The Handmaid's Tale: Perpetuating Racial Ignorance and Exclusive Feminism in America
Jacinda Lee
In The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood alludes to several historical—primarily feminist—movements and events as she paints the story of Offred the Handmaid. The central narrative of the novel is set within the perspective of the narrator, Offred, who faces oppression as a woman with reproductive capability within Gilead. One peculiar aspect of the novel is its disconcerting, and seemingly deliberate, avoidance of the intersection between race and sexism. There is little to no mention of race within the story, and the instances where it is referenced are disturbing, to say the least. Through Offred’s reaction to these scenes, such as the news reporting on the “Children of Ham” and her experience at the Jezebel’s club, it seems that Offred is a white woman, and that similarly most of those around her are not people of color. Subsequently, allusions to the historical experiences of Black people, specifically Black women, come off as misplaced and tasteless. Even if Offred’s character is excusable for her ignorance about her surroundings since her view of the world is actively limited by Gilead's surveillance, it is hard to look past the fact that she remains complicit and unaware of her privilege pre-Gilead. Definitively, the same excuse does not apply to Atwood as author. The lack of attention toward addressing intersectionality within oppression suggests that perhaps Gilead has evolved into a post-racial world. Yet specific details and scenes within the novel suggest that the narration is instead racially ignorant. How do we approach this context where it seems that Black people, and specifically Black women, are removed from the narrative in order to centralize the story on the perspective of a white woman while also heavily coopting the historical experiences of Black women? To draw upon the experiences of oppression faced by Black women, a group heavily marginalized even today, 35 years after the novel was written, and then to universalize a certain experience of a traditionally privileged group is dangerous. It is important for readers to acknowledge that these references and details are misplaced, and that Atwood is creating an example of the exact sentiments she warns us of. By crafting a story where the experiences of Black women, specifically those of persecution and prejudice, are not addressed in context but perceived from a white woman’s perspective in a surrealist, dystopian fiction, Atwood distances the reader from the reality of Black women’s experiences in the United States. In examining the ways stereotypes and details about Black women in the U.S. are incorporated into the novel, it becomes apparent that these references serve to be more exploitative than constructive.
As a preface, the failure to thematize or interrogate race effectively in the novel separates the U.S. from its history of racism, and specifically of white supremacy, thus rendering the narrative far less plausible. The setup for this dystopian novel is centered on a loss of reproductive rights and agency for fertile women in a society brought on by a climate disaster. However, this experience is apparently exclusive to the plummeting Caucasian birth rates. The perimeter of the novel is set around an experience particular to the perspective of white women before it begins to delve into a critical commentary on themes within gender roles, sexuality, politics, misogyny, and religion. Normally, it could be argued that there is no particular obligation for a work of speculative fiction to uphold a faithful representation for its setting, which would include acknowledging the U.S.’s colonial past and present in this case, but this excuse is undermined by the fact that Atwood has been adamant about the true-to-life historical precedent for all of the events in the novel. The author’s choice to end the discussion at race illustrate the “limits of liberal inclusivity” (Crawley 344); her choice to deliberately leave out themes of race and racism, coupled with the use of historical oppression specific to enslaved Black women being indiscriminately applied to white women, plays into an incomplete, exclusive feminism.
Throughout the novel, the specific historical oppression experienced by enslaved Black women, as well as the stereotypes faced by Black women in the U.S. today, is reflected in Offred’s experience and surroundings. Examples of such experiences include the limiting of individual expression and thought through forced illiteracy, a lack of reproductive autonomy, and sometimes forced sterilization as a practice of eugenics as seen with the “Unwomen” (Atwood 61). Additionally, slaves had to take their slave master’s name, similar to the process of naming children that the Handmaids give birth to and to the detail that the Handmaids are referred to as “of” their Commander’s name. The child is also separated from the Handmaid once she is relieved of her “nursing duties,” paralleling the separation of families that was a common practice during the slave trade. Critic Priya Nair observes that “by taking the specific oppression of enslaved Black women and applying them uncritically to white women, The Handmaid’s Tale ignores the historical realities of an American dystopia founded on anti-Black violence” (Nair). This comment ties back to the idea that by erasing the influence of white supremacy and colonization, Atwood’s dystopia obscures and ignores the ways in which these forces are foundational to American society.
In a similar article, Danita Dodson notes that the “Gileadean regime has continued the traditional Puritanical treatment of cultural and racial Others: obliteration of that which is different” (Dodson 73). From the beginning of the novel to the epilogue at the Gileadean Symposium, the histories of people of color have been cast aside and disregarded. Their tales have been silenced, and yet Atwood continues to draw upon their experiences; her one-line allusions to white supremacy and bigotry do not suffice to justify this choice in narrative. Atwood scatters a few biblical allusions that seemingly see no follow up or engagement with the novel—allusions that call for criticism in historically having been weaponized to justify violence, abuse, and the dehumanization of Black people and Black women.
One such allusion made in this novel occurs in “Chapter XII: Jezebel’s” (Atwood 197). Jezebel is a reference to Queen Jezebel in the Book of Genesis who implies no explicit sensuality but is known for her undue influence over her male partner. However, the historical interpretation of this Bible story has created a lasting, detrimental stereotype against Black women. Employed as a negative stereotype, the term Jezebel refers to the Black woman as a seductress, sexually indiscriminate and erotically manipulative of men. Incorporating this allusion into her story, so much as to title a whole chapter after it, would imply that Atwood is aware of its historical context and interpretations. To include this stereotype—knowing that it was and still is actively threatening the safety of and marginalizing a group of people—without proper critique is irresponsible and damaging.
In the antebellum period, the myth of the Black Jezebel provided an excuse for white owners to abuse their female slaves, continuing into the century that followed as domestic and childcare workers fell victim to the same exploitation. Coupled with rampant white supremacy within the legal system, African American women were heavily discouraged to seek legal recourse against their attacks and so the exploitation only continued. In her article on representations of African American women in the news, Marian Meyers lends a critical lens to the dangers of media representation in a society where ideologies consistent with white and male supremacy are institutionalized. This particular critique is centered on the detrimental stereotype of Black women in the news, an example being the “oversexed-black-Jezebel,” that arose from this convergence of oppressive ideologies (Meyers 97). The media perpetuates the agenda of such forces by presenting “specific images, representations of race, of blackness” (Meyers 97). Meyers points out that racism, poverty, and sexual objectification are consequently normalized and naturalized. As a result, certain serious repercussions, specifically in cases of sexual assault and victim-blaming, stem from this vicious cycle of oppression. This stereotype has seeped into systems of oppression and has been used to justify despicable actions taken against Black women; in viewing these cases through the lens of the oppressor and the Jezebel stereotype, "these accusations of violence and rape were viewed as categorically unfounded” (Beaulieu 474). While we start to see similarities between Offred’s own encounters with systemic oppression, evident in such scenes as when she is objectified by her male doctor and feels powerless to refuse sexual exploitation, it is dangerous to conflate these two experiences as equal. It is also perturbing to know that the name of this exclusive, elusive brothel is named Jezebel. To introduce this stereotype in this fantastical context, during a scene where entertainment for the elite, white Commanders hinges upon the objectification of women, is questionable to say the least.
Another instance in which race is mentioned in passing (in the context of Gilead) occurs within yet another biblical allusion that historically weaponized to justify the exploitation and enslavement of Black people. When Offred is watching the news before the Ceremony, the biblical allusion to the Children of Ham is used by a “reassuring pink face” as he says that the “resettlement of the Children of Ham is continuing on schedule” (Atwood 83). In this scene, the anchorman explains that thousands of people are being shipped over to a different location. It is fair to infer from this biblical reference that the thousands in question are Black people being resettled. Taken from Genesis, the story of Noah and Ham was used in the 18th and 19th centuries as an argument to justify slavery. On the other hand, the “reassuring pink face” represents the white population that Offred and those around her belong to, reminding the reader that the novel is about a disaster that has selectively been focused on the Caucasian community in the U.S. (Atwood 83). This depiction is followed by Offred’s comment about why Black people are being shipped off to National Homeland One: “Lord knows what they’re supposed to do there. Farm, is the theory” (84). This entire visual is eerily similar to the domestic slave trade that would reallocate slaves across states during the antebellum period. However, Offred’s response perpetuates the dangers of ignorance. This distance that she places between herself and those afflicted demonstrates the complicity of those who passively live alongside the atrocities of colonialism. Depicting people of color literally being deported and colonized under the Gilead’s regime implies that racist undertones and discrimination based on race still exist within the Gilead, confirming that this world Atwood creates is not the post-racial society she makes it out to be, and instead one that continues to be ignorant of race and intersectionality.
With no further comment on the situation, “Serena Joy had enough of the news,” and clicks the button to change the station, underscoring her apathy toward the displacement of Black people living under Gilead (Atwood 84). A subtle detail also entails that the location of “National Homeland One” in the Midwest is where the “Colonies” are built (Atwood, 127), the same Colonies that the Handmaids are willing to suffer through their duties for in order to avoid—“that is her reward” (Atwood 127). Even in a world where autonomy is nonexistent, especially for women, we are witnessing distinct disparities between races. It would appear that Atwood’s choice to include this scene in the novel serves one main purpose: to recenter the conversation and discuss themes exclusively in relation to the white, female experience. By conveniently removing Black people and other people of color from the narrative, Atwood reaffirms her commitment to the “racially ignorant” Gilead; she continues to disregard the intersectionality of race, gender, and systemic oppression in the U.S.
What was Atwood attempting to accomplish in relating and deliberately drawing upon the experiences of Black women to project onto the experience of the Handmaids? In consideration of her target audience, perhaps she was trying to generalize this very specific experience for an entirely different group of individuals without considering the sociocultural implications, thus pushing the experiences and agenda of the white, liberal feminist as universal. In a critique of the Hulu adaptation of the novel, Karen Crawley brings a critical lens to the limitations of painting white feminism as universal:
the spectre of historical slavery, in its classed and racialized aspects, hovers in the background of the show to provide a
fantastic space of engagement for its target audience of white liberal feminists, because it allows an affect of detachment--
the only loyalties the audience is being positioned to question are to themselves and other white women. (Crawley 344)
This is the exact sentiment that the novel seems to warn us against; this detachment from the realities of others and ignorance of one’s own privileges is what continues the oppression of marginalized groups in the U.S. In a scene where Offred recalls an interaction with her mother while watching a documentary on the Holocaust, her mother explained to her that the documentary was depicting things that “really happened” (Atwood 144). To Offred, however, “it was only a story… if it’s only a story it becomes less frightening” (Atwood 144). Offred replicates this process of “othering”issues, only exacerbating the problematic choice to present this narrative of oppression specific to certain marginalized groups from the perspective of a white woman. Beyond being an individual who could never experience these oppressions in the same way, she is—at the very least—shown to play a passive role in perpetuating pernicious stereotypes and colonialist behaviors.
This is similar to the way Atwood presents experiences of African American women. Her novel allows the audience to engage with the plot without having to reflect and relearn, all since it’s “only a story” (Atwood 144). This “story” is now being read by that target audience without their understanding that these experiences of violence and oppression have existed against Black women for centuries, simply unnoticed by a system constructed by white supremacists alongside the patriarchy. Crawley responds to the implications of the novel by claiming, “The Handmaid’s Tale is in part problematic, because of the audience it presupposes and constitutes: a [white] feminist audience that can [afford to] ignore white supremacy” (Crawley 345). However, Atwood implies that the experiences, feelings, and contributions associated with the feminist movement can be captured from the perspective of white women, which is not only dangerous but also impossible. By focusing on the experience of white, middle-class women, Atwood fails to address the feminist movement as defined by Black, Indigenous, and other women of color. Since Atwood herself asserts that The Handmaid’s Tale is inspired by “real-life events,” the assumptions made about her writing choices being conscious and deliberate are not far-fetched. This is to say that she, as the “creator of the world” within the novel, drew from historical contexts and highlighted the experiences of oppressed groups without recognizing or voicing their perspectives at all. She did so without recognizing the role of white supremacy within American history and the anti-Black violence this dystopia is ultimately founded upon. If this was a way for the author to spread awareness about specific experiences and traumas, there were opportunities for Atwood to have taken inspiration from Black women’s experiences in a respectful way, such as including and developing characters of color or exploring modern struggles that people of color face. In the situation where neither of these things are accomplished, a reparation would be owed to the Black women whom she, in consuming and profiting off their experiences, is taking from. This notion is otherwise exploitative and cannot be considered a conducive means of “spreading awareness."
It is difficult to overlook the success that this novel has seen: it was a bestseller and adapted into a show that has won 11 Emmy awards, and it has undeniable influence in regard to its themes so pertinent to our current sociopolitical climate. The iconic visuals of the Handmaids’ red cloak and white bonnets have been replicated by protestors resisting state restrictions on reproductive rights and misogyny around the globe, hoping to draw from the resonance of the popular contemporary story. "The Handmaid’s Tale is politically dangerous in the opposite effect that it purports to be political” (Crawley 346), precisely because as a critique of oppression it encourages passivity. While its main function as a novel of speculative fiction is to engage its audience in certain, often difficult, conversations, it simultaneously excuses the audience from having to examine the overlapping connections between white supremacy, the patriarchy, and racial injustice.
Ultimately, the novel’s explicit spotlight on gender, sexuality, and resistance at the expense of race, politics, and history invites readers to turn a blind eye to a constitution founded on anti-Blackness by means of contemporary, liberal systems of legal subjectivity and state authority. It is apparent that even under the guise of empowering women, exploring sexuality, and mobilizing resistance, the audience is still trapped under the blanket of white supremacy. The novel's post-racial aesthetic precludes it from confronting this conversation and justifies inaction in addressing the intersectionality beneath its narrative. Further, it allows the novel to erase an interrogation of white supremacy as a logical part of any post-apocalyptic scenario in the context of the U.S. With these issues being embraced by popular culture when presented from the perspective of a white woman, it is almost as if the trauma of a marginalized group is now being sensationalized to white women, an audience that today can afford to ignore the fact that this dystopia would have been founded on anti-Black violence and white supremacy. This only fosters distance between the book's target audience (white, liberal feminists) and anyone whom the novel finds no loyalties to. Before long, those uncritical of the novel’s flaws will merely perpetuate the ideologies that the dystopian novel, ironically intended as a critique of oppression, has warned us against. Without considering the foundations of these systems of oppression, it will be impossible for some to notice that we stand amidst our own "American dystopia."
Works Cited
As a preface, the failure to thematize or interrogate race effectively in the novel separates the U.S. from its history of racism, and specifically of white supremacy, thus rendering the narrative far less plausible. The setup for this dystopian novel is centered on a loss of reproductive rights and agency for fertile women in a society brought on by a climate disaster. However, this experience is apparently exclusive to the plummeting Caucasian birth rates. The perimeter of the novel is set around an experience particular to the perspective of white women before it begins to delve into a critical commentary on themes within gender roles, sexuality, politics, misogyny, and religion. Normally, it could be argued that there is no particular obligation for a work of speculative fiction to uphold a faithful representation for its setting, which would include acknowledging the U.S.’s colonial past and present in this case, but this excuse is undermined by the fact that Atwood has been adamant about the true-to-life historical precedent for all of the events in the novel. The author’s choice to end the discussion at race illustrate the “limits of liberal inclusivity” (Crawley 344); her choice to deliberately leave out themes of race and racism, coupled with the use of historical oppression specific to enslaved Black women being indiscriminately applied to white women, plays into an incomplete, exclusive feminism.
Throughout the novel, the specific historical oppression experienced by enslaved Black women, as well as the stereotypes faced by Black women in the U.S. today, is reflected in Offred’s experience and surroundings. Examples of such experiences include the limiting of individual expression and thought through forced illiteracy, a lack of reproductive autonomy, and sometimes forced sterilization as a practice of eugenics as seen with the “Unwomen” (Atwood 61). Additionally, slaves had to take their slave master’s name, similar to the process of naming children that the Handmaids give birth to and to the detail that the Handmaids are referred to as “of” their Commander’s name. The child is also separated from the Handmaid once she is relieved of her “nursing duties,” paralleling the separation of families that was a common practice during the slave trade. Critic Priya Nair observes that “by taking the specific oppression of enslaved Black women and applying them uncritically to white women, The Handmaid’s Tale ignores the historical realities of an American dystopia founded on anti-Black violence” (Nair). This comment ties back to the idea that by erasing the influence of white supremacy and colonization, Atwood’s dystopia obscures and ignores the ways in which these forces are foundational to American society.
In a similar article, Danita Dodson notes that the “Gileadean regime has continued the traditional Puritanical treatment of cultural and racial Others: obliteration of that which is different” (Dodson 73). From the beginning of the novel to the epilogue at the Gileadean Symposium, the histories of people of color have been cast aside and disregarded. Their tales have been silenced, and yet Atwood continues to draw upon their experiences; her one-line allusions to white supremacy and bigotry do not suffice to justify this choice in narrative. Atwood scatters a few biblical allusions that seemingly see no follow up or engagement with the novel—allusions that call for criticism in historically having been weaponized to justify violence, abuse, and the dehumanization of Black people and Black women.
One such allusion made in this novel occurs in “Chapter XII: Jezebel’s” (Atwood 197). Jezebel is a reference to Queen Jezebel in the Book of Genesis who implies no explicit sensuality but is known for her undue influence over her male partner. However, the historical interpretation of this Bible story has created a lasting, detrimental stereotype against Black women. Employed as a negative stereotype, the term Jezebel refers to the Black woman as a seductress, sexually indiscriminate and erotically manipulative of men. Incorporating this allusion into her story, so much as to title a whole chapter after it, would imply that Atwood is aware of its historical context and interpretations. To include this stereotype—knowing that it was and still is actively threatening the safety of and marginalizing a group of people—without proper critique is irresponsible and damaging.
In the antebellum period, the myth of the Black Jezebel provided an excuse for white owners to abuse their female slaves, continuing into the century that followed as domestic and childcare workers fell victim to the same exploitation. Coupled with rampant white supremacy within the legal system, African American women were heavily discouraged to seek legal recourse against their attacks and so the exploitation only continued. In her article on representations of African American women in the news, Marian Meyers lends a critical lens to the dangers of media representation in a society where ideologies consistent with white and male supremacy are institutionalized. This particular critique is centered on the detrimental stereotype of Black women in the news, an example being the “oversexed-black-Jezebel,” that arose from this convergence of oppressive ideologies (Meyers 97). The media perpetuates the agenda of such forces by presenting “specific images, representations of race, of blackness” (Meyers 97). Meyers points out that racism, poverty, and sexual objectification are consequently normalized and naturalized. As a result, certain serious repercussions, specifically in cases of sexual assault and victim-blaming, stem from this vicious cycle of oppression. This stereotype has seeped into systems of oppression and has been used to justify despicable actions taken against Black women; in viewing these cases through the lens of the oppressor and the Jezebel stereotype, "these accusations of violence and rape were viewed as categorically unfounded” (Beaulieu 474). While we start to see similarities between Offred’s own encounters with systemic oppression, evident in such scenes as when she is objectified by her male doctor and feels powerless to refuse sexual exploitation, it is dangerous to conflate these two experiences as equal. It is also perturbing to know that the name of this exclusive, elusive brothel is named Jezebel. To introduce this stereotype in this fantastical context, during a scene where entertainment for the elite, white Commanders hinges upon the objectification of women, is questionable to say the least.
Another instance in which race is mentioned in passing (in the context of Gilead) occurs within yet another biblical allusion that historically weaponized to justify the exploitation and enslavement of Black people. When Offred is watching the news before the Ceremony, the biblical allusion to the Children of Ham is used by a “reassuring pink face” as he says that the “resettlement of the Children of Ham is continuing on schedule” (Atwood 83). In this scene, the anchorman explains that thousands of people are being shipped over to a different location. It is fair to infer from this biblical reference that the thousands in question are Black people being resettled. Taken from Genesis, the story of Noah and Ham was used in the 18th and 19th centuries as an argument to justify slavery. On the other hand, the “reassuring pink face” represents the white population that Offred and those around her belong to, reminding the reader that the novel is about a disaster that has selectively been focused on the Caucasian community in the U.S. (Atwood 83). This depiction is followed by Offred’s comment about why Black people are being shipped off to National Homeland One: “Lord knows what they’re supposed to do there. Farm, is the theory” (84). This entire visual is eerily similar to the domestic slave trade that would reallocate slaves across states during the antebellum period. However, Offred’s response perpetuates the dangers of ignorance. This distance that she places between herself and those afflicted demonstrates the complicity of those who passively live alongside the atrocities of colonialism. Depicting people of color literally being deported and colonized under the Gilead’s regime implies that racist undertones and discrimination based on race still exist within the Gilead, confirming that this world Atwood creates is not the post-racial society she makes it out to be, and instead one that continues to be ignorant of race and intersectionality.
With no further comment on the situation, “Serena Joy had enough of the news,” and clicks the button to change the station, underscoring her apathy toward the displacement of Black people living under Gilead (Atwood 84). A subtle detail also entails that the location of “National Homeland One” in the Midwest is where the “Colonies” are built (Atwood, 127), the same Colonies that the Handmaids are willing to suffer through their duties for in order to avoid—“that is her reward” (Atwood 127). Even in a world where autonomy is nonexistent, especially for women, we are witnessing distinct disparities between races. It would appear that Atwood’s choice to include this scene in the novel serves one main purpose: to recenter the conversation and discuss themes exclusively in relation to the white, female experience. By conveniently removing Black people and other people of color from the narrative, Atwood reaffirms her commitment to the “racially ignorant” Gilead; she continues to disregard the intersectionality of race, gender, and systemic oppression in the U.S.
What was Atwood attempting to accomplish in relating and deliberately drawing upon the experiences of Black women to project onto the experience of the Handmaids? In consideration of her target audience, perhaps she was trying to generalize this very specific experience for an entirely different group of individuals without considering the sociocultural implications, thus pushing the experiences and agenda of the white, liberal feminist as universal. In a critique of the Hulu adaptation of the novel, Karen Crawley brings a critical lens to the limitations of painting white feminism as universal:
the spectre of historical slavery, in its classed and racialized aspects, hovers in the background of the show to provide a
fantastic space of engagement for its target audience of white liberal feminists, because it allows an affect of detachment--
the only loyalties the audience is being positioned to question are to themselves and other white women. (Crawley 344)
This is the exact sentiment that the novel seems to warn us against; this detachment from the realities of others and ignorance of one’s own privileges is what continues the oppression of marginalized groups in the U.S. In a scene where Offred recalls an interaction with her mother while watching a documentary on the Holocaust, her mother explained to her that the documentary was depicting things that “really happened” (Atwood 144). To Offred, however, “it was only a story… if it’s only a story it becomes less frightening” (Atwood 144). Offred replicates this process of “othering”issues, only exacerbating the problematic choice to present this narrative of oppression specific to certain marginalized groups from the perspective of a white woman. Beyond being an individual who could never experience these oppressions in the same way, she is—at the very least—shown to play a passive role in perpetuating pernicious stereotypes and colonialist behaviors.
This is similar to the way Atwood presents experiences of African American women. Her novel allows the audience to engage with the plot without having to reflect and relearn, all since it’s “only a story” (Atwood 144). This “story” is now being read by that target audience without their understanding that these experiences of violence and oppression have existed against Black women for centuries, simply unnoticed by a system constructed by white supremacists alongside the patriarchy. Crawley responds to the implications of the novel by claiming, “The Handmaid’s Tale is in part problematic, because of the audience it presupposes and constitutes: a [white] feminist audience that can [afford to] ignore white supremacy” (Crawley 345). However, Atwood implies that the experiences, feelings, and contributions associated with the feminist movement can be captured from the perspective of white women, which is not only dangerous but also impossible. By focusing on the experience of white, middle-class women, Atwood fails to address the feminist movement as defined by Black, Indigenous, and other women of color. Since Atwood herself asserts that The Handmaid’s Tale is inspired by “real-life events,” the assumptions made about her writing choices being conscious and deliberate are not far-fetched. This is to say that she, as the “creator of the world” within the novel, drew from historical contexts and highlighted the experiences of oppressed groups without recognizing or voicing their perspectives at all. She did so without recognizing the role of white supremacy within American history and the anti-Black violence this dystopia is ultimately founded upon. If this was a way for the author to spread awareness about specific experiences and traumas, there were opportunities for Atwood to have taken inspiration from Black women’s experiences in a respectful way, such as including and developing characters of color or exploring modern struggles that people of color face. In the situation where neither of these things are accomplished, a reparation would be owed to the Black women whom she, in consuming and profiting off their experiences, is taking from. This notion is otherwise exploitative and cannot be considered a conducive means of “spreading awareness."
It is difficult to overlook the success that this novel has seen: it was a bestseller and adapted into a show that has won 11 Emmy awards, and it has undeniable influence in regard to its themes so pertinent to our current sociopolitical climate. The iconic visuals of the Handmaids’ red cloak and white bonnets have been replicated by protestors resisting state restrictions on reproductive rights and misogyny around the globe, hoping to draw from the resonance of the popular contemporary story. "The Handmaid’s Tale is politically dangerous in the opposite effect that it purports to be political” (Crawley 346), precisely because as a critique of oppression it encourages passivity. While its main function as a novel of speculative fiction is to engage its audience in certain, often difficult, conversations, it simultaneously excuses the audience from having to examine the overlapping connections between white supremacy, the patriarchy, and racial injustice.
Ultimately, the novel’s explicit spotlight on gender, sexuality, and resistance at the expense of race, politics, and history invites readers to turn a blind eye to a constitution founded on anti-Blackness by means of contemporary, liberal systems of legal subjectivity and state authority. It is apparent that even under the guise of empowering women, exploring sexuality, and mobilizing resistance, the audience is still trapped under the blanket of white supremacy. The novel's post-racial aesthetic precludes it from confronting this conversation and justifies inaction in addressing the intersectionality beneath its narrative. Further, it allows the novel to erase an interrogation of white supremacy as a logical part of any post-apocalyptic scenario in the context of the U.S. With these issues being embraced by popular culture when presented from the perspective of a white woman, it is almost as if the trauma of a marginalized group is now being sensationalized to white women, an audience that today can afford to ignore the fact that this dystopia would have been founded on anti-Black violence and white supremacy. This only fosters distance between the book's target audience (white, liberal feminists) and anyone whom the novel finds no loyalties to. Before long, those uncritical of the novel’s flaws will merely perpetuate the ideologies that the dystopian novel, ironically intended as a critique of oppression, has warned us against. Without considering the foundations of these systems of oppression, it will be impossible for some to notice that we stand amidst our own "American dystopia."
Works Cited
- Atwood, Margaret. The Handmaid’s Tale. Anchor Books, April 1998.
- Crawley, Karen. “Reproducing Whiteness: Feminist Genres, Legal Subjectivity and the Post Racial Dystopia of the Handmaid’s Tale (2017-).” Law and Critique, vol. 29, no. 3, 2018, pp. 333–358.,
- https://ccl.on.worldcat.org/oclc/7900884278
- Dodson, Danita J. “'We Lived in the Blank White Spaces': Rewriting the Paradigm of Denial in Atwood's the Handmaid's Tale.” Utopian Studies, vol. 8, no. 2, 1997, pp. 66–86. https://ccl.on.worldcat.org/oclc/5542771218
- Marian Meyers (2004) African American women and violence: gender, race, and class in the news, Critical Studies in Media Communication, 21:2, 95-118,
- Writing African-American Women: An Encyclopedia of Literature by and about Women of Color, A-J, ed. Elizabeth Ann Beaulieu (474).
- Nair, Priya. “Get Out of Gilead: Anti-Blackness in “The Handmaid’s Tale”.” bitchmedia, 14 April 2017. https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/anti-blackness-handmaids-tale
Jacinda is a first-year at Pomona who enjoys creating art and cooking for herself and others. (Pomona '24)