We're here, and we're not like you!

Recently, I had an epiphany. I was invited to a dinner party, where the majority of the attendees were to be queer people. My circle of friends has always comprised mostly people who identify as heterosexual, so such occasions are rare and very welcome. But well into the night, I realized that this wasn’t a simple get-together among friends; it was actually an educative exercise. We had a job to do—to enlighten a homophobic person at the table by showing him that we’re just like him. And here I thought my appeal was my dazzling conversation!

Normativity is a notion that I reject. It assumes that there is some basic standard against which everything should be measured, like the white, heterosexual, middle class and higher, able-bodied, cisgender male. It also implies that if you can’t tick all of those boxes, you must prove your worth as a viable human being to those representing the norm. So, without any ill intent, our host had asked us to do just that—i.e. prove ourselves—in the hope that it would help the homophobe see the light. How very ironic.

The epiphany happened after this bizarre episode, when I realized that this isn’t something I wish to do. As much as I like to challenge others and be challenged by them, I have no desire to be a tool in someone’s project to change another person. Indeed, no one should have to be part of something like this. So many people expend so much energy trying to fit in, fighting the bullies, the bigots, and the clueless, it gets exhausting. 

So, no, I’m not like that homophobe. And that’s perfectly okay. I don’t want or need his acceptance. If he thinks I’m an abomination, and that precludes him from ever trying to understand anything about me beyond my gender and whatever he perceives about my sexual orientation, that’s not my problem.

There is a reason why the adjective fabulous is often associated with queerness—it’s because queer people are a beautiful, mixed bunch of people who’ve had a multitude of experiences, and in the process of dealing with whatever we’ve encountered, we’ve honed our skill set, which might include humour, intelligence, artistic and other creative talent(s), and any combination of these. We are worth knowing precisely because of who we are, not in spite of who we are. The same can be said of so many people in this world, who have had different experiences, come from different backgrounds, speak different languages, understand different things or look at the same things differently.

How dreary it must be to only ever interact with people whom you perceive to be like you in every way. That sounds like a punishment to me, not a “normal” way of life.

Cold Comfort for Comfort Women

When I awoke yesterday to the news that the Japanese and South Korean governments had finally reached a consensus on the sexual slavery of Korean women during the Second World War, I felt a sense of relief. This relief, however, was replaced with disgust when I started reading the articles about this historic moment. The articles all framed this issue as if Japan and South Korea had signed a trade deal, focusing on the two countries’ relationships with the U.S., the one billion yen fund being set up for the remaining so-called comfort women (of whom only 46 are still alive), and referring to it as a “deal.”

In other words, these women were commodified by their colonial oppressors then and are once again being discussed as commodities in overtly capitalist terms. Consequently, their identity and suffering continue to be erased. Indeed, the issue has been referred to as though it is something to lay to rest, so political/economic partnerships can forge ahead. As Japanese Foreign Minister Fumio Kishida said, “I expect that the two countries will accept the outcome of the final negotiations meaningfully… I hope that the bilateral relations would start anew through implementing the agreement conscientiously.”

Deal, negotiations, agreement… These are not the terms one tends to use to discuss human beings’ lives. They scream CAPITALISM and NEOLIBERALISM. After all, within these ideologies, none of our lives actually matter, but some lives matter even less (Black lives, the lives of the members of lower classes and castes, the lives of women of colour, etc.).

As survivor Lee Yong-soo stated, “The agreement does not reflect the views of former comfort women… I will ignore it completely.” If this was really about the 46 women who are still living with these horrific physical and emotional scars, and the hundreds of thousands who have already died, Lee’s statement would have some impact.

The practice of discussing women’s oppression while simultaneously silencing their voices is quite common. Women’s importance in history and contemporary societies is at best given lip service and at worst overlooked entirely. Rafia Zakaria puts this succinctly in reference to the invasion of Afghanistan in 2001: “The Afghan woman’s blue burka became the symbol of sexual repression, the basis for the most righteous feminist indignation and of bombings and night raids. That the same women may not want their country bombed and occupied, or might wish to fight their own battles, were the sort of ifs and buts that were not entertained” (emphasis mine). Indeed, Zakaria’s piece, “Sex and the Muslim Feminist,” is an important read for those interested in considering how sex, sexuality, and women’s bodies are co-opted by capitalism.

Central to the discussion of the girls and women who were kidnapped, imprisoned, and raped endlessly—let us drop the euphemisms and call this what it was—is also the theme of honour and dignity. But whose honour is actually at issue here? Surely, if it was that of the girls and women who suffered, this atrocity would have been resolved decades ago or not happened in the first place. But women’s honour is always tied to that of the society; this is why rape is used as one of the weapons of war. It is an important detail that the statue in front of the Japanese Embassy in Seoul representing the victims is supposed to be removed. 

Once that is gone and the remaining survivors have died, the capitalist system can thrive unfettered by tedious reminders of old quarrels, and a new generation can fulfill its destiny of becoming obedient consumers and workers.

Consensus about subjugation aside, the message remains the same: Women—especially women belonging to marginalized groups—you don’t matter.

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.

Focus on the Inside

Physical appearance and being female are conjoined. When you’re a child, the cuteness of your outfit might overshadow your recitation of the alphabet; the fit of your gi may catch more attention than the precision with which you execute the kata you worked so hard to master to reach the next level in karate; your femininity may be judged before your straight As in school are; and when you’re older, your hotness will often predispose someone to assess your ability to carry on an engaging conversation. So, whether you consciously try to or not, you will pursue achieving some standard of beauty, and beat yourself up every time your jeans feel just a little bit tighter or you see a photograph of yourself.

Let’s say you fancy yourself a fairly rational person, and you commit to learning to accept yourself despite your physical flaws—and you succeed. You look in the mirror and you like what you see for the first time in your life. Problem solved, right? Wrong. Nothing else changes. You realize that while you were focusing on the outside, you forgot about the inside. You battled against those who judged your exterior, without seeing that you were guilty of the same behaviour.

I often come across statements meant to inspire, like “Accept yourself for who you are” or “Love yourself as you are.” In general, what do people really mean when they say “accept” or “love” yourself? If you’re a liar and a cheat, are you supposed to accept and love yourself as you are? Let’s be honest; such self-affirmations tend to be about body image.

I’ve been various sizes, and at no time did the shape and girth of my body affect how I lived my life or how I treated others or myself. So, while I advocate loving yourself, I reject the idea that we should accept ourselves as we are. At no point should we stop striving to be better people. And, as I see it, the key to being a better person is to recognize the interconnectedness between yourself and others, and your environment.

The notion of accepting ourselves as we are, besides reflecting superficiality, is born from a harmful individualism. When you see yourself as entirely autonomous, rather than as part of something far greater, it is easy to think negative thoughts, be driven by greed, and feel indifferent toward what is happening to others. You may even cut yourself off from the people you care for the most.

If I know anything, it is that my actions and words affect others, and if I fail to exhibit that awareness, if I don’t show compassion and love, I cannot accept myself as I am, no matter what I look like.

Covering Columbusing or Covering for Cultural Appropriation?

Is it okay to appropriate someone else’s religious festival for fun? Writing for the CBC, Adam Carter touches on this question in the article “Multicultural or ‘my culture’? Who ‘owns’ the colour festival?” Specifically, he addresses whether the event A Midsummer’s Dream, which began in 2012 and will be held for the fourth time on August 15 at Gage Park in Hamilton, Columbuses Holi. Columbusing refers to when white people “discover” something that has in fact existed for a long time.

This event is the brainchild of Mark Gowland, who aligns A Midsummer’s Dream with Holi in the celebration of “the triumph of good over evil and the renewal of spring.” He further describes his objective as follows:

[aiding] with the movement in helping humanity push forward towards a bright new future, that embodies inclusion, balance, and service. It was created to serve as a massive force for good in the community, and to create a spiritual vibration that would echo through the energies of the people who attend. We want to bring diverse group of people together and encourage them to do acts of good and make positive changes in their community. We want to honour the principles of Holi, and share that message here in Hamilton, in hopes of opening the hearts and minds of all who attend.

When I started reading the CBC article, what immediately struck me was the significance of the location of this event. Hamilton was recently ranked second on Canada’s list of cities with the highest rates of reported hate crimes. And Hamilton’s Hindu Samaj Temple, which is partnering with Gowland this year, was destroyed by arsonists in 2001, days after the 9/11 attack in the United States. Also relevant is that last year the arsonists were finally sentenced for burning down the Hindu Samaj Temple. It took more than a decade for the police to catch the suspects, and this hate crime was ultimately deemed “mischief” by the court. The members of the temple may have forgiven these men, but that does not mean that we should forget the crime or the outcome of the case.

Context matters. So, I was hoping the author would connect these dots in his article. Rather, it appears that the author’s intention in writing the piece had more to do with defending Mark Gowland than with mounting an argument for how one can borrow from a different culture without being guilty of cultural appropriation. I say this because he does not mention what Holi is until the final section of the article. The focus is instead on showing the reader that in researching the article, he reached out to the Hindu Samaj Temple management and McMaster University professor Chandrima Chakraborty.

The event’s website states that Gowland sought the advice of the Hindu Samaj Temple before launching the event in 2012, and the CBC article echoes this. But highlighting the mere fact that one obtains “permission” to hold a celebration from those whom it views as the owners of the celebration—which is problematic in itself—is an insufficient counter-argument against the accusation of Columbusing someone else’s culture. This is not a simple haters gonna hate situation. The truth is that Canadians are routinely shut down when they try to highlight racism in this country, thus preventing any further discussion on the matter. This is a real problem in Canada that is preventing us from living up to our commitment to multiculturalism.

In seeking to defend the event’s creator and overlooking the context of the setting of the event, the article is unwittingly dismissive. What is the point of borrowing from a tradition that celebrates the triumph of good over evil and renewal if you don’t acknowledge the local problems that need to be overcome?

Canada is a multicultural country, and Hamilton is a diverse city; we should come together and open hearts and minds. So why not discuss the significance of bringing people together in a city where some inhabitants are attacked for the colour of their skin and/or their religious affiliation? I’m curious as to why the Hindu Samaj Temple has only this year become a partner in the event, and how this might influence A Midsummer’s Dream.

The most important question is not who “owns” Holi, as the article’s title suggests, but how one goes about promoting multiculturalism and genuinely trying to understand each other.

Accepting Ugly Truths

Like countless others, I grew up watching The Cosby Show and Fat Albert. And for thirty years, the former remained my favourite TV show, re-watched with delight for years in re-runs on television and on DVD. I idolized Bill Cosby. I even saw him do stand-up live a little more than a decade ago and laughed myself to tears for the duration of the show.

But I have since had to accept that my childhood idol is a monster.

After the news broke this week that Cosby had himself admitted to obtaining Quaaludes to drug and have sex with rape women, and drugging at least one woman for this purpose, I thought his relentless defenders would admit that they needed to rethink their position. Thankfully, some have. However, the overall response seems to have changed very little. Some, like Whoopi Goldberg, still defend him, arguing that one is innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. Cosby’s admission of guilt while under oath isn’t close enough for Whoopi, I guess.

The fact that Whoopi Goldberg has allowed herself to become attached to this story in the media helps me bolster my argument. Thanks, Whoopi! She is another actor/comedian whose work I enjoyed as a kid. I saw The Color Purple probably before I was old enough to, and who didn’t love Sister Act and Ghost?! But that was Whoopi Goldberg acting; I never knew the real Whoopi Goldberg. Now that she is on TV and social media daily, with the ability to share her thoughts with the public, she can show us more than the characters she has portrayed on screen—and she’s not very impressive. Remember when she defended Justin Bieber for using the n-word, because she felt that it doesn’t have the same meaning in Canada as it does in the U.S.? Bill Cosby, too, might have written timeless material and played a convincing dad character, but we, his viewers, never knew his character because we enjoyed his work. I’m not sure if his defenders are clinging to their cherished memories of Heathcliff Huxtable or they just can’t admit that they need to change their position.

Was it easy to admit that my childhood idol is a monster? Of course not. But it had to be done. Life is about change. As you age, you realize this more and more. If you can’t learn and grow, and admit when you’re wrong or ignorant about something, then you’re not evolving as a human being. Our basic human nature should cause us to feel outrage and disgust in response to dozens of women accusing a man of sexually assaulting them.

The fact that there are people who continue to find it easier to question the women’s motives than accept that Cosby might be a vile man says something about North American culture.

Much has been written about rape culture, and fortunately this term has finally entered the mainstream discourse, making people question what they see and hear around them and generating discussion about what consent means. Thank you, feminists! By the way, the concept of consent is why I put a strikethrough through that text above, in case it didn’t click when you read it. Conflating sex and rape is part of why we still need to talk about consent and teach the ignorant—youth and adults alike—what it means. I had a conversation with someone about Cosby a few days ago, and I uttered the words, “He admitted to drugging women so he could have his way with them.” As those words came out of my mouth, I realized that the phrase “have one’s way with” is a euphemism that English speakers throw around like it’s nothing, and this shows how murky the understanding of consensual sex vs. sexual assault can be. Here is a great explanation of what consent is:

We tend to look outward rather than inward. It is easy to say things like, “Women are treated so badly there [insert the name of any so-called developing—read non-white-dominated—nation].” Introspection is hard work, but it is necessary. We must do it both as individuals and as societies. Besides the fact that the accusations of roughly 40 women don’t matter to everyone, the fact that people can make jokes about Cosby raping women, or say nonsensical things like “This happened so many years ago. Move on!” (a comment I saw in response to an article posted on Facebook) suggests that we have a cultural problem.

Let us not forget that marital rape wasn’t deemed a criminal act in Canada until 1983, and it wasn’t until 1993 that it was outlawed in all 50 U.S. states! How civilized are we, really? And honestly, is there ever a time when a woman’s accusation isn’t met with questions about her character or behaviour? Yet some men seem to take it personally when another man is accused of rape, as in Bill Cosby’s case, as though the default position—in complete contrast to how women are looked at—is that one should naturally assume a man’s character to be good.

I have learned in the last year. I have learned that I used to idolize a monster; I have learned that it is okay that I used to idolize a monster, because I didn’t know that he wasn’t worthy of my idolatry; I have learned that a woman’s word is still of less value than a man’s in this culture; I have learned that education about sex and consent is still lacking and is absolutely essential; I have learned that rape culture is insidious and must be identified and challenged on an ongoing basis; and I have learned that it is important for these stories to come out, if for no other reason that the reactions to them shine the spotlight on the individuals and systems that either tacitly support patriarchy or utterly despise women.

Don’t “move on” from this. Grow up and have difficult discussions with yourself and others about unpleasant and inconvenient truths, like the fact that Bill Cosby is a monster who got off on raping unconscious women and has been getting away with it for decades because women’s choices and bodies are not necessarily their own.