You have most likely never heard of her, and probably never will. She was never written about in historical records nor inducted into Western society’s cultural hall of fame. But Nangeli was a rebel. She was an Ezhava woman who lived on the coasts of Kerala in British-ruled India during the 19th century, and she was a badass.
As a young adult, Nangeli faced a caste-based “breast-tax” called Mulakaram, which had been imposed by the then State of Travancore, prohibiting lower-caste women from covering their breasts. Failure to comply resulted in heavy taxation.
When I first investigated the story of Nangeli, I viewed the breast tax as primarily a mechanism to satisfy the sexual desires of upper-caste men, and therefore, Nangeli’s story was one of feminism and resistance to patriarchy. It was only after unearthing layers of caste, religion, and colonization that I discovered her story was just that and so much more.
Nangeli’s life account alongside a parallel analysis of the contemporary #Freethenipple movement brings to light how centering narratives of male sexual desire have silenced other motivations for resistance. From burquas to bikinis, a woman’s choice of clothing has always been deeply interconnected with concepts of feminism and modesty that respond to the male gaze. But, in order to shift social power dynamics and ensure the public safety of women in our modern patriarchy, feminism must be redefined as an inclusive movement empowered by female autonomy — independent of the eyes of men.
The Raw History of Nangeli: Myth or Truth?
During Nangeli’s time, the Mulakaram, or breast tax, served two purposes: first, to maintain India’s deeply-rooted caste system, and second, to appease the male gaze. Indeed, while some say the tax was standardized for all women, others say it was determined based on the size and attractiveness of the woman’s breasts, a clear example of patriarchal and dehumanizing misogyny.
Regardless, Nangeli acted against Travancore’s injustice by covering her breasts without paying the tax. Eventually, when a tax collector arrived at her door and demanded she pay, Nangeli cut off her breasts, placed them on his tray, and bled to death in protest.
Her sacrifice fueled the famous Channar Revolt, also known as the Breast Cloth Rebellion, in which, from 1813 to 1859, lower-caste women from the district of Travancore fought for the right to wear upper-body coverings. Eventually, the Maharaja (King) of Travancore annulled the repressive law and made a Royal Proclamation in 1859 permitting lower-caste women to cover their breasts.
Nangeli’s story has endured from generation to generation as oral history, but only Kerala locals knew of her until the Dalit awakening in the 1990s. Outside of Dalit circles, Nangeli’s story was largely dismissed as a myth or tall tale. Why? For many, the real complexities of anti-caste resistance and colonial conceptions of modesty were too dangerous. Nangeli’s bold actions threatened the power of the powerful, and they still do.
To suppress this very threat, the resistance of Dalit women against oppressive law has been purposefully omitted from history: a 2016 decision from the Madras High Court removed “objectionable content” from school curricula which resulted in the omission of a section titled “Caste, Conflict, and Dress Change” from the Class IX Social Science syllabus, silencing the efforts of Dalit women in early-1880s India.
Artist T Murali was interested in Nangeli’s story and visited Mulachhipuram, where Nangeli’s old house remains. He met with her descendants and relatives and was inspired to create artwork to preserve her legacy. Murali explains the importance of sharing Nangeli’s story and ensuring that education portrays the real truth. He said, in an interview with the HPR, “When people write original and truthful history, only then can we have proper culture.” His insights foreshadow the modern patriarchal condition that results from the erasure of stories like Nangeli’s.
Modesty Culture: A Colonial Conception
Given that she sought to protect herself from being sexualized and objectified by the patriarchy’s lustful eyes, on the surface, Nangeli’s story is a feminist one. However, the need for “modesty” in India did not arise solely or even originally from the breast tax, but rather was fueled by the expectations of missionaries and colonizers.
At the time in South India, going bare-chested was neither shameful nor noteworthy. Rather, people simply chose to wear minimal clothing to allow for evaporation of sweat and prevent overheating in the hot, humid climate. No one cared to look, and no one was bothered by it. Women’s breasts were not sexualized in India until the arrival of missionaries.
Dr. Jayakumari Devika, a Malayali historian from Kerala and professor at the Centre for Development Studies at Thiruvananthapuram explained to the HPR that London missionary societies came to South Travancore and were shocked to see bare-chested women in church. To the pastor, the woman’s bare chest was sinful. Therefore, the women were told that, if they wanted to attend church, they would have to cover up with imported blouses from England. The people needed the support of the missionaries in their anti-caste struggles against the Bhramincal monarchy, and therefore, were willing to do whatever it took to appease them. The patriarchal elements of modesty and caste dignity became intertwined as Colonel John Munro in 1813 issued an order that granted the Christian-converted women the right to wear an upper garment. As Dr. Devika noted, “The missionaries wanted modesty, and the people wanted caste dignity. So they struck a deal.”
Influenced by colonial religious doctrine, women began to view their own bodies as sinful. Consequently, the social sexualization and objectification of women’s breasts became deeply rooted in Indian culture, and ultimately manifested to reinforce an enduring fixture in Indian society: the caste system. Indeed, we must acknowledge that the full purpose of the breast tax was to maintain a caste-based social order. Although popular and historiographical interpretations of her story filter caste defiance and focus more on the role of the male gaze on religious syncretism respectively, Nangeli’s resistance to patriarchal oppression must be viewed in conjunction with her resistance to the caste system.
Fighting Two Uphill Battles: Anti-Caste and Anti-Patriarchial Resistance
Nangeli was from the Ezhava caste, which was not the Untouchable (Dalit) caste but one above it. The Brahmins were considered the highest caste of people, the order closest to God. Therefore, all actions taken by regional rulers were in the interest of continuing the Brahminical order. Anything unproductive to the Brahmanical order was to be removed.
In the extreme case of Kerala, the lowest caste was not just untouchable: it was unseeable. So dire was the injustice that a Dalit person standing in the path of a Brahmin could be legally murdered. In the case of Nangeli, her caste was granted conditional humanity through the payment of taxes. Anything which was not functional for the reproduction of Brahmins was taxed: Thalakaram (hair tax), Meeshakaram (mustache tax), and Mulakaram (breast tax) among others.
Regarding the Mulakaram, standing bare-chested was considered a sign of respect towards the “superior” castes for both lower caste men and women. However, the tax was mainly enforced on Avarna (lower caste) women who wanted to cover their breasts. Just like the Brahmanical system at large, the goal of the Mulakaram was to use social and political power to extract any kind of labor (or visual pleasure) from lower-caste populations while keeping them powerless.
Dr. Devika told the HPR that Nangeli’s story has nothing to do with covering the breast. Rather, Nangeli was telling the government that she did not want a body nor breasts if she had to pay for her humanity and if the Dalit caste was not granted a socially recognized body at all. Thus, struggles for the upper cloth have less to do with modesty and more to do with taking possession of one’s dignity and self-respect and keeping it away from oppressive societal powers. “By her act of defiance, Nangeli established herself as a bodily being,” Devika said. “In my mind, therefore, she is the mother of all civil rights movements and all kinds of struggles for freedom.”
Not only does Nangeli’s story exemplify India’s 19th-century feminist uprising at large, but it also signifies the salience of deconstructing classism in progressive movements. As a member of one of India’s most oppressed castes, Nangeli represents the inclusivity of feminism: freedom cannot only be granted to the privileged. Instead, it must be inspired by those with little to no societal power in the status quo.
Nangeli’s Modern Parallel: The Free the Nipple Movement
Centuries ago, Nangeli fought for the right to cover up, to shield herself from the male gaze. Today, that same spirit of resistance manifests differently in the West: here, instead, women are fighting for the right to uncover. Created in 2012 by New York City filmmaker Lina Esco, who argued that it should be culturally and legally acceptable for women to be topless in public, the now national #Freethenipple (FTN) movement began as a campaign to protest the censorship of female breasts.
Nangeli’s motive to resist oppression was clear, but what is the aim of FTN? Contrary to popular understanding, FTN advocates not to display women’s breasts, but rather, to desexualize and demobilize them as instruments for female objectification. Moreover, the movement intends to relocate power to women: a woman should be the only one with the authority to sexualize her own body.
However, many, especially men, have misconstrued the #Freethenipple movement’s intended effect, tweeting statements like, “#Freethenipple? I wouldn’t complain.” It is clear, then, that the male gaze continuously centers itself in feminist movements, making it all the more difficult to extract feminism from the reigning social narrative dominated by the eyes of men.
The fact is that it is socially acceptable to pay to see women topless in pornography or at strip clubs, often at the request and for the pleasure of men, but if a woman owns her body and wants to be topless of her own volition, it causes social discomfort.
Why is that? How can we redefine feminism not as a reaction to the male gaze but as an egalitarian and inclusive movement meant to recognize the autonomy of women and their choices?
True Independence: Ditching the Male Gaze
Nangeli was an empowered woman, yet she chose to cover up. A woman participating in the #Freethenipple movement is also empowered, yet she chooses to undress. Feminist empowerment, thus, cannot be defined by the quantity of a woman’s clothing.
Unfortunately, though, society’s toxic preoccupation with a woman’s status of dress or undress reinforces and reflects the desires and standards of men. Indeed, while the tale of Nangeli and FTN differ, the history and context of these two phenomena demonstrate a single truth: feminism has always been defined in reaction to the male gaze. In Nangeli’s time, the breast tax was instituted to ensure men could lust over bare-chested women in the streets much in the same way that men seem to enjoy the #Freethenipple trend on social media.
Consider discussions regarding the wage gap as an example. The language society uses, even in progressive circles, to address the subject is always relative to the male experience: “women need to be paid as much as men.” But why must men be the standard?
Feminist objectives and messaging should, instead, be approached from an objective standpoint. Women should seek not to be paid the same as men but rather to be paid the same as others who perform the same quality and quantity of work. Setting a male-influenced standard based on the expectations of an unjust status quo is not as potent as demanding objective and independent empowerment.
Our definition of an empowered woman must, thus, be derived from a place that is not reactionary to male expectations. Ideas of modesty and dignity are, more often than not, prescribed to women by society so that women act in accordance with male sexual desire. However, centering the conversation on a woman’s right to choice of clothing rather than the clothing itself, minimizes the importance of the male gaze and redefines feminism as independent of patriarchal priorities.
Headlines of Harassment
So why does all of this matter? What’s concerning are headlines like this: “India’s tourism minister advises female tourists not to wear skirts to avoid being raped.” Society still asserts that harm against a woman is predicated on her state of dress, so when authorities attempt to mitigate sexual abuse, they tell girls what to wear. But that isn’t the answer. Sexual misconduct and harassment have only one solution: stop placing responsibility on girls, and start educating men. Teach boys that their sexual desire is not the center of every story. Teach boys to respect women in light of any clothing choice. Let the headline read: “India’s tourism minister advises female tourists to be cautious of men’s lack of decency and respect.”
Maybe then we can finally actualize Nangeli’s pursuit of justice, creating a world in which my daughter and her daughters can walk the streets (day or night) freely and fearlessly.
Correction 12/22/22:
An earlier version of this article captioned its second within-text image as saying that it was “not normal for women to choose not to wear a blouse with their sari.” This was incorrect and has since been changed to say “it was normal for women to not wear a blouse with their sari.”
Correction 4/7/2023
An earlier version of this piece noted that women, for instance in the Indian tourist industry, have been told to compensate for men’s Inability to act with decency and control sexual intentions.” The piece now reads “…men’s lack of decency and respect” to emphasize that men always have agency over their actions, and to suggest that any behavior is beyond their control is to reinforce the very patriarchy this piece seeks to interrogate.
