All posts by In The Fray Contributor

 
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Aeschylus


An ancient Greek Dramatist (526 B.C.- 456 B.C.) whose works like Agamemnon are drawn on for thinking about tragedy. The tragic ethos that is used by authors like Judith Butler, Michael Dillon, and others is used to discount the often accepted view that violence and atrocity can be pinned on particular people or particular human decisions. Instead, tragic events are evaluated as products of systems and global trends that exceed any one individual or group of individuals. This political position at least limits the finger pointing that is often counterproductive in determining why, for instance, people would be motivated to blow up buildings or why people would be desperate or angry enough to die for a particular cause. Using a tragic view of politics can make it possible to ask these more systemic questions that get lost in the shuffle of revenge and blame.

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Metonymy


This is a literary device that uses a commonly held attribute to stand in for something else. In the example given of George W. Bush’s September 11 address to the nation, Bush can simply say that the conflict is one between good and evil without needing to explain that the U.S. are the “good guys” and that terrorists are the “bad guys.” What is dangerous about this technique is that is prevents any discussion of how these terms are applied, it makes them off limits by relying on “common sense.” In the instance of this speech, it also allowed the “bad” to represent all of Islam without Bush having to answer for such a bigoted assertion. Often metonymy allows the speaker to communicate something that he or she would not like to take responsibility for.

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Redeployed


Borrowing from French philosopher Michel Foucault’s understanding of language and power as being intimately influential on one another; redeployment refers to the degree to which the intended purpose of one’s language is often irrelevant to the ways that language gets used. Instead, ideas that are so loaded with meaning, also known as ideographs, like democracy, freedom, heroism, etc., are attached to political positions that are broadly accepted. For instance, calls for democracy have effectively been deployed for the purposes of Marxist revolutions and capitalist expansion. The Cold War was a conflict between two national ideologies that, at the level of explicit discursive form, disagreed about nothing. As Foucault writes in Politics and the Study of Discourse:

… discourse is constituted by the difference between what one could say correctly at one period (under the rules of grammar and logic) and what is actually said.  The discursive field is, at a specific moment the law of this difference.”

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Tautology


In Roland Barthes’ classic, Mythologies, he describes tautology as one of the eight vital rhetorical strategies by the right. Conservative ideology is indebted to a particular, but broadly accepted, concept of common sense. The right uses these norms about how the world works to defend that which cannot stand up to reason and debate. For example: Why must nations go to war? The conservative replies: because that is what nations do. Debate is foreclosed by locating the answer within the question and covers over the rhetorical slight of hand by appealing to one’s authority or history to prevent further discussion. In Barthes’ words, “In tautology, there is a double murder: one kills rationality because it resists one; one kills language because it betrays one …  [tautology] can only of course take refuge behind authority.” Any alternative view of the world is cast off as naive or utopian. Judith Butler argues that this rhetorical strategy has been widespread in the attempts by conservatives of both the right and the left to prevent discussion of 9/11. Butler writes:

The raw public mockery of the peace movement, and the characterization of anti-war demonstrations as anachronistic or nostalgic, work to produce a consensus of public opinion that profoundly marginalizes anti-war sentiment and analysis, putting into question in a very strong way the very value of dissent as part of contemporary U.S. democratic culture.

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Commentary

We can do it … right?

Women of Generation “You can do anything” start to ask how.


Thirty years ago, the women’s movement was relishing a cultural shift that began with the Equal Pay Act of 1963 and culminated with the 1973 Supreme Court decision legalizing abortion. A generation of women that grew up preparing for adult lives inside of the home gave birth to the first generation of girls groomed for self-sufficient futures in the workforce.

Hard-won legislation like Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, which prohibits employers from gender and racial discrimination, and Title IX of the 1972 Education Act, which gives equal opportunity to girls in schools receiving federal aid effectively created generation “You can do anything.” The expectations were high. The polarization of work and family had exploded. These girls could choose to have either or both. It was up to them to prove true the heart of every boycott, sit-in, and rally held by their feminist predecessors: that if given the chance to thrive without gender and racial discrimination, women could, in fact, do anything.

We didn’t disappoint. Women now earn the majority of bachelor’s and master’s degrees. We still earn fewer doctorate and professional degrees than men, but are catching up fast. We’ve got Annika Sorenstam, Venus and Serena Williams, the WNBA and the LPGA. Working women over the age of 25 have narrowed the gender gap in the male-to-female earnings ratio to 85 percent in 2002 from 67 percent in 1979, giving us unprecedented purchasing power. Millions of young women are climbing executive ranks, saving their marriage vows for soul mates and ignoring their biological clocks.

Yet amid a lifelong sprint to the next promotion, many young women are realizing what working class, poor, and minority women have always been aware of: the implausibility of doing everything and the unhappiness that coincides with trying.

Reports of overstressed working moms trading in long hours at the office for quality time at home abound. Presidential Adviser Karen Hughes and Brenda Barnes, former president and CEO of PepsiCola North America, made headlines when they left their prestigious positions to spend more time with her family. And those are just the women who found the time to nurture meaningful relationships while building their resumes — or who are able to afford scaling back their hours or quitting their jobs. Many working class and minority women, who are disproportionately affected by poverty, do not have the privilege of gorging on the array of choices fed to the middle and upper classes. There’s a large part of generation “You can do anything” for whom a working mother was not a novelty.  

That women who have access to quality education should pursue — and perfect — a career path before taking on any other role — namely wife and mother —  was made clear from the start. This implicit message was infused into my generation’s television shows, magazines, and toys from the day we were born. Even our food said, “Get a job.” Lunchables debuted in 1988, sending a clear message that moms work — and so will you.

As aspiring career women, we responded by dedicating the fervor of our childhood heroine, She-ra, to securing our financial futures. A job is our “Sword of Protection.”

We’ve been less adamant about securing our emotional futures. We plan to pursue them more fully after years of slogging through grunt-work propel us to the top. But as we move up the ladder, there’s no guarantee that personal fulfillment is waiting patiently for when we have more time.

The work/family dichotomy that inspired Betty Friedan to identify “the problem that has no name” in her 1963 book The Feminine Mystique is spawning parallel testimonials. The young women who have feasted on a lifelong diet of “girl power” are wrestling with their own unnamed problem. Friedan articulated the unhappiness some women felt about their role as wives and mothers defining their identities. Many of today’s young women are beginning to express frustration that our role as successful professionals is eclipsing our domestic aspirations. We feel like we never really had a choice.

A March Time magazine cover story featured the headline, “The Case for Staying Home: Caught between the pressure of the workplace and the demands of being a mom, more women are sticking with the kids.” The New York Times Magazine published a lengthy article last fall about Ivy League professionals forsaking coveted jobs to be stay at home moms. Authors Lia Macko and Kerry Rubin make the case that young women have been fooled by the myth of “having it all.” Their book, Midlife Crisis at 30, explores the fantasy of “long careers, egalitarian marriages and children” versus the reality: “While old-school rules of corporate hierarchy have loosened up, they haven’t gone away.”

The work of earlier feminists has percolated. Many of the first girls to benefit are now women for whom raising a family and maintaining a challenging career are important, and who are learning that it is not feasible to do both within the pace of the modern workforce. Additionally, they fear that downsizing their careers in order to nurture a family will spur backlash from their peers and superiors and eventually will be spun as a thundering “I told you so” from a culture that a mere 30 years ago didn’t think women belonged in the office.

Women’s careers are hindered by the demands of family largely because women still do most of the work at home, and because many employers don’t have policies in place that help women to balance their dedication to work and family. Even the school-nurse reflex still speed-dials mom when a child is sick at school — though nowadays both parents typically work.

The problem has been named. It obviously resonates. Organizations and mom groups have formed in response. But it has yet to galvanize a revolution like The Feminine Mystique did. The recent March for Women’s Lives in Washington, D.C. might instill the passion exhibited by Ms. Friedan and her cohorts into a new generation of women. If so, let’s hope we can learn from their successes, as well as their mistakes.

It’s disheartening that the first murmurings of our “problem” are coming from the same privileged perspective and demonstrating the same exclusion of working class, poor and minority women that the The Feminine Mystique did.

Fortunately, it’s still early enough to articulate that the stress of trying to nurture a family while working fulltime is every woman’s problem — if not even more so for working class and minority women. Squeezing in, let alone paying for, a doctor’s appointment for their children or themselves is tricky for women clocking 12-hour shifts at the supermarket. Having struggled without sufficient childcare, job flexibility, livable wages, health insurance, and education, these women know better than anyone what it’s like to feel caught in the work/family dichotomy. This time they belong in the forefront of any effort to change those things. It would be a disservice to all women to proceed otherwise.

A first front in demonstrating that it’s no longer radical for a woman to work like a man, but to change the way work gets done could be the persistence of the woman’s double-shift. Flexible hours would keep more talented women in the workforce and allow them to continue contributing to a benefits plan that they can rely on in old age. Stop-and-start careers, as well as divorce and longer life spans, put women at risk for impoverished retirement.

Women could encourage businesses to devise ways for their employees to slow down, stop and start their climb up the career ladder. They could demand that companies institute part-time workweeks, while still providing health benefits, and give women the option of working at home or provide on-site company daycare. We need better wages and universal healthcare for all working women, particularly those doing manual labor whose bodies physically give out earlier than office employees. Perhaps by revisiting some of that landmark legislation our predecessors won and tidying up the fine print, generation “You can do anything” might eventually be a realistic tagline.

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Commentary

Illusions of superiority

I always thought I was one of the “good” white people. Until one day.


I stepped onto the speakers’ platform at the Virginia Festival of Books in Charlottesville with Newsday editor Les Payne to discuss our chapters in his book When Race Becomes Real. Bernestine Singley, the other panelist, had edited the book.

As I walked to my seat, I was well aware of Payne’s impressive record. I had read his work, and I know he is a more experienced journalist than I am. He’s won more prizes and written more important books than me. Payne has traveled more widely and reported on more complex subjects. He is older than me, and has done more in his life than I have. I also have heard Payne speak before, and know that he is a more commanding and more forceful speaker than I am.

So, as I sat down at my seat, I did what came naturally; I felt superior to Les Payne. If it seems odd that I would feel superior to someone I knew to be more talented and accomplished than I am, then here is another relevant fact: Les Payne is African American, and I am white.

I didn’t recognize that feeling of superiority as I sat down, or as I made my remarks on the panel. It wasn’t until Payne started reading from a chapter in his book and explaining how he came to write his essays that my feeling became so painfully clear to me.

Payne talked about how, as a teenager born in the segregated South who attended high school in the North, he had struggled to overcome the internalized sense of inferiority which grew from the environment in which he had been raised. He talked with a quiet passion and power, about how deep that sense of inherent inferiority can appear in African Americans.

At some point, I made the obvious connection. Part of the reason that the struggle Payne described is so hard for African Americans is because white behavior is a constant expression of that feeling of superiority, expressed in a fashion both subtle and overt. My mind raced immediately to that feeling of superiority I felt as we had taken our seats. I had assumed, despite all that I knew about Les Payne, his record, and his speaking ability, that I would be the highlight of the panel. Why? It might be because I’m an egotistical white boy. Maybe I’m a white boy with delusions of grandeur. The former is almost certainly true. The latter may be an exaggeration. But whatever my own personal weaknesses are, one factor is obvious: I am white and Payne is African American, and that was the basis of my feeling.

The moment that particular feeling hit me, I was literally left speechless, fighting back tears, with a profound sense of sadness. I struggled to keep focused on Payne’s words, but it was difficult to do as my mind raced to cope with what I was feeling. Payne finished, and Ms. Singley started her reading. When the speaking period ended, I was forced to engage in the ending, and I did my best to answer a question asked of me. But I remained shaken.

One of the ‘good’ white people

Why all of this drama? It was because I fancied myself one of the “good” white people, one of the anti-racist white people. I am politically active, and have worked hard to incorporate an honest account of race and racism into my school’s teaching.

But in that moment, I had to confront that which I had not yet relinquished: the basic psychological features of racism. As Payne talked honestly of struggling with a sense of inferiority, I had to face that I had never really shaken a sense of my superiority. As I write these words, the feeling of that moment of sadness returns. Do not mistake this for superficial shame or guilt. Do not describe me as a self-indulgent white liberal. The sadness I feel is not for me. It is sadness about how deeply embedded in me is that fundamental reality of racism; the assumption that white people are superior.

That doesn’t mean I’m a racist. It doesn’t mean my political work or efforts in the classroom don’t matter. Instead, it means that what I say to my students about race — that the dynamics of domination and subordination run deep, affecting us in ways we don’t always see clearly — is true not only in theory. It is also true in my psyche.

I have long known that. On the platform with Payne that day, his words forced me to feel it. That wasn’t his intention; he was speaking to the audience — which was primarily African American — not to me. Whatever the intent, he did me that service. But I am most grateful to Payne not for that, but for something that happened later. After the event, I was planning to drive to Washington, D.C. When I mentioned that to Payne, he asked if he could ride with me and catch a flight from D.C. back to New York. I jumped at the chance, in part because I wanted to hear more about his research for his forthcoming book on Malcolm X, but also because I wanted to talk to him about what had happened to me on stage.

In the few we drove together, I took advantage of Payne’s experience in journalism and asked his opinion about a range of issues, in addition to pumping him for insights into Malcolm X’s life. And, finally, I asked if I could tell him about what had happened on stage.

It turned out, not surprisingly, that Les Payne is a gracious man. He listened to my story, nodding throughout. Nothing I said seemed to shock him. He is, after all an African American in the United States; I didn’t expect that I would shock him.

It was after I had finished that Payne did something for which I will always be grateful: He didn’t forgive me. That is, he made no attempt to make me feel better. He didn’t reassure me that I was, in fact, one of the good” white people. He simply acknowledged what I had told him, said he understood, and continued our discussion about the politics of race in the United States.

Part of me probably wanted him to forgive me. Part of me probably wanted the approval of African American person at that moment, to help eliminate the discomfort, which I was still feeling. But what would that have accomplished for him, for me, or for the world? Without knowing it, Payne during the panel had given me the gift of feeling uncomfortable. In the car at this time, perhaps with full knowledge of what he was doing, he gave me the gift of not letting me off the hook.

When I dropped him at the airport, I had no illusions. The day had meant much more to me than to him. He had been willing to teach me something, and then he went on to other things. His personal struggle with internalized inferiority was largely over; his chapter in the book made that clear, as did his interaction with me. It was easy to tell by the way he spoke and carried himself that Payne doesn’t spend a lot of time worrying about whether white people are better than him. But I was left with the unfinished project of dealing with my internalized sense of superiority. And it was clear to both of us that such a project was my responsibility, not his.

The gender question

The story of that day in Charlottesville can’t end there, of course. On the platform with us was Bernestine Singley, who is every bit as black as Les Payne, and every bit as accomplished a lawyer and writer. Why am I focusing on him and not her? Why did he spark this realization in me and not her?

In part it was because of what Payne talked about on stage; his remarks and his chapter had pushed my buttons. Also, I have known Singley longer and have a more established relationship with her. We live in different cities and are not friends in a conventional sense, but I consider her (and I hope she considers me) a trustworthy ally and comrade in the struggle, and a friend in that context. Singley and I also have very different styles, and when we appear on panels together we clearly are
not competing.

With all that said, it’s also difficult to miss the fact that Singley is a woman and Payne is a man. There was not only a race dynamic on stage, but a gender dynamic. It’s likely that I was, in classic male fashion, focusing on the struggle for dominance with the other man on the panel. This perception of myself also is hard to face; in addition to being a good white person, you see, I’m also a good man. I’m one of the men who is on the right side. But I also am one of the men who, whatever side he is on, constantly struggles with the reality of living in a male-supremacist society that has taught me lessons about how to vie for dominance.

Introspection on these matters is difficult; people in privileged positions often are not in the best position to evaluate our own behavior. But looking back on that day, it appears to me I walked onto that platform with an assumption of my inherent superiority — so deeply woven into me that I could not in the moment see it — that had something to do with race and gender.

From those assumptions, it is hard to reach a conclusion other than: I was a fool.

I use that term consciously, because throughout history white people have often cast blacks as the fool to shore up our sense of superiority. But in that game, it is white people who are the fools, and it is difficult and painful to confront that. Somehow, I had allowed myself to believe the story that a racist and sexist society still tells. Yes, I know that Jim Crow segregation is gone and the overt ideology that supported it is mostly gone. But in the struggle to change the world, what matters is not only what law is, or what polite people say in public. What matters just as much, if not more, is what we really are, deep down.

All this matters not just because white people should learn to be better or nicer, but because as long as we whites believe we are better, deep down in places most of us have learned to hide, we will not feel compelled to change a society in which black unemployment is twice the white rate. And in which, as a recent study has found, a white man with a criminal record is more likely to called back for a job interview than a black man with no record.

In the United States, the typical black family has 58 percent as much income as a typical white family. And at the slow rate the black-white poverty gap has been narrowing since 1968, it will take 150 years to close. At the current rate, blacks and whites won’t reach high school graduation parity until 2013, nearly 60 years after the Brown v. Board of Education decision. That is an ugly society.

The first step for white people is to face that ugliness, to tell the truth about the system we live in and tell the truth about ourselves. But that means nothing if we do not commit to change, not just to change ourselves, but to change the system. We have to face the ways in which white supremacy makes white people foolish but forces others to pay a much greater price.

We have to stop playing the fool and start playing for keeps.

STORY INDEX

ARTICLES >

“The Point Is Not To Interpret Whiteness But To To Abolish It”
By Noel Ignatiev
URL: http://racetraitor.org/abolishthepoint.html

Articles and essays on race, racism and white privilege
by Robert Jensen
URL: http://uts.cc.utexas.edu/%7Erjensen/freelance/racearticles.htm

“

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Reviews

Welcome to ITF — OFF THE SHELF!

About our book club for readers.


Here at ITF we love to read, and our editors want to share some of their favorite books with you. Think of it as a book club in cyberspace — with a dash of identity and community, of course!

We kicked off ITF — Off the Shelf in May with Jairus Victor Grove’s Heroic ethics, a critique of Ralph Ellison’s Juneteenth.  Though May has come and gone, we promise to keep the intriguing books coming. Each month an ITF editor will review a book concerning identity and/or community. The featured works will be a mix of old and new, fiction and nonfiction.

We’ll keep our Bookshelf at Powells.com updated so that you can purchase the books we’ll be reviewing in subsequent months a month or more in advance. And don’t worry, if you prefer to shop at Amazon, just click here or on the titles of the books listed at the bottom of this page. You’ll be taken right to the Amazon site, where you can purchase those books and start reading. (Of course, if you already have a dog-eared copy of the book sitting on your bookshelf somewhere, more power to you.)

While we’ll make our book reviews available to all ITF readers, only readers like you who are registered on our site have access to all the special features of Off the Shelf. In this space, members can access exclusive interviews with the authors of selected books and participate in online discussions with other ITF readers and editors about the books. Members can submit their own reviews of the Book of the Month for publication on our site. And you don’t have to wait for us to publish our reviews to submit yours!

So don’t just sit there — get your copy of Bernard Henri Levy’s War, Evil, and the End of History now! And at the risk of sounding like your high school English teacher, beware: There aren’t CliffsNotes for most of our recommendations. So it’s probably a good idea for you to get your hands on — and read — our featured books ahead of time.

Here’s what we’ll be taking Off the Shelf during the next few months:

May: Ralph Ellison’s Juneteenth
June: Benjamin Weissman’s Headless
July: David Bezmozgis’ Natasha and Other Stories
August: David K. Shipler’s The Working Poor
September: Bernard Henri Levy’s War, Evil, and the End of History
October: Rebecca Carroll’s Saving the Race: Conversations on Du Bois From a Collective Memoir of Souls

If you have any questions about ITF — Off the Shelf, please email us.

Happy reading, writing, and discussing!

—The Editors

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Reviews

Got books? We do!

Introducing ITF — Off the Shelf!


Last updated on November 27, 2005

Here at ITF we love to read, and our contributors and editors want to share some of their favorite books with you. Think of it as a book club in cyberspace — with a dash of identity and community, of course!

While we’ll make the book reviews available to all ITF readers, only those who register on our site (membership is free!) will have access to all the special features of Off the Shelf. Members get access to exclusive interviews with the authors of selected books. They can take part in online discussions with other ITF readers and editors about the books. And they can submit their own reviews of the Book of the Month for publication on our site. (Did we mention that membership is free?!)

If you have any questions about ITF — Off the Shelf, please email us.

Happy reading, writing, and discussing!

—The Editors

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Commentary

Left/right love

Beyond Pennsylvania Avenue and the polling booths, Republicans and Democrats are finding innovative ways to bridge the political divide. But they still have miles to go before they can sleep together peacefully.


I swore I would never date a Republican. Ever. Then I met Miles. Alcohol and its logic-impairing effects were undeniably contributing factors. We met at some soirée in San Francisco’s Mission District, which served as a veritable breeding ground of multiculturalism before the dotcom explosion rocked the ‘hood into gentrification. It was during the rein of the first Bush administration, and with all of the glory and trauma of the Gulf War still a sore wound in my mind, it seemed unlikely that I would bond with someone so radically opposed to my progressive ideology.

But I did.

Three dry martinis into the evening I met Miles, a disarray of limbs and a blur of khaki and plaid. With a full head of wavy, auburn hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and alabaster skin, he appeared too straight, too conservative, too damn uptight for my taste. Oddly enough, Miles turned out to be a good kisser. A great kisser. A most supreme kisser with a killer physique to match. What he lacked in aesthetic appeal, he made up for with animal magnetism. He possessed that rare combination of child-like wonder and wanton virility that made me want to rip off his starch-white Polo button-down shirts with my bare hands.

He tried to convince me that he wasn’t like the rest of his ilk. Sure, he shared many neoconservative views, but he was definitely not racist, sexist, or homophobic. This, however, begged the question: why then are you a Republican?

And just because someone is a flag-waving, family-values, NRA-lovin’, pro-prayer-in-schools, three-strikes-you’re-out, say-NO-to-drugs-abortion-and-porno, capital-driven political aficionado doesn’t necessarily mean you should avoid dating them. You have to keep an open mind and put your tolerant liberal theories into practice for a change, I told myself. Opposites attract. Look at Maria and Arnold, an ill-conceived convergence of brains and muscle, a couple who have remained happily married despite their political rivalry and his roving hands.

I tried. God knows I tried.

At first I desperately tried to overlook certain things, but slowly they began to fester in my head, causing what I feared to be a brain hemorrhage. When he attempted to regale me with diabolical sentiments such as “if it weren’t for Rush Limbaugh,” or lauded Ronald Reagan for his trickle-down economic policy in public, or lambasted “fat, lazy welfare mothers” for milking the system dry, I could feel the blood rush straight to my cortex. At moments like this, I would cringe my face into a spasm and walk to the nearest wall and hammer my head against it. Hard.

The fact that we met during a hell-ridden recession that left both of us out of work and flat broke didn’t help. Poverty, our common denominator, was the source of our bonding and dissension. Who’d pick up the tab was the terminal sore spot of our dates. Usually we’d end up splitting it in half, but more often than not I picked up the bill for no other reason than to avoid a scene. To my dismay, he was able to attend dinner parties, cocktail parties, pool parties, backyard parties, football parties, campaign parties, office parties, and rooftop parties without spending a dime. I held anti-party-parties. Parties where no one showed up — except me and a bottle of wine. I drank to forget him.

But it didn’t work.

At the time, I lived with three guys from Italy in a flat where the blow, the booze, and the women revolved through the front door 24/7. The first time Miles came over for a house party, I found myself avoiding him at every turn. I orbited the room in chronic circles, veering off into the crowd, dodging in and out of conversations, making small talk with complete strangers. Off in the distance I heard Miles’ voice rise: “Bunch of fucking illegal immigrants can’t even speak English …” I knew he was referring to my roommates. When Giovanni turned to me with a questioning look that said, “Where did you find this fucking whack job,” I did the first thing that came to mind. I ran. Down the hall, out the door, up the hill, and into the first place I spotted with lights on — an Irish pub. There I lingered, sunk deep in the dark recesses of the tavern until last call, and then stumbled home only to find the place completely empty except for a note on the refrigerator that simply read: “Dump him.”

But I didn’t.

While I spent my days as a Food Not Bombs volunteer doling out bread and soup to the lines of homeless snaking around the Civic Center, Miles would trek downtown in a three-piece suit to the swanky offices of the Republican Party. What he did there I never knew — and never cared to ask. When we met at night, both tired yet filled with an unwavering and often vying sense of purpose, most of our time was comprised of political discussions — which somehow led to sex. Miles rendered the brain an erogenous zone. It constituted mental masturbation: verbal intercourse as a form of foreplay. Tax cuts made him horny. Defense spending kicked his testosterone production into overdrive. For Miles, sex and politics were mutually combustible, and I often wondered whether he was tempted to jerk off whenever politicians debated issues like they do at the Republican National Convention. As a proponent of hand-and-mouth probing, I seldom found myself hot after analyzing Third World debt or the trade deficit. Occasionally, I marveled at his ability to get me so riled up that I would collapse on my back, screaming my lungs out, and kicking my legs in the air. Miles, ever the opportunist, would pounce on top and attempt to dazzle me with his latest trick. And it often worked.

Miles turned out to be pathologically ambivalent. Outside of the sack, I couldn’t tell if he even had a pulse. Void of an interior landscape, he averted his eyes, clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and didn’t so much as even glance in my direction to meet my unrelenting glare whenever I brought up a topic remotely related to emotions. Seven beers later, he would gradually begin to respond, grasping at words, pausing between breaths, staring at the door, where long periods of silence filled the void while the shape of thoughts were still breeding in his mind. What an idiot, I thought; what a goddamn piece of work. Say something. Anything.

Nothing.

He sits in silence, jaw clenched, arms folded across chest.

If we couldn’t talk about politics or anything remotely related to matters of the heart, there was only one thing left to do. Around 12:30 a.m., we return to his over-priced, under-furnished, rat-sized studio in the Marina. We’re sprawled out on a florescent orange beanbag couch, some fleabag relic left over from the tacky 70s Partridge Family décor, watching Saturday Night Live in a drunken stupor. He crawls on top and soon we lie naked, tongues licking skin, mouths forming sounds, hands touching the most intimate parts of our being. Here, the lines blur, and there are no boundaries between us. We kiss, and our bodies entwine in a wordless conversation, a place where an unspoken language gives birth to a whole new territory. And, somehow, even this is not enough to keep our passion alive.  

We knew that we were headed nowhere, that we were traversing a hopeless trajectory. We will forever remain a half-read novel, with good dialogue but a weak plot whose ending we predict in advance without enduring a painstaking read of its final pages. Cut to the last chapter. Hurry. Read the last sentence, and then close the book. This how this story will end.

I will always be longing. For Miles, for San Francisco, for the years that passed like clouds racing through the sky, for the days when love seemed so close I could taste it in the air. I will always wish we could have conquered a bold new land, carved our names in it, and erased the borders with our own two hands. I will always be hoping for a new ending.

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News

Outsourcing marriage

2004 Best of Identify

Expat suitors are returning to India to sweep brides off their feet and their continent.


Red bangles are an essential part of the Indian bride’s trousseau; the color red is considered auspicious and signifies prosperity.(Inga Dorosz)

One afternoon, when I was a teenager growing up in India, my mother beckoned me to watch Oprah on cable. Oprah was profiling couples of Asian descent who had been raised in America but nonetheless entered into traditional arranged marriages. While the audience gaped, a husband beamed indulgently as his new wife shared how she was still discovering things about her husband each day even after being married for a few months. Thousands of miles away, I shook my head and thought, “I am never going to let this happen to me!”

Six years later, I found myself engaged to a man after meeting him for two hours in front of a food tray stocked with tea cups and black forest pastries, as my father and future mother-in-law compared notes about The Gita six feet away. Today, three years into marriage, I still marvel about the possible hardwiring of my system that may have led me to give my full throttled assent.

While my husband rode a horse on our wedding day much like our respective fathers had, much had changed in the intervening decades. After being reassured innumerable times that I had the right to say ‘no,’ I had the opportunity to meet and exchange ideas with my prospective husband, something my university-educated mother and civil servant father never had. My future groom, a Silicon Valley geek, found himself having to defend his career choices.

Such alliances, bringing together tradition and modern liberal values, Indian and U. S. roots, have become less rare. A surge in immigration to the United States over the last few decades has brought a new twist to India’s ancient custom. The arranged marriage structure offers an invaluable way for ex-pats to keep ties to their home countries alive by giving them mates who share the same heritage. And for those with little time for courtship and dating or little inclination to search for a life partner on their own, returning to one’s country of origin to find a bride or groom is a quick and usually very dependable method.

To the Westerner, arranged marriages have become an exotic peculiarity of Eastern cultures. Recent movies such as Bend it Like Beckham and Monsoon Wedding have paradoxically both demystified and heightened the caricature of Indian marriages.

So what exactly is an arranged marriage? For the uninitiated and the unarranged, here is a quick primer: It is a match wherein the marital partners are chosen by others (typically family members), based on economic and social factors. Instead of marriage following love, in arranged marriages love follows marriage; love is learned as the marriage grows. In countries like India where the two genders do not mix very freely and family ties remain strong, arranged marriages address important needs. The attention paid to the appropriateness of the spouse, in theory, helps to improve in-law relationships (since the spouse is deemed acceptable by the family first), and increase compatibility.

And while audiences of Oprah may gape wide eyed when a girl raised in the United States by her Indian parents chooses an arranged marriage, there was a time when it was as much a part of life in the Western hemisphere as it is still in the East. Though it might seem hard to believe, arranged marriages were once the norm the world over — when the desire for a “pure” bloodline was common across cultures. All over Europe, kings married princesses, often much younger than them, who brought kingdoms as dowry. Romantic love was then considered a lower-class practice.

More than just a method of financial planning, arranged marriages ensured that everyone found a mate and those lacking charisma were not unduly penalized. Over time, marriage based on attraction between partners became more common and the creation of a society that has encouraged dating and liberalized its rules of sexual conduct made go-betweens and the need for family approval virtually unnecessary. All to the extent that today, arranged marriage strikes Westerners as alien or incomprehensible.

Yet, while the days of Mrs. Bennett seeking suitable men for her daughters in Pride and Prejudice have long since gone, the phenomenon of arranged marriage persists in the West under different guises: online dating, mail order brides from Eastern Europe and Russia, and blind dates set up by family, to name just a few.

At the same time, in Eastern cultures like those of Japan, Pakistan, and India, the process of arranged marriage has undergone significant modifications. From a time when future spouses would first set eyes on each other on their wedding day, arranged marriage has transformed itself into a system resembling quick blind dating initiated by family or friends. Photographs and biographical data are now freely exchanged over email as parents have become increasingly liberal and westernized. Shared veto power between the boy and girl means external appearances and polished social skills come at a premium. And more ex-pat Indian grooms means that dislocation and adaptation by both brides and their families has become far more common.

The bridegroom collects a blessing kiss from a senior member of his family before going to fetch his bride. The saber is a throwback to the times of warrior kings and communities and the sword is a symbol of honor, power and the promise of protection that men carry on their wedding day. (Rajveer Purohit)

An unlikely candidate

Dr. Rajveer Purohit, who has been married for three years, exemplifies the new trend. An urologist and a prolific painter in San Francisco, he reminisces in his two-bedroom apartment filled with his paintings, paint supplies, and antique furniture from Rajasthan, India.  

“I would define an arranged marriage as one in which there is limited pre-marriage dating and parental approval of the marriage, and by that definition, ours was one,” he says.

A distant relative introduced him to his gynecologist wife, Dr. Mamta Purohit. After exchanging emails and speaking on the phone, then-29-year-old Purohit flew to India accompanied by his older brother for a face-to-face meeting. A few family-sponsored dates later, they decided to take the plunge.

Raised in the United States since the age of five, Purohit continues to have strong ties to India, especially to Jodhpur, his hometown in Rajasthan. “I saw my desire to have an arranged marriage as something more fundamental and proactive. It was helped by the combination of finding the right person who shared similar values,” he says.  

His wife’s Indian nationality was a welcome part of her identity for Purohit. “I have a lot of affection for Rajasthan. And my marriage helped leave a lot of options open and gave both of us more mobility,” he notes. “We can think of retiring in India at some point.”

Purohit’s conservative Rajasthani family discouraged dating overtly. “Growing up,” he says, “I perceived arranged marriages as anti-modern, oppressive and fear-based choices. That my peer group viewed them the same way added to my sentiments.”

But soon Purohit found himself disappointed with the transitory relationships people around him seemed to have. He realized that he identified with the Indian community’s emphasis on loyalty, commitment and longstanding emotions, all values that have contributed to low divorce rates of Indian-Americans living in the U.S.

“I was disappointed by how relationships are commodified and subjugated to economics, finally becoming relationships of convenience,” he says. “There is a lot less mobility in the American non-arranged marriage than people acknowledge. People typically date among their own class. For example, people who are Ivy League marry Ivy League.”

Purohit, on the other hand, has seen many cases of couples in his own extended family who come from different economic classes.  Purohit felt confident that an arranged marriage would last, being based on a solid foundation. He believes “people who get into arranged marriages tend to have expectations besides lust and youth” and that “this keeps the relationship stable after temporary feelings have subsided.”

Purohit sometimes feels criticized by American and even Indian peers for his traditional choice. “I see Indian women who grew up here feeling threatened by and competitive about second-generation men going to and marrying in India,” he says. “But somewhere along the way I decided that there is no point in trying to educate peers or colleagues. It is not a public proposition that I want to go and sell, and perhaps what may be right for me might not be right for them.”

Purohit was also inclined to marry a career woman since he saw immigration to be particularly hard on his mother, who is a homemaker. Mamta seemed to him as the right blend of the traditional and the modern.

A relative of the bride smears vermillion on the groom’s forehead as the first step in the welcoming process. She will then do an ‘aarti’ wherein she will pray for him by encircling his aura with a special oil lamps. This process conveys the following sentiment: May the light of the divine be with you and may this start be auspicious. (Rajveer Purohit)

The suitable girl

Ipsita Roy, a 28-year-old scientific researcher who has also been married for three years, does not seem like the typical immigrant bride moving from India to America.   However, unlike a generation ago, the Indian women who immigrate today to be with their husbands are frequently highly educated professionals themselves. The petite and loquacious Roy shares a unique story that may not be so atypical.  

“Mine was not a spontaneous meeting and falling in love with someone, and the fact that the process was initiated by our families did not and does not bother me,” says Roy, who holds one masters degree in biotechnology and another in molecular biology. She moved to the United States after marrying Sumit Roy, a mild-mannered and unassuming director in an electronic design automation start-up company in Santa Clara, California.

When Roy’s younger teenage sister responded to an ad placed in a Calcutta newspaper, little did Roy know that such adolescent perkiness would locate her future life partner. Sumit’s Calcutta-based parents, now her in-laws, liked her profile and soon scheduled a meeting with her family. After Roy’s parents, who also live in India, met the prospective in-laws, they soon gave their approval. Although Roy and Sumit had only spoken a few times on the phone before meeting in person, Roy believes “our fates were already sealed together even before Sumit flew in from the U.S.”

“I saw that my future husband trusts his family completely and had very simple criteria for a life partner whom he thought should, above all, get along well with his family,” Roy explains. She laughs and adds, “I personally feel that the real test of a marriage is when you start living together. Because after a while it doesn’t matter how you got married. I have many friends all over the world who have had love marriages and they are facing similar issues that I am, such as the division of labor between the partners, adjustment issues with in-laws.”

Roy avers that although some people may want to test the waters by living together before getting married, her own sensibilities were already set and defined by the environment she grew up in — an environment where “shacking up” was not encouraged and the focus was always on total commitment. “But then, it all depends on the individual’s comfort zone,” she admits.

Both Hollywood and Bollywood often depict having a series of boyfriends or girlfriends as cool.  Such images subtly suggest that relinquishing autonomy and going for an arranged marriage somehow signifies a fundamental personality failure. But the majority of all marriages in India are still arranged, even among those in the educated middle class. Roy represents the growing number of Indian women who pick from either option. “I had a lot of suitors when I was in college. My parents were open to me choosing my own mate,” she says. ”My decision to let them initiate the process was totally free of pressure or coercion. It was a leap of faith and I took it because of the trust I had in my parents.”

One difference between those of Roy’s generation and her parents’ generation is the number of ex-pat Indian men entering the arranged marriage market in India. Roy’s father initially had difficulty in facing the fact that all her prospective grooms seemed to be settled in the United States. “We are a small family and my father wanted both his daughters close,” Roy says, “but when he realized the inevitability of it he made peace with the idea that my destiny might lie abroad.”

Ipsita and Sumit Roy on vacation in Hawaii during January 2003.

When the honeymoon is over

Roy talks animatedly about the dream-like six months between her engagement and her wedding — of phone calls, letters and a slowly blossoming long distance romance. “ I soon fell in love with Sumit and then my situation was just like that of any other girl who might have fallen in love and was about to get married,” she explains. “The only difference in my case was that my man was discovered by my family.”

This courtship made phase two, married life, a little hard to digest. Roy contends that marriage has been harder on her than on her husband. While he remained in Santa Clara, she moved continents to be with him, leaving behind all that was close and familiar while struggling to create a new life in the United States. She also experienced some of the gender distinctions that have traditionally gone along with arranged marriage for women.  “Indian society continues to be a very family oriented society with the bride deferring to the groom’s family after marriage — and arranged marriages help keep it that way,” she observes.

Turbulence between Roy and her in-laws cropped up in the first few months. Although still based in India, her in-laws visits brought out tensions. “I was brought up with a lot of liberal ideas for girls and my husband’s family subscribes to a passive notion for women. Dealing with that, I felt like everything of consequence to me had been stolen. Soon I found myself in a desperate bid to gain affection by trying to match everyone’s needs,” Roy says. “I still keep trying even though that doesn’t work,” she adds wryly.

Roy talks passionately about trying to work through this identity crisis and reconciling the two disparate life styles — one from her parent’s home and the other in her new family. “I would like my in-laws who are in India, to stay with me permanently so that I can take good care of them, but during times of stress, while talking to them long distance or during meetings, I wonder whether I should chose responsibility or comfort,” she says. “I wanted to be very close to them but somehow it has remained a formal and distant relationship.”

The clash between traditional mother-in-laws and their modern daughter-in-laws is one of the fruits of modern arranged marriage. As younger women become increasingly westernized, prospective mother in laws seek brides for their sons who, although educated, have been indoctrinated with once common notions of passivity. Friction arises when girls brought up in liberal and semi-westernized environments refuse to be docile. Roy elaborates: “Although my relationship with my husband has evolved wonderfully over time — he is my best friend — the marriage has been tough. But that is something one faces in a love match too. But of course since my in-laws chose me, their expectations from me are greater.” With a chuckle, she adds, “it’s like an employer asking you to feel grateful after giving you a permanent job.”

“Sometimes I think that had I been solely my husband’s choice, they would have been tentative about me and grateful for any positive signs,” Roy muses. At the same time, however, Roy believes that parents who have contributed to the pick are more likely to contribute to solving any problems that arise. “Observing others, I find that if one goes through a bad phase in a love marriage parents are generally not that supportive but since they feel mentally responsible in an arranged marriage, they help the woman start a new life if things go wrong,” she says.

“I feel that arranged marriages help in keeping Indians the family oriented people they are,” says Roy, although she doesn’t necessarily think they would work well for everyone. She adds that such marriages are like shooting in the dark but also shares that this disadvantage is probably a blessing in disguise. While Roys says, “There are times I think, ‘Oh my God, I got married like this!’”, she also believes that love matches can lead to disappointment, “while people like me have lesser expectations and try to hang in there and make it work.”

Purohit also adds a word of caution about matches arranged long-distance: “It’s always better to have someone you trust confirm the validity of things. People sometimes manipulate the process and lie about who they are and what they want, using marriage as way to gain economic security.” Despite such drawbacks, he believes that the tradition is an enduring one. “I think arranged marriages are a resilient form. The format might change but the structure will stay.”

Although Purohit sees himself as an anomaly, believing it is unusual for people to be raised here and then to seek an arranged marriage, he may be part of a growing trend. His conclusion bodes well for those who would follow in his footsteps: “I can’t imagine being married to someone I would be happier with.”

STORY INDEX

TOPICS >

General information about arranged marriages
URL: http://www.mangalyam.com/arranged_marriage.htm
URL: http://schools.cbe.ab.ca/b143/humanrights/arranged-marriages/
URL: http://marriage.about.com/cs/arrangedmarriages/

Arranged marriages and the myth of romance
Essay by writer Hilary Doda
URL: http://www.rpg.net/news+reviews/columns/vecna05mar02.html

First comes marriage, then comes love
Essay by Ira Mathur about Indian expatriates in arranged marriages
URL: http://www.geocities.com/Wellesley/3321/win4a.htm

ORGANIZATIONS >

websites that arrange marriages
URL: http://www.shaadi.com
URL: http://www.arrangemarriage.com/arrangemarriage/default.asp
URL: http://matrisearch.com/default.asp?source=GoogleUSA

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Photo Essays

Bill and Mary: Young lovers in their 70s

Fifty years, going on forever.


Click here to enter the visual essay.

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Commentary

The John and Al tapes

If only John Kerry and Al Gore would speak candidly in public ... But since they don’t, here’s a fictional late-night conversation.

BEST OF ITF GUEST COLUMNS (SO FAR)
2004 Best of Guest Columns (tie)


John Kerry calls Al Gore:

Al: Hi John.

John: Hey Al.

Al: Congratulations on the nomination.

John: Thanks, Al. How are you?

Al: Things are good.

John: How’s Tipper?

Al: She’s well. She’s right here in bed next to me.

John: Oh, tell her I say hello. What a wonderful woman she is.

Al: Yes, I’m lucky to have her.

John: So she’s there next to you?

Al: Yes John, she is.

John: That’s wonderful. It must be nice to sleep with your wife.

Al: I beg your pardon?

John: Oh Al, lighten up. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean that Teresa and I haven’t slept in the same bed in years.

Al: Oh.

John: So how’s everything else?

Al: Good. Fine.

John: How’s that stoner son of yours?

Al: Stoned, I’m guessing.

John: Well it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You know I’d legalize pot in a minute if I could.

Al: Yes, I know.

John: But I can’t say that out loud.

Al: Of course not.

John: I’d never get elected. Bill Maher would love me, but I’d lose 45 states.

Al: Maybe more.

John: It’s like gay marriage. What do I care if they want to get married? You think I care? Of course I don’t care. I say, let them get married and be miserable.

Al: I know. But you can’t say that.

John: No, Al, I can’t. And why? Because we live in a country with a lot of stupid people.

Al: I know. You’re preaching to the choir here.

John: Sometimes I wonder if I even want these people to like me. You know what I mean?

Al: Yes, I do.

John: Because, in a way, if moronic people like me, what does that really say about me?

Al: It’s a valid question.

John: But Al, enough about that. I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.

Al: Sure. Go ahead.

John: It’s about the Dean endorsement.

Al: Yes, I figured it might be about that.

John: Were you on crack?

Al: John, I don’t do crack.

John: It’s a figure of speech, Al. You really do need to lighten up.

Al: Okay.

John: So what were you thinking?

Al: Off the record?

John: Al, of course. We’re friends.

Al: No, we’re not.

John: Sure we are.

Al: Anyway, it was Tipper’s idea.

John: Tipper?

Al: Yeah, she loves him. She still does. Thinks he’s great.

John: But he’s fucking nuts.

Al: Yes, but I didn’t know that then.

John: So Tipper told you to endorse him?

Al: Yes, she did. And he seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. You know, before the scream.

John: Yes, the scream. That scream won me the nomination.

Al: Yes, it did.

John: Loved the scream!

Al: Thought you might.

John: The scream heard around the world!

Al: Okay John. Looking back, endorsing Dean wasn’t the best decision I ever made. I’ll give you that.

John: No shit. Kind of like picking Lieberman.

Al: Yes, I know.

John: Al, you should have picked me.

Al: You were a finalist. But coming off Clinton, I couldn’t pick you. I needed someone squeaky-clean.

John: I’m not squeaky-clean?

Al: No John, you’re not.

John: So sue me, I like women. But Lieberman? I mean, who picks a Jew in a national election?

Al: He’s more annoying than Jewish.

John: Was he Tipper’s idea, too?

Al: Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.

John: Okay, fine. So why didn’t you endorse me?

Al: Honestly?

John: Of course.

Al: Tipper said you’re too stiff, too aloof, too long-winded. She said you wouldn’t resonate with voters.

John: I’m stiff?

Al: Yes.

John: Al, no offense, but you’re the fucking king of stiff.

Al: She said you were stiffer. And she said you come off as patronizing.

John: She said that about me?

Al: Yes.

John: Who the fuck is she?

Al: She’s my wife.

John: And what kind of moron takes political advice from someone named Tipper?

Al: John, if you’re going to insult my wife …

John: Al, I think you should endorse me now.

Al: I can’t do that.

John: Why not?

Al: You’re too waffly on the issues.

John: But Al, we’re in this fight together.

Al: Don’t use that word.

John: What word?

Al: Fight. You use it too much. It didn’t work for me. I used it every other sentence, and I lost.

John: You won.

Al: Well yes, but you know what I mean.

John: The word’s fine.

Al: I’m telling you John, the word’s jinxed. Keep using it, and you’re going to lose.

John: I’m not going to lose. The economy’s tanking.

Al: Yes, that is good news.

John: It’s fantastic news.

Al: But I can’t endorse you.

John: Fine, I don’t want you anyway.

Al: See what I mean about waffling?

John: You know Al, they’re already comparing me to you.

Al: Yes, I’ve heard.

John: One day I’m Dukakis, the next I’m you.

Al: I know.

John: I’m not sure which comparison is worse.

Al: Well, I’m a bit biased on the question.

John: Al, people don’t think very highly of you.

Al: I know.

John: Personally, I’ve always liked you. But the Republican smear machine really did a number.

Al: Yes, I know. But John, that was a long time ago. I’ve moved on.

John: Have you Al?

Al: Yes John, I have.

John: Saying you invented the Internet was pretty stupid.

Al: I didn’t say I invented the Internet.

John: And the eye rolling? Who rolls their eyes during debates?

Al: I could have done better there, yes.

John: In some ways, Al, it looked like you were trying to lose. I mean, the stiffness? You really are the king of stiff.

Al: John, I really should be getting to bed now.

John: Alright, alright. So a definite no on the endorsement?

Al: Yes.

John: Does that mean yes, a definite no, or yes, it’s not a definite no?

Al: John, I need to go.

John: Okay, okay.

Al: We’ll talk soon.

John: Fine. Oh, and Al, be sure to tell Tipper something for me.

Al: Yes John.

John: Tell Tipper that once I’m elected, I’ll let bygones be bygones, and she can come and spend the night at the White House anytime she wants.

Al: Okay, I’ll tell her.

John: In my bed.

Al: No John, not in your bed.

John: Because we’re in this fight together. We’re fighting for an America we can be proud of.

Al: I’m telling you not to use that word.

John: Al, with all due respect, you’re no brilliant campaign strategist.

Al: Okay John.

John: You going to sleep now?

Al: In a few minutes. Tipper and I need to make love first.

John: That’s hot.

Al: Yes, on a good day it is.

John: Tipper’s aged quite well.

Al: Okay John, I really do need to let you go now.

John: Fine.

Al: Goodnight, John.

John: So a definite no on the endorsement?

Al: Goodbye, John.

John: We’re in this fight together?

Al: John, go to bed.

John: Al, did I ever tell you my Vietnam war stories?

Al: Yes John, you did.

John: I’ve got some great ones.

Al: And they might just win you the election. But now I have to go.

John: Tipper’s champing at the bit, huh?

Al: John.

John: Yeah Al?

Al: Go to bed.

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