Liminality in the Subordinate Space: An Ecofeminist Examination of Women and Subalterns Suchen Christine Lim’s The River’s Song and James Cameron’s Avatar
The woman and the subaltern both occupy the subordinate space under white Western patriarchal culture, and experience oppression in the form of limited authority and agency. One mainstay in ecofeminism, a form of ecocriticism, is the critique of the dualisms generated under this white Western patriarchal culture, which “construct white male human identity as separate from and superior to the identities of women, people of colour, animals, and the natural world” (Gaard and Murphy 9). The construction of a superior white male human identity has also become justification for the oppression of the subaltern, which in postmodern and postcolonial scholarship has been “defined in descriptive terms according to a particular marginalized subject position in any given cultural or social context” (Louai 7). In this essay, I argue that in Suchen Christine Lim’s The River’s Song and James Cameron’s 2009 film Avatar, while both the woman and the subaltern are subjugated by a similar oppressive conceptual framework, they exhibit distinct differences in how they negotiate with liminality in the subordinate space. I will be establishing this through the analysis of women and subalterns in the chosen literary texts. To begin, I introduce the key characters and plot of the two texts and explain their relevance to understanding the subordinate space occupied by both the woman and the subaltern. Then, through using ecofeminist theory and critiquing ideas from Deep Ecology, I will examine the similarities and differences in such subordinate spaces.
In the historical fiction novel The River’s Song, Suchen Christine Lim provides a nuanced portrayal of the often invisible stakeholders during the Singapore River clean-up of the 1970s and 1980s. The novel is centred around women like Ping and Yoke Lan and subalterns (the river people) like Weng and Chong Suk. The novel examines the aftermath of conflict between the powerful capitalist government who want to redevelop the river for urban uses and the voiceless river people who want to retain their homes by the river. In James Cameron’s science fiction film, Avatar, the same dualisms are explored and presented in visual form. Humanity has established an interstellar presence and is now attempting to mine the valuable mineral unobtanium from Pandora, a lush and habitable moon, to no luck. The indigeneous Na’vi are “one” with their land and protect their ecology fiercely from commercial exploitation. Jake, a former marine, thus has to drive a human/Na’vi body, which is the film’s eponymous avatar. He infiltrates the tribe and learns the ways of the Na’vi, eventually becoming one of them and working together with them to drive human presence out of Pandora.
Avatar has been known to draw from Deep Ecology as inspiration for the film’s central message: that nature has intrinsic value independent of the human world (Lecture). The philosophy highlights that due to the intrinsic value of nature, every component between and within ecosystems is interdependent on each other and worth preserving. While applying Deep Ecology to these texts could indeed yield an analysis of how humans have made nature the Other of culture, the philosophy’s uncritical use of the word ‘Man’ in place of human (Lecture) reveals a lack of gender consciousness and awareness of subdominant cultures. Hence, we will instead be looking through The River’s Song and Avatar through a more critical, ecofeminist lens. To begin, I introduce oppressive conceptual frameworks, a term coined by prominent ecofeminist Karen J. Warren, which is the main framework under which the woman and the subaltern are oppressed. She defines an oppressive conceptual framework as one that “explains, justifies, and maintains relationships of domination and subordination” (127). She provides the example of a patriarchal oppressive conceptual framework that explains, justifies, and maintains the subordinate space women occupy (128). Warren explicates that the most significant feature of an oppressive conceptual framework is the logic of domination under which the subordination of a particular group is sanctioned and permitted, which manifests due to value dualisms and hierarchies. The River’s Song as a piece of littoral literature and Avatar as a blockbuster “green” film heavily feature tropes like the pastoral i.e. pre-industrialisation, unspoilt nature and dwelling in harmony with nature (Lecture). Through these tropes, both texts show how women/subalterns are identified with nature and the realm of the physical, becoming “inferior” to men who identify with the “human” and the realm of the mental (Warren 130). Hence, the texts implicitly (and sometimes explicitly) critique the interwoven dualisms of capitalist/conservationist, man/woman, mind/body, culture/nature, and reason/emotion that frame the woman/subaltern as Other to men and ultimately sanction their subjugation under an oppressive conceptual framework. The woman and the subaltern in both texts, who occupy the subordinate space, thus exhibit several similarities in why and how they are oppressed and Othered.
Following the logic of domination, through identifying women with nature, women become inferior to men and patriarchal oppression is sanctioned. Establishing that women have been found to be subordinate to men in every known society, Sherry Ortner writes that “the search for a genuinely egalitarian, let alone matriarchal, culture, has proven fruitless” (8). She further questions which “generalised structure and conditions of existence” would lead every known society and culture to devalue women:
Specifically, my thesis is that woman is being identified with… something that every culture devalues, something that every culture defines as being at a lower order of existence than itself. Now it seems that there is only one thing that would fit that category, and that is “nature” in the most generalized sense. Every culture, or, generically, “culture,” is engaged in the process of generating and sustaining systems of meaningful forms (symbols, artifacts, etc.) by means of which humanity transcends the givens of natural existence, bends them to its purposes, controls them in its interest (10).
Ortner hence implies that patriarchal oppression stems from “culture’s project to subsume and transcend nature”, since if the woman is a part of nature, then culture would find that the “natural” order of things requires her subordination. Rosemary Radford Ruether furthers Ortner’s thesis by suggesting that this identification of women with nonhuman nature has its roots in women’s reproductive role as childbearers (38) and how nature, as the place from which plant and animal life forms, “becomes linked with the bodies of women from which babies emerge” (39). Such naturalisation of women and patriarchal oppression is pertinent in The River’s Song, which presents a Singaporean society that has subscribed to such ideals and actively sanctions the oppression of women. The sexualisation of the women in the story is done through identifying women with the bestial “nature” and men with the human “culture”, and a result of the woman’s child-bearing reproductive role. Ping is called the “mongrel child” by Fatt Chye who barks at her while she lives in a cage-like room in his house (58) — he eventually watches her naked body while she is showering. Yoke Lan’s sexual exploitation at a young age required her to sit on the laps of, smile at, and please the men who patron the pleasure house she lived in (140), a role that can be likened to that of a lapdog. Yoke Lan warns Ping to stay away from her husband, Mr Chang, telling her that as she is not a child anymore, therefore implying that Ping’s maturing body has become something that can be sexualised. Yoke Lan’s implicit jealousy of her husband’s secretary is apparent in how she calls her a “young vixen” whose “laughter was coquettish” (137), the word “vixen” carrying the implication of seductress. Here, Ping and Miss Sim become responsible for their “seduction” of Mr Chang. Despite being father and employee to the respective women and therefore in a position of authority over them, Mr Chang is absolved of any responsibility for being “seduced,” under the patriarchy. The women are thus placed in a sexualised light, and are reduced to vessels of seduction. This observation that patriarchal ideals are ingrained in the Singaporean consciousness is furthered by an older Yoke Lan, who, even when romanticising pipa songstresses, compares them to gilded butterflies (18).
Similarly, through identifying subalterns with nature, subalterns become inferior to men and colonial oppression is sanctioned. For the subaltern, Val Plumwood notes that “[a]s ‘nature,’ oppressed groups have been located outside the sphere of reason, the sphere Western elites have particularly seen themselves as representing” (74). She further posits that Western colonialism has been the story of controlling the “chaotic and deficient realm of ‘nature’ and by mastering and ordering ‘reason,’ and has thus supported the pervasive domination of subaltern groups by and within Western society (74). One way Plumwood suggests subalterns are seen as “nature” while men as “culture” is in clothing and nudity: while clothes are hallmarks of civilisation and culture, nudity represents animality and a cultureless state, as well as “a reduction to body” (77). Indeed, such logic of domination is apparent in Avatar, where the Na’vi are seen as “savages” and “blue monkeys” by Colonel Quaritch and Selfridge. The Na’vi wear ornamental pieces rather than clothing, and this stark culture/nature binary is seen when Jake stands in his fully clothed avatar form beside the comparatively nude Omaticaya. Despite looking Na’vi, he is still subsumed under “culture” and as part of men. When Jake takes off his human clothes and embraces Omaticayan tradition, it is seen as a departure from culture and reduction to body — to Quaritch, it is a betrayal of his own race. The Na’vi’s closeness with nature and refusal of culture, also seen from their rejection of the medicine, roads, and education Selfridge offered, is puzzling to the men who think of their culture as inherently superior to the Na’vi’s nature. This culture/nature binary is compounded by the colonial impulse to mine the land of unobtanium for economic gain, leading to the formation of a capitalist/conservationist dichotomy, where the Na’vi (conservationist, “nature”) ward off the invading humans (capitalist, “culture”) from land that they live on and wish to protect. The conservationist impulse further sanctions the subjugation of the subalterns, as their unwavering desire to preserve Hometree gives the capitalist Quaritch and Selfridge no choice but to tear it down to access its mineral-rich deposits, rather than engage in peaceful negotiations.
In The River’s Song, this capitalist/conservationist dichotomy is explored in a more nuanced manner. The river people are subalterns who experience a similar situation as the Na’vi, being evicted from their river homes due to the capitalist government’s goal of urban redevelopment. The river people’s closeness to nature makes their way of life a departure from culture and is labelled unhygienic and dirty by the government (159). This narrative is then used by the government to justify their eviction, and their relocation into high-rise flats is presented as a boon when the river people view it instead as a bane. While in Avatar, the capitalist machine as represented by Selfridge and Quaritch are profit-driven to the point of violence, the government in The River’s Song can be said to be justified in its actions. While the river people are immediately subjugated by the capitalist redevelopment, as seen from Weng’s harrowing memories of his river-loving father “wilt” to death in their new home (159) and being detained for nine months for speaking out against the eviction (235), they eventually benefit at large from the government’s actions. Weng admits that “the good life on [the] golden sunny island has added flab to his waistline” (130), perhaps testament to the government’s foresight in bringing prosperity to the island through the redevelopment of the river.
While both the woman and the subaltern are naturalised and hence sanctioned in their subordination, both groups exhibit distinct differences in how they negotiate with liminality in the subordinate space. In cultural theory, liminality signifies phenomena that do not fit well into cultural categories, and is ambiguous, ambivalent, and untidy (Lecture). The liminal is therefore treated as a source of cultural risk, fear, and danger, or is even forbidden (Lecture). For the oppressed woman under the patriarchy, liminality is afforded to those who are subjugated for their gender but not their racial or class background. Such liminal identity allows for a traversing of dominant and subordinate spaces that can make the woman under the patriarchy both the oppressed and the oppressor. Ping in The River’s Song is one example of the liminal. She is neither part of the river people nor fully integrated into higher society, and her liminality allows her to oscillate between sides while also belonging to neither. Although she is previously shown to be oppressed under the patriarchy, she is also oppressor because of her socio-economic status. In her impoverished childhood, her relationships with men were marked by deference and a lack of agency — Weng has to save her from bullies (40) and help her to sell vegetables (43). Her feminine subordination is also explicated in her relationship with music, a symbol of “culture”. Yoke Lan’s refusal to let her become a degraded “pipa songstress” makes her connection to the pipa a complicated and shameful one even as she becomes Chong Suk’s only female student (an opportunity afforded to her through Weng), and she is seen to shamefully run away exclaiming that she is “not a pipa girl” when her performance with Weng at the association ends with them earning some money (60). However, when she becomes “Miss Ping of the Chang family” rather than just Ping, she is able to literally occupy the same stage as Weng and Chong Suk (125) without shame and without deferring the spotlight to either man. Her relations with these men and the dualisms of man/woman, reason/emotion, and mind/body that usually define them are therefore problematised due to her class affiliations. Usual patriarchal relations are inverted when Ping leaves for the U.S., and “all life had drained out” of Weng (157). His emotions overwhelm him, and he irrationally ignores the countless letters she addresses to him (157). He thinks himself as the sexualised body that she used for sex (157). He takes over the subordinate space, identifying with “emotion” and “body” with his irrationality and lack of sexual agency, while Ping, in turn, occupies the dominant space that identifies with “reason” and “mind”. The intersection between issues of class hierarchy and gender therefore problematise existing dualisms and allow people like Ping who embody the liminal to traverse between dominant and subordinate spaces.
However, in reference to Avatar, the same cannot be said for the subaltern’s liminality, if any, in the subordinate space it occupies. Gayatri Spivak points out that the creation of elite discourse causes the subaltern to be silenced, in that, they cannot/do not speak, but are spoken for (Nasrullah). The liminal “subaltern” in Avatar is depicted by the paraplegic Jake, who is able to literally traverse between dominant and subordinate spaces through his human body and avatar form. Like Ping, he is not Na’vi, nor is he fully integrated with (what the Na’vi refer to as) the Sky People, being a replacement avatar driver for his brother and therefore new to the work culture. He is a “dreamwalker” that occupies the liminal space, and this identity becomes even more exclusive when he becomes the only “warrior dreamwalker” the Na’vi have seen. This identity appears to be why Eywa “saves” him from Neytiri’s arrow and how he is able to become Toruk Macto, uniter of the clans. Indeed, at first glance, Jake’s liminality is seemingly the source of emancipation for the Na’vi from human colonialism. In light of this, the film might seem to suggest that a white male human identity is needed for the Na’vi to have a voice and lead the Na’vi to salvation. However, this interpretation is problematised by the fact that his avatar form is not inherent to his nature. Jake has the choice to stop being Na’vi at any moment by unlinking himself, literally distancing himself from “nature” by taking off the suit that allows him to neurally bond with animals through tsaheylu. Unlike the liminal woman who does not stop being a woman when she traverses between the dominant and subordinate spaces, the implication here is that the liminal “subaltern” stops being subaltern when he traverses into the dominant space. This is further implied when Jake is offered the generous opportunity to leave Pandora by Colonel Quaritch, which he refuses. In other words, the subaltern, unlike the woman, is always oppressed. Hence, in his Na’vi form, Jake is as much subaltern/oppressed as the native Na’vi is. To resolve the conflict between his human and Na’vi identities, Jake eventually has to link his consciousness to his Na’vi body permanently, and fully transforms into the subaltern. The message of Avatar thus becomes one of emancipation from oppression being reliant on subaltern unity and agency to upset the status quo.
In this essay, I have established the main ecofeminist lens under which my analysis of the two chosen texts will be examined. I argued that while both the woman and the subaltern are naturalised and subjugated by oppressive conceptual frameworks, they are distinct in how they negotiate with liminality in the subordinate space in Suchen Christine Lim’s The River’s Song and James Cameron’s 2009 film, Avatar. In particular, the liminal woman is able to become oppressed and oppressor, while the subaltern is always oppressed. While this essay has briefly studied the concept of liminality, there is still a lack of scholarship on the liminal oppressed subject. With increasing globalisation and internationalisation of identities, more work can be done in the field of ecocriticism to further our understanding on intersectional human issues of class, gender, national identity, race etc.
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Works Cited
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