precautions during sex.

As someone who recognizes that the problems associated with sex work have no simple solutions, I am thankful that Koyama lays out these rebuttals to anti-prostitution groups. Criminalizing and even reducing the amount of sex work will do little to address the more serious problems in our communities. Sadly, the deeply rooted social, racial, and gendered inequities that necessitate sex work too often go unnoticed by policymakers, concerned citizens, and others trying to improve their communities.

As a human rights lawyer, I am personally outraged at the discriminatory attitudes of too many in the 82nd Avenue community regarding the end of PFZs, and I am somewhat embarrassed that I had not known about these events before reading this collection. Many local stories of civil rights conflict, of discrimination, and of survival often don’t reach further than the affected community. By effectively curating a compilation of documents from the 82nd Avenue community, Koyama demonstrates the importance of capturing a historical moment in the trajectory towards justice. The fliers, newspaper articles, notices about community meetings, and email messages Koyama collected were probably designed to be temporary, but in this small archive they combine to tell a powerful story of the strength of community activism.

Written by: Andrea Gittleman, August 18th 2010

The Second Trial

admin — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 08:02:00 +0000

By Rosemarie Boll

Second Story Press

Intimate partner violence (IPV) is a scourge that affects families in every country and at every social class. Between twenty-five and fifty percent of women worldwide will be a victim of IPV at some point in thier lives, and forty to seventy percent of female murder victims are killed by an intimate partner. These statistics are shocking, but what is too often left out of the discussion about IPV is the way violence can affect so many lives. When those in pop culture or the media explore themes relating to IPV, the conversation is limited to finding safety for the survivor, usually a woman, and to utilizing the traditional legal system to prosecute and punish the offender, usually a man. In The Second Trial, Rosemarie Boll moves beyond the dichotomy of perpetrator vs. victim and focuses on the too often invisible children who are harmed by IPV. Through the experiences of an adolescent boy, the book tells the story of a Canadian family coming to grips with extreme violence.

Boll introduces us to Danny, a thirteen-year-old boy who witnesses a family court hearing after his father seriously and continually abused his mother. The book tracks the boy through the court proceedings and then through life in a protection program designed to prevent his father from causing further serious harm to his mother. Viewing complicated legal issues around IPV through the eyes of a child highlights the disconnect between the formality of the legal system and the complex, sometimes contradictory emotions involved in family violence. Outsiders are used to seeing an evil offender and an innocent victim. But what does a child do when this “evil offender” is also a father? The Second Trial addresses these complicated questions of family and safety within an abusive household. Boll captures how a child can love and idolize a parent, even an abusive one.

By delving into tricky questions that surround IPV, Boll raises questions about how clunky traditional legal systems deal with complex issues in family law. She shines a light on non-court based innovations to keep families safe and introduces readers to New Identities for Victims of Abuse (NIVA), which was started by the Alberta government in 1997 to provide additional protection to victims of family violence. IPV is a serious and complicated problem that demands creative solutions. The confines of the courtroom should not be the limits of our solutions to IPV.

The Second Trial provides readers a glimpse into a child’s relationship with family violence, revealing an often forgotten voice in narratives about the subject. By contrasting traditional court-based solutions with the NIVA program, Boll makes us question the bounds of the traditional legal system. She leads readers to demand alternative avenues to justice and creative routes to safety for victims.

Written by: Andrea Gittleman, August 2nd 2010