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This article explores the historical understanding of maritime womanhood in Newfoundland by examining women in fishing families along the southern Avalon Peninsula from the late eighteenth to the early twentieth centuries. It does not talk about fishwives in any popular sense of the word, for these women did not market fish; rather, they produced salt fish for market. And while middle-class observers may have perceived them as coarse and bold, within their own families and fishing communities they were seen as essential partners who contributed equally to family economies. Within a sexual division of labor that assigned vital and complementary tasks to both men and women, Newfoundland fish(-producing) wives carried out hard physical labor at public sites of production. This contributed significantly to the construction of “woman” as essential worker, which in turn had broader repercussions for their status and authority within fishing communities. The participation of fish(-producing) wives changed significantly from the 1950s onward, as the fishery moved from household production to a modernized, and discursively masculinized, industry. Yet the iconic image of the fish(-producing) wife in traditional household production remains undisrupted in the early twenty-first century.

During the 1980s, a group of women from rural communities in the Mexican state of Sinaloa organized a grassroots social movement in order to gain legal access to the sale of shrimp. The movement reached its peak in 1984, with the formation of a shrimp traders union and the establishment of a shrimp marketplace in the tourist city of Mazatlán. Despite the long trajectory of the movement and the success of the shrimp market, these women and their work have been completely ignored by government agencies in charge of the development and management of the fishing industry. For the most part, one gets to read about the shrimp traders only in tourist-oriented brochures depicting them as a “local attraction,” something to be seen while one is touring the city on a private charter bus en route to the Archaeological Museum or to the upscale jewelry shops in the Golden Zone. In this article, I examine how women used their gender and their identity as rural workers to defy the state and its policies, overcome poverty, and take control of the local marketing of shrimp. Another objective of this article is to show why and how women engaged in collective action so they could be legitimized as workers and how gender shaped their individual experiences.

In 1901, Broome—a port town on the northwest edge of the Australian continent—was one of the principal and most lucrative industrial pearling centers in the world and entirely dependent on Asian indentured labor. Relations between Asian crews and local Aboriginal people were strong, at a time when the project of White Australia was being pursued with vigorous, often fanatical dedication across the newly federated continent. It was the policing of Aboriginal women, specifically their relations with Asian men, that became the focus of efforts by authorities and missionaries to uphold and defend their commitment to the White Australia policy. This article examines the historical experience of Aboriginal women in the pearling industry of northwest Australia and the story of Asian-Aboriginal cohabitation in the face of oppressive laws and regulations. It then explores the meaning of “color” in contemporary Broome for the descendants of this mixed heritage today.

Using the example of one of the African fisheries that has been most significantly transformed from family based to commercialized—that on Lake Victoria in Tanzania—this article considers the social nexus of decision making and focuses on analyzing women’s place. It is true that women have never been more than a minority in fisheries due to traditional inheritance patterns and new market structures, both of which bypass women in questions of ownership and decision making. We look in vain for fishwives, if this means female fish producers acting with a highly visible degree of economic and social autonomy. There is no vernacular term to identify women who work with fish or those rare women who own fishing vessels. And yet the absence of derogatory representation suggests that there have been few attempts to detract from women who are active in the fishery. Should we thus be aiming at more subtlety in our analytical approaches to fishing relations on Lake Victoria? The article unveils the ways in which women’s relations with fishermen are negotiated and how agreements are reached on behalf of their families. It explores for women’s empowerment via the customary social relations and management arrangements that exist in these riparian communities. The lake fishery has a basis for development, but its potential for the kind of growth that will have returns for future generations rests on an appreciation of how fisher-wives conceive of, and respond to, the opportunities, constraints and risks of investing in this fishery.

As part of a feminist commitment to collaboration, this article, which appears as a companion essay to Minh-Ha T. Pham's "The Right to Fashion in the Age of Terror," offers a point of departure for thinking about fashion and beauty as processes that produce subjects recruited to, and aligned with, the national interests of the United States in the war on terror. The Muslim woman in the veil and her imagined opposite, the fashionably modern and implicitly Western woman, become convenient metaphors for articulating geopolitical contests of power as human rights concerns, as rescue missions, as beautifying mandates. This essay examines newer iterations of this opposition, after September 11, 2001, in order to demonstrate the critical resonance of a biopolitics of fashion and beauty. After the events of September 11, 2001, George W. Bush's administration launched a military and public relations campaign to promote U.S. national interests using the language of feminism and human rights. While these discourses in the United States helped to reinvigorate a declining economy, and specifically a flagging fashion industry (as Pham addresses in her companion essay), feminism abroad was deployed to very different ends. This article considers the establishment of the Kabul Beauty School by the nongovernmental organization Beauty without Borders, sponsored in large part by the U.S. fashion and beauty industries. Examining troubling histories of beauty's relation to morality, humanity, and security, as well as to neoliberal discourses of self-governance, the author teases out the biopower and biopolitics of beauty, enacted here through programs of empowerment that are inseparable from the geopolitical aims of the U.S. deployment in Afghanistan.

Drawing on microlevel research with men and women of differing ages living in rural and urban Siem Reap (home to the global heritage and tourist site of Angkor), this article focuses on the key discourses and practices that men and women draw on to (de)stabilize putatively traditional ideals of Cambodian womanhood and to (re)situate them in the contemporary period. Mapping the complex ways that people represent, make sense of, and respond to prerevolutionary cultural norms of female behavior in a very different era (with particular, though not exclusive, attention paid to mobility and education), the article demonstrates how deeper ideological changes concerning women’s relationship to Khmer tradition will have to accompany the surface reordering of Cambodian gender relations if equality between women and men is to be achieved. Until then, the ideal woman in contemporary Cambodian society is ultimately one who can creatively negotiate and balance the multiple demands placed on her by society, family, and self.

In 1993, a group of women shocked Ciudad Juárez, Chihuahua, with the news that dozens of girls and women had been murdered and dumped, like garbage, around the city during the year. As the numbers of murders grew over the years, and as the police forces proved unwilling and unable to find the perpetrators, the protestors became activists. They called the violence and its surrounding impunity "femicide," and they demanded that the Mexican government, at the local, state, and federal levels, stop the violence and capture the perpetrators. Nearly two decades later, the city's infamy as a place of femicide is giving way to another terrible reputation as a place of unprecedented drug violence. Since 2006, more than six thousand people have died in the city, as have more than twenty-eight thousand across the country, in relation to the violence associated with the restructuring of the cartels that control the production and distribution of illegal drugs. In response to the public outcry against the violence, the Mexican government has deployed thousands of troops to Ciudad Juárez as part of a military strategy to secure the state against the cartels. In this essay, I argue that the politics over the meaning of the drug-related murders and femicide must be understood in relation to gendered violence and its use as a tool for securing the state. To that end, I examine the wars over the interpretation of death in northern Mexico through a feminist application of the concept of necropolitics as elaborated by the postcolonial scholar Achille Mbembe. I examine how the wars over the political meaning of death in relation both to femicide and to the events called "drug violence" unfold through a gendering of space, of violence, and of subjectivity. My objective is twofold: first, to demonstrate how the antifemicide movement illustrates the stakes for a democratic Mexican state and its citizens in a context where governing elites argue that the violence devastating Ciudad Juárez is a positive outcome of the government's war against organized crime; and second, to show how a politics of gender is central to this kind of necropolitics.

Every year, Miss China Europe, a transnational beauty pageant organized for the Chinese diaspora, is held in the Netherlands. The hypervisuality of Chinese diasporic women at the event stands in painful contrast to their everyday invisibility, whether in the Netherlands, China, or elsewhere in the world. Informed by intersectional and transnational feminist scholarship, this empirical study zooms in on one group of women, ethnic Chinese born and/or growing up in the Netherlands, to identify and recuperate their neglected lived experience in a particular historical-cultural context. It takes their own voices as central, hopefully to contribute to their visibility. It aims to provide an understanding of diasporic Chinese women as living in the dynamics not only of their multiple subordinations but also of their subjective consciousness, experienced autonomy, and agency. Drawing insights from the subjective accounts of both contestants and audiences of Miss China Europe, I suggest that one way to foreground marginalized women's agency is to understand their intersectionality in terms of movements and sensory experiences. On the one hand, while the contestants articulated a readiness to perform their modern and yet Chinese selves, they were making movements along two intersecting axes of inequality and power relations - Chineseness and Dutchness - precisely to negotiate their sense of inequality and power relations. On the other hand, among the audiences, two major topics - the blood issue (or whether Chineseness should be defined by ancestry) and the language problem (or whether Chineseness should be defined by the ability to speak Chinese) - were raised regularly, underscoring a complex viewing experience of seeing and hearing, of the tension between visual and audio identifications.

This essay analyzes recent discourse on two emerging representations of women in China, "tender" women (nennu) and "ripe" women (shunu), in order to examine the relationships among gender, body politics, and consumerism. The discourse of nennu and shunu suggests that older, ripe women become younger and more tender by consuming fashions, cosmetic surgery technologies, and beauty and health care products and services because tender women represent the ideal active consumership that celebrates beauty, sexuality, and individuality. This discourse serves to enhance consumers' desire for beauty and health and to ensure the continued growth of China's beauty economy and consumer capitalism. Highlighting the role of the female body, feminine beauty, and feminine youth in developing consumerism, this discourse downplays the contributions of millions of beauty and health care providers (predominantly laid-off female workers and rural migrant women) and new forms of gender exploitation. Such an overemphasis on gender masks intensified class division. This essay suggests that women and their bodies become new terrains from which post-Mao China can draw its power and enact consumerism. Gender constitutes both an economic multiplier to boost China's consumer capitalism and a biopolitical strategy to regulate and remold women and their bodies into subjects that are identified with the state's political and economic objectives. Since consumerism has been incorporated into China's nation-building project, gender thus becomes a vital resource for both consumer capitalist development and nation building. This essay shows that both gender and the body are useful analytic categories for the study of postsocialism.