Programme, December 13
3.45pm Break
4pm Film Screening: Kim Soyoung, New Woman: Her First Song
6.30
Drinks: with W.U.N. Politics of World Cinema Symposium.
Law Annexe Bar. Symposium nametag required.
Programme, December 14
9.30am Coffee/tea.
3.45pm Break
The late 20th century marked a critical shift in interpretations of feminism both
within the feminist academy as well as across broader feminist activist practices.
Universal ideals of a global sisterhood of ‘women’ united under a single banner
of feminism were replaced with more inclusive notions of feminisms: feminisms
shaped by multiple, diverse and, at times, contradictory contexts. Yet in
acknowledging the different contexts that shape the many manifestations of
feminism across the globe, an interesting and rather paradoxical dilemma has
arisen. On the one hand, feminisms incorporate a rich diversity of perspectives
and attitudes and have and continue to empower a multiplicity of women and
men. On the other hand, however, such a feminist mélange appears to have
diluted the power of feminist discourses and praxis, at times calling into question
their relevance and meaning.
This paper is part of a larger project that examines feminist activisms across
borders. Using several feminist activist projects conducted by participants of the
Oxfam International Youth Partnerships (OIYP is a three year international youth
activist program which brings together young activists from over 100 countries)
questions about the current state and play of feminisms across a range of
cultural contexts will be explored.
“Does sex have a history? Does each sex have a different history, or
histories? Is there a history of how the duality of sex was established, a
genealogy that might expose the binary options as a variable
construction?”
Judith Butler
In my presentation I want to consider how evidence from 19th and early 20th
century Siam/Thailand may provide the possibility of a more fundamental history
of the emergence of gender along the lines of Foucault’s project in his history of
sexuality. Premodern Siam was without doubt a strongly patriarchal society,
with women culturally excluded from religious ordination in Theravada
Buddhism, barred from holding the highest political rank of monarch, and
subordinated within a sexual culture that valorized male sexual prowess (and
conquests) while stigmatizing all expressions of female sexual agency.
Nonetheless, 19th century English and French visitors trenchantly criticized the
“androgyny” of the Siamese population (in fashion, hair styles, given names, the
everyday lives of the labouring masses) as a signal indicator of the society’s
“semi-barbarous” lack of “civilization”. Stung by the savagery of European
criticisms, especially of Siamese women as ugly, overly masculine viragos, the
absolute monarchy embarked on a project of self-modernisation that included
ordaining clearly visible (to Westerners) differentiation of the forms of Siamese
masculinity and femininity.
While Siam/Thailand does not provide evidence of the origins of gender, a self-
modernising project of power has nonetheless led to an expansion, and
intensification, of the masculine/feminine binary across the modern cultural body
of the nation. In this we may perhaps catch glimpses of an emergence of gender
in specific cultural sites and contexts where it has not previously existed, and
with this the possibility of a genuinely historiographic project that takes Judith
Butler’s questions as its starting point.
This takes us to the issue of female care labor which permeates through the
major contemporary films such Mother, The Housemaid (a remake, 2010) and
Thirst (2009)
A young woman in Thirst when she turns into a vampire, she seems to declare
herself as “I‘d rather become a vampire than a housemaid.”
This paper, emerging from our current ARC project on lifestyle TV in Asia,
examines such processes through an analysis of lifestyle television in Taiwan.
We analyse a specific example of popular advice programs targeted at women
viewers: Taiwan’s Woman Queen (女人我最大, TVBS-G). Our analysis focuses on
the contradictions between the ideals of ‘compulsory individuality’ (Cronin) and
reflexive, choice-based selfhood (Giddens) promoted by these shows, and the
structural constraints on this emergent feminine subject in the context of
ongoing gendered social and economic inequities and the continued cultural
potency of older formations of feminine subjecthood tied to patrilineal family
structure and ideology.
During her lifetime, Ernestine Hill (born Hemmings, 1899-1972) was one of
Australia's best known writers. She is largely forgotten today, but Hill was a key
figure in the mid-twentieth century emergence of a popular media culture in
Australia. She played a role in shaping debate about the great public issues of
her day, especially the status of Aboriginal peoples, immigration from Asia, and
the state’s role in national development. She wrote “action” stories about nation-
building schemes (irrigation, the Flying Doctor service..) to capture the popular
imagination: The Great Australian Loneliness (1937) and The Territory (1951) are
still read today. An intelligent and sensitive writer who counted Mary Gilmore
and Mary Durack among her close friends, she translated into national folklore a
romantic vision of pioneering; a chronicler of the achievements of Aboriginal and
Chinese as well as white women in the outback, she played some part in shaping
myths of Aboriginal people as a “dying race” (a thesis which she did not herself
believe) by publicising Daisy Bates' beliefs in the popular press, later claiming
that she had ghost-written Bates’ memoir, The Passing of The Aborigines (1938).
Hill showed no sympathy for “women’s issues” as defined by urban feminists,
then or now. She wrote very little of a personal nature; the legacy that she left
was all about other people’s lives.
Among the many reasons why her life is interest to me is that in her role as a
purveyor of colonialist “knowledge” and a practitioner of sensationalist
journalism, she relayed toxic stories without needing to believe them (a
professional formation that needs more attention today). Another is that she
supported herself by writing at a time when this was difficult for women.
However, in this paper I will focus on her principled insularity as an Australian
writer, in order to discuss the methodological challenge of writing about her life
for readers (Australians included) who have never heard of her and may have no
reason to care.
Japanese girls’ comics (shôjo manga) have long been concerned with issues of
gender and modernity. Relying on a combination of Occidentalism (expressed
through romanticized fictional Western settings) and gender ambiguity (be it in
the form of cross-dressing girls or in the highly popular subgenre of Boys’ Love,
male gay romances written by female authors for female readers), the comics
have become a platform for a critique of Japanese society as well as of Western
modernity. A particularly intriguing instance is what I have defined their “creative
misreading of Christianity.” From Catholic girls’ school horror comics of the 1970s
to recent works like Nakamura Hikaru’s series Saint Young Men (2010, ongoing),
girls’ comics have appropriated Western religion in creative and often irreverent
ways.
A fascinating example is the rise to pop icon status of a historical character from
the seventeenth century, Amakusa Shirô. Masuda Shirô Tokisada, also known as
Amakusa Shirô, was the teenage samurai leader of Shimabara rebellion of 1638,
the last Christian revolt before the final ban on foreign religion and the cessation
of all contacts with the West. Starting in the mid-1990s, a number of works of pop
culture have portrayed him as an increasingly gender-ambiguous bishônen
(“beautiful boy”) figure. The phenomenon reached its climax in 1999, when the
renowned drag queen Miwa Akihiro declared that a spiritualist has revealed to
her/him that s/he was the reincarnation of Amakusa.
The mother-in-law has been a powerful but also a problematic figure in Chinese
family and social life. As a conveyor of the Confucian ideology, she was the target
of China’s communist revolution. Chinese women’s liberation included taking
away the traditional right of the mother-in-law over her daughter-in-law. In
literature, she has often been an ambiguous figure – the loving mother to her son
on the one hand but the terrible torturer of her daughter-in-law on the other.
Have China’s drastic social changes transformed the mother-in-law? What does
she stand for in literary representation? What kind of gender politics is at play in
the case of the mother-in-law? This paper intends to explore possible answers to
these questions by conducting a close reading of the short story “Goddess Nüwa”
in the context of contemporary China’s feminist and state feminist discourse.
The 1980s and 1990s was a time when many writers and intellectuals in China
openly expressed a concern for a national crisis - the decline of masculinity. Many
took the task to heart and produced stories that elaborate on the connection
between China’s national potency, cultural traditions and masculinity. Most
representative texts include Liu Heng’s novella “Fuxi, Fuxi” (1988), Mo Yan’s Red
Sorghum Family Stories (1991) and Chen Zhongshi’s Bailu Yuan (1993). (The
former two have been adapted into films by Zhang Yimou and therefore earned
an international reputation.) All are by male writers about male protagonists that
foreground China’s potency, or lack of it, one way or the other. It was in this
context of national narration that “Goddess Nüwa” (1995) appeared. “Goddess
Nüwa” was written by Xu Kun with a feminist consciousness as a deliberate
counter narrative to the masculine representation of Chinese cultural traditions.
The narrative centres on two generations of extremely powerful mothers-in-law.
As loyal guardians of the patriarchy system, these two mothers-in-law manifest
an alternative femininity, the one that not only complements masculinity but is
totally in service to the patriarchy. The enormous irony in the author’s feminist
intent and a misogynist outcome urges one to doubt the compatibility between
feminism and nationalism. “Goddess Nüwa” shows the mission of a feminist
national narration may turn out to be a trap for feminist authors.