Vol. 7 / Fall 2016

Two of the most terrifying killers of the nineteenth century seem nearly innocuous at first glance. Mary Ann Cotton was a British woman, the frail-looking daughter of a coal miner (Wilson and Frey). She worked as a dressmaker, nurse, and housekeeper and insisted on looking after sick relatives (Wilson and Frey). Belle Gunness was a hard-working Norwegian immigrant to America who took in three foster children (Greig). Both were charming and married more than once. For both women, when their crimes first came to light, the response was disbelief (Mayo 138, and Wilson and Frey). After all, how could a wife and a mother kill anyone?

Serial killers enthrall the collective American imagination (Schurman-Kauflin 6). From horror movies’ constant stream of ax murderers and psychopaths to real-life killers like Jack the Ripper and Charles Manson, Western culture can’t let go of the idea of the undetected, repeat killer in the shadows. Because of the public’s desire for sensational and increasingly grotesque true crime stories, serial killers make ideal media icons (14). Nearly all of these nightmarish figures, however, are men. Still, even during the 1800s, female killers like the black widow Mary Ann Cotton and the Lady Bluebeard Belle Gunness did exist and killed dozens of people.

Society has trouble accepting the possibility of female mass killers (Schurman-Kauflin 13). As Elizabeth and Harold Schechter of Queens College write, the image of a woman as a serial killer is “commonly denied, or merely ignored, as something of a conceptual impossibility” (qtd. in Wilson and Yardley 22). The Western cultural role of women as fragile, nurturing, and submissive does not square with the brutal actions of serial killers, so many members of the public and academia do not ponder the existence of female serial killers. As David Schmid writes in his book Natural Born Celebrities: Serial Killers in American Culture, “[t]he serial killer both outrages and thrills us by his seeming ability to stand outside the law, to make his own law, in a gesture whose ambivalent destructiveness and creativity mirror our ambivalent response to the killer, composed of both fear and attraction” (24). In a perverse way, the serial killer reflects America’s cultural narrative about men. He is fiercely independent, and has the freedom to “make his own law”—to live completely on his own terms and cleverly and creatively achieve his goals. The terrifying nature of these goals repels the public, and the media’s framing of these acts as those of nearly supernatural levels of evil helps define the killer outside of the mainstream (Schmid 7). Still, as Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, professor of English at George Washington University, states, “the linking of monstrosity with the forbidden makes the monster all the more appealing as a temporary egress from constraint” (qtd. in Schmid 8). The serial killer’s monstrosity demonstrates a way to break with norms and expectations in a way that inspires as much as it terrifies.

Female killers do not represent this same level of fear and admiration (Wilson and Yardley 22). The nicknames assigned to female serial killers often seem comical in comparison to their male counterparts (22). The mental image of a “Lady Bluebeard” or “Black Widow” does not pack the same visceral and linguistic punch of a title like “Jack the Ripper” or the “Boston Strangler” (22).The basis for the difference in views of male and female serial killers is complex. A combination of the lack of information and data on these women, the often less sensational circumstances of their crimes, and the societal and cultural views of women mean that these women are often not analyzed to the same extent as male killers.

On the surface, this difference may simply distill down to numbers. Over 90 percent of serial killers are white men (Berry-Dee xiii). Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, women still made up only 10-13 percent of all murderers (Hale and Bolin 36-37). Female serial killings have, however, recently risen at an alarming rate (Schurman-Kauflin 12). Almost a third of all known female serial killers began killing since the 1970s (12). This extreme increase is troubling and threatening, though all but ignored in popular media (12). While part of the discrepancy can be accounted for by the fact that the number of female serial killers is still relatively low, other factors may also be at play in this lack of visibility (14).

The less sensational circumstances of female serial killers’ crimes also make them less likely to be thought about and analyzed at the same level as men.  Female multiple murderers tend to kill their victims in less noticeable ways than men, for example, poisoning, allowing them to operate longer than their male counterparts; on average, they kill for 4.2 more years (Schurman-Kauflin 15). As many as two-thirds of victims of female serial killers are close to the murderers; these victims may be children, spouses, or sexual partners (Hale and Bolin 45). Most female serial killers also attack already powerless groups of “latent victims,” like the elderly, children, or sick people (38,42). A murderer who kills people she knows cannot fight back via subtle means does not feel as threatening as a killer who mutilates strangers, which may be why female killers are less academically studied and known by the public.

In addition, female serial killers may be less common and less vicious toward their victims for cultural reasons (Hale and Bolin 34). Due to societal gender roles, boys are rewarded for being aggressive and using this aggression to control and reinforce interpersonal relationships (34). Girls are not (34). Very few studies suggest any actual biological difference that underlies this difference in aggression (Hale and Bolin 35). Though some suggest that hormones may play a role in determining behavior, none shows that hormones completely explain the difference (35-36). While women are generally less violent than men, they also tend to be more aware of the consequences of their actions (34). This fear of retribution may be the reason that so few women kill multiple people and why they use subtler methods to kill. Women also are less likely to talk about and discuss their crimes, which makes gathering data via personal interviews difficult (Schurman-Kauflin 14). Because of these cultural roles and lack of visibility, many have trouble imagining women as serial killers (13).

The way that serial killers are analyzed, categorized, and thought about academically is often messy and nearly entirely male-centric, which makes analyzing female serial killers within this framework difficult. First, the definition of “serial killer” is not rigid and may leave out female multiple killers (Schurman-Kauflin 7). Some definitions emphasize the number of victims, with the requisite number of victims ranging from as few as two to as many as ten (7). Others stress time (7). One of the most commonly agreed-upon definitions includes three separate killings over a period of 30 or more days with a period of “cooling off” in between each murder, a definition that both Mary Ann and Belle fit (Holmes and Holmes, 1). Other definitions, however, insist that the killer’s state of mind is more important, stressing sexuality or power and domination (Schurman-Kauflin 7-8). The sexual components of many serial killers’ crimes may be simply an extension of the killer’s desire to exert control over victims (15).

The way that serial killers are analyzed, categorized, and thought about academically is often messy and nearly entirely male-centric, which makes analyzing female serial killers within this framework difficult.

Whatever definition the researcher decides to use for a serial killer, a key focus of the research is usually to find common characteristics among killers in order to better understand the murderers and predict other serial killers’ behavior (Schurman-Kauflin 11). By studying behavior and psychology, law enforcement can construct profiles to catch multiple murderers (11). Research tends to focus on male killers (12). Several researchers, however, have developed categories or typologies specifically for female killers (155).  For example, Holmes and Holmes propose five different categories of female multiple killers: visionary, comfort, hedonistic, power/control and disciple (155). While most multiple murderers are sane and not psychotic at the time of their crimes, the visionary has a break with reality and feels compelled to kill (Holmes, Hickey and Holmes 65). The comfort killer, the most common kind of female serial killer, wants material gain (66). The hedonistic type is a woman who connects murder and pleasure (67). A power-seeking killer wants to exert domination over another person (67). Finally, the disciple follows a cult-leader to kill (68). These typologies can help make sense of serial killers like Mary Ann Cotton and Belle Gunness.

The details of Mary Ann Cotton’s life can vary greatly from source to source. By synthesizing these sources, however, the story of Mary Ann’s life comes into focus. Mary Ann was born as Mary Ann Robson, daughter of Margaret and Michael Robson in County Durham, England, in 1832 (Wilson and Yardley 23). At age 20, she married William Mowbray (Hale and Bolin 46). The two remained married for twelve years, until William died in 1865, and during this marriage, the two had several children, all but two of whom died before Mowbray himself (Wilson and Frey). Mary Ann cashed in a life insurance policy on Mowbray for around 35 pounds (Wilson and Yardley 23). One of the remaining children died soon after, and Isabella, the last surviving child, moved in with Mary Ann’s mother (Hale and Bolin 47). Mary Ann continued this pattern with several men: one patient at a hospital where Mary Ann worked, and two widowers with children (Wilson and Yardley 24). Her husbands, her children, and her stepchildren all continued to die (24). Isabella and Mary Ann’s mother also died under her care (24). Mary Ann’s last marriage was to Frederick Cotton, the source of the surname by which she is most often known (Wilson and Frey). Frederick and his children met the same fate as Mary Ann’s other family members (Wilson and Frey). After Mary Ann sought to put the last surviving child of Frederick’s in the workhouse, the director of poor relief for the area, Thomas Riley, became suspicious (24). She reported that she found the child, Charles Edward, burdensome, and, furthermore, he was an obstacle to her possible engagement to another man (Wilson and Frey). She even told Riley, in front of the child, that Charles Edward would soon go like the rest of her children (Wilson and Frey). Riley refused to put the child in the harsh conditions of the workhouse unless Mary Ann went with him, which she refused (Wilson and Frey). Soon after, the child died, and a local doctor found he had been poisoned by arsenic (25). Mary Ann was hung for the boy’s murder in 1873 (Wilson and Frey). In the end, Mary Ann was suspected of killing as many as twenty people (Wilson and Frey).

Deborah Blum, author of The Poisoner’s Handbook, writes that Mary Ann’s choice of arsenic may be a strong reason that Mary Ann has not gained as much notoriety as other serial killers (Wilson and Frey). Arsenic was a common murder weapon, accounting for about 40% of all poisonings in Europe at the time, for two main reasons (Wilson and Frey). It was used in many everyday products, such as wallpaper and rat poison (Wilson and Frey). A friend of Mary Ann’s testified that she had helped Cotton use arsenic to treat a bed bug infestation (Wilson and Frey). Arsenic was also almost impossible to detect; Rudolph Witthaus, a forensic chemist, found that less than 2% of survivors of arsenic poisoning could taste the poison while being poisoned (Wilson and Frey). Even doctors could not be sure when they saw arsenic poisoning; the terms “gastric fever” or “diarrhea” on Mary Ann’s victims’ death certificates may indicate that the physicians were unsure of the cause of death (Hale and Bolin 48).  Because of the poison’s ubiquity and subtlety, arsenic poisoners even with many victims were simply not as sensational as more violent murderers.

Belle Gunness was born in 1859 in Norway, as Brynhild Paulsdatter Storset, and emigrated to the United States. She married twice, both to fellow immigrants. She lived in Chicago with her first husband, Mads Sorenson, and the couple fostered three children. Mads reportedly died of “heart failure,” but showed the symptoms of strychnine poisoning. Belle claimed $8,500 in life insurance and moved to a farm in La Porte, Indiana, with her foster daughters. Belle then married a fellow Norwegian immigrant, Paul Gunness, though he died three years later. Allegedly, a sausage grinder fell on his head, although the wound resembled a hammer’s impact, an act that a strongly built 280-pound woman like Belle could easily have committed. She received another $4,000 in life insurance. She then posted ads in Norwegian language newspapers advertising herself as a wealthy widow searching for a husband. Some men came to La Porte to answer the ad, but disappeared soon after arriving (Mayo 138). One of the foster children and some of Belle’s farm’s employees disappeared too (Greig). On April 28, 1908, a fire broke out on the farm (Greig). After the blaze, three bodies were found (Greig). Two were identified as Belle’s daughters, and the other was the beheaded body of an adult woman (Greig). Because the body was decapitated, authorities could not immediately identify it, though they suspected it was Belle’s (Greig). Still, Belle was tall, and the body seemed too short to be hers (Mayo 138). Though later recovered dental evidence identified the corpse as Belle’s, rumors persisted that Belle had survived the fire, and neighbors even reported spotting her (Mayo 139). A farmworker named Ray Lamphere was convicted for setting the fire and killing the Gunness women, but Lamphere continued to protest that Belle had survived (Mayo 139). Upon further investigation of the burned farmhouse, investigators found fourteen corpses in the fire’s rubble: the missing daughter, Jennie; two workers; five of Belle’s suitors, and six unidentified bodies, assumed to be more suitors (Greig).  Belle had killed over a dozen people and may have escaped retribution (Greig).

Both Mary Ann’s and Belle’s murders could be classified as either comfort killings or power-seeking murders by the Holmes’ definition. Since these women’s husbands often had life insurance, each may have seen the killings as a way to financially better herself. They may also have sought to rid themselves of the financial and emotional burden of children. In Mary Ann’s case, however, the deaths of the uninsured children may indicate that Mary Ann enjoyed exerting power over others, to the point of death. According to David Wilson and Elizabeth Yardley’s analysis, Mary Ann scored at the high end of the revised psychopathy checklist, which defines her as a psychopath (Wilson and Yardley 26). This score may even be an underestimate (26). No matter whether she was clinically a psychopath, Mary Ann did not value human life, nor did she object to taking it. Similarly, the fact that Belle lured men to her farm and then killed them does not seem to indicate solely a desire for profit. These circumstances seem frighteningly similar to male serial killers who also lure and kill. Belle may have sought to assert power over men with a violent weapon like the hammer she used in Sorenson’s death. While examining these women through the lens of a typology is useful, researchers will probably never be certain what motivated these nineteenth-century women to kill over and over because of fading memories of the past. Still, they continue to search for answers.

 

Bibliography

Berry-Dee, Christopher. Serial Killers: Up Close and Personal- Inside the World of Torturers, Psychopaths and Mass Murderers. Berkeley: Ulysses, 2007. Print.

Greig, Charlotte. Evil Serial Killers: In the Minds of Monsters. London: Arcturus, 2005. Print.

Hale, Robert and Anthony Bolin. “The Female Serial Killer.” In Contemporary Perspectives on Serial Murder. Ronald M.Holmes and Stephen T. Holmes,  Eds. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1998: 33-59. Print.

Holmes, Stephen M., Eric Hickey and Ronald M. Holmes. “Female Serial Murderesses: The Unnoticed Terror.” In Contemporary Perspectives on Serial Murder. Ronald M. Holmes and Stephen T. Holmes, Eds. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE, 1998: 59-71. Print.

Holmes, Ronald M. and Holmes, Stephen T., eds. Contemporary Perspectives on Serial Murder. 1st ed. Thousand Oaks: SAGE, 1998. Print.

Mayo, Mike. American Murder: Criminals, Crime and the Media. Canton: Visible Ink, 2008. Print.

Schmid, David. Natural Born Celebrities: Serial Killers in American Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Print.

Schurman-Kauflin, Deborah. New Predator: Profiles of Female Serial Killers. New York: Algora, 2000. Print.

Wilson, David and Elizabeth Yardley. “The Psychopathy of a Victorian Serial Killer: Integrating Micro and Macro Levels of Analysis.” Journal of Criminal Psychology 3.1 (2013): 19-30. 30 November 2015 Web.

Wilson, Tracy V. and Holly Frey. “Mary Ann Cotton.” Stuff You Missed in History Class. HowStuffWorks, 29 July 2015. Web. 1 December 2015. Web.

 

Southerners brave many stereotypes. From Driving Miss Daisy all the way to the KKK, outsiders have long attributed all southern people with the awful behaviors of the few. Particularly relevant in the mid-twentieth century, with the racist actions like the 16^th Street Baptist Church bombing and city bus segregation, the South bore more hate than ever. Northerners and foreigners alike, though some Southerners would consider them one in the same, developed xenophobia towards the South. No where was this better exemplified than music, as artists like Neil Young, who wrote songs such as “Alabama” and “Southern Man,” lumped all proud Southerners under the category of racist bigots. In rebuttal, Lynyrd Skynyrd came out with the classic “Sweet Home Alabama,” which many people assume to be a racist anthem. I argue that this enduring tune works to break down outsiders’ xenophobic stereotype of Southerners, and that my modern opposition skews the meaning of the lines they argue to be in support of racism to accommodate their preconceived notion of what it means to be Southern, without careful regard to the lines’ deeper historical context.

Some modern listeners still argue that “Sweet Home Alabama” promotes racism. Journalist David Kiley is one of them. His argument against the song largely surrounds his initial misconception of racism’s ubiquity in the South. In his article with Bloomberg Business Week, he proposes that KFC, who uses “Sweet Home Alabama” for commercial background music, “ignores the racist backdrop of the song” in its marketing strategy to sell more chicken. He possesses a preconceived stereotype of how Southerners behave and think, which he demonstrates with the painfully clichéd comment, “Go to any road house in Alabama, and on many a night you can still hear this song being belted out by folks clutching their long-neck bottles and throwing a salute to a Confederate flag.” By referencing the Confederate flag, he generalizes anyone in a roadhouse to be in support of the Confederacy and by the transitive property, its values too. He justifies this claim by interpreting the song’s references to Neil Young’s music and George Wallace to be against progressive equality and favoring the governor’s abhorrent, pro-segregation brutality; however, he strategically takes his supporting lyrics out of context, forgetting their accompanying lines which gear them towards an entirely different sentiment—that Southerners can be both progressive and proud of their region.

Many lines in Sweet Home Alabama elicit criticism, but there is one in particular. Perhaps the most frequently misinterpreted line is, “In Birmingham they love the Gov’nor, boo, boo, boo.” Governor Wallace of Alabama supported segregation. Some would say he led the campaign. He’s quoted with, “segregation forever.” He persisted with his racist sentiments even after the church bombing by white supremacists killed four little African American girls, and similar acts of terror resulted in countless other cold-blooded murders (“George Wallace”). Given the political climate of the historic city and the less emphasized “boo, boo, boo,” tacked on the end, it’s easy to see how this could be misconstrued. However, this does not negate the line’s presence. Followed by the rather ambiguous, “We all did what we could do,” affirms that they tried to help end racist tensions the best they could. Though my opposition could misinterpret this to mean that they did what they could to support segregation, analysis changes once we consider the band’s explicitly stated opinions. In defending the controversial line, Van Zant said, “We’re not into politics, we don’t have no education and Wallace don’t know anything about rock n roll” (“Ronnie and Neil”). He says this to separate themselves from any of Wallace’s political leanings, reaffirming their simple pride in having a southern identity.

The southern stereotype of regional bigotry developed in response to a minority’s actions, despite an under-recognized progressive majority. The cultural climate of the South fostered polarized views as a severely racist minority committed acts of terror in support of white supremacy. This forced many southern whites to align themselves with conservative views for fear of being alienated from their own kind and rejected from others. Originally, it was incomprehensible to them to be both progressive and a proud Southerner. They couldn’t abandon their home’s traditions and still identify with the region that shaped their lives—or so they believed. Then things changed. Some reconciled the two, and, leading others to do the same, the few became a majority. Supreme Court Justice John Marshall Harlan of Kentucky (1833-1911), United Automobile Workers Walter Reuther of West Virginia (1907-1970), and sisters Meg and Katy Kelly of the District of Columbia all contributed in their own way. Each of these people stood for equality. Each broke from the seemingly ubiquitous mindset of racial hate, setting an example for others, who, though they may have believed the same, were scared to act. Marshall preceded the full fledged Civil Rights movement of the 1950’s and 1960’s by a number of years; nonetheless he opposed rulings like “Plessy Vs. Fergusson” which supported segregation (Biography.com Editors). Walter Reuther joined with the “Big Six”, turned “Big Ten”, who planned the March on Washington in the midst of the most violent acts of racial based terror (Cox). Even average citizens such as Meg and Katy Kelly, who were mere girls at the time of the March, contributed to the cause by giving out free lemonade to the marchers from their porch (Hansen). With people like this, the tides changed. According to a poll conducted, measuring racial attitudes in America, by 1972, ninety-seven percent of the white population believed in equal job opportunity for blacks. By 1976, eighty-eight percent of the white population believed the black population should have their own choice or residency too (Shuman). A majority of whites had in fact turned against racism, but they were overshadowed in the face of extremist bigots and the subsequent pervading stereotype about what it meant to be a proud Southerner. Outsiders rejected those divergent, lumping them with their backwards counterparts and using the entire Southern identity as a scapegoat for racist tensions.

This misunderstanding showed up in the era’s art, specifically the music. Artists like Neil Young incorporate this anti-south sentiment into his songs “Southern Man” and “Alabama.” With lyrics like, “Southern change’s gonna come at last / Now your crosses are burning fast,” he dumps all Southerners into this bigot stereotype. He blames the whole population for the transgressions of the few, terrible though those sins may be.  Similarly, with “Alabama,” he correctly calls for a much needed revolution. He sings, “Banjos playing through the broken glass / Windows down in Alabama.” However, he incorrectly insinuates that oppressed African Americans’ only resource for hope in revolution is with the Union as he writes, “You got the rest of the union to help you along.” By ignoring the work of white southern activists, Neil Young’s offensive stereotype, rather than any sort of racist ideology, led Lynyrd Skynyrd to publish “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Originally, it was incomprehensible to them to be both progressive and a proud Southerner. They couldn’t abandon their home’s traditions and still identify with the region that shaped their lives—or so they believed.

They couldn’t abandon their home’s traditions and still identify with the region that shaped their lives—or so they believed. Its condemners are correct in the regard that “Sweet Home Alabama” rebukes Neil Young.  It blatantly calls him out in the second stanza, but not in the way that they think. Rather than supporting racism as they would argue, “Sweet Home Alabama” denies Neil Young’s generalization that all Southerners identify this way. It breaks stereotypes. Immediately, it disassociates itself from the assumed race based enmity by concluding nostalgia based lyrics with, “I miss ‘ole’ bamy once again and I think it’s a sin.” This demonstrates the writer’s inner crisis about identifying as a proud Southerner without conforming to the racist stereotype projected on the group by outsiders. Realizing “it’s a sin” immediately separates him from any racist counterparts because it not only shows his confliction in missing his home, but also his hesitancy in doing so given its bad rap as a racist place. He acknowledges the South’s wrong doings. This sets the tone for the remainder of the song and transforms the argument. It’s no longer about race, but southern identity, and works to break down outsiders’ assumptions surrounding what it means to have southern pride.

The dialogue between “Sweet Home Alabama” and Neil Young’s music best exemplifies Southerners’ demand to be freed from negative stereotypes. The line, “Well I heard Mister Young sing about her,” works to contextualize his argument within the framework of rebuttal, prepping him for the assertion, “A southern man don’t need him around anyhow.” Frequently misinterpreted as shunning progressivism, the line simply implies that Southerners don’t need Young’s opinion as its stereotypical nature offends more progressive Southerners by using their entire cultural identity as a scapegoat, than it does undermine the terrible few. Southerners know they’ve got problems so Young can butt out.  As band member Ronnie Van Zant put it in an interview with a British radio, “We thought Neil was shooting all the ducks in order to kill one or two” (“Ronnie and Neil”). Thus contextualizing the song helps us uncover a different meaning behind the lyrics. If not a pledge against racism, “Sweet Home Alabama” is certainly not in support of it as progressives of the era suggested.

Not unlike how Southerners have a strong allegiance to where the come from, northerners too develop a strong since of identity. “Sweet Home Alabama” uses this to draw parallels. Similar to how it argues that the entire South can’t be blamed for all racist evils, it claims the same benefit for the North with the verse, “Now Watergate doesn’t bother me.” This references the major political scandal in which President Nixon participated in illegal espionage and a subsequent cover-up that resulted in his resigning from office (History.com Staff). This insinuates that the Lynyrd Skynyrd band doesn’t hold the entire Northern population accountable for the misdeeds of the few, even though they primarily voted him into office. Republican voters, who predominantly lived in the North East region of the United States, voted overwhelmingly in support of Nixon with ninety-five percent of their vote (“Election Polls—Voted by Groups, 1960-1964”). This indirectly asks the Northern population to offer the same grace to the Southerners who, though they are ashamed of the terrors committed by their counterparts, still take pride in their regional identity.

No one in the Lynyrd Skynyrd band was a politician. They were all normal, southern folks who struck a bit of luck in their music career. Because of this, they were able to write and sing about what was on the mind of the layman. They told it how it was. They carried this sentiment into “Sweet Home Alabama,” making it an all time classic. People like to hear the truth and that’s exactly what this song provides. It never pretends to ignore the horrors committed by some southern peoples, but redirects the hate focused at the South because of those ungodly actions. It speaks to the masses, appeals to the uneducated and educated alike. It intends to make sense of the confusion surrounding southern identity, showing outsiders like Neil Young how the majority of Southerners really think—that it’s okay to be a proud, progressive, Southern-born soul. Analyzed properly and understood within its historical context, it becomes an anthem of truth.

 

Bibliography

“John Marshall Harlan Biography.” Bio.com. A&E Networks Television. Web.

Cox, John. “In March on Washington, White Activists Were Largely Overlooked but Strategically Essential.” The Washington Post. October 22, 2015. 22 October 2015. Web.

“Election Polls — Vote by Groups, 1960-1964.” Gallup.com. 22 October 2015. Web.

“George Wallace.” PBS. 22 October 2015. Web.

Hansen, Nina. “13 People Who Marched on Washington in 1963 and Returned Today.” Mashable World.  28 August 2013. 22 October 2015. Web.

History.com Staff. “Watergate Scandal.” History.com. A&E Television Networks, 2009. 22 October 2015. Web.

Kiley, David. Bloomberg Business Week. Bloomberg, 25 Feb. 2005. 22 October 2015. Web.

Lynard, Skynard. Sweet Home Alabama. RCA, 1974. CD.

Shuman, Bobo, et al. “Trends in Whites’ Racial Attitudes. Survey. 1997, 1998.

“Ronnie and Neil: Laying to Rest the “Feud Myth” Once and for All.” Neil Young News. March 9, 2010. 22 October 2015. Web.

Young, Neil. “Alabama.” RCA, 1972. CD.

Young, Neil. “Southern Man.” RCA, 1970. CD.

 

 

Today’s the day! Today’s the day! Today’s the day! I squeal to myself as the first rays of sunshine began to peak through my pink and green gingham curtains.  Today’s the day I turn seven years old, but more importantly than that, today’s the day when I discover who the real champions are.  Today’s the day where I determine who has what it takes to be a victor, a hero, an Olympic gold medalist! I have been eagerly anticipating this day since my mother first told me her idea for my birthday party to be Olympics themed.  Since then, the impending competitions are all I have thought about.   I have carefully planned out my strategies for each game, I know whom my rivals are, and I am convinced that I will earn the most gold medals by the end of the day.

I hurry through breakfast, too excited to eat my Cheerios as they become soggy in the bowl.  I half hear my mother mention something about not being too aggressive and competitive today.  Instead, I focus my eyes and ears on the oven clock.  “Tick-tock. Tick-tock.” The green numbers play tricks on me as the numbers cease to progress.  After breakfast, I am miserable as I wait for the party to start

Then finally, “Ding-Dong!” The competitors arrive at last. They’ve come from the far reaches of the world for the 2004 Olympics here in Athens, Greece and have been training their whole lives for this very day.

First came the ceremony. My mom picked my older brother, not me, to run the torch around the amphitheater (my backyard). Its yellow, red, and orange flames flicker and dance excitedly, mimicking the nervous anticipation of the athletes.  The participants file in, each donning the colors of their home country and waving their national flags. My heart starts to pound as I glance up at the tens of thousands of spectators contributing to the unified roar that fills the arena.

“Let the games begin!” The track race is first.  An 100-yard dash. I am so nervous that my stomach is turning summersaults as I toe the line. Douglas brags he’s going to beat me.  Not this time buddy.

“Runners, take your mark, BAM” The gun goes off and I fly off the starting block, my freshly sharpened spikes propelling me forward. The crowds are roaring. Douglas and I are neck in neck, stride in stride.   The announcer gives the play by play.  “Douglas has the lead.  Now it’s Caroline a stride ahead. Doug. Caroline. Doug. Caroline. And at the line, it’s Caroline. Caroline Yarbrough proves she’s the fastest person in the world!” There’s a thunder of applause and deafening cheers as I take my victory lap, the flag of my country draped around my back like it is offering me a congratulatory embrace.

After the race, we competed in volleyball, tennis, soccer, golf, and an intense game of Horse.  At the completion of the competitions during the closing ceremony, I know I have won the most gold medals.  I wait in eager anticipation for my country’s National Anthem to be played and for my many medals to be awarded.

“You all get a medal!” I hear my mother cheerfully exclaim. What!? Was she not watching? Does she not understand? I worked hard to win these events! Not wanting to be rude, I tap on my mother’s arm as she passes out medals.

“Did you see me? I won more medals than everyone else! Why does everyone get one? Little Kate didn’t even play a game; she was sitting in the Barbie Jeep sucking her thumb the entire time!” I exclaimed, trying my best not to sound disrespectful.

“Now Caroline,” my mother frowned slightly as she looked down at me. “Please do not be impolite to your party guests.  It was all just for fun. Now it’s time for cake!”

I snap back into reality.  Suddenly, I’ve left the Olympic stadium, enveloped by the whistles, cheers, and applause of thousands of spectators and I am back in my backyard.  I may not have gotten all the medals I deserved, but hey, at least there is cake!

As demonstrated in my memory of my seven year old Olympic themed birthday party, most of my play as a child took place in a pretend world, an alternative dimension.  In this realm, I could be an Olympic athlete, a fashion designer, a princess, and an astronaut.  My play resembles the ideas of Johnan Huizinga, the author of Homo Ludens and the widely regarded father of the modern play theory, who argues that play serves two primary functions.  Play is both representative of something and competitive.  The representative nature of play can be seen as children create a persona for themselves where they are “something different, something more beautiful, or more sublime, or more dangerous” than how they present themselves in real life (Huizinga 14). While the child takes part in this alternative reality, they are at the same time not “wholly losing consciousness of ordinary reality”(14).  Just as my mother’s words instantly snapped me back from the Athens Olympics to my backyard, in the end, I still had a deep-seated awareness of the fact that it was all a game.

As demonstrated in my memory of my seven year old Olympic themed birthday party, most of my play as a child took place in a pretend world, an alternative dimension.  In this realm, I could be an Olympic athlete, a fashion designer, a princess, and an astronaut.

Even though I knew all the activities at my party were merely games, I was determined to win. Huizinga identifies the other basic aspect of play “as a contest for something.”  He says that the two forms can come together so that “the game ‘represents’ a contest, or else becomes a contest for the best representation of something” (Huizinga 13).  Throughout his work, he utilized many examples of play such as football and chess that have a competitive aspect because there must be a winner.  This suggests that competition is at the essence of play.  As a child, I made everything I did a competition.  My parents say that I have been determined and competitive since birth.  A child’s play can reveal personality traits that foreshadow an adult personality and behavior patterns.  They would not have proposed an Olympics birthday party to a noncompetitive child.  From trying my hardest to succeed at every game to timing myself to see how fast I could help my mother clear the plates after everyone finished their cake, play and competition were synonymous for me as a child.

During my party, I was truly an Olympic athlete and genuinely believed I was in Athens, taking part in the international sports event. For me, the competitions were profoundly serious. Huizinga discusses the absorption and devotion of play that abolishes the feeling that the player is “only pretending”(Huizinga 8). When we play, it is like there has been a spell cast over us.  We are

enchanted, enthralled, absorbed, and completely preoccupied by it (Huizinga 10). “We are accustomed to think of play and seriousness as an absolute antithesis.  It would seem, however, that this does not go to the heart of the matter” (Huizinga 18).  Play is often considered a diversion from work and learning without any serious purpose. But there are many examples, including my absorption in my birthday party games, that prove that play can be serious in nature. A child playing in their make-believe world, a sportsman hunting for game, and an actor assuming a role for a play are all similar in the earnest, sacred nature in which they approach play.  As he explains, “The player can abandon himself body and soul to the game, and the consciousness of its being ‘merely’ a game can be thrust into the background”(Huizinga 21).

Although Huizinga argued that play boils down to the functions of representation and competition, he failed to indicate the important aspect of play that can foreshadow and reveal personality traits of an adulthood personality.  Nonetheless, playing is a significant aspect of our culture.  Play can teach valuable skills including perseverance, determination, cooperation, social skills to name just a few.  My memory of play revealed that play is not all about childish fun and games but that it can have far deeper implications. Play can be meaningful and serious. Simply put, play matters.

 

Bibliography

Huizinga, Johan. Homo-Ludens: A Study of the Play Element in Culture. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1949.

It has been one-hundred fifty years since the Thirteenth Amendment abolished American slavery, sixty-one years since Brown v. Board of education banned Jim Crow laws, and thirty-four years since Michael Donald’s brutal murder by a Klansman and a seventeen-year-old became the last officially-recorded lynching in the United States.[1] It’s a new century, a new millenium, and yet race and its father, racism, remain woven into every star and stripe of the American tapestry. Racism’s effects remain visceral, but are also far less explicitly stated than previously, making ignorant underestimation and even utter denial of modern racism more common. Sure, water fountains and Montgomery buses are no longer segregated. Civil rights workers arrested on speeding charges are no longer released by the police to the Ku Klux Klan under cover of darkness. Small Arkansas high schools no longer require the National Guard to shield black students from damage to their Black bodies. But racism is not preserved in spoken memories of past brutalities, nor is it sustained in the creaking spines or yellowed pages of history textbooks: its preservation and propagation is found in ubiquitous modern American inequities.

Consider that, years after housing discrimination supposedly ceased, a 2012 executive summary by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development clearly states that blacks are consistently told about or shown significantly fewer housing units than otherwise-identical white applicants (HUD). Consider too that the National Bureau of Economic Research concluded from a sweeping and expansive study that applicants with stereotypically-black names need to submit fifty percent more resumes than their “white-name” counterparts to get a single callback, and that a “white name yields as many more callbacks as an additional eight years of experience” (Francis). These numbers, though shocking, are merely statistics, and typically represent symptoms, rather than causes, of modern racism. And while such figures clearly establish the existence and extent of modern socioeconomic inequalities, they don’t address the individual human costs of racism, the cumulative effects of experiencing daily microtransgressions, the psychological toll of needing to be “twice as good” (Coates 91). Statistics are informative but impersonal, detached from the urgency of the cause. For this reason, the “personal testimony” authorial style used by public intellectual writers such as Ta-Nehisi Coates is an especially galvanizing remedy to bridge the gap between readers’ brains and reader’s hearts, consciences, and humanity.

Ta-Nahesi Coates has, since publishing The Atlantic cover articles “Fear of a Black President” and especially “The Case for Reparations,” experienced a meteoric rise to prominence as both an innovative journalist and a leading societal critic. Although articles like “The Case for Reparations” evince Coates’ ability to dance between facts and figures in compelling performances of rhetoric, he chooses to substantiate the majority of his works’ theses using anecdotal evidence, a strategy which Coates evidently finds more compelling. It is this masterful ability to assert personal, but broadly representative, truths which has thrust Letter to My Son into the spotlight, where it has garnered seemingly-unceasing praise including the 2015 National Book Award. Despite the overwhelmingly-positive response to Coates’ most recent book, however, its prominence has caught the attention of critics such as Commentary’s Kyle Smith. Smith sharply argues in “The Hard Untruths of Ta-Nehisi Coates” that Letter to My Son and its author are embittering, racist, hyperbolic, irrational, illogical, and irresponsible. His polemic scrutinizes the substantial personal testimony comprising the work. Smith’s criticisms, though numerous, are consistently invalid and poorly-reasoned. By dissecting Smith’s flawed logic, then supporting Coates’ affinity for testimonial support with both textual and external evidence, this essay argues for the efficacy of the personal testimony approach to race commentary through a two-step process of fallacy deconstruction and truth substantiation.

“The Hard Untruths of Ta-Nehisi Coates” unfurls with hate. Beginning with an inflammatory hypothetical, Smith prompts readers to consider the reaction to, and repercussions for, a white man with a “deep-seated dislike for black people” who trains his son to participate in the same tradition (20). He would, surely, be subjected to contempt, ostracization, and unemployment, as happened to white National Review contributor John Derbyshire following publication of his “The Talk: Nonblack Version.” Smith wonders why Coates “has been crowned America’s leading civic thinker” given his generalizations about whites, as if occurrences of black-white racism somehow lessen the cruel severity of systemic white-black racism (30). According to Smith, this double standard equates to glaring reverse racism. He believes Coates’ constructive generalizations to be malignant racism, blooming unchecked in broad daylight. The problem with Smith’s analysis is that he assumes away the very variables against which Coates fights: white-black racism, inequality favoring whites, violent history itself. Ceteris paribus simply doesn’t apply given the aforementioned three manifestations of unidirectional social division; all other things are not equal. Unlike Coates, who speaks from a systemically-disadvantaged position, Smith experiences advantageous racism—white privilege. Smith’s hypothetical therefore fails the symmetry test upon which it balances. Lingering racial hatred, as seen in Derbyshire’s directive to “avoid concentrations of blacks,” justifies the generalizations inherent in Coates’ testimony by reinforcing the American racial boundaries against which Coates fights (Derbyshire).

Coates’ personal testimony is the selective summation of experiences germane to his battle. Given the ubiquity of socioeconomic inequity in Coates’ youth, from his arrival in poverty-stricken West Baltimore to the fatal shooting of his innocent Howard University friend Prince Jones, inclusion of such generalizations in a personal reflection is hardly surprising. Moreover, because issues discussed in Letter to My Son are problems spawned and sustained by generalized groupthink, the only possible solutions directly confront the inclusion (and necessary exclusion) racism entails. White privilege and black subjugation are not exceptions to the norm; their dovetailing constitutes America’s default setting. Were Coates to address “those blacks affected by racism” or “those whites who are racist,” he would be crippling his own analysis because the concepts of racism and racial privilege are rooted in segmenting and separating entire denominations through arbitrary ancestral categorization.

Coates consequently assumes the role of outspoken Black body, educating readers on the catalytic events facilitating current racial momentum. He begins with the plunder enabling White America’s progress, noting that as late as 1863, Federal government by the People, for the People, condoned the institutionalized dehumanization of blacks (recall Dred Scott, who was told by the Supreme Court in 1857 that he could not sue for his freedom because his blackness barred him from personhood). The implicit reality was government by whites, for whites, resting on the economic pillar of black enslavement- “the greatest material interest of the world” (Coates 89). Given the American tradition to “destroy the black body,” Smith’s comparison of Coates and Derbyshire is offensive and ill-conceived, surviving no critical scrutiny (Coates 89). Derbyshire is unapologetically racist, continuing America’s legacy of subjugating blacks. By contrast, Coates confronts this legacy through anecdotal evidence exposing truths more comfortably left unspoken. He renders history itself unsettlingly-visceral through personal testimony by conjuring personal experiences navigating Black America during his formative years.

Coates’ personal testimony is the selective summation of experiences germane to his battle. Given the ubiquity of socioeconomic inequity in Coates’ youth, from his arrival in poverty-stricken West Baltimore to the fatal shooting of his innocent Howard University friend Prince Jones, inclusion of such generalizations in a personal reflection is hardly surprising.

Smith’s attempt to intelligently criticize Coates’ writing rapidly devolves into heavy reliance on ad hominem attacks. Ironically, Coates’ blunt ethos is the foundation upon which his personal testimony is erected into a coherent, freestanding, call-to-arms. Evidently, his detractors struggle to find legitimate rhetorical shortcomings, and instead turn toward red herrings and cheap attacks on Coates which are consistently incorrect, irrelevant, or both. For example, Smith accuses Coates of “simply assuming America is as poisoned by race obsessions as he is” (21). If anything, Coates premises his writing on the opposite assumption; America is poisoned by a lack of discussion and questioning of race and racism. Beyond that, it is logically incoherent for Smith to, in the same paragraph, say that Coates assumes those people constituting America are obsessed with race, and that only his “straw man” would “claim the racism problem is over in America” (21). If Coates does, as the latter quote implies, believe racism-denialists thrive in the modern American climate, then how could he also believe that America is “poisoned” by an obsession with race? More transparently, Smith twists Coates’ “I spoke…” into the mockery “screaming his lungs out,” accusing Coates of exaggeration while doing the same (22). Smith then further personalizes his criticism, irrelevantly griping that Coates rarely mentions “the position he has occupied” when referencing his own life as a famous author (21). Although Coates has enjoyed job stability, wealth, and near-deification by a dedicated fanbase, drawing attention to such bonafide personal details about his life serves no rhetorical purpose beyond distraction. Coates is well within his rights in selective incorporation of anecdotal details. Treating Coates’ success as undermining evidence against the socioeconomic constraints of racism against which he struggles constitutes entrapment by the fallacy of composition; what is true for one is not necessarily true for all. This is the same flawed logic used to warp Barack Obama’s Presidency into “proof” that modernization has resulted in erasure of black boundaries imposed by a white supremacist national heritage.

Smith is especially vitriolic in condemning Coates’ fatherhood, questioning his parenting motives and aspirations for his teen son, Samori. Smith attacks Coates’ comparison between Samori and Trayvon Martin, implicitly revealing himself a biased Zimmerman-sympathizer while simultaneously decrying existence of Coates’ clear bias for the opposite. The fact is, Smith takes Coates’ “there is no difference between [Samori] and Trayvon Martin” too literally– by virtue of human individuality, each boy is inherently distinct– and misses the broader point (Smith 21). In a society categorizing and subjugating people through stereotyping, Samori and Trayvon are indistinguishable: teen, male, black. Smith even exaggerates Coates’ and Samori’s mourning for Michael Brown’s death to Coates tethering “a haunted, angry” anchor behind his son’s “every movement,” as if passionate responses to relevant news equates to disadvantageous brainwashing (21). In doing so, Smith robs the young man of his agency and blames Coates for opinions held by his teenage son, ignoring Coates’ explicit statement: “I have raised [Samori] to respect every human being as singular” (Coates 90). Smith writes that Coates is a poor father, and implies that this “fact” prevents Coates from writing well to his son. Coates’ parenting prowess is irrelevant, though. While speaking at Davidson College, Coates explained his primary motivation for writing “to” Samori was to channel his mercurial passion into a consistent, steady, focused medium, not to literally write to Samori. His personal testimony format allows relatable injections of humanity into his annihilation of a dehumanizing social ailment, providing ample emotional appeals to rouse readers’ consciences and catalyze their participation in a narrative distinct from their own. A paternalistic approach further bolters automatic acceptance of Coates as a racial authority figure.

Coates’ prose is disheartening. But it has to be. Coates is making a legacy of American slavery dating back to 1619 comprehensible by attesting to his experience suffering its modern repercussions.

Addressing youth invokes the beauty of childhood innocence and the injustice of unequal opportunity. This enhances both its rhetorical appeal and Coates’ personal testimony methodology because representative anecdotes of his youth, and his son’s, arouse sharp resentment of American racism. Childhood functions for Coates as an experimental microcosm in which ceteris paribus analysis can apply- born as blank film in expansive “galaxies” dimmed by racism, children often develop in the likeness of their environments, thereby manifesting results of tradition while unknowingly participating in its perpetuation (85). Coates’ fatherly attempt to testify before readers as if his they were his own children therefore functions as a sort of vital intervention to break the cyclical chain. He is not unkind to “children,” because he unearths the legislative paper trail which guided society to its current status. However, Smith is far less charitable in his criticism of Coates’ tone.

Smith labels Coates’s authorial voice contemptuous and bitter, delusional and dramatic, hypersensitive and hypocritical. It is, supposedly, wrong for Coates to express dissatisfaction with legislative black subjugation because the federal government has funded the War on Poverty with more money than the entire 2014 United States GDP. Is Coates really nursing a grudge, considering that the fifty-year War on Poverty not only failed to reduce poverty rates, but spent twenty-two trillion dollars doing so? And how can Smith so coarsely regard an economically-motivated program as an effective designation of racial reparations without ignorantly implying that blackness and poverty are mutually-reinforcing? Smith’s accusation that Coates’ tone toes the delusional is even more fallacious; Smith tries to topple assertions of police profiling in the murder of Prince Jones by mocking Coates’ supposed-scapegoating of the “white racist superstructure” in a “black country run by black politicians.” Simply wrong, this childish rhetorical strategy is factually incorrect. Blacks comprise thirteen percent of the American population, and possess only eight percent of Congressional seats (“USA QuickFacts”, “Most Diverse Congress”). Still worse, Smith attempts to convince readers that Coates’ abhorrence of racism seeks to establish white American culpability for black crime.

To do so, Smith misinterprets a Letter to My Son quote, redefining Coates’ prose with apologist rhetoric. Using a form of straw man argumentation, Smith tries to invalidate Coates’ entire ambitions by striking down a contrived causal link between racism and black innocence, claiming “by such logic, no black person can ever be held responsible for his acts”(22). Coates is hardly negating black criminal accountability by providing historical context for socioeconomic impetuses conducive to gang formation. Coates merely illustrates realities germane to his adolescence and, presumably, that of innumerable others subdued by the same legacy, in an effort to engender perspectival broadening. Understanding context and condoning crime are not synonymous, as Smith would have readers believe. And yet, despite such obvious analytic incoherence, Smith believes himself to be triumphing over injurious doctrine by clumsily dissecting Coates’ “disheartening” prose.

Coates’ prose is disheartening. But it has to be. Coates is making a legacy of American slavery dating back to 1619 comprehensible by attesting to his experience suffering its modern repercussions. His ideology is not one of hate; it is one of blunt, compelling reality urgently told on behalf of the millions who can relate. Representative anecdotal evidence suffices because, although Coates is an individual, the racism he battles is hardwired by American tradition and programmed by collective ignorance. Its burdens fall squarely on black shoulders; its profits compound in white real estate, wage discrepancies, and cyclical education attainments, regardless of whether whites consciously or unknowingly assume this position. By crippling Coates’ personal testimony on the grounds that it is parochial, merely Coates’ perspective, detractors like Smith inadvertently cast racism as a problem perpetuated by or affecting solely individuals. Such logic is inherently dangerous because it is, by definition, invalid; black racism and white privilege extend to everyone categorized by America’s historical racial dichotomy. To deny this is disable future egalitarian efforts by declaring reparations complete after removing only the bloodiest branches of this metastasizing American

 

 

[1] Sincere thanks to Professor Van Hillard, classmate Laura Dunnagan, and editor Romare Marshall for providing helpful criticism regarding structural clarity and thesis refinement.

 

Bibliography

Coates, Ta-Nehisi. “Letter to My Son.” The Atlantic. Atlantic Media Company, 4 July 2015. Web. 23 Nov. 2015.

Derbyshire, John. “The Talk: Nonblack Version.” Taki’s Magazine. Taki’s Magazine, 12 Apr. 2012. Web. 23 Nov. 2015.

Francis, David. “Employers’ Replies to Racial Names.” NBER. The National Bureau of Economic Research. Web. 23 Nov. 2015.

HUD. “Housing Discrimination Against Racial and Ethnic Minorities 2012.” Huduser.gov. U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, 1 June 2013. Web. 23 Nov. 2015.

“Most Diverse Congress Sworn In.” DiversityInc. DiversityInc, 14 Jan. 2013. Web. 23 Nov. 2015.

Smith, Kyle. “The Hard Untruths of Ta-Nehisi Coates.” Commentary Magazine. 15 Oct. 2015. Web. 23 Nov. 2015.

“USA QuickFacts from the US Census Bureau.” USA QuickFacts from the US Census Bureau. U.S. Census, 30 Sept. 2015. Web. 23 Nov. 2015.

Michel Foucault’s work on “The Means of Correct Training” from Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison analyzes the method of using discipline as a way to punish. Foucault argues that discipline is structured around a strict system of surveillance of the individuals in the system in order to get them to conform. Participants in disciplinary systems vary from the ideal, so the goal at the end of being disciplined is for them to be homogenized into the ideal. The documentary, Thin, which follows the Renfrew Center, an eating disorder treatment facility in Florida, clearly mimics many of the disciplinary practices seen in Foucault’s work. However, Renfrew is not the only depiction of discipline seen in Thin. The girls that the documentary follows also impose a system of discipline upon themselves, centering around maintaining their eating disorders. As a result, the girls in the documentary are subject to two different forms of discipline in competition with each other: one by the staff of the facility to try to get them to conform to a healthy body weight and one by themselves to get them to conform to their ideal thinness. The underlying structure of these disciplinary systems matches the techniques mentioned in Foucault’s work, but neither of these systems effectively meet the goals described by him.

In his work, Foucault argues that at its core, discipline works as an effective punishment because it results in participants conforming to the ideal. He argues that the system “supervises every instant” and its system of punishment “compares, differentiates, hierarchizes, homogenizes, excludes.”[1] By constantly watching and judging the participants by placing them into categories dependent on progress, the disciplinary system works by dissecting the differences between those in the system and those out of the system. Foucault states that “disciplinary power… is exercised through its invisibility; at the same time it imposes on those whom it subjects a principle of compulsory visibility.”[2] Discipline works because the authority in the system, or the people who are considered to be the “ideal,” fade into the background and gain their power through their invisibility. All attention and all punishments are focused on those who are being disciplined, with the idea being that this extreme visibility will result in conforming to the ideal. Through this constant visibility, self monitoring is supposed to be the goal that results in lasting conformity even after leaving the disciplinary system.[3] Therefore, discipline should work to make the effects of it everlasting. The system of Renfrew and the psychological disciplinary system of the eating disorders that the girls in Renfrew posses clearly employ this method of constant visibility as seen by the facility’s staff constantly monitoring the girls and by the girls constantly monitoring the food they eat. However, the results of this system remain more unclear.

The ranking system, one of the disciplinary techniques analyzed by Foucault, was used by Renfrew and less obviously by the girls in the facility. Foucault states the system of ranks works as a disciplinary measure because “it marks the gaps, hierarchizes qualities, skills and aptitudes [of the participants]; but it also punishes and rewards.” [4] This system allows the authority to easily mark the relationships amongst those being disciplined while also rewarding good behavior and penalizing for bad behavior. This gives incentive to try to behave in order to move up in ranks. The Renfrew Center blatantly follows this by having three ranks at the facility.[5] Patients start at the lowest rank which results in the most surveillance and the least amount of freedom, but as they move up in ranks they gain more freedom.[6]  These rankings are supposed to serve as incentive for the girls to try to get better so that they can gain more freedoms, acting in the same way that Foucault outlines the ranking system in his work.

In a subtler way, the minds of the patients at Renfrew follow a similar system. Instead of having a structured system of ranks, the girls rank themselves by comparing their bodies to those around them. For example, before Brittany, one of the patients, leaves the facility, she expresses how she wants to go back to her eating disorder and how much she wants to be thin like everybody else.[7] Similarly, Shelly, another patient, talks with her therapist about how all that mattered to her was being thinner than her twin sister.[8] These methods of comparison demonstrate how these girls would keep their eating habits in check and maintain their weight through ranking their body size to the size of girls around them. Feeling as if they were bigger would result in purging and extreme dieting as punishment, and feeling as if they were thinner would result in a sense of accomplishment.

For Foucault, this ranking system has the overall goal of bringing forth conformity amongst all the participants by moving them all up to the highest rank, but this is proven to be relatively ineffective in both cases in Thin. Foucault argues that over time, “the penal classification should tend to disappear” because all participants should work to achieve the highest rank.[9] This idea of lasting conformity because of the ranking system implies that once patients reach the highest rank, they will continue the practices that got them there. However, these implications are challenged by the ranking system at Renfrew. After Polly gets moved up to the highest rank, she does not use this accomplishment as motivation to continue good behavior. Instead, she abuses her newly found freedom to get a tattoo, which results in her expulsion from the facility.[10]  On top of this, every girl followed in the documentary relapses into her disorder after leaving Renfrew.[11]  Even though some girls leave after they have achieved the highest ranking and are thought to be better, they do not continue these good practices once they are no longer monitored.

The system fails for the discipline of eating disorders in a different way. The desire to be the thinnest girl in the room and to be skinnier than everybody else fails because it results in girls never reaching an end rank. They are never happy because there is still more weight to lose. For instance, Britany arrives at the facility after losing almost one hundred pounds in a year, and although she gains some weight while at Renfrew, she would still be considered to be incredibly skinny by most people.[12] However, she leaves the facility still unhappy with her weight and still believing that she is not “thin.”[13] She states her desire to lose forty more pounds once she returns home.[14] In the minds of these girls, they can never conform to this ideal thinness because no matter what, they will never be thin enough.

Concrete evidence to justify the system of ranks comes from the use of documentation, another tactic of discipline described by Foucault, and this disciplinary method gains similar results to that of ranking. This method of documentation is used by disciplinary powers as a way for them to record everything so that every action by those being watched is remembered.[15] “A ‘power of writing’ was constituted as an essential part in the mechanisms of discipline” because it gives authority the power to keep tabs on every little detail of the participants in the system.[16] This system of documentation is obviously employed by almost every person of authority at Renfrew. Every morning, a nurse in the facility records the weights and blood pressures of the patients, and therapists and nutritionists record everything that a patient says while they are talking to them.[17] This documentation allows the workers at Renfrew to track the progress of patients and to have the ability to never forget anything about them. This gives the staff the ability to use this information to try to push for more progress; when they record positive results, they can encourage patients to go back to this place if they ever slip up, and when they record negative results, they can use it as a sign that the patient needs more attention.

The girls in Thin use a similar system of documentation that is fueled by their eating disorders. For example, Alisa shows lists that she wrote before entering the facility that recorded every bit of food that she ate.[18] She wrote these lists to make sure that her calories stayed under two hundred. Another way that this documentation was apparent in the girls at Renfrew was through their obsession with their weights. Although they may not have explicitly recorded their weights every day, they obsessively would get on the scale and take note of the number. Constantly being aware of their weights at all time would allow them to have a numerical indicator of the extent of their thinness.

Concrete evidence to justify the system of ranks comes from the use of documentation, another tactic of discipline described by Foucault, and this disciplinary method gains similar results to that of ranking. This method of documentation is used by disciplinary powers as a way for them to record everything so that every action by those being watched is remembered.

This documentation system is employed as a way to try to propel participants towards conformity, but based on the two examples of discipline in Thin, this does not always happen. By recording every movement of the patients at Renfrew, the staff are able to keep a record of everything that each girl does, but having this information does not necessarily lead to them having the ability to draw accurate conclusions about the girls in the facility. When Shelly’s weight was not where the staff wanted it to be, they became convinced that she was hiding food and purging.[19] They blamed her for hiding an uneaten burger on the hall, and one staff member at the facility even went as far as to tell Shelly that she did not trust her. However, it was later revealed that Shelly was innocent. The recorded knowledge that the facility had on Shelly lead to false claims being made about her. By using documentation as proof for a crime that Shelly did not commit, instead of using the knowledge to achieve their goal of helping Shelly get better, the staff pushed Shelly away. After this incident, Shelly loses respect for the facility and expresses her desires to leave. In the case of the discipline of eating disorders, although Alisa recorded every bit of food she ate everyday with the intention of always staying under two hundred calories, she still had episodes of purging.[20] Having a hard copy of her calorie count did not result in her always maintaining the strict eating requirements that she placed upon herself.

Even though Foucault would recognize faults with the ranking and documentation systems in the discipline of eating disorders, the disciplinary system as a whole is still more effective in attempting to achieve its goals than Renfrew is. The disciplinary systems that the girls in Thin subject themselves to in regards to their eating disorders may not be perfect by Foucault’s standards, but the faults in their systems still result in their overall goal of increasing thinness. The ranking system used by comparing themselves to other girls does not have an end goal because they are never happy with their weight, but the fact that there is no end goal means that girls will constantly continue to lose weight. Similarly, disciplinary systems involving the recording of calories may result in girls having the occasional binging episode, but they are able to prevent this binging from affecting their weight by purging everything they eat. Although these represent failures in the disciplinary system, even the failures are done in a way that results in movement towards the overall goal of thinness. The failures discussed above within the system of Renfrew do not help propel the patients towards better health but potentially move them back into their disorder. The movie’s acknowledgement that all of the girls eventually relapsed into their disorders after leaving the facility demonstrates this.[21] Their desire to rise in rankings in order to be thinner overpowers their desire to rise in rankings in regards to their health.

Neither of the disciplinary systems seen in Thin lead to the results outlined by Foucault, but the discipline of eating disorders ultimately is more successful than the discipline of Renfrew. This fact demonstrates the inherent flaw in using facilities like Renfrew as treatment. The disciplinary system of eating disorders is too strong to be overpowered by a disciplinary system that operates similarly to it. The constant surveillance by authority in Renfrew works to a certain extent while the girls are living at the facility, but the absence of surveillance once they leave does not result in self-surveillance but in a relapse into their disorders. However, a patient can never leave her eating disorder because its authority is engrained in her mind. This explains why eating disorders are so difficult to treat and why they are one of the hardest psychological conditions to cure. Therefore, this suggests that eating disorder treatment facilities like Renfrew should be abandoned for a process that can fight eating disorders in a different way. A Foucauldian disciplinary system in competition with eating disorders rarely will win because of the strength of these disorders. Thin demonstrates that treatment facilities like Renfrew cannot overpower the illnesses of their patients, and this explains the eventual relapse of the girls followed in the documentary into their disorders.

 

 

[1] Foucault, “The Means of Correct Training,” 183.

[2] Ibid., 187.

[3] Foucault, “The Means of Correct Training.”

[4] Ibid.

[5] Greenfield, Thin.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Foucault, “The Means of Correct Training,” 182.

[10] Greenfield, Thin.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Ibid.

[13] Ibid.

[14] Ibid.

[15] Foucault, “The Means of Correct Training.”

[16] Ibid., 188.

[17] Greenfield, Thin.

[18] Ibid.

[19] Ibid.

[20] Ibid.

[21] Ibid.

 

Bibliography

Foucault, Michel. “The Means of Correct Training.” In Discipline & Punish: The Birth of the Prison, translated by Alan Sheridan, 2nd edition., 170–94. New York: Vintage Books, 1995. Print.

Thin, directed by Lauren Greenfield. 2006. USA: HBO, 2006. Film.

Music, whether intentionally or not, often creates some sort of meaning, and frequently, one can determine this meaning through the different features of a work. In my study, I discovered three different types of meaning pertinent one of Davidson’s choir groups, Chorale. First, music holds textual meaning, or the message of the song as ascertained through the lyrics. Second, there is auditory meaning, which can be discerned by the atmosphere or mood that the song creates through a specific combination of notes, tempo, dynamic, rhythm, etc. These moods can be discovered both aurally, by listening to the song and associating the sound with particular emotions, or in the sheet music by observing the marked descriptive terms such as crescendo (an increase in loudness or force), doloroso (sorrowful), fuoco (with fire and fury), ritardando (getting gradually slower), etc. In most cases, the textual and auditory meanings overlap, however sometimes a listener may interpret an emotion from the tone of a song that is not present within the text. Thirdly, those that experience music, either as the listener or the artist, also can find it meaningful by the setting and context that music generates. Music creates a social and artistic space through which individuals can connect. Each of these modes of meaning contribute to the experience of music as a whole, however for Chorale, the most important aspects are the emotional sound of the piece and the social experiences they create within a musical context.

Music is an emotional experience, and these emotions generated in a musical context allow auditory meaning and social connections to be formed. While it can be difficult to explain exactly why music and emotion are connected, the link becomes more clear when observing the use of music in the world and a musical artists’ perspective on the matter. Cultures all over the world use music for spiritual purposes. In this context, I use spiritual to refer to both religion and connecting to one’s own core or spirit. For example, in Northern India, musicians undergo long, intense periods of training in which riaz, or rehearsal, is of key importance. When studying the underlying workings and meanings of riaz in Indian culture, Daniel Neuman commented, “The concept of riaz symbolizes a certain accomplishment of one’s inner development” (Neuman, 34). Part of inner development involves emotional maturity and understanding. Another example can be found in Sardinia, where Bernard Lortat-Jacob explores the workings of music within Sardinian society. One particular instance he recounts is the Easter ritual, where a large procession parades through town, completed by the presence of three choirs. Music is an integral part of this ritual, and Lortat-Jacob notes that to be selected as a musician for this event “an honor and a momentous occasion in a man’s life” (90). The tight integration of music and religion demonstrates how music connects to listeners at their emotional core. Music is highly evocative, and it has no limit in the emotions it can elicit. The director of Chorale comments, “Art, and especially musical art, is spiritual… It can be enjoyable. It can be disturbing. It can be meditative and sublime. It can be silly and fun” (Gilliam, Interview). Based on the way music is used in different societies and how musicians view it, it is clear that music and emotion are strongly tied together, which provides the basis for the auditory meaning and social connections that Chorale members find within their musical repertoire.

For their upcoming holiday performances, Chorale is singing a mixture of both English and non-English songs. Each day of rehearsal, the singers sing all or part of a piece on a nonsense monosyllable such as “dee” during the first run through, followed by practicing the song with the proper lyrics. The tactic allows the singers to focus on aspects of the piece such as notes, dynamics, and quality, rather than on pronunciation and dictation, however it also affects the interpretation of the piece by temporarily taking the textual meaning of the song away from the singers. As a result, the singers’ first impression of that song for the day is through the auditory meaning, thus they will interpret the piece by the emotions they associate with that particular sound before they do so through text.

Chorale relies quite heavily on the auditory meaning of a text, and experiencing music for them is a physically-involved task. Consistently through the rehearsal, the director will close his eyes while directing, listening to the music by cutting off his sight and immersing himself in the sound. The director also often uses his facial expressions to reflect the mood of the music. For example, while Chorale rehearsed a song called Riu Riu Chiu—a high energy, animated work—the director smiled brightly, with a lively expression adorning his face as the piece progressed. This physical investment was not limited to facial expression as both the director and some of the singers bounced in their seats in time with the tempo. Additionally, in many of the pieces sung throughout the rehearsal, the director used large gestures to direct, putting his whole body into conducting. The physical investment that the director and singers put into the music is based off of the auditory meaning of the music, because their body movements spur from the tempo and rhythm of the song, thus in order to evoke such an obvious physical reaction, the sound and mood of the music must play an important role for Chorale.

Quite frequently in the rehearsal, the director would ask the members of Chorale to take a pencil and mark changes or make additions to the sheet music, adding a breath, a beat of silence, a tonal descriptive word, etc. As a result, the music was changed ever so slightly in dynamic and rhythm. These two areas of music are slightly different for every single group that performs a given song. By changing these features of the piece, the ensemble changes the very factors that make up the auditory meaning of the work, thus the auditory interpretation may be slightly different at any given part depending on where the changes were made. By altering the sheet music, Chorale makes their version unique, thus the auditory meaning derived by Chorale’s audience will be slightly different than that for another group.

While it can be difficult to explain exactly why music and emotion are connected, the link becomes more clear when observing the use of music in the world and a musical artists’ perspective on the matter.

While Chorale frequently focuses on the auditory meaning of music in rehearsals, they do not completely ignore the textual meaning. For example, in one rehearsal, the singers were practicing a new song on a nonsense syllable, thus their first impression regarding the meaning of the song was through the auditory mood, however one comment from the director struck me. As the singers entered the second stanza, the director commented, “Take a look at the words while you’re at it. Get your eyes out of the music.” Such a comment, directing the singers to focus on the words over the specific descriptive instructions on the sheet music, demonstrates that the members of Chorale also place importance in the text of a song. Additionally, in their Fall Concert program, which incorporated many non-English songs, Chorale had English translations for every work in the show, thus the audience had direct means to discover the textual meaning of each song. If the text of each piece did not matter to Chorale, then the translations would not have been included in the program. When asked about the importance of lyrics to the ensemble, the director commented, “To me, lyrics—whether they be secular or sacred—enhance the music, but they are not as important as the music itself, the feeling behind the music, the artistry that should be expressed no matter what the lyric… I don’t think it necessary to make the lyric drive the musicality. That is not to say that the lyrics aren’t important” (Gilliam, Interview). For Chorale, the text is not the primary driver that creates meaning in a musical work, nonetheless it still contributes to the overall message.

Both the textual and auditory meanings of a song work together to create a message and mood, which drives the importance of music for many singers in Chorale. When asked what his opinion on the importance of music, one Chorale singer reflected, “I think music, at a low level, is mostly performed for enjoyment. That said, it has the potential to help people get in touch with their emotions if done well. Good music can have an emotional impact on people and change the way they see the world” (Becker, Interview). Some Chorale members believe that music can affect a listener’s world view because of its emotional impact, therefore while there are many forms of musical meaning, it does not just affect the artists, but the audience as well. When discussing his hopes for the audience’s take-away from performances, the director explained, “If my audience is unable to appreciate the genre of music that they are hearing, my hope is that they will gather other elements from the concert that will inspire them. My hope is that they will walk away having experienced art in a way that causes them to wonder, to ask questions” (Gilliam, Interview). As demonstrated by Chorale, music affects listeners in a way that can follow them even after a performance is over.

Music also creates meaning by generating a social and artistic space where individuals create meaningful relationships. Music draws artists together and their mutual love and passion for it acts as their initial point of connection. The auditory meaning of music creates feeling in those experiencing it, thus when individuals experience such strong emotion together, they see each other more on the core level, which strengthens the relationships between them. As a result, not only does Chorale find music meaningful because of its emotional repercussions but also because it draws the ensemble together in a way that is difficult to achieve in a non-artistic space.

Each Chorale rehearsal that I attended felt casual and familial. At the beginning of the rehearsal, everyone chatted and joked with each other, and the singers had no hesitation in talking to the director, speaking with him as frequently as with each other. Repeatedly throughout the rehearsal, the director addressed the ensemble with the title “friends.” Both the director and the students often cracked jokes in the middle of the practice, causing the whole room to descend into laughter; the ease of conversation in the group spoke to their tight-knit relationship. When asked about the relationship between the singers, one Chorale member commented, “When people spend an hour of each day together, it’s only natural that we become close. Usually, relationships don’t become really strong until we’ve gone on tour in the winter. Everyone spends a lot of time together there, and we learn quite a lot about one another, for better or for worse” (Becker, Interview). This sense of closeness gives meaning to the music and the ensemble for some of the members, because the music creates an important social setting through which they forge meaningful friendships. At any pause between songs during the rehearsal, the room became filled with the mixed sounds of humming, whistling, and idle chatting; the rehearsal space acted as the melting pot for music and socialization. When asked about the importance of music, the same Chorale singer claimed, “A lot of it is also about the connection I have to the other singers. Knowing that the love of the music we’re singing ties us all together is huge” (Becker, Interview). To him, music was important because it acted as the main and initial connecting point between him and the fellow members of the ensemble that he had grown so close to.

Chorale’s rehearsal space and social dynamic is guided by mutual respect, which allows their relationship to be as close as it is. When leading Chorale, the director allows the students to be autonomous, choosing to guide them rather than command them. When asked about his relationship with the ensemble members, the director explained, “My approach to teaching is to keep a fast-paced rehearsal, leaving room for students to be themselves as they must, trying not to be a strict disciplinarian… I believe that I build respect by respecting them” (Gilliam, Interview). The rehearsals easily reflect this approach to teaching. For example, the director is not demanding of the singers, but rather treats them as near equals. For example, when requesting that the singers take a particular piece of sheet music out of their folders, the director says, “Could you please take out ‘Once in Royal David’s City,’” rather than ordering, “Take out ‘Once in Royal David’s City.’” I observed another example of respect when the director passed out new music. The director wished to preview each piece before the end of the rehearsal, so the practice was tight on time. Due to the casual nature of the rehearsals, there was a lot of socializing that occurred between songs, which was not conducive to the rushed time table. When rallying attention, the director asked for focus and explained why he needed the singers to not waste time. By both asking—rather than telling—and providing reasoning behind the request, the director acknowledged the singers as their own, independent, self-reliant person and allowed them to make the decision to focus for themselves.

The director also respects the students by recognizing their knowledge of music. For example, in one rehearsal, the director tried to make a note about a specific phrase in a song by modelling the manner in which he wanted it to be sung, however he made a mistake in recreating the notes. When trying to figure out the correct notes, the director asked the singers how the phrase went. Once they told him, the director trusted their knowledge without feeling the need to verify and proceeded with his commentary. By trusting the singers’ knowledge of the work, the director demonstrates the extent of their close relationship in the ensemble because they can rely on each other and mutually contribute to their experience of music.

Chorale’s director bears similarities to a guía of an ensemble in Coniman culture in his how he demonstrates respect and authority. In his discussion of Coniman ensembles, Thomas Turino describes, “A guía commands authority and respect with ability, but he himself usually does not emphasize his abilities; he must let others continually choose him to guide the group” (Turino 60). Chorale’s director reflects this concept of mutual respect frequently in his teaching methods. The director similarly lets the singers of Chorale choose to let him guide when he asks rather than orders them to do certain things. By giving the singers the freedom to follow his authority, the director elevates them to a higher level on the social and political hierarchy in Chorale because it gives them more power and allows them to make their own decisions. Ultimately, each individual instance of casual interaction or mutual respect between the singers and the director does not necessarily seem significant, however when looked at as a whole, one can see that the dynamic of the group is on mostly equal grounds, which allows them to have a closer relationship. If the singers of Chorale felt that the social hierarchy was tipped, they would not have been able to have the close, friend-like relationship with the director that is present.

The close relationships in Chorale could not have been forged without the the space created by music. A musical space is sacred to an artist in a way. The director explains it as “the experience of singing together–leading that group of students when they finally realize in performance what all the work has been about–that transcendent place that only artists in performance can understand” (Gilliam, Interview). For artists, music creates a “transcendent” space that cannot be understood by non-performers. Just by both being able to understand the space, which is understood by so few, creates a connection between the singers. Additionally, stress on music’s auditory significance means that music is a highly emotive practice. As a result, space that music creates is driven by emotion, so those that exist within that setting see each other at a rawer level. When people see each other through something as central as emotions, they become closer. Music is key to Chorale’s social existence, because without it, they could not for the relationships that they have.

Musical meaning has many forms—auditory, textual, social, etc.—and all these forms speak directly to the way in which Chorale exists and interacts within the musical world. The textual meaning of music carries a message that reinforces the mood created by the tone. When the lyrics and tone work together, a highly emotive work is created. This work can then be used to forge relationships, as seen within Chorale, and be passed on to create emotion in an audience. By understanding music through the perspective of an ensemble, we understand how music holds significance and power over both the lives of an artist and an audience.

 

Bibliography

Becker, Andrew. Personal Interview. 3 Dec 2015.

Gilliam, Christopher. Personal Interview. 4 Dec 2015.

Lortat-Jacob, Bernard. “Castelsardo.” Sardinian Chronicles. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995:89-97. Print.

Neuman, Daniel M. “Becoming a Musician.” The Life of Music in North India: The Organization of an Artistic Tradition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990: 30-58. Print.

Turino, Thomas. “The Collective and Competitive Nature of Musical Performance.” Moving Away From Silence: Music of the Peruvian Altiplano and the Experience of Urban Migration. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993: 58-71. Print.

 

In his novel Palace Walk Naguib Mahfouz draws his audience to the riveting interactions between the idiosyncratic members of the Abd al-Jawad family. A representative sample of traditional Egyptian society during the latter stages of World War I, the Abd al-Jawads abhor and reject Western ideals of gender equality and secular education that have percolated into Egypt. Winner of the 1988 Nobel Prize for Literature, Mahfouz illustrates not only the tension pervasive within the Abd al-Jawad family but also the daunting challenge of Egypt’s modernization.

Al-Sayyid Ahmad, the oppressive “military commander”^[1] of the Abd al-Jawads, not only exercises complete control over the women in his family but also degrades them. After the patriarch’s wife, Amina, expresses an opinion that differs from that of her husband, Ahmad shouts, “You’re just a woman, and no woman has a fully developed mind.”^[2] Yasin, his son, develops a similar disdain for women. When incensed that his blood-mother executed a right he believed not to be hers by separating from Ahmad, Yasin claims that “every woman is a filthy curse”^[3] and “another kind of domestic animal.”^[4] Mahfouz uses Ahmad and Yasin’s negative views of women to emphasize that such prejudices contributed to the hostile treatment of women and gender inequality.

Traditional Egyptian society contemptibly regarded the issue of women having the right to initiate divorce. For example, after Yasin’s wife, Zaynab, requests a divorce, Ahmad feels “that the world had been turned upside down”^[5] because it is inconceivable to him “a request for divorce would come from the wife.”^[6] Yasin, too, is flabbergasted at the circumstance, questioning, “Which of them was the man and which the woman?”^[7] However, it is not only men like Ahmad and Yasin who express contempt for gender equality regarding divorce; Amina, who submits to the men in her household “as a religion and creed,”^[8] also objects to women initiating divorce. After Zaynab requests for divorce, Amina asks, “How can she claim rights for herself that no woman has ever claimed?”^[9] Illustrating the Abd al-Jawads’ opinions regarding women declaring divorce, Mahfouz foreshadows the problem Egypt will encounter in addressing gender inequality necessary for modernization.

Egyptian law scholar Qasim Amin expounds upon the cause of gender inequality in the Middle East of the early 1900s. Referring to Islam, Amin contends that “unacceptable customs, traditions, and superstitions […] have been allowed to permeate this beautiful religion.”^[10] In Palace Walk Yasin epitomizes the traditional Egyptian male who rationalizes his sexist actions with these practices Amin criticizes; as justification that Zaynab not leave the house, Yasin asserts that “since antiquity, houses have been for women and the outside world for men.”^[11] Considered the “first Egyptian and Arab feminist,”^[12] Amin proposes that the solution to gender inequality is to emancipate “women from the bondage of ignorance and hijab”^[13] or isolation in which women are oblivious to the outside world. However, as the Abd al-Jawads demonstrate, this task is formidable; many Egyptians find it difficult to follow the Prophet Muhammad’s hadith that “women are an equal part of men.”^[14]

Besides portraying the challenge perpetuation of gender inequality poses to Egypt’s modernization, Mahfouz also depicts traditional Egyptian society’s resistance to the “increasingly inclusive and interdependent nexus”^[15] of multiple, secular disciplines—a characteristic Islamic studies scholar Marshall Hodgson deems essential to modernity. A founder of Islamic Modernism, Jamal ad-Din al-Afghani maintains that for centuries the “Arab world remain[ed] buried in profound darkness”^[16]; it was unable to “free itself from the tutelage of religion”^[17] and allow Occidental education such as philosophy and modern sciences to flourish. The effects of Egypt’s “profound darkness”^[18] are evident in Palace Walk when the Abd al-Jawads refuse modern education encompassing secular disciplines.

Besides portraying the challenge perpetuation of gender inequality poses to Egypt’s modernization, Mahfouz also depicts traditional Egyptian society’s resistance to the “increasingly inclusive and interdependent nexus”^[15] of multiple, secular disciplines—a characteristic Islamic studies scholar Marshall Hodgson deems essential to modernity.

Mahfouz highlights that the conflict within the microcosmic Abd al-Jawad family regarding modern science reflects that within the macrocosmic, educationally bifurcated Egyptian society. One afternoon Amina and Kamal, her son, argue “whether the earth rotates on its own axis in space or stands on the head of an ox.”^[19] Although innocent and miniscule, this dispute accentuates the friction between traditional beliefs and contemporary educational concepts. Amina further demonstrates her antagonistic attitude toward modern science by refusing to use medicine after breaking her collarbone, for “she did not believe in modern medicine and associated it with major catastrophes and serious events.”^[20] Similarly, the stickler Ahmad is averse to reaping the benefits of modern science even when a physician’s assistance is needed after Aisha, his daughter, nearly dies in child labor; after Khalil, Ahmad’s son-in-law, calls a doctor, Ahmad reflects, the “fool called a doctor to look at his wife for no reason, no reason at all.”^[21] In displaying the hardships the Abd al-Jawads experience due to their hostility to modern science, Mahfouz implies that traditional Egyptians’ repudiation of secular education threatens Egypt’s modernization.

However, Fahmy, Ahmad’s middle son, wholeheartedly receives modern education, especially the principles he learns in law school. Fahmy vehemently opposes Lord Cromer’s belief that the Englishmen “devoted their energies to the work of Egyptian regeneration,”^[22] for the British Army forcefully requires that his father dig ditches with Egyptian Labour Corps workers. Along with his fellow freedom fighters, the patriotic Fahmy reveres Egyptian nationalists Sa’d Zaghloul Pasha and Colonel Urabi, leaders of the Wafd Party and the Urabi Revolt of 1879, respectively. Fahmy is unlike Ahmad, who despises the British but is “content to limit his patriotism to an emotional”^[23] participation to preserve the “life he enjoyed.”^[24] Rather, Fahmy believes one’s moral obligation is to act out against injustice and oppression that undermine national sovereignty. Fahmy’s “spirit soar[s] off into the heavens with boundless hope”^[25] as he endorses the ideal of sacrificing one’s life for the liberation and “love of fatherland.”^[26] Fahmy’s participation in the Egyptian Revolution of 1919 implies that there is hope in the younger, idealistic generation that may treat gender equality and secular education more liberally. While Fahmy is one of the few protagonists who welcomes modernity, Mahfouz suggests it will be a formidable but not impossible challenge for Egypt to modernize and “adapt itself to the social and political revolutions going on around it.”^[27]

 

^[1] Naguib Mahfouz, Palace Walk (New York: Vintage Books, 1990), 398.

^[2] Ibid., 166.

^[3] Ibid.

^[4] Ibid., 363.

^[5] Ibid., 433.

^[6] Ibid., 433.

^[7] Ibid., 438.

^[8] Ibid., 359.

^[9] Ibid., 420.

^[10] Qasim Amin, The Emancipation of Woman and The New Woman: Two Documents in the History of Egyptian Feminism, ed. Charles Kurzman (Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2000), 8.

^[11] Mahfouz, 358.

^[12] Nadje Al-Ali, “Contextualizing the Egyptian Women’s Movement” in Secularism, Gender and the State in the Middle East: The Egyptian Women’s Movement (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 56.

^[13] Amin, 204.

^[14] Ahmed Zaki Yamani, “The Political Competence of Women in Islamic Law” in Islam in Transition, by John Donohue and John Esposito (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 171.

^[15] Marshall Hodgson, “The Impact of the Great Western Transmutation: The Generation of 1789” in The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, Volume III: The Gunpowder Empires and Modern Times, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977), 185.

^[16] Jamal ad-Din al-Afghani, “Answer of Jamal ad-Din to Renan, Journal des Débats, 18 May 1883” in An Islamic Response to Imperialism: Political and Religious Writings of Sayyid Jamal ad-Din “al-Afghani”, by Nikki Keddie (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983), 88.

^[17] Ibid., 183.

^[18] Ibid., 88.

^[19] Mahfouz, 70.

^[20] Ibid., 188.

^[21] Ibid., 511.

^[22] Evelyn Baring, “Chapter LXI” in Modern Egypt (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1916), 557.

^[23] Mahfouz, 354.

^[24] Ibid., 354.

^[25] Ibid., 385.

^[26] Ahmad Lutfi , “Egyptianness,” in Islam in Transition, by John Donohue and John Esposito (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 71.

^[27] Chiragh Ali, “Islam and Change,” in Islam in Transition, by John Donohue and John Esposito (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 44.

 

Bibliography

Ad-Din al-Afghani, Jamal. “Answer of Jamal ad-Din to Renan, Journal des Débats, 18 May 1883.” In An Islamic Response to Imperialism: Political and Religious Writings of Sayyid Jamal ad-Din “al-Afghani” by Nikki Keddie. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1983. Print.

Al-Ali, Nadje. “Contextualizing the Egyptian Women’s Movement.” In Secularism, Gender and the State in the Middle East: The Egyptian Women’s Movement. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Print.

Ali, Chiragh. “Islam and Change.” In Islam in Transition, by John Donohue and John Esposito.New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Print.

Amin, Qasim. The Emancipation of Woman and The New Woman: Two Documents in the History of Egyptian Feminism. Edited by Charles Kurzman. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2000. Print.

Baring, Evelyn. “Chapter LXI.” In Modern Egypt. New York: The Macmillan Company, 1916. Print.

Hodgson, Marshall. “The Impact of the Great Western Transmutation: The Generation of 1789.” In The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization, Volume III: The Gunpowder Empires and Modern Times. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977. Print.

Mahfouz, Naguib. Palace Walk. New York: Vintage Books, 1990. Print.

Lutfi , Ahmad. “Egyptianness.” In Islam in Transition, by John Donohue and John Esposito. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Print.

Zaki Yamani, Ahmed. “The Political Competence of Women in Islamic Law.” In Islam in Transition, by John Donohue and John Esposito. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Print.

Through her work, Extraordinary Bodies, Rosemarie Garland Thomson explores the success of the 19^th century American freak show. During this time, America was in a period of transition. In the relatively new country individuals were struggling to define their status in a society that claimed to stand against any categorization of individuals into a social hierarchy. The undefined nature of social status within a democracy created an anxiety among citizens. The author attributes a large proportion of the American freak show’s success to its ability to assure the masses that they were normal in comparison to those on display. Through this soothing of anxieties, the American freak show illustrates that the social hierarchy within a democracy only differs from that of an aristocracy by the motives behind the categorization of individuals.

Democracy is often defined by the core value of equality, however, throughout her work, Thomson exposes the limitations of equality within a democracy. On the surface, equality appears to be synonymous with freedom and the celebration of individual’s unique attributes. However, according to Thomson, equality actually encourages a leveling of citizens and in turn causes individual variations to be seen as deviances and threats. This phenomenon caused America’s great experiment in democracy to bring about the “cultural dilemma regarding the extent to which individual variations could be tolerated.” (64) The limitations of equality within a democracy are illustrated by the success of the American freak show. The individuals displayed in the freak shows were physically nonconformist to the established American norm or ideal and therefore represented the latent threat that differences may result in anarchy. The freak’s physical abnormalities “invoked the tensions between uniqueness and uniformity” (66) that illustrated democracy’s promotion of equality, or rather mass culture, instead of freedom for the individual.

Democracy as an ideology placed the average man in a position of power previously held solely by kings and aristocrats, and in turn positioned the American ideal at the top of the social hierarchy. This political change created social anxiety. Instead of knowing one’s relative place in society due to strict social classes and a defined model – the aristocratic king – one looked up to the “normate position of masculine, white, non-disabled, sexually unambiguous, and middle class” (64) individual. Due to historical changes, those who identified with this superlative were now competing with immigrants, people of color, and women for jobs and benefits that were previously given to them based upon physical appearance alone. The ability to identify with the ideal no longer had the protection and security it maintained in an aristocratic society.

On the surface, America was blatantly against any form of social hierarchy, for this reason “identifying and claiming status is perhaps the greatest anxiety in a theoretically egalitarian and volatile modern order, the boundaries of power must be clear” (64). Those with extraordinary bodies acted as the boundary Thomson identifies within this quote. Those on displayed were presented as the opposite of the American ideal, and in comparison onlookers viewed themselves as closer to the ideal they were striving for. This phenomenon created a sense of social structure that reassured the masses they were normal, or at the very least socially superior to the freaks on display. The wide physical disparity created by the categorization of the freaks created a social hierarchy that eased onlookers’ fears and anxieties.

Democracy is often defined by the core value of equality, however, throughout her work, Thomson exposes the limitations of equality within a democracy. On the surface, equality appears to be synonymous with freedom and the celebration of individual’s unique attributes. However, according to Thomson, equality actually encourages a leveling of citizens and in turn causes individual variations to be seen as deviances and threats.

Proprietors of freak shows gave the people on display various aristocratic titles such as “’King,’ ‘Queen,’ or ‘Princess’” (67) in order to further distinguish the contrast between the so called freaks and the American ideal. These individuals were further alienated due to their association with clearly British titles which tied them to a culture many Americans felt a great animosity for. Aristocracy promotes the individual and clearly places one, typically a king, at the top of the social hierarchy. Therefore, ritual and decoration is meant to make individuals feel elite and closer to the aristocratic individual. However, the ritual and decoration that was prevalent in the American freak shows acted to further the othering of those with extraordinary bodies. The stark contrast between freaks with aristocratic stage names and the America ideal recreated the “fixed social hierarchy that America imagined resisting” (67). Here, Thomson implies that the social hierarchy within a democracy may not be that different from that of an aristocracy.

The America freak show reproduced aristocracy within a democracy. The individuals on display at the shows calmed the onlookers’ unease by allowing them to feel closer to the norm or ideal. However, the othering of these individuals created the very fixed social classes that America vocally resented. Instead of celebrating these individual’s unique physical characteristics as the pillars of freedom and individualism would allude to, the so called freaks were ostracized and categorized. This phenomenon illustrates that aristocracy and democracy’s social structures are not as different as they appear on the surface. The difference lies in the intent, not the structure of the ideologies as both categorized individuals but for different purposes. Aristocracies utilize ritual, decoration, and titles to distinguish the elite as better than the masses. In contrast, the America freak show illustrates the same techniques to distinguish the unique from the masses and allow onlookers to feel closer to a generic ideal. This phenomenon demonstrates that the American freak show was a way of reproducing the very fixed social classes they outwardly protested.

The importance of the reproduction of aristocratic social hierarchy within democracy as illustrated by the 19^th century American freak show is still relevant today. The American ideal remains a prevalent concept in today’s society and is continuously tied to the image of a white, middle class, physically able family. While those who do not fit this definition are no longer put on display and ostracized, they are often looked upon with pity, as if they are lacking something. The physically disabled is a prime example of phenomenon. Instead of embracing physical abnormalities, modern society looks at them as something to be fixed. While this categorization is not as extreme, it still implies that the physically able are superior to the disabled. This creates a social hierarchy in modern day society that is reminiscent of an aristocracy.

Through the analysis of the success of the 19^th century freak show, Thomson implies that the social structure of a democracy may not be that different from the aristocratic social hierarchy it condemns. Thomson explicitly says that democracy is not as egalitarian as presented on the surface. The American freak show exemplifies democracy’s limitations in accepting individual variations despite the ideology’s outward portrayal. In fact, in pursuit of equality, the ideology has destroyed individual freedom and replaced it with mass culture. Individuals within the society now strive to identify with the American ideal. The freak shows acted as a way of calming onlookers’ anxiety, reminding them that they were not that far from this superlative, that they were normal. In fact, Thomson alludes that through the othering and categorization of those with disabilities, democracy created a new type of aristocracy embedded into the country’s social hierarchy.

Bibliography

Thomson, Rosemarie Garland. Extraordinary Bodies: Figuring Physical Disability in American Culture and Literature. New York: Colombia University Press, 1996. Print.