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Friday, June 28, 2013

The Inconvenient Indian - Thomas King


King, Thomas. The Inconvenient Indian: A Curious Account of Native People in North America. Doubleday Canada, 2012

If I had to select one quote that best summarizes the fork in the rode for indigenous peoples in North America in 2013, it would be most of paragraph 2 on page 265 of Thomas King's Curious Account:

 " . . . there is little shelter and little gain for Native peoples in doing nothing. So long as we possess one element of sovereignty, so long as we possess one parcel of land, North America will come for us, and the question we have to face is how badly we wish to continue to pursue the concepts of sovereignty and self-determination. How important is it for us to maintain protected communal homelands? Are our traditions and languages worth the cost of carrying on the fight? Certainly the easier and more expedient option is simply to step away from who we are and who we wish to be, sell what we have for cash, and sink into the stewpot of North America.

With the rest of the bones."

Everything before the penultimate page 265 is King's accounting of reasons for coming to this conclusion.

In fairness to the other ethnic communities in Canada, the question of assimilating or “sinking into the stewpot of North America” can't be considered exclusively an Aboriginal choice. Something similar could be said about the many Chinatown cultures in our metropolitan areas, the Hutterian Brethren colonies, the Amish of Southern Ontario, the Kurds of Northern Iraq to name just a few minorities struggling to survive while gradually "sinking into the stewpot."

Where the cases differ is in the history that brought us all to these shores. The Inconvenient Indian is a story of a culture over-run by Western civilization, it's a history that can help us understand why "I started with nothing and made it, why can't they?" is an absurd question.

King begins in 1492, where we normally begin our history of the Aboriginal people of North America as if they didn't exist as anything more than the deer and the beaver before then. The memorable stories that followed Columbus' discovery of the New World—Custer's last stand, the Riel Rebellion, the role of the fur trade and its missionary partners—all are clothed in our history books with the patina of a conquerors' viewpoint. Like the cold winters and the vast, formidable distances, the presence of Indians has historically been one more obstacle to overcome as we forged nations after the European fashion. Hence, the inconvenient Indian.

At the least, the story of our interactions with North America's Aboriginal people is highly ambiguous. King traces some of this ambiguity through the portrayal of Indians in movies where the "Cowboys and Indians" mentality had its birth. The relationship between the Lone Ranger and his sidekick, Tonto, (remember kemo sabay?) exemplifies one movie stereotype. Tonto is the Indian image that lives on in minds around the world: the noble savage, the living Indian. But there are other images that we carry around with us at the same time: the bloodthirsty savage (the scary one), the "dying" Indian (the disappearing one), the indolent Indian (languishing on reserves), the hungry Indian (poverty is highest on reserves), and you could probably add others. King draws our attention to the multitude of First Nations citizens who have become household names, not because they were Indians but because they were talented: Buffy Sainte-Marie, Kenoujuak, Clint Walker, Jay Silverheels and Will Rogers to name a few. (A joke of Will Rogers: "There's no trick to being a humourist when you have the whole government working for you," underlines another sensibility, namely that every government since confederation has bungled the Aboriginal file - page 39.)

Added to the stereotypes above is the reality of Indians categorized more objectively: the legal Indian or treaty Indian vs. the non-treaty Indian, the Inuit, the Metis and others who may or may not have fallen under any particular treaty. This is all very tricky ground and the moment one starts to define who is a genetic, an ethnic or traditional member of a group, the ambiguities begin to burgeon. There exist certain treaty rights to which only legal Indians are entitled and before 1968, treaty Indians who voted, who served in the military, graduated college, married a non-treaty person were automatically or voluntarily enfranchised, ie. given Canadian citizenship in exchange for treaty status. King quotes a Blackfoot friend: " . . . enfranchised is French for 'screwed'" (page 71). Suffice it to say that King portrays with a concise and ironic wit the ambiguities adding to the inconvenience of Aboriginal populations and the legacy with which early settlement saddled both us and them.

Not every phase of the story from Columbus onward lends itself to witty retelling. The assimilation through education chapter most certainly belongs in the "too tragic for jokes" category. In the "We are Sorry" chapter, King deals with the residential schools period under the general principle that for whites, two options only were considered for resolving the Native inconvenience: extermination or assimilation (page 101). In the endeavour to "kill the Indian to save the man," children of Aboriginal families were forced into residential schools where Indian culture, language and spirituality were drummed out and English or French, European culture and Christianity were beaten in. At least that was the plan, its execution entrusted to various mission-minded churches, a decidedly unholy alliance of state, commerce and Christianity. ( " . . . you might wish to describe Christianity as the gateway drug to supply-side capitalism" – page 103) The cruelty of the plan and its ineffectiveness in reaching its goals is currently being clarified by the Truth and Reconciliation hearings in Canada. It's still unclear how much benefit Aboriginal people will experience as a result of apologies heard, received and accepted for the Residential Schools debacle.

In 1991, a Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples began work that would conclude with a 4,000 page report and 440 recommendations to government in numerous areas including replacement of the Department of Indian Affairs and Northern Development with something more in line with current realities. "The expectation was that the government would see the report as an opportunity to renew, amend, and restructure its relationship with Canada's First Nations . . . Almost as soon as the report was released, it was placed on the shelf with all the rest of the reports from Royal Commissions." (page 171) It seems that governments still lack either the will or the means—or both—to effect the changes that are necessary but then, the history of the relationship between the Canadian nation and the First Nations has—according to King—always been about land (see page 216), and to this end, the periodic confiscation of reserved land, the delays in settling land claims and the toying with reducing the numbers of status Indians through measures like Bill C-31 would be evidence enough to conclude that the end game is to extinguish the sovereignty of First Nations over their territories and their right to self-determination.

Even so, The Inconvenient Indian is not a diatribe against the evil white man. King is remarkably even-handed in his assessment of where things have gone wrong and where they've gone right. He may be too generous. The mess that characterizes the majority of reserves in Canada was made by the system that has made me well-off, secure and able to make choices. What role should First Nations expect me to fulfil in the cleaning up of that mess? Whatever that role is, it's not about handouts, admonishment or even education; been there, done that--nobody liked it much. For us children of settlers, the first obligation is to get to know the past, to educate ourselves about the present and to grasp finally that we are treaty people as much as the Aboriginal bands, tribes and individuals are.

To this end, a thoughtful reading of The Inconvenient Indian certainly makes a good start.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Three Novels of Character




Bergen, David. The Matter with Morris. Toronto: Harper Collins, 2012
Gibbons, Kaye. A Virtuous Woman. New York: Vintage Books, 1989
Barry, Sebastian. The Secret Scripture. London: Penguin Books, 2008

We used to talk in English 101 about character-driven as opposed to plot-driven fiction. Granted, both are necessary but there are novels where the dissection of a personality seems to be the primary driving force. Take The Matter with Morris. Morris Schutt is a post-modern man, a failing journalist with a weakness for mining the follies and foibles of his family and friends for a regular syndicated column. But when you write in judgment of the world and the people around you, you’d better be careful that you personally stand on firm ground or the core of your existence will crumble. This happens to Morris when his son is needlessly killed in Afghanistan by a friend mishandling his rifle. It’s a tragedy made more poignant by Morris’ having taunted his “wimpy” son into joining the army.
               Morris has been on a trajectory of estrangement from his wife and daughters for some time; the son’s death is too much to handle gracefully and his wife breaks off entirely and Morris moves out.
               There’s a concept in fiction writing known as verisimilitude. The basic idea is that a writer creates a world; that world bears similarities to the real world but is also unique, so that in writing, for instance, a Roadrunner episode, Wiley Coyote is not expected to act as real world coyotes do, but must behave in a believable fashion for the character and the setting the author has created. Characters “believability” hinges on the author’s ability to submerge him/herself into the milieu of his creation and to transmit faithfully to the reader verisimilitudinous characters and actions.
               The matter with The Matter with Morris is that Bergen fails to achieve verisimilitude. Morris does things that are both bizarre in relation to his situation, but are pointless in the advancement of the plot. Drawing out all his assets in cash and buying a safe to store the $300,000 plus proceeds in his apartment is a case in point. This kind of plot whimsy pales, however, in comparison to the behaviour of the minor characters who are super nice for no apparent reason and super critical, also for no apparent reason—and sometimes both at the same time. Then there’s the prostitute he hires only to discover that she’s his son’s one-time friend and a former guest in his home. Bizarre and irrelevant.
               If Bergen had written Hamlet, Ophelia would have been discovered not to have drowned after all, would marry Hamlet after the disposing of Claudius and the reconciliation of mother and son, Polonius would have recovered from the sword thrust to his vitals and Denmark would have been launched on the road to greatness—with copious apologies all ‘round and pledges to do better.
               My advice: give this one a miss.
               Oprah’s Book Club recommends A Virtuous Woman, but I try not to let that stop me from reading a novel. Gibbons’ second novel, it’s set in the south of the USA where landowners rent plots to rag-tag sharecroppers and migrant workers survive by working the fields, sheltering in shacks for night. The “virtuous woman” is the daughter of landowners. As a teenager, she is seduced by a handsome ne’er-do-well who beats her, abuses her psychologically and then abandons her. She’s subsequently “traded”; her father strikes a deal with a migrant worker to give him a small property that he can share crop if he’ll marry Ruby.
               The story is narrated by Ruby Pitt and her second husband, Blinking Jack Stokes until the last chapter where a third person narrator completes it out of necessity. Like Bergen with Morris, Gibbons’ task here is to make Ruby live for the reader as a character deserving of our empathy. In general, she is much more successful than is Bergen. My only reservation would be that motivation is not as clearly drawn as it might be; Ruby’s descent into the madness of a futile marriage is explained by her as something of an infatuation. At the same time, she’s full of praise for the household she’s abandoning, parents who are loving and dependable, a Nanny/housekeeper who is efficient and respected.
But then, pretty girls falling for bad boys is new neither to reality nor fiction. Think Lorna Doone.
A pretty woman is the central character in Barry Sebastian’s The Secret Scripture as well. Like Ruby, her downfall comes at the hands of a reprobate husband, not one that abuses her but one who succumbs to the pressure of a tyrannical Catholic mother to annul his marriage to this child of Presbyterians. Left pregnant and destitute in Sligo in Ireland, a series of circumstances lands her in an institution and when we first meet her, she is a very old woman in yet another institution painfully scratching out her life story on sheets of paper she hides under the floorboards.
Like Gibbons, Barry uses the technique of two narrators simultaneously telling the same story, one being the hapless Roseanne McNulty and the other, a doctor in the nursing home charged with assessing residents for relocation when the old building in which they live will be demolished. Barry masterfully draws out these two characters as he reveals the chasms between what is real and what is remembered by both.
The Secret Scripture requires some suspension of disbelief; it’s hard to imagine a woman of the age and decrepitude of Old Roseanne writing what she writes and how much she writes. This, however, is not much of a hurdle. Verisimilitude: the characters are true to the milieu in which Barry has placed them.

If you’re looking for your next novel read, I’d highly recommend finding The Secret Scripture. Barry is a masterful storyteller and his success as a playwright is evident in scene setting and in dialogue. I can’t help but place him in a long line of superb Irish writers like James Joyce, Dylan Thomas and T.S. O’Rourke to name a few.
I’d also recommend A Virtuous Woman, but with some reservation. I think I should have read two other items first: her first, award winning novel, Ellen Foster, and the biographical notes at http://www.startribune.com/entertainment/books/11381306.html?refer=y. Gibbons is purportedly an author whose novels are more autobiographical than most.
David Bergen, of course, is Canadian and his latest novel, The Age of Hope made it to the top five in the Canada Reads event on CBC and the web just concluded.