history

Black on Earth: African American Ecoliterary Traditions

annette — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 20:00:00 +0000

African American literary contribution to the national conception of nature, in all of its symbolic ambiguity and historical twists and turns, is a subject that has been little studied. In fact, African American writers have contributed profoundly to our popular understanding of nature and to our ecological concern. Kimberly Ruffin’s book must confront the notion that modern ecological movements have been the exclusive province of privileged white people—that African American people have had little to do with the natural world as writers or advocates. To challenge this assumption, she redefines nature and ecological thought as it has applied to the experience of African American people throughout American history, as articulated by artists both well known and obscure.

This transformation in our understanding begins with a recent anecdote concerning the “Jena Six” incident in Louisiana in 2006. When high school students sought shade under what had been designated “the white tree,” they were subsequently threatened with nooses hanging from it. A tree is, indeed, a source of comfort, a sign of natural beauty with practical value. But it is also—sorry, Joyce Kilmer—emblematic of lynching and a history of terror aimed at African American people. The author points out that rather than preserving the tree as a “troubled relic,” school officials cut it down, presumably in an effort to prevent further trouble and to erase this living monument to racial injustice.

If many African Americans have felt estranged from mainstream environmentalism, Ruffin argues, it is because people themselves—“the most precious of natural resources”—seem to have been excluded from the discourse. The author cites Wangari Maathai’s Green Belt Movement as a model for a new way of thinking about environmentalism, a “human-sensitive” activism that advocates simultaneously for people and the land. She argues that people of African descent have had both the burden and the blessing of being themselves seen as natural; whereas too often people of European descent have viewed themselves as radically separate from nature, a realm to be tamed and controlled or, later, to be visited for leisure.

Another critical point that she makes is that pre-twentieth-century Americans knew nature through work. The connection to the land was forged through labor, with both the body and the landscape part of the same “bioregion.” Similarly, nature has been inextricably involved in human efforts to achieve social justice and to escape from enslavement. She demonstrates that environmental degradation has disproportionately harmed the disenfranchised, but a detailed knowledge of the environment was instrumental, for example, in helping enslaved people establish routes to freedom. African American writing also reveals the extent to which the natural world provided sources of healing—the “wild-growing medicines” that are so much a part of cultural tradition and folklore.

Ruffin revisits the contributions of George Washington Carver, whose intense scrutiny of the natural world led to a unified view of science and religion, a balance between practical knowledge of the natural world and human spirituality. This balance is displayed in the myths written into the African American ecoliterary traditions about food and medicine and many different aspects of life, and they still are made manifest in community urban gardens, for example. The ultimate aim is an environmentalism that fully incorporates social justice as its aim, a natural world that includes humanity.

Written by: Rick Taylor, April 17th 2011

The Skin Quilt Project

mandy — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Lauren Cross

Mae’s House Productions

Without the preservation of historical text, artifact, and art, history can slowly fade from memory. Stories of survival can easily become short-lived memories as they are passed from one generation to the next before they are forgotten. For Black African American women, their history has been and continues to be woven together in quilting. The Skin Quilt Project is a documentary featuring various quilters, artists, academics, and historians discussing the necessity, purpose, benefits, and impact of Black African American women quilters and what their artistry does for their families and communities.

The film begins with the issue of skin color among African Americans and the discriminatory “trick down racism” that began with slavery and eventually bled into African American communities to set up its own caste system. Artists and quilters talk about the process and representation of creating images of Black women in their art and the significance or insignificance of the skin color of their subjects. As the documentary deepens, the topics become more complex and emotional.

There are two themes explored in the film: the process of quilting and the quilts themselves. The Skin Quilt Project goes beyond skin deep as it gains testimony about the relationship between the artist and community, artist and their work, artist and history, story and survivor. It’s more than just preserving cultural legacy; the quilts themselves are works of art, tangible testaments to the diverse life experience of Black women in the United States.

The process of making the quilts is binding experience, not just between the quilter and the quilt, but also between the artist and the community in which it is made. Many quilters find acceptance, camaraderie, confidence, and affirmation of their skill level by quilting together. It also provides challenge to take a project to the next level. This in-depth sharing of knowledge and craft is essential to many of the artists. The experience is not only for the artist’s physical artwork, but as many women attest, quilting feeds the soul and is part of the “visual, Negro spiritual” identity.

While the stories and commentary of The Skin Quilt Project are clearly important and interesting, the format of the documentary did not share the rich diversity of the quilts or the artists. No narrative voiceover to direct the film or text dividers to signal a new focus. The documentary relies heavily on the spoken word to engage the audience, but with a few audio kinks in the beginning, it’s difficult to phonetically understand what is being said. The ongoing and unbroken stride doesn’t offer much creative opportunity to appreciate the different insights of each interviewee.

For those interested in the role of African American women, quilters, and the critical role artists play in our social history, The Skin Quilt Project is a fine demonstration of the radical work that can be accomplished by needle and thread.

Written by: Lisa Factora-Borchers, April 14th 2011

When Did Indians Become Straight?: Kinship, the History of Sexuality, and Native Sovereignty

mandy — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Mark Rifkin

Oxford University Press

In When Did Indians Become Straight?, Mark Rifkin takes on a monumental task, exploring the intersections between sexuality, race, colonization/imperialism, sovereignty and nationhood as they apply to Native American tribes and their struggles over the centuries. As someone who is both of Native descent and gay, I was intrigued.

Queer theory and Native American studies have frequently intersected as examinations of the complex and varied Native American understandings of gender and sexuality have frequently informed both Native and non-Native explorations of what it means and has meant to be queer and what the ideal future situation for queer people would look like. Having read a great deal of these examinations, I expected, perhaps, too much.

Rifkin has some good points to make about how discourses on sexuality and appropriate family structure have affected the construction of race and the recognition of peoples of color as legitimate in the eyes of the nation-state, how “tradition” has frequently been reconstructed to erase those parts of actual tribal tradition and culture that are offensive to outsiders, how the imposition of the nuclear family structure was used in the United States government’s attempts to eradicate Native American tribes as distinct peoples, etc. Unfortunately, he doesn’t make these points very well.

Rifkin’s use of language can only be described as abusive and exploitative. As a writer, I frequently wished to liberate them from his grasp and set them free to follow their natural habits in their natural habitats. Rifkin commits so many of the crimes against the English language common amongst academics that it would be tedious to list them all, but the highest of his crimes is perhaps the misuse of terms, such as heteronormativity, to mean what he needs them to mean rather than what they actually do.

The language alone would be bad enough, but Rifkin also seems to argue points that are valid in a manner that makes them seem invalid or at least suspect. For instance, in exploring the role of the nuclear family ideal in the racialization of Native Americans, Rifkin chooses to explore Narrative of the Life of Mrs. Mary Jemison, the biography of a White woman become Seneca clan mother. Unfortunately, his focus on the circumstances surrounding the sale of Mrs. Jemison’s lands in Seneca territory as evidence for the primacy of her Whiteness glosses over the fact that much of the back and forth as to her identity as White or Seneca had little to do with racial ideology and much to do with pragmatism, land speculators using whatever twist of law and fact would most quickly grant them access to a prime investment opportunity. The evidence is not sufficient to the argument. Ultimately, it seems that in trying to bring so many ideas and theories together into a cohesive whole and to do so by relying heavily on a very limited literary canon, Rifkin’s arguments frequently become muddled and disjointed or simply fall apart at the seams.

As much as I wish that more people would explore these areas of both Native American studies and queer theory, I can’t in good conscience recommend this book.

Written by: Melinda Barton, April 7th 2011

Fear of the Animal Planet: The Hidden History of Animal Resistance

mandy — Thu, 10 Mar 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Jason Hribal

AK Press

You may already know (and I hope you do) that zoos and circuses aren't good places for animals. But how do we know? Jason Hribal's Fear of an Animal Planet argues that we only need listen to what the animals themselves are telling us. He fills the pages with story after story of animals who "misbehave": who escape, who refuse to perform and reproduce, who attack (and often kill) human handlers. After twenty years of circus life, Tyke the elephant kills one of her captors and runs wild through the streets of Honolulu. Kumang the orangutan grounds a hot wire surrounding her enclosure and climbs out using the porcelain insulators as hand-holds. None of the orca Corky's calves survive past forty-six days, apparently victims of maternal neglect. And so on.

Key themes emerge. One: captive animals are exploited, in the full-on Marxist sense of the word. Whether performing circus stunts, entertaining zoo visitors, or breeding the next generation of performers, they create value for their human owners, value the benefit of which the animals themselves never own. Sea World is a multimillion dollar business. But it isn't using those profits to feast its whales on tuna, expand the chlorine-saturated pools, or—most assuredly—release marine animals back to the ocean.

Two: other animals can resist exploitation and slavery very much like human workers, through refusals to work, sabotage, escapes, and physical attacks. If we dare to see past species difference, and accept that animals' actions have intent, we recognize these tactics.

Three: through their resistance, animals are agents in their own history. When Tyke, for instance, was fatally was shot by police after her escape, footage of her death spurred human witnesses into activism. Two established the Hohenwald Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee, where elephants roam unchained and unsupervised. Protests, lawsuits, and investigations into the animal contracting company that leased Tyke followed, and most significantly, some of Tyke's fellow performers were released into the care of sanctuaries like Hohenwald. None of this could have happened without Tyke's actions.

Hribal is a student of the historian Peter Linebaugh (co-author of The Many-Headed Hydra), whose approach he shares. Instead of accepting official narratives, he inverts social hierarchies and tells history from the perspective of the oppressed and dispossessed. Here, we're seeing circuses, zoos, and aquariums from the animals' side. Alas, the accounts—taken, according to the prologue, from newspapers, government and legal documents, online databases, institutional archives and a handful of earlier histories—are not individually sourced by foot- or endnotes, which strikes me as sloppy scholarship, surprising considering the author's background. It's also a criticism I'm sure Hribal's opponents will raise.

The author also makes a brief mention of alcohol use among circus trainers. In the next breath, he describes the industry as morally bankrupt. He seems to mean that circus management is utterly irresponsible in letting intoxicated handlers have contact with animals, but the phrasing is easily misunderstood to blame alcoholics ("drunkards," he says) for their addiction. I hope later editions can amend these flaws.

I want these later editions because I want nothing to detract from the challenge Fear of an Animal Planet offers its human readers. Like the best scholarship, it invites us to reject standard narratives. Instead of chalking up their behavior to mechanistic instinct, to adolescence, gender, playfulness, or high spirits, Hribal asks us to take animals' actions seriously: to see deliberate and eminently understandable resistance to conditions that the animals themselves find unacceptable, and to recognize them as fellow sufferers in a profit-driven economy.

Written by: Charlotte Malerich, March 10th 2011

Signs of Change: Social Movement Cultures, 1960s to Now

mandy — Mon, 07 Mar 2011 08:00:00 +0000

By Josh MacPhee, Dara Greenwald

AK Press

Signs of Change is both a coffee table book and a full-color history lesson. For those who prefer an alternative to a boring textbook, this book is the ticket. In September of 2008, Exit Art began a traveling art exhibit to showcase the works of artists whose materials reflect cultural and social uprisings around the world, including posters, photographs, and graffiti. The pages are full-color and let the art take center stage, but historical context is provided in a way that is educational without being stifling.

The book itself is divided into different movements, ranging from struggles for political independence to freedom from persecution and bias to women’s rights. Like the social movements themselves, the art is truly international, representing places as diverse as Eastern Europe, South Africa, Latin America, and the United States.

Without taking sides or making moral judgments, Signs of Change effectively explores each of these critical uprisings through the art that symbolizes them. The artists are as diverse as the issues and the book comes across as a comprehensive look at the people who were involved in these social movements as well as the conflicts themselves.

If you were unable to attend any of the art shows where these materials were showcased, all you need to do in order to be awed by the talent and passion of the artists is to pick up this book. And if you want to re-live your own activist days without leaving the comfort of your couch, Signs of Change is the art book for you.

Written by: Kari O’Driscoll, March 7th 2011

Time Binds: Queer Temporalities, Queer Histories

alicia — Fri, 04 Feb 2011 12:00:00 +0000

By Elizabeth Freeman

Duke University Press

Historiography and corporeality have challenged queer theorists, or perhaps more accurately, have been fiercely challenged by queer theorists. From deconstructive viewpoints that question physicality as such, to radical disavowals of any belonging to historical legacies, the transcendental tendencies of queer thought have not come without their casualties.

In her most recent addition to the burgeoning queer theory bookshelves, Elizabeth Freeman tackles both historiography and corporeality head on. With her feet firmly rooted in historical instances, Freeman delves into queer familial structures, temporal gender performativity and (perhaps most provocatively) racial legacies of sadomasochism. Freeman eloquently challenges heteronormative teleologies, but not through deconstrunctionism or transcendence alone; instead, she lays claim to the possibilities of queer temporalities and histories.

Coining terms like erotohistoriography, temporal drag, and chrononormativity Freeman’s queer resistance is embodied in the new temporalities and chronologies that she lays out. Her refashioning of historiography is not only deeply experiential, but it is embodied as well—two strands of thought that has troubled feminist and queer thought alike for decades. More than this, in the same way Audre Lorde theorized about the potentialities of erotics, Freeman re-envisions the political potential of the historical as experienced through eroticism. She moves beyond shame and loss as traditionally explored in queer theory: Freeman’s history is one of carnal enjoyment, enjoyment that does not foreclose racial histories of pain.

Her insistence on addressing both corporeality and experientiality is most stimulating in her chapter on sadomasochism. In this chapter she criticizes queer theory’s inability to adequately unpack the racial baggage of S&M practiced and theorized in the queer community. In this chapter she outlines new ways of theorizing Marquis de Sade through Isaac Julien’s film The Attendant. The film features interracial S&M encounters between two men who engage in deeply historical play that replicates chattel slavery, and occurs in a deeply historical space, the art museum.

Yet another move that Freeman masters as an historian herself is her ability to renegotiate the value placed on historical texts. She gracefully moves between more canonized works like Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Virginia Woolf’s Orlando (both literary works), to Cecilia Dougherty’s Coal Miner’s Daughter and Elizabeth Subrin’s Shulie (both video pieces). In this chapter she uses Isaac Julien’s film to access Marquis de Sade, not the other way around. In doing so she successfully restructures which texts shape her historiographies: minor visual works by lesser known authors occupy the foreground of Freeman’s discussion.

This is queer theory at its best: imaginative and troubling while remaining entrenched in lived (a)historical experiences. In Time Binds, Elizabeth Freeman finds herself among the ranks of queer theorists like José Esteban Muñoz, David L. Eng and Jasbir K. Puar. Without cleansing their hands of the complicatedness of history’s racial legacies, these theorists explore the messiness of queerness. This theory is centered on queer time and queer history’s exciting and, at times, (corporeally) violent moments.

As she herself explains when closing her remarks on S&M’s deeply racial historical potentialities, “These are not, to be sure, reparations for past damages (as if the perfect redress were possible), or the means of transcending all limitations. They are, however, ways of knowing history to which queers might make fierce claim.” Fierce, indeed.

Written by: Lizzy Shramko, February 4th 2011

Mary Tudor: Princess, Bastard, Queen

alicia — Thu, 09 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Anna Whitelock

Random House

Pay cable offers us a whole new realm of addictions and one of the most recent was Showtime's production of The Tudors. The program, now ended with the inevitable death of King Henry (no spoilers in history), portrayed the complicated realm of the Tudor Dynasty, which included two notable queens—sisters Mary and Elizabeth. This historic era, because of Queen Elizabeth, offers us a space to enter and critique how women were used for political gain, often not their own.

Anna Whitelock offers a similar proposition when she explores the life of Mary Tudor—a life often derided in British history. Daughter of Katherine of Aragon and King Henry, Mary later becomes known as Bloody Mary and as an overzealous threat to her own country.

Though historians have depicted the facts of the dynasty and the royal successions, Whitelock's argument is that historical texts have typically overlooked the fact that the value and vision of Mary and her contributions to history are greater than simply a slaughter of the non-Catholic community.

What makes Whitelock's book powerful is both its impeccable timing (the Tudors are the new pink) and its nuanced look at how women were political tools and machines simultaneously. The complicated graces involved in diplomacy, governed by the social mores of the time, lent to women having more space to enact persuasive maneuvers and machinations. This look at power in an era where even royal women seemed quite powerless (and were publicly thought of as weaker and merely vessels) is refreshing.

The truth of the matter, is, however, that Mary's story is also a sad one. Tossed about from prince to prince even as young as two and a half as a political token, a seal of trust and betrothal between men's nations, Mary's life is much more than the violent persecution of non-Catholics under her reign.  Whitelock frames the well-known history with a lens that offers just what she promises—a new look at Mary with perhaps the sympathy or value she's often been denied. Further, the story becomes timeless as Whitelock profiles just how close Mary and her indomitable mother, Catherine of Aragon, were. The strength of relationships between women is perhaps even more valuable in an era where there was little power to be held elsewhere.

The book is a generous read, even for those not familiar with Tudor history. As you read, you will recognize the political trumps and trollops that are not unfamiliar to us today. Described with the flourish they deserve, yet written clearly and in such a manner that all characters and dates can be digested, Whitelock's biography is an excellent lesson in the lives of powerful women, fortune and politics.

Written by: Dr. Julie E. Ferris, December 9th 2010

Gay Bar: The Fabulous, True Story of a Daring Woman and Her Boys in the 1950s

annette — Mon, 06 Dec 2010 12:00:00 +0000

By Will Fellows, Helen P. Branson

University of Wisconsin Press

Will Fellows has uncovered a gem with Gay Bar, a re-issue of the 1957 novel by Helen Branson. The original memoir, typed up on an old Polish typewriter, tells the tale of the gay establishment she operated in 1950s Los Angeles. The story revolves heavily around her clientele, a group of businessmen and entrepreneurs whom she affectionately refers to as “her boys.”

While most gay bars of the era were sketchy at best, Branson was committed to providing a clean and safe environment for her boys. She was notoriously strict about the men she allowed into her bar. Newcomers would be screened upon arrival and “troublemakers” would be thrown out without a moment’s hesitation. Helen’s commitment to maintaining her bar, combined with the affection she felt for her boys, are what garnered her loyal following. For the men that frequented her establishment, Branson was more than just a bar maid. She became a part of their lives, often acting as counselor and friend.

Branson’s book is notable for a few reasons. Aside from being one of the first-known publications written by a heterosexual to treat gay men with any semblance of respect, Branson’s portrayal of homosexuality stands in stark contrast to academic publications of the time. While most papers categorized homosexuals as “deviants,” Branson outlines the similarities between hetero and homosexuals. She makes a point to tell the individual stories of her clients, demonstrating a human side to a group that was generally thought of as selfish and unfeeling.

Fellows provides social commentary throughout the book alongside passages from era-appropriate, gay-friendly publications. This, in combination with Branson’s assertion that her boys grappled with “real problems”, help create an authentic snapshot of 1950s gay culture. Excerpts from ONE Magazine, the first pro-gay publication in the United States, outline the loneliness, anger, and frustration that some homosexual males endured.

Gay Bar is not an academic piece, but rather, a story of friendship and compassion. While Fellows’ commentary demonstrates how far gay rights have progressed, it also serves as a reminder that ignorance and stigma persist. Homosexuals continue to face enormous societal challenges, largely due to a lack of understanding. It is for this very reason that books like Branson’s are so important. I do not only recommend Gay Bar for its readability but also for its empathy.

We would all be better off if we learned to embrace one another as readily as Helen Branson.

Written by: Cheryl Santa Maria, December 6th 2010

Women's History Has Many Points of View

mandy — Sat, 27 Nov 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Interview with RE/VISIONIST

With the question "who gets to write history?" at its center, RE/VISIONIST is an online publication started by a handful of graduate students at Sarah Lawrence College who study women's history. Many historians push to catalog the discipline of history as a pure science, but this group is instead interested in critiquing the supposed objectivity of their discipline, and giving credence to subjective perspectives. Even more, the editors aim to analyze history through the lens of multiple feminisms. I opened a dialogue with one of the editors of RE/VISIONIST, and in true feminist style, she responded to my questions by conducting a roundtable discussion amongst the staff.

How did RE/VISIONIST come about?

Thea Michailides: Sarah Lawrence has a creative, vocal, and lively undergraduate community but—outside of the writing program—there really wasn't a space for graduate students to exchange ideas and feature our work. Roz's idea of establishing a blog or online journal gave us the opportunity to put what we were learning in the classroom to practical use.

Roz Hunter: As students, RE/VISIONIST offers us the opportunity to use an historical lens to examine contemporary issues and serves as an outlet to discuss how gender plays out today. We come from a multitude of educational backgrounds—including Women's Studies, Anthropology, English Literature, Political Science, and Fine Arts—and we aim for an interdisciplinary approach to current events.

Kate Wadkins: I find myself surrounded by a lot of entrepreneurial women who are pursuing their dreams of creative and scholarly work. For a long time, I wished I had access to some kind of publication to pull all this work together. RE/VISIONIST provides a resource for feminist voices.

What pnline spaces embody aspects of what you are trying to achieve?

Nydia Swaby: Racialicious is definitely an example of the kind of work we want to be doing. I also like Paradigm Shift; their tag line—"Use the 'F' word. Discuss. Evolve. Grow with Us. Change NYC. Change the World."—made me feel powerful, and I really enjoy their blog. Equal Writes, which was started by a group of students at Princeton, aims to do something similar to the work we do in saying that Feminism is not a dirty word.

Your publication features issues you see as absent from the larger discourse on women or feminism. How are you attempting to revise, revisit, or re-imagine the historical and contemporary issues you write about?

Nydia: We are reclaiming the notion of revising history not because we want to erase the things that happened in the past, but because we want to build on them. The name was inspired, in part, by a course that all first-year Women’s History Graduate students are required to take at Sarah Lawrence called "Visions/Revisions: Issues in US Women's History.”

Victoria Sollecito: Right, it was an historiography course, and it really pushed us to think about how history gets written and why and by whom and how it changes over time. So revisionist is a dirty word and feminist is a dirty word and we are both! How awesome is that? And we are using feminism as a framework for this re-visioning of history and culture and the media and politics and everything else.

Roz: The discipline of women's history aims to create a re/vision of the past and tell the stories of groups who have been written out of history books. Women's history can serve as a tool to uncover the lost social histories of remarkable individuals and groups who have been previously ignored. We believe that you cannot study history without critically analyzing the roles race, gender, sexuality, religion, ability, age, and class have played, and still play, in it. We strive to make sense of the social hierarchies that have and do exist, and how complex systems of domination (whether it be male domination, racial domination, or class domination) all work together to continue to oppress and marginalize. We aim to uncover lost histories.

Nydia: I became interested in writing about Amy Ashwood Garvey because it really shocked me that she was such an integral part of the Pan-African movement (many have suggested that she was the co-founder of the United Negro Improvement Association), yet you hardly ever find references to her in history books. Writing about her work seemed fitting for RE/VISIONIST because we aim to uncover these kinds of lost histories.

Kate: An exciting discovery I had was reading an excerpt from bell hooks' Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center where she describes challenging the notion of gender-as-the-ultimate-oppression by radical women of color and their White allies as "the basis of revisionist feminist theory." Reading this crucial starting point for intersectional feminist theory as revisionist was both inspiring and solidifying for our mission.

What you think about the term feminism? Is it an important term to use, to interrogate, to dismantle, to celebrate?

Roz: Many of our staff writers and contributors are wary of the term. We do celebrate the word, but we purposely pluralize it in our mission statement. It is very common to hear (White) women criticize the younger generation for not embracing the term, but we have many reasons to reject it. Feminism has had a history of exclusion and many feminist writings, speakers, and activists have used feminism to reinforce the status quo of race and class oppression. Feminism has often meant the promotion of the rights of White women at the expense of the rights of people of color, immigrants, queers, and the poor. We recently posted a quote from Barbara Smith that articulates some of our thoughts on feminism:

Feminism is the political theory and practice that struggles to free all women: women of color, working class women, poor women, disabled women, lesbians, old women—as well as white economically privileged, heterosexual women. Anything less than this vision of total freedom is not feminism but merely female self-aggrandizement.

Thea: The word feminism is important to preserve even though it has the power to be both divisive and galvanizing depending on the characteristics of the audience. I see feminism as a tool for unifying women in an era that encourages individuals to focus on relationships with those who share their unique experiences of oppression along—for example—racial, ethnic, and generational lines. This tactic may aid in revealing spaces where history has been negligent, but it also undermines the potential for unity. Women need to seek appreciation for their shared experiences while learning about those that are specific to their contexts. Feminism, as a word and an idea, offers a means for describing this coalition of sorts.

How do you overcome the exclusionary aspects of academic discourse?

Victoria: We want to move away from a definition of history that restricts the writing of history to senior tenured faculty members in history departments and restricts the subjects of history to dates of battles and the lives of the presidents. It isn't that those things aren't important; it's just that we feel like a twenty-first century visual artist's reflections on gender norms and expectations about sexuality are as important as any textbook.

Kate: Pop culture has its claws on the emerging minds of youth, as well as our psychic selves, and if we don't recognize its importance, we're just limiting our critique. This is a problem that exists in history, in pop culture, and in our lived experience—hence our aim to discuss all of those arenas and not privilege one.

Thea: We cannot avoid that we are engaged in the academic world and are, therefore, privileged no matter how vigilantly we may examine our work and the work of others in RE/VISIONIST. I feel our aim should be to recognize that, even as we try to illuminate the people and experiences traditional history has overlooked, we too are a part of an elite and, as such, may perpetrate similar acts of negligence.

Photo credit: Nydia Swaby

Written by: Lizzy Shramko, November 27th 2010

Mädchen in Uniform (Girls in Uniform)

payal — Thu, 28 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by Géza von Radványi

Wolfe Video

Manuela von Meinhardis despondently lays flowers on the grave of her mother. It is Prussia in 1910, and as an orphaned teenager, she isn’t left with many options.

Manuela’s aunt takes her to a convent, which is described as a citadel by the Headmistress, Sister Superior. “Poverty is an honor,” she barks at Manuela upon the girl’s arrival. “Get used to tragic blows—you are being trained to be the future mother of soldiers.” The militaristic attitude of Prussian culture is shown in various manners throughout the film: the girls march in formation to enter the convent, they eat in a mess hall, and they regard Sister Superior as their sergeant. Superior tells the students that the values of the school align with those of Prussian women: children, church, and kitchen. The convent is not a scholarly institution; the female students are being trained to serve man, God, and country.

A source of kindness and hope that the girls experience is in the form of Fraeulein von Bernburg. Sister Superior and the teacher von Bernburg are respectful to each other, although they are clearly at odds with each other. Superior welcomes rigidity, rules, and repercussions, while Fraeulein favors empathy and guidance. After a minor disagreement about student behavior, Superior predicts that she and von Bernburg’s paths will inevitably part some day. She fails to realize how quickly that day will arrive.

Manuela is in a new environment and still grieving the loss of her recently deceased mother, so it is easy to see why she gravitates towards Fraeulein von Bernburg. Not only is the teacher beautiful and kind; she genuinely cares about Manuela and wants her to thrive. But the relationship between the teacher and student is not destined to be gentle or effortless. Within the confines of the convent, feelings of repression, jealousy, and sexual curiosity stew among the girls and the all-female staff. This combination turns into a powder keg of sorts, with Manuela and her teacher directly at the center.

The relationship between the two is fraught with angst and drama, but it’s a relationship worth remembering. Despite the fact that the feelings between Manuela and her teacher are not accepted by the society in which they live, both women have a clear conscience about their actions—a lesson that should be noted by anyone, regardless of the culture or time period.

At first I doubted that I would enjoy the film. Honestly, I thought, will I care about a movie that takes place in a pre-World War I Prussian convent that is in German and barely qualifies as being rated PG? However, I was pleasantly surprised at the emotions I found myself experiencing throughout the course of the film: sadness, curiosity, and joy were just a few. And I was genuinely interested in the plight of the characters. The actions of the women at the convent reminded me that people always seem to fulfill roles that help them to cope with difficult situations. Sister Superior was the ailing but brutal general, commanding the troops. Fraeulein von Bernberg was the mother figure, offering tender support and comfort to the girls. One student even took on the role of class clown. Her morale-raising antics caused me to laugh out loud each time she took the screen.

Mädchen in Uniform offers viewers an honest and beautiful look at the relationships between women who are all at different, yet equally trying times in their lives. Its message rings true even fifty years after the original release.

Written by: Rachel Scheib, October 28th 2010

The Pillars of the Earth

gita — Thu, 07 Oct 2010 16:00:00 +0000

Directed by Sergio Mimica-Gezzan

Starz

The Pillars of the Earth is the best kind of paint-by-numbers historical fiction: while it exhausts almost every cliché of its period and genre, it is nonetheless entertaining, perfect for lovers of history, action, romance and drama. Set during the twelfth century period in England known as “the Anarchy,” The Pillars of the Earth comes complete with lustful monks, displaced monarchs, incest, power-mongering, jealousy, greed, rape and treachery.

The upside for female viewers, who might normally feel marginalized by run-of-the-mill historical epics, is that despite the fact that its running time of eight hours is jam-packed with said themes, the film still manages to include interesting female characters. And even though all of the characters have been created using a twenty-first century perspective, rather than one contemporary to the story, they pique our interest as to whether or not collective humanity has evolved much since the days of Catholic indulgences.

The central plot revolves around the building of a Gothic cathedral at a priory run by a monk with good intentions. One of Prior Philip’s good deeds is to rescue a resourceful fleece merchant Aliena, a noblewoman who was raised by her mother to choose her own destiny. She not only becomes an entrepreneurial force to be reckoned with, while trying to restore the noble status of herself and her brother, a battling knight; she also attracts the attention of several young men, two with ill intent. Whether it is because they resent or covet her power and independence, Aliena falls victim to rape and violence. This begs the question that modern women have been asking for over a century: can a woman be both independent and loved? Many feminists struggle with reconciling heterosexual love with financial/emotional/intellectual freedom.

Aliena probably would not have thought of her situation in this way, but the series does, especially as it juxtaposes her against two other independent women: Lady Regan Hamleigh, mother to Aliena’s first suitor turned rapist, and Ellen, a supposed witch and mother to Aliena’s true love. Hamleigh, despite a physical deformity that renders her largely unattractive, is able to manipulate the men around her using her sexuality and flattery. She is one of the masterminds behind many of the evil deeds that thwart construction of the cathedral.

Ellen, a disgraced novice who fled her nunnery after conceiving her son Jack, is unique in that she is literate and multilingual. She is thought to be a witch and is consequently feared by many, mainly because she makes a habit of “cursing” those who cross her, and speaks openly about sexuality. When summing up her faith in God to Prior Philip, she says: “I love God, though I don’t worship her quite the same way as you do. My church hasn’t as many rules as yours and is a lot more forgiving. And as for morality, I use love as my compass, which Christ seemed to approve of even if you don’t.”

Conventional motherhood is constantly challenged in The Pillars of the Earth, especially when the most nurturing “mother” turns out to be a monk named Johnny Eightpence, who saves an abandoned baby after his biological mother’s untimely death in childbirth. Eightpence nurses baby Jonathan with goat’s milk and hugs him close during his fledgling years, much to the bewilderment of those around them, masculine stoicism being the social expectation for men. In this story, women rebel against established authorities and men cower under the weight of chaos. It all leaves me wondering if things would have been different were women the wielders of swords?

The acting is generally fine with standout performances from Hayley Atwell (Aliena) and Eddie Redmayne (Jack). The production is atmospheric and sufficiently gritty, though film stock would have brought out the nuances of the sets and costumes better than the HD Video that was employed. The screenplay was adapted by John Pielmeier (Agnes of God) from the novel by Ken Follett; all episodes were directed by Sergio Mimica-Gezzan. The series benefits from the persistence of vision of single creators in both categories as its rhythm and style are consistent throughout. However, Pillars feels pinched for time with many major characters. Pielmeier dwells too long on the details of the war between competing monarchs—background information that viewers can research—and sacrifices quality time with the elaborate fictional world of Kingsbridge. All in all, The Pillars of the Earth is entertaining enough to keep viewers hooked for two months and could have stretched longer.

Written by: Rachel Moehl, October 7th 2010

The Two Horses of Genghis Khan

mandy — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Directed by Davaa Byambasuren

Atrix Films

When actor Urna Chahar-Tugchi was growing up, her grandmother showed her the hand-carved neck of an ancient violin—all that was left of a precious family heirloom. On it were a few words from a once-popular song called "The Two Horses of Genghis Khan." "No other song touches the soul of the Mongolian people like this one," Chahar-Tugchi says in Davaa Byambasuren’s powerful documentary, a tribute to cultural legacies called The Two Horses of Genghis Khan.

The story revolves around a promise Chahar-Tugchi made to her grandmother shortly before the elderly woman passed on—she would one day have the violin restored, making sure to inscribe every word of the song on the instrument’s body. But there’s a problem: No one seems to remember more than a refrain or two of the beloved tune.

As the story unfolds viewers learn that during the Cultural Revolution (1965-1976) China destroyed all things deemed “bourgeois” in the geographic regions it controlled. “During the Cultural Revolution a lot of things from everyday life were not permitted. Singing old songs would land you in jail,” Chahar-Tugchi reports. Instead, the regime sought to homogenize the culture, forcefully turning more than fifty ethnic groups—among them Mongolians, Tibetans, and Uyghurs—into one Chinese people.

The resentment of the groups being crushed continues, filmmaker Byambasuren implies, and has led many people to attempt to reclaim their lost histories. Chahar-Tugchi’s story fits squarely into this framework and the film traces a road trip undertaken by the now forty-two-year-old actor as she traveled—on foot, horseback, and in a van—from Inner to Outer Mongolia, searching for elders who might be able to assist her.

Byambasuren’s cinematography is spectacular and this moving—if at times preachy—eighty-eight-minute film depicts a staggeringly beautiful part of the world. One exquisite landscape after another is presented—and interviews with the people residing in these remote area are revelatory. One man, for example, offers a sobering note, advising Chahar-Tugchi—and the audience—that the natural beauty of the landscape is deceptive. In fact, he says, people and animals are being poisoned, and are dying, because of the sodium cyanide used to extract gold from the mountains.

It’s horrifying information and Chahar-Tugchi is visibly moved by what she is learning. At the same time, she refuses to be sidetracked from her search for the lyrics to her grandmother’s favorite song. Still, it gets her thinking, and as her exploration continues, the film asks a resonant—and always relevant—question: must old things be destroyed for something new to evolve?

As Chahar-Tugchi ponders this notion, she meets an elderly woman—she looks to be about 100—who was once a renowned singer. It’s a pivotal moment. “No, I don’t know the song anymore,” the woman says upon hearing Chahar-Tugchi’s request. “I’ve forgotten everything.” As she speaks, her facial expression changes from welcoming to fearful. Tensions lurk as the two continue to converse, but finally begin to melt after Chahar-Tugchi sings for the old woman. Ultimately, caution is thrown to the winds: The elder relents and sings "The Two Horses of Genghis Khan."

It’s a touching, maybe even stirring, denouement. “The two horses of Genghis Khan long for their flock/ When the snow on the mountains melts/ The brothers find their way back home again,” Chahar-Tugchi sings.

As she trills the long-forgotten tune, past and present blur. While Mao might scowl, the rest of us are reminded of the centrality of culture to political resistance.

Yes, we will sing and dance at the revolution.

Written by: Eleanor J. Bader, September 30th 2010

Paradoxes of Utopia: Anarchist Culture and Politics in Buenos Aires, 1890-1910

mandy — Sat, 25 Sep 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Juan Suriano, Chuck Morse

AK Press

In Paradoxes of Utopia, social and labor historian Juan Suriano explores the Argentinean urban anarchist movement at the fin de siecle. Drawing on archival sources, Suriano analyzes libertarian theory and practice in Buenos Aires through an analysis of anarchist books, newspapers, lectures, rallies, propaganda tours, fundraisers, theater groups, songs, rites, symbols, educational projects, and union organizing campaigns.

Suriano situates the urban anarchist movement in Argentina in the context of a rapidly modernizing nation and explores the influence of international anarchist figures and publications on the Argentinean movement. Arguing that historical studies have ignored radical politics prior to 1945, he focuses on explicitly anarchist institutions and publications, distinguishing anarchism from socialist and worker struggles while still acknowledging the relationships and overlap between these movements. He shows the many ways that anarchists in Buenos Aires contested the state, legal system, nationalism, religion, army, and electoral politics through cultural and study circles, alternative schools, radical presses, social events, worker organizing, and direct action.

Suriano describes the rise and eventual collapse of the anarchist movement in Buenos Aires. He outlines the many obstacles anarchists faced, including ideological conflicts, lack of coordination and trust between anarchists, a reluctance to analyze the specifics of Argentinean society, and the eventual marginalization of libertarian politics in favor of the more reformist agenda of socialist and worker groups. He also examines the effects of state repression in the form of Residency and Social Defense Laws, which curbed anarchist groups by criminalizing many of their activities.

While Paradoxes of Utopia outlines and analyzes in detail the political and cultural practices of urban anarchists in Buenos Aires, Suriano’s analysis falls short from a feminist perspective. The book offers tantalizing evidence that women were intricately involved in the anarchist movement as workers, wives, mothers, intellectuals, and comrades, yet he fails to fully consider the effects of women’s roles in shaping the movement. For example, at various points Suriano briefly touches on anarchist ideas concerning marriage and family structure, women’s liberation, sexual equality, and the persecution of prostitutes, but he does not fully explore these aspects of the anarchist movement.

The absence of women in Suriano's analysis does not seem to indicate that they were not involved in anarchist theory and practice. He mentions in passing the existence of an Anarchist Women’s Center and newspaper (Women’s Voice), women’s involvement in tenant strikes and social events, and the renown of several female anarchist lecturers and intellectuals. While dealing with archival sources can limit the scope of analysis, it does not appear that women’s role were completely obscured from the historical record. The lack of analysis regarding women's involvement in Paradoxes of Utopia points to the need for more studies on the role of women in radical social movements.

Despite this critique, Paradoxes of Utopia has a great deal to offer readers interested in historical and contemporary radical politics. Indeed, many of the difficulties faced by the anarchists in urban Argentina a century ago sound surprisingly similar to those that arise in radical social movements today: splintering based on ideological differences, state repression, lack of resources, high turnover, and competition with reformist social movements. This well-researched study is a valuable read for those interested in Latin American history, anarchist theory and practice, and labor movements.

Written by: Traci Yoder, September 25th 2010

Band of Angels

admin — Wed, 01 Sep 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Julia Gregson

Touchstone

It might be said that at heart, Band of Angels is a love story. But the course of love between Catherine Carreg and her childhood friend Deio is a convoluted, meandering one. Catherine and Deio grew up riding horses together in Wales in the 1850s. But when Catherine matures, her family puts a stop to her adventures with Deio, seeing it as improper for a young lady. After her mother dies in childbirth, Catherine feels lost and isolated. She wants to go out into the world and study medicine so she can help save lives, as a way to redeem a personal failure that she couldn't save her own mother.

Catherine escapes Wales with the help of Deio, who is a cattle driver. She dresses as a man and goes to London with him on a drive. Upon reaching London, Deio seems to want Catherine to stay with him, but she rejects him outright, refusing to see him after their furtive journey together. Catherine's determination to become a nurse or doctor is rewarded when she is accepted into Florence Nightingale's school for nurses. When Nightingale abruptly leaves for the Crimean war, Catherine begs to go with her.

In the meantime, Deio realizes the railroad will soon make his job as a cattle driver obsolete. Looking for other ways to make a living, he decides to sell horses to the Allied forces in the Crimea. He takes a number of his horses to Balaklava, knowing that Catherine is somewhere near there, and hoping he will find her somehow.

Catherine and Nightingale's other nurses end up in Scutari, far from the front, where thousands of wounded and ill soldiers are hospitalized. Here, they live in squalor, and food is a luxury. Soldiers die of typhus and other diseases more often than they die of wounds suffered on the battlefield. This is the most fascinating part of the story, but it takes more than half the book to get us to this point.

Gregson's research is strong, and she succeeds in making Wales, and the cattle drive to London, come alive for the reader. But there could have been much more about Nightingale and the procedures she used in the hospital in Scutari to offer the reader historical insight. Nightingale is a filmy character here, difficult to relate to, and the war itself seems very distant as well.

It is true that Nightingale has been characterized as standoffish in reality, but still, she had the passion to take her across the world and into hospitals where no women had been allowed before. We don't see much of that drive here. Catherine's motivation for going to the Crimea needed further development, as well. In addition, it seems a bit of a leap when Catherine starts longing for Deio after she so assuredly rejected him. The love story seems almost superfluous at times.

In spite of some plot and character flaws, the book, overall, does succeed in drawing the reader into a brutal world that we want to know more about. This is one of those imperfect books that keeps you reading, looking forward to more like this: “Blood was the hardest thing of all to wash out; all of them wore it like a permanent stain. They spent most of their time on the wards trying to take it from their tangled hair and old bandages, from faces and dolls and pictures and handkerchiefs; strange what the men carried closest to their hearts.”

Written by: Natasha Bauman, August 31st 2010

Glamour: Women, History, Feminism

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

By Carol Dyhouse

Zed Books

The word glamour has lost a lot of its allure and power these days, bandied about by fashion writers who use glamour interchangeably with polished, chic, elegant, and sophisticated. (Hey, I've been guilty of this occasionally!) That was the conclusion I came to after reading Glamour: Women, History, Feminism by Carol Dyhouse, a scholarly and well-researched book by a social historian.

Society's attitude towards glamour has changed depending on the fashions of the time, Dyhouse argues. Although it might be easy to peg glamour as a male-manufactured concept that traps women with rigid concepts of female attractiveness and breeds a vicious consumer cycle, she sees glamour differently. Instead, glamour is a force associated with "women on the make": women who use the trappings of glamour—clothes, cosmetics, furs, feathers, and lavish jewelry—to transcend class and gender barriers and prescribed societal norms, and to escape the drudgery and burdens of everyday life.

To support her arguments, Dyhouse looks at the evolution and vilification of glamour throughout the twentieth century. Screen sirens and Hollywood films popularized it in the 1930s and '40s and inspired working class girls to emulate the styles of their favourite actresses. However, even when glamour was at its peak, conservative societal elements objected to it. Older generations deemed wearing cosmetics immodest. The editor of British Vogue encouraged young girls to sport a "natural English look" instead of the crass painted-on look of American actresses. The upper classes disapproved of working class girls dressing "above their station" in the hopes of attracting suitors who were better off.

Glamour fell out of fashion in later decades. The 1950s saw the rise of Dior's New Look and domestic femininity, which stressed demure, elegant beauty over artifice and excess—more Grace Kelly than Gloria Swanson. The '60s marked the rise of the gamine girl (e.g., Twiggy, Jean Shrimpton, Audrey Hepburn), whose mod clothes and doe-eyed innocence stood in marked contrast to the womanly aura of glamour girls. The emphasis on natural looks in the '70s meant an even more radical departure from glamour. But there were some signs of a resurgence: musicians, Motown acts, and the founding of Cosmopolitan magazine paved the way for the glamazons of the 1980s and the resurgence of full-blown glamour.

I realize I'm being glib in my summary of Glamour, but a short blog post can't do justice to the wealth of detail and research that Dyhouse presents here (with lots of illustrated examples, no less!). A scholarly book can easily slip into joyless perfunctory prose full of -isms and jargon, but she writes with a genuine enthusiasm for her subject. I really enjoyed this glamorous romp through the twentieth century, and hey, if anything, I will never take the word glamour for granted again.

Cross-posted at Solo Lisa

Written by: Lisa Wong, August 20th 2010