Suture XII: Fall 2023

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SUTURE

Issue XII, Fall 2023

EDTIORS-IN-CHIEF Cait Gooding Alison Isko EDITORIAL BOARD Kate Broeksmit Rachel Budd Ava Cargan Katie Cristiano Ally Feisel Alex Glogoff Morgan Hodorowski Minghao Ji Amaris Martins Rorie Newman Lauren Prins

Suture is a peer-edited, student-run academic journal associated with Hamilton College that showcases insightful and eloquent critical essays in the humanities, arts, and social sciences. The journal is published biannually and is grounded in the belief that access to incisive, original criticism is essential to anyone’s development as a reader, scholar, and appreciator of the creative arts and humanities.

CONTENTS EDITOR’S NOTE 1

MORGAN HODOROWSKI The Language of Godzilla: Omenology in Shin Godzilla 5

Passivity in Governance: Politicizing Griselda 13 JOSUE HERRERA RIVERA The Making of a Latina GirlBoss: Financial Literary Programs as Gendered and Racialized Tools in Mexico

DEANNA DURBEN Examining Autism and Co-Occuring Anxiety/Depression through a Sociological Lens

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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Dear reader, When we stepped into our new roles of editors-in-chief in August, we were excited to learn more about you and our community as a whole: more about the rich array of topics you’ve studied throughout your academic career, more about the independent research you might have performed over the summer, more about anything that makes you go down that Wikipedia rabbit hole at 3 a.m. The insight present not only in the essays published in this issue but in each of the (record-breaking number of) submissions we received this fall serves as a testament to the diversity of thought present in Hamilton’s student body. We learned that, whether they’re discussing a piece of literature or analyzing social structures, our community is not afraid to challenge their reader or to ask nuanced questions.

The essays accepted for publication this semester demonstrate a desire for academic exploration and for subverting conventional ideologies. Each essay embodies the ideals that we were created upon, ideals that we hope to uphold in in every issue of Suture: publishing thought-provoking, original, and insightful interdisciplinary writing. Morgan Hodorowski’s essay about omenology in Shin Godzilla draws upon works by Rudolf Wagner and Elizabeth Oyler to reimagine Godzilla himself as an omen of bureaucracy. Hodorowski’s second essay, “Passivity in Governance: Politicizing Griselda,” analyzes how Chaucer’s Clerk’s Tale presents Griselda as much more than a character by painting her passivity as a means of ascertaining the ideal government. Josue Herrera Rivera’s “The Making of a Latina GirlBoss” discusses how financial literacy programs in Mexico further perpetuate the social stratification of marginalized communities due to their neoliberal foundations. Deanna Durben’s essay explores how the social construction of autism increases its stigmatization, which consequently impacts the co-occurrence rates of anxiety and depression. We hope that you are able to

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adopt a critical lens and appreciate the value of the interdisciplinary scholarship and elegant prose contained within these pages. Above all, we are so proud of this issue, and we want you to love it, too.

Happy reading, Alison and Cait

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The Language of Godzilla: Omenology in Shin Godzilla MORGAN HODOROWSKI When the cooling coagulant finally freezes Godzilla, suspending his monstrous body in rearing horror, the victorious military do not celebrate his annihilation; instead, they solemnly proclaim that Godzilla “has been completely silenced” (Shin Godzilla 1:48:44). This rendering to silence presupposes that Godzilla had been speaking prior to this moment, that his wake of colossal destruction represents a decipherable language. If so, what is Godzilla’s language?

Given the historical context—Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi’s Shin Godzilla is noted as a response to the 2011 Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami, and the resulting Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Disaster—Godzilla embodies an allegorical articulation of government ineptitude. However, I will reframe this articulation along the East Asian practice of omenology. Supported by Rudolf Wagner’s “The Language of Heaven” and the function of the Nue monster explored in Elizabeth Oyler’s “The Nue and Other Monsters in Heike Monogatari,” I argue that this cinematic resurgence of Godzilla operates as an omen that not only retrospectively signifies bureaucratic failure, but also champions a reorganization of government centered around translation.

The film’s opening scene quickly locates Godzilla— “Tokyo Bay, Off the Coast of Yokohama”—which ties Godzilla’s omen purpose to place. He is not a monster spontaneously emerging but is temporally and spatially situated with his significance elucidated from and dependent on the surrounding environment. Wagner’s “The Language of Heaven” explicates this feature of omens and the subsequent need for translators in discerning meaning. Between the mortal and celestial domains exists a language barrier; how heaven makes its will known operates outside the human

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tongue. According to Wagner, this linguistic schism can be described as “regularities as well as irregularities of ‘heaven’ [that] both qualify as ‘subtle words’ that need translation” (Wagner 107). The term “subtle” is important in comprehending the true intangibility of heaven’s language.

Their true meaning cannot be captured by words. Therefore, attributing and condensing meaning into verbal, legible language transforms this subtly into “actionable and accessible speech” (109). In this sense, the translators of omens have the tall task of articulating both the meaning of and the appropriate response to heaven’s will. At first glance, there’s nothing subtle about Godzilla. He tramples Japan, shoots concentrated nuclear rays from his back and mouth, and begs international attention. Godzilla demands to be seen. What confounds the bureaucratic officials is not what they see but what they hear, the “subtle words” that Godzilla embodies. Experts from all governmental sectors try their hand at classification, but their only uncontested conclusion is that Godzilla “just moves” (Shin Godzilla 44:15).

There is, however, a language to be found in this seemingly unmotivated movement: an agenda working through Godzilla.

Thus, although Gozilla resists corporeal categorization, his mysterious nature betrays a complex interdependence between celestial will and government failure, and necessitates a systematic translation of this language.

Godzilla’s function as omen is supported by Japanese cultural and literary lineage that places monsters in portentous roles. I will focus on the Nue in Heike monogatari (Tales of the Heike) and Elizabeth Olyer’s omen schema, which determines monstrous sightings as “appearances triggered by anxieties about hierarchical and cultural change” (Oyler 4). According to Oyler, an integral facet of a monster’s identity is its “status as something readable, a sign revealing a rupture” (4). Beings such as Godzilla and the Nue are words given form, intrinsically connected to the societies they textually and cinematically materialize in. Specifically, the nue taiji narrative within the Heike

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follows Yorimasa, an ambitious warrior seeking imperial recognition, and two accounts of him successfully killing the Nue. Olyer argues that the omen power of the Nue rests in transformation and “doubling,” in which Yorimasa’s bifurcated existence as poet and military leader and his unsuccessful attempts to land a court position highlights broader concerns about an emerging warrior class superseding traditional aristocratic authority (29). Thus, the Nue portends governmental change and a reshaping of structural power Godzilla similarly ravages Tokyo at a liminal period of transition. The Japanese goverment struggles to assert an identity internationally and domestically: traditional or progressive, print-based or technological, passive or aggresive. It is apparent that the current bureaucracy no longer works, clearly demonstrated when Godzilla tramples and kills the Prime Minister (Shin Godzilla 1:06:17).

Something needs to change, and something is changing: this duality, Godzilla both an agent and reflection of change, delineates his role as an omen. As the Japanese government grapples with archaic organization unsuited for modern society and further develops a global identity distinct from Western powers, Godzilla emerges an embodiment of heaven’s language that asserts reorganization. If Godzilla can evolve, why can’t the government?

Deputy Chief Cabinet Secretary Rando Yaguchi’s esoteric team of scientist and specialists, the “lone wolves, nerds, troublemakers, outcasts,” imbues the translators with omen power, referencing long-standing East Asian governmental formations based on divinatory scholars recording omens and imperial leaders responding to them (31:52). This reorganization might initially challenge Godzilla’s call for change. Why revert to an older form of government instead of something new? This question presumes two features of Shin Godzilla’s cinematic world and Japanese culture at large: first, that evolution constitutes a complete break from previous forms, and second, that omens are not continuous facets of Japanese spiritual and social

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life. Anno and Higuchi’s Godzilla in itself is an amalgamation of old and new, simultaneously an ancient reptilian species and nuclear reactor, whose evolution is aided by and constantly reflects its previous forms. Godzilla emerges from the sea with legs that later champion his metamorphosis into a land creature, and his nuclear expulsions harken back to the waste first consumed that created Godzilla. Here, evolution is inherently change and repetition. Omens have been historically ingrained in Japanese vocabularies, even cinematically, evidenced when Yaguchi chillingly declares that Godzilla is “anomalous” (2:49). Olyer’s overarching assessment of the Heike further reinforces the capacity for government change to be multifarious. While the Nue portentously signifies both in-text and contextual hierarchical reconfiguration, the “rest of the Heike enacts the crumbling of an old order that must be reconstructed—and reconstituted, from bits and pieces of the past and present—after the war” (Oyler 31). Thus, where the Japanese government fails to translate Godzilla, Yaguchi’s “outcasts” can by integrating traditional disciplines of omenology with modern systems of communication, sans antiquated bureaucratic barriers.

In this respect, Godzilla and government, continuously evolving and resisting singular identity, are anomalous.

As an omen, Godzilla both portends bureaucratic negligence and emanates from bureaucratic negligence, placing omen and government in positions of the originator.

Wagner clarifies this paradox; although they articulate heaven’s language, omens are inherently “man-made, or, more precisely, government made” (Wagner 111). This line of reasoning introduces two interpretations: first, that government ineptitude creates omens, and second, that public opinion and translation work to identify omens retrospectively. The struggle comes from attempting to reconcile these seemingly contradictory functions within a single omen. I aim to resolve this issue by applying Oyler’s “doubling” feature to omens themselves. So far, my essay has focused on cinematic Godzilla, a film creation

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that works internally to impart external meaning. However, there is another dimension to omens, present in modern cinema and past literature, that explains a bifurcated function: the medium as omen. When the Japanese military leader announces that “Godzilla has been silenced,” he does so from his cinematic reality. Yet, while the film Godzilla might eventually decay and disappear due to his nuclear half-life, his external existence cemented by Shin Godzilla the film, continues in perpetuity. Godzilla has not, in fact, been silenced. He can be revisited, reimagined, and reinterpreted to mirror the current social realities and problems. Omens then operate along two veins: as an in-text creature and text itself. Like the Nue, which continually reappears despite his recorded death, Godzilla resides at the boundary between life and death, character and medium. He is omen in this respect: straddling the boundary of his cinematic existence, waiting to re-emerge from oceanic depths to speak.

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WORKS CITED

Olyer, Elizabeth. “The Nue and Other Monsters in Heike Monogatari.” Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies, Harvard-Yenching Institute, 2008, pp. 1-32.

Shin Godzilla. Directed by Hideaki Anno and Shinji Higuchi, Toho Studios, 2016.

Wagner, Rudolf. “The Language of Heaven.” Reading the Signs: Philology, History, Prognostication, edited by Iwo Amelung and Joachim Kurtz, Iudicium Verlag, 2018, pp. 97-125.

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Passivity in Governance: Politicizing Griselda MORGAN HODOROWSKI In Chaucer’s Clerk’s Tale, when the people ask Walter to wed, they take care to rhetorically reframe marriage.

Whereas Walter’s objection equates servitude and matrimony—he enjoys the “libertee / That selde time is founde in mariage”—his subjects present a divergent interpretation (Chaucer 145-6). In their entreaty, they implore the marquis to “boweth youre nekke under that blisful yok / Of sovereinetee, noght of servise, / Which that men clepe spousaile or wedlock” (113-15). Beyond a persuasive impetus, however, this presentation of marriage introduces and motivates a unity between matrimony and governmental sovereignty, in which both institutions necessitate husband and ruler to submit. More so, it begins to clarify the function of the omnipresent third party in Walter’s marriage—the people—and marriage as a political microcosm.

Yet, not until Griselda enters, a paragon of constancy, does Walter fall under scrutiny. His actions are judged in relation to Griselda: how does Walter violate the ethics of marriage and, thus, governance? Here, Griselda, more than a wife, becomes a paradigm; her victimhood and acquiescence serve as metrics for good rulership. Thus, Griselda becomes a political agent whose passivity works to expound an ideal government based on mutual deference.

In his analysis, the Clerk deviates from the Petrarchan reading of the tale which requisitions “every wight in his degree / Sholde be constant in adversitee, / As was Griselde” (1145-7). This model, the call for universal constancy, is repeated in different hierarchical structures—the religion, the marriage, the government—and presupposes that Walter assumes allegorical function as God. Like the disciples, who unquestionably submit to God’s will, so should Griselda and the people yield personal power to the husband and

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monarch, respectively. Thus, images of marriage and government are conflated flated and co-opted to impart Petrarchan tyranny. Griselda’s submission becomes didactic and exemplar; she is a discipline to be practiced.

Yet the Clerk’s rejection of this rendering—his God “ne tempteth no man that he boghte,” unlike Walter’s insatiable desire to test Griselda—simultaneously propounds a different government formation (1153). He interjects the tale with criticism towards Walter’s excessive cruelty, denouncing how “wedded men ne knowe no mesure / Whan that they finde a pacient creature” (622-3). Here, marriage and wifehood, like in the Petrarchan metaphor, appropriate and reflect governmental structures. However, instead of perpetuating absolutist policies, the transgressions in matrimony—the disregard for and violation of the wife’s constancy—become analogous with breaches of political codes: hurt the wife, hurt the people. Walter’s domination over and manipulation of Griselda signals the destructive properties of tyranny. Therefore, by transposing the relationship between husband and wife onto ruler and ruled, the Clerk can imbue female passivity with political power.

The prioritization of the monarch’s desires defines Walter’s relationship with the people pre-Griselda and elucidates the subtextual political agenda within their call for marriage. According to the Clerk’s overview of Saluzzo and its marquis, citizens from all social classes are “obeisant, ay redy to [Walter’s] hand” (66). There exists, at least, a one-sided subservience—whether this loyalty is partly unearned or disingenuous becomes more apparent using Griselda’s paradigm. However, the Clerk establishes two interdependent deficiencies of Walter: first, that “on his lust present was al his thoght,” and, second, he had staunchly determined to “wedde no wif” (80; 84). Together, these features of Walter’s ideology and rule outline the antithetical nature of marriage and freedom. If the marquis prizes his own desires and liberty, marriage works conversely to contain and challenge them. In the political sense, then,

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matrimony would ideally dismantle the monarch’s selfish impulses; the political order would no longer serve him.

David Wallace’s “Humanism and Tyranny” in Chaucerian Polity demonstrates how this “encouragement for monarchs in their perennial struggle to address the needs of the bonum commune rather than to follow the logic of their own delit” is textually explored through marriage, which “provides both an entry into tyranny and a way out of it” (Wallace 295).

Accordingly, in the tyrannical schema, complete domination over the wife exemplifies the absolutist state; in the Clerk’s model, the wife tempers and redirects the ruler’s egotism.

Therefore, when the people frame their entreaty with an acquiescence to Walter’s title and authority—“And ye, my lord, to doon right as you leste”—their deference rhetorically works to minimize and overturn Walter’s predisposition against marriage (Chaucer 105). By appealing to Walter’s “lust,” or desire, and convincing him to marry, the citizens of Saluzzo work textually to deconstruct the present political apparatus, one that places the ruler in primacy over the ruled.

Griselda’s steadfastness in both poverty and wealth aims to challenge the political dissonance that stems from Walter’s self-precedence over the people. If Walter signals and exacts his authority through titles and wealth, it is then fitting that he should marry the “povrest of hem alle”—a poverty that seemingly weilds no power (205).

The contrast is clear: a “royal markis richeliche arrayed” coming to collect a “povre creature” (267, 232). Here, Walter possesses the most undisputed hierarchical dominance, a supremacy he repeatedly reinforces through clothing. When the royal attendants “clothed [Griselda] al newe” in jewelry, embroidered dresses, and a crown, she enters the aristocratic realm; when Walter restores her to poverty, she adamantly asserts that “naked moot I turne again” (378, 872). Whereas Walter’s view of political power rests in physical and hereditary signals—to lose royalty is as easy as changing clothes for those not “gentileste yborn”—Griselda’s constancy

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in both poverty and wealth underlines her political influence (72). Unlike Walter, whose compulsions to tempt his wife in self-satisfaction reflects an abuse of his spousal and political power, Griselda cannot be induced to dismiss or corrupt her virtue. She remains steadfast in loyalty, naked or ornamented, a victim to Walter’s sadistic experiments who demands sympathy. Griselda’s status as both wife and impoverished then reflects a social passivity. Griselda cannot exert overt influence, so she assumes a servile role, a body to be acted upon, demonstrated when she charges that “I never heeld me lady ne maistresse, / But humble servant to [Walter’s] worthinesse” (823-4). Even with her royal union, she distances herself from patrician titles and establishes a strategic apolitical identity. Thus, this obligatory acquiescence to Walter’s wishes enables a covert condemnation of them. Although her words contain no explicit denouncement of Walter, Griselda’s consistent reaffirmation of her deference—her presumed apolitical nature—enacts her function as a political force. When Walter mistreats Griselda, a pauper and wife with no social power to defend herself, he symbolically performs the worst moral transgression: the monarch’s abuse of his people.

Feminine physicality and subjugation also work to record Walter’s offenses, textually rendering the pains of tyranny on the body. Griselda’s vow to Walter following his proposal circumscribes her loyalty within the bounds of mortality; she promises that “never willingly / In werk ne thought I nil you disobeye, / For to be deed” (362-5). She places both aspects of her existence—the body and mind—beneath Walter’s ward. Thus, when Griselda pledges physical and mental fidelity, her submission necessitates a reciprocal respect. Griselda has given herself to Walter, and he must, in turn, consider and treat this deference with courtesy. As a political gauge, Wallace summarizes the connection between the absolutist state and the body, describing how tyranny is “intimately connected with metaphors and flesh-and-blood practices of marriage” (Wallace 295). The tyrannical model

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would, then, metaphorically present itself as complete domination of the wife. Similarly, Walter asserts his authority over Griselda’s body. His tests, more than an assessment of patience, evaluate and sever her womanhood. By removing their children from Saluzzo, under the guise of murdering them, Walter attacks her motherhood. By remarrying, he offends the “maidenhede, / Which that [Griselda] broughte and noght again I bere” (Chaucer 883-4). His domain over these core markers of medieval female identity figuratively impart his tyrannical rule. Walter exploits and prohibits natural female expressions of wife and mother; thus, tyranny, as a governmental model, upholds the monarch’s desires and suppresses the people’s needs. Conversely, the reunion between wife and husband, mother and child—specifically, in the physical action of kissing—conveys the triumph of Griselda’s passivity over absolutism. When Walter reveals his machinations and releases Griselda from his tests, he “hire in armes took and gan hire kesse” (1057).

Similarly, upon seeing her children alive, Griselda i mmediately “embraceth hem, / and tendrely kissinge / Ful like a moder” (1083-4). In this unity, the sanctity of the female body has been returned, the tyrant removed from his pedestal, and deferential government restored.

After wedding Walter, Griselda quickly earns the people’s reverence as a mediator, a conciliatory role she also performs in marriage that helps to link and overlay the private and public domains of matrimony and government.

How Griselda responds to Walter directly references her relationship with Saluzzo’s citizens. Despite her lowly lineage, the people come to venerate Griselda’s virtue “that ech hir loved that looked on hir face” (413). Yet, more than a detached worship of idealistic propriety, Griselda interacts with the people to resolve conflicts and promote public harmony: Noght only this Grisildis thurgh hir wit Coude al the fet of wifly humblenesse, But eek whan that the cas required it,

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The commune profit coude she redresse: Ther nas discord, rancour, ne hevinesse In al that land that she ne coude apese, And wisely bringe hem alle in reste and ese. (428-434) In this same stanza, the Clerk exalts both Griselda’s expertise in “wifely humbleness” and her diplomacy, structurally conveying the power of the wife as peacemaker. One imitates the other; her deference to Walter mirrors her deference to the people, a political appeasement that does not consider her desires. In fact, Walter bolsters the credibility and futility of his own requests, filicide and remarriage, by scapegoating the people. He transposes his machinations onto Saluzzo, claiming that each perverted behest reflects “as my peple leste” (490). To deny Walter would be to deny the people and incite discord between ruler and ruled. Thus, if Griselda upholds the “commune profit” and works to maintain monarch-subject accord, her acquiescence to Walter simultaneously appeases the people and inspires “reste and ese.” Even in the private domain of marriage, Griselda prioritizes the public good, which further arraigns Walter’s removal from and infraction of the commons. Just as he misrepresents Saluzzo’s demands, Walter also violates the explicit reason for the marriage—to prevent a “straunge successour” from succeeding the throne and displacing his lineage—by ordering the murder of his children (138). Driven by his “lust,” Walter becomes blind to the people; he rules “from an elevated position of sublime isolation,” according to Wallace, a position that only a wife can absolve (Wallace 295). Therefore, beyond a model of deferential governance, Griselda bridges the monarch and people, as she encourages the ruler to both see his subjects and respond to their needs.

The Clerk’s Tale constitutes one contribution within an in-text conversation, started by the Wife of Bath, focused on exegesis—and how these interpretative authorities define, delineate, and direct womanhood. If the

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Petrarchan model upholds tyranny, and its metaphorical appropriation of and control over the wife, then its Biblical reference reflects similar hierarchical frameworks between God and man, husband and wife: the former is the active power, the latter passive. However, both the Clerk’s rejection of Petrarchan politics and Griselda as a politicalagent against absolutism inform his own Biblical interpretation. The differing exegeses of St. Paul’s First Epistle to the Corinthians, whose matrimonial schema places both wife and husband in deferential positions, demonstrates this divergence: “The wife hath not power of her own body: but the husband. And in like manner the husband also hath not power of his own body: but the wife” (“Douay-Rheims” 1 Corinthians 7). Whereas the Wife of Bath, in opposition to St. Jerome’s exegesis,1 avows the mastery of woman in marriage—and, the Clerk appeases her in his Envoy, encouraging “noble wives” to “take on you the governaile” (Chaucer 1183, 1192)—the Clerk considers the verse in its totality. He closes his renunciation of the Petrarchan reading with a universal call for patience: “Lat us thanne live in vertuous suffraunce” (1162). If disorder stems from dominance and egotism, then order emerges from mutual deference. It rests on each participant—the wife and husband, the ruler and ruled—to submit, inaugurating an interdependent system that uses responsibility to the other to circumscribe the self.

In sum, when Walter prioritizes his own pleasures, he disregards the needs of the people, a dismissal metaphorically exacted on Griselda. With each perversion and mistreatment, Walter loses sight of his political obligation as monarch.

Through Griselda’s passivity—her image as both apolitical victim and unwavering devotee—does Walter’s malfeasance 1 See Against Jovinian: In his exegesis, St. Jerome posits that, through marriage, men relinquish control over their body and rationality to wifely mastery. He, then, no longer focuses on prayers, but instead the needs of his wife.

Therefore, matrimony negatively restricts the man. Walter’s reluctance towards marriage might reflect this testimony..

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transform from abstract transgression to condemnable immorality. She provides the social impotence and body to violate, and then textually render. Thus, by politicizing Griselda, the Clerk criticizes the absolutist state and champions mutual deference, infusing the passive with moral and political power.

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WORKS CITED Chaucer, Geoffrey. “The Clerk’s Tale.” The Norton Chaucer, edited by David Lawton, W. W. Norton & Co, 2019, pp.

77-96.

“The Bible, Douay-Rheims, Complete.” Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bible, Douay-Rheims, Complete, Project Gutenberg, 1 Dec. 1998, www.gutenberg.org/cache/ epub/1581/pg1581-images.html.

Wallace, David. “‘Whan She Translated Was’: Humanism, Tyranny, and the Petrarchan Academy.” Chaucerian Polity: Absolutist Lineages and Associational Forms in England and Italy, Stanford University Press, Stanford, CA, 1999, pp. 261–298.

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The Making of a Latina GirlBoss: Financial Literacy Programs as Gendered and Racialized Tools in Mexico JOSUE HERRERA RIVERA In hopes of addressing and mitigating socioeconomic disparities within marginalized groups and communities, nonprofits and private financial, governmental, and educational institutions around the world have established what are known as financial literacy programs. Many of these programs, especially in Central America, have served as stepping stones for marginalized people’s financial independence and success. Programs like PayPal’s GIVE Program, Abriendo Futuros, and La Asociación Mexicana de Uniones de Crédito del Sector Social strive to provide poor and isolated Mexican communities with robust financial education. This includes curricula surrounding sustainable personal financial practices like budgeting and saving as well as engagement with financial products like credit and insurance. However, exploring the broader social costs of this specific form of financial success is crucial. There might be a chance that these programs are doing more harm than good. In this project, I aim to understand how financial literacy programs in Mexico function as both gendering and racializing processes that are built on neoliberal foundations. In addition, I hope to communicate the need to not consider these programs as value neutral and instead analyze how they reify existing socioeconomic hierarchies. To do this, I will investigate how incisive language is used to both advertise and rationalize the steep social cost of these programs.

As one of the largest developing countries in terms of population, Mexico has become home to tens of thousands of initiatives that seek to increase financial literacy among disadvantaged populations. Two of the main groups targeted by these programs are women and indigenous people.

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Mexico has severe levels of wealth inequality, as the top ten percent of the population holds almost half of the country’s wealth. As can be expected, women and indigenous people are disproportionately affected. Due to structural inequalities, they are unable to participate in capital markets and there is very limited opportunity for social mobility.

In fact, while they only make up 6% of the total population, indigenous people in Mexico, especially those living in Yucatan and Oaxaca, experience poverty at a rate double that of the rest of the population (Romero et al.).

Similarly, according to Jacobson, women in Mexico are four times more likely than men to not be working, in school, or in training (Jacobson). Furthermore, due to the severe underrepresentation of both Mexican women and indigenous people in financial processes, organizations such as nonprofits, governmental institutions, and large corporations like PayPal have taken it upon themselves to provide philanthropic assistance as well as financial education to people in these communities. However, large corporations are rarely altruistic, which raises concerns about what the true intentions of their programs are. In order to fully comprehend the effect of financial literacy programs, we must consider them in the context of neoliberalism.

Neoliberalism, as a response to capitalism, has taken the world by storm, as it gives people a “new and improved” way of thinking about capital and success in a free market economy. A big tenet of neoliberalism is the hyperfocus on the individual rather than society itself. Many use this as a form of motivation, claiming that “you are only an obstacle,” yet this perspective deliberately ignores the external factors that generate these obstacles. This idea gives people the artificial impression of choice and personal empowerment in a profoundly constrictive economy. Haiven, Canada Research Chair in Culture, Media, and Social Justice at Lakehead University, emphasizes how financial literacy programs are deeply rooted in neoliberal principles, saying that they facilitate “[the consideration] of financial hardship

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as an individual problem that can be fixed by education, planning, and perseverance while ignoring the social and structural factors that cause it” (Haiven 349). Furthermore, while these programs seek to help the marginalized, they doso in ways that force them to take on the burden of “reverting” social inequalities, absolving corporations of any responsibility and further cementing the structures that initially caused this marginalization. In addition, in a profit-driven world, we can observe how these kinds of programs also serve as tools for corporate benefit. Alex Noel, the Bloomberg Head of Financial Products Sales for Mexico and Central America, says that programs that advance diversity and inclusion are not only doing the right thing, but they also “give companies a competitive edge [that results] in better business decisions” (Bloomberg). The quote shows how although the missions of these programs seem to be inherently selfless, they can never be fully detached from their company’s agenda. Banks that invest in financial literacy programs seem to only do so in hopes of expanding their reach and increasing their clientele.

Similarly, the Russia Trust Fund says that financial literacy programs result in “increased the number of transactions and the balance of their savings account more with respect to programme participants who did not receive the training” (OECD). Furthermore, participants of such programs engage in the economic processes in ways that we can assume are enormously advantageous for large corporations and only marginally so for their own communities. This is especially true for women, as they are usually the target audience of such programs.

When scrutinizing the ways that financial literacy programs advertise themselves, I was able to see the extent to which the gender of potential participants results in a variation between the words and symbols used to advertise such programs. The first and most distressing example is that of the Inter-American Dialogue in one of their program outcome reviews. In their outcome reviews, the

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Inter-American Dialogue provides pictures and testimonials of people who participate in the programs. The program itself seeks to assist migrants, indigenous people, and those who depend on remittances in their budgeting and saving efforts, yet they talk about women in a very polarizing way.

For example, the program shares two instances of success stories: Juan and Josefina. When it came to Juan (presumably male), the Inter-American Dialogue uses neutral language, explaining that Juan “deposited his first 200 pesos in the account, and plans to deposit more each time he comes in to pick up his remittance” (Inter-American Dialogue 8). However, Josefina’s story was much different, as she is described as a “35- year-old housewife” who chose to “open a savings account and purchase life insurance, ensuring greater financial stability and well-being for herself and her family” (Inter-American Dialogue 1). In addition, her success story is followed by a website image of her talking to a financial educator. Although this image may seem harmless at first, it conveys how financial literacy programs have come to assume that women’s participation in financial procedures are inextricably tied to familial duties and household work (as she is wearing a delantal, which is commonly used by South and Central American women when cooking and doing chores). This kind of gendered language is prominent among financial literacy program descriptions and mission statements, as even the Mexican government emphasizes that their program (Proyecto Minerva), seeks to “empower [women] and contribute to their personal, family and community development” (CNPDUSF). This kind of discourse is offensive, as it diminishes the female experience to what women do for the people around them and assumes that financial freedom and success for Mexican women is limited to their ability to serve their families. This phenomenon is much more difficult for indigenous women, as their struggles are conflated to reflect their gender and indigeneity.

As I analyzed financial literacy programs that targeted

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indigenous people in rural parts of Mexico, I noticed the abundance of othering language and imagery that was used as a means of marketability and rationale for these programs.

A lot of the discourse revolved around establishing a separation between the institution (financial literacy programs) and the audience (indigenous people). Words used in program materials were indicative of colonial and savior-like relationships being formed as a consequence of this kind of outreach. There were many instances in which program advertisements, like the PayPal GIVE Program, included phrasing like “we are here to help the Mazahua community,” and “we are being allies” (PayPal). Yet this was not exclusive to PayPal, as philanthropic efforts were also a recurring theme in Abriendo Futuros and La Asociación Mexicana de Uniones de Crédito del Sector Social.

Similarly, the PayPal workers not only wore identifying uniforms but were also white-presenting, which visually separated them from the indigenous community they were “serving,” adding more layers of distinction. A similar aspect of the racialization of these people is the emphasis on geographical distance between the institution and the people it seeks to help. About a fourth of the PayPal video was dedicated to emphasizing how PayPal workers from the capital city travel hours to reach these rural communities, introducing a theme of disconnection and inconvenience. This was consistent among all the programs I studied, as remoteness became a defining characteristic of indigenous people in Mexico. Finally, another recurring pattern I saw was how financial literacy programs characterize indigenous people as being at risk. Indigenous women in particular were the primary focuses of this kind of language.

Mexican indigenous women were subjected to the most punitive racializing language in financial literacy program material. Throughout most of the financial literacy programs I reviewed, indigenous women were considered to be “the most marginalized groups,” as they were presumed

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to deal with sexism exclusively through the oppressive forces of their cultures (United Nations). A famous example of this is a program that was created by the United States Embassy in Mexico called “Breaking the Cycle of Violence.”

As the title suggests, domestic violence is assumed to happen to indigenous women, reflecting the majority’s ignorance and quickness to criticize unfamiliar cultures.

Similar ideas are prominent in Abriendo Futuros’ materials, as they use seemingly biased information to introduce the women they are trying to help (Romero et al).

Informed by preconceived notions about indigenous women and their experiences, Abriendo Futuros characterized them as unable to live sustainably or comfortably, as they were victims of discrimination and violence in their communities. Furthermore, financial literacy programs established themselves as ways of escaping this kind of artificial oppression, while providing no tangible evidence of its existence and operating on stereotypical assumptions.

Although indigenous women do face socially immobilizing structural inequality, financial literacy programs exploited this in a way that racialized them and the people around them.

Financial literacy programs in Mexico use targeted language to attract marginalized audiences including women and indigenous people. Although these programs can be of great benefit to participants, they embody neoliberal ideals that place an undue burden on the marginalized groups they seek to serve, while deliberately ignoring the role large capitalist corporations play in socioeconomic inequality. It is important to not take these programs at face value and to consider how they perpetuate the structures they advertise themselves to undo.

When thinking about our engagements with the financial system, we should keep in mind those who are being exploited for capitalist benefit and do our part to unlearn implicit biases and assumptions we have about them and their experiences.

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WORKS CITED

“Bloomberg Sponsors MIDE Financial Literacy Program for Women | Press.” Bloomberg, https://www.bloomber g.com/company/press/bloomberg-sponsors-mide-fin ancial-literacy-program-for-women/.

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“Gender and Indigenous Peoples’ Human Rights.” The Secretariat of the Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues, Division for Social Policy and Development United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Briefing Note 6, 2010.

Haiven, Max. “The Uses of Financial Literacy: Financialization, the Radical Imagination, and the Unpayable Debts of Settler Colonialism.” Cultural Politics, vol. 13, no. 3, 2017, pp. 348-369.

“Impulsan la educación financiera con perspectiva de género CONDUSEF, AMIS e INMUJERES.” Gobierno de México, 10 August 2021, https://www.gob.mx/condus ef/prensa/impulsan-la-educacion-financiera-con-pers pectiva-de-genero-condusef-amis-e-inmujeres.

Jacobson, Amanda. “Why can the financial inclusion of women boost Mexico’s economy?” Latin America Business Stories, 27 November 2020, https://labsnew s.com/en/articles/society/financial-inclusion-mexicowomen/.

“PayPal GIVE Program Teaches the Mazahua Community Financial Literacy in Mexico City,” Youtube, uploaded

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by PayPal, 2019. https://youtu.be/3wkXPh4lL1c?si= 59SJVbN-1wzUtRHr. Romero, Fabiola, et al. “Abriendo Futuros: A program for rural indigenous girls in Yucatan, Mexico, Policy brief.” Population Commons, 2020.

“WOMEN AND FINANCIAL LITERACY: OECD/INFE EVIDENCE, SURVEY AND POLICY RESPONSES.” Financial Literacy & Education: Russia Trust Fund, 2013.

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Examining Autism and Co-Occurring Anxiety/Depression through a Sociological Lens DEANNA DURBEN Studies have found that the incidence rates of anxiety and depression in the autistic population are over 50%, more than double that of non-autistic people (Kirsch et al. 66). I aim to examine how the social construction of autism as a disorder, as opposed to a neurotype difference, sets the stage for stigmatization and institutionalization. Using the stress process model, these factors combine with a lack of social support to cause stress proliferation and can explain autistic people’s increased psychological distress (Note: I use identity-first language in this paper due to an overwhelming preference for it in the autism community; Cage et al. 473).

SOCIAL CONSTRUCTION To examine autism, we must first examine its definition and how that definition has been socially constructed by the psychiatric field. The current criteria for autism are a) Persistent deficits in social communication and social interaction across multiple contexts, and b) Restricted, repetitive patterns of behavior, interests, or activities, with the DSM-V-TR adding that “current symptoms may be masked by compensatory mechanisms” (APA 57–59). These deficits in social communication refer to “social-emotional reciprocity” (atypical approaches to social interaction and failures to initiate or respond), “nonverbal communicative behaviors” (displaying appropriate eye contact and body language), and “developing, maintaining and understanding relationships” (APA 57). These criteria reflect a judgment of how well someone’s communication style matches the societal norm, rather than an inherent deficit. Furthermore, research suggests that autistic people do not face social and communication issues when interacting with each other

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(Milton 884). The characterization of “Highly restricted, fixated interests that are abnormal in intensity or focus” also relies on a societal judgment that having less intense interests is normal (APA 58).

These criteria point to autism being a socially constructed disorder. Social constructionism views normality and abnormality as cultural definitions applied to behavior and argues that deviance has no objective definition outside of the cultural rules that define it (Horwitz 48).

Some sociologists go further and argue that there is a fundamental conflict in using medical remedies to treat a social problem whose definition is so dependent on the diagnoser’s worldview (Szasz 113). Under this view, society only pathologizes autism because autistic people are a minority whose behavior is culturally deemed abnormal.

There are, however, aspects of autism which cannot be explained by either social constructionism or a social model of disability. Sensry hypersensitivity (“adverse response to specific sounds or textures”) that can result in meltdowns is inherently disabling, as is “extreme distress at small changes [and] difficulties with transitions” (APA 58).

Executive dysfunction, while not explicitly acknowledged in the DSM, is also a common trait of autism that causes difficulties in task switching and initiation (O’Hearn et al. 1110). However, these traits are not as salient as autistic people’s atypical communication and social difficulties, which is the focus of most psychology research as well as most negative stereotypes and stigmas towards autism.

Of course, the definition of autism has also changed over time, with the fifth edition of the DSM consolidating autism, Asperger’s Syndrome, and Pervasive Developmental Disorder - Not Otherwise Specified into one spectrum due to the large degree of overlap between their signs, symptoms, and treatment (King et al. 107). The task force for each edition of the DSM engages in a conscious social construction of disorders that is in line with

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their overall goals (Whooley 94). For instance, they reclassified autism as a developmental rather than emotional disorder as part of a larger shift in the field from a psychodynamic perspective to a medical one (Liu et al. 1393; Horwitz 45). Some might see this expansion of autism criteria as medicalization, a process whereby previously non-medical problems are defined and treated as medical, and diagnostic criteria expand (Conrad & Slodden 62). Medicalization theory points to pathologization, or medically defining normality and ignoring social contexts, as inherent problems with the DSM. It also considers the influence of pharmaceutical companies, consumers, and advocacy groups on how disorders are defined, not just psychiatrists.

Pharmaceutical companies have not found a medication that changes autism symptoms, so autism diagnosis and treatment have not been affected in the same way that ADHD medication and antidepressant usage has been driven by the drug industry’s financial interests (Schwarz; Horwitz 50). However, despite previous failures, many autism drug trials are currently ongoing (McCarty), meaning that pharmaceutical financial interests may become a larger factor in autism medicalization in the future. The influence of consumers and advocacy groups must then be delineated between parents of autistic children and autistic self-advocates, as their goals often diverge. Parent-run groups have historically sought a cure and treatments to allow their children to better integrate into society, while autism self-advocates typically criticize this position as prioritizing an idea of normality over people’s quality of life. In terms of diagnoses, parents can be reluctant to use the term autism or disclose the child’s diagnosis to them, wanting their child to feel normal and appear normal to others, whereas autistic people typically see diagnoses as a means for self-discovery and live happier lives when they know about their autism from a young age (Almog et al. 4066; Oredipe et al. 205).

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Beyond DSM criteria, securing a diagnosis requires recognition of symptoms and access to knowledgeable doctors (Liu et al. 1398). Research shows that the social diffusion of information about autism within social clusters (and now the internet) drives the rise in diagnosis, not changes in actual incidence rates. This is consistent with overall trends in mental health, where treatment and diagnoses have increased over the last 20 years while depressive symptoms stayed constant (Johnson 54). Clinical providers’ racial and gender biases also heavily impact which diagnoses and treatments they choose to provide, despite the standardized symptom criteria (Loring and Powell 12; Link and Milcarek 288).

LABELING AND STIGMA Autism is a label that defines someone as abnormal, created in large part due to social construction. With the label comes stigma, which links discrediting stereotypes to an attribute and results in status loss, discrimination, and a sense of separation from non-stigmatized groups (Management of Spoiled Identity 3; Link & Phelan 538).

Both the struggles and normal acts of stigmatized groups are viewed differently, and they are held to strict standards that may not even apply to “normals” (Management of Spoiled Identity 6). Autism is a stigmatized identity, in part due to infantilizing and dehumanizing medical narratives that portray autistic people as incapable of personhood and community and claim that autistic individuals lack epistemic authority to contribute to knowledge on their disorder (Botha et al. 428). Only two of the ten most frequent autism stereotypes are positive: “high-intelligence” and “special abilities”, which are more associated with media portrayals of savant syndrome than an average autistic person. Qualitative interviews reveal that autistic people generally view autism as a value-neutral part of their identity, but must continually manage external stigma from non-autistic people (Botha et al. 444).

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Stigmatized groups face the pressure to deflect stigma by distancing themselves and hiding their label (Link & Phelan 537). Autistic people tend to conceal their identity, and mask/camouflage their traits to avoid negative judgments based on autism stereotypes or invalidation of their identity if they do not fit a stereotypical image of autism, which unfortunately causes worse depression, anxiety, and stress (Botha et al. 440; Cage et al. 479). Research has found that having close ties to someone with a certain condition can decrease stigmatization of that condition, but the likelihood of rejecting stigmatized people is highest in closer spheres of interaction like friendship (Perry et al. 439; Pescosolido 13). Combined with people’s reluctance to disclose their autism, this avenue of destigmatization is limited. Reducing stigma by portraying autism as treatable is also not an option, because there is no cure (McGinty et al. 82).

INSTITUTIONALIZATION Historically, institutionalizing severely autistic children was the norm, often under 24-hour restraint if they showed self-injurious behavior (Leaf et al. 2840). Institutionalization involves a stripping of the self and dehumanization, where even normal behaviors are interpreted as abnormal due to one’s status as a patient (“The Moral Career” 123; Rosenhan 257). Applied Behavioral Analysis (ABA) interventions have replaced asylums and aim to teach behavior that allows autistic people to function in society. However, they face criticism for making neurotypical behavior a goal, which self-advocates see as continuing to dehumanize autism (Leaf et al. 2845).

Prisons, considered by some to be the new asylums, have much higher autism prevalence rates than the general population, in line with other lifetime psychiatric disorders (Young et al. 112; Schnittker et al. 455). While there is a lack of quantitative research on autistic people’s interactions with law enforcement, autistic people of color face an

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increased threat of racial injustices in the criminal justice system, and the associated consequences of psychological and physiological stress (Alang et al. 8; Boen 299).

THE STRESS PROCESS MODEL The stress process framework provides a means for understanding why autistic individuals develop anxiety disorders and depression at such high rates. Pearlin and Bierman’s model posits that stressors, resources, and social statuses are all interrelated factors that impact mental health outcomes, and that stress proliferation can explain people’s resulting distress (326). Firstly, primary stressors can be divided into life events (traumatic or other deeply impactful events) and chronic strains (persistent stressors associated with social roles), both of which are relevant to the struggles that autistic people face.

From childhood, autistic children are more likely to be bullied, with prevalence rate estimates ranging from 60-94%. One large review found that within a one-month period, 44-77% of autistic children were bullied, as compared to 2-17% of typically developing children (Hoover 294).

Autistic adults also face more employment difficulties, financial hardship, and domestic abuse than non-autistic adults (Griffiths et al. 1521), and the prevalence of sexual violence against autistic women may be 2-3 times higher than against women in the general population (Cazalis et al. 13). These primary stressors lead to a variety of secondary stressors, and autistic people furthermore face anticipatory stressors and discrimination stress due to their stigmatized status (Pearlin and Bierman 329).

When it comes to moderating resources, coping, social support, and mastery can mitigate the effects of stress (Pearlin and Bierman 330). However, social support for autistic people, as divided into similar others and significant others (Thoits 152), is often harder to find. Similar others can validate feelings, provide advice, and be role models, but a distinct lack of openly autistic people due to

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stigmatization and negative stereotypes means that it is difficult to find positive mentors. Social difficulties may also narrow autistic people’s pool of significant others. However, it is important to acknowledge that this research is based on people’s self-reported perceptions of social support, which has a weak relation to actual received support (Thoits 150).

Thus, autistic people may believe that they receive more or less social support than is actually offered, further adding variability (Turner and Turner 344). Contrary to popular opinion, autistic people may desire social connection, but society attributes behaviors caused by a lack of eye contact and motor stereotypies to a lack of interest in others (Jaswal and Akhtar 11). The problem is that seeking social connection and support can become another psychological hurdle as social stressors exceed people’s capacity to adapt (Pearlin and Bierman 332). Deliberately masking autistic traits for the purpose of social interaction, as discussed earlier, is detrimental to mental health and increases distress and depressive symptoms (Cage et al. 479). Anxiety itself further undermines a sense of mastery over their life, diminishing moderating resources and exacerbating distress when a new stressor occurs.

In conclusion, the stress process for autistic people is driven not only by social difficulties and traumatic events, but by external stigma towards autism and a resulting lack of social support. These factors are difficult to disentangle, speaking to the need for viewing stressors and resources as interrelated chains in the proliferation of stress. The stress process model provides a great framework to examine psychological distress in autistic people, and an explanation for why anxiety and depression so frequently co-occur with autism.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS We, the editors-in-chief, would like to thank the Hamilton College Print Shop for their work in printing this issue and for their advice and expertise. We would also, as always, like to express our appreciation for each author for submitting their work and collaborating with our editors throughout the editorial process, as well as for our wonderful editorial board for their dedication these past few months. Lastly, thanks to you, our readers, for taking part in this journey with us.