"Shadow Survivance," Rhetorical Sovereignty, and Photography

The very first line of Vizenor’s “Shadow Survivance” stood out to me, as it reads, “The postindian turns in literature, the later indication of new narratives, are an invitation to the closure of dominance in the ruins of representation” (63). Like everything we have read from Vizenor thus far, this line is not only well stated, but poetic as well. Also like much of what we have read from Vizenor, the line seems both enlightening and elusive at the same time. In my understanding of the line, Vizenor essentially states that the move from stories centered upon the stereotypical “Indian” to those centered on and around authentic native characters and Native American society and culture in general signifies a new kind of narrative—that of the native writing for him or her self—which marks the beginning of the end for the dominance found in the misrepresentation of American narratives on Native Americans.

As a side note, this reminds me of the old saying, “Until the story is told from the perspective of the lion, history will always glorify the hunter.” Now, I certainly do not mean to relate the Native American experience to that of an animal’s experience; however, I do see a similarity in the wording. For example, concerning the Native American experience, it could easily say, “Until the story is told from the perspective of the Native American, history will always glorify the European.” Was this not a reality until very recently, and still a reality in some respects today? Surely, it was and still is. If it were not for writers like Vizenor and other Native Americans practicing their natural right of Rhetorical Sovereignty, this would be the case without challenge. One could also word the saying as, “Until the story is told from the perspective of the native, history will always glorify the settler.” This has also been a reality of the past as well as a battle still raging at present.

The imperative nature of Rhetorical Sovereignty is clear in this perspective, for people must tell their own stories in representation of themselves and their cultures if they are to combat the presence of culturally misunderstood interpretation, negative appropriation, and corrupt representation that is found in the telling of other peoples stories. This is the only way to achieve a more accurate understanding of history and humanity. We must promote the sharing of stories. But for this to become a reality, we must be willing to listen. We must be willing to engage openly and open mindedly with peoples we may perceive as foreign and different from us. It has long been the mistake of “western” peoples to not do so, for with just a little bit of open mindedness the barriers of difference may be breached and understanding and respect achieved!

The importance of Rhetorical Sovereignty is further shown in Vizenor’s discourse on the bear. For instance, he relates how “The bear is a shadow in the silence of tribal stories; memories and that sense of presence are unsaid in the name” (73). Based on this excerpt, the implicit in what is not said is an important aspect of the rhetorical nature of the Native American art of storytelling. He also says, “The shadow, not the bear, is the referent, the sense of presence in the name, and the trace to other stories” (73). The significance of a story is not only the story itself, but what the story means to those who understand the true nature of the telling of that story, and its connection to other stories. Thus the importance of Native American storytellers, for the culturally misunderstood interpretations, negative appropriations, and corrupted representations were the result of a lack of understanding of the culture itself, and its use of the oratory art. The colonialists were guilty of this in the Americas, Asia, and Africa.

Even today people try to apply “western” concepts and theories to non-western cultures. Whether it’s feminists trying to squeeze all African women into their conception of the female experience or theorists of structuralism trying to apply their concepts to Native American stories, as Vizenor references, this is still a reality. Hence Vizenor’s statement: “Native American Indian literatures have been overburdened with critical interpretations based on structuralism and other social science theories that value incoherent foundational representations of tribal experiences” (74). It is not that these are incoherent in and of themselves, for they may be useful in the analysis of “western” texts; however, their forced application onto non-western texts are problematic. Hence Vizenor’s assessment that “Foundational theories have overburdened tribal imagination, memories, and the coherence of natural reason with simulations and the cruelties of paracolonial historicism” (75). Europeans, in their ignorant, egotistic, and arrogant way, were unable to sense or understand the deeper complexities found in the native stories and art of storytelling. This is why Vizenor also states that “The elusive and clever trickster characters in tribal imagination are seldom heard or understood in translation. Missionaries and anthropologists were the first to misconstrue silence, transformation, and figuration in tribal stories; they were not trained to hear stories as creative literature and translated many stories as mere cultural representations” (75).

Later in “Shadow Survivance” another part stood out to me as well, as Vizenor quoted Elizabeth Cook-Lynn as saying, “anger is what started me writing. Writing, for me, then, is an act of defiance born of the need to survive. I am me. I exist. I am a Dakotah… It is an act of courage, I think. And, in the end, as Simon Ortiz says, it is an act that defies oppression” (93). This part stood out to me as a perfect representation of Survivance. I was instantly reminded of Dr. Morris’s simple definition: “In the most simplistic terms, think of it as survival + resistance = survivance.” And it is this aspect of indigenous, native, paracolonial, or postcolonial writing that interests me most. I am fascinated how people respond to, deal with, defy, resist, and endure colonization and oppression through art, whether it be in the form of writing, photography, painting, or music.

In relation to the photography of Hulleah J. Tsinhnahjinnie and Edward S. Curtis then, and it’s relationship to Vizenor’s theory of Survivance and the simulations found in the “ruins of representation,” it is apparent that Curtis’s work exemplifies the later, whereas Tsinhnahjinnie’s exemplifies the former. For instance, on Tsinhnahjinnie’s website, one may see images of Native Americans from the same time period as those of Curtis’s images; however, while his images are depicted in the dominant simulations of the American stereotype of the “Indian at the time,” Tsinhnahjinnie’s images show a more accurate representation of the reality of Native American peoples at the time, as they are dressed in similar fashion to most people in the U.S. at the time, not as wearing feathered headdresses and the like. I don’t mean to imply that Native peoples of the time didn’t wear traditional dress as well, as Tsinhnahjinnie depicts this as well, but just that they did not as a whole dress in the stereotypical fashion in which Curtis portrays them as dressing.

Vizenor speaks to this when he recalls the story of Ishi, which we have read of before. He writes, “Ishi was never his real name, and he is not the photographs of that tribal man captured three generations ago in a slaughterhouse in northern California. He was thin and wore a canvas shirt then, a man of natural reason, a lonesome hunter, but never the stout pastiche of a wild man lost and found in a museum” (126). This is exactly what I mean, that most natives would have dressed in line with the natural reason of this man. They were not as they were depicted to be, as Vizenor argues. Curtis’s representation are corrupt in that they are not authentic. They were crafted to fit the stereotype of the time, whereas Tsinhnahjinnie’s are designed to challenge that stereotype. A simple Wikipedia search reveals that Tsinhnahjinnie engages in “visual sovereignty,” as she is recounted as stating: “I have been photographing for thirty-five years, but the photographs I take are not for white people to look at Native people. I take photographs so that Native people can look at Native people. I make photographs for Native people.” Curtis’s photos on the other hand were undoubtedly for the visual pleasure of “white” people. Vizenor also says that “The gaze of those behind the camera haunts the unseen margins of time and scene in the photograph; the obscure presence of witnesses at the simulation of savagism could become the last epiphanies of a chemical civilization” (127). Curtis is that man behind the camera representing that civilization, whereas Tsinhnahjinnie’s mission is in line with Vizenor’s mission. 

Stereotypical Images of Native Americans in Sports

My first thought as I began watching the symposium on “Racist Stereotypes and Cultural Appropriation in American Sports” was that the symposium itself was a reflection of survivance. If survivance is a term that represents both survival and resistance, then a contemporary symposium of Native American presenters gathered to challenge the racist stereotypes and cultural appropriations in the American sporting system is a real world manifestation of the term. It exemplifies both the survival and resistance of Native Americans against the shadow of the popular stereotype. Their presence is not only represented visually and orally, it is felt. It is real.

In terms of the stereotyping and appropriating of Native Americans, the concept of sports teams was known and off putting to me. Before I had this class, read any of this information, or even thought about this topic, I had experience in the stereotypical nature of sports mascots. The high school I attended for example, was called Lehighton Area High School and it’s football team was called the Lehighton Indians. There mascot was the Lehighton Indian. If the team scored or won a game there was a chant that people would do while making a “tomahawk chopping” motion with their arms. Now, I certainly was not a big fan of football, or sports for that matter, but despite this I never liked the mascot or the name of the team. Even at the age of 16 I understood that it was racist and offensive. The stereotype was just so blatantly obvious and no one seemed to think anything of it. It was either that or they simply did not care; honestly, it was probably a little bit of both. To give a visual representation of the stereotype, I have included some images below:

But, even though I could easily see the racism in my high school mascot, there were just some appropriations I could not see. For instance, when the first speaker mentions Avatar as a stereotypical appropriation in that it depicts a people that were obviously modeled after the Native Americans as being “noble savages” who are dangerously capable of violent resistance. When I saw Avatar I thought it was one of the greatest movies I ever saw, and I still do. I just cannot help it; I am a sucker for that kind of thing, haha. But I do understand what the speaker was saying. I can see how it can be perceived as a shadowy representation of a living people that are removed from reality in that they are not only imaginary, they are also alien. They are not even human.

This is exactly what I understood to be wrong with the stereotype of the Lehighton Indian. As the third panelist says, these are images. Images are powerful; they influence how we visualize something in our mind. They influence how we engage with something. I think back now and I wonder how many people went to Lehighton Area High School over the years and took part in the “tomahawk chopping chant.” How many of those children and adults had actual experience with historically accurate Native American history, culture, and peoples? Was the Lehighton Indian all they knew of Native Americans? How sad that this is even a possibility. Furthermore, the acceptance and passionate embrace of the Lehighton Indian, his headdress of feathers, his tomahawk, and his spear gives power to the image and thus the stereotype. As the third speaker also said, it takes those from the dominant class to aid in the struggle to bring about real change. This is what is so devastating about those among this class who so openly and unquestioningly accept the stereotypical depictions of people in the popular media and mind of America. So long as they embrace these depictions, it makes these depictions ok. Not only will the racist imagery continue to disrespect the people it seeks to depict, it allows for the racist assumptions and stereotypes to exist as legitimate in the minds of people.

Now, I must admit that Vizenor was an incredibly hard read for me. I appreciated the poetic wording, but it made it more difficult for me to understand and follow exactly what he was trying to impart. The short article we had to read for today did help with this. The inclusion of Eastman’s account of the wounded at Wounded Knee and his rendition of the scene as an example of survivance helped in my understanding of the term. This quote from Vizenor about how Eastman

encircled the horrors of that massacre in stories of native courage and survivance. That sense of presence, rather than absence or aversion, is natural reason and a source of native identities. The doctor enunciated his visions, memories, and totemic creations as an author. Clearly, his autobiographical stories are native survivance not victimry. (609)

Also helped in my understanding of the full scope of the term. This is exactly what is wrong with the stereotypically racist depictions of Native Americans in stories, in the media, as mascots, and so forth. It does not represent native peoples as they are. It only represents the shadows of what they are not but have been artificially made to be. Mascots like the Lehighton Indian are examples of these shadowy images, which dehumanize an entire people into nothing more than an image, and a stereotypical one at that. 

The Pine Ridge Reservation, Leonard Peltier, and Rage Against the Machine

Most people probably already know about this issue, at least I would hope, but maybe not. It is not a new issue, as it has been an issue since 1970s, and long before that; however, it is an important issue, in my opinion.

In 1975, two FBI agents were killed on the Oglala Lakota Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. This area and its surroundings were the sites of many important events in recent Native American History. For instance, this is the site of the Black Hills, the battle popularly known as “Custer’s Last Stand,” the Wounded Knee Massacre, and the more recent Pine Ridge Shootout.

Of course, like much of the interactions between Native Americans and Europeans, the Black Hills were considered off limits to European settlement through a treaty agreement between the United States and the Natives in the region; however, once gold was found in the area, the United States broke the agreement. In typical fashion, the United States initially tried to buy the land, but when the Native Sioux refused the offer based on the fact that they considered the land sacred, the U.S. decided to use military force as they declared the Sioux hostile. This is what eventually lead to Custer’s defeat by the native chiefs Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse. But, this would not be enough to stop the U.S. from selling and encroaching upon the Black Hills. And despite the fact that the U.S. now controls much of the former Native lands in the region, the Natives there still consider it their land.

Naturally, fights have ensued since that time. One such event was the Wounded Knee Massacre, which most people probably know. Another was the Wounded Knee incident, wherein a group of Oglala Lakota and American Indian Movement activists occupied Wounded Knee in protest of a corrupt Tribal President. The U.S. got involved however and the event turned into a 71 day standoff with FBI agents and members of the United States Department of Justice. Two Native men were killed and one U.S. marshal was wounded.

A few years after that incident came the Pine Ridge Shootout, where two FBI agents entered the reservation in search of a native American man they were investigating. The specifics here are fuzzy, as I’ve heard and read on different occasions that both sides started the shootout, but regardless, what is known is that both the FBI agents were killed. One other person was killed as well, and he was an activist of the American Indian Movement. This event led to a manhunt which resulted in the capture, prosecution, and incarceration of Leonard Peltier, which is a topic of much debate and protest, as there has been doubts concerning his trial and seemingly more evidence of his innocence than his guiltiness. However, he remains in jail, and as of now will not have another parole hearing until 2024 and is not set to be released until 2040.

In relation to this, I would like to share a song from one of my childhood favorites, Rage Against the Machine. The music video recounts the incident of the Pine Ridge Shootout as well as Leonard Peltier’s unfair incarceration. Because of this, I believe that it can be looked at as a form of Rhetorical Sovereignty, as it is the artistic expression of a young native American man writing about a native event and issue, undoubtedly in the hope that it will balance out or at least combat the propaganda of the system, which has wrongly accused and incarcerated a native American activist of the American Indian Movement. 

Racism and "Bridges of Understanding."

So, when I first began to listen to the powwow native radio stream I was taken aback because I connected right in the middle of a comedy routine that went some like this… If you’ve ever used your probation officer as a reference, you might be a redskin. If you have no screen on your screen door, you might be a redskin. If your pocket knife has ever been shown as exhibit one, you might be a redskin. Etc… I guess I was taken about because of the initial racist implications. For instance, if it were a “white” comedian saying that it would most likely be viewed in a negative light. It would be considered racist. But, as I’ve said before, I remember learning that comedy is a big part of contemporary native American culture, and they often poke fun at themselves. Only after thinking about this was I able to relax, haha.

I’m not sure what that’s about, but I guess it has to do with how touchy a subject racism seems to be at this point. Maybe not with everyone; I can’t go that far, but it does seem to be moving in the general direction of unacceptability. I feel this very strongly. I refuse to honor any racist ideology, regardless of where it comes from or who it is directed at. I agree whole heartedly with Vizenor when he says, “Sadly, the notion of four colors perpetuates a crude separation of humans and cultures rather than begetting a sense of peace” (Preface xiii). I also agree with his statement: “Race is a simulation, and the ‘science’ of race is political not biological; human differences are genetic, but the notions of four races are dubious traditions and faux science” (Preface xiv). This has always been my argument. The very idea of different races is racist and does nothing for unity and peace. So why give it power by upholding race as a defining factor in our various ways of interacting with those who share the world with us? For despite the fact that there are biological differences such as skin tone, hair type, facial structure, etc… race as a separating hierarchical system  is a socially created concept that has been taken far too seriously for far too long. Even as I write this I hear the words, “until the color of a man’s skin is of no more significance then the color of his eyes, me say war.”

However, I do realize that because the concept of race has been taken so seriously for so long, it is so powerful now that it seems almost impossible to rid ourselves of its polluting influence. Although, if there is a method of purging it from our world, I believe that it can be found in the work of people like Charles Alexander Eastman. Vizenor recounts how “Eastman spent the balance of his long life making his way along the narrow path that bridged his two cultures” by building “bridges of understanding” (51). Through bridging the gap between our minor differences, and even some of our greater ones, in terms of culture, language, spirituality, etc… we may generate understanding among ourselves.

But, I also recognize that for some of us this is not so simple, because where I do not have to deal with racism on a daily basis, others have to deal with it on a level that far exceeds any understanding I could pretend to have. For example, because of what I am and how I look, I fit into the racist patriarchy of the system we currently live in, being that I am male and happen to look what is considered “white.” Due to this ridiculousness, I am not discriminated against. If my physical attributes were not male and I was not considered to be “white,” I would certainly experience a higher degree of discrimination in this world. I recognize this fact, for discrimination lives off of sexism, racism, nationality, religion, etc…

This is why I initially had trouble reading the article by Vine Deloria, Jr. His repetitive use of terms like whites and blacks bothered me. I hate it when people are referred to in this way. It sounds racist when anyone says it, regardless of their so called “race.” It would be like me refereeing to the Native Americans as the reds. To reduce a person or people to an arbitrary color that has nothing to do with anything in reality is ridiculous. But again, I know that it was Europeans that originally created these terms, including “white.” But I still struggle with these terms. Something within me is disgusted by them. And yet, I even use them at times myself.

Then I think of what happened to the Native peoples of this land at the hands of the Europeans and I find it hard to care that they would speak of Europeans as whites. Once again, I must admit that I know nothing of their struggle. I am not Native American. I have no idea what that’s like. I might think I do. But I don’t. I can sympathize when I read what it’s like from their own writings, but that’s about it. Vine Deloria says that “To be an Indian in modern American society is in a very real sense to be unreal and ahistorical” (2). I do not know what that’s like.

However, I still think that it is important that we at least try to understand one another, even if such a thing would be a long and painful process. I think that the work of people like Eastman is invaluable in this quest for understanding. For example, Vizenor writes of how Eastman reveals that “The Indian no more worshiped the Sun than the Christian adores the Cross” (50). With this short excerpt, Eastman works to undo the misperceptions that are born of ignorance, and thus foster understanding among both his cultural heritages. He also recounts the beautiful lines that follow, as further explanation:

The Sun and the Earth, by an obvious parable, holding scarcely more of poetic metaphor than of scientific truth, were in his view the parents of all organic life. From the Sun, as the universal father, proceeds the quickening principle in nature, and in the patient and fruitful womb of our mother, the Earth, are hidden embryos of plants and men. (50)

Here is an example of a person who makes great use of his cultural hybridity in bridging the gap between two cultures by  using aspects of both to encourage understanding. 

Malea Powell, Thomas King, and the "Rhetorics of Survivance..."

After having read both “Listening to Ghosts…” and “Rhetorics of Survivance...,” by Malea Powell, and then skimming back over the last three short stories in Thomas King’s The Truth About Stories…, I realized that in a few short paragraphs King, in his “A Million Porcupines Crying in the Dark,” imparts to the reader the origin of, reasoning for, and necessity behind the concept of  rhetorical survivance. Because of its relationship to this concept and the aforementioned articles, I would like to include it in full:

What Native writers discovered, I believe, was that the North American past, the one that had been created in novels and histories, the one that had been heard on radio and seen on theatre screens and on television, the one that had been part of every school curriculum for the last two hundred years, that past was unusable, for it had not only trapped Native people in a time warp, it also insisted that our past was all we had.

No present.

No future.

And to believe in such a past is to be dead.

Faced with such a proposition and knowing from empirical evidence that we were very much alive, physically and culturally, Native writers began to use the Native present as a way to resurrect a Native past and to imagine a Native future. To create, in words, as it were, a Native universe. (King 106)

In such a short amount of space, King perfectly outlines not only the necessary specifics concerning rhetorical survivance, but he also alludes to the origin and reasoning behind the concept of rhetorical sovereignty as well, as he lists several examples of how stories being told about Native Americans essentially removed them from the contemporary world by rooting them in a stereotypical, inaccurate, or falsified version of their past that seemed to signify their nonexistence in the present. Thus, the origin of, reasoning for, and necessity behind the birth and utilization of both concepts in order to use writing to reclaim their past, present, and future. Therefore, with this passage, King also displays the interconnectivity of both rhetorical sovereignty and survivance.

This passage became more relevant to me the second time I read over it, especially after having read Powell’s “Rhetorics of Survivance,” for the material she covers in the article and the words she writes herself were illuminating. For instance, in relation to the first part of the passage, Powell quotes Captain John Mason as saying, “They sought to cut off the remembrance of them [Indian Peoples] from the earth” (402). While reading this, I realized how truly revolutionary the concept of survivance was, being that it represents a way that Native Americans are fighting back against not only the physical genocide of their people, but also the genocide of their history, culture, language, and even their very presence upon this land. I also realized that simply writing was an act of survivance in and of itself. For what better way to reclaim your past, present, and future than to share your stories, theoretical ideas, historical knowledge, and contemporary understandings of the relationship between the past and present? King’s book is a physical example of rhetorical survivance, as well as sovereignty, as is Powell’s articles. This is why she states in “Listening to Ghosts” that, “My writing has always been an attempt… To insist upon an existence, a voice. To write myself and my body into comprehensible space” (12). For with each word she writes, she asserts her existence.

This brings me to another aspect of the readings that I found interesting: the use of the English language as a tool of resistance. I find this interesting because although English is the language of the colonizer, like many other colonized peoples, Native Americans have adopted it as a means through which they may gain agency. For example, in his essay “The African Writer and the English language,” Chinua Achebe writes:

Those of us who have inherited the English language may not be in a position to appreciate the value of the inheritance. Or we may go on resenting it because it came as part of a package deal which included many other items of doubtful value and the positive atrocity of racial arrogance and prejudice which may yet set the world on fire. But let us not in rejecting the evil throw out the good with it.

He then says later in the essay, “I have been given this language and I intend to us it” (Achebe 11). After reading Powell, it would seem that she shares a similar sentiment, as she quotes “Native scholars Joy Harjo and Gloria Bird,” saying, “We’ve transformed these enemy languages,” before stating herself, “To reinvent ourselves in English is, then, for many of us already alternative. We are all already alternative” (20). Like Achebe, speaking from the indigenous perspective, regardless of the use of English, is already an alternative act, as the language used and work produced will undoubtedly concern and confront the issues of what it means to be living under a colonial, neo-colonial, or paracolonial state. And as an example of this, Powell presents Charles Alexander Eastman’s From the Deep Woods to Civilization, as she writes, “It’s a trickster move that Eastman makes when he drops these ‘innocent’ remarks on his journey from the ‘deep woods’ to ‘civilization,’ remarks that clearly reveal Eastman not only as not helpless in the face of civilization, but also as purposefully using its tools in order to continue an indigenous struggle against Euroamerican imperialism” (425). And these quick little remarks, almost like side notes, are also a staple component to King’s writing as well.

For instance, within his stories and throughout his story telling King “drops” several of these “innocent remarks.” He does so when he says, “Though the border doesn’t mean that much to the majority of Native people in either country. It is, after all, a figment of someone else’s imagination” (102), while alluding to the border between the U.S. and Canada. And of course, he’s absolutely right! He also does this to devastating effect when he writes:

In the end, all Cooper is doing here is reiterating the basic propagandas that the British would use to justify their subjugation of India, or that the Germans would emply in their extermination of Jew, or that the Jews would utilize to displace Palestianans, or that North Americans would exploit for the internment of the Japanese, or the the U.S. military and the U.S. media would craft into jingoistic slogans in order to make the invasions of other countries – Grenada, Panama, Afghanistan, Iraq – seem reasonable, patriotic, and entertaining to television audiences throughout North America. (105)

In these excerpts King is not only taking jabs at colonial practitioners and their practices around the world, he is using what Chinua Achebe would call a “world-wide language” as a tool with which he can both respond on behalf of the various oppressed and colonized peoples throughout history, as well as express himself and put into writing that which is often not written about, spoken of, or even accepted as truth. And yet, it is so. It is writing from an alternative perspective, and thus it’s interest to me. For it amazes me how many atrocities in the world are so little spoken of or given the attention they deserve. And so I can agree with Powell when she says that “For me, this is the most exciting component of ‘alternative discourses’ – telling a story that mixes worlds and ways, one that listens and speaks…” (12).

But before I end this, I would like to touch on one other thing quickly; that as I read through this literature and theory I am more and more amazed at the ability of Native peoples to endure the hardships of living under or within powerful states whose only interest concerning indigenous peoples have seemed and still seem to be that of annihilation, whether through physical genocide or cultural genocide in the form of assimilation. But more than that, it is their will to speak out that I admire most, and their ability to maintain their culture among the aggressive dominating culture of the U.S. So I would like to end with one more quote from Powell; one that speaks to this, and to the nature of survivance: “It is the ability of indigenous peoples to consume and not be consumed, ‘to remain other within the system’ that has seemingly assimilated us, which maintains our ‘difference in the very space that the occupier was already organizing. This is survivance.” (20). 

Rhetorical Sovereignty and The Truth About Stories

While reading Scott Richard Lyon’s “Rhetorical Sovereignty: What Do American Indians Want from Writing?”, I automatically thought of my post-colonial studies concerning Africa, and more specifically Nigerian writers and musicians, as he states: “Sovereignty, as I generally use and understand the term, denotes the right of a people to conduct its own affairs, in its own place, in its own way” (450). Now, I know this class deals with the Indigenous peoples of what we now call North America, and more specifically the United States, but Indigenous peoples all over the world share common experiences in terms of dealing with intrusive or invasive peoples and their cultures. Of course, there are differences as well, but sovereignty is generally a common struggle among people who are invaded, occupied, colonized, or oppressed in some other way by an outside force. For instance, the birth of the African National Congress in South Africa was a revolutionary development that was a direct product of a peoples’ will to rule themselves or at least possess the ability to voice their opinions politically within their own homeland.

What Scott Richard Lyon then says about Rhetorical Sovereignty also struck a chord within me, and it was one that resounded beautifully in my heart; that “Rhetorical Sovereignty is the inherent right and ability of  peoples to determine their own communicative needs and desires” (449-450). I have never heard of the term Rhetorical Sovereignty before this reading, but I agree with its philosophy. Who honestly knows what a people needs and desires better than the people themselves. All peoples should have the right to determine their own needs and desires, and they should have the ability to express these needs and desires as well; even beyond and outside the realm of communication. Again, I cannot help but think of the Nigerian story tellers, whom I have grown such a fondness for over the past couple semesters, such as Chinua Achebe. For just as King talks of America’s appropriation of the Native American to craft its image of the authentic “Indian,” the “western” powers in the U.S. and Europe have done the same thing with “the native” in Africa. Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness is a perfect example of this, as it reifies notions of indigenous African peoples as actually being “uncivilized savages” without religion or culture. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, and Achebe showed that in his seminal novel Thing Fall Apart, as the Africans in the story have a complex society with democratic elements, spiritual rites and rituals, and rich cultural customs.

In The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative, Thomas King presents the reader with a similar gift in the form of short narrative stories that allow the reader to see through the eyes, and into the heart and mind, of one contemporary Native American man, as it informs them of various issues that contemporary Native Americans live and deal with on a daily basis, such as ignorance. But it also shares with the reader aspects of the culture, such as a creation story. Through his story telling, he not only shares himself, his culture, and his experiences, he contributes to the overall story of what being “Native American” means and represents. Of course, his telling of the story is not the only story, and it does not represent the totality of the Native American experience, but it is a part of that whole. In the TED talk that Sean shared on his blog, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie mentions Achebe’s concept of “a balance of stories,” and this basically means that there must be many stories from many perspectives on any given people or subject for any substantial kind of understanding to take root. As she says, “Stories matter. Many stories matter.” There cannot be a single story for such a thing is dangerous. In America there has been a long tradition of telling stories about Native Americans, as King speaks of in his book, and if these stories, the ones which exemplify the stereotypical “native” in America, were the only stories in circulation being read, then the stereotype would be all anyone would know. But writers like King, Achebe, and Adichie ensure that this danger of the single story has a remedy, as their writing works to restore balance to the at times unbalanced world of storytelling.

In “You’ll Never Believe What Happened…” King says, “Stories are wondrous things. And they are dangerous.” He then continues to tell of a tale, told originally by Leslie Silko in a book called Ceremony, of how evil entered the world, and how it was a group of "witch people" who gathered together to have a contest to see who could come up with the scariest thing. The winner was a witch with a story; a story “full of fear and slaughter, disease and blood. A story of murderous mischief” (9). He then goes on to tell of how the other witches, though agreeing that the witch with the horrible story had won, decide that perhaps things would be better without that particular story, and they ask her to “Take it back” as they say continue, “Call that story back” (10.) However, King concludes, “But, of course, it was too late. For once a story is told, it cannot be called back. Once told, it is loose in the world” (10). He then also offers a warning: “So you have to be careful with the stories you tell. And you have to watch out for the stories that you are told” (10).

As a side note, I would like to say that while reading this excerpt I could not help but think of the modern media, with all its sensationalized stories of death, disease, corruption, and general chaos. At times I wonder if there is any correlation between this overly sensationalized propaganda system and the actual problems it covers… I know that in my own life when I focus too much on the negative aspects of the contemporary world, I tend to get a little down and depressed. So I can only imagine how people who watch “the news” religiously feel. Because once again, if you are shown a single story of modern life every day, and it is one of violence and suffering, you begin to believe that is all there is out there. There needs to be a balance of stories, and I don’t know about you, but most of the stories I hear on the news or read about in the papers and magazines are usually pretty negative.

But I think this concept of the single story relates to more than just the written word, the news, or the media in general. It also relates to the stories we tell ourselves and the stories we choose to believe in. For instance, many of the stereotypes that exist are simply abstract stories that humanity has composed to represent some fictitious idea of a person or a people. This is not to say that stereotypes have no basis in reality; only that they are not entirely true or completely representative of any person or people. But at times we still believe in them. Racism is one of these stories, and its ignorance is built entirely on stereotypes that develop from a lack of connection or experience with the group in question, and thus a lack of relation and understanding. King’s story, “You’re Not the Indian I Had in Mind,” reflects this reality, as he states, “I went to school with Hernandezes and Gomezes. But I didn’t socialize with them, didn’t even know where they lived. My brother and I kept pretty much to our own neighborhood” (39). He then continues:

Racism is a funny thing, you know. Dead quiet on occasion. Often dangerous. But sometimes it has a peculiar sense of humour. The guys I ran with looked at Mexicans with a certain disdain. I’d like to say that I didn’t but that wasn’t true. No humor here. Except that while I was looking at Mexicans, other people, as it turned out, were looking at me. 39

Then, in a kind of karmic lesson, this racism returns to bite him, as he recalls a story wherein a young girl who he had asked to a dance retracts her acceptance when she calls to say, “I’m sorry… It’s my father. He doesn’t want me dating Mexicans” (40). We not only do this to each other; we do it to ourselves as well. For example, later in the story he tells of how he once changed his own appearance to satisfy racist ideology and stand in line with the racist stereotype of the “Native American.” He says, “Not wanting to be mistaken for a Mexican or a White, I grew my hair long, bought a fringed leather pouch to hang off my belt, threw a four-strand bone chocker around my neck, made a headband out of an old neckerchief, and strapped on a beaded belt buckle that I had bought at a trading post on a reservation in Wyoming” (46). Feathers are the only thing he resisted, he admits.

I do not wish to imply that race is not real, as most people who are considered minorities in this culture would beg to differ, as their experience says differently; however, I would like to argue that race is not a legitimate concept. It is simply not reasonable, or in other words, it makes absolutely no sense. Race in terms of the human race; I can get on board with that, but not race in terms of black and white or red and brown, or whatever other color someone wants to throw in there. In my opinion it is racist to even talk of people in terms of blanketing colors, as if white or red could sum up the totality and diversity of all the peoples that would theoretically be included under such blanketing terms. And yet… race is real. It is very real, being that we allow the concept to have the power it possesses. Revisiting King’s “You’ll Never Believe What Happened…”, this is reflected in the writing when he says, speaking of his desire to get out of town and just escape, “I’m sure part of it was teenage angst, and part of it was being poor in a rich country, and part of it was knowing that white was more than just a colour. And part of it was seeing the world though my mother’s eyes” (2). In this short excerpt, and throughout the story as a whole, King so perfectly touches upon the anger of a youth locked inside himself in a world no longer his, or, more accurately, his peoples', but a confusing liminal world of cultural hybridity, or rather, what was left over after an intrusive invasion and annihilation of his peoples’ culture and way of life that left a new world of obscene inequity, elitist racism that was both psychological and structural, as well as male chauvinist sexism in its place. This intense feeling seems to underlie much of King’s writing, and I would guess probably a good deal of other Native Americans writings as well. I cannot see how it would not, especially if one were to take an honest look at the history and current situation of the Native Americans, and many other indigenous peoples around the world.

However, to realign with the concept of balance, it is not as if all is lost, or beyond correction. It is not as if a return to balance has become a hopeless pursuit. That is why I would like to end with these words from King:

I was, in many ways, delighted to see postcolonial studies arrive on campus, not only because it expanded the canon by insisting that we read, consider, and teach the literatures of colonized peoples, but because it promised to give Native people a place at the table. I know that postcolonial studies is not a panacea for much of anything. I know that it never promised explicitly to make the colonized world a better place for colonized peoples. It did, however, carry with it the implicit expectation that, through exposure to new literatures and cultures and challenges to hegemonic assumptions and power structures, lives would be made better. 58

These words connected with me on a deep level, because this is exactly how I felt when I first found post-colonial literature and theory, and like Sean, it was thanks to the teachings of Dr. Clemens. As Scot Richard Lyon’s says, “Sovereignty has always been on some level a public pursuit of recognition” (465). Literature demands recognition, and it is a medium through which oppressed peoples can speak. This fact intrigues me. But, like King, I too know that post-colonial studies cannot eradicate the suffering of colonized peoples and right every wrong that has been done to not only the indigenous peoples throughout the world, but also to the very lands they call home. However, also like King, I have a dream that maybe through this open minded and honest engagement with different peoples, their cultures, and their stories, we might be able to slowly bring balance back to our world. This hope lives in stories; the stories we tell ourselves. In conclusion, I agree with King that one thing I know to be important are the “stories we make up to try to set the world straight” (60.)