Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Feminist Studies 45, no. 1. © 2019 by Feminist Studies, Inc. 235 Vivyan Adair Stigmata: A Memoir of Pain and Resistance For some of us poverty is not experienced from a distance or from the position of an audience member or critic, but as the most pressing truth of our existence, past or present and our core sense of identity. —Roxanne Rimstead, Remnants of Nation: On Poverty Narratives by Women Shame My own mother—with four children under the age of seven by the time she was twenty five—taught, nurtured, and loved us ferociously but struggled and utterly failed to keep us fed, sheltered, and safe. We clung desperately to her fragile dignity, grace, and laughter, against all the forces of a cruel and indifferent world. Yet, in the end she was crushed by the weight of our shame and our raw, unrelenting pain as my brothers and sister and I were bent and broken and taken from her; with scars that never faded; injuries, infections, and ailments for which we found neither respite nor repair; with feet mangled by cheap, used Salvation Army shoes; the gnawing void of hunger and insecurity clawing at our tender backs; public indignities and humiliations for which I still can find no words. With access to neither medical insurance nor care, when my already fragile, toddling sister’s forehead was split open by a car door slammed in frustration, my brother and I had to pin her tiny body to the ground as 236 Vivyan Adair my mother sewed the angry gash together with needle and thread, practicing the meticulous dressmaker’s stitches for which she had received a modicum of acclaim, but so little reward. My sister somehow endured, but registered the pain, the terror, and the trauma with a brand, a stigmata, an angry and frightening scar as an indelible sign of our poverty, visually cleaving her very forehead in two, for the remainder of her life. In our school cafeteria “free lunchers” were reminded with a large and colorful sign to “line up last.” In that auditorium each fall we were coerced up onto a makeshift stage, with the promise of first dibs on free milk. There, our pristine school nurse sat upright and sucked air through her teeth as she donned surgical gloves to cautiously check only the hair of poor hungry children, one by one, for lice. I burned and choked and raged with shame, as our far more decent working-class colleagues and friends, in color-coordinated Sears sweater sets and matching tartan knee high socks, averted their eyes from our reluctant genuflections, while silently spooning their mac and cheese and sipping their Tree Top from tiny Dixie cups. In dilapidated and unsafe housing often without heat, hot water, or lights and with access to only public bathrooms, I developed a stubborn case of ringworm, scabies, and a series of painful urinary tract infections. When my second grade teacher would not excuse me every hour or so—because, as she said I was “willful”—I could not help but wet my pants in class. My schoolmates guffawed at my flea bitten legs, my ducttaped shoes, my crooked and ill-serviced teeth, and the way my siblings and I stank. Kids, teachers, and strangers stepped away from us intuitively and then, with great shows of distress, feigned concern and then outrage and disgust. Regularly our teachers excoriated us for our inability to concentrate in school and our refusal to come to class with proper school supplies, calling us out as greedy when we tried to take more than our share of free lunch. Whenever backpacks or library books came up missing, we were publicly interrogated and sent home to think about our offenses, often accompanied by notes that reminded my bewildered mother that she should be working twice as hard to make up for the discipline and order that had supposedly walked out the door with my father. And when occasionally we cried foul and lashed out, our behavior was used to justify even more elaborate punishment that exacerbated the effect of our growing anomie. Vivyan Adair 237 Guilt As children, our disheveled and unkempt bodies were produced as...