Environmental Justice and Paradigms of Survival: Unearthing Toxic Entanglements through Ecofeminist Visions and Indigenous Thought A dissertation submitted to the Graduate School at the University of Cincinnati in partial fulfillment of the requirements of the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Department of English and Comparative Literatures of the College of Arts & Sciences by Julie Berthoud-Jury July 1, 2014 B.A. English—Englisches Seminar, Universität Tübingen/Louisiana State University (2006) M.A. Comparative Literature—Interdepartmental Program in Comparative Literature, Louisiana State University (2010) Committee Chair: Myriam J. A. Chancy, PhD Abstract Women’s and Indigenous contributions and approaches to mitigating eco-devastation have long played a minor role in literary studies and beyond, thus I introduce the term “ecomentaries” to describe those visual, written, symbolic, and metaphorical texts engaged with the documentation of environmental injustices. I argue that the unearthing and scrutiny of toxic entanglements in ecomentaries, particularly those conceptualized by minority women writers and activists, provide a key method through which to untangle or deconstruct norms of imperial colonization, while promoting ethical treatment of the natural world. Through the analysis of three key sites of consternation and resistance—(un)tangled legacies connecting water as lifeline and commodity between Sarah Baartman and Michiko Ishimure’s Lake of Heaven , (un)tangled bodies and species justice in Ruth Ozeki’s My Year of Meats , and (un)tangled places in the struggle for Indigenous land rights by the Mirarr Aboriginal people of Australia’s Northern Territory—this dissertation uncovers the relevance of Indigenous thought to humanist and ecofeminist projects in cultural studies. ii Copyright © Julie Berthoud-Jury, 2014 iii Acknowledgements Writing this dissertation would not have been possible without the infinite support and encouragement of Myriam J. A. Chancy, who never fails to amaze me with her brilliant mind, intellectual curiosity, and generous spirit. Her tireless effort, commitment, and understanding have made this endeavor possible. Professors Marion Rohrleitner and Jennifer Glaser always posed helpful and challenging questions, and offered wonderful feedback and support at various points in the writing process. I would like to thank the Comparative Literature Program at Louisiana State University for its supportive environment; these thanks are especially extended to Greg Stone and Jeff Humphries. Thank you to Jane Chandler and Melissa Brocato for support, advice, and employment. I would also like to thank the Department of English for its important role in my success at LSU. My particular thanks to Solimar Otero, Irvin Peckham, John May, WGSGO, and the German Program, especially John Pizer and Thomas DiNapoli. At University of Cincinnati, I am indebted to the Department of English and Comparative Literature, the Taft Center for Research, and the Graduate Summer Mentoring program. Special thanks extend to Mary Benedetti, Joyce Malek, Devore Nixon, Adrian Parr, Stu Watts at Universität Tübingen, Kim Foster, and Kim Heindel. A project like this cannot possibly be completed without many friends standing in the wings and offering support. I would like to thank brilliant energizers and great friends who are dear to my heart, Tam Le and Bobby Dupree, Kate Polak, Rebecca Hügler, Stacy and Doug Ennis, and Jeremy Märtig. I am grateful to Milton Romero, Bibi Reisdorf, Marie Büsch, Kilian Kleemann, Louise Head, Mame Fatou Niang and JB, Garret Cummins, and Lisa Weiss. I cannot thank my loving parents enough. I am grateful to my mom, Ingeborg, my dad, Hans- Rudolf, my amazing sister, Michelle, and my extended family, Erna, Michael, Horst, and Erich, whose commitment to me both in this project and in life has been nothing but unconditional. A heartfelt thank you to Janet and Tim, and my brothers, Tyler, Alex, and Michael. Laurel Patterson, thank you for always being there. To my best friends Bay and Mini, to June, Nola, Riley, Mikhail, and Bear, who are my family, my inspiration, and so much more, and who are present in all of the ensuing pages. You remind me to take breaks, to persevere, to snuggle, and to play. Finally, my deepest gratitude goes to Eric. He has supported me in every possible way and has worn many hats throughout this process: consultant and critic, coach and caretaker. I thank him with all my heart for being a true partner and cannot wait for our next adventure together! This thesis is dedicated to my mother, Ingeborg, and women everywhere who with uncompromised compassion are creating a more just world. And to Bay, who graciously reminds me every day that animals are the gentler souls treading this earth, and that knowledge comes in many forms. A dog can never tell you what she knows from the smells of the world, but you know, watching her, that you know almost nothing… — Mary Oliver iv Table of Contents Dissertation Abstract ii Acknowledgements iv Introduction 1 Chapter One Framing Theories of Toxic Entanglements: The Ecofeminist 32 Paradigm of Survival, Environmental Violence, and Indigenous/ Posthumanist Directions Chapter Two (Un)Tangled Legacies: Politics of Common Access, 86 Sarah Baartman, and Restoration in Michiko Ishimure’s Lake of Heaven Chapter Three (Un)Tangled Bodies: Transnational Mediascapes, 160 Environmental Justice, and the Consumption of ‘Meats’ in Ruth Ozeki’s My Year of Meats Chapter Four (Un)Tangled Places: Mapping Mirrar Resistance through 207 Ecocide, Indigenous Methods, and Alternative Media Interventions Conclusion 253 Works Cited 265 v INTRODUCTION It’s not politicians or Chiefs who will make change in our communities—it is the artists. — Maria Campbell We need new stories, new terms and conditions that are relevant to the love of land, a new narrative that would imagine another way. —Linda Hogan, Dwellings Recently, in September 2013, after a violent fall storm, I took my blue-merle border collie, Bay, out for a walk on the Ohio River Trail near Cincinnati, in the US Midwest. Off the trail, on the banks of the Little Miami River, we stumbled upon an array of crushed, sun-bleached beer and soda cans, broken glass shimmering emerald green in puddles of faint autumn sunlight, and frayed plastic bags and bottles muddied by the storm waters. The bags were entangled in the nearby brushes, agitatedly rustling in the cool northern winds. Long-lasting refuse is not a new phenomenon and is all too familiar to stir public outcry in this corner of the world, where an unregulated, laissez-faire approach dominates public perception. After repeatedly noticing an oily shimmer on the water’s surface collecting in the small rock pools on the beach last year, I decided to no longer let Bay do what she perhaps enjoys most on our walks—swim in the river. This experience led me to wonder, why is there no public outrage about river pollution? How did pollution become so normalized in the United States? Is this a new way of restricting and controlling human interactions with nature, and if so, to whose benefit? What makes people conscious of and sensitive to environmental concerns? And finally, what does this kind of eco-consciousness teach us about ourselves and our environment? These are some of the preliminary questions I had as I embarked on this critical research journey. The purpose of the brief vignette is twofold: first, as introduction, I provide information about my 1 relationship to the place or “geographical space” (Basso 107) from which I am speaking as a non-Indigenous scholar writing about environmental degradation. I not only situate myself in the land and my cultural knowledge about the land, but I also provide my perceptions about the condition of my local environment. Second, the vignette reflects the effects of a changing environment: how the risks of environmental pollution are impacting and restricting everyday life and how toxic eco-devastation has become normalized and even internalized in various geographies. I provide this information to reflect an Indigenous critical practice of framing the discourse in concert with Indigenous beliefs that are organically interwoven throughout my larger study. Margaret Kovach notes in Indigenous Methodologies (2009) how she was introduced to the concept of employing a prologue within Indigenous research by Maori scholar, Graham Smith. “Within Indigenous writing,” she suggests, “a prologue structures space for introductions while serving a bridging function for non-Indigenous readers” (3). This decolonizing methodology of using personal narrative alongside a critical reflexive lens deeply echoes feminist practice and methodology. It calls for understanding one’s own active role as scholar in the research process in ways that do not reinscribe interests of the privileged through unpacking intersections of identities and interrogating one’s own investment. Thus, both “awareness of the self in creating knowledge” (Kovach 33) and the responsibility to produce and promote inclusive methods sensitive to the power relations in research and fieldwork are contiguous feminist and Indigenous practices that assist in creating transparency, exposing bias, and helping produce respectful knowledge across multiple divides (of power, geopolitical and institutional locations, axis of difference, etc.). Specifically, Trinh T. Minh-ha’s personal and exploratory narrative writing, which works to destabilize and challenge hegemonies and to encourage