Since entering the critical lexicon, subaltern has ironically returned to its etymological roots. The word derives from the Latin alternus (alternate) and the prefix sub (under). In the language of the late empire, subalternus had emerged in military usage to define mid-level officers, and was incorporated into modern British military discourse. The principle meaning as defined by the OED has been generalized to “of inferior rank”; interestingly, in the study of logic, the term refers to a concept as “particular, not universal”, an interpretation Spivak was to further elaborate. Importantly, within grammatical terms, subaltern is both a noun – an entity representing itself – and an adjective – connoting an ontological link with an Other which defines it.
Most academics – principally the notorious Kindly Ones of Ashcroft, Griffiths, and Tiffin – locate the incorporation of subaltern into the critical lexicon within the work of Antonio Gramsci in reference to his studies, beginning in the mid-1930s, of Italian social history. He argued for the importance of the histories of those groups who remained outside of elite political structures whose hegemonic position were constituted a priori as the subjects of and for history. The politically disenfranchised, Gramsci argued, were themselves important historiographical subjects, whose cultures and political motivations (conscious or not) were as influential as those of the elite few. Their history could not be as easily traced, especially using the narrative methodology of conventional historical discourse which limited analysis to the loci of power. The subordinate are (anti)subjects in the sense that their historical trace is sporadic and sometimes contradictory, as their agency and in particular their means of self-representation is by definition circumscribed by those “in” power.
Subaltern entered post-colonial and literary criticism by means of the Subaltern Studies group of South Asian historians, and more principally by Gayatri Spivak who contributed to their publishings. The group’s examination of the subaltern follows Gramsci in believing that academicism was itself tied to hegemonic elitism: “the nominating authority is none other than an ideology for which the life of the state is all there is to history” (Guha 1), with obvious consequences to concepts of nationality and national identity. Spivak sought to problematize subaltern identity in “Can the Subaltern Speak?”, which challenged the commitment of the Subaltern Studies group to the capacity of the subaltern subject for self-representation. Citing Foucault, Spivak in “A Literary Representation of the Subaltern” posits the discourse – and thus the means for the actualization of self-identity – of the subaltern as inherently dependent on their subject-position in relation to the hegemonic localization of power: “I remain troubled by anything that claims to have nothing to do with its opposition” (92-3). In the Foucauldian sense, the ‘statements’ of the subaltern – the means by which the subaltern understands its own position – are contained within the power-locus of the elite. Such ‘énonciations’ in discourse by the subaltern are not autonomous from the political project which reinforces hegemonic power structures, but alternately they remain ‘assigned’ within its boundaries. Discourse within conventional terms stemming from Enlightenment rationality requires a homogenous and universalized subject-position from which the ‘function of existence’ of language would allow understanding amongst all the participants. The subaltern subject is ontologically dislocalized and cannot be effectively collectivized, and is therefore incapable of truly authentic self-representation. Shetty and Bellamy further problematize the subaltern by engendering it, as Spivak herself had done in the third and fourth sections of “Can the Subaltern Speak?”, emphasizing the numerous locations where power (or lack thereof) and capacity for representation intersect. The subaltern subject, multitudinous and inherently duplicitous to itself, cannot be condensed to a single experience/event of self-representation, and accordingly Spivak ends her article with the terse statement: “the subaltern cannot speak” (104).
The violence experienced by the subaltern by their lack of self-representability is perhaps not solely the epistemic violence of the act of institutionalized silencing, but also an archival violence in the sense Derrida makes in Archive Fever. The disharmony between a subject’s pragmatic experience and their means for (self) representation is the fracture between memory and institutionalization – itself the process of creating an archive, which is both the historical (and historiographical) trace as well as the codification of law, discourse, and behavioural norms. The inability for self-representation by the subaltern is precisely the site of archival violence as “the place of originary and structural breakdown” and thus the violation of “that which is remembered” (Derrida 14) by elite discourse. In a very real sense the subaltern subject is not textually locatable within the archive of elite discourse, which is itself appropriated (consciously or not) into discourse by the marginalized. Consequently the subaltern is always-already defined as a silenced entity within its own discourse.
Works Cited
Ashcroft, Bill, Gareth Griffiths, and Helen Tiffin. Post-Colonial Studies: The Key Concepts. New York: Routledge, 2000.
Derrida, Jacques. Archive Fever. Trans. Eric Prenowitz. Chicago: U of Chicago Press, 1996.
Guha, Ranajit. “The Small Voice of History”. Subaltern Studies IX. Ed. Shahid Amin & Dipesh Chakrabarty. Delhi: Oxford U Press: 1996.
Shetty, Sandhya and Elizabeth Bellamy. “Postcolonialism’s Archive Fever”. Diacritics 30.1 (2000): 25-48.
Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. “A Literary Representation of the Subaltern: Mahasweta Devi’s ‘Stanadayini’”. Subaltern Studies V. Ed. Ranajit Guha. New York: Oxford U Press, 1987.
–––– “Can the Subaltern Speak?”. English 3QQ3 coursepack, 1999. Ed. Dan Coleman. 401-23.
Tuesday, November 26, 2002
Monday, November 25, 2002
Manitoba - Start Breaking My Heart
MANITOBA
Start Breaking My Heart
[Leaf, 2001 / Domino, 2003]
This wonderful release is actually a reissue of the SBMY album from 2001 along with tracks from a subsequent ep. Dundas native Dan Snaith just couldn’t find support from Canadian labels for his brand of melodic beats, and subsequently moved to London. It is a tragedy that North American listeners still cannot conceive of electronic composition separate from the club scene, as some of the best producers at work today hail from our shores, and are producing work exponentially greater than the simple 4/4 of, ahem, “genre pioneers” like Moby and the Chemical Bros.
Fans of the Warp and Ninja Tune rosters will recognize Manitoba’s lazy-yet-busy grooves and fluid melodic passages, while Mille Plateaux sympathizers will appreciate Snaith’s glitchy textural aesthetics. Several of the tracks betray his jazz and classical roots, with contrapuntal harmonic and melodic phrases oscillating in the mix, while the complex rhythms owe more to Art Blakey than a 303. The best of accessible electronica.
MP3: Manitoba - Paul's Birthday
Tuesday, November 05, 2002
The Canadians of Old
The Canadians of Old is widely regarded as a keystone for Canadian literature, for it united French and English reading communities, at least in the commercial terms of the novel’s popularity. Early translations – the first appearing only a year after the novel’s original publication – were marred by overly melodramatic prose and textual exclusions. De Gaspé’s voluminous notes and explanations, for example, were usually excised from English editions. I myself would argue that the French and English texts served not to unify a culturally heterogeneous population, but rather to demonstrate the anxiety and tension of co-habitation. Perhaps more importantly, however, The Canadians of Old serves as a foundation for a new Canadian national literature because it is among the first texts to critically examine an important historical occurrence which was subsequently to define a national identity. It should be noted, however, that I wish to examine identity itself as in a sense a constellation of forms rather than a monolithic entity. For, as de Gaspé’s text demonstrates, the ambiguities, paradoxes, inaccuracies, and most importantly the exclusion and glossing of “otherness” themselves serve to reify and create the oscillating presence which is national identity.
So who were these Canadians of old? What defines them as a people, distinct from the English and the French, and of course, as I will later elucidate, the Aboriginal peoples? It is interesting to note that more information can be gleaned from the text as to what the Canadians are not, rather than what exactly they are. Putting aside Aboriginal claims to the title, it is clear that Canadians as defined by the text are for the most part French-speaking land owners and tenants. English speakers are exclusively British subjects, and of course one must remain aware of the publication date for de Gaspé’s text, which predates Confederation. Therefore we can understand that English speakers will remain tied to their empire, while French-speaking persons born in North America will become a unique nationality separate from the Imperial claims of France itself. De Gaspé remains clear as to the origin of this difference, as he repeatedly refers to “the indifferent Louis XV” (177) who ignored the plight of New France, especially during the Seven Years War. As an historical aside, such indifference can be best attributed to France’s continental obligations, as well as the vast superiority of the English naval fleet, rather than the callous disregard of the country’s monarchy. This sense of abandonment, of weakness, can be seen to inform de Gaspé’s valorization of Canadian fighters at the beginning of chapter twelve: “You have been misunderstood, my Canadian brothers of old! You have been falsely besmirched .... Shame on us who, instead of exploring the ancient chronicles of our race’s heroic deeds, we’re content to bow our heads beneath the humiliating reproach of being a conquered people .... Shame on us who are mortified to be Canadians!” (151). The rhetoric here phrased seems to be the manifestation of the famed inferiority complex of Canadian national (stereotyped) identity. Therefore, Canadians can be seen to be defined by their opposition, which would have been seen as insurmountable. It is here that de Gaspé distances the English-speakers from the French, for during the 1759 war, the repulsion of English forces by the Quebequois is described as a “Victory ... most dearly bought by the French and the Canadians” (180).
Perhaps even more importantly than their status as non-British, Canadian national identity, at least in cultural terms, is defined by de Gaspé along aristocratic lines. Such is to be expected perhaps, for the author was himself descended from New France’s aristocratic families. Yet the novel in its entirety suggests a nostalgic return to the ancien régime, with the subtext that the seigneurial system followed God’s will. In an ontologically prescient manner, the very landscape – its beauty, fertility, and economic potential – are linked a priori with aristocratic privilege. Jules, in conversation with Archibald, correlates the nostalgic sentimentality of his youth with his later ability to profit from the land of his birth: “I love everything about this place ... it never seems as beautiful anywhere else. I love this stream that I used to turn the little wheels I called my mills “94). Indeed, birth associated with privilege defines human potential and moral character: “In terms of character, Seigneur d’Haberville possessed all the qualities that distinguished the old Canadian noblesse” (95). It is within this space – the definition of aristocracy which subsequently implies a national identity – where several paradoxes emerge in de Gaspé’s thought. For while Canadians are themselves defined by their French heritage – Jules, for example, remarks that “if the French lose Canada, most of the Canadian noblesse will probably emigrate to France where they have friends and protection” (189), and of course with nobility goes culture – simultaneous to this French heritage is the recognition of a shared culture amongst the aristocracy regardless of their country of origin. Such can first be identified by de Gaspé’s epithets, many of which are from British authors, but more importantly they signify a universal reading culture to which members of the aristocracy have almost exclusive privilege. This shared, alomst contractual, culture is of course reified in the relationship between Jules and Archibald, who are depicted as brothers from childhood who attended school together.
Consequently, de Gaspé’s depiction of the English is fraught with paradoxical relations. For while they are numerously depicted as brutish and uncompassionate, particularly during the destruction of Saint-Jean-Port-Joli in chapter twelve – Major Montgomerie in particular is portrayed as unmerciful and violent – simultaneously British rule was, in a sense very real to de Gaspé, a blessing in disguise, for as on page 151: “we may have benefited from the cessation of Canada, for the Revolution of ‘93 with all its horrors barely touched this fortunate colony, then under British flag”. The horros to which he refers are of course the plebeian rejection of the of the aristocratic system in France, during which many nobles lost their property, if not indeed their lives. Within this context, we can determine de Gaspé’s valuation of proper national existence. Order is maintained within the post-feudal system of the seigneuries, where the privilege of the aristocracy is granted in lieu of a contract to protect those whom they oversee. Like a father sheltering his children, the seigneurs must protect those under their guard, for as the narrator says on page 203, “It is the privilege of well-born persons to treat their inferiors with unfailing respect”. The d’Habervilles maintained this civil order, and consequently they “experienced fewer hardships than many in their position, for they were loved and respected by the censitaires, and had never suffered the humiliations that the common people are want to heap upon their superiors in distress” (203). The habitants give their labour wholeheartedly to the task of rebuilding the estate and their homes. They are themselves a superstitious group which lacks the insights gained by civility and are thus contented with a simple existence: “Our habitants aren’t so fussy as we are, nor are their palates so jaded. I’m sure their meals, washed down with a few shots of brandy, leave them nothing to wish for” (103). It is their duty to sublimate themselves to the seigneurial order. Indeed, duty is all important for de Gaspé, as it provides the moral imperative for the hierarchization of the populace. Simultaneously, however, he is not uncritical of the performance of duty which is blindly executed, as Archie’s actions demonstrate: “my life was poisoned by remorse since that fatal day when the inescapable duty of a junior officer forced me to carry out heart-sickening acts of vandalism” (205). Yet captain d’Haberville comes to understand this impulse, and soon forgives Archiibald of his transgression.
The institution of the monarchy holds such a (ir)rationally stratified body politic together, and consequently the d’Habervilles pledge their allegiance to the English king. Says captain d’Haberville, “Serve your new sovereign as loyally as I have served the king of France” (248) Notably, this phrase is uttered before the passing of the old guard, the ancien régime, which the captain represents. That the English retained their monarchy while the French king was beheaded in the Revolution speaks to de Gaspé’s allegiances. French Canada, and by extension the Canadians, will likely prosper under British rule if they accomodate themselves, much as within the Scottish had, in opposition to the economic and social ruin which the Irish experienced by resisting Britain. It is likely that de Gaspé’s desire to accede to the British monarchy allowed the proliferation of the English translation of his novel. Indeed, by the end of the text, Jules has himself married an Englishwoman, and rightly enters into peaceful cohabitation with the English aristocracy. De Gaspé resists simple objections that the Canadiens – the French – are a defeated people by suggesting that they willingly returned to the feudal order under British rule. For example, Jules’s statement on page 239 that “our habitants have traded their muskets for the plough. They’re opening up new land – and in a few years this seigneurie will be bringing in a healthy return. With the help of my modest legacy, we’ll soon be as rich as we were before the conquest”. Additionally, the process of imperial conquest does contain a reciprocity, as earlier noted. Within the narrative, this is achieved primarily through Archibald, who aids the d’Habervilles on numerous occasions, namely by convincing the English governor to grant the family a reprieve from expulsion to France. Less dramatically however, Archie’s love of Jules momentarily unites the French and the English during the war. The French and Canadian soldiers “were so moved at seeing the Englishman tend their young officer that they never even thought of harming him” (181). It is Archie’s aristocratic nature – his bravery, strength, and determined initiative – which here transcends nationality. The true connection of l’Anglais and the French is young Archibald d’Haberville, who, reflecting Archie’s earlier statement that childhood is “the time when true wisdom is known” (214), sees the entirety of the narrative (the text as work) as well as the history of his family within the dancing embers of the fireplace: “a small group of men, women, and children walking, dancing, jumping, rising and falling – and now suddenly everything’s disappeared” (252). Here we can see de Gaspé’s greatest paradox, for while his novel posits the successful integration of the French into the English empire, in his old age it seems that he believes that the Canadian spirit itself, once tied to strict religious custom – Catholicism – has weakened over time: “Some of our nineteenth-century Christians appear embarrassed by a religious act performed in public. At the very least, this shows either a narrow or cowardly mind” (22-3). Certainly these are not aristocratic virtues, which explains de Gaspé’s nostalgic attempts at reverie in the Canadians of his fictionalized history.
So who were these Canadians of old? What defines them as a people, distinct from the English and the French, and of course, as I will later elucidate, the Aboriginal peoples? It is interesting to note that more information can be gleaned from the text as to what the Canadians are not, rather than what exactly they are. Putting aside Aboriginal claims to the title, it is clear that Canadians as defined by the text are for the most part French-speaking land owners and tenants. English speakers are exclusively British subjects, and of course one must remain aware of the publication date for de Gaspé’s text, which predates Confederation. Therefore we can understand that English speakers will remain tied to their empire, while French-speaking persons born in North America will become a unique nationality separate from the Imperial claims of France itself. De Gaspé remains clear as to the origin of this difference, as he repeatedly refers to “the indifferent Louis XV” (177) who ignored the plight of New France, especially during the Seven Years War. As an historical aside, such indifference can be best attributed to France’s continental obligations, as well as the vast superiority of the English naval fleet, rather than the callous disregard of the country’s monarchy. This sense of abandonment, of weakness, can be seen to inform de Gaspé’s valorization of Canadian fighters at the beginning of chapter twelve: “You have been misunderstood, my Canadian brothers of old! You have been falsely besmirched .... Shame on us who, instead of exploring the ancient chronicles of our race’s heroic deeds, we’re content to bow our heads beneath the humiliating reproach of being a conquered people .... Shame on us who are mortified to be Canadians!” (151). The rhetoric here phrased seems to be the manifestation of the famed inferiority complex of Canadian national (stereotyped) identity. Therefore, Canadians can be seen to be defined by their opposition, which would have been seen as insurmountable. It is here that de Gaspé distances the English-speakers from the French, for during the 1759 war, the repulsion of English forces by the Quebequois is described as a “Victory ... most dearly bought by the French and the Canadians” (180).
Perhaps even more importantly than their status as non-British, Canadian national identity, at least in cultural terms, is defined by de Gaspé along aristocratic lines. Such is to be expected perhaps, for the author was himself descended from New France’s aristocratic families. Yet the novel in its entirety suggests a nostalgic return to the ancien régime, with the subtext that the seigneurial system followed God’s will. In an ontologically prescient manner, the very landscape – its beauty, fertility, and economic potential – are linked a priori with aristocratic privilege. Jules, in conversation with Archibald, correlates the nostalgic sentimentality of his youth with his later ability to profit from the land of his birth: “I love everything about this place ... it never seems as beautiful anywhere else. I love this stream that I used to turn the little wheels I called my mills “94). Indeed, birth associated with privilege defines human potential and moral character: “In terms of character, Seigneur d’Haberville possessed all the qualities that distinguished the old Canadian noblesse” (95). It is within this space – the definition of aristocracy which subsequently implies a national identity – where several paradoxes emerge in de Gaspé’s thought. For while Canadians are themselves defined by their French heritage – Jules, for example, remarks that “if the French lose Canada, most of the Canadian noblesse will probably emigrate to France where they have friends and protection” (189), and of course with nobility goes culture – simultaneous to this French heritage is the recognition of a shared culture amongst the aristocracy regardless of their country of origin. Such can first be identified by de Gaspé’s epithets, many of which are from British authors, but more importantly they signify a universal reading culture to which members of the aristocracy have almost exclusive privilege. This shared, alomst contractual, culture is of course reified in the relationship between Jules and Archibald, who are depicted as brothers from childhood who attended school together.
Consequently, de Gaspé’s depiction of the English is fraught with paradoxical relations. For while they are numerously depicted as brutish and uncompassionate, particularly during the destruction of Saint-Jean-Port-Joli in chapter twelve – Major Montgomerie in particular is portrayed as unmerciful and violent – simultaneously British rule was, in a sense very real to de Gaspé, a blessing in disguise, for as on page 151: “we may have benefited from the cessation of Canada, for the Revolution of ‘93 with all its horrors barely touched this fortunate colony, then under British flag”. The horros to which he refers are of course the plebeian rejection of the of the aristocratic system in France, during which many nobles lost their property, if not indeed their lives. Within this context, we can determine de Gaspé’s valuation of proper national existence. Order is maintained within the post-feudal system of the seigneuries, where the privilege of the aristocracy is granted in lieu of a contract to protect those whom they oversee. Like a father sheltering his children, the seigneurs must protect those under their guard, for as the narrator says on page 203, “It is the privilege of well-born persons to treat their inferiors with unfailing respect”. The d’Habervilles maintained this civil order, and consequently they “experienced fewer hardships than many in their position, for they were loved and respected by the censitaires, and had never suffered the humiliations that the common people are want to heap upon their superiors in distress” (203). The habitants give their labour wholeheartedly to the task of rebuilding the estate and their homes. They are themselves a superstitious group which lacks the insights gained by civility and are thus contented with a simple existence: “Our habitants aren’t so fussy as we are, nor are their palates so jaded. I’m sure their meals, washed down with a few shots of brandy, leave them nothing to wish for” (103). It is their duty to sublimate themselves to the seigneurial order. Indeed, duty is all important for de Gaspé, as it provides the moral imperative for the hierarchization of the populace. Simultaneously, however, he is not uncritical of the performance of duty which is blindly executed, as Archie’s actions demonstrate: “my life was poisoned by remorse since that fatal day when the inescapable duty of a junior officer forced me to carry out heart-sickening acts of vandalism” (205). Yet captain d’Haberville comes to understand this impulse, and soon forgives Archiibald of his transgression.
The institution of the monarchy holds such a (ir)rationally stratified body politic together, and consequently the d’Habervilles pledge their allegiance to the English king. Says captain d’Haberville, “Serve your new sovereign as loyally as I have served the king of France” (248) Notably, this phrase is uttered before the passing of the old guard, the ancien régime, which the captain represents. That the English retained their monarchy while the French king was beheaded in the Revolution speaks to de Gaspé’s allegiances. French Canada, and by extension the Canadians, will likely prosper under British rule if they accomodate themselves, much as within the Scottish had, in opposition to the economic and social ruin which the Irish experienced by resisting Britain. It is likely that de Gaspé’s desire to accede to the British monarchy allowed the proliferation of the English translation of his novel. Indeed, by the end of the text, Jules has himself married an Englishwoman, and rightly enters into peaceful cohabitation with the English aristocracy. De Gaspé resists simple objections that the Canadiens – the French – are a defeated people by suggesting that they willingly returned to the feudal order under British rule. For example, Jules’s statement on page 239 that “our habitants have traded their muskets for the plough. They’re opening up new land – and in a few years this seigneurie will be bringing in a healthy return. With the help of my modest legacy, we’ll soon be as rich as we were before the conquest”. Additionally, the process of imperial conquest does contain a reciprocity, as earlier noted. Within the narrative, this is achieved primarily through Archibald, who aids the d’Habervilles on numerous occasions, namely by convincing the English governor to grant the family a reprieve from expulsion to France. Less dramatically however, Archie’s love of Jules momentarily unites the French and the English during the war. The French and Canadian soldiers “were so moved at seeing the Englishman tend their young officer that they never even thought of harming him” (181). It is Archie’s aristocratic nature – his bravery, strength, and determined initiative – which here transcends nationality. The true connection of l’Anglais and the French is young Archibald d’Haberville, who, reflecting Archie’s earlier statement that childhood is “the time when true wisdom is known” (214), sees the entirety of the narrative (the text as work) as well as the history of his family within the dancing embers of the fireplace: “a small group of men, women, and children walking, dancing, jumping, rising and falling – and now suddenly everything’s disappeared” (252). Here we can see de Gaspé’s greatest paradox, for while his novel posits the successful integration of the French into the English empire, in his old age it seems that he believes that the Canadian spirit itself, once tied to strict religious custom – Catholicism – has weakened over time: “Some of our nineteenth-century Christians appear embarrassed by a religious act performed in public. At the very least, this shows either a narrow or cowardly mind” (22-3). Certainly these are not aristocratic virtues, which explains de Gaspé’s nostalgic attempts at reverie in the Canadians of his fictionalized history.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)