Writing for a Real World 2007-2008: a multidisciplinary anthology by USF students

              Writing for a
Real World
A multidisciplinary anthology
by USF students
2007-2008
Writing for a Real World
Writing for a Real World
2007–2008
A multidisciplinary anthology by USF students
Published by the University of San Francisco
Program in Rhetoric and Composition
Writing for a Real World is published annually by the Program in
Rhetoric and Composition, Department of Communication Studies,
College of Arts and Sciences, University of San Francisco. WRW is
governed by the PRC publication committee, chaired by
Devon C. Holmes. The opinions stated herein are those of the authors.
Writing for a Real World: 6th Edition. © 2008.
Authors retain copyright for their individual work.
Essays include bibliographical references.
Cover Image courtesy of Greg Mortenson, Central Asia Institute.
Please consider donating to the CAI, www.ikat.org
Printer: DeHarts Printing, San Jose, CA.
Printed in the United States of America.
For WRW back issues, please contact David Holler at
dholler@usfca.edu.
Contact: Writing for a Real World, University of San Francisco,
Kalmanovitz Hall, 2nd Floor, 2130 Fulton Street, SF, CA 94117
For submissions guidelines please visit
www.usfca.edu/rhetcomp/journal
Writing for a Real World
2007 - 2008
Editor
David Ryan
Managing Editor and Cover Designer
David Holler
Associate Editors
Brian Komei Dempster
Devon Christina Holmes
Michelle LaVigne
Mark Meritt
Publication Assistants
Elizabeth A. Heim
Elise Mussman
Amber Dennis
Journal Referees
Sarah Burgess, Communication Studies
Brian Komei Dempster, Rhetoric and Composition
Vanessa Gamache, School of Business and Management
Joe Garity, Gleeson Library
David Holler, Rhetoric and Composition
Ron Key, Rhetoric and Composition
Saera Khan, Psychology
Steven Mayers, Rhetoric and Composition
Mark Meritt, Rhetoric and Composition
Lorrie Ranck, Offi ce of Living-Learning Communities
Sara Solloway, Offi ce of Student Academic Services
Fredel Wiant, Rhetoric and Composition
Steve Zavestoski, Sociology
Writing for a Real World
4
Writing Across the Disciplines 6
Honorable Mentions 10
Essays
Bridging the Divide: Managing Diff erence in
Faith-Based Community Organizing
JAMILA SINLAO 13
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
ALLISON DOMICONE 33
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in The Tragedy
of Mariam
ANIKA STEIG 45
Characterizing “The Other”
ANNA SHAJIRAT 57
A Massacre in the Struggle for Recognition: A
Rhetorical Analysis of a Landowner’s Account
from El Salvador’s 1932 Matanza
REBECCA SEATON 65
Are You a Cannibal?
JANELLE NECZYPOR 77
Portraits of Christ: An Introduction to the Gospels
ALONZO MILLER 83
(De)construction/De(con)struction
DENNIS LAMBERT 97
Table of Contents
Writing for a Real World
5
Corporate Combatants: Abuses of American Private
Military Firms
ANABEL CASSADY 108
The Abu Ghraib Torture Scandal: The Eff ects of
Obedience and Situational Powers
KATHLEEN CUYUGAN 122
Science, Technical and Business Writing 136
Cognitive Interfacing for Pain Management through
the Method of Loci
JACOB G. LEVERNIER 137
Reducing the Negative Eff ects of Maternal Depression:
An Intervention
ROBERTA SUTTON 157
Advantages of Women’s Colleges for Women in Science,
Engineering and Technology
VERONICA LIMCACO 171
Writing for a Real World
6
Writing Across the Disciplines
This anthology refl ects the varied usage of writing in its practical,
analytical, theoretical, and rhetorical forms. This multivocality
signals that writing serves diff erent discourse communities, and those
communities have varying norms of learning and communication.
Students move through these communities, working to understand
the diff erent values and conventions they encounter. As students
work in these varied fi elds, they discover that diff erent teachers value
similar things: clear and exact writing formulated by a heightened
concern for relevant information and good ideas.
In this issue, we present outstanding undergraduate essays on
literature, politics, psychology, theology, communication, sociology,
social justice and rhetoric. In all of these papers, the students are
deeply invested in their chosen topics. All have pledged to exercise
care for their work out of respect for audience, purpose, context,
and, last, themselves. They have mature minds that pay attention to
form and content, and their prose refl ects good choices. Readers are
encouraged to examine these essays, understand them—even quarrel
with them. We hope that other students will read these essays and
gain insight into the wide range of learning opportunities at USF.
Notes
Writing for a Real World off ers two distinct sections: the fi rst is devoted
to examples of the traditional academic essay; the second is a forum
for excellent models of scientifi c, business and technical writing.
Preceding these papers are introductions from the writers and their
teachers. The introductions help elucidate the intentions behind the
assignments and give insight into the responses of the students.
In this issue, the Program in Rhetoric and Composition
announces its winners for the third annual Fr. Urban Grassi, S.J.
Award for Eloquentia Perfecta, an award named after USF’s (then St.
Ignatius College’s) fi rst professor of English and Elocution. This
award is given to the entry that earned the highest rating among
our journal referees. Remarkably, this year’s winners repeat from
last year. Jacob G. Levernier, for his essay, “Cognitive Interfacing
Writing for a Real World
7
for Pain Management through the Method of Loci” and Jamila
Sinlao for “Bridging the Divide: Managing Diff erence in Faith-
Based Community Organizing.” Both tied for the highest rating
in a blind review. We congratulate Jacob and Jamila for this rare
accomplishment.
Choosing the winning entries is a day-long task that requires
the voluntary eff orts of already busy USF faculty and staff . Our
judges carefully reviewed 98 submissions; every submission was
read by at least two readers, and every winning submission had to
pass the review of at least four readers. For performing this task
with unfailing patience and care, we thank: Sarah Burgess, Brian
Komei Dempster, Vanessa Gamache, Joe Garity, David Holler, Ron
Key, Saera Khan, Steven Mayers, Mark Meritt, Lorrie Ranck, Sara
Solloway, Freddie Wiant and Steve Zavestoski.
Acknowledgements and Gratitude
What makes WRW remarkable is the campuswide commitment to
this project, and with every issue, we renew our gratitude to those
folks who continue to lend their support. We are deeply grateful
to Jennifer Turpin, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, and
Peter Novak, Associate Dean of Arts and Humanities, College of
Arts and Sciences, for their unfailing commitment to supporting
undergraduate writing at USF.
A large debt, as well, goes to the Freddie Wiant, Coordinator of
the Program in Rhetoric and Composition, for guidance, advice and
help. This gratitude extends to Brian Komei Dempster, David Holler,
Devon Christina Holmes, Michelle LaVigne, and Mark Meritt
for providing timely and astute editorial support. Our program
assistant, Theresa Newman, and our publication assistant, Lizz
Heim, deserve special mention for helping us in many important
ways. And with this issue, we bid a fond farewell to Lizz, whom we
lose to graduation. All of us wish her success and prosperity. Thanks
to Norma Washington and John Pinelli for paying the bills and to
Johnnie Johnson Hafernik, Chair of Communication Studies, for her
long-standing support of this project.
Truly, WRW is a collective eff ort that refl ects the good work of
many hands. For these reasons, WRW earned a Team Merit Award
Writing for a Real World
8
from USF last spring.
Finally, our deepest gratitude is reserved for those many
students who challenged themselves by submitting their
papers and for faculty who encouraged their students to apply.
As our Honorable Mention list illustrates, we received many
more commendable submissions than we were able to publish.
Congratulations to those who earned honorable mention.
And, of course, congratulations to this year’s winners, three
of whom repeat from previous years. Our newest authors bravely
enter the realm of published authors writing for a real world.
This journal is dedicated to them.
—David Ryan, Editor
Writing for a Real World
10
Honorable Mention
AMANDA CREASEY
Assessing Truth Behind the Social Concept
of an “Addictive Personality”
written for Theories of Personality
Jennifer Guittard
Department of Psychology
DANIEL FINNEGAN
Non-dualism in Dickinson’s
“Because I Could Not Stop for Death”
written for Survey of American Literature
Katherine Elder
Department of English
ALYSSA FRIAS
Out of Fear and Ignorance
written for Written Communication II
Sarah Goss
Rhetoric and Composition
FAITH GILBERT
Out of Options:
Self-Destructive Behavior in Modern Youth
written for Written Communication II
Darrell g.h. Schramm
Rhetoric and Composition
JACOB G. LEVERNIER
On the Nature and Eff ectation of Social Justice
written for Ethical Theory and Practice
Paul F. Symington
Department of Philosophy
LORENA LUPERCIO–DIAZ
Not Homophobic: Just Sane, Thank You: A Satire
written for Advanced Writing Practicum
Darrell g.h. Schramm
Rhetoric and Composition
Writing for a Real World
11
ANNA MELE
The Harmful Eff ects of Invasive Species
written for Written and Oral Communication II
Fredel Wiant
Rhetoric and Composition
ALONZO MILLER
Condom Placement
written for Nursing Therapeutics III
Dina J. Silverthorne
College of Nursing
KELLY SANDERS
Prenatal Life vs. Postnatal Life:
The Ever-Present Battle Over Embryonic Stem Cell Research
written for Written and Oral Communication I
Devon C. Holmes
Rhetoric and Composition
BRYCE SAWIN
Remembrance
written for Seminar in Rhetoric and Composition
Brian Komei Dempster
Rhetoric and Composition
PAIGE STIRLING
In the Name of Obedience:
The My Lai Massacre
written for Academic Writing at USF
Marcia Clay
Rhetoric and Composition
Honorable Mention
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
12
Writer’s Comments
This past semester, my Fieldwork in Sociology class gave me the
opportunity to undertake my own ethnographic fi eld research project,
a qualitative research method that involved studying people in their
own time and place. I chose to immerse myself in the work being
done by a faith-based community organizing (FBCO) non-profi t I have
named Peninsula Community Organizing (PCO) to learn more about
the possibilities and drawbacks of creating multi-identity coalitions to
affect social and political change. Building upon past research done on
the issues of coalition-building, social capital, and faith-based organizing,
I argue that my case study demonstrates the ability for FBCO groups to
navigate the minefi eld of multi-identity coalition-building by employing
the use of particular strategies and tools designed to celebrate diversity,
rather than to mask it. I believe that this example, one of many
successful attempts at bridging divides occurring across the nation,
demonstrates the promise of democratic revitalization in a country that
continues to be torn apart by difference.
—Jamila Sinlao
Instructor’s Comments
For my Fieldwork in Sociology course, students undertake a semester-long
combination of service and research: while working as volunteers
for at least eight hours a week, they turn themselves into “participant-observation”
researchers, studying the social dynamics in their setting.
They take copious “fi eldnotes” on what they observe and experience,
analyze those notes over the course of the semester, develop a research
topic from what emerges, consult secondary literature on the topic, and
write a fi nal paper that brings it all together. Jamila’s work showed the
combination of creativity, passion, commitment, and intellectual rigor that
are the hallmarks of effective fi eldwork. Becoming an insider at Peninsula
Community Organizing, she was able to also become a social researcher,
investigating fi rst-hand how grassroots, faith-based coalition organizing
works—the sorts of “social capital” that are and aren’t generated, and
how cultural and religious differences are managed. Jamila’s fi ndings,
carefully and elegantly presented in the paper, are both insightful and
grounded: she documents and analyzes the concrete, everyday strategies
(storytelling, “listening campaigns,” confronting mistrust and fear, and so
on) the organization employs in their attempt to organize across faiths
and cultures. The paper illuminates, as Jamila puts it, the “joys, challenges,
and successes of multiple-identity movements.”
—Joshua Gamson, Department of Sociology
Jamila Sinlao
13
JAMILA SINLAO
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in
Faith-Based Community Organizing
Introduction
Peninsula Community Organizing1 strengthens communities by
addressing local problems, putting faith into action, building hope
and creating solutions. Using the values of democracy and diverse
religious traditions, PCO trains adults and youth to lead their
community to create aff ordable housing, access to health care,
improved neighborhood schools, economic development, eff ective
responses to youth violence and other solutions to community-wide
problems.
Peninsula Community Organizing (PCO) is a federation of thirty
congregations incorporated as a nonpartisan, nonsectarian, 501(c)
(3) non profi t organization. We represent 20,000 households of
diverse racial, ethnic, and economic backgrounds. Working with
our member churches and synagogues we develop leaders who
transform public policy at all levels…
PCO succeeds because we develop leaders who listen to the
deeply-felt needs of their communities and take responsibility for
creating collaborations to eff ectively solve these problems.
(Peninsula Community Organizing 2008)
This mission statement off ered by Peninsula Community
Organizing, a faith-based community organizing group based
in San Mateo and Santa Clara counties, seems at fi rst lofty and
grandiose, an ambitious vision of creating and sustaining social
change through coalition-building. To be sure, as I embarked upon
my ethnographic study of this organization in January 2008, I was
skeptical of the organization’s ability to engage a broad coalition to
fulfi ll these goals. I was curious to see exactly how PCO went about
its mission of empowering individuals to tackle the very real and
pressing issues facing their communities, buteven more intrigued to
learn how PCO addressed the very real diff erences within its
1 The name of the organization, as well with names of all participants, has been
changed to protect their privacy.
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
14
population. Forging a coalition of leaders from diverse racial, ethnic,
religious and economic backgrounds seems unwieldy at best, and so
I set out to examine more closely the ways in which this vision of
achieving social justice is translated into real, tangible results. Through
immersing myself in the culture and practices of this organization, I
not only formed not only strong friendships and relationships, but also
gained a deep respect and appreciation for the hard work, grit, eff ort
and persistence present in the leaders and organizers who dedicate
themselves to the improvement of their communities.
I sought to link my experiences organizing with PCO with
current, existing literature on the impact of grassroots movements
upon democratic participation in the United States today. In recent
years, claims of the overall decline of societal connectedness within
American society have prompted many theorists and social scientists
to assert that communities within the United States are divided and
alienated, crippling the very roots and foundations of democracy by
highlighting diff erences rather than common beliefs and purposes
(Putnam and Feldstein 2003, Wood 2002). This social connectedness,
also known as social capital, has been asserted as essential not only for
the well-being of individual communities, but as indispensable for the
survival of our political system (Putnam and Feldstein 2003, Smidt
2003, Warren 2001,Wood 2002). Increased focus on social capital
and the lack thereof in American society has prompted many to take
a closer look at organizations and movements intended to engage the
general public, working to not only encourage individual participation
in community-related work but also to foster trust and deeper social
ties (Putnam and Feldstein 2003, Smidt 2003, Warren 2001,Wood
2002, Wood and Warren 2002).
Grassroots organizations and local-level eff orts to build
community have been investigated in length with studies ranging
from overall evaluations of the fi eld to individual case studies
defi ning and evaluating the contributions of these groups and
movements to American society. Given the centrality of religion
within American life, it is perhaps inevitable that the contributions
of religious organizations and institutions have been raised as a
part of this dialogue (Smidt 2003). While the role of religion in
public life in the United States has, over the past two decades, been
linked increasingly closer with the more or less divisive work of
fundamentalists Christians and the “Christian Coalition” movement
who have “often been intolerant of legitimate pluralism in public
life” (Wood and Warren 2002:6), it has been observed that there
Jamila Sinlao
15
also exist organizations that “work through religious institutions to
reshape government policy via the exercise of democratic power…
thus becom[ing] sociopolitical critics of government and social
policy” (Wood 2002:4). It is in this intersection of religion and
politics, grassroots organizing and community mobilization, that
faith-based community organizing (FBCO) emerges. The model of
FBCO seeks to not only engage individuals in the political process,
but to actively empower them, training them as leaders and advocates
for their own communities and giving them the tools to challenge
traditional authorities such as government offi cials (Wood 2002,
Wood and Warren 2002). Through this work, this model seeks to
bridge the gaps that divide people, knitting together heterogeneous
communities and creating diverse groups of people.
My fi eldwork experiences, undertaken over a four-month period
with Peninsula Community Organizing (PCO), a FBCO affi liated
with the national network, PICO (People Improving Communities
through Organizing), have given me the opportunity to observe the
FBCO model fi rsthand. Again, this placement has given me a unique
chance to evaluate the claims and projected goals of the organization.
My involvement with PCO has consisted of meetings within
small, congregation-based groups (also known as “local organizing
committees” or LOCs), participating in a federation-wide task force
on health care reform initiatives, and meetings between PCO and
outside entities, including government representatives, labor unions,
and other bureaucratic groups. Over the past weeks, a number
of questions have emerged: How do FBCOs compare with other
community-based organizations? In what ways is social capital created
and sustained? How do FBCOs deal with the potentially polarizing
diff erences that can result from multi-identity coalitions? I argue
that my case study demonstrates the ability for FBCOs to navigate
the minefi eld of multi-identity coalition-building by employing the
use of particular strategies and tools designed to celebrate diversity,
rather than to mask it. With that said, however, I do acknowledge
that FBCOs are limited in their ability to bridge communities and
forge bonds of unity. In order to demonstrate these claims, I will fi rst
engage in a review of past literature and examine theories of social
capital, coalition building, and the FBCO model itself. Then, I will
present my case study of the organization and focus in particular
on a handful of tools and strategies used to manage diff erences in
a highly heterogeneous federation: the employment of a relational
model through story-telling and the 1-1 process; methods of reaching
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
16
compromise and consensus; and the federation’s strategy for raising
multicultural awareness. Finally, I will off er a summary of the joys,
challenges and limits presented by the bridging work done by PCO.
Bridging Diff erences in the Public Sphere through Faith-Based
Community Organizing Social Capital and the Public Sphere
As mentioned above, many theorists and social scientists believe that
social capital is essential to a healthy, fl ourishing democracy. Through
“networks, norms, and social trust that facilitate coordination and
cooperation for mutual benefi t” (Wood and Warren 2002:8), social
capital can build the basis and underpinnings of community, off ering
individuals the tools and skills needed to engage overarching levels
of society (Wood and Warren 2002, Putnam and Feldstein 2003).
These skills, formed through participation in social organizations and
institutions, are transferrable to the public sphere, where individuals
can work together to enact change (Wood and Warren 2002).
The public sphere, write Wood and Warren, is “made up of all
those arenas of social life in which members of a community and their
representatives in roles of institutional leadership refl ect upon, argue
about, and make decisions regarding the problems they face and the
rules under which they live” (2002:9). It is here, then, that leaders
within social organizations can exercise their social capital; it is here
that they must focus upon making change. This sphere can be split,
the authors say, into three levels: the state, political society, and civil
society. The state encompasses all government settings from local
to national levels; “especially to the extent that decisions in these
government settings are made in ways… involving deliberation through
dialogue with constituencies,” Wood and Warren assert, “they are
key components of the public sphere” (2002:10). Political society lies
beyond the auspices of the state and includes such entities as “political
parties, lobbyists and political action committees, labor unions and
business associations, ‘think tanks’ associated with interest groups, and
similar organizations with directly political goals,” (2002:10). Finally,
civil society comprises the third level of the public sphere, which can
be defi ned as “all those organizational settings that are not part of
government or political society, but in which the values and attitudes
of societal members are shaped” (2002:11). This level includes such
organizations as churches and civic groups, which provide yet another
vehicle for individuals to become politically motivated and engaged.
Jamila Sinlao
17
Though Wood and Warren concede that the public sphere
is a useful analytical construct for understanding types of social
life, they argue that the very concept masks the fact that dialogue
does not naturally occur across each level, and instead highlight
the importance of so-called “institutional linkages,” designed to
“facilitate communication across these three levels” (2002:11).
Although political parties and labor unions have historically
functioned in this capacity; their waning presence and infl uence
marks the need for new institutions to fi ll the void (Wood and
Warren 2002). The lack of linkages, also referred to by Wood and
Warren as the “structural fragmentation of the public sphere,” result
in the “[erosion] of democracy in American by making political
parties—and through them, elected offi cials—less exposed to
democratic pressure from below” (2002:13).
“Sociological WD-40:” The Power of Bridging Capital
Social capital can also generate a unique form of power as well:
“Equally important, whereas individuals stand powerless against large-scale
economic and political institutions, in association, they have the
opportunity to generate power in pursuit of common interests” (Wood
and Warren 2002:8). This power can take two forms: “bonding” power
and “bridging” power; though both are important, it is the latter that
is seen as particularly essential for knitting together diverse networks
of people (Wood 2002, Wood and Warren 2002, Putnam and Feldstein
2003). Bonding power (otherwise referred to as “sociological Super
Glue” by Putnam and Feldstein 2003:2) creates social ties within a
homogenous community, whereas bridging power (or “sociological
WD-40,” Putnam and Feldstein 2003:2) builds connections between
heterogeneous communities.
Debates that have occurred over the ability for social capital
to triumph over the increasing decay of democratic life in the
United States are rooted in these two types of power, as scholars
contend that organizations and communities that depend solely on
bonding power will merely perpetuate and deepen the divisions that
separate Americans. Instead, it is argued that bridging diff erences
is the most important and essential outcome that social capital
can provide (Warren 2001, Wood 2002, Wood and Warren 2002,
Putnam and Feldstein 2003, Smidt 2003). Race and class continue
to be two major components that stratify and segregate American
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
18
communities, interests groups, organizations, and civic groups; the
ability for social capital to revitalize democracy within the United
States, then, is crippled by these deep divisions (Warren 2001,
Wood and Warren 2002, Putnam and Feldstein 2003). “If people
tend to connect only with those like themselves, there is much less
opportunity for developing broader social identities, a conception of
the common good, or shared strategies for promoting an economic
or political agenda serving the interests of the majority” (Wood and
Warren 2002:9). Mark Warren (2001) echoes this assertion, pointing
to the social decay that has occurred in poor urban communities
in particular. Empowering people in these communities, he writes,
and tackling the very deep social rifts based upon race and class in
America, depends upon the success of bridging capital.
Any eff ort to build social capital to revitalize democracy
will require a strategy to confront this deep history of
racism and racial confl ict… Poor communities lack the
resources to address their needs, no matter how strong they
become internally. Bridging social capital is necessary to
create the broad understanding of the common good and
the public will to address problems of poverty and racism
in America.
2001:27
With this said, scholars note that institutions capable of this level of
coalition-building are rare in the United States (Warren 2001, Wood
and Warren 2002, Wood 2002, Putnam and Feldstein 2003). Creating
more opportunities for bridging capital to take root and fl ourish,
therefore, is absolutely essential and necessary to revitalize American
democracy, knit together diverse communities, and address deep
racial and economic injustices. Faith-based community organizing
groups, it can be argued, present such an opportunity.
Translating Faith Into Action:
Faith-Based Community Organizing
Case studies and research on social change organizations (SCO) and
grassroots movements can yield a deeper understanding of both power
and social capital. As opposed to large-scale social movements such as
the civil rights movement, the feminist movement, the LGBTQ rights
movement and others, SCOs work independent of movements to
Jamila Sinlao
19
create small-scale change (Chetkovich and Kunreuther 2006). These
organizations
represent a bottom-up eff ort in which many diff erent
organizations apply varying approaches to a variety
of issues in the context of their own communities.
This phenomenon stands in dramatic contrast to the
prominent trajectory identifi ed by many current social
movement theorists, in which movements and movement
organizations are seen as increasingly Washington-oriented,
professionalized, and integrated into mainstream politics.
(Chetkovich and Kunreuther 2006:4)
It is possible to see here how these small-scale, local-level grassroots
organizations have served to shift traditional theories of power,
removing the emphasis from macro-level institutions and focusing
instead on the complicated relationships and social networks that
emerge at the local level.
Within faith-based community organizing, this model shifts
slightly, as many organizations are affi liated with larger regional and
sometimes national networks (Wood and Warren 2002). FBCOs
can be characterized by a handful of distinctive traits, which Wood
and Warren (2002) summarized in their survey of the national
FBCO fi eld. These organizations, they wrote, are faith-based,
drawing their membership from mostly religious congregations;
broad-based, refl ective of the diversity within the local community;
locally constituted, meaning that the work done within the groups
refl ects the issues found within the neighborhood, even though they
may be linked with regional and/or national networks; multi-issue,
thus taking on any and all issues considered by the members to be
pressing and essential; staff ed by professional organizers who in
turn train members in a “relational organizing approach” to create
change; and political but nonpartisan (2002:15). Through a survey of
133 organizations in the fi eld, Wood and Warren (2002) found that
many of these goals have indeed been achieved by FBCOs across the
country. They have been successful, for the most part, in bridging
communities diverse in race, religion, gender, and income, though it
was noted that relationships with fundamentalist Christian, Islamic,
Jewish, Hindu, and Mormon groups are less common than with
other faiths. In addition, FBCO organizations have been found to
collaborate heavily with other groups such as school districts and
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
20
unions, working in conjunction with them to engage in solving issues.
One of the most exciting and interesting areas within the work
of FBCO groups lies in the use of power in the public sphere and
the creation of leaders from “normal” people. Wood and Warren
(2002:35) note that in “an eighteen-month period, FBCO as a fi eld
drew 24,000 people into a signifi cant leadership role – defi ne by
the survey respondents as ‘core leaders’ actively involved in day-to-day
organizing eff orts.” In addition, they found that “by and large,
FBCO groups do work to forge multiracial ties within their local
political arenas,” and concluded that “faith-based organizing appears
to build social capital that transcends the racial/ethnic boundaries
that divide much of urban society in America, as well as those
between recent migrant communities and longer-established social
institutions” (2002:30). These fi ndings, I believe, is one essential
to the discussion of social capital and the fl ourishing of democracy
in America, as it indicates that there are a large number of people
being drawn into the community through the eff orts of FBCO
groups. These numbers, in addition to case studies of work done
by organizing around the country seems to be indicative of the
possibilities that FBCO groups can create.
In order to understand at a deeper level the ways in which
FBCO groups engage individuals at the grassroots level, it is
essential to look at an overview of the organizing model itself. PCO
and other organizations like it are primarily relational in nature,
forging social capital from relationships (Warren 2001, Wood 2002,
Putnam and Feldstein 2003). “The power is in the relationship,”
according to one of the popular organizing adages, and in the case
of FBCOs, this proverb is taken literally. Leaders within individual
congregations begin their work by undertaking what is known as a
listening campaign, a period of time during with leaders will conduct
one-to-one conversations with members of their community to hear
their concerns and identify local issues. A one-to-one meeting also
functions to “invite people to refl ect together on the challenges
facing their communities, to identify potential future leaders, and to
probe how people are aff ected by a given issue” (Wood 2002:35).
Once the listening campaign is concluded and the leaders have
worked together, with the help of their organizer, will choose an issue
to focus on and begin the next phase of the organizing process, the
research component. Here, leaders work to identify people who have
the power to make the changes necessary to achieve the ideal vision.
Jamila Sinlao
21
These people are usually elected offi cials who are in the position
to infl uence policy and make the changes necessary to bring the
vision to fruition. Meetings, also known as research actions, are done
with these key stakeholders; the goals of the research actions are
to learn more about the issue, fi nd out what is already being done,
and deepening the relationship between the stakeholders and the
organization. In addition to these research meetings, FBCO leaders
will work within their communities to spread the word, gaining the
support of neighbors, friends, and fellow congregants. These are the
people who will be called on to attend what are known as actions, the
public forums that function as the climax of the organizing process.
At the action, leaders off er a research report detailing the
nuts and bolts of the issue, which is underscored by a handful of
testimonies from people who tell their personal stories. Testimonies
are an essential part of an action, for as Putnam and Feldstein note,
“Abstract ideas do not connect people, and social action, when it is
not rooted in the heart of people’s life experiences, withers the face
of opposition and disappointment” (2003:22). After testimonials are
off ered, the public offi cials and stakeholders assembled to tackle the
problem in question are asked for their commitments to bringing
about identifi ed solutions. Usually, the action will lead to some sort
of partial victory, where leaders can feel validated and successful
in their eff orts. Ideally, after the action has been completed, the
leaders should begin the cycle again, starting with another listening
campaign and moving upwards on the arc to either target new issues,
or to try and create even greater change on the same issue. (Warren
2001, Wood 2002, Putnam and Feldstein 2003, Fieldnotes 2/5/2008).
Case Study: Strategies for Managing Diff erences at
Peninsula Community Organizing
The most recent work that has been done on social change
organizations, grassroots movements, and FBCOs, in particular
is refl ective of what I have found during my work with PCO. My
fi eldwork experience has been split evenly between meetings with the
joint-LOC, a combination of the two Catholic churches in Pacifi ca,
CA (one of which is my childhood parish), and a federation-wide task
force dedicated to working on improvements to public health care in
San Mateo County. Work with this task force involved strategizing
with other PCO leaders, meeting individually with Ellen, the on-
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
22
staff organizer in charge of coordinating health care eff orts (and who
also worked as the organizer for my LOC), and undertaking research
actions with staff members of state senators. The settings for most
of my work were various churches and synagogues within the PCO
network; the people I worked with were, for the most part, white,
female, middle-class, and over the age of fi fty. These demographics
seem to be indicative of most of the leaders within PCO, though
there is a substantial (and growing) percentage of leaders of color
from lower-income backgrounds.
Through my work, I’ve taken note of the ways in which PCO
organizers and leaders seek to deal with diff erences, whether religious,
racial, ethnic, or economic. One strength of the organization, I
believe, is that it does not classify itself as a single-identity movement;
as opposed to past movements that “have falsely claimed singular
identities, driving a steamroller over diversity, and contributing to
the oppression of some segments of their own membership base”
(Kurtz 2002:29), PCO frequently highlights its “multi-” status. “We
are multi-ethnic, multi-racial, and multi-cultural; we come from
many faiths and backgrounds,” one PCO leader proclaimed at the
organization’s yearly luncheon and celebration (Fieldnotes 5/2/2008).
Diversity is readily and proudly acknowledged and proclaimed at
every meeting and public event. In addition, the possible confl icts
that can come from attempting to forge a coalition with such a
plurality of participants are also recognized.
A number of strategies have emerged as tools for bridging
diff erences: building relationships on an individual, interpersonal
level; creating trust through sharing personal stories; negotiating,
compromising, and searching for consensus; and institutionalized
multicultural awareness training. I hope to shed light on some of the
ways that these actions serve to further PCOs mission and goals.
Relationship-Building and the Power of Story-Telling
“I want you to invite you to have a real conversation today.
I don’t want you to be polite.”
(Fieldnotes 4/6/2008)
This was the challenge given to sixty leaders from various religious
congregations in the Bay Area who were gathered together at a Jewish
synagogue in San Francisco, assembled for a workshop designed to
Jamila Sinlao
23
address the issues of interfaith organizing. Interfaith organizing
between Christians and Jews in particular, I was told by Ellen, my
organizer, has had a particularly rocky past, fi lled with broken trust and
instances of cultural insensitivity. This workshop was part of a series of
events sponsored by PCO’s sister organizations in the Bay Area as an
eff ort to renew and revitalize attempts to bridge religious divides. The
way to do this, Rabbi Julie told us, was to have a real conversation, one
that truly engaged in the messy details of interfaith work.
With the help of guided questions and prompts, we were soon
sharing stories about family and personal religious belief (“What
do you know about your grandparents?” and “How does your faith
tradition deal with power?” were two questions intended as “ice-breakers”),
and comparing insights to excerpts from religious texts
(the New Testament for Christians, Torah for Jews, and poetry
for Unitarian Universalists). The answers that we off ered to these
questions were profound, refl ective of our experiences, and, at
times, painful. One gentleman told a story of cringing whenever
he heard the name Jesus mentioned in a prayer at interfaith
gatherings; another man shared a story that resulted in his distrust
of all Catholics. Even in the midst of these negative experiences
and recollections, however, those assembled were able to identify
the common threads that knit us together despite our relative
diff erences. “We build power and eff ectiveness by coming together,”
one woman stated, and everyone agreed. “While the work is never
done, there’s a lot of joy, and that joy comes from knowing that we’re
not alone.” The fi nal prayer at the end of the workshop summed up
the overall message: “A candle burns brighter with many wicks,” the
rabbi said, “than it does with only one. We aren’t trying to make a
single wick” (Fieldnotes 4/6/2008).
This treatment of diff erence as a benefi t to the organization
rather than a fl aw is typical of PCO as a whole, and is the exact
opposite of single-identity movements, as mentioned above. The
strategy of relationship-building through paradoxically identifying
both diff erences and commonalities is also designed to foster trust
between individuals and dismantle the prejudice and stereotypes
that stem from fear and misunderstanding (Warren 2001, Wood
2002, Putnam and Feldstein 2003). Case studies of other FBCO
groups reiterate this importance. In his study of the Industrial
Areas Foundation (IAF), another national network of multiethnic
FBCO federations, Mark Warren pointed to the organization’s need
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
24
“to fi nd a common ground… that did not ignore the diff erences
between… their [diverse] communities” (2001:104). He quotes one of
the federation’s leaders on how the IAF director pushed the leaders
to address their opinions and views: “‘Ernie [Cortes] is an excellent
organizer. He got the sensitive points on the table, even created
tension around it. Get it all out – don’t submerge it’” (2001:104). This
account refl ects a central strategy that I have encountered in my time
at PCO, and is an essential tool that the organization has used, as we
will see shortly, in their campaign to address multicultural awareness.
“What Would it Take?”: Reaching Cooperation and
Consensus Through Negotiation
Occasionally, we have extremely conservative congregations
that don’t agree with one aspect of what we’re doing or
another, but we have a mechanism for going back to them and
saying, ‘Okay, what would it take for you to support what we’re
doing? What piece of this would you be able to support?
(Interview 1, 4/8/2008)
At times, merely acknowledging diff erences through the relational
model is not enough to avoid confl ict; other mechanisms need
to be in place in order to resolve disagreements. In a grassroots
organization like PCO, this process quite frequently involves a
delicate dance of balanced eff orts at negotiation. In my interview
with Katie, a long-time leader with PCO and current co-chair of the
board, she told me of how she and the other board members need
to work with individual congregations and leaders from time to time
if there is discord over proposed initiatives and programs. Because
PCO’s power comes from the people, the organization cannot off er
support to a particular issue unless everyone is on board: “Cargill
Salt wants to redevelop this one area in Redwood City that includes
Bay lands,” Katie told me, “and they have repeatedly come to PCO
asking for support, and we can’t give them organizational support
because one of our congregations is vehemently against it” (Interview
1, 4/8/2008). Compromise, then, becomes an essential tool in confl ict
resolution, and can be seen in PCO’s recent campaign to assist
eligible immigrants in the process to gain citizenship. Once again,
Katie shed a great deal of light on this issue for me:
[T]he immigrant situation continues to be extremely
Jamila Sinlao
25
controversial, even within our congregations. And so the
one that that even the most conservative members of our
congregations believe is that those immigrants that are
here and want to become citizens should be supported. So
even in that, even with that controversial issue, we were
able to fi nd a way to support the immigrants in a very real
way, and that’s becoming a very successful campaign.
(Interview 1, 4/8/2008)
Negotiation and consensus not only occur on a federation-wide level,
but within the LOC. Because of the structure of PCO, the issues and
direction taken by the LOC is supposed to come from the leaders
themselves, as opposed to the organizers (Warren 2001, Wood 2002,
Putnam and Feldstein 2003). With so many leaders each with their
own opinions and ideas of doing things, however, it can become
necessary for the organizer to step in and to guide the process, a
dynamic that I witnessed on more than one occasion. During the time
that I worked with my home congregation, they were engaged in a
six-month long listening campaign. The leaders within the group had
committed to completing 100 one-to-one conversations to learn more
about the needs of the congregation and to also help to raise awareness
of PCO’s work; to date, however, they have only completed 45. At each
monthly meeting, however, the leaders shared the results of their latest
one-to-ones, and Ellen, our organizer, asked the same thing: “What are
the issues? What are we hearing? Do we have enough information?”
Each time, a debate would open up between two or three leaders, not
only over the progress being made in the listening campaign, but also
over the interpretation of the issues themselves.
At one point, Sr. Carol interrupted to ask “How well are
people informed?” In her view, a number of the issues that
cropped up – lack of youth services and support for senior
citizens – don’t make sense to her as the city already off ers
what she feels are satisfactory services. This, of course,
led to a discussion (not quite heated, but close) between
Sr. Carol and Kelsey over what qualifi es as services and
whether or not people in the city fall through the cracks, so
to speak. As Kelsey asserted, “It’s up to us to fi ll those [the
cracks] in.”
(Fieldnotes, 3/11/08)
Here, it was interesting to see not only how impassioned and
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
26
opinionated both Kelsey and Sr. Carol were over their respective
issues, but also how the entire organizing process can be threatened
by the inability to reach consensus. Had Ellen not stepped in to
guide the discussion back “on track,” so to speak, there was a very real
possibility that the group could have gotten locked into a discussion
over the defi nition of adequate social services. Ellen’s role, then, is
in assisting the leaders in the LOC engage in relevant discussions
over next steps and proposed directions. Indeed, a meeting cannot
end until some sort of conclusion and consensus is reached, which
occasionally means that meetings can at times exceed their 1.5 hour
mark. The ability to work together, compromise, and reach a decision
in the face of so many diff ering opinions and beliefs, however, is a
valuable one, one that helps to maintain good working relationships.
Managing Racial and Ethnic Diff erences
So I went to the fi rst people of color caucus…I thought it
was specifi cally for Asian-Americans or Asians in general…
but they paired us up with Latinos, and I think there were a
handful of African-Americans. And that was an eye-opener
too, just having us altogether, on a platform where we would
feel comfortable speaking and opening up… And people
actually started opening up, and they actually decided to meet
monthly. So that was one of the results for the fi rst time. And
the fact is, these are people from diff erent religions working
together, so with the interfaith partnership, and with what
we’re doing as people of color, I think it’s working towards
this goal of trying to make a better world. And you know, and
I know through history, that it’s really going to take time, but
it’s a step in the right direction.
(Interview 2, 5/1/2008)
Last year, the founder and executive director of PCO retired,
and Mark, one of the organizers, was appointed interim executive
director. An older Chinese Protestant minister, Mark, with the
agreement of the PCO board and other organizers, decided to address
the issues of racial and ethnic diff erences in the organization. While
PCO is quite vocal about its identity as a multiracial, multiethnic
and interfaith organization, it wad decided that more work still
needed to be done to raise multicultural awareness and increase
cultural competency and sensitivity (Interview 1, 4/8/2008; Interview
2, 5/1/2008). As Mark writes in the “Director’s Corner” of PCO’s
Jamila Sinlao
27
December 2007 newsletter, “I am personally proud that we have
embraced the goal of becoming a truly multicultural organization,
including confronting the pain, tension, and confl ict such an eff ort
inevitably entails. We are becoming so much stronger and richer
as an organization by being intentional about being multicultural.”
It is this intentionality that is important to highlight in PCO’s
eff orts as diff erent and unique. Past attempts to be inclusive of
the entire population served by PCO, including mono-lingual
English and Spanish speakers, have included printing all literature
in both English and Spanish; hiring bilingual organizers; and
off ering translation during public meetings and workshops. As a
part of this new process, however, PCO has engaged the services
of an outside agency called Visions to provide training and to
facilitate workshops, employed the use of caucuses and discussion
groups, and started the practice of consecutive interpretation,
rather than interpretation devices (Interview 1, 4/8/2008; PCO
Newsletter 2007). These strategies to tackle multicultural issues
head-on take a radical step closer to the achievement of bridging
capital. That this decision has come from the top-down, so to
speak, being initiated by the director and the board is something
that is also worthy of note, for it highlights the complexity of roles
within a grassroots organizing group. Even with this said, I believe
that this process, mandated, so to speak, by the director and board
was carried out in response to some of the organizational fl aws
of PCO, particularly when only two congregations out of thirty
really represent low-income families of color from poor urban
neighborhoods (Interview 1, 4/8/2008).
The process that Mark speaks about in his “Director’s
Corner” update is one that has been acknowledged to be diffi cult
and, in some respects, dangerous in its ability to alienate people.
As Warren notes, “Since bridging forms of social capital rarely
exist, they have to be built. But bridging organizations cannot
be imposed, fully formed, where mistrust, racism, and ignorance
have reigned for so long.” He continues on to say, “Forging
multiracial cooperation therefore requires a process that builds
trust and mutual understanding over time… [B]ridging forms
of social capital are not ‘just talk’ among disconnected leaders
or citizens. They lead to common action and, in turn, build
trust and understanding through such cooperative experience”
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
28
(2001:99-100). This quote mirrors the process that PCO is
engaging in order to deliberately bridge diff erences among racial
groups, and speaks to the issues of trust and fear that emerged in
both interviews that I conducted. Katie, the co-chair of the PCO
board and a self-identifi ed middle class white woman, told me
about the “intense” experience of training in the “multicultural
process of change” model:
I’m a very good person, and there isn’t one piece of
me that I see as racist, but what happened at that
workshop was that, um, I became… I had to internalize
a lot of things, because I knew the concept of white
entitlement and white privilege, but that’s not me,
because I’m really nice to people, you know? But there
[were] a lot of things that came out of that – there
was an element of distrust that other white leaders
who were there were sensing from people of color at
the workshop. And it was kind of an example of my
oversimplifi cation of the dynamics that exist. And so
it was a brutal experience for me, because… I think
personally I have a little ‘Pollyanna’ attitude about
things that exist, and I think this is one of them.
(Interview 1, 4/8/2008)
Pushing people to recognize and acknowledge often painful
thoughts of privilege and trust issues is a diffi cult process, one
that not all leaders understand at fi rst. Camilla, the middle-aged
Chinese woman I spoke with during my second interview, initially
challenged PCO’s adoption of race-specifi c caucuses (the “people
of color caucus” and the “white caucus”), before coming to
understand that dividing on racial lines, at least at the beginning,
gave leaders of color a place where they can articulate their fears
and concerns without worrying about off ending others (Interview
2, 5/1/2008). As Katie also said:
There was some pushback during our very fi rst meeting
of people who said that we shouldn’t be separated this
way… And we went through and talked about that, if
we’re going to be change agents, we can’t have people of
color teaching us about white privilege. We need to be
doing it from within. In the beginning, it’s important
for us to be separated, and the dialogue can be more
Jamila Sinlao
29
honest within both groups, because people in the people
of color caucus can get mad, and they can voice things
that they might be reticent of saying.
(Interview 1, 4/8/2008)
Though this process is one that has been touted by the
organization with much fanfare, there is still a bit of dissent and
confl ict on the part of the other leaders. One woman I know
told me how she disagreed with the new policy of consecutive
translation, saying that she wished that they would go back to
the old policy of using translation devices so it wouldn’t be so
distracting for non-Spanish speakers (Fieldnotes 5/1/2008); Katie
also told me that there were a handful of leaders who expressed
hesitance at engaging in the multicultural trainings, and said that
she would need to use the tools of discussion and compromise to
fi nd out exactly why these leaders were holding back. Even still,
this process of awareness is one that demonstrates yet another
way in which the organization is attempting to manage confl ict
and bridge diff erences.
Conclusion: The Joys, Challenges and Successes of
Multiple-Identity Movements
You’ve been to our public meetings… [T]he feedback
we get later is how impactful [the testimonials are]…
One of the challenges that we’ve had is the having to
beat the bushes and fi nd those stories. They’re not
inherently within our organization. That’s something
that I’d really like to examine – why we don’t have
those people at the table with us. We have the
congregations like St Francis and Faith who may have
less affl uent people and immigrants and people who are
having those problems… PIA is being seen as being the
voice of the people, and the truth is, we don’t have the
people. And I’m even a little bit hesitant to tell you
that, because I think that it’s a fl aw, and it’s something
that we have to work on.
(Interview 1, 4/8/2008)
The challenges that face FBCOs as they struggle to not only
maintain organizations representative of many types of people
but to also sustain a movement that can wield power in the
Bridging the Divide: Managing Difference in Faith-Based Community Organizing
30
face of traditional holders of authority and infl uence have been
comprehensively detailed and analyzed by scholars before me.
My work has served to reinforce and support the conclusions
drawn by past scholars, and has demonstrated to me the joys,
challenges, and successes of faith-based community organizing.
While instances of bridging capital can be seen, PCO
still has a ways to go with engaging more individuals who are
representative of the neighborhoods that it encompasses. This,
however, may be no fault of the organization: the fact that
so many leaders are middle-aged and/or retired, middle-class
and white can also be refl ective of the fact that faith-based
community organizing eff orts are overwhelmingly consuming
of energy and time (Fieldnotes 4/16/2008). “To work on PIA
issues requires a lot of energy, and so for people who are working
and have families and have other responsibilities, it’s a huge
challenge,” Katie told me in our interview, later adding that “it’s
often the case that people of color have many part time jobs just
to keep food on the table,” (Interview 1, 4/8/2008). Indeed, this
lack of active leaders who represent the low-income communities
of color within PCO is a fl aw that needs to be corrected, though
I do believe that the organization is aware of it. The steps that
are being taken through the multicultural awareness eff orts will
hopefully help to address these disparities, and to thus strengthen
and enrich the work that is being done.
Even with that said, I believe that my fi eldwork experience
has demonstrated the very real abilities that FBCO groups have
to create and sustain change within their communities while
bridging the divide between individuals of diverse ethnic, racial,
religious, economic, and sexual orientation backgrounds. The
acknowledgement of diff erence while striving to identify shared
goals, purposes, and commonalities serve to knit together a
diverse community of leaders working towards social change and
social justice—the idea of being “many wicks” that burn brighter
together. That this organization seeks to empower individuals
by not only teaching them to address issues in their communities
but to also foster awareness, understanding, and appreciation of
diversity and diff erence points not only to the possible creation
of a revitalized democracy, but to the opportunity for creating a
world where the deep wounds and divisions caused by fear and
mistrust can be healed.
Jamila Sinlao
31
Works Cited
Chetkovich, Carol and Frances Kunreuther. 2006. From the
Ground Up: Grassroots Organizations Making Social Change.
Ithaca, NY: ILR Press.
Jelen, Ted G. 2007. “The Constitutional Basis of Religious
Pluralism in the United States: Causes and Consequences.”
The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science,
612, 26, pp. 25-41.
Kurtz, Sharon. 2002. Workplace Justice: Organizing Multi-Identity
Movements. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press.
Peninsula Community Organizing. 2008. “Mission Statement
and Purpose.”
_____. 2007. “PCO Community News and Views.”
Putnam, Robert D. and Lewis M. Feldstein. 2003. Better Together:
Restoring the American Community. New York, NY: Simon &
Schuster.
Smidt, Corwin. (ed.) 2003. Religion as Social Capital: Producing the
Common Good. Waco, TX: Baylor University Press.
Warren, Mark R. 2001. Dry Bones Rattling: Community Building
to Revitalize American Democracy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton
University Press.
Wood, Richard L. 2002. Faith in Action: Religion, Race, and
Democratic Organizing in America. Chicago, IL: the University
of Chicago Press.
Wood, Richard L. and Mark R. Warren. 2002. “A Diff erent
Face of Faith-Based Politics: Social Capital and Community
Organizing in the Public Arena.” The International Journal of
Sociology and Social Policy, 22, 9/10, pp. 6-54.
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
32
Writer’s Comments
Power is not always defi ned by military prowess or weapons of mass
destruction. Gandhi used neither and was able to inspire lasting change
in India and across the globe. The power of individuals and groups
who use non-violent means as a way to encourage, demand, or fi ght
relentlessly for positive change was a central focus of Professor Stephen
Zunes’ course, Nonviolence in Theory and Practice. We learned to identify
and appreciate non-violent activism and movements across the globe and
throughout history, and explored ways in which people and groups can
and should employ nonviolent tactics as an effective method of bringing
about change. For our fi nal paper, we were asked to research and discuss
any topic of interest to ourselves and relating to the course. I chose to
explore the life and work of Wangari Maathai, a Kenyan woman who
founded the Green Belt Movement and received the 2004 Nobel Prize
for Peace in an attempt to highlight the kind of progress possible when
power lies in the hands of the people.
—Allison Domicone
Instructor’s Comments
In the seminar Nonviolence in Theory and Practice, we examined a number
of popular movements for peace, human rights and social justice,
movements which engaged in strategic nonviolent action. Allison
Domicone chose as the topic of her research paper Wangari Maathai,
the fi rst African woman and fi rst environmentalist to win the Nobel Prize
for Peace, and her Green Belt Movement. Allison has done an impressive
job of both capturing Maathai’s personal story as well as the signifi cance
of the movement which demonstrated to the world how environmental
preservation and human development in impoverished countries go
hand-in-hand. Showing how Waangari’s movement engaged in the
creative use of nonviolent direct action and propaganda of the deed
against Kenya’s corrupt and autocratic government and other powerful
interests quite willing to use violence against their opponents, Allison
also makes a strong case for the power of nonviolence in promoting
women’s rights, fi ghting poverty, advancing the cause of democracy and
saving the planet.
—Stephen Zunes, Department of Politics
Allison Domicone
33
ALLISON DOMICONE
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
Now we are leaders, we lead our people
Now we are people, people of action
Now we are planters, we tell the people
Now we are green, our touch is green.
Let us unite, speak the same
Let us unite, tell we are living
Let us unite, enjoy our wealth
Now we are green, our touch is green.
—Litha Sovell of Green Belt Movement; Tanzania; November 1998
Like a tree, a movement starts out so small one can barely perceive
it. It enters into this world vulnerable and susceptible to the
slightest change of weather and to any predator that may cross its
path. It faces much adversity in order to survive, for nature can be as
harsh as it is bounteous. One might fi nd it hard to comprehend how
something so tiny could ever grow into an emblem of power, hope,
and life. But against all odds, it does. It plants its roots fi rmly and
deeply into the soil, and, reaching upward, constantly strives for the
light. It has a duty to fulfi ll, a fate it cannot escape, for the stronger
it grows, the more it must rely on the environment around it, and
the more that environment in return depends on it for survival. It
becomes necessary, a fundamental aspect of an intricate and ever-changing
cycle of life. Yes, like a tree, a movement starts out small,
but it becomes such an integral part of us that we can no longer
decipher where the movement ends and we begin, for as the tree
provides our lungs with the oxygen we need in order to survive, a
movement breathes into our souls the hope we need in order to live.
The Green Belt Movement, founded in 1977 by Wangari Maathai,
began with nothing more than a vision. Today, the ripples of its
work have spread all across the globe, bringing with them hope for
a better world. Considering that Wangari Maathai started out life as
the daughter of a poor farmer in British-colonized Kenya and went
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
34
on to receive the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004, it is worth taking a
closer look at the life and work of this extraordinary woman and the
movement she inspired. Wangari Maathai has led an exemplary life
of social activism, and because of her commitment to nonviolence,
demonstrated in confl icts such as the Uhuru Park struggle in 1989,
she was able to inspire through the Green Belt initiative an eff ective
social movement in Kenya, and one which continues to be a platform
for much-needed progress and activism in her nation and all across
the world.
To better understand the importance of the Green Belt
Movement’s work and the magnitude of its impact, we must consider
the reality of Kenya’s colonial legacy, a devastating reality that plagues
many nations in Africa. The unjust ruling system implemented by
the British in Kenya during the colonial period remains in many
ways unchanged. It includes boundaries drawn arbitrarily or without
consulting Kenyans themselves, and a hierarchical structure fashioned
after Western values and traditions. After independence in 1963 and
until 1992, there was only one political party, the Kenya African
National Union (KANU), whose fi rst leader was Jomo Kenyatta,
the man who led jubilant Kenyans into a new era of independence,
followed by Daniel Arap Moi, the autocrat under whom much of
Kenya’s previous hopes were dashed (Maathai). The colonial legacy
continues to manifest itself through the destruction of culture and
natural resources. Sustainability, whether environmentally, culturally,
or economically, was virtually unpracticed during the colonial era, and
to this day in nearly every region in Kenya there exist unfortunate
examples of how much work remains to be done.
Perhaps the greatest challenge facing Kenya today is the lack
of eff ective Kenyan leadership. Despite many signifi cant political
advances in the past 17 years, including introducing a multi-party
system and appointing women to important positions in the
government, a serious disconnect remains between the governing and
the governed. Unfortunately, as is all too often the case, those who
suff er most from under-representation are the poor and marginalized,
especially those living in rural areas. The average farmer and his wife,
who may not have had more than a primary education, have virtually
no voice at the policy table. The decision may be one that will directly
aff ect the livelihood of that farmer’s family, but his opinions will go
unheard.
The frightening lack of reconciliation and understanding amongst
Allison Domicone
35
Kenyans themselves is another important issue which has existed
since the colonial era, and which the Green Belt Movement has
striven to address. This damaging colonial legacy makes itself
painfully apparent in the “ethnic” clashes that fl are up over the
decades, leaving hundreds or thousands dead in their wake, and as a
result of which no apparent good can come. The most recent example
is the crisis that broke out immediately following the presidential
election in December of 2007, which has left an estimated 1,000
people dead and 350,000 displaced, according to the Kenya National
Commission on Human Rights (Limo and Michuka). For a nation
that once greeted its independence with unquenchable optimism and
hope for its future, these are disheartening realities, indeed.
The story of the Green Belt Movement begins in 1940, when
Wangari Maathai was born. She grew up in a traditional rural Kenyan
family, consisting of a father, his wives, and their children. During the
1940s and 50s Maathai’s father worked on a farm owned by a British
man. In her autobiography, Unbowed, Maathai recalls growing up in
a region rich with natural resources and beauty, and being part of a
culture that celebrated its connection to the land and showed great
respect for it. She was lucky enough to have been sent to primary
school, despite the fact that she was a girl, that fees were expensive,
and that most of her family and friends thought her education would
be a poor investment. She worked hard, did well, and went on to
secondary schooling in a Catholic high school. The students there
were forced to speak English and were taught that speaking their
native tongue was backward and uncivilized, even stupid. During
Maathai’s high school years, Kenya was deeply involved in a fi ght
for self-determination and independence from Great Britain as the
violent pro-independence Mau Mau movement rocked the nation.
At age 20, Maathai was selected among some 300 other Kenyan
young adults to travel to the U.S. to earn a degree in order to return
thereafter to Kenya and become the leaders of a newly independent
nation. President John F. Kennedy, who was very supportive of
African self-determination initiatives, was instrumental in making
sure the U.S. would foot the bill (Maathai 51). In the U.S., Maathai
studied at Mt. St. Scholastica College in Atchison, Kansas, earning a
degree in Biology.
After receiving her Bachelor’s degree from Mount St. Scholastica
in 1964, Maathai went on to receive her Master of Science in
Biological Sciences from the University of Pittsburgh in 1966, and
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
36
fi nally her PhD in Anatomy from the University of Nairobi in 1971.
When Wangari fi rst returned to Kenya directly from the U.S. in 1966,
she experienced a harsh example of racial and gender discrimination
while trying to get a job at the University of Nairobi. Not only
was she mistreated because she was a woman, but she was treated
unfairly because of her ethnicity, Kikuyu, and the fact that she was
a well-educated and confi dent woman (Maathai 73). These factors
would continuously get Maathai into trouble with authority fi gures,
especially Parliament and the government; but such discrimination
also gave her the drive to fi ght against injustice, perpetrated not only
against women but against all citizens of Kenya. While her children
were still young, Maathai went through a painful divorce from her
husband, a Member of Parliament. He made many false accusations
against her, slandering her name and claiming that she had been an
adulterer and did not respect him at home, even claiming that she
caused him physical health problems. Maathai remained strong and
survived the public distress, even though she suff ered greatly as a
result of the hardships brought upon her by her husband and his
powerful colleagues.
Maathai had by that time become very involved with the
National Council of Women of Kenya (NCWK), and served as their
chairperson for several years, during which time she founded the
Green Belt Movement, which operated under the umbrella of the
NCWK. The Green Belt Movement (GBM) began as a small but
pressing idea in Maathai’s mind. She envisioned developing a way to
preserve and regenerate the environment in Kenya, the degradation
of which she watched with increasing sadness and horror. Maathai’s
vision was to come up with a response to address the specifi c
challenges facing Kenya’s deforestation, soil erosion and lack of water,
the results of which were felt by Kenyans everywhere, although rural
Kenyans and women were especially susceptible to suff ering. Initially,
the GBM operated under the auspices of the NCWK and out of
Maathai’s own pocket. This project was ambitious, but Maathai saw
it as a way to revitalize Kenya’s natural splendor that she remembered
from her childhood, in addition to rousing positive change among the
Kenyans themselves, who were buckling under the weight of Kenya’s
political and economic woes.
The way it worked was simple. GBM would provide seeds to
women, who would then grow and cultivate seedlings and young
trees until they could be planted all around Kenya, at which time
Allison Domicone
37
the GBM would compensate the women for their work. Thus, the
movement began as a way to promote a healthier ecosystem, spread
awareness of sustainability, and empower marginalized women and
men by giving them a modest income and the sense that they were
making life better for themselves and their children. While women
were the most essential component of the GBM, men were also given
the opportunity to participate and earn money. Because men were
generally more educated than women, they played the crucial role of
keeping records of how many trees were planted and where and how
many survived the initial six-month period, so that the women could
receive their compensation.
The Green Belt Movement was a unique organization from the
start, in that it was a grassroots initiative, founded and upheld by
Kenyans for the benefi t of their own people. The GBM embraced
and promoted six central projects in its early days: a tree-planting
campaign, food security and water harvesting at household level,
civic education, advocacy, Green Belt Safari, and Pan-African
training workshops (Maathai 33). While its inspiration grew out of
environmental motives, its mission soon encompassed much more
than just planting trees. Today, the GBM openly recognizes itself
as—and is proud to be—a movement that transcends environmental,
political, and social realms. It proclaims of itself,
The Green Belt Movement is one of the most prominent
women’s civil society organizations, based in Kenya,
advocating for human rights and supporting good governance
and peaceful democratic change through the protection of
the environment. Its mission is to empower communities
worldwide to protect the environment and to promote good
governance and cultures of peace. (www.greenbeltmovement.
org)
Maathai, true to her spirited quest for social justice, was not
content with merely planting trees, for she knew Kenya’s problems
went much deeper than careless environmental practices. In her
relentless pursuit of fairer democratic practices, she would play a
critical role in speaking out against the government and the single-party
state throughout the 1980s and 1990s. She advocated constantly
for democracy and fair representation in Kenya at a time when
autocratic regimes were the status quo in much of Africa.
Perhaps one of the best examples of Maathai’s commitment to
nonviolent activism was during the Uhuru Park struggle in late 1989.
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
38
Nonviolence for Maathai meant much more than merely abstaining
from violent means. Nonviolence, as Gandhi defi ned it, is not merely
the absence of violence, but rather a way of life in which nonviolent
principles are upheld in every aspect of an individual’s actions
(Cortright, 30-31). True, Maathai could hardly have been expected
to pursue a violent campaign, but her commitment to nonviolent
action stems not just from pragmatic reasoning but from deep-rooted
principles. Maathai witnessed and experienced fi rsthand the damage
that violence and repression infl ict on people. She experienced
the physical and emotional oppression of men, the government,
and the police force, and she saw that hatred and fear breed only
more of the same. Her simple approach, the planting of trees, is the
most eloquent of nonviolent tactics: to make a statement against
environmental degradation and against the blatant disregard for the
well-being of living things. Because she saw the direct correlation
between the degradation of the environment and the degradation
of the lives of Kenyans at the hands of an oppressive regime, she
was compelled to use whatever means possible, while adhering to
a dedicated policy of nonviolence and peace, to fi ght against the
injustices she saw perpetrated every day in Kenya.
In the Uhuru Park struggle, Maathai was instrumental in
speaking out against the construction of a proposed Kenya Times
Media Trust business complex, which was slated to be built on the
outskirts of the park, Nairobi’s own Green Belt. Horrifi ed at the
plans to build a 60-story tower, a parking garage for 2,000 cars, and
a massive statue of President Moi, Maathai was determined to fi ght
against such an outrage (Maathai 185-186). She was well aware that
her adversary was a ruthless and dictatorial regime with a steadfast
grip on power, and the fear of whom permeated all aspects of Kenyan
daily life; it would take much more than a well-aimed pebble to knock
this Goliath down.
Maathai’s initial plan of action was to simply write letters to
offi cials inquiring about the Kenya Times complex and providing
reasons as to why its construction would forever diminish the
benefi cial presence of Nairobi’s green lung. Her reasoning included
the fact that the park provided recreation, respite, playgrounds,
and played host to meetings and national celebrations. Well aware
that her letters would more likely than not go unread at the offi ce
of the President, the provincial commissioner, and the minister for
environment and natural resources, she also provided copies to the
Allison Domicone
39
Kenyan press. Her primary concern at that point was to create a
stir and alert authority fi gures to the fact that their precious Times
complex would come at no easy price. Maathai writes of those early
days of the campaign, “When the offi ce of the president did not
reply, I started writing to other offi ces, and the more I wrote the
more they knew that I knew, and the more the word spread” (187). As
with any campaign, spreading the word is the most diffi cult and most
crucial fi rst step.
At the time, Maathai’s voice was one of very few speaking out
against the complex, but she was not deterred. As a result of her
vocal stance and determination, Maathai began to feel the painful
eff ects of speaking out against a harsh regime. She and the Green
Belt Movement suff ered humiliation and belittlement from the
government, as Members of Parliament took to openly discrediting
the Movement as a “bogus organization” (Maathai 191). Although
one might assume that Maathai’s work ought to have spoken for
itself and been counter-proof enough against the government’s
accusations, it is important to keep in mind that the government
still had a stranglehold on the mainstream press, and its grip on
the public was still a menacing one. As a result, the average Kenyan
dared not go against the regime, even if he or she may have in fact
sided with Maathai.
Fortunately for Maathai, the fact that the government was
reacting so outlandishly and harshly did after a time produce a
positive eff ect. Because the government overreacted and was less
than forthcoming with a decent answer to Maathai’s simple question
as to why the Times complex ought to be built, its actions produced
a backlash. The more the headlines read “MPs Condemn Prof
Maathai” and “Prof Maathai Under Fire in Parliament,” the more the
public and the international community began to see through the
actions and words of the regime (Maathai 192). The debate began
to break into the public sphere, and professional organizations, like
the Architectural Association of Kenya, began to raise their voices
in protest. Maathai was overjoyed to learn that Kenyans themselves
had begun to take action into their own hands and, following her
example, wrote letters off ering personal statements as to why the
complex should not be built. Despite these encouraging advances in
the struggle, Maathai continued to wage her courageous campaign,
knowing the work had only just begun. When in November of 1989
ground was broken for the complex in Uhuru Park, Maathai fi led a
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
40
legal appeal and issued a press release, both of which helped to garner
more support from Kenyans themselves (195). Maathai’s struggle was
now regular front page news.
By this time, President Moi himself had become frustrated with
Maathai’s stubbornness and the apparent success of her campaign. He
went to great lengths to discredit Maathai and bring down the GBM.
At one point, he made the accusation that anyone who opposed the
construction of the complex had “insects in their heads,” and he went
so far as to declare that any foreign funding for Kenyan women’s
development had to fi rst pass through state channels (Maathai
196). Life for the GBM was not easy at that time. The most drastic
of actions the government had taken thus far came in the form of
evicting the GBM from its government offi ces. Despite these attacks
on Maathai and the GBM, nothing could stop their work. As Maathai
claims, “The government seemed determined to do all it could to take
an axe to the Green Belt Movement, and I was equally determined
not to let it,” and, in fact, GBM continued to work with communities
all over Kenya planting trees (198).
Victory, or as close to it as those fi ghting the Uhuru Park
campaign had come thus far, came on January 29, 1990, when the
government announced that it was scaling back its plans for the
complex. The reality was that Kenyan offi cials, after a meeting with
the World Bank and other donors, had concluded that the project
was no longer feasible or profi table. It was not until February 1992,
however, that the construction fence in Uhuru Park fi nally came
down, providing concrete proof to Maathai and others who had
opposed the Tower’s construction that they had won. Despite all
odds and despite desperate attempts by the government to silence
their eff orts, they had done what many never thought possible. What
did Maathai propose to do in celebration? She called others to join
her in Uhuru Park to “dance, a dance of victory!” (203).
The Uhuru Park struggle was a unique campaign with a powerful
purpose, and while its success meant that Nairobi’s Green Belt was
spared from further urban encroachment, it also exposed how much
work remained to be done in the fi ght for environmental, social,
and political justice in Kenya. Uhuru Park would prove to be just
one of many campaigns in which Maathai and the GBM would fi nd
themselves inextricably involved. It was no easy task going against
a dictatorial regime, but Maathai never lost sight of her hope for a
brighter future.
Allison Domicone
41
Because of Maathai’s steadfast vision and exceptional leadership,
the role of the GBM in the fi ght for democratization in Kenya has
received signifi cant attention. In an Africa Today article written in
1996 by Bessie House-Midamba, the author argues that the GBM,
along with several other women’s organizations in Kenya, was a
crucial factor in the struggle for democracy in Kenya, and that its
tireless eff orts were vital in bringing about the transition from single-party
to multiparty-rule, legalized in 1991. Their success, however,
came at a high price. Because environmental policy and women’s
empowerment have always been two of the fundamental principles
behind the GBM, it is no surprise that the Movement has come
head to head with the government on several occasions, a reality
which was especially true during the fi rst decade and a half of its
existence, during which time the Uhuru Park struggle took place.
Because of the GBM’s relentless pursuit of advocacy and protest in
order to demand structural change, its core mission of planting trees
to heal a broken Kenya quickly became just a tiny component of the
work it was doing. The complex nature of the GBM’s work and its
subsequent controversy stem from the fact that its work has opposed
policy decisions “such as damming a river, evicting forest dwellers, or
clearing up forestland,” and the confrontational strategy developed
under the initiative of Maathai naturally resulted in it losing favor
with the Kenyan government (House-Midamba, 297). The struggle
was long and brutal, but as most of Kenya would agree, the present
gains far outweigh any past anguishes.
Through their work, the GBM and other primarily women-powered
movements have proven their capacity to chip away
at the disconnect between the government and civil society by
advocating and articulating their visions and goals for a fairer and
more democratic society (House-Midamba, 306). By challenging the
cultural, political, and economic problems within Kenya, Kenya’s civil
society has garnered a lot of momentum and strength from women’s
associational groups, especially the GBM. Additionally, and perhaps
most importantly, GBM’s strict policy of nonviolence has allowed it
to transcend ethnic and cultural boundaries, thus fostering a greater
sense of inclusiveness and progress that would have been impossible
if its tactics had included violent or exclusionary means.
The achievements of the GBM are many and varied, and are
made even more impressive when one takes into account the struggle
and the numerous setbacks that the movement and its founder have
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
42
experienced over the years. The problems were greatest during Moi’s
24-year rule that lasted until 2002, since the administration did not like
the pressure that Maathai and GBM placed on them, and it especially
did not like the international attention that GBM was able to garner.
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement have come a
long way from the days of oppression under a brutal and antagonizing
government. More than 40 million trees have now been planted
across Africa, thanks to the international GBM initiative. Because
environmental advocacy remains the driving force behind the
Movement, it has found a welcome position within the raging
environmental debate that has begun to grip the world in an
especially powerful way within the past few years, due in large part to
global warming scares.
The GBM fi ts well into the international “green” initiative. In
a 2001 Alternatives Journal article, Polly Stupples discusses the 2001
Global Greens Conference, the direction to which globalization
is headed, and the role that developing countries will play. She
argues that Maathai is well-positioned to act as a beacon of hope
for the global green initiative, and as a symbol of the direction in
which we must head if we hope to resolve the increasing severity
of environmental and social degradation. She says, “Maathai’s
commitment to social justice, to the environment, to participatory
democracy … and to a peaceful means of getting there refl ects
the four fundamental principles of green politics. Understanding
that environmental issues cannot be dealt with in isolation but are
closely tied to problems of poverty, corruption and the unequal
distribution of wealth has broadened the green political platform”
(13). GBM’s work has brought to light the inseparable link between
globalization, the environment, and social justice. Because of this,
we can more readily appreciate the urgency of its work. We can also
better conceptualize the importance of the GBM globally, and how
it will certainly continue contributing to the dialogue and initiatives
surrounding environmental and social justice issues.
One measure of the GBM’s success at surviving in an ever-changing
world is the Movement’s website. The website is an
informative and valuable resource for environmental activists, along
with activists of any kind, because it houses links and resources
to articles and pertinent information needed to fuel civil society
movements, not just in Kenya but across the globe. The GBM has
always been innovative and imaginative in how it chooses to reach
Allison Domicone
43
the masses and inspire change, and its website provides solid proof of
how GBM has successfully tailored its approach for the 21st century.
It even includes a blog, with news and updates about the GBM and
its work, along with updates on Maathai and current events in Kenya.
In a blog posting on January 11, 2008, Francesca de Gasparis,
Director of the Green Belt Movement International-Europe,
addresses the recent outbreak of election violence:
GBM’s approach of bringing communities together to resolve
problems becomes even more critical at times like this. As
the violence continues to subside, there will be plans to
visit the aff ected areas and begin a process that will bring
healing and reconciliation. We hope and believe that GBM
communities will continue building upon their programs
and planting more trees to help bring about peace. (www.
greenbeltmovement.org).
This posting and the plethora of other articles and information
items on the website demonstrate how community education and
involvement remain two of GBM’s most central values.
The Green Belt Movement has responded admirably since the
outbreak of post-election violence in Kenya. Its most visible initiative
has been the Peace Tent for Reconciliation. The purpose of the Peace
Tent initiative is to “facilitate healing & reconciliation following
inter-communal ethnic clashes since the Dec ’07 elections” (www.
greenbeltmovement.org). Additionally, the Peace Tent provides a
forum for gaining support and relief, to record and share personal
experiences, and to sign a petition in solidarity with the victims of
violence (Green Belt Movement International 1). Wangari Maathai
inaugurated the fi rst Peace Tent in Nairobi in January of 2008, at
which time she delivered an address, stating with the eloquence and
optimism characteristic of her speeches, “We can make a deliberate
choice to move forward together towards a more cohesive Nation
State, where we can all feel free, secure, and at peace with ourselves
and our neighbors” (Green Belt Movement International 1).
The Peace Tents refl ect the unbreakable spirit of the Green
Belt Movement itself, for as long as there is unfair treatment of
people, places, and the environment, its work must necessarily
continue. Maathai’s movement may have started out small, with the
modest goal of planting trees to improve the lives of a handful of
impoverished women, but the journey it has made since that time
and the extent to which it has become an integral part of Kenyan
Wangari Maathai and the Green Belt Movement
44
civil society have made it so that the Movement’s survival can never
be threatened again. I believe we can continue to expect great things
from Wangari Maathai, now a Member of Parliament and Assistant
Minister for the Environment, and the Green Belt Movement,
whose goal in the next decade is to plant one billion trees worldwide.
Coming from any other organization, this might seem a lofty goal
to reach—but coming from the Green Belt Movement, which has
already overcome the impossible several times before, I do not doubt
for a moment what it is capable of accomplishing, even with just a
seed, a shovel, and plenty of hope.
Works Cited
Cortright, David. 2006. Gandhi and Beyond: Nonviolence for an Age of
Terrorism. Boulder: Paradigm Publishers.
Gilson, Dave. 2005. “Root Causes: An Interview with Wangari
Maathai.” Mother Jones (January 5). <http://www.motherjones.com/
news/qa/2005/01/ wangari_maathai.html.> (Accessed 5 May, 2008).
Green Belt Movement International. 2008. The Green Belt Movement
International Newsletter (March). <http://greenbeltmovement.org/
downloads/ 2008_03_newsletter.pdf>. (Accessed 15 April, 2008).
Green Belt Movement Website. <www.greenbeltmovement.org>.
House-Midamba, Bessie. 1996. “Gender, democratization, and
associational life in Kenya.” Africa Today (July-Sept): 289-306.
Limo, Lucianne and Maseme Michuka. 2008. “Kenya: ECK Faces
Storm Over By-Elections.” The East African Standard (April 28).
http://allafrica.com/stories/ 200804281435.html. (Accessed 8 May,
2008).
Maathai, Wangari. 2006. Unbowed. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
______. 2003. The Green Belt Movement: Sharing the Approach and the
Experience. New York: Lantern Books.
Stupples, Polly. 2001. “Green globalization.” Alternatives Journal
(27.4): 12-13.
Anika Steig
45
Writer’s Comments
In Dr. Brown’s course, Renaissance in England, we were asked to write
an original argumentative essay on any work we had read for class. As
a politics major I do not often write about literature, though I have
always been interested in feminist readings of traditional works as well
as power structures in societies. With that in mind, I decided to write
about Elizabeth Cary’s The Tragedy of Mariam. It is an early modern
play about two women, Mariam and Salome, and their very different
approaches to the plight of women and wives during this time. Of
course, the traditional saving grace of Cary’s controversial play is that
it is set in the historical tale of King Herod. My essay is an attempt to
argue that Cary’s true feminist message lies in the words and actions
of the traditionally disliked Salome, and that Cary actually intends to
debunk Mariam and make her a less attractive feminist role model.
—Anika Steig
Instructor’s Comments
In the Renaissance in England Honors Seminar, I encourage students
to recognize the importance of such concepts as perspective and
iconoclasm not just to Renaissance art but to literature. Consequently,
the class examines the literature from different angles, ranging from
the orthodox to the subversive. For their fi nal paper, students write
an argumentative essay that develops one of these subversive layers
by providing a close textual reading. Anika chose to write about one
of the few works in this period written by a woman and explored an
early feminist message, concealed in the anti-hero of the play—Salome.
Anika proved that Renaissance women, such as Elizabeth Cary, were
questioning the inequities of a male hegemony and covertly proposing
cunning means to cope with them. Like many Renaissance writers, Cary
found a way to couch a radical message in an acceptable framework,
casting herself as a “custom-breaker” and showing her “sex the way to
freedom’s door.” Cary illustrates that early modern women did have a
renaissance, perhaps not as monumental as that of the men, but one that
led to serious dialogue about the nature and rights of women.
—Carolyn E. Brown, Department of English
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in The Tragedy of Mariam
46
ANIKA STEIG
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in
The Tragedy of Mariam
Elizabeth Cary was only a teenager when she penned The Tragedy of
Mariam, the fi rst original play in English composed and published
by a woman. Written when she was already married but living apart
from her military-bound husband, the play is widely believed to
contain her personal expressions of the limitations felt by a wife in
seventeenth-century English society. Cary safely placed her feminist
ideas in the genre of closet drama and within the Greek context
of King Herod. Traditional views of the play assess Mariam, the
protagonist, as a martyr who stands up to the patriarchy and asserts
her own early stirrings of feminism by speaking up to her husband.
While Cary does embed a feminist message in The Tragedy of Mariam,
it is not limited to the title character as is often held by traditional
criticism. Rather, Cary safely lodges her strongest feminist messages
in the seemingly evil character of Salome.
Even among more traditional scholars, The Tragedy of Mariam
is widely understood to be a “subversive text, because of the way it
challenges wifely subjection and the sex/gender system it sustains”
(Kennedy 129). From this view, Mariam is presented as the moral
center of the play and even as a blatant portrayal of a Christian
martyr. Mariam’s critique of patriarchy and her specifi c model of
how women should stage their resistance are seen as Elizabeth
Cary’s discussion of her own position as a wife and as her feminist
recommendations to her audience. Meanwhile, the traditional view
limits Salome as Mariam’s adversary, an evil yet intelligent character
that stands in direct opposition to what Mariam understands shapes
moral integrity and self-awareness.
Traditionally, Mariam is the moral center of the play. She
maintains her integrity while defying the patriarchy in the form of her
husband and dies a martyr’s death for what she believes in. According
to Gwynne Kennedy, Cary employs Salome as an evil character to
further highlight Mariam’s goodness. When “Cary establishes the
moral opposition between chaste Mariam and adulterous Salome,”
Mariam emerges as the play’s heroine. By never giving up any part of
herself to Herod, Mariam’s self-aware moral integrity remains intact.
Anika Steig
47
First she denies Herod her body, then claims the space of her mind
to be autonomous from her husband, and later upon her death she
declares that her “soul is free from adversary’s power” (IV. 561-570,
Raber 339). Mariam’s repeated resistance to the assumed submission
of a wife is traditionally seen as heroic because she does not waiver in
her beliefs, even when her life in is danger.
As a further illustration of Mariam’s moral consistency, she
appears peaceful and noble in the face of her execution as described
by Nuntio. “The stately Mariam not debas’d by fear,” and later, “after
she some silent prayer had said, She did as if to die she were content,
and thus to Heav’n her heav’nly soul is fl ed” (V.26, 84-86). Numerous
scholars hold that her strong beliefs and poised actions liken her
to a Christian martyr. Elaine Beilin argues that at the end of the
play Mariam becomes a “proto-Christian martyr,” a fi gure of heroic
female suff ering and spirituality whose death is “not an execution,
but a sacrifi ce” (Beilin 171). Furthermore, Rosemary Kegl describes
that the circumstances of Mariam’s death “contribute to the play’s
overtly Christian agenda – off er(ing) Mariam as an Old Testament
prefi guration of Christ” (Kegl 149). Other characters in the play
glorify Mariam’s death as well, even her husband who condemned
her to death in the fi rst place. After hearing from Nuntio of her
noble death, Herod’s praises ring clear from the text as he claims, “All
tongues suffi ce not her sweet name to raise” and “Our sacred tongue
no epithet aff ords, To call her other than the world’s delight” (V.32, 39-
40). Read in this traditional way, Mariam’s integrity and martyrdom
are very apparent.
Mariam’s critique of patriarchy and her subsequent actions of
resistance are read to portray Cary’s ideal feminist recommendations
from a traditional view. Before discussing the signifi cance of her
“unbridled speech,” it is important to understand the specifi c
demands marriage in Renaissance England required of a wife. As
explained in research done by Gwynne Kennedy, Early Modern
texts on marriage describe a wife’s submissive speech as providing
“genuine signs of an interior (intellectual and emotional) acceptance
of her inferiority to her husband” (113). The limitation of female
discourse, whether within or outside the bonds of a marriage, was so
signifi cant that a woman’s silence was linked with her chastity and her
outspokenness with promiscuity. Within this Early Modern context
and the expectations for a wife, it is comprehensible that Mariam’s
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in The Tragedy of Mariam
48
speech to Herod was seen as an expression of her “pride, anger, and
hostility toward Herod” instead of the compliant aff ection expected
from wives (Kennedy 114).
Given the patriarchal expectations of an Early Modern wife, more
traditional readers see Mariam as a model about passive resistance
created by Cary to inform her female audience of the appropriate
method to act when defying their husbands. The audience would
have known how inappropriate and therefore dangerous “unbridled
speech” was for an innocent woman. Despite the risks Mariam takes
by speaking to someone other than her husband or arguing with
Herod himself, she remains Cary’s model of feminist behavior because
she does so with a consistently calm eloquence, keeping her integrity
intact (Beilin 178).
From a traditional view, Salome serves as the antithetical
character to Mariam and not only is her social enemy, but also
encompasses the opposing views to Mariam’s strategy of patriarchal
resistance. If Mariam is the moral center of the play, Salome is an
evil and manipulative Machiavel who plots against Mariam and is
indirectly responsible for each death in the play. Her scheming ways
are apparent when she describes her plan for Mariam’s destruction to
Pheroras:
First, jealousy – if that avail not, fear –
Shall be my minister to work her end:
A common error moves not Herod’s ear,
Which doth so fi rmly to his Mariam bend.
She shall be charged with so horrid crime,
As Herod’s fear shall turn his love to hate:
I’ll make some swear that she desires to climb,
And seeks to poison him for his estate.
(III.ii.84-92)
As Salome describes her plot to frame Mariam, there is a certain
bitter vengefulness brought about by her words. It is easy to see her
as the villain of The Tragedy of Mariam when she is in fact connected
to each death in the play and seemingly feels no remorse. In fact, it
can be argued that Salome enjoys her evil ways when she says, “Joy,
heart, for Constabarus shall be slain” (III.ii.57). Traditionally, Salome’s
character is seen as nothing more than a successful Machiavel. She is
a manipulative character that may have gained what she wanted, but
Anika Steig
49
will never obtain the same status Mariam does as the play’s moral
center and Cary’s feminist messenger.
From the given pieces of a traditional critique of The Tragedy of
Mariam, there is in fact evidence to support the views of Mariam
as the moral center, acting as Cary’s model of passive resistance
to patriarchy, and of Salome as meant to stand in evil opposition
to Mariam’s Christ-like integrity and sacrifi ce. For a more astute
audience who seeks to look deeper into the text, however, a
nontraditional reading of The Tragedy of Mariam can off er more
insightful arguments into the purpose of Cary’s leading female
characters and where her feminist message truly lies. The following
close textual analysis will argue that Cary’s feminist message is
primarily placed in the seemingly evil Salome. It will do so by
discussing the way Mariam is not in fact the moral center of the play
and how Cary actually debunks some of Mariam’s more traditional
qualities in favor of Salome’s strategy, thus presenting Salome
as a more attractive character and ultimately recommending a
combination of the strengths of both women to her female audience.
Mariam may be the title character that meets a tragic end, but
she is not as admirable as she appears in her death. A nontraditional
approach would say she is not the moral center of the play and that
Cary even means to depreciate some of her traditional qualities.
For instance, if it were Cary’s intent to make her audience look up
to Mariam and even pity her, would she not place Mariam’s death
onstage rather than having it reported second hand by Nuntio?
Would she not grant Mariam a long, powerful speech upon her death
to stress the tragedy that is her death? Instead, Cary places Mariam’s
death off stage, and Salome articulates the only long, powerful
speeches heard by the audience. Mariam’s last words are just four
lines, separated, and reported back to Herod by Nuntio: “Tell thou
my lord thou saw’st me loose my breath…If guilty, eternal be my
death…By three days hence, if wishes could revive, I know himself
would make me oft alive” (V.73, 75, 87-88). Mariam does not speak of
what she is dying for or even mention the plight of women of that
time that have led to her fate.
She may see herself as entirely virtuous, but Mariam’s own words
prove otherwise and invite the audience to become skeptical of her
honor:
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in The Tragedy of Mariam
50
Ay, now, mine eyes, you do begin to right
The wrongs of your admirer and my lord.
Long since you should have put your smiles to fl ight,
I’ll doth a widowed eye with joy accord.
My passion now is far from being feign’d.
(I.67-70, 74)
These lines suggest that Mariam’s inner feelings of joy at her
husband’s supposed death are very diff erent from what she must
portray by “a widowed eye.” Furthermore, line 74 invites the audience
to question whether and when her emotions were false before.
Alexandra G. Bennett suggests that Mariam is not as unyielding or
consistent as traditional readings assert and that there is “a deliberate
discrepancy between her inner and outer selves [that] is always in
the background of her actions” (300). After all, if Mariam hints that
her feelings were feigned before, the audience cannot believe any
outward appearance she portrays.
Further fl aws in Mariam’s character are brought to light when she
hears of Herod’s impending return in Act III and says, “Oh, now I
see I was a hypocrite: I did this morning for his death complain, And
yet do mourn, because he lives, ere night” (III.iii.152-154). According
to the Oxford English Dictionary, a “hypocrite” is “One who falsely
professes to be virtuously or religiously inclined; one who pretends
to have feelings or beliefs of a higher order than his real ones; hence
generally, a dissembler, pretender” (“Hypocrite”). If that was the
existing defi nition of a hypocrite, it is very signifi cant that Mariam
not only uses the word, but uses it to describe herself. Those lines
of hers undermine her earlier claims of genuine virtue and make her
later actions questionable as well. Earlier, in her opening lines she
chides Cesar as she says, “To censure Rome’s last hero for deceit:
Because he wept when Pompey’s life was gone.” But then later in
the scene she asks for false tears as she laments, “Yet cannot repulse
some falling tear, That will against my will some grief unfold” (I.i.2-3,
53-54). Therefore, even before she calls herself a hypocrite, the
audience has reason to doubt her virtue.
Not only is Mariam not as virtuous as she professes to be, she
often comes across as arrogant and much too concerned with class
and propriety, which would have been off putting to an Early Modern
audience. In her argument with Salome about social status, she
makes the following assertions:
Anika Steig
51
My betters far! Base woman, ‘tis untrue,
You scarce have ever my superiors seen:
My birth thy baser birth so far excell’d
Thou parti-Jew, and parti-Edomite,
Thou mongrel: issu’d from rejected race
(I.iii.223-224, 233, 235-236)
Her rude remarks only serve to place her character in a medieval
context as she is much too concerned with social status and
birthrights. Cary’s Early Modern audience would recognize these
traits in her off ensive comments and therefore not be able to admire
her as the moral center of the play. It is important to note that while
Mariam does challenge her husband’s authority and thus patriarchy,
she desires “to retain the ethnic, national, and religious hierarchies”
because they serve her social status well (Kegl 149). Mariam is a
selfi sh character and allows her arrogance and pride to prevent her
from thinking about anyone but herself. For instance, she rarely
thinks of her daughters and the consequences her actions and death
have on their lives. Nor does she concern herself with Sohemus, who
once helped her, even when she has the chance to save his life. Later
when Mariam hears of his death, which she played a part in, she does
not appear to even bat an eye.
In addition to not being nearly as estimable as she claims,
Mariam proves to be less savvy and perhaps less intelligent than
her counterpart Salome. As said by Sohemus, “Unbridled speech
is Mariam’s worst disgrace” because it is not appropriate for an
innocent woman. Her speech may be controversial, but it is her
repeated use of it that leads to her downfall. As exemplifi ed by Salome,
there are other ways to threaten the patriarchy, but maybe Mariam
is not intelligent enough or too proud to amend her strategy. This
further highlights her lack of more practical, worldly Early Modern
knowledge. By sticking to her lofty ideals, Mariam only resists the
patriarchal expectations of a submissive and chaste woman and does
not attempt to change the major hierarchy or increase her power and
rights as a woman. This lack of innovation stands in direct contrast
to Salome, who gets what she desires and protects her life at the same
time. Mariam is clearly less admirable than she asserts herself to be as
Cary appears to depreciate her more traditional qualities.
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in The Tragedy of Mariam
52
One major event in The Tragedy of Mariam that Cary uses to
further debunk Mariam and promote Salome is when Mariam admits
that she could manipulate Herod to achieve domestic harmony, but
makes a conscious decision not to use her own deceptive abilities to
maintain her self-assumed integrity:
I know I could enchain him with a smile:
And lead him captive with a gentle word,
I scorn my look should ever man beguile,
Or other speech than meaning to aff ord.
(III.iii.163-166)
Mariam here has a blatant opportunity to prevent her own death, but
instead decides to save her pride. Bennett argues that her personal
integrity is not a natural state, “but a careful self-construction” that
“has ultimately fatal consequences” (302). Regardless of how virtuous
she fi nds herself, Herod and Salome know that Mariam is holding
back part of her personality and therefore are aware that she cannot
be trusted. “Salome is able to capitalize on Herod’s knowledge of
the division between being and seeming to bring about Mariam’s
downfall,” the being and seeming as Mariam’s inner and outer selves.
In direct contrast to Mariam’s mistakes, Cary thus presents a
feminist message of asserting oneself in the patriarchal world through
Salome. Rather than withdrawing into her own soul as Mariam
does, she decides to “play the man’s game” by acting as a man would
in Early Modern society. Of course, Salome is intelligent enough
to do so behind the scenes in a way that will not get her killed.
By manipulating those around her, Salome is living outside of the
role for women constructed by society and therefore must be the
feminist of the play because Mariam’s defi ance is still only within the
realm provided to her by patriarchal custom. In addition, Mariam’s
death and Salome’s survival are essential to this nontraditional
understanding because Cary in eff ect kills off Mariam because she
does not approve of her or her strategies, while Salome is alive
and well at the end of the play, without any repercussions for her
manipulations.
Cary means Salome to be a more attractive character and even
sets up the audience to conditionally admire her. Salome delivers the
most compelling speeches in The Tragedy of Mariam, serving as the
appealing anti-hero. When she claims, “My will shall be to me instead
Anika Steig
53
of Law,” she is stating her strong feminist message of empowerment
(I.vi.454). Salome is asserting herself in patriarchal society, vowing
to challenge even “Law,” and therefore serving as the feminist voice
of emancipation. This is such an important statement and it is only
strengthened by the Oxford English Dictionary’s defi nition of “will”
as having connotations of sexual desire, which further highlight
Salome’s feminist sexual empowerment.
Salome’s actions are appealing in that they are very
Machiavellian. Salome’s actions and manipulations bring her exactly
what she wants: to be rid of her second husband, marry her new lover,
and bring Mariam down, without any consequences. She is of course,
only able to do this by making “manipulations of her appearance to
suit her environment and to achieve her desires…creating the image
of a woman’s ultimate success in survival within a given (male) power
structure” (Bennett 306). She is only eff ective by constantly modifying
her behavior and appearance, something Mariam refuses to do and
eventually dies for.
Astonishingly, Salome operates in her world like a man without
the men around her ever realizing what she is doing. As described by
Constabarus, whom she destroyed, “Her mouth, though serpent-like
it never hisses, Yet like a serpent, poisons where it kisses” (II.iv.333-
334). She is both cunning and intelligent, qualities only appropriate
for a man during this time period. Salome was also very “ahead of her
time in her attitude toward equitable divorce laws” (Cotton 36):
Who hates his wife, though for no just abuse,
May with a bill divorce her from his bed.
But in this custom women are not free,
Yet I for once will wrest it; blame not thou.
The ill I do, since what I do’s for thee
(I.v.335-339)
Here it is as if Salome is arguing that she is not at fault for killing her
husband. Divorce is illegal for women so what other choice does she
have? Thus, Salome even fulfi lls the man’s practice of killing one’s
spouse, which was common during this time due to domestic violence
and served in place of a divorce. The fact that Salome can have her
husband killed like a man is even more powerful because along with
Constabarus dies the misogynistic voice of The Tragedy of Mariam.
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in The Tragedy of Mariam
54
One of the most compelling aspects of Salome’s character is
that she employs modern thought and action, which stands in stark
contrast to the medieval Mariam. Her basic feminist argument,
portrayed by the way she lives in patriarchal society, is that there
is no diff erence between men and women, a rather democratic
argument (Raber 335). Furthermore, she speaks out against social
hierarchy in her argument with Mariam about importance of birth:
“Still twixt you me with nothing but my birth, What odds betwixt
your ancestors and mine? Both born of Adam, both were made of
earth, And both did come from holy Abraham’s line” (I.iii.239-242).
This view of society would have been much more attractive to an
Early Modern audience than Mariam’s elitist and traditional stance.
Ultimately, Cary must embed her most feminist messages in
Salome. For Early Modern playwrights, it was easiest to protect
oneself by placing controversial messages in traditionally evil or
Machiavellian characters because any controversial ideas about
religion, government, or, in this case, society, were considered
unacceptable. For instance, this can be seen in nontraditional
readings of the anti-hero Satan in Milton’s Paradise Lost. Constructing
a villain out of her feminist vessel was not an unheard of idea during
Cary’s time, and, read in a very straightforward way, Salome would be
seen as the villain due to her manipulations and indirect murders.
Despite the fact that Cary clearly embeds her strongest feminist
messages in Salome, the playwright is in the end recommending that
her female readers need to combine the qualities of both Mariam
and Salome in order to succeed in patriarchal society. According to
Raber, “Mariam’s silencing in martyrdom and Salome’s rhetorical
skill…[are] part of the play’s larger critique” on society (340). In
eff ect, both women have diff ering inner thoughts and outer actions,
it is only their outer actions that separate them: passive or active
resistance to patriarchal power. Therefore, Cary’s recommendation is
very similar to what Machiavelli argues about achieving success in a
diffi cult world. She advises her female audience to try to be or appear
“good” like Mariam, but to also be wise enough to know when to be
“bad” like Salome. A woman in Early Modern society must learn to be
fl exible in order to survive the overbearing patriarchy that surrounds
her.
The Tragedy of Mariam must be read as a whole, with insight
into both leading female characters, in order to fully grasp Cary’s
feminist messages. Mariam stands up to her husband through her
Anika Steig
55
speech, a small feminist action, but is too focused on her own
virtue to fi nd success in patriarchal society. Traditional criticism
may point to Mariam for the feminist messages in the play, but it
is clear that Salome is where Cary’s primary feminist voice lies.
Throughout the play, Cary invites the audience to question whether
Mariam is as admirable as she appears by depreciating her more
traditional qualities and highlighting her hypocrisies. Concurrently,
Cary presents Salome as a much more attractive and successful
feminist character who serves as the voice of emancipation for Early
Modern women. Lastly, in a Machiavellian style, Cary’s ultimate
recommendation for women is to try to maintain their virtue, but to
also be prepared to use more cunning strategies when necessary to
survive in patriarchal society.
Works Cited
Beilin, Elaine. Redeeming Eve: Women Writers of the English Renaissance.
Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1987.
Bennett, Alexandra G. “Female Performativity in The Tragedy of
Mariam.” Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900. 40:2. (Spring
2000): 293-309.
Cary, Elizabeth. The Tragedy of Mariam, The Fair Queen of Jewry. Ed.
Barry Weller and Margaret W. Ferguson. Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1994.
Cotton, Nancy. “Women Playwrights in England: Renaissance
Noblewomen.” Readings in Renaissance Women’s Drama: Criticism,
History, and Performance 1594-1998. Ed. S. P. Cerasano and Marion
Wynne-Davies. New York: Routledge, 1998: 32-46.
“Hypocrite.” The Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd Edition. 1 May 2008.
<http://dictionary.oed.com/cgi/entry/50110531?single=1&query_ty
pe=word&queryword=hypocrite&fi rst=1&max_to_show=10>.
Kegl, Rosemary. “Theaters, Households, and a ‘Kind of History’” in
Elizabeth Cary’s The Tragedy of Mariam.” Enacting Gender on the
English Renaissance Stage. Ed. Vivian Comensoli and Anne Russell.
Cary’s Strongest Feminist Messages in The Tragedy of Mariam
56
Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 1999.
Kennedy, Gwynne. Lessons of the ‘Schoole of Wisedome.’ Sexuality
and the Politics in Renaissance Drama. Ed. Carole Levin and Karen
Robertson. Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1991: 113-136.
Raber, Karen L. “Gender and the Political Subject in The Tragedy of
Mariam.” Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900 34:2 (Spring 1995):
321-343.
“Will.” The Oxford English Dictionary. 2nd Edition. 1 May 2008.
<http://dictionary.oed.com/cgi/entry/50285545?query_type
=word&queryword=will&fi rst=1&max_to_show=10&sort_
type=alpha&result_place=1&search_id=8TKP-6hbwsJ-
3561&hilite=50285545>.
Anna Shajirat
57
Writer’s Comments
In Dr. Crawford’s Honors Seminar, Romanticism and Revolution: Europe in the
Nineteenth Century, I found myself intrigued by the troubling concept of the
“other” that played a recurring role throughout the texts we encountered—
wherever, whoever, and whatever did not fi t into traditional European
social constructs were dismissed as backwards, alien, and dangerous. The
two primary texts I examine in this essay not only provide examples of this
characterization of the demonized “other,” but show the distinct styles of
this intolerance for the unfamiliar. Hegel’s Dialogue on the Philosophy of History
is blatantly and outrageously racist, while Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons displays
a slight, almost imperceptible sexism, but both are equally contemptible of
their respective “others” whether they be “Oriental” or female. For this
assignment, Dr. Crawford stressed the importance of asking questions of
these texts instead of answering them, allowing me to interrogate these
texts and also question the role of the self in relation to the unknown.
—Anna Shajirat
Instructor’s Comments
What unifi es a particular period? When you read the works of people as
different as Friederich Schlegel and Sojourner Truth, Hegel and Hawthorne,
how can you talk about a time period as having salient characteristics? In
my Honors course, I teach the students that it is not by reading similar
writings that we discover a common discourse, but by imagining the
questions to which profoundly different writers respond. The answers may
be different, but the questions are similar, and these lines of inquiry provide
the unarticulated linkages that draw an historical period together. One
of the course assignments is for students to develop a problem and then
imagine the kinds of questions that the problem addresses. They are not
allowed to answer the questions, which close the essay. Anna did precisely
this in her problem paper, written in her characteristically model academic
prose. She imagined the problem of the Other and chose writers in different
disciplines and different decades behind whose work she surmised similar
questions. In doing so, she was able to outline a problem—the discourse of
Otherness and the uses to which it is put, especially self-defi nition—and her
unanswered questions show the relevance of the emergent questions to
ourselves.
—Rachel Crawford, Department of English and University Honors
Program
Characterizing “The Other”
58
ANNA SHAJIRAT
Characterizing “The Other”
In order to understand ourselves, we must determine what we are
not. Once these separations and classifi cations (the only true way to
understand the world and our place in it) are determined, the path of
self-discovery can begin. What we are not is cast aside, rejected, leaving
us free to fully examine what it is we are. Such a line of thought, as
asserted by Western thinkers like Kant, creates a dangerous duality of
classifi cation. A person is reduced to a category, either male or female,
Christian or Jew, European or “Oriental,” heterosexual or homosexual.
All other unique human qualities and characteristics (the gray areas) are
forsaken for the black and white. In the process of classifying oneself into
a socially acceptable category, what gets cast aside and rejected becomes
separate, other. The social construct of “the other” is demonized,
exaggerated, often becoming a warped caricature of reality. And yet,
these troubling characterizations of “the other” are defi ning points in
classic Western literature. The female characters of Turgenev’s Fathers
and Sons are portrayed in such an “otherizing” manner, comparable to
the anthropomorphized “illegitimate unions” of Darwin’s The Diff erent
forms of fl owers and Plants of the Same Species. Perhaps most drastically,
Hegel’s portrait of Chinese culture and “ante-history” in Philosophy of
History embodies the dehumanized depiction of “the other.” In order to
explore the commonalities, divergences, repercussions, and deep-rooted
prejudices of these troubling classifi cations, these individual works must
be examined more closely.
One of the fi rst female characters introduced in Turgenev’s Fathers
and Sons is Evdoksiya Kukshina. A brazenly modern feminist, Turgenev’s
characterization of Kukshina is less than sympathetic. When conversing,
“Madame Kukshina scattered her questions one after another with casual
disregard, without waiting for answers; it’s just the way spoiled children
talk to their nannies” (Turgenev 51). Although Kukshina is a sophisticated
and intellectual force, Turgenev undercuts her uniquely feminine power
by likening her to a child (a theme, as will be developed further, that
recurs throughout characterizations of “the other”). Attributing whiny,
demanding, child-like characteristics to Kukshina strips her of any
authority or respect that she might have held as a strong-willed and
Anna Shajirat
59
independent woman. In creating this portrait of a modern woman,
Turgenev adds to the pile of literature characterizing “the other,” in this
case, a vocally progressive female, as unsympathetic and childlike. By
doing so, any threat of danger or competition Kukshina may pose to her
male counterparts is cut short.
Not only does Turgenev take away Kukshina’s power by attributing
to her the habits of a spoiled child, but he similarly masculinizes her
in a gross caricature. While in the company of her male companions,
“Evdoskiya rolled a cigarette with her tobacco-stained fi ngers, licked the
edge of it with her tongue, sucked on it, and then lit it” (53). Although
the male characters of the book frequently smoke cigars and pipes as
symbols of their intellectual prowess and comfortable social position,
the description of a woman smoking is warped and degrading. The
imagery is animalistic and barbaric, proving Kukshina to be unevolved
and unnatural. A woman encroaching on a man’s territory by smoking
(among other things) becomes a threat and must, therefore, be
“otherized,” as Turgenev so vividly demonstrates in his characterization
of Kuskhina. Just as a feminized man is often portrayed as “the other,”
Kukshina’s masculine qualities are exaggerated so as to seem grotesque
and inhuman. When one deviates from the socially prescribed norms
of gender classifi cation, he or she becomes “the other,” unclassifi able
and consequently unknowable. Because the undefi ned is a nuanced
gray area, not confi ned to black and white categorizations, it becomes
dangerous to those comfortable in set classifi cations. Kukshina embodies
the negation of black and white categories as an active and intellectual
woman fi ghting for women’s suff rage. She seems to be defying the
perceived roles of male and female, denying the image of femininity as
“fresh, unspoiled, timid, taciturn” (67). But in doing so, she is susceptible
to unfair characterizations of “the other,” as she is burdened with child-like,
animalistic, and overly-masculinized qualities—a dramatic warning
for women attempting to step outside the set boundaries of gender
classifi cation, indeed.
Like the troubling portrayal of Kukshina, Fathers and Sons’ treatment
of Anna Sergeevna Odintsova is similarly problematic. Odintsova proves
herself to be a seemingly independent, shrewd, and in-control woman,
taking over as head of the family upon her father’s death, calculating a
marriage to move up in the ranks of society, and managing her estate
as a widow with ease and grace. These commendable qualities are put
forth in the fi rst glimpses the reader catches of Odintsova which seem to
set her in a powerful and admirable light. This tight package of control
Characterizing “The Other”
60
and power begins to unravel, though, when rumors of “unfortunate
circumstances” Odintsova might have been forced to deal with are
revealed. Although Turgenev assures the reader, “all these rumors
reached her, but she didn’t pay attention to them,” a tension is set within
Odintsova (60). She may have resoluteness of character, but Odintsova
is still not immune to the “otherizing” characteristics Turgenev gives his
female characters. In alluding to promiscuity and improper behavior,
the strength of Odintsova’s character is implicitly undermined, setting
her up to be fully “otherized.” Turgenev continues this process with a
conversation between Arkady and Bazarov after visiting Odintsova for
the fi rst time. Arkady asks his friend and mentor, “ ‘so do you think
she’s—ooh la la?’… ‘What a delectable body! Perfect for the dissecting
table’” (61). Despite the fact that the three had engaged in stimulating
cultural, philosophical, and scientifi c conversation, the two friends
immediately begin referring to Odintsova as a sexualized object. Her
wealth of knowledge and social refi nement are lost upon the young
men who use her as the subject of sexualized repartee—an outlet for
their masculine lust. By inserting this dialogue following a potentially
substantive conversation among intellectual equals, Turgenev reminds
the reader that, in fact, Odintsova is not equal to Arkady and Bazarov.
No matter how learned, well-versed, and articulate she is, what must not
be forgotten is that she is a beautiful woman who is fair game for empty
sexualization.
In the omniscient narration of her internal world, Odintsova’s
strength is further undermined. Odintsova, “if she hadn’t been so
rich and independent, might have thrown herself into the struggle,
might have come to know real passion…sometimes, upon emerging
from a fragrant bath, all warm and soft, she’d fall to musing about the
insignifi cance of life, its sadness, travail, and evil” (68). A foil to the
mascul