Johanna Rabindran

Where are all the women? Shivering in a little huddle, we surveyed the water park, already regretting that we had left our t-shirts in the lockers. My skin prickled as countless pairs of eyes followed our every move. The enthusiasm of the morning had long since evaporated. We bravely pressed on, but after all four of us were harassed in the tide pool, we gave up and retreated to the food court. The water park effectively belonged to the young men. Vastly outnumbering any other demographic, they yelled, splashed and groped with impunity. Fuming, later on, I devised a (deceivingly) simple solution—run a separate tide pool exclusively for women and children.

Most spatial arrangements are gendered (for example, the kitchen is seen as a woman’s domain, while unlit roads after sunset are not). According to Daphne Spain, the division (physical or symbolic) of male and female spaces can perpetuate unequal gender relations by restricting women’s access to knowledge, resources, and in the case of the water park, fun. She argued that the rising status of women is correlated with an integration of spaces in higher education institutions, workplaces and homes (Spain 1992).

Is the division of spaces necessarily a bad thing? In other words, is it possible for a women’s space to be liberating? Well, it depends. As usual, context matters.

For Sor Juana Inez de la Cruz, a self-taught scholar and poet, joining an abbey relieved her of the obligation to marry, but by no means was it a utopian women’s space. There were few believers in women’s education in the 17^th century, and Sor Juana was always being chided by religious men. Although she had a private study (thanks to her benefactors and admirers), life in the abbey was not ideal for a scholar. In a letter written in 1690, she mentioned that her studies were constantly being interrupted by her duties and by well-meaning Sisters (not unlike the way a wife’s leisure time is fragmented and scarce). 

My experiences in all-female spaces (specifically in a girls’ college) are rather different, and so I set out to examine the gendered spaces that make up the campus¹. The admin office, the staff rooms and faculty rooms are mostly integrated spaces, and there are four male toilets. The rest of the campus is a vibrant all-female space, inhabited and transformed by hundreds of young women. I like knowing that every persistent question, every scrap of cheerful decor, every research paper here was created by a woman like me.

I remember one professor telling us that it was much easier to teach feminism in a girl’s college, because in a co-ed classroom, she first had to argue and establish that patriarchy exists. Students here are learning to be comfortable in their own skins (I’m always pleased when people ask for sanitary pads at a conversational volume, something that might have been unthinkable, at least initially, in a co-ed space). 

For me, this gendered space is empowering. It was (and is) a safe space in which to experiment and step out of my comfort zone (let’s face it, 17-year-old me would have been intimidated to silence by guys, especially when they’re loud and two feet taller than me). There is no dress code here, and no male gaze. I’ve never had to avoid dark corridors or secluded stairwells. There are absolutely no creeps. 

According to Daphne Spain, the division of spaces perpetuates gender discrimination and women are empowered as spaces are integrated. I would argue that a gendered space cannot be called discriminatory simply because it is gendered. It is quite possible for a women’s space to be more empowering than an integrated space.

Notes

I am aware that I am speaking from a position of privilege. While my college is decently funded (as public universities go) and we have professors who encourage us to grow, historically speaking, women’s colleges have often been constrained by institutional barriers, prejudices and lack of resources.

References

Spain, Daphne. 1992. Gendered Spaces. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.