Outlaw Culture: Resisting Representations (Routledge Classics) (15 page)

Despite political differences in the works of Katie Roiphe and Naomi Wolf, for example, both women write as though their experiences reflect the norm without testing many of their assumptions to see if what they have to say about feminism and female experience is true across class and race boundaries. In The Beauty Myth, Wolf does not address differences in ways women think about beauty across race and class, about whether fashion magazines address all women in the same ways. By not calling attention to differences, we never hear about ways groups of women may confront issues of beauty that are more empowering than that white female relationship to beauty deemed “the norm.” Does it remain unthinkable in our society that women who are not white might have information, knowledge, strategies that should become a norm for white women and all
women? Reading Wolf’s book, I was disturbed by her universalization of the category “woman,” but I did not see this work as having any power to undermine feminist work that has been altered by recognition of race and class difference. Yet as more and more books by individual feminist thinkers (mostly white, young, materially privileged) are marketed to a mass public and become the “texts” that teach these audiences what feminism is or is not, there is a danger that any critical interrogation of the universal category “woman” will be erased. We may end up right back where contemporary feminist movement began: with the false assumption that feminism is primarily for and about materially privileged white women.

More than any work by Wolf, Katie Roiphe’s The Morning After is a harbinger of this trend. It attempts to construct and attack a monolithic young “feminist” group that shares a common response to feminist thinking, most particularly around issues of sexuality and physical assault. The book begins with the evocation of a cultural family genealogy in which feminism is evoked as a legacy handed down from mother to daughter, a strategy which from the onset makes feminism at least symbolically a turf that, like a small country, can be owned and occupied by some and not others. Hence, the white book-writing women within feminism can have daughters such as Roiphe who feel that they are the movement’s natural heirs. It is just this claim to ownership of feminist movement that women of color and progressive white women have challenged, insisting on the ongoing understanding that feminism is a political movement—that all who make a commitment to the tenets belong, that there are no owners.

In this book, the feminist agendas that are talked about, however negatively, are always only those set by white females. Purporting to bring a newer, fresher feminist vision, The Morning After disturbs precisely because of the erasure of difference both in its perspectives on the issues discussed and the overall erasure
of the voices and thoughts of women of color. This latter erasure cannot be viewed as a sign of the author’s ignorance or naiveté. That erasure is opportunistic. It has more to do with the fact that many feminist thinkers and activists who are women of color would be among those who do not neatly fit into the categories Roiphe erroneously suggests constitute the feminist norm. My decision to write about Roiphe’s work was prompted by the fact that the only time she mentioned a woman of color (specifically a black woman) she did so with the intent to ridicule and devalue her work. This gesture did not appear to be innocent. It fit all too well Roiphe’s construction of a feminist arena where the chosen (who are coincidentally young, white, and privileged) don their boxing gloves to see who is the better feminist.

The Morning After is subtitled Sex, Fear, and Feminism on Campus. Yet this book does not offer a broad, substantive look at feminism on any campus. Instead, it narrowly targets and critiques expressions of white privileged feminist hysteria and extremism when it comes to issues such as date rape, sexual harassment, and pornography. When Roiphe turns her powerful critical spotlight on these feminist excesses she does so in a manner that completely overshadows and erases that which is meaningful in feminist critiques of and resistance to sexism, patriarchy, and male domination. It is this erasure that renders suspect her self-congratulatory insistence that she is the representative voice of a less “rigid feminist orthodoxy” speaking on behalf of “some feminisms” which “are better than others.”

Unlike many feminist thinkers, I do not believe that Roiphe’s critiques are all wrong-minded. Nor am I that concerned with whether she has the facts right. Whether she likes it or not, her book is a polemical work. Its power does not lie in the realm of research. The feminist thinkers who want to refute her work on this basis should do so. Strategically, however, it advances feminist movement more for us to acknowledge that
some of the examples of feminist excess she calls attention to are familiar. And not only that; we should acknowledge the many feminist thinkers who have warned against these excesses and worked to deflect the interests of young feminists away from the sentimentalization of feminist concerns.

By cleverly calling no attention to the work of powerful feminist thinkers who have continually critiqued the very excesses she names (Judith Butler, Audre Lorde, Kimberlé Crenshaw, and Diana Fuss, to name a few) Roiphe makes it appear that her ideas offer a new and fresh alternative to feminist dogmatism. In fact, her book draws heavily upon and restates critiques that have been continually voiced within feminist circles, yet voiced in those circles in a manner that in no way ridicules or mocks the seriousness of feminist agendas. No respect is given these agendas in The Morning After.

Clearly, ending male violence against women is a feminist agenda. Roiphe completely ignores the connection between maintaining patriarchy and condoning male violence against women. She is so eager to be provocative that she is unwilling to pollute her polemic by declaring in a serious way that male violence against women—including sexual assault —is utterly acceptable in our society, and that the various ways women organize to protest that violence, despite excess or flaws in strategy, should be praised and applauded. Roiphe’s polemic leaves readers with no understanding of constructive ways feminists have challenged male violence. The chapter I wrote on violence in Feminist Theory: From Margin to Center almost ten years ago cautioned feminists not to see women solely as victims but to recognize both the ways we use power and the ways power is used against us. Though critical of ways feminist responses to male violence seemed to exacerbate the problem, I was not willing to act as though mistakes in feminist organizing and, yes, even moments of hysteria and sentimentality, overshadow the gravity of the situation. It is the tone of ridicule and contempt
that gives Roiphe’s polemic an air of insincerity, as though indeed she is much more concerned with duking it out with her peers and winning the fight than she is with challenging patriarchy.

In her chapter “Catharine MacKinnon, the Antiporn Star,” Roiphe concedes that she is not the first or only feminist to raise concerns about rigid feminist orthodoxy. Yet she consistently repeats the phrase “many feminists” to refer to those scholars, writers, and critical thinkers who have diligently worked to offer a broader, more complex understanding of feminist theory and practice as regards sexuality, male violence against women, and a host of other issues. These feminists are not named. Their works are never referred to or cited. The absence of our works and our words makes it appear that Roiphe stands alone in her will to name and critique aspects of feminism. Forget the nature of her argument, the underlying message irrespective of the issues she raises is that most feminists refuse to embrace any form of dissent, are rigid and dogmatic—with the exception of herself and perhaps Camille Paglia. Had she insisted on acknowledging the range of dissenting voices within feminism, the multidimensional critiques that already exist, the underlying premise of her book would have lost its bite. Without any mention of the words and deeds of dissenting feminists, Roiphe presents herself as, dare I say it, a “victim,” punished by her willingness to say what no “young” feminists are willing to say. Indeed it is the evocation of the young and her peers that is meant to both excuse the erasure of slightly older voices and strengthen her position as a “young” authority. Yet even young feminist thinkers who have made and make similar critiques are ignored. She does not highlight the book Feminist Fatale by Paula Kamen, which is one of the most well researched and thoughtful discussions of the factors that shape young women’s responses to feminism.

Roiphe’s construction of the image of herself as “maverick,”
standing alone in a feminist jungle where no one will listen, deflects away from the diverse critiques that exist, some of which target similar excesses, though they are not as crudely stated as her own. Roiphe does not stand alone. She stands in the shadows of feminist thinkers who have passionately worked to bring to the public a deeper awareness of the political significance of feminist movement, who have sought to deflect popular attention away from a simplistic equation of feminism with anti-male and anti-sex sentiments. Roiphe draws from this body of feminist thought even as she distorts and undermines it by insisting in The Morning After that narrow, rigid feminism goes uncritiqued, that it is both widespread and representative.

To achieve this end, Roiphe refuses to acknowledge all the critiques of sentimental white bourgeois feminist thought made by radical black women, women of color, and progressive white women. Perhaps Roiphe would not be so enraged at young white feminists from privileged backgrounds at Harvard and Princeton who have “created their own rigid orthodoxy” if she were embracing the work and activism of feminist thinkers that promote and encourage dissent, if she were convinced that it was her mission to share these ideas. Clearly, Roiphe has no desire to connect her critique with critical interrogations of narrow feminist dogma that seek not simply to expose the flaws and weakness in some feminist activism and thought but work to clarify issues in such a way as to refocus attention on meaningful feminist concerns. For it is that feminist thought and practice that would broaden her understanding of the politics of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. So much so that she would even be able to see how her work “as is” advances the agenda of antifeminists who so often control the mass media, and who represent feminism one-dimensionally—stereotypically.

Obviously, it is not merely Roiphe’s concern that feminist movement be a place where dissenting voices can be heard, where ideas can be challenged (if indeed that is her genuine
concern), that has led her into the limelight. And even if her book never becomes a big seller, her work has been featured in major popular magazines and will certainly influence public understanding of feminism. Many unquestioning readers will assume that the version of feminism described by Roiphe is accurate—that women who advocate feminist politics are primarily small-minded, dogmatic, and willing to curtail free speech when it suits their fancy. Careful readers will certainly wonder whether they can really believe Roiphe’s insistence that feminist censorship is so pervasive on her campus that “no” feminists would allow her to “say that Alice Walker was just a bad writer.” Certainly, Roiphe has one-upped those “censoring peers,” for she managed (no doubt through powerful connections in the publishing world) to move her ideas beyond the narrow cultural confines of an Ivy League graduate program and has been rewarded with a public forum where her ideas are not only being heard, but well advertised and promoted. No interviews with Roiphe that I have read ask the author if she has critically interrogated the reason her work has received so much attention, or if she sees any connection between that attention and the antifeminist backlash. For powerful forces in the publishing world have called public attention to Roiphe’s work and made it appear that it somehow matters what Katie Roiphe thinks about Alice Walker; these forces convince readers that Roiphe is bringing to light suppressed, hidden truths other feminists seek to deny.

Earlier in this piece I stated that I was compelled to write about The Morning After in part because I found it both significant and disturbing that the only mention of a single woman of color occurs in a context where she is devaluing that writer’s work. This dismissal connects with the recent attack on Women’s Studies published in Mother Jones, which also suggested that among those not very academic folks who are being read (and should not be) were black women writers: myself and Audre
Lorde. I wonder about this need to trash black women writers and critical thinkers who have been among those who have worked hardest to challenge the assertion that the word “woman” can be used when it is the specific experience of white females that is being talked about, who have argued that race and class must be considered when we develop feminist thought and theory. Doesn’t this need reflect a competitive impulse, a desire to wrest the discourse of the movement away from these directions? By this I mean that individual white women who feel that some feminists, “women of color in particular,” should not have shifted the direction of feminist thinking by insisting that white women confront white supremacy, are now seeking to shift the movement back to those stages when it was acceptable to ignore, devalue, even trash these concerns. And it is interesting that this effort to denigrate black women writers emerges at a time when so many progressives move to challenge literary canons so that they will include the works of women of all colors are themselves being attacked and challenged. With her seemingly innocent assertion about Walker’s work, Roiphe, along with other white women who take similar standpoints (for example, the white woman reporter who trashed Toni Morrison in an editorial about the Nobel Prize), unites with conservative thinkers (many of whom are white and male) who hold similar views, who also have the power in many instances to prevent those works from being published, reviewed, read, or studied.

All too often in The Morning After, Roiphe evokes a vision of feminist movement that simplistically mirrors patriarchal stereotypes. No doubt it is this mirroring that allows her voice, and not the voices of visionary critiques of feminist dogma, to receive such widespread attention and acclaim. Roiphe ends her book warning readers about the dangers of “excessive zeal” in relation to advancing political concerns, cautioning that it can lead to blind spots, a will to exaggeration, distortions in perspective.
Regrettably, Roiphe did not allow her work to be guided by this insight.