Colonialism in ‘The King and I’ and Related Media

‘The King and I’ promotes colonialist and “white savior” attitudes. … Adding romantic interest to the story, showing King Mongkut as exceedingly admiring of Anna and portraying her influence in the court as more than it was, paints Western values and morals as superior to others, justifying colonialism by making it seem as though Eastern countries “need” the West.

Written by Jackson Adler as part of our theme week on Interracial Relationships.

“Is the King and I racist, and is it time it was put to rest?” [sic] asks Dee Jefferson of The Sydney Morning Herald. While his article is inconclusive, I strongly believe that the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical as it exists now, and other Western media telling the same story, should be “put to rest.” The way that the story of Anna Leonowens teaching at the court of King Mongkut of Siam (now Thailand) in the mid 19^th century is told in the West needs to be completely redone if it is to be told, because the way it is presented is both inaccurate and harmful. There is a reason The King and I (staged on Broadway in 1951 and adapted for film in 1956) and many other adaptations of the same story such as Anna and the King of Siam (1946) and Anna and the King (1999) either are or were banned in Thailand – because they are extremely insensitive to Thailand’s history and culture, and promote colonialist and “white savior” attitudes.

To say that The King and I and related media is racist is missing the point. This is because racism is a product of colonialism, often being an afterthought justification for stealing and controlling another peoples’ wealth, labor, and resources, or as a propagandist rallying cry to begin the colonization of another people and their land. Anna Leonowens is painted as the “white savior” in these adaptations, and shown inaccurately as the main influence behind the reforms implemented by Mongkut and his son Chulalongkorn.

Though Mongkut and Leonowens did respect one another and worked closely, a romance between them does not seem to have existed, and the invention of it in the media is a tool to better depict Leonowens “civilizing” Mongkut to the extent that he might be a “gentleman” and a romantic interest – albeit in a bittersweet “it would never work” way. Interracial relationships (however problematically written) are themes in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s work, such as in South Pacific, as interracial marriage was a hot button issue at their time, not nationally legalized until 1967. Under the guise of being “progressive,” these works actually do an incredible amount of harm.

Mongkut hired Leonowens (who was ethnically English and East Indian, but claimed to be Welsh) to teach his children “English language, science, and literature, and not for the conversion to Christianity.” He himself already knew English (and Latin) and was well versed in Western culture. The image of Mongkut in the media is a stereotypical “barbarian” and “foolish” despot, despite the efforts of talented actors such as Chow Yun-Fat and Ken Watanabe to show a complex and thoughtful human being and leader. Women’s rights were improved under his reign. For example, unlike the story of Tuptim in the musical suggests, he outlawed forced marriages and released a large number of concubines to marry whom they chose. He respected the minds and wishes of his wives. When they met, Mongkut and his family treated Leonowens with kindness and respect, while she was often rude, condescending, or sarcastic to them. She strongly believed herself superior to the Thai people due to her being (part) English and a Christian, even telling members of the royal family to their faces, “I am not like you.”

The myth of she and Mongkut emotionally having a romance is quickly debunked due to various instances and examples of her enacting and making plain her biases and self-righteousness. One such instance was when she was asked by some female members of the royal family which prince she would find more desirable to marry were she to choose. She replied, according to her first autobiography, that they “are pagans” (Buddhist) and as such, “An English, that is a Christian, woman” such as herself “would rather be put to the torture, chained and dungeoned for life, or suffer a death the slowest and most painful you Siamese know, than be the wife of either” [sic]. The words “you Siamese” naturally show her condescending tone and attitude towards Thai people, insulting their intelligence and knowledge of the world.

Aspects of Leonowens’ autobiographies have proved to be exaggerated or fabricated, and seem to have been made to make herself look better and Mongkut look cruel. Various members of the Thai royal family, from Chulalongkorn himself to more to the present, have spoken out against both the inaccuracies in Leonowens’ works as well all media representations. One example of this is the alleged execution of Tuptim, featured in many adaptations (though she is whipped in the musical). Much of Tuptim’s story was fabricated, and she in fact was not executed, but became one of the wives of Chulalongkorn. Indeed, according to Mongkut did not believe in executions, considering them not in line with Buddhism.

However, Western adaptations have been more than ready to depict the Thai as “barbarians” or as “foolish” and Anna as the epitome of Western graciousness and, indeed, womanhood. Adding romantic interest to the story, showing Mongkut as exceedingly admiring of Anna and portraying her influence in the court as more than it was, paints Western values and morals as superior to others, justifying colonialism by making it seem as though Eastern countries “need” the West. Of course, Anna and Mongkut never kiss and hardly ever physically show their romantic interest, as to do so would “corrupt” Anna, the white woman, and put someone “lesser than” above her due to gender norms.

The fictionalized versions of this story are not only problematic in how they are written, but also problematic in terms of casting. As of 2014, white men are still being cast as King Mongkut, showing little has changed since Rex Harrison played the role in 1946. When an Asian man is cast, even in film adaptations, it is an actor who is not Thai, playing into the Western myth that all Asians and Asian cultures are the same. Except for Korean-American actress Anna Sanders, who played Anna on Broadway for a total of three performances in two days, the role of Leonowens has exclusively been played by white women, and often portrayed as blonde or redhead, despite the historical figure being part East Indian and having dark hair. This whitewashing is ridiculous, and shows how little white Westerners have changed in their self-righteousness and feelings of entitlement toward other lands and cultures.

All in all, the story of Anna Leonowens teaching at the Siamese court, as it has been told by Western media, remain colonialist and otherwise harmful. Even if Leonowens and Mongkut had a particularly deep and romantic relationship, which they did not, Leonowens’ white savior attitudes and Mongkut’s (historically inaccurate) verbal and physical violence would make that relationship a terribly abusive and volatile one. This would not be the kind of relationship to be valued, making even the most redeeming qualities of these adaptions problematic at best. I am not advocating that Leonowens’ and Mongkut’s stories be silenced and untold, but instead that they be told with honesty. This was a king actively working to keep his country free from colonialism, and this was a woman whose colonialist attitudes — which kept her from interacting well with those who treated her with respect — were probably due to internalized racist biases and fears regarding her East Indian heritage (a heritage she worked hard to hide). This is in fact a story that needs to be told, and hopefully many more (and more accurate) adaptations will be made in the future.

Jackson Adler is a transguy with a BA in Theatre, a Bitch Flicks staff writer, and is a writer, activist, director, teacher, dramaturge, cartoon lover, vegan boba drinker, and proud Gryffindor. His day job is at a theatre (live, not movie), and he uses a pen name as a precaution, since he’d rather not risk getting fired. He is white and middle class, and has to remember his privileges. He is also aromantic bi/pansexual, and has an Auditory Processing Disorder and a Weak Working Memory (which does not excuse when he forgets that he has lots of privileges). You can follow him on twitter at @JacksonAdler, and see more of his writing on representation and discrimination in the media at the blog The Windowsill.

‘Concerning Violence,’ Concerning Ferguson

Chinua Achebe said, “There is that great proverb — that until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.”
Reading Fanon, listening to Malcolm X, watching ‘Concerning Violence’–these are just a few ways to hear the lions. When the hunter listens, though, he sees a lion roaring, jaws open wide to bite and kill. The fear sets in. Oppressive control digs its heels back in.

“We revolt simply because, for many reasons, we can no longer breathe.” – Frantz Fanon

Written by Leigh Kolb.

I saw Concerning Violence six months before Darren Wilson shot Michael Brown. It was six months before white people started wringing their hands to a chorus of “The answer to violence isn’t more violence!” “Look at them destroying property and looting!” “What would Martin Luther King, Jr. say?”

Nine months before the announcement that Darren Wilson was not indicted, white audience members–in Missouri–squirmed in their seat after screening Concerning Violence: “But violence should never be the answer.”

[youtube_sc url=”http://youtu.be/ohoiW9HrXkc”]

Concerning Violence is a remarkable documentary. Directed by Göran Hugo Olsson (The Black Power Mixtape 1967 – 1975), it weaves together archival footage of African colonization and anti-colonial liberation revolts from the 1960s – 1980s with the words of Frantz Fanon‘s The Wretched of the Earth (1961). The text–read by Lauryn Hill–often appears on screen as she narrates. Technically, the documentary is brilliant. It’s almost as if we cannot feel the director’s presence, because the power of the archival footage and Fanon’s language is woven together so powerfully and without any added commentary (nor does there need to be). Instead, we are assaulted with a perspective we never feel: that of the colonized-as-heroes, by any means necessary.

The stunning, disturbing footage is presented in such a way that we must realize how pertinent it is to America in 2014. The film opens with images of armed men in helicopters shooting and killing a field full of cattle. As Keith Uhlich describes at A.V. Club:

“One animal takes a particularly long time to die, and, with each bullet that doesn’t kill it, convulses in what can only be described, anthropomorphically, as pure fear. The more horrifying implication is that there’s no true word for what the beast is going through, and it’s impossible, by the end of the scene, to not imagine a human being in the same terrible situation.”

From far away, a literal and figurative position hundreds of feet higher than those on the ground, these powerful colonizing forces shoot with savage impunity. The privilege and power are palpable, and this sets the stage for the rest of the film (or, more accurately, for our history). Colonize, control, instill fear, kill, in perpetuity.

Missionaries in Tanzania, watching Tanzanians dig a site to build a church. They say that maybe after the church, they’ll build schools and hospitals.

I can’t stress this enough: watch this film, and research the various “anti-imperialistic self-defense” histories that you likely never learned about in school.

What is overwhelming to me is the complete cognitive dissonance in white Americans decrying violent revolution. The same utterance of “violence is never the answer!” about protests contrasts with celebrating American history. This isn’t a new dichotomy, of course. In “The Ballot or the Bullet,” Malcolm X said,

“When this country here was first being founded, there were thirteen colonies. The whites were colonized. They were fed up with this taxation without representation. So some of them stood up and said, ‘Liberty or death!’ I went to a white school over here in Mason, Michigan. The white man made the mistake of letting me read his history books. He made the mistake of teaching me that Patrick Henry was a patriot, and George Washington – wasn’t nothing non-violent about ol’ Pat, or George Washington. ‘Liberty or death’ is was what brought about the freedom of whites in this country from the English.”

The word “or” is important here. Just as the American Revolution we celebrate with fireworks (even though there was plenty of looting and a high death toll) was built upon this notion of “liberty or death,” so also are calls to anti-colonial violence in self-defense.

“If you do not liberate us, we must liberate ourselves.” How is this not logical? And if the historical precedence of “liberation” is through violent means, how can we, with a straight face, say that the answer to violence is not more violence? It’s always been white America’s answer.

In the Mozambique Liberation Front (FRELIMO), founded in 1962, men and women fight as equals.

When we learn about Nat Turner and Malcolm X in school (if we do), it’s in hushed tones. That‘s not the way to get freedom (if you are African American, at least). We know that we receive our history, literature, and film primary from one voice: the white male. Chinua Achebe said, “There is that great proverb — that until the lions have their own historians, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.”

Reading Fanon, listening to Malcolm X, watching Concerning Violence–these are just a few ways to hear the lions. When the hunter listens, though, he sees a lion roaring, jaws open wide to bite and kill. The fear sets in. Oppressive control digs its heels back in.

One of the aspects of Concerning Violence‘s archival footage that makes it powerful is that so much of it is in color. We tend to think that the fiercest acts of colonialism and imperialism happened long ago and far away. It’s so important to see a world that looks like our world now, with the weapons and machinery of modernity that colonize now, not 100 years ago. Concerning Violence is historical, but it’s not history. It forces us to be uncomfortable with the world we’re living in, which is the first step to changing it.

Violence is presented as the or. Instead of desiring or justifying violence from the oppressor or the oppressed, we need to consider changing the structure. If people riot and respond to oppression with violence, how can we think that’s unheard of, uncalled for, or without historical precedent? If we do react that way, then we need to drastically change how we teach and understand our own history. If violent revolution is abhorrent, make that clear–even when white men do it.

From the Al Jazeera review of Concerning Violence:

“In her spoken preface to Concerning Violence, renowned Columbia University professor Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak explains that in ‘reading between the lines’ of The Wretched of the Earth, one sees that Fanon does not in fact endorse violence but rather ‘insists that the tragedy is that the very poor is reduced to violence, because there is no other response possible to an absolute absence of response and an absolute exercise of legitimised violence from the colonisers’. Spivak goes on to make a telling comparison regarding the earth’s ‘wretched’: ‘Their lives count as nothing against the death of the colonisers: unacknowledged Hiroshimas against sentimentalised 9/11s.'”

Violence is the or. If the oppressed, the colonized, are not treated as human beings, and are subjected to institutional racism and injustice, thinkers such as Fanon and Malcolm X see the or as revolutionary self-defense. This kind of violence is part of a long history of the oppressed overcoming oppression. That’s why it’s so terrifying to colonial powers and their rhetoric is censored, shut down, and shrouded in fear.

Perhaps that is what is most frightening to those who focus on how abhorrent rioting in the face of injustice and brutality is: they know, deep down, that rioting makes sense. White Americans know–consciously or subconsciously–that Black Americans have reason to respond to violence from the “colonizers.” And that is a terrifying reality.

In Ferguson and the protests that have swept the nation, small pockets of violent and destructive reactions have occurred–almost never by the organized protesters themselves. Even so, one image on the news media of a burned business or vehicle makes many white Americans shut down and refuse to see any legitimacy in wider protests.

White Americans, at the very least, can strive to understand why–in a world bought and won by violence–an oppressed group might see violence as self-defense and justifiable. This is not to encourage violence, to desire violence, or to act violently. This is to pause, take a step back, and just for a moment, listen to the lions. Listen to them roar.

Two of the most prominent messages during the protests against police brutality and inequality in Ferguson and elsewhere have been “Black Lives Matter” and “I/We Can’t Breathe” (after Eric Garner’s final words). These sentiments, and the response from both the judicial system and many white Americans, bear a chilling resemblance to the words Fanon wrote about colonialism.

See also:

“Ferguson: In Defense of Rioting,” by Darlena Cunha at TIME; “If Assata is a terrorist, then Timothy Loehman, Daniel Pantaleo, & Sean Williams are terrorists,” by Shaun King at Daily Kos; “When Are Violent Protests Justified?” by Taylor Adams at The New York Times

Review: ‘Concerning Violence’ Visualizes Frantz Fanon’s ‘Wretched of the Earth’, by Zeba Blay at Shadow and Act; ‘Concerning Violence’: Fanon lives on, by Belen Fernandez at Al Jazeera; “Film of the week: Concerning Violence,” by Ashley Clark at BFI; “Living at the Movies: Concerning Violence,” by Jeremy Martin at Good; What’s Happening Now in Ferguson and ‘The Black Power Mixtape 1967-1975,’ by Ren Jender at Bitch Flicks

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature, and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.

Women in Politics Week: "The Women of Qumar": Feminism and Imperialism in ‘The West Wing’

CJ Cregg (Allison Janney) in The West Wing

Guest post written by Pauline Holdsworth.

CJ: They beat women, Nancy. They hate women. The only reason they keep Qumari women alive is to make more Qumari men.

Nancy: What do you want me to do?

CJ: How about suggesting that we sell the guns at them, suggesting that we shoot the guns at them? And by the way, not to change the subject, but how are we supposed to have any moral credibility when we talk about gun control and making sure that guns don’t get into the hands of the wrong people? God, Nancy, what the hell are we defining as the right people?

Nancy: This is the real world, and we can’t isolate our enemies.

CJ: I know about the real world, and I’m not suggesting we isolate them.

Nancy: You’re suggesting we eliminate them.

CJ: I have a briefing.

Nancy: You’re suggesting –

CJ: I’m not suggesting anything. I don’t suggest foreign policy around here.
Nancy: You’re suggesting it right now.

CJ: It’s the 21st century, Nancy, the world’s gotten smaller. I don’t know how we can tolerate this kind of suffering anymore, particularly when all it does is continue the cycle of anti-American hatred. But that’s not the point either.

Nancy: What’s the point?

CJ: The point is that apartheid was an East Hampton clambake compared to what we laughingly refer to as the life these women lead. And if we had sold M1A1s to South Africa 15 years ago, you’d have set the building on fire. Thank God we never needed to refuel at Johannesburg.

Nancy: It’s a big world, CJ. And everybody has guns. And I’m doing the best I can.

CJ: (tearfully) They’re beating the women, Nancy. — “The Women of Qumar,” Season 3, Episode 9, The West Wing

“The Women of Qumar” originally aired on November 28th, 2001, approximately two months after the first American airstrikes in Afghanistan. That timing is crucial to consider when looking at how this episode presents an imagined Middle East. Though The West Wing is often billed as optimistic counter-history and as an antidote for the policies and politics of the Bush administration, the show’s Qumari plot line is much more of a fictional transcription of current events than it is a progressive alternative. Most importantly, in creating Qumar as a fictional country meant to evoke the worst American fears and prejudices about life in the Middle East, Aaron Sorkin effectively packages and sells many of the motivations behind the current war in Afghanistan in the guise of progressive entertainment.

Nancy McNally (Anna Deavere Smith) CJ Cregg (Allison Janney) in The West Wing

A kind of “I speak for all women” conviction is displayed by Press Secretary C.J. Cregg in this episode, whose conversation with National Security Advisor Nancy McNally (Anna Deavere Smith) suggests her belief that all other female members of the administration share her perspective. Her suggestion that all-out militarism is an appropriate reaction to the gender-based oppression experienced by the women of Qumar is troubling on several levels. First, it contributes to a “savior” narrative which glosses over the very real existence of gender-based violence and oppression in North America and paints Middle-Easterners as explicitly violent, backwards, and misogynistic. Second, since Qumar is a fictional amalgamation of various imagined versions of Islamic countries in the Middle East, it’s implicit in C.J.’s argument that Islam is a chief factor in these women’s oppression — a loaded assertion which makes troubling assumptions about the experiences of Islamic women, particularly with regards to personal agency and faith.

It’s also worth noting how convinced C.J. is that the United States will one day be at war with Qumar. “This isn’t the point, but we will. Of course we will. Of course we’ll be fighting a war with Qumar one day and you know it,” she tells Nancy. And by the end of the fourth season, the United States and Qumar will be at the brink of military conflict, but it won’t be because America has stepped in to nobly rescue the women of Qumar from their religion and culture — it will be the end result of a series of events set in motion by President Bartlet’s authorization of the extrajudicial assassination of the Qumari defense minister, Abdul Shareef.

“The Women of Qumar” won Allison Janney an Emmy, and contains what is perhaps her most impassioned speech on women’s issues. It’s framed as a look at C.J.’s personal, emotional side and seems largely intended as character development — but as the Qumari plot line becomes more and more important throughout the next two seasons, C.J.’s initial framing of the issues becomes more integral to the show’s moral stance on militarism and foreign policy. Her outbursts in this episode seem intended to garner emotional support and lend legitimacy to the Bartlet administration’s foreign policy, which tends to favor intervention and unilateral strikes and which often betrays a belief in the inherent moral superiority of the United States as a kind of self-appointed global police. Rather than presenting C.J.’s perspective as a morally ambiguous mobilization of feminist rhetoric in the service of imperialism and militarism abroad, her speech in this episode is glorified as a noteworthy example of her personal feminist politics.

In “Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourse,” Chandra Talpade Mohanty writes, “I would like to suggest that the feminist writings I analyze here discursively colonize the material and historical heterogeneities of the lives of women in the third world, thereby producing/re-presenting a composite, singular “Third World Woman” — an image which appears arbitrarily constructed, but nevertheless carries with it the authorizing signature of Western humanist discourse.” In “The Women of Qumar,” this amalgamating force is literally employed as a plot device, one which creates an archetypal Third World Woman and then invents an amalgamated nation around her.

One of the most troubling moments in C. J.’s conversation with Nancy is her statement, “Apartheid was an East Hampton clambake compared to what we laughingly refer to as the life these women lead” – a statement that paints this amalgamated, fictional country (which refers back to viewers’ hazy imaginings of the Middle East as a whole) as a region so backwards, so violent, and so primitive that no women’s life there could possibly be worth living. In addition to erasing the diversity of Middle Eastern women’s experiences, C.J.’s words here suggest that she considers herself, as a white feminist, to be an authority on deciding whether or not the lives of racialized women are “real” lives. Given that many of these women would experience drastically increased violence and displacement as a result of an American investigation, her implicit suggestion here that the current “worth” of the lives of the women of Qumar is something for Americans to decide and for Americans to wager with is particularly problematic.

The Middle East appears so frequently in popular culture as a simplistic amalgamation of stereotypes that the practice has earned a name on TV Tropes. The site writes that this trope, “Qurac”, has three main iterations — an Arabian Nights version, a version featuring a tin-pot dictator, and “Jihadistan”. In all three, Middle Easterners are depicted as fanatical, violent, and greedy. The West Wing employs this practice again by inventing “Equatorial Kundu,” a “generic” African country experiencing civil war. In both cases, the insertion of fictional countries into real-world geography allows the writers to include what they consider to be “typical” Middle Eastern and African storylines, without being held accountable for perpetuating harmful stereotypes by any one real-world country or government.

CJ Cregg (Allison Janney) in The West Wing

The use of mainstream feminist rhetoric to justify and legitimize war hits painfully close to home, since The West Wing’s Qumari plot line was airing alongside the mobilization of this rhetoric in real time to advocate for an American presence in the Middle East. This rhetoric, which framed the war as an effort to liberate Middle Eastern women from the oppression of veil and Taliban alike, continues to thrive today — in the third presidential debate, both President Obama and Governor Romney displayed more enthusiasm for women’s issues when they fit into a narrative of militarism abroad than when they tied in to domestic issues. It’s worth noting that when asked directly about the gender pay gap and other women’s issues in the second debate, both candidates shied away from the question to refocus their energies on the economy — but though no questions about women’s issues were raised during the foreign policy debate, both were happy to offer unsolicited analysis of the U.S.’s responsibility to “protect” women’s rights abroad via drone strikes and continued American presence.

In the political context in which these episodes aired, the mobilization of imperialist feminism is not just a monolithic and over-simplified representation of feminist politics, but also a troubling repackaging of war in an otherwise-progressive show.

More broadly, Aaron Sorkin has been criticized throughout his career for his tendency to “[create] one-dimensional female characters in male-dominated settings,” as Ruth Spencer wrote in The Guardian. Though The West Wing brought us Allison Janney’s fantastic portrayal of C. J. Cregg, it’s also rife with women who waver between being genuinely-realized characters and caricatures of strong women in politics — for example, Amy Gardner and Abigail Bartlet. When it comes to representing feminist politics, The West Wing tends to funnel women’s issues through one character and one character only in any given episode — and given that character is more often than not Amy Gardner, the show’s representation of feminist advocacy in politics becomes limited.

In addition to C. J.’s speech, “The Women of Qumar” is also notable for the introduction of Amy Gardner, played by Mary-Louise Parker, who would frequently act as the face of the show’s feminism throughout the rest of its run. When Amy is introduced, she’s arguing with Josh about legalizing sex work, a conversation in which she dismisses Josh’s concerns about “creat[ing] more criminals in a criminal environment” and disregards questions of women’s ability to unionize, access social services, health care benefits, and exert a degree of control and regulation within their industry. Amy often seems to be convinced that she speaks for American women as a whole and knows what’s best for them, a conviction which is rarely problematized by a show which by and large neglects to present contrasting feminisms or delve into any women’s concerns beyond the discourse of white mainstream feminism. Though she and Josh often fight over women’s issues, their conversations more often devolve into flirting than they do into substantive engagement with the issues at hand. In “The Women of Qumar,” Josh’s suggestion that her desire to police sex work is at odds with a belief that the government should stay away from women’s bodies is a compelling and worthwhile discussion, but one which is, disappointingly, left to fall by the wayside in favor of their interpersonal chemistry.

The issues raised here point to a larger issue with the way feminist politics are represented in the show — a tendency to engage with feminism on a surface level and a failure to adequately inhabit its complexities and contradictions. And by privileging a certain brand of white mainstream feminism and by failing to place that feminism in any sort of critical context, The West Wing’s foray into political feminism is, for the most part, a missed opportunity.

——

Pauline Holdsworth is a fourth-year English student at the University of Toronto, where she is the Editor-in-Chief of The Strand. She also covers women’s issues for Campus Progress. You can follow her on Twitter at @holdswo.