Show me yours!

I came across an interesting term the other day coined by Harold Garfinkel in 1967: “kulturelle Genitalien” – cultural genitals. As Eveline Kilian, who quotes Garfinkel, expands a little further: cultural genitals are “names, pronouns, physical appearance, clothes and style, hairstyle, gestures and posture, professions” (Kilian 2004, 151, my translation). In short, everything we do, say and wear flags our sexual difference.

This ‘flagging’ serves to ensure that we can be neatly categorised at all times and is a poignant reminder as to why the single human universal can only ever be an illusion. (Please get in touch if you have ever overheard someone exclaim: “What is that human playing at?” or “Tommy, get out of that human’s way!”.) And so the battle lines are not only drawn but constantly reaffirmed: you are woman, you are not man, you are not fully human. But what if we cross these lines? What if we stray?

We get policed. I can think of three such instances where I was subject to open verbal policing. Number one: “Your [short] hair looks shit”, a man spat on a Manchester tram, number two: “You look like a bo-oy, you look like a bo-oy”, a boy sang on the tube in London, and number three: “You should wear your hair long, man”, declared (surprise, surprise) another man in a San Francisco lift. It seemed my ‘cultural genitals’ did not quite meet their expectations of what they should be like for a ‘woman’.

But were they really confused as to my sexual difference? Unlikely, considering the boy pointed out I looked like one, and the San Francisco man thought I should wear my hair long. But even if they were, what did it actually matter whether I was physically a woman or man? Of whose interest are my genitals other than myself and my sexual partner? So why did these men, and one boy, feel they had to tell me I was somehow not woman? And this is where we get to the heart of the matter: cultural genitals are of course much more about preserving the boundaries of power than flagging the sexual difference between women and men.

If women ‘crossed’, if they were unidentifiable as women, (how) could the patriarchal pyramid of man above woman be maintained? And further, (how) could women be kept from suddenly seizing power under the ‘guise’ of men? I know conspiracy theories are two-a-penny but then again, why this insistence on ‘appropriate’ doing, speaking, dressing? Why do female pupils in the UK, for example, have to (predominantly) wear a skirt? And why would male pupils be ridiculed if they came to school wearing the same skirt, i.e. dressed as ‘women’?

It’s simple really, cultural genitals identify who is subject and who object – and by socially enforcing this identification, the wheels of power keep neatly turning. And today as always, the wheels of power turn only for one human.

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Kilian, Eveline. 2004. GeschlechtSverkehrt: Theoretische und literarische Perspektiven des gender-bending. Königstein: Ulrike Helmer Verlag.

Man, the gender-neutral?

“What a fine example of a man(1) you are”, said the fisherman(2) to the chairman(3), “no wonder they put you in charge!” The tradesman(4) agreed by slamming his fist into his other hand whilst the henchman(5) added with calculated flattery: “who knows”, he(6) said, “maybe one day you’ll even be a statesman(7)”.
 

The chairman listened with only the slightest glimmer of pride crossing his face before he waved them off diplomatically: “we’ll see”, he said, “but first of all there’s a job to be done”. And with that he squatted down in their midst and gave birth to his first son(8).

(1) “a human being of either sex” (OD 2012)
(2) “a person who catches fish” (OD 2012)
(3) “a person chosen to preside over a meeting” (OD 2012)
(4) “a person engaged in trading” (OD 2012)
(5) “a faithful follower or political supporter” (OD 2012)
(6) “a person or animal of unspecified sex” (OD 2012)
(7) “a skilled, experienced, and respected political leader” (OD 2012)
(8) “a boy” (OD 2012)

 

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Whatever the definitions of ‘man’ and his pronoun might tell us, to what extent can men ever be gender-neutral, that is, fully represent the whole of humanity? If we no longer agree with the patriarchal concept that only to be a man means to be fully human – with women’s only place as his deviation – isn’t it about time we finally said so in language? And in no uncertain terms at that?

It all started so well

You know how it is sometimes, it’s a lovely morning, the sun is shining and the world doesn’t seem like such a bad place. So, inspired by the happy mood, you decide for once to look around with open eyes and look the world right in the face.

That was me last Sunday: the 63 bus was quiet, the traffic was okay – people outside were simply going about their day, and beyond a weird ‘Ladies & Men’s Fashion’ sign (why not ‘Women & Men’s’?) it all seemed perfectly alright to someone who usually gets offended in so many ways.

And then, in a shop window, Daisy Duck caught my eye – not causing offence by her presence, in fact, considering the lack of female characters (other than explicitly sexual ones) printed on t-shirts, seeing Daisy seemed almost a cause for one big hurray! – the offence was what Primark made her say.

‘WAG in waiting’. Not ‘CEO’ or ‘PhD’ or ‘PM’ but ‘a wife or girlfriend of a sports player’ (OD 2012) – waiting to be (only) a man’s accessory. That put a good old damper on my happy open-minded mood and unsurprisingly, soon after it started to rain. I blame Primark for both, so here’s a formal thank you for ruining my Sunday.

The moral of the story is: if you want time off (patriarchy), go to the countryside – it might still rain but one thing’s for sure, whether woman or man, at least there you get rained on equally.

Is that ‘Mrd’ or ‘Mngl’?

Personal titles are something that really gets me down. They are such an obvious tool to categorise women according to their (sexual) availability and moreover, only used to categorise women but never men. As ‘Mr MySurname’ I am and would always be an autonomous man, whereas as ‘Miss’ or ‘Mrs MySurname’ I am and always will be a (linguistically) dependent woman. But while the abolishment of personal titles has, in the UK at least, so far failed not all seems lost. As Dennis Baron shows in “Grammar and Gender”, there are other ways to counterbalance this essential inequality.

If we really are committed to gender equality but reluctant to let go of the titles of the past, there seems only one thing for it – to introduce (a) title(s) which indicate(s) the (sexual) availability of men. And as Baron’s list shows, we are certainly not stuck for choice or variety. Bobbye Sorrels, for example, proposes ‘Mrd’ and ‘Mngl’, as in ‘married man’ and ‘single man’, as potential alternatives, while Russell Baker prefers the more outlandish but of similar meaning: ‘Murm’ and ‘Smur’, but my all-time favourite comes from the pages of the Baltimore Evening Sun: ‘Mk’, “a mark worth shooting at by single women” (Baron 1986, 167).

Now that’s something to aim at/for! Rather than only women being identifiable as potential targets, ‘Mk’ would allow them to equally identify the sexual availability of men. Hurray for equality? Or a step too far? Unfortunately it’s unlikely to catch on either way – which man would want to place himself in front of a proverbial gun…

So maybe gender-neutral titles are the best way forward to avoid unwanted (sexual) connotations? Varda Murrell One, for example, suggests ‘Pn’, as in ‘person’, as one such possibility, while Marie B. Hecht et al. propose ‘Msf’: ‘myself’, and David H. Stern merges ‘madam’ and ‘sir’ into ‘Masir’ (Baron 1986, 167). However, what puzzles me most when contemplating these ideas is not which option to choose but rather: why do we need titles at all? As we cannot, as yet, linguistically interact with any other species than the human – when would I need to announce that I am a ‘person’, ‘myself’ or (a) ‘madam’?

And that of course brings me right back to our current selection of titles. If human beings are only capable of interacting with other human beings, what use are titles other than to signal our (sexual) availability? And in a supposedly equal world, why is that availability only flagged for women? Of course we now at least have the ‘choice’ to select ‘Ms’ as a (more) neutral alternative, but the question has to be: why would women need to ‘choose’ to identify, and be identified, as autonomous when men are by default just that, independently human?

In consequence, equality remains an option rather than the firm foundation of humanity. And as long as we sideline personal titles as a minor issue or a bit of harmless traditional fun, we help to perpetuate a worldview that sees women as default (linguistic) property. 

Let's make women’s autonomy not a choice but a (linguistic) reality, please sign and forward Jeanne Rathbone's petition: http://epetitions.direct.gov.uk/petitions/18225!

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Baron, Dennis. 1986. Grammar and Gender. New Haven: London: Yale University Press.

When will I be a woman?

On a recent holiday, I have been referred to as ‘babe’ by a male hairdresser just before the trip, ‘girl’ by a man giving directions to his daughter, and ‘darling’ by a male bartender – all perfectly endearing and patronising terms. And all entirely inappropriate.

‘Babe’, other than classifying me as a human infant, is “an affectionate form of address, typically for someone with whom one has a sexual or romantic relationship” (OD 2012). ‘Girl’ allows me a slightly more advanced age – up to 16 I would say – but just as little agency. And while ‘darling’ might be a more ‘timeless’ term, its definition of: “an affectionate form of address to a beloved person” (OD 2012) grants me next to no authority.

Okay, so I do like colourful jumpers but does that automatically qualify me as a child at best, but mainly a plaything without any agency? Or is it actually nothing to do with my choice of colourful outerwear? My partner, for example, dabbles in the odd bright green pullover but is as yet to be labelled (a) ‘baby’, ‘boy’ or ‘cupcake’ – at least by other males.

In the end, it was a comment by a male customer in the ‘darling’ bar that really made my proverbial (holi)day. When ordering a local ale I was complimented on my good choice: ‘Lovely pint that’, he said, ‘it’ll put hairs on your chest’. I might be thirty years old and still not considered a woman but that’s one thing I’ll for sure never (want to) be. A man.

A question of choice?

Feminism is often considered a movement of the past – a time when women did not have equality, that is, were not “equal, especially in status, rights, or opportunities” to men (OD 2012). But what does this concept of equality, putting aside for now whether it has been achieved or not, actually mean for women?

It means women can be just like men. They have the same access to education (tick), can pursue the same career paths (tick), and are able to purchase the same products and properties (tick) – in short, they are able to make the same individual choices as men. But when choice is entirely based on ‘man’, what about ‘choices’ that specifically concern ‘woman’? In short, to what degree can women really make a choice when this choice is in itself irrelevant or not applicable to men?

For example, can women choose (not) to have children? (half-tick: abortion rights are vehemently under attack). Can women choose (not) to stay at home once they do? (quarter-tick: childcare benefits and tax credits continue to be cut). Can women choose (not) to be harassed in the street, be abused, raped, or killed on the mere basis of their bodies? (cross). And suddenly, all choice seems gone.

The problem with our current concept of choice is that it is based on the idea(l) of self-determination, and further, self-determination from/within the body of ‘man’. So as long as we (only) strive to be equal rather than equivalent to men (Irigaray 2000), women are essentially unable to be fully human, that is, have access to equivalent rights attributed to (the body of) men – a neat circle which keeps women from becoming truly equal and, at the same time, constantly reaffirms the supremacy of ‘man’. He, that is his body, forever remains the ideal human.

But while we might not have a choice over the sex of our body, we can at least choose how we interpret it – so far from being a thing of the past, feminism is central to shaping a different future. However, one thing that definitely needs to go into the dustbin of history is the benchmark ‘man’ – for women, choosing his (physical) life is in effect no choice at all.

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Irigaray, Luce. 2000. Democracy Begins Between Two. Translated by Kirsteen Anderson. London: The Athlone Press.

Of wim and menwim

One of my favourite discoveries since learning about feminist linguistics and feminist literature is work that combines the two: creative writing that plays with language. Gerd Brantenberg’s novel “Egalias døtre” (The Daughters of Egalia) has so far particularly stood out – not only does it turn all our ‘oh-so-natural’ gender roles neatly upside down, it equally challenges the myth of ‘it’s-just-language’. And in Egalia, nothing is safe.

“That’s the way of nature, Christopher, my love. I give birth and you receive. After all it is menwim who beget children!” (Brantenberg 1985, 90) is not just an interesting take on the dominant understanding of reproduction, it also brings another problematic to light: the derivative nature of the terms we employ to refer to ‘men’ and ‘women’. In a world where only to be (a) ‘man’ means to be fully human, is the prefix ‘wo-‘ a convenient shorthand for women’s subordinate position? Just like ‘woman’ herself, her term is somehow like ‘man’ but at the same time, not quite like him after all.

To escape the semantic weight of ‘man’, many feminists prefer to use terms such as ‘womon’ (singular), or ‘womyn’ or ‘wimmin’ (plural). However, as the niche position of these adaptations shows, women do not generally take issue with being referred to as women. But what if the tables were turned? Would we think it just as ‘neutral’ to refer to ‘wom’ as the model (linguistic) ‘huwom’? And further, would ‘manwom’ feel just as content with being referred to as somehow like ‘wom’ but at the same time, not quite like her?

As one character aptly observes: “take the word ‘manwom’ […] it suggests that a manwom is just a certain sort of wom, though a wom isn't any sort of manwom […] And then there’s the way they say wom or womkind to mean the whole huwom race for huwomity. ‘The rights of wom’… ‘wom-made fibres’” (145-146). Maybe it’s unfamiliarity that makes the ‘neutral’ term suddenly stick out like a sore thumb, but all I can read and imagine is just one sex – and in a world which favours this very sex, how neutral is it to apply the label ‘wom’?

But “Egalias døtre” does not only encourage much needed linguistic nit-picking, it’s also lots of fun – which conveniently challenges another popular myth: whoever said that feminists don’t have a sense of humour? Mind you, they say that about the Germans too and judging from the German edition, they got it equally wrong. But then again, it’s a Gerwoman who translated it. Or even better, a Gerwom!

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Brantenberg, Gerd. 1985. The Daughters of Egalia. Translated by Louis Mackay. London: Journeyman.