Ever since I was diagnosed with breast cancer last November I’ve been pondering
this blog post. Upon diagnosis, I immediately developed a heightened awareness of pink ribbons. They're everywhere. It’s like I was flung full force into a
scary 3D version of the game Candyland, only it’s called Cancerland and there
are both beautiful and terrifying encounters to be had: Welcome to
Cancerland—here’s your pink ribbon! Pertuzemab is your friend, but beware of
the Taxol Forest, and steer clear of the Metastases Swamp! Oh, and don’t forget to use
your FMLA “get out of work free” card!
I’ve never liked pink much in part because I’ve always been
a bit perturbed by its prissy associations. I have never been a girly-girl, and I have always resisted
gender stereotypes. So why do I have my current Facebook profile picture set to the
following?
Perhaps it is an indication of my love-hate relationship
with pink ribbons. Let me explain.
First off, let me just say that I am a direct beneficiary of
pink ribbon campaigns. In the last few years, treatments for breast cancer have
advanced in leaps and bounds (Jump ahead four spaces and enjoy a bright red
chemo cocktail!). These advances are due in large part to the funds raised for
breast cancer research, and I am grateful. I believe that if it were not for
pink ribbons and breast cancer awareness, I would have likely become
mired in the dreaded swamp never to emerge from Cancerland. So, part of
my love of pink ribbons is directly tied to money. And those pink ribbons
signify more than money and research to me. They have become little beacons—a flash
of a pin on a stranger, a pink bumper sticker on a car, or a friend’s Facebook
post showing support for breast cancer survivors—that help me locate myself
within a new and bizarre terrain.
But while I find a sense of identity and comfort in those
pink ribbons, I also have significant concerns regarding the uptake of breast
cancer awareness relative to other cancers and diseases. To cut to the chase, I
think the public’s embrace of breast cancer awareness is tied to the fact that
women have boobs, and most men really like boobs. Boobs are also tied to
notions of motherhood and nurturing. Why WOULDN’T we all want to save the
ta-tas? Isn’t saving ta-tas the same as saving Mom and Apple Pie? Maybe. At
least, I think that’s the intention. But this makes me a bit uncomfortable,
because really, when it comes to having cancer, I don’t give a flying rat’s ass
about my boobs. I’m more concerned with saving my life, with or without the
boobs. I think the save the ta-tas idea is subtly tied to boobs and women’s
bodies in general as sites of exploitation. Of course, I don’t think people with a “save
the ta-tas” bumper sticker or a pink ribbon are directly exploiting women.
However, I think there is a connection between the historical and pervasive
tendency to exploit women’s bodies and the breast cancer awareness frenzy.
Think about it: When was the last time you saw a cammo ribbon for testicular
cancer, or someone wearing a t-shirt that said “save the gonads”? And to my
knowledge, every single person in the world has a colon, but you don’t see
people walking around with dark brown colored ribbons, running 5Ks with dark
brown tutus, or shouting “save the guts!”
So what does it mean that the discursive and symbolic means of generating
funds to save women’s lives are part and parcel of a set of discourses and ways
of thinking about women’s bodies that are tied to exploitation? Perhaps it’s a
form of interest convergence. Derrick Bell (1995) argued that school
desegregation and the Brown v. Board of Education decision happened because at
that moment in U.S. history, the decision benefitted both white
people and black people. (It boosted our credibility abroad amid criticisms that the U.S.'s campaigns for democracy abroad were hypocritical given domestic civil rights abuses.) The notion of interest convergence posits that public
policy decisions benefiting black people or other historically marginalized
groups will not occur unless those decisions also benefit whites, or those in
power. Is it possible that pink ribbon
campaigns are taken up so widely and are successful because the interests of women
converge with those of men in some way?
I don’t have an answer to that question. As I
weave my way through Cancerland (a space that I may always occupy despite the
fact that I am now cancer-free), successfully avoiding many of its more
frightening elements, I will continue to mull this over. But it is worth noting that as I write this, I’m
sitting in the chemo suite at Mills Breast Cancer Institute in Urbana, semi-boobless, getting an infusion of Herceptin (trastuzemab)
(once again, thank you to the Gods of Science!), and wearing a pink pin with a
ribbon icon on it that
says “Fight like a girl!”
