Essay: The Cambridge Scene in Yellowface, White Feminism, and the Racist Rebranding of Misogyny
By Naa Asheley
When I wrote the first draft of this
piece, I was sitting in my med school class, slightly dozing off while my
professor spoke. I promise I went back and reread the lecture—so I didn’t miss
anything. Besides, they gave us the wrong version of the slides anyway, so I
think it all worked out. Yet, I felt motivated enough to open the notes app on
my computer and draft this editorial because I couldn’t stop thinking about the
Cambridge scene in Yellowface.
In so many books I’ve read, I always
find myself latching onto one central moment or theme that defines and
transforms my relationship with that book. When I read 1984 in
eighth grade, I remember being amazed by Orwell’s stylistic shift when Winston
reads the Brotherhood’s manifesto. In Toni Morrison’s Beloved, I
thought a lot about the sex scenes—so much so that in my junior year of high
school, I gave an oral presentation on how Morrison uses sex as an allegory for
the trauma Black people continued to endure in a “post-slavery” America. As my
passion for writing blossomed, I fell in love with those kinds of scenes
because they revealed to me how talented authors are with words. When I wrote
my creative writing thesis for my BA, I wanted to make sure that, if anyone
ever read it, there would be at least one moment that hit hard enough to stay
with them forever. I still find beauty in how authors use the same language to
create entirely different tones.
But the Yellowface scene
that stuck with me wasn’t about craft.
Instead, the scene in Yellowface where
June is at a publicity event for her book at Cambridge, MA, really stuck to me,
because it really spoke to a phenomenon that I have noticed since 2016 (aka the
year that started the time divergence to whatever timeline we’re currently in).
The year that began a new wave of feminism that continues the unfortunate
pattern about how a movement that should be intersectional in its definition,
can sometimes never truly be, and that it only applies to a certain type of
“woman”: White women.
Firstly, let me make one thing
clear: I absolutely recognize the growing trend online
where people of all genders and races (because you don’t have to be white to be
complicit in white supremacy) use the phrase “white women” as a smokescreen for
their own misogyny. I’ve seen the viral TikToks and podcast clips where hosts
spew misogyny, misogynoir, racism, homophobia, and transphobia, using “white
women” as a scapegoat to avoid accountability.
But there is also a very complicated
and frustrating way that people use these instances to try to deflect the
reality that white women can in fact, be extremely violent to marginalized
groups, even those that share their gender. If you were to summarize the lesson
of Yellowface, it is truly this. So much of Juniper’s internal
dialogue—and her group chats—tries to reframe the criticism of her actions as
misogyny: “People just hate to see women succeed.” But it isn’t her gender people
are critiquing—it’s her work, which we know (and the story reveals)
is stolen from someone she watched die in front of her. June is devastated by
Athena’s death, but not devastated enough to not steal her
manuscript, her notebooks, and manipulate Athena’s grieving
family. Moreover, Juniper herself commits to being the Rachel Dolezal of
the 2020s by publishing this book under a different name— “Juniper
Song”— using her middle name and dropping “Hayward” to increase her
“racial ambiguity,
Feminism has become a movement in
which women are fighting for the right to engage in the patriarchal
violence that feminism was supposed to fight against. Feminism has become
fighting for the right to also be dismissive of the concerns and feedback
towards people from racial and socioeconomic marginalized groups. Feminism has
become the right to interrupt Black women when we are speaking, repeat the
words we say and only trust our words out the “white mouths” and talk down to
us. Feminists are now stating that “women” (white) are under attack by the
blue-hair leftists and need to be protected before they are forgotten,
out-populated and left in the dust.
And you can argue that feminism as a
movement has always been this way.
Margaret Sanger is still an admired
figure in first-wave feminism for her advocacy in the creation of Planned
Parenthood and increasing birth control access, despite her advocacy being
rooted in eugenics —arguing birth control would limit “unfit” (non-white)
populations. Susan B. Athony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, known for the
women’s suffrage movement and abolition advocates, followed the same fallacious
logic that the signers of the Declaration of Independence followed: in which
the “slave question” or the question and acknowledgement of Black rights, could
be left for future generations to figure out. The 19th amendment
that granted the right for women to vote did not apply to non-white
women. It wasn’t until the 1965 Voting Rights Act (and its 1975
expansion) that Black, Native, Asian, and Latinx women were given the right to
vote and prohibited the use of literary tests in voting.
The 1970s Victims’ Rights
Movement—sparked by Sharon Tate’s murder—uplifted legitimate concerns that
second-wave feminism was fighting for: the right to address the way
that victims of violent crimes are often not given a voice in the justice
system. However, its dominance by white women and its overlap with the
Christo-Conservative backlash to 1960s counterculture, helped birth the “tough
on crime” era. Laws would be passed by Democrats and Republicans alike (Biden
and Clinton being some of the primary authors of many of these laws) that
increase the villanization of Black people that has been present since the
inception of this country. The Victims’ Rights Movement and second
wave feminism would ultimately give rise to what Michelle Alexander coined as
the “New Jim Crow”: the way the US Criminal Justice System and Mass
Incarceration system, was transformed to mirror the racial control that mirrors
the framework of the historical Jim Crow Laws. We needed to find another way to
strip Black people of their rights, and the prison system became the closet way
that politicians could climax in their self-masturbation over the suffering of
Black people in this country. Congrats feminists, now that all the Black people
are off the street, now White Women can be safe— Not from serial killers,
though—you all turned that into a cottage industry (I’m not going to get
into that here, this essay is long enough as it is).
That brings us back to the Cambridge
scene. The Asian student rightly critiques Juniper about writing from a
perspective she does not share—especially when she is writing as someone whose
identity has historically harmed the group Juniper is writing about. This
is not a new issue in the writing world. So much so that it is directly
acknowledged and a major plot point in the book I argue that really allows the
mask that was already slipping from June’s face to fall and break. Candice Lee,
an assistant to one of Juniper’s agents at her publishing agency, directly
brings up that there should be a sensitivity reader: a proofreader who would
check on the book to ensure that be book is being culturally sensitive.
Clearly, the whole irony of this situation is that the book is culturally
insensitive since it is stolen, but this is a process that June herself knows
is common in the industry. But because it could potentially cause June’s lies
to get exposed, she denies Candice’s suggestion. You can argue that Candice’s
action was “petty” in sending an email to the entire team about trying to push
for a sensitivity reader and she could’ve gone about it a different way.
However, Juniper’s action in leaning in the this “white women victim” narrative
by labeling Candice as “aggressive” is a demonstration of June’s understanding
of her privilege. It’s a narrative many Black and non-Black women have had to
face: that asking for accountability causes white women to feel “unsafe” or
“scared”, and thus, we all face the same consequence Candice faces: being fired
and blacklisted from the industry.
Honestly, if Juniper had listened to
Candice and gone through with the sensitivity reader, maybe the Asian student
at the Cambridge meet and greet wouldn’t have called out Juniper for writing
this story as a white woman. It is also possible she still would’ve called her
out. But regardless, Juniper’s response to the student is what really struck me
and what caused me to write this essay; because I knew exactly how she was
feeling as Juniper was dismissing her question.
Because I have often been on the
receiving end of that response too.
As a Black, first-gen, low-income
aspiring physician-scientist, I have often been in spaces where I am the
singular “minority” in a room of 10, 15, 20, or even 200 people. I’ve had
so many instances throughout my entire life and especially during my 1st year
of medical school where I’ve had to tell my classmates that their views are
naïve, racist, and can cause real harm. Instead of meaningful engagement, I
receive what I call the "Juniper response"—an attempt to gaslight me
and invalidate my experiences. I'm labeled as anti-woman or not woman enough, a
particularly painful accusation given the historical and personal weight it
carries for me as a Black woman. I am left feeling angry and upset that people
would rather mock my viewpoints and disrespect me in an exhibitionist manner,
than to confront their own biases and flaws. Biases that have, can and will
cause harm to their future patients. These interactions have made me want to
give up on this journey so many times, and while I’m still here, pushing forward
in this dream, frankly it is exhausting. And I can only imagine the emotions
and thoughts that was running through that students mind as she slowly sat down
after Juniper’s dismissive comments towards her. It’s a degrading experience,
one I wish upon no one, but one many Black woman and non-Black woman of color
are forced to endure.
Many people who know me personally
know that I have a complicated relationship with calling myself a feminist. Not
because I don’t believe in the rights of women, but because there have been
several examples in which these movements have never and honestly, may never
truly include me. Some of the most isolating and violent spaces I have been in,
have been female dominated. Some of the most racist attacks I have faced have
come from other women. There was a time in my life that I began to question my
gender identity because I frankly felt I did not have access to my womanhood.
It feels sad that the term “intersectional feminism” must exist because my
existence and experiences demonstrate how feminism fundamentally has never been
intersectional. And when we see the way that feminist arguments are used in the
21st century, it is honestly no wonder that maybe I don’t feel connected to it,
and it’s not shocking that we’re currently in the political climate that we’re
in now.
But here’s the twist: white women,
they hate you too.
NIH diversity grants? Mostly went to
you. Now, they’re gone. NSF diversity funding? Same story. The word “women” is
now flagged in grant applications. As I wrote this, the Women’s Health
Initiative was temporarily shuttered. Your “feminism”, are the
reason why I am seeing people across my social media scrambling to figure out
how to finish their PhDs, fund their labs and maintain the job opportunities
they were originally awarded, but are now being taken away. Because
guess what, Anti-DEI policies don’t just target Black women—they target you
too. Hurts, doesn’t it?
Okay, so what’s the point?
Well, the point is this piece. I
know that is going to be an uncomfortable read for many people. I know many
people in my personal life that are not going to like this piece.
But I am writing this piece for the
same reason I believe R.F. Kuang wrote Yellowface: that white woman
MUST confront their internalized (sometimes externalized) racism and
misogynoir. That you all must learn to accept that the victimhood status many
of you all hold to, is in fact a fallacy. And that you are not the victims you
believe yourselves to be.
And let me be clear: Juniper has
gone through horrific things. Her backstory is complex. She is a rape survivor,
and as a survivor of sexual assault myself it is a pain I relate to deeply and
I hold great empathy for Juniper. I completely understand and agree with
Juniper’s anger in Athena co-opting June’s rape for her own short story; an
experience June still hadn’t even fully processed at that time. It’s an
extremely disgusting act on Athena’s part and shows that Athena herself is not
innocent. But it still doesn’t justify June’s theft and
racism. Her pain doesn’t excuse her actions.
So let me end where I began:
I need white women to really take a
step back and acknowledge that sometimes, not everything is based in misogyny.
Acknowledging and calling out your racism isn’t a misogynist attack. It does
not mean I don’t believe in feminism or that I am anti-women.
If we are going to get through the
next however many days in this timeline and fight to get back the rights we are
losing by the day, white women, you must acknowledge the inherit biases you
carry about Black and non-Black women of color. You all must embrace the
uncomfortable and learn to remove your ego from situations when someone tells
you wronged them. You need to stay silent, listen and internalize how you
wronged them, and change for the better. Your response should not be to try and
defend yourself by arguing “misogyny” or that I “don’t support all women.”
Because honestly, you’re absolutely
right. I don’t support all women. Some of you bitches are
racist.
Naa
Asheley Afua Adowaa Ashitey
(She/Her/Hers) is a Chicago-born writer and an MD-PhD Student at UW-Madison
School of Medicine and Public Health. She is interested in the intersection
between scientific research, medicine and the humanities. Her works have been
published or forthcoming in Broken Antler Magazine, JAKE, The B’K Magazine,
Abstract Magazine and others. More at NaaAshitey.com. Socials: Twitter/Instagram:
@foreverasheley, Bluesky: @foreverasheley.bsky.social
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