Can the Subaltern Speak?

In 1988, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak published an article that would forever change postcolonial studies and feminist theory. “Can the Subaltern Speak?” is not merely a rhetorical question but a fundamental challenge to the entire Western knowledge production system. With over 34,000 citations, far exceeding other postcolonial theoretical texts of its era, this article has become a central reference for understanding issues of representation, voice, and marginalization.

The Urgency of Theoretical Intervention

Spivak wrote this article against the backdrop of growing Western academic interest in the “Third World” and the “subaltern” in the 1980s. Postcolonial studies was emerging, the Subaltern Studies Group had formed in India, and Western intellectuals were eager to “give voice” to the oppressed. However, Spivak perceived problems hidden within this seemingly progressive academic trend: when Western intellectuals claim to represent the subaltern, are they actually repeating colonialism’s epistemic violence?

This question is not an abstract theoretical game. It concerns real political consequences—who has the right to speak, whose voice is heard, whose experiences are considered valid knowledge. Spivak’s intervention attempts to reveal how even the most well-intentioned liberation discourse can become a tool of oppression.

The Complexity of the “Subaltern” Concept

Spivak insists that “subaltern” is not just “a classy word for oppressed.” Borrowing Gramsci’s concept, she defines the subaltern as groups structurally excluded from capitalist narratives, whose voices cannot be heard. In postcolonial contexts, “everything that has limited or no access to cultural imperialism is subaltern—a space of difference.”

But Spivak’s innovation lies in recognizing that subalternity is not a fixed identity but a relational position. The same person may or may not be subaltern in different contexts. More importantly, when subalterns attempt to speak—when they gain platforms to be heard—they cease to be subaltern in a certain sense. This creates a paradox: the very definition of subalternity includes voicelessness.

This understanding avoids romanticizing the subaltern or assuming there exists some “pure” subaltern voice waiting to be discovered. Instead, it directs attention to the structural conditions that make certain groups subaltern—not just economic and political structures but also epistemological ones.

The Double Meaning of Representation

Central to Spivak’s analysis is the distinction between two German concepts of “representation”: Vertretung (political representation) and Darstellung (re-presentation or portrayal). Western intellectuals often conflate these two, believing their academic re-presentation of the subaltern equals political representation.

This conflation is not harmless. When intellectuals claim to “let the subaltern speak,” they are actually speaking for the subaltern, interpreting subaltern experiences through their own categories and frameworks. This representational discourse—however sympathetic—inevitably alters the message it claims to convey.

Spivak particularly critiques Western theorists like Foucault and Deleuze, who claim the subaltern can speak directly without intellectual mediation. She argues this position denies the problem of representation, pretending intellectuals can transparently convey subaltern voices. In reality, this denial makes intellectuals’ mediating role invisible and thus more dangerous.

The Gender Dimension in Colonial Discourse

What makes Spivak’s theoretical contribution unique is her focus on the gender dimension. She famously writes: “White men are saving brown women from brown men,” a phrase that encapsulates colonialism’s gendered logic.

Through analyzing British colonizers’ abolition of the Indian practice of widow immolation (sati), Spivak shows how this “rescue” discourse erases Indian women’s agency. Colonizers present themselves as enlightened liberators, portray Indian men as barbaric oppressors, while Indian women are reduced to helpless victims needing salvation.

But Spivak’s analysis is more complex. She is not defending sati but showing how both colonial discourse and native patriarchy together silence Indian women. In the debate between colonizers and native elites about sati, women’s own voices are completely absent. They can speak neither in colonial law nor in traditional custom.

The Concept of Epistemic Violence

Spivak introduces the concept of “epistemic violence” to describe how knowledge production itself becomes a form of oppression. This violence is not physical but operates through defining what counts as knowledge, who has the right to produce knowledge, and what experiences are considered valid.

Colonialism’s epistemic violence lies not only in imposing foreign knowledge systems but in systematically destroying and devaluing indigenous ways of knowing. This destruction is so thorough that the colonized often internalize colonizers’ epistemological frameworks, understanding themselves through colonizers’ language and concepts.

This analysis has profound implications for postcolonial studies itself. Even academic work attempting to recover subaltern voices, if using Western theoretical frameworks and methodologies, may perpetuate epistemic violence. This doesn’t mean abandoning theory but remaining vigilant about theory’s violent potential.

The Case of Bhuvaneswari

The climax of Spivak’s article is her analysis of the story of Bhuvaneswari Bhaduri. This young Indian woman committed suicide in 1926, deliberately waiting until her menstruation to avoid her death being misread as suicide due to illicit pregnancy. It was later revealed she was a member of the anti-colonial struggle who killed herself because she couldn’t carry out a political assassination.

Spivak uses this case to illustrate the complexity of subaltern women’s attempts to speak. Bhuvaneswari tried to send a message through her dying body, but this message was misread or ignored. Her family attributed her suicide to “illicit love,” completely missing her political message.

This tragic example demonstrates the double bind facing subaltern women: they not only lack platforms to speak, but even when they attempt to speak through extreme means, their messages are distorted or erased by dominant discourse. Bhuvaneswari’s body becomes a text, but this text cannot be read within available interpretive frameworks.

Challenge to Feminism

Spivak’s analysis poses severe challenges to Western feminism. She points out that Western feminism, in attempting to establish global sisterhood, often repeats imperialist gestures. White feminists universalize their own experiences, assuming all women face the same patriarchal oppression.

This universalization ignores how race, class, nationality, and colonial history fundamentally shape different women’s experiences. When Western feminists attempt to speak for “Third World women,” they often reduce these women to victims, denying their agency and forms of resistance.

Spivak’s critique doesn’t mean abandoning feminist solidarity but building solidarity that acknowledges difference and unequal power relations. This requires Western feminists to critically examine their own privilege and complicity in global capitalist systems.

The Responsibility of Intellectuals

Spivak’s reflection on the intellectual’s role is a central concern of her article. She warns intellectuals against pretending they can transparently represent the subaltern, but also doesn’t advocate complete silence or inaction.

Instead, she calls for a “critical intellectual practice” where intellectuals acknowledge and constantly question their own position and limitations. This includes: first, recognizing one’s privilege and complicity; second, learning to “unlearn” one’s privilege; third, creating spaces for the subaltern to speak; and finally, critically examining structures that prevent the subaltern from being heard.

This practice is not about speaking for the subaltern but about analyzing and challenging conditions that silence the subaltern. The intellectual’s task is not to recover the subaltern’s voice but to show that the impossibility of such recovery is itself a symptom of power’s operation.

Global Dissemination and Localization of Theory

While Spivak’s analysis originates from the specific context of South Asian colonial history, her theoretical framework has resonated globally. In different regions, scholars and activists have applied her concepts to local power relations and forms of marginalization.

In Latin America, the concept of the subaltern has been used to analyze the situations of indigenous and Afro-descendant populations. In Africa, it helps understand internal colonialism in postcolonial states. In East Asia, it’s used to critique Orientalism in modernization discourse. Each context enriches and complicates Spivak’s original concept.

But this global dissemination also carries risks. Spivak herself warns against turning “subaltern” into an empty category that can be applied arbitrarily. It’s important to focus on specific historical and structural conditions in each context rather than assuming universal subaltern experience exists.

Critiques and Debates

Spivak’s article has sparked intense debate and criticism. Some critics argue her position is too pessimistic, denying possibilities of subaltern resistance and agency. Others ask: if the subaltern truly cannot speak, what is the basis for political action?

There are also critiques of Spivak’s own writing style—dense, obscure, full of theoretical jargon. Critics ask: if the goal is for the subaltern to be heard, why use such elitist language? Spivak responds that simplifying complex problems is itself a form of violence, and demands for clarity often mean demanding conformity to dominant discursive norms.

Another important critique comes from Subaltern Studies scholars themselves, who argue Spivak misunderstands or misrepresents their project. This has led to ongoing debates about the possibilities and methods of writing subaltern history.

New Dimensions in the Digital Age

In the era of social media and digital platforms, Spivak’s questions gain new urgency. On the surface, these platforms seem to give everyone a chance to speak. But who is really heard? How do algorithms determine which voices are amplified? How does the digital divide create new forms of subalternity?

Questions of representation in digital spaces become more complex. When marginalized groups’ voices are retweeted and shared, they’re often decontextualized and commodified. The subaltern’s digital “voice” may be co-opted into neoliberal diversity discourse without challenging structures that produce subalternity.

At the same time, digital technology creates new possibilities for organization and resistance. The issue is not technology itself but how it’s used and who controls digital infrastructure. Spivak’s analysis reminds us to remain critical of digital utopianism.

Intersectionality and Multiple Marginalization

Spivak’s focus on subaltern women anticipated later developments in intersectionality theory. She shows how gender, race, class, and colonial status interact to create specific forms of silence and marginalization.

Subaltern women don’t simply suffer “double oppression” but occupy a unique position where different axes of power intersect in specific ways. Understanding this complexity requires moving beyond additive approaches (gender plus race plus class) to analyze how these categories mutually constitute each other.

This analysis has important implications for contemporary social movements. It warns against assuming unified identities or interests and requires attention to power differences and exclusion mechanisms within movements.

Pedagogical Implications

Spivak’s work has profound implications for educational practice. If the subaltern cannot speak in dominant discourse, how can education become a tool of liberation rather than a mechanism of oppression?

This requires fundamentally rethinking pedagogy. Rather than simply “including” marginalized voices, education needs to question the very frameworks that define what counts as knowledge. This might involve: acknowledging multiple ways of knowing, critically examining power relations in curriculum, creating spaces for students to question dominant narratives, and developing critical literacy skills.

But this is not simply celebrating “indigenous knowledge” or rejecting theory. Rather, it’s about developing critical pedagogies that can acknowledge their own limitations and violent potential.

Conclusion: The Continuing Challenge

“Can the subaltern speak?” This question continues to haunt us. Spivak’s answer—that under current conditions, the subaltern as subaltern cannot speak—is not a defeatist statement but a call to action.

If the subaltern cannot speak, it’s not because they lack words or consciousness but because the structural conditions that make them subaltern. Challenging these conditions requires more than just giving marginalized groups “voice”—it requires transforming entire systems that define who can speak, what counts as speech, and who will be heard.

Spivak’s legacy lies in her insistence on this transformation’s difficulty. There are no simple solutions, no pure positions, no voices uncontaminated by power. But it’s precisely in recognizing this complexity, in refusing simple answers, that genuine critical work can begin.

“Can the Subaltern Speak?” reminds us that the most radical gesture is sometimes not speaking but listening—not listening for what we expect to hear but listening to silence itself, to what is suppressed in that silence. In that listening, in acknowledging our own complicity, lies the possibility of a different future—a future where the subaltern is no longer subaltern, not because they’ve been “elevated” or “saved,” but because the very conditions producing subalternity have been abolished.