Fanon writes about how speaking a language means above all to assume a culture. It is true that language interpellates the speaker into certain modes of thought. But it is not a complete adoption of any one particular culture. Speaking a language also involves a self-reflexive process of negotiation between several cultures, an intersecting of different language-consciousnesses, and a continuous testing of boundaries i.e. what does a word, like “suck”, signify etc. Stephen’s walk across the city highlights the merging of cultures and consciousnesses – “he passed the sloblands of Fairview…think of the cloistral silver-veined prose of Newman…the dark humor of Guido Cavalcanti…went by Baird’s stonecutting works…the spirit of Ibsen…the songs by Ben Jonson…the spectral words of Aristotle or Aquinas…the dainty songs of the Elizabethans”. I guess the point is that when one speaks of language, there always seem to be some kind of essentializing quality of language; as though speaking English equals to English culture and speaking Gaelic equals to Irish culture [as Davin asks Stephen, “Are you Irish at all? … Why don’t you learn Irish?”]. In fact, speaking a language also points to a multitude of worlds, between past and present, between different cultures and ideological belief-systems, intersecting and co-existing in consciousness.
(it's a very Bakhtin approach which i wonder if it makes any sense in relation to Fanon, or the issue of speaking a colonial language)
Showing posts with label angelineoei. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angelineoei. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Who was right then?
The links between politics and religion were brought across quite strongly in Portrait (which I felt weren't discussed enough by Jackson). At the Christmas dinner, the party talks about the death of Parnell who is an Irish Protestant and a nationalist politics leader. The conversation then turns to the idea of the Catholic Church meddling in state politics: Dedalus says “Nobody is saying a word against them…so long as they don’t meddle in politics; Dante retorts that the “bishops and priests in Ireland have spoken…and they must be obeyed” (35). The intermingling of politics and religion gets mixed up in individual relations, not only between grown-ups, but also between children, who must already learn to take sides. Dante discourages Stephen from playing with Eileen because Eileen was a protestant, and “when [Dante] was young she knew children that used to play with protestants and the protestants used to make fun of the litany of the Blessed Virgin” (39).
The argument over religion and politics becomes somewhat cyclical [if the priests didn’t interfere with politics, it will be fine; but the priests are important and if people didn’t disagree with them, it will be fine etc.] Stephen sums it up with, “Who was right then?” (40) When Stephen thinks about God, he remembers that “Dieu was the French for God” and “though there were different names for God in all different languages in the world…still God remained always the same God and God’s real name was God” (17). Everyone is right in some way or another, but the internal division that stems from politics, religion, and the effects of colonialism [how alliances with the British and the imposition of certain policies further fueled these divisions], passed on through generations, makes it impossible for any cohesive resolution.
The argument over religion and politics becomes somewhat cyclical [if the priests didn’t interfere with politics, it will be fine; but the priests are important and if people didn’t disagree with them, it will be fine etc.] Stephen sums it up with, “Who was right then?” (40) When Stephen thinks about God, he remembers that “Dieu was the French for God” and “though there were different names for God in all different languages in the world…still God remained always the same God and God’s real name was God” (17). Everyone is right in some way or another, but the internal division that stems from politics, religion, and the effects of colonialism [how alliances with the British and the imposition of certain policies further fueled these divisions], passed on through generations, makes it impossible for any cohesive resolution.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
European women in native lands
Stoler’s essay talks about the role of women in colonialism, and how sexual politics can be seen in relation to racial policies. Although the presence of European women in native lands enforced the boundaries and social spaces drawn between the white community and the natives, this reinforcement of racial differences was a continuation from previous tensions in the interactions between colonizers and colonized. European women are however chided for several things: racism, jealousy of Euro-Asian unions, and if they are assaulted by natives, they are often blamed for provoking their desires.
Similarly, the women in the novels read in this course have been portrayed as naïve, racist and unable to adapt to native cultures. Have we been reading them wrongly? That we fault these women for perhaps not being more open-minded and less racist, when in fact, they had a gendered-specific role to play in the colonial lands. As Stoler argues, “what European women had to say had little resonance and little effect until their objections coincided with a realignment in both racial and class politics in which they were strategic” (57). Do we perhaps take on the position of a White male colonizer with certain expectations of how European women were to behave, in ways which are also “strategic” to our own understandings of colonialism?
If colonialism is predicated on colonial difference, then European women could either be perceived as the bearers of these differences or they could transgress their roles. Either way, they must be read in ways aligned with particular ideologies and value systems. As much as European women, like the natives, are policed by the white male colonizers, they are policed by readers too.
Similarly, the women in the novels read in this course have been portrayed as naïve, racist and unable to adapt to native cultures. Have we been reading them wrongly? That we fault these women for perhaps not being more open-minded and less racist, when in fact, they had a gendered-specific role to play in the colonial lands. As Stoler argues, “what European women had to say had little resonance and little effect until their objections coincided with a realignment in both racial and class politics in which they were strategic” (57). Do we perhaps take on the position of a White male colonizer with certain expectations of how European women were to behave, in ways which are also “strategic” to our own understandings of colonialism?
If colonialism is predicated on colonial difference, then European women could either be perceived as the bearers of these differences or they could transgress their roles. Either way, they must be read in ways aligned with particular ideologies and value systems. As much as European women, like the natives, are policed by the white male colonizers, they are policed by readers too.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Abandonment
Stoler talks about the issue of abandonment of mixed blood children in the colonial context as that which is predicated on specific race, cultural and gender coordinates. If the colonial project is based on colonial difference – race – then these mixed blood children who blur racial distinctions also disrupts colonialism and a European national identity.
The other significant thing is how criticism on abandoned mixed blood children falls more so on the immoral influences of native women rather than European men: “the indigenous woman who consents to live with a European is a veritable prostitute…when…the latter disappear or abandon her, she fatally returns to the vice which she came from…” Which seems to be exactly how Ma Hla May is portrayed in the text: a prostitute. Cultural, physical and moral contamination does not arise just out of racial differences but also becomes a gender issue. Elizabeth points out the belief that “these Eurasians are very degenerate…that half-castes always inherit what’s worst in both races” (126) – referring to these “worst” aspects as inherited from native women.
Stoler also mentions how the issue of abandonment centers on the lack of paternal [European] discipline and the threat of the single-mother family. Which can perhaps be refuted by Flory’s argument: “We always talk of them as though they’d sprung up from the ground like mushrooms, with all their faults ready-made. But when’s all said and done, we’re responsible for their existence” (126). The use of “we” suggests that there is a need to claim responsibility for these children, beyond an individual level to a national level – in which, perhaps the European colonizing nation will replace the father figure [that seems to have been missing from single-native-mother families]. But can these children, brought up by “immoral” native women, really be incorporated into the paternal colonizing nation?
(300!)
The other significant thing is how criticism on abandoned mixed blood children falls more so on the immoral influences of native women rather than European men: “the indigenous woman who consents to live with a European is a veritable prostitute…when…the latter disappear or abandon her, she fatally returns to the vice which she came from…” Which seems to be exactly how Ma Hla May is portrayed in the text: a prostitute. Cultural, physical and moral contamination does not arise just out of racial differences but also becomes a gender issue. Elizabeth points out the belief that “these Eurasians are very degenerate…that half-castes always inherit what’s worst in both races” (126) – referring to these “worst” aspects as inherited from native women.
Stoler also mentions how the issue of abandonment centers on the lack of paternal [European] discipline and the threat of the single-mother family. Which can perhaps be refuted by Flory’s argument: “We always talk of them as though they’d sprung up from the ground like mushrooms, with all their faults ready-made. But when’s all said and done, we’re responsible for their existence” (126). The use of “we” suggests that there is a need to claim responsibility for these children, beyond an individual level to a national level – in which, perhaps the European colonizing nation will replace the father figure [that seems to have been missing from single-native-mother families]. But can these children, brought up by “immoral” native women, really be incorporated into the paternal colonizing nation?
(300!)
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Burmese days
As compared to Conrad, Burmese Days didn’t appear to be as “racist” in the sense that racist descriptions are not all piled up on the native; neither does the narrator align himself with any particular race. Racial stereotypes and differences are certainly built upon, but Orwell in fact casts all characters, whether “white”, “black” or “yellow”, in a negative light. It is a colonial world that presents human nature at its worst – corrupted, greedy, immoral – “with theft as its final object” (68). U Po Kyin is presented as a scheming and devious (and fat) Burmese man who plots against his enemies, but believes in “acquiring” merit by helping to build pagodas and sending gifts to priests. The use of the word “acquire” ties in with the capitalistic nature of colonialism but also exposes religious hypocrisy, including the ironies of some aspects of Buddhism. On another level, the white man in Burma leads a degenerate and revolting life, “a life of lies” where “[he] is free to be a drunkard, an idler, a coward, a backbiter, a fornicator” but [his] opinion…is dictated…by the pukka sahibs’ code” (69).
In relation to Hegel’s master-slave dialectic, I think there may be recognition between master and slave, especially in Dr. Veraswami and Flory’s relationship, but it actually seems as though both natives and colonizers submit to the colonial system; so that, it is not exactly the native landscape that corrupts the “civilized” English and show the savagery of the natives, but that perhaps colonialism creates situations that puts both the English and the natives to a test of morality and human desires, and in which both parties fall into a sort of degeneracy.
In relation to Hegel’s master-slave dialectic, I think there may be recognition between master and slave, especially in Dr. Veraswami and Flory’s relationship, but it actually seems as though both natives and colonizers submit to the colonial system; so that, it is not exactly the native landscape that corrupts the “civilized” English and show the savagery of the natives, but that perhaps colonialism creates situations that puts both the English and the natives to a test of morality and human desires, and in which both parties fall into a sort of degeneracy.
Monday, October 6, 2008
The creation of colonial history
In “Shooting an Elephant”, the narrator is pressured by the natives to kill the elephant against his own will. I am wondering if this idea of the colonizer as merely a “puppet”, “expected to perform certain roles”, can be seen in relation to the revisionist argument cited in Chatterjee’s article. In the revisionist history, Indians can be constructed as “active agents and not simply passive bystanders and victims in the creation of colonial India” (29) – that as subjects in their own history, they play a central role in the continuity of India from pre-colonial to early colonial, which thus posits colonialism as “a rather brief interlude, merging with the longer narrative” (30). Although “Shooting an Elephant” is not on Indian colonial history, but in a similar sense, the colonizer in “Shooting an Elephant” seems to play little function in the creation of Burmese history. It is the natives who construct the white man’s role. Whatever power he possesses is sustained by the natives, who appear as “active agents”, insistently pushing the White Man along to fulfill certain roles. Thus the shooting of the elephant can be seen as perhaps a symbolic loss of the colonizer’s power and the "influential" role he is “expected” to play in the making of a colonial history. In that light, we can see how subjectivity can be restored to the natives.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Framed narrative
I found the framed narrative in Lord Jim most interesting – like Heart of Darkness, we have a shadowy third person narrator setting up the story – and for the rest of the parts, it is the voice of Marlow speaking (as though speaking directly to the reader), and within Marlow’s story, is Jim’s side of the story. I was wondering if we can draw parallels between this narrative structure which seems to be embedded and coded on several levels, with the idea of penetrating into the “heart of darkness”, of entering deep within the conscious self. And within the self, there is a repeated sense of entrapment. For example, Marlow comments on how Jim “was imprisoned within the very freedom of his power”. Also the land, “dark green foliage of bushes and creepers”, surrounds and encloses the space they are in, and could also symbolically, stand for an imprisonment of the mind. The framed narrative, not only implicates readers into the consciousness of Marlow and Jim, but also engulfs us, forces us to look inward...within the deep recesses of our own minds.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Incomprehensible heart of darkness
Once upon a time, England was a dark, primeval place and the desire to escape this past was so strong, that perhaps one reason why England took on the role of the colonizer was to suppress this memory, to suppress the unconscious savage within the self. Could this be happening to the reader as well? That we fear the identification, the common ancestry and recognition of “kinship” with the African? In Conrad’s words, “the thought of your remote kinship with this wild and passionate uproar. Ugly.”
So Conrad relegates the African into a world of “black and incomprehensible frenzy”. Words like “incomprehensible”, “unspeakable”, inscrutable” are repeatedly used to describe the African – which posit Africa as a locus of primitivism, separate from civilization, separate from the world we know today. This negates the fact that African groups have their own order and belief, and denies the value of what cannot be expressed by the English language (“violent babble”, “words that resembled no sounds of human language”).
It’s interesting, as mentioned last week in lecture, how we as readers tend to identify ourselves with the colonizer and the African as the Other. As such, Conrad's racism is too easily forgiven. In a way, we are so desensitized and so comfortable with racism that manifestations of racism simply brush us by. What Achebe was trying to do then was to alert readers of the implicit racism in everyone, and that the stereotypical assumptions we have of Africa, our own image of Africa, is further reinforced by books like Heart of Darkness. Aside from whether Conrad was racist, the main question is whether such a book "which celebrates this dehumanization, which depersonalizes a portion of the human race…be called a great work of art?”
(290 words)
So Conrad relegates the African into a world of “black and incomprehensible frenzy”. Words like “incomprehensible”, “unspeakable”, inscrutable” are repeatedly used to describe the African – which posit Africa as a locus of primitivism, separate from civilization, separate from the world we know today. This negates the fact that African groups have their own order and belief, and denies the value of what cannot be expressed by the English language (“violent babble”, “words that resembled no sounds of human language”).
It’s interesting, as mentioned last week in lecture, how we as readers tend to identify ourselves with the colonizer and the African as the Other. As such, Conrad's racism is too easily forgiven. In a way, we are so desensitized and so comfortable with racism that manifestations of racism simply brush us by. What Achebe was trying to do then was to alert readers of the implicit racism in everyone, and that the stereotypical assumptions we have of Africa, our own image of Africa, is further reinforced by books like Heart of Darkness. Aside from whether Conrad was racist, the main question is whether such a book "which celebrates this dehumanization, which depersonalizes a portion of the human race…be called a great work of art?”
(290 words)
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Violence
The problem I have with the advocacy of violence in decolonization is that there is something inherently primal, chaotic and mad in the use of force. This can be seen in the story by Cesaire, where the rebel describes the night where the slaves murdered their masters – “We were running like lunatics; fiery shots broke out…We were striking. Sweat and blood cooled us off. We were striking amidst the screams and the screams became more strident and a great clamor rose toward the east…” (Fanon 46) Also in Passage to India – the mob rise up against the English during the trial with a kind of irrational fervor, as they begin chanting “Esmiss Esmoor” – and after the trial they start a riot, “entirely desirous of [Major Callendar’s] blood, and the orderlies were mutinous and would not let him over the back wall…” (222)
If modernism is about consciousness, then violence as something senseless and totalizing seems to go against the principles of modernism, for violence also indicates a complete erasure of rationality and reason, and a perhaps a return to primeval chaos, to un-consciousness. Another disturbing thing is the necessity of annihilation in the practice of violence. Violence does not only destroy the colonizer, it also implies an annihilation of the colonized “self”, as how Fanon puts it, a cleansing force. “[Violence] rids the colonized of their inferiority complex, of their passive and despairing attitude.” (Fanon 51) But again, annihilation of “self” could be a destruction of consciousness and of ridding oneself of any sense of values and moral reasoning. The ironic twist, of course, is that violence is the language of colonialism. And if violence indicates an erasure of reason, then the entire colonial project of spreading reason and civilization collapses.
[Finally, when I think of Fanon’s argument that in decolonization, one must be “determined from the very start to smash every obstacle encountered”, I am reminded of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia. It’s not exactly related to decolonization, but during this period, the Khmer Rouge were calling for complete change, abolishment of foreign influence, all cities were emptied and people moved to the countryside, all forms of traditional art were destroyed and replaced. It was basically, annihilation, and starting things from ground zero. The sense I get is that, to “smash every obstacle”, and to find ways and means of annihilating the colonized ruler, will only lead to massive and disastrous consequences, like that of Khmer. ]
If modernism is about consciousness, then violence as something senseless and totalizing seems to go against the principles of modernism, for violence also indicates a complete erasure of rationality and reason, and a perhaps a return to primeval chaos, to un-consciousness. Another disturbing thing is the necessity of annihilation in the practice of violence. Violence does not only destroy the colonizer, it also implies an annihilation of the colonized “self”, as how Fanon puts it, a cleansing force. “[Violence] rids the colonized of their inferiority complex, of their passive and despairing attitude.” (Fanon 51) But again, annihilation of “self” could be a destruction of consciousness and of ridding oneself of any sense of values and moral reasoning. The ironic twist, of course, is that violence is the language of colonialism. And if violence indicates an erasure of reason, then the entire colonial project of spreading reason and civilization collapses.
[Finally, when I think of Fanon’s argument that in decolonization, one must be “determined from the very start to smash every obstacle encountered”, I am reminded of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia. It’s not exactly related to decolonization, but during this period, the Khmer Rouge were calling for complete change, abolishment of foreign influence, all cities were emptied and people moved to the countryside, all forms of traditional art were destroyed and replaced. It was basically, annihilation, and starting things from ground zero. The sense I get is that, to “smash every obstacle”, and to find ways and means of annihilating the colonized ruler, will only lead to massive and disastrous consequences, like that of Khmer. ]
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The "real India"
Adela’s quest for the “real India” is interesting because it brings us to the question: what is India? Is there a real India? As Levine states, India is not a single country but a collection of states differing in languages, religions, and customs. The notion of “India” then exists only as an ideological construct, as a result of the British rule. Colonialism brings centralization to India, but also seeks to contain the overwhelming-ness of India i.e. by having a central rule, India can be posited in a non-threatening space, and even of familiarity (resembling the environment left behind in Britain); in addition, the land is affixed to a point, a name, “India”. There is the mistaken (though convenient) perception that one Indian represents all Indians, as Ronny remarks, “Aziz was exquisitely dressed, from tie-pins to spats, but he had forgotten his back collar-stud, and there you have the Indian all over: inattention to details; the fundamental slackness that reveals the race.” (71) Or the idea that one Indian represents the whole of India, as seen in Adela’s behavior towards Aziz. It’s also funny to note how the British women ask Adela if she wants to meet one or two Indians, to get a sense of what India is like, as though the Indians belonged to a circus show, or as though one or two Indians could possibly represent India.
It’s hard to talk about India without merely scratching the surface or simply digressing! But the point I would like to make is that India seems to be of such complex nature, that the only way for the British colonizers to talk about India (and rule India), was to generalize, based on some assumptions, and to give India some sort of singular quality, not “a hundred Indias – whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one” (13). However, this construction of India also crushes the possibility of seeing India as a multilayered country of different cultures and meaning, and even suggests the need to "cleanse" India. This notion of one India ironically conveyed in the way Aziz describes the city: “The roads, named after victorious generals and intersecting at right angles, were symbolic of the net Great Britain had thrown over India. He felt caught in their meshes.” (14)
Yet, doesn't the Marabar Caves, left untouched by the British, pose a threat to any attempt to contain India into a single entity? Hmmm...
It’s hard to talk about India without merely scratching the surface or simply digressing! But the point I would like to make is that India seems to be of such complex nature, that the only way for the British colonizers to talk about India (and rule India), was to generalize, based on some assumptions, and to give India some sort of singular quality, not “a hundred Indias – whispered outside beneath the indifferent moon, but for the time India seemed one” (13). However, this construction of India also crushes the possibility of seeing India as a multilayered country of different cultures and meaning, and even suggests the need to "cleanse" India. This notion of one India ironically conveyed in the way Aziz describes the city: “The roads, named after victorious generals and intersecting at right angles, were symbolic of the net Great Britain had thrown over India. He felt caught in their meshes.” (14)
Yet, doesn't the Marabar Caves, left untouched by the British, pose a threat to any attempt to contain India into a single entity? Hmmm...
Thursday, August 21, 2008
(Western) art and its relation to modernism pose a problematic situation in that, on one hand, “art has come to function as the defining point of cultural achievement and civilization…clearly distinct from the danger and defilement represented by the Other…”; on the other hand, modernism challenges this thesis because it would seem to “posit the Other not as a threat but as a source of new energies” (Gikandi 458). At the same time, modernism creates a kind of surveillance, “routine maintenance”, on the type of art that can be allowed, and on the overall effects of the Other. The African can only be allowed as “the citadel of modernism”, if the object has been separated from the body. This idea of cleansing and purifying the Other seems to defy the very purpose of artists seeking the unknown for new sources, to awaken consciousness within people.
In addition, I would agree with Gikandi that it was merely the idea of primitivism that appealed to Picasso, for an idea can be interpreted and rationalized. But the African bodies and cultures posed a far greater danger, not only because they could “contaminate”, (Levine mentions how Britons were afraid to ‘go native’, and would send their children back to Britain to root out local culture), but also because they were “incomprehensible” (as Conrad describes in Heart of Darkness) – the Other could not be adequately represented and defined. Furthermore, the Other could possibly reflect a darker and unknown side of the colonizer, and this could threaten his very state of being.
In that sense, the relation between modernism and the Other, wavers between trying to represent consciousness and a deep-seated anxiety of the Other, between the African as an object of art divorced from its culture and the African as a living body. Even the very notion of “representing consciousness” is questionable. It’s as if modernism tries to delve into the Other, yet unable to do so, gives its audience its own version of the African. Yet, how can it still be called modern, if rather then test new grounds and find new ways of representing consciouness, there remains a need to survey and cleanse the Other, one key source of reference? Can Picasso’s art still be considered “modern”? And what is “modernism”? – if the term (1) seems to be indicate a rather Eurocentric view, which effectively eliminates the Other; (2) seems to suppress what it tries to express (that of "consciousness").
In addition, I would agree with Gikandi that it was merely the idea of primitivism that appealed to Picasso, for an idea can be interpreted and rationalized. But the African bodies and cultures posed a far greater danger, not only because they could “contaminate”, (Levine mentions how Britons were afraid to ‘go native’, and would send their children back to Britain to root out local culture), but also because they were “incomprehensible” (as Conrad describes in Heart of Darkness) – the Other could not be adequately represented and defined. Furthermore, the Other could possibly reflect a darker and unknown side of the colonizer, and this could threaten his very state of being.
In that sense, the relation between modernism and the Other, wavers between trying to represent consciousness and a deep-seated anxiety of the Other, between the African as an object of art divorced from its culture and the African as a living body. Even the very notion of “representing consciousness” is questionable. It’s as if modernism tries to delve into the Other, yet unable to do so, gives its audience its own version of the African. Yet, how can it still be called modern, if rather then test new grounds and find new ways of representing consciouness, there remains a need to survey and cleanse the Other, one key source of reference? Can Picasso’s art still be considered “modern”? And what is “modernism”? – if the term (1) seems to be indicate a rather Eurocentric view, which effectively eliminates the Other; (2) seems to suppress what it tries to express (that of "consciousness").
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