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.)