by Maria-Jose Soerens
Let’s face it: labels are handy not only because in a fast-paced world identity sources are fragile, but also because naming can be a powerful political act. In my circles, I often run into people who label themselves as “feminists.” I have done it too, but I’m increasingly growing fond of “post-colonial” (indeed, all contributors of this blog describe themselves as such).
Feminism has been powerful in questioning patriarchal systems, and calling into question who gets to name what and why. However, I join my black feminist sisters in believing that choosing to explain the world exclusively through the eyes of gender (as middle-class white feminists do), leaves out realities of oppression that stem not only from race but also from class, poverty, and the agenda of the U.S. empire.
I see this among Seattle therapists all the time: “I want to work with women,” some say. Or “we want to build a space that will welcome women only.” It is true: women suffer from oppression based on tradition and religion throughout the world at all times. Women are stoned, beaten, raped, used, underpaid, undermined, brutally abused, sold into slavery in a higher percentage than men, sold as property, all over the world. And this is not a matter to be taken lightly– we must continue advocating for women’s voice to be heard and for equality in every possible way. That said, I also believe that looking at men as more privileged just because of their gender is to dangerously miss the point.
When we dare to look at poverty and oppression (and I say “dare” because many people are so uncomfortable looking at these that they have become a taboo), we soon see that poor men, indigenous men, black men, muslin men, homeless men, prostituted men, sexually-abused and exploited boys, veterans, and immigrant men are also in much need of help. In other words, oppression goes beyond gender.
From the Mexican migrant worker who became landless after NAFTA and could not feed his family, to the Sudanese soldier who is raping women, acting out the raping of his people by the hands of European Empires, men also face oppression and poverty. Our enemy is not manhood. Our enemies, instead, are , greed, comfort, broken relationships, self-indulgence, oblivion, and passivity in the face of injustice.
It is when we look at our own brokenness and are able to receive love in the midst of that darkness, that we can find grace towards one another and build bridges between genders, nations, and class divides. Because it is only through present and consistent relationship that we can fight against the empire within.
Ignacio Martín-Baró, a Spanish priest and proponent of the Psychology of Liberation, who died by the hands of a Salvadorian death squad in 1989, spoke about the internalized oppression of the Salvadorian people and called us to recognize trauma as a pervasive and collective experience, rooted in the distortions of social relations and the disruptions of community life that are the products of an oppressive, terror-ridden society.
What we are aiming for is not only gender equality, but liberation from the chains of poverty and oppression that find their roots in imperialistic projects of domination, and we cannot fight fire with fire. The White Feminist movements of the 80s and 90s are a testament to this. Even though my generation can be extremely grateful for counting with much more choices than our mothers did, the legacy of this movement was pretty much to prove that women could sin in the same way than men. Women not only proved that we are capable of working and studying, and deserving of the same salary, but we also proved that we could be greedy, and power hungry, and disconnected during sexual intercourse (Carrie Bradshaw anyone?). The narrative was pretty much the same: We will conquer an empire and we are entitled to our share. In the meantime, women and men all over the world continue to be crushed by poverty and injustice, and our blindness to it continues to cripple our policies.
My point being: our struggle is greater than gender differences and our task is to extend our hand and set a liberation agenda, promoting equal access to democracy in every way we can. Because, oppression is pervasive and the empire is within.
Imagine a world where men are being healed… what difference would that make for women (and men).
“…to the Sudanese soldier who is raping women, acting out the raping of his people by the hands of European Empires, men also face oppression and poverty.”
* Seriously?!?!?
Rebekah, thank you for speaking up and naming something you felt was wrong. I knew that was a risky sentence to write, but I went for it because the horror it describes faces us with the question at hand: what is our response in the face of such hellish atrocity?
My first gut response was to stone each one of them to death… but that would not solve the problem. The point of that sentence was to show an example where oppression leads to more oppression, and that compassion towards our enemies is not an easy act.
There is much to say about this and I’d love to hear your comments behind that passionate “Seriously?”
I love the grace you offer to the Sudanese soldier. Jesus didn’t tell us to pray “forgive us our trespasses, except for rapists, murderers, and repeat child abusers.” Good on you, Cote.
good stuff