gender stereotypes

The Girls of Murder City: Fame, Lust and the Beautiful Killers Who Inspired Chicago

brittany — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

During the 1920s, a rash of killings rocked Chicago. The murderers were young women who drank, and most killed their lovers. Most were white and all-male juries that refused to believe women were capable of cold-blooded murder released most of them. During this time, the crimes were reported in the newspapers by “sob sisters,” female reporters who were able to interview female inmates and victim’s family members.

The Girls of Murder City is about this period in time, two killers in particular, Beulah Annan and Belva Gaertner, and a female reporter, Maurine Watkins. Beulah and Belva both killed their lovers after the men threatened to leave them. Both were beautiful, rich, white, and relatively young. The newspapers gave both women a chance to be famous, and both used it to their advantage.

Maurine Watkins was a hardworking, pious Christian who came to Chicago with the plan to use her column to show the evils of the world. Her sarcastic, strong-willed writing was often the only counterpoint to the sob sisters’ tales of woe in the papers. She would eventually use her stories to write the play Chicago, which would become the long-running musical.

The book tells an interesting story about the rise of the “girl gunners” and the creation of Chicago. The problem is that the story feels a bit unfocused. Maurine is not the main focus of the book, but neither are Belva and Beulah (or Chicago characters Velma and Roxie, if you will). The book explores their cases and delves into the lives of the other women in jail with them, but then switches to focus on Maurine. As a result, the story feels a bit shallow. I wanted more from both of the stories. Other narratives, like the story of the murder of Bobby Franks by teenaged killers Leopold and Loeb, are shoehorned into the story and feel tacked on.

Most importantly, the book is very poorly cited. For a while, I did not know if I was reading a non-fiction book or a “non-fiction” fiction book like In Cold Blood. Douglas Perry included details he seemingly could not know unless he had been there. There is an extensive note section in the back of the back of the book, but without explanation as to where each note belonged, reading them was slow going. More confusingly, there are footnotes in the book, but not to the main facts. They function more as author asides. Actual footnotes would have made the book much better, and given it much more authority.

I enjoyed The Girls of Murder City, but it could have been much better.

Written by: Taylor Rhodes, April 12th 2011

Love Translated

barbara — Fri, 18 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Directed by Julia Ivanova

Interfilm Productions

Love Translated follows a group of men from North America and Europe as they tour the Ukraine on a trip organized by an international dating service that links male clients with “letter order brides.” Over the course of their ten-day trip, the men travel to several cities, judge a beauty pageant of women who have joined the agency, attend social events, and go on “one-on-one” dates (accompanied, normally, by a translator). The film opens with men telling stories of their experiences (or lack of experiences) with women in their own communities, accompanied by a voiceover from an agency representative exhorting the men to be reasonable and keep in mind that they are looking for a partner, “not a statue to hang on the wall.”

Julia Ivanova, the film's director, writer, and editor, does a skillful (and sometimes humorous) job of juxtaposing the men’s views of who the women are and how they will behave with the women contradicting these statements. One man says, “There’s been this transition through feminism and a number of other movements in the United States that have altered how women look at themselves and it has, I think, robbed them of some of the identity they once took great pride in.” The woman he is on a date with replies, “Our women want to have it all; a husband, children, money and their own business. The woman is the head of the family. The man is just an accessory.”

All of the issues that normally come up when the topic of mail-order brides is discussed are on display: the somewhat primitivist notion that the women will be untainted by feminism and, therefore, more ideal; the objectification of women’s bodies; the unequal power dynamics. As much as some or all of the men may be sincere in their desire to find a true life partner, they have also come to the Ukraine because it is, as one man says, like a candy store for middle-aged men. In the absence of the ability to speak directly due to language barriers, the men rely on the women’s looks and letters. The letters have, at the very least, been translated by someone else, but have possibly also been written by someone else. Despite (or perhaps because of) the power that the men have in the situation, there is also uneasiness. Many express concern that the women are using them for money, gifts, and/or a visa.

This uneasiness comes to a head in an uncomfortable scene. A client is displeased because a woman he has been on several dates with expected to receive flowers more often than he would have liked. He physically blocks her ability to sit down and join the group, pointedly ignores her, and explains that he is going to blow smoke in the face of the person who should be punished. His date looks like she is about to cry and becomes conciliatory. By the end of the night, we see them walking hand in hand into a hotel elevator. While it would be unfair to judge all of the participants from the actions of these two individuals or even judge the individuals from the one interaction, it is an uncomfortable reminder of the type of isolation that the women could potentially face if they did follow the men to a foreign country.

Ivanova is impartial in her portrayal of both the male and female participants. Although the film is filled with uncomfortable and awkward moments, the explicit involvement of the documentarian is rarely evident. Instead, Ivanova is confident enough to let the story unfold on screen, supplementing long scenes of the men talking amongst themselves and some awkward—and often silent—dates with individual interviews with the male and female participants.

Despite the uncomfortable and sometimes disturbing subject matter and the long history of subjugation and objectification that are impossible not to consider when viewing it, Ivanona’s film is compelling, watchable, and even—perhaps most surprising of all—entertaining.

Written by: Erin Schowalter, March 18th 2011

Modern Day Asian Sex Slavery: The Musical (2/18/11)

brittany — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 08:00:00 +0000

California State University

Long Beach, California

Each year CSULB has Sex Positive Week, presented by various feminist and queer student groups. Mariko Passion, activist, artist, and out and proud sex worker, kicked off the week of festivities with her one-woman show, Modern Day Asian Sex Slavery: The Musical.

Passion is a champion of what she refers to as the Whore Revolution, a phrase coined by fellow activist Emi Koyama. According to Koyama, the Whore Revolution begins with the acknowledgment that not all sex work is voluntary or safe and it aspires to create a world in which they are. After getting to know Passion a bit and attending an event thrown by the Sex Workers Outreach Program in Los Angeles (SWOP-LA), it has been brought to my attention that there is an entire generation of young women who do not feel victimized by their work. There are literally thousands of women who are not ashamed of how they make their money. These are women who are passionate, empowered, intelligent, and fighting for the most basic of human rights. As Jessie Nicole, director or SWOP-LA told me at an event earlier this month, sex workers see their work as just that—work. The average person doesn’t have to worry about being beaten, raped, or robbed while at the office and sex workers don’t want to have to worry about these things either.

Passion began her one woman show explaining to the audience that she starts each session with a massage. Straddling a pink Hello Kitty body pillow, Passion described how she uses her small hands to rub and coax her client into a safe, submissive state. This quiet before the storm also assists her in preparing to be intimate. According to Passion, eighty-five percent of the time she is not sexually attracted to the men she services and her sensual, slow massage enables her to “establish a genuine connection” while getting in the mood.

Her show was off to a strong start but was interrupted by various technical glitches and a few awkward on-stage costume changes that resulted in the audience getting a glimpse of Passion’s goods. It was obvious that Passion, who is Chinese and Japanese, hoped to tell the story of the plight of the Asian sex worker and the many ridiculous sound bits and pop culture tidbits she’s been reduced to. As a matter of fact, one of the most compelling moments of Passion’s show was when it appeared as if she broke away from the script, cursing, saying how much the infamous scene from Full Metal Jacket fucked with her childhood, how often she heard, “Me so horny, me love you long time.” As a virginal child completely unaware of sex work, it proved a rude introduction to the stereotypes Asian women must deal with.

Using old news clips and radio broadcasts, music, slides, and songs, it was an admiral attempt to cover decade’s worth of racism and sexual politics stemming from the Vietnam War, but it simply seemed like Passion didn’t have enough time to tell the story that was in her heart. Though entertaining and containing flashes of genius (traipsing around stage using a pink dildo as a mic and singing a dirty version of “I Enjoy Being a Girl"), we’ll have to call this a precocious work in progress with a lot of potential.

Photo courtesy of Stefan Agregado, photographer and photo editor at The Daily 49er.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, February 28th 2011

The Last Pretence

payal — Sat, 05 Feb 2011 00:00:00 +0000

By Sarayu Srivatsa

Harper Collins

In the South Indian town of Machilipatnam, Mallika gives birth to twins, Tara and Siva. Emotionally and psychologically damaged when her daughter dies during childbirth, Mallika finds herself unable to love Siva who is a constant reminder of Tara’s death. Pretending that Siva is Tara, both Mallika and Siva embark on a downward spiral of self-destruction that ends in tragedy. Sarayu Srivatsa’s The Last Pretence tells Mallika and Siva’s stories, their learning and unlearning of love and loss, and attempts to question, through stories of childhood, marriage, and motherhood, how identities and experiences of gender are shaped.

Its book jacket advertises The Last Pretence as a "novel that takes nothing for granted", and that "grapples with notions of love, gender and sexuality", a description that probably attracted readers who were intrigued by the idea that modern Indian-English writing was taking on gender stereotypes, particularly in the specific context of South India, where this theme has been relatively under-explored in contemporary Indian fiction. Alas, The Last Pretence falls far short of being revolutionary, both in craft and in plot.

Unimpressed by the writing, I asked myself if the author’s intentions had any merit. The principal character upon whom Srivatsa’s gender-play is enacted is Siva, who struggles with his gender identity because of his mother’s desperate inability to cope with her daughter’s death. But in what sense are we supposed to find Mallika’s behavior towards Siva troubling? Clearly, some combination of her delusion that her son is her daughter, but also that she sees her son as a girl, and that she treats him as such. Mallika’s ‘disturbing’ behavior includes dressing Siva up in girls' clothes; piercing his ears, and breast-feeding him for longer than necessary, which we are led to believe confuses his self-identity and his notions of what it would mean to be a girl (to be loved by his mother). Ultimately this leads him away from home, fuels his exploration of his own sexuality through his quick and sometimes brutal sexual encounters, and finally leads to his inability to negotiate his personal peace in Srivatsa’s fictionalized world.

In dabbling with issues of gender and sexuality Srivatsa appears like a young child with a stick—gently prodding some fascinating multi-legged creature under a rock. Curious, not intentionally cruel, but ultimately uncomprehending, she speaks as an outsider to the experiences of her characters, making them less believable and more allegorical in order to make broader didactic (but again, superficial) points about gender, culture and the nature of patriarchy.

Perhaps Srivatsa’s biggest failing is the superficiality with which she writes; for example, the historical context of Machilipatnam, a town "where the British first landed to trade in dyes" on the Coromandel coast of southern India – is more or less absent from the book, with limited interweaving of even its fictionalized history through the cursory mythology of George Gibbs and his incestuous relationship with his sister. It also includes a peek into the eunuch sub-culture in India (the stock shining symbols of gender subversion) where half-yawning, half horrified, the reader is dragged into a short (but seemingly necessary) scene of castration involving a sharp knife, hot oil and a grinding stone, cheaply highlighting the cruel repercussions of gender deviance in a straight world.

Marred by poor characterization, predictability, and unproductive diversions (inexplicable inter-religious riots seem to randomly pepper this slim novel) from an otherwise heavy-handed plot driven by unnecessary brutality and an unconvincing lack of detail, I found the long-listing of The Last Pretence for the Man Asian Literary prize undeserving. Lacking in originality and failing to deliver but the most prosaic of prose, The Last Pretence most damningly shrivels before a feminist gaze where it is slowly sucked into the quicksand of the hetero-normative aphorism that any deviations to established gender norms will be ruthlessly punished by society, and ultimately (spoiler alert!) cannot survive.

Written by: Kaavya Asoka, February 4th 2011

Pink Brain, Blue Brain: How Small Differences Grow into Troublesome Gaps—and What We Can Do About It

beth — Tue, 04 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Ph.D., Lise Eliot

Mariner Books

Given the heavy media coverage about studies that “prove” significant, inborn differences between males and females, it is no surprise that we excuse or accept certain behaviors depending on whether they come from a boy or a girl. We are often led to believe that it is natural for a boy to be athletic and for a girl to demonstrate more empathy because it is part of their biology and something that cannot be helped one way or another. If this were true, we would have to resign ourselves to our appropriate gender roles and stick to the activities and behaviors assigned to us by nature.

Not so, says Eliot. Right off the bat, Pink Brain, Blue Brain shows us that we must examine these studies critically in order to appreciate their message. Eliot goes through various popular studies with a fine-toothed comb and comes away with a vastly different interpretation of the data. Rather than proving innate differences between boys and girls, instead we see that these differences are really not as large as they appear and that the outcomes have been subtly manipulated and phrased in ways that present the results as far more provocative, and therefore popular with the media.

After a close scrutiny of the studies, Eliot goes on to investigate the various claims of the differences between boys and girls starting at conception and ending around puberty. Though she is a neuroscientist, Eliot provides well thought out sociological critiques along with useful explanations of biology. She fuses both the nature and nurture aspects of development to show that gender gaps are not just innate or taught, but oftentimes both. What nature instills, society tends to exaggerate. The consequences are that these gender stereotypes become self-fulfilling prophecies, and this hurts both boys and girls.

Particularly useful to those who strive to raise well-balanced children are the ideas and tips that Eliot includes at the end of nearly every chapter. For instance, she recommends pet care as a way to teach and encourage a sense of nurturing in young boys. Likewise, she suggests getting girls involved in chess in order to help foster a healthy dose of competition and to improve spatial analysis skills. We may have been dealt a specific set of cards at birth, but this by no means should limit us in what we achieve and how we excel.

Written by: Shana Mattson, January 4th 2011

Reality Bites Back: The Troubling Truth about Guilty Pleasure TV

beth — Mon, 03 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Jennifer L. Pozner

Seal Press

Reality TV has infiltrated the media to such an extreme extent that it is increasingly difficult to escape its reach. Even those of us who consider ourselves media literate and savvy in our consumption of television have to admit to watching the occasional episode of Project Runway, America’s Next Top Model, or The Real Housewives of New Jersey. They’re our guilty pleasures; the kind of TV we watch while wearing a Snuggie and eating a bowlful (or two) of Ben and Jerry’s. We don’t always readily admit to watching these shows, and when we do come clean, we insist it’s for the absurdity of it all and that we’re quite aware of effects of this kind of TV.

Jennifer Pozner warns us of this type of complacent thinking in Reality Bites Back and backs it up with compelling examples pulled straight from our TVs. Toddlers are glam-ified and paraded around in Toddlers and Tiaras to meet the beauty standards put forth by Tyra Banks in America’s Next Top Model. Sometimes women need help to meet these standards, and thanks to The Swan, they can achieve them and go on to be evaluated once again by a panel of judges. Shows like Flavor of Love and The Bachelor depict women as catty, bitchy, and willing to do whatever it takes to win the affections of a man (as long as he’s wealthy). Non-Caucasian women see that they are expected to act and are portrayed as stereotypes, whether that be a saucy, va-va-voom Latina or a meek, obedient China doll.

Are we aware of all of this? Yes, to a certain extent. But we are not immune to it and Pozner points out the consequences in such clear detail that it’s impossible not to feel a bit guilty. However, Pozner does not seek to shame us into not watching reality TV, but rather to help effect change through widespread media literacy and campaigns to make TV more responsible for their programming and the messages they send. The last chapter ends on this note and includes the input of various educators and activists on how to accomplish this goal. In the end, Pozner manages to heavily critique reality TV without denigrating those of us who watch it. Her tone makes the message palatable, and she successfully gets the point across with her vast amount of knowledge and research.

Written by: Shana Mattson, January 3rd 2011

Tea & Justice

brittany — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Ermena Vinluan

Women Make Movies

If your political leanings are more in line with musical acts like NWA or MDC, then Ermena Vinluan’s fifty-five-minute exploration of race and gender issues in the context of the New York Police Department may seem... tame?

Tea & Justice is a documentary about Asian women police officers in the NYPD that skirts the uneasy boundaries between a full-blown narrative of empowerment of Asian women breaking cultural and gender stereotypes to become police officers, their negotiation of the politics of being racial and gender minorities in what has historically been perceived as a racist and sexist institution, and the inherently violent nature of policing. Sometimes provocative, but generally unremarkable both politically and artistically, the film is perhaps worth watching (once) for its almost accidental exposition of the gender and cultural politics at play.

The centerpiece of the film is the personal stories of three women, who share their experiences of discrimination and defiance as part of the two percent of NYPD officers who are Asian women. Their stories are interwoven with the public’s perceptions of Asian culture, women, and police officers. Officer Ormsby, for example, tells of how being compelled to serve tea to her male colleagues at a Japanese firm prompted her to find a new career. This is against the backdrop of interviews with New Yorkers, some of whom (predictably) feel that men make better officers, while others subscribe to the great equalizing power of the gun.

In an interesting history of the NYPD, Vinluan highlights how various social movements opened up space for women in policing; for example, the NYPD got rid of regulation high-heels, lip-stick, and smaller guns for female officers in the 1970s. Somewhat disingenuously, the director also traces images of women warriors in Asian mythology to support her claim that ‘being an Asian woman cop is not so odd after all’. While Asian culture is full of examples of remarkable women, I found it difficult to believe that most people would identify policewomen with being leaders or warriors, a contradiction amplified by the inclusion of interviews discussing racially charged incidents of police brutality in the United States, such as the beating of Rodney King.

In her haste to bridge the gap between images of subservient Japanese tea-servers and Vietnamese warrior princesses, Vinluan seems to have confused empowerment and oppression. This speaks to the broader issue of the film’s selective critique of the police along gender and racial dimensions, and failure to adequately question its inherently violent role in maintaining law and order.

Interesting interviews include one with Margaret Moore (Executive Director of the National Center for Women and Policing) who claims promoting diversity in gender and race is the only way to ensure fair treatment inside departments and in policing. Moore and others also argue that since most excessive force claims are made against male officers, recruiting more women—who are ‘naturally less aggressive’—is the solution. But by essentializing qualities to women like their ‘mothering’ instincts and tendencies towards less aggression, interviewees like Lieutenant Eric Adams (100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care) regurgitate classic stereotypes of women that Vinluan’s film is supposedly aiming to debunk. By failing to attribute their ‘natural’ credentials for making better officers to the historical subordination of women in care-giving and domestic roles—aren’t we back at square one?

Vinluan’s schoolteacher voice-overs and flat animation accompanied by platitudes like ‘she’s just a regular working mom!’ work against the film’s rare moments of subtlety, leading me to conclude that those parts that can be deemed thought-provoking are, in fact, inadvertent. Am I asking too much from Tea & Justice? Maybe. But given the eight film festival laurels adorning the DVD cover, I expected more.

Written by: Kaavya Asoka, October 25th 2010