Women's Work

I reviewed this book for an academic journal. The reason why I put it here is because, despite the efforts of feminist economists and some political theorists, women's work remains marginalised in academic discourse. I am a very big fan of Tom Hodgkinson's 'How to Be Idle' and his website, 'The Idler', but there is a subversive voice in my head that keeps saying, "And what does his wife think of all this?" I imagine her sorting out the house and the kids whilst Tom is down the pub, idling. "Well, he's better off, there," she sighs, "At least I can get on with things without being interrupted by a lecture about Marx". Women weave together the threads of life and death, out of which come the stories which construct meaning in the world. Today, as many women migrate across the globe to do the work that nobody else wants to do, those stories have become ever more complex, and multi-layered. The danger inherent in Tom's philosophy of idling is that, whilst it generates a vital critique of capitalism, it may do so at the expense of reinforcing new kinds of alienation, ones which are manifested in the labour of women from developing countries. We return then to a very traditional self-sufficiency - one that sustained Aristotle in his advocacy of contemplation as the highest form of human excellence - slavery.

Here is my review which is written in academic-speak. It is no subsitute for reading the original.

‘Women’s Work’ as Political Art: Weaving and Dialectical Politics in Homer, Aristophanes, and Plato, by Lisa Pace Vetter.

Plato, the discursive feminist, is an unlikely figure. This book, however, makes an ingenious attempt to persuade us that Plato’s use of the metaphor of weaving has the resources to reconcile essentialist and post-structural approaches in feminist theory. In the ancient world, weaving is an indispensable female labour loaded with political, as well as social, significance. Weaving is a skill – a techne – associated with knowledge (p4), and invested with political meaning through the image of the weaving back and forth of disparate elements, resulting in a unity which either subsumes or maintains their distinctiveness. Vetter illustrates how the metaphor of weaving is employed in the dramatic narratives of Homer’s Penelope and Aristophanes’ Lysistrata. Penelope and Lysistrata ultimately fail to make the metaphor of weaving yield its full potential as a vehicle of political renewal through deliberation. Penelope’s emphasis on like-mindedness fails to unite a diverse group of citizens, whilst Lysistrata’s techne approach imposes peace at the price of an unsustainable homogeneity. Plato, however, confronts us with the surprising possibility of setting in place ‘a permanent dialectic between subjectivity and objectivity that is open to continual reinterpretation’ (p23). Vetter shows us that Plato’s characterisation of Socrates establishes a critical and self-reflective dialogue which can accommodate many viewpoints and modes of expression.

What is intriguing in Vetter’s interpretation is the suggestion that Plato, the foundationalist, steers a course between modified essentialist theories, such as Nussbaum’s ‘Aristotelian capacities’ approach, and theories of plurality and diversity. According to Vetter, Plato demonstrates that foundationalism does not necessarily exclude discursive flexibility and the recognition of difference - an insight which deserves further elaboration in a contemporary context. Weaving exemplifies the subordinated domestic labour of women in the ancient world: today, the work of women – particularly in the international division of labour – has hardly advanced. Women and girls are clustered in low paid, poor quality work and unpaid domestic labour, which forces them to weave back and forth between the private and the public spheres ever more complex and diverse patterns. A discursive approach which admits the global economy to political scrutiny is urgently needed, and the contemporary work of women, woven together across borders, spaces, cultures and generations, is a good platform upon which to engender a dialectical commonness which does not eliminate difference – an approach which is very much in the spirit of Vetter’s Plato.

Yarning

I am starting something new. Inspired by bloggers who knit and craft, I thought I would revive my basic skills and set my fingers to a practical task. I love the colour and detail of the tree bark, so I rifled about in my daughter's cupboard to find some great chunky wooden needles and this fabulous yarn. My idea is to create lots of squares using thick yarn in white, red and brown (perhaps yellow) and then stitch them together into a shawl or rug. I have no idea what I am doing.... but I'm going to have a go anyway.

Yarning, of course, also means story telling - the art of story telling is something I know a little more about because of my interest in writing. By employing physical skills - no matter how mediocre - I feel I am spinning out a narrative of my life, my sorrows and my hopes.

Recovery

Apart from my personal experiences of being widowed, most of what I know about grieving in a general sense I have learnt from two sources: Kate Boydell's book, 'Death and How to Survive it', and her website, merrywidow; and Virginia Ironside's book, 'You'll Get Over It'. Virginia's book is an angry, honest confrontation with death in all its agony and strangeness. Kate's book is grounded in her philosophy that grief can be integrated into one's life, that it can be worked through, and that the bereaved person will, once again, be happy. I have taken her approach to be the right one to adhere to - personally, I cannot abide the thought that my girls and I will not lead full and rich lives. Of course, we shall not forget our dear man, but I do not accept that the memory of what we had can be used as a reason to hobble through life, crippled and aimless. I do not say that we have reached a point of reconciliation today, but that we will reach it at some moment in our futures. The physical agony of grieving is easing, and I am able to be more active in the public world. I am very lonely without my best friend and lover, and sometimes this loneliness is almost more than I can stand (at my low times, I feel this loneliness like a wild madness that surges through my body), but I am better today than I was sixteen months ago. And I believe, with Kate, that recovery is possible.

My Companion

Here she is - my little Norwegian Forest Cat. She is only a year old and small but leggy like a teenager. Norwegian Forest Cats have an unusual temperament - they love to be in company with humans and other animals. Mine has struck up a loyal friendship with another of my cats and they play like children in the garden. She is very gentle and never shows her claws - she follows us like a little dog, but she is so silent and light on her feet that sometimes she gets accidentally stood on! She is too polite to hold a grudge and is soon back weaving round our ankles. Eventually she will grow a double coat and become quite large, but Norwegian Forest Cats can take five years to achieve their maturity.

Animals can have a fine sensitivity to the suffering of their owners. Many bereaved people have reported how much they have deepened in their relationship with their pets and how grateful they have been for their friendship.

The Early Days

Follow on from my post below, I think that the Early Days of mourning need special consideration. Here is an entry from some notes that I made at the time (two weeks after my husband died):

'I remember the moment of occupation - it was when Fi was driving me home. A five hour journey during which the numbness of shock gradually sloughed off me and I gave birth to mourning. My skin was stripped, replaced by strange tingles and shocks through my body; my being was invaded by something, a force, a wave of dreadful agony. This some-thing has become my familiar, my companion - I walk with it, sleep with it, wake up with it. I have been yielded up to dreadful awareness. His total physical presence - the empty space takes on his beloved shape - the way he sat, the way he smiled, his voice, his eyes, his hair. The very particular way in which he was materially and bodily present has been delivered up to me, and it is no comfort. It is no kind, gentle remembrance, but a stab, a violent invasion by pain. No will of mine can resist it; its victory is without boundaries.'

This passes, it passes, and you will become the victor. But not with loss, not without a price to be paid.

Knowledge

Death, not sex or money, is the last great taboo in our modern, 'liberated' societies. People draw back in horror from those who are stricken with mourning - they fear a contamination, a curse, that might transfer itself to them, and, most of all, they fear their own death.

Those who grieve - particularly those who have lost somebody young (a child or partner) - suffer terribly from the social isolation that appears to be a common feature of modern mourning. They experience the diminishment of social networks; of friends who pass them on the other side of the road; of workplaces that expect them to be back fully functioning in a matter of weeks; of grieving children neglected by the education system.

Some of this isolation could be mitigated if there was a greater social understanding of the suffering engendered by mourning. In the same way that it has become normal for children to learn the facts about the beginning of life, then they should also be taught about the end of life and what happens to those who grieve. And there really is some basic knowledge that would help those who mourn:

1. A major bereavement lasts, not weeks, but years - one to three years, on average. And then some if the grieving has become complicated; the shock of sudden death, for example, unbalances a person's physical resistance to disease and affects their cognitive functioning.
2. The experience of bereavement is not just feeling a bit sad, but demonstrates itself in physical pain - a weight in your chest that never lifts, clenching and anxiety in the stomach, loss of concentration, loss of appetite, sometimes hair loss, muscle pain and inability to walk properly. These experiences come and go in waves, like the tide coming in and out, with great intensity for about three to twelve months. These overwhelming sensations gradually ease, but then the mourner is left with a kind of grey trudging. Depression can set in and at this point the medical professsion often get involved by prescribing drugs. The mourner can seem as if they are functioning, and will probably have returned to work and family life, but they have lost all their defense mechanisms. They are highly sensitive, very vulnerable and often very lonely.
3. Except in rare circumstances, drugs are not the answer. A mourner who is well supported by family, friends and workplace will recover - slowly, and with set backs, but they will recover. A mourner needs to be in community with others, but they also need alot of time alone to think, to feel and to grieve. Drugs interfere with this process. Care is much better - in the early days, a bereaved person is like a new born baby. They may not be able to take care of themselves or of their children - they may need help with cooking and shopping. They need to be offered nutritious food, even if they cannot eat much of it, and they need to be offered company, even if they select aloneness.
4. Mourners are undergoing immense psychological change that takes all their physical and emotional energy (and remember this process will continue for months/years). Workplaces should provide support in the form of part-time working and mentoring to assist bereaved people back into their jobs. Schools should take special care of children that are grieving and educate their staff in the effects of mourning.
5. The loss is now a permanent part of the mourner, but the grieving can be successful worked out. Mourners can be happy again, they can regain their trust in the world and they can have flourishing lives. They will never forget, and, to some degree, sadness or tragedy may be stamped on them for the rest of their lives, but the worst will pass. But it will take time - lots of time - lots of patience, self-awareness and gentleness.

Don't hurry mourning - do what you need to do to get through each moment. Trust yourself to know what is best for you - although, by all means, consult those who seem to possess insight into your situation. You need to give yourself a huge amount of self-care. Recognise that society in general will be very poor at supporting you, but that there will be a few precious people who will come with you on the journey. Encourage those people. Remember, you may not be given wisdom (I reject the efficacy of suffering argument - I am no wiser, or kinder for having suffered; in fact, I am more short-tempered, and intolerant), but you will be given knowledge - knowledge of life and death, and of human nature. One day, perhaps, what you have learnt will be a pearl beyond price to another suffering person. In the meantime, your task is to take care of yourself and your immediate dependents.

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Citizen's Income

My recent postings on human rights has caused me to think about the means to ensure that rights become effective, rather than simply formal, rights. Effective rights requires the distribution of resources, and one of the most radical ways to place real resources into the hands of all of us in a manner that treats us as equals, entitled to liberty and the opportunity to pursue our own conceptions of the good life, would be a Citizen's Income. A citizen's income is not a minimum wage, but a non-means tested income which is provided for all citizens on the basis of their personhood and their membership of a nation state. The common criticism is that such a policy would encourage 'free-riders' or surfers who idle all day on Malibu beach. There are two problems with this argument, firstly, the empirical assumption that surfers make no social or economic contribution. In fact, in the UK, surfing communities generate significant local income in the form of retail, sporting and tourist activities. Secondly, the moral judgement that idling is generally a bad thing, which would, of course, depend upon what one means by idling. Ivan Illich wrote 'The Right to Useful Unemployment' in order to recognise a far wider range of social contribution than waged labour, and a recent defense of idling based upon sustainable living and the freedom to choose written by Tom Hodgekinson called 'How to be Idle'. See the Idler website: http://idler.co.uk.