Like Wendt’s Black Rainbow, Tales of the Tikongs is a cutting decry of the Western colonization and subjugation of indigenous peoples. Unlike the darker elements of Black Rainbow, however, Hau’ofa uses humor to attack and characterize the distinct loss of culture. The bureaucracy, racism, crime, and corruption that come along with colonization are each cleverly attacked by Hau’ofa, but he reserves the vast majority of his venom for Christianity, or at least Tiko’s version of it. Christianity in Tales of the Tikongs is a perversion of the true message and beliefs of the religion. Hau’ofa stresses this point over and over again throughout the narrative. The Pacific interpretation of the religion is a sect of manipulation, profit, and power, its sacred verses wielded as a weapon by certain unscrupulous preachers over the native population.
Nowhere is Christianity more vilified than in the chapter entitled ‘Bopeep’s Bells’. Here the reader is treated to Hau’ofa’s step by step description of how one might achieve religious power in Tiko. His Holiness, as Bopeep comes to call himself, is able to lead people, as well as make enormous amounts of money, simply because he has an astute ear. It is a South Pacific version of the folkloric ‘Pied Piper’ tale. Bopeep rings his bell and the denizens of Tiko come running. Hau’ofa writes, “It soon dawned upon Toki that like his little animals his fellow islanders were thoroughly conditioned by church bells summoning them for spiritual sustenance” (76). The description of his parishioners is like something from a George A. Romero zombie film. The masses sense the bell and follow, seemingly without any common sense.
If Hau’ofa uses humor to attack Christianity in ‘Bobeep’s Bells’, he uses pathos in the story ‘Blessed are the Meek’ a depressing vignette about Puku, a Tikong who cannot catch a break. It seems as if he was predestined for suffering, as Hau’ofa writes, “Puku came into the world on a rainy day” (69). Just as it rained on his birthday, so too does it rain for every other day of Puku’s life. Despite that, he retains his faith. While at a job interview, Puku says, “The Lord’s been kind to me sir” (73) even though this is blatantly false. Hau’ofa leaves the audience with “He gives and gives in return for which he receives words: of … encouragement to continue suffering through life as Christ did so long ago and, best of all, of assurances of eternal rewards in Life Hereafter” (74). Like so many suffering Christians before him, Puku is able to bear the sorrows and struggles of his life by concentrating on the glories of the next life. Because of this, some might view Christianity as a benefit, as something that gives people hope. But it seems that Hau’ofa is arguing that the lack of importance Puku places on his earthly life is dooming him to misery. If Puku, as well as the other religious citizens of Tiko, suffer the barbs of oppression without struggle, then is there any hope for them? Can they retain their identity?
Standing at odds with the all-encompassing Christianity of the land is Manu, who acts as a sort of protector of the native religion, the “ancient gods” (18). Following his introduction, Manu is immediately defined as a nonbeliever. Hau’ofa writes, “Everyone goes to church; everyone, that is, except Manu” (2). In the following chapter, the author writes, ‘Religion and Education Destroy Original Wisdom’ cry the letters of the back of Manu’s shirt” (7). His loathing of Christianity is so entrenched that Manu literally wears it on his sleeve.
But for all his prophesying and complaining, and despite his considerable fame, it seems that Manu is largely ignored by his countrymen. He is mildly successful in enlisting Pulu and Ti as his disciples, but the rest of the island population, while seemingly tolerant of his message, largely ignores it. The audience knows this by the simple fact that Christianity is still the dominant religion at the closing of the story, as well as the fact that Manu rages against Christianity without any true companions. He carries his cross, so to speak, entirely alone. What then is Hau’ofa saying? Is resistance futile or can one man make a difference? For Manu and the Tikong’s sake, we should hope it is the latter.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
A Warning for Travelers
Epeli Hau'Ofa's Tales of the Tikongs successfully provides its audience with an entertaining, yet truthful window into the lives of a small Pacific Island. Hau'Ofa presents the island of Tiko within a colonial context, often citing the influence of countries such as Australia, New Zealand, England, and even the United States. These civilized countries hope to enlighten, so to say, the people of underdeveloped places such as Tiko, but their intentions go horribly awry, much like the intentions of the Tribunal in Wendt's Black Rainbow. Hau'Ofa highlights the results of globalization and expansion through humor and detailed character sketches. Ultimately, we learn that traveling is something to be cherished, yet that it should come with a warning for all who embark on a journey with a mission. That warning is highlighted by Hau'Ofa throughout his short novel.
The short sketches of the citizens of Tiko give the reader an opportunity to see firsthand the disasterous effects of colonialism. For example, we see Ika being misled by the Australian Sharky, who tricks him into expanding his fishing business. Hau'Ofa writes, "As soon as he got his fishing equipment, and got himself thoroughly in debt, Sharky dropped him and forgot about his existence" (23). Ika is perfectly happy working limited hours with minimal pay. Sharky entices him with the promise of a better life, when in reality, his life is satisfactory the way it is.
Likewise, Pulu is given a flawed bull by officials in New Zealand. At first, he is very thankful for this gift, so much so that he "bowed his head and thanked God for the people of New Zealand, asking Him to keep them generous and to make him, Pulu B. Makau, the biggest cattleman in Saisaipe and beyond" ( Hau'Ofa 60). This man, similar to Ika, has hopes of becoming a more renowned man of society with a fortune and a plethora of other things to brag about. However, his hopes and dreams are shattered when he finds out that his bull cannot mate, and that therefore, he cannot produce calves.
The effects of colonialism are further exemplified in the chapter "Blessed are the Meek". At the very beginning of this chapter, Hau'Ofa highlights the essential difference between the colonizer and the colonized. He writes, "It is said that an American likes to walk tall even though he may be short, and that he occasionally takes a giant step or two for mankind, even though mankind may not have asked him to" ( Hau'Ofa 68). His opinion of America is made very explicit in this passage. Hau'Ofa feels that help, when it is not asked for, can be more disasterous than helpful. This has been the essential problem with most colonizing countries. Hau'Ofa also expounds his opinion on colonized countries. He writes, " A Tikong, on the other hand, tends to walk short even though he may be tall, and will not take even a dwarfish step if he can help it" (Hau'Ofa 68). Thus, the colonized country, although it may struggle to stand on its own two feet, is very humble. Hau'Ofa's writing indicates that the efforts of smaller, more undeveloped countries may not necessarily be enlightened or worthy of praise, but that their traditions should be more critically studied by larger countries, and that they should be more cautious of where they tread. These countries, such as the United States, should not overlook the culture at hand as well its desires, which is often the case. Hau'Ofa uses Puku as an example of a truly humble man, whom "walks short" (74). The title of the chapter seems very appropriate for the praise Hau'Ofa feels is due to these marginalized people.
In the chapter "The Glorious Pacific Way", Hau'Ofa seems to emphasize his beliefs about colonization most prominently. He uses the character of Ole Pasifikiwei in order to illustrate a character who ultimately forfeits a bit of his own desires to the colonizer in hopes of a better life for both himself and his country, similar to Ika and Pulu. Ole desires only a file cabinet and typewriter, but the powerful diplomat Mr. Minte cannot give this to him. He says, "You have to ask for something more directly relevant" (85). How much more relevant can Ole's request be? He has the noble goal of preserving the Pacific culture, which is the diplomat's purpose in the first place. Ironically, Mr. Minte works in the MERCY building. Hau'Ofa's ironic writing reaches a pinnacle as he describes the fate of Ole. He is left with no choice but to adhere to the requests of Mr. Minte, which are altogether ridiculous. Ole has absolutely no say in any goals of his, and is ultimately left up to the 'mercy' of the colonizer. Hau'Ofa writes, " He [Ole] has since shelved his original sense of self- respect and has assumed another, more attuned to his new, permanent role as a first- rate, expert beggar" (93). Perhaps Ole would have been better off scrounging up what he could to preserve his own culture. Why, of all things, would he have to rely on a foreigner for this? This is the ironic situation that Hau'Ofa so creatively crafts throughout his masterpiece, which yeilds a warning for all who embark on a journey with a mission, especially colonizing countries. The reader, although entertained, is left with a burning sense of anger. We are left asking these essential questions: why?, how?
The short sketches of the citizens of Tiko give the reader an opportunity to see firsthand the disasterous effects of colonialism. For example, we see Ika being misled by the Australian Sharky, who tricks him into expanding his fishing business. Hau'Ofa writes, "As soon as he got his fishing equipment, and got himself thoroughly in debt, Sharky dropped him and forgot about his existence" (23). Ika is perfectly happy working limited hours with minimal pay. Sharky entices him with the promise of a better life, when in reality, his life is satisfactory the way it is.
Likewise, Pulu is given a flawed bull by officials in New Zealand. At first, he is very thankful for this gift, so much so that he "bowed his head and thanked God for the people of New Zealand, asking Him to keep them generous and to make him, Pulu B. Makau, the biggest cattleman in Saisaipe and beyond" ( Hau'Ofa 60). This man, similar to Ika, has hopes of becoming a more renowned man of society with a fortune and a plethora of other things to brag about. However, his hopes and dreams are shattered when he finds out that his bull cannot mate, and that therefore, he cannot produce calves.
The effects of colonialism are further exemplified in the chapter "Blessed are the Meek". At the very beginning of this chapter, Hau'Ofa highlights the essential difference between the colonizer and the colonized. He writes, "It is said that an American likes to walk tall even though he may be short, and that he occasionally takes a giant step or two for mankind, even though mankind may not have asked him to" ( Hau'Ofa 68). His opinion of America is made very explicit in this passage. Hau'Ofa feels that help, when it is not asked for, can be more disasterous than helpful. This has been the essential problem with most colonizing countries. Hau'Ofa also expounds his opinion on colonized countries. He writes, " A Tikong, on the other hand, tends to walk short even though he may be tall, and will not take even a dwarfish step if he can help it" (Hau'Ofa 68). Thus, the colonized country, although it may struggle to stand on its own two feet, is very humble. Hau'Ofa's writing indicates that the efforts of smaller, more undeveloped countries may not necessarily be enlightened or worthy of praise, but that their traditions should be more critically studied by larger countries, and that they should be more cautious of where they tread. These countries, such as the United States, should not overlook the culture at hand as well its desires, which is often the case. Hau'Ofa uses Puku as an example of a truly humble man, whom "walks short" (74). The title of the chapter seems very appropriate for the praise Hau'Ofa feels is due to these marginalized people.
In the chapter "The Glorious Pacific Way", Hau'Ofa seems to emphasize his beliefs about colonization most prominently. He uses the character of Ole Pasifikiwei in order to illustrate a character who ultimately forfeits a bit of his own desires to the colonizer in hopes of a better life for both himself and his country, similar to Ika and Pulu. Ole desires only a file cabinet and typewriter, but the powerful diplomat Mr. Minte cannot give this to him. He says, "You have to ask for something more directly relevant" (85). How much more relevant can Ole's request be? He has the noble goal of preserving the Pacific culture, which is the diplomat's purpose in the first place. Ironically, Mr. Minte works in the MERCY building. Hau'Ofa's ironic writing reaches a pinnacle as he describes the fate of Ole. He is left with no choice but to adhere to the requests of Mr. Minte, which are altogether ridiculous. Ole has absolutely no say in any goals of his, and is ultimately left up to the 'mercy' of the colonizer. Hau'Ofa writes, " He [Ole] has since shelved his original sense of self- respect and has assumed another, more attuned to his new, permanent role as a first- rate, expert beggar" (93). Perhaps Ole would have been better off scrounging up what he could to preserve his own culture. Why, of all things, would he have to rely on a foreigner for this? This is the ironic situation that Hau'Ofa so creatively crafts throughout his masterpiece, which yeilds a warning for all who embark on a journey with a mission, especially colonizing countries. The reader, although entertained, is left with a burning sense of anger. We are left asking these essential questions: why?, how?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
The Value of a Human Life: Black Rainbow
Wendt presents his reader with a unified world society, governed by their President and Tribunal. The governing body not only enforces rules and regulations to bring order to the lives of it’s global citizens but reaches so far into their lives as to direct their purpose, their ‘quest’. Following the narrator through his personal quest, Wendt presents a few interesting ideas about the value of human life, as well as explores a couple of questions about the worth of a life in a social structure such as that created in the novel.
Firstly, there needs to be a reasoning behind the allegorical social order created in the story. The two possibilities produce the same story for the reader, and that is that Wendt has created an allegorical social institute, and storyline meant to reach into a few of the ideas concerning current global issues i.e. the greater involvement of the government is its citizens lives, and the increasing, and overlapping spider webs of legislation passed every year that continually undermines itself in the courts of law.
The other possibility is that the structure represents a radical, partially abstract view of impending future. It can either be viewed the world’s impending future, dramaticized of course with trends modified and magnified, or it is a ‘proposal’. The proposal being that society will eventually become so chaotic, or even ‘evil’ that the only way to rectifor control it would be with this vastly overbearing governing and directing body.
The President, and the Tribunal assign to each person born, or reordinarinised to an identity of their choosing. The identity is their role to play in the ‘Game of Life’ as they call it. Each person has a quest, and is in turn a part other’s quests. Wendt raises a few questions in the readers mind that I don’t think he particularly wants answered, but simply reflected upon. His complex, constantly shifting storyline make it, in a way, easier for the reader to think on a more non-definite level. By constantly changing the characters, the story, and by leaving an open ending it becomes evident that certainties and even rationalities are just about out of the question.
By referring to peoples lives as a part of a ‘Game’, it has to make the reader ask; Who wins? Clearly the narrator was ‘chosen’ to win, his quest was to be elite, possibly to become president but the novel ends with no winner, no president, and no conclusion. So what is to become of everyone else? Is everyone else’s quest to be a loser, to merely contribute to this one mans rise to power who in the end denies everything he is offered by the tribunal? Not only does the fact that his life was directed, and dictated by an outside force de-value his own existence, but the fact that he rejects his purpose ultimately anyway completely devalues the lives of everyone whose quest it was to help him reach that goal.
Even if one is to buy into the worth, and the value of a society in which everyone’s lives are directed harmoniously toward some ultimate goal, who is to be held accountable for their actions? Is our ‘hero’ a murderer as they accuse him, when those he killed stood in the way of him completing the quest given to him by their most supreme power? Is he one to commit treason in the act of refusing to love the woman that he was assigned to? Wendt makes the accusation of treason against the narrator evident at his hearing to show how the powers of the tribunal have gone so far as to punish those whose emotions do not correspond with the law, they sentence him for inability to love the one they told him to.
Most evidently of all, Wendt’s future reality has mastered nature tot eh point of being able to reincarnate the dead (Though nobody in the story is reincarnated) He actually manages to desensitizes the reader to the idea of death. The reader is unconsciously taken out of a novel and placed in a comic book/cartoon action story. Where is the value of a life when there is another one to look forward to? There is no game over, no final step, there isn’t even a finale to the hero’s journey. What fears can one have, what motivation when there is the possibility of ‘infinite tomorrows’. The society and the government that exists in the Black Rainbow removes purpose by erasing freedom. ‘Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose’, said the master computer, and it is contradictory. Having nothing to lose gives one a wild freedom through lack of connection; reckless freedom. Having nothing left to lose, though, means that these people have nothing to live for.
Firstly, there needs to be a reasoning behind the allegorical social order created in the story. The two possibilities produce the same story for the reader, and that is that Wendt has created an allegorical social institute, and storyline meant to reach into a few of the ideas concerning current global issues i.e. the greater involvement of the government is its citizens lives, and the increasing, and overlapping spider webs of legislation passed every year that continually undermines itself in the courts of law.
The other possibility is that the structure represents a radical, partially abstract view of impending future. It can either be viewed the world’s impending future, dramaticized of course with trends modified and magnified, or it is a ‘proposal’. The proposal being that society will eventually become so chaotic, or even ‘evil’ that the only way to rectifor control it would be with this vastly overbearing governing and directing body.
The President, and the Tribunal assign to each person born, or reordinarinised to an identity of their choosing. The identity is their role to play in the ‘Game of Life’ as they call it. Each person has a quest, and is in turn a part other’s quests. Wendt raises a few questions in the readers mind that I don’t think he particularly wants answered, but simply reflected upon. His complex, constantly shifting storyline make it, in a way, easier for the reader to think on a more non-definite level. By constantly changing the characters, the story, and by leaving an open ending it becomes evident that certainties and even rationalities are just about out of the question.
By referring to peoples lives as a part of a ‘Game’, it has to make the reader ask; Who wins? Clearly the narrator was ‘chosen’ to win, his quest was to be elite, possibly to become president but the novel ends with no winner, no president, and no conclusion. So what is to become of everyone else? Is everyone else’s quest to be a loser, to merely contribute to this one mans rise to power who in the end denies everything he is offered by the tribunal? Not only does the fact that his life was directed, and dictated by an outside force de-value his own existence, but the fact that he rejects his purpose ultimately anyway completely devalues the lives of everyone whose quest it was to help him reach that goal.
Even if one is to buy into the worth, and the value of a society in which everyone’s lives are directed harmoniously toward some ultimate goal, who is to be held accountable for their actions? Is our ‘hero’ a murderer as they accuse him, when those he killed stood in the way of him completing the quest given to him by their most supreme power? Is he one to commit treason in the act of refusing to love the woman that he was assigned to? Wendt makes the accusation of treason against the narrator evident at his hearing to show how the powers of the tribunal have gone so far as to punish those whose emotions do not correspond with the law, they sentence him for inability to love the one they told him to.
Most evidently of all, Wendt’s future reality has mastered nature tot eh point of being able to reincarnate the dead (Though nobody in the story is reincarnated) He actually manages to desensitizes the reader to the idea of death. The reader is unconsciously taken out of a novel and placed in a comic book/cartoon action story. Where is the value of a life when there is another one to look forward to? There is no game over, no final step, there isn’t even a finale to the hero’s journey. What fears can one have, what motivation when there is the possibility of ‘infinite tomorrows’. The society and the government that exists in the Black Rainbow removes purpose by erasing freedom. ‘Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose’, said the master computer, and it is contradictory. Having nothing to lose gives one a wild freedom through lack of connection; reckless freedom. Having nothing left to lose, though, means that these people have nothing to live for.
Hiking: the search for a purpose
As I get out of my car and stretch for my long adventure up the Ramapo Mountains, I realize the traffic of cars passing me. Something about hiking allows me to clear my mind and just think. The essence of nature around me allows me to feel one with the earth and connect on a higher meaning within my life. On the many hikes and trails that I have been on, I always leave the reservation with a deeper connection to my present. From helping me solve a conflict with a friend, or even contemplating my future and what I would like to accomplish before I die, hiking allows me to explore my thoughts through the simplicity of nature. After I stretch out, I begin my hike: passing lakes, a waterfall and thousands of trees. I begin to feel a sense of something missing, one major component, then I recognize, it was the people in the cars passing by.
My hiking trail is located off a main road in Bergen County, near my hometown of Oakland. This main road, Ramapo Valley Road or ‘202’, plays an essential role in avoiding busy highway traffic by traveling through various areas of the county. Many people drive by with out even recognizing the beauty within our backyard.
Just like in the novel, Black Rainbow by Albert Wendt, the Housekeeper tells a tale of a woman walking through doors to find salvation and meaning in her life. What she doesn’t realize is that the answer is right in front of her. Each day she returns to live a life of routine and monotony, a life wasted on the search for what was literally a sign on the door.
In my story, the people traveling down Ramapo Valley Road represent the woman, and hold the same hope as her. The drivers are all searching for a meaning in life, but what they do not notice, is that beyond the parking lot of the reservation rests a world of ideas. The passer-bys take no notice of the reservation, yet of an empty parking lot, and misses the beauty that the nature within our world brings. They go on living their life of ‘purpose’ which only keeps them occupied and distracted from their true ‘search’ for meaning.
Wendt’s novel helps bring light onto the meaning of life and what gives an individual an identity they can call their own. As the message on the door states: “All doors are about other doors they are themselves”(108). Our her/histories may overlap, but we each have a unique sense of self, that no one can take away.
Our sense of self comes from our own perceived notion of ‘purpose’; however we are all connected in the search to find the true meaning of life. “We asked where he’d been. ‘Looking for hope’.” (235) Our life is a symbol of our search and quest for hope, salvation, and happiness.
Wendt’s Black Rainbow challenges our concept of life, by removing what we find gives the most meaning to living: family, faith, and even our past. By removing our perceived purposes, Wendt forces his readers to dig deep and search their soul to find what makes a person an individual.
My hiking trail is located off a main road in Bergen County, near my hometown of Oakland. This main road, Ramapo Valley Road or ‘202’, plays an essential role in avoiding busy highway traffic by traveling through various areas of the county. Many people drive by with out even recognizing the beauty within our backyard.
Just like in the novel, Black Rainbow by Albert Wendt, the Housekeeper tells a tale of a woman walking through doors to find salvation and meaning in her life. What she doesn’t realize is that the answer is right in front of her. Each day she returns to live a life of routine and monotony, a life wasted on the search for what was literally a sign on the door.
In my story, the people traveling down Ramapo Valley Road represent the woman, and hold the same hope as her. The drivers are all searching for a meaning in life, but what they do not notice, is that beyond the parking lot of the reservation rests a world of ideas. The passer-bys take no notice of the reservation, yet of an empty parking lot, and misses the beauty that the nature within our world brings. They go on living their life of ‘purpose’ which only keeps them occupied and distracted from their true ‘search’ for meaning.
Wendt’s novel helps bring light onto the meaning of life and what gives an individual an identity they can call their own. As the message on the door states: “All doors are about other doors they are themselves”(108). Our her/histories may overlap, but we each have a unique sense of self, that no one can take away.
Our sense of self comes from our own perceived notion of ‘purpose’; however we are all connected in the search to find the true meaning of life. “We asked where he’d been. ‘Looking for hope’.” (235) Our life is a symbol of our search and quest for hope, salvation, and happiness.
Wendt’s Black Rainbow challenges our concept of life, by removing what we find gives the most meaning to living: family, faith, and even our past. By removing our perceived purposes, Wendt forces his readers to dig deep and search their soul to find what makes a person an individual.
Dancing with the Ridges of a Globe
I believe I discovered the enormity of the world at around five years old. While the physical extent of my travel was limited by certain landmarks such as the grocery store, my grandma’s house, pre-school, the beach and the park, my father was routinely sent on business trips to vast amounts of cities in the world. The norm was for him to be in another city for two weeks, but on occasion his trips would last for one month. Those were the hardest months for my sister and I, and to keep our minds off of his absence we would “travel with him.” Our inquisitive fingers danced along the ridges of the globe that sat in our basement and would land in a city he was in, or had previously been to.
By six, I had traveled with my sister to Paris, London, Beijing, Hong Kong, Mexico, Australia, Germany, Sweden, Switzerland, and Italy, using dolls and other artifacts my father would bring home as references to the cultures that distinguished each. Reflecting upon this particular aspect of my father’s travels, I found Wendt’s take on history within his novel Black Rainbow to be a sufficient reference, especially when he writes, “Strange how we see reality through art and the other cultural baggage we carry” (65). Therefore, our reality is in a sense made up of our own stories, our own encounters with art, music, literature, people, traditions and other cultural “inventory.” Our reality is our history, which is to say that Wendt’s narrator is living in a “dystopia” with a rapidly depleting sense of personal human reality or truth because the goal is for each citizen to sacrifice their history, or their substance.
My reality at a young age was therefore distorted like Wendt’s narrator, solely due to my histories limited experiences. My sister and I would therefore glorify his trips, imagining walks through vivacious streets, and interactions with the most dignified and infamous people of the cities past or present. We assigned different dress to the people we imagined, based on the clothing of the dolls, and gave each certain stereotypical occupations, and stories based on what we had witness as customary in our own home town of Wantagh, Long Island. In a way we created a false world that does not actually exist, it could not possibly exist, similar to the world created by the Tribune.
Furthermore, at a young age, I was under the impression that my father’s purpose of traveling was for pleasure. I knew he was going for “work,” but at the time work was just a factor, not the actual journey, or a force briskly pushing him along like the Tribune. Yet, as I question my father’s personal being as he was traveling in hindsight, it is in fact amply correlated with that of Wendt’s narrator. During his stay at each place, I realize that my father, just like the narrator, would not have “worr[ied] about the rooms not having a view” (23). His purpose and motivation for travel therefore transcended from a magical and awakening experience to one that was centered on a materialistic gain, parallel with the narrator and his “Reference.”
With the history, culture, and adventure lost within business transactions my father’s trips became somewhat robotic; flight, hotel, meeting, dinner, meeting, flight. Thus while the Tribune, and the narrator’s relationship is an extreme, Wendt is forcing us to question the way in which we live our own lives. As our paths are continually changing, and we are compelled to move along them are we truly making decisions for ourselves? Do we really go to school, college, work for our own personal experience? Or do we have our own version of the Tribune today, and “…in their Game of Life, we are fulfilling our pre-programmed roles” (235)?
By six, I had traveled with my sister to Paris, London, Beijing, Hong Kong, Mexico, Australia, Germany, Sweden, Switzerland, and Italy, using dolls and other artifacts my father would bring home as references to the cultures that distinguished each. Reflecting upon this particular aspect of my father’s travels, I found Wendt’s take on history within his novel Black Rainbow to be a sufficient reference, especially when he writes, “Strange how we see reality through art and the other cultural baggage we carry” (65). Therefore, our reality is in a sense made up of our own stories, our own encounters with art, music, literature, people, traditions and other cultural “inventory.” Our reality is our history, which is to say that Wendt’s narrator is living in a “dystopia” with a rapidly depleting sense of personal human reality or truth because the goal is for each citizen to sacrifice their history, or their substance.
My reality at a young age was therefore distorted like Wendt’s narrator, solely due to my histories limited experiences. My sister and I would therefore glorify his trips, imagining walks through vivacious streets, and interactions with the most dignified and infamous people of the cities past or present. We assigned different dress to the people we imagined, based on the clothing of the dolls, and gave each certain stereotypical occupations, and stories based on what we had witness as customary in our own home town of Wantagh, Long Island. In a way we created a false world that does not actually exist, it could not possibly exist, similar to the world created by the Tribune.
Furthermore, at a young age, I was under the impression that my father’s purpose of traveling was for pleasure. I knew he was going for “work,” but at the time work was just a factor, not the actual journey, or a force briskly pushing him along like the Tribune. Yet, as I question my father’s personal being as he was traveling in hindsight, it is in fact amply correlated with that of Wendt’s narrator. During his stay at each place, I realize that my father, just like the narrator, would not have “worr[ied] about the rooms not having a view” (23). His purpose and motivation for travel therefore transcended from a magical and awakening experience to one that was centered on a materialistic gain, parallel with the narrator and his “Reference.”
With the history, culture, and adventure lost within business transactions my father’s trips became somewhat robotic; flight, hotel, meeting, dinner, meeting, flight. Thus while the Tribune, and the narrator’s relationship is an extreme, Wendt is forcing us to question the way in which we live our own lives. As our paths are continually changing, and we are compelled to move along them are we truly making decisions for ourselves? Do we really go to school, college, work for our own personal experience? Or do we have our own version of the Tribune today, and “…in their Game of Life, we are fulfilling our pre-programmed roles” (235)?
Caught in the Disney World Cycle
If I have counted correctly, I have made nine trips to Walt Disney World in my short 21 years of life. This statistic to many, and even to myself, appears ridiculous, especially considering that the last five of those trips occurred within the last seven years. The fact of the matter is there is just something about the utopian-esque experience of WDW that helped foster and immortalized many of my fondest childhood memories. Our family vacations, though only slightly variable, all incurred the same course year to year: Magic Kingdom on the first day, Animal Kingdom in the morning of the second day and Epcot for dinner, with MGM (now called Hollywood Studios) as our third day with dinner in either Downtown Disney or the Boardwalk. Having been so many times we discovered our favorite restaurants, the California Grill at the top of the Contemporary, favorite rides, the Buzz Lightyear Ranger Spin, and learned what was underrated, like the Norwegian flume ride tucked away in the World Showcase inside Epcot, and what was worth skipping, like Cinderella’s Carousel.
Yet these repetitious actions were only self realized when I ventured to Disney this past spring during Loyola’s annual mid-semester break. On this journey I traveled with my boyfriend, and not my family, and remember painstakingly advising him of our schedule prior to our departure. The realization of my relentless repetition climaxed as we stood in line for the Dumbo ride at 9am March 4th as Alex turned to me and said, “Katy, is there a reason we are waiting in this line right now when we can be going on Space Mountain or Thunder Mountain instead?” My immediate and horrified answer was simply, “We always go on Dumbo first. Ever since I was little. And then we finish with Fantasy Land, go over to Tomorrow Land, have lunch at Pecos Bill’s Café right on the bridge of Adventure Land and Pioneer Land. “ When Alex looked back at me with disbelief, it was then, and only then, that I recognized how I was letting my personal history dictate my current choices and actions.
Since I like to play devil’s advocate, it is in this way that I can understand the rather unpopular position that the Tribunal sets up and reorganizes through out the text, with some caveats. Obviously I am not suggesting that we should have a de-historying process and rid each and every citizen of his or her personal narrative, good or bad, yet there appears to be something rather freeing in the process of living in spontaneity and without worry of previous actions. However, the extreme to which the ‘carpe-diem’ mentality is evoked within Black Rainbow takes frightening and catastrophic turns. The characters of the text, with slight exceptions, all see such freedom-from-past as the utmost goal of the Game of Life, “How can you refuse freedom?...It’s what we all dream of, mate. To be free of our past, our guilt…” (Wendt 33). Yet as Eric proceeds through his pre-prescribed game he learns that such ‘freedom’ is not what he truly seeks, as he stands against the notion of a non-history. The extent to which the Tribunal and the President take such de-historying is so far beyond the level of comprehension that as the novel concludes, Eric finally recognizes the fault and blunder, “For to know our past was to know our ‘utopia’ was a lie, an evil, “(Wendt 255). It is in this, that we see our human error. We are not the central computer system sitting in the Puzzle Palace sifting through countless histories at the touch of a button; we are living, breathing, and imperfect. And it is our imperfections that cause the creation of the dystopia that Wendt charges all of his readers to tire relentlessly to avoid. The author suggests that our human nature makes it impossible to create such an idyllic place and that part of our inherently human characteristics is our attention to personal history. For this reason, the governmental system created in Black Rainbow is only good on paper, and through execution fails to meet the goals of both the government and the governed. So just as I began to see the rational in the Tribunal’s initial decisions, I too, can understand how it can never truly be affected. My Disney World experiences, though, repetitious as that, are all different for time and space have kept them distinct in my mind, and I have learned that they are integral to each and every new choice I make there. Maybe all I need is to skip the Magic Kingdom on the first day, and head to Epcot instead. That change should keep me occupied for the time being.
Yet these repetitious actions were only self realized when I ventured to Disney this past spring during Loyola’s annual mid-semester break. On this journey I traveled with my boyfriend, and not my family, and remember painstakingly advising him of our schedule prior to our departure. The realization of my relentless repetition climaxed as we stood in line for the Dumbo ride at 9am March 4th as Alex turned to me and said, “Katy, is there a reason we are waiting in this line right now when we can be going on Space Mountain or Thunder Mountain instead?” My immediate and horrified answer was simply, “We always go on Dumbo first. Ever since I was little. And then we finish with Fantasy Land, go over to Tomorrow Land, have lunch at Pecos Bill’s Café right on the bridge of Adventure Land and Pioneer Land. “ When Alex looked back at me with disbelief, it was then, and only then, that I recognized how I was letting my personal history dictate my current choices and actions.
Since I like to play devil’s advocate, it is in this way that I can understand the rather unpopular position that the Tribunal sets up and reorganizes through out the text, with some caveats. Obviously I am not suggesting that we should have a de-historying process and rid each and every citizen of his or her personal narrative, good or bad, yet there appears to be something rather freeing in the process of living in spontaneity and without worry of previous actions. However, the extreme to which the ‘carpe-diem’ mentality is evoked within Black Rainbow takes frightening and catastrophic turns. The characters of the text, with slight exceptions, all see such freedom-from-past as the utmost goal of the Game of Life, “How can you refuse freedom?...It’s what we all dream of, mate. To be free of our past, our guilt…” (Wendt 33). Yet as Eric proceeds through his pre-prescribed game he learns that such ‘freedom’ is not what he truly seeks, as he stands against the notion of a non-history. The extent to which the Tribunal and the President take such de-historying is so far beyond the level of comprehension that as the novel concludes, Eric finally recognizes the fault and blunder, “For to know our past was to know our ‘utopia’ was a lie, an evil, “(Wendt 255). It is in this, that we see our human error. We are not the central computer system sitting in the Puzzle Palace sifting through countless histories at the touch of a button; we are living, breathing, and imperfect. And it is our imperfections that cause the creation of the dystopia that Wendt charges all of his readers to tire relentlessly to avoid. The author suggests that our human nature makes it impossible to create such an idyllic place and that part of our inherently human characteristics is our attention to personal history. For this reason, the governmental system created in Black Rainbow is only good on paper, and through execution fails to meet the goals of both the government and the governed. So just as I began to see the rational in the Tribunal’s initial decisions, I too, can understand how it can never truly be affected. My Disney World experiences, though, repetitious as that, are all different for time and space have kept them distinct in my mind, and I have learned that they are integral to each and every new choice I make there. Maybe all I need is to skip the Magic Kingdom on the first day, and head to Epcot instead. That change should keep me occupied for the time being.
What We Carry with Us When We Travel
I was able to read Black Rainbow for Dr. Ellis's Literature of the City class Sophomore year, and although it certainly had an impact on me, reading it a second time has illuminated many aspects of travel that I came across during my year abroad in Belgium, which I did not notice during my first time reading it. Thus, my experience abroad really proved valuable whilst re-exploring this novel.
Moments of homesickness while abroad certainly did occur, although I can honestly say that I have more positive memories than negative ones. Right before Thanksgiving, I began to miss my family more than ever and it had a profound impact on the way I acted around the internationals and other Americans. I withdrew myself a bit from the world around me and began to spend more time on the phone with my family and friends. Unfortunately, I was not mentally present for this important bonding experience with the other people in my house. However, I couldn't help it. It was incredibly difficult to be situated in a country across the ocean that did not celebrate Thanksgiving, and it was even more difficult to be without family there, at a time when family is so crucial to the experience of the holiday. I remember calling my family in tears, explaining how much I missed them and how it was going to be so hard to make it another month without being around my home. I never thought that I would act like this while abroad, considering the fact that I love traveling and change so much, but at this moment, I could not help but cling to my roots as if they were being ripped away from me.
I experienced similar feelings towards the end of second semester. Around May, my companions and I grew weary of travel and began to talk about home more and more. In addition, we were being bombarded with anti- American sentiments as never before. As a sort of therapy, I began to print pictures of my family and friends to post on my wall. I also began to speak about my hometown more, and I think that people began to grow tired of hearing about it. Oftentimes, The other Americans and I would gather in the kitchen or somebody's bedroom to discuss our homesickness and difficulties living with people of all nations that sometimes misunderstood us completely. These spontaneous discussion sessions pulled me through the tough times, and reminiscing about my hometown, family, and friends enabled me to move forward when I missed home desperately ( luckily, those moments never lasted too long).
The truth is that no matter where I traveled last year, I took my home and memories with me. All of the internationals in my unit knew about my family and hometown, regardless of whether they wanted to hear it or not. It is a part of who I am and that will never change, even if I am living in a completely different country. Of course I assimilated into the European lifestyle as best I could, but there were certainly times where I was truly unsuccessful at blending in there. I think that my history was written on my face, and that it surfaced during the toughest of times. It's strange how that happens, but it is essential to any travel experience. We must try our best to explore new cultures to the fullest, but without a doubt, it is necessary to carry our past with us wherever we go.
In Black Rainbow, the Free Citizen consistently tries to recount his history as the Tribunal tries to keep it concealed. In the beginning of the novel, he cannot remember his history and quickly forgets anything that has happened to him, recent or not. His wife, after she is taken, is replaced, and it seems as though he never even had her in his life. As he travels from place to place in order to recover his family, he even makes love with another woman, which he probably would not have done if he had remembered his loving wife. The Tribunal completely disables his memories and history, which are completely necessary in not only travel, but life in general.
The young kids enable him to re-evaluate the purpose of his mission, and they also aid him in remembering his past. These kids remind him that the Tribunal is dysfunctional, and that it serves no purpose but to torture people in exchange for the illusion of freedom from one's past. After he meets these kids and partakes in the mission to find his family, he begins to slowly unravel himself from the web of lies in which he is caught. His gradual realizations are, in my opinion, what make the book so enthralling. For example, as he is searching the Puzzle Palace for his family, he says, "Though the Tribunal has banned history, we are what we remember, the precious rope stretching across the abyss of all that we have forgotten" ( Wendt 178). This realization comes as he sees his wife for the first time since she was stolen from him by the Tribunal. This statement is so incredibly powerful, in that it encapsulates the inherent nature of human beings. We cannot have our history taken away from us, no matter where we are at any given moment. Our memories prevent any history from completely disappearing. Thus, physical attributes of history may fade away, but our memories keep history alive.
As he rekindles his relationship with his wife, he again comes to the realization that his life is not complete without his history. He says, " It didn't matter anymore that my family had been 'created' especially by the Tribunal for my search. They were my wife and children and our love for another had not been a fabrication" ( Wendt 192). His memories, and more importantly, truth, overpower the Tribunal's warped tactics, showing the power of memory, especially in challenging times.
Previous to the finding of his family, The housekeeper begins to help the Free Citizen regain elements of his history, although he is still certainly jaded at this point in the novel. As the housekeeper recounts her history, she grows nervous, as the Tribunal is watching their every move. She nervously asks, "Should I recount my history?" ( Wendt 110). The Free Citizen replies, "Why not?" (110). This is one of the first moments where he gets carried away and forgets the restrictive rules of the Tribunal. They exchange stories with one another, without worrying about surveillance laws. Stories are also essential to history, which is emphasized in many parts of the novel.
Thus, our history and memories are invaluable in this life, especially when traveling, where one can easily lose their sense of identity. Oddly enough, as we are thrown amongst an array of histories, we are able to find our own. When I was abroad, I was able to recount my history and share with those around me, which I had never been able to do prior to this experience. Without being able to remember and share this, especially when I was homesick, I would not have survived. My time abroad was the best and most important time of my life, so I will reference it quite often. However, the most important element of my experience was finding my own identity, which could not have occurred without my history as a frame of reference. Reading Black Rainbow post- abroad has allowed me to identify with the main character to a fuller extent, and for that, I am appreciative. It is interesting how experience shapes literature and vice versa.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)