Gloria Anzaldua writes about revolution. A revolution that is necessitated by means of a specific kind of evolution. The process of evolution, one would assume, is naturally occurring; it is separate from notions of politics, norms, culture and so on. Yet she reveals, through her paragraph titled “Half and Half” that perhaps our expectations from nature are not neutral, are not apolitical after all.

Growing up is organic, is normal, is an “evolution” that is expected. Should that same organically mediated process defy the expectations or the wishes of the body, it is a sign of defiance. Something that must be addressed immediately, attacked and- in most cases- removed. A growth, an evolution, that defies expectations, becomes a revolution.

Gloria Anzaldua states how a muchacha was deemed one “of the Others” because her body did not conform to the process of evolution that the townspeople consigned to. Her body defied the binaries through which we make sense of the world in neat, calculated terms. A binary defied, as Anzaldua observes, does not -for some reason- induce the observers to perhaps create room for the intended individual; for some reason, our first instinct is to cast the individual aside as a freak, as a “deviation of nature”. An individual such as the muchacha,leaves the observer “horrified” at the way nature has been “inverted”.

This observation of nature being this or that begs the question: who are we to say what is and what is not natural? Who decides the terms on which nature functions, let alone the terms on which it is inverted?

Is it arrogance or is it cowardice that prevents us from seeing diverse peoples, people with different bodies, different skins, different features, as equally human? Gloria Anzaldua takes a very generous approach to this supposed “abnormality”: her point of view celebrates the individual’s “abnormality” as a physical manifestation of their “inborn extraordinary gift”. This romanticization might be her way of coping with the notion of diversity and its lack of acceptance into the mainstream. If they are not allowed to assimilate, then these “abnormal” individuals should stand apart with pride- atleast that is what Anzaldua seems to infer. 

Yet one cannot help questioning, again, who decides what is and what is not an abnormality? Setting aside the question of whether or not this muchachatruly embodied the kind of personhood imposed onto her as a trans individual, there is a great deal more betrayed in the way that she is portrayed by others. It is interesting and of value, to note that there is an ‘other’ that is far more superior in its reach, in its influence, than this singular entity, this one Other. It is also important to remain cognizant of the fact that the only “abnormal” aspect of her existence lies in reference to her genitalia. Again, begging the question: what is so abnormal about a body that one is born into? One that has had no changes made to it, is naturally occurring, just like the existence of any other person.

A minor discrepancy, purely physical in nature, that takes nothing away from the richness of her personhood is somehow made the focal point of her existence. What Anzaldua offers, through this brief example, is perhaps a larger social commentary. A commentary on our obsession with and our fetishization of, these minor (supposed) discrepancies, ranging from sexuality to genitalia. A commentary on the notion of decision making that later constitutes a narrative; a narrative that the concerned individuals have no role in making. 

Perhaps Anzaldua’s (romantic) acceptance of difference as an inherent gift has merit in the way it seeks to invert the terms by which ‘different’ people are addressed. It may be her way of celebrating a difference that is otherwise chastised. That understanding holds merit in itself.

Yet it is this confusion about what to call someone, how to talk to them and even look at them, that begs the question: perhaps our understanding of difference and our ways of dealing with difference speak volumes about us, and not the person we are commenting on. Perhaps it is more a projection of our own insecurities, a betrayal of our bigotry, than it is a judgement on the person we are evaluating. A person we place on a pedestal to dissect, to criticize, to shame, for  simply existing in a way that does not conform to our expectations. 

To have something as pure as existence, mediated through the lens of bigoted narratives is an evil that goes unquestioned because these Others, these sources of ridicule, reside along the margins of society. Anzaldua emphasizes, through this example of the muchacha, the absurdity of our obsession with bodies, with a specific kind of existence. An existence that does not require a label yet has one imposed onto it for the convenience of everyone but the individual in question.

Visibility is perhaps one of the most crucial tasks undertaken by intersectional politics. It is not that this branch of politics provides individuals with the visibility they are entitled to, that would be to infantilize them; intersectional politics seems to be geared towards acceptance, towards acknowledgment, which is followed by embrace of the individuals’ unique existence. 

It is important to highlight the reason why this visibility is necessary. The burden of multiple intersecting oppressions is a burden that is abused by those in power, even if that power is only incrementally greater. Bell Hooks mentions how, for example, white women leverage their womanhood to gain physical support from black women, as do black men when they require the support of fellow black bodies. What is left out of this equation is the inherent significance of black women as fully involved participants, as sites of the convergence of two identities, not as either black or women.

This under-representation must not be taken lightly as an unintentional consequence of a person’s inability to process complex identities, it is a consciously cultivated blindness that must be acknowledged for what it is: the effective dehumanization of an individual to serve a specific political purpose. 

It is a violentprocess, this forceful separation of one identity from another, when neither can be- and should not be- erased. It is necessary for this reduction to take place, of course, because the existing paradigms do not support, or even acknowledge, the existence of non-binary identities. 

It is in this context that intersectional politics cater to identities that are more human than theoretical, considering that binaries cater to neat concepts over flesh and blood humans. It is this bifurcation between the idealized version of the human that contrasts the human in its situated reality. this reality could take the form of one’s existence as a queer person in Pakistan, as someone who feels misrepresented by the terms male or female, as someone who wishes to identify as a woman at one point in their life and later on, as male. These confusions, these seeming contradictions, are exactly the narratives that intersectional politics aim to create space for. 

It is not the elevation of one particular kind of existence, it is the acceptance of all kinds of existence that intersectionality facilitates. Considering that even within that framework, there are bound to be certain narratives that are excluded, or identities that evolve to represent some kind of identity politics, one must remain cognizant of the fact that the function of intersectional politics is to create space and facilitate the visibility of those who have been forced to perch on the sidelines for too long. 

“My work requires me to think about how free I can be as an African-American woman writer in my genderized, sexualized, wholly racialized world. to think about (and wrestle with) the full implications of my situation leads me to consider what happens when other writers work in a highly and historically racialized society.”

Toni Morrison eradicates, with one concise sentence, the notion that literature (and presumably all forms of knowledge) exist independently of context. To think about, and more importantly, to write about humanity in some vain attempt at objectivity is not only unethical, it is quite simply impossible.

To deny an entire faction of humanity their rightful place in history, their right of culturally, historically situated expression, under the pretense of “universalism” is not just unethical, not just impossible but entirely tyrannical in the effective denial of humanity that it proliferates. 

For Toni Morrison to state, clearly, the different facets of her identity that contribute to her construction of the world, threatens the monopoly that the white male has over the propagation of a singular construction of the world, a singular “knowledge”; a knowledge that has been celebrated for its supposed objectivity because the writers of that literature have been afforded the privilege of objectivity. For Toni Morrison to do the same as a “woman”, a “writer” and an “African-American’ would quite simply be a denial of her own truth. For in America, where her presence as a non-white non-male being is unaccounted for, it is her duty to represent herself in a world that refuses to do so.

Morrison makes it clear when she implores the reader to think as a writer, through the lens of their own personal experience, in creating a world that others like them can recognize. A world that goes beyond Uncle Toms and Bens and Joes; a world that recognizes the diversity that flourishes in a post colonial America, because to write is to create a world, potentially from the ground up. A world that the reader, being a non-male, non-white and even non-American should be able to situate themselves within, not one that is inherently exclusionist through the erasure of differences. 

This “work” that Morrison talks about is the burden that plagues the writer; the burden to “think” truly, unfettered by the expectations of the kind of knowledge one is expected to produce; the burden of accountability. To write is to be held accountable for what you put out into the world, for the language you use, the characters you portray, the things you include and the things you omit.

The “implications” of writing certain things and not others must then be at the forefront of the author’s mind when they write, because this is no inconsequential task; it informs the reader whether or not there is space for someone like them outside their own homes, in the greater scheme of things

Senghor’s version of The African is one essentialism in opposition to another. The word of the Colonized Intellectual against the word of the White Man. Both claim to represent an entire people, clearly confident in their qualification to undertake this mammoth task. And indeed, Senghor’s perception of Negritude, though as essentialist as the White Man’s, warrants the right to clemency because it is the word of an African aboutAfricans and is therefore more likely to be met with compassion. However, this does not, in my opinion, justify the essentialism employed by Senghor as a reaction towards the White Man’s essentialism. 

Essentialism as a concept is rooted in the negation of intersectionality; in order for an entire people to be perceived of as a singular entity, their differences must be erased so  that oneaspect of their identity becomes the only aspect.

This hyper-concentration of identity does, undoubtedly, serve the purpose it is geared towards. With regard to Negritude, the “confirmation of one’s being” as an African is certainly not harmful in itself; if anything, it might just urge the people to hold their head a little higher, to take conscious pride in the colour of their skin with every step they take. The romanticism associated with Negritude grants ample room for individual interpretation; every person has the right of “speaking, singing and dancing” in ways they see fit- “conceiving life” as they see fit. Any act with cultural connotations is then granted legitimacy as long as it is performed by an African individual. This legitimacy of existence and the liberty it affords is an ethic in itself. Furthermore, the spiritual cohesion of the “heart and the mind” is an ethic put forth by Negritude that must be lauded in its efforts to ease the rupture, the compartmentalization, created by colonial conquest.

The paradox, however, lies in the negation of the fact that “peoples differ”. Senghor’s claim is not carried to fruition because his understanding of Negritude does not acknowledge elements of identity that are not black-ness; elements that cannot and should not be negated in favour of one overarching identity; elements that must be sidelined because Negritude takes “priority over the individual” and ends up “crushing” her despite Senghor’s claims that this does not happen in the “harmony of African civilization”. What can be said for the marginalized groups that exist in Africa? Groups whose difference exists outside the dimensions of culture that Senghor speaks of. Why should their existence be simplified- or erased, rather- to serve the purpose of an ‘African ontology’ that is reductionist, exclusive and most importantly, imaginative in its construction. This is where Senghor’s ethic is compromised: in emphasizing unity he neglects diversity.

In speaking of these groups, sexual minorities, ethnic minorities, religious minorities, and the largest minority of them all- women- come to mind. While art, literature and spirituality are beautiful concepts indeed, and while they may be a source of comfort for marginalized individuals in a personal capacity, these concepts do not secure the kind of recognition that is necessary in order for these minorities to integrate into mainstream society. 

The fault with Negritude remains, therefore, the imposition of homogeneity and the denial of identities that diverge from the essentialist African ideal. Senghor perhaps in his fervor, loses sight of the fact that Africa is a continent home to various peoples that simply cannot, and should not, for ethical reasons, be condensed into a singular African identity. That is not to say that Negritude is without its merits; by inverting the terms of essentialism it empowers many to embrace their cultural and spiritual identity in opposition to the White Man’s emphasis on “material”. Yet the point of contention remains that one essentialism cannot compensate for another when it refutes the existence of those who are already at the margins of society.

For the purpose of this piece, and to make things simpler, I will make the assumption that purdah is mandatory for a Muslim woman. Although a hotly debated topic in itself, the intention is not to debate whether or not Holy scripture demands a woman’s ‘modesty’; it is the political implications of that same purdah that must be addressed in a world that is seemingly wrought between tradition and modernity.

Mohanty argues, throughout her piece, that women must not, cannot, be homogenized to ‘make things easier’ to understand. To facilitate a ‘deeper’ understanding of the life of the Third World Woman (without learning of her lived reality). Woman and not woman, because a figure presented as part of a paradigm and a woman as a living, historically situated being, are two very different things. 

Mohanty briefly talks about “women and religious ideologies”; her brief albeit very powerful description of infantilization is what this piece will seek to address, through two competing political ideologies: theology and Western feminism. 

The debate presides over the question of what is modern and what is tradition and whether the two are compatible in a (supposedly) modern world. This debate, rather this apparent attack on tradition, on culture, manifests itself in and implicates, by extension, the body of a woman. Not a woman as an individual, as a human being, but the bodyof a woman as the ground on which religious fundamentalist Mullahs and left leaning White People compete for intellectual domination, for the right to point fingers and say that they won. The argument itself, as one will realize, has nothing to do with women themselves. 

A Muslim women, as a hegemonic entity, is apparently considered the ideal candidate for such politically motivated discourse because, for all intents and purposes, her faith manifests itself (or is supposed to manifest itself) physically. The argument, in other words, revolves around the purdah, or the hijab, or the niqab- or all of those mentioned; the kind of purdah she is in is arbitrary as long as it distinguishes her as a Muslim. 

This purdah, in all its varieties, is reduced to a single word, to make things easier, to make the argument accessible without wasting too much time and energy on what are apparently minor details. The kind of purdah a woman dons is of no importance, but the fact that she covers herself is the only objective taken into account. Why are both sides so quick to dismiss exactly what it is she wears? Does that say nothing about her identity? For the sake of the argument, again, we gloss over the details and present a Woman in purdah as the object of discourse.

The argument presented by theologians maintains that purdah is for a woman’s protection, for modesty, for her own good. Did anyone ever bother to ask a woman whether she felt protected in purdah? That question is apparently irrelevant, so long as Men can vouch for Women. Questions of honour, of safety, of modesty are all answered by men. If something is endorsed in the word of God, what does it matter who conveys the message; the information after all, is the same. Or so we are made to assume. 

The Western feminist will argue, as per the redundant scheme, that the purdah is an overt expression of patriarchal oppression. It prevents women from navigating the world as ordinary people.To unveil a Muslim woman then becomes a symbol of emancipation; the piece of cloth once removed, allows her to navigate life on her own terms as a free (new) woman. There is no denying the fact that to remove the veil, might indeed be a liberating experience, given that the woman in question chooses to remove the veil herself. What can, instead, be said for the woman who chooses to keep it on? 

Herein lies the contention among both sides that claim to have Women’s interests at heart. They neglect, deliberately or perhaps intentionally, the women who are motivated to make educated decisions based on their personal experiences. But when they do not conform to the paradigm that is perpetuated by either side, their narrative is left unaccounted. One might ask: does putting on a veil, after personal deliberation, not qualify as empowerment? Why is this the case, when putting one on or taking one off are essentially equally liberating, given that the woman has chosen it for herself. By eliminating deviations from the equation, both sides try to present a picture that is entirely in the favour of their argument without bringing into consideration the actual women implicated in the process. 

Either way, both sides end up reducing a woman’s experience to something they can say either does or does not align with their agenda, undermining and infantilizing women in the process of delivering the truth about Women. Conveniently looking the other way when a brown girl decides to take off what she thought stifled her identity or when a white woman finds comfort in a head scarf. Because at the end of the day, as Mohanty claims, there is no such thing as “apolitical scholarship”. The idea of the Woman is conflated with women whose lived reality is poles apart from the way they are perceived, reduced to one dimensional figures are either “affected or not affected by Islam”.

The need to embrace and proudly express one’s own culture in the face of foreign domination is an idea that comes across eloquently in Cabral’s speech. Yet to strive against foreign domination, one has to acknowledge, or atleast have some inkling of the fact that they are being dominated by an external entity. What, then, does one say about a group of people who embrace this ‘new’ culture with utmost enthusiasm, who perceive the colonizer as a godsend rather than a threat to their existence. Why would they strive for deliverance from the colonizer when the colonizer Himself isthe liberation.      

This group of people, whom Cabral refers to as “indigenous elites” are those for whom involvement in the cultural liberation movement would mean losing their social status and “political authority”. In this case, colonial domination has not done much to change their way of life; the elite continue to exploit the masses via an uneven existence  and exercise their superiority by virtue of their “level of schooling, their scientific (and) technical knowledge”. One could argue that as far as “cultural superiority” goes, the native elites already presided at the top of the hierarchy; the colonizer, then, could perhaps have granted an increased level of legitimacy via chiefdoms, for example, without taking away from their already established state of local dominance. The native elite might simply consider their collaboration with the colonizer a mutually beneficial relationship. 

One might question, that if the native elites existed in a system where they were already powerful, why did they have to facilitate- via their complicity- the destruction of their homeland and the genocide of their people. Surely, one would think, some added legitimacy was not worth knowing that the colonizer would effectively ravage and plunder and abuse a homeland that belongs to them as much as it belongs to the “popular masses”. According to Cabral, the answer lies in “cultural alienation”. The affluent African internalizes the foreigner’s culture to the point where they are unable- or perhaps unwilling- to identify which is their own. However, one must address the likelihood that the local elite intended for this to be the outcome of their supposedly mutually beneficial relationship with the White Man. They would facilitate His destructive conquests, and He would allow, even encourage them, to assimilate into the world where the grass was greener. This is where the “opportunism” ran its course. A black person remains a black person regardless of their indoctrination into the White Man’s culture.

It is rather befitting how, in betraying their own kind in favour of the colonizer, the native elites were left alienated on both ends; stranded in the midst of a culture that would never see past their black skin and a culture that was now foreign to their white souls. They remain, in Cabral’s words, “unconverted individuals” in need of “re-Africanization” without which they will remain isolated from their motherland, from their people and perhaps even from themselves (owing to the fragmentation of their own identities). It is in the context of this cultural alienation and desire to be better than one’s fellow being that Cabral makes the simple yet profound observation: “all that glitters is not necessarily gold”.

Cabral is not patronizing towards the native elites in this respect. He acknowledges the power dynamics that keep them grounded in their relentless efforts to preserve their “class interests”. Perhaps it is the very human need for self-preservation that he empathizes with, ignorant though it may be. 

Dada Amir Haider Khan’s travelogue is an indispensable source of first-hand insight into the newly emerging world of communist internationalism. His personal experiences, his aspirations as a fervent supporter of this dynamic New World, his personal history and background, which ironically, in a time where all ideals were turned upside down, granted him the legitimacy necessary to participate in the birth of the New World. In this new utopia, things were, by his account, idyllic. 

However, there is some uneasiness, even in this utopia that may be sensed by a particular group of persons; a sort of underlying hypocrisy in the way, and- perhaps more importantly- the intentionswith which notions of fairness and equality were exercised. The claim of equality among people of all races and nationalities was met as far as one could see, indeed, as is made explicit in Dada’s work: “nowhere had I even met people of so many diverse races and nationalities”; yet there is one group whose turn at equality, is not addressed in the same terms: women. 

This poster will serve as a way to elaborate what I mean when I question the extent to which women attained- or were granted, rather- equality alongside the opposite sex. 

As far as poster making goes, this one does the trick. It serves to evoke strong emotions of maternal aggression and ultimately inspire women to enlist in the communist effort. However, the poster itself, addresses women in their capacity as mothers- not as comrades fighting for the same cause, but as mothers who are bound by instinctand not conscious intellectual discourse, to embrace a cause that promises a better future. The poster also incorporates elements of divinity in saying that this maternal drive is “holy”, and therefore more difficult to cast aside. Of course, women were not passive recipients of this gendered propaganda; Dada Amir Haider testifies that the Young Communist League girls did not “waste time in man hunting or any other frivolous pastime.” In the same account, however, he mentions women who were “all dressed up” and were the “object of much flirtation”. Object. This may not seem like a substantial enough point to go on about, but if one were to contextualize: women were spoken about, in this account, as either “object(s)” of desire or as those who were “like men”; there were also the “women of non-proletarian origin”, with whom any kind of intimate relation was discouraged.

In this New World then, a binary was nevertheless imposed on women, a binary based on distinctions of a superficial nature, such as their physical appearances- their “fascinating feminine faces”- and their dressing style. Why is it then, that in this utopia, stereotypical perceptions of women were still used as the means to achieve a goal, as a means to evoke emotionally driven responses? 

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we see that women are not placed into categories but are generalized to the point where one woman represents the entire female population, as is seen in the poster. 

I maintain, and one can probably infer, that the posters, as well as Dada Amir’s travelogue, are not overtly or even, perhaps, deliberately patronizing towards women- they make their own wary attempts at relenting some space for women to enter a stage dominated by men. What I hope to communicate, is that these attempts- carried out by men- detract from the larger fact that what women really need emancipation from are men. Being tied to men through marriage, through children, through social expectations, is what prevents women from embracing their personhood. The same personhood, the same recognition, the same representation that is vouched for in a communist utopia.

If communism truly caters to all voices equally, then why is it that the voices of women are not as loud, or are subdued, if they are heard at all. Why is it that women like Crystal Eastman, who possess immense intellect, are weighed down by that same intellect instead of being elevated to the ranks of great thinkers? Why is their greatness never actualized? Why do their dreams never come to fruition? Because as Claude McKay put it, they are “fettered with a family”. They are crushed by the burden of their womanhood and their subsequent duties to men, leading me to believe that the communist utopia was indeed a gendered experience.