The Misnomer Game

There seems to be a new trend: anti-feminists and people afraid of associating with feminism are co-opting the term “humanist” to distance themselves from misogyny. This act is not only an expression of anti-intellectualism but also a means of reinforcing patriarchy.

Humanism is an established theory that advocates the supremacy of the human being, as opposed to the divine. Accordingly, its primary focus is on rationalism. In addition, it entails the importance of the individual, democracy, human rights, personal responsibility, ethics, and creativity. It has nothing to do with equality. So, arguing that humanism offers an alternative to feminism evinces a lack of understanding of what both these terms mean.

Contrary to the insecurities of anti-feminists, feminism does not mean believing that women are superior to men. On the contrary, it is a response to the patriarchal system that values only the ideas, labour, aspirations, bodies, and lives of men—and even more so, men belonging to the dominant group. Those who reject it tend to do so owing to ignorance, the fear of upsetting the status quo that they feel protects them, or the fear of losing their privilege.

Despite the hard work of many scholars and writers throughout the world to educate about the concept of privilege, people still don’t seem to get it. I see all kinds of white people and upper class/upper caste people who firmly believe that they are where they are entirely because of merit, and that those who haven’t made the same achievements just aren’t working hard enough, or those who devote themselves to activism are just whining and making trouble. Adopting such an attitude is in itself an assertion of privilege; if you aren’t fighting systemic discrimination, you can go through life without ever seeing it and therefore believe that it doesn’t exist.

In Canada, you needn’t look far to find white people claiming that those who discuss race are promoting racism, and similarly in India, there are many people claiming that those who discuss caste discrimination are promoting casteism. Some make these assertions due to the ignorance their privileged position affords them, while others have a more insidious agenda to derail the conversation and do their bit to ensure that the hierarchy remains intact. The same is true of discussions about feminism, where the latter type is reinforcing patriarchy.

The desire of anti-feminists to appropriate humanism reminds me of the backlash to the Black Lives Matter movement. The top dogs are so used to being at the centre of everything that they can’t handle a discussion that isn’t about them; thus, the “All Lives Matter” misdirection was born, evincing a complete lack of regard for the structural racism that black people continue to face. The word “feminist” doesn’t mention men, so it doesn’t hit the right note for everyone, and since our patriarchal cultures revolve around men, using a term directed at the feminine is a faux pas. In addition, if you pretend a problem doesn’t exist, you don’t have to fix it. And isn’t that the point?

This Actually Has Nothing to Do with Anyone's Penis

About a year ago, I wrote about how women aren’t taken seriously, particularly when it comes to sex and sexuality. In that same post, I mentioned that I have often faced the question, “How do women have sex?” Okay, chill—I’m not going to give you an explicit description.

I was talking to some friends recently about sex because, you know, that’s what people do sometimes. So, something was said that was all too familiar sounding to me. I won’t get into specifics, as it would unnecessarily spotlight my friend, when my intention is just to use what she said as a springboard to discuss women’s sexuality. Suffice it to say that she implied that women who are attracted to women are limited in their sexual expression. Sex without the involvement of a penis seems like such a difficult concept for many people to grasp. And I think the deeper problem here is a lack of understanding of the anatomy.

We live in a phallocentric world, so it’s not at all surprising that everyone knows what a penis is, where to locate it, and what it can do. And you’re not likely to confuse the testicles with the penis. But consider this: How many times have you heard someone refer to the vagina when they were actually talking about the vulva? And how much mystery surrounds the clitoris in terms of its location, appearance, and function? And, yes, women themselves conflate their body parts all the time. Of course, you can always skirt around this issue by using the versatile ‘P’ word (meow).

Even when it comes to masturbation, I know some women who prefer store-bought implements to the tools they were born with. Someone told me once there isn’t enough time, so the vibrator is the most useful tool. Hmm… I’ll get back to that in a second. First, let’s talk about the aforementioned devices and their non-battery-operated cousins. I was in a shop the other night that sells some of these. I wasn’t even prepared for it, as this place is not a bona fide sex shop; I was browsing and suddenly it was as if I’d stumbled upon some phallus worship shrine. Even the small ones designed specifically for clitoral stimulation resembled little penises. Come on! Why do the people designing these things want to reinforce the idea that a woman’s pleasure should be associated with the penis? This is precisely the problem, if you ask me.

This brings me back to the comment about time. But the process of taking your little friend out of wherever you store it, starting it up, reacquainting yourself with it, responding accordingly… Really, this is fast? I haven’t tested this hypothesis (however, if someone has done the research and wants to share their results with me, I’m happy to listen). Perhaps I should have asked her to clarify which type she was referring to—for internal or external use—because one would likely be more effective than the other; however, given the automatic association between sexual pleasure and vaginal penetration, we may differ in which one we think would be more effective.

Something else happened this week that made me reflect on how women’s sexuality is viewed. I watched the dreadful, now infamous Bhupendra Chaubey interview with Sunny Leone. Much of a fuss has been made about her work in porn. In fact, if not for that, she might not be such a common name in India. In fact, I doubt I would have heard of her (despite her Canadian origins) if it wasn’t for all those articles in my Facebook feed about the so-called porn queen. Till date, I haven’t heard anyone discuss her work in Indian cinema—Chaubey gave it only a brief mention including the insinuation that Leone is bringing down the tone of Bollywood. Right, because the industry was dominated by brilliant thespians before they let Sunny Leone join the club (you can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes right now). Chaubey’s offensive, irritating questions were clearly meant to imply that she should be ashamed of herself. He went so far as try to blame her singlehandedly for the high porn consumption rate in India! One person is really that powerful, eh? I’m really over the hypocrisy of someone from the country with the second highest population in the world pretending sex is some Western concept polluting the local culture. There is too much to dissect in that interview, and if I go there, I will end up writing a long essay. The point is that this interview highlighted the strange fascination coupled with fear and loathing of women who are unashamedly sexual.

A confident, assertive woman should be a turn-on; or maybe what she arouses instead is insecurity. If women demand that their partner(s) be more attentive and less self-centred, is that so threatening? Women are supposed to look sexy, but be chaste, and just lie down when told it’s time to be penetrated? More than dehumanizing, that’s just gross. Women are not mere receptacles for someone else’s junk and spunk. It was a job; she did her job; she has nothing to be ashamed of; get over it.

Women are powerful. I understand this. All the insecure products of patriarchy throughout the world also understand this. Think of how empowering it would be to reclaim your body by being better educated about it and then disseminating that knowledge. When in doubt, use the Internet. That’s a tool worth exploiting.

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.