This holiday season, Mattel, the world’

biggest toy maker is poised to embarrass itself and enrage Asians across the globe, with

the release of its latest collectible Barbie: The Fantasy Goddess of Asia. Designed by Bob

Mackie in a fit of laziness, ignorance, cynicism or all three, the doll is a mishmash of

racist stereotypes of Asian women—an Oriental Flower/Dragon Lady hybrid.

She sure isn’t my fantasy goddess—or even what I’d guess

to be Mattel’s version of such. The $6.3 billion global giant, with primary

manufacturing facilities in China, Indonesia, and Malaysia, should  know better. In the past feminists have slammed

Barbie—who makes up a whopping 40% of the company’s sales—for being a poor

role model. Today, the toy store shelves are crammed with WNBA Barbies, honoring (in that

Barbie way) strong, accomplished American women. That Asian women, a diverse and growing

population many of whom are in fact manufacturing Mattel toys, are depicted with

retrograde, stereotyped images is all the more striking in contrast.

American soldiers, back from wars in Asia, brought

home the idea that Asian women were utterly feminine, delicate, and

submissive—Oriental Flowers—the perfect antidote to loud, independent, American

women. That idea has been enshrined in popular movies and plays such as “Madame

Butterfly.” But always running parallel to this image of Asian women has been the

myth of the Dragon Lady—the Asian dominatrix who selfishly destroys the world’s

best loved pop band (Yoko Ono) or is a cold-blooded litigation hungry vixen (Ling on

“Ally McBeal”). In recent years, hundreds of prominent Asian and Asian American

women, from the human rights advocate Aung San Suu Kyi and the writer Arundhati Roy to the

model Jenny Shimizu and the skater Kristi Yamaguchi (along with the growing Asian American

feminist movement)  have shown the lie behind

these images. And the publishing, entertainment, and news media industries have been

shaken by them. But not Mattel.

For Mattel’s doll is a mockery of Asian

femininity, and calling it a goddess is an affront to the very notion of divinity. The

doll is the first in the new “International Beauty” collection, which according

to Mattel is “designed to celebrate worldwide beauty in [a] dramatic fantasy

style.” Yet, this doll’s attire is not from any recognizable Asian culture. She

wields fans decorated with dragons, her black hair twirling serpentine above her head, her

strange Barbie body tightly wrapped in a long, western-style beaded gown. No actual Asian

woman (or goddess, for that matter) whose beauty this series is meant to celebrate, looks

or dresses even remotely like the Fantasy Goddess of Asia. And there are literally

hundreds of Asian goddesses—from the Royal Kumari to Kali, whom the doll could have been modeled after. Which brings one

to wonder, whose fantasy of an Asian goddess is

this? And, more lasciviously, what kind of

goddess are we talking about here?

Priced at $250, the Fantasy Goddess of Asia is not

meant for kids, but for adult collectors, who buy and sell Mackie-designed Barbie dolls

for thousands of dollars. In a sense, that makes it worse, for of course it is adults who

patronize the mail-order bride business and participate in the international sex

trafficking of Asian women—two exploitative industries that capitalize on men’s

misguided fantasies about Asian women. Plus, while Mattel attempts to captivate people

with its “fantasy” of Asian women, back in the real world, Asian women and girls

are toiling in Mattel factories, for just 2$ a day in Indonesia, according to

“Dateline”, and for 84-hour-weeks in China, according to the Wall Street Journal.

The irony is not lost on Manavi, a South Asian

domestic violence organization based in New Jersey that has launched a campaign to stop

production of the doll. It seems likely that Asian American feminists and their allies,

who cite Asian goddesses as inspiration and symbol, will sign on with enthusiasm.

Especially today, when Asian women and girls are experiencing perhaps the most widespread

and profound suffering of recent years, it shouldn’t pay to demean us.

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From my grandmother's second-floor back porch in dusty Coimbatore, I could see the villagers squatting on the crest of the hill, their naked bums neatly lined in a row for the daily purge. At age seven, this was a mesmerizing sight. I gained a reputation for dreaminess, for nobody knew what I was really looking at, resting my head on my arms and staring off into the distance for hours at a time. Up north, at my father's mother's tenement flat in Mumbai, there were toilets to use, but these were located at the end of the open-air hallway, next to the wet, reeking terrace where the building's servants sloshed water on dal-spattered steel plates. The doors to the stalls were covered in a living carpet of brown and green. I avoided them as much as possible, resulting in daily stomach-aches, to be soothed with neem oil. To indulge me, I was sometimes allowed to shit on newspapers in the bedroom, which were then wrapped up and tossed out the window into the alley.
People, I knew, slept in the alley. I had stumbled across a child down there, once. The bottom half of his leg was greyed and pimpled, bloated into a fat cylinder by filarial worms. His toenails stuck out from under the heavy folds and flaps, tiny shards.

As an American-born child, sent to stay with relatives in India every summer, all of this was shocking, and fascinating. Back at home, wads of gossamer-thin, perfumed paper tissue, imprinted with lacy designs, were used to cushion each tiny smear of snot as it swirled down the commode's shiny porcelain. Here, people cleared their nasal passages directly into a stinking gutter. All of this-the poverty, the disease, the disparity-must be related, I thought. For a seven-year-old, every mysterious thing in the world is secretly connected. Growing up meant figuring out how. - Sonia Shah, February 2006

Sonia Shah is an investigative journalist and critically acclaimed author whose writing has appeared in The Washington Post, The Boston Globe, New Scientist, The Nation and elsewhere. Her 2006 drug industry exposé, The Body Hunters: Testing New Drugs on the World's Poorest Patients (New Press), has been hailed by Publishers Weekly as "a tautly argued study…a trenchant exposé…meticulously researched and packed with documentary evidence," and as "important [and] powerful" by The New England Journal of Medicine. The book, which international bestselling novelist and The Constant Gardener author John Le Carré called "an act of courage," has enjoyed wide international distribution, including French, Japanese, and Italian editions.

Her 2004 book, Crude: The Story of Oil (Seven Stories), was acclaimed as "brilliant" and "beautifully written" by The Guardian and "required reading" by The Nation, and has been widely translated, from Japanese, Greek, and Italian to Bahasa Indonesia. Her "raw and powerful" (Amazon.com) 1997 collection, Dragon Ladies: Asian American Feminists Breathe Fire, still in print after 10 years, continues to be required reading at colleges and universities across the country.

Shah's writing, based on original reportage from around the world, from India and South Africa to Panama, Malawi, Cameroon, and Australia, has been featured on current affairs shows around the United States, as well as on the BBC and Australia's Radio National. A frequent keynote speaker at political conferences, Shah has lectured at universities and colleges across the country, including Columbia's Earth Institute, MIT, Harvard, Brown, Georgetown and elsewhere. Her writing on human rights, medicine, and politics have appeared in a range of magazines from Playboy, Salon, and Orion to The Progressive and Knight-Ridder. Her television appearances include A&E and the BBC, and she's consulted on many documentary film projects, from the ABC to Channel 4 in the UK. A former writing fellow of The Nation Institute and the Puffin Foundation, Shah is currently writing a book on the history and politics of malaria for Farrar, Straus & Giroux.

Shah was born in 1969 in New York City to Indian immigrants. Growing up, she shuttled between the northeastern United States where her parents practiced medicine and Mumbai and Bangalore, India, where her extended working-class family lived, developing a life-long interest in inequality between and within societies. She holds a BA in journalism, philosophy, and neuroscience from Oberlin College, and lives with molecular ecologist Mark Bulmer and their two sons Zakir and Kush.



 

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