I Enjoyed their Dumbstruck Faces when I Invariably Replied, 'English is the first language in Singapore'.

I liked Fanon's essay very much! I'll first relate a personal anecdote, and from there, question the place of the overseas-Singaporean in relation to Fanon's essay.

Fanon refers to statements like 'How long have you been in France? You speak French so well' as 'exasperating' (Fanon), and I agree most emphatically. When I was in the U.S., I got the exact comment (just replace 'France/French' with 'America/English') or variations of it all the time. I could not decide which was more pathetic- their pompous assumption that Asians cannot possibly speak 'English so well' without 'be[ing] in [America]', or just their plain ignorance.

On a related but more serious note, Fanon talks about how 'the Negro of the Antilles will be proportionately whiter- that is, he will come closer to being a real human being- in direct ratio to his mastery of the French language', and that this may be applied to the 'broad[er]' context of 'every colonized man' (Fanon). My question is, however, what happens when the person in question is a Singaporean who grew up speaking English, and then goes to Britain for further studies? The case is slightly different here, as the first language in both Singapore and Britain is English- hence not requiring a fundamental shift in 'the entire body of values by which [he] perceive[s himself] and [his] place in the world' (Ngugi wa Thiong'o), that might be required of the 'Negro of the Antilles' (Fanon). A caveat- I do realize that the 'kinds' of English spoken in Singapore and in Britain are rather disparate- but not as drastically so as that of a different language entirely. Where is this Singaporean placed in the context of Fanon's argument?

'It pained him...that he did not know where the universe ended.'

In the beginning of Joyce's "Portrait", Stephen attempts to place himself within the larger structures that surround him. Beginning with himself, he traces his belonging to his country, nation, and eventually, the universe' (27). While he believes that 'after the universe' comes 'nothing', he is troubled by whether there is 'anything round the universe to show where it stopped before the nothing place began' (28). This failure to 'know where the universe end[s]' not only 'pain[s]' him, but makes him 'fe[el] small and weak' (28). Here, Stephen's uneasiness is three-fold:

1) The 'nothing place' (28) is something Stephen doesn't understand;

2) It is therefore regarded as something other to him, and is hence excluded from the list of places he belongs to;

3) He thus attempts to keep it at a distance from him by imagining that something exists to demarcate it as a different space altogether. This, however, fails, as he is unable to answer whether there is a 'wall' or a 'thin thin line' separating the universe' and 'the nothing place' (28).

These result in Stephen's anxiety, as his attempts to compartmentalize the world into neat categories of understanding go awry. This seems to parallel the uneasiness that the colonial powers felt when ruling their colonies. Replace Stephen's 'nothing place' with 'the native', and 'the universe' with 'the white world', and you have the colonizer's anxiety. In this new case, safety comes from the neat categories of the colonizer and the colonized- recall Chatterjee's argument that colonialism was based on ruling through difference and exclusionary tactics. Similarly, this safety is threatened with the blurring of boundaries between the colonizer and the colonized- recall Stoler's argument about metissage and metisse children, Ellis' outrage at a servant's improving English and the mere thought of a native as a member of the club, and other instances where transgressions of boundaries spell trouble.

[[Just a thought- in relation to our class' title, the modernist writer's attempt to be unafraid of the unknown is intriguing. Instead of 'feel[ing] very tired to think [of such big things]' (28), modernist writers embrace the unknown and the dissolution of neat boundaries, as these allow for new possibilities to be opened up. In doing so, they (attempt to) transcend the limitations of what the Empire was fearful of.]]

Being Always Subject to "Imperial Power"

In the section where she talks about 'Racist but Moral Women, Innocent but Immoral Men', Stoler notes that even if

'European women were positioned as the bearers of a redefined colonial morality[,] to suggest that they fashioned this racism out of whole cloth is to miss the political chronology in which new intensities of racist practice arose... ...Significantly, 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' (Stoler 57).

This particularly struck me as it summed up nicely the feeling of futility one may feel in being part of the colonial enterprise. Recall the policeman in "Shooting an Elephant", and his painful awareness of his status as a representative of white prestige and thus the need to 'avoid looking a fool' (Orwell, "Shooting"). Recall also, Flory in "Burmese Days", where it is initially 'unthinkable' (Orwell, "Burmese Days") that he should stick up for Dr. Veeraswami, and ends up signing the document that Ellis writes. Both characters admit to the reality that 'when the white man turns tyrant it is his own freedom that he destroys' (Orwell, "Shooting").

While Stoler's quote makes reference to women, it is clear that all entities under the colonial regime (women, men, animals; you name it) must follow their prescribed place in society, even if this place is irrational, immoral, or redundant. This is not to say that the status quo is static-on the contrary, it is ever-changing (Stoler gives the example of how concubinage is viewed differently over time). However, most noteworthy is the fact that this change only occurs when it is in keeping with the larger, current goals of the empire. Until then, one may agitate for change to little or no effect- such is 'imperial power' (Stoler's title).

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Eurasians not European Enough, Ma Hla May not Burmese Enough

As Stoler notes, Eurasian children were required to fulfill a myriad of criteria in order to gain the advantageous 'legal access to European equivalent status' (Stoler 538). Some examples of these are 'fluency in spoken and written' language of their home country, 'training in European morals and ideas', and the necessity of the 'distanc[ing] of [oneself] from his native being' (Stoler 538). This judgement comes from an official body, the courts, with directives put into place to determine the Eurasian child's citizenship. What is important here is how these point to an obsession with not only whether one is European, but whether one is European enough.

What is interesting about this, for me, is how this may be applied in reverse to the character of Ma Hla May. A similarly liminal figure, she too is subject to scrutiny in order to determine if she is Burmese enough, although in her case, her verdict is declared by the Burmese community. Her question, 'how can I go back to my village after [having been a bo-kadaw]' (Orwell 158) indicates the impossibility of her reintegration into Burmese society fully as a respectful woman- she is instead 'ruined' and 'shame[d]' (Orwell 159). Perhaps an alternative to Shiva's reading could be that Ma Hla May's native identity has been altered forever (instead of 'relinquished'), due to her failed relationship (as opposed to her mere 'union with Flory') with a white man. Ma Hla May is still native, but not native enough.

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Maybe Samuel and Francis Would Be Models Today

I found the discussion of the two Eurasians in Orwell's "Burmese Days" rather interesting, especially when considering 1) how Elizabeth views them and 2) how they look at themselves.

Elizabeth's horror at the existence 'of such extraordinary creatures' (125) is twofold; she is incredulous at the thought of a white man 'hav[ing] anything to do with native women' (127), and is scandalized by the knowledge that they 'cadge from the natives' (125). Together these taint the reputation of the white community, with Eurasians are not 'one of us' (125), but lumped into the category of the 'degenerate[s]' (126).

Next, the Eurasians believe that 'their drop of white blood is the[ir] sole asset' (126) and hence constantly strive to align themselves with 'Europians' (125)- asserting that they too are 'torment[ed]' by 'prickly heat' and 'menace[d]' by 'sunstroke' (124). In doing so, they are complicitous in acknowledging and perpetuating the superiority of the Europeans, and are ultimately unable (and even unwilling), in spite of their racial difference, to transcend the dictates of the status-quo.

These negative views of Eurasians are especially interesting in today's context, considering how they are no longer considered 'half-cast[e]' (126) pariahs, with the 'pan-asian' look is now considered extremely beautiful and highly sought-after. This is fascinating to me as yet another example of time overturning social norms and configurations, necessitating our sensitivity as 21st-century readers of Orwell.

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Question- On Handling Racism

After today's discussion and reading the various blog posts, I'm confused with regards to racism in Orwell's "Shooting an Elephant". Are we supposed to read his derogatory/offensive lines such as 'sneering yellow faces' and 'an elephant was worth more than any damn Coringhee coolie' etc as Orwell's remarks, or are we supposed to read them as his narrator's/characters' remarks?

I agree with Lucas when he says that such racist terms/ways of thinking have to be presented in order for Orwell to subvert/problematize them. Shouldn't we then be taking such remarks in the larger context of the story, or in trying to understand what Orwell was trying to achieve (e.g. subvert/problematize them), rather than looking at the lines individually? If we look at them out of context, sure, any reference to Burmese people as a homogenized 'sea of yellow faces' is indeed, as Achebe says, 'bloody racist'. But given that the narrator is an idiot (in many instances, e.g. he fails to fatally wound it several times, he cows to the need to not look a fool) who is, himself, a piece of evidence for us to 'grasp the hollowness' of colonialism- how seriously are we to take his words?

By 'how seriously', I don't mean to disregard them as unimportant- but rather, instead of reading them as merely racist lines (that they undoubtedly are), try to see how they function in the text as a larger whole? Just as the police officer is merely a cog in the machinery of imperialism, aren't these offensive lines a(n intentional) tool of Orwell's?

Please let me know what you guys think. I'm pretty confused as to how we're supposed to handle such lines in Orwell's texts (and maybe this' relevant for other course texts).

Thanks and enjoy the weekend!

Powerful Laughter

Far from feeling sadness at the 'black dravidian coolie['s]' death, the elephant's demise, or the police officer's gross misjudgment, I found "Shooting an Elephant" rather funny. Sardonic humour seems to delicately lace the text, affording a story that is more ridiculous than appalling.

Consider the shooting of the elephant. The first shot is anti-climatic, with neither the 'bang' nor 'kick' heard or felt, and the 'knocking down' of the elephant taking 'five seconds'. The elephant is personified as a 'senil[e]' old person 'sagg[ing] flabbily' and 'slobber[ing]', evoking images directly in opposition to concepts of aging gracefully. This denies the elephant a grand, tragic death, but instead turns the affair into a tragicomedy. In addition, laughs are extended to the bumbling police officer whose idiocy is behind this botched shooting. By failing repeatedly to shoot fatally, the officer's attempts to 'struggle' against being 'laughed at' by the crowd are, ironically, futile. Worse, readers are added to the laughing crowd.

What then is the significance of the employment of sardonic humour? Here, Orwell departs from Conrad's formal and serious tone in "Heart of Darkness" where 'the horror' of the imperialist enterprise is revealed as something obviously and overtly terrible. Instead, Orwell's use of sinister comedy allows us to laugh at it in a shifty fashion, and this goes further in critiquing imperialism. Our scornful laughter is more powerful than merely agreeing with 'the horror' in Conrad's text- laughing implicates us in the matter, forcing our subscription and attestation to colonialism's macabre face. The colonial enterprise is then fiercely critiqued for its capitalization on incidental 'pretext[s]' that make them 'legally in the right', while really, all that is craved for is 'solely [the] avoid[ance] of looking a fool'. This, being exposed covertly through the tragicomedic mode, is to me a stronger statement.

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What Will We Be Accused Of?

In the Barnes and Noble Classics edition of Lord Jim, a map detailing 'Conrad's Eastern Voyages' in the 1880s is provided (liii). It retains the old/colonial names of places, such as 'Burma', 'Siam' and 'Cochin-China' (vs Myanmar, Thailand and Vietnam), and quite understandably so, since it aims to represent Conrad's routes of travel as a seaman. This tiny detail jumped out at me and immediately directed my attention to the fact that Conrad's work has dated. By 'dated' I do not mean that it no longer has any relevance, but that the passing of time results in the passing of ideas, constructions, ideology, etc. accordingly. 

Having said this, even though time has proven the place names no longer valid, the land which is referred to when someone speaks of 'Burma' is still present today as 'Myanmar'. Going off that (although in a very random way), today we are so conscious and quick to distance ourselves from being 'racist', whether as a writer, reader, or critic (just think of how much effort is made by postcolonial authors to not fall into the trap of 'exoticism' etc.). Does this necessarily mean, though, that 'racism' (as we know it) is a thing of the past, like the place names of 'Burma', 'Siam', and 'Cochin-China'? Or, does it simply mean that it still exists, just lurking around in disguise, masquerading with another name?

I suppose explaining how this thought came to me would be helpful- I was just thinking of how 'anti-imperialist' readings of Conrad's texts were the 'norm' until Achebe came along. In 100 years' time, will our 21st century analyses (not just of Conrad's but all texts) become merely readings that were never 'fully able to transcend the assumptions of [our time]' (Matin's introduction)?

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The Novella: A Fitting Choice for Conrad's "Heart of Darkness"

While there is much contestation over the definition of a novella, most agree that 1) it is a piece of prose fiction that is longer than a short story but shorter than a novel and 2) Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" (HD) is one such text.

I would like to suggest that the significance of Conrad's choice of genre, the novella, goes beyond that of a lighter read for students such as ourselves. Given the subjects that Conrad tackles, the novella is an appropriate form for his text.

What exactly does Conrad tackle in HD? (Arguably), HD reflects upon the late 19th-early 20th century anxiety of the fragmentation and collapse of empire. This is best seen through the character of Kurtz, the face of colonialism gone 'mad', 'echo[ing] loudly within [itself] because [it is, in reality,] hollow at the core'. In addition, a sense of uncertainty pervades his text with words such as 'inscrutable', 'indefinable' occurring. This is compounded with a smattering of ellipses that ultimately deny 'comprehension'. This emphasizes the text's modernist aesthetic, with an acute sense of awareness that one is never able to know something fully, and cannot claim to.

Going back to Conrad's choice of genre, the novella is a departure from the conventional triple-decker Victorian novel that tries to enclose the world within its covers. It is instead a more modest piece of work that reflects skeptically on the tradition of assuming the 'representability' or 'wholeness' or of an entity, be it a person, a place, a story, a history, etc. The novella, with its absence of 200 more pages, is therefore an appropriate form within which Conrad can place his tale, because the 'meaning of an episode [lies not] inside like a kernel but outside', always elusive, just 'as a glow brings out a haze'.

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- Kelly Tay

The Epistemological Question

Dear all,

Hello! This post'll discuss further the point I brought up in the previous class- how an example of a modernist feature of Forster's text is the relentless questioning of the knowability of things.

Here're some (and not even all!) quotes I underlined pertaining to this point:

'I'll thank you this evening, I'm all to pieces now,' said the girl, forming each syllable carefully as if her trouble would diminish if it were accurately defined.' (Adela, 200)

'The aims of battle and the fruits of conquest are never the same; the latter have their value and only the saint rejects them, but their hint of immortality vanishes as soon as they are held in the hand.' (narrator, through Aziz's point-of-view, 245)

'I wish I had lived in Babur's time and fought and written for him. Gone, gone, and not even any use to say "gone, gone," for it weakens us while we say it.' (Aziz, 253)

'Did it succeed? Books written afterwards say 'Yes'. But how, if there is such an event, can it be remembered afterwards? How can it be expressed in anything but itself? Not only from the unbeliever are mysteries hid, but the adept himself cannot retain them. He may think, if he chooses, that he has been with God, but, as soon as he thinks it, it becomes history, and falls under the rules of time.' (narrator, seemingly omniscient, 273)

(All page numbers from Penguin edition)

These quotes speak of the fleeting way in which one experiences an 'event' (273). I find these lines extremely self-reflexive of Forster. As a modernist writer, he attempts to capture experience and immortalize it in words- only to be thwarted by the inadequacies of words which 'weaken [even as one] say[s them]' (253). Forster doesn't merely show his stark awareness of the impossibility of accurately re-creating one's experience- he goes beyond this to enact it by writing a novel which never points us to the 'real India', never tells us what really happened in the Marabar Caves, never lets the reader (nor his own characters) trust any one character fully. The attempt and indeed pretense of acquiring perfect knowledge is hence desisted.

In addition, Forster points us not only to the falseness of the assumption of the knowability of things, but also to their transcient nature. Diction that implies loss, severance and the failure of memory are used: 'diminish' (200), 'vanish' (245), 'gone' (253), 'cannot retain' (273), 'history'(273). These serve to emphasize the impermanence and singularity of experience- again a modernist trait of Forster's novel.

I leave this post wondering aloud, is it not ironic that, in spite of Forster's acute sense of the limitations of 'rememb[rance] afterwards' (273), he continues to choose to write not just fiction but diaries- even after knowing that writing diminishes the value/meaning of and can never accurately reflect an event past?

Thanks!

-Kelly Tay

The Severed British Net

Hi all,

In the spirit of discussion/treating this blog as a forum for the exchanging of ideas, I would like to respond to Samantha's post for my entry this week, partly because the quotes she used in her entry were precisely what jumped out at me too.

Samantha states, 'I think we've undergone that same kind of ideological colonization through 'english-style education', and are still trapped in it today to a certain degree.'

Dr Koh, in reply to Samantha's post, wrote 'I wonder, so what do you think of the 'educated Indian class' vis-a-vis the Raffles schools and boulevards of Singapore? Does it indeed 'contaminate', or does it create a subservient class?'

My response to this is that the two outcomes offered, 'contaminat[ion]' or the 'creat[ion of] a subservient class', are too restrictive- I would like to propose that a third outcome, that can be seen in the context of Singapore, is possible: that another step towards the evolution of a national identity is taken.

Unlike Samantha, I do not think that the existence of current Singapore roads with British names indicates that we are still caught by the British 'net', but that they are instead simply markers of our colonial past. I do understand the discomfort one may feel from the knowledge that the memory of the oft-exploitative British remains today (street names, statues, school systems, etc). However, I feel that re-naming the streets Lorong Merlion just so that it is distinctly Singaporean (opening Pandora's box- what is 'distinctly Singaporean'?) results in a sort of historical amnesia, where we deny the fact that we were once a British colony. I think these vestiges of British influence are, while sometimes frustrating, essentially a part of Singapore today. In fact I could perhaps go so far as to say that the very fact that these British markers still exist encourage me in a warped way. They show that Singapore has progressed- insecurities no longer plague one enough to feel 'Alamak, British reminders everywhere, cannot cannot, must be nationalistic'. This sort of nationalism is, to me, unthinking and extreme; I am encouraged that we can today look at these roads and influences and feel secure in our identity as Singaporean, even if that means we remember that we were once a British colony.

Perhaps I come to this with a personal agenda- I am Peranakan, and since taking Prof Holden's module on Singapore Literature in my first year, I have felt a push to interrogate my own 'Singaporean-ness' like never before. We learned about how the Peranakans benefited pretty well from being under British colonial rule (as compared to other locals). They were often middle-class locals who took most easily to English customs, including the English language, and were often in civil servant positions. Effectively, they were people strategically used by the British to further their interests in the region, perpetuating the Anglicization of the country through local help. After learning about this in greater detail, I started seriously questioning how 'authentic' of a Singaporean I am- after all, my first language is the language of the colonizers. I can't say I fully understand my position still, but I have at least gotten to the point where I realize I cannot rail against the fact that my forefathers were arguably un-Malayan/Singaporean, that they belonged to a class that was created by the British for British ends. Bemoaning this would be unproductive and denying it means the denial of fact. I think that it is more productive instad to acknowledge this past and accede that the British left some of their entrails behind (sorry for the hantu penanggal image) even after Singapore attained independence. And that even whilst this may be true, we can simultaneously assert that these remnants in no way diminish our credibility as an independent nation, and as a country with a national identity that is constantly re-imagined.

As a side-note, I suppose this is why I am so interested in post-colonial, especially Singapore, literature- it (arguably) acts as aspirin for the colonial hangover.

Please let me know if anyone has any thoughts. I should also probably say that I'm not usually this 'RAH RAH GO SINGAPORE'.

Thanks!

-Kelly Tay

'Ruling and Empire' and Brian Friel's "Translations"

Hi all,

This post focuses on Philippa Levine's chapter, 'Ruling and Empire'. About halfway into the chapter, having discussed how violence was a 'key feature of ruling a colony' (Levine 113), Levine goes on to say:

'Yet there was far more to the success of the Empire than the gun and the sword, or even the navy frigate. The age of empire was also an age of collecting and classifying, an age in which the very boundaries of knowledge seemed almost limitless, and the Empire played a substantial role in the intellectual confidence that bolstered these typically Western views ... For many colonists the lands and the peoples of the Empire were also specimens to be listed, categorized and labeled' (Levine 113-4).

When I read this passage, a play I had read and watched over the Summer jumped out at me- Brian Friel's "Translations" (I just got back from Ireland where I read two courses, Irish Lit and Theatre, over Summer School). First performed in 1980, the play is set in 1833, in a Gaelic-speaking town of Ireland. It examines the effect of the 19th century British Ordnance Survey of Ireland, which meant the mapping and re-naming of the whole of Ireland- towns, roads, and landmarks- from Gaelic to English.

The passage above reminded me of the play because:

1. The forced shift from Gaelic to English is portrayed in Friel's play as being equally (or arguably, even more) successful in ruling/expanding an empire than 'the gun and the sword, or even the navy frigate' (Levine 113), and
2. Friel's play enacts the reality of 19th century British imperialism, where 'for many colonists the lands and the peoples of the Empire were also specimens to be listed, categorized and labeled' (Levine 113-4).

*edit*

The play is interesting to consider in light of Levine's chapter as it discusses a form of non-physical violence imposed upon Ireland. In his book, Decolonizing the Mind, Ngugi Wa Thiong'O states:

'Language carries culture, and culture carries, particularly through orature and literature, the entire body of values by which we come to perceive ourselves and our place in the world [...] Language is thus inseparable from ourselves as a community of human beings with a specific form and character, a specific history, a specific relationship to the world.'

If we take this to be true, the forced imposition of the English language over Irish is indeed a violence done to Ireland. This means the eventual 'carr[ying over of English] culture', and therefore English 'values', into Ireland- a quiet and insidious technique that enables the empire to expand and survive.

*end of edit*

 

The play is reminiscent of a lot more of the reading material in various other ways, and if anyone's interested (or thinks they can tackle even more reading), Friel's play, along with other major Irish plays written during the formation of Ireland's National Theatre Movement, can be found in Harrington's Modern Irish Drama.

Thanks, and let me know if you have any thoughts!

- Kelly Tay