WOMEN’S LABOUR: INSIDE OUT

Prose by Fathimah Fildzah Izzati

dozens of people, seemingly all men, sat around a large table.
they might have been discussing matters of consequence,
drafting an agreement,
or perhaps merely worsening the rupture,
i do not know exactly, and to be honest, i am not interested in finding out.
what unsettles me is that not a single woman is clearly visible in the photograph.
and so, i felt the urge
to trace and reclaim the women's stories lost within that image:
the women unseen, yet presence inevitably lingered beyond the frame.

INSIDE: NOTE TAKER

from the table that appeared to be surrounded entirely by men,
one hand emerged near the map of Sumatra on the right side of the photograph.
it may have belonged to a woman
perhaps the note taker of this all-male meeting.
Her “dexterous hands” or her “ability to listen”
makes women more likely to be chosen for such tasks;
and yet,
Women possess the same ability to speak, to argue,
to define narrative.
often, more powerfully.
still, they are repeatedly placed in the background,
“behind the scenes”, “behind a man’s success,”
or exiled to spaces at the back
(like the kitchen at the rear of the house),
despite carrying out some of the most essential
front-line labour in society.

being a note taker is one example.
no matter how significant the discussion,
without someone to record it, document it, and preserve it,
all will just vanish into thin air.
no agreement, no contract, no continuation.
yet because this labour happens “behind the scenes”,
and so often performed by women,
it is rarely acknowledged or examined.

OUTSIDE: CLEANER

besides the note taker, another woman may have been waiting
in a corner outside the room,
waiting for her turn to sweep the floor,
empty the ashtray at the centre of the table,
which was likely overflowing by the end of the meeting,
and gathered the unused sheets of white papers,
restoring the order to a space shaped by conversations
from which she remained excluded.
throughout her life, she was likely looked down upon:
dismissed, underestimated, made invisible.
Her labour is considered as merely menial.
also, considered even less important than the note taker.
yet i imagine she might once have been
a devoted reader of Soeara Merdeka,
part of what was called “both ummah and proletariat.”

INSIDE: PHOTOGRAPHER

alongside those two women,
there may also have been another woman,
a photographer.
unseen in the frame yet perhaps present all the same.
She carefully watched the room,
attentive to every gesture and movement
of the men gathered around the table.
at the end of the meeting,
She might have invited the note taker and the cleaner
to stand together for a photograph.
"here, let me take your picture,"
then the two women may have posed awkwardly,
“I’ve never had my picture taken,” the cleaner might have said softly.
then came “click” of the large camera,
followed by a burst of blinding light
shining the faces of the cleaner and the note taker.
perhaps afterwards, she longed only to return home,
to read Hikayat Kadiroen with her children,
She had left in the care of her ageing mother.

OUTSIDE: TAILORESSES’ ASSISTANTS, HOUSEWIVES, AND MAIDS

outside the room, there may have been another several women
helping some tailoresses whose suits worn by the men at the meeting.
they might have imagined what fashion might look like in the future,
and wondered whether it was time to join SOBSI, the largest union at that time.
as irregular workers, they lived precariously.
“Is it time to join SOBSI?”
just like the note taker, who wondered the same thing
after encountered a worn leaflet called the "Communist Manifesto"
Her grandfather had left in her childhood home.
“Is it time to join SOBSI?”
as a freelance worker, she also lived precariously.
and beyond them,
the one who prepared dinner for the men in that meeting
were probably women as well:
the wives,
or the maids,
labouring endlessly like a slave,
24/7 in their houses.

THE MOTHER: GOING INTO LABOUR

there are many possible traces of women within this photograph.
in fact, traces of women may even be found within the men themselves.
after all, each of them was born from a woman's womb,
from someone they once called “moeder,” “mamma,” “mama,” “emak,” “ibu.”
some of the mothers of the Indonesian men seated around that table
may have believed that giving birth could itself become an act of decolonisation,
as it was understood within Māori people.
but maybe not.
perhaps they were taught that giving birth was simply a woman's “nature”,
which is not.
men are born of women.
oh sounds essentialist? but that is not what I mean.
men are born of women.

Reference:
1. Fielder, A. (2024) Going into labour: childbirth In capitalism. London Las Vegas: Pluto Press (Mapping social reproduction theory).
2. Ingleson, J. (2022) ‘Workers and Democracy: The Indonesian Labor Movement, 1949–1957’, 20(18), pp. 1–5.
3. Lin, H. (2023) Ummah yet proletariat: Islam, Marxism and the making of the Indonesian Republic. New York: Oxford University Press (Religion and global politics).
4. Marx, K. and Engels, F. (1848) Manifesto of the Communist Party.
5. Semaoen (1920) ‘Hikayat Kadiroen’.

Artist Statement i trace the stories of women lost within the photograph,
by imagining the presence of working women beyond the frame,
those whose labour is often forgotten, diminished
or dismissed as non-work altogether.
Mothers who give birth to children,
Housewives who care for and nurture their families,
Domestic workers who are often considered as mere maids and even servants,
Cleaners, note-takers, photographers, tailoresses’ assistants,
those whose acts of care, documentation, and preservation
are rarely recognised as real labour.
and yet, without women's work, there would be no society.
i also imagine their desires, what they know, dream, and practice
beyond the confines of their labour.
in itself, this imagining becomes an act of resistance.
their labour and resistance,
even when it survives only as longing or wishful thought
are what I seek to emphasise,
and what I hope readers, too, may come to recognise.