On the Power of Discourse: Intersections between Feminism, "Human Rights," and Marxism

In her work Feminist Theory, from Margin to Center, bell hooks addresses the inextricable link that gender and race/class often have—a fact that became apparent in the midst of the (third-wave) feminist movement that, in attempts to be all-encompassing, failed to address the individual experiences that women had, as shaped by their race. This normative “one-dimensional perspective of women’s reality,” portraying race and gender as mutually exclusive, was not one she found to be representative of her (or other women of color’s) lived experience (hooks 3). Over-generalization became exclusionary in a way that, unfortunately, paralleled elements of society that they were already protesting; perhaps unintentionally on the part of white middle-class feminists, they had drawn attention to the complexity of race relations and their undeniable influence on society. Through comparing hooks’ writing to works by Raymond Williams and Randall Williams, I will consider the implications—both racial and societal—of dominant discourse; what do the terms with which public matters are framed say about power structures (whether intentionally or not)?

hooks found the notion of women’s common bond, as voiced by the “white women who dominate feminist discourse” not only problematic but also highly representative of “white supremacy as a racial politic, of the psychological impact of class, of their political status within a racist, sexist, capitalist state” (hooks 4). Even if the intention was to unify women through defining a collective struggle, the method with which white women (as the movement’s dominant voice) did so may have indicated their unwillingness to acknowledge racial differentiation while simultaneously reaping the benefits of their whiteness. On the other hand, what may have externally appeared to be unwillingness to differentiate may have in reality resulted from a “lack of awareness” of the power setting oneself apart, never having had to experience struggle for lack of racial privilege (hooks 4). This calls into question the basis of societal norms that have become so engrained in people’s minds that they may affect social standing without necessitating awareness of relation to others. The disparity between women’s experiences, as shaped by their race, was only further emphasized by its exclusion in normative discourse—which in turn re-enforced its existence to those of less-privileged social standing. Perhaps in this context, the use of generalizations can only be damaging (even if well-intentioned) through necessitating energy detracted from the original effort in order to address relevant matters of race. Because the discursive frame can be so powerful in shaping public opinion, it is necessary to be cognizant of who is responsible for representation and what that group’s motivation might be for adhering to a specific mode of portrayal. In this case, the lack of counter-hegemonic representation became illustrative of the role of race (and thus social standing) in determining available resources. hooks raises pertinent questions, asking, “who was there to demand a change in vocabulary? What other group of women in the United States had the same access to universities, publishing houses, mass media, money?” (hooks 6). The exclusion of the undeniable diversity of experience as shaped by race sends the message that certain women have the power to define collective experience, whether or not it is based in individual reality.

In The Divided World: Human Rights and Its Violence, Randall Williams discusses the danger of over-generalization in the context of human rights discourse. Here too, just as with feminist theory, the discursive frame is highly indicative of the intentions of those responsible for its constitution. The perception of human rights can easily shift from one end of a spectrum to the other, having the potential to be viewed either as “optimistic formulations” that encourage hope or as “ [providing] a convenient cover for the extension of capitalist-democratic uneven relations of power by reinforcing imperialist hegemonic control” (Randall Williams xv). Ironically (and unfortunately), although human rights discourse may have initially emerged as a way of addressing societal injustice, it seems that the ever-growing disparity between the “haves” and the “have-nots” only emphasizes (for those willing to acknowledge it) that while it may be serving a strategic purpose, the benefits are not being experienced by those most in need of them. As a powerful capitalist nation, the United States has historically been able to publicly justify colonial, economic self-interest through an appeal to public sympathy for human rights. But whose rights are actually being protected when “since 1945, the advance of global capitalism has been, in the main, driven by the ascendance of U.S. imperial power (economic and military)”? (Randall Williams xix). Even today, the U.S. employs the “hegemonic maneuvering” Williams discusses, as it defends military attacks clearly serving political self-interest and power by portraying such actions as liberating the human rights of less-developed (and non-white) nations in “need” of intervention. In this case, too, race is linked to privilege and notions of power over others, including the ability to manipulate public opinion to disguise the presence of such notions.

Although Raymond Williams, in Marxism and Literature, is discussing notions of discourse in more philosophical terms, the implications for race and society are just as real. Williams applauds Gramsci’s “necessary recognition of dominance and subordination” in social processes shaped by class inequalities (which are undoubtedly informed by race) (Raymond Williams 108). He acknowledges the power of excluding experience from hegemonic discourse in a way that parallels hooks’ discussion of a similar phenomenon. It is only through including the various interdependent aspects of lived experience in a given society that “the concept of ‘hegemony’ [can go] beyond ‘ideology’” (Raymond Williams 109). It seems that Williams is begging the question: what purpose does hegemonic discourse serve if it fails to provide an accurate, non-linear portrayal; doesn’t this detract from the action that would ideally be encouraged by political discourse, reducing it to a simple abstraction? The constant interplay between the hegemonic and counter-hegemonic that Williams mentions can certainly be seen in hooks’ struggle against exclusive feminist philosophy in addition to Randall Williams’ appeal to consider the strategy surrounding human rights’ discursive frame.

Absurdity and the Internet

I can appreciate the absurdity of the internet as a means of expressing nostalgia for "the simpler times." (Yet another confirmation that this world is rife with contradictions...) At the same time that technological devices and the internet's prominence in many people's daily lives is representative of how much society has changed in a relatively short period of time, they also provide an avenue through which some attempt to re-connect to those very aspects of life that have been altered.

The shifts accompanying this "digital age" become a reflection of societal values, while also calling into question some essential, very human questions that people have, perhaps, always asked (and maybe always will). The questions may be the same, even though the contextual framework may have shape-shifted.

Take, for example, the app(lication)s and websites that can "turn" people's photos into polaroids (aka inserting a white border around the image). As analog film slowly becomes a thing of the past (not fully obsolete by any means, and yet dis-proportionately unfavorable in comparison to its digitized format), I find it interesting that people are still yearning for the look of something that they may no longer value in its "authentic" form. Of course, this elicits consideration as to the very nature of "authenticity" not to mention the question of what part of something makes it valuable--is it form, process, even function? Like so many things, perhaps it's just a matter of subjectivity...

As an adult, I can look back on my childhood and reminisce on the days of phone books, card catalogs, dial-up internet (and maybe some vague re-collections of a time without internet), even pay-phones. Though a retrospective reflection on the relative simplicity of those days can elicit a sense of something having been lost, there's also much to say about what has been gained...
For one thing, the more tasks relegated to machines, the more choice is freed up for people.

With the progression of time comes change—whether reflected in culture, values, aesthetics, etc.—though much of humanity's essential experiences seem to remain relatively the same (when considered within the given context, of course). In some ways, it's an exercise in recognizing the nuances and varying degrees of potential experience, the intricacies of this "modern life." I suppose that part of this is acknowledging the paradox of wistfulness for a certain simplicity, for a time when things could just be, to exist within a modality of perception that necessitates something having to pass through a technological lens in order to be validated.

I continue to vacillate between contemplating what these changes in culture signify (or how much has really changed at all) and appreciating the cyclical drama of life's dichotomies playing themselves out.

1Q84

“By the way that we think and by the way that we believe in things, in that way is our world created.”—Pema Chödrön (from The Wisdom of No Escape)

 Have you ever woken up from a deep sleep in a state of confusion?  With the lingering fog of incomprehensible dreams hanging over you, the gradual process of remembering must begin. And yet, piecing reality together isn’t always so simple…

What if it became difficult to distinguish the world of dreams from waking life?

Exploring the bounds of consciousness is certainly not a new concept in Haruki Murakami’s fiction—in fact, it seems to be one of the common threads running through his works; his most recent book, 1Q84, is certainly no exception.  Though it may be considered a dystopian saga of sorts, Murakami has imagined an alternate take on “dystopia”—rather than existing in some post-apocalyptic future (with metaphorical parallels to modern society, of course), the world of 1Q84 exists in an alternate dimension of a pre-existing society. Boundaries tend to be blurred, and it’s often hard to know where one person ends and the other begins. What’s real, what’s imagined, what’s a dream?—and do these questions emerge in the face of realistic dreams, or perhaps, is “reality” just that surreal? 

It would seem that the boundaries between one realm and another can blur only at the point when the question emerges: what defines “reality,” anyway?

As a reader, prepare to embark upon a journey of parallel processes within the intricately- imagined universe of 1Q84—accompanying the two main characters, Aomame and Tengo as they explore that very question. In spite of the air of mystery coloring everyday life in a world they didn’t know existed until they found themselves living in it, there is one thing that remains clear: compelled by some force unknown to them, their destinies are intertwined in a way that unfolds throughout the book’s progression. Whatever this inexplicable “something” is, it’s at once what bonds them together and propels them forward along time’s trajectory.

            And yes, it is a love story.  Though, interestingly enough, it’s a love story sustained despite the hero and heroine having been separated by time and continuing to be separated by physical distance. In switching between the narratives of Aomame and Tengo, Murakami gives the reader a window into their individual psyches in order to progressively expound upon how inter-connected the two actually are.

It’s also so much more than a love story—in the process of accompanying the characters through their existential dilemmas, it becomes a contemplation of the very human quest of finding meaning in life, including striking a balance between personal power and the overarching systems that govern society.  One can’t help but find a message in the midst of Murakami’s presentation of different points along a spectrum of the forms devotion can take—from group membership to religious fundamentalism, even cults: there’s a slippery slope when decisions affecting one’s life are relegated to an external force—or is there even free choice in the matter? Is the feeling of being impelled by a mysterious force toward what one might believe to be destiny any different from fatalism? And where does love fit into all of this? 

If the constant for Tengo and Aomame is their connection to each other, it may just be that the certainty in entering the world of 1Q84 is that only more questions will accompany a questionably-elusive search for that feeling of coming home.

The existentialist musings of a second grader

Story 1: "Once Upon A Cloudy Day"
There once lived a girl.  And she went out to play.  But in a while the clouds covered the sky.  The clouds were big and gray.  So the girl went inside.  She looked out of her window.  Because she wanted to know when the clouds would go away.  So she could go play outside.  Soon the clouds went away.  And the girl went to play outside.  But soon after she had played awhile the clouds had come back again.  And it was time for dinner.  While the girl was eating she wondered when the clouds would go away.  And soon the clouds did go away. The End.

Story 2: "The Great Pumpkin Mystery"
There once was a little girl. Who wanted to grow a pumpkin.  And so she did.  When she put the pumpkin seed in the dirt a few weeks later it began to grow.  But soon the pumpkin seed sprouted.  From the sprout grew a flower.  And soon the seed became a pumpkin.  The little girl carved a very funny face on the pumpkin.  Then she put the pumpkin on the window sill.  So everyone could see it.  And everyone did look at the pumpkin.  But one night a raccoon came and knocked it off the window sill.  And the raccoon decided to eat the pumpkin.  So when it was Halloween the girl had no pumpkin. The End.

Story 3: "I was in a Fog"
One day I was reading books.  Then I felt like playing a game.  Oh no! I just forgot what I wanted to play! Mom! I called can you help me remember what game I was going to play? Not unless you tell me what it is dear or else I won't have any idea. Okay, okay I said.  I guess you're not much help I called back.  I guess I will just have to figure it out by myself.  I will just go and do something else until I remember.  So I did.  Oh yeah! Now I remember.  I wanted to play Monopoly.  Mom I just remembered! Do you want to play? Okay.  I promise you'll have a good time. The End.