This guide is designed for a 1.5-hour session, for small groups (6-8 participants) of UWC students. The United World Colleges is a group of 18 schools that offer the IBDP to international students of diverse backgrounds. These boarding schools gather students from 150 different countries (some students come are undocumented or hold refugee status), offering financial assistance for 80% of students to ensure accessibility. Students usually are 16-19 years old, and are proficient in English. Therefore, facilitators should expect students to bring different understandings of colonialism, especially considering that participants have gone through different educational systems.
The session aims to be the beginning of a longer conversation. More specifically, this session is designed to introduce a difficult topic for students to take to their residences and academic spaces, so as to raise awareness of the impacts that Colonialism has in the way we see our world and how we interact with each other. No materials have been assigned previous to the session.
When it comes to strong feminist music, there’s nothing quite like the songs from the 90s. When considering which of these songs best encapsulates that iconic spirit of 3rd wave feminism and assertive, powerful women taking control over their own sexuality, Meredith Brooks’s hit song “Bitch” is the clear winner. The overarching theme of the song is a woman owning her individuality, and unapologetically celebrating the many facets of her identity that make up who she is as a person.
The title itself is an ironic critique of the way that men will claim that they want a “strong woman,” and then call her a “bitch” when she actually speaks her mind or refuses to conform to certain gender norms. This is referenced most clearly with the line “So take me as I am / This may mean you’ll have to be a stronger man,” which is essentially saying “If my strength and agency make you feel threatened in your masculinity, then that is your problem, not mine. I will not make myself weaker for your comfort, so you will simply have to be a stronger man.”
Her expression of the ways in which modern feminism begins to recognize the intersecting identities of womanhood is evident in the chorus of the song, where she lists the many facets of her sense of self; “I’m a bitch, I’m a lover / I’m a child, I’m a mother / I’m a sinner, I’m a saint / I do not feel ashamed.” The first line addresses how she can be both independent (referencing how society calls free-thinking women “bitches”) and loving at the same time. The second line addresses the way in which our society has determined that once a woman becomes a mother, this is all that she is allowed to be. With the words, “I’m a child, I’m a mother,” Meredith states that the responsibility and stability that come with the role of motherhood are not concepts incompatible with the freedom and creativity of childhood. The third line again challenges this notion that women must be “one or the other,” but this time in regards to her innocence and intentions. A final important line to consider is Brooks’s “And don’t try to save me,” where she acknowledges society’s tendency to disregard women who refuse to be silenced, and instead label them “hysterical.” She predicts that men will assume her duality is an illness or issue from which she needs deliverance, and reminds them she is not some “damsel in distress” in need of saving- so do not even try.
A few weeks ago, I attended the Sally G. McMillen Lecture that featured artist, public scholar and theorist of the body Caleb Luna and their talk: “Filth Are My Politics: Toward an Anti-Racist Fat Queer Politic.” I was immediately struck by the way Luna (virtually) initially made the mood of the talk very welcoming and low-key, something most guest lecturers do not ever do. The fact that they were presenting virtually because they were very busy finishing their dissertation also allowed me to relate to Luna in the sense that we were both students who were busy with work. In terms of the content of the talk, Luna offered a fascinating history of fatness and fat phobia as they relate to race, which is an analysis I was completely new to. In their (paraphrased) words, fat phobia has little to do with health and more so with white supremacy’s goal of crafting a legitimate sex, race and class. To expand on this point, Luna spoke about the legacy of Saartje Baartman, in terms of how her body was commodified and put on display for the financial benefit and entertainment of white Europeans, and how it contributed to the creation of racialized genders and a conflation of fatness with conceptions of “racial Others.” Additionally, Luna spoke about art in the Baroque Period (17th & 18th centuries) and how it enshrined fat women, which some read as an acceptance of fatness back then. However, Luna problematizes this reading of the art and contends that the reason this depiction of fatness was acceptable was because the women were white. In the development of the “science” behind today’s normative conceptions of fatness, Luna claims there was also an underlining thread of anti-Blackness. After all, the European colonialists in Africa were exploiting and exporting the bodies and skeletons of Black Africans for “scientific” purposes during the 19th and 20th centuries. Some of these skeletons are still kept and featured at well-known European museums. This intersectional analysis provided by Luna illuminated a history I was almost completely unaware of prior to the talk. While I knew the story of Saartje Baartman, I did not know about how her story plays into the racialized history of fat phobia.
Throughout the talk Luna recommended the scholarship of numerous authors to explore this topic further such as:
For the Feminist Mixtape assignment, I chose the song Try by Colbie Caillat. She wrote it as a rebellion against beauty standards, and the song resonated with both men and women. While the song may be viewed as merely that women should not wear makeup to feel beautiful, Caillat says that there is a deeper message– that everyone should learn to love themselves despite their imperfections. No one should have to change their appearance in order to please others. In the music video, a diverse set of women are shown with their makeup and hair done, and then as the song progresses, they (and Caillat) take off their makeup and reveal their true selves. They embrace the wrinkles, the smile lines, the messy hair. The song is empowering, and it aligns with the ideas of feminism.
Colbie Caillat in the Try music video
In class, we learned about the pressures that society puts on people, especially women, to fit a certain standard of beauty. Specifically, we analyzed the discipline of bodies, make-up, and hygiene through a Foucauldian framework, and how fat-shaming influences our perceptions of beauty. Jean Kilbourne’s Ted Talk that we watched talked about how the media– and specifically advertisements– portray women and reinforce the idea that skinny women are beautiful. We also read a few articles on how we as consumers have been told that we need certain products to be attractive. In a way, Caillat is promoting her own No Product Day challenge. This seems to be mainstream feminism.
A limitation of the song is that Caillat is still a woman who fits into the idealized standards of beauty– she is white, blonde, thin, and attractive. It may be easier for her to sing this “rebellion song” than someone who does not fit into our society’s standards of beauty.
About two to three weeks ago, I actually partook in the no-product day challenge. Rather than purposefully participating in this activity, this actually started for a few days coincidentally. However, after realizing I did not really need to use my deodorant, I decided to carry on with it to make it roughly a week. Because I identify as a man, the only product I use for body hygiene is my deodorant.Obviously, I wear deodorant so then I would not smell like body odor when around others.
As mentioned earlier, I used no product for about six to seven days, and I was rather surprised by myself. One thing that surprised me was how un-smelly I was with my deodorant. Furthermore, I realized that my deodorant would cause me to smell like body odor more frequently than whenever I did not use it. I also think that swimming helped me cleanse my body odor from the chlorine water that would rinse my body. Even though I use aluminum-free deodorant, its effectiveness of blocking the body odor smell is next to nothing, and makes my armpits sweat more as a result of applying the product.
For quite some time, I have noticed that I have had a body odor problem. After doing this challenge, I realized that the problem was not my natural process, but rather what I do to my body. Applying deodorant temporarily fixed the problem, but would worsen it long term. This challenge made me realize that it is best for your body to do its natural process. The functions of the human body should not be seen as “disgusting” or “uncivilized” – rather, we should all accept what our body does naturally and be proud of it. Products like deodorant are not designed to solve a problem with our bodies, but rather create one when we rely on them.
For years, discrimination among men and women on social, political, and social aspects in society has been a growing issue. Women have been constantly fighting against the oppression of not being given equal rights as men. Such had led to the concept of Feminism, a worldview that women have equal rights as men on all political, social, and economic rights.
There has been a lot of effort to promote the idea of feminism through various mediums. Music has become one of the most engaging tools to promote feminism and raise awareness in today’s world. In this assignment, I have analyzed the song titled “ You Don’t Own Me” by Lesly Sue Goldstein, who is a popular American singer, actress, and activist. On September 21, 1963, she recorded one of the greatest feminist anthems of all time “ You don’t own me” at age 17. The lyrics were written by Aka Johnny Madara and David White. Lesley identified herself as ab Lesbian and was an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community.
The song “ You don’t own me “, emphasizes the need for equality between men and women on several social, political, and economic issues. Lesley unpacks the issue of a misogynistic society, discrimination, and oppression of women in the society to advocate the rights of women on the ground of the equality of sexes.
“You don’t own me, I’m not just one of your many toys’ “Don’t tie me down ’cause I’d never stay” “I’m free, and I love to be free, To live my life the way I want”
Through these lyrics, Lesley addresses the idea of liberal feminism. The first few lines mentioned above emphasize the importance of women’s individuality and independence. The song argues how a woman is autonomous and capable of controlling her words independently of men. Lesley reflects on how the dominance of male society has led to the suppression and suffocation of women. Such has hindered the equality and liberty of women in society. Through the title “ You don’t own me “, Lesley acknowledges the fact that freedom of choice is an important factor in feminism. This issue of liberal feminism in this song also unpacks several concepts we covered in class such as male supremacy, misogynistic society, and the concept of an egalitarian worldview of marriage. Such leads to the issue of Radical feminism.
Angela Davis provides, an author we covered during class discussion provides a similar insight on the misogynistic society and the expectation of women leading to liberal feminism. Similar to the song, Angela Davis acknowledges the fact that women’s enlightenment is a key to eradicating misogynistic worldview. She provides an insight into several discriminative anti-feminist societal structures putting women behind on social, economical, and political rights. She raises the issue of discrimination in the suffrage movement, male supremacy, working-class black women, domestic violence, important economic equality (unequal paycheck ), and Radical feminism. Such harsh reality in society has influenced the supremacy leaving women behind.
” You don’t own me ” by Lesley advocates and encourages women to stand for their rights and reflects the need to end the misogynistic and discriminative society to challenge inequalities faced by a woman.
The music video of the song begins with a guy complimenting Hailee Steinfeld saying “You’re just not like most girls.” After hearing his comment, she leaves him and starts singing, which her lyrics show why that cannot be a compliment and demonstrates the guy’s bias toward girls. It is not indicated specifically what type of stereotypes the guy has, but when he says ‘most girls’, it has a negative connotation that most girls are not special, boring, etc. He is using gender to emphasize and categorize how special Hailee Steinfeld is to him, instead of focusing on her as an individual human being. Her lyrics criticize his claim by implying that all girls are different (“No two are the same”) and special.
Some girls, feel best in their tiny dresses
Some girls, nothin’ but sweatpants, looking like a princess
…
Most girls are smart and strong and beautiful
Most girls, work hard, go far, we are unstoppable
Most girls, our fight to make everyday
No two are the same
The idea reminds me of constructivism, “The Social Construction of gender” by Judith Lorber, that the social environment is the biggest factor in gender. Every society classifies people as “girl and boy children” and “fully adult women and men,” which constructs similarities among them and differences between them (Judith Lorber 55). The problem arises when the pervasiveness of gender as a way of structuring social life demands that gender statuses be clearly differentiated. It hinders people from thinking outside the box, leading them to condemn those who do not follow gender norms or their interactions become limited to the gender stereotypes. The song accurately demonstrates such issues in society and the frustrations girls face when interacting with other people. However, the lyrics and the criticism are limited to – what girls wear, how they look, their beauty, etc. – which are important messages but not enough to address the challenges women face in society. It sounds as if the only problems in terms of gender are appearances and beauty when there are so many other biases that prevent women from enjoying their rights.
Kesha’s song “Woman”is from her 2017 album, Rainbow. Some would say that Kesha and her songs have a “party-girl” reputation, not to be taken seriously. However, this song is a catchy and punchy feminist anthem that directly speaks to the power Kesha derives from her womanhood. The lyrics center around her autonomy and strength, and Kesha demands to be heard. The song is still fun and upbeat though, proving that feminism doesn’t always have to be super serious, and also that being a “party-girl” doesn’t mean you can’t understand and promote feminist ideals. The song also gains more meaning after Kesha reveals she wrote it in response to Donald Trump’s infamous and vulgar “grab them by the pussy” comment. She said in an interview, “That made me so infuriated, as a hardcore feminist. Once I heard that I was like, okay, well, I’m going to write this song about being a badass mother—ing woman who you don’t want to f–k with.”
“I buy my own things, I pay my own bills
These diamond rings, my automobiles
Everything I got, I bought it
Boys can’t buy my love, buy my love, yeah”
This section of the song speaks to the independent and self-sufficient nature Kesha feels as a woman. Kesha is directly attacking the dated and patriarchal ideology that women need to be taken care of by men, especially when it comes to money and material possessions. There was a time when women were defined only in relation to men, and they were not allowed to own anything. This is an example of second-wave feminism.
“Don’t buy me a drink, I make my money
Don’t touch my weave, don’t call me “honey”
‘Cause I run my shit, baby”
Kesha doesn’t want to be patronized or condescended to, especially by men who think that women owe them something for buying them a drink. This is also a call out of Trump and the other men who believe they have permission to touch or violate women.
“I’m a motherfucking woman, baby, alright
I don’t need a man to be holding me too tight”
This is the chorus of the song, with Kesha’s empowering words telling listeners that being a woman makes her tough, and she doesn’t need any men. The words “too tight” also stand out here, and are another example of the oppressive and violating forces women can feel from men who don’t understand.
The 1920s brought an onslaught of improvements and rights for women. After World War I, the celebratory era opened the door to more scandalous clothing– e.g. flapper dresses– and suffrage via the 19th Amendment. However, these advancements were not long-lasting. By the 1950s, the end of World War II lent way for conservatism to reenter American households. In terms of the woman, the norms of motherhood grew feverishly and society preferred women that were pretty and dumb, over the ugly, smart, and unsexed. Daya concurs with Second-Wave Feminists and depicts many of these conservative stereotypes of motherhood within her song, Sit Still, Look Pretty.
One of the most prized texts of Second-Wave Feminism is “The Feminine Mystique,” written by Betty Friedan. To summarize, she furthers the notion that mothers need to be educated to be better moral compasses for their children and asserts that the women that have given up their career dreams are deeply regretting their choices (Friedan 270). As a result of this regret, Friedan suggests that wives stop being housewives as a career and learn to not depend on their husbands by getting “a job, any job” (279). This new claim spoke to a majority of white, upper-class women that felt as if their lives were wasting away as they only cared for kids and did chores around the house. Another document to consider would be Ms. Magazine’s “10 Things American Women Could Not Do Before the 1970s” article. Within this text, journalist Natasha Turner lists out laws based on pregnancy job discrimination, workplace sexual harassment, divorce cases, and more where women did not have the same rights as men. Acknowledging these restrictions makes clear how this time period tied women down to their husbands and gave their husbands more control over the household.
Daya, a 23-year-old Indian-American, released Sit Still, Look Pretty in 2016 when she was 17-years-old. Though decades apart, in her song, Daya directly aligns with the work of Friedan by calling out misogynists and individuals that devalue women. Within her song, she opposes the 1950s ideal that “dream[s] of picket fences and trophy wives” and that she needs to be “sugar sweet” to land a respectable husband. Similar to Friedan, Daya does not want her youth to be dominated by seeking a partner and marriage. This is further emphasized by her repetition of “Sure I’m a pretty girl up in a pretty world/ But they say pretty hurts/ And I don’t wanna sit still.” Highlighting this opinion ensures the audience is aware that Daya’s current life plans are to not settle down and become that “trophy wife” we previously mentioned.
Daya also reiterates that a woman’s life does not start at marriage. Referring to herself as a “queen” that does not “need a king” portrays this. By her own self-right she’s a queen, and she does not need marriage in order to obtain that title from a king. The concept that a woman’s life begins at marriage is incredibly restrictive and we see remnants of this to this day; for instance, many students often return to their female teachers as “Mrs.” over “Ms.” because they assume their teacher is married.
However, it is interesting to note a more extreme view that Daya and Friedan share. In The Feminine Mystique, Friedan fails to consider how poor, or non-white women may also have the liberty of chasing their dreams without much access to external lines of work or higher levels of education. And, Daya does something along those lines when she shifts women’s housework onto dwarves in the line “7 men to do the chores/ ‘Cause that’s not what a lady’s for.” In this case, the social connotations of dwarves being lesser-than connects with Friedan continuing to expect all less-fortunate maids to have to keep up with their housework and the housework of the people they work for (Hooks, Bell 1).
Moreover, the main audience of this song is heteronormative and misogynistic men. Which, in itself, is an issue. While she addresses a male audience that is primarily blamed for opposing domestic norms for women, Daya’s only focus is on heterosexual relationships. While the 1950s was less receptive to homosexual or polyamorous relationships, this modern song should have left more room for interpretation and representation of other couples. Daya also fails to mention how this 1950s conservative view is hurtful to men as well: men are expected to always be the financial providers and continuously work, instead of being home and emotionally present around their wives and kids. As a result, Daya’s song misses the mark on many contemporary aspect of nonheteronormative relationships; still, she does great work showcasing the work of Betty Friedan and Second-Wave Feminism.
In 2011, Beyoncé asked, “Who run the world?” and answered, “Girls.” Almost a decade later, many of the protest signs at the Women’s March on Washington featured this same declaration. Worthy as it may be, Nigerian sociologist Oyèrónkẹ́ Oyěwùmí’s first book, The Invention of Women: Making an African Sense of Western Gender Discourses, which provides a deconstructive analysis and history of womanhood and gender—and their absence— in Yorùbán society, presents a strong case against the idea that “girls” are, and have been, a global and universal social category. As evidenced by the title, The Invention of Women, Oyěwùmí lays out how “the fundamental category “woman,” which she claims is “foundational in Western gender discourses,” “simply did not exist in Yorùbáland prior to its sustained contact with the West.” (Oyěwùmí x) Moreover, Oyěwùmí presents evidence for how the Western constructions of gender, as well as sex, were brought to Yorùbáland and implemented in such a way that they became salient social institutions that eventually led to the “patriarchalization” (86) of Yorùbán history and society and as a result, the subordination of what is now the category of women.
Before I begin to review and summarize the work of Oyěwùmí in The Invention of Women, I want to foreground her definition of gender as it forms the basis of her analysis. Oyěwùmí considers gender to be “an institution that establishes patterns of expectations for individuals based on their body-type, orders the social processes of everyday life, and is built into major social organizations of society, such as the economy, ideology, the family, and politics” (39).
The work of Oyěwùmí in her 1997 monograph takes the boundary pushing scholarship of sociologist Judith Lorber and others at the time who were focused on the construction of gender, and complicates it by noting that gender was not only socially constructed, but that it was socially constructed in the West and is therefore not applicable transnationally or transculturally. To set the stage for her argument, Oyěwùmí speaks to the characteristics of Western thought that allowed for the construction of gender. She contends that the somatocentricity (ix) of Western thought, in which biological determinism is the basis for the organization of society, coupled with the West’s “privileging of the visual,” (3) made the physical human body “the foundation of social thought and identity” (x) and thus subject to the creation of gender. Oyěwùmí makes it clear that in contrast to the West, Yorùbán society, prior to Western contact, did not privilege the visual sense or the body in its construction of sociocultural meaning.
Oyěwùmí then goes on to explain the ways in which Yorùbán society was organized absent of gender and sex. One key tenet of Yorùbán society that Oyěwùmí explains is the “centrality of the family compound,” rather than gender, “in defining the status of residents” (44). People who married into a household, or “ilé,” were known as “aya,” while those in the household were known as “ọkọ.” The “aya” was considered an outsider while the “ọkọ” was considered an insider and their relationship was ranked such that the “ọkọ” was “the privileged senior” (44). Overall, the hierarchy of Yorùbán society was based on age—with older people having the most status— and thus “social positions of people shifted constantly in relation to those with whom they were interacting” (xiii).
In the latter half of the monograph, Oyěwùmí speaks to the process in which gender was brought to Yorùbán society through missionaries and the imposition of the British “patriarchal colonial state” (123). Because “access to power was gender-based” in Britain, the British arrival in Yorùbáland led to the creation of “women as an identifiable category, defined by their anatomy and subordinated to men in all situations” (123). Oyěwùmí claims that one the most impactful aspects of colonialism that led to this subordination was the colonial educational system as it excluded those under the new category of women. This in turn led to the creation of a stark gender divide in terms of power, wealth, and status, which Oyěwùmí claims is an impact that is still felt in “the contemporary period” (128).
In the final pages of her book, Oyěwùmí widens her focus and criticizes the way in which “womanhood has been pathologized, at a global level” (177). As a result, Western feminists have assumed that the experience and subordination of women is universal without recognizing that this represents a “globalization of what was once a local Western preoccupation” (177). However, because colonialism imprinted gender and the category of women on Yorùbán society, Oyěwùmí speaks to the challenge of “present[ing] alternative ways of looking at anatomic sex-distinctions without pathologizing the female” (178).
I believe the greatest strength of Oyěwùmí’s The Invention of Women lies in the fact that it paints a holistic picture of Yorùbán society and culture before gender was introduced, as well as after colonial contact. As a result, I was able to understand the way in which specific cultural institutions were changed and perverted in the formation of male hegemony in Yorùbán society as a result of colonialism. Oyěwùmí also relies on primary sources, such as Yorùbán elders, to make her argument without preemptively imposing foreign cultural concepts, such as gender, on her research, which she claims is often the case with Western and Western-educated researchers. In her words, “Researchers always find gender when they look for it” (31).
A challenge I would levy on the work on Oyěwùmí in her monograph is the lack of elaboration on her very brief mention of homosexuality. In a discussion around sexual relations in precolonial Yorùbán society, Oyěwùmí contends that “homosexuality does not seem to have been an option” (63) without any further elaboration. Feminist, academic and human rights activist Sylvia Tamale, in her essay, “Confronting the Politics of Nonconforming Sexualities in Africa,” reveals that in many African cultures, there are examples of nonconforming sexuality while noting that “the context and experiences of such relationships did not mirror homosexual relations as understood in the West, nor were they necessarily consistent with what we may today describe as a gay or queer identity” (Tamale 35). Thus, without assuming the presence of homosexuality and nonconforming sexuality in precolonial Yorùbán culture, I wonder whether or not it is even possible to state that these sexualities were absent given Oyěwùmí’s evidence of the absence of gendered identities. In other words, how would nonconforming sexuality be conceived without the construction of gender? Additionally, Oyěwùmí claims that “issues of sexuality were not really issues of morality” (Oyěwùmí 64) until the arrival of Christianity and Islam. Thus, what is nonconforming sexuality when there is no conception of moral, normative and conforming sexuality? Nevertheless, I think Oyěwùmí’s work would be strengthened with a deeper interrogation of homo/nonconforming sexuality in precolonial Yorùbán culture in addition to a discussion on the impact colonialism had on notions of homo/nonconforming sexuality.
All in all, Oyěwùmí’s The Invention of Women is a fairly accessible and relatively short monograph that is not only vital to understanding how gender is constructed, but also vital in that it problematizes the supposed universality of the construction of gender. This book is suited for anyone interested in the intersection of gender and colonialism, for Oyěwùmí reveals how the colonial project in Nigeria was inseparable from the imposition of gendered identities and a gendered hierarchy. Finally, if there’s anything to take away from this review it is this. Next time you hear/say/think “Fuck the patriarchy!” think about the contributions of Oyěwùmí, and how they might inform your answer to this question raised by philosopher and art historian Nkiru Nzegwu: Is patriarchy a “valid transcultural category of analysis?” (21).
An Open, Honest Deliberation About Positions on Abortion
Central Question:
To what extent should the U.S. government intervene on the issue of abortion?
Intended Audience:
For this deliberation on the United States government’s intervention (or lack thereof) on the issue of abortion, Davidson students will be invited to participate. I am interested in helping Davidson students articulate a clear stance on the U.S. government’s intervention on abortion. Although students who are confidently supporters of the polar pro-life or pro-choice positions might be initially most prepared for this deliberation, I want this deliberation to be accessible to all students. With that said, student’s whose views align somewhere else on the pro-life/pro-choice spectrum will be encouraged to participate too. Additionally, I want experts on the issue of abortion to participate, so that there is a greater understanding of the issue that can be achieved. Those experts will include doctors, activists, and legal experts from across the ideological spectrum.
Labelle, formed in 1971, was all-female rock trio comprised of Patti LaBelle, Nona Hendryx, and Sarah Dash. Known for their “godless gospel music” fit for the “space age,” Labelle was revolutionary and boundary breaking in a plethora of ways, whether it be their sex-positive lyrics, futuristic costumes or the fact that they were the first Black rock group to perform at the New York Metropolitan Opera and the first Black vocal group to be featured on the cover of Vogue magazine. I contend that Labelle was uniquely “womanist,” in all the senses of activist and author (and also anti-Semitic conspiracy theorist) Alice Walker’s term, as they were a Black feminist group that loved music and dance and promoted sexual and non-sexual love through their intimacy-laden lyrics and “sexual self-expression” focused performances.
In this short essay, I will analyze their 1971 track “Morning Much Better” from their first album Labelle and lay out why I think it is a feminist song. “Morning Much Better” begins with this demand addressed to a sexual partner: “But if you want to keep me happy / Better hear what I’m saying to you.” To me, this sets the song off on a particular feminist note, as it emphasizes the agency of the person making the demand, which in the case of Labelle, is three Black women. This is especially significant given the fact that Labelle was a departure from the girl group model of the sixties and seventies exemplified by The Supremes, who, also as Black women, were subject to a degree of respectability politics that made them look practically identical and sing about sentiments such as “waiting for love,” in the case of their song “You Can’t Hurry Love.” The difference in tone and agency of The Supremes’ song and “Morning Much Better” underlines both the boundary pushing nature of Labelle as well as their song’s feminist message, which rejected the notion of passively waiting for love and/or a sexual partner.
While the song has one mention of “Daddy,” it is otherwise pronoun-less and thus could apply to anyone of any gender identity, which is another unique feature of many Labelle songs that cultural anthropologist Maureen Mahon contends, “surely contributed to the group’s appeal among gay men and lesbians.” Thus, “Morning Much Better” is also part of Labelle’s legacy of promoting a more intersectional feminist message that included people of all gender identities and sexualities.
The central narrative in “Morning Much Better” is a desire to have sex in the morning. One line in the chorus goes: “But I usually like it much better in the morning, yeah.” This overall sentiment of the song renders it as one that is, in signature Labelle fashion, sex-positive, which is a feminist ideal exemplified by many feminists including poet and activist Pat Parker. It also renders the song as one that promotes communication and dialogue in sexual relationships, which I contend is a feminist principle in that it is the foundation of healthy relationships of mutual respect in which both sexual partners have the ability to express their desires as well as what makes them feel good.
In advocating for sexual partners vocalizing their own personal desires and preferences, “Morning Much Better” exemplifies what writer, feminist and civil rights activist Audre Lorde envisioned as radical self-care, which she writes, “is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” While self-care today has veered far from this conception as it has come to adopt the kind of “competitive atomistic” and “liberal individualism” that author and feminist bell hooks claims “undermines the potential radicalism of feminist struggle,” Labelle in “Morning Much Better” is advocating for a radical self-care based on consensual and fulfilling sex, healthy relationships and a good night’s sleep! As the song goes: “But I don’t know, baby, just what it is, but that’s mmmm, when I feel good / Oh, with seven (I assume hours) behind me / Oh, you better come find me, yeah.”
All in all, “Morning Much Better” is a “sonically intimate” and vibrant feminist, and arguably womanist, boundary breaking song that incapsulates a Black feminist tradition of “love-politics,” in the sense that it advocates not only for relationships of love and intimacy that personally feel good, but also a relationship of love with oneself through its promotion of radical self-care. According to a member of the Atlanta Feminist Lesbian Alliance, Labelle’s impact was indeed felt. In their words, Labelle represented “very together women who love people and each other. And they have a heavy feminist message.”
For my feminist mixtape assignment, I decided to submit Beyonce and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s hit song “Flawless.” For context, Beyonce is a Black woman music artist who grew up in Houston, Texas. According to Wikipedia, Beyonce’s mother is Louisiana Creole and her father is African American. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi is a Black woman writer who spent her childhood in Nigeria. Adichi’s parents are both Nigerian, and according to Wikipedia, Adichi has worked to support LGBT rights in Africa.
Sitting in the Lilly Gallery, hearing Chelsea Manning speak made me want to throw my phone across the room. Manning discussed how technology has gotten so good at understanding what we view as innately human, which made my spine crawl and my leg violently shake. While I have been exposed to and heard about the power of artificial intelligence in controlling our battles, Manning talked about how technology can predict our actions, which made me feel like freedom is really subjective. Manning pushed the idea that while in 2010, her leaking of information was critical in helping transparency, the issue we face now is having too much news available to the public, to the point where it’s hard to distinguish misinformation, disinformation, and what is reality. Culture is controlled by technology, which is all ruled by capitalism.
However, having the awareness that this is our reality provides hope. Manning talked about the importance of building coalitions. From her years in the US’s unjust prison systems, she recognized the importance of working together and intersectionality, a topic we talked about in GSS this term, to help break this negative feedback loop that technology has placed us in. She spoke of the absurdity of having solely one cause to be passionate about when everything intersects. The way Manning encouraged intersectional action was aligned with the ideas we learned about in class as well as through readings such as hooks.
During the Q&A section of the talk, the last question that was asked of Manning was, “What advice would you give young activists?” Manning’s answer was what stuck with me as she said something along the lines of “You guys don’t need any advice from us; all I can give is encouragement.” I thought this answer was insightful and spoke to her support of young voices.
Next year will be 40 years since She’s So Unusual, album by Cyndi Lauper was released. Although it feels like ages for some, the pop artist marked a generation with her music, but especially with one particular song of the album: Girls Just Want to Have Fun. This iconic song not only was a hit of the 80’s for its catchy tune, but also because of the lyrics. What Feminist ideas can we find in Cyndi Lauper’s iconic Girls Just Want to Have Fun?
First of all, the song leverages the idea of sorority. As shown in her videoclip, the idea is for women to get together to support each other and create spaces that they can enjoy. With all the limitations of the repetitive “girls just want to have fun” line, the lyrics are a reflection of the radical Feminist view of Luisa Capetillo (1910s) that women also have the right to leisure, and that only with solidarity, this can be achieved.
Secondly, the song addresses the Feminist view of Friedan in The Feminine Mystique (1963) that criticises the generalised idea that there is one “right” way for women to live when it says:
My mother says “When are you going to live your life right?”
And right away, the song aligns with criticism against Friedan’s ideas for portraying a Feminist view that applies only for white, middle class, educated women (bell hooks, 1984). Addressing the intersectionality of class, the artist replies:
Oh momma dear, we’re not the fortunate ones
This last line is a reflection of the generalised priority and agenda of the 80’s: money. In fact, the whole song addresses the idea of the working class and class struggle during the 80’s. Twice, the song mentions:
When the workin’ day is done,
Oh girls, they wanna have fun
This, again, relates to the idea of women as human beings, entitled to leisure, over the idea of women only as productive agents.
On top of that, Girls Just Want to Have Fun also criticises controlling relations as a form of violence against women when it says:
Some boys take a beautiful girl
And hide her away from the rest o’ the world
This points out at a red flag for any relation, which is the attempts to isolate a person from their social circle and family. This often leads to violent relations that disproportionately affect women. (IOMA, 2020) The song continues by saying:
I wanna be the one to walk in the sun
This clever line addresses again the idea that there is a right way for women to live as addressed by The Feminist Mystique. The idea that women should stay at home in charge of the domestic chores and reducing their social interactions to “family friends” of the same socio-economic status. In sum, staying away from the rest of the world, unable to walk under the sun.
This hit clearly addresses the ideas of radical first-wave feminism and the debate of second-wave feminism on the importance of addressing intersectionality, in this case of the working class. Needless to say that the song is not a comprehensive summary of Feminism. In fact, it has clear limitations such as the reinforcement of the gender binary and the idea of the traditional family. Yet, this song was a hit and now remains in pop culture for many for good reasons. Girls Just Want to Have Fun is precisely a song for women, that brought to popular culture the idea of just having fun. While this idea is not novel for radical feminists like Capetillo, it does, as The Guardian points out, capture the cultural shift of the 80s. It shifts the focus from all-about-money, middle and lower-class women to the right of women to having fun, to leisure and to “come home, in the monin’ light.”
