Unbetitelt

Dhevi is depicted almost solely running an impeccable upper-class household, doggedly taking care of the men in her life no matter how much they neglect her, suffering a cold marital bed and wishing for children probably both as a cure for her loneliness and in pursuit of that perfect family life she seems to crave despite her family circumstances not at all being conducive to it. Dhevi is also mourning the days her father would get rid of political dissidents quickly and without scruple. That makes her a hardliner. Somewhere between her ideas of the kind of womanhood she wants to live and her ideas about violent political censorship, Dhevi represents the corrupt political system all other character’s narratives so overtly revolve around, and the way even people oppressed in that system will cling to it and help uphold it as long as they can reap some benefit off of it.

Dhevi is limited by the social, political and legal restrictions placed on her gender, yet from within these limitations she not only exists in and acts from a place of extreme privilege and power, but seemingly does so comfortably and uncritically. That is class-based entitlement. The gender-based discrimination she experiences certainly informs how she wields, or feels she has to wield, the privilege at her disposal. But that very same privilege makes her at best blind or at worst unempathetic to the harms she causes to others tied up in the same oppressive systems, when she helps uphold those systems in an attempt to create some breathing space for herself in them. Shine is a story of several characters being constantly faced with choices of how to position themselves in a system of oppression that affects them all in different ways. Her statement about her father implies very heavily that Dhevi has chosen the side of the oppressor and the privilege and stunted security that this ensures her, instead of solidarity with her fellow oppressed. The price, for herself and for those associated with her, is a bitter one.

Dhevi chooses violence within the limits placed on her because of her gender. This violence ricochets, harms others, and ultimately props up the systems of oppression she herself is trapped in. Her dreams of life never go beyond what she was probably told since girlhood her dreams should be, and she now lives them out only imperfectly and as a facade. The systems she clings to blind her to the alternatives. 

Now, this might be a very 21st century interpretation of her character, but I would argue that that does not make for an illegitimate interpretation. Contemporary worldviews are after all often a result of critical reflection on worldviews gone by. And within the Shine series itself there is a character that seems fallen out of time, a woman time traveler choosing and succeeding to rise above the system that’s oppressing her by making what I imagine must have been hard choices that got her stigmatized plenty. This is Moira, who by episode 8 becomes a beautiful foil for the character of Dhevi, and the choices women are faced with when they try to survive in systems poled against them.

The long scene of Moira recounting her relationships with men to Tanwa, and how she payed them in order to accumulate independence from those same men, confused me at first – what was the point of this detailed backstory when it, as for the longest time Moira’s character herself, barely figured into the rest of the whole story? By episode 8, watching Dhevi burn down Krailert’s chance at escaping his cage while locking herself ever tighter into her own, I understood its purpose. Moira, from the same generation if not the same social background as Dhevi (if anything, we can assume that Dhevi’s upper-class background would have given her more advantages in forging her own path than Moira), makes choices that end up with her being able to truly rely on herself. Not on the intrinsically patriarchal structures around her.

Moira’s power, and freedom, is real. It leads to a place of connection, of solidarity with others. I imagine, in finding her greatest ally in herself, she also long ago came to understand the untouchable integrity inherent in everyone else. She tries to tell Dhevi this. ‘There are some things we cannot control’. But Dhevi cannot understand, because Dhevi is not free herself, and as long as she is not willing to give up on the privilege she is accustomed to, she never will be. The last time we see her, she sits alone in a single spot of light in an otherwise dark room, surrounded by walls of her gilded cage just the same as her husband, who will never return her love. She has effectively isolated herself.

Now, if I sound very passionate about all of this, its because I think this series and these characters have a lot to tell us about the current world we’re living in. Again, my positionality in judging these things is limited. I do believe though that the way Dhevi chooses to wield her inherently stunted agency is very reflective of the power systems that inform what in this day and age we call white feminism, virulent plague that it is. All over the world, we will find white women who believe they are the most oppressed people in the world. Either willfully blind to or simply feeling absolutely entitled to their massive privilege within the systems of power that be, they use that privilege to step on those more oppressed and vulnerable than them in order to uplift themselves within a hierarchy that ultimately keeps them down. And as white supremacy and white feminism are systems of power inherently tied to classism, no one is safe from being taken over by this mindset. Dhevi is eaten by this plague. As I said, if you think you’re better positioned than me to discuss this and think I’m getting it wrong, please hit me up.

So, especially in the context of the world we find ourselves in today, seeing so many voices online framing Dhevi’s choices as some feminist power move drives me wild. It is not. It.Is.Not.

While a more understandable conclusion, I respectfully also don’t agree with those saying Dhevi made the only choice she could. She had plenty of choices – most of which would have meant letting go of much of her own dreams, and the privileges and entitlements enclosed in them. Krailert did this in the very same episode when he basically burned his career down in order to uplift the truth. But Dhevi is not prepared to let go of her very narrow acceptable vision of life: as a upper-class housewife and mother with a man she for some reason, after years of neglect and clear signs that her feelings are not being returned, still thinks of as the man of her dreams. Thai voices have popped up on tumblr pointing out that divorce was not as impossible at that time in Thailand as others were quick to claim. Even if they were not, alternative lifestyles such as open marriages and the like have always, always, always existed wherever in time. This narrative that the middle ages kinda ended mid-20th century and then suddenly, boom, modern believes and attitudes, has always bothered me a bit. Transition has always been ongoing and continuous. Trailblazers have always existed. With money, power, and connections, Dhevi was better positioned than most to reach for these alternatives. She didn’t take the only choice she could. She took the choice that served only herself, enforcing a hollow version of her dreams and wrecking other lives in the process, including that of the person she claims to love.

Did she save Krailert and Naran’s lives in the moment? Undoubtedly. Krailert was being a love-drunk idiot probably flying high on the first real act of self-liberation he’s taken in his life, and Naran spent the entire series being naive about the danger he was putting himself in through his affair. But does that mean Dhevi’s only choice was to demand Krailert stay with her due to his choice he made a decade ago and was clearly not prepared to make again, have a baby with her that he has clearly shown he did not want, and send the person he just told her he loved into exile?* Dhevi didn’t have ‚no choice‘ to do these things.

The alternatives would have had a massive impact on her life and her privileges, sure. But in a series which’s overall narrative hinges on different people’s readiness to knowingly risk and sacrifice so much, their safety, their home-country, their very lifes, for the wellbeing of others and the greater good overall, I think its fair to hold that mirror up to Dhevi also. And Dhevi chooses only to sacrifice others.** Dhevi, entrapped as she is, instead of putting herself on the line, instead of making space for others and possibly coming to find a degree of real liberation in that, ultimately chooses to enforce what she believes serves herself the most by removing any obstacles at the root – Krailert’s lover, Krailert’s shot at liberation, Krailert’s free will. Just like her father would have done with those pesky journalists.

Phew. This was a long one. And it doesn’t even touch on wherever she knew about Win before or after the marriage, what role she played in his death etc. etc. I think none of this is important to understanding her motivations as is her willingness to uphold oppressive censorship. That tells us all we need to know. After finishing episode 8, my brain immediately went down a hyper-fixative tunnel of how to possibly solve things for Krailert and Naran. Then it got sharply derailed once I realized that Krailert’s liberation is entirely entangeld with Dhevi’s emancipation. And this is what this all comes down to: Dhevi, love, I want to see you truly happy and in real power. So, please. Free yourself.

No woman in this world will find true freedom and power by meting out violence to those oppressed alongside or beneath her. Even if, and often especially when, it feels like she has no choice.

*Naran’s displacement from his beloved country he spent his entire arc risking his neck for being a different heart wrenching point I don’t really see anyone bringing up.)

**The notable exception being when she’s ready to go down with Krailert even when he sets himself up for downfall. Again, why, Dhevi? He doesn’t even seem to particularly like you. Oh yes, I remember: its entitlement. You decided his place in your story a long time ago. This is probably reinforced by the fact that he comes from a background of low means, while you’re born rich and chose to lift him to your level when you ‚chose‘ him.