gender

Gender, Sexuality, and Meaning: Linguistic Practice and Politics

andrea — Sat, 30 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Showcasing twelve articles by noted linguist Sally McConnell-Ginet, Gender, Sexuality, and Meaning weaves together some of her most provocative and influential work on language, gender, and sexual meaning-making from the last three decades. In her many fruitful collaborations with colleagues, students, and friends, McConnell-Ginet argues that language is not a passive craft, but rather, an active process of meaning-making that has its roots in the social identities, contexts, and statuses of the speakers and listeners.

Insisting upon a gendered reading of a host of subjects—among them high school cliques, name changes following marriage, assumptions in the phrase cleaning lady, presumptions of heterosexuality, and speech in cross-sex friendships—McConnell-Ginet’s writings have laid the groundwork for seeing gender in seemingly benign moments of communication, and in extending such gendered readings into the realm of other often-unnoticed power dynamics present within language. Language is never politically neutral or merely a string of words, but rather, deeply rooted in systems of inequality.

As a wonderful addition to the Oxford University Press series on language and gender, Gender, Sexuality, and Meaning serves both as a historical consideration of McConnell-Ginet’s impact on the field of linguistics, and as a collection of ideas that remain highly relevant. Beginning with a review essay that tackles the difference between intended and received meanings, the impossibility of “authentic selves,” and the role of gender in shaping content and social meaning, McConnell-Ginet establishes herself as accessible, clear, grounded in research, and persistently feminist.

From the seemingly mundane act of reading the Harry Potter series to the politicized language of phone sex workers, she traces the social and stylistic meanings of language across a broad range of modern scenarios. She then establishes the basis for a feminist linguistics by erasing the possibility of “mere linguistics” (Chapters 1 and 2) followed by clear arguments for gender within linguistics (Chapter 3) and linguistics within feminism (Chapter 4). The book delves into “communities of practice” like high schools and political organizations (Chapter 5) and returns to her groundbreaking Signs piece on gendered intonation (Chapter 6), along with her early work on gendered pronouns and assumptions of default masculinity (Chapter 9). The collection concludes with chapters on motives and actions in speaking (Chapter 8), naming and labeling as gendered (Chapter 10), and queer semantics (including a particularly astute critical analysis of the word lesbian) (Chapter 11).

While the book occasionally veers towards the more dry and technical aspects of sociolinguistics (for example, it helps to have a working knowledge of illocutionary and perlocutionary speech, lexical semantics, prosody, rules of phonology, and variationist sociolinguistics), she nevertheless offers access points both to those solidly within the field of linguistics and to those approaching it from the outside.

Reading Gender, Sexuality, and Meaning provokes questions about the basic assumptions present in everyday occurrences and commonplace linguistic practices. Readers will undoubtedly have many “aha!” moments when excavating their own communication habits, phrases, and ways of making meaning through words. The volume happily skips from subject to subject in order to expertly reinforce her conclusions: all language is tainted with assumptions about gender, and all forms of communication are inseparable from power. Collectively, McConnell-Ginet’s work provides a timely, convincing, insightful, and engaging basis for linking together the limitations, surprises, and possibilities of language.

Written by: Breanne Fahs, April 30th 2011

Sometimes the Spoon Runs Away with Another Spoon

mandy — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 18:00:00 +0000

By Nathaniel Kusinitz, Jacinta Bunnell

PM Press

Sometimes the Spoon Runs Away With the Spoon review, short version: If you have children, know children, or were ever a child yourself, you need this new coloring book by Jacinta Bunnell and Nathaniel Kusinitz.

Long version: As a child of the Free to Be...You and Me seventies, dressed androgynously by a pair of liberal-minded parents, I never dreamed that I would have difficulty recreating a gender-neutral environment for my first child, born at the turn of the new millennium. What I didn't know was that there was a counter-revolution afoot, and it believed that infants should only wear onesies of blue or pink. Despite great social and legal victories made for GLBTQ civil rights since I was a kid, gender nonconformity remains a huge threat to the status quo—and while grown-ups can get away with picking and choosing their participation in the Gender Games (I have not worn makeup in almost twenty years), the battle lines for children remain fixed. I daresay they've hardened, no thanks to the complete Disney Princessification of childhood culture, as any walk through the kids' aisles at Target will tell you.

What's a parent to do? Why, pick up a copy of Sometimes the Spoon Runs Away With the Spoon, of course! While the title might lead a parent to believe that this is merely a gay re-imagining of old Mother Goose rhymes, the real theme of the book is freedom. A furry, sharp-toothed beast with accessorizes with sparkly gems that Paris Hilton might envy. A “breadwinner in the family” is a man who's the proud winner of a baking contest. A mermaid decides “I am making my way out of this fairy tale and starting a new life with two strong legs and a voice.”

In my favorite picture, an adorable kid in a dinosaur t-shirt holds a to-do list that reads: “1. plant garden 2. fix carburetor in truck 3. start presidential campaign 4. end war.” If either of my children presented such a list to me, I could quite happily drop dead on the spot, knowing that my life's purpose was fulfilled! Really.

My only complaint with the book is its price. I realize that this is an important, educational project from a morally noble, independent publisher, but come on—there is no parent in earth, radical or otherwise, who is going to lay down ten bucks for a coloring book. Coloring books get scribbled on, ripped up, scrunched into backpacks and quickly destroyed. I want to pay three bucks for it, tops. I may be a sellout for suggesting this, but I wouldn't mind if the Human Rights Campaign got behind Sometimes the Spoon Runs Away With the Spoon and lent its considerable financial and political power to making copies available in libraries and classrooms. Every kid deserves to meet this great group of gender-fluid friends and to color outside of these pages' lines.

Written by: Shannon Drury, April 26th 2011

Put This on the {Map}: East King County

mandy — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 10:00:00 +0000

Directed by Megan Kennedy, Sid Jordan Peterson

Revelry Media

Part education, part cinema, all honesty. Put This on the {Map}: East King County gives a youthful face to gender and sexuality through its twenty-six compelling high school narrators. Filmed in Washington State on the east side of Seattle, where there is seemingly no visibility of queer youth, the strength of these young people to comes out on camera. Celebrating who they are is astonishing for any high schooler, let alone a queer one in a community where they are often isolated.

With the explicit goal of “reteaching gender and sexuality," Put This on the {Map} opens by defining the term gender itself. Some of the more useful educational exercises include a visual of a football field to explain the spectrum of gender and clarifying sexuality and gender through personal stories. Biology versus gender is difficult to grasp for many adults in our heteronormative society, and this film explains it to youth in simple yet never patronizing terms.

Shifting from an educational lens to the stories of the youth dealing with many familiar themes like depression, drug abuse, and bullying, one that was especially powerful was of a young, FTM transman explaining the challenges of returning to his school among the classmates who previously knew him as a girl in middle school. The dating difficulties segment in particular seemed really useful and unique. It provided a space to not feel so alone while going through all the trouble of self-discovery and disclosure, and still not being able to find a date.

From the personal to the political, the youth in this film move to speak directly to a wider audience. Peers, parents, friends, families, and the universe are called upon not for pity but receptivity and support, even if folks aren't sure whether a young person truly needs their help. Harboring wisdom beyond their years resulting from deep self-exploration, the young people seek a world where all people can marry in any state, bathrooms no longer succumb to assumptions of sexual violence if a woman’s pants are down within three feet of a man, and a country where comprehensive sex education is the norm. Obvious to some, but it is the privilege of hope amongst youth that gives it so much power. Watching a teenager explain genderqueer as limiting is absolutely phenomenal.

You can find this thirty-four-minute film at www.putthisonthemap.org, with other educational tools soon to follow.

Written by: Nicole Levitz, February 28th 2011

How Cancer Crossed the Color Line

annette — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 05:00:00 +0000

By Keith Wailoo

Oxford University Press

Cancer—a disease signifying White civilization? A disease of the domesticated female? An indifferent, “democratic disease”? Or, a targeted attack on specific racial and ethnic communities? These varying assertions and many more have populated America’s cancer discourse over the last century, fading in and out as the dominant way to comprehend the disease’s victimization.

Perhaps easier now than ever to agree that cancer (in all its types) indiscriminately permeates all racial, gender, ethnic, religious (etc.) groups, Keith Wailoo, a professor of history and director of the Center for Race and Ethnicity at Rutgers University, shows us how this was not always believed to be the case. How Cancer Crossed the Color Line traces the trajectory of cancer in America, from awareness, to prevention and treatment, drawing a critical link between medical advancements and socio-political shifts in gender and race understanding.

Beginning with early discussions from 1910-1930s, Wailoo notes the “birth of a dichotomy in American cancer awareness—[with] the emergence of a disparity between how experts, organizations, and communities worried about cancer awareness in white [women] as an individualized inner psychological issue, and how they worried over blacks as a demographic type, paying little attention to inner sensibilities.” This dichotomy is only the beginning, however. Drawing on a myriad of primary sources, from medical findings, popular culture, individual stories, and political advocacy, Wailoo makes a case for just how entrenched and beholden cancer rhetoric is (and has been) to dynamic shifts in our cultural understanding of race and gender.

Roughly moving decade to decade, How Cancer Crossed the Color Line charts the impact that historical events like World War II and the Civil Rights Movement, as well as social shifts like acknowledging ethnic diversity and socioeconomic disparities, have had on cancer awareness. Scrutinizing race and gender’s varying impact on dictating medical research, analysis of findings, and diffusion into the public sphere, Wailoo posits that although cancer is an indiscriminate disease, it has never really existed in a vacuum, as it has always been studied and interpreted by people, unavoidably beholden to a certain set of values and beliefs.

Although not necessarily a light read, Wailoo does an excellent job of conveying a dense amount of information in a comprehensible way, for academics and non-academics alike. And for those of you who may be a bit more academic, the text is meticulously cited, providing a wealth of primary source material in the endnotes for continued investigation.

Bottom line, I love this book. I admit, I am a nerd who really appreciates all efforts that seek to debunk the notion that race, gender, sexuality, and such do not play fundamental roles in dictating how we have come to understand aspects of our modern lives that we too often believe to be “beyond” identity and group differences—like medicine, science, and even technology. Despite seeming to be infallible sources of truth, each of these areas are unavoidably saturated with and influenced by our sociocultural beliefs and discriminations.

Keith Wailoo’s How Cancer Crossed the Color Line is an enlightening read, suggesting that even if accounting for “other” paradigms may make for a far more murky understanding of the already enigmatic cancer (in this case), only in the murkiness can actual progress be made moving forward. Most certainly there is still a "war on cancer" to be fought, but as Wailoo impressively highlights, it is as critical, if not more so, to continually scrutinize not just how we are fighting but also for whom.

Written by: Alison Veith, February 4th 2011

Finding Delhi: Loss and Renewal in the Megacity

mandy — Sat, 15 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Edited by Bharati Chaturvedi

Penguin India

New Delhi is a city that has undergone many incarnations in its lifespan. Just a century after the British built the city to be the capital of the crown jewel that was India, Delhi is racing towards becoming a world-class city. Published on the eve of the city’s hosting the October 2010 Commonwealth Games, which was supposed to serve as Delhi’s coming out party in the twenty-first century, the collection of essays in Finding Delhi explores what happens to the lives of its twenty million inhabitants as the city is re-engineered and re-imagined for the new millennium.

What happens to people who are driven out from the urban city centers, the places where they ply their trade, to live on the outskirts of town? What happens when public spaces are increasingly replaced with private malls and coffee shops, spaces that are no longer free to everyone? Who has the right to public spaces? Is it just the middle and upper classes, or do all inhabitants of a city possess this right?

Environmentalist and Delhi-based writer Bharati Chaturvedi attempts to answer such questions. The co-founder of Chintan, an NGO that works to increase environmental justice and reduce ecological footprints, Chaturvedi makes Finding Delhi unique by not assembling the usual cast of urban planners and educated intellectuals to discuss the city’s metamorphosis; she brings us the voices of fourteen full- and part-time residents, ranging from environmental activists to “urban-sector” workers, street vendors and other entrepreneurs who have contributed to Delhi’s vibrant formal and informal economy for centuries and risk being erased from the glittering new city streets and urban edifices that are being planned for New Delhi. Each chapter reflects the unique voice and opinion of these diverse individuals.

In her introduction Chaturvedi discusses how in the not-so-distant past it became fashionable to characterize what she terms “work on the greens” as being detached from the reality of the poor, but, as she aptly points out, the greening of the environment is also of importance to the working poor: “Lamenting the loss of tree cover in Delhi, an itinerant vendor remarked during a meandering conversation, ‘I miss all the trees now. I used to enjoy looking at the leaves and my mind used to become fresh even in the heat of summer.’” Chaturvedi notes that the idea of a green city came up over and over again in numerous conversations she had with residents who are considered the working poor of Delhi.

In the chapter “Remaindered Things and Remaindered Lives,” contributor Vinay Gidwani asks the reader to consider what happens to their discarded gym shoes and introduces us to Mundka, a township on the edge of West Delhi that Gidwani dubs a “site of reincarnation not just for Delhi’s detritus, but the entire world.” Gidwani describes a recycling industry that operates in an almost subterranean fashion, including the 150,000 to 200,000 ragpickers who make a living sorting and selling recyclables that are found in Delhi’s garbage. He points out that Delhi produces 7,500 tons of garbage daily. A large amount of this is recycled by the ragpickers, who are very poor and work in hazardous conditions.

Because Delhi’s focus is on the formal-sector economy, city officials view these workers as unskilled and not contributing to the retail economy, but Gidwani contends that the informal sector workers provide an array of services that enable formal sector workers to continue their privileged lifestyle—from vegetable vendors to cycle cart pullers who deliver appliances, or grocers who deliver bulk orders to households. He contends that Delhi today is inhabited by two “eco-classes.” He notes, “On the one side, a way of life that churns out growing quantities of waste; on the other, lives that live off this commodity detritus.” Gidwani asks the reader to consider what a different city Delhi would look like if the ruling elite actually learned to recognize and value the important contributions that these marginalized people and places make to their daily lives.

In “Women Reimagining the City,” Kalpana Viswanath discusses the harassment and violence that women encounter on a daily basis in the city; she writes that “being a woman in Delhi is often an intimidating, frightening, worrisome and, at the least, uncomfortable experience.” She points out that although Western cities were historically viewed as male spaces (hence the term streetwalker to describe women who walked the streets alone at night), developing urban areas also provided female friendly spaces in the form of department stores, tea rooms, and promenades. Viswanath notes that class plays a significant role in a woman’s experience in Delhi.

Delhi does not fare well when it comes to gender equity indicators; only seven percent of the Delhi police force are women, and according to recent crime data, Delhi accounts for thirty percent of reported rapes in India’s largest cities. Taking public transportation in the city exposes women to potential harassment and abuse, and Viswanath indicates that no women are immune to gender-based violence by highlighting the highly publicized murders of young women of privilege. She closes by writing, “The big challenge will be to transform people’s attitudes towards women as citizens with equal rights.”

I found Finding Delhi to be one of the most thought provoking books I’ve read in a long time. Some books have a profound effect on how one thinks about their world and this is one of those books. The topics and issues discussed are not unique to Delhi; cities across the globe are increasingly having to balance the need for economic and industrial growth without losing the sense of humanity and culture that gives a city its soul. It is a delicate balancing act and one that can benefit from each person playing an active role in re-imagining their cities and interconnected destinies.

Written by: Gita Tewari, January 15th 2011

Gay, Straight and the Reason Why: The Science of Sexual Orientation

mandy — Sat, 01 Jan 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Simon LeVay

Oxford University Press

I recently had the pleasure of participating, as a feminist blogger, in a survey about the Feminist Blogosphere. Name? Age? Sex (or "gender," as she put it)? These were not difficult questions (for me) to answer. But when she asked me to identify my sexual orientation, I paused... and then I stumbled. “I’m straight, right?” I asked myself. I’m a woman married to a man. If sexuality is either one of two, possibly three, things, then quite obviously I am a heterosexual. But as Gore Vidal sharply put it: “Trust a nitwit society like this one to think that there are only two categories—fag and straight.”

The fact that I lead a heteronormative life means that I am “normal,” “average,” and “healthy,” doesn’t it? And as I have been leading a universally accepted lifestyle, I am afforded the privilege of thinking of sexuality—not as something that forms the core of one’s identity—but rather as something within a spectrum, and something that enhances one’s identity. When homosexuals have demanded the right to be so-called Lesbians and Gays as part of a movement of identity distinction and defense of their acceptability, I have often thought that, in actuality, said lesbians and gays are no different from me, just people with sexualities that fall elsewhere on the spectrum. But according to the neurologist Simon LeVay, heteros and homos are different on neurological, hormonal, and genetic levels.

May Simon LeVay’s overview of the science of sexuality, which he was instrumental in founding, Gay, Straight and the Reason Why, be admitted into the pantheon of sexual discourse housing Michel Foucault, Eve Sedgwick, Judith Butler, et al.—though he is in disagreement with many queer theorists having identified, as he claims, the scientific reasons for human homosexuality. Disputing the Kinsey scale and its seven categories, for instance, LeVay points out that most “non-heterosexual men are homosexual; few say that they are roughly equally attracted to both sexes.” However, he also points out that pathology doesn’t enter into “who we love”: “There’s nothing wrong with gay people,” he writes in his introduction. “I’m gay myself, and happy to be so. There are some differences between us and the rest of humanity, certainly, as I’ll discuss in this book. Some of these differences are trivial, and some may influence people’s lives in interesting ways…”

I really enjoyed reading this book. Surprised? I was. In the first place, I struggle to understand science. But LeVay has written this text with laypeople like me in mind. Technical terms are italicized when first employed and subsequently defined in a comprehensive glossary at the back of the book. Hence, reading about neurons and genes and hormones was like reading a recipe for shortbread cookies. While my literary academic background in sexuality and queer theory came in handy and my prior interest kept me engaged, I do believe this book is appropriate for anybody with rudimentary knowledge of sexuality and a genuine interest in understanding it.

One practical dilemma arises were society to apply LeVay’s finding—that homosexuality results in part from a size discrepancy in a cluster of nerves found in the hypothalamus—to everyday life: we’d need “new rules.” If most men, for instance, are heterosexual, but those who aren’t have a smaller than normal INAH3, then could homosexuality and its physical cause be considered a disability? Are homosexuals, with their observed differences from heterosexuals, disadvantaged because of this physical abnormality/disability (not taking into account the social stigma against homosexuality, whatever its root)? And what about people with normal INAH3 who exhibit homosexual longings or tendencies? What is our science? “All mental traits, including sexual orientation, have some durable representation in the brain,” LeVay reports. I find Ashley Judd, and not Angelina Jolie, sexually attractive. Can an explanation for that be found in my brain, or is it beyond pathology and part of the aforementioned “who we love” question? Can sexuality have a spiritual component?

LeVay’s discussion of gender is problematic for queer theory enthusiasts like me. While he concludes that gender traits are a “kaleidoscopic blend” amongst homosexuals, his science contradicts often this notion. He affirms that gay men are on average more “feminine” by their own account, and lesbian women more “masculine” by their own account, than their straight counterparts. This plays into the reductive Freudian (among other) expectation that human sexual relationships must consist of symbiotic masculine and feminine parts. Furthermore, there is evidence that suggests homosexuals have different anatomical makeup than heterosexuals. LeVay does not shy away from using potentially pejorative language: “…lesbians who identify as ‘butch’ have a higher (more male-like) waist-hip ratio than do straight women, whereas lesbians who identify as ‘femme’ have the same ratio as straight women. Because the waist-hip ratio rises if people become overweight, this difference does not necessarily represent a constitutional difference between butch and femme lesbians: It could simply be that butch lesbians have less interest in dieting or maintaining a ‘feminine’ profile.”

Gay, Straight and the Reason Why is full of these types of observations, the things we’re thinking about when we ponder about our human differences, but are often afraid to say aloud; and I give LeVay a lot of credit for his candor. Ultimately, his observations and those of his colleagues detailed herein make our eliminating the language and expectation of gender seem far, far away. But I appreciate good, thorough, critical discourse such as that which can be launched with documented research of this kind. I hope this text finds its way into many graduate seminars across many areas of study: from science to literature and film, and more!

Written by: Rachel Moehl, January 1st 2011

Strip Club: Gender, Power and Sex Work

gwen — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Kim Price-Glynn

New York University Press

In Strip Club: Gender, Power and Sex Work, sociologist Kim Price-Glynn analyzes the organizational structure of a strip club to explore whose interests strip clubs serve and how. To gain an insider’s perspective, Price-Glynn spent fourteen months working as a cocktail waitress in a strip club. During this time, she observed, analyzed, and interviewed strippers, employees, and patrons.

Price-Glynn seeks to demonstrate that the strip club she researched, like the majority of others in the U.S., is organized in a way that benefits male employees and patrons while socially and economically marginalizing strippers. She weaves her research with sociological and organizational theory, along with other scholarship on sex work, such as Wendy Chapkis’ Live Sex Acts and Katherine Frank’s G-Strings and Sympathy. In an attempt to situate sex work as an occupation that entails intense emotional labor, Price-Glynn also draws heavily on the works of Barbara Ehrenreich and Arlie Hochschild.

Price-Glynn argues that the strip club perpetuates gender inequalities. She distinguishes, however, from a generalized argument that stripping and sex work inherently contribute to gender inequality and posits instead that strippers were marginalized by the organizational structure of the strip club. She notes that there were no women in positions of authority and that employees, who were explicitly told to always supervise the strippers, believed that strippers were never to be trusted, had low self-esteem, and used drugs excessively. In a fascinating portion of the book, Price-Glynn highlights the differences in how strippers and other club employees receive their wages. Employees have fixed wages while strippers receive money solely from tips; they also pay the strip club for their use of the club and are required to tip other employees, like the deejay. This system decreases their profits and creates a paradigm where the strippers appear to depend on the club (even if the club profits solely because they feature strippers).

Price-Glynn highlights the ways in which strippers’ safety is compromised by an intense culture of masculinity, a lack of physical boundaries between strippers and patrons, and the fact that a club’s revenue is often boosted if patrons think they can have physical access to strippers. She recounts stories, told to her by strippers during interviews, of being digitally raped on stage, of being expected to perform oral sex, and of club employees looking the other way when patrons touched strippers. Building on past scholarship, she also focuses on the intense emotional labor, such as flirting, that strippers are expected to perform. Private dances, she argues, are not prized for their extended dance, but because of the (false) intimacy it creates.

Price-Glynn’s work is an important reminder of the dangers of sex work. At times, however, I questioned whether she excessively focused on the negative aspects of stripping. A section devoted to the women’s rituals when they returned home (one bathed in bleach) and the effects of stripping on outside relationships (such as an inability to enjoy sex) was profoundly sad. It also implies that none of the strippers were able to disengage themselves from their work and that they were all negatively affected, even “damaged,” by stripping. When strippers said they enjoyed stripping or found it empowering, Price-Glynn hints that this is simply a mask or coping mechanism. This is, of course, plausible, but diverges from other scholarship on sex work and comes close to supporting arguments that stripping categorically harms women.

Strip Club offers important insight for those strippers and advocates of sex worker rights who want to improve the environment of the strip club and increase opportunities for women to be empowered within sex work. Price-Glynn’s choice to use organizational theory allows the reader to find concrete examples, such as wage reform, that could have very immediate and positive results. This method also distinguishes her book from other recent scholarship on sex work and stripping. I recommend the book, therefore, for those interested in learning more about the culture of the strip club or to sociology students interested in a unique application of organizational theory.

Written by: Shannon Hill, December 19th 2010

A Man’s A Man

mandy — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Phoenix Theatre Ensemble

If playwright Bertolt Brecht were alive today, he’d likely blanch at the contemporary tendency to seek common ground with those whose ideologies are diametrically opposed to one’s own. His dozens of plays speak truth to power in daring, direct language and, while farce and sarcasm are employed, his repeated denunciations of colonialism, war, and militarism are boldly presented. A Man’s a Man (sometimes called Man Equals Man) was first staged in Dusseldorf and Darmstadt, Germany in 1926. Eighty-four years later, The Phoenix Theatre Ensemble’s beautifully-presented staged reading of the play is so relevant that the audience quickly forgets the age of the work.

Themes include the folly of armed conflict; the ways gender stereotypes are used to manipulate men and women into serving the Empire; and the ways youth are unscrupulously lured into patriotic service. Identity—whether we develop into thinking adults or order-following automatons—also comes into focus. The end result is riveting—full of wit, sass, and pointed jabs at the never-ending quest for land and resources that ensnares so many political regimes.

The action of A Man’s a Man follows a motley band of soldiers who belong to The Royal Imperial Army. In Kilkoa, India to guard—or perhaps loot—the Pagoda of the Yellow Monks, the play zeroes in on the Eighth Regiment, AKA The Scum—and what happens when one of their members, Jeraiah Jip, suddenly becomes unable to continue in Her Majesty’s armed forces. Since a Unit requires four men, the remaining three expect big trouble when Sergeant Fairchild, AKA Bloody Five [played by Grant Neale], arrives on the scene. Known for his fiery temper—Bloody earned his nickname after killing five Hindu prisoners—his underlings know that their superior will be apoplectic when, or if, he learns that Jip is gone.

In short order, Unit members devise a plan in which happy-go-lucky Galy Gay (Josh Tyson), “a man who can’t say no,” is hoodwinked into pretending to be the no-longer-present Mr. Jip. “One man is as good as another,” the soldiers quip, thrilled to have concocted so simple a solution to their conundrum. Gay is first promised cigars and beer for agreeing to go along with the deception; later, as they step up their brainwashing, the audience watches Gay morph into the perfect soldier—compliant, docile, and obedient.

The ten short scenes of A Man’s a Man, framed by a Prologue and Epilogue, move quickly, and include a bevy of rousing—and pitch-perfect, often hilarious—song-and-dance numbers. The nine characters, plus a keyboardist, are on stage at all times. They read with tremendous force, unapologetically delivering Brecht’s none-too-subtle critique of imperialist expansion. Elise Stone is particularly good as Widow Begbick, whose wily charms are used to raise questions about what it means for men to be men. Her sexy persona is used to profound effect and showcases the inane impact of both personal and political rapacity—whether in 1920s India or today’s Iraq and Afghanistan.

The seven-year-old Phoenix Theatre Ensemble is to be commended for reviving a play that other actors had relegated to history’s attic. The Company asks that patrons pay $25 per ticket, but their policy is to allow audience members to pay whatever they wish for each show.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, November 26th 2010

Why Don’t You Understand?: A Gender Relationship Dictionary

mandy — Mon, 25 Oct 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Karen Gail Lewis

Dog Ear Publishing

Is it just me, or should a person with designation “Dr.” in front of her name know the difference between sex and gender? True: language changes all the time and words gain new meanings. So, as American society becomes increasingly uptight when talking about sex (the act), sex (the anatomical distinction) has been replaced in our vernacular with a word that refers to the classic assumptions for social role play placed upon each sex: gender. (It would seem we’re the new Victorians.)

This ambiguity isn’t the only issue I have with Dr. Karen Gail Lewis’ Why Don’t You Understand?. While the good doctor (of education) assumes that women are generally oversensitive, spontaneously emotional, nagging crackpots and men are under-responsive, clueless dingbats, and in doing so assumes too much; her real crime is in assuming that heterosexual couples are made up of these two parts universally. The answer to your query, Doc, isn’t that men and women don’t understand each other sometimes because we are different from each other owing to our sexes, but that people in general are unique individuals and, therefore, different from each other irrespective of their sexes.

It is the case that this dictionary comes along twenty or so years too late, now that we’ve been liberated from gender in many ways. Not all men have trouble expressing their feelings because they live in fear of a beating from dad or name-calling from school bullies. Yet Lewis has the audacity to make blanket observations like: “Men do not confront a relationship problem unless absolutely necessary because – like the boy who took apart and re-assembled a clock, only to have one piece left over – the risk is that they’ll make things much worse.”

Do men in homosexual relationships both behave this same way? If so, how do their problems get solved? What about women who don’t confront relationship problems head on? Are they abnormal? This text prompts many questions like these.

Education is never a waste. It’s a great idea to recognize your, and your partner’s, patterns of behavior. This can help you avoid many of the miscommunications detailed in this book. But the problem with gender assumptions is that they limit us. You can believe in astrology, for instance, but that doesn’t mean that you believe all people born under the sign of Aquarius are friendly yet unpredictable, at least not in the same exact way as the next Aquarian.

Of course, Lewis could have avoided this overwhelming analytic pitfall by eliminating the language of assumption. She could have described scenarios between Individual A and Individual B rather than Category Man and Category Woman. She could have contributed to the emerging relevance of queer theory, which challenges sex and gender binaries and their resulting “normal” behaviors. It is the acceptance of gender fluidity that liberates men and women by allowing us each to be the kind of person it feels good to be.

Written by: Rachel Moehl, October 24th 2010

Who Should Be First?: Feminists Speak Out on the 2008 Presidential Campaign

mandy — Sun, 24 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Edited by Beverly Guy-Sheftall, Johnnetta Betsch Cole

SUNY Press

Please read this book. If you were in any way inspired by the groundbreaking 2008 election of President Barack Obama, you will find an essay in Who Should be First? that speaks what's been on your mind, challenges your way of thinking, causes you to feel frustrated, or represents the many complex emotions you felt on that historic day.

Bravo to Beverly Guy-Sheftall and Johnnetta Betsch Cole for compiling this diverse and inspiring anthology. At first glance, I saw all the usual names (i.e., Valenti, Steinem, Walker) and warily assumed that this would be one more tribute to the same feminist pundits, as always. But you will find essays from many feminist points of view in this compilation, and a lot of them (thankfully!) point out that “women” and “people of color” are not mutually exclusive groups. The press often ignored women of color during this election, leaving us to think that everyone had the luxury to choose between race and gender allegiances.

I wish I had owned this book during the election, although of course that would have been impossible. The essays recall conflicted feelings I experienced when trying to decide between the two potential Democratic Presidential candidates. The authors explore the divisive, oft repeated claims of the time: that gender was a greater barrier to overcome than race, that young feminists were naive or stupid to vote for Obama, that Bill Clinton had been the first Black President and, therefore, Black voters should support Hillary, etc. The editors arranged the book book to highlight, rather than smooth over, these opposing views.

In one essay, the author explained that she was voting for Hillary because gender was the greatest barrier to overcome. In the following essay, a different author explained that she was voting for Barack because race was the greatest barrier to overcome. The authors of all the essays express various thoughtful points of view, but I have not been able to stop mulling over Jane Caputi’s “Crisis of Representation: Hate Messages in Campaign 2008 Commercial Paraphernalia.” Originally published in the Denver University Law Review last year, it is a comprehensive, although by no means exhaustive, study of visual representations of the rampant sexism, racism, ageism, and ableism expressed during the campaign not only against Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton, but also Michelle Obama, John McCain, and Sarah Palin. This essay actually made me feel nauseous. If you can stomach the hateful and disgusting images, it is a powerful reminder (in case you forgot) of the vivid hate speech both Democratic candidates had to battle.

“Sex Versus Race, Again,” by Tracy A. Thomas, is another well-researched piece that compares the 2008 election to the fight for women’s voting rights in the early twentieth century. Thomas shows that drawing a line in the sand didn’t work then and won’t work now. The either/or strategy leaves everyone at a loss.

Read Who Should be First? to remember the electric energy you felt two years ago. We all knew that the political world was changing, and after eight bleak years with a warmongering President, even the most cynical of us began to hope. With the November elections around the corner, and the threat of right-wing extremists garnering control of Congress, think back to a time where you were excited, enthralled, and inspired by politicians.

Cross-posted at Gender Across Borders

Written by: Colleen Hodgetts, October 24th 2010

Bijou Roy

admin — Sat, 21 Aug 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Ronica Dhar

St. Martin's Press

Bijou Roy reminded me a bit of Sameer Parekh's Stealing the Ambassador. Both novels feature a young Indian American who visits India after his or her father's death in an attempt to understand the father better, especially his motivation for leaving his home country. Both are quintessential second-generation novels, I feel, because they attempt to recover the lost homeland through a kind of false nostalgia—a desire for a place that was never theirs, but rather of their parents and of the past.

Dhar's novel seemed to try to touch on a number of cultural issues, too, in the contrast between the United States and India in the Indian American's perspective. One example is that Bijou, the title character, is somewhat obsessed with Ketaki, her aunt's maidservant. Bijou sympathizes with this fifteen-year-old and wants to befriend her because the stark class difference of her aunt and uncle from this maid rubs against the ideal of class mobility that she is familiar with having grown up in the United States.

Bijou's name is French for jewel, a word her father picked up when he visited France. He also met Bijou's mother, Sheela, while in France, and this diversion from a more direct India-to-United States path for the parents is interesting for creating a more complex sense of diasporic movement. The France moment in the parents' lives also brings in Billie Holiday as a favorite singer of the father and Bijou (the father first heard Billie Holiday in France as well).

Bijou Roy also has a number of sections from the perspective of the father, Nitish Roy. (The narration is in the third person throughout, though the character's voices emerge in free indirect discourse.) As in Parekh's novel, there is a past (of the father, of the grandfather) haunted by revolutionary and Communist zeal. Nitish was involved with the Naxalites, a revolutionary group that refused Gandhi's nonviolent tactics for social change. I think it's fascinating how newer fiction by Indian Americans (and Indians in the diaspora) seem to be marking a post-independence moment of political contestation rather than the moment of independence from British colonial rule and the trauma of the India-Pakistan split. It definitely seems generational—that the memories of the authors' parents are what make the substance of the fiction.

There was a kind of interesting relationship between Bijou and her younger sister Pari, too. Dhar sketched out subtle differences in how they perceived this trip to India (due perhaps to age difference but also to the different relationships that they had to their parents).

Ultimately, I think Dhar's novel also aims to explore differences in gender norms in the United States versus in India. That exploration isn't fully fleshed out, though, and gets subsumed by the love triangle subplot, which somewhat predictably forces Bijou to puzzle through her relationship with a White American man and her attraction to an Indian man who is the son of a close friend of the father.

Cross-posted at Asian American Literature Fans

Written by: Stephen Hong Sohn, August 21st 2010

Fearless Female Journalists

admin — Fri, 23 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Joy Crysdale

Second Story Press

Fearless Female Journalists is a set of ten short profiles of female reporters, photojournalists, and newscasters hailing from various times and places over the last two centuries.

Among the women featured is one of the early pioneers of modern journalism: nineteenth-century American newspaperwoman Nellie Bly, a daredevil stunt reporter. Nelly Bly is perhaps most famous for circumnavigating the globe in seventy-three days in an era before airplanes, but she also took on assignments designed to do good as well as to make a splash. For example, she got herself admitted as a patient to the Women's Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell's Island in order to expose the terrible conditions there. In a later chapter, we meet Anna Politkovskaya, a Russian reporter who, despite her privileged origins as the daughter of diplomats, made the decision to risk–and ultimately lose–her life in order to report on the Russian occupation of Chechnya. (Politkovskaya was assassinated on October 7, 2006, at age forty-eight.) The book closes with a portrait of Thembi Ngubane, a young South African woman who recorded an audio journal about her life with AIDS as part of an effort to end the stigma around AIDS, as well as to push the South African government to acknowledge the tragic proportions of the AIDS epidemic.

The book is geared towards children–I estimate that it is most appropriate for an audience aged seven to eleven. The profiles are attractive and highly readable, complete with photographs and sidebars containing “fun facts.” The stories are entertaining and inspiring, and the selection of featured journalists reflects some variety in terms of era, type of journalism, and nationality (although the book still skews heavily toward heterosexual North American white women). Unfortunately, the book does have a downside–it is written from a “nice, liberal” standpoint, in which history is presented as an inexorable march towards progress, driven by a few exceptionally determined actors. This perspective glorifies individual high-profile “heroines” while erasing the history of communal struggle. It also obscures the reality that, in most cases, the few exceptional people who “make it big” do so not because they are more courageous or determined than thousands of others, but rather because they got lucky or started out with some “extras,” such as racial or class privilege.

The book reaches its nadir at the beginning of the final chapter, when it begins the profile of Thembi Ngubane by blatantly exoticizing her ethnicity: “Thembi Ngubane had a beautiful voice. Like her name, it was wonderfully African. Her voice flowed and lilted and swam around words, especially words with ‘r’ in them."

While I enjoyed reading Fearless Female Journalists and learning about the ten outstanding women profiled within, I could have happily done without the book’s uncritical, unconscious approach to the narrative of history and social change.

Written by: Ri J. Turner, July 23rd 2010

Black Dogs and Blue Words: Depression and Gender in the Age of Self-Care

admin — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Kimberly Emmons

Rutgers University Press

Jerry Seinfeld jokes that pharmaceutical companies could save time by naming all of their antidepressants “Cramitol” (“Cram it all”). Kimberly Emmons would likely agree. Her eye-opening Black Dogs and Blue Words opens up an original, potentially life-changing perspective on antidepressants and the companies who market them. Emmons, an English professor at Case Western Reserve University and an expert in medical rhetoric, offers shocking and persuasive evidence that women are not only the targets of these ads, but have become complicit in the targeting.

Emmons builds her case brick by brick. Although her prose is academic and dense in places, the slowly building logic and the reader’s ensuing sense of outrage make the book as hard to put down as any who-dun-it. In fact, the book is its own brand of who-dun-it. How did women become Big Pharma bullseyes? Solving the mystery requires understanding how the language of antidepressant advertising both reflects and shapes gender stereotypes. To illustrate, Emmons dissects print and broadcast ads word by word and frame by frame. She points out how words such as “excessive crying," “fatigue," “loss of zest,” and “tearfulness” have long been used in our culture to describe women’s emotions and alleged deficits, and how drug manufacturers have co-opted the phrasing to describe depression.

It gets worse. Analyzing the photographs that accompany the ads, Emmons demonstrates how they reflect our societal norms of acceptable female behavior. The ads feature sad women standing apart from their family, women whose disappointed children accuse them of being “no fun anymore,” and protective fathers with their arms around children, standing apart from mom, fixing her with baleful stares. Next frame, the woman diagnoses herself with depression. Next, she is shown at her doctor’s office requesting antidepressants, and, presto, next frame, the woman has been restored to her acceptable “gendered self.” How do we know? She reports her progress as she shops for the family groceries, or while playing with her children, or while involved in some other womanly scenario. Emmons also surveys children’s literature and that women’s magazine staple, the self-diagnostic quiz, with equally interesting and well-considered conclusions.

One of the book’s most fascinating chapters traces the history of the Diagnostic and Statistics Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), which, as the title implies, spells out the criteria for diagnosing psychiatric illnesses. In one of her biggest bombshells, Emmons reveals that much of the language employed by Big Pharma to describe depression is not found in the DSM. Rather, drug manufacturers have cherry-picked synonyms primarily associated with women. Women absorb the ads, diagnose themselves with depression and make a beeline for the doctor’s office. The doctor, bombarded by the same marketing and lacking the time for a more in-depth probing, agrees. Prescription signed. Pills sold. And so we circle.

But don’t think that Emmons is anti-antidepressant, because she isn’t. Her view is much more reasoned. She acknowledges the good that medication can do under the right circumstances. But she also urges women to go from a regime of self-doctoring to a regime of self-care. Emmons uses “self-doctoring” to refer to women’s willingness to buy into the pharma-philosophy that emotional and social malaise stem from chemical problems which only can have chemical solutions. By accepting this rhetoric, says Emmons, women deprive themselves of their own personal narrative, one which may have little or nothing to do with clinical depression.

In contrast, self-care involves reacting to signals that something is not right with a conscious surveying of one’s life and all its circumstances. Perhaps medication will help. Or perhaps a much more profound change is in order. Learning how we have been manipulated, our lives altered by corporate profiteering, is depressing. Pass me the Cramitol. On second thought, don’t. It doesn’t have to be this way.

Written by: T. Tamara Weinstein, July 12th 2010

Iron Butterflies: Women Transforming Themselves and the World

admin — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 16:01:00 +0000

By Birute Regine

Prometheus Books

In the eternal question of nature versus nurture, author and developmental psychologist Birute Regine leans comfortably towards nature. She embraces “feminine” qualities and calls for women the world over to do the same. While the anecdotes and reflections she chooses to share are indeed compelling and inspirational, the book as a whole can be off-putting if you do not necessarily prescribe to the idea of gendered personality traits.

One major theme running throughout Iron Butterflies is the need to reject and reform what she calls “gladiator culture,” which is defined by its aggressive, macho, and violent nature. This, Regine writes, is the source of many societal ills. The book is then a call to action for women around the globe to effect change through compassion, empathy, and caring—the antidote to gladiator culture. By accepting and uncovering innately feminine qualities, women can improve their own quality of life while also creating social change in their communities and in the larger world.

Though gender biases, discrimination, and violence continue to exist in full force, further emphasis on the “inherent” differences between men and women feels uncomfortable and one-sided. Instead of gendering characteristics, a more inclusive approach would have been to look deeper into how these traits have come into existence and examine the larger society as a whole for ways that everyone can integrate compassion, for instance, into their daily behavioral repertoire.

Regine does recognize this point in a few isolated moments, but looking at a scale with nature on one side and nurture on the other, she falls much closer to nature. With chapters entitled, “Tears: Heal the Hidden Wound,” and “Chrysalis: Shedding Self-Imposed Limitations,” the general tone of the book is New Age-y self help, with the inclusion of various ethnic and cultural metaphors. The core message is one of positive change and growth, but the means of achieving them may not resonate with all readers.

Written by: Shana Mattson, July 8th 2010

Get Him to the Greek

admin — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 21:00:00 +0000

Directed by Nicholas Stoller

Universal Studios

Aldous Snow (Russell Brand)—the uber-sexual, tongue-in-cheek (and anywhere else you’ll let him stick it) Brit-rocker introduced to audiences in 2008’s Forgetting Sarah Marshall—is back in the latest film from yet another member of the Apatow Film Club for Boys. Based on characters created by Jason Segel, and written and directed by Nicholas Stoller, Get Him to the Greek is an often-comical, always offensive satire of the music industry, rock ‘n’ roll culture, and America’s reverence for all things celebrity.

Capitalizing on the fervor ignited by Brand, Get Him to the Greek succeeds in blurring the line between reality and fiction through inclusion of an original soundtrack and videos (performed by Brand and co-star Rose Byrne) and cameos by more than one recognizable pop artist and media outlet. Brand is refreshingly genuine as a privileged star struggling to gain control of his life, while Byrne offers hilarious support as Snow’s ex-wife and musical partner, Jackie Q. Effortlessly, she rivals Brand with her own sincere wit as she admits on Showbiz Tonight how bored she is with her husband’s sobriety.

I expected to like this film—and I did. Stoller bravely explores intimacy among men and, similar to I Love You, Man, his manuscript explores the complex dynamics of male relationships by offering glimpses of sincerity, vulnerability, and affection, elements often ignored in favor of more acceptably masculine attributes. However, as is often the case in Hollywood, without being well-versed in feminist values, what is meant to be ironic instead reinforces stereotypes and makes it that much harder for girls to be in on the joke.

Some attempts at humor are more problematic than others. While attempting to wrangle Snow in Vegas and escort him to New York City, music intern Aaron (Jonah Hill) is ordered by his boss Sergio (Sean “P Diddy” Combs) to have sex with a woman he’s just met, Destiny. Actually, Sergio commands Destiny to “[t]ake this man into the bedroom and have sex with him," and she readily complies. What follows is a pointless scene in which the petite Destiny forces the hefty Aaron to have sex with her. He says, “No.” He “protests.” (In reality, he could have easily tossed her off him.) Finally, he returns to his friends and announces, “I think I was just raped.” They laugh, and so does the audience. Gross.

In a perfect world, we can laugh about anything. Considering the world we live in, however, perhaps the more appropriate question is "who is allowed to laugh about rape?" When victims speak out with humor about their own lived experience, they are ridiculed or shamed, but when white men in Hollywood poke fun, its satire. Satire, by definition, is an exaggeration that is so far from reality that it is ridiculous to even consider. (The punchline to this joke being how ridiculous and non-threatening rape is for men – that men can’t be raped.) Unfortunately, this moment in Get Him to the Greek reinforces cultural myths surrounding the acceptance of rape. Instead of calling attention to the cultural, systemic, powerful epidemic of sexual violence, the "joke" nullifies its severity by applying it to the most powerful social group (white men).

The film industry is a site where creative potential can be harnessed to provoke meaningful change, and this band of brothers has the ability to lead the way for other Freaks and Geeks. But if we don’t start getting some feminist minds in on the action, these bright men are headed straight for the John Mayer Celebrity School of Shame.

Written by: Alicia Sowisdral, June 15th 2010