Jump to Navigation


Adrienne Rich Memorial

April 19, 2012


On Monday, April 16, Rosalind Morris, Yvette Christiansë, and Julie Crawford hosted a memorial reading in honor of poet and activist Adrienne Rich.  The reading was sponored by the Institute for Comparative Literature and Society and the Institute for Research on Women, Gender, and Sexuality and Columbia University.

To a standing-room-only audience, speakers read selections from Adrienne’s work, letting the poet’s own words speak for themselves.

More photos, as well as the program of readers and works, available below the cut.

Rosalind Morris           
“Diving into the Wreck”

Julie Crawford
“Compulsory Heterosexuality”

Suzanne Gardinier
Sections from “The Spirit of Place”

Anne Waldman

Hugh Seidman
“From a Survivor” & “For the Young Anarchists”

Saskia Hamilton
Section XIII, from “An Atlas of the Difficult World”

Jenny James
“Upper Broadway”

Fara Jasmine Griffin
Tonight no Poetry will Serve”

Akeel Bilgrami
“#18” from “21 Love Poems,” and selections from “Sources”

Yvette Christiansë           
“Hubble Photographs: After Sappho”

Antjie Krog           
Section XI from “Atlas of the Difficult World”

Ingrid de Kok
“Voyage to the Denouement”

Cyrus Cassells
“Didactic Poem”

Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak
“Commencement Address to Smith College”

Radhika Subramaniam
“If Your Name is on the List” & “Four Short Poems”

Saeed Jones
“Orion,” “Final Notations,” Section II of “Atlas of the Difficult World”

Cathy Park Hong
Selections from “Homage to Galib: Ghazals” and “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning”

Ellen Geiger                                               
“#9” from “21 Love Poems”

Pablo Conrad                                   






Alice Kessler-Harris Examines the Twentieth Century through Lillian Hellman’s Eyes

April 9, 2012


A conversation with R. Gordon Hoxie Professor of American History at Columbia University, Alice Kessler-Harris, in advance of the April 24 release of her latest book, A Difficult Woman: The Challenging Life and Times of Lillian Hellman. Interview by Jessica Adler.


In an oral history published in 2006 in the journal Labor: Studies in Working-Class History of the Americas, you discussed your regret at not having written a biography of fiction writer Anzia Yezierska; you discovered her while researching your 1982 book about the history of wage-earning women, Out to Work. At that point, you said, “I didn’t think I could be noncritical enough…” Do you consider A Difficult Woman a biography? Did you have similar feelings of trepidation going into this project?

The thing that distinguishes this book from anything I might have done on Yezierska is that I don’t actually think of it as a biography; I sometimes call it a “Biography not.” In fact, the only dispute I had with the publisher was whether the book should be listed under the category of Biography or History. In the end, they chose Biography.  But I think of a biography as an examination of someone’s internal life, whereas I think of this book in some ways as the inverse of that. I tried here to look at the twentieth century through Hellman’s eyes – to ask, what can this life teach us about the twentieth century? What can we learn about the twentieth century from the decisions Hellman faced? In that sense, I don’t think of it as a traditional biography at all; I think of it as a way of accessing history through individual experience.  Because I was doing it that way, because I wasn’t trying to make judgments about the interior life, or the question of how Hellman came to be the way she was, I didn’t approach it with the kind of trepidation that I might have approached biography thirty years ago. If I were to take on Yezierska now, I might write about her in the same way as I now write about Hellman, but in those days, historians imagined biography as a more limited genre.

That said, I had a different concern with this book: it was about the difficulty of separating Hellman’s political, economic, and social instincts and belief systems from my own. I knew going into this book that she was a much-despised woman on many fronts. I worried that I would find my interpretations obscured or mystified by what other people had said about her or the way they approached her. I wondered if I could I clear my head of the popular conceptions of Hellman sufficiently to be able to look through her and see the larger meaning of the life.

How did you come to choose Hellman as a subject?

In 1999-2000, I served on an advisory board to help construct the fifth volume of Notable American Women: A Biographical Dictionary. That was the volume that incorporated the lives of women who died between 1975 and 2000.  Each of us was asked to contribute two essays to the volume.  When it came my time to choose, I opted for Lillian Hellman. The choice was somewhat impulsive. She was one of my heroines in the 1970s; I thought surely she would already have been taken, and grabbed her when I discovered that she had not. I was eager for something that would take me beyond the trade union women with whom I’d spent most of my life up to that point. And once I started to work on her, I was hooked.  Her life intersected in so many ways with elements of subjects that I had long been interested in. It spoke to questions about women, about Jews, about labor, about economic independence, about sexuality, about the peculiar nature of American radicalism.  And she was a twentieth century cultural icon. When I started working on her, the contradictions in her life and the contradictory ways people viewed her fascinated me. I spent the 2001-2002 academic year at the Radliffe Institute for Advanced Studies. Though I began work on another project, I couldn’t clear my head of Lillian Hellman, and I must confess that my colleagues there encouraged me to keep going.

Throughout the book, you consistently place explanations of Hellman’s complicated personality and personal history alongside analyses of the wider world in which she lived. What was it like to balance research and writing about Hellman’s personal background with research and writing about so many major trends and figures of the twentieth century?

Because I wasn’t doing a straightforward, traditional biography – in other words, looking at letters and other papers to reconstruct an internal life – I needed to try to be an expert in everything Hellman touched in order to convey its meaning.  

I found myself relatively comfortable writing the parts of the book that had to do with the 1930s – Hellman’s relationship with trade unions, her viewpoints on the feminism of the 1970s – because those things are in my bones. I did my homework, but I didn’t feel as though I was researching an entirely new subject. When it came to writing about areas I knew less about – Hellman as a playwright in the 1930s, for example – that was more challenging. I had to think about who the major players and actors were; what it meant that Hellman was not a member of the radical left theater movement of the period; why she decided to be a serious writer and yet mount her plays on Broadway all the way.

I approached the areas with which I was less familiar with trepidation, but then they became the places where I felt I could be the best kind of historian: I could evaluate information in relation to Hellman from a relatively distant perspective. To tell you the truth, I not only didn’t mind researching the new areas, I thought that was one of the fascinating things about doing the book; these were the things Hellman was teaching me. I felt as though at every stage, I was opening up new doors, finding out about things I had not known or only knew as shadows in the back of my head.


For example, Hellman was understood by many people in the fifties and sixties to be a “non-Jewish Jew” or a ‘self-hating Jew.” Yet she had been an early opponent of Hitler’s Germany and an active contributor to funds for Jewish refugees in the late thirties and forties.  When I tried to unravel that tale I discovered that it came largely from her involvement with the Broadway rendition of the Anne Frank Diary story.  Two versions of the play had been written—one of them focused on specifically Jewish suffering during the Holocaust. The second opted to emphasize the more universal human suffering of the concentration and extermination camps. Hellman had a very minor role in supporting the second interpretation, but she became a flogging horse for those who believed that this was primarily a Jewish story. We can’t understand why, or explain the quite unjustified anger people felt towards her on this score without understanding the position of the Soviet Union on the issue, its relationship with Zionism, and the splits within the entertainment industry and the country as a whole on these issues.

You discuss Hellman’s negative views of 1960s feminism, and her complaints about what she perceived as a lack of focus on economic opportunity and equality above all other issues. At the same time, you say she fit her own definition of feminism. As a veteran of the movement Hellman critiqued, what is your assessment of her perspective?

Hellman was always ambivalent about second wave feminism, though she lived a life that we might call feminist, and became a heroine to a generation of young women after 1969, when her memoir, An Unfinished Woman appeared. My generation of young women devoured that book for many reasons. It was a portrait of a sexually liberated independent – not just economically independent--but independent-minded woman who presented herself as a courageous, autonomous, human being. She was what we all imagined women should be, in sharp contrast to the model promoted by Betty Friedan of a woman who escaped housewifery but remained more or less traditional. 

In later years, Hellman’s portrait of herself would come to be questioned as too self-aggrandizing, and people became disillusioned. Part of the disillusionment was that Hellman so took for granted the capacity of women to behave in the autonomous way that she did; that she ignored or overlooked the real problems of real women who didn’t have as much money as she did, who had children, who had married, who had partners to whom they were committed, and so on.  Her disregard for these structural differences made it difficult for most women to imagine themselves living equally liberated lives. She was critiqued for her arrogance, for imagining that everyone could live by commanding the kinds of services she enjoyed. The Hellman we who were feminists admired turned out to have human flaws, to be not quite the Lillian Hellman who emerged after the 

success of her memoirs.

Then too, she had little regard for what was known as cultural feminism in the 1960s and 1970s. She could not abide consciousness raising, mocked “bra-burning” at every opportunity, thought the protests at the Miss America pageants silly. Nor did she believe that attention to language had any place in feminism.  She did not believe in the utility of spelling women with a “y”; she insisted on being called Miss Hellman, rather than Ms. For many of us, changes in language and consciousness seemed to be paths that would lead to liberation. We were convinced that language could imprison the mind, that the personal was political. Hellman, in contrast, didn’t have any patience for protests that she called a silly waste of time. She believed that the most important thing a woman could do was to earn her own living and she took public positions on behalf of women’s economic independence.  To her, cultural and economic issues seemed diametrically opposed, whereas we understood them as different paths to the same goal.  When Hellman vociferously rejected cultural feminism, she seemed to be turning her back on a large piece of the women’s movement.

But the economic independence that Hellman wanted for women was something they had been working on since at least the creation of NOW in 1965; it was one of NOW’s first issues. It was simply folly to say that the women’s movement wasn’t concerned enough with that issue. In fact, by the mid-1970s, by the time Hellman was critiquing us for not being concerned enough with it, liberal feminists, who constituted the vast majority of the movement, had worked for a decade on behalf of economic independence in the form of access to well-paying jobs, admission to Ivy League colleges, and opening professional schools to women. More radical feminists and Marxist feminists believed that those gains were only the tip an iceberg whose underside included poor women, women of color, and others locked into traditional families. Many feminists concentrated on these groups; others tried to challenge typical household power dynamics, calling into question heterosexual relationships, conventional child care arrangements, and unequal income distributions.

While I admired Lillian Hellman for her gutsy life style and her consistent sense of fairness, and I still admire her for those reasons, I think she simply did not understand the full play of the women’s movement.

The chapters of A Difficult Woman are organized thematically – “A Tough Broad;” “A Serious Playwright;” “An American Jew;” “The Writer as Moralist;” “A Self-Made Woman” – but the book also moves forward in time. Can you talk about how this structure came about?

The organization was more or less organic. It emerged when I realized that the key thrust of the book was not Hellman’s life as an unfolding entity, but an exploration of the contradictions that her life captured. Most biographies unpack a life – moving sequentially from beginning to end. Often, women’s biographies unfold a life around the domestic: a woman is born, she gets married, she has children—as she is doing other things. The life-cycle drives the narrative. Men’s biographies, in contrast, often move along a trajectory of increasing achievement, until the subject reaches his peak attainment and then declines. In this case, I thought I needed elements of both; Hellman’s life doesn’t follow the typical women’s life cycle, so it made no sense to use that template. Nor did it make sense to use the male.  Instead, I thought I needed to organize the book around issues that were points of contradiction, contest, or debate in Hellman’s life. The chapters integrate and juxtapose the sense Hellman had of herself with the public’s perception and representation of her.

You work in this book to figure out how Hellman became, as you put it, “embedded in a negative mythology.” By the end of the book, we see that in the wake of her death, Hellman became a symbol – for neo-conservatives and neo-liberals – of much that went wrong during the twentieth century. Why do you think Hellman provoked such negative and powerful feelings?

There are at least three reasons. One is clearly Hellman’s persona; the fact that she was not only often nasty and mean-spirited and arrogant, but also that she was a woman. For a woman to be all of those things would necessarily have drawn negative responses, but in Hellman’s case they were exacerbated by the controversial political positions she adopted.  

Second, Hellman was basically a consistent person, but in the context of her times, consistency turned out to be a liability. She held the same general beliefs from the beginning of her life to the end of it. She valued civil liberties; she valued loyalty; she believed in the right of people to believe what they wanted to believe – she didn’t think anyone had to account to anybody for what they thought. That was fine in the ‘30s and ‘40s, but by the 1950s, it was under attack. Hellman, like many other people who had once been socialists, no longer believed in radical solutions, but unlike many others, she   would not repudiate Stalinism because after all, as she says in her book, Scoundrel Time, “we never did anybody any harm”… why shouldn’t people be allowed to believe what they wish.  By the end of her life, she admits several times that she had been wrong about Stalin, but she never apologizes for beliefs that were honestly held. That gets interpreted as rigidity – rigidity that by the 1970s was seen as unacceptable.

The third reason why Hellman is such a provocative figure is because of the lying. It’s not that she’s the only liar or even most important liar or that she lies more than anyone else, but that the particular ways that she presents herself feed into a political moment that we now see as the dawn of neo-liberalism.  Her positions, particularly against government secrecy and in defense of egalitarianism and collective social responsibility, draw fire from those who are convinced that the Soviet Union is still an evil empire and that efforts to restrain the free market will create a slippery slope to socialism. Hellman, who is seen as swimming against this tide becomes a fish to be caught. Accusing her of moral turpitude—lying—is one way of destroying her credibility.

What do you think Hellman would think of this book?

Hellman never wanted anyone to write a biography of her because she wanted to control her own life and feared that anyone else would get it wrong. She was convinced that biography was more fiction than anything else. She wrote to her friends towards the end of her life asking them to send back her letters. Many did, and she burned them. She pruned her material to remove anything that was faintly personal, which makes it very difficult to track down what she’s feeling or thinking or even doing at any given period of time. That was one of the reasons I didn’t want to do an interior story.

That said, Hellman was very convinced of her own centrality to the events she lived through.  I try in this book, not to judge her, but to turn her into the historical figure that she in many ways became. I think she would have enjoyed that.  Perhaps I’m flattering myself, but I think that it is precisely because this book is not in any sense a traditional biography that she would have liked it much better than the several biographies that have been written about her.  I believe, and I think this book supports the notion, that Hellman faced a difficult and challenging century. She didn’t always make the right decisions, but right or wrong, misguided or deceptive, she teaches us something about how people might think about their political choices in the context of the lives they are living—not the ones we imagine for them. Whatever else she was, she has become a symbol of the good and the bad that characterized a difficult century.


"Carceral Politics in Palestine and Beyond": Preview

April 2, 2012

In anticipation of Thursday's "Carceral Politics in Palestine and Beyond: Gender, Vulnerability, Prison" event, I found myself puzzling over the contours of the "Beyond." The event's title suggests an unfixed relation - one in which dynamics of "Gender, Vulnerability, Prison" in Palestine both take shape and signify outside of what we might think of as Palestinian geographies. In late 2010, an Israeli police officer nicknamed "Major George" was appointed a special advisor on Arab Affairs to Jerusalem's police chief. In short, "Major George," or Doron Zahavi, was put in charge of police relations with Jerusalem's Palestinian community. In the aftermath of the appointment, details emerged concerning Zahavi's former role as chief interrogator in the secret Israeli military prison known as Facility 1391. Allegations of sexual assault and other forms of torture, under Zahavi's supervision and with his direct participation, immediately came to the surface. The headline of the article on Counterpunch.org that called attention to the case read: "'Major George' and Israel's Abu Ghraib."

The editorial choice here is an interesting one. Reading the Israeli prison through a lens of "Israel's Abu Ghraib" suggests the exceptionalism of torture within the rubric of Israeli detention practices - the bad egg of America's military presence in Iraq called into service to render legible torture and incarceration in a Palestinian context. This strikes me as a troubling way of depicting the "Beyond" - one that accords analytic primacy to the United States at the cost of, say, the Palestinian residents of Jerusalem who found themselves under Zahavi's charge. Given the incredible work of the event's participants, I am excited to see how they figure a "Beyond" that emanates out from the everyday facts of penal politics in Palestine. The very composition of the panel testifies to this possibility: Judith Butler, Lena Meari, Mai Masri and Angela Davis each offer a unique mode of entry into incarceration in Palestine and the content it carries for logics of race, gender and captivity at the global scale. Doors open at 5:30 PM, and registration is recommended . . . 

Top image of the separation/segregation wall near Ramallah courtesy of Flickr user ahmad.daghlas.

--Kaveh Landsverk


Remembering Adrienne Rich

March 30, 2012

Celebrated poet, essayist, teacher (including two years at Columbia University), and feminist Adrienne Rich died on Tuesday, March 27th, at the age of 82.  Rich was the author of over two dozen collections of poetry, including A Change of World, Snapshops of a Daughter-in Law, and Diving Into the Wreck, for which she was awarded a National Book Award for poetry.  Among her other honors were a MacArthur Foundation "genuis" grant, a National Book Foundation medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters, a National Book Award for poetry, and a National Medal of Arts (which she declined for political reasons, stating, "I could not accept such an award from President Clinton or this White House because the very meaning of art, as I understand it, is incompatible with the cynical politics of this administration...[Art] means nothing if it simply decorates the dinner table of the power which holds it hostage."

Rich, with fellow poet Antjie Krog (pictured above), spoke and read from her work as a part of the culminating event for the Women Poets and Writers at Barnard Series in 2009.  Professor Ros Morris introduced Rich and Krog as women "who work at knowing what they don't want to know," striving to answer the question: "when does life bend toward freedom?"

At the 2009 event, Rich recited from "The Art of Translation," "I Dream I'm the Death of Orpheus," and "Letters to a Young Poet."  "I wanted to somewhere / the brain had not yet gone," she read from the latter.  Katherine Polin, writing for the August 2009 Feminist News, said that Rich "gave us a penetrating reading that invited reflection and affection."

On Monday, April 16th, a gathering will be held on campus in remembrance and celebration of Rich's life and poetry.  More information on the event is available here.

Feminist in Chief

March 23, 2012

Janine Balekdjian is a third-year Slavic Studies major and Sociology minor who blogs for the Huffington Post.  Janine wrote the following in honor of International Women's day, this past March 8th:

On this International Women's day, feminists in the US can be forgiven for feeling less than enthusiastic. Our nation has spent the better part of 2012 arguing over whether using birth control is a responsible idea we should encourage or whether it makes you a "slut." Republican presidential candidate Rick Santorum (remember: he wants to run the country) has been so enthusiastic in the birth control debate that he's all but announced his intentions to take us back to the 1873 Comstock Law, which banned information about contraceptives from the US mail on grounds of "obscenity." It may be the 101st International Women's Day, but it feels much more like the 41st.

Fortunately, American women have friends in high places. President Barack Obama has solidified his credentials as a ladies' man par excellence.

No, I'm not talking about his smile, or his salt-and-pepper hair, or even his surprising singing ability. I'm talking about the best kind of ladies' man -- one who respects women and advocates for women's rights and health. Perhaps the only good thing to come out of the birth control debate (why do I have to write that phrase in 2012?) is the president's unwavering commitment to women's rights. He has repeatedly, unequivocally, and publicly affirmed his support for universal contraceptive coverage without a co-pay, regardless of where a woman may work or study. He directly addressed the Sandra Fluke controversy, phoning her personally and not just denouncing Rush Limbaugh's inanity, but also supporting her activism on behalf of women. Most recently, President Obama announced that he will be speaking at Barnard College's commencement. His decision to speak at a prestigious women's college displays his dedication to women's rights at a time when they are under national assault, and shows his support for Barnard's mission of empowering the next generation of women.

Republicans and cynics are out in full force blasting the president's vocal support for women. They claim that Democrats started the contraception debate on purpose to make the GOP look bad, and that Obama's support is disingenuous and solely an attempt to win women's votes in 2012. These accusations can be rebutted in a few simple points:

  1. Coverage of contraceptives under the Affordable Care Act mandate was announced last August. If Republicans cared as much as women's rights activists who had been petitioning for it all summer, they would know that.
  2. The Catholic Church was the ones who brought the issue to the forefront of national politics this February, and the GOP subsequently seized upon it in Congress.
  3. If Republicans think that espousing extreme, anachronistic positions are making them look bad, they could simply stop espousing extreme, anachronistic positions. No one is forcing them to oppose birth control.
  4. If Republicans don't stop espousing extreme, anachronistic positions on women's rights, they can hardly pretend to be surprised when women start running to the Democratic Party in droves.

Liberal activists, on the other hand, are justified in a certain amount of head-shaking. Is supporting birth control -- an issue supposedly decided fifty years ago -- all it takes to be considered a feminist these days? President Obama has made other concrete steps for the advancement of women, like signing the Lily Ledbetter Fair Pay act and appointing Sonia Sotomayor and Elena Kagan to the Supreme Court. But he has had his missteps as well, most notably supporting Secretary of Health and Human Services Sebelius' decision to overrule a FDA panel -- for the first time in history -- and prevent emergency contraception from being sold over the counter. Can the president truly be considered a feminist?

The answer is yes -- and comes not in the positions he's taken in the birth control controversy but in how exactly he has articulated those positions. Republicans would like to have you believe that this debate is all about individual liberty and whether you can mandate the sale or purchase of a product, and somehow about religious liberty (although, as the Columbia Democrats articulate in our video on the subject, religious liberty does not mean religious imposition). We get it, GOP -- you don't like the healthcare bill. But all their stated reasons for opposing birth control in the mandate fall flat, especially after President Obama forged a compromise that would require insurance companies, not religiously-affiliated employers, to pay for the cost of birth control.

What this is really about is extreme social conservatives in the Republican party attempting to define as "immoral" lifestyle choices which the vast majority of American women make and the rest of the GOP not caring enough to oppose them. Rush Limbaugh's comments were vulgar and exaggerated, but they do articulate the general Republican sentiment -- that taxpayer money shouldn't go towards "subsidizing" the immoral lifestyle choices of American women which make us "sluts." (Apparently, they would prefer that vastly greater amounts of taxpayer money go towards subsidizing prenatal care, childbirth, and all the other resulting healthcare costs of unplanned pregnancy. There's a reason that birth control is included in the mandate under preventative care.) This is why Democrats are calling what's been going on in the 112th Congress the War on Women -- it's an attempt to repress and shame us for our personal lives.

But the Republicans have overreached -- the American people aren't buying their assertion that using birth control makes you morally inferior, and the GOP is losing the narrative war on contraception, just as they won it on abortion. When a politician, even a liberal one, makes a statement in support of a woman's right to choose, they invariably follow it up with a qualifier that they're not supporting abortions themselves -- think "safe, legal, and rare." But 99% of women use birth control at some point, and the Republicans can't succeed in slut-shaming an entire nation.

President Obama's rejection of the GOP morality fairy tale comes through in his rhetoric, and it is this which makes him a feminist. When he called Sandra Fluke, he didn't just express his outrage over Limbaugh, he praised her for the work she does on reproductive rights and told her that her parents should be proud. Every time that the contraceptive mandate has been attacked since August, President Obama has pushed back against any compromise that would limit any woman from accessing birth control. He has invoked his own two daughters in his support. President Obama doesn't want anyone to impose restrictions on women's private reproductive and sexual choices, and he doesn't want anyone to judge us for them either. That is why he's a feminist.   

- Janine Balekdjian

Establishing a Home of One’s Own

February 29, 2012


On Monday, February 27th, Professor Anita Hill was the featured speaker for Barnard’s 2012 Helen Rodgers Reid Lecture, “a series that was inaugurated in 1975 to honor distinguished women in public life who have shown significant commitment to improving the lives of all women.” Though perhaps best known for her courageous efforts to bring public awareness to the issue of sexual harassment in the workplace, Hill is an accomplished legal professor and scholar. She currently serves as Senior Advisor to the Provost, and Professor of Social Policy, Law, and Women’s Studies at Brandeis University. 

Hill’s lecture came from her new book, Reimagining Equality: Stories of Gender, Race, and Finding Home, where she offers an alternate barometer for measuring equality. Hill contends that equity is not solely defined by who lives in the White House or what laws are on the books, but also by equal access to opportunity—and, more specifically, the opportunity to secure and establish a home. Home, which Hill suggests can be defined variously and thus is not circumscribed by ownership, is constitutive of the American dream. Beginning in the post-Emancipation era, she traces and examines key moments in American history that demonstrate the vagaries and (in)adequacies of the law to protect the right to establish a home and sense of place, particularly for African Americans and other peoples of color: “100 years of laws that should and could have helped us,” she lamented, “but ultimately failed.”

Hill opened her lecture by reflecting on the all too common problem of property ownership for African Americans at the turn of the twentieth century. In 1899, her maternal grandfather, a former slave, proudly purchased eighty acres of land in southwest Arkansas. However, whereas the law “worked” for her grandfather, who went from being property to owning it, it ultimately failed her grandmother, who, as a black woman, could not have her name recorded on the deed to the land; as such, her grandmother’s ability to establish a place was delimited by her gender. Only thirteen years after purchasing the land, the family mysteriously moved to Oklahoma, likely due to the threat of racial violence. Thus, Hill pointed out that although the law afforded her grandfather the right to purchase the land, it did not guarantee him the protection necessary to keep it.

Mobilizing this distinction between “rights” and “protection of rights,” Hill drew parallels between the law’s failure to protect her grandparents at the turn of the twentieth century and the housing market crash of 2006, maintaining that many of the same issues that her grandparents faced—racism, sexism, and the law’s failure to protect—revisited us in the subprime loan crisis. Court pleadings revealed that lenders pedaled subprime loans heavily within African American and Latino communities, particularly among women and the elderly, labeling subprime loans “ghetto loans” and the practice of targeting the elderly, “granny hunting.” Hill went on to interrogate the government’s and policy makers’ participation in this crisis, asking how such egregious forms of racism and sexism have persisted. Essentially, she hopes that by shedding light on this issue, more will be done to indemnify families who suffered a range of losses at the hands of the foreclosure crisis; that the government will put laws in place that will create safety nets and prevent further discrimination in the housing market; and, finally, that America will begin to think about equality more expansively, not only in terms of political representation, but as the simple right to secure and establish a place, a home of one’s own. 

- Jarvis C. McInnis

What To Do with Bruno Latour?

February 28, 2012

Theory Mondays: Alondra Nelson on Reassembling the Social


For IRWAG’s first Theory Monday of 2012, several faculty members and graduate students gathered for a discussion of Bruno Latour’s 2007 book Reassembling the Social.  After an introduction to Latour’s careerfrom his work in Cote d’Ivoire to his influential scholarship on the sociology of scienceProfessor Alondra Nelson asked the question that brought us all together in the first place: What, if anything, does Latour have to offer feminist and sexuality studies?  Should feminism take Latour’s work as an object of study, or could Reassembling the Social be used as a recognizably feminist method? 

Latour’s book is motivated by his sense that the “social” as a category of analysis has lost most of its meaning, that it has become a standard but ultimately useless answer to many of the questions posed by social scientists and humanists.  To say that something is “socially constructed” conceals the mysteries of the social’s heterogeneous practices and negotiations.   For the social is neither a static thing nor a place you can visit.  It is a process of associations amongst actors. 

As Professor Nelson, Professor Lila Abu-Lughod, Sonali Thakkar, and others pointed out, faced with Latour’s desire to deconstruct and reassemble the social, our reaction may be understandably wary.  The social has served as an important category for feminists and queer theorists, who have often been interested in peeking behind the curtain of “social norms.”  But Latour’s point is that by invoking the social only to pull it aside in search of something else we lose an important opportunity for analysis.  Forget about the man behind the curtain for a moment, in other words.  The curtain deserves our attention.

Turning Reconstructing the Social into a manual for research can be difficult, Professor Nelson noted, but she finds it indispensible as a provocation or a reminder that we should never use the term “social” without clarification—without understanding the social as always contested.  In light of Latour’s influence, we must wonder what this means for our common, interdisciplinary language and its institutions. Professor Abu-Lughod half-jokingly wondered, do we need to rename the Center for the Critical Analysis of Social Difference?  What would we call it? 

- Jamie Parra

Dancer's Food, Academic's Jacket: Alice Sheppard

February 10, 2012

Alice Sheppard joked, during the question-and-answer period after her lecture/performance, that when she packs her bags for events like this one, she has to remember to bring her dancer's clothes, dancer's food, academic’s printer, academic's jacket.  The audience laughed, and so did she, but of course it's not really a joke: Alice is both a dancer and an academic, and she shared work of both types on February 9th in the James Room at Barnard Hall, sponsored by the Future of Disabilities Studies and the Center for the Critical Analysis of Social Difference.

Sheppard, who has also been a musician and a professor of medieval literature, came to dance late in life, in response to a dare from disabled dancer Homer Avila.  She made her professional debut in New York with infinity Dance Theatre, and joined the AXIS Dance Company in 2006.  

She spoke at Barnard about the body, her own body, and embodiment.  She spoke about the difference between “showing spine” and “having backbone,” about Michelle Bachman’s “titanium spine,” and about her own relation to her titanium chair as an almost literal extension of her body.

At one point, she asked the audience to imagine themselves – in their own, current bodies, as they were – in a wheelchair.  She laughed when everyone sat up a little straighter, and told them that those wheelies they’d all just yanked their arms back to perform would have spilled them backwards onto the floor.  She asked everyone, instead of pushing, to pull – and to feel the connection of chair to sitz bones to spine, and out through the top of the head to space.  She asked the audience not to imagine being disabled, but to imagine being more aware of the spine, and the pull of force it creates to make movement, and its titanium potential to move embodied through the world.

Sheppard mentioned at one point the silencing effect of praise – of people who have no experience with disability praising a person in a wheelchair for her “bravery” or as an “inspiration,” just for her ability to move through the world.  Professor Chris Baswell, during his response after Sheppard’s presentation, mentioned wryly that he himself rarely gets such praise anymore, and wondered if perhaps some of those comments were due to Sheppard’s youth, or beauty, or gender.  (When he was younger and did get such praise, he noted, he was sometimes mistaken for a woman.)

The question-and-answer period was particularly engaging.  Sheppard seemed the most relaxed and excited when asked questions about her physicality – dancing and the preparation for and technicalities of it.  “Does it hurt to get down on the floor like that?” someone asked her.  After a long pause (she let them spin out unselfconsciously before answering many of the audience's questions), she replied, “You're not supposed to say yes to that question,” and then added: “You have to learn how to fall.”

Sheppard performed a short dance piece after her talk, a work in progress not yet set to music, but narrated by Baswell for the sake of a more complete accessibility.  “She moves toward you,” he said; “the chair dances without her for a moment.”  Suddenly excited: “She is up on her casters!”  And as the dance ended: “Hands on knees, she sits still; breathes.”

- Jessica Lilien

"Counting His Bastards and Prostitutes": Davarian Baldwin and the Sociological Imagination

February 7, 2012


On December 7, the IRWAG conference room hosted a riveting discussion centered on W.E.B. Du Bois and touching on questions of sociology, intellectual history, and gender politics. Entitled “Counting His Bastards and Prostitutes: W.E.B. Du Bois, the Chicago School, and the Racial Routes of the Sociological Imagination,” Davarian Baldwin’s lecture provided an invaluable starting-point from which a rich conversation emerged.

Baldwin, the Paul E. Raether Distinguished Professor of American Studies at Trinity College, began by articulating a revised framework for considering the roles of both anti-black racism and sexism at the origins of American sociological traditions. Providing a reading of Du Bois’s momentous 1899 study The Philadelphia Negro that highlighted Du Bois’s debt to female reform figures such as Jane Addams, Florence Kelley, and Ida B. Wells, Baldwin noted that the work of Du Bois and his female predecessors was forcefully excluded from the burgeoning field of academic sociology. “The Negro Problem was central to mapping out visions of American sociology,” Baldwin asserted. “And yet, Du Bois’s text, the landmark work of urban sociology in the United States, was never reviewed by the American Association of Sociology.” Du Bois was brought to the University of Pennsylvania to study Philadelphia’s influx of black migrants, but the conclusions he reached, Baldwin contended, often worked against the material interests of his white patrons.

If Du Bois presented a problem for dominant sociological currents in his blistering critique of structural racism, the women whose influence can be seen in his text were likewise inadmissible to the sociological canon. Placing the University of Chicago at the epicenter of the development of social sciences in the U.S., Baldwin made clear that Chicago School academics like Robert Park explicitly presented the new discipline as antagonistic to the work of Addams, Kelley, Wells and other figures. “Park sought to move beyond what he thought of as do-gooder reformers and replace their version of sociology with a rigorous empiricism based on observation and facts,” Baldwin argued. What Park and his colleagues offered was a masculinist vision of intellectual life, one which insistently wrote women (and black men) out of the sociological mainstream.

Taking pains to elaborate the gendered dimensions of this early vision of American sociology, Baldwin simultaneously noted the white supremacist dynamics at the heart of the academic movement. Through an extended engagement with Park, Baldwin detailed his assertion that “Chicago School sociology was an ivory tower variant of broader societal Old South nostalgia.” The precise ways in which the plantation model played out in the academy provides an intriguing testimony to the intertwining of race and gender formations at this pivotal moment for the discipline. In his descriptions of the hierarchical racial “temperaments” that replaced a strictly biological notion of race in American sociology, Baldwin noted that “the Negro was considered the lady among races, attracted to music and bright colors.”

Rather than conclude with this sort of hegemonic sociological imaginary, Baldwin closed his talk by emphasizing black contestations of Chicago School sociological models. Foregrounding the work of E. Franklin Frazier, in addition to St. Clair Drake and Horace Cayton’s Black Metropolis, Baldwin called attention to the competing visions of sociology which took shape in the context of urban black radical organizing work throughout the 1930’s. Upon opening up the floor for discussion, Baldwin took questions on issues ranging from models of colonial citizenship to the presence of fictions at the edges of sociological possibility. The rich conversation which followed bore witness to the level of interest Baldwin’s talk had piqued among his audience – interest that would linger long after the event’s formal conclusion. 

--Kaveh Landsverk

Creating Dangerously: A Conversation with Edwidge Danticat

February 5, 2012


On October 21, 2011, writer Edwidge Danticat spoke at the Africana Studies Program's Distinguished Alumnae Series about her book Create Dangerously: The Immigrant Artist at Work, as well as her time as a student at Barnard.  Danticat, a Haitian immigrant to the U.S., proposed the power of reading and writing as dangerous forms of resistance, stressing the idea that every act of creation is a risk.  To create dangerously then, means also to create fearlessly, requiring the search for truth despite powers that may oppose it (such as oppressive regimes).  Danticat said that storytelling gives strength to both the teller and the audience, and thus artists often create for something larger than themselves.  After reading a passage about an immigrant mother who searches for a way to tell a story to her child, she noted that her best writing teachers were the storytellers of her childhood in Haiti and Brooklyn, many of whom were illiterate.

Danticat's insights reminded me of the political nature of both writing and reading.  It made me curious as to what many of the authors of the books and articles I read in my gender studies courses hope to achieve in their writing.  Is it greater consciousness for themselves and their readers?  Do they hope to have some kind of concrete effect on the way things function (or does an increased awareness lead to change in and of itself)?  Danticat's comment about the illiterate storytellers who influenced her also made me wonder about whose stories/viewpoints can be heard and spoken and whose are left out or silenced.  I think this question is particularly relevant in any discussion about Western feminism and “Third World women.”  While writers like Chondra Mohanty and Uma Narayan stress the importance of understanding “local” contexts, one must ask through what channels we can receive this contextual information (i.e. whose voices are allowed to travel across national, cultural, or linguistic borders), especially if some of the women we are talking about cannot read or write.  This discussion about who is heard and why they are heard is relevant not only in a global landscape, but also within our own nation.

--Renee Slajda

CCASD Keywords: Movements

October 11, 2011
by akn2110

On Wednesday, September 21, 2011, The Center for the Critical Analysis of Social Difference (CCASD) held its first event of the semester, continuing its series CCASD Keywords: Interdisciplinary Roundtable Conversations. This installment focused on the topic of "Movements." The event began with introductory remarks by Janet Jakobsen, Professor of Women Studies and Director of the Barnard Center for Research on Women, who highlighted how the CCASD series focuses on "the type of work our critical languages do." The panelists included Paul Scolieri, Assistant Professor of Dance at Barnard College; Dorian Warren, Assistant Professor of Political Science and the School of International and Public Affairs (SIPA); and Lila Abu-Lughod, Joseph L. Buttenwieser Professor of Social Science and Director of CCASD.

Professor Scolieri reflected on dance as a site for embodying social change through identity and representation, and explored the dynamics between physical movements and social or political movements. He drew on examples of dance traditions that respond to social conflicts, such as the 16th-century dances of indigenous peoples wherein they reenacted the scene of their people's domination by European colonizers. Scolieri commented on how "within these choreographies there is a way of enacting resistance," memorializing the story of violence and encounter, while often also serving as a coping mechanism. Scolieri then turned his discussion to the way in which various forms of activism use dance to do what scholar Gene Sharp described as creating political "interference" through bodies. Scolieri illustrated his point with the example of women in Chile who reappropriated the national folk dance of the cueca by publicly performing a "cueca sola" to mark the absence of those disappeared under Pinochet's government. Scolieri concluded by underlining how dance can "express trauma and violence that is sometimes beyond discourse."

Professor Dorian Warren discussed what defines a social movement from a political science standpoint. He outlined the key elements of successful social movements, including clarity of purpose, relentless outreach, learning space, leadership, cellular structures (small networks of people connected to each other), and popular media. Warren then discussed the ongoing debate about the role of organizations in social movements, as to whether they constrain or sprout such movements.

Lila Abu-Lughod began her talk by explaining how she, "as an anthropologist, never felt comfortable using the term 'movement.'" She regards with suspicion the way that resistance movements were celebrated and romanticized in the academy. Abu-Lughod then cited examples of various movements in the Muslim world and analyzed the way in which their activities were portrayed by the groups themselves, as well as by the western media. She specifically discussed the recent uprising in Egypt and explored the relationship between revolutions and the movements that contribute to making them happen. In many cases, the previous activities of smaller movements are critical for laying the groundwork for the revolution that follows, as was the case with the worker movements in the Egyptian textile factories prior to the January uprising. However, she highlighted the way in which western media gave more attention to the role of Facebook and Google in the uprising, unfairly favoring "those who could present an English-language and branded 'Arab Spring.'"

A lively discussion followed the talks in which the panelists responded to each other's points and took questions from the audience. Professor Jakobsen reflected on the effects and problems of memorialization and the way in which it can determine "whose story is solidified into history." Professor Scolieri added that even choreography operates as a kind of historiography, as dance movements are passed on. Professor Warren, when asked about how the success of a movement is measured, concurred that while success is difficult to measure, it could be seen in whether the target change was achieved. From the audience, Professor Marianne Hirsch, of English and Comparative Literature, asked the panelists to consider how participation in social movements have changed in the digital age, where online petitions remove activism from the site of the physical body. Urvashi Vaid, of the Center for Gender and Sexuality Law, also raised questions about the relationship between emotion and social movements, reflecting on how the desire to belong often plays a part in movements. Overall it was a well-received and engaging event.

—Alicia Nadkarni

"Diagrammatics as Physiognomy": Alexander Weheliye and W.E.B. Du Bois

October 11, 2011
by kll2130

Alexander Weheliye, of Northwestern University, began his September 27 lecture entitled “Diagrammatics as Physiognomy: The Place of Graphics and Photography in W.E.B. Du Bois’s Sociological Work” by noting a critical lack. While scholars have made much of Du Bois’s use of photography in venues such as the 1900 Paris Exposition, his consistent employment of statistics and diagrams has received a relative paucity of critical attention. In focusing his analysis on the statistical charts prevalent throughout Du Bois’s 1899 tome The Philadelphia Negro, Weheliye sought to fill this scholarly void and, in so doing, enrich his audience’s understanding of Du Bois’s sociological intervention.

As Weheliye made clear, Du Bois utilized his extensive diagrammatic schema to historicize “the Negro” as a product of material conditions rather than biological or hereditary conceptions of race. More simply, Du Bois’s intervention was to position his “Philadelphia Negro” as an object of sociological inquiry as opposed to a natural problem to be explained away. As Weheliye put it, Du Bois’s charts ask readers to consider race “as a set of historical, social and economic relations; in other words, the color line.” Perhaps the most provocative aspect of Weheliye’s argument was his contention that Du Bois turns to statistical diagrams because he came to realize that photographs are formally incapable of portraying these relations. Weheliye asserted that while photography is bound to a representational logic depicting existing individuals and groups, statistics provide Du Bois with an opportunity to present his black subjects enmeshed in the historicized context of material power relations. Furthermore, statistical diagrams afford a means for Du Bois to contest contemporary discourses revolving around black extinction. In Weheliye’s words, “Du Bois secures Negro futurity by offering up a statistical archive.”

Of course, questions of gender played a crucial role in the sort of futurity Du Bois imagined. According to Weheliye, the diagrams in Philadelphia Negro pay rigorous critical attention to black women’s labor. Through linking white household structures and black family labor patterns in his charts, Du Bois consistently asserts the pivotal role black female domestic workers played in Philadelphia’s economy. While in Philadelphia Negro Du Bois does not textually articulate anything akin to his emphasis in future work on the labor of enslaved black women, the statistical charts provide a glimpse into his development of this line of thinking. As Weheliye contended, in diagrammatically indicating how white and black labor and wealth are mutually-constitutive, Du Bois implicitly centralizes black women within these intertwined economies and socialities.

It should be no surprise that a lively discussion followed Weheliye’s provocative lecture. Conversation began with IRWaG core faculty member Alondra Nelson asking Weheliye to what extent he considered his project uniquely Du Boisian as opposed to a tracking of broader post-Reconstruction anti-racist black intellectual trends. IRWaG Director Saidiya Hartman further inquired whether photography is formally incapable of capturing dynamic power relations and physiognomies or if the incapacity in fact resided in Du Bois’s conception of the photograph. The extensive discussion which followed these questions and Weheliye’s responses functioned as a neat illustration of the vibrant, dynamic social scene Weheliye found in Du Bois’s diagrammatic imagination.

—Kaveh Landsverk

Towards An Intellectual History of Black Women: Conference Report

June 21, 2011

Over the course of three days this April, a group of four scholars—Professor Farah J. Girffin of Columbia, Professor Mia Bay of Rutgers University, Associate Professor Martha Jones of the University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, and Professor Barbara D. Savage of the University of Pennsylvania—convened the conference “Toward an Intellectual History of Black Women: An International Conference.”  This conference, as the web site announced, featured emerging work on black women's contributions to black thought, political mobilization, creative work, and gender theory.  Scholarly panels, roundtable discussions, and a keynote delivered by Professor Elizabeth Alexander focused on black women as intellectuals across a broad geography including Africa, the Caribbean, North and South America, and Europe.  Over a period of three days, we aimed to piece together a history of black women's thought and culture, mapping the distinctive concerns and historical forces that have shaped black women's ideas and intellectual activities.

The conference, which drew so much interest it sold out and had to be streamed live on the web, delivered on its promise of convening a truly diverse group of speakers. Graduate student and conference aid Brittney Taylor described the event after the final session: “it was an inspiring conference that highlighted the rarely recognized, but myriad spaces where black women have contributed and continue to contribute to the intellectual activities of our society through the panelists, the women who were presented on, and the attendees.”  Not only did the conference offer an opportunity for attendees to engage with work attempting to reclaim historically marginalized voices and topics, it also argued for the history of black women to be examined with the same rigor and seriousness afforded to other intellectual traditions.  Taylor and other conference goers, ranging from graduate students to academics to community members, all seemed to find something of interest.  With panel topics such as internationalism, aesthetics, the carceral state, and activist/intellectuals, the conference’s structure truly addressed a wide range of important issues in the lives and histories of black women.

Keynote speaker Elizabeth Alexander, examining what she termed a “pre-history of African American studies,” punctuated the conference’s goal of reassessing the emergence and legacy of black women’s history.  Alexander’s address, titled simply “A Prehistory of African-American Studies,” examined the work of black women scholars before the oft-noted institutional “birth” of African American studies in 1968.  As she notes, this originary tale relies on the recognition of universities and colleges, but that should not negate the work done outside of these institutions.     

Co-sponsored by multiple institutes and groups, including IRWaG, Toward an Intellectual History of Black Women represented a collective effort to bring together numerous voices to engage these various sets of questions.  In doing so, the conference set a profound precedent for not only the direction of scholarly treatment of black women’s history, but also, as Taylor elucidated for us, the spaces out of which these histories continue to emerge.         

—Nikolas Oscar Sparks