Allie's ASTU Blog

Mohsin Hamid’s psychological fiction The Reluctant Fundamentalist centers around a man named Changez and his experiences pre and post 9/11 as a Pakistani immigrant living in America. The novel, released in 2007, serves as a counter narrative to the master narrative that was circulating the U.S. during this time period, as stated by former U.S. President George W. Bush: “either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists.” A clear example of the “false dilemma” fallacy, this narrative presented War on Terror as two-sided, and easily created to anti-Islamic sentiment that is still rampant in today’s America.

When discussing this in class, my mind immediately drew parallels to the narratives used during the Age of Colonialism and their impact on post-colonial narratives.

Colonial narratives centered around people of color as “inferior” or “degenerate” races, that needed help from the “superior” races (aka white people) as part of the “providential order of things for humanity,” (Renan). This idea of the “white man’s burden,” that black people REQUIRED the imposition of western civilization on their colonies, was used to justify an era of brutality, exploitation, and destruction of cultural identities. Similar to Bush’s decision to invade Iraq and the War on Terror, the spread of democracy was used as an excuse to invade other countries to gain and prove power during the Colonial Era.  

The impacts of this narrative did not disappear in post-colonial society. Rather, they can be seen in the lasting view of white superiority and the institutional racism that persists in most European societies. Lasting colonial narratives point to the the inferiority of blacks as the cause of African disparity, when really, it is colonialism itself that is the cause of disparity. Africa is still seen as “less than” in most European societies; it is stereotyped as a dangerous, poor, uncivilized continent. In reality, this is only the master narrative– there are thousands of counter narratives of what Africa is and what it means to be African, pointing to its rich history and culture. Instead, it is reduced to a third-world continent of savages, largely because of the impact of this master narrative.

This lasting master colonial narrative and the racial and religious tensions it causes could even be argued as part of the cause of 9/11 itself and the still present anti-Islamic sentiment in the U.S.

In Marjane Satrapi’s graphic narrative Persepolis, debate over the requirement and impact of the hijab (or “veil”, as Satrapi refers to it) is present from the very first page, when she says “we didn’t really like to wear the veil, especially since we didn’t understand why we had to.” Throughout the book, Satrapi is vocal about how the hijab was utilized as a form of oppression during her upbringing in post-Islamic Revolution Iran.

However, in response to the French government’s debate over banning the hijab in 2003, she takes a different angle: “I also think that to forbid girls from wearing the veil, … is to be every bit as repressive. … I have been incredibly surprised by the reaction of French feminists, who have publicly campaigned for the banning of ‘this visible symbol of the submission of women,’” (https://www.theguardian.com/world/2003/dec/12/gender.uk). 

This statement resonated with me all week, especially in today’s context of the Me Too movement and increasing sexual assault awareness. I have often wrestled with the idea that, by not covering up, women are asking to be objectified. This mindset is seen in many sexual assault cases where the victim is minimized with the statement “she was asking for it”.

In the vast majority of cases, I do not see any truth in the statement that women who “show off” their body are asking for objectification. (What girl has ever thought “oh yes, PLEASE treat me like an object instead of a human being”?) Rather, I think that society has socialized males to think that. So if a male sees a female “showing off” her body, he has been socialized to interpret it to mean that she is seeking objectification or sexual attention.

Some approaches to feminism find the solution to this to be dressing however you want anyway, and being comfortable in your own skin despite the objectification that may be a result. Other approaches solve this by covering up, and lessening the possibility of being objectified. But is either REALLY a solution?

In my view, the only real solution is to teach males not to objectify women no matter what. Males should be taught that the way a girl dresses, looks, acts, etc. does NOT say anything about what she wants, and the only thing that says anything about what she wants is what she actually says.

Is a girl oppressed because she chooses to wear a hijab? No. Is a girl oppressed because she chooses to wear a miniskirt? No. Can both be oppressive when used as a way to control or devalue women? Definitely (as Satrapi points out in Persepolis). Really, the issue is much deeper than clothes; it is the way that males are socialized to think of the other sex that comes from the deep rooted patriarchal elements that still exist is society. Referring to the hijab as a “symbol of the submission of women” comes from the same place as saying a sexual assault victim “was asking for it” because she wore a short skirt, and both are equally destructive towards women. So rather than attacking women for their clothing choices, shouldn’t we be trying to break the causes of objectification?

Curated by Laura Osorio Sunnucks, Arts of Resistance: Politics and the Past in Latin America has been held in UBC’s Museum of Anthropology since May, 2018. An exhibit that “illustrates how communities in Latin America use traditional or historical art forms to express contemporary political realities” (https://moa.ubc.ca/exhibition/arts-of-resistance/) , it looks at political turmoil in Latin America through a modern lens. Through a collection ranging from textiles to children’s drawings to intricate masks, the exhibit conveys the systemic political issues that much of Latin America faces to this day. As explained by the walls, display cards, and pamphlets, the exhibit seeks to help visitors understand the political and social significance of these artistic traditions, in history and today.

As I entered the exhibit, I was almost immediately struck by the section entitled “The Defence of Maize,” with its Banksy-esque stencils and the striking image of an indigenous woman holding a shotgun. As soon as I finished reading the section’s sign, I knew exactly what I wanted to write about for this blog. Having spent a few summers volunteering at an orphanage in the Ngong Hills of Kenya, maize had accounted for at least 80% of my diet, and it came as no surprise to read that maize agriculture was at the root of early Mesoamerican civilizations and important to many of Mexico’s agricultural communities. I had lived in a community that’s well-being was based on how good or bad their maize crops and the maize market was that season, and could understand why it was something worth “defending.”

Me, eating maize and beans

Not only did I connect with this installation in this way, but also in the information that followed. The aforementioned indigenous woman has her shotgun pointed at scientists, who had genetically engineered cheaper, less nutritious, transgenic maize, flooding the market and taking the profit from Mexico’s poorest agricultural communities. To understand why I felt a connection to this, you’ll need a little backstory. I’m an (intended) Environmental Sustainability major, and much of what inspired my major (and my attendance at UBC in general), was a book called The Last Hunger Season: A Year in an African Farm Community on the Brink of Change. It tells the story of four African farmers, fighting against the hunger season along with the One Acre Fund, a non-profit that teaches sustainable and modern farming techniques in African countries. The book details the theory that in order to fight poverty in general in third world countries,  it needs to start with farmers in order to be able to support the growing population, stimulate the economy, etc. I immediately drew a connection when I saw this exhibit, and seeing that the Mexican government and transatlantic companies were exploiting the indigenous people rather than helping them (and the country overall), honestly made me pretty angry. On top of this, the less advanced state of most farmers in third world countries is one of the long term effects of colonialism, and hundreds of years later, the situation is still being made worse.

Curator Laura Osorio Sunnucks commented on how this piece linked prehispanic imagery (it’s traditional pattern in the background and the dress of the indigenous woman) with modern issues (transgenic maize farming). This particular piece stands out as trying to serve the didactic function of inspiring the indigenous empowerment, and standing out against the injustices imposed upon them. It was interesting to see how the traditional art elements were incorporated to make a modern call to action.

I was extremely impressed by how well this exhibit connected me, a white, privileged, American, with the struggles of Latin Americans. It inspired emotions and allowed me to draw connections with my past experiences, something I thing all museum exhibits should strive to do. Through it’s unique combination of traditional Latin American art with modern political conflicts, it effectively connected me, a complete outsider, with the social significance of art and modern issues.

All photography and references of work are attributed to https://moa.ubc.ca/exhibition/arts-of-resistance/.

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