Brennan's Transnational Desires

I wish I was able to read the Pratt and Yeoh article earlier in the semester, because although it was short, the article did a good job of challenging how transnational feminism can progress. Reading this article in conjunction with Brennan's text as well as using the knowledge we've formulated in previous classes, had me thinking about the ways in which Brennan's text is transnational. Beyond the obvious that the sex trade in Sosúa is transnational due to the international tourists and foreign resident community who occupy the space, the manner in which Brennan's text is constructed also helped my understanding of transnationalism, specifically through a gendered lens.

Pratt and Yeoh give two suggestions at the end of their article which really illuminate the way in which I read Brennan's text. First, they suggest that in order to forge connections and to perform research on transnational subjects, feminist scholars should work to bridge the "divide between researcher and researched, between reflection and experience" (Pratt and Yeoh 164). Given Brennan's substantial research in the Dominican Republic, I wish she had done more to reflect on her positionality to these women. I never received the impression that she reflected on her own privilege. However, at one point she does go so far to identify herself as a "blonde woman" and she indicates the frustration with trying to be an anthropologist who was perceived by some as a tourist, but she never goes into detail about how her position affects the dynamics of that space. I'm particularly interested in the fact that often she served as translator for Jurgen and Elena. I’m assuming she speaks both German and Spanish as she was the only vessel by which Jurgen and Elena could have a clear understanding of each other, I was quite shocked to see that she did not reflect on her own experience serving as a mediator. I think her analysis would have been even richer if she, like Ulysse, took a chapter, a section, or even a few paragraphs to reflect on herself as more than just a researcher but as a subject as well. I kept waiting for her to explain how the women felt about her presence. Although she discusses how, who, and when she interviewed the sex workers, she never indicated whether she paid them for their contributions, be it with actual monetary funds, or perhaps through other avenues of exchange like housing, rides, food, furniture, or other goods. It is interesting to note though, that all royalties for this book are donated to CEPROSH and MODEMU, which I think is a great way of giving back to the community of which she was apart.

Secondly, Pratt and Yeoh challenge scholars to “re-evaluate and take seriously the importance of transnational collaboration in research and writing…Collaborating across worlds…allows us to make full use of situated knowledges and at the same time creates often unplanned opportunities to destabilise vantage points, and to improvise different, variegated perspectives in producing and performing knowledges” (164). This point is elucidated by Brennan’s use of Dominican research assistants. By acquiring the guidance of several research assistants, Brennan creates a collaborative knowledge base across space.

Lastly, I would like to add that in my experience of living in the Dominican Republic, specifically Puerto Plata, I was real familiar with the sex trade in Sosúa. Every weekend, friends and I traveled to Sosúa and other times to Cabarete for the beautiful beaches. Although Brennan’s text is more than ten years old, the sex trade in Sosúa as a transnational space is still alive and thriving. The first time I went to Sosúa, I knew nothing about it other than the beaches were better than Puerto Plata’s. However my friends, who were a combination of Dominicans, Canadians, and Pole’s would constantly warn me that we could not stay there after dark. They would tell me these horror stories mostly about the violence and sex trade that "poor, dark-skinned Dominicans and Haitians" were involved in. I quickly learned that colorism was alive and well in the Dominican Republic. As Brennan explained, many times Afro-Dominicans and Haitians are harassed and arrested by the police, even if they are sitting at a bar on the malecon in Puerto Plata as I witnessed. Although I was not dark enough to be automatically assumed a puta, I was often cast as inherently overtly sexual—a narrative that is oh-so-familiar with being an African American woman in the United States. Similarly, as I had Haitian friends, my Dominican and international friends would warn me that I should be careful about being in a group full of “them” (read those of darker complexion) because I would put myself at risk for arrest too.