#response9

In Chandra Talpade Mohanty’s “Feminism without Borders” it analyzes the omnipresent concept of “white feminism” and the difference of “third world feminism.” The quote, “Unlike the history of Western (white, middle-class) feminisms, which has been explored in great detail over the last few decades, histories of Third World women’s engagement with feminism are in short supply” (Mohanty) is such a true statement. Most people who think of feminism picture the white, privileged, heterosexual woman wearing her “the future is female” sweat factory made shirt while protesting her first world problems. Feminism should be intersectional and inclusive to all.

Third World women face the brunt of blame as described in the quote: “scholars often locate ‘Third World women’ in terms of the underdevelopment, oppressive traditions, high illiteracy, rural and urban poverty, religious fanaticism, and ‘overpopulation’ of particular Asian, African, Middle Eastern, and Latin American countries” (Mohanty). I’ve read a lot of overpopulation analysis papers, and most argue that it’s due to the fault of women in those third world countries who don’t have the access to contraception or education. Instead of blaming the women, maybe we should think about the system. As most problems we face as a society, the system is what is at fault.

These double standards “freeze Third World women in time, space, and history” (Mohanty) and this is why we still face the same problems and make the same mistakes. We don’t listen to each other and look to our past to create effective solutions. We can use “feminism” to our advantage and stand together under that term, but we can’t if it is exclusive to only one demographic.

My experience watching Another Year was really extraordinary. Before the film was played, listening to Shengze Zhu explain what was going to happen/what was going on in her film, I was already interested. From the initial shock of seeing the one room that this family of 6 shared, to getting used to the family dynamic and feeling like I knew the family, I was engaged. I was able to share their humor, despite not being able to understand what they were saying without subtitles. I could feel the stress of the mother when she talked about having to take care of everyone all day, and when the grandmother had a stroke and the implications this would have on the father’s ability to work for the family. I felt sad when no one wold speak to the grandmother, or really give her much support, especially helping her move after the stroke. I could feel Qin’s frustrations as she complained about her mother wanting her to get a job. I could understand that although I was not seeing everything that went on in this family’s life, I could make inferences as to how long certain things had been going on, such as Qin complaining about the old chopstick both in January and then late in the year, and the running joke about how salty Hongwei’s food always was. I could see Kangyi and Manzi and Qin growing, and I saw how much each of their lives were changing throughout the course of the year. Even though I only saw parts of 13 of these dinners, I felt like I grew a larger understanding of culture of families in China and really what typical dinners looked like. I haven’t stopped thinking about the film since I watched it. 

On another note, I feel as though I can relate parts of this film to Ways of Seeing by John Berger. He mentioned how different works which are shown on TV are automatically changed by the environment the TV is in. It is surrounded by the things in the house that TV is in, it has entered the context of the people watching’s lives. Whenever the TV was visible. I thought about how I could watch TV with whoever was watching it in the room, and how strange it was to be able to share a cartoon experience with these children, but I was experiencing it in a different way, because I don’t understand Chinese and couldn't really follow what was happening. A moment that really struck me was when Hongwei and Qin were watching TV while eating takeout, and the TV wasn’t visible, but I knew the kind of show they were watching because they talked about whoever was on the screen being a good singer or not. When the girl on the TV started singing Alicia Keys, I was taken aback, because I thought again how this form of art, a song written and sung by an American woman was translated into this environment, on this Chinese singing show, that I was watching this father and daughter watching.