Journal articles on the topic 'Lesbian subjectivity'

In January 2004, Showtime, a pay cable network, launched the first-ever lesbian-themed serial drama, The L Word, which boldly showed lesbians’ sex life and brought lesbian discourse into the narrative center of queer-themed series. This essay tries to analyze how The L Word presented lesbian subjectivity through the image as well as body construction, and narrative and also discusses some arguments towards the lesbian body presentation in The L Word.

Abstract: Chen Yingsong created Wildcat Lake not just for telling a story about lesbians but also by describing how Xiang’er, a rural woman, becomes a lesbian in the villages. We can see the “richness” and “metaphorical meaning” of the lesbian symbol. As far as Wildcat Lake is concerned, it is more worthy of discussing how Xiang’er becomes a lesbian, which is not only about sex or gender, but also about political and economic oppression. Therefore, the so-called gender in Utopia will inevitably fail. Furthermore, the loss of rural subjectivity during modernization and transformation, the subsequent new power structure, and the resulting oppression and exploitation are the fundamental reasons for Xiang’er to become a lesbian and eventually “kill her husband”.

Abstract This article investigates the construction of sex advice for queer women as it features on the world’s most popular lesbian website, Autostraddle. Based in the United States, the website is a “progressively feminist” online community for lesbian, bisexual and other queer women. Using multimodal critical discourse analysis and corpus linguistics, this article explores how representations of sexual and gender identity facilitate the construction of homonormativity on the website. It argues that these representations involve a tension between exclusivity and inclusivity. On the one hand, Autostraddle wants to construct an exclusive markedly lesbian subjectivity and a subcultural model of lesbian sex, which is lacking in mainstream culture. On the other hand, it aims to be inclusive of transgender and bisexual women, and to deconstruct the idea of sexual homogeneity. Findings show that Autostraddle discursively negotiates these competing goals to construct a distinctly “queer female” normativity centred on young cisgender feminine lesbians.

Resumen: Este artículo es el resultado de unainvestigación en la cual se realizó un análisis sobre cómolas vivencias de las lesbianas frente al uso del cuerpocomo elemento de trasgresión a los ideales de feminidadafectan su subjetividad. Se realizaron entrevistas, quefueron analizadas con base en teorías sobre subjetividad,género, cuerpo y lesbianismo, así como los aportes deotros estudios que se han desarrollado sobre el tema.Los resultados muestran cómo las concepciones socialesde género actúan sobre las construcciones subjetivas deestas mujeres y sobre sus propios cuerpos, pero al mismotiempo, cómo son capaces de trasgredir la normatividadhetero-patriarcal mediante estas mismas construcciones,considerando también las consecuencias de dichatrasgresión.Palabras clave: cuerpos femeninos, cuerpos trasgresores,subjetividad, feminidad, género.Feminine Subjectivity. Experiences andTransgressions of Lesbian BodiesAbstract: This article is the result of research in whichan analysis was made of how lesbians’ experiences ofthe use of the body as an element of transgression to theideals of femininity affect their subjectivity. Interviewswere conducted and analyzed on the basis of theoreticalworks on subjectivity, gender, the body and lesbianism,as well as contributions from other studies on the subject.These results show how social conceptions of gender acton these women’s subjective constructions of their bodies,but also how they are able to transgress patriarchalhetero-normativity, also considering the consequences ofthis transgression.Key words: Female bodies, bodies of transgression,subjectivity, femininity, gender.

By constructing a lineage of mediated discourse in which queer women theorize their spaces and identities, this article argues for the significant place of communication technologies as venues for queer women’s theoretical discussions. Specifically, it analyses content from AfterEllen, a website devoted to popular culture and media for lesbian and bisexual women, connecting the site to two twentieth-century lesbian periodicals, Vice Versa and The Ladder, ultimately arguing for a conception of the discourse produced in these spaces as a type of proto-queer theory. In each space, queer women reject the fictive wholeness proffered by systems of heteronormativity through their critiques of mainstream society and cultivation of representation and community. However, this article also analyses the dangers of theory, as spaces like AfterEllen theorize a lesbian subjectivity that denigrates and dismisses trans lesbians. Utilizing convergence theory, this article additionally argues that heralding the web as the first liberating space of its kind for LGBT individuals obfuscates a rich history of investment in and dependence on communication networks for identity and community formation.

By constructing a lineage of mediated discourse in which queer women theorize their spaces and identities, this article argues for the significant place of communication technologies as venues for queer women’s theoretical discussions. Specifically, it analyses content from AfterEllen, a website devoted to popular culture and media for lesbian and bisexual women, connecting the site to two twentieth-century lesbian periodicals, Vice Versa and The Ladder, ultimately arguing for a conception of the discourse produced in these spaces as a type of proto-queer theory. In each space, queer women reject the fictive wholeness proffered by systems of heteronormativity through their critiques of mainstream society and cultivation of representation and community. However, this article also analyses the dangers of theory, as spaces like AfterEllen theorize a lesbian subjectivity that denigrates and dismisses trans lesbians. Utilizing convergence theory, this article additionally argues that heralding the web as the first liberating space of its kind for LGBT individuals obfuscates a rich history of investment in and dependence on communication networks for identity and community formation.

The article discusses the origins of Lesbian Studies as arising out of an intellectually engaged grassroots lesbian community and an emergent Women's Studies within the academy. The article contrasts Lesbian Studies in the UK with the USA, which has ‘professionalized’ work in Lesbian and Gay Studies, which concomitantly has produced its own problems. Feminism bequeathed to Lesbian Studies the axiom ‘the personal is political’ and this is discussed as both a positive and a negative inheritance. The academy itself collapses the personal on to the Lesbian Studies lecturer which produces particular pressures from students, colleagues, the institution, and upon one's own intellectual trajectory in the form of the ‘taint’ of subjectivity. Finally the article attempts to identify an ambivalent relationship to liberalism which has made a limited space for Lesbian Studies but also continues to seek to police that sphere.

This paper explores issues of sport, sponsorship, and consumption by critically interrogating the mass-mediated “coming out” narratives of professional golfer, Rosie Jones, and professional basketball player, Sheryl Swoopes. Both athletes came out publicly as gay in light of endorsements received by Olivia Cruises and Resorts—a company that serves lesbian travelers—thus marking a significant shift in the relationship between lesbian subjectivity, sport, and sponsorship. A concern with a neoliberal-infused GLBT politics underscores our analysis, and a close reading of these narratives raises complex questions about the corporatization of coming out and the existence of lesbian celebrity in sport.

Resumen. Este artículo trata sobre la negociación identitaria y los procesos de subjetivación y des-subjetivación. A través de la biografía contracultural o de la adversidad (anti) biográfica de Beatriz, se van desvelando las estrategias de intersección, predominancia, fragmentación y fusión que ella emprendió para conciliar sus múltiples pertenencias, darle significado a su vida y enfrentar las tensiones que le generan las relaciones de poder de las que participa por su condición social, como mujer, madre, esposa, obrera y lesbiana, en una experiencia de transfeminidad.Palabras clave: género, subjetividad femenina, transfeminidad, identidades lésbicas, fronteras simbólicasAbstract. This article is about the identity negotiation processes of subjectivation and de-subjectification. Through the contracultural biography or the (anti)biographical adversity of Beatriz it is uncovered the different strategies of intersection, dominance, fragmentation and merging that she undertook to reconcile their multiple belongings, give meaning to her life and deal with the stresses and contradictions that are generated by her social condition, as a woman, mother, wife, worker and lesbian, in a transfeminity experience.Keywords: gender, female subjectivity, transfeminine, lesbian identity, symbolic boundaries.

Populated by lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans*, queer (LGBTQ) and allied youth, school-based gay straight alliances (GSAs) offer a unique opportunity to re-imagine or redefine youth subjectivity, especially with regards to the intersections of sexual orientation, gender identity, and civic rights. Tracing the evolution of youth subjectivity from the emergence of Canadian schooling in the 1860s, I turn to Ontario’s Bill 13 as a recent example of how GSAs are subverting, or resisting these norms, and in so doing, operate as a kind of counter-public. Drawing from Jenks’ (2005) archetypes of the Dionysian and Apollonian child, I assert that GSAs can embody a third type of child subjectivity, the Athenian child (Smith, 2011; 2014) and, in so doing, provide theoretical space to reconstitute subjectivity for all youth.

My aim is to explore what kind of lesbian subjectivity is brought to life in Monique Wittig's play Le Voyage sans fin, and to what extent it fits in with Wittig's project as a whole. Is it consistent with the representational strategies at work in her fiction?

This article discusses Holstein and Gubrium's (2000) analytic for understanding the production of postmodern selves and suggests that it is a means by which to further understandings about the construction of social movement selves. According to Holstein and Gubrium's perspective, the construction of postmodern subjectivity is an interplay between circumstantial resources and self-constituting work. As an example, I discuss research about a social movement organization in the GLBT (gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender) movement, Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG). I begin by illustrating how PFLAG parents can be understood as drawing on the narrative resources of the GLBT movement, in particular the dominant narrative of coming out. Next I discuss how PFLAG parents also do selves (as heterosexual parents), through everyday interactional identity work to construct affiliation. In so doing, I illustrate a key process of Holstein and Gubrium's analytic—the interplay between cultural constraints and artful agency in the production of postmodern selves—and show how it can help to explain the production of subjectivity in today's social movements. I close with a discussion of the significance of understanding the production of social movement selves for social movement literature.

This article explores the intersections of religion, embodiment, and queer sexuality in the autobiographical account of a South African self-identifying ‘lesbian sangoma’, on the basis of the book Black Bull, Ancestors and Me: My Life as a Lesbian Sangoma, by Nkunzi Zandile Nkabinde. The article offers an intertextual reading of this primary text, first vis-à-vis David Chidester’s Wild Religion: Tracking the Sacred in South Africa, and second, vis-à-vis some black lesbian feminist writings, specifically by Audre Lorde, M. Jacqui Alexander, and Gloria Wekker. This intertextual reading foregrounds the embodied and in fact queer nature of the wild forces of indigenous religion in contemporary South Africa, and it illuminates how embodied and erotic experience is grounded in the domain of the sacred. Hence, the article concludes by arguing for a decolonising and post-secular move in the field of African queer studies, underlining the need to take the sacred seriously as a site of queer subjectivity.

This article examines Paul B. Preciado’s Testo Junkie as portraying the need for a postpornographic trans* feminism that contests homonormative queer and feminist responses to LGBTQIA+ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning, intersex, and asexual) individuals in neoliberal French and Francophone societies during the rise of far-right anti-gender movements. Interrogating Preciado’s autotheory text, which questions what gendered performance entails in the pharmacopornographic era, allows for a consideration of the author’s bodily subjectivity and how he represents material-discursive practices to theorise his techno-identity. The article argues that Preciado highlights his sexual and gendered performance to assert a trans* identity that rebels against classification. Unveiling the multiplicity of gendered and sexual experiences that counter Western hegemonic binary categorisations, Preciado shows readers that through his material representation, he controls his own subjectivity to centre possibility with postpornographic feminist performance, expanding what it means to be a feminist subject in the twenty-first century.

This article puts the generic concept of “butch noir” in dialogue with queer theories of temporality. Reworking the 1980s performance category of dyke noir that was used to describe a particular style of lesbian experimental work, butch noir is defined by its “having-already-been-read-ness”—a temporal dynamic by which queer subjects are generated through their anticipation of other people’s readings of them. This concept captures both the specificity of an anticipatory butch mode and the temporal belatedness that inaugurates subjectivity itself. Elaborated through close readings of the performance work of lesbian icon Peggy Shaw (Split Britches), the article focuses on her reflective monologues in Must: The Inside Story, a collaborative show (with Clod Ensemble) combining a noir aesthetic with the iconographies and desires of the anatomy theatre. Through a series of close readings, situated theoretically and historically, the article demonstrates the significance of butch noir to theorizing the place of the anticipatory in queer cultures, as well as to understandings of the strangeness of time for the modern subject whose place in language has always already been read.

Following the development of online sites dedicated to the preservation of individuals’ photographic and textual memorialisation of cities, a number of archiving sites using Facebook have been developed that cater to the interactive and co-creative practice of memorialising LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer) city-based communities, events and public spaces (e.g. Lost Gay Perth and Lost Gay Melbourne). Such minority community practices of memorialisation invoke deeply felt and affective attachments to ‘past’ in ways which have implications for identity, belonging, ageing and agency. This article utilises a critical approach to archiving, temporality, identity and attachment to interrogate some of the ways in which digital cultural practices related to archiving social networking sites are implicated in the memorialisation of community belonging through notions of past, networks of knowing, and the temporal and historical production of ways of thinking about and knowing minority sexuality, particularly LGBTQ subjectivity.

Hélène Cixous’s liminal text ‘The Laugh of the Medusa’ calls for a challenge of traditional representations of femininity and prompts women to inscribe their hitherto concealed femininity into the world. Depicting the love, relationship and loss experienced by two female characters, Julie Maroh’s 2010 Blue Is the Warmest Color provides a narrative sustained by a reclaimed matrixial gaze that challenges patriarchal definitions of women. Whereas the original comic book acts in concert with Cixous’s perspective and seeks to assert the infinite richness of women’s individual constitutions, the 2013 film adaptation by Abdellatif Kechiche presents a different economy. This article analyses how, in contrast to Maroh’s original, the filmic adaptation discounts the feminine stance, develops a heteronormalised take on the same story and could therefore be read as promoting heteronormative leitmotifs and fantasised clichés of lesbian subjectivity and sexuality.

This article analyses The Birds in order to distinguish a form of heteropatriarchy characterized by the development of surveillance practices. In the earlier films Vertigo and Rear Window, female characters were represented as intensely desirable, yet also disturbingly unattainable. This article is dissatisfied with the explanation that Hitchcock’s unattainable woman is an example of the 1960s developing lesbian subjectivity. Instead, I use The Birds to prove that Hitchcock’s representation of women has in mind the projects of arranging women for interrogation, eavesdropping on their conversations and intruding upon their intimate moments. Hitchcock’s voyeurism, construable as ambivalent in earlier films, manifests in The Birds as a surveillance practice that assumes access over the private lives of women: a heteropatriarchal strategy that keeps women’s bodies, if not accessible for men, punishable by them. By keeping tabs on the ways that women grow intimate with one another instead of with men, Hitchcock’s cinema moves from narrative to surveillance, blurring the distinction between cinematography and security footage.

This letter documents the conversations of a participatory action research team consisting of one doctoral student and eight New York City high school students. The letter documents the process of creating the instrument that was used to collect data from other lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer and questioning students. The dissertation research seeks to understand the language, policies, and behavior about sexuality and gender expression in schools, and LGBTQ young people's interpretations of them. Using Foucault and Butler to explain how young people interact with norms of sexuality and gender in contingent and contextualized ways, the researchers began to think about the discourses around sexuality and gender with a more historicized and complex lens and to examine subjectivity within those discourses. The researchers elected to use a modified Q sort to understand the intersection of the school community's attitudes and beliefs with individual student attitudes and beliefs, ultimately to understand LGBTQ students' sense of belonging in their schools.

Olsson's recent paper “Chiasm of thought-and-action” represents a patriarchal form of ‘thought-and-action’. It provides a clear illustration of Rose's argument that masculinist geographical knowledge remains held in tension between voyeurism and narcissism. Although it would seem to cast itself as a bold Nietschzean struggle against the norms of bourgeois culture, Olsson's writing effectively reaffirms the masculinist imperialism upon which such culture is predicated. It exemplifies how the libertine's rebellion remains limited within certain phallogocentric battlements that it only succeeds to further entrench. This critical argument—borrowed in part from the critique of Lacan by the French feminist Irigaray—introduces other questions about Lacan also applicable to Olsson's writing concerning the work of the French psychoanalyst. In particular, the way in which Lacan's account of subjectivity seems to dehistoricise and fix the fate of a universalised ‘subject’ within a world stilled by symbolicism would appear to find a reflection jubilantly seized and extended in the insubstantial shape of Olsson's diagrams of human action. These reified spatial abstractions are nonetheless open to critical receding as recent feminist, lesbian and gay theories have shown. Such recoding indicates how critical theory—despite a widespread antitheoreticism that is vindicated by papers like Olsson's—might still assist any project to escape the dessicated and dead ends collected together in something like the herbarium dreamt as the “Chiasm of thought-and-action”.

This paper is about ‘coming out’ and the process of disclosure and non-disclosure of minority sexual identity in organizations. The process of ‘coming out’ is important for the individual lesbian or gay man since it is concerned with the discursive recognition and renegotiation of their identity. The study uses storytelling and a double narrative approach, where 92 individuals were interviewed to produce 15 stories of coming out, which were used for discussion in focus groups. The research took place within 6 organizations – 2 emergency services, the police and the fire service, 2 civil service departments and 2 banks. A conceptual framework is developed to explain the process of disclosure, showing it to be a continuing process rather than a single event. The concept of performativity is used to explain how in coming out the discursive practice and the telling of sexuality performs the act of coming out, making it an illocutionary speech act, and one which is made as an active or forced choice. The performative and perlocutionary speech acts interact with available subject positions thereby impacting on the individual's subjectivity. Sexuality is an under-researched area of diversity in work organizations, as well as being one of the most difficult to research, so the level of access afforded by this research and the framework it produces provides a significant contribution to our understanding of minority sexual identity at work.

This study focuses on the appropriation of the Bildungsroman genre in Jeanette Winterson’s first book Oranges are Not the Only Fruit (1985), a novel which is often referred to as the fictionalization of the author’s upbringing. The novel traces the coming out story of the lesbian protagonist Jeanette who struggles to live in a fundamentalist evangelical community that fails to embrace Jeanette’s sexual orientation and denounces it as “unnatural passions.” This conflict on (sexual)identity between the protagonist and society, the main feature of the traditional Bildungsroman genre, is represented as the core element of Oranges are Not the Only Fruit. In the novel, strictly religious public space constantly works towards constructing Jeanette’s identity defining the limits of normal and natural for her. However, Jeanette tries to deconstruct and reconstruct that given identity and attain subjectivity by discovering her sexuality and creating a homespace for herself amidst possibilities. Like Jeanette who rejects heteronormativity and rewrites her own story, Winterson challenges the normativity of Bildung narratives and pushes the boundaries of the Bildungsroman for redefinition. For all these reasons, drawing on Jeanette’s Becoming within the dynamics of her social space, this study aims at discussing Jeanette Winterson’s subversion of the classical male-centred narratives of selfdevelopment and her revision of the Bildungsroman within a feminist framework in Oranges are Not the Only Fruit.

The work of Amy Levy, as a Jewish, feminist, lesbian writer at thefin de siècle, coincides with what Sally Ledger and Roger Luckhurst describe as a “crucial moment in the formation and transformation of [the] object[s] of study” of “cultural and social historians, urban theorists, literary critics, post-colonial critics, feminist writers, and gay and lesbian theorists” (xiv). The concern of this article, rather than co-opting Levy into a particular critical framework, is to explore her presentation of subjectivity in the urban landscape, particularly in the poems of the posthumously publishedA London Plane-Tree and Other Verse(1889). In these poems and elsewhere the city instigates a disturbing unsettling of binaries and identifications which suggests the possibility of writing (of) divergent or subversive identities, what Cynthia Scheinberg terms Levy's “minority” voices (Women's Poetry191). The irregular, unregulated urban space undermines the closure of heterosexual, national narratives and provides a cartography for Levy's exploration of “the intersection between various minority positions and cultural discourses which construct and judge ‘others’” (ibid.). In the first two sections ofA London Plane-TreeLevy moves towards a complex elaboration of impermanently located self-knowledge that develops beyond the sexual and racial identifications of her earlier work in which she draws on more traditional and intelligible knowledges. Thus, the biblical and classical themes of “Xantippe” or “Magdalen” and the stable persona of the dramatic monologue are increasingly replaced by a lyric voice that occupies an unstable, modern, urban world. With her interest in the poet James Thomson (B. V.) and her 1883 essay on him, Levy can be seen to be identifying with an emergent late-nineteenth-century urban poetic that greatly influences the first section ofA London Plane-Tree. But it is not simply that Levy “discloses how the metropolitan world of high culture was increasingly infiltrated by…feminists, sexual dissidents, Jewish people, and freethinkers” (Bristow 80). The city ofA London Plane-Treeand the intersections, interchanges, and subversions it enables make it impossible to maintain the divisions of self and other, object and subject. It is through the space of the city that Levy is enabled to write the specificity of her own unauthorized, ambiguous, “minor” voice.

Interrogations of diasporic relations between place, subjectivity, and sexuality have transformed representational practices and paradigms of both Cuban and Cuban-American identity on multiple fronts. Through a consideration of two texts representing the Cuban diaspora-Achy Obejas's 1996 novel Memory Mambo and Carmelita Tropicana's performance piece “Milk of amnesia/Leche de amnesia”, first developed in 1994–I explore the centrality of sexuality in constructions of self, community, and nation. These works effectively ‘queer’ notions of immigrant belonging and Cuban diasporic consciousness, particularly in the sense of exploring the spatial imaginary of diaspora to expose and question the heteropatriarchal, and hence nationalist, underpinnings of more dominant models of diaspora. In their work, Obejas and Tropicana indicate the spatial dimensions of cultural memory and the imbrication of diasporic politics and sexualities. Attending to differences in genre, each work mines a crucial interplay between diasporic and sexual histories. In Tropicana's performance piece she uses a parodic sensibility and the broad humor enabled by the stage to engage, in a new register, with the politics of memory and the uses of place and sexuality, both in relation to Cuba and to the United States. Obejas works through and against the conventions of the contemporary novel (both immigrant and lesbian coming-of-age stories, in particular) to undo many of the assumptions regarding memory, sexuality, and cultural nostalgia as they are represented in her narrative. Both Obejas and Tropicana assert an imbrication of histories of colonialism, migration, and national attachment with experiences and practices of sexuality and gender in ways that underscore the importance of space and place in the constitution of collective memories.

Critical opinion over the role of popular culture in relation to ethnic and cultural identity is deeply divided. In this essay, Elizabeth Jacobs explores the dynamics of this relationship in the works of two leading Mexican American playwrights. Luis Valdez was a founding member of El Teatro Campesino (Farmworkers' Theatre) in California during the 1960s. Originally formed as a resistance theatre, its purpose was to support the Farmworkers' Union in its unionization struggle. By the early 1970s Valdez and the Teatro Campesino were moving in a different direction, and with Zoot Suit (1974) he offered a critique of the race riots that erupted in East Los Angeles during the summer of 1943, the subsequent lack of reasonable judicial process, and the media misrepresentation of events. Valdez used setting, music, slang, and dress code among other devices to construct a sense of identity and ethnic solidarity. This provided a strong voice for the Chicano group, but at the same time a particular gendered hierarchy also distinguished his aesthetic. Cherríe Moraga's work provides a balanced opposition to that of Valdez. Giving up the Ghost (1984) helped to change the direction of Chicano theatre both in terms of its performativity and its strategies of representation. Elizabeth Jacobs explores how Moraga redefines both the culturally determined characterization of identity presented by Valdez and the media representation of women. She also utilizes theatrical space as a platform for a reassertion of ethnicity, allowing for the innovation of a split subjectivity and radical lesbian desire. Giving up the Ghost, Jacobs argues, provides a trenchant critique of communal and popular culture discourses as well as a redefinition of existing identity politics.

This article explores how Black LGBTQ-identified and other gender nonconforming South Africans juxtapose the queer with the customary as they constitute forms of biofinancial personhood that are paradigmatic of capitalisms globally. These hybrid forms of personhood inadvertently index the secret normativities of so-called antinormative theories of performativity within Euro-American queer theory. Everyday South Africans foreground practices of cross-context citation in the register of “unsuccessful” performatives. Their experiences underscore Jacques Derrida’s diagnosis of the performative’s structure as irreducibly contingent; its structural rule is the possibility of the failure of the performative, rather than its success. The cultural milieus of postapartheid South Africa are also spaces where financial instruments like derivatives, social theory, and pharmaceuticals actively produce queer connections and contestations through the circulation of ostensibly universal subjects, be they the risk-bearing patient, the scholar, or the (biological) human. In South Africa, citational sexualities are performative of both constitutional and customary cultural spheres when juxtaposing multiple gender and sexual identities within hybrid forms of queer personhood. Through an examination of the figure of the gay woman—not a lesbian or trans subject but, rather, a gay man who is also, alternately a woman—the author argues that sexualities that bridge the paradoxical impasse between constitutional and customary cultural life are, like all performatives, first and foremost citational. Such citational sexualities are considered in clinical contexts where many Black gay women were coded as men who have sex with men in global health HIV science. In this vein, new forms of global biofinancial connectivity expressed by biomedicalizing risk-hedging practices, personhood, and subjectivities—what the author terms derivative subjectivity—implicitly depend on the suppressed presence of cross-cultural citationality of sexuality and gender that are customarily queer.

This paper draws on data from Work and Care During COVID-19, an online survey of Australians during pandemic lockdown in May 2020 (n = 2,722). It focuses on how subsamples of lesbian, gay, and bisexual mothers and fathers in couples (n = 280) and single mothers (n = 480) subjectively experienced unpaid work and care during lockdown compared with heterosexual mothers and fathers in couples, and with partnered mothers, respectively. During the pandemic, nonheterosexual fathers’ subjective reports were less negative than those of their heterosexual counterparts, but differences between heterosexual and lesbian/bisexual mothers were more mixed. Unlike their partnered counterparts, more single mothers reported feeling satisfied than before with their balance of paid and unpaid work and how they spent their time overall during the pandemic, perhaps because they avoided partnership conflicts and particularly benefited from relaxed commuting and child care deadlines.

The theoretical orientations and values of North American feminist psychologists were studied by surveying all participants at the 1985 conferences of the Association for Women in Psychology and the Canadian Psychological Association's Section on Women and Psychology. On dichotomous measures of theoretical orientation in psychology, scores of respondents tended to be subjectivist rather than objectivist. Respondents also tended to place more emphasis on the exogenous (external or social) determinants of human behavior rather than the endogenous (internal or biological) determinants. Feminist psychologists also endorsed values about the role of science in society that were consistent with rejection of traditional positivist assumptions about the value neutrality of science. Endorsement of a value-laden concept of science was associated with a preference for subjectivist epistemology. Differences were found between heterosexual and lesbian feminists (the latter group tending to favor a more subjectivist and more exogenist theoretical orientation than the former) and between feminist academics and practitioners (the latter group tending to favor a more subjectivist, but less exogenist, theoretical orientation than the former).

The ideology of “sisterhood” within the feminist movement suggests that feminists' and nonfeminists' same-sex friendships would differ profoundly. This assumption was tested by examining the friendships of 45 heterosexual nonfeminists, 43 heterosexual feminists, and 38 lesbian feminists from a large midwestern city. Participants ranged in age from 19 to 46. Using objective measures, differences were found between feminists and nonfeminists for some structural dimensions of friendship, including number of cross-generational friendships, degree of equality, and amount of privacy preferred with a best friend. Lesbian feminists preferred more privacy with their friends than nonfeminists, but rated their friends as lower on relationship quality and degree of equality than heterosexual feminists and nonfeminists. The three groups did not differ on the affective content of friendship, including liking, loving, satisfaction and commitment. However, feminists subjectively perceived their feminism as having contributed to both structural and affective changes in their friendships.

AbstractVery little has been written about the interaction between disability, homophobia, heterosexism and adultism as they impinge upon the experiences and social practice of disabled young people. This paper takes the view such interaction may be described in terms of the social construction of multiple others which hinges on the value judgements, the social distance and the knowledge which form the relationship between Self and Other (Todorov 1982, p. 185). Taking a ‘narrative’ approach to identity, it draws on the accounts of disabled adults that describe retrospectively the emergence of gay or lesbian identity in adolescence, and on discourses of lesbian and gay identity among groups of disabled young people in contemporary social and educational settings1. It aims to show that when research or pedagogy ‘are viewed as public conversations with difference, through sameness – conversations that are neither objectivist nor subjectivist’ (Bell 1998) – important information can emerge about the social construction of these four important dimensions of institutionalised oppression that can be used in the service of social change.

Though lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ) young adults in the USA experience identity-based adversities, they also develop resilience. Research overemphasizes these young people's risks without fully considering their unique social environments. This study documents how LGBTQ young people subjectively and contextually interpret arduous life experiences. Based on 46 LGBTQ young adults aged 19–26 who are either homeless or attending college, we examine how LGBTQ young people with diverse contextual life situations develop understandings of resilience. Findings underscore nuanced processes young people use to reframe their identity-related challenges that enrich their lives in meaningful, resilience-building ways.

Michel Foucault's ethics of embodiment, focusing upon care of the self, has motivated feminist scholars to pursue promising models of embodied resistance to disciplinary normalization. Cressida Heyes, in particular, has advocated that these projects adopt practices of “somaesthetics,” following a program of body consciousness developed by Richard Shusterman. In exploring Shusterman's somaesthetics proposal, I find that it does not account for the subjective challenges of resisting normalization. Based on narrative theories of subjectivity, the role narrative plays in normalization, and a commitment to developing concrete, feminist practices of embodied ethics, I develop a model of “narrative somaesthetics” based on an updated consciousness‐raising model that emphasizes group heterogeneity and narrative conflict that deals with these challenges. Through an analysis of interviews with self‐identified femme lesbians and a “female to femme” transition support group featured in the documentary film, FtF: Female to Femme, I argue that narrative somaesthetics enables the analytical, genealogical work required to identify and weaken normalization's constraints on embodied feminist ethics.

Dr. Akira Mizuta Lippit, author of Electric Animal: Toward a Rhetoric of Wildlife, explores, in the context of the development of cinema, how the concept of “the animal” has become central to modern understandings of human subjectivity. Lippit considers the disappearance of real animals and their concurrent appearance in various conceptual and material uses, particularly noting the ways in which the conjoined notions of humanity and animality figure into and through cinema. The animal, he argues, haunts the foundation of western logical systems. Yet, despite the fact that humans and animals suffer under the discursive weight of the signifier, Lippit is careful to note the increasing instability of the human-animal boundary and what might be done to realize more just relationships among both humans and other animals. On February 12, 2008, Lauren Corman spoke with Lippit as part of the “Animal Voices” radio program, a weekly show dedicated to animal advocacy and cultural critique. They discussed how Lippit developed his thesis and the ramifications of his theoretical work. Electric Animal: Toward a Rhetoric of Wildlife was published in 2000 by the University of Minnesota Press. “Animal Voices” can be heard weekly on CIUT 89.5 FM in Toronto, or online at animalvoices.ca.Full TextLauren Corman: How have questions regarding animals and animality figured into your film scholarship? When did you bring these themes into your work, and why? Akira Mizuta Lippit: That is its own story in a way. The book that you refer to, Electric Animal, was written initially as my doctoral dissertation, and at the time, I was thinking in particular about the moment at which cinema appeared in the late 19th century. There are all kinds of phantasmatic and imaginary birthdays of cinema, but generally people agree that 1895, or thereabouts, was when cinema appeared as a set of technological, aesthetic, and cultural features, and as an economic mode of exchange. People sold and bought tickets and attended screenings. And I was thinking about what it must have felt like at that moment to experience this uncanny medium. There are various reports of early film performances and screenings, some of them apocryphal and inventive and embellished and so forth, but I think the fascination, the kind of wonder that cinema evoked among many early viewers had to do with this uncanny reproduction of life, of living movement, and the strange tension that it created between this new technology (and we are in the middle of the industrial revolution and seeing the advent of all sorts of technologies and devices and apparatuses), and its proximity to, in a simple way, life: the movements of bodies. And I began to think that the principle of animation, here was critical. To make something move, and in thinking about the term animation and all of its roots, to make something breathe, to make something live. What struck me, in this Frankensteinian moment was the sense that something had come to life, and the key seemed to be about how people understood, conceived of, and practiced this notion of animating life through a technology. I started to hear a resonance between animals and animation. I started to think about the way in which animals also played a role, not only in early cinema and in animation and the practice of the genre but leading up to it in the famous photographs of Edward Muybridge and Étienne-Jules Marey, the moving images of animals that were produced serially, as well as the “chronophotographs” that rendered animal motion. And it occurred to me that there was a reason to pause and think about what role animals were playing at that moment in history. As I began to read, and as I began to collect materials and to think through this question of the status and function of the animal, what animality meant, it took on its own set of values, and essentially Electric Animal ended up being a kind of preamble, or an introduction to a book that I haven’t yet written, because I only reach at the end of the book, and in a very perfunctory manner, the advent of cinema. So in a sense, this book, and this question, about what an animal meant for generations before, at that moment and in successive generations, became its own subject, one I still think is critically linked to the question of cinema, and the arrival of cinema, and the force of cinema throughout the 20th century. LC: Let’s return to that piece that you mentioned about life, and that cinema could show or play this Frankensteinian role; of course, a parallel stream is around death, and some of the work that I have read about early cinema shows that people were quite afraid, initially, of what it meant. Could you comment on that theme of death and the animal in cinema? AML: This emerged as a major issue during the course of my study. The discourse on death and the uncanny, the idea that something appears to be there, in the form of a ghost or a phantom, already existed in discussions of photography throughout the 19th century. The sense that photography forges a material connection to the object, that the photograph establishes a material connection to the photographed object, and as such when you look at a photograph you are not simply looking at a rendering, like an artist’s interpretation in a painting or sculpture, but you are actually looking at, experiencing a kind of carnal, physical contact with the persons themselves, or with an object, reappears frequently in the discourses on photography. This creates a real excitement, and also fear. I think that effect, the photographic effect of somehow being in the presence of the thing itself, is enhanced by the addition of movement, because with movement you have the feeling that this being is not just there, looking at you perhaps, but also moving in its element, in its time, whether (and this is very important to the discussions of photography) that person is still alive or not. I think that gap is produced at the moment of any photograph and perhaps in any film: the person who appears before you, who appears to be alive, who at that moment is alive, may or may not still be alive. So it produces, among those who have thought in this way, a sense of uncanniness, something is there and isn’t there at once. Where I think that this is particularly important in this discussion of “the animal,” and as I began to discover in doing the reading (I should add that I am not a philosopher, I don’t teach philosophy, but I am a reader of philosophy; I read it sporadically, I read here and there wherever my interests are) is that with very few but important exceptions, there is a line of western philosophy that says animals are incapable of dying. On the most intuitive level this seems nonsensical. Of course animals die. We know that animals die. We kill animals; we kill them andwe see them die. No question that animals die. But the philosophical axiom here—which begins with Epicurus, but is repeated over and over, by Descartes perhaps most forcefully, and in the 20th century by Martin Heidegger—is that death is not simply a perishing, the end of life, but it is a experience that one has within life, a relationship with one’s own end. The claim that is made over and over again, which has been disputed by many people – and it is certainly not my claim – but the claim that one finds repeatedly in philosophy is that animals don’t die – they don’t have death in the way human beings have, and carry with them, death. Animals know fear, they know things like instinctual preservation, they seek to survive, but they don’t have death as an experience. Heidegger will say in the most callous way, they simply perish. It struck me that this problem was not a problem of animals, but rather a problem for human beings. If human beings don’t concede the capacity of animals to die, then what does it mean that animals are disappearing at this very moment, in the various developments of industry, in human population, in urbanization, environmental destruction, that animals are increasingly disappearing from the material and everyday world? And where do they go, if we don’t, as human beings, concede or allow them death? (Of course this is only in a very specific, and one might argue, very small, discursive space in western philosophy. Many people have pointed out that this is not the case in religious discourses, in a variety of cultural practices, and in various ethnic and cultural communities. This is a certain kind of western ideology that has been produced through a long history of western philosophy.) So the question of death, the particular form of suspended death that photography and cinema introduced appeared in response to perhaps a crisis in western critical and philosophical discourse that denied to the animal, to animals, the same kind of death that human beings experience. You have this convergence of two death-related, life-anddeath related, problems at a time when I think that these issues were particularly important. LC: So from there, the question that comes to mind is what purpose does it serve and the word that is coming to mind is identity, and the idea of human identity and subjectivity. There must be some reason that western thought keeps going back to this denial of animal death. You tie it in, as others have, to language. AML: Two key features of human subjectivity, in the tradition of western philosophy, have been language and death, and the relationship between language and death. This goes back to Plato, to Socrates, and before. The point at which I was writing Electric Animal, at the end of the 20th century, gave me the ability to look back at developments in critical theory, philosophy, and the history of ideas throughout the 20th century, and it became clear with the significant interventions of the late 1960s that from at least one century earlier, the question of human subjectivity, its stability, its absoluteness, had already been in question. This question is slowly working its way toward a radical re-evaluation of the status of, the value of, and ultimately the confidence that human beings place in their own subjectivity, and there are many, many influences: around questions of gender and sexuality, questions of race and identity, and in crimes like genocide, for example, during World War II, but before and after as well. All of these developments contribute to this reevaluation, but one could argue that at this moment, in the late 19th century already, there was a certain sense that what had been insisted upon as absolutely unique, as an absolute form in itself – the human subject – required a whole series of constant exclusions and negations for it to survive. One such exclusion is to claim as properly human, language; what makes the human being human, is the capacity for language, and through this capacity, the capacity for death. As many philosophers argue, only human beings can name death as such, because language gives us the capacity to names those things, not just objects around us, but to name those things that do not appear before us, and these would be the traditional philosophical objects: love, death, fear, life, forgiveness, friendship, and so on. And it will be assumed that animals have communication, they communicate various things within their own groups and between groups, they signal of course, but that animals don’t have language as such, which means they can’t name those things that are not before them or around them. And it is very clear that there is an effort among human beings to maintain the survival of this precious concept of human subjectivity, as absolutely distinct and absolutely unique. So you find in those long discourses on human subjectivity, this return to questions of language and death. I would suggest that at this time, with the appearance of Charles Darwin and his theory of evolution, and with other disruptive thinkers like Sigmund Freud and the advent of psychoanalysis, there is a great sense of uncertainty regarding these edifices of human subjectivity, language and death. In Electric Animal this moment is particularly rich with such shifts and instabilities, and the sense that language is not exclusive to human beings, as many people thought, but also that language is not as self-assured in human beings as people thought. Here psychoanalysis plays an important role in indicating, at least speculatively, that we are not as in control of the language that we use to the extent that we would like to believe. LC: What are the consequences of this process in western thought, where the subject is conceived through an exclusion or a negation of the animal? What are the implications for humans, and also what are the implications for animals? I know that is a huge question. AML: It is a huge question; It is a very important question. One could argue that the consequences of a certain practice, let’s say, of the politics of the subject have been disastrous, certainly for animals, but also for human beings. If you take one of the places where the form of the human subject is created, it would be Descartes’ Discourse on Method, his attempt to figure out what, when everything that can be doubted and has been doubted, is left to form the core. And this is his famous quote: “Je pense donc je suis”, I think therefore I am, I am thinking therefore I am. If you read the Discourse on Method, this is a process of exclusion: I exclude everything that I am not to arrive at the central core of what I am. The process he follows leads him to believe that it is his consciousness, it is his presence, his selfpresence with his own consciousness that establishes for him, beyond any doubt, his existence. This is somewhat heretical, it is a break from theological discourses of the soul; it represents a form of self-creation through one’s consciousness. But consciousness is a very complicated thing, a very deceptive thing, because what I believe, what I feel, is not always exactly the way things are. Looking at a series of important shifts that have taken place during what we might call generally the modern period, which extends further back than the recent past, one finds a number of assaults on the primacy of consciousness. Freud names one as the Copernican revolution, which suggested that the earth was not the centre of the universe and that human beings were not at the centre of the universe; the Darwinian revolution, which suggested that humans beings were not created apart from other forms, all other forms of organic life, and that human beings shared with other animate beings, organic beings a common history, a pre-history. And Freud (he names himself as the third of these revolutionaries), is the one who suggested that consciousness itself is not a given at any moment, or available at any moment, to us as human beings. What constitutes our sense of self, our consciousness, is drawn from experiences that we no longer have access to—interactions with others, the desires of others, the kinds of influences and wishes that were passed into us through others, our parents, other influential figures early in our life— and that what we believe to be our conscious state, our wishes, desires, dreams and so forth, are not always known to us, and in fact can’t be known because they might be devastating and horrifying, in some cases. They will tell us things about ourselves that we couldn’t properly accept or continue to live with. I think that what is happening, certainly by the time that we enter the 20th century, around this discourse of the subject is that it is no longer holding, it is no longer serving its original purpose; it is generating more anxiety than comfort. Key historical events, World War I, for example, are producing enormous blows to the idea of western progress, humanism, and Enlightenment values, to the cultural achievements of the West— Hegel, for example, a 19th century philosopher, is very explicit about this—to those values that helped to shape the world, and ultimately were supposed to have created a better world for human beings: the Enlightenment, the pursuit of knowledge, science, medicine, religion and so forth. And yet, by the mid-twentieth century many of these beliefs were exposed as illusions, especially after the advent of death camps, camps created for the sole purpose of producing, as Heidegger himself says, producing corpses, a factory for corpses. It’s not a place where people happen to die. This is an entire apparatus designed in order to expeditiously, efficiently, and economically, create corpses out of living human beings. Similarly, with the first use of the atomic bomb, on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, on human beings. This was a machine, a science, a technology, a weapon devised for maximizing, efficiently and economically, the destruction of human beings. I think what this created for many thinkers, philosophers, writers, artists, activists, citizens around the world was a sense that in fact what had helped to create this situation and these catastrophic results was not a matter of totalitarian regimes and bad politics, but something more fundamental: a certain belief that I have the right to destroy or take life from others. And how is that achieved? By first denying that those others are like me. So the discourse on Jews practiced throughout Nazi Germany is in fact even more extreme than that of the discourse on animals; in fact, as many people have pointed out, that many Nazis were famous for their love of animal, some were practicing vegetarians; they outlawed animal experimentation. In a sense animals were more like Aryan Germans, than Jews were. You have a series here of rhetorics that allow you to cast the enemy, the Other, at a distance from your own subjectivity, and in order to achieve this you have to deny them any form of subjectivity. Not just that they are just culturally different, or that they engage in different practices: They are radically and absolutely unlike me. And I believe that as many people began to think about this condition (Adorno has a very famous passage in which he talks about this), it became clear that one of the sources of this, is in fact the very ideology of the subject, which insists on an absolute autonomy, singularity, and distinct mode of existence from that which is not the subject, not any subject, the Other. Adorno, in a passage he wrote in a book titled Minima Moralia, which is a collection of aphorisms and observations he wrote during and after World War II, offers an observation I quote in Electric Animal. He titles it “People are looking at you”, and he says there is a moment in a typical scene of hunting where a wounded animal looks into the eyes of the hunter, or the killer as it dies. It produces at that moment, an effect that is undeniable: This thing, that is alive, that I have wounded and which is now dying, is looking at me. How can I deny that it is alive, that it is there, that it exists in the world, with its own consciousness, its own life, its own dreams, and desires? Adorno says the way you shake this off is you say to yourself, “It’s only an animal.” He will then link that gesture to the history of racism, and what he calls the pogrom, or genocide, against other human beings. You transfer this logic. So the ability to say to an animal, toward an animal that you have killed, whose death you’ve brought about, “It’s only an animal”, becomes the same logic you apply to other human beings when you harm or kill them. It’s a very profound observation because it suggests that in fact there is no line that separates the killing of animals from the killing of human beings. And in fact already at the moment when we kill an animal, we recognize something immediately that we have to erase from our consciousness with this phrase, “It’s only an animal.” LC: It seems to me then, too, that it’s this kind of perpetual haunting, because in that erasure, in that statement, “It’s only an animal,” there’s the animal itself that you had to assert yourself against and its living beingness. Do you think in that moment that he’s talking about—because it seems like kind of a struggle, or a narrative that you have to tell yourself—do you think that is also a moment potentially of agency, or resistance, in terms of an assertion of an animal subjectivity, or umwelt, or however you want to describe it? AML: Absolutely, and I think that Adorno’s phrase and that passage in which he is writing about this scene, an arbitrary, perhaps imaginary but typical scene of the hunt written shortly after the end of World War II, as well as all of Adorno’s pessimistic observations about the state of human culture, are written in a state of deep anguish. As he says in this very brief aphorism, we never believe this, even of the animal. When we tell ourselves, “It’s only an animal”, we in fact never believe it. Why? Because we are there and we see in the presence of an Other, a life that is there. For him it is important that the gaze, as he says, of the wounded animal, falls on the person who has perpetrated the crime. You seek to exclude it, to erase it, to dismiss it by saying that it is only an animal, but it allows you to transfer that very logic into the destruction of other human beings. Your phrase “haunting” is really important because I think that it suggests that a phantom animal becomes the crucial site not only for an animal rights, but for human ethics as well. The ability to kill another, is something in fact we—we, human beings—never properly achieve; we never truly believe this, “It’s only an animal” at that moment, Adorno says. We tell ourselves this, we insist upon it, try to protect ourselves through this mantric repetition of a phrase, “It’s only an animal,” “It’s only an animal,” yet we never believe it. And as such, we are haunted by it. I think the crisis in human subjectivity, in discourses on the human subject that arrive in the late 1950s, has everything to do with this kind of haunted presence. Human subjectivity is now a haunted subjectivity, haunted by animals, by everyone that has been excluded, by women, by people of different races, different ethnicities, different sexual preferences. And in fact the convergence of civil rights, critical theory, animal rights, feminism, the gay and lesbian movements, all of these things really shape—to use Foucault’s term—the episteme in which the primary political focus for many philosophers and theorists erupts in a critique of the subject. LC: Without getting you to offer something prescriptive [both laugh] about where to go from here, I do, I guess, want to ask about where to go from here. Because our audience is sort of the average person, turning on their car radio, or the animal rights activist, what does this mean then for… It just seems like a huge juggernaut, this huge weight, of Western history for people who want to shift, or people talk about blurring the boundaries between humans and animals (and this, of course, is very anxiety-provoking considering the legacy of Western thought), where is the turn now? Or where do you think there are potentials for (I think your phrase is) “remembering animals”? Is that the best can we can do? AML: Again, it’s an important question in so many ways. There are so many things I would like to speak to in response to that question. I would say that I don’t know if I am, by nature, an optimist or a pessimist. I do think, however, that a lot of things have been turning away from this condition, let’s say, or a certain kind of assumption, about the longevity of the human subject. I think that human subjectivity practiced honestly and ethically will continue to re-evaluate the terms of its own existence in relationship to Others, defined in the modern sense. And I do think that a certain ability to exist with an Other—an Other that may not share the same language that I speak, but certainly exists in a world that is as valuable, authentic, legitimate, as my own—will be the goal. I’ll introduce a phrase by Jacques Derrida. Somebody asked him, what does justice mean? What would justice be? He says justice is speaking to the Other in the language of the Other. I find this to be a very beautiful and very optimistic expression. It is not my task to exclude from my world those that I don’t understand; but it is my responsibility, or it is the practice or task of justice, to learn the Other’s language, which is to give the Other that capacity for language, to assume that there is in the Other, language. Language is, according to that earlier part of our conversation, language is that which is traditionally denied to the Other. “I don’t know what you mean when you speak”;, “women speak emotionally”; “ animals don’t have any language”; “the language that less developed cultures speak is not as articulate or precise as the language that I speak”, and so on and so forth. I think this pursuit of justice, defined as Derrida does, is very important. The other thing I will add is that the development of a field that some have called, perhaps temporarily, provisionally “Animal Studies”, is absolutely critical. I think there was a time when Animal Studies would have meant zoology, or in a very focused and direct manner, the pursuit of animal rights. What has been really been exciting for me to observe in this field of animal studies— and it’s not merely a community of scholars and academics; they are artists and performers, who engage in expressive and creative actions, activists who are committed politically, activists who are engaged in their daily lives and daily practices, and also a wide range of scholars in a variety of fields (feminists, literary scholars, historians, historians of ideas, philosophers, and so forth)—there is a certain understanding that “the question of the animal”, as it’s been called, or “of animals” or “of animality”, is not something that is restricted in the end just to the well-being of animals: it affects everybody in fact in ways that are obvious and perhaps less obvious. I think this kind of realization and this kind of community, let’s say, ex-community of people, who are in the field but also outside of their fields but in contact with one another is another way in which, much of what has been established can being critiqued, rethought, unthought, reformulated, toward a viable existence for all forms of life on this earth, and elsewhere. LC: It seems to me that it’s a difficult but important place to be, working in Animal Studies, in these divergent fields. My own experience was coming from Women’s Studies. It’s interesting how you point to these different groups, marginalized groups, and I think that one of the saddest things for me has been also that there’s this incredible moment of optimism, and potential to be thinking about “the animal” in different ways, (and thus us in different ways) but also in those moments of marginalization there has been a scrambling, a push towards a reinforcement of that human subject to say, “Ah, we are just like that, though. We are not like animals.” I think that this is very classic, in terms of an older feminism: liberation is about inclusion into a human culture that is necessarily exclusionary of animals. I think that’s still happening, that while there’s a kind of opening up of what this question means, “the question of the animal”, there’s also a concern, my concern anyway, that a simultaneous reinforcement as marginalized groups fight, using language, using the discourse of rights, etc., to become a part of what they were always excluded from. AML: That’s right. That’s a very difficult situation that traditionally marginalized groups have had to address. When you have been denied very basic civil rights, for example, one of the immediate and legitimate goals of any movement is to make sure that one secures those rights for one’s constituencies, for one’s members, and at the same time to make sure that the pursuit or achievement of that right does not reproduce the exclusion of others that one was fighting against initially. That’s why I think the role of animal rights is so important, because the animal is perhaps the place where life as such has been most excluded in the history of human cultures. And as such it is the place, perhaps, where this rethinking has to begin. There will be all sorts of differences, and all sorts of different objectives and agendas, but when this discussion is practiced rigorously and in good faith, I think ultimately it will be productive. Remember that most of those whom we now think of as the great thinkers were often marginalized in their time; many endured this marginalization, ridicule, hostility. It’s part of the task, and I think one of the comforts we can draw in these situations is that the process is ongoing and one makes a contribution where one can, one engages where one can, and it continues forward hopefully toward some better formulation of life for all beings. LC: Thank you very much. I hope you can join us again on the program sometime. It was really a great honour, and a great pleasure, to speak with you today. AML: It was a great pleasure for me today. And I really appreciate the work you’re doing. The questions were just fantastic. I enjoyed every moment of it. LC: Thank you so much. Today we’ve been speaking with Dr. Akira Mizuta Lippit.

This paper examines the emergence of non-normative sexual orientations in contemporary Indonesian films. Unlike the representation of sexuality in New Order Indonesian films, which centred on the female reproductive role and presented the nation as constructed of heterosexual families rather than individual citizens, a number of 200()s Indonesian films can be seen as negotiations of new understandings of sexual diversity and individual subjectivity. These films represent a challenge to monolithic and essentialist constructions of sexuality in Indonesia, and portray characters and situations in ways that seem to fulfil the five selection criteria which Griffin and Benshoff (2006) apply to the definition of 'queer' cinema. As such, they are indicative of a paradigm shift in Indonesian cinema, which needs to be studied in association with broader patterns of social and political change. The paper describes three categories in the representation of sexual minorities in contemporary Indonesian films. The first category is represented by films such as Arisanl and , Gie, which portray characters and situations deal with male homosexual subjectivity or homoeroticism. The second category concerns films of this type that portray female characters, such as Detik Terakhirand TentangDia. In the third category are films which depict waria (male to female transgender characters) and transsexuals, represented by Panggil Aku Puspa and Realita Cinta dan Rock n Roll. The paper examines these films in the light of Boellstorff's (2005) study of gay and lesbi communities and subjectivities in Indonesia, as a way of situating them in a larger cultural picture. It suggests that the makers of these films are attempting to change the perception of their audiences about non-normative sexualities, and investigates the strategic devices used by the film makers to subvert censorship codes and social taboos in a country where homosexual behaviour is accommodated, but homosexual identities remain outside the range of socially and culturally-sanctioned subjectivities.

L’objectif de cet article est d’explorer le rôle du conflit, tel qu’il est défini dans l’œuvre théorique L’illusion du consensus (2016) de Chantal Mouffe, par la valorisation de la diversité sexuelle, de la diversité d’identité de genre et de la diversité d’expression de genre en milieu scolaire. En s’appuyant sur les théories de Michel Foucault, nous partons de l’idée que l’école est un système de pouvoir normalisateur qui privilégie l’hétéronormativité, le patriarcat et le binarisme de genre. Donc, l’école fonctionne sous une illusion du consensus au service d’une logique de contrôle identitaire. Comme réponse à cette problématique, nous analysons la manière dont la pédagogie queer peut être déployée dans la salle de classe pour transgresser le système hétéronormatif qui règne au sein des écoles, particulièrement au niveau du curriculum. Afin d’illustrer le potentiel de cette pédagogie, nous étudions le roman L’enfant mascara (2016) de l’écrivain québécois Simon Boulerice, et nous examinons la revue kwiR, publiée par des étudiants du secondaire au sujet de questions LGBTQ2+ (lesbien gai, bisexuel, trans, queer ou « questioning », bispirituel). Ainsi, nous montrons que le conflit, en brisant le consensus hétéronormatif, s’inscrit dans une pédagogie queer qui prône une plus grande visibilité des réalités, des subjectivités et des expériences queer dans le curriculum et dans la culture scolaire.

Low sexual desire (LSD) is a rather common sexological symptom, which occurs in 33.4% of women, taking the first place among other such symptoms, and in 15.8% of men. At the same time, hypoactive sexual desire disorder (HSDD) is detected much less often due to the fact that one of its diagnostic criteria consists in distress caused by LSD. Although LSD becomes more frequent with age, distress reduces with age. Therefore the prevalence of HSDD among women remains a constant. In the author’s opinion, the approach that excludes a high rank of subjectivism in the diagnostic assessment of LSD (if a person has LSD but the latter does not cause any distress in this case or even, maybe, is fine with him/her, this person is healthy; if distress is caused the person is ill) is constructive. It is pointed out that both the rate of LSD and the prevalence of HSDD vary depending upon the age, race/ethnicity, educational level, body mass index, current smoking status, current depression, taking of antidepressants by people with a previous diagnosis of depression, hormonal therapy (in women during menopause), menopausal status and country of residence. It is reported that men are more biological in their sexual manifestations versus women, in whom psychological factors play a more marked role versus men. The latter think about sex and fantasize about it more frequently than women; they want to have sex more often irrespective of their sexual orientation; they want to have a larger number of sex partners; they masturbate more frequently; they are less inclined to give up their sexual activity; their sexual desire appears at an earlier age; they use a wide variety of sexual practices, and the role of biology is reduced by social factors in women to a greater extent than in men. Data are given that indisputably indicate a larger sexual activity of men versus women. For example, it has been revealed that lesbian couples have sexual relations significantly less frequently than heterosexual and gay couples. The same study has shown that the worse the state of health and the greater the extent of misfortune, the larger the lack of sexual interest. “everyday alcohol intake”, “bad or satisfactory state of health” and “emotional problems or stress” have proved to be predictors (prognostic factors) of LSD in men. Also, data of other studies on the prevalence of LSD in men as well as information about the rate of HSDD in them are given. It is pointed out that noticeable differences exist in the levels of LSD prevalence in different cultures in the range of 12.5% in men from Northern Europe to 28% in men from Southeastern Asia at the age of 40-80 years. The feeling of guilt caused by sex can mediate this association between the Southeastern ethnicity and sexual desire in men.

This essay aims to examine how the lesbian relationship between Therese and Carol in The Price of Salt redirects the way Therese performs her gender role. Hegemony of gender roles is redirected by homosexuality. Therese acts differently in her romantic relationship with Carol, compared to that with Richard, in terms of her gained subjectivity in various aspects, including emotional freedom, social position, and sexual desires.

Abstract: Questions of gender and sexuality have oftentimes been portrayed as taboo in traditionalist conservative societies. Gloria Anzaldúa claims in Borderlands/La Frontera (1999) that “she [the lesbian of color] goes against two moral prohibitions: sexuality and homosexuality. The Chicana lesbian, as a matter of survival and motivated by sexual impulses, struggles to surpass the passive role repression assigns to her and refuses to accept the heteronormative rule. In the present paper, I investigate how the narrative strategies and cultural references bring to surface the emotions and experiences that form subjectivity and sexual desire in Emma Pérez’s Gulf Dreams (1996) and Carla Trujillo’s What Night Brings (2003). Such transgressive narrators are of different ages and thus undergoing different maturity processes, but they begin both novels as young Chicana women attempting to explore their sexuality and uncover their own prohibited desires while becoming aware of the patriarchal and machista system in which they are inscribed. Here female sexuality and lesbian desire intertwine. The chosen novels enable a debate on women’s sexual development and exploration and society’s influence, judgement and punishment on female sexuality. Writings of Gloria Anzaldúa, Cherrie Moraga, Carla Trujillo, Emma Pérez and other feminist Chicana critics aid this analysis.

In this paper, I will be looking at how the news media may be both helpful (‘good’) and a hindrance (‘bad’) to lesbian and gay parents. While I acknowledge the incommensurable differences between the experiences of lesbian parents and gay parents, I do believe that representations of both lesbian and gay parents in the media tend to focus on any similarities that exist between (and within) the two groups, rather than looking at the important differences. I would suggest that this is the result of the hetero-normative assumptions that inform the news media, which take heterosexual parents to be the norm from which all other parents differ. Such normative assumptions thus suggest that it is important to look at how particular moral frameworks are employed in both pro- and anti-gay news media reports of lesbian and gay parents, the implication being that the former may not necessarily be better than the latter. As lesbian and gay parents, we may thus do ourselves a disservice by uncritically accepting that ‘positive’ media accounts are useful in our fight for rights. ‘Good Parents’ and the ‘Rhetoric of Pseudoscience’ One of the most central aspects of representations of lesbian and gay parents in the news media is the use of ‘scientific proof’ to legitimate lesbian and gay parenting. Some examples include: Significant, reliable social scientific evidence indicates that lesbian and gay parents are as fit, effective and successful as heterosexual parents (Judith Stacey reported in http://www.lethimstay.com/wrong_socscience_expert.html). Because many beliefs about lesbian and gay parents and their children are open to empirical test, psychological research can evaluate their accuracy (American Psychological Association [APA], 1995, http://www.apa.org/pi/parent.html). Scientific findings debunk the myth that gay men cannot be nurturing parents (http://www.familypride.org/issues/myths.htm). A comprehensive international review of 25 years of research into lesbian and gay parenting… shows convincingly that the children of lesbian and gay parents do not demonstrate any important differences from those of heterosexual parents (Gay & Lesbian Rights Lobby, 2002, http://www.glrl.org.au/issues/parenting.htm). One particular strategy of legitimation evident in these extracts demonstrates what Kitzinger has termed the ‘rhetoric of pseudoscience’ – disproving your opponents claims to truth by demonstrating their ‘bad science’ (see also Riggs, “Politics”). Thus, in the examples above, ‘significant, reliable social scientific evidence’ is contrasted with ‘debunk[ed]… myth[s]’. Another example of this is provided in Stacey’s claim that: Paul Cameron is the primary disreputable and discredited figure in this [anti-lesbian and gay parenting] literature. He was expelled from the APA… for unethical scholarly practices, such as selective, misleading representations of research and making claims that could not be substantiated (http://www.lethimstay.com/wrong_socscience_expert.html). Here, Stacey uses the authority of ‘good’ social scientific research in order to disprove the claims of ‘bad’ ‘disreputable and discredited figure[s]’. In so doing, while she seeks to support lesbian and gay parents in our fight for rights, she also perpetuates the notion that scientific knowledge is the appropriate arbiter of what counts as ‘good parenting’. This is reinforced in the statement of the APA, which suggests that ‘many beliefs about lesbian and gay parents and their children are open to empirical test’. While this is intended to demonstrate the importance of using psychological research to ‘evaluate [the] accuracy’ of such beliefs, it also demonstrates the risks that we run when using science to determine what will count as ‘truth’ (Clarke; Riggs, “Politics”, “On Whose Terms”). Thus, while psychological knowledge in the extracts above is deployed in support of lesbian and gay parents, we only need to look back 30-odd years to see a vastly different story. It is as recently as that that same-sex attraction was classified as a pathology in the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-II). Thus, as Joshua Gamson (76) suggests, that which is considered ‘“normal” is often a synonym for “power”’. In this regard, the power that is evoked through the use of scientific discourse in news media may also be used against lesbian and gay parents. For example, Bill Maier, a clinical psychologist and vice president of the (right-wing and, anti-gay) Focus on the Family Institute is reported as saying that: Every responsible psychologist in the APA should be ashamed; the organization is obviously more concerned with appeasing its powerful gay lobby than it is with retaining any semblance of moral and ethical duty (Baptist Press News, http://www.bpnews.net/bpnews.asp?ID=18784). Here morality and ethics are constructed as being a priori oriented towards the values of the heterosexual majority. Even if lesbian and gay rights activists are to counter this with ‘proof’ of the normality of lesbians and gay men, this does little to destabilise the hegemony of scientific knowledge and its ability to define what counts as moral and ethical. Indeed, Maier draws attention to a very important point – while organisations such as the APA may seek to use psychological knowledge to refute anti-gay claims, they do so without challenging the ideological assumptions that underpin it. As a result, the APA (and those who use psychological knowledge in pro-accounts more generally) are left open to accusations of bias and wilful ignorance of a system of law that is based upon the values of white, heterosexual, middle-class men (Bernstein). ‘Taking Sides’: Is There Any Difference? This leads me to ask the following question: Do we as lesbians and gay men actually want to be ‘good parents’? How might our location within this position only serve to erase the unique experiences of parenting and families that we share? Eldridge suggests that what appear as debates over social issues may more accurately be described as ‘one-sided debates’, wherein the ‘opposing parties’ are actually arguing very similar points. This is particularly evident in debates over lesbian and gay parenting, as both those for and those against lesbian and gay parents often uncritically accept the notions of ‘science’ that inhere to the debates. For example, in the previous section we saw Stacey claim that anti-gay researchers have questionable ethics, just as Maier suggested that the support for lesbian and gay issues given by the APA represents a crisis in its ‘ethical and moral duty’. While pro-accounts of lesbian and gay parents may be useful in the short term to generate ‘positive’ representations of lesbian and gay parents in the media (which in some cases may be an important aspect of legal challenges in regards to lesbian and gay adoption rights), they do little to challenge the networks of power within which they are located, focused as they are upon stereotypical representations of ‘good’ lesbian and gay parents who are typically white, able-bodied, and financially secure. As a result, these representations further marginalise those lesbians and gay men who do not fit within this category (for example, due to economic or cultural difference from the white, middle-class majority), in addition to those lesbians and gay men who choose not to parent. These points demonstrate how the fight for ‘positive representation’ within the media can lead to the further marginalisation of groups of lesbian and gay men who already have little access to such representation (Gamson). Within this paper, I have demonstrated some of the ways in which ‘good’ representations of lesbian and gay parents may also be ‘bad’—they may render us complicit with discourses of science that have often been used against us, and they also encourage us to conform to a heterosexual model of relationality. In this way, lesbian and gay parents are expected to be ‘as fit, effective and successful as heterosexual parents’ (Stacey). As a result, lesbian and gay parents are encouraged to accept a form of subjectivity that recognises scientific arguments as legitimate, and which thus encourages lesbians and gay men to open their lives to scientific scrutiny, measurement, and objectification. Moreover, it encourages lesbian and gay parents ‘not [to] demonstrate any important differences from… heterosexual parents’ (Gay & Lesbian Rights Lobby) under threat of being declared, by default, unfit parents. The converse effect of news media reports of lesbian and gay parents can also be true: ‘bad’ representations may inadvertently draw attention to the problems that inhere to using science to ‘prove the case’. Thus, as the extract from Maier suggests, naively believing that science is the answer ignores the moral assumptions that shape news media and which further marginalise the often critical moral frameworks of lesbian and gay parents. Obviously, I am not advocating here for more statements like those of Maier. Rather, I am suggesting that as lesbian and gay parents we need to be wary of accepting normative framework when mounting our resistances. In other words, if ‘bad’ is often ‘good’, and ‘good’ is often ‘bad’ in scientific media accounts of lesbian and gay parents, then it would seem important that we develop alternate ways of accounting for our experiences, at the same time as we critique such accounts in order to demonstrate their moral assumptions. Acknowledgements I would first like to acknowledge the sovereignty of the Kaurna people, upon whose land I live in Adelaide, South Australia. Thanks as always go to Greg for support and proof reading, and to our foster child, Gary, for helping this all make sense. References Bernstein, Mary. “Gender, Queer Family Policies, and the Limits of the Law.” Queer Families, Queer Politics: Challenging Culture and the State. Ed. Mary Bernstein and Renate Reimann. New York: Columbia UP, 2001. Clarke, Victoria. “‘Stereotype, Attack and Stigmatize Those Who Disagree’: Employing Scientific Rhetoric in Debates about Lesbian and Gay Parenting.” Feminism & Psychology 10 (2000): 152-9. Eldridge, John. “News, Truth and Power.” Getting the Message: News, Truth and Power. Ed. John Eldridge. London: Routledge, 1993. Gamson, Joshua. “Talking Freaks: Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Families on Daytime Talk TV.” Queer Families, Queer Politics: Challenging Culture and the State. Ed. Mary Bernstein and Renate Reimann. New York: Columbia UP, 2001. Kitzinger, Celia. “The Rhetoric of Pseudoscience.” Deconstructing Social Psychology. Eds. Ian Parker and John Shotter. London: Routledge, 1990. Riggs, Damien W. “The Politics of Scientific Knowledge: Constructions of Sexuality and Ethics in the Conversion Therapy Literature.” Lesbian & Gay Psychology Review 5 (2004): 6-14. Riggs, Damien W. “On Whose Terms?: Psychology and the Legitimisation of Lesbian and Gay Parents.” GLIP News 3 (2004): 3-6. http://www.psychology.org.au/units/interest_groups/gay_lesbian/publications.asp>. Riggs, Damien W. “The Psychologisation of Foster Care: Implications for Lesbian and Gay Parents.” PsyPag Quarterly 51 (2004): 34-43. Citation reference for this article MLA Style Riggs, Damien. "Who Wants to Be a 'Good Parent'?: Scientific Representations of Lesbian and Gay Parents in the News Media." M/C Journal 8.1 (2005). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/05-riggs.php>. APA Style Riggs, D. (Feb. 2005) "Who Wants to Be a 'Good Parent'?: Scientific Representations of Lesbian and Gay Parents in the News Media," M/C Journal, 8(1). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0502/05-riggs.php>.

Recent television programming in Italy has begun to focus on the themes of female friendship and girlhood, moving from a long history of traditionally male-centered narratives towards stories that privilege female subjectivity. This article analyzes this recent trend by looking at three different programs: the HBO/Rai adaptation of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan Novels L’amica geniale; the Netflix production Baby, based on the 2013 Rome teen prostitution scandal; and the web series SKAM Italia, based on the international series that originated in Norway. Despite their apparent distinctions in terms of target audiences, genre, and style, all three shows place the friendship between adolescent girls as their primary narrative concern. Through analyses of each series, we can see how these representations employ similar tropes in their depictions of girlhood and friendship, such as the mirroring and doubling of the female protagonists; the presence of the love triangle; the configuration of female friendship in relation to gay male characters; and the suggestion of potential lesbian desire. This article meditates on the possible motivations for this newfound focus on female subjectivity as a potential strategy for marketing Italian television worldwide.

Ghassan Moussawi’s Disruptive Situations challenges the exceptionalist representations of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and trans (LGBT) experiences in Beirut through a focus on the everyday queer strategies and tactics. Moussawi analyzes the everyday practices of LGBT interlocutors navigating al-wad’ (the situation), a term that refers to the normative order of disruptions, precarity, and instability that permeate daily life across contemporary Beirut. Al-wad’ simultaneously features as a historical condition of perpetual instability bearing on daily life in Beirut, as well as a lens to analyze the practices of everyday life for Moussawi’s LGBT interlocutors. Moussawi’s inductive ethnographic approach charts the strategic use of identities, visibility, and “bubbles” or sources of solace in order to challenge exceptionalist representations of Beirut and LGBT experiences in the city. Moussawi critiques these reductive representations as “fractal orientalism”, a reductive representation that embeds hierarchies and exclusion through geographic associations, such as in fashioning Beirut as the “Paris of the Middle East”. Beirut becomes charming and “cosmopolitan” in a way that is similar to, but not quite, the same as Paris. Moussawi’s focus on queer daily practices against the backdrop of al-wad’ shows the limitations of these reductive representations in an effort to reimagine queerness, subjectivity, and politics.

This paper examines the troubling relationship between the identity of the male artist and female sexuality during the rise of early modernism by comparing two literary works: Charles Baudelaire’s poetry collection Les Fleurs du mal and James Joyce’s novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Portraying prominent female characters as a means to define the authors’ own modern aesthetics, both Baudelaire and Joyce perceive underlying tensions between biological reproduction and artistic creativity, prompting them to explore in detail the relationships between gender, sexuality, and the production of literature. For Baudelaire, the male poet as flaneur derives voyeuristic pleasure from his imaginary lesbian narratives, and his aesthetic awareness of the self that emerges is contrasted with the “sterile” nature of female homosexuality. Joyce’s Stephen Dedalus in Portrait, on the other hand, adopts a more ambivalent relationship towards women: like Baudelaire’s speaker, Stephen usurps the generativity of women by replacing meaningful relations with imaginary ones, subsequently deriving literary inspiration; at the same time, however, these attempts bespeak deeper anxieties towards his inability to attain artistic autonomy, ultimately reflecting increasing vulnerabilities in the modern male artist’s perceptions of self-contained subjectivity. Published half a century apart, these two works marked critical junctures in the emergence of modernism, and a comparative approach thus allows us to trace shifting ideologies of modern personhood and gendered identity.

This article discusses fieldwork in two research projects on Buddhists in London. It explores issues involved in researching lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered, questioning and/or intersex (LGBTQI) Buddhists. It also considers issues around heterosexual identities in Buddhist communi-ties. In researching dynamics of gender and sexual identification of participants it was observed that at times participant narratives treated these identities for these axes of difference as provisional and contingent rather than essential, fixed and a basis for socio-political organization. This contrasts with much of the work on religion and sexuality in mainstream theistic traditions, where their LGBTQI members often argue a “reverse discourse” asserting their place in a “Divine Order” in which their sexual/gender identity is a key part of “who they are.” It is argued that theoretical approaches based on queer theorizing could be particularly applicable to research on Western Buddhist perspectives on gender and sexual identities. This is attributed to the anti-essentialist approach Buddhism takes to questions of subjectivity and identification and its non-hegemonic status in the West. Such queer theorizing would, however, need to acknowledge the constraints to “border crossings” between identity positions arising from oppressive forces from gender minoritization, class status, minority ethnic origin, and so on. It is also suggested that research on the heterosexual majority can elucidate ways in which faith communities are gendered, racialized and stratified by class.

Gurinder Chadha’s Bend It Like Beckham has shown to delighted audiences around the world. Released during the soccer World Cup (and just before it in Britain in case the Brits did poorly), the film capitalised on interest in the game with its good-humoured look at a young 18 year old’s passion for playing soccer. Where the film would seem to break new ground is that the 18 year old is not only a girl, but also of Indian Sikh background. In allowing Jess (Jasminder) to follow her sporting dreams to professionalism rather than the path her parents initially expect of her (university then marriage), the film stretches the boundaries of race, gender, and generation, allowing audiences the opportunity to identify with an atypical protagonist. The film won almost universal goodwill from critics and audiences alike, however Jess’ success seems to be predicated on the assumption that the audience will only accept a British Indian girl’s love of soccer if any taint of lesbianism is expelled from the film. Girls’ team sport has not much of a public following, yet Beckham topped the British charts for weeks, was voted viewers’ favourite in the Sydney Film Festival, and screened for months in Australian cinemas and elsewhere around the world. While Beckham’s name may have helped draw the crowds, a summary of the subject matter might be expected to have turned them away, rather than dragged them in. When Chandra was attempting to raise finance for the film, the response was invariably, “Soccer? Girl Soccer? Indian girl soccer? – no way!” (Urban) While it is true that positioning an audience to side with a protagonist can result in the most unexpected identifications, women’s sport often attracts either uneasiness or indifference rather than delight and acceptance. By having one set of fears allayed, an audience can often be induced to identify with a cause they might otherwise feel ambivalent about. If Jess is shown to conventionally love a man, then her love of soccer is rendered so much more acceptable. While the reception of women’s sport in the West has come a long way from the alarm which greeted its inception in the late nineteenth century, it still poses something of a conundrum in the public sphere. The first women’s professional soccer match, played in London in 1895, was treated with scorn by the press. In the early 1920s in Britain, men’s clubs stalled the development of women’s soccer (which consisted of about 150 clubs) when they refused to let women use their pitches. Currently women’s soccer is on the rise, especially in the US, but the press in particular often find it, and other non-traditional female games, difficult to report without resorting to tactics designed to allay readers’ (and possibly reporters’) fears. These fears revolve around the contradictions between the public role of sport and dominant cultural constructions of femininity. Such contradictions have been summarised as being between “femininity or ‘musculinity’” (Hargreaves 145). Ultimately, traditional femininity is seen to be in opposition to athleticism and the sportswoman is often involved in a complex negotiation between the two conflicting requirements. When the sportswoman’s appearance, behaviour, and especially her relationships uphold traditional femininity, her athleticism is not seen as problematic. On the other hand, when she fails to sufficiently ‘feminise’ herself, or even if she plays a sport considered ‘masculine’, her credentials as a woman may be called into question. The most devastating allegation to be levelled at the sportswoman is still that sport has made her butch. To be butch is to have failed to adequately perform femininity, and is generally also taken to indicate lesbianism. Even women who do little to conform to traditional measures of femininity may be redeemed in the press and in commentary by reference to their husbands, boyfriends and children. Lesbians present a different problem for sports writers and commentators; while many sportswomen are in fact lesbian, the public is generally shielded from this. Despite the fact that gay issues are being represented more and more in popular culture, in sport it is still a taboo for both men and women. In Bend It Like Beckham, the whole plot of the film depends on negotiating that taboo in as convincing a way as possible. In order to make possible a narrative of a girl’s self-fulfilment through soccer for mainstream audiences, it is necessary for the film to make the lesbian in soccer invisible at the same time. The filmmaker goes to great lengths to do this. The most obvious device is the romance plot, staple of popular film in almost any genre. Joe is the love interest of both girls in the heterosexual plot as, conversely, he is the plot device which separates them, in a potential lesbian plot. As the coach of the girls’ team, he does not detract in any way from either girl’s goal of playing professional sport. In order to satisfy parental characters and audience alike, he is necessary as the affirmation of Jess’ (and Jules’) heterosexuality. But the film goes further than simply making the central female characters straight. In order to expunge the image of the lesbian sportswoman, every scene depicting the team in conversation or relaxing features a performance of heterosexuality. This is done either through their locker room conversations about who is shagging whom and who fancies whom, or by their dress and demeanour at the club in Germany. There is such an underlying anxiety about lesbianism in the film that not a single representation of it is allowed to occur, despite how unrealistic this might be in women’s sport. It is not that Chadha is not prepared to deal with the issue; her last film, What’s Cooking, positively featured a lesbian couple among other couplings and family groups. However, obviously, the spectre of the lesbian is so great in women’s sport that it is necessary to omit it entirely in order to represent women’s participation in sport as a positive thing. This is done, above all, by affirming the girls’ femininity, and most of all their heterosexuality. Although Jules’ mother Paula is the butt of much of the film’s humour – the extraordinary variations in her cleavage provide a running sight gag throughout the film – she is also the voice of the audience’s fears about the direction of the girls’ relationship: “There’s a reason why Sporty Spice is the only one of them without a fella”. Despite the audience being let in on the truth about the girls’ apparent heterosexuality much earlier than Paula is, they are similarly set up to anticipate that these soccer-mad girls, with their posters of either Beckham or butch sportswomen on their walls, will gradually fall in love with each other over the course of the film. But as Jules tells her mother: “Just because I wear trackies and play sport, doesn’t make me a lesbian”. Paula’s response – “I’ve got nothing against it. I was cheering for Martina Navratilova as much as the next person” – hides the fact that she does have something against lesbianism. Finally her joy at the revelation that the girls are both keen on Joe rather than each other is mirrored in the audience’s laughter at her, laughter which to some extent could be interpreted as reflecting their own relief. While Paula is almost as self-conscious about Jess’ Indian heritage as she is about lesbianism, the film is more comfortable about racial diversity than it is about lesbianism. It’s not even gayness as such that is troubling. Jess’ friend Tony tells her of his attraction to men – “no, Jess, I really like Beckham” – and this is portrayed affectionately, despite the viewer’s knowledge that life for him may involve more difficult negotiations than Jess will have to make. The real focus of the film is on choices for women and establishing sport as a valid one of these. Jess’ soccer final is given equal footing with Pinky’s wedding, and the cuts between both occasions construct them as similarly fulfilling events for both sisters. The film is not concerned with undermining Pinky’s choices of marriage and motherhood either, although both Jess’ and Jules’ mothers are represented as conservative and limiting forces in their lives, much more so than their fathers. Bend It Like Beckham cannot, in the end, be ‘bent’ because it is so busy exorcising the spectre of the lesbian in sport. Establishing an Indian sporting female subjectivity comes at the cost of rejecting any potential lesbian subjectivity, let alone lesbian love. If Jess is to love sport, then she must love her man as well. In order to present a palatable narrative of female fulfilment in sport, Jess and Jules have to be pretty and feminine as well as athletic, and most of all, they have to be straight. Works Cited Hargreaves, Jennifer. Sporting Females: Critical Issues in the History and Sociology of Women’s Sports. London: Routledge, 1994. Urban, Andrew L. “Bending Forward.” Urbancinefile October 3, 2002. http://www.urbancinefile.com 04/10/02. Links http://www.urbancinefile.com Citation reference for this article Substitute your date of access for Dn Month Year etc... MLA Style Treagus, Mandy. "Not Bent At All" M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture 5.6 (2002). Dn Month Year < http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/beckham.php>. APA Style Treagus, M., (2002, Nov 20). Not Bent At All. M/C: A Journal of Media and Culture, 5,(6). Retrieved Month Dn, Year, from http://www.media-culture.org.au/0211/beckham.html