Rita Wong. "lips shape yangtze, change jiang, river longing"
"the heaviness of signing on the black dotted line
when you cannot read what you've signed"
"missed the boat, even as we step off it"
Wong's poem is haunting and accusatory - though the accused is not readily apparent within the text - as she writes about the experience of disapora, of displacement; of being of the "dispossessed". There is a prevalence of suffocating imagery, from the aforequoted "heaviness of signing" to also the "sound of rocks filling your mouth" and the "clouds suffocate me" sensation. These suffocating and oppressing sensations are tied to the idea of a loss of memory, and the idea of movement increasing freedom is disrupted as the experience is not a freeing but rather a chaining one in this poem.
That paradox is evident in the last line, "missed the boat, even as we step off it", as the boat that has been missed is the symbolic one denoting freedom to a more open landscape where it is possible to claim location, whereas the actual experience was one deeply and meaningfully traumatic. The reality of dislocation and diaspora - the darker aspect to it, the sensation of being dislocated and of being denied cultural/familial/personal memories - is brought into open discourse by Wong, who refers and defers back to the place where the subject of the poem is being displaced from.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
all sorts of blue
Wayde Compton. "O."
As a major mythology buff, I thoroughly enjoyed this reinscription of the classic Osiris myth - particularly the injection of ebonics, which juxtaposed with the authorial commentary of the incestuous relationship between Osiris and Isis (sadly, not mentioning Horus) and the underlying formality of the resurrection myth, makes for a fascinatingly intense poem.
The use of ebonics is startlingly appropriate here - ebonics being the 'ghetto-ized' language of the 'margins' - as it provides strangely contemporary imagery for ancient acts of violence, with lines such as, "cut you up,/like a DJ would a groove, splintered you like a busted mirror,/razored you good". But this contemporary imagery also removes from the visceral nature of the act - by injecting similes, distance is similarly affected. Through the use of ebonics to represent the myth, the myth takes on a previously unknown tone, placed within a modern context; the previously accepted notion of incestuous love/devotion is called into disgust with the lines: "Isis, your sister, renewed you/and knew you/in an obscene way" as well as "cool Isis, who loved you right (wrong)", and Set - who has mythically been identified as the source and embodiment of evil - becomes a "punk motherfucker". A certain level of irreverence becomes present within the text, which dissipates toward the end with the question and answer session of what heaven is like - and, apparently, it is like a colour.
As a major mythology buff, I thoroughly enjoyed this reinscription of the classic Osiris myth - particularly the injection of ebonics, which juxtaposed with the authorial commentary of the incestuous relationship between Osiris and Isis (sadly, not mentioning Horus) and the underlying formality of the resurrection myth, makes for a fascinatingly intense poem.
The use of ebonics is startlingly appropriate here - ebonics being the 'ghetto-ized' language of the 'margins' - as it provides strangely contemporary imagery for ancient acts of violence, with lines such as, "cut you up,/like a DJ would a groove, splintered you like a busted mirror,/razored you good". But this contemporary imagery also removes from the visceral nature of the act - by injecting similes, distance is similarly affected. Through the use of ebonics to represent the myth, the myth takes on a previously unknown tone, placed within a modern context; the previously accepted notion of incestuous love/devotion is called into disgust with the lines: "Isis, your sister, renewed you/and knew you/in an obscene way" as well as "cool Isis, who loved you right (wrong)", and Set - who has mythically been identified as the source and embodiment of evil - becomes a "punk motherfucker". A certain level of irreverence becomes present within the text, which dissipates toward the end with the question and answer session of what heaven is like - and, apparently, it is like a colour.
That's another tricky one.
Thomas King. "The One About Coyote Going West."
Oh, orality - this story is written as if spoken, which is initially jarring yet also enormously engaging and enjoyable, not to mention its cyclical nature - of Coyote remaining on her quest to change the world, to 'fix' it. This is a very mythic short story that eludes formality in the academic sense and instead moves into an othered narrative space where there is a complicated sytem of framing taking place as stories are told by the narrator to the Coyote and back again, and these stories begin to intrude into the relative 'reality' of the short story.
Story-telling becomes a powerful process as it relates to the ability of the narrator to warn Coyote and turn to try to save the world from Coyote's method of 'fixing' it. The stories are ultimately about Coyote herself, and the story-telling process becomes interactive as she responds to what is being said, at times attempting to alter the story. Yet in this interactive process a larger, subtle metaphor emerges of the interaction between author and reader-audience as the reader draws from the text interpretations that the author may or may not have intended. The struggle between the author and the audience produces the text as emerging from that 'Third Space' of signification, where the author's intention and the audience's interpretation collide. It is also a playful sort of act, a way to generate a dynamic discourse of the nature of storytelling, and of 'authenticity'.
Oh, orality - this story is written as if spoken, which is initially jarring yet also enormously engaging and enjoyable, not to mention its cyclical nature - of Coyote remaining on her quest to change the world, to 'fix' it. This is a very mythic short story that eludes formality in the academic sense and instead moves into an othered narrative space where there is a complicated sytem of framing taking place as stories are told by the narrator to the Coyote and back again, and these stories begin to intrude into the relative 'reality' of the short story.
Story-telling becomes a powerful process as it relates to the ability of the narrator to warn Coyote and turn to try to save the world from Coyote's method of 'fixing' it. The stories are ultimately about Coyote herself, and the story-telling process becomes interactive as she responds to what is being said, at times attempting to alter the story. Yet in this interactive process a larger, subtle metaphor emerges of the interaction between author and reader-audience as the reader draws from the text interpretations that the author may or may not have intended. The struggle between the author and the audience produces the text as emerging from that 'Third Space' of signification, where the author's intention and the audience's interpretation collide. It is also a playful sort of act, a way to generate a dynamic discourse of the nature of storytelling, and of 'authenticity'.
how the pen worked perfetly with your quick body as you'd flourish off a check during a busy noon-hour rush the sun
Fred Wah, "Father/Mother Haibun #4"
Family dynamics were never so succintly written as in this 'haibun', and I find myself responding perhaps strongest to the sheer physicality of writing - the movement of it, the art that is produced, the desire to be in possession of the skill and physicality that comes from writing that Wah expresses through his four dollar fountain pen.
Writing equated with the important qualities of a person: "silver, black, gold nib, the precision I wanted also in things", the treatment of pens as jewellry, as personally important as a talisman, the necessity of having the capability of writing. For Wah's father - and also for Wah, as he watches his father, writing becomes a cathartic and relaxing act - in the midst of a lunch hour rush, Wah's father's ability to "flourish off a check" is tied to the image of the "cafe flashing" - his proficieny ensures the glowing and magical component of the cafe itself.
Family dynamics were never so succintly written as in this 'haibun', and I find myself responding perhaps strongest to the sheer physicality of writing - the movement of it, the art that is produced, the desire to be in possession of the skill and physicality that comes from writing that Wah expresses through his four dollar fountain pen.
Writing equated with the important qualities of a person: "silver, black, gold nib, the precision I wanted also in things", the treatment of pens as jewellry, as personally important as a talisman, the necessity of having the capability of writing. For Wah's father - and also for Wah, as he watches his father, writing becomes a cathartic and relaxing act - in the midst of a lunch hour rush, Wah's father's ability to "flourish off a check" is tied to the image of the "cafe flashing" - his proficieny ensures the glowing and magical component of the cafe itself.
Stan or Masato, Norma or Masako
Gerry Shikatani
"Mother is Mitsuko, Father now dead since 1974, January 22 Masajiro, Kimurasan still around over 90, Stan or Masato, Norma or masako, Junko is June but really it's just Junko, Miyako that same though she's now as much that Margaret, and Alan or Noboru, I'm Gerry or Osamu, 'Hi!'
There, I've done it, named my family here on a page" (208).
Such a peculiar exercise. My version:
Haha-ue is Reiko Fujibayashi, she kept her maiden name, Dad is Michael, Haji is Hajime though also Ira, Duchan is Ryuuchi but only when I want to annoy him, though generally in public now he's Ezra, and I'm Petra, or Michiko, whichever you can pronounce easier. A pleasure to meet you!
~ Such a split of consciousness that comes from having two names that mean so stridently of different cultures/places. It could get claustrophobically crowded within this family's psyche, with all these names floating around and taking on their own forces of personality. More and more as 'Petra' I feel different as 'Michiko', and it becomes a choice in the morning to be white or yellow. Or if undecided, I wait for the first person to greet me to name me and treat me this or the other half of my split ethnicity/identity, and go from there. I am an undecided soul.
The Shikatani public/private names: "Junko is June but really it's just Junko", the ways of fitting into a society that demands homogeneity of not only culture but also of physicality and name, and so it becomes easier to choose a pronounceable name so as not to feel alienated/isolated by the inability of an addresser to pronounce all the syllables of this name. My mom, Reiko: RAY - KO. Not: Reeee-ko. Though that happens often. Michiko: Mi-chi-ko. So often, though: Mich-ko/Mit-sh-ko/Mee-kak-o. Once, memorably, 'Mexico'. I liked being a country. Ryuichi: Dh-yuu-e-chi. So often: Roo-chee. So it becomes an easier thing to choose the public Western name, in order to protect the private Eastern name from a slaughtering of mispronounciation, an insistence on: "How do you say that? Am I saying it right? I want to get it right, say your name again for me, please, how does it go again? Your name is so different, I've never heard anything like that before, what does it mean?"
The name Shikatani writes under, Gerry, is testament: he cannot hide his ethnicity within an anglo name, his family name precludes this, but he can present himself as partially assimilated by virtue of 'Gerry'. Show through his Western-Eastern name coupling his willingness to become hybrid bridge.
"Mother is Mitsuko, Father now dead since 1974, January 22 Masajiro, Kimurasan still around over 90, Stan or Masato, Norma or masako, Junko is June but really it's just Junko, Miyako that same though she's now as much that Margaret, and Alan or Noboru, I'm Gerry or Osamu, 'Hi!'
There, I've done it, named my family here on a page" (208).
Such a peculiar exercise. My version:
Haha-ue is Reiko Fujibayashi, she kept her maiden name, Dad is Michael, Haji is Hajime though also Ira, Duchan is Ryuuchi but only when I want to annoy him, though generally in public now he's Ezra, and I'm Petra, or Michiko, whichever you can pronounce easier. A pleasure to meet you!
~ Such a split of consciousness that comes from having two names that mean so stridently of different cultures/places. It could get claustrophobically crowded within this family's psyche, with all these names floating around and taking on their own forces of personality. More and more as 'Petra' I feel different as 'Michiko', and it becomes a choice in the morning to be white or yellow. Or if undecided, I wait for the first person to greet me to name me and treat me this or the other half of my split ethnicity/identity, and go from there. I am an undecided soul.
The Shikatani public/private names: "Junko is June but really it's just Junko", the ways of fitting into a society that demands homogeneity of not only culture but also of physicality and name, and so it becomes easier to choose a pronounceable name so as not to feel alienated/isolated by the inability of an addresser to pronounce all the syllables of this name. My mom, Reiko: RAY - KO. Not: Reeee-ko. Though that happens often. Michiko: Mi-chi-ko. So often, though: Mich-ko/Mit-sh-ko/Mee-kak-o. Once, memorably, 'Mexico'. I liked being a country. Ryuichi: Dh-yuu-e-chi. So often: Roo-chee. So it becomes an easier thing to choose the public Western name, in order to protect the private Eastern name from a slaughtering of mispronounciation, an insistence on: "How do you say that? Am I saying it right? I want to get it right, say your name again for me, please, how does it go again? Your name is so different, I've never heard anything like that before, what does it mean?"
The name Shikatani writes under, Gerry, is testament: he cannot hide his ethnicity within an anglo name, his family name precludes this, but he can present himself as partially assimilated by virtue of 'Gerry'. Show through his Western-Eastern name coupling his willingness to become hybrid bridge.
white anglo saxon protestant, with a cleft tongue
Kiyooka, "We Asian North Americanos: An unhistorical 'take' on growing up yellow in a white world".
creatively speaking:
The half-breed tongue: everything laced with another syntax. Until it is never just one or two languages being spoken but some strange number be/tween one & two. A hyphenation, dependent on context to lean toward one or the other way, linguistically speaking. Most often in canadian english, my fathertongue, though also in japanese english, which is my mothertongue, which is to say that it is english words with japanese meaning. It was very strange when I first realized I was not speaking english sometimes. It seemed english to me, or maybe not classified/categorized in any certain method, just 'language' - spoken thought conveying intention. But there were mistranslations and misunderstandings and so I labelled certain of my sayings as 'non-english, do not say outside of home' and so this remains, though sometimes I forget myself and state them, and see that familiar look of confusion on an other's face.
My japanese, scant tho it is, is not the japanese of a grown woman but rather the baby-speak that is given to children, intentionally cute and dimunitive. My mother tells me I speak with an accent, and I think she likes the chance to be saying that to me, to have 'accent' apply to someone other than herself. The other thing I never noticed until in public with confused other faces: my mother's accent, which supposedly is difficult to understand tho as a child it seemed the normal way of speech and syntax. Apparently not. Something to unlearn. Which is a strange reversal, me unlearning the things my mother so diligently taught, and further, later, her saying to me: "What does this mean? How do you say this?" So that I become her educator in a language that is/not my own. She so obviously outside of its linguistic structure, and asking me to be a bridge inside - this, too, requires a foot on both sides, and increasingly the footing is insecure.
My fathertongue taught by my father is phonetically correct. There is no accent there. There is no difference written into sound, and this is the mimicry I learn and go on to teach to my mothertongue. Until my tongue is both and neither, the half-breed of two languages, the bastard hybrid. Cleft? hardly. Quite unified, if confused. A linguistics of one.
creatively speaking:
The half-breed tongue: everything laced with another syntax. Until it is never just one or two languages being spoken but some strange number be/tween one & two. A hyphenation, dependent on context to lean toward one or the other way, linguistically speaking. Most often in canadian english, my fathertongue, though also in japanese english, which is my mothertongue, which is to say that it is english words with japanese meaning. It was very strange when I first realized I was not speaking english sometimes. It seemed english to me, or maybe not classified/categorized in any certain method, just 'language' - spoken thought conveying intention. But there were mistranslations and misunderstandings and so I labelled certain of my sayings as 'non-english, do not say outside of home' and so this remains, though sometimes I forget myself and state them, and see that familiar look of confusion on an other's face.
My japanese, scant tho it is, is not the japanese of a grown woman but rather the baby-speak that is given to children, intentionally cute and dimunitive. My mother tells me I speak with an accent, and I think she likes the chance to be saying that to me, to have 'accent' apply to someone other than herself. The other thing I never noticed until in public with confused other faces: my mother's accent, which supposedly is difficult to understand tho as a child it seemed the normal way of speech and syntax. Apparently not. Something to unlearn. Which is a strange reversal, me unlearning the things my mother so diligently taught, and further, later, her saying to me: "What does this mean? How do you say this?" So that I become her educator in a language that is/not my own. She so obviously outside of its linguistic structure, and asking me to be a bridge inside - this, too, requires a foot on both sides, and increasingly the footing is insecure.
My fathertongue taught by my father is phonetically correct. There is no accent there. There is no difference written into sound, and this is the mimicry I learn and go on to teach to my mothertongue. Until my tongue is both and neither, the half-breed of two languages, the bastard hybrid. Cleft? hardly. Quite unified, if confused. A linguistics of one.
Selvaduri
"Pigs Can't Fly"
Selvaduri, Shyam, in Making a Difference.
Inter-cousin politics - well I know that particular sphere - but the compelling and understated thing that grabbed my attention in "Pigs Can't Fly" was the building up of atmosphere and environment. The narrator of the story gives throwaway details that position his physical place as being in Sri Lanka, giving detailed descriptions of his grandparents' house - not in an exoticized light, but rather through a familiar gaze. The narrator's perspective is not foreign to the atmosphere, and so the reader enters into this familiarity of gaze.
Another fascinating point: the power of clothing as a tool of transformation, which is a very theatrical device as the characters of the story literally become actors within the story, but also functions as metaphor for physical skin - the unchosen inscription of identity on the basis of physical appearance/sex/so on, so forth. The narrator delights in the ability of clothing to act as transformation - while playing bride-bride, he feels the pinnacle moment is the one where he is wrapped in his white sari and transformed into the embodiment of all that is good and pure in the world. Similarly, his nemesis, Her Fatness, attempts to gain and exert power through costuming - first, by embellishing the costume of the groom that has been designated to her, and second through stealing and hiding the sari which has such significance for the narrator. The usage of clothing/costuming as constructing identity aids in the depiction of identity as a fluid structure within the short story, as by virtue of outward apparel, identity becomes mutable. The tension comes when the skin - the physical and undeniable body - is not as easy to shift as clothing. The narrator cannot escape the societal mores connected with being gendered male, and experiences despair at the thought of being confined within an identity not of his choosing, yet never wholly of the identity he has been classified into as he has not claimed it.
The physical body and the costume dynamic is carefully built into the text, coming to a head with the conclusion which depicts the narrator's grim realisation of what the rest of his life has in store for him now that he cannot depend upon clothing to change his identity, to make what he was born as not as important as what he has chosen to be.
Selvaduri, Shyam, in Making a Difference.
Inter-cousin politics - well I know that particular sphere - but the compelling and understated thing that grabbed my attention in "Pigs Can't Fly" was the building up of atmosphere and environment. The narrator of the story gives throwaway details that position his physical place as being in Sri Lanka, giving detailed descriptions of his grandparents' house - not in an exoticized light, but rather through a familiar gaze. The narrator's perspective is not foreign to the atmosphere, and so the reader enters into this familiarity of gaze.
Another fascinating point: the power of clothing as a tool of transformation, which is a very theatrical device as the characters of the story literally become actors within the story, but also functions as metaphor for physical skin - the unchosen inscription of identity on the basis of physical appearance/sex/so on, so forth. The narrator delights in the ability of clothing to act as transformation - while playing bride-bride, he feels the pinnacle moment is the one where he is wrapped in his white sari and transformed into the embodiment of all that is good and pure in the world. Similarly, his nemesis, Her Fatness, attempts to gain and exert power through costuming - first, by embellishing the costume of the groom that has been designated to her, and second through stealing and hiding the sari which has such significance for the narrator. The usage of clothing/costuming as constructing identity aids in the depiction of identity as a fluid structure within the short story, as by virtue of outward apparel, identity becomes mutable. The tension comes when the skin - the physical and undeniable body - is not as easy to shift as clothing. The narrator cannot escape the societal mores connected with being gendered male, and experiences despair at the thought of being confined within an identity not of his choosing, yet never wholly of the identity he has been classified into as he has not claimed it.
The physical body and the costume dynamic is carefully built into the text, coming to a head with the conclusion which depicts the narrator's grim realisation of what the rest of his life has in store for him now that he cannot depend upon clothing to change his identity, to make what he was born as not as important as what he has chosen to be.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
you speak without an accent, just like you're canadian. you know, with canadian parents.
Mayr, Suzette. "The Education of Carmen."
From the get-go, this short story is highly sexualized, with both the physical body and the differences between physical bodies (ie. gender) emphasized. It is a selection that also deals with multiple and varying levels of discrimination, occurring across racial, ethnic, sexual, generational, and gender boundaries. The metamorphosis element shows how unsteady and unfixed the physical markers are; but also how those physical markers inform perspectives and guiding beliefs - Fran is older, and her age sets her up as opposite to Carmen; Rama is "so sensitive" to being asked where she is from, her 'otherness' inscribed on her skin colour.
The depiction of the 'other' begins in the second paragraph, with the description of the souvenir that Fran has brought back from an unspecified country, where the representation is a commodity, and the emphasis is on owning the image rather than understanding the "souvenir's" historical, aesthetic, and cultural context. All throughout this story is the emphasis of a refusal to understand, or to attempt to understand; even when Carmen appeals to Rama to tell her why it is so offensive to ask where Rama is from, and states that they are all the same underneath, "You bleed I bleed", etc., she isn't actively listening to what it is that Rama says in response; Carmen refuses to see Rama as Canadian.
Rama's first introduction in the text is as someone who is "originally from India or somewhere, and so sensitive" (456); she is then sexualized, with her physical traits, such as appearance and smell, discussed and envied. She is not seen as a beautiful woman, but rather as a woman who is beautiful because of her skin colour. When Carmen comes out and asks Rama where it is that she comes from, Rama replies, "I was born in Winnipeg. That's where my parents come from" (459). She is Canadian; her family has been Canadian for at least two generations (her generation, and her parents' generation). Yet Carmen goes on to say, "You speak without an accent, just like you're Canadian. You know, with Canadian parents." She is denying Rama the role of 'Canadian', othering her based off of the colour of Rama's skin. She then goes on to urge Rama to 'integrate'; there may or may not even be anything to integrate, as Rama seems to identify as Canadian, both familially and culturally.
The ending of the story brings Carmen's boyfriend back into the picture; where at the start of the story, he loved to have sex with Carmen on the basis of physical pleasure, now he is fascinated by Carmen's changed skin colour, and investigates her body, treating her as an animal as he calls her skin a "pelt". He no longer wants to have sex with her because she is a woman, but because she is a black woman. She, also, has begun to identify herself by the colour of her skin.
A stylistic feature of this short story I enjoyed was that of the lack of quotation marks, as this takes away from the overt separation of thought and dialogue, leaving the open space between them negotiable. What is thought may or may not be spoken; the reader is unsure, but is privy to all details nonetheless.
From the get-go, this short story is highly sexualized, with both the physical body and the differences between physical bodies (ie. gender) emphasized. It is a selection that also deals with multiple and varying levels of discrimination, occurring across racial, ethnic, sexual, generational, and gender boundaries. The metamorphosis element shows how unsteady and unfixed the physical markers are; but also how those physical markers inform perspectives and guiding beliefs - Fran is older, and her age sets her up as opposite to Carmen; Rama is "so sensitive" to being asked where she is from, her 'otherness' inscribed on her skin colour.
The depiction of the 'other' begins in the second paragraph, with the description of the souvenir that Fran has brought back from an unspecified country, where the representation is a commodity, and the emphasis is on owning the image rather than understanding the "souvenir's" historical, aesthetic, and cultural context. All throughout this story is the emphasis of a refusal to understand, or to attempt to understand; even when Carmen appeals to Rama to tell her why it is so offensive to ask where Rama is from, and states that they are all the same underneath, "You bleed I bleed", etc., she isn't actively listening to what it is that Rama says in response; Carmen refuses to see Rama as Canadian.
Rama's first introduction in the text is as someone who is "originally from India or somewhere, and so sensitive" (456); she is then sexualized, with her physical traits, such as appearance and smell, discussed and envied. She is not seen as a beautiful woman, but rather as a woman who is beautiful because of her skin colour. When Carmen comes out and asks Rama where it is that she comes from, Rama replies, "I was born in Winnipeg. That's where my parents come from" (459). She is Canadian; her family has been Canadian for at least two generations (her generation, and her parents' generation). Yet Carmen goes on to say, "You speak without an accent, just like you're Canadian. You know, with Canadian parents." She is denying Rama the role of 'Canadian', othering her based off of the colour of Rama's skin. She then goes on to urge Rama to 'integrate'; there may or may not even be anything to integrate, as Rama seems to identify as Canadian, both familially and culturally.
The ending of the story brings Carmen's boyfriend back into the picture; where at the start of the story, he loved to have sex with Carmen on the basis of physical pleasure, now he is fascinated by Carmen's changed skin colour, and investigates her body, treating her as an animal as he calls her skin a "pelt". He no longer wants to have sex with her because she is a woman, but because she is a black woman. She, also, has begun to identify herself by the colour of her skin.
A stylistic feature of this short story I enjoyed was that of the lack of quotation marks, as this takes away from the overt separation of thought and dialogue, leaving the open space between them negotiable. What is thought may or may not be spoken; the reader is unsure, but is privy to all details nonetheless.
white people aged so quickly
Hopkinson, Nalo. "A Habit of Waste."
With a childhood spent reading scifi, I immediately got into this story, where the concept of downloadable bodies is totally normal. Physical identity can now be totally discarded, which is what Cynthia has done; the physical is literally manufactured, is a construct that no longer occupies ideological space; the basis of 'othering', which has historically rested on physical differences, is disrupted here.
Cynthia, who has discarded her old body in favour of a new one - skin colour black for white - exhibits slight signs of buyer's remorse, especially as it becomes clear that identity no longer wholly rests upon physicality. Cynthia doesn't immediately recognize this, nor does she overtly by the end recognize this; rather, she shows a gradual shift in thought through her reaction to seeing her previous black body being worn by someone else, and feeling a jolt at realizing her old body was sexy; to her encounters with Mr. Morris and his non-wasteful ways.
With a childhood spent reading scifi, I immediately got into this story, where the concept of downloadable bodies is totally normal. Physical identity can now be totally discarded, which is what Cynthia has done; the physical is literally manufactured, is a construct that no longer occupies ideological space; the basis of 'othering', which has historically rested on physical differences, is disrupted here.
Cynthia, who has discarded her old body in favour of a new one - skin colour black for white - exhibits slight signs of buyer's remorse, especially as it becomes clear that identity no longer wholly rests upon physicality. Cynthia doesn't immediately recognize this, nor does she overtly by the end recognize this; rather, she shows a gradual shift in thought through her reaction to seeing her previous black body being worn by someone else, and feeling a jolt at realizing her old body was sexy; to her encounters with Mr. Morris and his non-wasteful ways.
personal/political
Silvera, Makeda. "Her Head a Village."
Silvera addresses, in her short story, the motive conflict of so-called representational writing; when she, as an individual, is taken to represent an entire group of people, she encounters conflicts - particularly so if she hasn't chosen for herself to represent this group or these groups of people. If the role of representative has been thrust upon her, she has to wonder about the necessity of fulfilling it - does a representative role mean that she cannot speak about the personal political things that have defined her writerly/scholastic life?
Silvera's protagonist has internalized the external expectations; she has become the mouthpiece for a group, and has had her individuality subsumed; it is precisely this subsuming that Silvera's protagonist writes against in "Her Head a Village", as the protagonist cannot escape the clamouring voices that most likely have their points of origin from an external mode, which now, after having been internalized, seek to express themselves through her.
One of the interesting village members, for me, was Maddie - the mad aunt who occupied both a subaltern and a maternal role within the context of the short story. Is she also an internalized external force? Or is she the true author voice? As an occupant of the subaltern (which is cerebrally strange, as Maddie occupies a subaltern role of 'mad' within the mind of the protagonist - the protagonist of the short story has, either consciously or unconsciously, cast Maddie within a subaltern role within her own mind; this is troubled by the thought that maybe the subaltern cannot exist within an internal landscape, and so carrying over external connotations into the internal sphere does not necessarily work, but is still figured... it gets confusing, trying to unravel things. Anyways!), Maddie has a power over those other villagers who attempt to claim so much of the protagonist author's time; Maddie can quell the other voices through her the use of her own voice - through the practice of storytelling. This practice of storytelling is necessarily the role of the author, as well. So is the protagonist Maddie? Or is Maddie the protagonist's perception of what she wants to be as a storyteller?
This short story offers numerous zones of contention, and areas of individual interpretation.
Silvera addresses, in her short story, the motive conflict of so-called representational writing; when she, as an individual, is taken to represent an entire group of people, she encounters conflicts - particularly so if she hasn't chosen for herself to represent this group or these groups of people. If the role of representative has been thrust upon her, she has to wonder about the necessity of fulfilling it - does a representative role mean that she cannot speak about the personal political things that have defined her writerly/scholastic life?
Silvera's protagonist has internalized the external expectations; she has become the mouthpiece for a group, and has had her individuality subsumed; it is precisely this subsuming that Silvera's protagonist writes against in "Her Head a Village", as the protagonist cannot escape the clamouring voices that most likely have their points of origin from an external mode, which now, after having been internalized, seek to express themselves through her.
One of the interesting village members, for me, was Maddie - the mad aunt who occupied both a subaltern and a maternal role within the context of the short story. Is she also an internalized external force? Or is she the true author voice? As an occupant of the subaltern (which is cerebrally strange, as Maddie occupies a subaltern role of 'mad' within the mind of the protagonist - the protagonist of the short story has, either consciously or unconsciously, cast Maddie within a subaltern role within her own mind; this is troubled by the thought that maybe the subaltern cannot exist within an internal landscape, and so carrying over external connotations into the internal sphere does not necessarily work, but is still figured... it gets confusing, trying to unravel things. Anyways!), Maddie has a power over those other villagers who attempt to claim so much of the protagonist author's time; Maddie can quell the other voices through her the use of her own voice - through the practice of storytelling. This practice of storytelling is necessarily the role of the author, as well. So is the protagonist Maddie? Or is Maddie the protagonist's perception of what she wants to be as a storyteller?
This short story offers numerous zones of contention, and areas of individual interpretation.
talking back(wards)
Dumont, Marilyn. "The Devil's Language."
Dumont is addressing the issue of the othering and destruction of language, which was a large part of the colonizing and assimilating project, as by destroying language, communal cohesivity is also lost, as well as a sense of identity with a group other than the colonizing figures. Dumont inverts the value of certain words, such as "devil" by illustrating how much of the perception of Cree as a sign of 'evil' was formed by the dominant discourse, and how that dominant discourse, the "Great White way", acted simultaneously to destroy Cree language, create homogeneity without respect to diversity, and to actively silence those it considered 'other'. This Great White way imposed the framework of 'if you can't understand English, you're "a dumb Indian/dumb, drunk or violent."'
Dumont goes on to equate the devil's language with the mother tongue; by amputating the 'devil's language' from the collective cultural consciousness, there is also a divorcing occurring between the precursor and the successive generations. Dumont's last handful of lines, l. 43-48, contain the imagery of being fed syllables, as much food as bannock and tea, and equates that consumption of knowledge with an overwhelming sense of loss. "Devil's language" also occupies the space offering comfort and protection here, inverting the traditional European connotations of the 'devil' meaning negative things.
Dumont is addressing the issue of the othering and destruction of language, which was a large part of the colonizing and assimilating project, as by destroying language, communal cohesivity is also lost, as well as a sense of identity with a group other than the colonizing figures. Dumont inverts the value of certain words, such as "devil" by illustrating how much of the perception of Cree as a sign of 'evil' was formed by the dominant discourse, and how that dominant discourse, the "Great White way", acted simultaneously to destroy Cree language, create homogeneity without respect to diversity, and to actively silence those it considered 'other'. This Great White way imposed the framework of 'if you can't understand English, you're "a dumb Indian/dumb, drunk or violent."'
Dumont goes on to equate the devil's language with the mother tongue; by amputating the 'devil's language' from the collective cultural consciousness, there is also a divorcing occurring between the precursor and the successive generations. Dumont's last handful of lines, l. 43-48, contain the imagery of being fed syllables, as much food as bannock and tea, and equates that consumption of knowledge with an overwhelming sense of loss. "Devil's language" also occupies the space offering comfort and protection here, inverting the traditional European connotations of the 'devil' meaning negative things.
riding high in trickster style
Ruffo, Armand Garnet. "At Geronimo's Grave" and "Detour".
"At Geronimo's Grave" - There seems to be a prevalence of retrospective, historically questioning literature in this course, as "At Geronimo's Grave" investigates the notions of historical representations of the real, not to mention exploitation through representation - which Ruffo figures through the example of the postcard of Geronimo - and also attempts to bring down the inflated sense of the jovial nature of this historical narrative with the last line, "For him whom they also call Prisoner of War" to counterbalance the other notions of Geronimo's assimilation and integration with the colonizing culture, his status as a 'token Indian' to represent for the subsuming culture their 'superiority' as even those who were infamous for fighting against them eventually joined them. Ruffo investigates the claims of assimilation, and the act of creating Geronimo as a token figure. Lines 16-24 relate Geronimo to a commodity item; he is the poet's "only purchase" in the form of a postcard; as a representative figure, Geronimo can be, and has been, literally bought and sold; or at least the representation of him has been. Ruffo works to bring the representation back to the real with his last line statement of Geronimo's ultimate status being that of "Prisoner of War".
"Detour" - I just really liked the style of this, the stream-of-consciousness effect of its language and how it slips into poetry and back into prose. I also love how circular it is, how the ending mirrors the beginning; how there is a constant sense of movement throughout the work; the reminiscing also helps to loop the text, as the protagonist moves from childhood to adolescence to parenthood and beyond, always using the same matter-of-fact seamless language. The language use collapses the linear idea of time, as the protagonist brings up events from childhood and from adulthood within the same sentence. Overall, it was, for me, a succint and powerful way of showing the overall tone of an individual's life, as well as the lives with whom that individual intersected.
"At Geronimo's Grave" - There seems to be a prevalence of retrospective, historically questioning literature in this course, as "At Geronimo's Grave" investigates the notions of historical representations of the real, not to mention exploitation through representation - which Ruffo figures through the example of the postcard of Geronimo - and also attempts to bring down the inflated sense of the jovial nature of this historical narrative with the last line, "For him whom they also call Prisoner of War" to counterbalance the other notions of Geronimo's assimilation and integration with the colonizing culture, his status as a 'token Indian' to represent for the subsuming culture their 'superiority' as even those who were infamous for fighting against them eventually joined them. Ruffo investigates the claims of assimilation, and the act of creating Geronimo as a token figure. Lines 16-24 relate Geronimo to a commodity item; he is the poet's "only purchase" in the form of a postcard; as a representative figure, Geronimo can be, and has been, literally bought and sold; or at least the representation of him has been. Ruffo works to bring the representation back to the real with his last line statement of Geronimo's ultimate status being that of "Prisoner of War".
"Detour" - I just really liked the style of this, the stream-of-consciousness effect of its language and how it slips into poetry and back into prose. I also love how circular it is, how the ending mirrors the beginning; how there is a constant sense of movement throughout the work; the reminiscing also helps to loop the text, as the protagonist moves from childhood to adolescence to parenthood and beyond, always using the same matter-of-fact seamless language. The language use collapses the linear idea of time, as the protagonist brings up events from childhood and from adulthood within the same sentence. Overall, it was, for me, a succint and powerful way of showing the overall tone of an individual's life, as well as the lives with whom that individual intersected.
conjure history from a cup/of warm Portuguese blood
Crusz, Rienzi. "Roots."
I love the tone with which Crusz starts this poem as he states from the beginning the constructed nature of the history he is representing, as he fulfills what it is the "end" demands: "something of the beginning". He goes on to produce a lovely, lyrical work that is nonetheless something he has "conjure[d]", as he works within the romantic preconceptions of his 'ethnic' history to produce a text that conforms to romantic ideals. Yet the self-awareness that Crusz brings to the text makes this infinitely more interesting, as he provides commentary on the nature of the poem as a construction, as a subjective representation of reality rather than the objective reality (which arguably doesn't exist, unless you're talking to a mathematician).
The last few lines, 19-25, pull in this constructed yet personal sense and view of history perfectly as Crusz situates himself within this historical continuum as both the "burgher of that hot embrace" as well as the one who has chosen to "write a poem of history/as if it were only the romance". Crusz is both the product and the producer of this constructed sense of history. Which is just a cool kind of reflexivity as to how we create/construct our own identities from our own personal creations/constructions of personal histories.
I love the tone with which Crusz starts this poem as he states from the beginning the constructed nature of the history he is representing, as he fulfills what it is the "end" demands: "something of the beginning". He goes on to produce a lovely, lyrical work that is nonetheless something he has "conjure[d]", as he works within the romantic preconceptions of his 'ethnic' history to produce a text that conforms to romantic ideals. Yet the self-awareness that Crusz brings to the text makes this infinitely more interesting, as he provides commentary on the nature of the poem as a construction, as a subjective representation of reality rather than the objective reality (which arguably doesn't exist, unless you're talking to a mathematician).
The last few lines, 19-25, pull in this constructed yet personal sense and view of history perfectly as Crusz situates himself within this historical continuum as both the "burgher of that hot embrace" as well as the one who has chosen to "write a poem of history/as if it were only the romance". Crusz is both the product and the producer of this constructed sense of history. Which is just a cool kind of reflexivity as to how we create/construct our own identities from our own personal creations/constructions of personal histories.
brown as i am/ other as i am
Mootoo, Shani. "For Naan."
l. 25-29: How it berserks me/That I have exoticized/My great-grandmother's land,/That someone else relentlessly/Tames conquers colonizes gazes objectifies leaves pawmarks
l. 49-52: Remember how you are charmed by my Naan's quaint ways/(as long as she stays in her place)/And remember how you love to photograph all of this/In another land.
Mootoo is doing something interesting here, conflating her own guilt of othering her Naan and her Naan's country, of obsessively gathering details of her Naan's culture through mediums such as the National Geographic, with the outrage of being othered by the culture she currently lives in, which she sees as celebrating her Naan as long as her Naan stays "in her place", that is to say, in her own country. Mootoo makes the pilgrimage to visit such countries for the sake of taking photographs and buying souvenirs into a zoo-like experience, at least on the part of the pilgrim making the trek; she sees part of the power of the visitor in the visitor's ability to capture representations of their own gaze via photographs and video - representations she resents, but also hoards, because they allow her a window into a culture she is fascinated by, and feels a familial connection to, but has not personally meaningfully experienced.
I love the levels of distance and control that Mootoo injects with her lines, particularly with her emphasis on the distance of the viewer/viewee; the fascination with the 'spectacle' of the exoticized subject. The ways in which Mootoo has constructed her removal, yet affiliation with, both the constructed 'other' and the constructed 'self' are fascinating, and showcase the unique difficult position Mootoo occupies, the frustration she feels at being both and neither.
l. 25-29: How it berserks me/That I have exoticized/My great-grandmother's land,/That someone else relentlessly/Tames conquers colonizes gazes objectifies leaves pawmarks
l. 49-52: Remember how you are charmed by my Naan's quaint ways/(as long as she stays in her place)/And remember how you love to photograph all of this/In another land.
Mootoo is doing something interesting here, conflating her own guilt of othering her Naan and her Naan's country, of obsessively gathering details of her Naan's culture through mediums such as the National Geographic, with the outrage of being othered by the culture she currently lives in, which she sees as celebrating her Naan as long as her Naan stays "in her place", that is to say, in her own country. Mootoo makes the pilgrimage to visit such countries for the sake of taking photographs and buying souvenirs into a zoo-like experience, at least on the part of the pilgrim making the trek; she sees part of the power of the visitor in the visitor's ability to capture representations of their own gaze via photographs and video - representations she resents, but also hoards, because they allow her a window into a culture she is fascinated by, and feels a familial connection to, but has not personally meaningfully experienced.
I love the levels of distance and control that Mootoo injects with her lines, particularly with her emphasis on the distance of the viewer/viewee; the fascination with the 'spectacle' of the exoticized subject. The ways in which Mootoo has constructed her removal, yet affiliation with, both the constructed 'other' and the constructed 'self' are fascinating, and showcase the unique difficult position Mootoo occupies, the frustration she feels at being both and neither.
"bighouses were left to die"
Maracle, Lee. "Bertha."
I think the aspect of Maracle's short story that struck me the most was the loss of potential. Maracle depicts the historical methods of destruction that were the colonizing tools, and the ongoing ways in which her community encounters disempowerment; what was visible to me from these depictions was the grief of the characters as they weren't allowed to fully achieve their potential. Bertha wasn't allowed to assume her matriarchal role as instructor, preserver, and nurturer within her community; rather, she is placed within a degraded role and must work beneath an individual who would fire her at the least opportunity. When Bertha does attempt to fulfill the matriarchal role, in a somewhat altered fashion by reaching out to a young girl who is naturally lovely but who has been physically - and presumably mentally, as well - ruined by this environment which practically screams, "You have no power", she fails; the girl is frightened and doesn't understand her gesture. Bertha wants to impart her memories and restore a communal continuum of knowledge and experiences, but has also been ruined by the fact that she has been disempowered in nearly every way possible.
For me, in reading this there seemed to be a very strong presence of grief and of the sense of opportunities that had been lost, as well as an on-going feel of helplessness and hopelessness due to events of the past which have informed the present inescapably.
I think the aspect of Maracle's short story that struck me the most was the loss of potential. Maracle depicts the historical methods of destruction that were the colonizing tools, and the ongoing ways in which her community encounters disempowerment; what was visible to me from these depictions was the grief of the characters as they weren't allowed to fully achieve their potential. Bertha wasn't allowed to assume her matriarchal role as instructor, preserver, and nurturer within her community; rather, she is placed within a degraded role and must work beneath an individual who would fire her at the least opportunity. When Bertha does attempt to fulfill the matriarchal role, in a somewhat altered fashion by reaching out to a young girl who is naturally lovely but who has been physically - and presumably mentally, as well - ruined by this environment which practically screams, "You have no power", she fails; the girl is frightened and doesn't understand her gesture. Bertha wants to impart her memories and restore a communal continuum of knowledge and experiences, but has also been ruined by the fact that she has been disempowered in nearly every way possible.
For me, in reading this there seemed to be a very strong presence of grief and of the sense of opportunities that had been lost, as well as an on-going feel of helplessness and hopelessness due to events of the past which have informed the present inescapably.
Civilization has reached/the promised land
Armstrong, Jeannette. History Lesson.
History Lesson -
lines 26-29 -> and miners/pulling from gaping holes/green paper faces/of a smiling English lady
These lines make this poem for me. While they don't depict a literal truth, they do depict a figurative truth - what the miners pull from the earth isn't physical money, but the means with which to gain physical money, the raw materials for which they have made the land into a commodity rather than a resource.
This passage is about, to me, perversion; a reversal of processes, or a twist of the natural to the unnatural. The whole idea of 'green paper faces' - the tying together of a regenerative colour symbol, green, with that of a symbol of colonizing power, whose presence occurs through the invasive techniques of what is depicted as carrying connotations of the violation of the earth (ie. 'gaping holes'), is powerful. All of a sudden, this colonizing figure is not just arriving on Columbus's ships, but rather is inside of the earth, waiting to be yanked out. The enemy, in the form of 'green paper faces' is already inside.
History Lesson -
lines 26-29 -> and miners/pulling from gaping holes/green paper faces/of a smiling English lady
These lines make this poem for me. While they don't depict a literal truth, they do depict a figurative truth - what the miners pull from the earth isn't physical money, but the means with which to gain physical money, the raw materials for which they have made the land into a commodity rather than a resource.
This passage is about, to me, perversion; a reversal of processes, or a twist of the natural to the unnatural. The whole idea of 'green paper faces' - the tying together of a regenerative colour symbol, green, with that of a symbol of colonizing power, whose presence occurs through the invasive techniques of what is depicted as carrying connotations of the violation of the earth (ie. 'gaping holes'), is powerful. All of a sudden, this colonizing figure is not just arriving on Columbus's ships, but rather is inside of the earth, waiting to be yanked out. The enemy, in the form of 'green paper faces' is already inside.
the ironic eye; towards a politics of dehyphenation
Bissoondath, Neil.
Bissoondath offers up a polemic I'm not sure that I entirely agree with here, especially as he slants his argument so strongly in his own direction, using language that is intended to provoke the emotions, mixing case studies and personal interpretations within the span of a single paragraph. Bissoondath offers up value judgments as to the good&noble/bad&villainous traits of those he chooses to speak about - for instance, the professor with Chinese heritage whose daughter is taunted with the appellation of 'banana', for being 'yellow' on the outside and 'white' on the inside. This professor tells his daughter to respond that she is Canadian, and that if others cannot respect this, then they are the ones who are engaging in racist thoughts and acts. The professor goes on to say that while it may be nice to know how to speak a Chinese dialect, or write with a Chinese alphabet, it is more important to be fluent in the oral and written languages of the current environment. I wholeheartedly respect this professor's views; yes, when presented with the choice of whether or not to learn the language of the current environment, or the language of a past environment, the current would supersede the past for me. However, Bissoondath passes a moral judgment on this professor by stating that he is a man of "great integrity". Well, why? Why is this professor seen as possessing such uniqueness of vision? It would have been enough for Bissoondath to have presented this example, as well as others like it. He did not need to inform my own interpretation of the example - he did not have to exert his own interpretation over my own, guiding my thoughts to his conclusions. If his conclusions were so evident, he would not need to engage in such direct behaviour.
Bissoondath offers up complex and interesting ideas; he juxtaposes the American and the Canadian immigrant experiences, seeminly privileging the American immigrant experience as having perfected itself through its emphasis on integration, the foregrounding of the American identity; in contrast, the Canadian immigrant, according to Bissoondath, is forced into a static zone where change is prohibited. He conflates the idea of self-identification, of an individual identifying along historical ethnic/cultural lines, with that of the externally determined race politics of Nazi-ism and apartheid institutions (though in this article Bissoondath doesn't come out right and say 'identity politics', choosing instead to utilize Miki's term, 'racialization').
Bissoondath demands differentiation from others of the ethnic group that he says he has been grouped with, stating their differences in individual taste and opinion as indicators that being grouped by ethnicity is not a true marker of personality; he says, "[t]here is no gravitation around an ethnic bonfire" and "[s]hared ethnicity does not entail unanimity of vision. If the individual is not to be betrayed, a larger humanity must prevail over the narrowness of ethnicity."
To look more closely at that last quotation is to realize that Bissoondath seems to be supporting the hegemony of Self over Other, with the phyiscality of his language implying a domination of one discourse by another. The words 'prevail over', for example, seem to imply a physical configuration of power, wherein 'humanity' and 'ethnicity' are not capable of coexisting but must rather be subjugated by one another. The term 'ethnicity' is seen in Bissoondath's article as externally projected upon the individual, denying that individual the freedom to choose her or his own identity. For example, the idea of an individual who identifies as Canadian, who has had family in Canada for generations, and whose first language is English, being forced into the ethnic group of 'Vietnamese' because of physical appearance, etc., is anathema to Bissoondath. This is his zone of staticity, a zone he may or may not have been pushed into himself.
I need to investigate this train of thought further. As much as Bissoondath advocates the removal of hyphenation, of erasing the traces of the 'other' culture from the Canadian culture, this is as much a removal of control as the projection of ethnicity he so reviles; where Bissoondath states, "[i]mmigration is essentially about renewal. It is unjust, to individuals and to the communities from which they emerge, to require it to be about stasis. To do so is to legitimize marginalization; it is to turn ethnic communities into museums or exoticisms" (298), he does not examine the idea that it may be similarly unjust to not recognize the desire of an individual to retain her or his personal heritage. There is no room within Bissoondath's polemic to say that you, or I, wish to self-determine ethnicity and culture. Rather, to do so, is to occupy a role that Bissoondath derides.
Of those who choose to self-determine, and whose self-determination leads in the direction of a cultural or ethnic heritage other than a non-hyphenated 'Canadian', Bissoondath says that they choose such a path in order to lay claim to "a delicious sweet-and-sour confirmation of one's own existence: deliciously sweet because you cannot be denied; deliciously sour because you have been brutalized. This life you lead is not your fault" (293). Bissoondath layers ideas of shame and blame in this article, tying both emotions to the idea of ethnicity, making 'ethnic' a disreputable term.
I'm not entirely sure how to respond to this; I know I don't agree. Maybe because I am guilty of this pathos, of my life not being my fault. More than this, however, I choose to believe that I resist Bissoondath's attempts to force me into the direction he wishes me to go - I choose to believe that I determine my own ethnic and cultural affiliation.
Bissoondath offers up a polemic I'm not sure that I entirely agree with here, especially as he slants his argument so strongly in his own direction, using language that is intended to provoke the emotions, mixing case studies and personal interpretations within the span of a single paragraph. Bissoondath offers up value judgments as to the good&noble/bad&villainous traits of those he chooses to speak about - for instance, the professor with Chinese heritage whose daughter is taunted with the appellation of 'banana', for being 'yellow' on the outside and 'white' on the inside. This professor tells his daughter to respond that she is Canadian, and that if others cannot respect this, then they are the ones who are engaging in racist thoughts and acts. The professor goes on to say that while it may be nice to know how to speak a Chinese dialect, or write with a Chinese alphabet, it is more important to be fluent in the oral and written languages of the current environment. I wholeheartedly respect this professor's views; yes, when presented with the choice of whether or not to learn the language of the current environment, or the language of a past environment, the current would supersede the past for me. However, Bissoondath passes a moral judgment on this professor by stating that he is a man of "great integrity". Well, why? Why is this professor seen as possessing such uniqueness of vision? It would have been enough for Bissoondath to have presented this example, as well as others like it. He did not need to inform my own interpretation of the example - he did not have to exert his own interpretation over my own, guiding my thoughts to his conclusions. If his conclusions were so evident, he would not need to engage in such direct behaviour.
Bissoondath offers up complex and interesting ideas; he juxtaposes the American and the Canadian immigrant experiences, seeminly privileging the American immigrant experience as having perfected itself through its emphasis on integration, the foregrounding of the American identity; in contrast, the Canadian immigrant, according to Bissoondath, is forced into a static zone where change is prohibited. He conflates the idea of self-identification, of an individual identifying along historical ethnic/cultural lines, with that of the externally determined race politics of Nazi-ism and apartheid institutions (though in this article Bissoondath doesn't come out right and say 'identity politics', choosing instead to utilize Miki's term, 'racialization').
Bissoondath demands differentiation from others of the ethnic group that he says he has been grouped with, stating their differences in individual taste and opinion as indicators that being grouped by ethnicity is not a true marker of personality; he says, "[t]here is no gravitation around an ethnic bonfire" and "[s]hared ethnicity does not entail unanimity of vision. If the individual is not to be betrayed, a larger humanity must prevail over the narrowness of ethnicity."
To look more closely at that last quotation is to realize that Bissoondath seems to be supporting the hegemony of Self over Other, with the phyiscality of his language implying a domination of one discourse by another. The words 'prevail over', for example, seem to imply a physical configuration of power, wherein 'humanity' and 'ethnicity' are not capable of coexisting but must rather be subjugated by one another. The term 'ethnicity' is seen in Bissoondath's article as externally projected upon the individual, denying that individual the freedom to choose her or his own identity. For example, the idea of an individual who identifies as Canadian, who has had family in Canada for generations, and whose first language is English, being forced into the ethnic group of 'Vietnamese' because of physical appearance, etc., is anathema to Bissoondath. This is his zone of staticity, a zone he may or may not have been pushed into himself.
I need to investigate this train of thought further. As much as Bissoondath advocates the removal of hyphenation, of erasing the traces of the 'other' culture from the Canadian culture, this is as much a removal of control as the projection of ethnicity he so reviles; where Bissoondath states, "[i]mmigration is essentially about renewal. It is unjust, to individuals and to the communities from which they emerge, to require it to be about stasis. To do so is to legitimize marginalization; it is to turn ethnic communities into museums or exoticisms" (298), he does not examine the idea that it may be similarly unjust to not recognize the desire of an individual to retain her or his personal heritage. There is no room within Bissoondath's polemic to say that you, or I, wish to self-determine ethnicity and culture. Rather, to do so, is to occupy a role that Bissoondath derides.
Of those who choose to self-determine, and whose self-determination leads in the direction of a cultural or ethnic heritage other than a non-hyphenated 'Canadian', Bissoondath says that they choose such a path in order to lay claim to "a delicious sweet-and-sour confirmation of one's own existence: deliciously sweet because you cannot be denied; deliciously sour because you have been brutalized. This life you lead is not your fault" (293). Bissoondath layers ideas of shame and blame in this article, tying both emotions to the idea of ethnicity, making 'ethnic' a disreputable term.
I'm not entirely sure how to respond to this; I know I don't agree. Maybe because I am guilty of this pathos, of my life not being my fault. More than this, however, I choose to believe that I resist Bissoondath's attempts to force me into the direction he wishes me to go - I choose to believe that I determine my own ethnic and cultural affiliation.
optimistic highway
Highway, Tomson. "My Canada."
Mostly a joyful celebration of Canada, emphasis on 'my', though a Canada specifically situated within the over-arching global realm. For instance, Highway comes to the realization that Canada is the "best country in the world" while in Australia; he has to leave the physical presence of Canada in order to think of it as beautiful. He also preoccupies himself with naming specific physical features of Canada - ie., Cape Breton's Cabot Trail - drawing attention to specific details. Highway comes to realize Canada's status as the so-named greatest country in the world through the loud proclamation of this fact on a poster, a piece of advertising literature; he then goes on to pontificate about the greatness of Canada and Canadian 'culture' in language similar to that of an advertisement.
Also, Highway makes apologies for Canada's bad behaviour by comparing it to the rest of the world, and giving it relativistic standards. He states, "[t]here's no denying we've had our trials and times of shame, but dark though they may have been, they pale by comparison with events that have shaped many other nations" (Highway 220, my emphasis). In short, Highway is excusing any of Canada's pitfalls through the application of reasoning that at least Canada has a better track record, morally speaking across history, as compared to other countries - no big surprise as Canada is one of the younger countries of the world.
More than the 'times of shame' that Highway excuses Canada from on the basis of comparison with other countries, Canada's positive traits also come from its affiliation and accomodation of the projection of other countries and cultures within its borders - ie., food, language. Highway states that heterogeneity is dominant within Canada, whereas within other countries - he cites one example as being Japan - there is an overwhelming homogeneity, a sameness that bores him. Highway enjoys and celebrates the diversity he sees as being prevalent within Canada.
In response to this short essay put forward by Highway, my own interpretation of Canada is also pride: I do believe that this is a great country, that it offers diversity within certain areas, that it is by and large a beautiful, exciting, exhilarating place. However, I disagree with the notion that it is possible to wave away past injustices with the excuse of other countries have done worse and Canada looks good in comparison - precisely because of the comparison. Highway is constructing a global hierarchy here - or maybe responding to the existent hierarchy that allows countries to be ranked, for them to be named 'best' and 'worst' by the UN, and through this hierarchical framework can excuse Canada's historical and on-going faults as not being all that bad. My moral framework informs me that I can't hold myself up in comparison to others, morally speaking - that just because the person next to me may be a murderer, I am not a good person because I have not committed murder. I may be a horrible person, judged on my own merits, outside of a comparative (though probably not wholly objective) framework.
Probably one of the subtle, yet overt, details of Highway's piece that I quite enjoyed was his movement from the specific to the broad, and his assignment of the possessive to Canada, as in, "my Canada". Highway is asserting his ownership and belong to Canada repeatedly, giving himself the authority to speak of it in the way that he does. He doesn't seem to overtly identify as Canadian - he self-identifies as Cree - and sees Canada as a place rather than an identity. He takes pride in the state of his possession. He is able to evade just about all of the pitfalls associated with conflating place with identity, yet still manages to incorporate Canada into his identity construction.
Mostly a joyful celebration of Canada, emphasis on 'my', though a Canada specifically situated within the over-arching global realm. For instance, Highway comes to the realization that Canada is the "best country in the world" while in Australia; he has to leave the physical presence of Canada in order to think of it as beautiful. He also preoccupies himself with naming specific physical features of Canada - ie., Cape Breton's Cabot Trail - drawing attention to specific details. Highway comes to realize Canada's status as the so-named greatest country in the world through the loud proclamation of this fact on a poster, a piece of advertising literature; he then goes on to pontificate about the greatness of Canada and Canadian 'culture' in language similar to that of an advertisement.
Also, Highway makes apologies for Canada's bad behaviour by comparing it to the rest of the world, and giving it relativistic standards. He states, "[t]here's no denying we've had our trials and times of shame, but dark though they may have been, they pale by comparison with events that have shaped many other nations" (Highway 220, my emphasis). In short, Highway is excusing any of Canada's pitfalls through the application of reasoning that at least Canada has a better track record, morally speaking across history, as compared to other countries - no big surprise as Canada is one of the younger countries of the world.
More than the 'times of shame' that Highway excuses Canada from on the basis of comparison with other countries, Canada's positive traits also come from its affiliation and accomodation of the projection of other countries and cultures within its borders - ie., food, language. Highway states that heterogeneity is dominant within Canada, whereas within other countries - he cites one example as being Japan - there is an overwhelming homogeneity, a sameness that bores him. Highway enjoys and celebrates the diversity he sees as being prevalent within Canada.
In response to this short essay put forward by Highway, my own interpretation of Canada is also pride: I do believe that this is a great country, that it offers diversity within certain areas, that it is by and large a beautiful, exciting, exhilarating place. However, I disagree with the notion that it is possible to wave away past injustices with the excuse of other countries have done worse and Canada looks good in comparison - precisely because of the comparison. Highway is constructing a global hierarchy here - or maybe responding to the existent hierarchy that allows countries to be ranked, for them to be named 'best' and 'worst' by the UN, and through this hierarchical framework can excuse Canada's historical and on-going faults as not being all that bad. My moral framework informs me that I can't hold myself up in comparison to others, morally speaking - that just because the person next to me may be a murderer, I am not a good person because I have not committed murder. I may be a horrible person, judged on my own merits, outside of a comparative (though probably not wholly objective) framework.
Probably one of the subtle, yet overt, details of Highway's piece that I quite enjoyed was his movement from the specific to the broad, and his assignment of the possessive to Canada, as in, "my Canada". Highway is asserting his ownership and belong to Canada repeatedly, giving himself the authority to speak of it in the way that he does. He doesn't seem to overtly identify as Canadian - he self-identifies as Cree - and sees Canada as a place rather than an identity. He takes pride in the state of his possession. He is able to evade just about all of the pitfalls associated with conflating place with identity, yet still manages to incorporate Canada into his identity construction.
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