Western Narcissistic Highground and Narratology

Here, I am talking about the Frantz Fanon chapter entitled “Concerning Violence” from his book The Wretched of the Earth and the Abu-Lughod piece is her essay from American Anthropologist 2002 entitled “Do Muslim Women Really Need Saving? Anthropological Reflections on Cultural Relativism and Its Others.”

For much of the beginning of the essay, Fanon talks about this notion of compartmentalizing of colonialism. Obviously, as everyone else has mentioned (and as anyone who has actually read the piece will mention), he is outlining the impact of the colonist on the colonized–in every facet and chiefly in violence. I confess I haven’t finished the entire reading (and hopefully judging by its length we will spend more time discussing this on Thursday having by that time also watched the film), but I see this heading in the direction of validating violent decolonization and violent revolution/rebellion (like that of Saint-Domingue and Cuba and much of Latin America and Africa) for the colonized.

Another interesting tangent he goes on in the beginning that I see coming back is the Marxist idea of the uneducated or non-intellectual colonized (who I think Marx called like limproletariat or something like that) who bring the ultra-despair that compartmentalized defeat in battle (p 50) or the deafening isolation of the compartmentalizing bureaucracy in setting up a nationalized-decolonized state (p 50), mostly because his whole thesis seems to be this idea that decolonization is not liberation, just substitution (something I find extremely relevant given Fidel Castro’s statement about Pres. Obama visiting Cuba and wishing for better future relations).

Nonetheless, as my title outlines, I am mostly concerned and interested in the argument Fanon is making that the colonist (and by proxy the West) takes a narcissistic highground of (A) geographical, (B) economic, (C) ethical, (D) linguistic, (E) biological, and (F) historical narratives. He (the colonist), in compartmentalizing the structure of everything surrounding the life of the colonized, has forced a dominance over it all not only in a physical, tactile way but in the way of narrative. Thus, it is not only a physical domination by the colonist that anticipates the last becoming first, but the colonist’s control over a narrative of a Manichean forever-battle that breeds nationalist fascism following and as a direct result of the process of decolonization.

 

Fanon says–

A—p 39-40 “The look that the native turns on the settler’s town is a look of lust, a look of envy; it expresses his dreams of possession–all in manner of possession: to sit at the settler’s table, to sleep in the settler’s bed, with his wife if possible. The colonized man is an envious man. And this the settler knows very well…This world divided into compartments, this world cut in two is inhabited by two different species.”

Here we have this idea of a geographical dominance over the colonized. This is a very physical, tactile dominance, of course, but I am more interested in the interaction between the way this ties to an overlying idea of claim — the narrative of claim. He talks in the essay too about the dignity of owning one’s own land–in the philosophical tradition a very Western ideal (Anglo even, via Locke). So my question here is who has access to the narrative of geographical claim? Who has access to the language, to the rhetoric of claiming land–you see this is different from who has right to land, something much less able to be substantiated.

B—p 40 “In the colonies the economic substructure is also superstructure. The cause is the consequence; you are rich because you are white, you are white because you are rich.”

This one is also about access to narrative. Economics, especially in a Marxist and therefore anti-capitalist essay, may seem to be a centerpiece of a tactile argument about colonialism, but I am still yet more concerned with who has access to a narrative of economics. If the very domination of the colonized by the colonists is in imposing these compartmentalized sectors, including economic pressure and exploitation and more significantly for me the Western economic narrative, then the argument is made for the colonists before the question gets asked. What I simply mean is that the very economics we are to call into question (in the tactile evaluation of economics) are already in the very language of the West, part of the Western economic narrative, not the economic narrative of the native. Thus, a cause-as-consequence narrative dominance for the colonist.

C—p 41 “Native society is not simply described as a society lacking in values. It is not enough for the colonist to affirm that those values have disappeared from, or still better never existed in, the colonial world. The naive is declared insensible to ethics; he represents not only the absence of values, but also the negation of values.”

For the native, the ethical narrative to which he will never be allowed access is that of the colonists. This point I think Fanon goes into deeper quite nicely. It reminds me of the AbuLughod essay when she pointed out the fact that there are already narratives and practices and people and ideas on the ground prior to the colonist’s imposition. The self-gratifying nature of the colonist is also in denying the mere existence of an already in-place ethical system (which Fanon brings up in the African institution of a society that endorses self-shaming). Again, the denial of access to the ethical narrative for the native.

D—p 42 “At times this Manicheism goes to its logical conclusion and dehumanizes the native, or to speak plainly, it turns him into an animal…When the settler seeks to describe the native fully in exact terms he constantly refers to the bestiary.”

This is perhaps the most straightforward of the denial of narrative just because it is linguistic. The very language used to describe (even in poetry and fiction–think “fiery tropical eyes” and the eroticism/over-sexualization of the native female by the colonists) native is only decided by the colonists. The access or control in narrative itself is compartmentalized and dominated by the colonist.

E—p 43 “The native knows all this, and laughs to himself every time he spots an allusion to the animal world in the other’s words. For he knows that he is not an animal; and it is precisely at the moment he realizes his humanity that he begins to sharpen the weapons with which he will secure its victory.”

This quote interests me the most–there is something here about the fact that a biological narrative of dominance is from the point of view in the essay of the native: here we see the rhetorical function flipped from colonist-centered to native-centered. I don’t know what to make of this or whether it matters, but I’m certain it does. Perhaps something about the notion of imposing dominance through violence becomes a biologically-distinct reaction of violence.

F—p 51 “The settler makes history and is conscious of making it. And because he constantly refers to the history of his mother country, he clearly indicates that he himself is the extension of that mother country. Thus the history which he writes is not the history of the country which he plunders but the history of his own nation in regard to all that she skims off, all that she violates and starves.”

This one is the the one that really set it off for me, the one that made me go back through what I had read and find where we have the narrative dominance. As the saying goes, the victors write history. Colonists are the victors every time and, as Fanon’s argument perfects, de-colonists still do not write the history. There is a narrative dominance in history that the colonist will always have if even just because of chronology–but moreover, I think what is much more thesis-driven is access to a historical narrative. This quotation sums it up perfectly–as the domination of the capitalist-colonist continues its raid, the access to historical narrative is simultaneously compartmentalized and unified into one common narrative that the victor and only the victor dictates.

 

So, yea I know this post is long but I’m most concerned with this idea of access to narrative and the western narcissistic high-ground (narcissistic because of its paradoxical setup: cause as consequence and consequence as cause) and high-ground itself a paradox, leaving out any low-ground because the low-ground was destroyed and dominated. I didn’t really get into the narratology part of my argument, but basically I think it’s just really awesome when form and content mesh well and precisely what Fanon is arguing has destroyed the colonized–Manichean compartmentalizing is exactly how his essay is set up: it’s compartmentalized (as any essay is) that follows from the visceral, more tactile-favored compartmentalizing to the philosophical and cultural compartmentalizing that ultimately itself leads us to the climax of his own thesis at which point he decolonizes his own argument. I don’t have the wordcount to explain, so disregard it if that made no sense.

Poetic Form and Subtextual Connection

For my critical theory class, we read Dunya Mikhail‘s THE WAR WORKS HARD, a collection of poems by the Iraqi poet. Specifically in this post, I talk about the poems “The Cup,” “The Theory of Absence” and “Transformations of the Child and the Moon.”

I think what she’s doing here with form is the most intriguing thing for me. It’s like the saying that goes “There are rules but the best writers always break them.” She’s certainly gained notoriety doing something people like here.

I would say Mikhail’s war poetry is certainly concerning the homefront and that she denies the need for a specific form and abandons the ‘rules’ (if there are any) for form. As the introduction of my book notes, she weaves together the poetic and the folkloric as a means of metaphorical discernment or understanding for what she’s been there.

In “The Cup,” we don’t quite at first get that the speaker is using a ouija board, but once we understand, the speaker begins to trust us with the rules that she sets up. For example, at the beginning of the poem, she says “the cup moved to the right for YES” we know from previous lines that all caps is the dialogue from the spirit itself. We’re also told there that the cup moves to the right. Later in the poem, when the spirit answers yes, the poem will just say “she cup moved to the right” or left for YES and NO. The reader intuits the rules naturally because they’re set up at the beginning of the poem. This is a perfect example of how she’s using form here to create a new place — a place where ouija boards actually work, which isn’t necessarily altogether unfamiliar given that we know what a ouija board is even though it is never called that in the poem. Nonetheless, it is the subliminal communication between reader and speaker in the poem that creates an underlying connection there through observation and then intuition in “The Cup.”

In “The Theory of Absence,” the speaker is using a predetermined setup of proofs in math or logic to prove the absence of a beloved. There’s a hypothesis, a desired result, and a proof to get from the hypothesis to the result. There are, of course, huge logical leaps and this is no logically sound equation, but the conceit works. And it’s poetic. There’s something very visceral in poetry about using something familiar–like a ouija board or a proof– and then modifying it just slightly so that it becomes useful for the poet to do what s/he wants. It doesn’t particularly bother me that we have different rules for ouija boards or proofs in these poems — I actually enjoy discovering the rules each time and I think that’s what she does best in these form choices, she’s subtly subverting our expectation and it feels like creation or connection — like an inside joke we have with the poet and even in third-person, there’s something that can do which vastly diminishes the distance between speaker and reader.

Finally, just one last poem, I think she does a marvelous job too in “Transformations of the Child and the Moon” of using the device of an image and having these small stanzas about the frozen frame to still express an action. These are images, they are frozen, and yet the verbs she uses (though past tense and therefore fixed in a timely preterit past) are action verbs — “the child went to the river” and “the child sank” all in the same poem as if there was a passage of time within the image itself, even given the image’s fixedness. Like this tiny little frozen image was more than that — a human is more than a frozen frame.

Get Back to Reading Good Work

Reading challenges scare me. But I realized in December 2015 that I hadn’t read nearly enough already-published literature in 2015.

I was a book club drop out who mostly read on planes.

So this year I decided two fiction and one non per month. That’s 3 books a month for a 2016 total of 36. Here’s where I stand Mid-March:

January:

Disrupt Yourself (nonfiction), Whitney Johnson

Big Little Lies, Liane Moriarty

Rump: The True Story of Rumplestiltskin, Liesl Shurtliff

February:

All the Light We Cannot See, Anthony Doerr

The Guest Room, Chris Bohjalian

No Ordinary Disruption (nonfiction), Richard Dobbs and James Manyika (in progress)

March:

White Walls: A Memoir About Motherhood, Daughterhood, and the Mess In Between, Judy Batalion (in progress)

Dark Currents: Agent of Hel, Jacqueline Carey (in progress)

So trucking right along.

My sources for books are the new book club I joined, recommended reads on my Kindle, the dusty now-full shelf of unread books in my library, and the Business Books wish list I keep on amazon.com. I add to that whenever someone quotes a book in an article I’m reading.

I also thought to join Emma Watson’s Our Shared Shelf, a Goodreads book club reading feminist literature, but I haven’t been able to get the first three books read. I’ll try again in April.

What I’m learning is that reading takes time and that my time is pretty well spent building my business, writing, and spending time with Charlie and Hollie. The 36 books goal may have been too ambitious. Or maybe I’m just too annoyed by the book club books to be enjoying the 36 book goal.

Also, nonfiction takes more time. It requires thought and notes and discussion and I find I’m interested in the subject but no one else is reading it (except me) and so I’m not able to get discussion going on it.

I’m going to start reading nonfiction in the strain of my own nonfiction efforts: redefining work. So the next non-fiction will be Why Work Sucks and How to Fix It by Cali Ressler and Jodi Thompson. And since the book club selection is a memoir (cue gag reflex) I’ll count that as nonfiction and pick up another fiction selection this month.

Reviews/insights to come.