Intersectionality, a term coined by African American lawyer and civil rights activist Kimberlé Crenshaw (1989), highlights the interdependent nature of social divisions such as race, class, and gender in reinforcing systems of prejudice and inequity (140). This concept has become central to Black feminist terminology and in West Indian literary studies; however, it remains largely absent in Indo-Caribbean academia. That Caribbean women of East Indian descent have also been doubly disadvantaged in the colonial past is indubitable, and their experiences with disempowerment are significant to the woman writer’s engagement with history. Shani Mootoo, a Trinidadian author and visual artist, addresses several underpinnings of colonially established conventions in Valmiki’s Daughter (2008). The novel takes place in San Fernando, Trinidad, and traces the sexual awakening of Viveka Krishnu, the daughter of a well-known local Hindu doctor, as she unknowingly follows in her father’s footsteps to confront the boundaries of a heteronormative society. Through an incisive exploration of intersectionality and the heterosexual requisite of citizenship, Mootoo suggests that the restrictions imposed in the colonial past are compounded in our modern social structures of family and community that continue to limit the scope of individuality.
It is of utmost importance to place Valmiki’s Daughter in its sociopolitical context in order to aptly address the intersectional oppression that targets non-heteronormative female bodies. In the post-independence era, the middle-class elites who formed the nationalist parties demonstrated a gendered approach to patriotic duty. Alexander (1994) points out the major contrast between the men’s sole responsibility towards public service and the women’s role to defend the nation by “protecting their honour, guarding the nuclear conjugal family, guarding ‘culture’ defined as the transmission of a fixed set of proper values to the nation’s children” (13). Therefore, the construction of a postcolonial civility was achieved by an intentional distancing from the colonisers’ perspective of a savage, profligate sexuality among the descendants of enslaved Africans and East Indian indentured labourers. The policing of sexualised bodies became increasingly common to establish oneself as a member of a so-called progressive society. Since compliance with a heteromasculine system of governance still proves to be an unspoken requirement for citizenship—as evidenced by the criminalisation of certain forms of non-procreative sex—the restrictions put in place by the colonial past continue to affect those individuals who deviate from the norm.
Racial tensions between the Afro-Trinidadian and Indo-Trinidadian populations further emphasise the inherent prejudice in the contemporary socio-political structure. Although class divisions abound within both of these ethnic communities, cultural fusion is most often rejected as a nationalist goal. Certainly, Mootoo’s novel exemplifies the Indocentric desire to maintain their ethnic identity within a framework of ethnic pluralism (Mahabir, 287). The novel begins with a lengthy description of San Fernando’s vast landscape from the central location of the hospital, moving throughout the town to illustrate its varied geographical and cultural richness. Valmiki and his family belong to the burgeoning Indian elite, among whom they enjoy economic power and upper-class status in the well-to-do neighbourhood of Luminada Heights. Membership in this society relies upon fulfilling gender-normative ideals of masculinity and femininity. Valmiki’s infidelity with multiple women allows him to simultaneously reinforce a false hypermasculine identity and shroud his homosexual liaisons in secrecy. That he only philanders with white women who have little to no sociocultural ties with Trinidad indicates that sexual policing is reserved for the ethnic communities, and it foreshadows Viveka’s coming-of-age love affair with Anick, a white French immigrant. With these intersectional oppressions shaping the society that frames Mootoo’s novel, it is irrefutable that the non-heteronormative, non-white woman faces multiple levels of disempowerment.
The novel first signals Viveka’s desire to contradict the dictates of Indo-Trinidadian womanhood with her persistent interest in joining a local women-only sports club. Her choice of hobbies not only meets with parental disapproval and her mother Devika’s chiding over her mannish and ungainly figure; the reasons for their rejection demonstrate conflicts regarding racialised and classed identities. Devika refuses Viveka’s request to join the club because of her preconceived notions of “those brassy Port-of-Spain Indians from the North…who have no respect for their origins” (Mootoo, 78). Arguing that there are no other Indian girls in the club, Devika illustrates an emphatic opposition to racial intermingling that characterises the parochial social sphere. Moreover, Valmiki’s cause for concern is the thought of his daughter being at the park during the late evening, as “young men idled there, men of African origin in particular” (Mootoo, 80). It is noteworthy that, despite his own affiliations with blue-collar Afro-Trinidadian men, Valmiki is content with portraying such racist hypocrisy as it obscures his true worry about team sports: that same-sex physical contact will result in an illicit sexual awakening. The possibility of voicing his own queer experience to Viveka is so unthinkable in the limiting postcolonial society that it is more acceptable for him to uphold a patriarchal role that adheres to the norms of the Indo-Trinidadian family.
The effect of her parents’ policing on Viveka’s self-image must therefore be assessed. As a result of constant snide comments about her body and unflattering clothing from her mother and sister, Viveka’s physical insecurities are conveyed by her attempts at masking her individuality. She tries on a skirt and a pair of black heels, only to be repulsed by the unfeminine appearance of her “shapeless torso” and “thick, naturally muscular legs” (Mootoo 168) in the clothing. At other times she self-projects into the imagined physical form of her deceased brother Anand, noting the angular hardened features of her face and fantasising about their resemblance. Rather than openly confront her homosexual attraction to Anick, Viveka even considers her brother’s phantasmic presence in her body: “Anand’s spirit lived inside her, was pushing himself upwards, through her” (Mootoo 461). The interrelation of gender and sexuality allows the female protagonist to adopt a non-binary self-conception as a protective means of dealing with parental criticism and regulation over her behaviour. It can be asserted that Valmiki’s repressed impulses and Devika’s critical maternal gaze function together to reinforce a family structure that oppresses their eldest daughter along the intersecting lines of race, class, gender, and sexuality. Furthermore, it is crucial to define the term “comphet” in order to compare the contrasting experiences of Valmiki’s and Viveka’s heterosexual relationships.
Adrienne Rich coined the term in her essay “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence” (1980), in which she theorizes that heterosexuality is enforced upon individuals from birth as compulsory, and that the male-dominated society pressures women to cast their romantic allegiances with the opposite sex (13). Even in an increasingly liberal world, it cannot be denied that the default sexual orientation is heterosexual. In the Caribbean, transgressive sexualities confront colonially established gender norms, which still accord a level of taboo to the female body in a comphet relationship. For instance, Valmiki’s “cultivated urge to fool around with women” (Mootoo, 301) has earned him a reputation as a womaniser. He faces no repercussions for his infidelity from the community, and his own wife is more comfortable with the public being aware of his affairs rather than his homosexuality. By consciously engaging in frequent casual sex with foreign women, Valmiki protects himself from homophobic abuse and the potential loss of his upper middle-class status. The sexual policing of men in postcolonial Trinidad thus only refers to what is seemingly monstruous and unnatural, and there are no social qualms for infidelity so long as it is heteronormative: “…philandering had never been a shame in Trinidad—a badge it was, rather” (Mootoo, 42).
By contrast, Viveka’s comphet relationship with Elliot is not nearly as acceptable to social norm. She breaches the parameters of Indo-Trinidadian femininity by engaging in intimacy with him in spite of his black, white and Carib mixed ancestry. He is adamant in his intentions to have sex with her, but their intimate encounters are devoid of pleasure for either party. It is undeniable that Viveka attempts to be physical with him purely out of Rich’s concept of the enforced societal pressures to be with a man. However, although her half-hearted efforts denote a similar sense of self-preservation to Valmiki’s affairs, Viveka recognises her own “subversive fantasy” (Mootoo, 166) of publicising her relationship with Elliot. Their racial and ethnic incongruence would be scandalous in the face of her family and community structures, and she delights in the possibility of this outrage, thinking about how she would “love to have this battle with her parents, for their true colours would show then, and could only shame them” (Mootoo, 167). The thought of provoking the intersectional limitations placed upon her provides some inward delight, but even that fantasy is empty of real determination. The performance of Valmiki’s and Viveka’s comphet relationships is not a source of empowerment for them both. In fact, it only heightens Viveka’s awareness of the multiple oppressions that are stacked against her in the heteronormative, patriarchal, and racist society.
While Mootoo underlines the relevance of the past by drawing parallels between colonial and contemporary policing, she also demonstrates the repetition of history that plays out in the intergenerational space. The heterosexual requisite of citizenship is illustrated by the parallel that both father and daughter have actively chosen to relinquish love in exchange for inclusion into an ordered community. The prologue occurs throughout a mere twenty-four seconds as Valmiki observes his daughter surrounded by wedding presents. Flooded by memories of his decisions and lost opportunities, he grieves the lives that he and his daughter have abdicated. Analeptic references reveal that Valmiki left his first lover, Tony, whom he met studying abroad, and returned home to “turn into a man who was dead of spirit but whose physical body was trapped in everyday Trinidadian limbo” (Mootoo 69). Engaging in sexual intercourse with Devika was undoubtedly a comphet act that resulted in an unintended pregnancy and cemented his role as a father languishing in a loveless marriage. His own surreptitious affair with the Afro-Trinidadian electrician Saul further forces him into this double-consciousness that provides only brief respite from the everyday façade. It is for this reason that he silently recognises Viveka’s and Anick’s relationship for what it is and allows it to continue, only to later be complicit in his daughter’s ill-fated acquiescence to societal rules.
Similarly, Viveka’s major hindrance in exploring her sexuality is the fear of losing respectability, and this is no surprise after years of being conditioned into a preordained future to be “a good girl in the house” (Mootoo, 249). She never exists as her own person, rather as an extension of her family and community. For instance, before attending dinner with Anick and Nayan, Valmiki warns Viveka to “remember whose daughter you are…don’t do anything foolish” (Mootoo, 301). As a French white woman, Anick occupies a liminal space in Trinidadian society, having recently married into the Prakash family. Viveka seems, like her father, to be attracted to the white woman’s lack of ties to the sociocultural space. Anick is comfortable in her bisexuality and is therefore capable of straddling the bounds of heteronormativity and offer Viveka an erotic, satisfactory encounter with sexual pleasure. She expresses her desire plainly and is unafraid to do so: “You look delicious…I want to devour you” (Mootoo, 349). They go beyond homosocial bonding temporarily in the refuge of the forest, and O’Callaghan (2012) points out that Mootoo uses the wild, unrestrained forest space to juxtapose the controlled community (247). However, it is inevitable that Anick’s naïveté regarding the inflexibility of Trinidad’s social structures can only provide Viveka with a taste of freedom for a short time. As such, she follows in her father’s footsteps and enters a heterosexual marriage.
It cannot be omitted that the minor character Merle Bedi also cements Viveka’s decision to conform, as she serves as an allegorical omen regarding the reality of queerness in their community. A childhood friend of Viveka’s, Merle Bedi came out to her parents and was consequently exiled from their home for expressing her non-heteronormative desires. Forced to roam the streets of San Fernando, homeless and engaging in sex work for survival, Merle Bedi’s ostracization from the upper middle-class social circle highlights the rigid value system that does not allow defiance from the collective norm. Her character appears in the story when she approaches Valmiki’s younger daughter, Vashti, on the street to ask for money. Despite knowing her for years, Vashti is ashamed to be seen speaking to her and promptly ignores the request. She ponders that Merle Bedi’s lifestyle must not be so bad, as it contradicts her same-sex desire. “It can’t be so that she is a buller. If is woman she like, how come she doing it with man?… That might cure her” (Mootoo, 23). Vashti’s sentiments are reflective of the larger Trinidadian narrative surrounding homosexuality as a malady that can be resolved by heterosexual intercourse. That Vashti succumbs to this insular line of thought and reinforces the gendered binary within her home is a stark reminder to Viveka that discrimination within the family structure is only the beginning of the ostracisation she would face should she choose to embrace her true identity.
Mootoo postulates that the intersectional oppressions in the Indo-Trinidadian community are too insurmountable to allow the non-heteronormative, non-white woman to live a fulfilled life. Viveka’s recognition that “…she could never do what Merle Bedi had done to her family” (Mootoo, 326) fortifies her decision to leave. It is for this reason that Trevor enters the narrative as Viveka’s means of escape. They meet at one of her volleyball matches, and he is at once romantically interested. Having spent considerable time abroad, Trevor demonstrates a level of open-mindedness previously unseen in the Trinidadian social space. He recognises Viveka’s and Anick’s relationship for what it is, and Viveka is comfortable enough to confess her same-sex desires to him. However, it is not romantic interest that draws her to him, rather her own vulnerability following the wedding anniversary celebration of Anick and Nayan when they announce Anick’s pregnancy. Mootoo masterfully evokes the visceral trauma that Viveka experiences at this news, and Trevor utilises the opportunity of the women’s terminated relationship to act as agent of family and nation, physically and psychologically severing Viveka from Anick and herself (Garvey, 17). For instance, their first sexual encounter on the beach is unpleasant and forced, causing her to dissociate from the act and the inhospitable environs. Although divorce is already the presumed outcome between them, Viveka’s impending marriage and Trevor’s and their migration to Canada grant her the opportunity to find potential belonging in a tolerant nation state.
This issue of heteronormativity within national borders is also addressed in the marriage between Anick and Nayan, namely through the latter’s sexual policing. McCormack (2011) asserts that Mootoo’s exploration of cocoa history is integral to the portrayal of Nayan’s need for control (25). Certainly, the historical relationship of the French and the Indo-Trinidadians through cocoa production is reminiscent through Nayan’s struggle for the upper hand in his marriage. Anick’s French father subverts Nayan’s own claim to his multigenerational history when he demonstrates more knowledge about cocoa production than his son-in-law. His embarrassment regarding his ignorance of history drives Nayan to embark on an entrepreneurial change in the cocoa business as a means of defining his masculinity in accordance with classed and gendered roles. The pressure causes Nayan to buckle down on his homophobia towards Anick, as his masculinity is further dependent on her compliance with the norms of the Indo-Trinidadian family structure. Although in Canada he was intrigued by her same-sex desire, the boundaries of his local social sphere have led to his “disgust” and “torment” at her sexual deviance (Mootoo, 232). He can only assert power by policing Anick’s sexuality in adherence to social practices. Anick’s pregnancy allows Nayan to succeed in enforcing heteronormativity as a requirement for citizenship.
Valmiki’s Daughter is an exceptional work that places the concept of intersectionality in the Indo-Caribbean literary canon and addresses the multiple oppressions faced by women of Indian descent in Trinidad. By portraying the colonially established restrictions of gender, class, race and sexuality in contemporary society, Mootoo explores the policing that occurs among members of the family and community structures in order to enforce the sociocultural norm. She identifies the heterosexual requisite of citizenship and suggests that migration is the only way to assert individuality away from the intersectional limitations of Trinidadian society.
Works Cited
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