The Congo Stigmata: A Response to the Cultural Appropriation of Eve Ensler

 

Eve Ensler is a writer whose best-known contribution to the world of literature is The Vagina Monologues. At the time of publication it caused controversy, for its frankness and openness about the vagina. The vagina has an air of mystique about it and it is something we very rarely talk about in public space.

In this book excerpt however Ensler talks about her experience in the Democratic Republic of Congo with raped women. The excerpt though is highly problematic. I will not be drawn into a line by line analysis of the piece because it would be very long and boring for you to read.

However, I will point out the main problem areas and the folly in Ensler’s approach to this issue.

Dealing first with the title, The Congo Stigmata I believe it is highly offensive. Firstly, stigmata have their origins in the Christian faith. Stigmata describe bodily marks or pain sensations in the same locations of the crucifixion wounds of Jesus Christ. The phenomena of stigmata is primarily associated with the Roman Catholic faith and notable figures with stigmata include St Francis of Assisi and the apostle Paul.

However what Eve Ensler does is not only offensive it is inappropriate. She brands the whole Democratic Republic of Congo as suffering from stigma, which affects her vicariously as much as the women of the Congo. She aligns herself with them, as one of them, rather than looking in from the outside and respecting their own trauma. To brand a whole country as having  stigmata is grossly offensive.

The subject matter of the article is of course rape. Whilst there are commonalities of experience amongst rape victims, the individuality of everyone’s experiences must be respected.

Eve Ensler though appropriates the experiences of other victims though, and claims them as her own in a highly narcissistic and selfish way. She had a cancerous tumour inside herself between the vagina and the bowel which had in turn fistulated the rectum.

This meant that for her she had to have the same surgical intervention as many rape victims in the Congo.

By this point in the article though, my alarm bells were ringing. In a macabre way, she almost seems to delight in it, as though she is happy about it, or under some illusion that having the same surgery means they have a strong bond between them.

Cancer though is physiological, rape is not. The point is those Congolese women would not need the surgery had they not been raped, yet Ensler exhibits almost a kind of euphoria about the whole thing. It reminds me of somebody being happy about having their legs amputated so they can adopt the physical appearance of an amputee.

She also seems worryingly obsessed by the possibility of supernatural intervention in what happened to her. Doctors come across all sorts of things in careers, some familiar and some not but I think it is very unwise to frame the fistula in a spiritual context. This leads to it being viewed as some kind of spiritual gift which for the many rape victims who have also been through the pain of fistulas I am sure it is not.

She is so cold and clinical about the symptoms arising from fistulas too. There is no sense of empathy from the writer not even when it comes to the indignity of urine or faeces flowing through the resulting hole. No sense of embarrassment or contrition. Instead, I am left with the impression that the writer is completely indifferent to the trauma suffered by these women, and is instead more interested in the biology of fistulae.

Ensler then  described how she needed to see a fistula. Most of us want to see a famous landmark, or meet an idol, or to see a beautiful sunset. But no Eve Ensler wanted to see a fistula. By this point the article feels highly abnormal and disturbs me as I read. Not only is she being insensitive, and culturally appropriative, but also highly voyeuristic. Doctors of course need to be present in operating theatres as part of medical training, and those who have had surgical procedures can now in the Internet age perhaps look them up on YouTube. But there is no reason for Ensler to see somebody else’s operation. This feels intrusive, wrong and highly unethical. The ethics of it disturb me the most. Did the woman give consent to Ensler watching her operation? Was she aware that Ensler was watching the operation, and intending to recount it in a book?

For us on the sidelines, these are rhetorical questions, but I find them disturbing nonetheless highly so. When I wrote about FGM in a recent blog entry I did so with the utmost sensitivity. If you have your writing chops that is what you do. It is common sense.

But instead Ensler chooses to write about the operation in highly flowery dramatic prose. It is highly appropriate if you are writing a work of fiction and want to keep your readers on the edge of their seats. However it is not appropriate to transform a traumatic operation into dramatic exaggerated prose for your own selfish benefit.

She de-centres the person having the surgery completely, and bearing the hallmarks of a true narcissist, she appropriates the experience that this woman on the operating table has had and makes it all about herself, compelling her readers to shift their focus away from her subject on the operating table and back  on to her. I hope however that most readers worth their salt would be to see through this and feel sympathy for the woman anyway.

Semantically, just look at how many I and me sentences there are, given that is supposed to be an extract about raped women in the Congo. I could feel myself falling, except that what happened to the woman on the operating table was not Ensler’s fall to have. I can appreciate that witnessing the operation may have reawakened personal memories for Ensler. However I think it is wrong and disrespectful to conflate the two together for the sole purpose of literary exaggeration and dramaturgy.

The whole way through this piece I felt like I was reading a novel, rather than a realistic account of rape in the Congo. Eve Ensler is a writer. She is not Congolese. Therefore she should not be appropriating Congolese female experience for her own writerly gain. Yes, she may have had the same surgery due to a horrid diagnosis, and I am sorry for that. But that is where my sympathy for Eve Ensler ends.

I have never read many pieces which are as offensive as this, so appropriative, so disrespectful of the experience of these Congolese women, using their lives as a crude plot device. I hope I never do again. Eve Ensler has certainly not contributed to ending the stigma of rape by writing this.

The Burden of Proof

So Facebook really is much of a muchness. There is a wide breadth of comment, analysis, moral support and anything else you may find in the context of human life. 

But that includes the negative shit of life too, sadly. Imagine then, my disgust and anger when I read the following status update.

” Why dick head men at mcdonalds feel the need to tell me to prove i have a girlfriend or that i love her makes me laugh …. Fuck you she is mine and i am hers …. I don’t need you to make me know that! TWAT!”

Now firstly, I have never heard anyone go to McDonalds and ask  for a Big Mac, and fries with a large portion of misogynistic homophobia please. Nor do I think this is what my friends Aimee and Charlotte expected either. 

I was actually shocked when I heard about it which is why I was motivated to write about it. Nobody should have to justify or explain themselves to anyone, unless they are discriminating, harming or bullying others in some way, whatever that may be.

What can I tell you about my two friends, Aimee Sherriff and Charlotte Forster? Apart from the fact they are very much in love which is patently obvious to know them, Aimee has a ghetto bum, loves N-Dubz, is crazy, loyal and supportive and drives my chair more badly than I do, when drunk (and sober in my case). Charlotte is a drama student, very arty, and we share a mutual but geeky love of showtunes. Like the Sherriff she is also very kind and supportive of me.

But on a serious note the level of misogyny here is disturbing, and in a sense has parallel echoes with the debate around gay marriage. There is also a distinct lack of equilibrium in this encounter. Since when has a straight person ever been asked to prove that they have a boyfriend, and moreover that they love them. Excuse my French, but what the actual fuck?

What I am trying to say, is that if they were straight, this would never be an issue in a million years. But their lesbian status, it seems makes them some kind of object of interest and voyeurism. This is just wrong, wrong, wrong. It is a question that would never be asked of a straight person, and is humiliating and demeaning, especially for a committed couple.

Lurking beneath this event though, I believe is something more sinister. Namely, this something is an issue of culture, and respect.

There is a cultural problem in this world too. There are people, indeed many thousands of them, who are quite happy to air their lives on The Jeremy Kyle Show. Coupled with that though, there are people whose involvement with a show like this, who would never dream of going on a show like this, either because they would be scared to go on television, or because they have other outlets for resolving this.

But how is this relevant to what Aimee and Charlotte experienced?

Well firstly, their dilemma is exemplified by the scenario. Their sexuality is a private non issue for them, however, anything which is separate to the self (in this case McChicken Sandwich man) and the other (Aimee and Char). Some people just cannot handle the fact, that there are people different to them. Others meanwhile, see it as an advantage, whilst others see it as a threat.

Difference is not bad, difference is good. However, in the case of difference, ergo minorities, it becomes a problem for those who live with it, live inside it, and get down with it on a daily basis like me.

There is a gulf between what is acceptable and unacceptable, when you are different. I know for me, since I have put myself out there on this blog, plus in everyday life too, some of the questions I have been asked make my mind boggle and my curls stand on end.

However, I am choosing to put myself out there, because of personal objectives I have, and goals I want to accomplish. However, Aimee and and Char are doing no such thing.

I do not think that ordering a meal in McDonalds translates as putting yourself out there.

Let me look at the statements the men made. Firstly, proving you have a girlfriend. Wave a magic wand, and magically your girlfriend, avec ghetto bum will appear. But the second one. Prove you love her!

How, by engaging in full on cunnilingus on the table to indulge a heteronormative fantasy which is an epidemic in classic stereotypical male narratives? Oh please! I wonder if the men would be just as turned on by two heterosexuals fucking? I somehow doubt it.

But people have their sense of identity buried within them, and that is where it is comfortable for most people. It should not be revealed to someone at the click of a finger. As I suggested earlier, lesbians do not HAVE to prove anything.

However, constantly being asked to prove anything, whether it be your sexuality, gender identity, or indeed any one of a number of things, can be stressful at best, and humiliating and dehumanising at worst.

Though, let us not be deterred from celebrating ourselves around those who support us. For our identities, each one of them unique and wonderful and we should always celebrate them when we want.

For even sexist voyeurism can never take away our freedom to express, which is buried deep within our soul and self.

But proof is a burden. It was a burden for Aimee and Charlotte. It changed a fairly regular experience into an unpleasant one. What is heartening though is that Aimee and Charlotte are both confident enough in their sense of self not to allow their love to be diminished by idiots. 

I join them in saying fuck you to that man. He crossed a line. That of the heteronormative double standard. It is what makes a lesbian erotica to a straight man, but the idea of sex with a gay man makes him “uncomfortable”.Whilst also he is quite happy to perv at a woman’s boobs. Don’t we have a right to boundaries and things that make us uncomfortable too? Patriarchy is to blame. Pure and X-Rated.

I would never ask someone to prove they are straight, so do not use your straight privilege to ask me or my LGBTGQ friends  about their sexuality, genitals, who they love, and whether they love. If you are straight, proof would be a burden for you too. Just be thankful you do not have to experience it. 

Charlotte left with scarf. Aimee right with orange and pout.