Talking Bodies Vol. II

Bodily Languages, Selfhood and Transgression

Bodie A. Ashton, Amy Bonsall, Jonathan Hay, Bodie A. Ashton, Amy Bonsall, Jonathan Hay

• Publisher: Palgrave Macmillan
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN:
  9783030369934
• eBook ISBN:
  9783030369941
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Gender Studies
• Index: Social Sciences

This volume brings together scholars from across disciplines and continents in order to continue to analyse, query, and deconstruct the complexities of bodily existence in the modern world. Comprising nine essays by leading and emerging scholars, and spanning issues ranging from literature, history, sociology, medicine, law and justice and beyond, Talking Bodies vol. II is a timely and prescient addition to the vital discussion of what bodies are, how we perceive them, and what they mean. As the essays of this volume demonstrate, it is imperative to question numerous established presumptions about both the manner by which our bodies perform their identities, and the processes by which their ownership can be impinged upon.

© The Author(s) 2020

B. A. Ashton et al. (eds.)Talking Bodies Vol. IIhttps://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-36994-1_1

Begin Abstract

1. Introduction

Bodie A. Ashton¹ , Amy Bonsall^{2, 3} and Jonathan Hay^{4, 5}

(1)

University of Passau, Passau, Germany

(2)

Chester, UK

(3)

University of Manchester, Manchester, UK

(4)

Northwich, UK

(5)

University of Chester, Chester, UK

Bodie A. Ashton (Corresponding author)

Amy Bonsall (Corresponding author)

Jonathan Hay (Corresponding author)

End Abstract

In her conception of the ideal social space, contemporary American academic, feminist and activist bell hooks longs for “a place in the world where people can engage in one another’s differences in a way that is redemptive, full of hope and possibility”.¹ Sadly, the lived reality of many of us is that the various entities of society—community, religion, gender and culture—converge to, intentionally or otherwise, homogenise us in mind, body and soul. In doing so, diversity and individuality, which should by rights be inalienable virtues, are all too often turned against us, transformed into something toxic and, in some cases, fatal. This is a tragedy that has been repeated throughout human history, in which the self becomes an object of perceived or imposed fear, and is subsumed by a need (again, perceived or imposed) for conformity.

Has much changed then in the nearly four centuries since the French philosopher René Descartes declared that “I think, therefore I am”,² and thereby relocated the innate essence of humanness within the ontological categories of mentality and cognition? The body—the vessel in which the mind is encased, protected and transported—remains for most of us the key instrument by which we interact with the world, and are in turn interacted with. In many ways, this is entirely understandable; how else can we express the inner workings of the mind (or, perhaps more poetically, the soul), than through the external interface between the mind/soul and the physical world? We are not our bodies, in this understanding of self; the body, instead, is our possession, and our selfhood is contained within it but is not immanent to it.

For all this, however, there are many tensions in the mind–body connection. If the body is nothing more than a vessel or interface, does the body actually matter in the grand scheme of things? Just as another French René (this time the surrealist painter, René Magritte) could present us with the image of a smoker’s pipe but declare that it was not, in fact, a pipe, so too might we look at the body and exclaim: ceci n’est pas une personne! Indeed, if the body is the vessel, then it is little more than a representation of the person, rather than the person themselves. On the other hand, if the person of the mind is unknowable, then the representation is all that can be known. Therefore, to all intents and purposes, while the body may not be us in a metaphysical sense, in a practical sense it might as well be, as the interaction between our bodies—the basis of all society—is the only means by which our selves can interact at all.

It would be an audacious undertaking for any scholarly work to attempt to completely address the most fundamental yet intractable question in human philosophy—one that has preoccupied thinkers from the beginnings of the species: who and what are we? Yet intrinsic to this question are further corollaries, ones we can and should answer. If, indeed, our bodies are so vital to our selves—be they connected intimately to our humanity, or else a (however flawed) external expression of that internal, unknowable self—what meaning do those bodies have? What can we do with them? How are they to be used, and who should and/or presently decides this? These issues are elemental to the heart of our modern societies and lived experiences.

Societal Bodily Ownership

Bodies are near ubiquitous in contemporary existence, media representations and cultural productions. In spite of this, bodies are often portrayed as passive constructs, that are to be read and which therefore do not possess the agency to speak for themselves. In the precursor to this volume, Emma Rees notes that “dominant cultural forces inscribe meanings—multiple, fluid meanings—onto and into the body”.³ Indeed, that inscription (or, in its more extreme forms, enforcement) carries with it the implication that the body is semi-public property, and how the body is read determines the position of the person within the society to which they belong, up to and including a legitimisation of the “free use” of another’s body. Historically, the foremost example of this was, of course, chattel slavery, but the concept has hardly died in the decades and centuries since abolition. In 2014, Maya Angelou’s Rainbow in the Cloud made the case that “[i]t is time for parents to teach young people early on that in diversity there is beauty and there is strength”.⁴ This came at a time when the United States was under the leadership of its first African American president.

One would have been forgiven for feeling optimistic. But 2014 is now literally history. Certainly, in relation to “bodies”, it feels as though the intervening years have been stagnant, even retrograde, rather than carrying the spirit of progress envisaged by Angelou’s words. The infamous recordings of the forty-fifth President of the United States, Donald J. Trump, gloating that his fame and wealth allowed him to “just start kissing them [beautiful women]” because “when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything”, brought to the fore unsettling and uncomfortable reminders of the imbalance of power when determining or legitimising personal agency.⁵ The litany of cases that have garnered attention in the wake of the #MeToo movement, highlighting sexual harassment in the halls of power (particularly in the world of show business) has likewise offered a salutary insight. Trump is one in a long list of public figures, from the comedian Louis C. K. to the former senator Al Franken, the Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein, the “King of Pop” Michael Jackson and the actor Kevin Spacey, who have used their positions of relative power to stamp their claims of “ownership” on the bodies of others for their own sexual gratification.

Conversely, the independent expression of women’s bodies on their own initiative, regardless of the context, is often criticised, as though women have no right to their own bodily expression. Pregnant women too often complain that their bodies become public property, and uninvited comments and sometimes even physical contact from strangers are not uncommon experiences for many. Indeed, the female body in particular remains one that is simultaneously private and public due to the patriarchal hegemony, which continues to police the bodies of women far more overtly then it does the bodies of men. In March 2019, a photograph of the Australian women’s football player Tayla Harris, in action—airborne, her right leg extended in an athletic high kick—became fodder for thousands of online trolls, castigating her (in the least extreme examples) for her “immodesty” and claiming that her kicking action was “suggestive” (Fig. 1.1).

Fig. 1.1

Tayla Harris playing football

The erroneous notion that the body is a passive semiotic device is to be found elsewhere, as well. In recent years broader coverage of the issues faced by the transgender community within popular media has also brought with it a backlash among reactionary groups. Most of these groups ignore or whitewash the psychological aspects of the gender spectrum in order to focus primarily on their own, physical–biological definitions of gender, and so attempt to define the “suitability” of trans bodies . Likewise, a number of “bathroom bills” introduced into state legislatures in the United States, seeking to deny trans people the right to enter bathrooms other than those of their assigned-at-birth gender, have stoked fears of “men pretending to be women” preying on women in the vulnerable restroom setting. So-called trans-exclusionary radical feminists (TERFs) have invoked similar rhetoric under the auspices of “protecting women”. As we write this introduction, the influential magazine The Economist recently appeared to ask via Twitter (in a tweet since deleted) whether transgender people “should […] be sterilised before they are recognised”.⁶ A push by a group of thirty-four U.K.-based academics to declare the guidelines concerning respecting the identities and pronouns of trans and gender-diverse students and colleagues as dangerous and contrary to academic freedoms in a similar timeframe is also notable. So, too, were the responses to it, with one garnering more than 7000 signatures of university professionals from around the world.⁷ The latter affirmations of trans identities might be heartening, but that they have been necessary in this context must give us more than some pause. Indeed, the trend of questioning a group of people’s rights to exist and setting down strict rules as to how they are “allowed” to exist is a retrograde step, and one that is highly problematic and disturbing.

Each of these examples demonstrates a degree of public adjudication as to what one’s rights are in regard to one’s own body. Bathroom bills and TERF ideologies not only boil the concept of gender down entirely to physical genitalia—specifically, in this case, through their determination that an individual born with a penis cannot change their biological sex, no matter what procedure(s) they undergo—and, in the process, regulate how that individual may use their body, irrespective of any other considerations as to the person’s identity and, indeed, safety. In this instance, the trans person is coded by the sex they were assigned at birth, and this code or meaning is not to be interpreted by them themselves, but by their peers and legislators. Neither the body nor the mind are read as being dynamic, but static, and the responsibility for that static meaning rests with those viewing the body; whatever expression is being conducted through the body by the person who possesses it is thus discounted.

Other examples abound. Disability advocates point to chronic abuse from a public convinced that less visible disabilities are not disabilities at all. Wheelchair users who are able to stand or walk are often pilloried as “welfare cheats”. Fatphobia is a daily reality. Sanitary products in the United Kingdom and United States—and in women’s prisons in many other countries—are treated as “luxury items”, and taxed (as, presumably, menstruation is a luxury).⁸ The Nation of Brunei, which in March 2019 introduced laws making homosexuality a capital offence punishable by stoning, stands as only the most prominent modern instance of explicit anti-LGBTQIA+ discrimination via official legislation. In an era when diverse and inclusive marriage laws are becoming increasingly accepted and adopted in the West, this is a salutary lesson that queer people still literally face existential threats in much of the world. Increasingly prominent, too, are reports of the prevalence of gendered domestic violence. Many commentators have written and spoken for a number of years—and continue to write and speak—of “epidemics” of violence that are (generally) perpetrated by men against (generally) women or non-men. Nevertheless, the backlash by so-called “men’s rights activists” or “meninists”, and “incels”—not to mention the traditional male status quo that does not neatly fit into these two groups—means that arguably little progress has been made to address, let alone contest such institutionalised acts of violence, beyond mere lip service. If this violence is conceived of as an epidemic, it seems apparent that it will continue to ravage the body social without a vaccine (or, more accurately, without someone willing to administer it).

Recent years have seen ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Front Matter
• 1. Introduction
• 2. Contesting Narrative Over the Body of Blodeuwedd: Gender, Nation, and Language in Adaptations of the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi
• 3. Reading Bruce Chatwin: Towards an écriture homosexuelle
• 4. Here and Queer (?): Monosexism and the Bisexual Body
• 5. Bleeding Hell! Women in Theatre!
• 6. Advocating for the Gender Nonconforming Child: The Obscurity of the “Trans” Parent
• 7. Hypospadias and the Performative, Psychological and Perfect Penis
• 8. The Subversive Potential of Sex Performances
• 9. Chosen Scars: Breast Cancer and Mastectomy Tattooing as Digital Feminist Body Politics
• 10. How to Get Away with Rape: Early Findings in the Making of a Documentary Film
• Back Matter