3rd World Feminism, Theory Response #2
The theory articles for this week seem united in asking white/Anglo women to stand back, relinquish a stance of authority, and learn to listen, really listen, to women of color. Sylvester couches this in the accessible, appealing concept of "world-traveling" - moving between worlds and subjectivities. She implies that white/Anglo women -and, really, any women - can, with mindfulness and humility, respectfully hear and witness worlds other than their own. They can, with a good will and constant self-checking, learn to Other themselves and travel as strangers to strange lands. Likewise, it seems that Nfah-Abbenyi advocates a similar kind of hearing - the examples she presents of being distinctly Not Heard by white women come across as a failure of communication - on the white woman's part. They are the "arrogant perceivers," to use Sylvester's term, refusing to hear, to listen. They stop at their own ideology, their own privilege, rather than relinquishing their assumption of authority and knowledge in order to hear another woman's voice instead of appropriating it. As a white/Anglo woman, the sort of self-Othering offered by Sylvester and Nfah-Abbenyi sounds right; this sounds like something I can do as part of my feminism - be mindful never to assume primacy of place, of culture, of ideology. I can go elsewhere with humility, attempting to relate without colonizing. Sylvester gives me hope for myself as a white feminist, for all white feminists who want to be in communication, in relationship, in friendship with women of color.
In Lugones and Spelman, though, this general idea is written in harsher terms, in language which made me feel as if the effort would be a lifelong toiling, a process fraught with silence and shame for my status as a member of the white/Anglo feminist norm. I felt as though they were asserting that the only way to rectify the silencing done to women of color was for white/Anglo women to experience the same things that these women have been through. And I, in my privileged situation, where I can afford to be all sweetness and light, couldn't believe that they would want to inflict the struggles visited on them upon other women. I even had a "Why are they so hostile?" moment. Of course...why should women of color expect us (white/Anglo women) to do any less work, to feel any less alienated than they have? But I suppose I believe that this Othering does not have to be a hostile, painful, and alienating experience - which may simply mean that I have not yet really been able to Other myself. I do believe that Othering is always a boundary-pushing, comfort-zone overreaching, experience...but I find myself struck by the difference between the sense of wonder and connection I find in Sylvester's work and the profound sense of alienation I feel in Lugones and Spelman. I find myself wondering, again from a position of sweetness-and-light, if acting from a position of fear, hositility, and mistrust is any way to affect an understanding across lines of race and culture. On the other hand, that is the position where some women of color find themselves - and why not? They are certainly entitled to their anger, to their fears, to their resistance to being vulnerable to white/Anglo women. And, to be fair, Lugones and Spelman are not pushing for an "understanding," per se - that's not an obligation for white/Anglo women. We are, though, obligated to keep out of the business and theory of women of color unless we have approached them, slowly and with humility, in a spirit of friendship. It is hard, though, to imagine approaching a community "in friendship," which to me implies essentially equal grounds, when the language coming out of that community feels so shaming of me. It is the same sick feeling I get in my gut when I have unwittingly hurt a friend or lover. How can I approach, when they look at me like that? How can I say hello without apologizing for myself, and how empty that will sound! I can approach as a student, as an ignorant one who's seen something different and beautiful and wishes to understand and thus love it for itself, on its own terms - but then I risk being a colonizer, a tourist, who goes to see the exotic, the beautiful. My words seem to be wrapping around themselves. I have a deep sense of humility, of being a guest in someone else's world, a stranger in someone else's home...but somehow, I feel that it's not enough, for Lugones and Spelman.
When I reached the Makuchi story, it seemed like I got Sylvester's "world-traveling". I was given a glance, as an outsider, as the Other, into another world - much the same way as I felt when I was reading The Joys of Motherhood. I heard the pain and witnessed Jikwu's struggles - but I knew I could not comprehend what it meant for him, in his culture. I witnessed his mother, dealing with long-repressed anger and grief - and oh, how that hurt! But I was outside, able to empathize, to relate to her grief in the most minute way based on my own experiences with being silenced by men; however, I could not sympathize. I could not appropriate her experience and say, "I understand." This made me wonder: is this world-traveling? Can I practice Othering myself when I read theory, when I read fiction? Can this academic practice provide a way for me to practically grow as a feminist? I am a lover of Story. If I were not, I wouldn't be in grad school. I love stories, and I believe in their power. Once a story has spoken to me, moved me, it gets inside of me and becomes integrated in a way that is more lasting and permanent than theory - sometimes, than everyday life. Of course, if I have fine stories of feminism but have not practical applications, then I am but an ivory-tower feminist with my nose buried in books. It is a comfort to me, though, to think that the fiction I read, the stories I love, can also be grounds for practicing world-traveling, for practicing shutting up and just listening, for letting go of my privileged status and being Other for awhile. Perhaps this just stems from my longing to make things easier, more manageable, more accessible, but I hope not.
In other news, tomorrow afternoon is getting devoted to bead shopping and scavenging around Camelot Treasures, because everything they have is 30% off - Yay! Because they're going out of business. Boo.
In Lugones and Spelman, though, this general idea is written in harsher terms, in language which made me feel as if the effort would be a lifelong toiling, a process fraught with silence and shame for my status as a member of the white/Anglo feminist norm. I felt as though they were asserting that the only way to rectify the silencing done to women of color was for white/Anglo women to experience the same things that these women have been through. And I, in my privileged situation, where I can afford to be all sweetness and light, couldn't believe that they would want to inflict the struggles visited on them upon other women. I even had a "Why are they so hostile?" moment. Of course...why should women of color expect us (white/Anglo women) to do any less work, to feel any less alienated than they have? But I suppose I believe that this Othering does not have to be a hostile, painful, and alienating experience - which may simply mean that I have not yet really been able to Other myself. I do believe that Othering is always a boundary-pushing, comfort-zone overreaching, experience...but I find myself struck by the difference between the sense of wonder and connection I find in Sylvester's work and the profound sense of alienation I feel in Lugones and Spelman. I find myself wondering, again from a position of sweetness-and-light, if acting from a position of fear, hositility, and mistrust is any way to affect an understanding across lines of race and culture. On the other hand, that is the position where some women of color find themselves - and why not? They are certainly entitled to their anger, to their fears, to their resistance to being vulnerable to white/Anglo women. And, to be fair, Lugones and Spelman are not pushing for an "understanding," per se - that's not an obligation for white/Anglo women. We are, though, obligated to keep out of the business and theory of women of color unless we have approached them, slowly and with humility, in a spirit of friendship. It is hard, though, to imagine approaching a community "in friendship," which to me implies essentially equal grounds, when the language coming out of that community feels so shaming of me. It is the same sick feeling I get in my gut when I have unwittingly hurt a friend or lover. How can I approach, when they look at me like that? How can I say hello without apologizing for myself, and how empty that will sound! I can approach as a student, as an ignorant one who's seen something different and beautiful and wishes to understand and thus love it for itself, on its own terms - but then I risk being a colonizer, a tourist, who goes to see the exotic, the beautiful. My words seem to be wrapping around themselves. I have a deep sense of humility, of being a guest in someone else's world, a stranger in someone else's home...but somehow, I feel that it's not enough, for Lugones and Spelman.
When I reached the Makuchi story, it seemed like I got Sylvester's "world-traveling". I was given a glance, as an outsider, as the Other, into another world - much the same way as I felt when I was reading The Joys of Motherhood. I heard the pain and witnessed Jikwu's struggles - but I knew I could not comprehend what it meant for him, in his culture. I witnessed his mother, dealing with long-repressed anger and grief - and oh, how that hurt! But I was outside, able to empathize, to relate to her grief in the most minute way based on my own experiences with being silenced by men; however, I could not sympathize. I could not appropriate her experience and say, "I understand." This made me wonder: is this world-traveling? Can I practice Othering myself when I read theory, when I read fiction? Can this academic practice provide a way for me to practically grow as a feminist? I am a lover of Story. If I were not, I wouldn't be in grad school. I love stories, and I believe in their power. Once a story has spoken to me, moved me, it gets inside of me and becomes integrated in a way that is more lasting and permanent than theory - sometimes, than everyday life. Of course, if I have fine stories of feminism but have not practical applications, then I am but an ivory-tower feminist with my nose buried in books. It is a comfort to me, though, to think that the fiction I read, the stories I love, can also be grounds for practicing world-traveling, for practicing shutting up and just listening, for letting go of my privileged status and being Other for awhile. Perhaps this just stems from my longing to make things easier, more manageable, more accessible, but I hope not.
In other news, tomorrow afternoon is getting devoted to bead shopping and scavenging around Camelot Treasures, because everything they have is 30% off - Yay! Because they're going out of business. Boo.