Feminist “Terrorism” in Pop Music
You’ve got the wrong “terrorist” in mind…
I’d like to preface my discussion of female pop cultural “terrorism” with my own comment about bell hooks’ claim that Beyoncé is a terrorist. It will later become readily apparent how this comment is relevant to the discussion that follows:
If anyone is going to argue that Beyoncé is a terrorist, I don’t think re-interpreting her own choices about how to resist beauty standards (through her own selection of clothing and poses in her music videos and elsewhere) is the most productive way to do it. To me, that kind of analysis says that women, let alone someone as able and privileged as Beyoncé, don’t have the agency to resist hegemonic or masculinist perceptions of femininity and beauty. Or maybe that this kind of agency is possible, but only through a single form of resistance that feminists are expected to adhere to, a form of resistance that can only seem to happen through an academic lens (which, of course, has its own problem of exclusivity around it). The fact that Beyoncé makes us question beauty standards and successful strategies of feminist resistance seems, in itself, to be an indicator of some success in terms of resisting hegemonic understandings of femininity (and her public and pop cultural accessibility by women and her fans seem to amplify that success). In short, I don’t think it’s productive to label Beyoncé as a terrorist for making her own decisions about how she wants to resist patriarchy.
(Not that I think it’s productive to just throw that word “terrorist” around, but since that’s the word that bell hooks tied to this discussion…)
Let’s bring our attention to what appears to look like actual terrorism:
If any female pop cultural icon is going to be accused of “terrorism”, then we should definitely consider Taylor Swift.
According to bell hooks, “in a culture of domination everyone is socialized to see violence as an acceptable means of social control” (64). This idea of using violence as a means of control appears in Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” music video. In the video, Taylor Swift and her team of women get ready to battle with Selena Gomez and her team of women. Both groups of women are seen as being militarized (operating ridiculously large or destructive weapons), and are seen being violent to their surrounding environment (destroying an office, and the surrounding city). Towards the end of the video, both groups confront each other (with a giant explosion happening behind them), and the video closes with Taylor Swift and Selena Gomez about to punch each other.
Taylor Swift meant for this song and video to show the turmoil of losing someone’s friendship. However, I can’t help but feel that this video goes beyond loss, and shows an obviously violent relationship between women. The combative confrontation between the groups of women in the video demonstrates a relationship of dominance, one in which the women are trying to assert their power (whether it be technological, sexual, etc.) over and onto each other. The fact that Taylor Swift made money off of this song and music video, and the rumors that the song is actually about how a (formerly) fellow female celebrity supposedly wronged her, makes me think that this violent image of a relationship between women was meant as a way for her to control her public image, and to place some kind of implicit dominance over this targeted celebrity.
But this attempt to assert dominance through a violent music video is not what is most interesting to me. Rather, what I find most intriguing is the fact that fans have described this music video as an example of girl power. While all the women in the video do appear to be very powerful, I have to question if this power is productive for anything. It doesn’t seem productive for any kind of feminism, as these women are directing their power and violence at each other, rather than using that power for some kind of uniting purpose, and are also using their power to be generally destructive to their surrounding environment.
This use of power might be helpful in understanding why, between Taylor Swift and Beyoncé, one could be considered a “terrorist” and the other a feminist icon. Both artists present themselves as powerful figures in their work, but while Beyoncé uses power to unite women in an attempt to challenge hegemonic standards of beauty and femininity, Taylor Swift seems to use power to exert her public dominance over her exes, or in this case, her female co-celebrities.
Yet, even here, we may need to question the productivity of power in the cases of both artists. Both Beyoncé and Taylor Swift draw their power from some kind of ownership — over their bodies, over the public sphere, etc. But even this ownership can be violent. Beyoncé’s ownership over her body as a way of challenging beauty standards may exclude, and thus produce some violence upon, fans with different bodies (in any sense, I suppose). Taylor Swift’s ownership of the public sphere may work to exclude, and again produce violence upon, other artists within that sphere (this is visibly demonstrated in the Bad Blood video with the destruction done to the surrounding space).
This very discussion of accusing female artists of terrorism, of mishandling power, in order to find our own, “untainted” sources of power, could even potentially be read as destructive! Through the accusation of terrorism, we aren’t recognizing, if not ignoring, the efforts of these female artists to make themselves and their fans feel less objectified. Instead of throwing accusations at these artists and their work, maybe we should be thinking of a way to remove this possibility of exclusion in their attempts to empower? Maybe we should move from empowerment onto a different method of inclusion, maybe one that emphasizes more fan participation around an artist’s work so as to recognize fans’ identities and experiences, and to limit the possibility of exclusion as much as possible.
Empowerment may be an exciting concept, especially when our favorite female artists take it on, but it somehow still has a destructive potential — we simply may not always be able to see that violent potential because of the subject positions or identities we occupy.
