Not Shutting Up

More than once, a woman has said to me, “My husband is the one who follows politics” or “My husband is the one who deals with that stuff.” To me, such declarations mean “My husband is the one who does the thinking in our house.” I love that this is not my situation. I love being an independent woman, and as an independent woman, I can say and do whatever I want. And that’s just what I’m going to do.

Last week, there was a series of discussions on the public broadcaster in Ontario on the issues of boys and men. As someone who cares about equality and who thinks that patriarchy is incredibly damaging to males, I was intrigued. The word “misandry” was used and defined, but never really contextualized; nor was the question of what can be done to address why men feel ignored and largely irrelevant posed. In addition, in the discussion of how the education system focuses on girls and neglects the struggles of boys to catch up, no thoughts were offered on how we might help boys and encourage them to stay in school.

I know that there are men in Canada who feel like they don’t matter, and I know that some of them go so far as to claim that they are oppressed. I’ve heard it from their mouths; I’ve seen it in print. Who do you think they view as their oppressor? Like white people who complain of reverse racism, such men believe that they are being oppressed by women. I use the verb “believe” because the nature of oppression requires that the oppressor be the one with the power, and the reality is that white, able-bodied, cisgender men still run the show, and those who argue that they are being disenfranchised by feminists tend to be white, able-bodied, cisgender men.

Yes, women continue to be favoured in child custody cases, and yes, girls tend to be ahead in terms of verbal communication and reading when they start school, and thus the curriculum is skewed towards them because they perform better. These are real issues that need to be addressed. But these are not legitimate arguments showing that men are victims of misandry, although they are always used for this purpose. I think these are excuses for men to hate women who aren’t satisfied with the status quo. I think, like white people who complain that their cities and countries are being taken over by immigrants, this is all about fear of losing supremacy—supremacy, by the way, that is still firmly in place.

A lot of men would literally rather do anything than listen to a woman speak her mind. And women of colour get shot down twice when they try to express themselves, as they are seen doubly as inferior.

Interesting to note, this word processing software that I’m typing on doesn’t recognize misandry as a real term. Tell me, is that a plot hatched by the evil feminists running Microsoft???

I think it’s also noteworthy that in the two aforementioned discussions about misandry and the changing roles of men and women throughout history, a woman was doing the talking. I wondered why. Could it be because if a man was talking about this, he would immediately be viewed as antagonistic and anti-woman? Or could it be because patriarchy is so destructive that it prevents men from talking about their feelings? A little of both, perhaps.

I spent decades watching my mother work herself to ill-health to get ahead, to prove that she was worthy. In fact, one of her bosses told her that he wouldn’t promote her because she was a woman. You could say those things out loud back in the day. I suspect such men miss the good ol’ days. She played the game; she kept upgrading her certifications, so there would be no excuses not to reward her for her devotion to her employer and her job. When the system itself started to shift, she got a management position. But she was still paid less than the men in similar roles. Her employer wouldn’t hire an assistant to help her, though others had them. So, she worked long hours including weekends. She earned something resembling what she was worth finally once they knew she was going to retire. A condescending little pat on the head for a job well done. And when she retired, they divided her job into two high-paying positions—two positions that came with assistants, because no one could do, or was willing to do, the amount of work she had done. But sexism is over, right? Everyone is equal now; in fact, women are more equal, right? So, we should just shut up, right?

Sometimes I’m tempted to shut up. This is especially the case when I feel that no one gives a damn about anything, least of all about me and whatever I have to say. But there are other times when I feel this way and that is precisely why I don’t want to shut up. Sometimes when I read articles and the responses to them, or I have my own experiences that remind me of my position as compared to men, I get so angry that I want to hit something. How unladylike of me, no?

I actually do want to hear what men think, because if they feel disposable or despised, it’s important that we understand why that is. What I’m not interested in is hearing that women are somehow oppressing them, because that isn’t productive; all that does is promote misogyny (the software recognizes that one).

The discussion about education didn’t offer any solutions, but I have one. It won’t be popular. But if the differences between boys and girls in terms of development are causing long-term harm, it might be necessary. Boys’ and girls’ classes in the lower grades. If boys need special attention when it comes to developing certain skills, like reading, I don’t see anything wrong with employing techniques that target their needs while simultaneously focusing on girls’ needs in their own classes.

What I don’t have are solutions to get the sexes on the same page and to respect each other and appreciate what we share and what makes us different. And I’m not talking about our bodies. I already know I’m appreciated for being different that way; I’m reminded all the time. Maybe women can teach men how to be subtle, and we can have that in common. We can have seminars: How to check out a woman without being creepy. Yeah, yeah, it’s a compliment, right? I should be grateful. I was actually told that once. LOL. And you wonder why I might have a little womanly rage?

We all need to do our bit to do better. That’s really all I’m getting at. Women, if you’re not interested in politics or social issues, fine. But don’t wear your ignorance like a badge of honour because it means that you’re playing your part as the good little wife. Make sure you do have some interests that you pursue while your husband is thinking about politics and social issues. And don’t think it’s cute that your husband handles all the finances and stuff related to your assets, because he might die before you. Sorry for being a killjoy, but it’s a fact. You don’t want to be completely lost, especially at a time when your whole world has been turned upside down. And men, forget everything you’ve learned about what it means to be a man, if you’ve learned anything, because apparently this is one reason why boys and men are struggling.

Angry woman rant over.

Reading Between the Lines Drawn

The July–August issue of Biblio: A Review of Books includes Sharanya Minivannan’s mostly positive review of the anthology Drawing the Line: Indian Women Fight Back, published by Zubaan Books. I was fortunate to be among the first to see this anthology after its publication, and I have read several reviews of it. For the most part, this compilation of Indian women’s graphic stories has received positive feedback. Minivannan also sings many of its praises, but in her critique, I was struck by her failure to read between the lines of Drawing the Line. It’s natural to be hard on the author/artist for not digging deeper, but as readers/critics, perhaps we, too, need to delve a little deeper in our analyses.

My aim is not to pick apart the critique. As I stated, the review is overwhelmingly positive, and the issues that Minivannan highlights are valid points. In particular, as she and other critics note, not a single story in the anthology tackles caste. Perhaps the context of this particular gathering of artists (i.e., well-educated, middle class, English-speaking, city-dwelling women) indicates why this discussion does not take place. I have observed over the years that with the exception of some academics and activists, middle class Indians are not discussing caste. Moreover, as is always the case, those at the top of the social hierarchy and those living in environments where it seems on the surface that caste doesn’t exist have the privilege of pretending that it isn’t an issue. Drawing the Line provides evidence that this privilege exists. That isn’t to say that these artists don’t think about caste, but perhaps due to their socio-economic position, it wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when they were communicated the theme of the workshop that led to this publication. So, perhaps the problem is not that these 14 artists didn’t choose to tackle the issue of caste but that so few people who are privileged to be given a voice think of doing so.

The most striking critique to me—and I suppose to the author, as she highlights the issue several times in her review—is that the graphic stories uniformly depict middle class, urban, cisgender, heterosexual experiences. Again, due to the context of this gathering of artists, it should surprise no one that the works mostly portray the urban, middle class experience. In addition, if you choose a group of cisgender women to participate in a workshop, their stories will likely portray the lives of cisgender women. As in the case of caste, as cisgender people, they have the privilege of not having to think about what it means to live any other way. And in India, when one thinks of the transgender community, the mind likely goes to the hijra one encounters on the road; other trans representations are largely absent. For those of us who are cisgender, we must consciously start to think about the experiences of those who are not. And maybe the 14 artists in question are now doing so thanks to Minivannan’s observation.

As for the absence of queerness from the pages of this anthology, I shook my head and wondered where Minivannan is living. Indeed, this reaction is what prompted me to write this response to her critique. Homosexuality is an actual crime in India, and while queer voices are increasingly emerging in the English language media, homosexuality and bisexuality remain topics that many people avoid discussing. Of course, when you assemble a group of artists, chances are, at least one of them will not identify as heterosexual. It’s both a numbers game and a reflection of the fact that LGBTQ people have a long history of artistic expression. But when asked to contribute to a fairly mainstream publication, how many people would be comfortable outing themselves? Furthermore, is it really their duty to do so? On this point, I think one really does need to read between the lines of Drawing the Line. It is rather unfair to accuse these women of upholding the primacy of heteronormativity, since not all the stories reflect the heterosexual female experience—and I suspect there is a reason for that. When one does not live in an open society, one learns to be discreet. While I absolutely agree with Minivannan’s assertion that queerness is part of the Indian experience, perhaps she could have deduced meaning from the absence of male characters as partners or the grotesque depictions of the male body. True, in Drawing the Line, you will not find the cry, “We’re here, we’re queer, get used to it!” But even those who live openly as queer people would likely find it difficult to highlight this experience for the eyes of the world. Is this the shortcoming of the artist or the reality of the society in which she lives and the product of the circumstances in which this work evolved? After all, when asked to discuss women’s issues, wouldn’t most of us by default opt for something that we think most women would identify with? Consequently, I would argue that the conspicuous absence of a clear queer voice is an effect of living in a heteronormative world.

While I appreciate Sharanya Minivannan’s review of Drawing the Line, her perspective reflects the very disconnect she seems to identify in the pages of the anthology. I think we would all benefit from digging deeper and noting not only the shortcomings of others but thinking about the bigger picture of why those shortcomings might exist.