Indian Giver

This story begins with a blanket, a Pendleton blanket to be exact. When I was 13 I received a Pendleton for graduating middle school. To be honest, I was confused and slightly embarrassed by this gift. Confused, because I had grown up a city kid unaware of what I was given. My father attempted to explain to me that a Pendleton was gifted when someone had achieved something, such as graduating. It wasn’t until years later that I was able to fully comprehend that Pendleton’s are expensive blankets that Native Americans gift one another in honor. My lack of understanding regarding the blanket also contributed to my embarrassment over it. In the 90’s, Native American patterns were not en vogue. They looked gauche and cheesy, connected to the Southwest and the 1970’s. Additionally, I had no real connection to my own indigenous ancestry having grown up in a suburb of Los Angeles (far away from my families reservation in North Dakota), so I could not connect the Pendleton gift to any prior experience. I share these reactions because they fit snugly within the larger history of indigenous people of North America. My experience growing up was one of cultural disconnection, and it fits neatly into the broader history of cultural assimilation experienced by many indigenous people. My blanket collected dust for a decade, until I was renting my own apartment, in need of warmth during the lonely Los Angeles nights of my early twenties.

Five years after pulling that blanket out of my closet, MGMT release their video for Time To Pretend (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B9dSYgd5Elk). The video features a strange amalgam of non-Native looking kids and pan-indigenous fashion mixed with1990’s neon. The clothing and the actions of the band are of innocent children playing neo-Indian: they run through tall grass, "hunting" with bows and arrows, they participate in ceremonies, they play drums. The space and place of the video dances between various cultures and locales. On one hand it is a post-apocalyptic anti-capitalism neo-primitivist dream: they literally burn money for warmth, they eat raw meat, their clothing is a scavenged mix of modern clothing and animal hides. On the other hand, the imagery of the video makes nearly direct reference to various eras and cultures of indigenous Americans: there are Mesoamerican buildings with the attendant headdresses. Another part of the video features clothing that looks like the revolutionary era war garb that many indigenous people wore during the eighteenth century.

While the song “Time to Pretend” discusses the banality of adulthood, the video supports the idea of creative innocence in the face of the normal. The main marker of innocence in this video is the indigenous dress and actions of the video’s actors. The band members act like children playing Indian, much like the “lost boys” from Peter Pan. In many ways, the video explicitly connects indigineity and innocence. This connection between innocence and indigenous people has a long history spanning from highly regarded authors of liberal theory (Deloria:1995,4) to the Ewoks in Return of the Jedi. On one hand indigenous people are stupid and easily manipulated, on the other their innocence is regarded as something to look up to – American Indians have, rather ironically, represented the liberal ideal of “freedom.” This was largely because American Indian society was thought to represent lawlessness and a people who existed without a “social contract.” American Indian innocence often accompanies ideas of their lack of scientific progress and their ability to be easily manipulated. These ideas perpetuate the idea that indigenous people had no agency, they were “duped” into giving away land for trinkets.

I bring up the MGMT video because it had to start somewhere. I don’t believe that the current fashion craze for “Navajo” patterns, Indian headdresses and American Indian “war paint” has developed entirely from the MGMT video. However, the MGMT video is one of many inspirations for it. I view the cooption of indigenous patterns to be part of a larger issue than fashion – this is rampant in music as well. Recent album covers and band names have increasingly had some type of American Indian influence. Here is a list of just a few: Indian Jewelry, Eskmo, Warpaint, Apache Beat (whose album is called Last Chants), Chief (with an album named Modern Rituals) and Neon Indian. Undoubtedly, these names and fashions run the gamut of offensive to relatively benign. I take offense to the wearing of headdresses and faux Indian war paint by non-Natives (who don’t understand the cultural significance of either), I don’t take offense to a band being called Neon Indian. However, what is and isn’t offensive has already been elaborated by several others. I want to understand why this is happening now, when our government is engaged in a war effort and our economy has completely flunked.

American Indians (as well as the other related imagery: wolves, feathers, beads, buffalo, horses) connect to something that is integrally American. But how and why does this happen? There is an obvious juxtaposition inherent in this: American Indians are indigenous and often called the “First Americans” but they were also viewed as dangerous enemies to the progress of Manifest Destiny. American Indians were once viewed in much the same way as modern terrorists, during the 19^th century attempts to exterminate entire tribes by settlers was typically ignored and often allowed to happen without serious governmental repercussion. Currently, American Indians continue to be stereotyped as poor alcoholics who have forgotten their culture, they are believed to be bereft of what once made them “great,” they are inauthentic and out-of time. The juxtaposition is two-fold: American Indian patterns and things are at the height of fashion even though these things connect to a people who were once targeted to be killed for non-Native land acquisition. Similarly, American Indians today face stereotypes of disappearance, inauthenticity, and alcoholism. Yet, the stereotype of savage innocents persists, these are the Indians seen in the MGMT video: childlike and liberated, so primitive and anti-capitalist they burn money for food and warmth. The crux of the problem is that the savage innocents don’t exist in the real world, they’re a progressive fantasy from another era, a hodge-podge of Peter Pan’s Lost Boys and 1970’s environmentalism. They never existed, they’re an entirely culturally created image, and this is what makes them safe for cultural consumption. They are memoirs from our collective childhood of Star Wars, Disney’s Peter Pan and our parent’s impressions of the sixties and seventies. It would be uncouth to add a splash of genocide to this mix, dear, because this is about the children and our collective remembered innocence.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Another part of this story has to do with the era that we’re currently in. The United States has been involved in two colonial and capitalist wars for several years. These wars involve the creation of the “enemy” as an other – people from countries in the Middle East have been constructed as enemies of the United States as well as enemies of the tenets of the United States, as American Indians once were. While there are very obvious differences between Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as the various tribal nations of the United States, the discourse and development of all of these “wars” has been similar. In a strange embracing of feminism, women are created as the feminist crisis situation. Native American women were viewed as drudges who did all the work, while Native American men were considered lazy. Muslim women who “cover” are considered oppressed. Similarly, within the United States, it was about how American Indians lived: American Indian women were bad mothers and were treated badly by their husbands, they had no government or they were ruled by despots. In the end, it all sounds the same: “these people” don’t have democracy, choice, freedom, or equality. Moral and ethical problems regarding how people live has been a call to arms for decades and possibly centuries. American policy has dictated that democracy (and capitalism) must be brought to those who are believed to live without it.

The essential difference is that American Indians were “conquered” whereas Iraq and Afghanistan have not been. This is the reason why moccasins and “Navajo” patterns can be fashionable, but Rachel Ray cannot wear a scarf resembling a keffiyeh in a Dunkin Donuts advertisement. Once a group has been “conquered” (or colonized) they are no longer a threat, and allegiance to them is no longer a threat. Once they are conquered, the “other” becomes assimilated into the story of the nation and onto the very bodies (in the form of clothing) of the nation. A similar pattern has followed with Japan after the United States occupied Japan with US military bases and administered help in “rebuilding” their country after WWII. At one time Japan was the ultimate enemy of the United States, but after WWII and after they’ve established a successful capitalist economy, snippets of Japanese culture has filtered into US consciousness and become fashionable among certain circles. Manga is one iteration of this, as is Gwen Stefani’s commodification of harajuku girls (there are several iterations of this that are beyond the scope of this article).

Of course, the figure that Native Americans pose in this story is unique. There is a tension between the reality of the situation (genocide and poverty), stereotypes of that reality (alcoholism), and the childish stereotypes of storybooks and liberal theory (noble savages). In other words, Native Americans face denigration as poor alcoholics with no recognition of the collective historical trauma they’ve endured, nor is there much mention made of the economic poverty some tribal peoples have been forced to live in. Similarly, iterations of the Noble Savage stereotype pervade our culture constantly (in the form of children’s movies and liberal theory), as does the simple historical idea that Native Americans have been “duped” into giving up their land. Phil Deloria discusses this in Playing Indian, in which he points out that American Indians had to be assimilated into the national consciousness while they simultaneously had to be degraded. Because American Indians are indigenous to the United States, in order for non-Natives to feel that they belonged on this land they had to assimilate Native Americans into themselves, while they also had to degrade them through stereotypes and discourse. Native Americans are honored and appropriated for what they once were (or, rather, for what they were believed to be), while they are blamed for being alcoholics, poor, lawless, and for having “lost their culture.” A frightening amount of paternalism runs rampant in this – it is the white anthropologist who understands real indigeneity, it is the non-Native government that knows what is best for them, it is the rich urban youth who now understand the aesthetic value and history of a Pendleton blanket. This is not a juxtaposition, it is a Janus head coin. On one side Indians represent innocence and freedom, and on the other they portray stupidity and lawlessness. This is what happens to indigenous people within a settler society.

Perhaps the current fashion trends are only frightening in how they represent this, a strange co-option of indigeneity and Americana while a war is being fought and constantly elided, while the real history and trauma that Native Americans have faced is simultaneously elided in the stories we tell one another.

Works Cited:

Deloria, Philip Joseph. Playing Indian. Yale University Press, 1998.

If interested in this topic, please read:

Julia Fiesenthal, "The Strange History of the Indian Trade Blanket": http://www.slate.com/slideshows/arts/the-strange-history-of-the-indian-blanket.html

Sasha Houston Brown "An Open Letter to Urban Outfitters": http://www.racialicious.com/2011/10/10/an-open-letter-to-urban-outfitters-on-columbus-day/

Al Jazeera "Don't Trend on My Culture": http://stream.aljazeera.com/story/native-american-bloggers

My Culture is Not a Trend: http://mycultureisnotatrend.tumblr.com/

Brown Skin Feminisms: Hip Hop and Sexism, Part 1

I witnessed a disturbing Twitter interaction between two rappers (one male, one female) and a popular hip hop/urban blog over the past 24 hours. It all started when the male rapper (an up-and-coming hip hop star with a Shawn Carter co-sign) sent out tweets (jokingly) referring to past sexual exploits with the female rapper (a well-known indie rapper from NYC). It was inappropriate from the start for my tastes, but it probably would’ve been easy to dismiss after the first tweet. However, even after she asked him to cut it out, the male rapper went on to send an even more explicit tweet pointing to the way the female rapper supposedly liked to “receive” sex (based on his fantasy experience!). Now, it was clear to me from the beginning that this was all a joke to him. The female rapper didn’t find it so funny. Now I don’t know her well at all but I am some what acquainted with the female rapper through a mutual close friend. Therefore, I could sort of pick up how she was feeling about the whole conversation through her responses. I myself took exception to the whole exchange and even (sub-)tweeted a message that expressed my disdain. She did the same by making a remark or two about it but she quickly moved on.

It was not until this morning that my last feminist nerve was completely worked to no end. I woke up to read my timeline on Twitter (as we social media addicts tend to do each morning) only to find that the male rapper was complaining to the popular hip hop blog about reporting on his twitter exchange with the female rapper from the night before. They had, in fact, reported it as a news story. He would go on to apologize to the female rapper for his joke-gone-too-far and the aftermath. For its part, the blog only felt it necessary to apologize to the male rapper for exposing his wordplay with a friend. They mentioned the female rapper in the tweet, but did not offer her one world of apology for defaming her name before its thousands of blog readers. UGH! Of course I went on an all out twitter rant!!!!

What is the deal with the sexism in hip hop in 2011? I know that this topic has become so cliché and normalized it’s kind of sickening. But it still drives me crazy…why must hip hop and sexism go together like ODB and Mariah; babies and pacifiers? As a life long hip hop lover and critic, I am tired of it all. I, of course, cannot blame one segment of the population or a particular group of people. Anyone who comes into contact with or has anything to do with the production (I mean this in a cultural sense here) is partially responsible. There is no accountability for anyone: the artist, the consumer, corporate record labels, advertisers, and scholars/critics; not a one of us. We let soooooooo much slide in the name of a dope beat, some commercial success, and/or “keeping it real”. Well…for me and my crew (hip hop speak for my friends), it’s a wrap for keeping it real if we are only going to simply keep it real ignorant. For my part, I plan to use this space over the next few weeks to further investigate the role of feminism in hip hop discourse and production. Furthermore, I would like to look at how feminists can fight sexism in both the commercial and underground arenas of hip hop in the 21st century. More to come…

Communication and Pain, pt 2.

A sub-theme of Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is the question of whether or not human beings can understand one another. The main character loses his wife, and begins to realize that there were depths to her that he was unable to comprehend. In a flashback sequence, after the main character hears that his wife has gotten an abortion while he is away, he witnesses a scene in which it is questioned whether the idea of physical pain can be transferred from the sufferer to the viewer. What is empathy (?), asks the sufferer/performer who puts his hand through an open flame in front of a confounded audience. The scene is focused on sight and viewing, not on talking or explaining. Is pain, and thereby empathy, better translated through imagery and action (rather than speaking)?

These questions bring us back to Veena Das (Life and Words:2007), who questions whether empathy can be translated through the words I am in pain. Rather, what Das finds is that traumatic experiences are left unspoken, memories are “forgotten” and left behind. Das finds that trauma and pain haunts through lapses and dis-junctures. What Das and Murakami both seem to indicate is that trauma and pain are things rarely spoken of, rather they’re already “known” or they’re transferred through imagery (and silence). Trauma and pain are those things which are unspeakable.

While one aspect of Murakami’s questioning of empathy is in regards to pain, he also focuses on pleasure. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, has almost as much pleasurable sex as it does torture in it. The strange thing is, much of the sex in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle could be considered psychic sex. Yes, psychic sex. A supporting character in the novel is a psychic prostitute – she has sex with people through their minds, typically in a dream space. These “psychic sex” scenes are described as being even more lucid than physical sex, and certainly more pleasurable. Because they are enacted purely through the mind, and in a dream space, the psychic sex scenes also give Murakami the ability to push the boundaries of what a person might normally experience during the sex act. While Murakami questions whether or not we can adequately empathize with pain, he doesn’t question whether pleasure can be adequately transferred between two people.

But I want to go back to the problem of pain and empathy, and communication. Because I still question what we can really get across to another. I also question why the discussion of empathy is always focused on pain – why isn’t it focused on pleasure? What is it about the pain of another that we have become so focused on?

The Aesthetic Imperative of Death, pt. 2

All organic life must inevitably
die. The death drive,however, introduces a certain ambiguity into this inevitability, transforming a biological necessity into a modality of wish fulfillment, an aesthetic possibility. Death, then, exists as a pathos, not a thing in itself that makes itself apparent to us, but as a promise - a promise of inanimate sufficiency, of intact near-nothingness - the object of all our striving. The death drive obliges us, its inclination to arrest life, to freeze it in a slow and gelid rest. Here, in this effort to contain the colors and inconsistencies of animate living in a sedated stasis,
a deathly aesthetic begins to take shape.

The death-drive seeks out the pleasurable quasi-nothingness from which primordial life emerged and to which it must, in death return. The aesthetic of the drive, then, is one that lies on either side of the animate; it is an aesthetic in which life creates a characteristic chasm.
All the same, the death drive is a preservational drive. It can only preserve what it knows - life. If the death drive wishes to carry on, it must be satisfied with life at its bare minimum, an extreme sleepiness that only insinuates death. In its block of ice, the heart must still beat ever so slightly.

The aesthetic of death, then, is one in which in that moment of ghostly stillness so desired, there remains a trace of the entropy of animate life. It is a grainy photograph that suspends living matter in time and space yet forces us to consider its ever-vibrating particles. It is the visible bullet wound in a taxidermied animal, mounted in a glass case forever caught in in flight or on the hunt, yet bearing the sign of its mortality - its authenticity.

Piss Politics

The forceful assimilationist Bennie (in the musical Rent) asks his former friends if they "really want a neighborhood where people piss on your stoop every night." It doesn't seem to be much of a wager to guess that the answer, for most, is no. I would prefer a neighborhood where people do not piss on my stoop.

All sorts of dizzying policies, social movements, monetary exchanges, and physical force(s) have led to many neighborhoods especially in Manhattan, parts of Brooklyn, and the Bronx becoming safe from human excrement in most places where it used to be quite common (of course exception can be made for partying young people on weekend nights especially on the Lower East Side).

To many people's unabashed delight, a new piss politics has taken over; human piss has been replaced with the piss and shit-smears of countless shih-tzus, labra-doodles, french bulldogs, cocka-poos, and pomeranians. Forget homeless queer youth of color on the piers and in the streets in the West Village and Chelsea, we now have countless pugs and pekignese to walk and clean up after. It's one way you know that these neighborhoods have changed for the better in just a few short decades. Dogs, after all, with a few notable exceptions, are a sign of wealth, comfort, and predominantly white segregated neighborhoods.

For the record, it isn't the dogs' fault. It's is just an observation of what we make room for when we "clean" our streets and what kind of values it betrays. I don't think sanitation can explain why we have literally removed people from the streets who we think piss and shit on them to make room for our dogs to do so.

Cogito Ergo Sum?

What am I
Thinking
Now
Then
Whenever
I think of
What makes me
What I am
To me
Presented to
You
Through
Some other self
Within
Me?

“What? I didn’t quite get that the first time around.” Communication and Translation, part 1?

I need to foreclose the thought that language is our main form of communication (as humans). Like too much peanut butter in your mouth or cotton candy in your hands, language can be clunky, hard to use.

On the other hand, we can’t forget that language has the ability to spread the idea of revolution, to translate ideas into action, or to enrapture us in the experience of a good storyteller. Language might be sufficient when we are learning how to turn on our computer (even that requires a mix of hieroglyphs and previous electronic knowledge), but is language sufficient when you are explaining the time you felt an irrational sense of fear, or you are telling someone that you’re still in love. Was your experience properly translated and understood by the (an)other?

I want to go deeper, to understand those silent spaces of not-speech, of not-language. At the same time I want to craft my writing so that what you read on this page is a physical experience. What is language really? What are the potentials of language, and what are its unique abilities? Where does the use of language end and our emotions and physicality begin? I’d like to place my microscope upon those shadowy spaces.

I need to foreclose the idea that we might never fully understand one another. That we are all islands, that we cannot communicate adequately.

Yet, I still have my doubts.

In Life and Words anthropologist Veena Das (2007) writes that, in the face of violence, there is a “poverty of words” (91). There are some things that words cannot describe, that people do not want to describe. Das argues that these things are intimately connected to the question of what we consider to be human – while the victim of violence knows that the perpetrator is human, we question whether a human could do such a thing. Humans do indescribable things to other humans. Das’ work points out that these things are indescribable precisely because they question the limits of the human.

“Words can show one’s numbed relation to life just as gesture can tell us what forms of life, what forms of dying, become the soil on which words can grow or not” (Das, 2007:94). In other words (pun not entirely intended), words and language are furiously wrapped and connected to human experience, to society. Words “grow or not” based on how we live our lives, what we experience and what we deem as being human. Words and languages morph and exchange alongside our human lives. Language cannot be understood alone. Language must be contextualized.