Christine de Pizan

Christine de Pizan
The Writer Christine de Pizan at Her Desk
Showing posts with label Gilead. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gilead. Show all posts

Sunday, December 5, 2021

Are Women Human? (Back to the Future, Part 17)

It's been nearly 49 years since the Roe v. Wade decision was issued by the US Supreme Court on 22 January 1973. Norma McCorvey, the "Jane Roe" in the case, lived in Texas, where abortion was was illegal, except when the life of the pregnant woman was at stake. Opponents of abortion have never accepted the court's 7-2 decision, and the efforts to overturn Roe have been unending in the decades since.

Now, with a new Texas abortion law in place--one that clearly violates the Roe decision (and doesn't allow abortion even to preserve the life of a woman), and with the Supreme Court considering a Mississippi abortion case that could overturn Roe, the crazy train to Gilead is picking up steam as it barrels down the track--we're now hurtling back to the future at a breakneck pace. Who is behind the wheel?

Is it Tate Reeves, the governor of Mississipi, who insists on "individual liberty" and "my body, my choice" when it comes to vaccines, but is hell-bent on denying women the same control over their own bodies when it comes to pregnancy? 

Is it Judge Amy Coney Barrett, the most recently installed Supreme Court justice, who blithely hand-waves a woman's autonomy, agency, and self-determination--and who thinks it's perfectly fine to force a woman to give birth because she can just dump an unwanted newborn at a "safe haven" drop-box while she is on her way to the gym or the grocery store and, hey, problem solved!

Or is it Madison Cawthorn, unbelievably an elected member of the US House of Representatives, who has said the quiet part out loud--it's not like women are people, they are just like pickle jars, only made of clay instead of glass, "earthenware vessels," in his words, with a baby stuck inside instead of a dill. (He's so proud of himself he not only repeated his words in a tweet, he included a clip of his speech as recorded on C-SPAN.)

The truth is, no one is driving this runaway train. We're heading not just back to a time before Margaret Atwood's fictional Gilead or even before the U.S. pre-Roe--we're heading back to a much grimmer future.

And so I have posted here an essay I first wrote in August 2012--it was originally printed as an op-ed in my local newspaper, but I had only 800 words, hardly enough for what I wanted to say. I published this more complete piece on my own website in September 2012.

Without any revision, the piece is as relevant today as it was when I wrote it nearly ten years ago . . .*

Are Women Human?


Last March, just a month into the spring semester, a shy student who usually sat quietly in the back row came dancing into the classroom, waving a handful of printed pages over her head. Instead of climbing over chairs and other students and backpacks on her way to her usual retreat in the last row of desks, she came right up to me, where I was standing in the front of the room. What was she so excited about? She had a photocopy of Jessica Winter’s Time essay, “Are Women People?” in her hands, and she was excited because she thought it was a perfect piece for our class discussion.

Christine de Pizan,
from MS Harley 4431
(British Library)
She was right—it was perfect for our discussion. We had just finished reading Christine de Pizan’s fifteenth-century defense of women, The Book of the City of Ladies, on the very day that Winter’s essay had been published. And the question of women's humanity was very much on Pizan's mind as she wrote. 

But the fact that Winter was struggling with that same question more than six hundred years later was deeply unsettling. Are women people, she asks? “I’ve always assumed that women are fully autonomous human citizens—who vote, even!” Winter wrote, “but now I’m not so certain.”

The question of whether women are, rightly considered, “people” has a long history. Winter certainly isn’t the first to ask. And her wonderful piece, which appeared in the midst of the Rush Limbaugh/Sandra Fluke controversy, is smart, articulate, and funny. (Are women people? “Only when they’re pregnant.” “They’re more like really expensive blow-up dolls.” “Not quite—they’re objects with certain people-like traits.”) But Winter doesn’t address the long history of the question she was confronting.

Are women human? Philosophers, theologians, biologists and physicians, lawyers—well, all men, really—have been asking this very question for millennia. And for more than two thousand years, their answer to that question has pretty much been the same. Are women human? Sort of, maybe, well, in a way, but not really, no, I don’t think so.

My students had been shocked when they first began reading The Book of City of Ladies. There, in the opening pages, Pizan’s first-person narrator, “Christine,” is reduced to the depths of self-loathing:
I finally decided that God formed a vile creature when He made woman, and I wondered how such a worthy artisan could have deigned to make such an abominable work which . . . is the vessel as well as the refuge and abode of every evil and vice. . . . I detested myself and the entire feminine sex, as though we were monstrosities in nature.
My students were horrified. How could a woman write such things about women? How could Pizan suggest women were "vile" or "abominable," much less conclude that they were the source of "every evil and vice"? Why would she even suggest the possibility that women were “monstrosities in nature”? And why would “Christine” pray to God in her agony, asking, “Alas, God, why did You not let me be born in the world as a male”? 

That’s when we had to stop to look at the complex, contentious, ugly history of the question to which Pizan was responding in 1405. Are women human?

When Pizan, through her first-person narrator, "Christine," refers to women as “monstrosities in nature,” she’s quoting Aristotle, whose profoundly influential views about women still reverberate in today’s political debates. From Aristotle’s perspective, men and women are clearly so different that it might well be asked whether they even belong to the same species: “One might raise the question why woman does not differ from man in species, when female and male are contrary and their difference is a contrariety” (Metaphysics). Although Aristotle ultimately decides that women do belong to the same species as men, he rejects the views of earlier philosophers that women, like men, contribute “seed” to reproduction. Women are cold, infertile, and passive; they contribute only matter or “stuff” to reproduction. Men alone contribute seed, soul, life force—in other words, the right stuff.

But Aristotle’s most influential “truth” about women is found in his biological work (On the Generation of Animals). A woman may be the same species as a man, but she is by no means his equal:
Just as it sometimes happens that deformed offspring are produced by deformed parents, and sometimes not, so the offspring produced by a female are sometimes female, sometimes not, but male. The reason is that the female is as it were a deformed male.
So there it is. Are women human? To be fully human is to be male. To be female is to be deformed, a failure of the reproductive process. To be female is to be almost human, just not quite.

And thus another question arises. What is the place of this almost-human-but-not-quite creature in society? To be male is to be fully rational—the human species is distinguished by its rationality, according to Aristotle. But to be female is to be irrational. Women have some rational faculties, but only within limits (Politics):
A question may indeed be raised, whether there is any excellence at all in a slave beyond and higher than merely instrumental and ministerial qualities. . . . Since they are men and share in rational principle, it seems absurd to say that they have no virtue. A similar question may be raised about women and children. . . .
Yes, a woman has some rational faculty, Aristotle decides, but her limited rational faculty is “without authority”—the child also has some rational faculty, “but it is immature.” Presumably, a male child’s rational faculty will mature; a girl’s will not. Without authority, a woman is bound to obey. She is a “natural subject”: just as the “free man rules over the slave,” “the male rules over the female” (and “the man over the child”). A woman’s “virtues” are silence and obedience.

The influence of Aristotle’s view of woman is incalculable. The Roman physician, Galen, adopted Aristotle’s conclusions about women. Women were necessary for reproduction, certainly: “there needs to be a female,” Galen concedes. “Indeed, you ought not to think that our Creator would purposely make half the whole race imperfect, and as it were, mutilated, unless there was to be some great advantage in such a mutilation” (On the Usefulness of the Parts of the Body). The “advantage” to her “mutilation” is her role in reproduction. A woman can give birth.

Galen would remain the foremost medical authority well into the early modern world. Aristotle, meanwhile, was so important that he was, throughout the Middle Ages, known simply as “the philosopher.” No name was necessary. Thus Dante does not need to name him in the fourth canto of Inferno—there, in the middle of all the great philosophers, Dante writes, is il maestro di color che sanno, “the master of those who know.”

So famous and influential is Aristotle that when Christine de Pizan wrote The Book of the City of Ladies in 1405, she didn’t need to identify the source of the view that women were “monstrosities in nature.” That wasn’t her view, or the view of “Christine,” her first-person narrator—that was Aristotle’s view and the view of all the male authorities who followed him. No matter what else they disagreed about, philosophers, theologians, legal scholars, doctors, poets, and politicians could “all concur in one conclusion.” They all “judged, decided, and concluded against women.” Women were the “vessel as well as the refuge and abode of every evil and vice.” They were “monstrosities in nature.”

And it wasn’t just the Greeks and the Romans, of course—Christian theologians were also pretty clear on the subject. Consider the views of St. Augustine, one of the great Latin "fathers" of the church. On the one hand, he seems to reject a woman’s femaleness as a physical defect, rendering her less than fully human (male). “There are some who think that in the resurrection all will be men,” he writes, considering the view of those Christian thinkers who argued that, in heaven, imperfect women would find themselves perfected, losing their female bodies and becoming male. Augustine disagrees: “I think that those others are more sensible who have no doubt that both sexes will remain in the resurrection” (The City of God). He agrees that, after resurrection, “all blemishes of the body will be gone,” but a woman’s sex “is her nature and no blemish.” Both men and women inherit grace; “You created male and female, but in Your spiritual grace, they are as one” (Confessions).

But what happens after the resurrection isn’t necessarily true in this world, and while spiritually male and female “are as one,” that doesn’t quite translate to full equality. In his commentary on the meaning of Genesis, Augustine clarifies his position. How were Adam and Eve created, he asks. Adam is made in the image of God; he is complete, perfect. Eve, created from Adam’s rib, is not created in the image of God. What is her role? “Is it to work the earth with [Adam]?” Not at all, for “if the need was there, the help of another man would have been preferable.” Is it to be a companion? To be a comforting presence, in case “solitude weighed on him”? No again. “To live and to talk to each other, how preferable is the companionship of two male friends than that of a man and a woman!” Then what is a woman good for? What is her purpose? “I do not see for what goal woman would have been given to man as a helpmate if not for generating children.”

Are women human? Well, if to be fully human is to be made in the image of God, to be a helpmate in work, to be a companion in solitude, then no. A woman is sort of human. She is useful for one human function—she’s necessary for making babies.

In the centuries that followed, Christian bishops debated whether women could be called “human beings” (homines) since the word homo, used in the Latin Vulgate translation of the Bible, meant, strictly speaking, “man” (just as adam is the Hebrew word for “man” of “mankind”) and whether women had souls. Some of these debates may be rumored or mythic—according to one such story, the Council of Nicea (323 C.E.) debated the issue of whether women had souls and took a vote, with the women-have-souls side “winning” by only one vote. Another such account has the Council of Macon (585 C.E.) deciding that women don’t, after all, have souls. Apocryphal or not, these stories were believed, their "truths" about women perpetuated through the centuries.

Meanwhile, Aristotelian “truths” were further melded with Christian thought and belief. The greatest medieval thinker, Thomas Aquinas, asks a question that can at first seem rather startling to a modern reader: “Whether the woman should have been made in the first production of things?” (Summa Theologica). The answer is a foregone conclusion—the Christian God could never have made a mistake. In his answer to this question, which thus really isn’t a question at all, Aquinas replies that woman’s creation was “necessary.” He agrees with Aristotle that women are defective, and that women are “naturally subject to men.” Women are “the occasion for sin,” but if God had “deprived the world of all those things which proved an occasion of sin, the universe would have been imperfect.” God created women so that sin would exist! Oh, and women are also needed to be a “help” to man—their “matter” is needed for men’s “seed” in the process of reproduction.

Of course academics and scholars and linguists have contextualized, rationalized, explained, translated, retranslated, and interpreted these authors, their texts, and even their words for generations. And of course I am pulling quotations out of much larger contexts here. Of course I am not dealing with the nuances of the original Greek, Latin, and Hebrew texts. But what I have indicated here is exactly how these “truths” and authorities have always been quoted, rationalized, explained, interpreted, and understood. That’s why we see them so clearly in Christine de Pizan, who wrote to defend women against such misogynist “truths.”

To the question “are women human,” Pizan responds unequivocally and unambiguously. Yes, women are human: “There is not the slightest doubt that women belong to the people of God and the human race as much as men.” she asserts. They are not “monstrosities in nature.” They are “not another species or dissimilar race,” they are fully human.

But Pizan was fighting a losing battle. Perhaps nowhere is that lost battle more obvious than in an anonymous pamphlet published in 1595, A New Disputation against Women, in Which It Is Proved That They Are Not Human Beings (Disputatio nova contra mulieres, qua probatur eas hominess non esse).** Whether or not it was originally intended as satire, it was not widely read as satire—it was reprinted, answered, translated, plagiarized, and adapted, including a 1647 variation attributed to one “Horatio Plato,” Che le donne non habbino anima e the non siano della specie degli huomini, e vienne comprobato da molti luoghi della Scrittura santa (Women Do Not Have a Soul and Do Not Belong to the Human Race, as Is Shown by Many Passages of Holy Scripture), which itself was then translated and republished. Indeed, the Disputation remained in print well into the eighteenth century (a French edition was published in 1766).

The anonymous pamphlet,
Disputatio nova contra mulieres,
1595
According to the argument presented, not even a woman’s reproductive capacity qualified her as sort of human— “the smith is not able to forge a sword unless he has the help of his hammer,” “the scribe is not able to write unless he likewise has the help of a pen,” “a tailor is unable to darn unless he has the help of a needle.” And, obviously, “a man is not able to beget unless he has the help of a woman.” But just as hammers, pens, and needles are so clearly not human, neither are women. And this is only one of the fifty “invincible” proofs offered to show that “woman is not human, nor is she saved.”

The uncertainty about women’s humanity—or, rather, the certainty that whatever they are, women aren’t fully rational, equally human—is at the root of so much of the institutional inequality that women faced and still face. In the American colonies, when Thomas Jefferson included the claim that “all men are created equal” in the Declaration of Independence, he certainly didn’t mean female persons in his construction of “all men.” 

It wasn’t until the nineteenth century that women gained some measure of legal, political, and economic equality, presumably a measure of their humanity, and not until early in the twentieth that they finally got the right to vote. Reproductive rights took longer yet. At the end of the twentieth century, it almost looked as if, in the United States at least, we were ready to answer the question “are women human” with an unambiguous “yes.” 

But lately things have taken a turn for the worse. Much worse. Here we are now, in 2012, right back where we started. Women have been reduced to their reproductive capacities. They are irrational and incapable of making decisions for themselves about their own lives. They can’t be trusted to know whether they’ve been raped or not—is it really “legitimate” rape? If they wind up pregnant, it's proof that they haven't been raped—women's imperfect, deformed female bodies have magical powers to prevent pregnancy if they are truly victims of rape. (The medical view that pregnancy cannot result from rape goes back to the Middle Ages—at least to the thirteenth century, when Thomas Aquinas was asking whether God made a big goof when he created women.)

If women can't even be trusted to know whether they've had consensual sex or been raped, what decisions can they be trusted to make about their own (imperfect) bodies? If they don't know what kind of sex they've had, surely they can’t properly make decisions about whether and when to have children. Those decisions must be taken out of their hands and placed in the hands of wise (male) humans. Like those of George Bush and the rest of these guys, shown here signing yet another bill limiting women's healthcare and reproductive decisions.

George Bush, 5 November 2003,
 signing the Partial Birth Abortion Act--
WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE??
Are women human? The Sanctity of Human Life Act (HR 212), introduced into the 112th Congress by Todd Akin (he of the "legitimate rape" and the magical ability of women's bodies to "shut that whole thing [possible pregnancy] down" if they are raped) and Paul Ryan, among others, declares that “the life of each human being begins with fertilization.” 

According to definitions helpfully provided in the bill, a “human zygote, a one-celled human embryo” has all the legal rights of a “human” or “human being,” by which the bill means “each and every member of the species homo sapiens at all stages of life, beginning with the earliest stage of development, created by the process of fertilization, cloning, or its functional equivalent.”

Is a zygote human? According to this definition, a zygote is clearly and unambiguously fully human.

Are women human? Their autonomy, bodily integrity, and independence guaranteed under the due process clause of the fourteenth amendment? Are they thinking beings? Are they entitled to make decisions about their own lives? That, unfortunately, is not nearly so clear.

The Violence Against Women Act expired at the end of September 2011. After nearly a year of wrangling, it still has not been renewed. Women are apparently not human enough to guarantee their protection from from violence. Sixty-eight U.S. Senators thought women were worth protecting, passing the renewal of the VAWA. In the U.S. House, meanwhile, 221 members, a majority of those voting in May, agreed that, while some women might be human enough to bother about, Native American women, LGBT women, and undocumented immigrant women were definitely not quite human enough to worry about; the House version of the VAWA left them out. If they have to be included, well, it's just better to forget about the whole thing. There has been no reconsideration of the Violence Against Women Act in the House since.***

Meanwhile, the Equal Pay Act was first passed in 1963, its aim to end wage differences based on sex. In that year, women earned 58.9 cents for every dollar earned by men. Today, nearly 50 years later (!), women earn just 77.4 cents for every dollar earned by men, a gain of less than half a cent a year. Are women human? Not according to our value of their work.****

And while they may have been "given" the vote, God forbid women should talk about what and who to vote for. Overcome by the sound of women's voices at the Democratic National Convention, CNN's Erick Erickson [in September 2012] responded, "First night of the Vagina Monologues in Charlotte going as expected." Although more than 30 men also spoke during the Tuesday session, no one tweeted "First night of the Penis Lectures going as expected" or "First night of the Dick Talks going as expected."

Because men are human—they have ideas, opinions, hopes, and dreams. We should listen to them. 

But do women have ideas, opinions, hopes, and dreams worthy our attention? Of course not. They are merely reproductive organs, useful for sexual intercourse and childbirth, not for thinking. Or, God forbid, for talking.

Are women human?

The answer still seems to be sort of. Maybe. Well, in a way, but not really. No, I don’t think so.

Or, as Jessica Winter concludes, “they’re objects with certain people-like traits.”

. . . 

*I've updated the links--some of the original links no longer worked--and added a few others for context (the Sandra Fluke/Rush Limbaugh controversy, for example).

**For the English translation of the 1595 text, see Theresa M. Kenney's edition"Women Are Not Human," an Anonymous Treatise and Responses. An Italian translation of the 1595 text was published in 1647, which spurred a savage response by Arcangela Tarabotti, Che le donne siano della spezie deglie uomini (Women Are of the Human Species, 1651). Kenney includes a translation of Tarabotti's piece as one of the texts in the volume.

***As indicated in the headnote, this piece was written and first published in August 2012. Since then, unfortunately but not surprisingly, efforts to permanently enact the Violence against Women Act have failed. 

After the VAWA reauthorization failed in 2012, it was temporarily reauthorized in 2013, but it expired once again on 21 December 2018. Reinstated once more in January 2019, it expired again just a month later, 15 February 2019. Another attempt to reauthorize the Violence Against Women Act was made in April of 2019, but negotiations to pass it stalled in November.

HR 1620, the Violence Against Women Act Reauthorization Act, was introduced into the 117th US Congress on 8 March 2021. It passed the House on 17 March 2021 by a vote of 244 to 172 (yes, you read that right--apparently 172 members of the House seemed to think violence against women was okay). The bill was received by the Senate on 18 March 2021. The Senate Judiciary Committee held hearings seven months later, on 5 October 2021. And there it remains . . .

****I have written several posts on the issue of equal pay--to read more, click on the label "pay equity," below. In 2021, women still make only 82 cents for every dollar earned by men--though obviously these broad figures do not take into consideration the wage gape for women of color or the terrible price working women have paid during the global pandemic.

Finally, on this same question--"Are Women Human?"--you might enjoy Charlotte Perkins Gilman's "Consideration of the Major Error in the Discussion of Woman Suffrage" (access here); two essays by Dorothy Sayers, "Are Women Human?" and "The Human-Not-Quite Human," published in a single small volume (click here); and Catharine A. MacKinnon's 2007 collection of essaysAre Women Human? And Other International Dialogues, which puts the question into a global context (her 1999 essay, "Are Women Human?" is available here.) 

Update, 11 December 2021: Here's another conductor on the crazy train. Governor Greg Abbott, who signed Texas S.B. 8, effectively banning abortion, strongly supports your right to bodily integrity: "This is whether or not somebody is going to have something put into their body that they do not want put into their body. That’s more than freedom, that’s the right to control and secure your own body. And that’s exactly why we’re winning on this issue." Except, ooops, he doesn't mean women who object to forced pregnancy--he means he doesn't want to have to get a COVID vaccine. These guys just can't help themselves, can they?

Update, 16 March 2022: As if you needed any more information about Republican views of a woman's humanity . . . On Monday, 14 March 2022, the Idaho Legislature, led by Republicans, passed S. B. 1309, which is now awaiting Republican Governor Brad Little's signature--the bill grants the right to control a woman's body to relatives of a "preborn" fetus. But here's the twist on the vigilantism of Texas S. B 8--in Idaho, random strangers can't sue anyone who helps a woman who is seeking an abortion. Nope--as legal experts Dahlia Lithwick and Mark Joseph Stern note, the Idaho law would allow "the father, siblings, grandparents, aunts, and uncles of a 'preborn child' to veto an abortion. The law applies not just to minors, but to any adult seeking the procedure." And no wimpy $10,000 bounty either--in S. B. 1309, damages start at $20,000 (plus, of course, attorney's fees). 

So, no, woman, you're not human, not a grown-up person, capable of making decisions for yourself--crazy old Uncle Harry can make that decision for you and just veto the whole damn thing. 

And, hey, no worries if you happen to be a rapist!!! Be assured, you can still collect: "The bill’s sponsor, Republican state Rep. Steven Harris, has confirmed that if a rapist has 10 siblings, each can sue for $20,000." Not only can the rapist cash in, his family can too: "The bill therefore makes it incredibly easy for a sexual assailant’s family to further victimize the woman by profiting from her pregnancy."

In case you were wondering--Republicans hold a 28-7 majority in the Idaho Senate and a 58-12 majority in the Idaho House of Representatives. S. B. 1309 passed in the Idaho Senate by a vote of 28-6 and in the Idaho House of Representatives by a vote of 51-14 (also good to know--a couple of House Republicans voted against the bill because they wanted to ban abortion from the moment of fertilization, and this bill doesn't do that . . . ) 

Update, 22 March 2022: Are women human? Another big answer in the "NO" column. This time it's Oklahoma, where many Texas women have been seeking healthcare after the passage of Texas S. B. 8. No fooling around with a six-week time limit for women to exercise their control over their own bodies. Nope. Oklahoma House Bill 4327 grants full personhood to an "unborn child" that is "in any stage of gestation from fertilization until birth," and bans abortions "at any point during pregnancy."  And, by the way, according to the bill, "pregnancy" is understood to be "calculated from the first day of the woman's last menstrual period," but the bill bans any abortion counting "30 days after a person’s last menstrual period." 

Ha ha ha! Fooled you there! That word "person," as in "after a person's last menstrual period"? That's from reporter Mariel Padilla's piece posted at The 19th News. The only time "person" is used in the Oklahoma bill is in the bill's lengthy discussion of the way the law will be enforced: "This act shall be enforced exclusively through private civil actions." As in the Texas bill, a person can bring a civil action and sue everyone and anyone involved in an abortion. Yup. Another one for vigilante "justice." 

Anyway, I've been a woman for 70 years, and the confusing way this bill calculates when pregnancy begins just doesn't make logical sense--much less medical sense--to me.

Update, 23 March 2022: Calling it "unwise" (no kidding), Idaho Governor Brad Little--a Republican, in case I need to spell it out for you, signed Idaho's S. B. 1309. What the fuck, Brad? He believes that "this legislation risks retraumatizing victims by affording monetary incentives to wrongdoers and family members of rapists," but he signs it anyway? Because women can't be trusted to make sensible decisions?

Update, 5 April 2022: And now it's Oklahoma, with the state house passing S. B. 612, a total ban on abortion. The bill passed without any questions being asked, much less floor debate. An update to the update: the bill was signed into law by the governor on 12 April.

Update, 13 April 2022: Kentucky's H. B. 3, vetoed last week by the state's governor, overrode that veto and takes effect immediately, banning all abortions. In addition, 
the law institutes new regulations for patients who have abortions, including requirements that many patients with abortions file “birth-death certificates.” Physicians who perform abortions also have to report each procedure to the state, along with the method of abortion and substantial biographical detail about both the person who received the abortion and their sexual partner, including their age, race, ethnicity, hometown and health information.
HB3 also enhances the state’s power to audit abortion providers, create a state website that publishes the names of all physicians who provide abortions in Kentucky, bans telemedicine for medication abortion, further restricts the circumstances under which minors can get abortions. There are no exceptions for rape or incest.

Go, Kentucky, first state in the nation to go all-in on denying women personhood.

Update, 14 April 2022: Okay, no surprises, I guess, but today it's Florida. I would say it's the same old, same old, except this ban has an extra-dose of cruelty: no exceptions for rape, incest, or human trafficking. (Although maybe, in the deluge, I've just missed that in other laws.)

There seems to be no point any more in keeping up these "updates." Let's just say that, soon, the question "Are Women Human" will be answered, in a majority of states, with a big, fat "NO."

Update, 2 May 2022: That didn't take long. This answer from the Supreme Court is clearly "NO."

Update, 2 May 2022: And now, Louisiana has decided that "equal protection of the laws" should be granted to "an individual human being" from the "moment of fertilization"--though, obviously, this law does not apply to a female human being. House Bill 813 would also classify abortion as a homicide, allowing for women to be charged with murder, and would limit birth control options (such as oral contraceptives that prevent implantation and IUDs). Also, good to note: Louisiana has the highest maternal mortality rate in the U.S. 

Bottom line: women aren't real people, but a fertilized egg is. 

And if women aren't real people in Louisiana, god help Black women, because the state sure won't. In an interview for the Harvard T. H. Chan School of Public Health (19 May 2022; the series is called Public Health on the Brink, I kid you not), Senator Bill Cassidy had this to say about the state's horrific maternal mortality rate: “About a third of our population is African American; African Americans have a higher incidence of maternal mortality. So, if you correct our population for race, we’re not as much of an outlier as it’d otherwise appear.” Yeah, he actually said that--just don't count Black women. He's a fucking doctor! M.D., Louisiana State University--for shame. Best online comment in response to Cassidy's dumbassery: "Prostate cancer death rates are only bad if you count men."

Update, 3 May 2022: Oklahoma again. This time a vigilante law--S. B. 1503 "would also allow private citizens to bring a civil lawsuit against a person who performs or induces an abortion, intends to perform an abortion, or knowingly aids or abets an abortion, such as paying for the procedure. Under the bill, relief would include at least $10,000 in statutory damages for each abortion the defendant performed or aided in violation of the act, legal fees and compensatory damages." At least this Oklahoma bill doesn't allow a woman's rapist to collect the bounty. (Looking at you, Idaho.)

Update, 10 May 2022: In the U.S. Senate today, Steve Daines (Republican, Montana), compared women to sea turtles and eagles, arguing that if we protect "pre-born baby turtles" and "pre-born baby eagles," we should ban abortion. Or something like that . . . Pretty sure that he must think that women are animals, just not human animals. (Neither a turtle nor a bird is a mammal, so I'm not even sure what class of animal women might be . . . )

Update, 19 May 2022: Jeez, Oklahoma is back at it, adding even more draconian measures just for shits and giggles. As if the two previous bills passed in the last month+ weren't bad enough, the Oklahoma House today passed S. B. 4327, this one banning abortion "from the stage of 'fertilization.'" In case you were in any doubt, Governor Kevin Stitt signed it into law.

Update, 26 May 2022: What is going on in Oklahoma????? Just a day after the state enacted a law that bans all abortions from the moment of fertilization, now gubernatorial candidate Mark Sherwood claims that life begins before conception: "I believe life begins in God before it begins at conception.” And as if the new Oklahoma law isn't enough, he wants to enact some kind of law that will increase punishments for abortion. WHAT????? The chyron running under his interview, broadcast on Real America's Voice, identifies him as a doctor--he's a doctor of naturopathy. Evidently naturopaths don't study biology. Or is he saying that men who masturbate will now be punished for abortion? I could almost get on board the crazy train with good old Mark Sherwood if that were what he was claiming . . . 

I suppose this doesn't really have anything to do with the "are women human?" question any more, but somehow I can't quit.

Is it time to quit now, when Roe is overturned? (click here)

Update, 26 October 2023: I obviously haven't updated here for a while, but I thought I had to insert this clip of the new Speaker of the House of Representatives weighing in on the question? Are women human? Not if it means that they have rights and stuff, obviously. Women are only useful to be forced to produce more "able-bodied workers"!!!!!!


Update, 2 November 2024: Here it is, straight from the horse's mouth ass. Donald Trump: "He was hit by some of the strongest, not human beings, women."




Thursday, July 26, 2018

Back to the Future, Part 10: Gilead--Are We There Yet?

Back to the Future, Part 10: Making Motherhood Deadly Again (or, Gilead--Are We There Yet?)


In the ongoing effort to "make America great again," here we are with more dismal horrific terrifying what-else-can-we-expect? news for women.

"The U.S. has the highest maternal death rate among the world's developed nations." So, yay?

This great news comes from a study just published by USA Today--but it's probably fake news, right? (You can read the complete story by clicking here.)

The numbers are shocking. In the United States, the rate of maternal mortality is 26.4 deaths per 100,000. Compare that to the rates in Germany, 9 per 100,000; the UK, 8.8 per 100,000; France, 7.8 per 100,000; Canada, 7.3 per 100,000; and Japan, 6.4 per 100,000.

And in those countries, the maternal death rate has been falling since 1990. In the US, by contrast, the rate has been rising. Noticeably.

USA Today graphics

Looking beyond the "most developed" nations, as reported in The Hill, "The United States is home to some of the most advanced obstetric and emergency care found on earth, yet we still rank only 47th for maternal mortality rate globally. . . . "

But wait! There's more: 
While the world has made tremendous strides to improve health outcomes for women and mothers, resulting in plummeting global maternal mortality rates, the United States has actually seen an increase in maternal deaths between 2000 and 2014. We are not in good company—the U.S. is one of only eight nations, and the only industrial nation, that have seen rising maternal mortality rates in recent years [emphasis added].
You can check out data for yourself by looking at UNICEF maternal mortality statistics (updated January 2018).

Update, 25 November 2018: As an important follow-up to these statistics on maternal mortality, I recommend Kim Brooks's New York Times op-ed, "America is Blaming Pregnant Women for Their Own Deaths," which asks the provocative question, "What is it like to face dying during childbirth in the richest country in the world in the 21st century?" (There is a series of terrific responses to the op-ed here.)

(For more fun stories about the current state of affairs, click on the label "Back to the Future," below.)

Thursday, June 28, 2018

Back to the Future, Part 9: The 10 Most Dangerous Countries for Women

Back to the Future, Part 9: The 10 Most Dangerous Countries for Women 


It's been a while since I've had the heart to post another in this series of "back to the future" pieces. I guess I am just so tired of winning . . . 

But, hey, looks like the MAGA crowd will have to work a bit harder because we're not yet Number 1!

The Thompson Reuters Foundation, "the philanthropic arm of Thomas Reuters, the world's biggest news and information provider," has just published its most recent poll of "The World's Most Dangerous Countries for Women." (The first Reuters poll of the most dangerous countries for women was published in 2011.)



Great news! The United States made the list!!!! But, darn, just barely--we're number ten on the list, last place: "The United States ranked as the 10th most dangerous country for women, the only Western nation to appear in the top 10."

Here is the list, beginning with the worst and ending with the least (?) worst: 1. India; 2. Afghanistan; 3. Syria; 4. Somalia; 5. Saudi Arabia; 6. Pakistan; 7. Democratic Republic of Congo; 8. Yemen; 9. Nigeria; 10. United States.

Criteria for ranking: healthcare; discrimination; cultural traditions; sexual violence; non-sexual violence; trafficking.

Good to know: we tied for third place Syria on the "key area" of sexual violence, but we were only in sixth place when it came to non-sexual violence. 

So we'll just have to keep trying harder to make America great again for women! Because we need to be Number 1!

And the way things are going these days, if the poll is taken seven years from now, we should be in the Republic of Gilead territory, no problem.

By the way, the reactions to the publication of the story are almost as disheartening as the poll itself. The comments at ProPublica are profanity-laden, utterly sickening comparisons of Trump and Bill Clinton--at the time I last looked, there was no reckoning at all with the Reuters poll or story. Meanwhile, over at Jezebel, most of the comments are more-or-less, "Well, we can't accept this poll because clearly Country X is worse for women than the U.S." What an argument.


In her report on the Reuters poll for Fortune, Natasha Bach notes, "The U.S.’s poor standing in this survey arrives just a week after a UN report found the U.S. to be the most unequal country in the developed world, with 40 million people living in poverty." (To read the U.N. document, "Report of the Special Rapporteur on Extreme Poverty and Human Rights on His Mission to the United States of America," click here.)

Welcome to America, 28 June, 2018.

(For the previous eight posts on "back to the future," click on the label, below.)

Update, 29 January 2022: The Thomson Reuters poll from 2018 is no longer accessible online (or at least the link I had provided to it is no longer working). Reports about the poll from many sources are still widely available, however, so I have now linked to the Thomson Reuters fact sheet about the poll. Here also is a United Nations report, from the same time-frame--a press release with a summary of findings (here) and the report itself, "Gender-Related Killing of Women and Girls" (here).

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

"Make Margaret Atwood Fiction Again"

Margaret Atwood's Brave New World (series premiere of The Handmaid's Tale, 26 April 2016)


I first read Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid’s Tale in 1985, shortly after it was published, but I never put it on a syllabus, and although a fair number of my students chose to work with Atwood’s novel for group projects over the years, I must be honest and admit that I never reread the book myself. It was just too disturbing. (And I taught Shakespeare's Titus Andronicus every year!) It wasn’t until I started work on a project about "women's worlds" that I forced myself to read The Handmaid’s Tale for a second time.*

Photo taken at the Women's March by
Sarah Pinsker

And now, more than thirty years after its publication,  Atwood's novel is not only only the source of a critically acclaimed and much-anticipated new TV series, it's at the top of the Amazon best-seller list (#5, as of today, 26 April 2017).

References to The Handmaid's Tale are everywhere--this post is illustrated with placards and posters from the 21-22 January 2017 Women's March that drew some half a million people to Washington, D. C., that took place in 408 cities in the United States, and that saw 168 "sister" marches take place in 81 countries around the world. 

Atwood has recently written that she, the author of The Handmaid's Tale, found watching one scene in the new television version "terribly upsetting': "It was way too much like way too much history," she says.

Just what are so many people now finding not only so relevant but, like Atwood, so upsetting?

In The Handmaid’s Tale, the narrator’s first-person account of her life covers a few months, from spring to late summer. The narrator who is recounting the story that we are reading is no longer an individual with her own hopes and dreams. She offers us only one brief physical description of herself, halfway through the novel, and even then she is utterly nondescript: “I am thirty-three years old. I have brown hair. I stand five seven without shoes.” We cannot picture her in our mind—she can hardly picture herself. “I have trouble remembering what I used to look like,” she says. 

And our narrator has no name. She is called “Offred,” a patronymic. She belongs to Fred, she is “of” Fred, she is Fred’s. Although she remembers the name she bore before she became Fred’s property, she suppresses it: “I must forget about my secret name and all ways back.” “I too am a missing person,” she writes. Although Offred claims she will someday reclaim her name, she never does. Offred remains Offred.

Stripped of her names and identity, Offred has been reduced to her body, which is no longer her own. During a time when most women are sterile, our narrator has a viable uterus. She is a “two-legged womb,” and her body has been claimed as a critical national resource—she is a Handmaid, a woman whose sole purpose is to produce a child for a childless Wife. 

At her current “posting,” Offred is imprisoned in a room at the top of the stairs, a room where she sits night after night and waits to be called downstairs for the highly ritualized monthly Ceremony, when the man to whom she now belongs will try to impregnate her. Although she is the only occupant of the upstairs room, she refuses to call it a room of her own. It is “not my room,” she insists, “I refuse to say my.” 
Ben Cartwright,
for the Women's March

The totalitarian theocracy of Gilead justifies its subjection of fertile women, forcing them to conceive and bear children for the ruling Commanders and Wives, on the authority of the Old Testament, in particular Sarah’s command to Abraham that he give her a child, conceived with her slave, Hagar (“You see that the Lord has prevented me from bearing children; go into my slave-girl; it may be that I shall obtain children by her,” Genesis 16:2) and Rachel’s command to Jacob that he give her a child, conceived with her “maid,” Bilhah (“Here is my maid Bilhah; go in to her, that she may bear upon my knees and that I too may have children through her,” Genesis 30:3).

Although The Handmaid’s Tale is set against a background of war, we hear few of the specifics. The United States has become the Republic of Gilead—Offred alludes briefly to the “catastrophe” of the mid 1980s when the president was assassinated and the Congress was eliminated.

This was a violent military coup, a terrorist attack perpetrated by a shadowy Christian fundamentalist group calling itself the “Sons of Jacob,” although, as Offred notes, these homegrown rebels “blamed it on the Islamic fanatics, at the time.” The army declared a state of emergency and suspended the constitution. Newspapers were censored, and freedom of movement was restricted—roadblocks were set up and passes were required to travel. 

But no one objected: “Everyone approved . . . since it was obvious you couldn’t be too careful.” Although new elections were promised, they never materialized. The transition from democratic republic to militant fundamentalist theocracy was quickly and ruthlessly effected—Offred asks herself how it happened, but the answer is clear enough. Although she says everyone was “stunned” at the turn of events, there were no protests and no riots: “People stayed home at night, watching television, looking for some direction.” 

Offred’s own inaction reflected the larger apathy; for the next few years after the President’s Day Massacre, she and her husband followed their usual routine, getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home. They had a child together, a daughter.

Although there were news stories reporting on the terrible changes underway—women “bludgeoned to death or mutilated, interfered with, as they used to say”—these were stories “about other women.” “We lived, as usual by ignoring. . . . We lived in the gaps between the stories,” Offred says. 

She sees the final “catastrophe,” the sudden reordering of society along Old Testament principles, only in personal terms—she lost her job and her bank account, her marriage was dissolved, she was arrested, and her five-year-old child was “confiscated” by the state and reassigned to a new, “morally fit” couple.

Three years have passed since the traumatic day she became a prisoner of war, but that war continues. The threats to Gilead are both everywhere and nowhere. “This is the heart of Gilead,” Offred tells us, “where the war cannot intrude except on television. Where the edges are we aren’t sure, they vary, according to the attacks and counterattacks; but this is the center, where nothing moves.” 

About this never-ending war Offred observes, “First, the front lines. They are not lines, really: the war seems to be going on in many places at once.” At one point she hears from another Handmaid that the war “is going well.” Later she catches a few brief moments of a television newscast and hears that army has captured “a pocket” of Baptist guerilla fighters in the Appalachian Mountains.

Rebels also include Catholics and “the heretical sect of Quakers.” Offred craves these glimpses of the world outside her room, but she is skeptical about what she hears—“who knows if any of it is true? It could be old clips, it could be faked. But I watch it anyway, hoping to be able to read beneath it.”

Photo by Greg Zimmerman
The book is divided into sections, too, which also seem to impose a recognizable chronology on the story: there are fifteen numbered parts, in which “Night” alternates with daytime activities like “Shopping” and daytime locations that seem familiar, like “Household.” In each of the “Night” sections, Offred is alone in her empty room at the top of the stairs (this pattern is broken just once when, instead of “Night,” the section is entitled “Nap”).

But if we examine the titles of the alternating sections, Offred’s experiences seem less and less familiar as the novel progresses. What kind of activity is “Salvaging”? And where is “Jezebel’s”? We move from the familiar to the unfamiliar as the novel unfolds and we travel more deeply into the brave new world of Gilead.

If we hold fast to the organization suggested by this table of contents, The Handmaid’s Tale seems  to focus on the events of seven days and nights over the course of the few months spanned by the novel. But once we begin reading, we can see that the simple chronology is not so simple after all. The story jumps back and forth in time, as Offred remembers her past—these memories are of her mother, of her childhood, of her college life and friends, of her marriage, and of her daughter (whose name we never learn). 

There are also memories of the more recent past—of her “retraining” as a Handmaid, of events she has experienced in the three years since, of her previous “posting” in another household. As we read, we experience a kind of vertigo, a dizzy slipping between the present and the past, before and after. It’s not so much where we are that is confusing, it’s when we are, as we experience Offred’s stream-of-conscious narration, her mind moving constantly backward and forward as something she is experiencing triggers a memory of the past. 

Because Offred’s story is related in the first person and in the present tense, we seem to experience the events she relates along with her. We are there, with her, in her empty room during the long nights when she can’t sleep. We are with her in bed during the monthly Ceremony as she lies between the legs of the Commander’s Wife with the Commander on top of her. But as we read, we slowly become aware of the constructed nature of Offred’s story. 

We are not, after all, experiencing these events as they happen to her. What we have, instead, is an approximation, an account that may—or may not—correspond to what really happened. “I would like to believe this is a story I’m telling,” Offred says. “I need to believe it. I must believe it.” Why is it so important to her? Because if it is a story, then she is its author—“If it’s a story I’m telling, then I have control over the ending. Then there will be an ending, to the story, and real life will come after it.” As she quickly notes, however, this “isn’t a story.” Then, just as quickly, it is: “It’s a story I’m telling, in my head, as I go along.” “But,” she adds, “if it’s a story, even in my head, I must be telling it to someone. You don’t tell a story only to yourself. There’s always someone else.” 

And another twist: “Even when there is no one.” At this point, reeling from the narrator’s contradictions, we encounter something new. The narrator suggests that she is writing a letter, addressed to us: “Dear You, I’ll say. Just you, without a name.” Yet the letter she addresses to us is not a letter she expects will ever be delivered: “I’ll pretend you can hear me. But it’s no good, because I know you can’t.” But I can hear you, we want to shout, breaking through the words on the page to the author of those words. We can hear her—it is Offred who cannot hear us.

Later Offred stops midway through one story and offers us another, saying, “I am too tired to go on with this story. I’m too tired to think about where I am. Here is a different story, a better one.” A few pages on, she reveals that the story she is telling us “is a reconstruction. All of it is a reconstruction. It’s a reconstruction now, in my head . . . rehearsing what I should or shouldn’t have said, what I should or shouldn’t have done, how I should have played it. If I ever get out of here—.” 

At this very moment, offering us a reason to hope that she has, after all, escaped, she reminds us of her narrative as fabrication: “When I get out of here, if I’m ever able to set this down, in any form, even in the form of one voice to another, it will be a reconstruction then too, at yet another remove.” 

A few pages later, she tells us she imagines killing the man whose Handmaid she is, imagines “the blood coming out of him, hot as soup, sexual, over my hands.” Then she stops. “In fact I don’t think about anything of the kind,” she says. “I put it in only afterwards. Maybe I should have thought about that, at the time, but I didn’t. As I said, this is a reconstruction.” She rewrites—or retells—the scene, then tells us that this revision “is a reconstruction, too.” 

In fact, the entire narrative of The Handmaid’s Tale takes on a totally unexpected aspect just when we think it’s over. Against all odds, Offred may be liberated—on the last few pages her story abruptly ends when she is escorted to a waiting vehicle. Is she being arrested or escaping? Even she does not know: “Whether this is my end or a new beginning I have no way of knowing,” she says. She remains curiously, frustratingly apathetic: “I have given myself over into the hands of strangers, because it can’t be helped.” 

Photo by David Fitzgerald

We are ultimately left with uncertainty: “And so I step up, into the darkness within; or else the light.” Unsettled—and maybe a bit frustrated—by this inconclusive conclusion, we turn to the “Historical Notes” that follow. We expect these notes will include Atwood’s comments about her novel or that they are reflections appended by an editor—but the “historical” notes at the end of Atwood’s novel are something altogether different.

What follows Offred’s unfinished story is a “partial transcript of the proceedings of the Twelfth Symposium on Gileadean Studies,” dated to June 2195. The transcript records the speech of a keynote address by Professor James Darcy Pieixoto—in which we discover that we have not read an unmediated account of Offred’s experiences as a Handmaid. Rather, the account we have just read, which we thought was the work of Offred, is another reconstruction. 

“Her” story has not just been transmitted through male hands, it is the recreation of two male scholars—it has been transcribed, edited, annotated, and published by Pieixoto and his Cambridge colleague, Professor Knotly Wade, who is responsible for the naming of Offred’s story. He has titled it The Handmaid’s Tale, “in homage,” we learn, “to the great Geoffrey Chaucer.” 

What is the effect of this narrative frame on Offred’s account of the horrors of life in Gilead? It not only distances us from her story, it undermines our faith in it—if it is just like one of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, it is fiction and the “person” who created it is also a fiction, a female character created by a male author. And somehow we are, today, reading a transcript of a speech to be delivered more than two hundred years in the future.

The character of Offred and the truthfulness of her story are further reduced in this narrative frame by the overt misogyny of Pieixoto, who jokes about the pun in Wade’s title (“I am sure all puns were intentional, particularly that having to do with the archaic vulgar signification of the word tail; that being, to some extent, the bone, as it were, of contention in that phrase of Gileadean society of which our saga treats. [Laughter, applause.]),” who undercuts the credibility of the tale’s supposed author (“This latter appears to have been a somewhat malicious invention by our author”), who refers patronizingly to the story itself (“This item—I hesitate to use the word document. . . .”), and who discounts the extent of her suffering with “humor” (“our author refers to . . . ‘The Underground Femaleroad,’ since dubbed by some of our historical wags ‘The Underground Frailroad.’ [Laughter, groans.])” Pieixioto ends his address on The Handmaid’s Tale by asking members of the audience, “Are there any questions?” We have questions, lots of them, but we have no opportunity to ask them. Like Offred, we find ourselves silenced. And because we cannot ask questions, we receive no answers.

While Offred has been liberated from her imprisonment as a Handmaid, she is still held captive. In The Handmaid’s Tale, her story is controlled by men—transcribed, edited, disseminated, and interpreted by male scholars. We don’t know what her fate was when she was taken away from the Commander’s home—but two hundred years later, in 2195, we know she has not escaped from male control. She is as much a prisoner of male power and “authority” as she was when she was in her small, empty room at the top of the stairs. 

In her recent op-ed on "What The Handmaid's Tale Means in the Age of Trump," Atwood writes that she is frequently asked whether The Handmaid's Tale  was written as "a prediction."  "That is . . . [a] question I’m asked — increasingly," she says, "as forces within American society seize power and enact decrees that embody what they were saying they wanted to do, even back in 1984, when I was writing the novel. No, it isn’t a prediction, because predicting the future isn’t really possible: There are too many variables and unforeseen possibilities. Let’s say it’s an antiprediction: If this future can be described in detail, maybe it won’t happen. But such wishful thinking cannot be depended on either."

Let's hope Atwood is right:
In the wake of the recent American election, fears and anxieties proliferate. Basic civil liberties are seen as endangered, along with many of the rights for women won over the past decades, and indeed the past centuries. In this divisive climate, in which hate for many groups seems on the rise and scorn for democratic institutions is being expressed by extremists of all stripes, it is a certainty that someone, somewhere — many, I would guess — are writing down what is happening as they themselves are experiencing it. Or they will remember, and record later, if they can.
Will their messages be suppressed and hidden? Will they be found, centuries later, in an old house, behind a wall?
Let us hope it doesn’t come to that. I trust it will not.


Photo taken at Women's March,
tweeted by Margaret Atwood