As I live remotely from areas where injustice prevails, I am unable to attend protests. Yet, I feel sure the silent work I do from the comfort of my home and university is helping make a difference
I have begun to turn to my editorial and teaching work as sites of potential radicalising. Representation Pic/istock
I must confess, there is a part of me that is increasingly switching off as a response to being inundated by news of Israel’s continuing aggression in Gaza and Lebanon, the forced starvation and displacement of countless people whose humanity is being denied, the return to power of a convicted criminal in a country whose democracy has been founded on the bodies of indigenous people and institutionalised slavery, not to mention the slew of climate catastrophes that are not limited to ravaging floods. I saw the metered readings for Delhi’s air quality and felt suddenly ashamed for affording the privilege of no longer living there. There’s another part of me that is tired of always having to show resilience in the face of this apocalyptic shit show that we’re confronted with daily, because we have so many structures and systems that are deeply embedded with white supremacist-settler colonialist-patriarchal-capitalist modes of functioning that we are struggling to break down. It’s as if each time we think we are victorious and the system has collapsed, it seems to mutate and get re-constitute, like Sauron in Rings of Power.
ADVERTISEMENT
A lot of my feeling of helplessness stems from living remotely, in a region where people have a long-distance sense of empathy for what is happening in other parts of the world but do not feel like they are directly affected by any of it. I find this schism between my personal lived reality and that of the larger world seems to grow every day. It is the lack of any form of mobilisation where I live that feels alarming to me. Sure, there are feminist groups, but when you scratch the surface you find different shades of whiteness, and a lack of intersectionality. I struggle to find my place in this worldview that has a very straightjacketed lens when it comes to the perception of immigrant women and their lives or underlying Islamophobia that tempers many white feminists’ ability to be radically inclusive.
I have begun to turn to my editorial and teaching work as sites of potential radicalising. I am fortunate to work with organisations like Sharjah Art Foundation that have a very clear moral compass and whose range of cultural programmes actively platform marginalised subjectivities and empower those whose voices are being erased by settler colonialism. But in my teaching work, I see so much room for powerful, generative discourse that can actively transform the minds of my students, compelling them to be more aware of their privileges and how they can be used to empower other people.
This year I have the honour of being a thesis supervisor to four students. I always feel really chuffed to be asked, though I don’t always agree readily. I engage with the students to help them arrive at a solid proposal and I am often not afraid to call them out on an idea that feels shallow and uninformed. Students respect you when you treat them with dignity and demonstrate honesty and respect in all your interactions, I have found. I’m currently in the process of figuring out the schedule for my classes for the next semester, which will be challenging as it coincides with post-partum. But it’s a seminar on gender equity, and not teaching it because I will have a newborn doesn’t feel like an option to me. I have, in the past, had my child in the classroom. I have taught while breastfeeding. I think it is so important to normalise this, to resist the invisibilising of maternal labour and to also resist the infantilising of maternal subjectivity. When you’re a new mother, everyone around you tends to ‘decide’ your needs instead of allowing you to articulate them. People assume you want to be left alone or don’t want guests. Rarely does anyone actually ask you directly what you need, or what your most urgent desires are (it’s usually to have someone hold the baby while you take a long, hot shower).
One of the biggest luxuries we will be affording ourselves this time around is paternity leave. It comes with a salary reduction for him, but we have decided it is worth it, so I can continue working. I think, increasingly, that working on all the many things I am entrusted with, from editing to teaching to thesis supervising, is becoming for me a form of feminist resistance. I may not be able to attend protests and rallies or sit-ins, but through all the silent work I do from the comfort of my home and the university, I feel sure I am making a difference, pushing boundaries a little bit more. This, of course, is besides the radical work of revolutionary mothering. I feel sure that given enough time, I will find my community of fellow feminist radicals here in South Tyrol. For now, the work feels singular but not lonely, and it nourishes something in me that is responsible for my joy.
Deliberating on the life and times of every woman, Rosalyn D’Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx
Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com
The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper
Subscribe today by clicking the link and stay updated with the latest news!" Click here!
