the fanciest of ladies

readnfight:

by Rowland Túpac Keshena

For those who don’t know much about me, I am a currently studying for a Masters Degree in Public Issues Anthropology, specializing in a Fanon and MLM infused analysis of revolutionary Native nationalist and anti-colonialist movements in North Amerika. I also have really strong interrelated interests in revolutionary critical pedagogy, the “reindigenization” of the Chicano community and movement and, the subject of this post, indigenous feminism. Anyway, one of the perks of my program is that I can create my own courses, and I’ve taken such a route this semester by creating my own directed studies course in indigenous feminist theory.

The growth of indigenous feminism is, for me, a huge interest, both personal and academic, not just because of the obvious importance struggling against both white supremacist (ne0)colonial capitalism and hetero-patriarchy if we want to achieve meaningful freedom, justice and equality, but also because for a long time the status quo within our movement was that you could not be both a feminist and a native warrior. On the one hand we are not Native enough if we call ourselves and our movement feminist, but on the other we are not feminist enough for the whitestream feminists since we pointing out that the whitestream movement does not take us, and our unique experiences and struggles into account. I am indigenous man and I find this to be one of the greatest failings of our movement, and for that reason I wholeheartedly endorse, support and promote the rise of an indigenous feminism.

Anyway, with that in mind and in the spirit of sharing ideas, and radical education I’ve decided to post my reading list for others to take a look a lot, critique and/or otherwise contribute their thoughts. It’s made up of a mix of books and articles, both academic and non-academic, which are available on line.

Books:

Making Space for Indigenous Feminism, edited by Joyce Green

I Am Woman: A Native Perspective on Sociology and Feminism, by Lee Maracle

From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawaii, by Haunani-Kay Trask

Conquest: Sexual Violence and American Indian Genocide, by Andrea Smith

Talkin’ Up to the White Woman: Indigenous Women and Feminism, by Eileen Morton-Robinson

Online Articles:

Indigenous Feminism Without Apology, by Andrea Smith

Jennifer Nez Denetdale on Indigenous Feminisms

An Indigenous Perspective on Feminism, Militarism, and the Environment, by Winona LaDuke

Zapatismo and the Emergence of Indigenous Feminism, by Aida Hernandez Castillo

Academic Journal Publications:

Wicazo Sa Review “Native Feminisms: Legacies, Interventions, and Indigenous Sovereignties,” guest edited by Mishuana R. Goeman and Jennifer Nez Denetdale

Whiteness Matters: Implications of Talking Up to the White Woman, by Eileen Morton-Robinson

Race, Tribal Nation, and Gender: A Native Feminist Approach to Belonging, by Renya Ramirez

Introduction: Special Issue on Native American Women, Feminism, and Indigenism, by Anne Waters

Patriarchal Colonialism and Indigenism: Implications for Native Feminist Spirituality and Native Womanism, by M. A. Jaimes Guerrero

Dismantling the Master’s Tools with the Master’s House: Native Feminist Liberation Theologies, by Andrea Smith

oh my gods yes. This reading list is amazing.

Came across this via the Africa is a Country blog I linked earlier. There is a lot I really deeply hate about this article, not the least of which being that it seems super poorly researched (tons of generalizing statements about The Nature of Political Art that rub me the wrong way with sandpaper). BUT I like these kernels of it and so I’m going to extract and post ‘em.

All of which leads to the question of what is the difference between representing politics and actually enacting it? Representing politics entails describing a work by starting a sentence with ‘it’s about … x’. When Sam Durant makes sculptures of gallows or Taryn Simon photographs individuals on Death Row, it’s about how capital punishment is a bad, barbaric practice. But what happens next? And what is the good of engaged art – whether it takes the form of governmental critique or institutional critique or otherwise – when it is subsumed back into the system? Liam Gillick has argued that contemporary art has created a safe place from which to elaborate critique. It represents, in his words, a place of ‘dynamic contradiction’. …

If contemporary art is not well-situated to respond to conflict in the world, does the industry of political or engaged art simply mimic and even shadow more ‘engaged’ action, and in the meantime, create a safe place for expression far from the ugliness of real life? [emphasis mine]

I also really liked this part, because I like thinking about cultural tourism and these kinds of touchy-feely community-project-as-art-project missions feel…missionary to me. And really annoying. And I like being validated when I’m annoyed.

There is, too, another form of political art that bears mentioning, one that involves a culture of the easing of conscience through artist residencies, symposia and workshops. The latter is especially worth thinking about, particularly when it involves sending artists to resource-poor zones, and asking them to, for example, work with disadvantaged children or the oppressed: ‘the local community’. This form of cultural latrine-building is usually successful for most parties involved: the children inevitably produce the stuff of delightful coffee-table books and the artists walk away feeling like they’ve done their bit for the cause – as does the funding body. It can also occasionally result in something profound. Take, for example, Bard University’s collaboration with Al Quds University, which involves artists such as Alessandro Petti and Sandi Hillal of Decolonizing Architecture engaged in classroom situations. Or the Townhouse Gallery in Cairo, where the model of community building is embedded in the very operation of the arts space. But still, if these are the exceptions, it is unclear what the bulk of such initiatives actually achieve. Like Mrs Jellyby in Charles Dickens’ Bleak House (1852) a ‘telescopic philanthropist’ obsessed with an obscure African tribe while ignoring the well-being of her own children, are artists easing their own consciences by doing good, above all?

Of course there are also my favorite questions, “who gets the paycheck/grant at the end of the day?” and “whose name is on the gallery placard?” etc that makes these projects so easy to critique.

Azimi’s characterizations of political art, and how today’s is different from that of yesteryear, are deeply irritating. I know I said it above, but I’m going to harp on it because I’m peeved—the TGP is such an obvious counterexample to all of this, and I can’t help but feel that knowing/exploring muralism a bit would be a great way to begin to answer that question I bolded. For me it really comes down to who sees the art and how it’s used in reproductions and classrooms. This is likely because I focus on art pre-1960 and the thrust of Azimi’s text is post-1960, mandatory Goya reference notwithstanding. There’s also the question of what artists do in their free time and whether that ties into the political value of the work—like the TGP’s socialist activism. Makes me wonder too if Azimi or I would approve of someone like Kinkade, who makes bank off banal bullshit sold to your grandma, if he used the funds to support his own lefty activism. He doesn’t, and I hate him for his politics as well as his cottages. But I wonder if I’d be down with not-purposely-political art being used to fund a political agenda, or if I’d still call him a sell out. And I wonder if that is the kind of active link between art and activism that Azimi would like to see—less of a representation and more of a cause/effect relationship.