Why does Chichi® has no eyes and hands?”
Visuality, Representation and The Body as a Site of Discourse
The nickname Chichi is deeply enmeshed with cultural meaning in the context of Curaçao – a touristic hotspot in the Caribbean and (former) colony of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. It originated in the vernacular of local Afro-Curaçaoans as a term of endearment for the eldest sister in a nuclear family setting. This sister was usually tasked with extra domestic responsibilities, including the care of younger siblings in the household. To this day, many women on the island are still lovingly referred to as Chichi among Afro-Curaçaoan families. However, the ‘image’ of Chichi has recently undergone a radical transformation. When you utter the name Chichi nowadays, many people immediately visualise something entirely different in their mind’s eye: a statuette that has become something of a ‘glocal’ icon. Yet, despite their popularity, especially among tourists, these statuettes are not entirely uncontroversial and have not been positively received by everyone. While these sentiments have largely gone unnoticed in common discourse, a closer examination reveals that there is more at play than meets the eye. To fully grasp what is at stake, it is necessary to investigate further the origins of these sentiments by taking them seriously. Despite their seemingly innocuous status as decorative artistic objects, the Chichi statuettes have been scrutinised by local people. They contend that the Chichi statuettes perpetuate a harmful stereotype with deleterious effects on local Black women.1 In stark contrast, the creator of the Chichi statuettes claims that the objects instead celebrate the local culture, history and people.
This ongoing debate forms an entry point in local popular culture that illustrates the persistent dynamics on the island, which have existed since its establishment as a Dutch colony and major outpost for the transatlantic trade of enslaved African people. The latter brought together different racialised groups of people in the colony, most notably the descendants of enslaved Africans and those of white Dutch planters.2 The resultant hierarchical racial divide stemming from colonialism is still palpable on the island in many ways. The Chichi statuettes exemplify one of those instances where tensions escalate among the population due to sentiments of social inequity along the dimensions of race, gender, and class. The above dynamics are nevertheless often presented or discussed as a simple matter of truth-finding that, sometimes literally, remains on the surface of things — a tendency that spills over into historical research. Such studies merit much more nuanced investigations that, at the very least, seek to contend with the complexities of postcolonial existence. Consequently, a teleological explanation focusing solely on the end effect or purpose is insufficient for understanding the full significance of these visual objects and where the pain lies. Without identifying the causal factors and preceding events that lead to particular effects and outcomes, we miss the critical historical and social contexts that shape these representations. What I am getting at is that it is insufficient to search for objective facts or truths among differing opinions without first investigating the very ‘structures of truth’ that govern people’s experiences. As Guno Jones aptly put it, “Dutch historiography has left the myth-fact dichotomy unproblematised, which can silence certain perspectives by labelling them as myth”.3 He proposes to ask instead how “definitions of reality function in a power-matrix”. Jones' proposal opens the investigation to include an analysis of the 'structures of feeling', which could provide a deeper understanding of the emotional and experiential dimensions within these visual representations.4
This ongoing debate forms an entry point in local popular culture that illustrates the persistent dynamics on the island, which have existed since its establishment as a Dutch colony and major outpost for the transatlantic trade of enslaved African people. The latter brought together different racialised groups of people in the colony, most notably the descendants of enslaved Africans and those of white Dutch planters.2 The resultant hierarchical racial divide stemming from colonialism is still palpable on the island in many ways. The Chichi statuettes exemplify one of those instances where tensions escalate among the population due to sentiments of social inequity along the dimensions of race, gender, and class. The above dynamics are nevertheless often presented or discussed as a simple matter of truth-finding that, sometimes literally, remains on the surface of things — a tendency that spills over into historical research. Such studies merit much more nuanced investigations that, at the very least, seek to contend with the complexities of postcolonial existence. Consequently, a teleological explanation focusing solely on the end effect or purpose is insufficient for understanding the full significance of these visual objects and where the pain lies. Without identifying the causal factors and preceding events that lead to particular effects and outcomes, we miss the critical historical and social contexts that shape these representations. What I am getting at is that it is insufficient to search for objective facts or truths among differing opinions without first investigating the very ‘structures of truth’ that govern people’s experiences. As Guno Jones aptly put it, “Dutch historiography has left the myth-fact dichotomy unproblematised, which can silence certain perspectives by labelling them as myth”.3 He proposes to ask instead how “definitions of reality function in a power-matrix”. Jones' proposal opens the investigation to include an analysis of the 'structures of feeling', which could provide a deeper understanding of the emotional and experiential dimensions within these visual representations.4
Using this proposal, I aim to go below the surface through an intersectional decoding of Chichi’s interlocking signs and connect them to salient elements of the local social structures of visuality. Chichi will function as a figuration to address the interplay between levels of representation and the overlapping axes of gender, race, and class. I will employ a scavenger methodology to bridge semiotic and discursive traditions.5 Additionally, this approach allows me to bridge gaps between disciplinary boundaries. To my knowledge, there has not yet been a similar attempt to contextualise the social structures of visuality on both concrete and symbolic levels using this specific case study.
The first section provides a close reading of an image of Chichi statuettes at the concrete level, followed by an analysis at the symbolic level. From this point, a handful of elements of the social structures of visuality will be traced to situate the symbolic analysis within a broader socio-historical context. Theoretical tools and concepts are then introduced to help explain the observed phenomena in the preceding analysis. Finally, I will reflect on how my observations contribute to larger discussions of symbolic violence, cultural hegemony, and contemporary relevance, thereby tying this case study to broader theoretical debates.
The first section provides a close reading of an image of Chichi statuettes at the concrete level, followed by an analysis at the symbolic level. From this point, a handful of elements of the social structures of visuality will be traced to situate the symbolic analysis within a broader socio-historical context. Theoretical tools and concepts are then introduced to help explain the observed phenomena in the preceding analysis. Finally, I will reflect on how my observations contribute to larger discussions of symbolic violence, cultural hegemony, and contemporary relevance, thereby tying this case study to broader theoretical debates.
On the shiny black surface:
a close reading of Chichi
A detailed visual analysis at the most basic level, starting with the concrete, observable details, gives us a clearer understanding of the primary visual elements of the Chichi statuettes. Figure 1 shows several versions of the renowned and iconic Chichi design by Serena Israel on a yellow surface against a blue-green background. The mass-produced identical figures visualise the local Chichis as plump, shapely, buxom women with large protruding buttocks. Appearing faceless with glistening onyx skin, the brightly coloured paint that simulates skin-tight clothing enhances the most striking aspect of the visual: the body. The revealing articles of clothing painted on the female sculptures feature arrays of references to local flora, fauna, and nature. Two of them are accessorised with rollers or curlers on their hairless heads. All their bodies are statically positioned with open arms, inviting the viewer to look at their voluptuous, decorated breasts. The sedentary posture creates a V-shape, with crossed legs leading the eyes from their hips and thighs to the point where their feet meet—precisely between the two groin areas in front of the location of the genitals. The sole statuette in a standing position has on a camisole that, in a similar fashion, reveals the lower abdomen, while a bright yellow belt buckle against her jet-black body beckons the eye to the same spot. The black triangle appears as an arrow pointing to the space in the centre of her bosom. In both instances, the resulting composition has the effect of highlighting the sexual anatomy. A diminutive Chichi wearing orange with butterfly wings, dangling sideways in the air in the upper right corner, forms a conspicuous anomaly in the image.
Fig. 1: Serena Israel. [Photo of Chichi statuettes] Chichi Curaçao, n.d.
https://chichi-Curaçao.com/files/2022/05/Quotation-size-samples-2-scaled.jpg
https://chichi-Curaçao.com/files/2022/05/Quotation-size-samples-2-scaled.jpg
Below the surface, underneath the skin
The above description of visual elements traces the initial contours for the symbolic analysis. At this point, I will gradually shift from concrete observations to symbolic interpretations without further digression. Chichi will be used as a figuration to explore the relationship between the statuettes and the people they ostensibly represent. The signifier, in this case the statuettes, simultaneously denotes and connotes the commodified object as well as key members in many local households, namely the eldest sisters. Therefore, both levels must be addressed in tandem to tease out the complex social identities and narratives attached to its interlocking signs. By visualising Chichi, its creator has deployed a universal, totalising figuration of the sign. I will, therefore, from here on refer to the statuettes in the singular to recall this effect.
Fig. 2: Serena Israel. [Screenshot of FAQ page on website], accessed on 18-5-24https://chichi-Curaçao.com/faq/
According to the website, the Chichi statuette is mass-produced from one mould with efficiency and the company’s bottom line in mind. Ironically, the choice of words in their answer to a question on their FAQ page conjures up vivid imagery that illustrates the unscrupulous symbolic violence of this enterprise (see Figure 2). The last sentence stands out in this text: “Chichi® represents the culture of the older, loving and caring sister, she is not a real human being”. This statement is a contradiction in terms because it attempts to separate the concrete and the symbolic level — an impossibility. Furthermore, it effectively ‘fixes’ the multiple possible meanings of Chichi by anchoring it to the words used in the text, serving vested economic interests.6 In this way, written language and images work in conjunction to produce a singular, privileged meaning of the Chichi statuette and the women it represents. The connection between written and visual representation is crucial because “we construct the meaning of things through representing them”, i.e., these representations mediate how we perceive and experience the material world.7 For example, the depiction of references to local flora, fauna, and nature on the body of the Chichi statuette can be seen as echoing the aesthetic tendency to equate Black people with Nature. In Enlightenment ontology, Black people were often symbolised as ‘the primitive’ Nature in contrast with ‘the civilised’ culture of Europeans.8 This convention is evident in racist European imagery depicting Africans.
This FAQ section also foregrounds an economic element when discussing the production of the Chichi statuette, attributing the main aesthetic choices—such as its shape and lack of distinguishing details—to economic reasons. Mainly its shape and lack of distinguishing details are affected by this decision. It is stated that this rationale is why “Chichi has no eyes and hands” nor a face. Racial capitalist interests explicitly prioritise economic gain over the accurate representation of a diverse group of women. These class interests unavoidably intersect with gender and race. The women represented by the Chichi statuette are reduced to anonymous bodies frozen in a servile position, evoking images of Sarah Baartman, the Hottentot Venus. Sarah Baartman was exhibited alive in different parts of Europe, exploiting fascination with her physical features, and after her death, her body was dissected against her wishes for the study of her genitals. A plaster cast of her body continued to be displayed for 160 years in a museum for visitors’ viewing pleasure.9 This fact also highlights how visual elements are produced, distributed, exchanged, and consumed within the cultural context of Curaçao. While the symbolic violence of Sarah Baartman is overt, the aesthetic conventions of Chichi superficially mystify and mask its deeper implications. The trademark symbol (®) indicates that Chichi is trademarked and protected by intellectual property rights. Chichi and the terms under which its representations are established and deployed have been monopolised as a function of cultural hegemony. Who benefits in the struggle over meaning, value, and power within these (visual) economies? What are the broader consequences of these exploitative market economies, and who suffers as collateral damage? These questions are particularly relevant in places like Curaçao, where meanings are conveyed and projected globally through objects imbued with cultural significance, whether through online images or the influx of tourists eager to take home a piece of local culture. Especially given the asymmetrical relationship of interdependence between tourists and locals, where the latter have little choice but to participate in a deleterious and extractive tourism economy for survival. Far too often, these trickle-down economics relegate locals to a position where they must perform their culture to meet visiting tourists’ paradisiacal fantasies of the tropics and satisfy a nostalgic return to the colonial aesthetic order—of how things ought to be.
This FAQ section also foregrounds an economic element when discussing the production of the Chichi statuette, attributing the main aesthetic choices—such as its shape and lack of distinguishing details—to economic reasons. Mainly its shape and lack of distinguishing details are affected by this decision. It is stated that this rationale is why “Chichi has no eyes and hands” nor a face. Racial capitalist interests explicitly prioritise economic gain over the accurate representation of a diverse group of women. These class interests unavoidably intersect with gender and race. The women represented by the Chichi statuette are reduced to anonymous bodies frozen in a servile position, evoking images of Sarah Baartman, the Hottentot Venus. Sarah Baartman was exhibited alive in different parts of Europe, exploiting fascination with her physical features, and after her death, her body was dissected against her wishes for the study of her genitals. A plaster cast of her body continued to be displayed for 160 years in a museum for visitors’ viewing pleasure.9 This fact also highlights how visual elements are produced, distributed, exchanged, and consumed within the cultural context of Curaçao. While the symbolic violence of Sarah Baartman is overt, the aesthetic conventions of Chichi superficially mystify and mask its deeper implications. The trademark symbol (®) indicates that Chichi is trademarked and protected by intellectual property rights. Chichi and the terms under which its representations are established and deployed have been monopolised as a function of cultural hegemony. Who benefits in the struggle over meaning, value, and power within these (visual) economies? What are the broader consequences of these exploitative market economies, and who suffers as collateral damage? These questions are particularly relevant in places like Curaçao, where meanings are conveyed and projected globally through objects imbued with cultural significance, whether through online images or the influx of tourists eager to take home a piece of local culture. Especially given the asymmetrical relationship of interdependence between tourists and locals, where the latter have little choice but to participate in a deleterious and extractive tourism economy for survival. Far too often, these trickle-down economics relegate locals to a position where they must perform their culture to meet visiting tourists’ paradisiacal fantasies of the tropics and satisfy a nostalgic return to the colonial aesthetic order—of how things ought to be.
Black flesh: the spectacle of Chichi
The questions posed in the latter part of the previous paragraph point to the compounding effects of the Chichi statuette. In this section, I will describe its social effects, or “what is at stake”, by examining some salient elements of the social structures of visuality at play in this case. Background on the historical and social context of Curaçao is important for understanding social practices of looking. Visuality points to how “the capacity to look, to be seen, to see, and to participate in the practices of visual culture involves social contestation”.10 I will explore social practices of looking by analysing the Chichi statuette in a public arena. The Chichi statuette is not only placed as a decorative piece in the domiciles of hundreds of tourists but also displayed as a large sculpture in popular tourist spots on the island. In these locations, Chichi becomes a public spectacle, serving as visual entertainment. Simultaneously, the body of Chichi itself becomes a site of discourse by extension.11 This ‘spectacle of the “Other”’ brings into sharp relief the poetics
Fig. 3: Royal House (@koninklijkhuis). “The Royal Couple and the Princess of Orange visit the Punda district. The King strikes a coin marking 25 years of Willemstad as a UNESCO World Heritage city. They also view a Chichi.”, X (formerly known as Twitter), 02-02-2023, 09:10 PM,
https://x.com/koninklijkhuis/status/1621239742175092736
https://x.com/koninklijkhuis/status/1621239742175092736
(artistic expression) and politics (power dynamics) of representation.12 Exhibiting Chichi in this manner perpetuates ‘myths’ about gender, race, and class drawn from a dominant representational paradigm. This paradigm commonly reduces Black people to and fetishises essential signifiers marking their difference, such as their skin, genitals and physiognomy. At the same time, it “licenses an unregulated voyeurism” by inviting spectators to look, approach and touch the faceless, ever-consenting body of Chichi as they please. After all, “she is not a real human being”, but merely a sculpture of flesh. Hortense Spillers makes a crucial distinction between “body” and “flesh”. She argues that "flesh" refers to the raw, vulnerable state of the African body subjected to the violence and dehumanisation of slavery. This contrasts with the “body,” which is a more stable and socially recognised form of human identity.13 Spillers discusses the specific ways in which Black women’s bodies were subjected to racial and sexual violence, and how this history continues to shape contemporary representations. The mammy stereotype is clearly fleshed out in the case of Chichi: “prototypical house-servants, usually big, fast, bossy and cantankerous, with their good-for-nothing husbands sleeping it off at home, their utter devotion to the white household and their unquestioned subservience in their workplaces”.14 Once again, we see a flattening of the richness of Afro-Curaçaoan women’s identities, reminiscent of the case of Sarah Baartman.
The promotional story accompanying the Chichi statuette is also a somewhat romanticised cultural representation of the role of Chichi in the household, aestheticising the stereotype as something sentimental, ideal, and beautiful.15 First and foremost, I find it important to acknowledge and honour the crucial role Afro-Curaçaoan women have played in passing on (spiritual) traditions and customs through “everyday practices of domesticity, love, and survival.”16 While the title and role of Chichi are dutifully assumed, being the eldest sister often means assuming burdensome domestic responsibilities from a young age and prioritising the needs of the people around you above your own. When left unproblematised, this myth erases the experiences of local women, endering their identities invisible and subsuming them under a singular narrative.17 Chichi is thus ultimately entangled in similar discursive formations as Sarah Baartman and subject to comparable symbolic violence that threatens the agency of real-life Chichi’s behind the statuette. Positioned at the nexus of intersecting social forces, the Chichi statuette serves as a contemporary cultural artifact echoing historical dehumanization and objectification.
The promotional story accompanying the Chichi statuette is also a somewhat romanticised cultural representation of the role of Chichi in the household, aestheticising the stereotype as something sentimental, ideal, and beautiful.15 First and foremost, I find it important to acknowledge and honour the crucial role Afro-Curaçaoan women have played in passing on (spiritual) traditions and customs through “everyday practices of domesticity, love, and survival.”16 While the title and role of Chichi are dutifully assumed, being the eldest sister often means assuming burdensome domestic responsibilities from a young age and prioritising the needs of the people around you above your own. When left unproblematised, this myth erases the experiences of local women, endering their identities invisible and subsuming them under a singular narrative.17 Chichi is thus ultimately entangled in similar discursive formations as Sarah Baartman and subject to comparable symbolic violence that threatens the agency of real-life Chichi’s behind the statuette. Positioned at the nexus of intersecting social forces, the Chichi statuette serves as a contemporary cultural artifact echoing historical dehumanization and objectification.
Chichi’s infinite possibilities
I have only touched upon a fraction of everything that can be said on this topic and therefore implore readers to explore further into aspects discussed or not mentioned in this text. For example, consider the alternative ways of making Chichi statuettes. The owner of the Chichi enterprise offers workshops where you can paint and customise your own Chichi. This activity adds a tactile dimension, placing the Chichi literally in the hands of participants. At this juncture, a space of opportunity presents itself for Chichi to take on new meanings beyond the pre-destined, singular one that invariably emerges from the kiln. However, the danger of this single story still looms.
The Chichi statuette is not just a neutral artistic and cultural object produced, marketed, and sold to mostly tourist visitors on the island of Curaçao. It embodies discourses on race, gender, and class that shape social and aesthetic conventions and codes. The meanings it is charged with have contemporary relevance for a postcolonial Curaçao because these visual representations acutely affect social practices of looking and societal attitudes. The signs discussed throughout this text are constructed, enacted, and enforced through social structures of visuality that can be traced back to a colonial past that still holds relevance in the present.
The Chichi figuration is intricately bound up in a visual economy of imperialist (cis)heteropatriarchal racial capitalism. Redressing this issue requires taking seriously the social effects of the Chichi statuette along with the people contesting its representations. If left unchecked, it can perpetuate symbolic violence and cultural hegemony for the very marginalised people it seeks to represent positively.
This conclusion should not be read as condemnation. Instead, it is an invitation to reconfigure the signification of Chichi; to look at all the potentiality of meanings the term holds and move it closer again to the women who cared for and nurtured us with love from infancy to adulthood. It is a proposal to rethink our relations with the visual and delimit the boundaries of the imposed structures that govern our imaginaries.
The goal then becomes to develop a new aesthetic sensibility aimed at creating new forms of the real—floating and mobile forms. It is in this liminal space, between ‘no longer’ and ‘not yet’, a place of transformation and disruption, where reconfiguration can occur. This gap or space of liminality allows for self-referral to extend beyond an essential singularity, opening up an inexhaustible range of combinations and compositions.
I dedicate this work to my three Chichi’s: my wela (grandmother), my mother, and my sister. Mi stima boso.
The Chichi statuette is not just a neutral artistic and cultural object produced, marketed, and sold to mostly tourist visitors on the island of Curaçao. It embodies discourses on race, gender, and class that shape social and aesthetic conventions and codes. The meanings it is charged with have contemporary relevance for a postcolonial Curaçao because these visual representations acutely affect social practices of looking and societal attitudes. The signs discussed throughout this text are constructed, enacted, and enforced through social structures of visuality that can be traced back to a colonial past that still holds relevance in the present.
The Chichi figuration is intricately bound up in a visual economy of imperialist (cis)heteropatriarchal racial capitalism. Redressing this issue requires taking seriously the social effects of the Chichi statuette along with the people contesting its representations. If left unchecked, it can perpetuate symbolic violence and cultural hegemony for the very marginalised people it seeks to represent positively.
This conclusion should not be read as condemnation. Instead, it is an invitation to reconfigure the signification of Chichi; to look at all the potentiality of meanings the term holds and move it closer again to the women who cared for and nurtured us with love from infancy to adulthood. It is a proposal to rethink our relations with the visual and delimit the boundaries of the imposed structures that govern our imaginaries.
The goal then becomes to develop a new aesthetic sensibility aimed at creating new forms of the real—floating and mobile forms. It is in this liminal space, between ‘no longer’ and ‘not yet’, a place of transformation and disruption, where reconfiguration can occur. This gap or space of liminality allows for self-referral to extend beyond an essential singularity, opening up an inexhaustible range of combinations and compositions.
I dedicate this work to my three Chichi’s: my wela (grandmother), my mother, and my sister. Mi stima boso.
Coda: An audiovisual essay titled Ora ku mama no tei, ta Chichi tinku sigui accompanies this paper, expanding on the themes discussed from the perspectives of Chichi’s and their kin. Click here to access the video.
Bibliography
[1] Rianne Oosterom, ‘Het Chichi-beeld: een viering van de zwarte vrouw of een onsmakelijke karikatuur?’, Trouw, 29 januari 2023, https://www.trouw.nl/binnenland/het-chichi-beeld-een-viering-van-de-zwarte-vrouw-of-een-onsmakelijke-karikatuur~bf259acb/.
[2] The ethnoracial make-up of Curaçaoan society is much more complex as an island characterised by movement and migration. My focus here on these two groups refers to the historic colour lines along which the population was divided; the black-white dichotomy that existed in colonial society and persists in the postcolony in nuanced complex ways.
[3] Guno Jones, ‘Anton de Kom, Situated Knowledge and Citizenship Violence’ (Lecture, KITLV/Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies, Leiden, 26 april 2023).
[4] Raymond L. Williams, Marxism and Literature, repr, Marxist Introductions (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2009).
[5] Gloria Wekker, White innocence: paradoxes of colonialism and race (Durham: Duke University Press, 2016), 26.
[6] Stuart Hall, Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices (London: Sage, 1997), 228.
[7] Marita Sturken en Lisa Cartwright, Practices of Looking: An Introduction to Visual Culture, Third edition (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018), 19.
[8] Hall, Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices.
[9] Rosemarie Buikema, ‘The Arena of Imaginings: Sarah Baartman and the Ethics of Representation’, in Doing Gender in Media, Art and Culture. A Comprehensive Guide to Gender Studies, onder redactie van Rosemarie Buikema, Liedeke Plate, en Kathrin Thiele (London and New York: Routledge, 2017), 81-93.
[10] Sturken en Cartwright, Practices of looking, 24.
[11] Hall, Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices, 244.
[12] Hall, 225.
[13] Hortense Spillers, ‘Mama’s Baby, Papa’s Maybe’, An American Grammar Book, 2009.
[14] Hall, Representation: Cultural Representations and Signifying Practices, 251.
[15] Nicholas Mirzoeff, ‘The Right to Look’, Critical Inquiry 37, nr. 3 (2011): 476, https://doi.org/10.1086/659354.
[16] Buro Stedelijk, ‘#37 Keti Koti Westerpark - Buro Stedelijk -’, Buro Stedelijk (blog), geraadpleegd 4 juli 2024, https://burostedelijk.nl:443/manifestations/37-keti-koti-westerpark/.
[17] Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, ‘The danger of a single story’, TED, juli 2009, https://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_ngozi_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story