Politics. Discussing politics whether they be identity, cultural or governmental can be a bit of a minefield. People that you care about can turn out to have political ideals that offend or frighten you and change the way you look at them forever. Fights can break out, friendships can be destroyed, relationships can be broken, reputations damaged beyond repair. For all these reasons a lot of people do not discuss politics just as they don’t discuss religion. Politics, especially identity politics, become the elephant in the room, the presence of it cannot be denied but the discussion of it is stifled and repressed, made invisible. Of course this is mostly for the benefit of those that belong to the dominant group, so that they won’t be uncomfortable when discussing politics in which they are the privileged part of the equation. This effectively silences marginalized people positioning them as a “troublemaker” if they break the enforced silence.
Diane Burns’ poem Sure You Can Ask Me A Personal Question takes this forced invisibility of identity to task. She plops us into the middle of a conversation and only allows us to hear one side of it, her side, the side that matters to her. In this case she has reversed the silence and made the dominant position the one that is rendered unable to speak for itself. In this case her words take prominence and are the only ones that give us any context for the conversation taking place in this way she shapes the whole of the conversation. We are taken out of the world in which every conversation is in some way shaped by the white heteronormative patriarchal society in which we live and instead she becomes the shaper, she is in control of if not the direction of the conversation itself then in our perception and understanding of it for sure.
In the beginning of the poem she uses repetition to build up the momentum and emotion to a fever pitch.
No, I’m not Chinese.
No, not Spanish.
No, I’m American Indi—uh, Native American.
No, not from India.
No, we’re not extinct.
No, not Navajo.
No, not Sioux.
Yes, Indian.
The calmness of these replies, the stillness and steadiness point to the fact that this is not the first or second or even third time she’s had to answer these types of questions. These are questions that she has had to deal with numerous times before and the answers turn into a rote response to an interrogation of identity. The hesitation when identifying herself as American Indian is unexplained at first and then with the next line becomes clear. This is a part of the conversation she was hoping to avoid this time but she does not get to. Then with the break of the repetitious “No” beginning is a affirmation of her Indian identity and yet at the same time it’s not the identity she actually presents. She calls herself “Native American” and only by going back to an identifier that many Native folks have chosen to throw off as a name placed upon them by colonialists can she make her identity understood by the dominant culture.
The whole thing made me think of the politics of silence and the politics of naming. Who chooses who speaks? Who chooses who is silenced? Who chooses what we are called? What if no one acknowledges the name that you claim?
Diane Burns’ poem Sure You Can Ask Me A Personal Question takes this forced invisibility of identity to task. She plops us into the middle of a conversation and only allows us to hear one side of it, her side, the side that matters to her. In this case she has reversed the silence and made the dominant position the one that is rendered unable to speak for itself. In this case her words take prominence and are the only ones that give us any context for the conversation taking place in this way she shapes the whole of the conversation. We are taken out of the world in which every conversation is in some way shaped by the white heteronormative patriarchal society in which we live and instead she becomes the shaper, she is in control of if not the direction of the conversation itself then in our perception and understanding of it for sure.
In the beginning of the poem she uses repetition to build up the momentum and emotion to a fever pitch.
No, I’m not Chinese.
No, not Spanish.
No, I’m American Indi—uh, Native American.
No, not from India.
No, we’re not extinct.
No, not Navajo.
No, not Sioux.
Yes, Indian.
The calmness of these replies, the stillness and steadiness point to the fact that this is not the first or second or even third time she’s had to answer these types of questions. These are questions that she has had to deal with numerous times before and the answers turn into a rote response to an interrogation of identity. The hesitation when identifying herself as American Indian is unexplained at first and then with the next line becomes clear. This is a part of the conversation she was hoping to avoid this time but she does not get to. Then with the break of the repetitious “No” beginning is a affirmation of her Indian identity and yet at the same time it’s not the identity she actually presents. She calls herself “Native American” and only by going back to an identifier that many Native folks have chosen to throw off as a name placed upon them by colonialists can she make her identity understood by the dominant culture.
The whole thing made me think of the politics of silence and the politics of naming. Who chooses who speaks? Who chooses who is silenced? Who chooses what we are called? What if no one acknowledges the name that you claim?
that's it?
ReplyDeleteokay is political the same as confrontational?
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It seems like political is sometimes forced to be confrontational--as naamen points out, the voices raised that may threaten the position/comfort of a dominant group are often labeled as "trouble making." so is there a space to bring up issues that make people uncomfortable without initiating confrontation.
ReplyDeletemaybe we need some new terms here. does political assume there are opposing sides? and does anything that implies the existence of more than one (ei. identity politics) fall under that which is political?
furthermore, what is meant by confrontation? Does it have to mean noise, or can it be subtle, suggestive, communicative? many of the poets we have read this week might not be readily identified as political because they are not "confronting" an easily identifiable group or set of ideas, but they are still addressing issues that are often categorized as politcal--class, war, etc.
ah more things for the grad glossary
ReplyDeleteWho is made uncomfortable in confrontation speaks directly of political relationships. Her list of the things she is not (and it is clear she has had to correct these mistaken identities many times) exposes the ignorance of the dominant culture - the laziness of not having to know, the distinction among cultures being a curiosity rather than a requirement of interaction. And the fact that her heritage is not in the list of what is guessed speaks to the ferocious attempt by White invaders at cultural annihilation, that Native Americans are nevertheless surviving.
ReplyDeleteI am curious about where positioning is located in relation to identity/politics. That poetry by choice of where it locates itself evokes or rejects multiple simultaneous reaction from the reader.
ReplyDeleteWhile the poem may intent to make a reader uncomfortable, mark a particular struggle or reframe a relationship to language or history, the reader's reaction is the reader's responsibility. If the reader is confronted by a poem it is still the reader that must sort out their own idea, position and identity in relation to their perception of the work. And although the reader might say the work felt confrontational that may or may not be the poem's intention. The poem may feel familiar to someone else.
So perhaps what is labeled confrontation is closer to a shift, transition or examination of location that can be shaped through differing poetic routes... can't wait to hear what others think & or if a new term is a brewin!