Navigating intersectionality while speaking out.
Politics of silence, Politics of speaking-out
By Mridula Sharma
Imagine. You are invited to attend an Indian wedding ceremony on a weekend. The invitation card solicits your presence at 2 PM in an expensive banquet hall. Clad in clothes ‘appropriate’ for an expensive wedding, you leave your house with your parents. Inside the venue is a buffet, and you find yourself asking the person behind one of the counters whether the peach coloured drink is a shake or a juice. Suddenly, you feel someone’s fingers brush past your hips.
You turn, a staff member is transporting the container of used plates with three other companions. He doesn’t stop after touching you. You continue to look at him with shock, only to find him smiling. Just before he escapes your view, he looks back at you and mutters something inaudible, something that might resemble an acknowledgment or an apology.
You remember a similar incident. One that happened two years back. You were with your mother and younger brother in a market. A man was selling belts. Brown belts, black belts, all kinds of belts. He grabbed one of your breasts and held it for a few seconds. You screamed at him, asking him not to touch you, asking him what’s wrong with him. He pleaded innocence. Everyone around noticed. Eventually, you went away.
Other memories of harassment flood your mind. Unsolicited pictures of penises in your WhatsApp. Middle-aged men staring at your chest on the streets. You want to let go of the anger inside you. You want to challenge the people who violate your body, to set an example and stop this — for once and for all. But, you don’t. What if he gets fired?
You think about class disparities, increasing unemployment, caste, and religion-based violence and the implications of confrontation in public spaces. You contemplate intersections of class, caste, and religion, to name only a few. You cannot help but ponder how your desire to confront the man and demand a public apology can end his employment.
You look down at yourself, literally. There you are, a young woman clad in an elegant white dress, holding in her stomach because of her complex negotiation with internalising the beauty myth* despite resisting it. There you are, with your bachelor’s degree, your awards and prizes, your dreams and aspirations. You wonder whether someone like you can qualify as a victim. Who is a victim?
Immediately, you feel numb. You speculate if you, too, have subscribed to conservative beliefs regarding violence and victimhood. You reflect on your subconscious shaming of yourself after yet another episode of unsolicited touching.
But, you cannot ignore your position on account of your class. What if your neighbour had touched you, would you — could you — have protested in a banquet hall? If a person with more economic and social capital had touched you, what would your position be? Would you have the agency to speak out? How would you carve out the legitimacy of your claim?
You feel stuck — suffocated. Suppose an unsolicited touch originates from a person who possibly procures lesser money than your family. In that case, you are forced to carefully navigate a series of pertinent questions and reconsider exercising your social privilege. If it originates from a person who wields power and position, you are compelled to rethink whether your truth will gain social legitimacy. Who put the burden of constant contemplation on you?
You deliberate on this subject nonetheless. A better question, you think, is: what can prevent him, and others, from acting similarly? An immediate answer props up in your mind. Structural change, of course!* But, can speaking out enable or assist the process of systemic change? Can it mediate self-reflection and drive feminist action? Or will — it result in a person holding a grudge and seeking active ways to reenact their problematic behaviour?
Does speaking out lack the capacity to actualise the change that it appears to promise? How important is it to navigate intersectionalities of class, caste for you after you experience casual harassment? If the act of speaking out must negotiate with intersectional contexts instead of adhering to popular simplifications, how does it prevent silence from signaling submission to patriarchal protocols?
Can you speak out? Will you? How?
Sources and Acknowledgements
1. Wolf, N. (2002). The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty Are Used Against Women (reprint). Harper Collins.
2. Morash, M. (2006). Understanding Gender, Crime, and Justice. Sage Publications.
3. Menon, N. (2021). Seeing Like a Feminist. Penguin India
About the Writer
Mridula Sharma (she/her)is a research scholar and a writer. She has received a range of fellowship and grant awards in both research and creative writing. Her work on developing postcolonial visions is informed by intersections of gender, class, and caste. She hopes to bridge the gap between theory and practice in her personal and professional capacity.
