The Power of Words: The Weapon of American Colonialism?

In “Indian Literacy, U. S. Colonialism, and Literary Criticism,” Maureen Konkle does an excellent job of discussing not only the power of language but also the politics connected to it in relation to colonial expansion.  I found Konkle’s article extremely helpful in my analysis of Life of Black Hawk, or Má-ka-tai-me-she-kiá-kiák, especially Konkle’s point that “Colonialism is a struggle for territory that takes place in part through the production of knowledge; written records and a reading public are as necessary as technologically sophisticated weaponry or encroaching settlers” (460).  Hence, the English language, especially when written, holds a certain amount of power that can be used to harm those who are not masters of it.  However, just in case Indians do figure out how to use this language effectively, then Konkle points out how they will soon find themselves in a kind of “catch-22” since if Indians learned to write and speak English as well as “the white man,” then suddenly, they were not seen as truly Indian (476-77). 

As I was reading Konkle’s article, certain passages in Black Hawk’s narrative seemed much more important, especially concerning the power of the English language.  Now, I’m not sure if it would qualify as the “hot spot” of the text, but I think the following is an important theme throughout the novel.  Discussing the problems with the white settlers intruding on the Indian’s territory, Black Hawk states:

We acquainted our agent daily with our situation, and through him, the great chief at St. Louis—and hoped that something would be done for us.  The whites were complaining at the same time that we were intruding upon their rights! They made themselves out the injured party, and we the intruders!  and called Loudly to the great war chief to protect their property.  How smooth must be the language of the whites, when they can make right look like wrong, and wrong like right” (57, italics in original). 

In this passage, we can see how Black Hawk and his tribe must go through their agent as their interpreter and spokesperson in order to have their message and complaints told to the “the great chief at St. Louis” while the whites spoke loudly to the “great war chief” for protection.  Mark Rifkin also points out how “Keokuk’s language gains force through its alliance with `the great war chief,´ also implicitly suggesting that he has come to view the land as property—a dissectable and dead thing” (693).  Rifkin is more concerned with analyzing this passage in its connection with land and geopolitics, but I would like to look at this passage through its connection to the power of language.  It becomes evident that Black Hawk is losing a battle of words.  He wonders about the power and smoothness of “the language of the whites” since they are able to make their cause look right and Black Hawk’s wrong.  It is the “white man’s language” that manipulates Black Hawk into leaving his village, and it is documents filled with “white man’s language” that Black Hawk and his fellow natives do not understand but “touch the quill” anyway.  Black Hawk seems aware of this power of language, and it is in his rival Ke-o-kuck that Black Hawk shares his enviousness of Ke-o-kuck’s “smooth tongue” and describes him as “a great speaker” (62).  Interestingly, Ke-o-kuck is also using his power of words to persuade his tribe that Black Hawk is in the wrong for wanting to go to war.  

Furthermore, the Americans trust the eloquent Ke-o-kuck, releasing Black Hawk with the condition that he will be under Ke-o-kuck’s supervision.  This restriction hurts Black Hawk’s pride; again, Black Hawk’s inability to be a persuasive orator causes him to not have the “trust” or the persuasiveness over the Americans or even the people of his own tribe.  Black Hawk seems envious of Ke-o-kuck’s ability to community with others, clearly sensing the power of language.  Although Black Hawk loses his original territory, becomes a captive, and must be under the care of his rival, he still fights back.  Obviously, he did not physically fight back; after all, he said himself that he wanted to live in peace.  I’m referring to his decision to narrate his story to be written in “white man’s language” and read by Americans throughout the nation.  Even though he had been the victim of the power of language, Black Hawk appropriates the “white man’s language” in order to criticize Americans in their own tongue.  In a way, Black Hawk fights back with words once he realizes the potential power of language.  

The Complexities of “Territories”: Pine Ridge Indian Reservation

I don’t know where to begin.  As I was reading, listening, and watching, so many thoughts flashed into my head.  My apparent lack of knowledge about Pine Ridge Indian Reservation and just the history in general regarding the United States and Indian relations was one of the things I realized.  Frankly, I must admit I had not given a lot of thought about Indian reservations prior to this assignment.  I guess I had a romantic view of how they were connected harmoniously with nature and were happy and at peace.  Though I might have continued believing that if we had just looked at George Catlin’s landscape portraits, I obviously had a real “enlightenment” when it came to Aaron Huey’s photography and especially his Ted Talk.  Now, I’m not going to keep on going on and on about how Huey’s photography and Fuller’s article and podcast made me realize I had been living in my own little world, but I wanted to let you know where I was coming from, and I kind of imagine I’m not alone there.  Nevertheless, what I’d like to do in this blog is connect some of our secondary readings to Huey’s pictures in order to see the connections to territory.

First, in Brenner and Elden’s article, they discuss Henri Lefebvre and how he discusses territory as a space—Lefebvre especially discusses “abstract space”—that is political, visionary (or “political imaginaries”), and violent (358-59).  Though the territory of the Black Hills is not an abstract space, I think these three aspects are worth looking at.  Brenner and Elden go on to point out that the notion of land could be understood as “the articulation between the nation-state and its territory” (363).  This is a crude summary, but I can’t go into too much detail in this blog.  I think the politics of territory is one of the key ways to look at Huey’s photography.  After all, Huey employs his photography of the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation as a way of making a political statement: “Give the Black Hills back to the Lakota.  What they do with them is none of your business.”  The “territory” of the Black Hills becomes a political issue.  Interestingly, Mount Rushmore, with our forefathers looking out over the land, seems “visionary.”  Yet, as I listened to on the National Geographic website from a girl about “Faces-Do Not Worship,” she points out that this place people travel to has become basically a joke since it wasn’t even the Americans’ land to start out with.  I don’t know if I should even point out the violence aspect tied to this land since we’ve all read and listened to the same texts.

I’d also like to quickly mention “The Pursuit of Whiteness: Property, Terror, and Expansion, 1790-1860” and how Roediger points out that political theorists connect our forefathers’ claim to “the pursuit of happiness” to the “pursuit of property” (581).  I think it is interesting if we look at the Black Hills as property that our forefathers “pursued” in the hopes of obtaining happiness through financial prosperity and how the Indians view this property as a part of their heritage.  I realize that I need to wrap up my blog post, so I’m just going to end by saying that I think the complexities between property and pursuing happiness is an interesting way of looking at the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation and the Black Hills.   

“All the Live Long Day” or Night: Lydia Maria Child’s Hobomok

After reading Hobomok, I read Carolyn Karcher’s exquisitely thorough and informative introduction.  (On a side note, I decided to read Hobomok first since it has been my experience that the introduction frequently gives away a lot of spoilers.)  I especially appreciated Karcher's point about how both Hobomok and Charles Brown “provide a means of defying patriarchal authority, as vested not only in Mary’s father but in the society for which it stands” (xxix).  Although I was extremely impressed with Karcher’s introduction, I’d kind of like to go in a different direction in order to make a similar connection. 

As I was reading, I was (for some reason I’m unsure of) extremely tuned into Child’s word choices and the phrases she was using, and two in particular stood out to me.  The first instance is in chapter one when the narrator is discussing his trip to America and says, “All the livelong day we watched the sails as they fluttered loosely round the mast, and listened to the hoarse creaking of the shrouds.  Evening at length came on in her softened beauty; and I shall never forget the crowd of sensations which it brought upon my mind.  I was in a new world, whose almost unlimited extent lay in the darkness of ignorance and desolation” (7, my italics).    The narrator seems to use the phrase “all the livelong day” as a way of emphasizing his impatience to arrive to America.  However, it is evening before he actually sees this “new world” but its potential seems to be covered in darkness and ignorance.  I wonder if this cloud of darkness covering America could be symbolic of the patriarchal society encompassing and stifling the intellectual and cultural growth of minority groups, such as women and Indians (to name a few).

The second instance that grabbed my attention was when Hobomok is looking out for Mary since he is aware that she has been targeted by some of the Indians: “Mr. Conant returned to his family, and Mary, inured to such occurrences, slept peacefully within their humble dwelling, unconscious that Hobomok watched it the livelong night, with eyes that knew no slumber” (41, my italics).  In this passage, the night is depicted as being long and tedious for Hobomok whose “eyes that knew no slumber,” but for Mr. Conant and especially Mary it is a peaceful night since they live unconscious of their potential danger and also unconscious of their protector.  Living in a dark, desolate place, Hobomok is the one character whose “eyes are open” and is conscious of surroundings and potential threats.  Suddenly, in this passage, Hobomok seems to be the enlightened character while the others are encompassed in darkness and ignorance.  I like how these two passages seem to use the same imagery and how they seem to support Karcher’s argument about Child’s concern with the white male supremacy that she saw dominating her contemporary society.     

The Problems of the Unconscious: Humanity in Algiers

In the opening to Humanity in Algiers, the narrator writes, “Unconscious of our own crimes, or unwilling the world should know them, we frequently condemn in others the very practices we applaud in ourselves” (3).  This seems to be the main theme throughout the text.  Sequida and Selictor struggle against freeing Azem since they desire to profit by selling him, yet they themselves when they were younger needed help from a friend to release Selictor from prison.  Selictor fails to recognize the similarity between him and Azem, refusing to free Azem by selling him to their neighbor Testador.  What I found interesting was how Selictor’s death is contrasted with Azem’s death.  Both attain the executors of their wills from Omri’s family: Selictor from Omri himself and Azem from Omri’s son Arramel.  However, Selictor insists on accumulating his wealth as much as possible before he dies to then give to his biological family even at the literal cost of another person’s freedom.  Azem, on the other hand, helps other slaves and even argues against turning enemies into slaves.  Although Azem’s family dies so he could not leave an inheritance to them, his immediate thought is to help others who had been in his position.  The author seems to be suggesting that Azem demonstrates true humanity.  He is conscious of the immorality of enslaving people no matter their race or gender.  The problem with many of the characters in the novel—Selictor, Sequida, Selin (Sequida’s brother), and Valachus to name a few—is that they are those who are “unconscious” of their own crimes and faults.  The author seems to also suggest that true humanity lies in not only being conscious but also realizing those tendencies and to take action to stop hypocrisy and to help others. 

I felt as though a lot of the novel was predictable (Alzina revealed as Azem’s sister, the old slave as his mother, etc), but I appreciated the theme of “humanity” and “unconsciousness.”  I also liked the American narrator who is revealing this story as way of paying homage to Azem for restoring his freedom.  I realize that most of the secondary readings we had were more concerned with capitalism and cosmopolitism, and I think I can see a correlation between them and Humanity in Algiers, especially if you look at the slaves as commodities and how there is a continual circle of the victors of combat enslaving the losers and then the losers overcoming the victors and so on and so forth.  However, I felt like focusing more on a closer reading of Humanity in Algiers, especially since it is part of the “Just Teach One” project (which I find particularly interesting by the way).