The school is equipped to respond to the students’ unique position as refugees. Teachers are careful to identify potentially triggering material, and a counselor is on staff to address the traumas that the students likely sustained when fleeing from conflict. The school also provides students with free lunches and snacks to address poverty affecting many refugee students which can create barriers to learning such as lack of nutritious food. Because the school is a specialty middle school, it is able to place students in “forms” based on literacy level and not age.  In an article for Gather Good, two former GVP students credited their success in college to attending the GVP. One student acknowledged the power of learning alongside other students “who are in the same boat with you.”

The school aims to help students process their trauma by integrating visual art and music into all areas of the curriculum, drawing on research which suggests that arts-based interventions help refugee students to process and express their emotions. The GVP has an arts coordinator, an artist in resident who writes songs especially for the GVP chorus, and the school partners with organizations such as The High Museum and the Synchronicity Theatre for field trips. I noticed one student in particular who struggled to engage in most of the class activities, and who often did not turn in work, light up whenever the students were asked to produce artwork in class. She often put the most time and effort into the drawings out of all the students in the class.

Despite the efforts of the school to create an affirming and healing space for students, there remain many challenges to this type of work. The teachers must be aware of the values which students’ families bring with them across the border. Parents might be nervous about the reproductive health curriculum taught in the health class, however the school also has an obligation to prepare students to enter high school as teenage girls. Another challenge is finding culturally responsive literature for the classrooms. Children’s’ literature is a predominantly white field, and most of the books in the GVP library feature white children from the west. In recent years there has been a greater push for diverse children’s literature. Activist efforts such as #1000blackgirlbooks  and We Need Diverse Books are pushing for greater diversity in publishing and access to books which reflect students identities and experiences. The GVP has not yet caught up to this wave by having a rich collection of books written by and for the communities they are serving. Finally, the very structure of the school raises problems. With an almost entirely white board of directors and staff, the school maintains the power over resources and curriculum building. In this way, the school mimics and upholds the very structures that it professes to resist. It raises important questions about most non-profits serving non-western communities of color: in what ways do they generate power with, and perhaps power over the communities they are serving?

Even with these unsolved dilemmas, it is impossible to deny the joy, learning, and friendships which are fostered every day at the GVP. While the students have different nationalities, dress, diets, and religious practices, they are able to find commonalities with one another. They love to play games, and they know which girl is best at picking words for hangman, or playing the guard in “the statue garden.” They share music with one another, and half of the students have binders sporting the pictures and logo of the popular K-Pop group “BTS.” Many of the students share a deep connection with their families, and agree that their mothers are their heroes. Even the category of “girl” seems to be meaningful across national borders, and the students find solidarity together in that identity.

The “Author’s Teas,” or showcases which the GVP puts on for donors and parents twice per semester, highlight the very best of the work being done by the GVP to preserve cultural identities while creating cross-cultural community. Students are all assigned short lines in English, and many voices shake as they struggle not only with the nerves associated with public speaking, but doing so in a foreign language. At the last Author’s Tea that I attended, students in small groups also sang verses in their native tongues. A mother’s face in the audience shone with pride. At another Author’s Tea, the students sang “This Land is Your Land,” which made my eyes tear up. Underneath the benign cuteness of the children’s choir was a radical assertion that no matter what the political discourse says on the matter, this land belongs to them, too.

Image taken from the Public Domain

The reality of the current US teaching force is that the majority of teachers only reflect a narrow demographic of students. According to a study by the Center for American Progress, 82 percent of all public school teachers are white, and the majority of teachers are middle class white women, especially at the elementary level (Williams, 2015). This means that the education of the majority of black and latino students, who are “more than twice as likely to attend underfunded, under-resourced…schools” (Williams 2016) lies in the hands of teachers who do not look like them. Deplit (1988) demonstrates that minority teachers are not only outnumbered, but they are not being given the chance to lead discussions on the learning of minority children (p. 282). Many efforts by white outsiders to “close the achievement gap” are riddled with problems. Programs such as Teach for America (TFA) recruit young teachers from respected (expensive) higher learning institutions but do little to prepare them to teach in conditions many of them have never experienced. The two years of training that KIPP offers is luxurious compared to the five weeks that TFA recruits receive. Many of the teachers who join these programs enter with a “white savior complex” at best, and with an “educational tourist” mindset, in which they are only looking to boost their resumes for their “real careers,” at worst (Greene, 2016). Clearly, when the positionality of teachers in a community is not considered, students often do not have access to the “thoughtful…fully-qualified” teachers that Ayers argues they deserve.

One persuasive conclusion to this debate is that students should be exclusively taught by members of their own communities because students receive incomparable benefits and because teachers are most equipped to teach their own communities. There are many compelling arguments that support this view. When students see “themselves” represented as educators, they are more likely to picture themselves pursuing their own education (Boisrond 2017). Students are less likely to be stigmatized or expected to fail when their teachers share their backgrounds (Danielle 2014). Students are also more likely to “feel cared for… and [feel] confident in their teachers’ abilities to communicate with them” (Boisrond 2017). This may be because of the differences in communication styles that exist between communities. Deplit (1988) notes that minority students are often labeled “troublesome” because they are unresponsive to the white authoritative style of schooling that is very different than the authoritative style that is used at home by their relatives (p. 288). Even efforts made by white teachers to address language differences, such as “dialect readers”, can miss the mark by denying students access to the “culture of power” they need to succeed in standardized testing and higher education (Deplit, 1988, p. 285). Teachers from students’ own communities can introduce them to the “culture of power” while being explicit about how this culture fits in with the students’ own (Deplit, 1988, p.285). This is well demonstrated by a teacher who articulates how she would take a state-mandated activity (planting seeds and monitoring their growth) and contextualize it in her community of mostly indigenous agriculturalists (Braybrook & Maughan, 2009, p. 9).

While this model seems ideal after considering the factors above, it does not reflect the current makeup of the teaching force. Stereotypes, pay, and opportunity all influence who becomes teachers. While I believe that there should be ample examples of teachers from every community, we must have a model in place for when these teachers are not yet present. The other shortcoming of this solution is that its focus on race and ethnicity, while extremely important, does not factor in the myriad of other ways that teachers and students can exist in community. The intersectional identities of students and teachers, such as sexuality or faith, must complicate our understanding of community. Students and teachers of different backgrounds may share community in vital ways, and students and teachers of the same background might be at odds in other ways.

With these limitations in mind, many may argue, such as the promoter from KIPP did, that teachers can and must learn to approach educating outside of their community with enough thoughtfulness become valuable educators for all students. Throughout our course we came across several examples of educators modeling what this can look like.  Katch (2010) quickly realizes that she is out of her element when one of her students displays gender variant behavior. Instead of forcing her student to change his behavior, or wait for another adult to educate her, she takes it upon herself to seek out information about the experiences of gender variant individuals. She decides to give this student agency in making decisions regarding his education, such as whether to sign his “feminine” drawing  of a maiden for his school’s open house, which could potentially make him a target for gender enforcement by other students and adults (p. 384). Saylor (1992) turns a critical eye on her position as a hearing administrator working in a school for Deaf children. While she concludes that she is presently the best fit for the position, she ensures that her students still have access to Deaf teachers and volunteers (Saylor 9). In this way, Saylor takes her allyship to a deeper level than does Katch, because she builds a space for her students “in consultation with adults who share their culture”(Deplit, 1988, p. 296).  By including Deaf adults, Saylor ensures that hearing people are not making all the decisions in Deaf education. In addition, although Saylor can never be part of the Deaf community, she involves herself in the larger community of Deaf people and their allies. In this way she is an insider/outsider to a community which is not entirely separate from her.

These models of teachers embracing their role in teaching students from other communities is also not without limitations. It requires a significant amount of education and training for teachers which is rarely offered. There is little incentive or systems of accountability in place to encourage teachers to undergo this oftentimes uncomfortable process of critical self evaluation. Even when teachers do their best to follow the models above, there is little guidance they can look to when they are stuck. The guidance they do receive is often free intellectual and emotional labor provided by marginalized communities. Finally, too much focus on this solution should not shift priority away from cultivating a diverse teaching force.

It is clear to me that like many of the issues we addressed in this class, the solutions I have discussed require systemic changes and infrastructure which is not yet put in place. I have concluded that I believe we as a democracy should pursue both solutions. We should strive for an educational system where all students have access to teachers from their own cultures. Teachers from minority cultures and outsiders should collaborate to educate their students. I believe that when all teachers are held to this high standard, they will be prepared for the day when they inevitably comes across a student whose culture, values, or ways of being are unfamiliar to them. I have decided not to pursue KIPP or any position which will place me so far out of my own experiences. I do not however, want to limit myself to involvement in communities of people who are “like me” in every way. I will seek out diverse communities where I can settle as an insider/outsider. I will “pay attention to the things students of color say they appreciate about having teachers who look like them” so that I can relate to others in a way which is attentive to their identities, regardless of the career path I end up in (Deplit, 1988, p. 296)

References

Ayers, W. (2009). Teaching for Democracy. DePaul Journal for Social Justice, 3(1), 1-8.

Boisrond, C. (2017). If Your Teacher Looks Like You, You May Do Better In School. NPR. Retrieved from https://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2017/09/29/552929074/if-your-teacher-looks-likes-you-you-may-do-better-in-school

Brayboy, B. M. J., & Maughan, E. Indigenous Knowledges and the Story of the Bean. (2009). Harvard Educational Review, 79 (1), 1-21.

Danielle, B. (2014). America’s Teachers Still Don’t Think Black and Latino Kids Are Smart. Participant Media. Retrieved from http://www.takepart.com/article/2014/10/10/americas-teachers-still-dont-think-black-latino-kids-are-smart

Deplit, L.D. (1988). The Silenced Dialogue: Power and Pedagogy in Educating Other People’s Children. Harvard Educational Review, 58 (3), 280-298.

Greene, P. (2016). What Went Wrong With Teach For America. The Progressive. Retrieved from http://progressive.org/public-school-shakedown/went-wrong-teach-america/

Katch H, & Katch J. When Boys Won’t Be Boys: Discussing Gender with Young Children. Harvard Educational Review, 80 (3), 379-436.

Saylor, p. (1992). A Hearing Teachers Changing Role in Deaf Education. Harvard Educational Review, 62 (4), 519-534.

Williams, J. 2015. America’s Kids Are Getting More Diverse, but Its Teachers Aren’t. Participant Media. Retrieved from http://www.takepart.com/article/2015/03/03/americas-kids-getting-more-diverse-but-not-its-teachers/

Williams, J. (2016). Why Kids of Color Don’t Need ‘White Hero’ Teachers. Participant Media. Retrieved from http://www.takepart.com/article/2016/04/03/kids-color-dont-need-white-hero-teachers

Featured image licensed under creative commons.

Delta Rae is a powerful folk rock band who do not shy from inserting political themes in their music. On October 19th of this year, they released an anthem against gender inequality called “Hands Dirty” as a call to arms in preparation for the 2018 midterm elections. The songwriters, siblings Brittany and Ian Holljes, utilize two different forms of feminist argumentation styles as identified by the editors of the anthology Theorizing Feminisms, Elizabeth Hackett and Sally Haslanger . The majority of the lyrics follow a “sameness” argument, or a feminist approach which criticizes the unequal treatment given to women despite the similarities which they share with men (Hackett and Haslanger 95). However, throughout the song there is a subtext which invokes a “dominance” argument, an approach which diagnoses the cause of gender inequality as a deep rooted system in which women are made subordinate to men (Hackett and Haslanger 96).

Much of “Hands Dirty” centers on the idea that the lead vocalist and co-writer Brittany Holljes is not receiving comparable rights or treatment in the workplace despite her skills and hard work. The song begins “I could raise the crops from the earth/ I could raise my children from birth/ But when I’m looking for work/ They say that job ain’t for her” (Holljes and Holljes). These lyrics criticize the limited types of work that women are seen fit to do, and the social barriers that keep women out of traditionally men’s work, referred to here simply as “work.” The chorus utilizes a similar tactic as Sojourner Truth’s famous 1851 equal rights speech “Ar’n’t I a Woman?” In Truth’s speech, she points out that “I […] can do as much work as any man…” as a justification for demanding equal rights (113).  Holljes insists that “I get my hands dirty/ I show up so early,” and she “could lead impossible missions” and “occupy the highest position.” Holljes comes to work early, and “gets [her] hands dirty”, meaning that she works hard, and has the abilities needed for difficult tasks and positions (Holljes and Holljes). Yet when she “fight[s] for [her] rights/ They say no woman, no cry.” This reference to a Bob Marley song, in which Marley implores a woman not to cry despite the hardships she has suffered, illustrates that Holljes’ concerns over unequal treatment for comparable ability are being dismissed (Marley). In this way, the song invokes a “sameness” feminist argument. Hackett and Haslanger explain that a sameness approach argues that oppression of women results “from women not being treated as men are treated” (94).  Feminists “stress similarities between women and men” to argue why women should receive the same treatment as men (94).  This argumentation style is very popular among feminist activists because is is often effective in a court of law to secure legal protections for women. In this instance, Holljes uses this argument to demand equal access to employment and other rights.

Below the surface, there is a more radical critique of women’s subordination. The song begins with the rhythmic slamming of chains, which immediately call to mind the image of a person in shackles, and another person standing over them. A piece of property and an owner, a woman and a man. The piano and bass accompaniment is repetitive and incessant, evoking the relentless system in which this subordination occurs. This theme is hinted at lyrically as well. When Holljes muses “Am I so unworthy?/ Or are their hands just dirty,” she seems to be pointing to a deeper, more sinister explanation for her experiences than a prevalent belief in women’s inferior abilities. In this line she uses an alternative definition of the idiom “hands dirty” to mean “to become involved in something unfair or dishonest” (Cambridge Dictionary). This suggests that Holljes suspects that the “glass ceilings” that women encounter are purposefully erected by men who continue to invest in the unjustified subordination of women, regardless of whether or not women “deserve” similar treatment to men. Theorists of the dominance approach such as Catherine McKinnon argue that supposed differences between men and women are not the cause of women’s oppression, but have been demarcated to justify the subordination of women (249). The climax of the song occurs when Holljes declares “darling, me too,” a clear reference to the Me Too movement which has called attention to the prevalent and systemic sexual abuse of primarily women. McKinnon argues that the sexual violence is a primary tactic used in the systemic subordination of women (249).

When I saw Delta Rae perform live this summer at a music festival, they played “Hands Dirty” to a riveted crowd. The communal feeling between the women audience members was palpable, and cheers erupted from the crowd in response to Hollje’s “me too” disclosure. This painful, anguished wail which felt as though it were coming from all of us made me feel part of this movement in the way that the the Facebook posts and think pieces could not. Regardless of  the “theory” behind the work, “Hands Dirty” exemplifies the both disruptive and healing potential of art: one voice making visible the voices of many.

Works Cited:

“Definition of ‘dirty your hands’ – English Dictionary.” Cambridge Dictionary. dictionary.cambridge.org/us/dictionary/english/dirty-your-hands#translations. Accessed 3 November 2018.

Hackett, Elizabeth and Sally Haslanger. “Introduction.” Theorizing Feminisms. Edited by Elizabeth Hackett and Sally Haslanger, Oxford University Press, 2006, pp. 94-96.

Holljes, Brittany and Ian Holljes. “Hands Dirty.” 19 October 2018. Youtube. /www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLP3-6C_Egw. Accessed 3 November 2018.

Mackinnon, Catherine. “Difference and Dominance: On Sex Discrimination.” Theorizing Feminisms. Edited by Elizabeth Hackett and Sally Haslanger, Oxford University Press, 2006, pp. 244-255.

Marley, Bob. “No Woman No Cry.” Natty Dread, written by Vincent Ford, Island, 1974, genius.com/Bob-marley-and-the-wailers-no-woman-no-cry-lyrics.

Truth, Sojourner. “Ar’n’t I a Woman?” Theorizing Feminisms. Edited by Elizabeth Hackett and Sally Haslanger, Oxford University Press, 2006, pp. 113.

The featured image “Delta Rae – Raleigh NC, Mar 31 2018” was taken by Ben Miller and is licensed under CC BY-NC-S A 2.0

10 Things I Hate About You and the Feminist Hijacking of Shakespeare’s Shrew

Convoluted, raunchy, and with a twist ending, The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare is one his most iconic romantic comedies. Unsurprisingly, as it was written in the 1590s, the play has posed problems for scholars and viewers alike over its treatment of gender.  The plot revolves around two beautiful sisters, Bianca, who is mild mannered and coveted by nearly every man in the play, and Katherina, who is “shrewish” and disdained by all. Their father is firm that Bianca cannot not marry until her elder sister Katherina does. Some of Bianca’s suitors find a gallant man named Petruchio who agrees to marry Katherina for her wealth. Unperturbed by Katherina’s tempestuous personality, he “tames” her during the play by mocking her and withholding her from her desires – including food – until she agrees with whatever he says. By the end of the play Katherina becomes the most obedient wife of all, to the amazement and delight of the other characters. In 1999, the play was given modern-day makeover in the teen romance flick 10 Things I Hate About You. This version migrates from Padua, Italy, to Padua High School in the USA. Marriage becomes a date to the prom, and “Kat’s” dowry becomes a couple hundred dollars that a group of high school boys pay to Patrick, the sullen school outcast, to take Kat. I will discuss the methods used to translate the “gendering” in the story from a victorian context into a modern American one. I will argue that 10 things I Hate About You introduces a feminist direction distinct from the “original,” and that this production offers unique opportunities for further commentary such as a queer reading of the film. My interpretation operates on an assumption that The Taming of the Shrew is a patriarchal text. However, there have been feminist readings of the Shakespeare work and my interpretation is not the only valid one.

Gender plays a very important role in The Taming of the Shrew (hereafter referred to as TTOTS). The plot hyperbolizes the “battle of the sexes,” and much of the humor rests on gender stereotypes. Shakespeare uses language to reinforce a stark  divide between the binary genders. He consistently uses animal imagery to describe the women. In contrast, the men are often described as hunters and animal trainers. In Act 4 Scene One, Petruchio embarks on a lengthy soliloquy in which he describes how he must “man [his] haggard” (hawk) so that she will “know her keeper’s call” (180). This sets up the dichotomies of  man vs. woman, master vs. servant, and rational vs. irrational which underscore the play. Shakespeare ensures that his characters remain strictly gendered by assigning them archetypes. From the “stupid servant,” and “immoral drunkard,” to the “perfect woman” and the “shrew,” the characters come with a set of traits which are unexplained and from which they do not stray. All except Katherina, who must be reprogrammed into a new archetype: the obedient wife.

Ten Things I  Hate About You (Hereafter referred to as 10 Things) uses similar tactics to regulate the genders of the characters. Although the animal imagery is used much less, Patrick compares courting Kat to “tam[ing] the wild beast.” Heterosexual pairings are still extremely important in the film. By the end of the film, nearly every character has been “coupled,” including the villain who is originally courting Bianca, but who settles for her friend Chastity instead. In this way, the characters’ genders mandate that they participate in a heterosexual pairing in order for the film to feel “complete.”  The archetypes of the play are also present, although they receive a modern update. Bianca is the bubbly Popular Girl, Cameron is the Nice Guy with “pure intentions,” Patrick is the brooding Bad Boy, and Kat is the unpopular Alternative Girl. However, while the archetypes remain present, they are often dismantled as the story unfolds. Aspects of the characters are revealed which contradict their assigned archetype and complicate the audience’s view of them.

Although Karen McCullah‎ and Kirsten Smith, the writers of 10 Things, maintain the gendered language and stereotypes of TTOTS, McCullah and Smith also center women’s stories and voices, and enact “interventions and subversions” onto the characterizations provided by Shakespeare (Goddard 44). I contend that this “woman-handling” transforms the male authored text into a feminist production in its own right (Goddard 50). Not only is the text translated from the ultimate “high language” of Shakespearean English into the “less elevated” language of American “teen speak,” it is transformed from a “high art” genre into the “low art form” of a teen romance movie. The language, humor, and story then become accessible and relevant to a new kind of audience: young people, and particularly young women (Simon 15). In one pivotal scene, Kat reads a heartbreak poem about her mistreatment by Patrick. It was based on a poem that McCullah wrote in a high school diary about her then boyfriend (IMBD.com). While in TTOTS Kate’s opinion of her (mis)treatment by Petruchio goes mostly unvoiced,  the writers of 10 Things allow Kat to make her dissent known. In doing so, they validate and celebrate the emotions and modes of expression of teenage girls.

The character of Kat is heavily “supplemented, developed, [and] given an afterlife” in 10 Things (Von Flotow 75).  In TTOTS, Katherina’s shrew-ness is completely unexplained.  Katherina and Bianca’s mother is also never even mentioned. In 10 Things, McCullah and Smith elaborate on her absence in the Shakespeare play to create the backstory that the Kate and Bianca were never afforded in the “original.” Kat and Bianca’s mother left their family when the girls were much younger, leaving Kat with anger and no one to direct it towards. In TTOTS, Katherina’s aversion to marriage is also unexplained, but in 10 Things Kat has survived a toxic relationship with the film’s villain, who pushed her into sexual intercourse she was not ready for, leaving her wary to date again. In fact, in 10 Things, Kat is given the most screen time and back story, demonstrating the writers’ commitment to placing the women’s stories at the forefront.

The “taming” element of the play itself is a strong example of an aspect upon which McCullah and Smith have allowed themselves to further develop on Shakespeare’s work. In TTOST, there is little doubt about who is taming whom. However, in 10 Things, this is far less clear cut. I fact, the title itself, which references the poem that Kat wrote about Patrick’s dishonesty and rudeness, implies that Kat is not the character most in need of improvment. In fact, although Kat opens up emotionally more towards the end of the film, it is actually the other characters, especially Kat’s overbearing father and Patrick, who change the most throughout the film. Kat remains assertive although she softens her sharp-tongue, and  Patrick learns to speak to Kat respectfully and comes clean about his lies. This subverts the entire premise of the headstrong girl who needs a man to tame her, but instead offers a example of a couple who grow together.

The feminist implications of 10 Things is best exemplified by Kat’s blatant characterization as a feminist. Feminist translators have identified “hijacking,” or purposefully changing a patriarchal message in a text regardless of the “original” authors intention, as an important tool of feminist translation practice (Von Flotow 80).  The character of Katherina could have been viably modernized in several different ways. The writer’s choice to depict her as an “angry feminist” can be seen as “hijacking” in that it almost doubtlessly extends outside the intention behind Shakespeare’s humorously shrewish character. Although Kat never directly refers to herself as a feminist, the portrayal is nevertheless clear. She uses terms such as “patriarchy” and “misogyny” in class, Cameron tells Patrick that Kat “likes feminist prose,” and she listens to the feminist punk band Bikini Kill. While references to Kat’s feminism are often done in a way that is tongue and cheek, the writers never cross the line into mockery. Kat’s depiction as a feminist acts as a commentary on what it means to be a “difficult women” throughout history. In Shakespeare’s time, “angry” women like Kate did not have a political movement such as feminism to be a part of. In modern times, feminist activists are often dismissed as unattractive “killjoys,” (in other words, shrews). 10 Things’ unabashedly feminist heroine reclaims this often dismissed identity, and introduces her back to young women as a figure to admire and emulate.

While the existence of basic mainstream feminism in 10 Things is fairly obvious, with direct references to popular feminist media, as well as a clear rejection of the misogynistic characterizations and plot elements of TTOTS, I believe that 10 Things invites interpretation into the more subtle feminist elements which may also be present. If we agree that 10 Things has become a production in its own right rather than merely a reproduction, according to Foucault it has opened the door to commentary which can expand its usefulness in feminist discourse (Foucault 220). I will do a brief queer reading of 10 Things as an example of how a commentary can investigate the silences that are left in a production, and continue to build on its meaning. For this queer reading I will borrow some definitions from Alexander Doty’s helpful book: Making Things Perfectly Queer: Interpreting Mass Culture. While there are many different understandings of the word “queer,” I will use Doty’s definition of queerness as “ a quality related to any expression that can be marked as contra-, non-, or anti- straight” (Doty xv). There are likewise different ways of understanding a queer reading of a text, including reading an author as queer, or investigating how a text is received as queer by an audience. In this case I will be enacting a “historically specific cultural reading… by a self identified… queer” (Doty xi). As a bisexual woman, I understand Kat to be coded as bisexual, and I believe this is a useful addition to her characterization in 10 Things, which adds an important layer of 10 Things’ portrayal of the “modern shrew.”  I also acknowledge that the queerness that I see is “less an essential, waiting to be discovered property than the result of acts of production or reception,” in order words, I do not believe that Kat is undeniably queer, and qualities that I read as queer can viably be interpreted in other ways as well (Doty xi). However, I also reject that this queer reading is an  “alternative reading,” as any purely straight reading of 10 Things would be equally dependent on interpretation (Doty xi).

Queerness is highly tabooed, and thus heavily regulated within discourse (Foucault 216). Even in feminist media such as 10 Things, queerness is often relegated to humor and “connotation,” to be considered acceptable (Doty xi). There is only one direct reference to something “contra-, non-, or anti- straight” in 10 Things, and this comes in the form of a joke. When Cameron and Bianca are brainstorming how to find Kat a date, Cameron asks “She’s not a…” and Bianca answers “K.D. Lang fan? No. I found a picture of Jared Leto in her drawer once, so I’m pretty sure she’s not harboring same-sex tendencies.” K.D Lang is a Canadian lesbian singer and although this reference plays out as a joke, it works both to deny the queerness in Kat’s counterculture behavior and appearance, as well as to suggest its existence. Once this possibility has been vocalized, it is hard for a viewer to dismiss it entirely.  This is the only time that Kat is associated with queerness outright, yet her subtle association with queerness continues throughout the film. She is consistently juxtaposed with bisexual celebrities. In her first scene, Kat is driving to school while “Bad Reputation” by bisexual singer Joan Jett plays in her car. She is also associated with Sylvia Plath, who is rumored to have been bisexual, and the band Bikini Kill (which had bisexual members). In one scene, Kat goes to a concert at “Club Skunk,” a venue with a majority female audience and which has the feel of a lesbian bar. Finally, Kat’s style, which is meant to set her apart from the other girls at her school, also falls in line with queer women’s fashion at the time. She wears little to no makeup, no bra, has multiple ear piercings, and favors “butch” patterns and colors such as camo, tan slacks, and a black trench-coat.

While all of this can be read as simply an attempt to portray Kat as “different” and make use of stereotypes of “bra burning” feminists, as Doty points out: “invoking lesbian cultural codes and references…might be read as conventionally heterosexist stereotyping, as lesbian culture specific, or some combination of both” (Doty  54).  Even if the “lesbian cultural codes” of woman centric spaces, bisexual media, and unfeminine style are only being used to assert Kat’s “shrew-ness,” this only goes to show the inherent queerness of a figure like Kat. 10 Things acknowledges that the women who are most often deemed in need of “taming” are outspoken, feminist, in charge of their sexuality, and possibly queer. Instead of “taming” these qualities out of Kat, she finds happiness as she is. Her father decides to allow her to go to the historically women’s college Sarah Lawrence, Patrick buys her a guitar with which to start her own feminist punk band, and she finds in Patrick a romantic partner who likes her the way she is. Kat’s father and Patrick learn to appreciate the qualities that they consider undesirable at first instead of “taming” them out of her.

10 Things I Hate About You could easily be dismissed because of its “low art” form and audience of mostly young women. However, is can be read as a celebration of the US high school as a crucial site of gender negotiation and resistance by young people, particularly young women. This transforms the story of The Taming of the Shrew far beyond what could have been intended by an Elizabethan playwright, and into feminist and queer discourses. Instead of being a pointless shrew who must be “tamed”,  Kat’s anger stems from a bisexual coded feminist woman learning to overcome past traumas, reconcile with her family, and build a healthy romantic relationship. Katherina’s story is taken from a playwright who used sexist stereotypes about women for humor, and through the act of feminist translation it has been transformed into a production for young women.

Works Cited

10 Things I Hate About You. Directed by Gil Junger. Touchstone Pictures, 1999.

“10 Things I Hate About You.” IMBD.com, Inc, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0147800/, accessed  15 April 2018.

Butler, Judith. Gender Trouble. Routledge, 1990.

Doty, Alexander. Making Things Perfectly Queer: Interpreting Mass Culture. University of Minnesota Press, 1993.

Foucault, Michel. Translated by A.M. Sheridan Smith.  “The Discourse on Language.” The Archeology of Knowledge, Pantheon Books, 1972, pp. 215-237.

Godard, Barbara. “Theorizing Feminist Discourse/ Translation.” Tessera. Vol. 6,  1989, pp. 42-53.

Shakespeare, William. The Taming of the Shrew. ‎ Edited by Barbara A. Mowat and Paul Werstine, Washington Square Press, 1992.

Simon, Sherry. Gender in Translation. Routledge, 1996.

Von Flotow. “Feminist Translation: Contexts, Practices, and Theories.” Traduire la théorie vol. 4, no. 2, 1991, pp. 69-84.

Featured image “Shrew Clipart Illustration” by Karen Arnold is licensed under CC0 Public Domain.  

Before I came to Agnes Scott, I traveled to take nice pictures and find a relaxing respite from everyday life. Any other way to travel had never occurred to me. Then I was assigned to the Journeys class to Trinidad. As a class we read  A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid, and I began to interrogate my motivations and privilege when I travel. We analyzed the social, economic, and political factors which have shaped the national context of Trinidad and Tobago. By the time I boarded the plane, I was prepared for far more than a week long Caribbean beach vacation.

The journey itself was a whirlwind of museum visits, nature treks, and steel pan performances in the capital city, Port of Spain. We attended the annual International Women’s Day March and we were even invited to perform a song we had written as a class on the main stage.

We traveled to the remote town of Matelot, where the DORCUS Women’s Group hosted us and guided us through a community lead service project building a library. At the end of the stay we had a lime with our hosts: dancing, laughing, and playing limbo.

During the trip, things often did not go as planned, however our trip leaders encouraged us to embrace our flexibility. When we felt resistant to the many ways in which we were being stretched, we challenged ourselves to set our defensiveness to the side. Journeys changed who I am as a traveler.

This experience taught me that learning does not happen passively, it is an active and engaged process. The most valuable moments were staying up late into the night with my co-travelers working on our song for the march, and standing side by side striking into the earth with our shovels where the library was going to be. We could easily have watched from the sidelines, and played the tourist. But we did not, and for that I am grateful.

It also taught me the value of reflection. On the trip, many experiences were puzzling, or nagged at me in ways that I could not express in the moment. The post-trip classes were the time that I used to bring up these moments, and talk through both the most joyous, and the most difficult parts of the trip with my co-travelers. There were difficult moments of confusion, privilege, and racism on the trip which were sticky to de-tangle, but we stuck with it. To my surprise, this reflection was as vital as the trip was itself to enhancing my understanding of Trinidad and Tobago, as well as aspects of myself. I have carried on this reflection into a weekly process in my everyday life. I keep a journal about my relationships, goals, and struggles. This reflective practice allows me to care for myself and my emotions, and work through things until they seem more clear.

Travel has not always been important to me. My Journeys trip to Trinidad is what first forced me to remove my American blinders. This radical new way to think of myself within the global context was jarring, but it was also captivating. Ever since I have been finding ways to return to that space of uncertainty, humility, and excitement. It has remained in the back of my mind in all of my subsequent travels from rural Georgia to rural India.

“So, how was India?” they ask me, smiling, unaware that their well-meaning small talk has just thrust me into an impossible position. Try as I might, I have yet to find a way to condense every breathtaking, and confounding moment of my five month study abroad semester at the University of Hyderabad into a thirty second elevator pitch. How can I impart to my curious ambusher that my life in India was so much more than curries, Bollywood music, and festivals of colour? There was also struggle, disorientation, boredom, and homesickness, which all impacted my experience in crucial and meaningful ways.

If I had to choose one moment which best encapsulates this magical combination, it is this: a few weeks into my semester, I signed up to go on a day trip to the Nagarjunasagar Dam with an club on campus. It was to be an eight hour day trip which would return in time for dinner. Twenty-three and a half hours, two dance parties, a sing along, a missed ferry ride, an animal sacrifice, and no dinner later, I was still packed in the bus with 30 other equally bedraggled students.

At the peak of my miserable exhaustion a girl turned to me and asked “So what do you think love is?” I was astounded, and I considered telling her to leave me to sulk in peace. Instead we had an earnest conversation about our different perspectives on love, family, dating, sex, my queer identity, and arranged marriage. It transpired with the kind of delirious honesty that can only be fostered on a sweltering bus in the Indian countryside at 4 AM. I learned more about gender and community in India from that conversation than I did in my courses at the university. I had stumbled onto a nugget of pure travel gold: knowledge and understanding I could never have absorbed from a book.

My long interest in global topics has lead me to aspire to the global specialization through SUMMIT, courses with a global focus, and study abroad. I believe that by expanding our  understanding of “community,” and embracing the concept of global citizenship, we begin to combat the “us vs. them” mentality which stands in the way of justice, both locally and internationally. This is what drives me to want to explore global learning as a potential career path.

I know that I will continue to be a lifelong traveler. I want to guide other people to unlock the atypical but rewarding approach to travel which has the potential to be transformational. I know that these nuggets of travel gold are not handed to you in a coconut at a beach resort, they are uncovered by intentionally unseating yourself in the unfamiliar. To quote a piece of art on the rooftop of my dorm at the university, you have to do what you are afraid of. I wish to inspire others to excavate their own nuggets of travel gold: making connections, seeing the value in discomfort, and destabilizing their understandings of the “best” way to do things or exist in the world.