This Bridge Called My Back was one of the first feminist anthologies devoted to representing the voices of women of color. It was first published in 1981 in response to the racism of white feminists in the second-wave feminist movement. This anthology frequently criticizes the lack of solidarity between white women and women of color throughout the movement and highlights the importance of recognizing the intersectionality of identities.

This is the first edition of This Bridge Called My Back. It was first published in 1981.

In their introduction, Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, the editors of the anthology, note that the process of creating this book led to a “greater solidarity with other feminists of color across the country” (1st edition, xxiv). The anthology soon became a reflection of “an uncompromised definition of feminism by women of color in the U.S.” (1st edition, xxiv). There are now four editions of This Bridge Called My Back, with the most recent edition published in 2015. In the introduction to the fourth edition of the anthology, Moraga emphasizes the importance of political memory in order to ensure that “we are not always imagining ourselves the ever-inventors of our revolution” (4th edition, xix). The continued publication of the anthology serves as a form of political memory that Moraga encourages us to recognize; however, it also calls attention to the following question: Why do we still need to create platforms for women of color in order for their voices to be represented? 

Moraga argues that This Bridge Called My Back ought to be considered an “archive of accounts of those first ruptures of consciencia where we turned and looked at one another across culture, color and class difference,” (4th edition, xxiv). However, the ultimate purpose of this fourth edition of the anthology is for “the next generation, and the next one” (4th edition, xxiv). This anthology seeks to create solidarity among women of color and through this edition, across generations. When the first edition was published, it was “created with a sense of urgency” and “from the moment of its conception, it was already long overdue” (1st edition, xxiv). The activists of that time recognized that this “was a book that should already have been in [their hands]” (1st edition, xlv), and, in creating this anthology, they were ensuring the existence of this platform for future women of color.

This is the fourth edition of This Bridge Called My Back. It was published in 2015, making it the most recent edition.

Moraga believes that the women who contributed to the first edition of the anthology would call the next generations their “ ‘familia’– [their] progeny,” entrusting the next generation “with the legacy of [their] thoughts and activisms, in order to better grow them into a flourishing planet and a just world” (4th edition, xxiv). The anthology serves to remind its readers to recognize the efforts made by previous activists and that we cannot expect to see the end of the movement. The introduction lists the deaths of several contributors to the anthology, including the editor Gloria Anzaldúa, both as a tribute to their work and an acknowledgement that their work must be continued. This Bridge Called My Back continues to combat the silencing of women of color within the feminist movement and unites generations of activists. 

Sources: 

Moraga, Cherríe, and Gloria Anzaldúa, editors. This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color. Persephone Press, 1981.

Moraga, Cherríe, and Gloria Anzaldúa, editors. This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color. 4th ed., State U of New York P, 2015.

In her essay, “La Güera,” Cherríe Moraga delves into the observations and experiences that led to her understanding of oppression and intersectionality. Moraga recognizes the privilege she had by being “‘la güera:’ fair-skinned,” meaning that she was “born with the features of [her] Chicana mother, but the skin of [her] Anglo father” (23).

https://cherriemoraga.com/index.php/about-cherrie-moraga-1

Although she faced oppression as a result of her heritage, she recognizes the other privilege she had by being educated. The intersectionality of her identities provided Moraga with opportunities she wouldn’t have had otherwise. But it was not until she understood her sexuality that she began to understand the full extent of the workings of oppression. Moraga argues that “danger lies in ranking the oppressions” and that “without an emotional, heartfelt grappling with the source of our own oppression, without naming the enemy within ourselves and outside of us, no authentic, non-hierarchical connection among oppressed groups can take place” (24). “La Güera” explores Moraga’s claims that “it wasn’t until [she] acknowledged and confronted [her] own lesbianism” that she began to empathize with her “mother’s oppression–due to being poor, uneducated, and Chicana” (23). Moraga’s lesbianism served as a platform for her understanding of oppression and the silencing of these oppressed groups.

Moraga teaches us that the divisions in the feminist movement between white women and those of color results in not acknowledging how one can be both oppressed and oppressor. In order to admit one’s role as an oppressor, one must ask “some very frightening questions,” writes Moraga: “How have I internalized my own oppression? How have I oppressed?” (25). Moraga describes this as the “oppressor’s nightmare” because people are “afraid to look at how [they] have failed each other” (27). They are “afraid to see how [they] have taken the values of [their] oppressor into [their] hearts and turned them against [themselves] and one another,” and, most of all, they “are afraid to admit how deeply ‘the man’s’ words have been ingrained in us” (27). Although we may fear recognizing our internalized oppression, Moraga ask readers to acknowledge their privilege and their oppression in order to begin to understand how they are the participants of the oppression faced by other communities. Only then will we be able to combat the divisions within the feminist movement. 

Source:

Moraga, Cherríe. “La Güerra.” This Bridge Called My Back, edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, 4th ed., State U of New York P, 2015, pp. 22-29.

In her essay “Asian Pacific American Women and Feminism,” Mistuye Yamada addresses a common issue faced by women of color during the feminist movement: the struggle of maintaining both your identity as a woman and as a person of color. Yamada explains how women of color are often expected to earn their place in the feminist movement, whereas white women maintain an entitlement to that space. This document examines the exclusion of the voices of Asian American women and other Third World women from Second Wave feminism.

https://tableau.uchicago.edu/articles/2017/05/poetry-mitsuye-yamada

And Yamada recognizes the efforts of feminist organizations that strive to include women of color. However, she argues that these efforts are motivated by the need to appear inclusive, when in reality, women of color included in these organizations are often used as “tokens” (69). Consequently, women of color are used to claim diversity and inclusion, but are not actually listened to when they express their concerns. Women of color have to fight for their place in the feminist movement, but even once they achieve it, their voices continue to be ignored. Yamada explores that sentiment when she claims that every time she speaks in front of an audience it is as though she were “speaking to a brand new audience who had never known an Asian Pacific woman who is other than the passive, sweet etc. stereotypes of the ‘Oriental’ woman” (68). Stereotypes associated with these communities unconsciously invalidate the activism of women of color. 

Yamada explains that when women of color are invited into feminist organizations, they are expected to educate white women on their experiences with oppression. However, when they are asked to speak about their experiences, they are “expected to move, charm or entertain, but not to educate in ways that are threatening to [their] audience” (68), who are predominantly white women. Women of color are burdened with the responsibility of educating white women about their experience but in ways that don’t make their white audience uncomfortable. This form of emotional labor forces women of color to accommodate to white women, thus contributing to a hierarchy within the feminist movement. Even though their participation in feminist organizations creates an illusion that women of color are officially invited into the movement, their experiences continue to be silenced, Yamada argues. 

Many activist women of color are accused of placing their “loyalties on the side of ethnicity over womanhood,” (69) because of their participation in groups that promote ethnic identity, illustrating that these women are expected to choose between their identities in order to validate their voice in the movement. But Yamada argues that different facets of a woman’s identity inform each other. She claims that “as a child of immigrant parents, as a woman of color in a white society and as a woman in a patriarchal society, what is personal to [her] is political” (71).Yamada argues that the relationships between her identities are something that white feminists ought to understand because they establish her acceptance in society. Because of her identities, Yamada is constantly treated as a guest in the home of the dominant group, whether that be in the feminist movement, as a speaker, or as a resident of a neighborhood. When she began advocating for her Fair Housing Bill in the 1960s, for instance, her friends at the neighborhood church asked her, “Why are you doing this to us? Haven’t you and your family been happy with us in our church? Haven’t we treated you well?” (71). These questions illustrate that she is not fully accepted in these communities. Instances such as these explain the distrust found between white women and women of color. Yamada demands that “until our white sisters indicate by their actions that they want to join us in our struggle because it is theirs also,” (72) women of color will not be able to fully participate in the feminist movement. Although Yamada was calling attention to the distrust that pervaded the second wave feminist movement, similar sentiments continue to persist, limiting the ability to establish solidarity among women. 

Sources:

Yamada, Mitsuye. “Asian Pacific American Women and Feminism” This Bridge Called My Back, edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, 4th ed., State U of New York P, 2015, pp. 68-72.

Similarly to Yamada’s essay that challenged the tokenization that occurred in the feminist movement, Jo Carillo’s poem “And When You Leave Take Your Pictures With You” draws attention to the tokenization of women of color by white feminists who consider themselves radical. The speaker challenges “our white sisters radical friends” to think critically about the photos they own of women of color and how they convey false realities of minority communities. The speaker’s repetition of “you,” highlights that she is directing her criticism toward white women and challenging them to recognize the harm they are causing. The audience is meant to be uncomfortable by the speaker’s accusations and encouraged to confront how they participate in the silencing of women of color. By owning photos that contain seemingly positive content, white women are relieved of their guilt, and, consequently, they silence the realities of women of color. For instance, the speaker describes the following photo:

walking to the fields in hot sun

with straw hat on head if brown

bandana if black

in bright embroidered shirts

holding brown yellow black red children

reading books from literacy campaigns

smiling (lines 17-23).

The speaker calls attention to the racial stereotypes represented in the photographs: brown people wear straw hats and black people wear bandanas. This description portrays these racial groups as laborers, which invalidates women of color as activists who are capable of participating in movements. The people in this photo are also described to be “smiling,” which establishes an illusion that “our white sisters radical friends” want to have about their brown sisters. Additionally, this photo advertises literacy campaigns organized to teach less privileged groups how to read. Literacy campaigns, while valuable, are used here to call our attention to the charge that white women do this to feel good about themselves and these photos are the proof for their good deeds. This photo contains children of all racial backgrounds, and they are listed in a way that mimics a checklist. By having a child from each racial background, Carillo is recognizing the performance of an inclusive movement created by white women.

The speaker critiques displaying photos of smiling women of color on their way to work because according to her,

no one smiles

at the beginning of a day spent

digging for souvenir chunks of uranium

of cleaning up after

our white sisters

radical friends (lines 26-31).

In the second part of the poem, Carillo uses her own observations to combat the false representations of women of color in these photos. The stark reality is that “no one smiles” (line 26) because of the position they have been subjected to in society, even though the photos may display another story. Carillo acknowledges the hierarchy that exists within the feminist movement through her description that women of color spend their days “cleaning up after [their] white sisters radical friends” (lines 29-31). White women own photos containing women of color in an attempt to demonstrate solidarity; however, there are no photos that display these communities together. The fact that white women own these photos also draws attention to the power dynamics between white and minority communities. In an effort to include women of color in the movement through the use of these photos, white women are turning women of color back into servants. Women of color are returned to a position of servitude because they are forced to help relieve white women of their white guilt by being the participants of these good works. Carillo’s poem criticizes white feminists who claim solidarity with women of color, but, in reality, this solidarity does not translate into action. How can we build a successful movement, if women cannot even unite amongst themselves?

Sources:

Jo Carrillo. “And When You Leave, Take Your Pictures With You.” This Bridge Called My Back, edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, 4th ed., State U of New York P, 2015, pp. 60-61.

In This Bridge Called My Back, the photo Aveugle Voix (Blind Voice), a 1975 photograph by Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, is found in the section titled “Speaking in Tongues: The Third World Woman Writer.” This section examines language and the power of Third World women’s writing. The Oxford English Dictionary defines the term Third World as “the countries of the world, esp. those of Africa and Asia, which are aligned with neither the Communist nor the non-Communist bloc; hence, the underdeveloped or poorer countries of the world, usually those of Africa, Asia, and Latin America.” Although this term is not as frequently used now, second wave feminists often used this term to describe women of color in America. The use of this term highlights how the solidarity of this community transcends borders because the oppression faced by women of color was not confined to America.

In the introduction to this section, Gloria Anzaldúa unites Third World women writers through her claim that “in [their] common struggle and in [their] writing [they] reclaim [their] tongues” (161). This photo is from a series that captures Cha’s performance art of the same name. The performance illuminates some of the struggles, such as a language barrier, Cha faced when her family immigrated to the U.S. from South Korea in 1962 (University of California Berkeley Art Museum). In contrast to Jo Carillo’s poem, “And When You Leave, Take Your Pictures With You,” which illustrates how white women misrepresented women of color, Cha’s photo demonstrates the reclaiming of voice as she is able to produce her own photo as a woman of color.

Theresa Hak Kyung Cha, Aveugle Voix (Blind Voice), 1975

In the photo, Cha is choosing to silence herself, exhibiting a form of agency that she had previously been denied. Cha represents her silence literally by placing the words Aveugle Voix across her face and eyes, symbolically taking away both her identity and her voice. But the words are reversed: the word “aveugle” (“blind”) covers her mouth and “voix” (“voice”) covers her eyes. In swapping these words, Cha explores the  interconnectedness of one’s voice and sight. Cha is seen squatting and appears to be placing these coverings on herself. Although this position may evoke images of restraint and potentially bondage, it can signal newfound agency, as well. Even though Cha is silenced in this photo, her centrality forces the audience to pay attention and to listen to her. Cha’s work evokes the anxiety of losing one’s voice and the inability to communicate the violence and oppression one faces. Her own art allows her to be an agent rather than just a victim.

Cha’s photo is an example of power restoration for this community because she is illustrating the reclamation of her voice, something that was taken away from her by the dominant society. Aveugle Voix combats the belief that women of color are incapable of producing works that reflect their experiences and reclaims a form of power that has previously been denied to these communities. Anzaldúa’s “Speaking in Tongues: A Letter To Third World Women Writers” is located right after the photo in this section of the anthology and is a written piece that captures Cha’s visual representation of the silencing she endured.

In this letter, Anzaldúa explores her thought process when she writes and recognizes the conditioning she has endured that has discouraged her from writing. As a Third World woman, she had been taught that her speech is inaudible  and that this community “speak[s] in tongues like the outcast and the insane” (163). Anzaldúa acknowledges a recurring voice in her that poses this question to her: “Who am I, a poor Chicanita from the sticks, to think I could write?” (164). Through creation, Third World women are defying the beliefs that they are incapable of doing so, a form of power in itself.

Sources:

Anzaldúa, Gloria. “Speaking in Tongues: A Letter To Third World Women Writers.” This Bridge Called My Back, edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria Anzaldúa, 4th ed., State U of New York P, 2015, pp. 163-172.

Cha, Theresa Hak Kyung. Aveugle Voix. 1975. This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, edited by Cherríe Moraga, 4th ed., State U of New York P, 2015, p. 160.

“Theresa Hak Kyung Cha.” University of California Berkeley Art Museum, archive.bampfa.berkeley.edu/art/AN0230. Accessed 4 Dec. 2019.

“Third World | third world, n. (and adj.).” OED Online, Oxford University Press, September 2019, www.oed.com/view/Entry/200854. Accessed 20 November 2019.