disagreements over ideas and the debates about how to interpret myths, traditions, rules, and religious teachings.
In posing a model of contested culture on these questions, I offer an alternative to the oversimplified “traditional/modern” or worse, “Western/non-Western,” dichotomies that have plagued the analysis of cultural differences. The ways in which dialogues take place across our imaginary “cultural boundaries” are structured by the contested nature of culture—which ideas are listened to, discussed, adopted, or rejected is influenced by the problems faced by individuals and groups and whether the ideas offer satisfying resolutions to existing social conflicts. The women and men of the societies in which circumcision is now practiced are arguing this issue out for themselves (see Gruenbaum 1996), and their ideas are as diverse and varied as the political discourse on women’s issues is anywhere. They are not dependent on the “West” for feminist ideas, nor can “traditional” and “modern” ideas be posed as monolithic alternatives. This book offers my understanding of the relationship between female circumcision and the status of women, from both a global perspective and more specifically as I have come to understand it in Sudan.
Why Do People Do It?
There is no simple answer to this question. People have different and multiple reasons. Female circumcision is practiced by people of many ethnicities and various religious backgrounds, including Muslims, Christians,3 and Jews,4 as well as followers of traditional African religions. For some it is a rite of passage. For others it is not. Some consider it aesthetically pleasing. For others, it is mostly related to morality or sexuality.
Understanding the diversity of reasons is the central issue if there is to be any hope for cross-cultural understanding, fruitful dialogue, or effective change efforts. Thus the central chapters focus on these questions.
Chapter 2 examines the cultural meanings associated with the practices, including beliefs about them and ritual aspects. Comparison with other forms of body alteration, especially male circumcision and subincision practices, is included. The main examples are drawn from my field research in one rural Sudanese community. Religion is often used as a justification for continuing or discontinuing a cultural practice, and circumcision is no exception. Because female circumcision is practiced by people of several religions, the issue requires an exploration of the relevant religious teachings and controversial interpretations.
In Chapter 3, I address morality and marriage expectations, including the significance of virginity expectations, the contribution of female circumcision to the preservation of virginity, and its role in the promotion of marital fidelity. The key question is whether circumcision status affects marriageability in the cultures where it is practiced.
If culture is so important in the perpetuation of female circumcision from one generation to the next, the cultural differences among ethnic groups might be expected to coincide with differences in practices, meanings, and ability to change. But insofar as ethnic identity might then be partially defined by the practices, we can also expect that tenacity to female circumcision practices based on ethnic identity might rival gender identity as an important obstacle to change efforts. Also, as people shift their ethnic identities through social class realignments, intermarriage, and migration, what happens to their circumcision practices? These are the issues pursued in Chapter 4.
One of the most salient issues about female circumcision in the writings of Western feminist authors is sexuality, which is the subject of Chapter 5. What are the effects of different forms of the surgeries on male and female sexual responses? Is the preoccupation with sexuality an indication of Western ethnocentrism?
Chapters 7 and 8 offer a perspective on the efforts to make fundamental changes in the practices. The first addresses grassroots change, while the second, the final chapter, looks at international covenants and social movements, current approaches to public health education, and practical suggestions for those committed to fostering change.
Dilemmas of Research and Reporting on Female Circumcision
Although one goal of this book is to consider the diversity of practices, contexts, and meanings, it cannot offer a comprehensive review of the full range of circumcision practices and their ethnographic contexts. I have drawn heavily on my own ethnographic research, however. I am fortunate that my examples from Sudan encompass a variety of ethnic, regional, and social class groups and span a period of years of significant social changes. From the diversity within one country and from selected comparisons with other areas, it will be evident that there is no single meaning or reason for female circumcision and there may be multiple routes to change.
In my field notebooks, I had jotted some thoughts on my frustration with fieldwork. How can anyone, I had written, ever achieve the level of confidence in their generalizations embodied in the style of the classic anthropological ethnographies, such as those of Evans-Pritchard? The old ethnographies give the impression that the researcher was omniscient, observing every detail of behavior, understanding every motive, able to generalize confidently about meanings and trends.
Contemporary anthropologists have been critical of that style, arguing that the knowledge is not authoritative, general, and timeless, but based on observations at one point in time. The strong postmodern critique of the study of the “other” recognizes that writing about culture is inherently interpretative and therefore influenced by the observer’s predispositions and opportunities.
But to write about female circumcision, which is considered inherently harmful and a violation of women’s and girls’ human rights, poses an additional dilemma for feminist anthropologists. The feminist commitment to giving voice to—but not presuming to speak for—the experiences of women, as well as the commitment not only to do no harm but also to contribute to empowerment, seems straightforward enough when dealing with many women’s issues. Domestic violence, children’s welfare, and equal opportunities and pay are all examples where giving voice to women’s dissatisfactions is usually supportive of a desire for change and improvement of the situation. But what about a harmful practice advocated by women?
The usual response in the 1960s and 1970s in the United States women’s movement was that women who accepted subordination might be said to have a “false consciousness” and that should not be considered morally blameworthy. Consciousness-raising groups were very popular as a means for providing a support group in which one could express one’s suffering, anger, difficulties, and doubts. The groups offered an opportunity to reflect on one’s analysis of the realities and one’s interpretation of fairness. What I always found significant about this process was that it relied heavily on open discussion, exploration of personal experience, and emotional support. It did not rely on preaching by an “enlightened” leader, passing judgment on other women, or demands for immediate changes in behavior. If a woman could not face the conflict over housework with her spouse, for example, she was not chastised, but offered sympathy, support, and suggestions by others who knew how difficult it might be. Personal growth, developing the courage to confront difficult changes, or just the release of knowing one is not alone were the results. Consciousness was raised by allowing one’s own insights and by listening to others to develop new perspectives.
For the most part, Western feminists have found themselves in a dilemma in dealing with female circumcision. To label women of a different culture as having a “false consciousness” for advocating circumcision sounds like a delegitimization of the culture or beliefs of others. And even if that criticism is restrained, there are major barriers to entering into a “consciousness-raising”
