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The Worlds of Ntozake ShangeAND DIGITAL STORYTELLING

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A New Vision of Feminism

by Ariel Leachman 1 Comment

Like in our discussion two weeks ago on “dismantling the patriarchy” it is not possible without the influences of masculinity and how the dominant cultural forces of patriarchy. There is a continual challenge to include all identities in In the same way there is a challenge for our understanding of feminism to capture all identities, as feminism in my view is a localized experience. The fight for “equality” for women is not only racially or socioeconomically specific; but it is also grounded in one’s own experience through culture, ethnicity and personal encounter with their identity as a woman or as other. However, our readings highlight an important effort in the theory of feminism and how it is important to consider the intersectional influences and effects. Without an intersectional lens movements cannot fully fight oppression. Racism for women of color cannot be separated from their gendered oppression.

From an artistic lens, I think that Shange captures this challenge of intersectionality. Her work, and the works of many racially diverse feminist artist draw parallels of the plight of black women and people of color; yet they are able to capture the distinct and unique experience of black women and women of color. One modern artist that I appreciate is Mickalene Thomas. Her art is a process of revisiting and recreating art centered and focused on black women.

 

 

 

When Sorry is Not Enuf

by Dayna Beatty 1 Comment

Of Ntozake’s pieces we’ve read so far, this one was my favorite. In particular, I loved the words of the character “Lady in Blue.” The first of her monologues, on page 12 was incredibly powerful. The words Ntozake chose, “puddle,” “waters,” “circlin,” “bleed,” all have a certain momentum to them that implies fluidity and movement. However, she also describes an encounter with someone who is verbally assaulting her on the street. This sort of interaction, one that is all too familiar for any woman that has walked the streets of New York at dark, is a powerful reminder of the constant pressure to submit. A daily call to behave a certain way and allow one’s self to become subject to another’s orders.

 

The idea of being trapped in the “six blocks of cruelty” that for this character is home was physically immobilizing. The “tunnel closing,” the closed doors, the sun not shining, all of these words that restrict space make readers feel as though they too are trapped within the mind of this character. The use of physically fluid language in the first monologue compared to the language in the second one are polar opposites. Ntozake goes from describing “a tunnel with a train” to a “tunnel closing,” a situation that includes mobility and one that does not. These two speeches by this character in proximity to each other produce an extra emphasis on the feelings of entrapment she describes.

 

Towards the end of one of the last monologues by the Lady In Blue, Ntozake writes about the concept of sorry. “I’m not even sorry/ bout you bein sorry you can carry all the guilt & grime ya wanna/ just don’t give it to me/ I can’t use another sorry.” This line was my favorite from this book. The burden on women to accept an apology for something that someone else did is not only indicative of the gendered climate we live in today, but also demonstrative of the unpaid mental labor that women are asked to do everyday. To accept an apology, to move on, to stop letting one event affect you for the rest of your life, to do the work to make someone else feel better about themselves.  With all the media coverage around sexual assault and a growing acceptance for vocalizing past experiences, this idea of “sorry” is prevalent. Along with the burden of reliving the trauma of sexual assault is the burden of accepting the “sorry” of someone else. Sorry is a word that does nothing for the survivor but only serves to alleviate the guilt of the aggressor.

 

Retracing Roots

by Dayna Beatty 2 Comments

Ntozake shared the stories of the women in her life that taught her what it means to be a strong, independent woman. Coming away from her talk, I felt a renewed sense of appreciate for the women in my life. I went home from that talk realizing two powerful forces that have affected me—my mother and my education. But what struck me most from Ntozake’s talk was the need to reflect on the village that works together to bring each of those forces to fruition.

 

My mother is one of the strongest women I know. At age 16 she made a personal decision that I could not even imagine making as a full grown, adult woman. At age 25 she left the only country she’d ever known to come to America to build an entirely new life for herself. She raised my brother and I to be humble and appreciative for everything we have, because she gave up everything to give it to us. And now, past the age of fifty, my mother has become the most solid force in my life. It is thanks to her that I found the strength to make some of the most challenging decisions and get through the most difficult of times. It is thanks to her that I know what a strong woman looks like—someone who isn’t afraid to step outside the lines and create her own path.

 

My education is very much the same way. After hearing Ntozake talk, I felt incredibly lucky to be apart of a community of women that has such a strong sense of legacy. From her mention of the panty raids, to the contemporary activism I see on campus today, I realize how proud I am to call Barnard College my home. Through this institution, I have discovered myself. I have learned how to be like the woman who raised me. I have learned that there is nothing more powerful than a woman with a mission on her mind—because I see that around me every day.

 

Ntozake’s advice was to reach out to the communities that have helped shape us, and use the gift of this education we receive to affect change. In the days since Ntozake’s talk, I’ve been making a daily conscious effort to do this. I share articles, stories, and lessons I’ve learned in classes with my mother. I ask her to share these with her network of women who have supported her. I have begun to write a letter to my mother’s mother, something I never imagined I’d be able to do because my tongue speaks a different language than hers does. Using mangled hiragana letters, dictionaries, and elementary-grade vocabulary, I’ve managed to piece together a paragraph written in my own words. For the first time in my life, I’m taking the steps to communicate with a role-model in my life who, up until now, I’ve only been able to speak with through other people. I’m learning the power of my own voice, through inspiration from Ntozake. In thinking of a final project, I’d like to incorporate my heritage as a first-generation American on my mom’s side and my bi-racial identity into whatever I choose to produce as my culminating assignment for this course.