Tag: Asia

Visual arts allow the expression of subaltern knowledge when traditional modes of knowledge-making (the university, the government, etc.) are controlled by the colonial state. When we make art we are able to pull at heartstrings in a way that traditional forms of critique may not be able to do. Art can be a universal language: where obstacles such as translation and accessibility arise in interpreting works such as academic articles, art can heal wounds. Art is often seen as dangerous because it can lead to ideas, be it ideas of liberation or ideas of equality, that the colonial state would rather suppress to maintain its power. I hope you enjoy these works of colonial critique!

Vitr.(Indian) Woman by Durga Sreenivasan

“Vitr. (Indian) Woman,” Ink upon Tea-Stained Paper (18 x 24 in.)

Summary:

Britain tore apart Indian land, leaving centuries of political violence in its wake. The care and effort put into the British governing system was not offered to the South Asian continent. Women and men were shipped off, miles away by boat. Woman were raped and assaulted as their villages were pillaged. All for tea, spices, and luxury goods. Thus, this piece is tea-stained, a method which I first encountered in the work of my uncle, Nitin Mukul. The tea-stain symbolizes that the the tea industry in India had underlying and long-lasting consequences. In Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, he writes step-by-step instructions on how to recreate his figure’s proportions. I used these instructions to create my piece, with hopes of illiciting a response to the recognizable artwork. Da Vinci’s work is an icon in Western work… perhaps it’s been decolonized.

Deep-dive:

Tea as a Technology of Rule

In chapter two of “Science and Colonial Expansion,” Lucille Brockway provides broader context on how plantations were used as a technology of rule in the context of colonial expansion. 

The tea industry was the most critical economic venture for Britain in India during the colonial period, and it was a tool for colonization in the region. Plantations required the use of technology, and, as Brockway notes, the implementation of scientific knowledge in order to produce raw materials for export to Europe (Brockway 2002). Furthermore, the tea industry in India was intertwined with colonial policies of land ownership and control. Brockway explains that social domination was pervasive throughout plantations, and the tea industry was no exception. British colonizers established tea plantations on land that had previously been owned and cultivated by Indian farmers, and they used their military and economic power to maintain control over the region.

The tea industry’s social and cultural impacts reverberated throughout the subcontinent. As Brockway notes, the establishment of plantations brought with it a new social order entrenched with discrimination, racial hierarchies, and gender inequalities (Brockway 2002).  The tea industry in India was staffed largely by Indian laborers, who were subjected to harsh working conditions and low wages (Chatterjee 2001). The industry also reinforced harmful stereotypes, as British colonizers constructed an image of India as a place of exoticism and mystery, and Indian tea became a symbol of British colonial power and superiority.

The tea industry in India was a significant technology of rule for the British during the colonial period. It relied on scientific and technological innovations to establish and maintain control over the region. This control and the oppression it permeated was experienced particularly by women.

Tea & Postcolonial Feminism

According to Jayeeta Sharma’s “Empire’s Garden,” the tea industry in India played a significant role in generating profits for British companies and contributing to the growth of the British Empire. However, this growth came at a cost for Indian women, who severely suffered from negative social and economic impacts. One of the most vulnerable groups affected by the colonial project, women often endured sexual violence under colonialism (Sharma 2011). As explained by Eric Young in “Postcolonial Feminism,” women were among the most vulnerable groups affected by the colonial project, and they often suffered from sexual violence and other forms of oppression under colonialism (Young 2008). The establishment of tea plantations, particularly in Assam and north India more broadly, was a key element of British colonial policy, as it provided a lucrative commodity that could be exported to Britain and other parts of the world (Sharma 2011).

Another author, Piya Chatterjee, emphasizes in “A Time for Tea,” that the product that brought Britain immense prosperity had horrific social, economic, and environmental impacts on the region (Chatterjee 2001). Sexual degradation and violence were simply an added dimension of this story (Sharma 2011).

As a woman whose family history is rooted in rural India, I can only feel the pain of the women whose bodies have become objects. Britain’s need for capital and luxurious products trumped basic human rights. This violence is haunting. However, this piece is not to reflect some form of martyrdom or pity – rather, doing this research has helped me expand on my knowledge and think about how I, and we as college students, can use our privilege for good. I, for one, am not faced by certain obstacles that low-caste Indians face, and understanding the unique discrimination and violence that low-caste Indians have endured historically are essential in this piece.

Author Piya Chatterjee, in “A Time for Tea,” hones in on the added marginalization of lower- individuals: caste discrimination led to the intensification of labor exploitation where upper-caste Indians had more control in plantations (Chatterjee 2001). Although caste was not created under the British, they further systematized the caste system. In understanding this artwork, we cannot overlook the legacy of colonial rule that Dalit Indians continue to face. Ten Dalit women every day are reportedly raped, and Dalit women who are survivors of sexual assault face intersectional oppression, that of being a Dalit alongside being a woman (Soutik 2020).

The tea industry in India was detrimental to the well-being of women, who were subject to sexual violence and low wages. These gendered impacts of colonialism and capitalism highlight the need for feminist and anti-colonial approaches to social and economic development, which I hope to explore in my further work.

Endangered Strength: Yearning for Change by Durga Sreenivasan

“Endangered Strength,” Acrylic and Ink on Recycled Glass Frame (18 x 22 in.)

Summary:

“Endangered Strength” is an artwork inspired by the multigenerational, international climate crisis. The lotus flower serves as the central symbol in this piece.The flower itself represents beauty, prosperity, and strength within Hindu mythology – the warrior goddess Devi//Durga//Parvati sits upon it. The lotus flower has been a mystical and spiritual trope in my life, yet it is now dying – endangered along with the numerous other plants facing drastic biodiversity loss around the globe due to climate change (Sivaramakrishnan 2009; Mooney 2021).

Deep-dive:

Environmental Injustices

The ink drawing on the glass frame depicts two women. The woman on the right is dressed in Western attire, while the woman on the left is dressed in classical Indian sari – placed in America and my ancestral home of Kerala, India respectively. The woman on the right is standing on a higher pedestal to represent the unequal situations in the U.S. and in India. Additionally, the throes of the climate crisis is hurting populations in emerging countries (the majority of which are in the Global South) at a disproportionate rate. A statement from the United Nations COP26 reads: “While no one is safe from the health impacts of climate change, they are disproportionately felt by the most vulnerable and disadvantaged.” (UN News, 2021)

Colonialism & Biodiversity Loss

The two women in the drawing represent the beauty of nature and the need for its preservation. Lotuses, with their elegant form and rich symbolism, serve as a metaphor for the endangered state of the natural world. This artwork is a call to action to protect the lotus flower, which is currently facing endangerment in Kerala, India and America. According to The Times of India, lotus farming in Kerala is being threatened by climate change and pollution particularly. Due to the increasing temperatures and erratic rainfall, lotus cultivation has become a challenge for farmers. Furthermore, industrial pollution (an aftereffect of colonialism) and waste have polluted the waters where lotus plants grow, leading to their decline (The Times of India, 2019).

Similarly, lotus plants in America, particularly in the southeast region, are facing habitat loss due to urbanization and agricultural expansion. The plant’s natural wetland habitats have been drained or filled for development, leading to the decline of the lotus populations in these regions (U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service).

Colonialism has played a significant role in the current state of biodiversity loss and climate change. The exploitation of resources, including land and labor, by colonial powers has led to ecological degradation and environmental injustice. Industrialization has specifically fueled the loss of biodiversity, through infringing on land and creating harsh conditions that mitigate the chances of survival of plants and animals (Lopez, 2021). Understanding this crisis has brought me immense sadness – something only art, in its ability to display the ineffable, has allowed me share. 

“Endangered Strength” is a call to action to protect the lotus flower and the ecosystems they support. I urge viewers to take action to address the climate crisis and support vulnerable communities who face the disproportionate impact of climate.

Untitled. by Durga Sreenivasan

“Untitled,” Acrylic on Canvas, (12 x 16 in.)

In preparing the previous two pieces, I included heavy theory and selfishly interpreted my own pieces of art. Here, I’d like to explore the idea of art as a blank slate: what does this piece mean to you? One fact about this art piece is that the large black dots on the left hand side were thumb prints placed by a few of my people of color (POC) friends. I hope to see a comment or two below!

Bibliography

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Brockway, Lucile. 2002. Science and Colonial Expansion. Yale University Press.Ch.2.

Das, B., & Hossain, S. M. D. (2023). Ecofeminist Concerns and Subaltern Perspectives on ‘Third World’ Indigenous Women: A Study of Selected Works of Mahasweta Devi. Journal of International Women’s Studies, 25(2), Article 2.

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Sharma, J. (2011). Empire’s Garden: Assam and the Making of India. Duke University Press. https://www.academia.edu/43619794/Empires_Garden_Book_by_Jayeeta_Sharma 

Sivaramakrishnan, Parameswaran. “Rare Lotus under Threat in India.” BBC News, 17 Sept. 2009, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/8269273.stm.

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by Maitreyee Singh

“More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar/

Utterly this fair garden we might win.”

The above is a couplet from “Modern Love: XLVII” by Victorian writer George Meredith. Indian readers might more likely recognize it from the title page inscription of Constitutional architect and social reformer B.R. Ambedkar’s Pakistan or the Partition of India (1946: 1). Pithy and urgent, it was a well-advised rejoinder for a nation on the precipice of independence. As it happens, gardens wither, too, when not tended, and Ambedkar’s plea for mindfulness remains both timeless and timely for post-Independence India.

Instructed to examine some particularity of the postcolonial condition, my immediate thought was to analyze the Panchayat system of local governance as a precolonial institution with potential for mediating postcolonial conflict. Perhaps predictably, my assumptions were informed by my personal experiences of India, and as anyone who has done any academic writing knows, attempting to retrofit research to a preconceived thesis never works. In examining the Panchayat system more closely, I’ve been made to also examine the lacuna in my own understanding of communal conflict in India.

Bibliography

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Baxi, U. (1982). The Crisis of The Indian Legal System. Alternatives in Development Law.

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Bhabha, Homi. “Unsatisfied: Notes on Vernacular Cosmopolitanism.” Text and Nation: Cross-Disciplinary Essays on Cultural and National Identities. Ed. Laura Garcia-Moreno and Peter C. Pfeiffer. Columbia: Camden House, 1996.

Bhabha, Homi, “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse,” in The Location of Culture (London and New York: Routledge, 1993).

Bhabha, Homi, DissemiNation…., pp 294

Borooah, V.K., Tagat, A. and Mishra, V. (2020), “Conflict, caste and resolution: a quantitative analysis for Indian villages”, Indian Growth and Development Review, Vol. 13 No. 2, pp. 319-338. https://doi.org/10.1108/IGDR-08-2019-0087

Chatterjee, Partha, The Nation and its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories, Princeton, Princeton UP, 1993.

Chatterjee, Partha. Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World: A Derivative Discourse? London: Zed, 1986, 22.

Cohn, B. S. (1965). Anthropological Notes on Disputes and Law in India. American Anthropologist, 67(6), 82-122. https://doi.org/10.1525/aa.1965.67.6.02a00960

Cohn, B. S. (1967). Some notes on law and change in north india. In P. Bohannan (Ed.), Law and warfare: Studies in the anthropology of conflict. New York: Natural History Press.

Galanter M, Krishnan JK. 2003. Debased informalism: Lok Adalats and Legal Rights in Modern India. In Beyond https://media.law.wisc.edu/s/c_8/ymy9n/mgdi.pdf

Galanter M, Meschievitz CS. 1982. In search of Nyaya Panchayats: the politics of a moribund institution. https://api.law.wisc.edu/repository-pdf/uwlaw-library-repository-omekav3/original/bcc574c4f38bc892c422e00f062f5e206416c1e9.pdf

Gohar, A. (2018). Returning to indigenous traditions of peacemaking, peacebuilding, and peacekeeping: From Jirga (TDR) to restorative justice (ADR) in Pakistan. In T. Gavrielides (Ed.), Routledge international handbook of restorative justice (pp. 84-97). https://doi. org/10.4324/9781315613512  

Hayden R. 1999. Disputes and Arguments Amongst Nomads: A Caste Council in India. Delhi: Oxford Univ. Press

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Appendix A

1858: India comes under direct British colonial rule after the Indian Rebellion of 1857.

1920:  Montagu-Chelmsford Reforms provide for local self-government bodies at the village level

1927: The British government introduces the Local Self-Government Act, which establishes local self-government bodies in rural areas known as Panchayats.

1935: The Government of India Act provides for the establishment of provincial and central governments.

1947: Indian independence from British colonial rule.

1951: The first Panchayati Raj system in independent India is established in Nagaur district of Rajasthan.

1973: The Ashok Mehta Committee recommends reforms to strengthen Panchayats and make them more effective.

1978: The 73rd Amendment to the Constitution of India is passed, which provides a constitutional basis for the establishment of Panchayati Raj institutions and mandates their compulsory existence in every state.

1992: The 73rd Amendment is implemented in all states of India.

1992-1993: The Aman Committee is formed in response to riots between Hindus and Muslims in Mumbai.

2002: The Shanti Sena plays a role in mediating between warring communities during the Gujarat riots.

2002: The 73rd Amendment is amended to provide for the reservation of one-third of seats in Panchayati Raj institutions for women.

2010: The Rajiv Gandhi Panchayat Sashaktikaran Abhiyan (RGPSA) provides financial assistance to states for activities such as training of Panchayat functionaries, development of Panchayat infrastructure, and implementation of e-governance initiatives.

2011: the National Advisory Council proposed a set of recommendations for further strengthening Panchayats included ensuring greater representation of marginalized groups

Jackson, William Henry, photographer. The Holy Man of Benares – Swami Bhaskarananda Saraswathi. India Varanasi, 1895. -20. Photograph. https://www.loc.gov/item/2004707381/.

by Erica Boey

Madama Butterfly, the renowned opera by Giacomo Puccini was released in 1904 and inspired by John Luther Long’s short story Madame Butterfly (1899). The story tells the tragic tale of protagonist Cio Cio San, a young Japanese girl who falls in love with an American naval officer, Pinkerton. At the turn of the 20th century, 15-year-old Japanese geisha, Cio Cio San, better known as Butterfly, marries Pinkerton to escape poverty. She instantly devotes herself to the American, going as far as to denounce her own Japanese faith to convert to Christianity for him. Pinkerton, on the other hand, disregards the significance of the marriage. Instead, he intends to marry an American woman. He abandons Cio Cio San and their child in Japan, where she sorrowfully yearns for his return. After three years, Pinkerton arrives in Japan with his new wife. Heartbroken and devastated, Butterfly chooses to die with honor by taking her own life. 

Critics believe the opera to be a poignant depiction of unrequited love. However, David Henry Hwang believes otherwise. Hwang is an Asian American playwright, screenwriter, and theater professor at Columbia University in New York City. After coming across a recent newspaper account of an actual international spy scandal between a French diplomat and Beijing Opera singer during the Vietnam War, Hwang wrote what would eventually be a Tony Award-winning play, M. Butterfly. 

It premiered on Broadway in 1988, where the playwright uncovers his own interpretation of the scandal and the story of Madama Butterfly. The play is narrated by minor French diplomat Rene Gallimard, where he recounts his 20-year affair with his lover, Song Liling in mid-20th-century China. Gallimard meets Song Liling after watching the Peking Opera singer play Puccini’s Butterfly. Eventually, they both develop a relationship. Gallimard uses this relationship with Song, his personal Butterfly, to restore his sense of manhood. Unbeknownst to him, Song is a Chinese spy who seduces Gallimard to obtain information about the French for the Chinese Communist Party to leverage themselves in the Vietnam War. Their forbidden relationship explores the clashes between Eastern and Western cultures and the shifts of perceptions between each other. As the story unfolds, it is revealed that Song, the diplomat’s 20-year lover, is actually male. Driven into madness by this revelation, Gallimard takes his own life in his prison cell as the scandal comes to a tumultuous end. 

Fortunately, I was given the opportunity to act in the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill student-led production of the play during my first semester. Since then, it has left a profound impression on me. The critically-acclaimed play is a bold piece that cleverly deconstructs Puccini’s Butterfly. But above all, Hwang’s M. Butterfly illustrates the dark side of Puccini’s opera and the 20th century — Orientalism. M. Butterfly is a richly-textured prominent postcolonial drama that heavily critiques Orientalism, stereotypes of Eastern and Western civilization, and racial and gender identity. The play highlights the blatant sexism and misconceptions of the Orient propagated in Puccini’s opera. It criticizes and even rebukes the Occident’s ideals of the “exotic East”. It sheds light on the gendered warfare of the subaltern during the Vietnam war by giving them a voice. The gradual dismantlement of Hegel’s master slave-dialectic is present in the progression of Song and Gallimard’s relationship, where the conception of gender plays a pivotal role in the formation recognition or misrecognition of the characters. 

The East: Debunking Objects of the “Feminine Mystique” 

Puccini’s Madama Butterfly has similar themes to the Western ideals and perceptions of the Orientals. The “exotic” East is deemed as mysterious, inscrutable, and ultimately, inferior to the Occident. The object comes into definition through objectification (Said 1979, 27). Based on Puccini’s assumptions about the East, the play paints the Orient as beings that are helpless to resist. Cio Cio San is willing to surrender the entirety of her culture and being for a White Caucasian man. She is a “poor little thing” condemned to a life of tragedy. The Asian female lead is naive and childlike, an object of submission to the West. 

M Butterfly: Act 1 Scene 4

In the scene above, an excerpt from Madama Butterfly is depicted in M. Butterfly to exemplify the dogmatic views Western men had on Oriental women. This idea of the Oriental women’s desire to being subjugated by violence is one of the many instances in Puccini’s play that propogates European representation of the colonized that is far from an objective or accurate truth. While seemingly minute and inconsequential, stereotypes on the Orient during the colonial period were pervasive and can penetrate into different societal structures. 

M. Butterfly: Act 1 Scene 3

Beyond the derogatory perception of the Orient, colonization further enables the West to capitalize on their ideals in an oppressive manner. According to Said, this presumed knowledge of the Orient is deeply internalized within the psychology of the colonial being, and in turn manifests itself in institutions as a form of colonial conquest, occupation, and administration (Zhang 2002, 7).  In Act 1 Scene 3 of M. Butterfly, Gallimard recounts the events that occur in Madama Butterfly in his prison cell. He explains the marriage laws in 20th-century Japan, where Oriental women are treated as property to be bought by Western men. In this scene, not only are we able to understand the oppressive system established by the Western world on the people of the Orient, but it also highlights the unbothered nature of the Occident on their actions. Gallimard uses the phrase “great bargains” and “package deal” to describe Pinkerton’s purchase of Cio Cio San. Through the systemic integration of the Western’s knowledge of the Orient into various societal bodies, the objectification of Asian women is proliferated throughout generations as a theory that ultimately becomes ingrained as a part of general culture. 

Hwang attempts to condemn the false ideals of the West and Puccini’s play in his writings, most prevalently through Song Liling. Throughout the play, Song consistently challenges Gallimard’s perception of the East. The Peking Opera singer is the play’s most prominent figure in facilitating Hwang’s views on anticolonialism and gender during this time period. 

M. Butterfly: Act One Scene 8

Puccini’s play presents the women of the East as victims of imperialization and their own culture. They are objects who do not have autonomy over body and mind and the West manipulates this to their own advantage. However, the West does not realize how the Oriental woman has utilized misogyny to navigate the system. In Act One Scene Eight of M. Butterfly, Song gives Gallimard a glimpse into the life of an Oriental woman. When speaking to the French diplomat, he characterizes the women of the Orient as  “delicate” and “slender lotus blossoms”, an implication that women of the East were well aware of the fetishization of the West. 

In an interview, Hwang explains the East’s complicity in projecting a dual form of cultural stereotyping (Hwang & DiGaetani 1989, 13). “We have always held a certain fascination for you Caucasian men, have we not?” said Song, is a justification of the occurrence of the reverse fascination of the West from the East, a possibility that seems unfathomable to the West. Gallimard’s hesitance in the line “that fascination is imperialist”, not only insinuates the West’s self-acknowledgment of their derogatory behavior, but it is foreshadowing on how the Orient attempts to disrupt the hierarchy between the subject and the object. 

Let the Butterfly Speak: An Homage to the Heroes of Gendered Warfare

(from the Left): M. Butterfly: Act One Scene 13, Act Two Scene Two

(Bottom): M. Butterfly: Continuation of Act Two Scene Two, Act Two Scene Three

During periods of war, women played into misogyny to conduct belligerent activity or acquire information from the enemy. Similarly to the Female Bombers scene of Battle of the Algiers, Song utilizes gendered warfare in the form of honey-trapping to obtain knowledge on the French and Americans from Gallimard for the Chinese Communist Party. In Act One Scene 13, Song takes advantage of the West’s sexualization of the Asian woman, specifically the notion of the modest and untouched Chinese girl, to seduce Gallimard. Evidently, this pays off as we see in the beginning of Act Two, where Song ridicules the sexism of their own culture while bolstering the ideals of the West as saviors to Asian women. His unsuspecting nature to the eye of the colonizer allows him to worm into the inner circles of Gallimard’s war discussions. This scene signifies women in the war were deemed as unconvincing and incapable by men on either side of the spectrum, and this placed them in morally complex positions. 

M. Butterfly: Act Two Scene Five

Women, who are the subalterns of history, are caught in a proxy of men of the colonial power or colonized believe they are saving women from one another (Spivak 1988, 16). However, participants of gendered warfare who committed adultery to penetrate the colonial power are a subgroup of the subaltern. In morally acceptable warfare, Chinese women who take up arms are praised for their nobility and bravery in spite of their unusualness, but those who engage in espionage and honey-trapping are often condemned despite advocating for the same nationalistic causes against a common aggressor. In this scene, Chin revers to Song with disgust, much like the scrutiny against sex spies in China. Under Chairman Mao, women spies deployed by the CCP face degradation from both their nation and the colonized. Women spies are subjected to developing an intimate relationships with members of the Occident. However, Orientalism forced the nature of women’s espionage roles to be inevitably sexualized, which taints the morality and chastity of the CCP (Edwards 2012, 20). The West per are just objects or playthings. To the CCP and post-war rewriting of history, sex spies are repulsed by their own people. Due to the high morality placed upon women in a collectivist and conservative country like China, acknowledging this war strategy will be a hindrance in legitimizing a then-fractured government. Hence, the roles of sex spies are silenced due to their “controversial” means of achieving their goals.  

M. Butterfly attempts to shed light on the stigmatization of characters like Song, who are victims of Orientalism and Mao’s iron fist rule. But above all, the playwright provides the subaltern the opportunity to have a voice by criticizing the discrimination inflicted by both the West and the East.

.

M. Butterfly: Act Three, Scene One 

In Act Three Scene One, the narrative of the play is transferred to Song. He recounts his perspective of the affair, and he blatantly states his unfiltered judgments about Orientalism and the West’s misogyny toward Asian women in a Western courthouse. Hwang has allowed the Butterfly to speak, in full force. Through Song, M. Butterfly opens the conversation of a part of history that has consistently been silenced. Here, the unexpressed rage and hatred for the Western patriarchy and objectification are addressed through the voice of the subaltern. The Occident is condemned by the most unexpecting of Orientals — the unsuspecting Butterfly. 

The Dismantlement of Hierarchy: Recognition and the Master-Slave Dialectic

Unlike Puccini’s Butterfly where the self-identification of Pinkerton and Butterfly are solidified through the perceptions of the West, recognition and power dynamics in Hwang’s M. Butterfly is reversed between our two main characters. 

(Top): M. Butterfly: Act Two, Scene Seven

(Bottom) M. Butterfly: Act Three, Scene One 

At first glance, Song could be said to occupy a similar role as Puccini’s Butterfly — an objectified vessel for the West whose sole purpose is to drive the plot of the story. In this case, Gallimard’s desire for the perfect woman, or the possibility of his repressed homosexual desires. However, we see that Song has complete agency over who he is as the gender-fluid Peking Opera singer. The difference in the hierarchy of the subject-object relationship is defined by the disparity of knowledge and power (Quijano 2007, 10). Gallimard believed that his perceived knowledge that was projected on the Orient gave him leverage on the hierarchy. However, Song always had the upper hand in their relationship, the object was constantly steering the subject’s story. The Peking Opera singer expresses his agency through his ability to navigate his unjust society by being self-assured in his gender identity. This self-assurance allows Song to not only be indifferent to the objectification of the West and the ostracization of the East, but it also provided him with the confidence to manipulate the system to his advantage. The object may internalize their identity as inferior in their given reality, but that does not mean that they are defined by it. It is the counterrevolutionary acts of the object that can spark radical change, and even start a revolution. Song absorbed the projections of the West on his identity, but he never settled for them. Instead, he defied all the odds and served China on his own terms. 

The success of Song’s deception could not have come into fruition without Gallimard’s misrecognition of himself, as the subject, and the Orient. The French diplomat’s relationship with Song was built on a Western male fantasy of the perfect Oriental flower. 

M. Butterfly: Act Two Scene 11

M. Butterfly Act Three Scene 3

To maintain control over the object, Gallimard refuses to believe in the possibility of Song being anything other than his fantasy woman in spite of knowing the truth all along. Admitting and acknowledging Song’s true identity would go against everything he believed about the Orient, and more importantly, himself. The formation of self-consciousness is a product of culture and society which contributes greatly to the hierarchical master-slave dialectic (Hegel 1977, 10). The revelation of the truth invalidates the legitimacy of Gallimard’s entire existence, and it exposes his misrecognition to society. As the slave, Song has nothing more to lose, but Gallimard, the master, has everything to lose. The mutual recognition between master and slave is dismantled, and it completely warps the power dynamic of the subject-object relationship. The end of M. Butterfly comes into a full circle with Puccini’s Madama Butterfly, where the loss of autonomy of one’s self leads both Gallimard and Cio Cio San to their own demise. 

The Butterfly is the master, and the master is the slave all along. 

Living Through it All: My Takeaways from Acting in the Play

Having just arrived at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill for no more than one semester, I never would have imagined acting in a student-led production in such a provocative play. After taking this class, being a part of the M. Butterfly world has a new meaning to me. Playing Comrade Chin alongside my Song has made me more appreciative of the Butterflies who fought to push their own narrative in spite of circumstances. What I find to be the most compelling part of M. Butterfly’s screenplay is its level of attentiveness in fleshing out the nuances of Orientalism. From gender to warfare, Hwang creates a world that holds the West accountable for its injustices and amplifies the voices of the Orient that have been excluded from history. He gives his hope that the cycle can be broken when voices are amplified, making M. Butterfly an empowering crash course in postcolonial art that transcends the masses throughout generations.

Reference List

Central College. 2019. “Hegel’s Master-Slave Dialectic: The Search for Self-Consciousness.” Writing Anthology. Accessed April 27, 2023. https://central.edu/writing-anthology/2019/07/08/hegels-master-slave-dialectic-the-search-for-self-consciousness/.

Said, Edward. 1978. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books.

Edwards, Louise. 2012. “Women Sex-Spies: Chastity, National Dignity, Legitimate Government and Ding Ling’s ‘When I Was in Xia Village.’” The China Quarterly, no. 212: 1059-1078. doi:10.1017/S0305741012001210.

Hegel, G.W.F. [1807] 1977. The Phenomenology of Spirit. Translated by A.V. Miller. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Hwang, David. 1988. M. Butterfly. Plume. 

Hwang, David, and John Louis DiGaetani. 1989. “‘M. Butterfly’: An Interview with David Henry Hwang.” TDR (1988-) 33 (3): 141-153. doi:10.2307/1145993.

Zhang, Pinggong. 2002. “Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient — On Edwad W. Said’s Orientalism.” Comparative Literature: East & West 4 (1): 176-183. doi:10.1080/25723618.2002.12015317.

Puccini, Giacomo. 1904. Madama Butterfly. Libretto by L. Illica and G. Giacosa. Milan, La Scala Theatre.

Quijano, Aníbal. 2007. “Coloniality and Modernity/Rationality.” Cultural Studies 21 (2-3): 168-178. doi:10.1080/09502380601164353.

Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. 1988. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” Die Philosophin 14 (27): 42-58.

by Kaitlyn Dang

By Newton Wainscott

Note

When discussing gender identity and transgender issues contemporarily, it is crucial to note that many of the discussed pre and postcolonial identities considered here do not fall neatly within modern Western conceptions of what it means to be transgender. While I will be using the terms ‘transgender’ and ‘gender identity’ within this essay, the purpose is to make these concepts both brief and easily comprehensible to those unfamiliar with more detailed verbiage, not to retrofit these cultural identities into the more cut and dry terms typically used in the present. ‘Trans’, as used within this essay, stands to mean any individual who does not wholly identify with their assigned gender at birth (oft referred to as biological sex, which will not be used here due to the term’s various conceptual shortcomings).

Introduction

In contemporary society, particularly within the past few decades, there exists a seemingly paradoxical phenomenon where both landmark transgender protections and general transphobic actions have simultaneously increased, with both sides of this conflict being perpetuated by the state. This essay seeks to consider how this directly results from the legacies of colonial ideology transitioning into the present-day politics of state transgender recognition, drawing evidence primarily from the areas of Pakistan, India, and Iran. By examining contemporary steps towards transgender rights in these areas, it becomes clear that many of these state-administered actions (and inactions) echo Western ideology that was transferred to these areas during the colonial period. This case study provides a more concrete way of understanding Ann Stoler’s broader conceptual points about colonial entailments, specifically in that contemporary trans politics act as “refashioned… opaque and oblique reworkings” (Stoler 2016: 5) of prior colonial views of gender recognition. The state continues its coloniality when dealing with transgender people in a frantic attempt to rationalize, define, and categorize those who threaten and lie outside of the invisible lines of government recognition.

Histories and Contempo-realities

Many Westerners, when discussing present transgender issues in areas like Asia and the Middle East, assume that these areas are hostile to and entirely unsafe for transgender individuals. Despite this pervasive idea, it is important to note that Iran, India, and Pakistan often have more progressive legislation than many places in the United States. To understand why this misconception is so common, the colonial past must be examined and understood. Before diving into the impacts of direct colonialism, Iran must be discussed regarding Western proximity and interaction. Often, Muslim countries carry a stigma that labels Islamic areas and practitioners as homo and transphobic. However, during the Qajar dynasty in Iran, the gender binary was completely nonexistent, only coming into play through the nation’s eventual relationship with the West. In past Persian literature, homosexuality was often written about and accepted, so long as one was performing their outward religious duties. “What changed gender construction and desire in Iran,” Gichki writes, “was the Westernization of the society.” Iran shifted into a “European nation-state” (Gichki 2020: 34), quickly passing various regulations outlawing homosexual behavior and other ‘socially unacceptable’ actions – the supposedly homo- and transphobic Islamic state was almost entirely created from colonial constructions of morality rather than the tenants of Islam, as many Westerners who fall into a commonly-held ethnocentric misconception believe.

In Pakistan and India, colonialism operated in a significantly more direct fashion regarding an established instance of nonbinary or “third gender” groups. Hijras (referred to as Khawaja Saras in Pakistan), are a Hindu group typically comprised of intersex and transgender people concentrated primarily in South Asia and have existed for around two thousand years. Hijras have been historically recognized and accepted, a fact particularly documented during the Mughal Empire, and around three million Hijras exist in India today (Harvard 2018). Hijra culture involves a unique guru-chela kinship system, where the Guru acts as a parental figure towards a younger Hijra, referred to as the chela. Contemporarily, the Guru is expected to provide food, shelter, and guidance to the chela, who often begs on the street and shares the profit with their teacher. In some instances, Hijras can also receive income by performing at bhadhais – “auspicious occasion[s] like childbirth or marriage” (Gichki 2020: 32) – but are almost completely excluded from the broader job market and many other facets of public life due to their gender identity.

One might question how Hijras transitioned from being highly respected members of Hindu society capable of attaining prominent positions of authority to being scorned by the same members of the community that once revered them. The legal beginning of this cultural transition begins with Part 11 of the Criminal Tribes Act (CTA) of 1871, when Britain was still in direct control of India and what would become Pakistan. This act attempted to ban the presence and public existence of Hijras, “prohibit[ing]… being seen from a public street or place – while performing or wearing women’s clothes” (Gichki 2020: 34). It is important to note that as opposed to the moral concerns driving social change in Iran, Britain passed this act because “gender and gender behaviors were germane to [direct] colonial control, in which Hijras were considered as ungovernable” (Gichki 2020: 34). To draw a brief parallel, this almost two-hundred-year-old bill closely mirrors contemporary articles being proposed across the United States. A recent Tennessee bill, successfully passed in early March of 2023, states that “male or female impersonators” are no longer allowed to “engage in adult cabaret performance[s]” on public property or in the presence of minors (Restrepo 2023). The parallels between these two laws could not be more evident – states have a continuous vested interest in controlling narratives of gender where the interest exists due to the legacies of classical Western thought and thus colonialism. The persistent concept of ‘ungovernable’ bodies and subgroups represents what Ann Stoler calls “colonial entailments,” or continuities that “may lose their visible and indefinable presence in the vocabulary… of current concerns” (Stoler 2016: 4). While in many respects, transgender people have generally become more accepted in the present as members of society and citizens, the various anti-trans bills floating around in the United States (and globally) prove that many of these colonial ways of thinking are still insidiously present. The colonial entailment of the ‘ungovernable body’ will be elaborated on in the next section, particularly regarding the “assertation that the present is the site of colonial practices… and that some populations are still subject to instantiations of those practices” (Stoler 2016: 25).

Continuity and ‘Change’

In present day Iran and postcolonial Pakistan and India, state interest has mostly shifted from condemnation into a form of legislation portrayed as beneficial to the communities it legislates, which is occasionally the case. In 2018, Pakistan passed an act allowing for the recognition of five different types of identity expression, paying homage to South Asian perceptions of gender. Yet, Pakistan’s act simultaneously has an entire section discouraging begging practices; Gichki states that “this aims specifically at the [aforementioned] guru-chela kinship practice” (2020: 32) that is key to Hijra culture. The act also provides no relief for the income disparity and job discrimination this subculture must deal with as a result. Also, the five gender options outlined by the act, while more progressive and culture-bound than similar moves seen in the United States, are not clearly defined, rendering individuals unable to understand how to define themselves according to the state. What does it matter if one is recognized if this recognition continuously leads to a culture of exclusion through “new forms of categorizations and gender subordination” (Gichki 2020: 32)?  The state, while still paying some cultural homage to the complexity of gender identity in South Asia, seeks to create “‘normal narrative[s]’ of… ‘non-normal identity’” (Draz 2017: 373) in order to ‘know/understand’ its citizens. There exists an extremely colonial, pervasive idea that trans individuals, hijras, or anyone experiencing a disidentification with their assigned gender at birth (AGAB) can be who they are, so long as we, the state, can recognize you according to our arbitrary categorizations. This idea of the ‘normal narrative’ goes directly back to the fight against the ‘ungovernable’ and ‘criminal’ body as outlined by the CTA of 1871; Pakistan’s act thus continues this conflict whilst simultaneously rewriting transgender and Hijra history, as if these forms of subjugation have not occurred before – albeit in different forms than one may expect. Stoler further explains this concept of disidentification with the past, stating that “not recognizing these colonial genealogies… may have as much to do with what the connectivities between past and present are expected to look like” (2016: 6). As such, one with little or no familiarity with past struggles of gender identity may easily overlook the darker sides of legislation oft portrayed as beneficial to the community. Even transgender people in the West, though familiar with their own struggle, are unable to recognize and/or identify with these continuous colonial entailments – “those who are privileged by the current arrangement [of gender recognition/classification] do not have to question whether the state is “getting them right” or the processes through which that rightness is secured” (Draz 2017: 376).

To carry these ideas over to India, an act was passed in 2019 that was explicitly focused on eliminating various forms of discrimination socially and in the workplace. Despite the positives, this bill has also fallen short in terms of appropriate problem-solving, recognition, and representation. India’s act specifically targets the monetary discrimination that goes unaccounted for in Pakistan, but still does nothing to change the material reality of their Hijra population. In fact, the terms ‘Hijra’ and ‘transgender’ are used interchangeably, which disregards the idea that the term Hijra “does not only encompass a gender identity, but is associated with particular traditions, linguistic and religious practices” (Gichki 2020: 32) that the word ‘transgender’ is unable to aptly describe. Significantly, the bill also promises appropriate gender recognition without requiring surgery, yet anyone applying to change their gender on their identification must have a physical examination conducted prior to this change. Not only is this contradictory to the wording of the bill, but it also forces transgender individuals to medically transition – the exams exist for the sole purpose of state recognition, relying entirely on the power and knowledge of the state to decide whether one’s body abides by the arbitrary rules and societal standards that the state itself imposes. The state must first recognize the body to further their categorization of the individual as one, the other, or the other other and so on. Stoler writes that colonial histories and present entailments place significant emphasis on distinguishing the “us from a distant them” in space and in time (2016: 25); in this case the ‘them’ exists as a difficult to recognize and thus threatening ‘other’.

To further develop Stoler’s thought and how it relates to these required medical exams to receive recognition, a brief discussion of the interplay between time and desire becomes necessary. Draz, when discussing medical transition and the process by which to receive it, asks a striking and important question: “Does realness reside in the length of time a desire exists?” (Draz 2017: 374). The ‘born this way’ narrative that modern states utilize to classify transgender individuals, Hijras, or any other anomalous group says yes – there exists this concrete connection between realness, or legitimacy, and time that must be adhered to if one aims for official recognition. This narrative relies on this temporality being entirely linear, as a process that transitions smoothly between long-term recognition of one’s ‘transness’ into non-surgical forms of treatment (hormones, social transition, etc.), then into surgical forms of treatment, mandated examination, and finally culminating in a changing ID marker or name. Therefore, traditional and pre-colonial identities are not just subjected to historical oversight but are also forced into participation in the erasure and replacement of their histories (through required medical transition and the disregard for how these histories impact their identities) to achieve state recognition and protection.

The ‘born this way’ narrative can also be recognized and analyzed in Iran, despite the lack of direct colonialism that occurred in the country. Still, the omnipresent influence of this manner of Western thought exchange rears its head in a similar fashion. Iran exists as an exceptional Islamic nation in that transgender people are widely accepted and excepted to medically transition, having the second highest global rate of transition surgeries (Gichki 2020: 33). However, this current societal acceptance does not stem from the same intentions held in pre-Westernized Iraq, originating instead from a collective cultural idea of the “sick transsexual” (Gichki 2020: 33) rather than a genuine state and public validation – both reiterating the idea of being ‘born this way’ whilst simultaneously painting gender variance as illness. As in India, medical transition (encompassing surgical and non-surgical transition) in Iraq requires “a series of bureaucratic process[es] in order to be certified as ‘official’ transgender” (Gichki 2020: 33). In Iraq, this certification is crucial due to the strict gender segregation that makes up much of public life. Due to the physical separation of male and female identities, this also leaves little room for those with nonbinary and ‘third-gender’ identities to exist.

This medicalized idea of what it means to disidentify with one’s birth gender opposes precolonial ideas found in genderless 19^th century Iraq as well as historical third-gender options in Pakistan and India, only serving to further the contemporary ‘post’-colonial state’s continuous need to organize, classify, and control by bringing colonial entailments into the present. While some may wish to physically or medically transition, and this should be promoted and made an open option to any of the aforementioned groups, the forceful methods employed currently are both invasive and contrary to the pre-colonial origins of culturally bound ideas of gender, like Hijras. The ‘born this way’ narrative that underlies present state moves of categorization and recognition is one that engages directly with the impacts of the colonial and Westernized past and the criminalization of colonized bodies, allowing internalized colonial conceptions of gender to continue.

Conclusion

Gender identity and transness exist as some of the most contentious points in the modern political sphere yet are rarely observed by the wider public as extensions of a colonial past. The spread of the idea that colonial entailments continue to permeate every sphere of current life is threatening to many, particularly those who have a vested interest in preserving the ‘status quo.’ While this essay points out many of the major colonial flaws in postcolonial states’ approach towards transgender rights, recognition, and agency, this is only a minute segment of the vast number of colonial entailments that continue to impact transness and a right to gender identification globally, from former colonizers to the formerly colonized. As such, there exists no one solution – to generalize would be to fall into the same fatuous misconceptions that plague and guide trans politics today. Instead, a method that can lead to true trans agency and liberation involves a look inward, to understand how all members of society participate willingly or otherwise in these processes of state classification. The aforementioned implications of the division between ‘us’ and ‘them’ in the context of gender identity clearly play out through dynamics that move further than transness, particularly as seen in the dichotomies between the colonizer and colonized, and the implications that has regarding white and nonwhite populations (Draz 2017: 380). True individual agency is necessary, but most importantly, a form of radical self-recognition and the local, decolonial forces contributing to said identification is necessary as well. By creating collective solutions to issues of identity in our own communities, we can begin to work towards curing the wound created by “duress as a form of power…slash[ing] a scar across a social fabric” (Stoler 2016: 8).

Bibliography

Draz, Marie. 2017. “Born This Way? Time and the Coloniality of Gender.” The Journal of Speculative Philosophy 31, no. 3: 372-384. https://doi.org/10.5325/jspecphil.31.3.0372

Gichki, Mahso. 2020. “Deconstructing Transgender Identities in Pakistan, India, and Iran in Colonial and Post-colonial Context.” Development 63: 31-37. https://doi.org/10.1057/s41301-020-00243-3. 

Restrepo, Manuela López. 2023. “The anti-drag bills sweeping the U.S. are straight from history’s playbook.” NPR, March 6, 2023. https://www.npr.org/2023/03/06/1161452175/anti-drag-show-bill-tennessee-trans-rights-minor-care-anti-lgbtq-laws

Harvard University. 2018. Religion and Public Life at Harvard Divinity School. n.d.“The Third Gender and Hijras.” https://rpl.hds.harvard.edu/religion-context/case-studies/gender/third-gender-and-hijras.

Stoler, Ann Laura. 2016. Duress: Imperial Durabilities in Our Times. Durham: Duke University Press.

IMAGE: Biswas, Soutik. “How Britain Tried to ‘Erase’ India’s Third Gender.” BBC News. BBC, May 31, 2019. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-48442934.

by Jackson Plemmons

I. Introduction

            A Tollywood global film phenomenon directed by S.S. Rajamouli, “RRR” (Rise, Roar, Revolt), turns the struggle of two historical revolutionary Indians, Sitarama Raju and Komaram Bheem, into a legendary story of friendship, strength, and resistance. RRR is unique in the fact that it reached a Western audience with wide-spread popularity: it maintained the top streamed spot on Netflix for two weeks, was nominated for multiple Oscars and Golden Globe awards, and even won the Oscar for best original song. Rajamouli is known for his garnered success in the Indian film industry. In 2017, he directed “Baahubali 2: The Conclusion”, the second-highest grossing Indian film of all time, and most recently the third-highest, “RRR”. Many film critics compare Rajamouli to the American director James Cameron, known for directing the box office smash hit “Titanic”, due to directing massive-in-scale films. The continual success of his films has resulted in celebrity status — and the many fans that come with it — that builds anticipation and excitement for each release, even inciting violence in the case of “Magadheera”.

Prior to its release in 2009, frenzied fans lined up outside the box office to purchase tickets and in the process climbed a parapet wall, which knocked down an electric pole and started a stampede, killing five people (Shankar 2022). In some ways, Rajamouli himself has become a divine figure in Indian culture, as exemplified by fans in the city of Hyderabad bathing RRR movie posters in milk. This practice is usually reserved for Hindu deities and massively popular South Indian celebrities (Shankar 2022).

Rajamouli’s films are centered around mythical story-telling, often depicting humanely impossible stunts, such as one man successfully fighting a crowd of thousands (link: police station fight scene), and a heavy emotional component centered around relationships. These two commonalities across his filmography are typically paired with prominent religious symbolism, perhaps a nod to the historical use of religion in the Indian film industry in the first quarter of the 1900s (Shankar 2022).  Under the exaggerated action sequences, emotionally gripping stakes, bold religious symbolism, and depictions of colonial violence, lies a political storm of clashing post-colonial ideals unknown to the Western audience, but apparent to the Indian audience. RRR manages to display productive context for the modern experience of indigenous groups but falls victim to nationalist propaganda and religious silencing reminiscent of the colonial era.

II. Plot Summary

            Set in the 1920s, RRR opens with a visceral, violent scene where British governor Scott Buxton and his wife Catherine “purchase” (steal) a Gond (native tribe of central India) girl named Malli because she had a beautiful singing voice. The abduction of Malli angers the Gond tribe and the tribe guardian, Komaram Bheem, is sent to Delhi with hopes of breaking into the capital building where Malli is held. Meanwhile Sitarama Raju, an officer in the Indian imperial police looking to gain a promotion, is assigned to find the Gond warrior (Bheem) and thwart his attempt to save Malli.

As both characters try to accomplish their mission, they meet when a small boy is in danger and both Bheem and Raju spring into action to save the boy. The identity of one another is unknown, and so, a strong friendship is formed. Soon after, a flashback sequence reveals (only to the audience) that the true intention of the Indian officer, Raju, is to climb the ranks in the police force to oversee the weapons department so that he can provide guns to the revolutionary movement fighting against the British. Eventually, Raju realizes that Bheem is the fugitive he is looking for and arrests Bheem.

Raju is forced to torture Bheem for his crimes, and he is finally promoted to oversee the weapon distribution in the imperial police force. At the flogging of Bheem, Raju tries to convince him to kneel in order to stop the flogging, but Bheem sings a defiant song and refuses to kneel. Bheem’s defiance to the throne inspires the crowd to rebel, which makes Raju realize his mistakes and he attempts to save Malli and free Bheem. In the process, Bheem misinterprets Raju’s attempt to free him and save Malli as an act of aggression and he bashes Raju over the head, rendering him unconscious, and escapes with Malli. Raju is arrested and held in captivity by the British.

Months later, Bheem and Malli are cornered by colonial officers and by chance, Raju’s distant fiancé, Sita, appears and convinces the officers that there is a smallpox outbreak, and they leave. Sita reveals Raju’s true anti-colonial intentions to Bheem, and he realizes his mistakes. Bheem successfully finds and rescues Raju from captivity, and they destroy the British capital building and kill the British governor and his wife. Raju and Bheem gather the weapons from the capital and bring them to the camp for rebels. Raju offers any wish to Bheem, and Bheem explains that his wish is for him and his community to be educated.

III. Recognition of Recursive Colonial Folds

RRR is three hours in length and covers many aspects of the colonial experience of the colonized throughout much of the runtime.  As described by Brockway in “Science and Colonial Expansion”, the British occupation of India from the 1750s to the 1940s was an internal remodeling of land, politics, and human life itself to satisfy the desires of the empire (Brockway 2002). Inevitably, the monumental movement associated with the transformation of India into a cog in the British machine negatively impacted many Indians, especially those who were low in the caste system. Many were forced to leave their livelihoods and work for colonial plantations, producing resources for the insatiable British Empire. 

Bheem and his tribe, the Gond, are a real indigenous community located in the jungle of central and south central India. Throughout the film, Bheem’s appearance is noted to be different from the Delhian Indians, and often described as “brutish” or “savage”. The descriptions of indigenous tribes in India by high-status caste members are common in modern day India, such as they were common in colonial India. In many ways, the colonial past of India and its many ideologies, materials, and systems of power fold into the present. Michelle Murphy, in “Alterlife and Decolonial Chemical Relations”, highlights the historic industrial dumping of chemicals in and around Lake Ontario, and the common appearance of PCBs — man-made organic chemicals consisting of carbon, hydrogen and, chlorine atoms — in everything from rainwater to human bodies in the present (Murphy 2017: 494). A form of colonial recursivity, PCBs have harmful effects to modern human and ecological health and are a result of the colonial fueled industrial revolution, similar to how the British system of belief still persists in modern India. The remains of silencing culture, religion, and indigenous populations from the colonial era appear in the current Indian government.

The British justified the invasion of India as a method of modernizing the “savage”. As noted by Chatterjee, “as late as ten years before Indian independence, a British historian of the development of state institutions in colonial India began his book with the following words: ‘It was the aim of the greatest among the early British administrators in India to train the people of India to govern and protect themselves… rather than to establish the rule of a British bureaucracy’” (Chatterjee 1993: 14). The British perception of the Indians effectively justified the actions, violence, and exploitation by characterizing them as savage, uneducated, and stuck in the past. The same sentiment that justified the colonial invasion of India appears in modern India and is brought-to-light through the lens of Bheem and the Gond tribe in RRR.

Modern India has thousands of diverse cultures, religions, dialects, and people, which comes with discrimination and marginalization of minority groups in an attempt to modernize. The concept of modernization and a people that must be “enlightened” from the colonial era bleed into the present day experience of indigenous communities in India. Just as Bheem is described as savage and uneducated, and even asks to be “educated” at the end of the film, modern developmental projects in India aim to modernize indigenous communities with an ideology similar to British colonial justification. For example, a news article published in an Indian news outlet on April 23^rd, 2023, “The Telegraph Online”, details a tribal community, Adivasi Adhikar Mahasabha, and their plans to march in protest against the proposed coal mine at Deocha-Pachami in the Birbhum district. The community cites the negative environmental impact and invasion on their land rights as reasons for their march (Chakraborty 2023).

The recursive parallels of the British colonial invasion and the marginalization of indigenous communities in favor of modern development in India are very apparent, with movements such as the Deocha-Pachami coal mine protest. In a dramatic way, the marginalization and exploitation of indigenous communities is highlighted in RRR through the abduction of Malli and Bheem’s experience in Delhi, which opens an opportunity for movie-goers in India and around the globe to recognize modern mechanisms of colonialism in a supposedly post-colonial world.

IV. Socio-Political Context of RRR

            Though RRR is an effective medium for the recognition of colonial pasts and its recursive elements in the present, the nationalist political atmosphere surrounding the director is problematic. Rajamouli structures the film around his Hindu-centric nationalist beliefs, with multiple musical numbers about one nation of India held together through Hinduism, and even scenes depicting the character Raju as the Hindu Prince Ram, an embodiment of virtue and courage. The religious nature of the film is not problematic in itself, but it amplifies the forced narrative of one nation under Hindutva rule.

An influential Hindu text, The Ramayana, features the banished Prince Ram in his journey across the sea with a band of monkeys to rescue Princess Sita. The Utopia of Ramrajya is described as a kingdom of Prince Ram, a perfect society where every person achieves happiness. In present day India, the term Ram-Rajya (a descendant of the term Ramrajya) describes the well-fare state. During anti-colonial movements, political leader Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, presented his idea of Ram-Rajya as a “political arrangement leading to social happiness” and a just democratic society. (Gupta 2017: 140).

In a thrilling action scene of RRR, Raju uses the bow and arrow from the temple of Prince Ram to break out of his captivity, and appears with long hair, unmistakably resembling Prince Ram. Raju’s first name, Sitarama, resembles the name Prince Ram, and furthermore, his fiancé is named Sita—after the Princess Sita. Indian film critic, Karthik Shankar, describes several scenes as having a “slightly chilling quality to viewers living under the constant threat of Hindutva authoritarianism” due to the use of the Utopia of Ramrajya as a symbol to “galvanize the political agenda of the Indian ruling party—the BJP” (Shankar 2022).

The BJP (Bharatiya Janata Party) is the current ruling party of India, with a mission to unite the country under nationalist principles of the religion Hindu, as opposed to the historic secular government of India. India’s constitution after independence in 1947 stated that a “principled distance” between the church and the government should be maintained in order to unite the many communities of different religions (Vaishnav 2019). In contrast, the current Indian government (BJP) has set out to unite the nation under the religion of Hindu, and in the process has tried to silence other religious communities in India.

In the film, Raju’s father tells him that “every hand will have a weapon”, which is thought to promote paramilitary groups in India such as the RSS (Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh), whose mission is to militarize Hindus. Even more striking, the conclusion of the film features an entertaining musical number full of nationalist propaganda, including images of many influential Indian figures in the background. Surprisingly, three main figures are intentionally left out: Gandhi, who promoted secular and nonviolent Hinduism which is in opposition to the BJP; Ambedkar, a leading figure in the protests against the caste system and father of the Indian constitution; and Nehru, the first prime minister of India who is in opposition to the current prime minister (Shankar 2022). All of these figures have one thing in common… their political presence is at odds with the political agenda of the BJP.

V. Colonialism in a New Form

            The coloniality of the BJP’s political regime is best understood through the lens of modernity and colonial rationality of nature emphasized by Quijano in “Coloniality and Modernity/Rationality”. Quijano describes the distinction between the western perception of being modern and being savage, and how this system of belief allowed colonizers to exploit the colonized (Quijano 2007). Under Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the BJP has cemented its hegemonic political power based “on the premise that Indian culture is coterminous with Hindu culture” (Vaishnav 2019). The BJP’s perception of Hinduism as the only religion of India reinforces the idea that Hinduism and its values are superior to other religions, creating that distinction between Hindus and “the other”, “the savage”, and “the uneducated”. The Nationalist Hindu belief system creates an opportunity to otherize religions different from Hinduism, and in the process, marginalize minorities similar to colonial invasion.

            Under the BJP regime, hate speech and violence against religious minorities has become common and indirectly encouraged by the government. In December of 2021, Prime Minister Modi blocked a Christian organization, Missionaries of Charity, from receiving foreign funds. Denying funds to minority religious groups has been an initiative of the BJP, utilizing the “Foreign Contribution Regulation Act to restrict external funding to nongovernmental organizations it has deemed critical” (Ganguly 2021). The denial of funds effectively silences the religious minority groups, orchestrated through Quijano’s distinction of modern and unmodern in the context of Hindutva Nationalism. The refusal to acknowledge religious hate speech and silencing further emphasizes the hegemonic coloniality of the BJP’s system of governance.

VI. Conclusion          

RRR is a fantastic film worth viewing for entertainment value and social commentary among other reasons, but as western viewers, I encourage us to recognize the silenced and be aware of the hegemony of political power. The impact of hegemony is recognized through the critical frameworks defined by: Murphy and the material remains of PCBs; Brockway and the technologies of rule; and Quijano and the colonial perception of modernity. Hegemonic power poisons the industries of society, exemplified through nationalist BJP propaganda in RRR, and in a broader context, the film industry. The film industry is influenced by money, and consequently, sacrifices must be made to please systems of power. Recognition of the interplay of these systems and its effects are a small, yet meaningful step towards dismantling hegemonic power dynamics.

Citations

Abrams, Simon. “RRR Movie Review & Film Summary (2022): Roger Ebert.” movie review & film summary (2022) | Roger Ebert. Accessed April 23, 2023. https:// www.rogerebert.com/reviews/rrr-movie-review-2022.

Brockway, Lucile. 2002. Science and Colonial Expansion. Yale University Press.Ch.2.

Brody, Richard. “The Netflix Hit ‘RRR’ Is a Political Screed, an Action Bonanza, and an Exhilarating Musical.” The New Yorker. The New Yorker, June 2, 2022. https://www.newyorker.com/culture/the-front-row/the-netflix-hit-rrr-is-a-political-screed-an-action-bonanza-and-an-exhilarating-musical.

Chakraborty, Snehamoy. “Adivasis to March to Calcutta against Coal Mine.” Birbhum – Adivasis to march to Calcutta against coal mine – Telegraph India. Telegraph India, April 7, 2023. https://www.telegraphindia.com/west-bengal/adivasis-to-march-to-calcutta-against-coal-mine/cid/1928043.

Chatterjee, Partha. 1993. “The Colonial State” in The Nation and Its Fragments. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 14-34.

Ganguly, Sumit. “India’s Religious Minorities Are under Attack.” Foreign Policy. Foreign Policy, December 30, 2021. https://foreignpolicy.com/2021/12/30/india-religious-minorities-under-attack-christian-muslim-modi-bjp/.

Gupta, Neerja A. “Utopian State, Concept and Need of Ramrajya: A Literary Study.” SSRN Electronic Journal, October 2017, 140–46. https://doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.3086066.

Murphy, Michel. 2017. Afterlife and Decolonial Chemical Relations. Cultural Anthropology 31(4): 494-501.

Quijano, Aníbal. 2007. Coloniality and Modernity/Rationality. Cultural Studies. 21:2-3, 168-178

S.S. Rajamouli. RRR. DVV Entertainment, 2022.

“RRR.” IMDb. IMDb.com. Accessed April 23, 2023. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt8178634/plotsummary/.

Shankar, Karthik. “’RRR’ Is the Blockbuster of the Summer, but Mind Its Dicey Politics.” Thrillist, June 10, 2022. https://www.thrillist.com/entertainment/nation/rrr-indian-movie-politics-explained.

Vaishnav, Milan. “The BJP in Power: Indian Democracy and Religious Nationalism.” Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, April 2019. https://carnegieendowment.org/2019/04/04/bjp-in-power-indian-democracy-and-religious-nationalism-pub-78677.

by Jennifer Tran

I’ve always liked the water. Back in Vũng Tàu, the port city I was raised in, I would watch my father cast his fishing line across the water in his boat, the vastness of the South China Sea inconceivable in my child’s mind. During hot, humid summers, I would lean over the side of the boat and dip my hands into the saltwater, bringing back a cool hand to drag along my face.

I don’t have the chance to do that anymore. There is no ocean near my home to look out to. No boat to sit on with my father. My father isn’t even with us anymore.

Instead, I spend my weekends biking along the Seine. The river cruise boats hold waving tourists, and residents sit alongside the river in the evening when the temperature is cool. The weather took time to adjust to. The lack of humidity made my skin dry and flaky, lips chapped and bloody. 

After crossing the Pont Alexandre III, there is the Embassy of Vietnam in France further north of the river. Today, the flag is stagnant on its pole, red and golden yellow draped delicately downwards. The Embassy isn’t a very impressive building. The entrance is one door out of the many along the corridor. Sometimes, when I pass by on the weekends, there is a line of Vietnamese people trying to apply for a visa or seek consultation for their citizenship.

Back in 1978, I fled Vietnam on the same boat my father and I used with my brother, aunt, and uncle. My parents both passed during the war. Providing wartime medical care in Saigon put them at high risk of casualty. I remember when we got the news. The doctor at the hospital sent a message to my aunt while she was teaching, and she came home with an expression I couldn’t identify. Fear? Grief? Sadness? The depth of it all was severe. I was nine.

After Saigon fell, our futures were uncertain. We heard news of South Vietnamese politicians being pushed into mass graves, and punishment for all those associated with anti-communist ideas. My aunt and uncle weren’t involved politically, but we still suffered the consequences. My aunt lost her job after the school was shut down. There were little ways to make money off of fishing and agriculture alone. The atmosphere was unstable, as if there was a ticking landmine waiting for us to slip further along the cracks. Our neighbors left and were replaced with unfamiliar, untrustworthy faces. We kept the windows closed after they moved in.

So, we left, my father’s boat taking us out to sea creak creak creaking along. I’ve heard people call us “boat people,” a phrase for people like my family who left Vietnam by boat in search of stability, whether political, economic, or even mental. I’m not sure if that is applicable to me, because, truly, I have not found that stability. 

We found ourselves in Hong Kong after a few weeks at sea, only to be put in a refugee camp for four years before traveling to France. A Vietnamese woman sponsored us, so we lived with her for a year before moving into a small apartment in Paris. There is a large Vietnamese population here: A mix of immigrants who moved before and after the war. The dynamic is strange. Because the French occupied Vietnam for so long, I can see bits and pieces of their presence in bakeries and infrastructure back home. The baguette of bánh mì is sold separately. Somehow, the atmosphere is similar.

The Embassy I bike past is the one that gave me my initial visa — a bound passport booklet with my picture and name: Vĩnh Nguyễn. When I pass by, sometimes I’ll pull it out and trace my finger along the old picture. My hair is shorter. I look younger, but more worn, the depth behind my eyes a result of a lifetime of worries after the war. The day the picture was taken, I had to duck away into the small bathroom to decompress. The bodies of Vietnamese immigrants became too much — the baby crying against her mother, the older adults tapping their feet against the tiled floor in anxious anticipation, the man that looked like my father. It was too much.

How do you live? Amidst the instability of life’s circumstances, how do you learn to live another life and still claim it as your own? After 19 years, I still struggle with this. I wonder about the person I could have been if I stayed in Vũng Tàu, or if I moved to Saigon and became a cushy official for the communist government. A lot of post-war Vietnamese immigrants in France are against the Hanoi government — they say it’s a disgrace to democracy and that the people living there have been stripped of their rights. The older Vietnamese people who immigrated before the war have experience in French communist politics and watched the changing tide in the East with the Soviet bloc. They supported the Việt Minh’s policies, like opposing the re-occupation of Vietnam by France. There is a sharp division between these ideas, a deep line drawn in the sand. 

I don’t know how to feel about these ideas, truthfully. I know what it means to lose my parents to the war, the feeling of grief and fear for the safety of my family. I understand what it means to sail along the waves, never quite sure if I’d make it to my destination. I also know how it feels to be a stranger. Even though the French occupied our land, they are not welcoming of our people. Parisians look at me with barely-veiled contempt when I enter stores, sometimes. I’ve been mocked for my accented French. I’ve heard Vietnamese people being called the “model minority” in this country, but that does not reflect their treatment of us. They liked that we’ve integrated in their culture, but never the other way around.

A couple weeks after we arrived in France, our sponsor enrolled us in French language classes so we could have an easier time looking for jobs. 

“If you are going to live here, you need to fit in,” she told us. She gave us clothes her family no longer wore to help us blend into the fashion. She showed us around stores and restaurants, telling us how to order and what mannerisms were appropriate in each setting. Slowly, she molded us into the French idea of what being Vietnamese should mean. No loud voices, always look your best. Never slip unless you want someone to target you. Being Vietnamese already meant you were different. “Why give them reasons to target you further?” she would ask us.

Despite her advice and good intentions, there is no guidebook for how to navigate feeling like a stranger in your own skin. Here, I am not Vietnamese enough for the French and also not French enough for them and the Vietnamese people who have been here for longer. How do you live when you are not enough for the people around you? The thought bleeds into your idea of yourself, seeping into the crevices and attacking your worth. The parts of your identity never meld together the way you want them to. Each part is distinct and noncomplementary.

Whenever I feel like this, I bike to the Seine. I choose a grassy spot near the water and take a glance at my reflection. Here is the same person as the photo on my visa, only 19 years older. I’ve learned French, I’ve learned their mannerisms, I’ve learned all that I could, but, still, it is never enough. 

My hair is longer. I still have that worn look on my face, only with sharper features and wrinkles around my eyes. I wear glasses now. Truly, I am a culmination of these experiences, these identities. But they are difficult to hold within myself.

Identity is akin to a reflection in a room full of mirrors. My perspective is different from my uncle, aunt, and brother’s, who have experienced a life parallel to mine, but approached it with individual minds. My aunt teaches French to incoming immigrants. My brother and uncle work in the bakery across the street from our apartment. I work as a nurse in the ICU unit. We came here on the same boat and plane, found our own molds into society, and reap its rewards and benefits in different ways. Are these molds stable? Perhaps for my aunt and uncle, who are content with a steady income and housing. For my brother, who was too young to remember much of Vietnam, yes. For me, I’m not quite sure.

There will be futures other than mine — futures where immigrants will have their children and raise them in their suburban homes. Their children will have children, and soon, the pre-war memories of Vietnam will disappear. Even now, I find it difficult to remember the feeling of the sand between my toes on Bai Truoc, my father’s smile when he reeled in a fish, my mother’s happy voice when we brought it home. There are so many things to forget and will be forgotten. That scares me. It scares me beyond belief.

But there will be better days. I can share my memories with my children in the future, teach them my language and share my life with them. I will take them back to Vũng Tàu, where we can fish and run along the beach until our feet get tired. Maybe I will even move back, depending on how things have changed since. Even if I do not fit the mold here, I will carve my own path until I can call it completely mine. Truly, unconditionally mine.

Author’s Note

While I was writing this fictional narrative, I wanted to keep two things in mind: one, how the movement of colonial thought persists through physical boundaries, often within the minds of the colonized, and two, what it means to carve your own future despite being marginalized. This comes from my family and I’s own experience with colonialism in Vietnam and its diaspora. My dad lived through the Vietnam War and watched its destructive nature in real time, seeing people die from violence caused by the North and the U.S., and the aftermath experienced by those who supported the South Vietnamese government. His memory is a form of colonial thought — one shaped by American ideas of communism, which has continued considering he lives in the U.S. now. My mom lived in the mountains in North Vietnam along the border of China and was largely untouched by the war. Her memory, however, is an antiquated one as well, because she remembers the small township she lived in and its “backwards” way of thinking. She saw the U.S. as a form of progress, feeding into the colonial idea of the West as more advanced, and ultimately leaving her home in the middle of the night on a small boat in which she sailed on for a month until reaching Hong Kong. My dad has not been back to Vietnam since leaving. He holds a fragile memory in his mind of what it means to be Vietnamese, but that reality has shifted as Vietnam’s government, economy, and social life has changed. My mom visited in the early 2000s but only went back to her hometown, which is largely unchanged in its agricultural economy and rural setting. In all of this, there is a question that lingers: Where do I fit into the mold?

According to Michelle Murphy, alterlife names “life already altered, which is also life open to alteration (Murphy 2017: 497).” In her case, she notes the chemical relation between humans and non-humans, proposing that the idea of the alterlife is a life entangled with ecological, colonial, capitalistic, and infrastructural histories that impact our futures. I leaned more into the colonial aspect, which my character, Vĩnh Nguyễn, exemplifies through his reflection of an alternative future still impacted by war and French colonialism. In this alterlife, he sees himself working for the Hanoi government — a job that would pay comfortably and would keep him in Vietnam. Such a life would be touched by various countries — China, for backing the North during the war; the U.S., for intervening and imposing a conflicting American idea of communism and democracy through their involvement; and France, for shaping how the country developed economically and socially since the 1800s. Though these influences are tangible, Vĩnh would still have felt a sense of freedom in Vietnam. He would be able to speak his first language, eat the foods he grew up with, and visit friends and family. There would be less political stability following the war, but, in a mental sense, he would be free. Vĩnh’s current life in Paris is shaped by French influence: He must learn to assimilate into the culture despite facing discrimination for his race and expression. Because of French colonization, Vĩnh has been forced into the position of the “Orient,” which was established a century before he was even born. “The relationship between Occident and Orient is a relationship of power, of domination, of varying degrees of a complex hegemony (Said 1978: 5)…,” and because of this, there is little chance to escape the colonized mindset except through fantasy. 

Through these alterlifes, Vĩnh subconsciously experiences the colonial mentality — the internalized idea manifested within colonized people: a feeling of inferiority compared to their colonizers. It perpetuates the belief that the cultural values of the colonizer are above one’s own cultural expressions. In Franz Fanon’s “Wretched of the Earth,” he explains how French colonization and the results of the Algerian War influenced Algerian identity. 

“In the West, the family circle, the effects of education, and the relatively high standard of living of the working class provide a more or less efficient protection against the harmful action of these pastimes. But in an African country, where mental development is uneven, where the violent collision of two worlds has considerably shaken old traditions and thrown the universe of the perceptions out of focus, the impressionability and sensibility of the Young African are at the mercy of the various assaults made upon them by the very Nature of Western Culture (Fanon 2021: 194–95).”

He argues that this creates an internal conflict as Western ideology is pushed onto colonized populations despite their cultural differences. This introspective experience is present within Vĩnh when he asks, “How do you live? Amidst the instability of life’s circumstances, how do you learn to live another life and still claim it as your own?” The idea of not being French or Vietnamese enough in a country that colonized his ancestors is suffocating. The fantasy of the alterlife is his way of reclaiming his identity. Fanon maintains that colonized individuals need to destroy one form of recognition in order to produce another form of mutually-affirming recognition. Vĩnh’s potential future of having children to share his culture with, and perhaps even moving back to Vietnam, is his way of reclaiming life after it has been forcibly taken by him by factors out of his control. In this way, he follows Fanon’s words: “For Europe, for ourselves and for humanity, comrades, we must turn over a new leaf, we must work out new concepts, and try to set afoot a new man (Fanon 2021: 312).” 

Above all, what guided my writing was our in-class discussion of the subaltern. I wanted to write about a history from below: A life of someone living in a country that colonized his own. Vĩnh mentions how others have called the Vietnamese “boat people” or “the model minority,” but these are reductive and homogenous ways of thinking about a population with divided ideas about politics, who have had their share of displacement. I did not want to feed into the stereotype of the “Orient,” nor fetishize difference itself. I wanted an honest reckoning of progress in the colonized through confrontation with the present and future. Instead of speaking for the subaltern, I wanted to let it speak for itself.

So, once again, where does this leave me? I am a part of the diaspora Vĩnh worries about, the one where immigrants have children with little knowledge about pre-war Vietnam. I grew up in the suburbs of Charlotte. While there’s a large Vietnamese population there, I have never fully felt connected to this culture — like Vĩnh, never American or Vietnamese enough. But, truly, there are other realities to my own, and other alterlives that are touched by colonialism in different ways. My dad tells me about his brother who currently lives in Vietnam. He owns a company and lives a content life. His children live in the U.S., where they share their culture to their children and communities. My mom will tell me about her family back in Phó Bảng, who live a completely alternate lifestyle compared to us. So, in my case, there is little use in thinking I’m not enough in a postcolonial world. Stories will be shared, and we will persist as we always have.

Bibliography

Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth. New York: Grove Press, 2021.

Murphy, Michelle. “Alterlife and Decolonial Chemical Relations.” Cultural Anthropology 32, no. 4 (2017): 494–503. https://doi.org/10.14506/ca32.4.02.

Said, Edward. “Introduction.” Orientalism. Pantheon Books, 1978.