Memory is the only witness that
Remembers the women of Juárez
Now statues,
Scattered bones,
Heads and little ears.
Haunting. Melodic. Tragic. Hearthbreaking. Necessary. These are the words I would use to describe this book of poetry.
Secrets in the Sand: The Young Women of Juárez is a collection of poetry written by Marjorie Agosín about the missing women of Juárez. From 2008 to 2013 over 211 girls have gone missing, but the murders have been going on since the 90s. The most disturbing issue of all is that the government has done nothing about it.
In the introduction to these poems, written by Celeste
Kostopulos-Cooperman, she writes that Mexico is a country with a
"machista" culture that "often accuses women of provoking their
abusers." With this kind of victim-blaming perpetuating the minds of
those who are in charge, it's not surprising to see that there hasn't
been much progress made towards stopping these murders.
She dreams about borders
A knife parts her in two
North and South
The body of a woman lies
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the day
In the middle of the light
On the border no one finds her
The desert petrifies her memory
The wind erases sounds
Everything is a darkness without sunlight.
She has crossed borders
And doesn't return home
Her mother wanders about crying
And looks for but does not find her
She crosses borders
Wakefulness and dream
Ashes and bonfires.
Agosín's
goal was to give these women a voice. They have been permanently
silences and are suffering a second death because of the negligence of
the government. These murders have been going on for over 20 years with
no change in the system or in the enforcement of the law. Agosín uses
free verse, often conflating herself with the victims and reminding all
women that in another time, in another place, or even tomorrow in your home, it could be you.
News Reports
The news report of Ciudad Juárez
Announces another death
The child says that it looks like the same woman
All of those women are the same, the father replies
The mother prepares the food
She sees herself in those women
The news report continues
They announce the winners of the soccer tournament
The child asks his mother why
They always kill the same woman
The mother's voice is strange
Like that of a little girl
And a well of silence
Forms on her sad mouth.
By
using free verse, Agosín is able to give a voice to the traumatic
experiences of the women who were murdered and the women who have been
left behind. Sometimes I had to read a certain poem over and over until
I understood it, and other times I read it over and over because it was
just that powerful. Combining the Introduction, Poems and Afterword,
there are only 143 pages in this book. (Which you can also cut in half
because half of it is in Spanish on one side and English on the other,
so if you're not bilingual, it will go even faster.)
This book
has easily become one of my personal favorites. I really appreciate the
accessibility of Agosín's style. Had she tried to make her poems more
complicated, she may have run the risk of taking away from the violence.
Instead, she made sure her poems were succinct, easy to understand and
straight to the point - given the women of Juárez and the women who are
terrified for their lives a powerful and booming voice.
Showing posts with label mexico. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mexico. Show all posts
Friday, November 7, 2014
Friday, September 19, 2014
BOOK REVIEW | Lilus Kikus by Elena Poniatowksa
5 deconstructing stars.
Lilus Kikus by
Elena Poniatowksa, on the surface level, is about a young girl and her
adventures as she grows up. This book
was first published in 1954 erroneously as a child’s novel due to the age of
the protagonist (although her age is never clearly defined) and the simplistic
writing style. However, Lilus Kikus is
bursting at the seams with a feminist and anti-patriarchal agenda.
As a modern reader, the evidence of this book’s
agenda is so apparently and blunt that the only explanation as to how it could
ever be passed as a children’s novel is because the publishing industry in the
50s, especially in Mexico, was dominated by men and they just didn’t expect
this sort of commentary from a woman.
The reader is first introduced to Lilus when she is outside
playing. Lilus does not like to play
with dolls (which are traditionally feminine), instead she prefers to play
doctor and perform experiments (traditionally masculine roles). As she grows up, she joins an all-girls
school where one of her closest friend, the “Lamb,” is being sent away due to pre-martial sex that resulted in pregnancy.
When Lilus is talking to her next door neighbor, the
Philosopher, he says this of the Lamb:
“The lamb, the lamb… let me think. Ah yes, the feminist. The free thinker. … Well, life started too early for her.” Lilus herself is neither fully feminine nor fully masculine, but she knows better than to try and stand up for her female rights. She knows she will end up exiled like the Lamb and decides that "she would rather keep quiet. It is better to feel than to know."
Indeed, the Lamb was born into the wrong time period, where
women are not allowed to commit the same “sins” as men or hold the same positions. They are meant to be beautiful, vivacious
and submissive: “Also, Lilus had heard it said that dummies were the most
enchanting women in the world.”
One of my favorite parts of this book is when Lilus is
describing her good friend, Chiruelita, who is very naiive and innocent. Chiruelita is the picture perfect idea of a "feminine" lady, of a "delicate" woman. She ends up marrying an artist and obeying
him easily, until the one day she decides to think for herself and “with a
languid gesture, the eccentric artist wrung her neck!”
If that's not a blatant statement comparing the patriarchy to the silencing of women, then I don't know what is. It is baffling to see how original readers missed all of this subtext.
If that's not a blatant statement comparing the patriarchy to the silencing of women, then I don't know what is. It is baffling to see how original readers missed all of this subtext.
Eventually, Lilus cannot be contained and is sent to a
nunnery where she is completely oppressed, both by the patriarchy and the
Catholic religion. The ending is open –
it can be read as Lilus searching for signs of rebellion or as Lilus searching
for signs of God. Either way, the
message is clear: the woman’s place is
in the silence of the men’s voices.
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