I feel pleased and humbled to announce the publication of my first book, Gender and Islam in Indonesian Cinema (2017 Palgrave Macmillan. Chapters can purchased separately here) based on my field research between 2011 and 2012 in Jakarta and Yogyakarta where I was privileged to interview film directors, film producers, festival organisers, film critics and enthusiasts in the Indonesian film industry. I have made many wonderful friends in the process who became colleagues in a rather niche and important field of Southeast Asian cinemas and cultural production. It was written up as my PhD thesis supervised by Dr. Ben Murtagh and examined by Dr. Felicia Hughes-Freeland and Dr. Yvonne Michalik.
Dear plagiarising student,
First and foremost, I hope it is clear to you that plagiarism is unacceptable to anyone’s code of conduct whether or not you are in a place of higher education. If that is already clear to you, you will need to think more carefully before you think could get away with plagiarism.
There are softwares available to educators that can determine the extent of originality in your digital documents within seconds. We become very suspicious of your written submissions when un-cited passages appear to be more articulate than yourself in person. Of course being an ineloquent speaker but a terrific writer is possible; a few great writers have been known to have difficulty speaking to other people but are gifted with the written word.
I want to properly understand your impulse to plagiarise. You tell me your command of English is shaky. I appreciate the time constraints to improve when there are many things going on in your life to juggle. Maybe you have not been asked to turn in long pieces of written work before and thus the anatomy of the essay or PhD thesis is new to you.
Anything longer than 2000 or 3000 words in the English language is not only daunting, but demands of you skills that you have yet to master and to acquire the confidence to exhibit. All this is compounded with an inadequate comprehension of the work you are assigned to explain in writing. If you do not understand the things I teach, please ask during or after class. You can make an appointment to see me.
Please understand the dire ramifications of plagiarism as there are short and long-term implications. Students have been known to be caught, reprimanded, failed, and expelled for plagiarism. Please be informed that academic staff themselves are not immune from being disciplined and shamed for this crime.
That colleges and universities are lax with students who plagiarise does not mean that plagiarism is excusable under my watch. You might assume that educators are too busy to care or too stupid to notice the dubious quality of students’ work but you are wrong. Your work matters as it is a reflection of my work. We do not have a duty to pass all students without the filter of scrutiny.
The crime of plagiarism is more damaging to you when you are PhD student as it will have long-term effects on your own work, work ethics, and employability. The PhD is not just a book that a dedicated student will work on through blood, sweat and tears but it is a product of one’s engagement with their scholarly community.
By the time you have a PhD that has passed the rigorous scrutiny of your examiners, you belong to the community of experts in your field and through your contribution to the field of knowledge, you are at the frontier of your field. What you write matters. Your writing is the cornerstone of your work.
If you are known to pass other people’s work as your own, you will not have the respect of people whose respect matters a great deal in the long run especially if you aspire to be an academic yourself. That lack of respect can be translated into a refusal to formally and informally acknowledge your academic merit.
If you are not worried about plagiarism today, I am concerned that you are not worried about some important things like being employable, developing a good reputation, and earning recommendations. In academia, what you know and who you know (through the recognition of your merit and recommendations) do go hand in hand. You want to be recognised by people who care about your work and your academic development. Well, I hope you do!
If you have plagiarised and looking to redeem yourself, the door to retribution is still open. Own up to it, repent, and vow to never to re-commit the crime. Consult the many resources on academic writing like books (How to Author a PhD by Patrick Dunleavy is excellent) and websites like The Thesis Whisperer and Explorations of Style.
Learn to be patient and persevere. Read widely at every opportunity and take the time to identify ‘good’ writing i.e. writing that is clear, enjoyable to read yet still deeply informative (the key word is ‘depth’).
Remember that it is a privilege to be given the time and opportunity to develop the rarified skill of academic writing in an institution of higher education so please don’t squander them and as RuPaul reminds us mere mortals: don’t f— it up.
It’s been nearly two years since I’ve returned to Malaysia after gaining a PhD. By this week, I would have finished 178 hours of teaching tallied from the lectures and tutorials of seven different courses* (excluding time spent preparing and marking). My proudest accomplishment thus far is less the mind-boggling number of hours within a short span of time than the sheer confidence to stand in front of my class and the commitment to the dramaturgy of teaching. And by teach, I mean an engagement with my audience involving eye contact, the to-and-fro-ing of questions and answers, and an intellectual discussion that sadly does not happen even in my own day-to-day interactions with my academic peers. The dramaturgy alludes to the highly performative aspect of my work as an academic; I seek to inform, delight, and to some small measure, entertain, my audience.
This is not say that I enjoy hanging around students when I am done with teaching for the day. Being an introvert, I loathe small talk and become very awkward when not duty-bound to deliver un-authoritative and un-academic things to say with students. I get nervous and quickly hide in my office when a lecture or tutorial is over. Despite being fiercely introverted and gripped by anxiety fifteen minutes before a lecture, I do enjoy being in front of a crowd so long as the exposure under the glare of the highly anticipating gaze of my students is purposeful and focused solely on me. I must be a closet diva. Seeing people hang to my every word thrills me. Watching students yawn and eyes gaze down into their smart phones makes me panic. I change the pace of my speech; I slow down to emphasise a point or slightly elevate my tone of voice to regain their undivided attention.
For every lecture, I am given two hours to speak. On Sundays where I teach at a private university, I am given three hours. I don’t always use the entire allocated time and usually take a five minute break in between (though ten minutes for the three hour class). During these precious breaks, I would run back into my office and watch a Youtube video or walk down the corridor, not thinking about anything. When I return there is no faffing about, I continue right away in a business-like manner. In class, I stand up because I believe it projects my voice better. I actually like the sound of my voice when I teach, more so when I am reading aloud a passage. That way I can focus on the modulations of my voice like a good voiceover or a reader of an audiobook.
Many a midnight oil was spent preparing the lectures, tutorial questions, exam questions, and quizzes and marking assignments. In my first year of teaching, I am frequently in my office until 1 am preparing my lecture notes for an early class the next morning. Belonging to the unpopular and uncool camp, I am a big proponent of Microsoft Office’s Powerpoint. I would be steered down a rambling path without it. Indeed, Powerpoint has a talismanic quality for me; I just need to glance at the slides and suddenly feel emboldened to speak to my class rather than reading aloud every word from the screen. The latter would be deathly dull even for me.
The slides for every lecture are prepared in the same way in every instance: one week before the lecture begins, by which time I would have done much of the necessary reading. When I re-teach the same courses in subsequent terms, I spend a couple of hours the day before of the lecture re-reading my lecture notes. For a new lecture, I would open thirty empty slides and begin to fill each slide with easy-to-digest two statements in clear and medium sized font. Every lecture consists about fifty to fifty-five Powerpoint sildes.The statements on each slide are prompts that guide my delivery. I don’t use many images although I know I should but don’t because I know I get easily distracted and derailed by a singular image on a slide. Text keeps me focused.
I try to keep the momentum going towards the end of the lecture, like a climax of an exciting film. The pace of my speech may speed up and I check again for eye contact and alertness amongst my students. Most times, I see facial expressions of engagement – nods, a smile, direct gaze or a shake of the head and a slack jaw. By the time I am done with a class, I feel victorious and utterly euphoric. Then as the students walk out the eye of my mind does not see faces anymore, I look forward to packing up and walk quietly away to spend time by myself.
* Of the seven courses, five I prepare and teach alone and two others are co-taught with another instructor.
I’ve been asked to write a blog post for The G-Blog on women who do not wear the hijab as a ‘counter’ opinion to other pieces on women who wear it. During the editorial process of the blog post, I was reminded again how sensitive the topic of the hijab is and that ‘strong’ views against the dominant current of opinions such as mine will face opposition. At the same time, I am reminded how the priorities of my views on Muslim women and veiling have shifted of the years; from defending women’s decision to wear all iterations of the hijab to being critical of social pressures on women to wear it. At face value, this isn’t much of a shift. In fact, they are usually part of the same argument. However, I have made it a point to emphasise in my own work the real pressures women face to wear the hijab, the lifeworlds of women who do not want to wear it but have to, and women who face abuse because they do not wear it. I feel that the foregoing side of the ‘same’ argument is given less air time in the contemporary discourse on the hijab. Perhaps because of this neglect, my criticism of social pressures is often seen as a critique of the hijab tout court. With all that taken into consideration, the following article I’ve written for The G-Blog is my modest attempt to reconfigure the terms of the contemporary discourse on the hijab:
I have always been interested in how the social influences the individual. My research project on the hijab helps me understand the relationship between society and the self. Of course, articles about Muslim women’s choice to wear the hijab have been written and dissected ad nauseam – and here I am writing about it again – so, what makes this piece different from the many others? Perhaps by proposing that both wearing the hijab and the rejection of the hijab cannot be reduced to choice.
In fact, I am forgoing the notion of ‘choice’ by illuminating the narrowing dimensions of Malay-Muslim women’s lives under the aggressive processes of Islamisation and how such limitations inform their decisions to wear or reject the hijab. These narrowing dimensions are experienced in the moral micro-management of Malay-Muslim women’s social landscape. My research assistant Zena and myself have been very privileged to listen and record the oral histories of women who have an ambivalent relationship with the hijab and capture elements of their social landscape.
I have a new journal article published in the latest issue of Asian Cinema, Vol. 26 Issue 2.
Female ghosts and other supernatural entities, including the pontianak, in Malaysian horror cinema are excessive psychosocial articulations of traditional Malay femininity gone awry. In Malay ghost stories, the pontianak is a vengeful spirit. She is the ghostly reincarnation of a pregnant woman who dies before or during the birth of her child and who then seeks vengeance on the living for causing the gruesome death that kills her and her unborn child. Since biological reproduction is the primary determinant of a woman’s social value in traditional Malay societies, the double death is devastatingly cruel. The pontianak thus embodies the horror of abject femininity associated with thwarted womanhood. Another recurring theme in Malaysian horror cinema relates to women possessed by evil spirits. Typically portrayed as lacking in emotional restraint, and therefore given to hysterical behaviour, such women are thought to be particularly vulnerable. Malaysian horror cinema has been adept at depicting psychosocial horrors of feminine excesses as such that transgress otherwise restrictive social and customary expectations for Malay femininity. This article examines the horror of abject femininity in two contemporary Malaysian films by female film-makers: Shuhaimi Baba’s Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam/Pontianak of the Tuber Rose (2004) and Zarina Abdullah’s Chermin/Mirror (2007). Both films collectively provide a spine-chilling commentary on female–female relations and motherhood that puts to play the female gaze and the monstrous feminine. This article argues that the themes of failed motherhood, death and the abject are salvaged by strong mother–daughter relations and the female gaze, making the two films a women-oriented rejoinder to spirit possession and the misogynistic tale of the pontianak.
This is an edited version of a conference and seminar paper presented at the National University of Singapore in March 2016 and Australian National University in April 2016:
Women who decide to remain un-veiled or ‘free hair’ (colloquial, noun) are a significant minority within predominantly Muslim societies. Their sartorial decisions are often couched in a type of ethics that contrasts with the hegemonic interpretation of Islam particular to their society and community. We need to listen to women’s stories so that we can better understand the impact of Islamisation on women and their sense of self. Early findings of my UM-funded research project, “Silence and Consent: The Modern Social History of Non-veiling in Malaysia” constitute a praxis in listening to these women’s stories.
In countries other than Saudi Arabia, Iran, Sudan and provinces like Aceh where veiling and strict dress codes in public spaces are state imposed on women, Muslim women navigate a complex and frequently treacherous religious and social terrain in which the veil carries a multitude of potent meanings. Their negotiation with veiling suggests the dynamic push and pull factors of coercion and ‘free’ choice that reside within the limits of Muslim women’s agency. For Muslim women who do not wear the hijab in the context of Islamisation, their non-veiled status is held together by daily social tension and pressure as they very visibly deviate from the normative identification of Muslim femininity.
Women who do not veil in Malaysia, especially those outside the public limelight, are invisible in the literature and in the discursive landscape concerning women and Islam. All Muslim-Malay women and girls in Malaysia face varying levels of social and religious-based pressure to wear the tudung (hijab). Many have been subjected to public abuse for not wearing the hijab. Nonetheless, there are Muslim women who remain unveiled and those who have removed their hijab in recent years. Unlike the abundance of research on motivations behind veiling, the lived experiences and reasons why Muslim women do not veil and those who un-veil remain scarce. Reasons for the scarcity of research on Muslim women reflect the attention given to studies on the rise of Islamic symbols in the public sphere. Muslim women who veil have become the embodiment of such socio-political and cultural changes that disturb the gendered boundaries that separate the private from the public. The veil has become a sign that religion has not gone away from the public sphere and that secularism has not defeated public religious expression.
By contrast, Muslim women who remain unveiled are marked as ‘secular’ and ‘liberal’ Muslims, antithetical to Islamic revivalism. In societies where Muslims are a minority population, Muslim women who do not veil are regarded as having been assimilated and integrated into secular society. Fadil (2011) remarks that rather than passive and indifferent to the significance of Islamic symbols, women who do not veil perform ethical and affective labour. Affective and ethical labour is called upon in the feeling of insecurity, and when rationalising a new spiritual ethics that occurs “in the supplanting of certain fully ingrained truth-claims (headscarf as essential for Muslim piety) by another set of truth-claims (not-veiling as essential to one’s liberal ethical agency)” (Fadil 2011: 23). To put it more simply, not wearing the hijab is not an easy decision for women.
Muslim women’s capacity to challenge the authority of masculinsed interpretations of Islam is relatively new in Malaysian history. The Muslim feminist organisation, Sisters in Islam, was established in the early 1990s during a period of Islamisation and had pioneered the feminist challenge to the authority of ulamas through their non-patriarchal readings of the Quran and hadith. The state project of Islamisation in Malaysia was characterised as an aggressive promotion of ‘moderate Islam’, an Islamic mode of institutionalised practices that serve a capitalist ethno-religious agenda. The introduction of moderate Islam by the state had, intentionally and less so, created “public conditions of possibility for women’s status to be problematised” (Ong 2006: 33). These conditions befit Anderson and Eickelmann’s definition of the Muslim public sphere in which religious authority is decentralised and members of the ‘rational’ public engage towards shared end goals.
Ong argues that this particular moment in Malaysian history had not been an accident but part of a wider process of the defeudalising of Islam in Malaysia (Ong 2006: 48) in that the Malaysian state sought to standardise the interpretation and implementation of Islamic law across several private and public-funded entities such as Islamic banks, Islamic universities, and several Islamic centres under the prime minister’s purview to better align Malaysians with knowledges and skills suited to the Malaysian Islamic modernity. The formation of the ‘Muslim public’ in Malaysia is, however, an incomplete one. Although there is some physical and discursive space to question orthodox Islamic practices, the mantle of ‘moderate Islam’ in Malaysia today is likely to be under threat under the new wave of Islamisation and state acquiescence to Islamist militant ideas.
This study was conducted after receiving a significant amount of public attention for my Malay Mail Online article on the social pressures to veil in Malaysia. A few women called in and written to thank me for speaking up about what had long been an under-discussed issue, repressed by the fear of being accused of questioning Islam itself. Later, formal interviews were conducted in person and via email. Face to face interviews were transcribed and followed-up with email conversations. More than half of the 40 interviews were with respondents who have answered my online invitation to participate in my research project. Some of their responses, first names and age are reproduced below with their consent and minimal grammatical edits.
Non-veiled women as resistant bodies
Through their dis-articulation with biopolitical production of Islam in Malaysia, ‘free hair’ women become by definition resistant bodies. As resistant bodies, they are open-ended processes articulations of performativity of Malay femininity constituted by the vicissitudes of new Islamisation and continuing struggles for women’s autonomy and religio-political legitimacy. They perform the affective labour of daily negotiations and rationalising their subjectivities against a religious-ethnic norm. So long as they live under the discursive regimes of Islamisation, their relationship with the hijab and reconciliation with not veiling remain open-ended. Zanariah, aged 35, embodies the open-ended quality of Butlerian performativity faced by Malay women who do not wear the hijab:
At first, I felt great wearing it but eventually didn’t like it because I felt like I was losing myself, not being true to myself and constantly needed to behave in certain ways expected by others […] Hijab can also be very uncomfortable in humid weather, leaving me questioning the practicability of it. I felt trapped and wasn’t happy.
I went through a breakdown when the family lost a lot of money & materials in business. Being more religious was my way to cope with the difficult situation. I went through a spiritual journey – attended religious classes & read many religious books as well as history of religions […] Studying the Quran gradually shifted my view towards Islam significantly to wider context, breaking away from shackles of society. Islam is far beyond the hijab.
Slowly hijab is seen as [a] cultural practice and one of many tools used by men to oppress women. Feeling liberated […] I found my courage to make conscious decision to remove my hijab in 2014. […] I feel closer to Allah, the Creator
I started taking care of my hair again. [The] judgmental behaviour I had when I was in hijab faded away. I become more open especially towards other races and religions. I feel at ease to mingle across religions without hijab. I found a new confidence to speak out & feel happier.
The context of Islamisation necessitates the Malay female subjectivity to cultivate a continuum of (non)-veiling; as decisions for veiling practices are always open-ended and subject to rupture i.e. re-veiling. But it is a futurity full of negotiations. Non-veiling allowed Zanariah to be an active participant in the construction of an ethics and authenticity. Arriving at her current ethical standpoint required heavy affective labour to negotiate and replace a one set of truth claims (the veil as obligatory in Islam) with another set of truth claims (the veil is not required in Islam, happiness is paramount).
‘Free hair’ as critical subjectivity
Narratives of ‘free hair’ Muslim women fully illuminate the definition of the subject and what Foucault calls the ‘modes of subjectivation’ defined as the “limits of a historically specific set of formative practices and moral injunctions that are delimited in advance” (Mahmood 2005: 28). In the context of a predominantly Muslim society, such modes of subjectivation include the daily discipline of modest dress and the spatially and temporally-defined cultural mores that women must contend with every day. A critical subjectivity is formed from the intensified tension created between the subject and the modes of subjectivation causing deep introspection, questioning and opposition. Anonymous, aged 23, represents this particular type of critical subjectivity:
I would say the moment when I decided to not wear hijab anymore is when I lost hope in it. It makes no difference whether you wear it or not. Hijab, instead of becoming an identity, it has become an excuse, a tool, and have been politicized by people. Of course, this is a dangerous statement, as wearing hijab is a requirement in being a Muslim. But for now, my faith in whatever message conveyed by wearing or not wearing hijab is still wavering.
Siti Hajar, 33
After a lot of soul searching, with a lot of world events as a catalyst, I stopped wearing my tudung. I stopped wearing it initially for one reason, continued not wearing it for other reasons as I kept learning/ rethinking my beliefs.
Honestly I never felt so weird when I remove my hijab once I’m back home because that’s when I feel like I am being honest to myself. I never liked wearing the hijab. It feels like I’m bound to a set of rules and practice. It feels like I have to act in a certain ways like I can’t shake hands or give/receive hugs from anyone.
Copious amount of feminist research and commentary on the hijab focus on the role of women’s agency operating within decisions to wear the hijab. However, few have tended to focus on motivations behind women who choose to live without the hijab and removing it after a period of wearing it. As I have explained elsewhere, I am less interested in the construction of agency if it is understood as similar for all Muslim women living in a socially pressurised environment. What is more interesting to me is the orientation of the ‘free hair’ as a critical subject in relation to local mores, family relations, personal ambitions, and world geopolitics. It is a critical subjectivity with oppositional values and world-making practices while at the same under-articulated in the Muslim public sphere. The next phase of my research focuses on the critical subjectivity of non-veiling in smaller towns to examine other voicings, articulations, and world-making practices that rationalise non-veiling.
Non-veiling is a powerful, if invisible indicator of the effect of Islamisation on women. As the early findings above suggest, the decision to remove the veil is more than about changes in one’s religious belief but is part of a wider patchwork of life experiences and relations. Non-veiling complicates the boundaries that separate the religious from the secular, self and others, past, present and future.
Women are still approaching me to talk about their relationship with the hijab and how they have parted ways with it. But such conversations are sensitive because the topic of non-veiling and un-veiling is taboo. Based on my early observations, I’d like to argue that the silences and absences of experiences in the context of Islamisation tell us much more about the operations of agency and the “modes of subjectivation.”Although moderate Islam has created public conditions for feminist scrutiny of patriarchal bias within religious authority, new Islamisation is narrowing avenues for agency and ethical practices of being for women.
Fadil, Nadia. 2011. Non-veiling as ethical practice. Feminist Review. 98: 83-109.
Mahmood, Saba. 2005. Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject. Princeton University Press.
Ong, Aihwa. 2006. Neoliberalism As Exception: Mutations in Citizenship and Sovereignty. Durham: Duke University Press.
Many who enter the hallowed halls of libraries, universities, and colleges will find that rooms, parts of and entire buildings are named after people, very usually men. These people and their families have bequeathed large sums to make such an infrastructure possible for the benefit of knowledge. And for that, we all are very grateful.
I, for one, enjoy working in the (upper and lower) Gladstone Link of the Bodleian Library, a rather unglamorous subterranean space dotted with warning signs to readers that the ceiling is hazardously low. There are so many books on history, critical theory, film, and literature in the Gladstone Link that they must be squeezed vertically on mobile shelves (see image above). The Gladstone Link is named after the 19th-century British prime minister William Gladstone who, so it happens, was also credited for the invention of the ingenious space-saving mobile shelves.
While doing research on female indentured labour and their legacy in Malaya, I found that Sir John Gladstone, father of William, was a prominent slave owner in the Caribbean and an advocate of indentured labour. In fact, John Gladstone introduced indentured labour into the Caribbean after slavery was abolished in the British empire in 1833. He was a chair of the West Indian Association and an MP, making him both a politician and a planter who owned more than 2000 slaves in the Caribbean.
Now, the link between slavery and the Gladstones is downplayed in British history and biographical writings (see Quinault, 2009), mostly likely due to shame and embarrassment. More embarrassing it seems because slave-owning families continue to benefit from huge reparations after abolition. John Gladstone was paid the modern equivalent of £5 million after abolition, but continued to profit afterwards in the sugar industry on the backs of indentured labour in the Caribbean.
The juxtaposition between the tranquil and edifying space of the Gladstone Link today and the Gladstone Link With Slavery is horrifying and nauseating. In a distant past far from the polite society in middle and upper-class Britain, the ‘Gladstone coolies’, named after their master, were flogged with cat-o-nine tails for misconduct on the plantation and rubbed salty pork pickle into their wounds (Erickson, 1934). Although they were not slaves, indentured labourers were still less than human.
While William Gladstone had a rich political life, defecting from Conservative during his early years as MP to a Liberal prime minister, and administering over electoral reforms that gave working class men the vote, his position on slavery was less salubrious. His position on the matter as a young Tory MP was the same as his father the slave owner. Reasons behind their rejection of absolute emancipation were both pragmatic and righteous; to protect the family’s financial interests that had also helped propelled them into politics and that black people (and later the Indian) lacked a morality to govern themselves.
The Gladstone Link is indeed an ironic name for its link with slavery and the wealth that helped build not just institutions of learning but Britain itself. Other places named after people linked to slavery (Tate, Rhodes) are ‘rehabilitated’ today through the different kind of wealth they leave behind; in education, culture, and the arts for the general public and the world.
Should contemporary users of such spaces boycott them to resist colonial complicity? Massive Attack for instance have refused to perform at Colston Hall in Bristol where slaves were once sold to traders. In the case of libraries that weren’t used in the direct exploitation of people but nonetheless had benefited from it, the answer is less clear due to how inextricably linked wealth and access to knowledge are to the bondage of history.
Erickson, Edgar (1934) ‘The introduction of East Indian coolies into the British West Indies’, The Journal of Modern History, 6, 2, pp. 127-146.
Quinault, Ronald (2009) ‘Gladstone and slavery’, The Historical Journal, 52, 2, pp. 363-383.
“Alat-alat tukang kepunyaan penindas tidak akan meruntuhkankan rumah penindas. Alat-alat itu boleh menewaskan penindas hanya buat seketika, namun ia tidak akan menjamin perubahan yang murni. Perkauman dan homofobia adalah perkara yang kian dialami oleh kita semua. Saya menyeru kepada semua untuk menyelam ke dalam minda masing-masing dan ‘menyentuh’ unsur-unsur yang menimbulkan ketakutan dan kejelekan yang wujud di sana. Lihat wajahnya. Waktu itulah isu-isu peribadi yang berbaur politik mulai memberi pencerahan kepada pilihan hidup kita”.
– Audre Lorde, The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house, 1979
Alat-alat tukang penindas merujuk kepada bahasa, teori dan struktur wacana feminis Barat yang menepikan suara wanita lesbian, berkulit hitam dan yang berasal daripada masyarakat membangun (dunia ketiga). Di sini Audre Lorde menyampaikan satu amaran; di mana satu bahaya dalam bentuk keganasan epistemik (epistemic violence) akan ditimpa wanita yang bukan berkulit putih dan tertindas selagi kategori ‘wanita’ tidak memartabatkan perbezaan antara wanita dari segi bangsa, bahasa, agama, identiti seksualiti, dan latarbelakang kelas.
Keganasan epistemik adalah satu bentuk keganasan yang halus tetapi mempunyai kesan yang memudaratkan wanita biasa, khususnya yang bukan dari golongan elit. Keganasan ini disebarluas melalui penjanaan ilmu, maklumat yang digunakan untuk mengetahui dan membantu. Bahasa tidak bersifat neutral, malah ia bersangkut-paut dengan budaya dan politik untuk melindung kepentingan kumpulan-kumpulan tertentu.
Audre Lorde menyaran kepada wanita yang memperjuangkan feminisme untuk meneliti dan membongkar struktur bahasa dan rangka wacana feminis yang digunakan; dari manakah ia datang? siapakah yang dijadikan tokoh dan idola? Bahasa dan ilmu mampu digunakan untuk menggerakkan fahaman seksis terhadap wanita. Namun bahasa dan ilmu juga boleh menjadi benih dan substrat kepada kesedaran wanita dan perubahan. Audre Lorde mengungkapkan kuasa bahasa dan ilmu dengan kata-kata Simone de Beauvoir: “Daripada pengetahuan yang jujur mengenai keadaan kehidupan ini akan kita menimba kekuatan dan sebab-sebab untuk bertindak” (2003, Lorde: 28)
Audre Lorde. 2003. ‘The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house’. Feminist Postcolonial Theory: A Reader, disunting oleh Reina Lewis dan Sara Mills. London dan New York: Routledge. pp. 25-28.