Category: Term 1

In Maggie de Vries’ narrative Missing Sarah, de Vries creates a space for her murdered sister Sarah, a sex worker on the Downtown Eastside, to share her experiences by including excerpts of Sarah’s journal in the narrative. In an excerpt on page 180 of Missing Sarah, de Vries includes an entry which describes the slow degeneration of Sarah’s identity as she works on the streets, illuminating the deep detrimental effects of perpetually enforced societal stigmas on an individual’s sense of self. This deterioration is encompassed by Debbie Wise Harris’ concept of “strategic silences”, as discussed in Yasmin Jiwani and Mary Lynn Young’s article Missing and Murdered Women: Reproducing Marginality in News Discourse. Sex workers are silenced by these societal stigmas, and are thus represented as unworthy in the eyes of the public.

In her journal entry, Sarah describes the deep, traumatic transformation of identity she experiences as a sex worker in Vancouver by means of a careful choice of diction. First, Sarah employs words that describe the loss of her old self – “erosion,” “deadening,” “lost cause,” and “nothing” (de Vries 180) – emphasizing not only a loss of identity, but also of the hope of ever returning to it. Earlier in Missing Sarah, de Vries states that “girls don’t start defining themselves as prostitutes overnight” (76) – they only embody this identity once they turn their first trick. This change is time-consuming, and one can thus assume that it is a perpetual transformation of a sex worker’s concept of self. Sarah describes her new identity with terms such as “dirty, slutty, and cheap,” as well as “whore” and “junkie” (180) – all of which are derogatory terms. Sarah says that these are terms by which she labels herself “now” (de Vries180) – but as a result of what?

This question brings us to reality: the identity of a sex worker is dictated by societal stigmas. Operating under the assumption that humans are socialized into rather than born with identities, it is impossible for a woman to label herself as a “whore” or a “junkie” from the minute she develops thought and speech. No: these are derogatory societal stigmas which perpetuate the perception that sex workers are, to use Sarah’s choice of diction, “dirty, slutty, and cheap”. Over time, as Sarah faced these stigmas daily, she evidently internalized these opinions of herself, thus experiencing the aforementioned “erosion of feeling” (de Vries 180). It is at the point of this internalization that the concept of “strategic silences” comes into play. Although Jiwani and Young discuss stigmas surrounding Aboriginal sex workers, this theory can also be applied to any sex worker. The authors state that, as sex workers are silenced by societal stigmas, their backgrounds are forgotten. This contributes to their representation in society as “deserving of violence” (Jiwani, Young 899), for their families, friends, and personalities are disregarded.

In sharing her experience of identity loss and transformation, Sarah is able to speak on behalf of sex workers to humanize their experiences and defy these strategic silences. Her testimony acts as a warning against the internalization of these stigmas, and it points to a deep need for change in society’s treatment of those working in the sex industry.

Works Cited

De Vries, Maggie. Missing Sarah: A Memoir of Loss. Toronto: Penguin Canada, 2008. Print.

Jiwani, Yasmin, and Mary Lynn Young. “Missing and murdered women: Reproducing marginality in news discourse.” Canadian Journal of Communication 31.4 (2006): 895.

I think it is safe to assume that whenever one does anything in their everyday, others’ opinions of them greatly influence their actions. Is this influence also a factor for an author of a life narrative, but on a wider scale? And, if it is, what does this experience suggest about the legitimacy of any life narrative?

These are questions that float through my mind as I read Kay Schaffer and Sidonie Smith’s “Conjunctions: Life Narratives in the Field of Human Rights”  in comparison with G.T. Couser’s “Signifying Bodies”.

In short, I do believe that writers of life narratives consider others’ opinions of their works, although I do not believe that this is a restrictive or delegitimizing sentiment. In Schaffer and Smith’s article, the authors describe an element of unpredictability in the circulation and reception of a life narrative. Simply put, there is no way for the author or publisher to truly know how their audience will react, nor who their audience will eventually be (Schaffer, Smith 18). As a result of this unpredictability, I would argue that the writer is actually freer to portray their self and situation just as they are. They do not need to write to please the masses because there is no way that they would be able to do so in the first place. What this leaves is an unhindered writer, such as Stella Young. She shares her opinion regarding “inspiration porn” frankly: she does not sugar-coat her anger at the segregation of disabled people. She is free to portray herself and her situation just as they are, because she does not control her audience or their reception of her work.

There is a point to be made, however, which questions whether the freedom of the authors of life narratives actually inspires them to portray themselves truthfully, or whether it causes them to overly dramatize their self or situation. In his section titled “Rhetoric and Self-Representation in Disability Memoir”, Couser describes many types of “persuasive speech or writing” styles in the disability memoir (Couser 33), each of which portrays the author’s ‘trauma’ or experience somewhat problematically. Be it idealist positivity (rhetoric of “triumph”) (33) or extreme negativity (“gothic rhetoric”) (35), the dramatization of one’s life narrative discredits the legitimacy of their published narrative. It can cause the reader to wonder:

“Did they really experience this, or are they just over exaggerating?”

There is a sense here that, although it is completely up to the writer to portray themselves as they like due to the unpredictability of circulation and reception, there is still a general expectation that one who bears witness to a traumatic event must be respectful and honest about it.

In the end, the author of a life narrative is in a position of freedom. Because of the possibility for individuals to experience similar forms of trauma, however, it is important for authors to be honest in their storytelling. Mutual respect will ultimately be the determining factor for the positive reception of a life narrative.

Works Cited

Couser, G. Thomas. “Rhetoric and Self-Representation in Disability Memoir.”Signifying Bodies: Disability in Contemporary Life Writing. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan, 2009. 33. Print.

Schaffer, Kay, and Sidonie Smith. “Conjunctions: Life Narratives in the Field of Human Rights.” Human Rights and Narrated Lives (2004): 15-20. Print.

Reading through various disability narratives, I am struck by a humbling realization: this is the first time in my life that I have ever been made aware of the disabled person’s perspective. Judging by the rhetoric of emancipation employed by the writers, I think it is also safe to assume that my situation is not unique, but that most non-disabled people have simply never – or rarely – considered disability from the ‘other side’s’ point of view. The question that arises from this realization, now, is how does the disabled writer point out this lack of understanding, and, consequently, how do they seek to change it?

Perspective in the disability memoir is explored in two areas: first, by revealing the disabled person’s perspective; second, by emphasizing the need for a change of the non-disabled person’s perspective. Professor G. T. Couser lends a helping hand in understanding the ideal rhetoric of disabled writers – the rhetoric of emancipation – whereby they challenge society’s existing marginalizing institutional constructs (Couser 33). This liberates them of other peoples’ discriminatory attitudes. We see this rhetoric employed in Ryan Knighton’s Cockeyed, when he describes an event that occurred during his trip in New Orleans. Two men, about to mug him, stop when they realize Knighton is blind, and they apologize (Knighton 93). Although he was spared from harm, Knighton comments that he feels a piece of his “dignity” had been stolen from him (Knighton 94): he doesn’t feel he needs special attention from anyone, in any situation, because of his ‘disability’. Knighton directly contests society’s constructed label of him as disabled: just because he is blind does not mean that he is unable to defend himself. In the description of this simple interaction, Knighton reveals that, from his perspective, non-disabled people must stop regarding the disabled as frail, fragile, and, ultimately, unable. By revealing his personal viewpoint, Knighton employs the rhetoric of emancipation to point out the marginalizing attitude society holds toward the blind. He sets himself free from the constraints of both his own embarrassment and from the effects of society’s discriminatory constructs.

It is evident that there is a deep need for social change regarding the way disabled people are perceived and treated in today’s society. Thankfully, by means of the rhetoric of emancipation in personal storytelling, disabled writers are able to identify and challenge the inequality that is woven through the fabric of our society. As a result of the disability memoir, a shift in the non-disabled person’s perspective is made possible, and the voice of the marginalized grows louder in sphere of the non-disabled world.

Works Cited

Couser, G. Thomas. “Rhetoric and Self-Representation in Disability Memoir.”Signifying Bodies: Disability in Contemporary Life Writing. Ann Arbor: U of Michigan, 2009. 33. Print.

Knighton, Ryan. “Whatcha Got.” Cockeyed: A Memoir. New York: Public Affairs, 2006. 93-94. Print.

As one explores the peritext of Malala Yousafzai’s I Am Malala, the author’s ability to communicate powerfully – even without words – is striking. By means of her cover photos, she purposefully employs visual symbolism to underscore her power as a spokesperson for women’s rights.

When one examines the cover of Malala’s autobiography, one is immediately
struck by the brightness of her headdress and the confidence in her stare. With a pink hijab draped elegantly around her head and shoulders, she smiles knowingly at the camera. This causes one to wonder what lies behind that smile. Does Malala possess some sort of knowledge of which the reader is unaware?

In my opinion, her enigmatic expression is not directed so much to the reader as it is to her oppressors. In the text itself, Malala recounts that she and her female classmates were “advised to wear plain clothes” instead of their school uniforms (Malala 156) in order to hide from the Taliban. The Taliban require “that women wear a long veil… which covers them from head to toe”, and ban women from wearing brightly coloured clothing (Rawa). Even so, here we see Malala: face uncovered, and clad in vibrant colour. This image expressly defies the suppression of the Taliban. She stares into the camera, smiling, as if to say, ‘I am still here – in spite of your attempts to silence me’.

Shifting attention to the back cover of the book, Malala’s defiance of Taliban suppression is further illustrated by the photograph of her and her father. Her clothing is still eye-catching, but now it is the direction of her gaze that communicates the significance of this picture. Here, Malala is portrayed through a more ambitious lens: she looks admiringly at the man who fuels and empowers her fight for women’s education and equality. Because her father is a symbol of perseverance, Malala is not only gazing at a family member but at the embodiment of her goals and dreams; she is focused on her reason to push through the seemingly insurmountable obstacles she faces. Similarly, it is not merely her father who stares proudly into the camera, but perseverance itself. This is striking, as it projects an image to the world of confidence and persistence in the face of extreme adversity.

The images on the front and back covers of Yousafzai’s I Am Malala are like two sides of the same coin, each with its own unique message. Both sides, however, are vital. It is impossible to make change without defying the oppressor and persevering to achieve one’s goals. You cannot have one without the other. The peritext communicates a visual representation of Malala’s story, thereby underscoring her individual agency to speak, to be heard, and to make change.

Works Cited

“Some of the Restrictions Imposed by Taliban on Women in Afghanistan.”Rawa. Rawa.org, n.d. Web. 06 Oct. 2016.

Yousafzai, Malala, and Christina Lamb. I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban. N.p.: n.p., n.d. Print.

Beginning in 1960, one of the world’s most brutal civil conflicts arose in Guatemala between the militant government and the peasant population (Nobel Womens Initiative). In her autobiography I, Rigoberta Menchú: An Indian Woman in Guatemala, the author describes her experience of this war as she traveled through her country to unify the Maya and ladinos. What strikes me is how, even though Menchu emphasises the importance of open discussion in conflict resolution, she simultaneously withholds significant information from certain groups, challenging the modern value of transparency in political affairs.

Sprinkled throughout her autobiography are Rigoberta’s reflections on the prejudice between the ladinos and the Indians. The Maya view ladinos as “traitors” (Britannica). But Menchu comes to understand “the barrier which has been put up” between the two groups as she engages in discussion with a ladino (Menchu 165). The growth of this friendship is a turning point in Menchu’s development. Without these conversations with her ladino friend, her beliefs surrounding ladinos wouldn’t have changed. This would have lead division to prevail between the two groups of civilians who ought to be working together against the government’s oppressive regime. Notwithstanding, Menchu’s praise of the power of open discussion is somewhat contradicted by the fact that she also keeps certain secrets from forces opposing her community. Menchu states that the Indians had “hidden [their] identity because… [they] wanted to protect what governments ha[d] wanted to take away from [them]” (Menchu 170). Essentially this means that nobody can steal what they don’t know exists.  For example, in order to stay ‘under the radar’, the Mayan community adopted certain aspects of foreign culture, such as believing in Christian doctrine, however they “[didn’t] perform only Christian ceremonies” (Menchu 171). Menchu thereby facilitates discussion with certain groups to integrate peace and cooperation, yet hides aspects of herself and her culture from other groups to avoid confrontation and persecution.

At first glance, this behaviour seems hypocritical. Nevertheless, I don’t believe that ‘semi-truthfulness’ in this sense necessarily discredits Menchu’s legitimacy as a leader so much as it raises this important political question: In an age where political transparency is high on the list of civilians’ priorities, is it ever appropriate for a leader or government to withhold information from certain groups of people?

Menchu’s motives for secrecy were tethered to the threat of murder, torture, and disappearances, so I believe that it was right for her to keep her secrets. We see similar behaviour from the Canadian government during the 1979 Canadian Caper case, where they refrained from publicizing the hostage crisis until the Americans had safely landed in Canada (Global Affairs Canada). Ultimately, I think it is right for political leaders to withhold information that, if released, would be detrimental to the greater population. Rigoberta Menchu’s story illustrates the challenge we face in balancing the safety of our compatriots with the need for open and honest political dialogue.

Works Cited

Global Affairs Canada. “Ken Taylor and the Canadian Caper.” GAC. Global Affairs Canada, 10 July. 2013. Web. 17 Sept. 2016.

“Ladino.” Encyclopedia Britannica Online. Ed. Editors of Encyclopædia Britannica, Abvram Martine, and Kathleen Kuiper. Encyclopedia Britannica, 04 Apr. 2016. Web. 17 Sept. 2016.

Menchú, Rigoberta, and Elisabeth Burgos-Debray. I, Rigoberta Menchú: An Indian Woman in Guatemala. London: Verso, 1984. Print.

“Rigoberta Menchú Tum.” Nobel Womens Initiative. Nobel Womens Initiative, 2016. Web. 16 Sept. 2016.