This article will continue Jose Medina's work on “resistant imaginations” by developing the concepts of “internal resistant imagination” and “external resistant imagination” through readings of Assata Shakur's and Mamphela Ramphele's autobiographies. By introducing the problem of location and its relation to race it will show that one's geographical location affects their location in relation to hegemonic imaginations. This in turn requires different strategies of resistance. Using Medina's work this article will argue that Shakur and Ramphele explore these two different (...) avenues for undoing harmful truths within racist and sexist hegemonic imaginaries. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Feminist Studies 41, no. 3. © 2015 by Feminist Studies, Inc. 689 Susannah Bartlow White Fear in Universities: The Story of an Assata Shakur Mural No one is going to give you the education you need to overthrow them. No one will teach you your true history, teach you your true heroes if they know that knowledge will set you free. Theory without practice is just as incomplete (...) as practice without theory. The two have to go together. —Assata Shakur, quoted on a mural at Marquette University What does it mean to whitewash? To terminate? I have been tasting and retasting these words on my tongue after a mural of Assata Shakur at Marquette University was whitewashed, and I was fired—terminated —for having supported the mural, ending a fourteen-year career in feminist academia. As the founding director of the Gender and Sexuality Resource Center (GSRC), my job was to build an academic support office for women’s, gender, and LGBTQ+ education and empowerment. In the center’s third year, Amanda Smith (a Marquette senior) and Jeanette Martín (a community artist and program assistant at the center) envisioned, planned, and executed the Assata Shakur mural project as a way to invite greater community interest. In my role as director of the center, I supported the project, communicated it to senior leaders, and spread the word about the community-painting day in late March 2015. The mural was on display for six weeks at the GSRC before a storm of  Students fill in detail of the Assata Shakur mural at Marquette University’s Gender and Sexuality Resource Center. Photograph by Amanda T. Smith. News and Views 691 media coverage in mid-May prompted the university to cover the mural in white paint and fire me for my support of the project. My experience of this process was as rapid as it sounds: I received a few phone calls alerting me that the whitewashing of the mural was imminent and that there was a formal review of my leadership decisions, and I was fired twenty-four hours later. The idiomatic usage of “whitewash” tells us that something is shameful and that it has been, or ought to be, covered up. Whose cover-up was it—and whose shame? Over the six weeks it was on display at the center, the mural invited people into a quiet space off a hallway, and it had sparked discussion among staff, faculty, and students who used the space. The mural was one of very few images of a black woman anywhere on Marquette’s campus, and it contributed to a sense among many students of color that the GSRC was a space in which they were welcomed and safe and where they could be comfortable. Yet in the distortions of white supremacy, the mural looked like a threat, rather than an intellectual and community representation central to the university itself. Other recent cases of faculty repression, from Steven Salaita to Saida Grundy and Zandria Robinson, demonstrate how concerns about liability, finances, and public perception guide administrators ’ decisions about representation on campuses. Far from being liberal utopias, or even spaces that respect speech, universities remain testing grounds when students’ or educators’ actions present direct antiracist critique. What more clear or direct example of antiracist critique than the quotes we chose for the mural: Assata Shakur’s own words asserting the importance of street smarts and intellectual prowess, naming the power invested in knowledge systems and the importance of claiming that power for ourselves? Universities are, in our time, particularly responsive to pressure from the right. Private, nonprofit, advocacy organizations troll university websites looking for evidence of liberal bias; conservative media outlets publish student bloggers who feed the fantasy that the facts of United States history, presented without whitewashing, do not belong in classrooms. In particular, those who study the lives and knowledges of historically marginalized populations are in the crosshairs of right-wing attacks. In the case of the mural—and in each of the other cases cited above— it was either a right-wing news source or a powerful donor or decision 692 News and Views maker who raised concerns about leftist bias, civility, or... (shrink)

In light of Ruth Wilson Gilmore’s call that abolition means to “change everything,” how might we understand an abolitionist literary method? An abolitionist literary method dials into the language of critiquing prisons. This essay contends that recent developments in U.S. discourse concerning prison reform and prison abolition rely on the distinction between metaphor and metonymy. As rhetorical tropes, metaphor and metonymy both operate by means of figurative language. Metaphor creates a parallel formation between terms, popular in prison reformist language (i.e. (...) “prison as labor,” “prison as slavery,” “schools as prisons,” or “black holes as prisons”), while metonymy demonstrates a network between materially related sites, persons, and objects (as in “flesh,” “black holes,” or “the Prison Industrial Complex”) more central to the rhetoric of prison abolition. Following Emily Apter’s critique of Fredric Jameson’s “carceral metaphors,” I demonstrate these distinctions between metaphor-reform and metonymy-abolition through textual analysis of a Black feminist archive by considering the work of Ruth Wilson Gilmore, Hortense Spillers, Saidiya Hartman, George Jackson, Evelynn Hammonds, and Assata Shakur. These different thinkers employ metonymy to illuminate theoretical possibilities for abolition through economics, flesh, motherhood, intimacy, sexuality, and physics over a period of thirty years. That being said, none of these writers define their work by the principal status given to metonymy, and this essay seeks to bring together their interventions through this rhetorical trope. I propose that abolition’s stretch through metonymy is central to an abolitionist literary method, provoking the animated reconsideration of language-use by scholars and activists. While not eliding metaphor entirely, this historical materialist work demonstrates that the careful elaboration of words and phrases becomes more robustly anti-carceral when one indexes where, how, and why metaphor and metonymy contract or extend imaginative political possibility. (shrink)

This chapter examines truthfulness, or veracity, in the context of health care services within prisons, jails, and detention facilities in the United States. Mainstream discussions of bioethics often highlight the general importance of veracity within the patient-provider relationship, including providers’ obligations and constraints with respect to telling the truth to their patients, and, to a lesser extent, patients’ responsibilities and concerns regarding truthful reporting to their providers. However, a great deal of this literature largely overlooks how structural barriers to health (...) care impact the functions of veracity in the provision of health care—including racist and sexist biases in clinical judgment, inadequate staffing, infrastructure, and accessibility in medical facilities, and institutionally specific constraints. Through an analysis of Assata Shakur’s political autobiography, this chapter focuses on such structural barriers to health care in carceral facilities with a focus on the institutionally specific constraints that arise through the punitive aims of carceral facilities. By focusing on the intersection between punishment and health, this chapter argues that bioethicists and clinicians alike would be better equipped to analyze structural barriers to health care that exist both within and beyond prison walls through a nonideal approach. (shrink)