TRANSNATIONAL AMERICAS:

HOME(S), BORDERS AND

TRANSGRESSIONS

Edited by

Réka M. Cristian

Zoltán Dragon

and András Lénárt

TRANSNATIONAL AMERICAS:

HOME(S), BORDERS AND

TRANSGRESSIONS

Edited by

Réka M. Cristian

Zoltán Dragon

and András Lénárt

cc 2019 Szeged, AMERICANA eBooks

General editors: Réka M. Cristian & Zoltán Dragon

cc Réka M. Cristian, Zoltán Dragon, and András Lénárt

ISBN: 978-963-306-612-6 (.mobi); 978-963-306-611-9 (.epub);

978-963-306-610-2 (PoD)

Cover and book design: Zoltán Dragon

AMERICANA eBooks is a division of AMERICANA – E-Journal of American Studies in Hungary, published by the Department of American Studies,

University of Szeged, Hungary.

http://ebooks.americanaejournal.hu

This book is released under the Creative Commons 3.0 – Attribution – NonCommercial – NoDerivs 3.0 (CC BY-NC-ND 3.0) licene. For more information, visit: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/deed.hu

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

Réka M. Cristian, Zoltán Dragon and András Lénárt

Writing on the Margins of Sound and Sight: Augusto de Campos and Transnational Poetic Traditions

Enikő Bollobás

Borderlands in Sandra Cisneros’s Short Story Collections The House on Mango Street and Woman Hollering Creek

Aleksandra Izgarjan and Sanja Čukić

“Black Is Beautiful”: Black Atlantic Experience and the Black Female Body in Toni Morrison’s God Help the Child (2015)

Ágnes Zsófia Kovács

Transgressing the Uncanny: Representations of the Unfamiliar Home in Cristina García’s The Agüero Sisters

Eva-Maria Trinkaus

Boundaries, Bridges, Becomings: Interspecies Politics in Contemporary Performance Arts

Anna Kérchy

Possibilities of Being at Home on American Soil: the Concept of Home in Toni Morrison’s Novels

Eszter Enikő Mohácsi

Images of Mexico in the Texts of Two Female Travellers at the Beginning of the 20th Century

Mónika Szente-Varga

Butch Cassidy in Bolivia: The Dissolution of Colonial Hierarchies and the Strengthening of Neocolonial Power Relations as Presented in Mateo Gil’s Film Blackthorn (2011)

Marek Paryz

Borderlands and Humorous Transgressions in Machete (2010) and Machete Kills (2013)

Zsófia Anna Tóth

Strangers to Ourselves: A Multi-Disciplinary Approach to Uncovering the Other Within

Dominique Rey

Warhaftige Historia der Wilden Menschfresser Leuterr: Discovering the Americas in Early Modern Hungary

Ildikó Sz. Kristóf

A Jesuit from Central Europe in Paraguay: The Role of Ferenc Limp in the Campaign Against Guaraní Indians

Dóra Babarczi

Urban Creativity Practices in São Paulo

Kata Murányi

Indian Diaspora in the World: The Caribbean Region

Éva Emese Szalai

Transnationalism and Resistance: The Border at the 49th Parallel, the Vietnam Resister, Then and Now

Mary Ann Steggles

Home(s), Borders, and Transgressions – The Story Told by Inscription Rock

Andrea Kökény

The Dreamers’ invisible border

Anna Bartnik

The Forbidden Fruit Is Cuba isolated?

Tamás Rózsás

Between Emigration and Immigration: Changing Trends and Policies in Chile

Béla Soltész

The North African Frontier in U.S. History (?) Historical Aspects of the American Barbary Captivity Narratives, 1788–1829

Zsolt Palotás

Transgressing Strategic Borders: Soviet-American Nuclear Spying in 1945

Zoltán Cora

Contributors

INTRODUCTION

RÉKA M. CRISTIAN, ZOLTÁN DRAGON AND ANDRÁS LÉNÁRT

From early times on, the concept of the border and home in the Americas was continuously changing, denoting sometimes ephemeral boundaries and temporary locations. Throughout the history, the westward expansion in the U.S.A. as well as the independence wars in Central and South America relativized the concept of dividing lines and homes, respectively. With time, the geographical frontiers of the continent’s countries together with the politically symbolic demarcations gained additional meanings and while in some cases borderlines emphasized actual separation between states, in other cases they pointed only at the historical heritage of a given region. Moreover, geographic, political, economic and cultural borders both separate and connect American countries; the transnational migration tendencies of the 20th and 21st centuries show that the home-searching process still goes on with the peoples of the Americas finding their new habitats on the same continent―but in another country.

Nevertheless, the peoples of the Americas stood and still stand in close connection with each other; Latin American nations and the society of the U.S.A. and Canada are in constant interaction having their past, present and future tied together. Our conference is seeking answers and possible solutions to several questions related to the concept of border and home throughout a spectrum of disciplines including history, literature, theater, film and performance studies, linguistics, cultural history, digital and visual culture, ethnography, anthropology, migration and minority studies, etc. These questions involve, among many similar others, the following aspects: What does the concept of home denote in each country of the Americas? Is today relevant to talk about borders at all? Or of homes in the American context? Or should we formulate other concepts in rethinking the issue of boundaries, borders, frontiers, demarcation and crossings? And what does Americanness mean in the context of homes and borders? What does it mean today to be American?

The focus of the Transnational Americas: Home(s), Borders and Transgressions volume is to gather the results of research from universities and research centers worldwide involving various approaches focusing on the concepts of home and borders by providing a broad, multidisciplinary discussion on the topic. The authors of the following essays aim to explore boundaries of different kinds involving migrations across geographical locations as well as the borderlands of identities and lives connected with the notion of home placed in a transnational, inter-American context.

WRITING ON THE MARGINS OF SOUND AND SIGHT:

AUGUSTO DE CAMPOS AND TRANSNATIONAL POETIC TRADITIONS

ENIKŐ BOLLOBÁS

This is how legendary Brazilian poet Augusto de Campos described the role of poetry in a recent talk:

In a world where words often seem to have worn out in discourses that spread hate, race discrimination and stimulate social selfishness, perhaps poetry can be an oasis of meditation and sensibility. Who knows if the poetic speculations, even if seemingly inutilitary, deserve no greater appreciation, in order not only to bring beauty, but to combat the sclerosis of language and to show examples of freedom in experimentation and the unforeseen. (“Acceptance Speech”)

Citing Mayakovsky—that all poetry is a journey into the unknown—, Campos suggests that this trip “may have a more necessary meaning than the apparent one. By putting emphasis on changing and not just expressing, perhaps poetry, in some way, may […] help to resensitize us before the ‘unanswered questions’ of our existence.” These words—which I have taken from the speech given by Campos when accepting the Janus Pannonius Grand Prize for Poetry, also called the Nobel Prize for Poetry, in Pécs, Hungary, September 2017—give, I believe, a valid transcript of the poet’s summa vitae.

Augusto de Campos, accepting the Janus Pannonius Grand Prize for Poetry from Géza Szőcs, President of the Hungarian PEN Club, September, 2017

Let’s examine his poetry from the perspective of these claims. How has his poetry combated the “sclerosis of language”? How has it offered “examples of freedom in experimentation and the unforeseen”? As “a journey into the unknown,” how has poetry helped “to resensitize us before the ‘unanswered question’ of our existence”? And finally, what kind of poetry has emphasized “changing rather than expressing”?

Throughout the sixty-five years of his writing career, Campos has continued to act upon the avant-garde imperative of incessant innovation and to establish connections with international poetic traditions. A “concrete poet,” he founded the group Noigandres together with his brother, Haroldo de Campos, and friend Décio Pignatari in the 1950s. The magazine Noigandres would become the number one outlet of Brazilian concrete poetry to bring together Latin-American experiments and to tie into the international movement being formed at the time. The group was as unusual as the name Noigandres, a word without a referent, a sound construct taken from Ezra Pound’s “Canto XX,” originating in a poem of the Occitan troubadour poet Arnault Daniel (1180-1210).

Taking off from the more static forms offered by the printed page—ideogram, spatial form, wordplays, permutations, and transformations—step by step he incorporated the possibilities granted by the new technologies, thus allowing an unprecedented kinetic freedom in his installations, electronic displays, laser holograms, and performances. “Poetry is risk,” he famously insists (on his 1995 CD), a “journey into the unknown,” in which color, sound, and movement work together in the “tongue journey” across languages to create what he calls the “verbivocovisual,” a material union of the verbal (sense), sound, and sight.

Concrete poetry

As the embodiment of the experimental ethos of fifties poetics to create “poetic objects,” concrete poetry was striving towards objectivity and impersonality in the sense that it denounced the Cartesian “I,” the “lyrical ego,” waiting to be “expressed” by the poet. Poets who insisted on the emptying out of this lyrical subjectivity and the expressive-subjective-confessional voice associated with it, contributed to the particular paradigm change the poetry of the 50s went through from Latin America to the US and (Western) Europe.

This internationally instituted paradigm change—the continuation of earlier radical poetics (of the Russian Futurists, for example)—consisted in a recurrent emphasis on the pictorial and iconic, as well as object-like nature of the poem, as opposed the figurative and abstract. As Campos puts it in his answers to a questionnaire, “Concrete poets may be differentiated from other experiences (zaum, lettrisme, phonetic poetry) for not rejecting semantic values but rather placing them on equal footing with other material, visual, and sonorous parameters of the poem” (Questionnaire).

Proclaiming the imperative of continual invention and innovation, it aims at the pursuit of new forms. These new forms involve, Campos insists, “radicalization and condensation,” “graphic experiences,” the “suppression […] of syntactic links,” an “emphasis on the nondiscursive character of poetry,” and in general “making explicit the materiality of language in its visual and sonorous dimensions” (Questionnaire).

Campos published his first manifesto in 1956, Concrete Poetry: A Manifesto [Poesia concreta: um manifesto], to be followed by Pilot Plan for Concrete Poetry [plano-piloto da poesia concreta], written by the Noigandres founding fathers, Augusto and Haroldo de Campos, and Décio Pignatari, and by the anthology collecting their critical writings and manifestos, Teoria da poesia concreta in 1965. Reasserting indeed the “international prospects” of Brazilian avant-garde poetry, the concretistas of the 1950s proposed, as Roland Greene puts it, “the critical ingestion of European culture” by naming Mallarmé’s Un Coup de Dés, Joyce’s Finnegans Wake, and the lyrics of Pound, Cummings, and Mayakovsky as the regnant international influences on Brazilian poetry and poetics” (“From Dante to the Post-Concrete”). They defined the concrete poem as visual constellation in these early writings, a “magnetic field of possibilities” (“Manifesto”) informed by graphic space as a structuring agent. In particular, they appropriated Ezra Pound’s “ideogrammic synthesis of meaning” where the ideogram becomes “a relational field of functions” as well as Joyce’s “sentient ‘verbivocovisual’ totality” (Concrete Poetry: A Manifesto).

Above all, he writes,

The concrete poem communicates its own structure: structure-content.  Concrete poem is an object in and by itself, not an interpreter of exterior objects and/or more or less subjective feelings.  Its material: word (sound, visual form, semantical charge). . . Concrete poem. . . creates a specific linguistical area – “verbivocovisual” – which shares the advantages of non-verbal communication, without giving up words virtualities. (Pilot Plan)

Historical precedents

Indeed, Brazilian concrete poets very consciously picked their predecessors. As Campos himself claims,

engaged with the practices of vanguard, experimental or—as it should probably more adequately be called—inventive poetry […] the task of Concrete poetry, after it appeared in the 50s, was to reestablish contact with the poetry of the vanguards of the beginning of the century (Futurism, Cubofuturism, Dada et alia), which the intervention of two great wars and the proscription of Nazi and Stalinist dictatorships had condemned to marginalization. (Yale Symphosymposium 369)

In particular, Campos names Mallarmé, whose “intersemiotic” Un coup de dés offered a model of “fragmentary structure […] conjoining visual mural and musical score”; Pound, in whose Cantos he identified not only the ideogrammic method but also the collage technique and metalanguage; Joyce, with the “vocabulistic kaleidoscope” and “textual polyreadings” of Finnegan’s Wake; “the experimental, minimalist, and molecular prose of Gertrude Stein”; and the “atomization and syntactical dislocation” in e.e. cummings (Yale Symphosymposium 376). Campos adds a particular generation of musicians and composers to his list too: “the Vienna Group (Schoenberg, Webern, Berg), […] the great individual experimentalists (Ives, Varese, etc.), and the […] new vanguard composers, from Boulez to Stockhausen to Cage” (Questionnaire).

Moreover, he picked his predecessors in poetic theory as well, such innovative practitioners of poetic theory as Paul Valéry, as well as the Russian Formalists and the Prague Circle. From Valéry, he adopted the imperative résistance au facile, that is, a resistance to the “easy”—the easily understandable text; from the linguists, he took over the definition of poetic language as departure, a systematic deviation,” from the “norm” of everyday language. The poet, as the Russian Formalist Viktor Shklovsky claims, will adopt the device of making the familiar strange (остранение) in an act of “creative deformation,” whereby an “organized violence” is committed on ordinary language, as Jakobson puts it (see Victor Erlich 176 ff).

Concrete poetry techniques

Let’s examine the techniques the concrete poem.

The concretistas found Pound’s compositional method most useful, which they had applied from the Cantos (translated by Campos too). The ideogram offers unique tool for realizing the coexistence of space and time contributing to the poem’s prosodic structure. For much like Pound, Campos considers the ideogram a prosodic category, a visual prosodic category, which blends the rhythmic structure and visual representation of words into a cognitive unity. Originally inspired by Ernest Fenollosa, this method works with what Kenneth Goldsmith calls “unadorned sans-sérif language”: it strips words of their syntactic valencies—suffixes, prefixes, connectives—in the “non-illusionistic space,” or “the plane of the white page” (From [Command] Line to [Iconic] Constellation). Moreover, taking words from different languages and thereby transgressing the boundaries of individual languages, its vocabulary is consciously multilingual. A multilingual vocabulary will not only contribute to the internationalism of the movement, but foreground the materiality of language, so that words will be less understood for their sense, rather be perceived for their look on the page, sound, tactility and materiality in general—as body, mass, matter.

As such, linearity is replaced by spatiality in the concrete poem, logical connection by association, subordination by coordination, hypotaxis by parataxis. We have complex visual units created in two-dimensional space, which over-writes syntax, so to speak, and the autonomous artwork or visual constellation is achieved. The concretistas developed as technique similar to that of the Russian Futurists, who “shook syntax loose” (qtd by Nancy Perloff, Explodity 57), and, as Perloff explains, placed words “next to each other […] to acquire new, lateral (semantic) associations through the unexpected ‘crisscrossing of meanings’” (Explodity 67).

The poem is neither self-expression nor a narrative-discursive account with relation to a particular referent; it simply means.

Concrete poem is an object in and by itself, not an interpreter of exterior objects and/or more or less subjective feelings. Its material: word (sound, visual form, semantical charge). Its problem: a problem of functions-relations of this material. (Pilot Plan)

The primary technique of the ideogram is constituted by reduction and concentration, the pressing of sentences into minute poems, the finding of the “least common multiple of language,” as they claim in Pilot Plan. Stripped of explicit relational words, the poem will rely on space and matter to establish connections; this is what they call, after Ernst Cassirer, “inner grammar” or “pure relational syntax,” whose idea was inspired by the Chinese language (or at least, Fenollosa’s understanding of it). Such reduction and concentration will result in a minimalist poem-object, often just a handful of words, or even just one word, as the end-product of a procedure of extracting the essence of the sentence.

“Viva / Vaia” is a one-word poem, or more precisely, two words pressed into a one-unit ideogram, playing with the contrast of background and foreground, so it reads as either VIVA or VAIA (Hurrah / Bravo or Hissing / boo), suggesting that the boundary between acceptance and resistance is permeable; and that there is a very obvious ambivalence of love and hate. This evokes, as Nancy Perloff put it in her talk on Campos given in Budapest, “the confrontation between the artist and the audience in the popular music scene in Brazil, mid to late 60s” (“Behind the Scenes”). Moreover, Perloff points out, if we just read the geometric shapes as triangles and hexagons (and not shapes made of meaningful letters), “the upside down triangles become street signs,” evoking an urban atmosphere. Again, what Perloff terms as the Russian Futurist’s “new attention to the independent word,” together with their concept of “sound as such” and “image as such” come to mind (Explodity 57, 66, 75).

Moving on to the second technique the concrete poem applies, we have what Campos calls the “verbivocovisual.” Explaining the word coined by Joyce, and the compositional principle of the verbivocovisual, Campos says, “the materiality of the word was given new emphasis: the voco and the visual, the sound and the graphor the significant live here in equal condition with the verbi or the signified” (qtd. in Roland Greene). So verbivocovisual happily conjoins all three dimensions—semantic, sonorous, and visual—in concrete poetry.

The semantic dimension involves the axiom that language is a system of signs capable of generating complex meanings. But for Campos meanings are not produced by some smooth and easy referentiality—language’s pointing function, pointing to the world outside—but by signifiers interacting with one another producing difference. As Marjorie Perloff writes in her Janus Pannonius laudation, in 2017,

concrete poetry carried to its logical extreme the poetic notion, made clear by the great Russian Formalist Roman Jakobson, that whereas in ordinary language use, there is no relationship between, say, fig and figment, poetry is precisely that discourse where the relationship between the two matters. Indeed, in poetry, any phonological or visual coincidence is felt to mean semantic kinship. Not what is related but the relationship itself is what counts.

The poem “Viver – Sorrir – Sofrir – Morrer” serves as an example for the foregrounding of such semantic relationship deriving from phonological or visual coincidence.

This poem is an ideogram made up of four words piled on top of one another, live – smile – suffer – die in English, or, in terms of letter size, viver – morrer – sorrir – sofrir [live – die – smile – suffer]. In other words, you have morphological units with a shared structure, suggesting the semantic unity of a life cycle: to live, to smile, to suffer, to die—these acts form one continuity.

Here is a more complex example, the well-known “Cidadecitycité,” made up of a long undivided line of word roots that might end in the suffix –cidade, -city, -cité in Portugese, English, and French, respectively.

First, here are the word roots: atro, cadu, causti, elasti, feli, fero, fuga, histori, loqua, lubri, mendi, multipli, organi, periodi, plasti, publi, rapa, recipro, rusti, saga, simpli, tena, uni, velo, vera, viva, vora. And here are the suffixed nouns constructed out of the roots and the suffixes: atrocity, caducity, causticity, elasticity, felicity, ferocity, fugacity, historicity, loquacity, lubricity, mendicity, multiplicity, organicity, periodicity, plasticity, publicity, rapacity, reciprocity, rusticity, sagacity, simplicity, tenacity, unicity, velocity, veracity, vivacity, voracity.

In the newer version we get the words in Morse code too:

Note that the Morse code as a visual construct prefigures the city’s lights; this prefiguring will get confirmation once we see the multimedia event performed together with his son, composer and poet Cid Campos.[1]

This digital version reaches a new dimension as the suffixes take on a life of their own, with the multilingual function words -city/-cite/-cidade interact with the abstract words making up the sights and sounds of the city. In other words, the interacting abstractions of word roots and suffixes together make up a very concrete concrete city: by always adding the formal unit of the English suffix –city (as well as its Portuguese and French versions, -cidade and –cité) to the same word roots to create nouns in three languages, the city itself becomes (and here I am simply giving synonyms for the suffixed words): brutal, cruel, horrifying; transitory, perishable, decrepit, senile; corrosive, eating away; elastic, resilient; happy; ferocious, fierce, violent, intense; fleeting, evanescent; of historical actuality; loquacious, talkative; lubricious; wanton, without check; full of beggars; multiple and various; organic, alive; periodical, regularly recurrent; alternating, molded, altered ; public; rapacious, ravenous, living on prey; reciprocal, mutually independent; rustic, rural; sagacious, of acute discernment; simple, uncomplicated; tenacious, cohesive, persistent; unique of its kind; quick, swift; accurate, truthful; vivacious, lively, sprightly; voracious, ravenous, insatiable.

The second dimension of the verbivocovisual refers to the materiality of words and sounds, their acoustic, auditive, and musical qualities not subordinated to syntax and semantics. Much like the Russian Futurists broke language apart and disobeyed the rules of grammar,[2] the concretistas also used noise as sound and created what the Russian Futurists called “transrational structures” (Explodity 60). We have several such poems in Poetamenos, the 1953 poem cycle that was the first to put into practice the abstract principle of verbivocovisuality. Inspired by Schönberg and Webern, who experimented with the color of sound in their Klangfarbenmelodie, Campos withdrew his words from the domination of syntax and subordinated them to graphic or color pattern. Theme or thematic is omitted, to be replaced by linguistic units such as phrase, word, syllable, sound to act quite like musical instruments act in an orchestra.

The multilingual poem “Lygia Fingers” (Lygia Fingers)[3] turns on the number five. It has words in five colors: red, green, yellow, blue, and purple, emphasizing to the deconstruction of language units into smaller ones in five languages: English, Latin, Italian, German, and Portugese. The five colors and five languages obviously correspond to the five fingers that are capable of a variety of actions: they can pretend (finge), typewrite (datilografar), and even turn into ‘glyph’ or ‘griffin’ (grypho). All this is put in a language construct “bristling,” as Marjorie Perloff puts it in her brilliant discussion of the poem, “with puns and double entendres” (Unoriginal 68). For example, “Lygia has morphed into a lynx, a feline creature (felyna), but also a daughter figure (figlia), who makes, in a shift from Italian to Latin, me felix (me happy) (68). Now the suffix –ly, the paragram Lygia’s name is turned into, occurs five times again, “twice color coded so as to stand out from the word in which it is embedded” (68). Here the language into German and Italian, keeping up the puns and double entendres in both, by bringing in a beautifully sounding name (Solange Sohl), or phrase (so lange sohl), for the “ideal beloved in the Provençal manner,” and morphing the second syllable of Lygia’s name into an ambiguous gia la sera sorella (‘already evening, sister’/‘longed-for evening’). Multiplying the poem’s punning derived from the semantics of spatial design, the conclusion comes in an English “whisper or tap of tt and a single liquid sound” (68). As such, “overall verbivocovisual composition” seems to carry the poem, with a closure on pure materiality, sound, and visual composition.

“Lygia” thus emerges as a troubadour lyric made new: the time frame of the audabe or plnh gives way to the spatial-aural construct of this amourous Klangfarbenmelodie. The love song, moreover, nicely ironizes its conventional subject matter: Lygia, bith lynx and digital, has her own tricks, and in any case the figure of Solange Sohl looms in the background. (69)

The third element of the verbivocovisual refers to the visual dimension of poetry, simultaneous spatial form, taking over the job of linearity. The ideogrammic method and the montage structure closely related to it allow for a most effective exploitation of space, where words, word fragments, letter or word montages are piled on top of one another, bringing about a very tight structure. Among these tightly structured ideograms, one should mention the circle poem “Rose,” the poet’s visual transcreation of Gertrude Stein’s famous dictum.

“Rose,” as Marjorie Perloff points out, “beautifully enacts the concept” of the “continuous present” as explained in “Composition as Explanation”: “The sentence ‘A rose is a rose is a rose’ does not begin or end anywhere: begin reading the concentric circles wherever you like and the clause is read as continuing” (Unoriginal 70). Moreover, I’d like to add, in this sentence with multifunctional—and thereby always ambiguous and indeterminate—syntactic units, the nominal element rose of the predicate phrase is a rose turns into the subject of the next (continuous) sentence, which right away turns into predicate again, as visual circularity is counterpointed by grammatical or syntactic circularity. Indeed, as Perloff aptly remarks, while Stein’s sentence remains linear, “in his visual variant Augusto has found a way to apply Stein’s two other principles from ‘Composition as Explanation’ as well: ‘beginning again and again’ and ‘using everything’” (Unoriginal 70).

Such poems will demand a very different reading from the one we are used to. The reader must unlearn semantic interpretation and mobilize faculties other than the cognitive ones normally employed in thinking and contemplation: several senses of must be mobilized here, in order to see the poem as sight, hear it as sound, sometimes even touch it, taste it, smell it. At the same time, the reader must also resist the expectation of referentiality: for the poem refuses to be a window on the world—moreover, Campos insists, we must familiarize ourselves with the idea that a world beyond language might not even exist.

Philosophy of language

Campos defines concrete poetry as having taken “a position as a poetics of objectivity, attempting simply to place its premises at the roots of language” (Questionnaire). In this regard, he reveals a kinship with Charles Olson, the leading figure of US postmodern poetry, who argued for a particularizing use of language in several influential essays, and also realized this non-expressive and non-metaphorical poetics in his poetic practice. He insists that the metaphors built into language actually act as breaks on thinking, while textuality comes about not by reference to the world outside but by signifying processes mobilized in reading. The source of all knowledge is language itself, while poetic form involves the materiality of language, the physical space allowing for the interaction of words, which is, in other words, comes down to the intertextual and material character of writing.

The poet taking the imperative of condensation seriously works with a consciously reduced lexicon, having eliminated all the relativizing syntactic connectives necessary for creating phrases and sentences. At the same time, this poet moves with ease between linguistic and non-linguistic levels, withdrawing from language its narrative-expressive potential. The poet does not wish to narrate a story or express a feeling; the aim of writing consists simply in making the reader perceive, and even feel, language, which is no longer considered a tool but a material to be worked. The concrete poet uses language as a sculptor uses clay or stone: forms it, carves it, synthesizes meanings to “create a sentient ‘verbivocovisual’ totality” (Concrete Poetry: A Manifesto). By doing this, Campos continues, “the concrete poet does not turn away from words, he does not glance at them obliquely: he goes directly to their center, in order to live and vivify their facticity.” Not allowing the irrelevant to divert the poet’s attention, he [or she] will let the spatially structured linguistic units take over the function of syntax.

The poetics that demands a going directly to the center is framed by a particular philosophy of language. Not only does the concrete poet proclaim language to provide the limits and the grounds of our world, but also advocates the conviction that everything we know about the world we know from language. This is why Campos so favors puns and coincidences: to highlight the linguistic origin of knowledge.

The poem “Caracol” traces the process of taking on and taking off the mask (mascara) by simply connecting words to be then dismembered in various ways, while the successive bolding of the letters brings about the slow sliding of the snail (caracol).

These pieces applying word and letter puns constitute the representative works of concrete poetry, where the poet performs a very particular gesture: lets signifiers create meaning, recalling again the Russian Futurist concept, “THE WORD BROADER THAN SENSE” (Explodity 59). In other words, by allowing the dance of letters to bring about “content,” he relieves himself of the responsibility to make sense. The poem Luxo provides perhaps the best example for this technique, where by using the morphological unit luxo as the building block for another word lixo (garbage, waste), the constellation of letters bring about the proposition: luxury produces waste.[4]

Similarly, three words—amor, morte, temor—make up the pyramid in the poem “amortemor”, where the words do not simply meet but overlap, thus can be cut at various points to make a-mor, mor-te, te-mor. By showing that these signifiers are actually impossible to separate, the poet concludes that the concepts themselves are ultimately inseparable too: love, death, and fear seem to embrace each other in the eternal chain of being.

‘Word things,’ performativity”

The concrete poet proclaiming the principle of objectivity seems to take extreme pleasure in making pictorial poetry or object poetry familiar from the classic concrete-visual tradition. These linguistic objects live in space and/or time; they are “poem-products” that are “useful objects”, as claimed in Pilot Plan, capable of energy discharge.

In these poems, Campos brings together the formerly dismembered units of language in such a way that he exploits the performative function of language while limiting the descriptive-constative function. He can do this by performing objects and performing processes; in Campos’s terminology, via “nounising” or “verbification” (Pilot Plan). The two modes correspond to the two modes of structuring information, topic and comment. Thus, Campos resorts to topic writing mode in his pieces bringing about an autonomous object (from which the verbal elements are missing), while he employs comment writing mode in his reductionist-minimalist pieces (from which nominal elements are absent).

To give examples, in his topic poems Campos assigns object performativity to his text: the linguistic material becomes a concrete object. It is by the classic “power of the word” that the poet brings about a linguistic object that did not exist before: an object which ranks with objects of the physical world. In addition to such topic poems as “The Rose” and “Ovonovelo” also serves as an example of topic writing mode, with the word turning into the object coming about, in the text, as words wind into balls.

Comment poems are more recent, owing their existence to modern electronic technologies applied by the poet to enact the processes he needs. A process is being performed in such comment poems as “pluvial”, enacting the movement of rain dropping, dripping, pouring.[5]

“O Pulsar”[6] seems also to turn on similar performative processes, performing the pulsing by inserting empty spaces in the linear structure.

Saying and doing are one in these poems, indeed; they say what they do and do what they say. The poet creating an object or enacting a process out of words abides by the classic Austinian performativity concept: although the form created by words evokes the real form, this representation cannot be called either true or false. Instead, the performative utterance—the concrete poem in this case—brings into being an object or process that now exists with other physical objects or processes in the physical world that has extra-linguistic existence in the realm of the signified. Framed by the modern episteme, in particular by the cognitive schemas of structuralism, these performative creations can be aptly called logocentric for their emphatic acceptance of signifier and signified, or Foucauldian words and things.

But can the poet really believe that concrete poetry actually brings about concrete objects or enacts concrete events? The raindrops, the pulsations or the ball spins are not “real”; rather, they draw attention—much like Magritte’s well-known la Trahison des images (Ceci n’est pas une pipe)—to the “treason” of images, the problematic nature of representation.

Moreover, does the poet not exhibit the playfulness so characteristic of iconic poetry since the Renaissance, trying to give the illusion of making “real” objects with an existence the real physical world?

So the question arises, what is it that is being performed in the poem performing objects or enacting processes out of letters and words? Can the poet—by trying to return to the original meaning of the poet, ποιητής (poiētḗs)—indeed create objects with an existence in the physical reality? In other words, what is the object of the performative act in this case, of a poet with a serious ontological doubt concerning a world beyond language and the possibility of stepping outside discourse, and with an even more serious epistemological doubt concerning the knowability of a world beyond language?

Leaving behind the logocentric understanding of the performative, framed by the modern episteme, and applying the poststructuralist framework informed by the postmodern episteme, my answer is this: the poet does not make objects or enact processes in the physical world, but remains in discourse where he actually constructs himself as linguistic subject, speaking agent.

He assigns such agency to himself which will allow him to create a ball of an egg, pulsation, or raindrops, albeit within language, within discourse. His subjectivity thus constructed is not Cartesian: it does not precede the concrete poetic utterance but comes about by the performative act itself. Which also means that the subject returns to the concrete poem in a very particular way: not as the object of expressive-mimetic attention, but as both subject and object of the performative.

With this radical gesture, Augusto de Campos takes the final step to leave behind the lyrical paradigm of expressive verse: this poet does not express a self pre-existing the poem but accepts that his self is the ultimate product of the performative process enacted in the poem. As such, he breaks in a definitive manner with all urges of the Cartesian subject to make himself—as well as his thoughts, feelings, experiences—the object of his own attention. Having indeed suppressed the self-expressing poetic ego, and having replaced the Cartesian subject with language as material, concrete poetry represents the most radical departure from the lyric.

Works Cited

Campos, Augusto de. “Acceptance Speech Given at the Janus Pannonius Award Ceremonies, Pécs, Hungary.” September 22, 2017. http.jpa.hu

Campos, Augusto de. Concrete Poetry: a Manifesto [Poesia Concreta: um Manifesto]. http://www2.uol.com.br/augustodecampos/concretepoet.htm

Campos, Augusto de. Questionnaire of the Yale Symposium on Experimental, Visual, and Concrete Poetry Since the 1960s. http://www2.uol.com.br/augustodecampos/yaleeng.htm

Campos, Augusto de. Yale Symphosymposium. In: Experimental – Visual – Concrete. Avant-Garde Poetry Since the 1960s. Ed. K. David Jackson, Eric Vos, and Johanna Drucker. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1996. 369-418.

Campos, Augusto de, Haroldo de Campos, and Décio Pignatari. Pilot Plan for Concrete Poetry [Plano-Piloto para Poesia Concreta], 1958. http://www2.uol.com.br/augustodecampos/concretepoet.htm

Campos, Augusto de, Haroldo de Campos, and Décio Pignatari, ed. Teoria da Poesia Concreta. Textos Críticos e Manifestos. São Paulo, Edições Invenção, 1965.

Erlich, Victor. Russian Formalism. History, Doctrine. New Haven: Yale UP, 1981.

Goldsmith, Kenneth. From (Command) Line to (Iconic) Constellation. http://www.ubu.com/papers/goldsmith_command.html

Greene, Roland. From Dante to the Post-Concrete: An Interview with Augusto de Campos. In: The Harvard Library Bulletin, vol. 3, no. 2 (1992). 34-35. http://www.ubu.com/papers/greene02.html

Perloff, Marjorie. Differentials: Poetry, Poetics, Pedagogy. Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama Press, 2004.

Perloff, Marjorie. “Laudation Speech Given at the Janus Pannonius Award Ceremonies, Pécs, Hungary.” September 22, 2017. http.jpa.hu

Perloff, Marjorie. Unoriginal Genius: Poetry by Other Means in the New Century. Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 2012.

Perloff, Nancy. “Behind the Scenes: Exhibiting Augusto de Campos at the Getty Research Institute.” Talk given in Budapest, September 24, 2017.

Perloff, Nancy. Explodity: Sound, Image, and Word in Russian Futurist Book Art. Los Angeles: Getty Research Institute, 2017.

BORDERLANDS IN SANDRA CISNEROS’S SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS THE HOUSE ON MANGO STREET AND WOMAN HOLLERING CREEK

ALEKSANDRA IZGARJAN AND SANJA ČUKIĆ

1. Introduction

In her two short story collections The House on Mango Street and Woman Hollering Creek Sandra Cisneros creates specific locations which reflect position of Mexican Americans in larger American society. The site of The House on Mango Street is Mexican American neighborhood/barrio in Chicago while the locale of Woman Hollering Creek is Mexican-American border with its history of conflict and bloodshed. In both collections these locations represent what Homi Bhabha calls “a third space” with its potential for mixture of cultures, religions, traditions and languages. We are going to analyze space in Cisneros’s stories through the lens of Edward Said’s imagined geographies, politics of home and the notion of topography of displacement. We will also explore the possibility of categorizing Cisneros’s stories as transnational literature since they feature intersections of cultures typical of this literature.

Elisabeth Mermann-Jozwiak and Nancy Sullivan define Borderlands as “the product of conquest and domination […] the areas north and south of the U.S.-Mexico border” which become the spaces of intercultural encounter (2009, 2). Following Mary Louise Pratt’s articulation of “contact zones,” as social spaces where different cultures meet and clash, often in highly asymmetrical power relations, they contend that Borderlands “speak to the disruption, dislocation, and displacement of huge populations, populations that suffered linguistic, cultural, social, and political disenfranchisement.” (Mermann-Jozwiak and Sullivan 2009, 2) It is important to note that Borderlands are not confined only to the border between Mexico and the US but also include the migration of Mexican Americans to rural and urban areas in the United States.

Despite conflicts and political controversy surrounding these geopolitical spaces, Mexican American authors who write about Borderlands describe them as the sites of cultural performances, multidimensional linguistic practices, and political consciousness. (Mermann-Jozwiak and Sullivan 2009, viii) Similarly, Anzaldúa’s concept of nepantla as liminal space represents “a zone of impetuous transition, the point of contact between worlds of nature and spirit” which facilitates bridging and joining of these worlds. (2015, 28) Border artists inhabit this locus of resistance, of rupture and joining of fragments. “By disrupting the neat separation between cultures, Chicana artists crate a new culture mix, una mestizada.” (Anzaldúa 2015, 47) We see these trends in Cisneros’s stories whose characters cross borders within and outside the United States. Despite the difficulties they grapple with in this liminal space, they produce lyrical prose which speaks to their spirited resistance to various forms of oppression.

2. Imagined Geographies

In Edward Said’s term imagined geography, “imagined” is used not to mean “false” or “made-up”, but “perceived” (Al-Mahfedi, 2011: 10). It refers to the perception of space created through certain images, texts or discourses. Imagined geographies can be seen as a form of social constructionism and Cisneros’s Borderlands are such constructed space. For example in the story “One Holy Night” Cisneros explores mythological legacy of native religions and its implications for contemporary Hispanic Americans. The narrator is a fourteen-year-old Mexican American girl living in Chicago who falls in love with Boy Baby. He tells her his name is Chaq and that he is descended from Mayan kings. She gets pregnant and is sent to Mexico by her grandmother. It turns out he is a 37-year-old serial killer responsible for the deaths of 11 girls. Cisneros problematizes attraction native mythological history has for Mexican Americans who given their hybrid identity do not fully belong to either Mexican or American culture. The narrator falls for Chaq precisely because she feels the need for a meaningful past which would make her certain of who she is. Through the story she warns the readers about difficulties of distinguishing truth and reality from lies and fantasies. At the end, for her, neither Mexico to which she no longer belongs and whose language she stopped using nor the United States where she was a second class citizen make any sense.

In Cisneros’s stories imagined geography is often related to envisioning a home. This home is specifically located within its geopolitical environment while she simultaneously crafts an imaginary geography that challenges the reader to envision alternative realities. Harvey points out that a growing number of contemporary women writers recognize that societies and spatialities are shaped by continuous process of struggle (2000, 189). Spatiotemporal utopias in their works allow the readers to imagine how it is to be and think in a different situation. Such spaces are utopian in a sense that they are literally “no place” but they are still grounded in material realities and informed by history (Harvey 2000, 238). A number of Cisneros’s characters live in this “no place” because the Mexico they or their parents grew up in no longer exists. Particularly second generation of Mexicans in the United States can only recall ritualistic trips they took with their parents to Mexico. The narrator of the story “Tepeyac” describes one of such journeys. As she counts backwards, Tepeyac of her childhood emerges in front of us. The numbers have hypnotic effect as the narrator remembers every tiny detail of the house that marked her childhood and adulthood:

[U]p the twenty-two steps we count out loud together – uno, dos, tres – to the supper of sopa de fideo and carne guisada – cuatro, cinco, seis – the glass of café con leche – siete, ocho, nueve – shut the door against the mad parrot voice of the Abuela – diez, once, doce – fall asleep as we always do, with the television mumbling – trece, catorce, quince – the Abuelito snoring – dieciséis, diecisiete, dieciocho – the grandchild, the one who will leave soon for that borrowed country – diecinueve, veinte, veintiuno – the one who will not remember, the one he is least familiar with – veintidós, veintitrés, veinticuatro […] years afterward when I return […] to the house on La Fortuna, number 12, smaller and darker than when we lived there, with the rooms boarded shut and rented to strangers, the street suddenly dizzy with automobiles and diesel fumes, the house fronts scuffed and the gardens frayed, the children who played kickball all grown and moved away. Who would have guessed after all this time, it is me who will remember when everything else is forgotten, you who took with you to your stone bed something irretrievable, without a name. (Cisneros 1992, 23)

The house functions as spatiotemporal utopia since the house and the town it existed in have changed and that space is no longer accessible to the narrator. Equally inaccessible are the stories and rituals she shared with her grandparents that linked her to her Mexican heritage. The name of the place is significant since Tepeyac was a Pre-Columbian worship space and symbolizes erasure of native religions and traditions with the onslaught of colonialism. Spanish words take the narrator back to the time when she was an integral part of Mexican society and knew its customs, before she moved to the States and lost touch with the Mexican part of her family and identity. For Mexicans, as it is mentioned in the story, America is a “borrowed land” as another Mexican grandmother in the story “Mericans” also calls it, since it was forcibly taken away from Mexico during the American-Mexican war. “The term also speaks of the temporal existence of Hispanic immigrants in America. Erosion of the family house symbolizes the narrator’s gradual assimilation into American society and disappearance of the Mexican way of life” (Izgarjan 2015, 116). The whole story thus revolves around the metaphor of home which stands for a precarious balance between cultures and for mastering the art of navigation between different shores.

3. Home and the Poetics of Space

Ambivalence surrounding Cisneros’s characters’ home recalls Bachelard’s perception of home as a fundamental space of the human imagination: “all really inhabited space bears the essence of the notion of home” (1969, 5). He claims that “the objective space of a house [...] is far less important than what poetically it is endowed with, which is usually a quality with an imaginative or figurative value we can name and feel” (55). Similarly, Cisneros’s characters find homes either on physical borderlands between Mexico and the U.S. or in ethnic ghettoes. These homes function as imagined geographies since they show how images of space depend heavily on ideological frameworks. In this respect, “poetical endowment” of a house or home in Cisneros’s texts takes primacy over its physicality. Home becomes an embodiment of desires and unfulfilled hopes and dreams, on the borderlands between two completely different worlds – American and Latino community.

In The House on Mango Street, Cisneros portrays Latino community living in a barrio in Chicago. As a home for both the young narrator Esperanza and the people she talks about, Mango Street stands in opposition to the space outside its boundaries. Unlike the cosmopolitan city of Chicago, Mango Street is a rather chaotic place reflecting its inhabitants’ underprivileged social position. Esperanza’s description of her family house gives us an insight into the barrio:

They always told us that one day we would move into a house, a real house that would be ours so we wouldn’t have to move each year […] Our house would be white with trees around it, a great big yard and grass growing without a fence. […] But the house on Mango Street is not the way they told it at all. (Cisneros 2009, 7)

The contrast between Esperanza’s expectations and reality regarding her family house points to her internalization of “the mainstream socio-cultural and educational standards which have presumed the white, middle-class, suburban existence to be the normative one” (Martin 2008, 54). These standards are imposed upon the Latino community by the dominant white American society. Although, neither Esperanza nor her family or neighbors are able to live up to them, they are also not able to resist them. Instead of obtaining “a real house” from their dreams, the Cordero family is doomed to live in the house which is:

small and red with tight steps in front and windows so small you’d think they were holding their breath. Bricks are crumbling in places, and the front door is so swollen you have to push hard to get in. There is no front yard, only four little elms the city planted by the curb. Our back is a small garage for the car we don’t own yet and a small yard that looks smaller between the two buildings on either side. (Cisneros 2009, 7)

Esperanza’s awareness of the poverty of her community causes aversion towards her family house. She dreams of a future house that she wants to buy for herself. That house would be “a real house. One I could point to” (Cisneros 2009, 8). Shame and marginalization caused by her ethnicity and poverty fuel Esperanza’s desire to move to another part of the city where “people who live on hills sleep so close to the stars they forget those of us who live too much on earth” (Cisneros 2009, 45) Those people are white, and they see Latino community as less educated, poor, problematic and suspicious. Borderlands function here as a metaphor of Otherness and exclusion that the narrator feels as a member of Mexican-American community. The narrator’s dream house is beautiful, vibrant and big – nothing like a crammed space of her family house. “Esperanza’s dream of a house of her own [is] both solitary and communal, a refuge for herself and for others. [It] simultaneously represents an escape from the barrio, a rejection of the domestic drudgery of home.” (Doyle 1994, 22) The images of a new house are internalized as a source of a happy life. According to Bachelard, the house is a personification of our dreams and hopes from the past. He compares the house from the past, primarily our childhood, with the one from the future:

Sometimes the house of the future is better built, lighter and larger than all the houses of the past, so that the image of the dream house is opposed to that of the childhood home. […] This dream house may be merely a dream of ownership, the embodiment of everything that is considered convenient, comfortable, healthy, sound, desirable, by other people. (Bachelard 1969, 61)

If we apply Bachelard’s notion of the house of the past/childhood to Esperanza’s dream house we can conclude that it is completely opposite to her real house. Instead of the dilapidated, temporary house on Mango Street, the dream house is the epitome of her strivings, representing the final fulfillment of “the American dream.”

Karen W. Martin notices that The House on Mango Street offers “a counter-poetics of space” (2008, 51). Esperanza’s house functions as the domestic sector of Bachelard’s safe and dream-like notion of home, a space for those of higher economic, educational and class background. Significantly, it is replaced with a reconfigured private space in which feminist, class and race struggle takes place. Therefore, “the house of memory becomes a restrictive zone of violence, deterritorialization, and exclusion whose semi-public nature taunts female characters with the possibility of agency while simultaneously precluding their transgression of externally-and internally-maintained borders.” (Martin, 2008:51) This notion of the poetics of counter-space refers to Esperanza’s ideal house far away from Mango Street which determines her identity and self-perception. It is also relevant for other women in the book, like Sally and Rafaela, whose connection to domestic place is constricting. Both Sally and Rafaela are young women who suffer because of their beauty, due to the restrictions imposed by patriarchal Latino community. Rafaela is “locked indoors because her husband is afraid [she] will run away since she is too beautiful to look at” (2009, 99), while Sally is molested by her strict and religious father who controls her movements and social contacts. In both cases instead of safety, family space of Mexican house causes insecurity and confinement.

Applying the “inside” and “outside” dichotomy, Cisneros purposefully underscores the importance of borderlands between the white American and Latino community living, problematizing both Esperanza’s self-perception as well as perception of the white American people who see Latino community as the Other. Hopelessness of transgressing this divide is especially featured in the vignette A Rice Sandwich. In it, Esperanza feels deprived because she is not among “the special kids, the ones who wear keys around their necks [and] get to eat in the canteen” (Cisneros 2009, 23). The kids Esperanza refers to are not residents of Mango Street, but mainly white children of better social status. The narrator wants to identify with them and put her poverty aside by eating in the canteen. Her attempt to do so is undermined by her supervisor’s persistence that Esperanza points to her house. “Which one is your house? And then she made me stand up on a box of books and point. That one? she said, pointing to a row of ugly three-flats, the ones even the raggedy men are ashamed to go into. Yes, I nodded even though I knew that wasn’t my house and started to cry” (Cisneros 2009, 24). The nun humiliates Esperanza and reminds her that Latinos are put into certain categories and should stick to them. Although painful for the narrator, the scene reinforces Esperanza’s Mexican identity which helps her realize the necessity of going back to her roots. This idea is also developed in the vignette The Three Sisters when Esperanza is reminded that she “will always be Mango Street. You can’t erase what you know. You can’t forget who you are” (Cisneros 2009, 53).

In her attempt to reflect the characters’ Latino identity, Cisneros creates Mexican Chicago, a “densely textured urban space that is constituted by transnational memory, culture, and experience” (Herrera 2016, 103).  Mexican Chicago provides the space where transnational migrants remake the sites from Mexico (or their Latin American native countries), rather than assimilating themselves into the American settings. Since identity is partially based on one’s relationship to space, the characters develop their intergroup identity rooted in Latino and Mexican American origin. This helps them relate to each other and “establish difference from the broader urban context” (Herrera 2016, 111). This difference allows for discrimination against the Latino community from the outside, but at the same time it helps its members feel at home within the borders of Mexican Chicago. The sense of unity among the members of Mango Street is stressed in the vignette Those who Don’t. Esperanza mocks people who are afraid of her neighborhood, identifying with her Latino community and claiming her right to it. Furthermore, she defines racial distance between communities: “Those who don’t know any better come into our neighborhood scared. They think we’re dangerous. [...] They are stupid people who are lost and got here by mistake” (Cisneros 2009, 16). In the next paragraph, however, Esperanza creates the antithesis to the previous statement by ironically stating that she and other members of Latino community also feel afraid when they stray to another part of town: “All brown all around we are safe. But watch us drive into another neighborhood of another color and our knees go shaky-shake and our car windows get rolled up tight and our eyes look straight” (Cisneros 2009, 17). Although Esperanza wants to underscore the stupidity of these segregation practices on either side, the vignette stresses limited possibilities of crossing boundaries (Herrera 2016, 112). Despite the fact that Borderlands are nothing but an artificial product of people’s insecurity and fears of the Other, they also provide a sense of intergroup identity. In that respect, Mexican Chicago creates a safe and familiar shell-like structure, resembling home, where the position of Latino community is retained, reaffirmed and relived.

4. Topography of Displacement

Unlike other minorities who have settled permanently in the U.S. and maybe exist only within their ethnic community, Mexican Americans often physically exist between two lands in Borderlands or they travel from one place to another. That is why we can apply the notion of topography of displacement to Cisneros’s construction of Borderlands. Sonia Saldívar-Hull speaks of the “topography of displacement,” in which the border, politically and ideologically is an “unnatural boundary” (1987, 2) and as such posits a destabilizing potential in the late twentieth and, as we can see, early twenty-first century. Cisneros’s female characters experience displacement in American society since they are oppressed both as women and immigrants.

Cisneros exposes patriarchal practices in Mexican American communities, such as Marianismo and Machismo, which rest upon binary oppositions delegating women into only two categories: virgin and whore. This is particularly evident on the example of Cleófilas, the main character from the title story Woman Hollering Creek. Although pregnant, she is regularly beaten by her husband. Cleófilas identifies with La Llorona, a woman who drowned her children because of a lover and who is condemned to weep for eternity. La Llorona represents negative portrayal of women who do not fit into the patriarchal norm and who are punished for their transgressions. Cisneros is quick to point out that abuse Cleófilas is subjected to stems not just from the patriarchal patterns, but also from her immigrant status. She depends completely on her abusive husband since she does not speak English and cannot find her place in American society. Cisneros pays close attention to the infrastructure, access, and spatial divisions of particular geographies (Mermann-Jozwiak and Sullivan 2009, xii). Although only several miles divide her father’s house in Mexico from her husband’s house in Texas, it is obvious that when she gets married, Cleófilas leaves behind one world and enters a completely different one: “across her father’s threshold, over several miles of dirt road and several miles of paved, over one border and beyond to a town en el otro lado – on the other side” (1992, 43) .

However, Cleófilas refuses to become “another one of those brides from across the border” (1992, 54) whose deaths at the hands of their partners fill the headlines of the newspapers. By the end of the story, as Cleófilas takes agency and leaves her abusive husband and returns to Mexico, she becomes La Gritona, woman hollering and laughing. With this bold move she reverses the negative perception of La Llorona. Commenting on Gloria Anzaldúa’s work, Sonia Saldívar -Hull noted that part of “the work of that mestiza consciousness is to break down dualities that serve to imprison women” (1987, 5). Like Anzaldúa, Cisneros in this and other stories reconfigures religious and historical figures who embody patriarchal order and inserts Chicana substitutes: Virgen de Guadalupe, Coatlicue, Malinche. These alternative images, like La Gritona, woman hollering with joy instead of pain and sorrow, serve not only her project of rewriting history from Chicano point of view and reversing the topography of displacement, but also the feminist project of reconstituting the patriarchal order with the matrilineal one, rejecting the gender norms imposed on her characters as women, Indian, Hispanic and Chicana.

Refusal of negative scripting of women and virgen/whore dyad (Salvídar-Hull 1987, 6) is especially evident in the story “Little Miracles, Kept Promises” in which the main character Rosario first rejects Virgen de Guadalupe since it represents the symbol of female oppression in a sense rejecting her Mexican culture and subjugated position of women in it. But gradually, she realizes that since colonization and imposition of Christianity on native people, Virgen replaced Coatlicue and other native goddesses. Through incantation of their names, Rosario appropriates Mayan and Aztec gods, puts them in her contemporary context and fuses native religion with Christianity. “Appropriating these figures is part of the cultural ‘recovery’ and ‘recuperation’ work Chicana artists have been doing” (Anzaldúa 51). Like them, Rosario draws more substance from these figures, because she realizes that by claiming them, she reclaims her identity, she does not allow patriarchal order or the dominant white society who want to rule over her to win. She reinterprets European, American, Mexican, Mayan, Aztec and Chicana cultures. At other places in the story, different characters do the same, for example addressing Cristo Negro, seven African powers, Black Madona, etc. As we mentioned at the beginning, as a locus of resistance, making art out of fragments, Borderlands in Rosario’s case become an impetus for creation since she resolves to become an artist in order to express her hybrid identity as a Mexican American woman and criticize practices that limit her.

Just like The Woman Hollering Creek, House on Mango Street is full of the characters grappling with the feelings of displacement. One of the most prominent examples is a woman from the vignette No Speak English, Mamacita, whose husband worked a lot in order to bring her to the States from Mexico. She is so nostalgic that she does not come out of her house. Esperanza believes that Mamacita “doesn’t come out because she is afraid to speak English, and maybe this is so since she only knows eight words” (Cisneros 2009, 41) In order to justify Mamacita’s limited use of English and adjusting to life in another country, the narrator quickly adds that when her father came to America “he ate hamandeggs for three months. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. Hamandeggs. That was the only word he knew” (Cisneros 2009, 41) As time goes by, Mamacita’s English does not improve, and her sorrow for leaving Mexico increases. She holds on to her native Spanish, watches telenovelas and cries all the time. Mamacita’s behavior resonates with Anzaldúa’s words about an inextricable link between one’s language and identity: “ethnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity – I am my language.” (1987, 38). Mamacita does not want to lose her identity or memory by learning English and assimilating into America. Nostalgia prevents this character to connect collective ethnic memory with her personal memory, and to make a dialogue between them. (Fachinger 2001, 124) That is why Mamacita remains displaced, floating between the dream of Mexico and the reality of the USA.

Esperanza is on the completely opposite end from Mamacita on the spectrum of the displaced characters in the book. She chooses English over Spanish as a means of finding the place she belongs to (Betz 2012: 29). Moreover, Esperanza does not let her dissatisfaction with living on Mango Street take over and defeat her. She stops listening to the promises of her parents regarding their family home “for the time being, Mama says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go” (Cisneros 2009, 8). Instead, she is fully dedicated to her goal of finding “a real home.” Although a new house that the narrator plans to obtain outside of the Latino neighborhood is an epitome of independence and success, Esperanza knows that she would probably feel as the Other in that environment. Thus, the (imagined) border between Latinos and white Americans becomes a metaphor of separation of one group from the other, where a member of a minority group feels displaced in both native and dominant culture. Before she becomes a fully independent young woman, Esperanza needs to find a sense of belonging, which she achieves through writing. Esperanza becomes aware that only by telling a story about her community will she be able to find a voice and liberate herself from the anonymity of her ethnicity and gender. In order to do so, she chooses English for the practical reasons. As Regina M. Betz puts it: “The importance of “belonging” is attributable to human nature and this is no exception to language; whatever language is standard and accessible to the masses will provide the possibility of success.” (29) Use of English gives Esperanza a chance to thrive outside her community, and it embodies, to some extent Cisneros’s feminism (Betz 2012, 19). Esperanza strategically appropriates English to express the struggles of Latinos in the U.S. This strategy can be related to Cisneros’s own choice to write in English which has enabled her to be recognized as a significant writer. Apart from Cisneros, we can make a parallel between Rosario’s struggle to become an artist and Esperanza’s decision to express herself through writing. Both of them testify to the precarious position of Latinas in the Borderlands as well as their commitment to change their feeling of displacement.

5. Transnational Home/Transnational Literature

Mixing of codes from different cultures prompts us to place both short story collections into the category of transnational literature. Linda Basch, Nina Glick and Christina Blanc describe transnationalism as “the process in which immigrants forge and sustain multi-stranded social relations that link together their societies of origin and settlement” (Herrera 2016, 104) Herrera argues that Cisneros creates social spaces that move away from binary understandings of the nation-state and that trouble the assimilationist narrative. The space is a way of looking at or regarding the physical setting of a northern, urban American space and remaking that space in a physical way, in the way that interiors and exteriors in the stories are colored, rearranged and repurposed. Looking at the way her characters change and redefine themselves and the master narratives that shape their cultures, we can conclude that Cisneros does not only engage in the dialectics of difference but in the dialectics of engagement, in which the texts are situated in and among the ongoing process of migration that constitute borderlands. Cisneros’s texts map movement between places that belong and do not belong to the characters and each place is constituted through the exchange between Anglo-American and Mexican culture (Herrera 2016, 105).

Cultural exchange also happens between the characters in a wider community of Latin Americans primarily through the shared native language and common colonial history. This allows them to connect and coexist as a coherent unit. The characters’ intergroup identity is enabled by “an imaginary social space consisting in transitional communities of shared fates” (Saldívar 2016. 174). The line dividing Mexican and US culture is clearly drawn. However, the lines between Mexicans and other Latinos are blurred, testifying to their shared values and a sense of transnational life full of predicaments. Such life revolves around transnational home which emotionally sustains them in their struggle to find their place in the Borderlands.

Particularly The House on Mango Street provides examples of transnational characters whose identity is established in relation to their homes outside the U.S. and Mexican Chicago. Besides Mamacita whose homesickness and nostalgia impede her functioning in the U.S., Cisneros introduces Alicia from Guadalajara and Marlin from Puerto Rico. The narrator tells about these two characters from the present perspective indicating a future-oriented perspective “positioning them within a space that feels temporary” because their return home is already inferred (Herrera 2016, 115). The meaning of transnational home is expressed through Esperanza’s contemplation of these characters’ transmigratory movements. Marin who is from Puerto Rico is tied to her country not only through family, but also through her boyfriend to whom she is “getting married when she goes back to P.R.” (Cisneros 2009, 16). The probability of Marin’s departure from America is increased by her cousins’ decision “to send her back to her mother with a letter saying she’s too much trouble.” (Cisneros 2009, 16). At the same time, Alicia whose emotional ties to her country are reflected in “a little leather purse with the word GUADALAJARA stitched on it, which is home for Alicia,” (Cisneros 2009, 54) is determined to return home. The connection that these two girls feel toward their home is contrasted to Esperanza’s emotions toward hers.

What comes to the fore here is a contradiction that transnational lives of Mamacita, Alicia, and Marin provide the sense of belonging to their native countries in the way that Mango Street will never do for Esperanza. This becomes obvious when Esperanza tells Alicia that she does not have a house. Alicia’s answer to this complaint results in her gesture that aims at positioning the narrator within the space of Mango Street: “You live right here, 4006 Mango, Alicia says and points to the house I am ashamed of” (Cisneros 2009, 54). Regarding Alicia and Esperanza’s conversation about Guadalajara, Herrera notices that for Esperanza home means “where you are from, making the distinction between the physical space of a house and the emotional place of a home, defined not by a structure but by origins” (2016, 115). In this way, transnational home represents a realm of “the transnational imaginary” which is a location where new citizen subjects and spaces emerge outside the dominion of the purely national (Saldívar 2016, 174).

6. Conclusion

Cisneros’s fiction, like the works of other American women writers, crafts critical spaces that imagine alternatives to social domination. She stresses that Borderlands are grounded in historical reality but also critically approaches this space, allowing readers to see new ways of constructing it. The fact that Borderlands are at the same time real and multiple and fictional makes for different readings. She exposes tensions between global and local, private and public spaces. Borderlands are for her translocal and transnational.

Cisneros’s politics of home challenges both local and national spaces. She shows how they are gendered by portraying Chicana women and their struggle against various forms of dominance. Some of her characters, for example Cleófilas, Rosario and Esperanza, manage to assert their identity within topography of displacement and explore their state of “in-betweeness.” According to Anzaldúa, “to be disoriented in space is to experience bouts of disassociation of identity, identity breakdowns and buildups. The border, in a constant nepantla state, is an analog of the planet. That is why the borderline is a persistent metaphor in el arte de la frontera, an art that explores such themes as identity, border crossings, and hybrid imagery” (Anzaldúa 2015, 57). It is important to note here Anzaldúa’s insistence on the state of flux of the Borderlands which is conducive to creation in comparison to rigidity of social norms and binary oppositions. In showing how her characters try to build their transnational homes in Borderlands, transcending impositions placed upon them, Cisneros does not shy away from exploring their heartbreak due to disorientation in space and culture as well as displacement in both American and Latino communities. However, the Borderlands with their “hybrid imagery” or “transnational imaginary” prove necessary to creation of individual and intergroup identity of Cisneros’s characters.

Works Cited

Al-Mahfedi, Mohamed Hamoud Kassim. 2011. “Edward Said’s ‘Imaginative Geography’ and Geopolitical Mapping: Knowledge/Power Constellation and Landscaping Palestine.” The Criterion: An International Journal in English, 2.3. 1-26.

Anzaldúa, Gloria. 1987. Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. Aunt Lute Books, San Francisco.

Anzaldúa, Gloria. 2015. Light in the dark = Luz en lo oscuro. Duke University Press, Durham and London.

Bachelard, Gaston. 2014. The Poetics of Space. Penguin Classics.

Betz, M. Regina. 2012. “Chicana ‘Belonging’ in Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street” Rocky Mountain Review, 66. 18-33.

Cisneros, Sandra. 1992. Woman Hollering Creek and Other Stories.  Random House, New York.

-----. 2009. The House on Mango Street. Random House, New York.

Doyle, Jacqueline. 1994. “More Room of Her Own: Sandra Cisneros’s The House on Mango Street” MELUS, 19 (4): 5-35.

Fachinger, Petra. 2001. “Lost in Nostalgia: The Autobiography of Eva Hoffman and Richard Rodriguez”. MELUS, 26 (2): 111-127.

Harvey, Nicholas. 2000. Spaces of Hope. Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh.

Herrera, L. Olga. 2016. “Finding Mexican Chicago on Mango Street: A Transnational Production of Space and Place in Sandra Cisneros’s The House on Mango Street and Caramelo” William Orchard and Yolanda Padilla (eds). 2016. Bridges, Borders, Breaks: History, Narrative, and Nation in Twenty-First Century Chicana/o Literary Criticism. University of Pittsburgh Press. 103-120.

Izgarjan Aleksandra and Diana Prodanović Stankić. 2015. Approaches to Metaphor: Cognitive, Translation and Literary Studies Perspective. Filozofski fakultet, Novi Sad.

Martin, W. Karen. 2008. “The House (of Memory) on Mango Street: Sandra Cisneros’s Counter-Poetics of Space” South Atlantic Review, 73. 50-67.

Mermann-Jozwiak Elisabeth and Nancy Sullivan. 2009. “Introduction.” Mermann-Jozwiak Elisabeth and Nancy Sullivan (eds). 2009. Conversations with Mexican American Writers Languages and Literatures in the Borderlands. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi. i-vii.

Saldívar, Ramón. 2016. “Chicano Narrative Now: Literary Discourse in an Age of Transnationalism” William Orchard and Yolanda Padilla (eds). 2016. Bridges, Borders, Breaks: History, Narrative, and Nation in Twenty-First Century Chicana/o Literary Criticism. University of Pittsburgh Press. 171-176.

“BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL”: BLACK ATLANTIC EXPERIENCE AND THE BLACK FEMALE BODY IN TONI MORRISON’S GOD HELP THE CHILD (2015)

ÁGNES ZSÓFIA KOVÁCS

Introduction

Toni Morrison’s God Help the Child is a coming of age story of an adult woman in arrested development. This is the frame story in many of Morrison’s novels, and God Help the Child deals specifically with cases of child abuse in an African American context. Through the theme of child abuse, the novel parallels Morrison’s first novel The Bluest Eye (1970) in its problematization of the relationships among ’blackness,’ inferiority, and sexual abuse. However, the perspectives of the two novels are different. In the first novel, Pecola’s story is one of disintegration and social exclusion, as rape by her father and the subsequent pregnancy result in the victim’s, Pecola’s, isolation and madness not in that of the father. Commenting on her first novel in an interview, Morrison said she wanted to reflect on the then popular cry of “Black is beautiful!” by male authors from a female perspective, from which being black may never have been so very beautiful. As Morrison explains this in connection to the The Bluest Eye: “I was deeply concerned about the feelings of being ugly. […] I wanted to have a little hurt black girl at the center of the story” (Morrison 2004). Valerie Smith calls this internalized sense of isolation “racial self-loathing” (Smith, 2012:19), that Eszter Mohácsi analyzes through “images of white-centric views of beauty” (Mohácsi, 2017:3). By contrast, in the new novel Bride, also the victim of child abuse, manages to fight social and psychic disintegration and it is the perpetrator who suffers social marginalization – although the actual abuse turns out not to have happened eventually.

A sense of familiarity with God Help the Child also comes from the way it evokes Morrison’s Beloved (1987). God Help the Child shows Bride’s mysterious bodily transformation as an element of her psychic transformation in the novel. This is markedly similar to the way the appearance of Beloved (or of her ghost) catalyzes the process of Sethe’s psychic transformation in Beloved. In the earlier novel Beloved’s appearance forces Sethe to face memories of the past she had wanted to forget, and Beloved’s final bodily exorcism can only be performed when Sethe takes on a new attitude to her past. In the new novel Bride’s perfect blue black female body takes central stage. As Bride’s healthy sense of the beauty of her black body gets shattered, her mature female body is actually changing back into the body of a little black girl’s; a process that is finally reversed in the happy ending. The final exorcism of the body of the little girl becomes possible through Bride’s new sense of her identity.

God Help the Child has received mixed critical responses. On the one hand, Bernardine Evaristo celebrates the book as the ‘circle completed’ because of the fact that Pecola’s tragic story from the Depression Era has been reworked into a story of “black is now beautiful” in the new novel about the contemporary US (Evaristo 2015). On the other hand, Kara Walker writes that in the God Help the Child “Morrison handles child abuse with a cautious disgust, not with the terrifying clearness of her first novel,” and she finds this lack of detail characterizes the book in general (Walker 2015). Similarly, Ron Charles considers the new novel to carry “a faint echo of the earlier novel’s power” only (Charles 2015). Roxane Gay agrees with Walker on the lack of detail when she specifies that “the most interesting and undeveloped part of God Help the Child” is how Bride’s body changes in the story (Gay 2015), a view shared by Wendy Galgan who wishes that “the touches of magic realism that appear would become more integral to the overall plot” (Galgan, 2015:51). Gras also highlights the importance of the black female body in the novel but she focuses on the body from the perspective of an assumed post-feminism and postracialism (in the US, supposedly starting with the presidency of Barack Obama). Gras reads the story of Bride’s body as that of a commercialized object, depictions of which “that shatter the myth of post-racial America” (Gras, 2017:2).

This essay focuses on representations of the black female body in God Help the Child in its relation to Morrison’s other fictional and critical texts on literary representations of African American women. Through surveying the role of the African American vernacular culture in Morrison’s representations of colored female bodies in God Help the Child, the essay argues that the magic bodily transformations so vital to the plot are connected to Morrison’s reliance on and hybridization of the culture of the Black Atlantic (Gilroy, 1993a:222-3). Bride’s changing experience of her black body during her social disintegration and reintegration process may be an undeveloped part of the novel as Roxane Gay wrote, but it is centrally important. Bride’s surprise psychological and physical healing in God Help the Child is the result of interference from an African spiritual world like Beloved’s figure was in Beloved. From this perspective, the new novel can be considered an African style rewriting of Pecola’s story in The Bluest Eye.

To substantiate the above thesis, the paper is divided into three parts. The first one sketches Morrison’s ideas of the African American novel as a way to approach God Help the Child. The second one interprets characters of the new novel as contemporary versions of African religious figures or processes. The third one focuses on the element of healing in the story as an implication of the African cultural influence.

1. Sites of Memory: Toni Morrison’s Idea of the African American Novel

Toni Morrison has created a definite literary project since the 1980s: she has been rewriting the history of African Americans imaginatively in her novels. The official history of African Americans has been written from the perspective of whites so far: slaveholders or otherwise. The aim of reimagining the personal histories of African Americans is to create counter-histories to the official one, to speak about experiences the official version does not mention. The counter histories try to reveal the history of blacks from their own perspectives and through emotional identification (Morrison, 2014). In particular, Morrison specializes in recreating female African American perspectives of the past. In her essay “Memory, Creation, Writing” from 1984, Morrison explains the nature of this retelling as a confrontation with the received ‘reality’ of the West (1984:388). The imagined versions of African American history and reality map out the changing nature of race relations in US society. Needless to say, rememory, as Morrison refers to it in Beloved (1987:38) remains incomplete: versions of the past can be reimagined ad infinitum.

Rachel Ghansah writes that even the least generous of Morrison’s critics accept Morrison’s project of rewriting history. She adds that there is also a less obvious mission. She thinks Morrison’s counter-representations are not empirical understandings of Black life in America but rather complications and teasings, records and also reflections of conflicts in African American life, as senior editor Chris Jackson explains: Morrison as an editor was already doing books that were concerned with “the internal experience of being black” (Ghansah: 2015). Morrison explicates the idea further in the same interview: “I am interested in the complexity, the vulnerability of an idea. […] I don’t know what it is but I am interested in finding out what it might mean to me and to other people” (Ghansah 2015).

In her reimaginations of history, Morrison relies on African traditions of storytelling. In her interview for The Paris Review she said: “You write out of where you come from, which for me is African American” (Morrison, 1993). More specifically, for her African in writing means:

If my work is faithfully to reflect the aesthetic tradition of Afro-American culture, it must make conscious use of the characteristics of its art forms and translate them into print: antiphony, the group nature of art, its functionality, its improvisational nature, its relationship to audience performance, the critical voice which upholds tradition and communal values and which also provides occasion for an individual to transcend and/or defy group restrictions. (Morrison 1984, 389)

In a similar vein, talking to Paul Gilroy she explained how African music functions as the main inspiration for the African American novel by identifying music as central to folk culture: “[m]y parallel [to art] is always the music” (Gilroy, 1993b:181). No wonder that in Morrison criticism articles that explore Morrison’s connections to the so called ‘jazz novel’ tradition and the “slave narrative” tradition tend to focus on some or all of the above features.

We can all recall Morrison’s most famous novel to date, Beloved, where multiple perspectives represent the unimaginable circumstances of a mother murdering her own child because the mother thinks death is better for her daughter than survival as a slave woman. The official white version of the story existed as a newspaper article about the abhorrent slave mother’s act. The imaginative counter-histories provide multiple perspectives of the contexts and the afterlife of the trauma in various tones. The tonal differences of Morrison’s prose are usually compared to jazz rhythms (Eckstein, 2006:197) and the question of how the African musical idiom is used to grapple the shock of slavery is discussed (Gilroy, 1993a: 222). In Beloved, these perspectives focus on the representation of the internal, psychic experience of the black mother within the space of her “home” female community (Mohácsi, 2018:3), and also give voice and body to the experience of the murdered child. Eventually, the enactment of the communal healing ritual offers a tentative way of processing the situation of the victim who remained alive (Rushdy, 1999:50-1).

Zauditu-Selassie published a whole book surveying African features in Morrison (Zauditu, 2009).  This book provides an exhaustive inventory of African cultural elements in Morrison’s oeuvre: not only characters, basic plots but symbolic setting, signs, approach to time, and also healing – which Selassie refers to as the African spiritual tradition. Also, Therese E. Higgins enlists a whole array of African patterns appearing in Morrison’s texts (Higgins, 2001:30-1). Both Selassie and Higgins create an inventory of African elements. My aim in referring to African cultural elements in God Help the Child is not so much to extend their inventory but rather to map out their specific functions within the narration.

2. Child Abuse, Memory and Folk Culture in God Help the Child

In God Help the Child the theme of child abuse is presented in a contemporary 21st century context, with a positive ending. In what follows let us retrace how the book relies on elements of African culture. The eventual aim with this is to point out how the healing potential of African cultural practices is used in the 2015 representation of abuse. The first step in this process is to focus on the protagonist’s, Bride’s experience of her body as the surface inscribed by her changing sense of her identity and, as I would like to make clear, also by ritual.

In God Help the Child, Bride’s body is changing in ways only she can see. She is losing her body hair, the holes in her earlobes disappear, she is shrinking, her plump breasts flatten, her period is late. She is regressing into girlhood: as if she was becoming the scared little black girl she used to be as a child. This is not the first bodily and psychic transformation Bride undergoes, a process that can be traced through her changing names. First of all, Bride’s mother named her Lula Anna Bridewell at birth. Her high yellow mother was shocked by Lula Ann’s dark skin: because of Lula Ann’s blue-black, almost Sudanese skin, her mother did not love or touch her, her father fled the family home, and as a child she was treated as inferior. When she was eight, she managed to achieve her mother’s approval once. She testified against a white teacher who was accused of molesting black children, and the woman was convicted to 15 years in prison. It turns out Lula Ann testified falsely, in order to live up to her mother’s expectations. Her reward was that her mother took her by the hand and bought a pair of earrings for her.

During the 23 years of her life, Bride has already reinvented herself twice, changing her name from Lula Ann to Ann Bridewell and then just to Bride. When she was 16, she got away from her mother and the constant sense of shame due to her dark color, she renamed herself Ann Bridewell, and began to work in the cosmetics industry, thus completing her first transformation. At 18, aiming for promotion she renamed herself again as Bride, began to wear white clothes only to emphasize her black skin, and got an executive job in a cosmetics firm. As a result, she had completed her second transformation. By this point her black skin and perfect body had been turned into valuable assets. In the present, at 23, she is a successful corporate woman whose body is always on display as part of marketing her products.

As the story unfolds, Bride’s third transformation is beginning to take shape. The physical changes of Bride’s body in the present are triggered by the fact that her lover Booker has left her unexpectedly. At the same time, Sophia, the teacher whom she had sent into prison with her false testimony, has been released. When Bride goes to see her in order to give her some money as a compensation, Sophia beats Bride up, ruining her face temporarily. During the weeks of recovery, idleness and loneliness, Bride’s body changes into that of a little girl. When her outer scars heal, she sets out to find her ex, Booker, and talk the situation over with him. After an argument and fight, they reconcile, and Bride falls into a long deep sleep only to awake to the new/old presence of her mature female body. She and Booker cooperate whilst trying to save the life of Booker’s aunt, Olive, who had been injured in a fire, but the elderly woman dies. In turn, Bride reveals to Booker she is pregnant, a fact they both cherish. The couple seems intent on starting a new life together.

Secondly, let us consider the African elements in the story of Bride’s transforming body. In general, the simple plotline is invested with African features. It is easy all too to notice the features of the jazz novel: multiple perspectives, nonlinear and non-chronological storytelling, music and dancing as themes, the musical, changing rhythm of the passages, the use of colors, black, white, and yellow in particular. Walton Muyumba sums these features up when he calls the novel a “tragicomic jazz opera” in four parts with a choral prelude. He also adds that “it is worth keeping Jazz in mind while parsing this novel; it is hard to read it without recalling one of Billie Holiday’s signature songs ‘God Bless the Child’” (Muyumba). So there is definite trace of the jazz interest in the book.

More specifically, African features are present in relation to characters as well: apart from Bride, Booker, and Olive are also implicated. Firstly, the mysterious physical changes Bride undergoes are very similar to the experience of an African shape-shifter. Normally, a shape shifter is a human who can change into an animal and back through using magic. Or it can be one person who can change into another. The aim of shape-shifting is healing or self-healing, as it happens in the case of Joe in Jazz (Zauditu-Selassie, 2009:178). In the new novel, Bride’s physical regression results in her transformation into her earlier version, the scared little black girl Lula Ann. She experiences being a helpless black girl again in order to be able to handle the situation in the present. She processes her guilt about the false testimony in her fight and reconciliation with Booker. She confesses to him her testimony was false, and when this happens, she feels relieved of her sin. After her confession, healing sleep brings her mature body back.

Another character whose behavior recalls an African pattern is Booker, Bride’s lover. Booker’s life is determined by his dead brother’s presence. One of the four thematic segments of the novel is fully concerned with the story of Booker’s arrested development. Approximately 15 years before the events, Booker’s ten year old elder brother Adam was killed by a child molester. Booker was eight. Ever since, the need to take revenge for Adam has been on Booker’s mind. The pattern of the ghost of the revengeful child who disturbs the lives of the living family members seeking retaliation is another element of African spiritual traditions, as it was in Beloved (Eckstein, 2006:184), too. In God Help the Child Booker finally makes peace with the ghost of his dead brother when Bride returns to him and he is faced with the fact that all his quick emotional reactions in the present are linked to his earlier emotions about Adam and not to the living characters of his present life. He bids farewell to the ghost in a moving letter at the end of the narrative. Then he scatters Olive’s ashes, no doubt taking leave of Adam, too. At long last he is able to start his real time life with Bride in the present.

Thirdly, Olive, Booker’s aunt shows features of an African ancestor figure. In the African ancestor worship deceased ancestors have a lot in common with the life of the living whom they help along with their advice (Zauditu-Selassie, 2006:50). In God Help the Child Olive is worldly wise, independent, emphatic, the only member of the family whom Booker trusts. When she dies, she is remembered by both Booker and Bride as an influential person whose example and advice they are willing to follow. So all in all the three key characters can all be related to African religious patterns: the shape-shifter, the revengeful child, and ancestor worship.

3. Ritual Healing

How do the African elements function in the storytelling in God Help the Child? More specifically, what roles do African traditions fulfill, can we see a hybrid coexistence of ritual patterns and everyday issues as Gilroy argued African elements functioned in Beloved? At the bottom line, it can be pointed out that all three African patterns work towards healing. Firstly, Bride’s shape-shifting helps her process her sense of guilt and inferiority. Secondly, taking leave of the ghost child helps Booker move back into the company of real people and real arguments. Thirdly, Olive as the object of ancestor worship helps the couple maintain their sense of belonging after their drifting lives.

The healing elements all work toward a happy ending on the level of the plot. Bride manages to process her trauma, Brooker grants his dead brother a place in the past, and Olive helps the couple cooperate and feel they belong together. Let us remember that the unmotivated cursory happy ending as the conclusion of the child abuse theme was one topic the reviewers of the novel have been problematizing as part of the general problem of being “blurry,” i. e. little developed characters, clipped story, sketchy scenes. From this perspective, the African patterns reduce the complexity of the plot and make important turning points happen automatically.

It appears that the reliance on the African elements works towards a ritual reprocessing of the present with a purpose to heal problems, but this reprocessing does not complicate or reflect on the representation of the contemporary social theme but rather simplifies it.

Conclusion and Further Questions

In the new novel the old child abuse theme returns with reliance of African cultural elements according to Morrison’s ideas explicated in the 80s-90s. The African patterns appear in a truncated form in 2015. The shortened, clipped, somewhat simplified narration functions not to complicate the theme but makes the representation of psychological healing at the end of the story unmotivated.

There are some further questions one can formulate on the basis of this analytical thesis. First of all, the question is whether happy ending is inevitable when one relies on the African background. Healing seems total in the latest stories – which accounts for the overwhelming optimism or sweetness. In general, then, the new question is what role the African elements can play in the compulsory healing processes represented in Morrison’s latest texts.

Additionally, one can ponder on why the narration has been truncated in such a way when all the elements of Morrison’s work from the 80s and 90 are present – the jazz novel, the African theme, female perspectives, representations of the traumas related to racial and gender identity positions, memory in the making. In her 2015 review, Kara Walker wrote that Morrison’s texts so far have been “written for the ear, with loving attention to the textures and sounds of words” – a feature she misses from the new novel (Walker, 2015). At his juncture one needs to acknowledge the fact that since Love (Morrison, 2003) Morrison has developed a new style: short, pared down texts, with speedy plot, little play with language, and without question God Help the Child also belongs to this group (Muyumba, 2015). Looking at God Help the Child from the perspective of literary categorization, the added question is how Morrison’s reliance on African themes facilitates the simplifying process.

Works cited

Charles, Ron. 2015. “Toni Morrison’s Familiar, Flawed God Save the Child.” The Washington Post. Apr. 14, 2015. Access date: Jan. 24th, 2018. Available at: https://www.washingtonpost.com/entertainment/books/toni-morrisons-familar-flawed-god-help-the-child/2015/04/14/6cde0cfe-dec6-11e4-a500-1c5bb1d8ff6a_story.html?utm_term=.264474b36b51.

Eckstein, Lars. 2006. Re-Membering the Black Atlantic: On the Poetics and Politics of Literary Memory. Amsterdam: Rodopi.

Evaristo, Bernardine. 2015. “God Help the Child review: Toni Morrison continues to improve with age.” The Guardian. April 19, 2015. Access date: Jan. 24th, 2018. Available at:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/apr/19/god-help-the-child-review-toni-morrison.

Galgan, Wendy. 2015. “God Help the Child.” Library Journal. 140, 11. 51.

Ghansah, Rachel Kaadzi. 2015. “The Radical Vision of Toni Morrison” The New York Times. Apr. 12, 2015. Access date: Jan 28th, 2018. Available at: https://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/12/magazine/the-radical-vision-of-toni-morrison.html?_r=0.

Gilroy, Paul. 1993a. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

----. 1993b. “Living Memory: A Meeting with Toni Morrison” Paul Gilroy (ed.). Small Acts: Thoughts on the Politics of Black Cultures. London: Serpent’s Tail. 175-182.

Gras, Delphine. 2016. “Disarticulating Post-Discourses in Toni Morrison’s God Help the Child.” Humanities 5(4). 80. Access date: Jan. 24, 2018. Available at: Doi: 10.3390/h5040080.

Gay, Roxane. 2015. “God Help the Child by Toni Morrison review.” The Guardian. April 29, 2015.  Access date: Jan 15th, 2017. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2015/apr/29/god-help-the-child-toni-morrison-review-novel.

Higgins, Therese E. 2001. “The Influence of African Cosmological Beliefs in Beloved” Therese E. Higgins. Religiosity, cosmology, & folklore: The African influence in the novels of Toni Morrison. London: Routledge. 29-44.

Mohácsi, Eszter Enikő. 2018. “Possibilities of being at home on American soil: The concept of home in Toni Morrison’s novels” Réka M. Cristian, Zoltán Dragon and András Lénárt (eds.). Transnational Americas: Home(s), Borders, Transgressions. Szeged: Americana Ebooks.

----. 2017. “The Destructive Effects of the Dominant White Ideology: Physical Beauty in The Bluest Eye.” Global Journal of English Language and Literature. 4,2. Access date: Jan. 29th, 2017. Available at: https://sites.google.com/site/globaljournalofell/

Morrison, Toni. 2015. God Help the Child. New York: A. Knopf.

----. 1993. “Toni Morrison: The Art of Fiction.” Interview 134. Elissa Schappel, interviewer. The Paris Review 128 (Fall 1993). Access date: Jan. 24, 2018. Available at:

https://www.theparisreview.org/interviews/1888/toni-morrison-the-art-of-fiction-no-134-toni-morrison.

----. 1987. (1988.) Beloved. New York: Plume/Penguin.

----. 1984a. “Memory, Creation, Writing” Thought, 59 (Dec. 1984). 385-390. Access date: Jan. 24, 2018. Available at: http://blogs.umass.edu/brusert/files/2013/03/Morrison_Memory-Creation.pdf.

----. 1984b. “Rootedness: The Ancestor as Foundation.” Mari Evans (ed.). Black Women Writers (1950–1980): A Critical Evaluation. Garden City, NY: Anchor. 339–45.

----. 1970. (1994.) The Bluest Eye. New York: Plume/Penguin.

Muyumba, Walter. 2015. “Lady Sings the Blues.” The Atlantic. Apr 23, 2015. Access date: Jan. 24, 2018. Available at: https://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2015/04/morrison-review-god-help-the-child/391197/.

National Visionary Leadership Project. 2004. “Toni Morrison talks about her motivation for writing” Access date: Jan. 24, 2018. Available at: http://www.visionaryproject.org/morrisontoni/.

Rushdy, Ashraf H. A. 1999. “Daughters, Signifyin(g) History: The Example of Toni Morrison’s Beloved.” William L Andrens and Nellie Y McKay (eds.). Toni Morrison’s Beloved: A Casebook. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 37-67.

Smith, Valerie. 2012. (2014) Toni Morrison: Writing the Moral Imagination. Oxford: Wiley Blackwell.

Walker, Kara. 2015. “Toni Morrison’s God Help the Child” The New York Times Apr 13, 2015. Access date: Jan. 24th, 2018. Available at: https://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/19/books/review/toni-morrisons-god-help-the-child.html.

Zauditu-Selassie, K. 2009. African Spiritual Traditions in the Novels of Toni Morrison. Gainesville: University of Florida Press.

TRANSGRESSING THE UNCANNY: REPRESENTATIONS OF THE UNFAMILIAR HOME IN CRISTINA GARCÍA’S THE AGÜERO SISTERS

EVA-MARIA TRINKAUS

Introduction

Home as a concept is frequently discussed especially in the literatures of the Americas, and in my understanding, is a fluid conception, and neither bound to space or time. In connection to migration, displacement, movement, and mobility, as well as the emotional longing for a place that is identified with security and familiarity, home becomes more than a simple geographical space. Home as a narration is very often connected to women and mothers as the personified embodiment of a ‘home-place’ and exactly this metaphorical understanding of home in a person – in mother, grandmother, and woman – is an image that recurs in reading literary texts such as García’s.

Doreen Massey (10) argues in her book Space, Place, and Gender that in our Western cultural understanding, we associate women with nostalgia, and with the romantic image of home that has a strongly female constitute. On the one hand, Massey claims that “place is interpreted as being important in the search for identity in this supposedly troubled era of time-space compression” (10). On the other hand, Roberta Maierhofer claims that “representations of travel and mobility are important cultural narratives expressing issues of postmodern identity” (1). The identification of places in which Massey and Maierhofer meet is in the question of a home-place through movement, Maierhofer arguing that identity is fluid and connected to traveling and moving, and Massey in her depiction of femininity as an overall concept that is in flux and constantly renegotiated.

In Cristina García’s novel The Agüero Sisters, female mobility plays an important role. The female protagonist, Reina Agüero, through whose view most of the novel is presented in form of a third person narration, is a liminal character that transgresses various boundaries. Reina becomes the embodiment of the negotiations of the home-place. For Reina, home is a concept more than a geographical space, featuring interwoven aspects of past and present, overcoming what I would like to describe as the ‘uncanny’ feeling as explicated by Freud in his analysis of E.T.A. Hoffman’s “Der Sandmann” [The Sandman]. Reina’s quest for a home away from home is a place to identify with in the United States. She moves away from her birthplace in Cuba, and this movement ties in with the question of identities in flux as expressed by Maierhofer and Massey.

The view on Reina Agüero in the novel emphasizes womanhood as an aspect that strongly sustains home in terms of space, place, and finally also time, since the ongoing transgression is a question of endurance. For Reina Agüero, home is not always romantic, familiar, well-structured, or cozy; aspects that Massey ascribes to the home as a place. Her image of home is full of insecurities and flaws, and a certain feeling of displacement and eeriness, notions that are closely connected to a feeling of being physically ‘in but not of a place’, also caused by her constant movement from one place to another. In this context of displacement, Zygmunt Bauman distinguishes between a very important and applicable dichotomy, when he claims that people may be “bodily ‘in‘’’, “but they are not ‘of that place’ – certainly not spiritually, but also quite often, whenever they wish, not bodily” (Bauman 74). Exactly this emotional aspect of eeriness of being at a place that does not feel comfortable to the protagonist is what I would like to analyze in terms of Freud’s uncanny. My analysis will emphasize the uncanny related to the representation of being in a place according to Bauman, and an overcoming of the uncanny feeling of not being at home in a certain place of García’s protagonist Reina Agüero in The Agüero Sisters. As the uncanny is a term often and at the same time ambiguously used in analyzing literary texts, I will shortly try to explain my approach to the concept as a tool of literary criticism, leaving aside the psychoanalytical approach.

The Uncanny in The Agüero Sisters

The question of the uncanny as a concept is a multifaceted issue of interpretations, depending on different aspects such as language, culture, and literary analysis. In order to clearly outline the stance from which the analysis of Reina Agüero’s feeling of the uncanny will take place, one has to look at Sigmund Freud’s and Martin Heidegger’s interpretations of the uncanny as a philosophical and literary concept, and add Homi K. Bhabha’s interpretation of it as a cultural one. Starting with Freud, the emphasis is clearly on the fearful and frightening, or what Freud himself describes as “the ‘uncanny‘ [which] is that class of the terrifying which leads back to something long known to us, once very familiar“ (2). In Freud’s conceptualization, one could speak of a concept of liminality, a concept that combines a feeling of the known and unknown, and makes one “curious to know what this peculiar quality is which allows us to distinguish as ‘uncanny‘ certain things within the boundaries of what is fearful“ (2).

In his analysis of E.T.A. Hoffman’s Der Sandmann [“The Sandman“], Freud alludes more to the aspect of supernatural and inhuman that occurs when the protagonist falls in love with a girl in the story who turns out to be a human looking doll. Freud’s concept is a straightforward definition of the fear of supernatural existences, the unconscious human psyche, and strictly refers to Hoffman’s 19th century short story. Whereas Freud’s occupation with the uncanny is a very substantial one, there are still aspects that overlap with Heidegger’s definition, a definition that could be argued to be more suitable for the question of societal place in The Agüero Sisters, because Heidegger’s concept is not so much focusing on the uncanny feelings of an individual, as on a more general understanding of the uncanny aspect of ‘being in the world.’ Freud’s aforementioned aspect of (un-)familiarity is especially close to what Heidegger describes as the fear of not being at home, a feeling of a broader unfamiliarity with the world and with the existence of an undistinguished ordinariness of being. Heidegger speaks more about a familiarity with a place, and a taken for granted of feeling familiar to a home in opposition to the uncanny, which, in his terms, is the ‘not-at-homeness’ (Heidegger 188-189).

In the light of such a comparison, the question might arise why Freud’s concept would be of importance for the interpretation of place and home when Heidegger already addresses exactly those aspects under investigation. Heidegger’s concept is vividly to the point, but lacks a few illustrations that Freud, however arbitrary and supernatural his characterization may be, includes into his definition. Freud elaborates more on the aspect of the uncanny and the home, opposing the terms “heimlich“ and “unheimlich“ in a fashion that allows even more space for arbitrariness and interpretation. “The German word unheimlich is obviously the opposite of heimlich, heimisch, meaning ‘familiar’, ‘native’, ‘belonging to the home’“ (Freud 2), which adds to Heidegger’s familiar/unfamiliar dichotomy.  So what now is this uncanny in terms of a cultural concern, a positioning of place such as occurring in García’s novel? What is the importance, necessity, or interest in the liminal status ascribing power to the individual? Bhabha, in The Location of Culture, claims the following:

Culture is heimlich, with its disciplinary generalizations, its mimetic narratives, its homologous empty time, its seriality, its progress, its customs and coherence. But cultural authority is also unheimlich, for to be distinctive, significatory, influential and identifiable, it has to be translated, disseminated, differentiated, interdisciplinary, intertextual, international, inter-racial. (Bhabha 195)

When having a look at García’s novel it is exactly these aspects that lead us to a multilayered question of the definition of home, in terms of cultural aspects, the known and familiar, the unknown, the in-between, the surfacing, and the hidden. By creating a liminal position, a multiplicity of aspects play into the transformation of selfhood in Reina Agüero. Taking Bhabha’s, Freud’s, and Heidegger’s explications into account, the uncanny lies in its emotional attachment of an individual to a place that is considered home, but at the same time represents an aspect of unfamiliarity. The uncanny in García’s novel, thus, not only describes the sentiment towards an unpleasant place in a geographical sense, but also includes the explicit state and emotion the woman finds herself in.

The question of the uncanny in terms of the frightening and unfamiliar is discussed in García’s novel in terms of the positioning of Reina Agüero. Reina Agüero, in the beginning, is described as unfamiliar to other people within the Cuban society, a woman not alike any other woman, atypical in her physical appearance as well as her behavior. The second chapter of the book, in which Reina Agüero is introduced, highlights her strength, emphasizes her bodily features that are compared to men’s, and underlines the feeling of otherness that her appearance arouses in the people around her. Reina is not familiar in her home, she is not alienated either, as she adds positively to her people by being a good worker, but she is not seen as a ‘typical woman’.

Reina Agüero, cleaving to a telephone pole with thighs strengthened by many such climbs, is repairing a high-voltage cable outside El Cobre, a copper mining town in Eastern Cuba, when another storm blows in from the Cayman Trench. Lightning, intricate as a skeleton, shatters the afternoon hum of the Sierra Maestra, illuminating the pitted, open-cast mine in the distance. Reina Agüero wipes one hand, then another, on her regulation jumpsuit as she works her way down the splintered pole. Her tools clang reassuringly from her belt. In the evening, she will climb the coconut tree behind the government hotel and mingle its milk with a little rum. (García 9)

The introductory passage already gives the reader an impression of Reina’s physical features and her capability of being able to handle ‘men’s tools’ and doing work not even the strongest men in her community are capable of. Reina Agüero is a contradictory person in the representation of a ’questionable’ femininity. Questionable in the sense that she does not fit into any stereotype the novel offers, not into a category that scholars and scientist of various different fields claim as being so important for human meaning-making, categories the novel offers otherwise with other women depicted – a mother who, even though dying early, is represented as a successful scientist and yet an unfaithful wife, and who gets killed by the husband after having betrayed him, and a sister who falls for consumerist features of femininity by becoming the embodiment of the never pretty and young enough wife of a disloyal husband, suffering from her own invisibility. Reina is neither. She is not beautiful enough to be outstandingly noticeable, nor successful or rich enough to be of high importance, she is not even relevant enough for her country, for Cuba, not relevant enough to shape her country’s history or the Cuban revolution. By getting permission to leave the country, the missing value of Reina as a person is emphasized even further. “On the fifth morning of Reina’s vigil, word comes down from El Comandante himself: ’Let the old mare go to America if it pleases her. What use is she to us now?’“ (García 102). In her leaving, she is again neither-nor, liminal, ambiguous, in between two worlds that are both unfamiliar to her as she is unfamiliar to them.

In addition, after having an accident back in Cuba, Reina is left with a patchwork pattern on her skin. Her skin donations are from family members and her lover, which takes away her personal odor and creates yet another feeling of uncanniness/unfamiliarity within her own body. Moving to the United States, she is taking the skin of other people with her, and a smell she cannot stand. For her, it means taking pieces or fragments of Cuba to the United States, and it leaves her with yet another feeling of unfamiliarity but this time within a different geographic region. In the US in her sister’s home, she does not find an emotional attachment to her given home for a long time, despite having to live with Constancia, her sister, who slowly becomes the mother’s alter ego.

Constancia takes deep breath, sprays herself with a plant mister of salt water she keeps nearby for extra hydrations. Then she checks the mirror again. Her face has settled down, but it appears different to her, younger, as if it truly had been rearranged in the night. She rubs her eyes, pinches her cheeks. Her eyes seem rounder, a more deliberate green. Then it hits her with the force of a slap. This is her mother’s face. (García 105)

Constancia slowly but steadily becomes the doppelgänger of their mother. Her face is fading, making room for her mother’s appearance. The uncanny aspect of the doppelgänger that Freud emphasizes becomes a fearful image Reina has to deal with when in a different culture and different surroundings, adding to the fearfulness by taking everything that was once familiar from her. The doppelgänger image of the mother in the sister is Reina’s dealing with the past. Whereas Constancia cannot overcome their common ancestry, their past, and their lack of a common truth, Reina, by accepting a murder her father committed in the past, allows herself personal and cultural reconciliation. Her transgression from believing in a lie out of self-protection, to becoming a seeing, truth-believing person allows her to free herself from fragmentation and liminality and at the same time allows her to make use of her knowledge, her cultural differences, her bodily diversity to become a more stable person. Reina Agüero, at the end of the story, does not fall into a category. However, her representation is one of a freed and free-spirited woman. She is still strong, still sensual and ambivalent in her entire depiction, but emotionally free of a past that burdens her. Her final depiction is cathartic, becoming one with her mother’s past, recollecting the image of the hummingbird that her father sees upon shooting her mother, being in total control of herself and her body and free to decide about her future.

Finally, Reina senses the moon sinking within her, lowering itself in her womb. She arches her back, and tiny clot quickens in the storm of moist lighting, quickens until the first fragile tendril takes root. It shatters the dense heavens within, brings Reina a wave of contracting, immaculate pleasure. She lifts her eyes and finds the moon fully restored in the sky. It is midnight. The tent of stars, unmoved, stares on. Tonight, Reina knows, she will sleep deeply, a complete, satisfied sleep. In another month, the bit of flesh at her center will grow to a delicate skeleton the size of a hummingbird. Already, Reina feels it fluttering in its net of blood, fluttering its steady work toward eternity. (García 294)

In opposition to her sister Constancia who slowly but steadily descends into madness in her doppelgänger image as the representation of her accumulated past, present, and future she is not able to deal with, becoming the “crazy exile lady” (295), Reina finds peace accepting to be a liminal and fragmented person, and comes to terms with her body and her injury, her displacement and her not-at-homeness. By transgressing the feeling of the uncanny in her Miami home, she regains her old Cuban strength and simultaneously overcomes a feeling of misplacedness.

Conclusion

Home is ambiguous in this analysis of García’s novel The Agüero Sisters. It is strongly connected to emotional representations, and presented within a mobility/travel narrative between Cuba and the United States. By discussing the question of home and mobility in terms of overcoming a feeling of not-at-homeness, the representation of a female quest for home in The Agüero Sisters, namely Reina Agüero’s, is crucial for the transformation of the self.

The uncanny in The Agüero Sisters is a notion individually as well as culturally relevant for the protagonist Reina Agüero. It represents what is emotionally odd, eerie, and feels out of place. On the one hand it occurs in the form of a geographical home in terms of Cuba and the United States that Reina does not feel attached to. On the other hand, her eeriness comes out of herself, and is represented in her own body that, through the copper mine accident, is a patchwork of different fragments of other peoples’ skins. Especially the question of initial familiarity that Freud emphasizes is important for the transformation process and the progress narrative that ends in a cathartic release and acceptance of a variety of situations. In the end, it is the acceptance of being within circumstances that not only ask for but allow Reina to remain liminal in all her existence, incorporating her experiences throughout her journey, and transgressing personal as well as regional borders. Reina’s story can be read as an accomplishment that helps her with the understanding that it is she who remains stable within a fluid world, and therefore overcomes all notions of the uncanny by accepting the familiar and appreciating the strange.

This article is loosely based on my Master’s Thesis, and will further explore the question of the uncanny as outlined by Sigmund Freud as explicated in the Off Campus: Seggau School of Thought Vol. II publication which I co-edited with Oana Ursulesku and Kim Sawchuk in the context of the Graz International Summer School Seggau 2016.

Works Cited

Bauman, Zygmunt. 2015. Liquid Times: Living in an Age of Uncertainty. Malden: Polity Press.

García, Cristina. 1998. The Agüero Sisters. New York: The Ballantine Publishing Group.

Bhabha, Homi K. 2004. The Location of Culture. London: Routledge.

Maierhofer, Roberta. 2017. “(Un)Comfortably Moving Out of the Comfort Zone: Life as Travel.” Senior Tourism. Eds. Simone Francescato, Roberta Maierhofer, Valeria Minghetti, Eva-Maria    Trinkaus. Bielefeld: Transcript.

Freud, Sigmund. 2016. “The ‘Uncanny‘.” web.mit.edu. Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Web. 13 Nov. 2016.

Heidegger, Martin. 2006. Sein und Zeit [“Being and Time“]. Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag.

Massey, Doreen. 2009. Space, Place, and Gender. Minneapolis: U of Minnesota Press.

BOUNDARIES, BRIDGES, BECOMINGS: INTERSPECIES POLITICS IN CONTEMPORARY PERFORMANCE ARTS

ANNA KÉRCHY

My essay examines the transgression of borders from an interspecies perspective focusing on contemporary American artists’ controversial ‘animal-themed’ visual/ performance arts pieces in which aesthetic agenda and humanist politics are conjoint with legal, ethical problematizations of animal rights. I wish to argue that in line with feminist anthropozoological endeavors, these artistic explorations of the philosophical, cultural, and biological aspects of animal-human encounters facilitate the comprehension of human vulnerability, practices of love, connectedness, collective anxieties, violence, and overall knowledge-formations which inform who we humans are or claim ourselves to be in opposition to or in connection with the radically ‘abnormativized’, ‘bestial’ not-me.

The modern animal rights movement dates vaguely from the 1970s, frequently associated with Peter Singer’s philosophical bombshell of a book Animal Liberation: A New Ethics for our Treatment of Animals (1975) that outlined those ideas grounded in empathy which led to the foundation of the American nonprofit corporation PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) that counts today over 6.5 million members and supporters worldwide united by the slogan “Animals are not ours to eat, wear, experiment on, use for entertainment, or abuse in any other way” (PETA).  The rise of the feminist art movement, driven by the aim to initiate a critical discussion concerning the patriarchal abuse of women and female procreative responsibilities and creative potentialities, dates roughly of the same period, with Judy Chicago’s 1970 Feminist Art Program at Fresno State College (now California State University) as a significant political gesture that claimed a place for female artists in a male dominated canon through educational projects and collaborative feminist art exhibitions (see Schapiro 1971: 48-49). The uncompromising critique of injustice, of inequalities, and the insistence on freedom as an inalienable right have remained ever since shared by the feminist- and the animal liberation movements.

Donna Haraway, whose philosophy most predominantly influences the artists I examine here, has always been a feminist scholar distinguished by a talent to capture the postmodern Zeitgeist with her potent metaphors of the blurred self-and-other boundaries. Her 1985 manifesto’s Cyborg figure resonated well with western post-industrialist information societies’ technologically enhanced embodiments, human biological selves extended by advances in medicine, robotics, AI, through scientific and/or simulated means, including artificial hearts, prosthetic limbs, personal computers logged on internet telecommunications networks, factory production lines, or genetic engineering. In the past decade of our postmillenial times, Haraway kept her focus the posthumanist problematization of the homogenizing, hegemonic logic of self-identity, but shifted the attention to the non-futuristic, down-to-earth, immediately contemporary non-humanity of the Animal–conjoining the feminist- and the animal liberation movements’ agendas.

Her seminal works like The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness (2003) and When Species Meet (2007) challenge anthropocentrism’s ontological, ethical distinction between the human subject and the flora and fauna surrounding it with the intention to place the emphasis on the significance of the natural environment that has been traditionally conceived as a mere background to the agile human figure (--a gendered aesthetic/perspective distinction previously scrutinized by Barbara Johnson in her tellingly entitled “Female is to Male is as Ground is to Figure”). Throughout her systematic challenge of hierarchical relationalities, Haraway ventures to fight speciesism (a form of subjection or abjection inherently intertwined with further ideologies of systematic marginalization like sexism, racism, ableism, or ageism); to debunk the myth of human exceptionalism.

She heralds the end of the anthropocene in which human-kind in the name of his self-proclaimed superiority has caused long term, planet-scale, incurable, maleficant impact, like the mass extinctions of plant and animal species, the pollution of the oceans, the extermination of the rainforests, or the alteration of the atmosphere. In the post-athropocene era, Haraway thinks in ecologies that are always at least tripartite: humans, non-human organisms, and technologies make part of “the same litter”. Hence animals, cyborgs, and humans never oppose but interconnect, interweave, mutually touch one another, and mutually benefit from their cohabitation as companion species, bonded in “significant otherness”.

Haraway’s theory abounds in poetic neologisms like “autre mondialisation” or alter-globalization (referring to non-anthropocentric multispecies cohabitation), “chimerical visions” (when diverse bodies, perspectives, and meanings coshape one another), “symbiogenesis” (“world-making entanglements in contact zones”), or “situated naturecultures” (in which all the actors become who they are in a dance of relating” as “mess mates in a multipartner mud dance”. Yet Haraway’s theory weds abstraction with activism, the personal with the political, and shifts the focus from didactic moralization to lived experience, and becoming humanimal as a survival strategy in an increasingly chaotic, dangerous and endangered world.

However, artistic endeavors in critical human-animal studies tread on an uncertain ground and tackle highly sensitive issues threatened by pitfalls of anthropocentric appropriation, albeit involuntary gestures of speciesist engulfment, when humans eventually speak up in the name of and in place of the silent non-human other. After all the question guiding Haraway’s project “Whom and what do I touch when I touch my dog?” (2007, 3) suggests tactile connectivity as a reciprocal sensorial experience hence an egalitarian alternative to the domineering gazer versus dominated spectacle hierarchies. Yet the agent initiating the reconsideration of interspecies bonds remains a human thinking/speaking subject who exercises ownership over her canine companion. And could our enquiry ever go beyond mere speculation if we attempted to explore the dog’s own self-definition elicited by its owner’s touch?

When concept artist Pierre Huyghe had his dog called Human wander around his retrospective exhibition in the halls of LACMA, LA County Museum (2014), the hound as a living artwork and the traces left by his paw painted pink certainly had a lasting effect on human museum visitors but in a way the dog’s indifferent non-performance stayed undecodable. Relating the hound’s indifferent look challenging the museal gaze to the boredom of farm-, or laboratory- animals, or on the contrary, the unleashed, untamable wildness transforming the white cube of the gallery into a randomly changing open space, or the contrasting of the desire to pet the animal and the please-don’t-touch requirement of the artwork were matters of very human associations ( Theung 2014, MacNeill 2015).

Similarly, Jacques Derrida’s seminal essay The Animal that therefore I am to follow (L’Animal que donc je suis, 2016) starts out from describing from the sense of discomfort he felt on being naked in the presence of his cat looking at him. The troubling feline stare is a pretext to explore how the institutionalized male, medical, scientific, philosophical, museal gaze imposes pseudo-objective, naturalized meanings upon the non-human world it presumes to master without taking into consideration the animals’ viewpoints. Even if the encounter with the animal gaze allows us to see ourselves seeing and be seen, to face human being’s animalistic aspects, and to learn to cherish shared engagements and communal exchanges between species–we shall remain obliged to reduce bestial responses to human language’s interpretation, pondering what is necessarily lost in translation.

Hence for contemporary artists willing to implement the animal connection in their work it is particularly challenging to harmonize the aesthetic and the ethical/political considerations when PETA has become “today’s most feared art critic” and galleries struggle “to include animal art without getting bitten” as Brian Boucher put it in a recent 2017 article on Artnet. Special care is needed from curators to harmonize the right to the freedom of artistic self-expression and the universal trans-species right to bodily ownership and painless existence. Some exhibitions did the trick by claiming the right of free artistic self-expression for animals themselves.

New York artist Duke Riley’s Fly By Night (2016) a bird-based art show featured a flock of pigeons flying in the evening sky over Brooklyn’s Navy Yard, each with a small LED light affixed to its leg. The organizers tried to assure the safety of the birds and convince protestors by relying on expert advice of the Wild Bird Fund, which rehabilitates sick and injured birds, and argued that the performance “will have a transformative effect on avian welfare by helping us see that the life in the sky—from the under-appreciated pigeon to migratory marathoners—is one of nature’s superb art forms, one we can cherish every day just by looking up.” (McMahon in Riley 2016) Thus, while the public artwork commemorated the long forgotten New York-based tradition of pigeon keeping on metropolitan rooftops and in naval fleets, the Romantic notion of Nature as Artist became recycled for the sake of postmodern artistic purposes and political correctness.

Elsewhere, local legal regulations and city codes prevented the realization of animal artworks. Amber Hansen’s community-based project The Story of Chickens: A Revolution (2012) was meant to revise the notion of livestock, and explore humans’ ambiguous status as both caretakers and consumers of animals by inviting volunteers to engage in a relationship with chicken they would raise in coops located in Lawrence, Kansas’s well-travelled, high foot-traffic urban areas before taking part in their public slaughter by a local butcher, eating them at a collective festivity of a grand chicken meal. The concept art project aimed to promote alternative, healthy processes of caring for chicken–much in line with Haraway who urges humans to feel with animals but is not against meat-eating or laboratory animal testing either–but it never actually came into being because the city opined that the act amounted to animal cruelty punishable by a fine of $1,000 or six months in jail.

Further American interdisciplinary artists tackling the interface of built and natural environments include Elizabeth Demaray who grew lichens on New York skyscrapers, designed and produced stylish seashells for hermit crabs deprived of the houses as a result of the humans overcollecting shells as souvenirs on vacation resorts, and fed red harvester ants McDonalds Happy Meals for a month to show the impact of fast food diet on creatures dependent on human food waste. Moreover, in her IndaPlant Project: An Act of Trans-Species Giving Demaray collaborated with engineer Dr. Qingze Zou putting technology in the service of plant agency: their autonomously guided light-sensing robotic platforms called “floraborgs” allow potted plants to roam freely in a domestic environment in search of water and sunlight, and alert other floraborgs to their locations. As one reviewer, Christopher Mims wrote, IndaPlant “may be a small step for engineers, but it’s a giant evolutionary leap for plant-kind” (Mims 2013).

Brooklyn-based Kate Clark remains within the confines of the museal space while synthetizing the faraway space of savannas with the metropolitan urban jungle: her artistic taxidermies complement the body of wild animals with clay faces sculpted to have humanoid features. Her hybrids blend boundaries of humanity and bestiality, sublime beauty and monstrosity, to reconnect viewers with the animal kingdom we have grown oblivious about since “we have become so other” (Clark in Clarson 2015). Readers experience an affective ambiguity, sharing mixed feelings of discomfort, horror, curiosity, and empathy. The artist talks about her intimacy with the animal gained through working on their skins, the often imperfect, wounded outer layer from which Clark deciphers the animal’s ‘corporeal biography’, as claw marks may make the pelt a damaged trophy but tell a life story of struggle and survival.

Taxidermy–etymologically a Greek word composite that translates to “the arrangement of the skin”–resonates excitingly with Didier Anzieu’s classic psychoanalytical concept of the “skin ego” (1989) according to which the human notion of self-identity is associated with the exterior bodily surface. The mental image of the ego is projected on the ‘corporeal envelope’ we picture as a vessel of psychic contents, and by focusing on this relatively safe out-look can remain forgetful about the dangerously troubling, invisible corporeal interior, we prefer to reject as the abject not-me. (Skin seems to provide a relatively easy ground for differentiation and exclusion for all species: zebra mothers recognize their offspring on the basis of the pattern of their pelt and human, while humans may build discriminatory ideologies like racism or colorism on dermatological alterity.) The skin is a metaphorically charged battleground of conflicting meanings: it is a container of the self and a surface of cultural inscriptions, it protects from the outside environment and allows to make sensorial contact with it, it is a precious object for which animals are abused and hunted down, or a supplementary layer that has to be peeled away by the carnivore who wants to feed on the flesh, it is a matter of physical lived experience and a subject of fantastic imagination. In therianthropic legends abound human-to-animal shapeshifting, people with a supernatural ability to transform into the animal they desire are called skin-walkers.

The themes of skin-shedding, shape-shifting, animal-human transformation, and alterity are tackled in an exciting manner in Neil Jordan’s mystery romance drama Ondine (2009), a cinematic recycling of the myth of the selkie-wife with current political implications. New York Time’s critic praised the film for “creat[ing] a world that doesn’t really exist, but is as possible as it is impossible—some twilight zone between reality and fairy tale” (Rafferty 2010) The mythological selkie is an in-between being, a seal who sheds its skin and becomes a human woman on land, often coerced in a relationship by a man who steals and hides her sealskin that she recuperates after a while to regain her animalistic form and return to the sea calling her back. In Jordan’s film, a poor fisherman pulls out from the sea one day a beautiful young amnesiac he gives shelter to, in return she sings magical song in an unknown language that helps to fill the fishing nets with seafood, and later becomes his lover. Ondine’s enchanting effects are explained by the fisherman’s disabled little daughter Annie within the frames of the selkie-wife myth. However, as the movie blurs fantastic and realistic registers, it turns out that the seal-woman’s story is a fictionalized life narrative, a compensatory fantasy the child invents to substitute the harsh reality of social marginalization with a soothing fairy tale. It turns out that Ondine is actually an illegal immigrant, a drug mule from Romania, who is hiding from the Coast Guards at her ‘adoptive family,’ and when her secretly hidden seal coat, actually a bag of heroine, is found in the end, the mysterious foreigner faces deportation, legally obliged to return to her home country. Spectators have the impression that it is by courtesy of Annie’s unbiased, infantile imagination, that her father and Ondine, the native and the refugee, the land person and the sea creature can eventually consider looking forward to a shared ‘happily ever after’. In more down-to-earth terms of lived reality they would normally belong to incompatible worlds’ separate realms with merely ephemeral intersections not meant to last.

A similar topos—the yearning for a contact that has been lost between fellow sentient beings who live divided on the same planet Earth—is tackled in a composite transmedia artwork, a 2017 song video called “In Harm’s Way” that embarks on the political/artistic problematization of the man-made hierarchical distinction between respectable human citizens versus a presumably unworthy (sub)human populace of marginalized others, reduced to the status of despicable animals, whose lives and deaths seem to matter less than the norm-setting majority’s. The lyrics and music was composed by indie music band Dresden Dolls’ lead singer Amanda Palmer for a stage production of The Little Mermaid, a classical fairy-tale about an impossible interspecies romance. It focuses on the difficulty of making sense of love, loss, and otherness from the perspective of a being who stands vulnerable on the shore in-between the land and the sea, balancing in the liminal space of no man’s land, homeless, lost, wandering to find one’s way. The song was inspired by the European migration crisis and the then pregnant Amanda Palmer’s voluntary work at the Lesvos refugee camp in Greece when between January and November 2015 almost four hundred thousand refugees were washed upon the shore.

More specifically it was a family tragedy captured on camera, a heartbreaking photographic snapshot of the lifeless body of a three-year-old little Syrian boy washed up onto the Turkish shores, who fled his war-ridden home with his family in search of a better life, but got snatched away from the protective parental embrace by the ruthless sea waves and drowned because of the fake lifejacket the smugglers gave him. Palmer recalls how this iconic incarnation of failed hopes, “the harrowing image of little Aylan Kurdi lying lifeless on the beach in Turkey was enough to thrust a song into [her], but the real fuel was the video footage of his father, wailing in pain as the news filmed on.” Her own son was just a few weeks from being born, and with a painfully cathartic blurring of the personal and the political, her “heart broke for Aylan, for his family, for what we, as a human family, seem to be unable to do for each other” (Palmer in Boylen 2017), for how we seem to have forgotten the fundamental human feature of generosity.

The video to the song by Spanish performance artist Abel Azcona was based on his project “El Milagro”/ “The Miracle” dedicated to the more than twenty-five million people who have been forced to leave their homes because of persecution they suffered due to their race, religion, nationality, their anti-establishment political beliefs, or for belonging to an ‘unwanted’ social group. “The Miracle” has been performed in 24 cities and beaches around the Mediterranean, from Marseille to Lesvos, Nice to Palermo. It enacted social criticism by the personal involvement of more than two thousand volunteers from all over Europe who have taken part in the performances, where they walked for hours in their home towns, before symbolically and literally ending up in the water, completely submerging themselves in the aquatic, non-terrestrial, alien yet familiar milieu. As Azcona’s artistic manifesto available on Palmer’s website proclaims, the project participants’ psychically and psychically challenging personal journey allowed them to empathize with the pain of the refugees and to reconsider the responsibility of a desensitized, cruel society that left the deaths of thousands of men, women, and children who have disappeared in the oceans without any recognition.

The several long hours pilgrimage performance terminated when the unified yet heterogeneous masses reached a beach, and the multinational, multracial, multisexual ‘collective corpus’ of participants, all dressed in black, formed together an installation of hundreds of bodies floating in the water before stretching out, lying side by side on the shore, apparently immobile, touching. This embodied communal memorial practice was meant to remember the real-life victims, to enact socio-political criticism, and to gain empowerment for a united fight, for solidarity.

The bodies floating in the Mediterranean ocean evoked mermaids’ seafolk or the mythical selkies yearning to be human, along with the endangered animal species suffocating in their own home waters polluted by toxic waste. Pollution, climate change, and civil war, too, are triggered by human hybris as symptoms of the anthropocene’s harmful impact on the natural/built environment and its inhabitants that turn the homely maternal milieu of the sea (in psychoanalytical terms, the primeval Thalassa) into a hostile territory, even a deathbed, a burial ground for all living things.

However, for the volunteers taking part in the performance ‘becoming amphibian,’ floating in the sea as if in a suspended fall, also represented a kind of ritualistic purification throughout which humans could cleanse themselves from communal apathy, discrimination, and violence to relearn humanity, humanness, humanism. The mimetic identification with the victims relates to an ethical dilemma often problematized by trauma studies: any artistic commemoration of the dead by the living risks the aestheticization (even commodification) of the pain of others and the appropriation of lost voices. The actors could return home and tell their stories in place of the persons who have disappeared for good.

Still the performance’s identification of living human beings with waste floating scattered on the surface of a disinterested sea communicates a vital moral message about our responsibility to protest the “politically induced condition in which certain populations suffer from failing social and economic networks of support more than others, and become differentially exposed to injury, violence, and death,” it urges to protect these “precarious populations” as Judith Butler calls this “whole host of persons—women, gender and sexual minorities, persons of color, refugees, immigrants, the undocumented, and those dispossessed of land—whose safety and well-being are now at risk of being compromised” (Butler 2017). Azcona’s and Palmer’s artistic collaboration resonates exceptionally well with the Butlerian move towards a “politics of alliance, cohabitation, and interdependency” grounded in the recognition that “there is no I without first a we” apt to maximize both intraspecies and interspecies ties. As feminist philosopher Barbara Johnson concludes in connection with the ethical agenda involved in critical human-animal studies and object oriented ontology: “The more I thought about this asymptotic relation between things and persons, the more I realized that the problem is not, as it seems, a desire to treat things as persons, but a difficulty in being sure we treat persons as persons” (Johnson, 2010: 2). As Butler points out in her Notes Toward a Performative Theory of Assembly, “’We the people’—the utterance, the chant, the written line—is always missing some group of people it claims to represent” (2015: 166)—yet, even if we cannot change mistakes of the past but we can make amends by not repeating them, by grounding our future in the realization of the inevitable intimate interconnectedness of all living beings.

Works Cited

Anzieu, Didier. 1989. The Skin-Ego. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Azcona, Abel. 2017. “A Word from Abel on his project ‘El Milagro’ /’The Miracle’” Amanda Palmer’s Website. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: http://amandapalmer.net/inharmsway/

Boucher, Brian. 2017. “Is PETA Today’s Most Feared Art Critic? How 4 Exhibitions Included Animal Art Without Getting Bitten” Artnet. September 27. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://news.artnet.com/art-world/exhibiting-live-animal-art-1097795

Boylen, Bob. 2017. “Amanda Palmer’s Powerful New Song And Video on the Global Refugee Crisis” National Public Radio Website. Oct 30. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://www.npr.org/event/music/560785111/amanda-palmers-powerful-new-song-and-video-on-the-global-refugee-crisis?utm_source=twitter.com&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=nprmusic&utm_term=music&utm_content=2057

Butler, Judith. 2015. Notes Toward a Performative Theory of Assembly. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Butler, Judith and Stephanie Berbec. 2017. “We Are Worldless Without One Another: An Interview with Judith Butler” The Other Journal: An Intersection of Theology and Culture. June 26. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://theotherjournal.com/2017/06/26/worldless-without-one-another-interview-judith-butler/

Clark, Kate. 2017. Artist’s Website. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://www.kateclark.com/

Clarson, Kathryn. 2015. “An Artist’s Twist on Taxidermy Blurs the Boundaries of Humanity” National Geographic. 24 July, Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/photography/proof/2015/07/24/a-twist-on-taxidermy-blurs-the-boundaries-of-humanity/

Demaray, Elizabeth. 2017. Artist’s Website. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://elizabethdemaray.org/

Derrida, Jacques. 2002. “The animal that therefore I am (More to Follow)” Trans. David Wills. Critical Inquiry 28.2, 369-418.

Hansen, Amber. 2012. “The Story of Chickens: A Revolution” Rocket Grants. Charlotte Street Foundation. KU Spencer Museum of Arts. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://rocketgrants.org/rocket-grants-projects/the-projects-2011-2012/the-story-of-chickens-a-revolution/

Haraway, Donna. 1991. Simians, Cyborgs and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. New York: Routledge.

Haraway, Donna. 2003. The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People, and Significant Otherness. Chicago: Prickly Paradigm.

Haraway, Donna. 2007. When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University Minnesota Press.

Johnson, Barbara. 1998. “Is Female to Male as Ground is to Figure?” The Feminist Difference: Literature, Psychoanalysis, race, and Gender. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. 17-37.

Johnson, Barbara. 2010. Persons and Things. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Jordan, Neil, dir. 2009. Ondine. Wayfare Entertainment.

MacNeill, Kate. 2015. “Contemporary art, animals and ethics: Pierre Huyghe’s interspecies worlds” The Conversation. 10.12. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at:

http://theconversation.com/contemporary-art-animals-and-ethics-pierre-huyghes-interspecies-worlds-48968

Mims, Christopher. 2013. “Robotic Exoskeleton Turns Houseplants into Drones” Quartz. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://qz.com/82541/robotic-exoskeleton-turns-houseplants-into-drones/

Palmer, Amanda. “In Harm’s Way” 2017. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: http://amandapalmer.net/inharmsway/

PETA. People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals website. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://www.peta.org/

Rafferty, Terrence. 2015. “Neil Jordan’s Possible World of the Impossible” New York Times. May 28. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at:  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/30/movies/30jordan.html

Riley, Duke. 2016. “Fly by Night.” Creative Time Project Website. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: http://creativetime.org/projects/flybynight/faq/

Schapiro, Miriam. 1971. “A Feminist Art Program” Art Journal, 31.1. 48-49.

Singer, Peter. 1975. Animal Liberation: A New Ethics for our Treatment of Animals. New York: HarperCollins.

Theung, Linda. 2014. “Human, Pierre Huyghe’s Dog-in-Residence” LACMA. Unframed. Nov 16. Access date: January 22, 2018. Available at: https://unframed.lacma.org/2014/11/26/human-pierre-huyghe%E2%80%99s-dog-residence

POSSIBILITIES OF BEING AT HOME ON AMERICAN SOIL: THE CONCEPT OF HOME IN TONI MORRISON’S NOVELS

ESZTER ENIKŐ MOHÁCSI

As Toni Morrison herself stated, “matters of race and matters of home” (1998, 4) have always been priorities in her prose. Clearly, all her novels center around race-inflected topics, and her aim has always been to represent, question and subvert the effects of the metaphorization of race both in literary discourse (Kovács 2018) and in her creative work. In her first novel, The Bluest Eye (1970), race is the root of individual and social psychosis. In her second novel, Sula (1973), questions of gender and identity are put in a racial context. Song of Solomon (1977) and Tar Baby (1981) concentrate more on race and community, whereas in Beloved (1987), Morrison’s most highly acclaimed work, race is strongly interwoven with historical, collective trauma. The narrative structure of Jazz (1992), true to its title, is composed of multiple voices, all questioning and shifting the authority of the narrator, and is a novel in which Morrison “tried to locate American modernity as a response to the race house” (Morrison, 1998, 9). Paradise (1997), the novel she was working on when she delivered her address at Princeton University at the conference entitled “Race Matters”, deals with the problem of creating a welcoming, safe home, a so-called haven for African-Americans. Or rather, it questions whether a haven is even a possibility for those outside of the norm. Not only does the novel address African-Americans, but it also questions the position of other non-whites, and self-sufficient, independent women. Although the novel reaches a depressing end, Morrison does portray an ideal place, “a place where race both matters and is rendered impotent” (1998, 9) in her novel, even if it proves to be ephemeral.

In general, there seems to be a tendency in Morrison’s later writings to rework her earlier themes. God Help the Child (2015) is about an abused girl, rejected by her mother because of her black skin. A Mercy (2008) is the novel set in the earliest times among Morrison’s works. If Beloved shows America’s atmosphere right after the abolition of slavery, A Mercy attempts to illustrate slavery’s beginnings in the 17th century, where girls of different social status and skin color are all vulnerable and dependent on men. Love (2003) reworks the theme of female friendship in a patriarchal society seen in Sula before. Home (2010), a classic homecoming narrative, returns to the problem already envisioned in Paradise: it questions whether African-American men and women can ever feel at home in the United States, a country which built its nationhood on the exclusion of the racial other (Morrison 1992) and which silenced African-Americans both in its literature and its literary discourse (Kovács 2005). Interestingly, compared to Morrison’s earlier works, which all have open, ambiguous endings, especially the last two of her novels offer a complete absolution and a happy end, where characters are redeemed and cleansed of their previous trauma. First, this paper will give a brief explanation of Morrison’s concept of home and her design as explicated in her address at Princeton University. Next, Paradise and Home will be analyzed in relation to the ideas expressed by Morrison in her speech.

In all of Morrison’s works, African-Americans are portrayed as a racial other in a dominantly white society. All her characters suffer from this racial imbalance to some extent, and they all try to process the “traumatic residue” (Schreiber 2010, 7) of slavery inherited from previous generations. Whether due to “physical abuse, dehumanization, discrimination, exclusion, or abandonment,” trauma is ingrained “in both psychic and bodily circuits,” and also “in successive generations” (Schreiber 2010, 2).

In general, home is meant to be the place which provides a sense of security, belonging and safety for human beings. In case of African-Americans, home could also offer the chance for a “positive gaze” (Schreiber 2010, 20), which could give them the agency to construct a self and a positive, firm identity in an oppressive society. However, such a home may be impossible to construct. In fact, due to “the uncanny literary and social effects of enforced social accommodation, or historical migrations and cultural relocations” (Bhabha 1992, 141), home as a place of belonging and safety is intermittently questioned in contemporary literature, where home oftentimes becomes the “territory of both disorientation and relocation” (Bhabha 1997, 12).

Morrison’s response to this problem was to try to create a space in her fiction where race does not matter–or rather, is unimportant and powerless. She contrasted house, a racial construct to home, and admitted being tempted to reconstruct the racial house and “convert it into a palace where racism didn't hurt so much; to crouch in one of its many rooms where coexistence offered the delusion of agency” (Morrison,1998, 4). However, she realized that it would never lead to real freedom, only to losing the right to a home of her own resulting in eternal homelessness. Instead, she decided on domesticating the racial project by creating a home in the world of fiction, an “elusive race-free paradise” (Morrison 1998, 8). She wanted to delineate a place where:

a sleepless woman could always rise from her bed, wrap a shawl around her shoulders and sit on the steps in the moonlight. And if she felt like it she could walk out the yard and on down the road. No lamp and no fear. A hiss-crackle from the side of the road would never scare her because what ever it was that made that sound, it wasn't something creeping up on her. Nothing for miles around thought she was prey. She could stroll as slowly as she liked, thinking of food preparations, of family things, or lift her eyes to stars and think of war or nothing at all. Lampless and without fear she could make her way. And if a light shone from a window up a ways and the cry of a colicky baby caught her attention, she might step over to the house and call out softly to the woman inside trying to soothe the baby. The two of them might take turns massaging the infant stomach, rocking, or trying to get a little soda water down. When the baby quieted they could sit together for a spell, gossiping, chuckling low so as not to wake anybody else. The woman could decide to go back to her bed then, refreshed and ready to sleep, or she might stay her direction and walk further down the road–on out, beyond, because nothing around or beyond considered her prey. (Morrison 1998, 9-10)

A house, in Morrison’s understanding, is a private, domestic place; the house of the father. On the other hand, home is transformed into an open, borderless and specifically gendered space that includes both the houses of women, the spaces between them and beyond. A house encompasses “a Western hegemony that excludes racial others, strangers and foreigners, while home represents more abstract, open, and ever-developing concept of healing and inclusion” (Kim 2014, 242). Home is connected to the community rather than separate individuals or families. It also entails both mental and physical elements: psychological freedom and safety. In fact, the above quotation became part of the novel Paradise published not long after Morrison’s address, and it portrays an ideal space, a haven or quite literally a paradise for those who were previously rejected and dislodged by the dominant society.

However, the race-free paradise remains fleeting and illusory, and the novel begins and ends with the massacre of women who would or could not conform to the norms of society. On the other hand, Morrison’s later novel, Home, depicts a real homecoming to a welcoming, safe and open community, a place of healing, identical to the one described above. Next, Paradise and Home will be discussed regarding their portrayal of home as Morrison explicated the concept, then the differences between the perspectives of the two novels will be briefly discussed.

Paradise (1997)

Paradise follows the life of a community consisting of a few families, originally all with very dark skin. When the heads of the original nine families realize that they are excluded from public life and job opportunities due to their pitch-black complexion, they start a symbolic and literal journey to establish their own community. After being humiliated even by fellow African-Americans with lighter skin color, they end up completely isolated from the world outside, and found a village called Haven in Oklahoma in 1890. Their search for a new home becomes part of the mythology of their community, symbolized by the Oven, the first object they build together after their arrival. At first, Haven flourishes. However, it starts to flounder after WWII, and a pair of twins, descendants of the founding fathers, decide to recreate the founding myth by leading fifteen families to establish another new town. Ultimately, they name the town “Ruby” after their younger sister, who dies because she is refused medical attention due to her skin color. Thus, Ruby is realized “as both safe haven, free from racial and racialized sexual violence, and replication” (Evans 2013, 384).

As Dobbs explains, there is a “repetition-with-a-difference of communal rejection” (2011, 110) in the novel. First, the people establishing Haven and Ruby are rejected multiple times, then in Ruby African-Americans with lighter skin face discrimination. Moreover, outsiders, such as the inhabitants of the infamous Convent are rejected as well. Ironically, the initial ambition of the founding fathers and later the twins was to create a community described in the abovementioned quotation, where black women do not have to be afraid of white people considering them easy prey, but then the leading members of the community are the ones who cannot bear the existence of such a home–possibly because the Convent is an interminable reminder of the failure of their design. Thus, when things start to falter again, the descendants of the founding fathers begin to see the Convent as a corrupting influence on Ruby, the source of all their trouble. Finally, in order to protect their paradise from harm, and to guard “their hard-won, male-defined standards of racial purity, sexual morality, economic security, and communal safety” (Sweeney 2004, 43), they decide to eliminate the danger by killing or evicting the women from the building.

The Convent itself is a dangerous place, a “palimpsest of failed white and black patriarchal design” (Dobbs 2011, 113). First it is an embezzler’s clearly masculine mansion, objectifying and humiliating women and female sexuality. Then the building is transformed into a holy space by Christian nuns, who try to reeducate Native American girls. Naturally, this reeducation entails the loss of the girls’ traditional culture, religion and collective, historical memories in favor of Western culture and religion. Moreover, the Christian design necessitates a complete erasure of their sexuality. Finally, when the nuns leave and the girls scatter, Consolata, the kidnapped Brazilian girl who has grown into a mature woman, slowly transforms the building again. She revives its original sexuality while subverting it, creating a strongly female space, and her cellar, closely related to the unconscious, becomes a place where women can reclaim their selves. Just like Baby Suggs in Beloved, Consolata is also convinced that it is their bodies women should reclaim first in their long way to self-authorship: their bodies that were claimed and dominated by both African-American men and white masters. Thus, the luxurious mansion turned into a convent finally becomes both a spiritual and a corporeal space, a strange union of the previous designs, as Consolata “locates her home by connecting her halves” (Mayberry 2008, 574), her body and her spirit.

Under Consolata’s care, the Convent turns into a haven for women who escaped from unhomely spaces. It is a refuge, but not a perfect, idealized one: the girls still bicker, some of them hate each other, and there are times when Consolata grows exasperated with them. Still, it is a place where you can “think things through, with nothing or nobody bothering you all the time. They’ll take care of you or leave you alone—whichever way you want it” (Morrison 1997, 176). Also, it is the place where all the long-term residents can start processing their haunting pasts. Heeding Consolata’s advice, they eventually all face the trauma the aftereffects of which they have been suffering from: domestic abuse, child abuse, neglect, rape, and ultimately the lack of love and self-acceptance.

Thus, the Convent becomes the space envisioned in Morrison’s quote from the conference at Princeton. It is a real home, not just a house: it is borderless, open, and invites any visitors, even the homeless. However, as Reverend Misner observes in the novel, the men in control “think they have outfoxed the whiteman, when in fact they imitate him” (306). These men go from being the victimized to the victimizers and from the crucified the crucifiers. The novel starts with the final and initial act of expulsion: “They shoot the white girl first” (2014, 3). This opening is the perfect example of Morrison’s design that race should both matter and be rendered impotent. While reading the novel and searching for clues about who the white girl may be, it becomes clear for the readers that race indeed does not matter, at least not for the women living in the Convent. It does not affect their lives either: presumably, they are all killed at the end. It can be concluded that the ideal home described by Morrison in Paradise can only have a fleeting existence in our reality. Nevertheless, it seems that Morrison reached a different conclusion in her later novel Home.

Home (2010)

If the theme of home has played a subtle role in all of Morrison’s novels, in Home the title immediately discloses the main underlying theme of the work. Here literally all characters are obsessed with home–owning a house, possessing a place of their own, and belonging to a community they can depend on when in need. The novel starts with a short poem written by Morrison: “Whose house is this? / Whose night keeps out the light / In here? / Say, who owns this house? / It is not mine. / I dreamed another, sweeter […] This house is strange. / Its shadows lie. / Say, tell me, why does its lock fit my key?” (no pagination), which perfectly captures the feeling of unhomeliness, and foreshadows the anxiety of belonging portrayed in the book.

Most importantly, this book depicts the “trauma of homelessness” (Visser 2016, 150). The protagonist, Frank Money, lives with his parents and uncle in Bandera County, Texas. However, Frank’s family is one of fifteen families which are evicted from their homes by white supremacists. Although most families flee without further atrocities–albeit hurriedly, as they have only 24 hours to leave–an old man who refuses to go is blinded and lynched. Moreover, Cee, Frank’s sister, is born during their journey to their grandfather’s house. Thus, she is repeatedly called a “gutter child” (Morrison 2012, 45) by her step-grandmother, who believes that “[b]eing born in the street […] was prelude to a sinful, worthless life” (44).

After arriving in Lotus, Georgia, the siblings continue to be traumatized by Lenore, the wife of their grandfather, who considers them a nuisance, and expresses it every day. She starves and beats the children. After three years they are able to move to their own dwellings at last. However, their parents have to work so much to be able to afford their own home that the mother ends up with a lethal asthma. Naturally, they have no time to spend with their children, as they “were so beat by the time they came home from work, any affection they showed was like a razor—sharp, short and thin. Lenore was the wicked witch. Frank and Cee, like some forgotten Hansel and Gretel, locked hands as they navigated the silence and tried to imagine a future” (53). Although other members of the community are “stern but quickly open-handed” and “generous to strangers” (46), not surprisingly Frank later remembers Lotus as “the worst place in the world” (83) due to his memory of child abuse, and clearly cannot see the place as a real, welcoming and safe home readers might anticipate based on the title.

However, after leaving Lotus the lives of the siblings deteriorate even more. Frank enlists and fights in the Korean War, after which he exhibits classic symptoms of Posttraumatic stress disorder. Meanwhile Cee, his sister, leaves with the first man who proposes to her, and after she is abandoned by the impostor, she ends up working for a doctor practicing eugenics. Dr. Beauregard Scott performs illegal experiments on her which almost kill her, and she loses the ability to bear a child in the future. Somewhat ironically, for her brother Frank, Cee’s catastrophe proves to be a lifebelt. After receiving news of his sister’s perilous state, he begins his journey home, which ends with saving and liberating his sister and returning to Lotus. There, they face one final childhood trauma, the burial of a fellow African-American, and they both reassess their gender roles dictated by culturally dominant notions of masculinity and femininity.

On his way home, Frank recognizes that his surroundings are not much more hospitable than on the battlefield: in the 1950s it seems there is no possibility for a home in a segregated United States. People are beaten for trying to buy coffee from a white shopkeeper, while innocent children are randomly shot by the police. His girlfriend whom he leaves behind at the beginning of the novel cannot buy herself a home in a safe and middle-class neighborhood due to racial prejudice. Frank justly feels that he is defined by his own home country as a foreigner and an outlaw: quite tellingly, at the beginning of the novel he awakens at a mental hospital, from where he has to flee without his personal belongings. As he travels to his so-called home, he is helped by generous strangers, all of them African-Americans, and is hindered by white people, one of whom almost kills his sister. Through the various trials faced by Frank and his family members, Morrison reveals that home has become a strange concept for African-Americans, as they are expected to be at home in a country which excludes them and where they clearly feel they do not belong

Up to this point, the conclusion Morrison seems to reach is quite similar to the one at the end of Paradise: a race-free home does not exist. In addition, in Home African-Americans are portrayed almost solely as the victimized (except for Lenore), causing the novel to appear more didactic–certainly a feature of Morrison’s later works. However, Morrison utilizes trauma narratives and how storytelling can function as a way of healing by making Frank the narrator of his own story: the twofold structure of the narration involves a third person narrator, who seems to have heard the story from Frank himself. However, Frank sometimes interrupts the narration to confess that he remembers more than he has previously revealed to this unknown narrator. That Frank comments on the narration to add more details is already highlighted in the first chapter: “whatever you think and whatever you write down, know this: I really forgot about the burial” (5). Eventually, the burial turns out to be one of the most important memories Frank needs to remember in order to be cleansed from his haunting past and start a new life.

Following the simultaneously geographical and psychological journey of Frank, the narrative eventually returns to where it began: Lotus. Nevertheless, the way the place is described in the latter part of the novel does not resemble how Frank remembered it: as he has changed, so has his perception of it. A supporting and protective community is waiting for Frank and Cee. The community consists of only women, who offer “the potentially healing power of the sense of safety and connection” (Bouson 2000, 5). A community of women is a familiar trope in Morrison’s novels. However, while the community was always to some extent ambiguous in her earlier works, here their role is almost overly simple, without depth. Moreover, the wisdom they transmit cannot be compared to the ones uttered by other communal sages in Morrison’s prose, such as Pilate in Song of Solomon, Baby Suggs in Beloved or even Consolate in Paradise: “Look to yourself. You free. Nothing and nobody is obliged to save you but you. […] You young and a woman and there’s serious limitation in both, but you a person too. Don’t let Lenore or some trifling boyfriend and certainly no evil doctor decide who you are. That’s slavery” (126). The message expressed here is too didactic, too moralizing and clearly less poetic than the monologues of characters with similar functions in Morrison’s oeuvre.

Through preparing a quilt, Cee becomes part of the female community of Lotus. Quilting also appeared in Beloved, and similarly to that novel, it functions as “a communal effort of resisting oppressing voices of hegemony, confronting and articulating one's trauma, and eventually healing his or her wound to come home” (Kim 2014, 243) It should be mentioned, however, that healing in Beloved is less clear and finite than in Home. By preparing her first quilt, Cee comes to terms with her barrenness, and articulates her trauma and forgotten memories of her childhood. She becomes a strong woman, similar to other members of the community, which in turn allows Frank to redefine his own masculinity and his self, independent from his sister, who does not need his protection any more. He confronts both the childhood memory of the burial and his own act of killing a young Korean girl in the war, his most hidden memories, and realizes that masculinity does not necessarily entail violence and aggression. Also, the siblings both reevaluate Lotus as a place of healing and a regained home. It is a home of borderlessness, openness, mutual acceptance and safety: a real haven.

***

Morrison’s design which she clearly expressed in her address, that is, moving “the job of unmattering race away from pathetic yearning and futile desire; away from an impossible future or an irretrievable and probably nonexistent Eden to a manageable, doable, modern human activity” (1998, 3-4) has been fulfilled in both novels discussed above, albeit very differently. Instead of simply portraying a house built by race she delineates an all-encompassing, borderless and communal home, but with some twists in both works.

In Paradise, the communal home described above is supposed to be Haven and Ruby; however, the two towns both fail in this respect. The African-American men, while trying to protect their haven, destroy the only place that could have lived up to the name of such a home. In their indignation they do not realize that they repeat the exactly same pattern and become perpetrators instead of victims in the process. There is some hope at the end of the novel that the sacrifice has not been in vain, supported by strong allusions to Christianity, such as the revival of the murdered women, but there is no clear ending, no clear absolution. All the men have to face and confront what they have done, and whether they have learned something from it or not is entirely up to the readers’ imaginations.

First the community depicted in Home seems similar to that of Ruby with “its unforgiving population, its isolation, […] its indifference to the future” (16). Frank and Cee both have to undergo a traumatic experience and literally have to leave in order to be able to come home. Through storytelling in the case of Frank and quilt-making in the case of Cee, they remember and face their trauma. Thus, the novel is not only a literal and geographical journey home but also a homecoming to one’s own trauma, without which an absolution is impossible. The ending is clear: the siblings are cleansed and ready to begin a new life of self-acceptance and self-authorship. They have arrived home.

The problematic aspect of such an ending is that it simplifies the problem itself. What Kovács states about God Help the Child (2015), Morrison’s latest novel, holds true for Home as well: “[t]he shortened, clipped, somewhat simplified narration functions not to complicate the theme but makes the representation of psychological healing at the end of the story unmotivated” (2018, 6). Morrison’s language has become less poetic, sparse; her message clear, at times even sanctimonious. Her newer novels clearly lack the psychological depth of her earlier work, and particularly the last two novels have happy endings of complete healing as opposed to her more open-ended earlier novels, where a trace of trauma has always remained. Whether this change is motivated by Morrison’s reliance on African cultural elements, as Kovács proposes (2018), whether the overwhelmingly optimistic endings suggest a change in Morrison’s perspective and worldview, or whether she wants to communicate a completely different message than in her earlier works needs further analysis.

Works Cited

Bhabha, Homi. 1992. “The World and the Home.” Social Text, 31/32. 141-53.

——. 1997. “Halfway House.” Artforum International, 35:9. 11-13.

Bouson, J. Brooks. 2000. Quiet As It’s Kept: Shame, Trauma, and Race in the Novels of Toni Morrison. Albany: State University of New York Press.

Dobbs, Cynthia. 2011. “Diasporic Designs of House, Home, and Haven in Toni Morrison’s Paradise.” MELUS, 36:2. 109-126.

Evans, Shari. 2013. “Programmed Space, Themed Space, and the Ethics of Home in Toni Morrison's Paradise.” African American Review, 46:2/3. 381-396.

Kim, Hyejin. 2014. “Building and Weaving Home in Toni Morrison’s Home.” Journal of American Studies, 46:2. 241-269.

Kovács, Ágnes Zsófia. 2005. “Remapping the Jamesian Legacy: Toni Morrison’s Literary Theory in Context.” Eger Journal of American Studies, 9. 61-74.

——. 2017. Literature in Context: Strategies of Reading American Novels. Szeged: JATE Press Kiadó.

——. 2018. “'Black is Beautiful': Black Atlantic Experience and the Black Female Body in Toni Morrison’s God Help the Child (2015)." Réka M. Cristian, Zoltán Dragon and András Lénárt (eds.). Transnational Americas: Home(s), Borders, Transgressions. Szeged: Americana Ebooks.

Mayberry, Susan Neal. 2008. “’Everything about Her Had Two Sides to It’: The Foreigner's Home in Toni Morrison's Paradise.” African American Review, 42:3/4. 565-578.

Morrison, Toni. 1992. Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. New York: Vintage.

——. 1997. Paradise. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.

——. 1998. “Home” Wahneema Lubian (eds.). The House that Race Built. New York: Pantheon Books. 3-12.

——. 2012. Home. London: Vintage.

Schreiber, Evelyn Jaffe. 2010. Race, Trauma, and Home in the Novels of Toni Morrison. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State UP.

Sweeney, Megan. 2004. “Racial House, Big House, Home: Contemporary Abolitionism in Toni Morrison’s Paradise.” Meridians: feminism, race, transnationalism, 4:2. 40-67.

Visser, Irene. 2016. “Fairy Tale and Trauma in Toni Morrison’s Home.” MELUS, 41:1. 148-164.

IMAGES OF MEXICO IN THE TEXTS OF TWO FEMALE TRAVELLERS AT THE BEGINNING OF THE 20TH CENTURY

MÓNIKA SZENTE-VARGA

1. Travellers and Their Itineraries

Two widows from Hungary, Mrs. Mocsáry, neé Mária Fáy (b. Pomáz, 1855; d. Pomáz, 1917) and Mrs. Bihary (?-?) arrived in Mexico during the Porfirian Era, at the beginning of the 20th century. Both described their experiences in writing as well as via images. The texts first appeared in journals (Magyar Szalon in 1905 and Pesti Hírlap in 1910, respectively) and afterwards, possibly due to their success, were reprinted as booklets. Mrs. Mocsáry took a lot of photos, some of which she included in her travelogue, whereas Mrs. Bihary, being an artist, made various paintings, whose present whereabouts are unknown. This analysis focuses on their texts, which will be studied from two main angles: their relationship to female travel writing, and their relationship to previous Hungarian travelogues written on Mexico.

By the time Mrs. Mocsáry got to Mexico, she was an experienced traveller, and what is more, an experienced travel writer. She had travelled extensively with her husband, Béla Mocsáry, and kept on travelling after his death in 1890. She visited India, Ceylon, Egypt, the Holy Land, and Alaska, and published various articles.[7] At the beginning of the 20th century she decided to embark on a journey around the world; she got to Mexico in 1904. There she was advised not to go on, due to the Russo-Japanese war, thus she stayed in Mexico longer than she had originally planned, and after her visit, returned to Europe via the United States. Mrs. Bihary arrived in Mexico approximately six years later than Mrs. Mocsáry. She did not travel alone, but accompanied her uncle, the well-known painter Antal Illés.  He had studied in Budapest, Munich, and Paris, and was a pupil of Ferenc Újházy, Sándor Bihary (late husband of Mrs. Bihary),[8] Jules Bastien-Lepage, and Jean Paul Laurens. He belonged to the Szolnok art colony. Illés travelled overseas in 1908. He must have been rather successful, as he painted a portrait of both the U.S. and the Mexican president. After his untimely death in 1911, however, his works were dispersed and today he is little known. A memorial exposition was organized in 1912, where some of his works were offered for sale, including 134 oil paintings and 79 watercolours (Illés Antal 1912). The list of the titles shows that most depicted people from New Mexico and Tehuantepec but there are no images, as the works are in private hands. Some pop up at auctions from time to time. There is no Antal Illés Collection available comprised of his paintings that could provide a visual memory of his journey in Mexico, so the text of Mrs. Bihary is crucial in reconstructing their overseas experience. With the fatal accident of her uncle upon returning home, she became the sole chronicler of their visit in North America.

Antal Illés and Mrs. Bihary visited Mexico City, the village of Hueuetoca (and stayed at the residence of Guillermo Landa y Escaldón[9]) and the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Mrs. Mocsáry arrived by ship, anchoring in Progreso (but not visiting the port, as there had been an outbreak of yellow fever) and finally getting to shore in Veracruz. Her itinerary included Córdoba, Orizaba, Mexico City, Guadalupe, Cuernavaca, Acapantzingo, Guanajuato, and Querétaro. She left the country by train, heading towards the United States.

2. Relationship to Female Travel Writing

It is difficult and could be over simplistic to generalize about female travel writing, yet there are certain traits generally considered characteristic: female travel writings are regarded as less political, less scientific, and more sentimental in nature than men’s writing (Barco Cebrian 2016:54-59). Women’s texts tend to include a kind of apology at the beginning, moreover; “both the experience of travel and writing about it were gendered experiences […]. The travel writer was normally male in an age when the women’s place was, literally, the home. Women did not fit the travellers’ image as heroic explorer, scientist, or cultural interpreter” (Taddeo 2003:477). Women’s principle task was child bearing and running the household. Travelling would obviously take them away from home and away from those traditional tasks society expected from them. Therefore, many of them felt it necessary to offer an explanation. The two travelogues therefore will be examined with these perspectives in mind, to see whether they fit, and to what extent, the established ‘norms’.

2.1. Politics

The texts are apolitical. Both women avoided the topic of Mexican politics. The only information readers get is on Porfirio Díaz, the Mexican president between 1884 and 1911 (and also earlier between 1877 and 1880). Yet it is interesting that both authors thought it important not only to familiarize the Hungarian readers with General Díaz, but also to grant him a prominent place in their texts. His photo features on the first page of the Mrs. Mocsáry’s book, while Mrs. Bihary offers a detailed description of her meeting and conversation with the president, which took place while Antal Illés was preparing a portrait of the Mexican leader. Her impressions were quite favourable.

2.2. Science

2.2.1. Mrs. Mocsáry

Neither Mrs. Mocsáry nor Mrs. Bihary intended to prepare a scientific text. They had other objectives in mind. Mrs. Mocsáry wanted to record a trip that could be repeated. She put down the name of the hotels where she stayed, the services they offered (their range and quality), the sights to see, and the possibilities of transport in case of each city she visited. She was preparing kind of a guidebook, which she must have used either in her earlier trips or even during her visit to Mexico. Her text targeted the Hungarian public, as it had a special point of interest: Maximilian of Habsburg and the Second Empire.[10]

She mentions him for the first time in case of Córdoba, highlighting a house at the zocalo (main square) in which he had stayed. She describes Orizaba as a nice place, where houses are squeezed among gardens and Maximilian loved spending time. He pops up again in her description of Mexico City (“The Paseo de la Reforma, which runs from Mexico to Chapultepec, is one of the most beautiful boulevards in the world and was founded under the reign of Emperor Maximilian”); in Cuernavaca (“summer capital of the Empire”), and in Acapancingo (summer residence of Maximilian). She even established a personal contact with Dr. František Kaška (1834-1907), the emperor’s pharmacist, to see some mementos related to Maximillian. At the end of her trip, she travelled to Querétaro, the place of execution, to see the memorial chapel erected in 1901.

Mrs. Mocsáry finished her travelogue with a part that is rather odd. At the end, several pages are dedicated to the Mexican adventure, in the form of memories, written by an anonymous ex-volunteer.[11] Thus she completely changed the genre and, instead of a travel book, offered the confessions/memories of a person who fought in Mexico in the 1860s.  But why did she do that? The reasons could include the restricted number of sources in Hungary, the fact the volunteers were growing old and this was kind of a last chance to rescue their memories in situ and, of course, the interest could stem from the life of Mrs. Mocsáry, as she was a contemporary of the Mexican adventure. She was in her twenties when the volunteers from Central Europe went to Mexico. That was a time of growing attention to this distant place, which vanished after the execution of Maximilian. In 1867 the fate of the emperor did not stir much interest in Hungary, partly because Hungarians were busy celebrating the birth of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and partly because so little time (only eleven days) passed between the coronation of Francis Joseph as King of Hungary (8 June 1867) and the execution in Querétaro (19 June 1867).

The death of Maximilian added to the image of Mexico in Hungary, reaffirming the elements of violence and blood, but there were not many texts written on the Second Empire and the fate of Maximilian. The lack of writings could be connected to the failure of the Mexican adventure, to the break of diplomatic relations between Austria(-Hungary) and Mexico, and to the fact that it was Maximilian’s family who ruled the region, which could have contributed to a kind of self-imposed censorship or silence. Altogether, there is one book and a few articles in Hungarian on the Second Empire. Possibly the most detailed description of Maximilian’s ill-fated venture the Hungarian public could read was that of Ede Pawlowsky of Rosenfeld, a Hungarian-Polish military officer and nobleman, titled: Description of the unfortunate expedition of Emperor Maximilian in Mexico, with special emphasis on the 70-day siege of Querétaro [Miksa császár mexikói szerencsétlen expediciójának leírása, kiváló tekintettel Querétaro hetven napig tartó ostromára]. This 200-page book appeared in 1882, with subsequent editions in 1892 and in 1894. Dr. Ede Szenger (1833-1904), another volunteer who had been a military physician in Teotitlán del Camino, Oaxaca, and in Mexico City, served as director of the Austrian military hospital in Puebla, and was one of the few European witnesses to the execution of the emperor, wrote an article in 1876 titled The Death of Emperor Maximilian [Miksa császár halála]. There were a few other newspaper articles written, for example by István Burián (b. 1830).[12] The list is not exhaustive, and we might find some new sources with the digitalization of the Hungarian press of the 1860s and 1870s.

2.2.2. Mrs. Bihary

Mrs. Bihary also had a special focus when writing her text. Born into a family of artists, wed to an artist, and being an artist, she had a particular interest in cultural relations between (Austria)-Hungary and Mexico. Her writing is a real thesaurus of bilateral cultural links. She knew about and mentions Hungarians from artistic circles who had recently been to, were in, or were about to go to Mexico. Pál Horti figures as an expert on Mexican decorative motifs and as a person interested in drawing parallels between Hungarian and Mexican (folk) art.[13] Géza Maróti is mentioned as a Hungarian artist participating in the decoration of the Mexican National Theatre.[14] Sándor Paczka, an immigrant who recurs in Hungarian travelogues, is described as the younger brother of the painter Ferenc Pazcka.[15] Mrs. Bihary also writes about the image of Hungarians and Hungary in Mexico. She mentions two points in particular: Gypsies, and the János Hunyadi medicinal water. There is a saying in Mexico ‘vive como húngaro’ literally ‘lives like a Hungarian’ and meaning a semi-nomadic life, usually connected to the circus. The use of “Gypsies” and “Hungarians” as synonyms goes back, possibly, to the medieval ages (Torbágyi 2003:173-180). Sigismund of Luxemburg, the Holy Roman Emperor and King of Hungary, let various groups of Gypsies cross his lands from east to west. These people tended to be associated with the lands they wandered across (Bohemia–bohemio; Hungría–húngaro).

The name húngaro was reinforced centuries later by the weakening and contracting of the Ottoman Empire in the Balkans and the emergence of nation-states there. These processes gave rise to a new wave of emigration, coinciding with a growing emigration of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, and often using the same infrastructure and services of travel, mostly directed to the United States. Some of the newly arrived later moved to Latin America. Another numerous wave of emigration of the Gypsy population of Central and Eastern Europe took place after the First World War due to increased nationalism, as well as economic and political turmoil in the region. Possibly this was the most intensive migratory movement among the three. Many of the people involved had been born in the Kingdom of Hungary (forming part of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy), therefore it is not so surprising that Spanish Gypsies called the newly arrived “Hungarians” (Leblon 2001:78). Various groups later moved to Latin America (to Mexico in 1922 in particular) and were called Hungarians (Bonfil Batalla 1993:394). Yet the writing of Mrs. Bihary shows that it would be erroneous to think the Hungarian-Gypsy equivalence has existed in Mexico only since the 1920s. This stereotype is older and goes back at least to the second migratory wave of Gypsy groups, lasting from the last third of the 19th century until the First World War.

There are various advertisements for János Hunyadi medicinal water in the popular weekly journal El Mundo Ilustrado at the beginning of the 20th century (1909: 21, 58, 150, 414, 516, 630, and 877). This water with purgative effects still exists in Hungary. Originally it was bottled by the company of András Saxlehner (Kőszeg, 1815-Budapest, 1889), and became internationally known. Illegal constructions next to the spring and the fact that during the course of the 20th century the firm changed hands various times, being nationalized and later re-privatized, did not help production. Nowadays Hunyadi is a local brand, and most Hungarians would be surprised to know that this water was part of the image of Hungary a hundred years ago in places as distant such as Mexico.  “I have always proudly asserted,” wrote Mrs. Bihary, “that I am Hungarian. And then a lot of people seemed to be wondering [what it means]. Whereas others jokingly told me the truth: I only know the Hunyadi János” (1910:19).

2.3. Sentiments

Female writings are usually considered more sentimental than texts written by males. Mrs. Bihary’s text is in fact full of feelings, but it probably has to do more with her life experience, including the recent loss of her husband and four-year old daughter, than her gender. Mrs. Bihary travelled to cure her soul. At the same time, she tried to discover the soul of the Mexicans. She drew and painted people from different social strata. She observed them carefully and tried to establish conversations, using her knowledge of neo-Latin languages. Her sensitivity as an artist helped cut distances. Mrs. Mocsáry’s writing is intentionally neutral. Its tone has much to do with the genre she has chosen: tourist guides are not meant to be sentimental.

3. Relationship to previous Hungarian travelogues on Mexico

In the second half of the 19th century Hungarians could get direct information on Mexico, reading texts written by either 1848/49 emigrants who left the country after the lost struggle for independence against the Habsburgs, or by members of the Volunteer Corps that supported Maximilian of Habsburg overseas during the Second Empire.  Although the ex-revolutionaries arrived in the American continent 10-15 years earlier than the volunteers, some remained in Mexico in the 1860s. The majority of the Hungarians fought with Maximilian, but there was a minority (deserters as well as some of the 1848/49 emigrants who saw in the Mexican struggle a new opportunity to fight the Habsburgs) who battled against him. Their descriptions, however, tend to coincide with respect to Mexico, characterizing it a backward and inferior place.

The main reason, in case of the ex-revolutionaries, has to do with their experience in America. Most arrived first in the United States, where they stayed for a time, often getting U.S. citizenship. They acquired most of their knowledge about the southern neighbor while living in the U.S., and got to Mexico with a certain air of superiority. Many were convinced that Mexico would not be able to develop alone, and progress could be achieved only via a foreign power. They did not see the occupation of Mexico by the U.S. just as a possibility but also as a desirable option.

An ex-revolutionary, János Xántus (1825-1894), opined for example about the future of the Californian Peninsula this way: “Change can only come about a snail’s pace, as long as the peninsula belongs to the Mexican republic, for flourishing commerce in Mexico is unimaginable. […] If the peninsula should become the property of the North American Union, which is only a matter of time, for it will inevitably happen before long, then La Paz will become one of the main depositories of American industry […]” (Xántus 1860:107).[16] The volunteers of Maximilian also depicted Mexico in a negative way. Here the reason has to do with their very presence in the country. They needed to justify the military intervention by showing the internal chaos of Mexico and the superiority of Europeans. The ex-revolutionaries tended to triangulate in their works, comparing Mexico with the U.S. and with Hungary. Mexico played the role of the least-developed country. The U.S. was depicted as superior, and Hungary tended to be described as similar to the U.S. (Venkovits 2014:108-111). The writings of the volunteers lack comparisons to the United States because they had arrived directly in Mexico, and thus did not have a U.S. experience.

Altogether, the 19th century image of Mexico in Hungary was rather dark. It included armed conflicts, violence, bandits, political turmoil, and economic backwardness. The positive parts usually related to romantic traits, such as lush vegetation, exotic landscape, volcanoes and, of course, beautiful women. The two female travel writers’ texts hardly fit this established image. The only significant meeting point is the romantic features. Like previous texts, there is an emphasis on the variety and beauties of the landscape and nature in general. “Mexico is the home of the eternal sun and the eternal spring, only the snowcapped Popocatepetl makes us think about winter,” writes Mrs. Bihary (1912:11). “Beautifully shaped chains of mountains accompany us. Their colour is blue with a golden halo when the day says buenos días. The time of buenas tardes is marked by purple shadows. Before buenas noches the land turns orange-yellow, then scarlet” (1912:17).

Apart from the romantic parts, the travelogues of Mrs. Bihary and Mrs. Mocsáry are quite different from the impressions described in previous narratives. In fact, their journeys (Mrs. Mocsáry travelling alone) contradict images of a dangerous and inhospitable country. Their texts show a very modern and developed Mexico. Mrs. Mocsáry’s writing was an open invitation to travel. It pictured a beautiful and safe country, with good infrastructure and affordable prices. “Rail transport is cheap in Mexico. Hotels of different cities (together with their prices) figure on the timetables, as well as on each railroad map” (Mocsáry 1905:23). Her description is one-sided, and even exaggerates positive features. She does not write about poverty, social differences, or tension in general. She carefully avoids any problems or negative features. She wrote, for instance: “The locals were selling food, pulque and delicious milk loafs to the travellers at the train stations. Their well-being was obvious” (Mocsáry 1905:8). She even finds Veracruz, a place usually described as unhealthy, filthy, and uninviting, “more attractive than it had been related. It has a pretty square with a nice park, surrounded by a beautiful church and fairly good buildings. Below the arcade, I enjoyed a delicious ice-cream with my fellow travellers” (Mocsáry 1905:5). She communicated through an interpreter, and got acquainted only with the elites. Thus, her direct experience was restricted to a small, privileged group within the country. She did not notice, or she did not want to notice the rest of Mexican society. Her writing is more a piece of publicity for the Porfirian system, which very much wanted to attract foreigners, especially European immigration, which the Mexican elite saw as a possible solution to the country’s problems and a way to progress.

Mrs. Bihary’s writing is more balanced:

Mexico is the country of gold. The rich have so much gold that they keep it in barrels and could sit on them whereas the poor know only the centavos. They live without wanting much, on tortillas, that is a langosh[17] made of maize flour and on beans. They do not work much and prefer to postpone their tasks for the the day to follow (mañana) and would never actually complete them. Their most common saying is: mucho trabajo (too much work). (Bihary 1912:13)

She noted poverty and social differences, yet Mexico remains attractive in her text. She compared Mexico and the United States, but unlike previous visitors, she preferred Mexico.

My memory goes back to New York for a moment. That European-minded city with its skyscrapers and noisy life, did not inspire me. Everything is business there. Business and again business, even religion is business. It is not apt for artists. My brother did not like it from the very first moment. If he had only wanted to achieve what he told his friends upon leaving Hungary (I will not depart from America until I have enough money to be able to kick dollars with my feet), he could have succeeded as fortune created the opportunity for him. He painted President Taft […]. (Bihary 1912:4)

She also compared Mexico to Hungary. Hungary and Hungarians have a positive image in her text (the intended public was Hungarian, after all), but she also found Hungarians quite similar to Mexicans. “Mexicans and Hungarians are more alike in feelings and temperament. On the contrary, the American [sic, the U.S.] citizens only esteem the Hungarian for his work and knowledge, but stand very far –muy lejos as Mexicans put it– in feeling” (Bihary 1912:24).

All in all, the texts of Mrs. Mocsáry and Mrs. Bihary do not fit the previous Hungarian narrative on Mexico, but they do fit the new narrative Jenő Bánó (1855-1927) was trying to establish. Bánó, recently widowed, travelled overseas in the second half of the 19th century, and finally settled down in Mexico. He founded a finca and produced coffee, among other products, and had a successful period, which ended when a natural disaster destroyed his property. Possibly due to contacts that stretched to the president, he was nominated as an honorary consul general of Mexico in Budapest. He came back to Hungary with his new wife–he wed a lady from Oaxaca–and served as consul between 1903 and 1912. Despite the fact that he was an honorary consul and by birth a Hungarian, he received a salary, and after Budapest, served as a representative of Mexico in Alexandria. Bánó was an enthusiastic promotor of Mexican-Hungarian relations. He was a prolific writer, and published in Hungarian various articles and three books on Mexico: Images of a Journey in the Americas (1890); Mexico and my Travels in the Tropics (1896) and My Wanderings in the Americas (1906). He tried to break away from the old, negative stereotypes and show a modern and developed Mexico to the readers. His intentions probably were not independent from the aims of the Mexican political leadership whose head, Porfirio Díaz, figures with a photo at the beginning of his 1906 book.[18]  When Mrs. Mocsáry and Mrs. Bihary travelled to Mexico, Bánó was already acting as consul in Budapest. They each met him before their trip, and he is mentioned as somebody who helped, for example, with letters of recommendation. Obviously he would also try to disseminate his ideas, which fell in fertile soil in case of the two widows.

Neither the writings of Bánó, Mrs. Mocsáry, nor Mrs. Bihary had a lasting impact on the image of Mexico in Hungary. They were read only by a certain segment of Hungarian society. More importantly, any positive message was overshadowed by news of the Mexican Revolution that reinforced the existing images of blood, violence and armed conflict. The press of the 1910s included both written articles and photos, the latter becoming the essence of Mexico seen from abroad. The figure of the Mexican revolutionary with his inevitable sombrero, his rifle in his hand, and cartridges around his body in the form of an X has been ever since an integral part of the idea of Mexico. The revolution won over the Porfiriato. It was not only the old system that got shattered but also the image it had been trying to convey to the world.

Works Cited

Bánó, Jenő. 1890. Úti képek Amerikából. Budapest: Nagel.

---. 1906. Bolyongásaim Amerikában. Budapest: Athenaeum.

Barco Cebrian, Lorena. 2016. “Literature Female Travel: The Vision of Spain throughout Six Foreign Writers”, European Scientific Journal 12. 32; 54-78.

Bonfil Batalla, Guillermo (ed.). 1993. Simbiosis de culturas. Los inmigrantes y su cultura en México. Mexico City: FCE-Conaculta.

Bihary, Sándorné. 1912. Útleírás Mexicóból: három level. Budapest: Légrády.

Horváth, Hilda. 1991. “Horti Pál mexikói rajzai” Művészettörténeti Értesítő, 40. 3-4. 200-204.

Illés Antal hagyatéki kiállításának katalógusa. 1912. Pest: Nemzeti Szalon.

Jancsó, Katalin. 2017. “Un cafetero húngaro en Oaxaca. La imagen del indígena del América del Norte y Central decimonónica en las obras del viajero Eugenio Bánó” Prutsch, Ursula - Bertonha, João Fabio – Szente-Varga, Mónika (eds.). Aventureros, utopistas, emigrantes. Del Imperio Habsburgo a las Américas. Madrid and Frankfurt am Main: Iberoamericana Vervuert.

---. 2011. “Húngaros en las tropas de Maximiliano, emperador de México” Fischer, Ferenc – Lilón, Domingo (eds.). La imagen de Hungría en Iberoamérica en el siglo XX. Pécs: Publikon Kiadó.  419-430.

Leblon, Bernard. 2001. Los gitanos en España. Barcelona: Gedisa.

Mocsáry Béláné Fáy, Mária. 1905. Mexikói utazásom, úti jegyzetek. Budapest: Pesti könyvnyomda.

Pawlowsky, Ede. 1892. Miksa császár mexikói szerencsétlen expediciójának leírása, kiváló tekintettel Querétaro hetven napig tartó ostromára. Budapest: Rudnyánszky.

Szenger, Ede. 1876. “Miksa császár halála” Magyarország és a Nagyvilág, 13. 25. 383; 386-389.

Szente-Varga, Mónika. 2010a. “Los rostros del Palacio de Bellas Artes de México a través del siglo XX. La imagen de la participación de artistas húngaros” Iberoamericana Quinqueecclesiensis, 8, 139-152.

---. 2010b. “Participación húngara en la construcción del Teatro Nacional de México, hoy Palacio de Bellas Artes” Boletín de Monumentos Históricos, 3, 147-157.

---. 2002. “The Role of Géza Maróti and Other Hungarian Artists in the Construction of the National Theatre of Mexico” Ács, Piroska (ed.). Maróti Géza 1875-1941. Budapest: Iparművészeti Múzeum. 112-113.

Taddeo, Julie. 2003. “Gender and Sexuality” Speake, Jennifer (ed.) Literature of Travel and Exploration. An Encyclopedia. Vol. II. 477.

Tardy, Lajos. 1990. “Az 1864-1867. évi mexikói ‘önkéntes hadtest’ magyarországi résztvevői”, Hadtörténelmi Közlemények, 103. 2. 145-171.

Torbágyi, Péter. 2003. “Gitanos húngaros en América Latina” Acta Hispanica, 8. 173-180.

Venkovits, Balázs. 2016. “Migration, Travel Writing and Propaganda: Hungarians in Porfirian Mexico” Ideas, 6. Access date: November 11th, 2017. Available at: https://journals.openedition.org/ideas/1182

---. 2015. “Proof of what a Hungarian woman is capable of: Travels of Mrs. Mocsáry in the United States and Mexico” Hungarian Journal of English and American Studies 21.1. 177-194.

---. 2014. "We Are Clearly Deceived at Home:" Inter-American Images and the Depiction of Mexico in Hungarian Travel Writing During the Second Half of the Nineteenth Century. Debrecen: PhD Thesis.

Xántus, János. 1860. Utazás California déli részeiben. Pest: Lauffer és Stolp.

BUTCH CASSIDY IN BOLIVIA: THE DISSOLUTION OF COLONIAL HIERARCHIES AND THE STRENGTHENING OF NEOCOLONIAL POWER RELATIONS AS PRESENTED IN MATEO GIL’S FILM BLACKTHORN (2011)

MAREK PARYZ

In their introduction to the volume International Westerns: Re-Locating the Frontier, Cynthia J. Miller and A. Bowdoin Van Riper write that “[a]dapting the Western film to settings, audiences and cinematic traditions beyond the United States enriches the genre with new geographic realities, new histories, and new collisions between once-separate peoples. It is a wellspring of new variations on Western stories that have been told elsewhere—and of wholly new stories that could be told nowhere else” (2014: xv). With respect to Latin American cinemas, the employment of the Western genre has often functioned “as a way to address the power and wealth disparities brought about by […] American neo-imperialism” (Wessels, 2015:183). Chelsea Wessels discusses this tendency on the basis of the 1917 Argentine film El Ultimo Malón (dir. Alcides Greca) and the 1969 Brazilian Antonio das Mortes (dir. Gaubert Rocha), and concludes that the adjustment of the Western’s “generic frameworks […] for the specific historical and political contexts” does not necessarily boil down to “a critique of America,” but evokes the kind of appeal that may “incite collective action” (2015:195). A more recent example of this tendency is Mateo Gil’s film Blackthorn, a Bolivian-French-Spanish-American co-production released in 2011. Whether this film has a potential to “incite collective action” is debatable, but there is no doubt that it belongs to the category of cinematic works that aim to alert the audience to the perpetuation of fundamental social problems that have been historically conditioned, and even though they have often been thoroughly diagnosed, their solution remains a matter of the future. To put it specifically, Blackthorn uses the convention of a historical Western to address the lasting problem of neocolonial injustice and exploitation. In handling this issue, the film establishes an ideologically meaningful prism of looking at it: namely, instead of showing the inextricability of the processes of the dissolution of colonial hierarchies and of the strengthening of neocolonial power relations, it treats them rather separately—or foregrounds the former at the expense of the latter. Such is the effect of the unfolding of the plot.[19]

In its depiction of the historical situation, Blackthorn appears to differentiate the sphere of social symbols, with which the manifest legacy of colonialism has been associated, from the economic reality, which follows the ingrained logic of colonialism in how it determines the relations of labor. By focusing on a change that happens primarily in the sphere of social symbols, the film fails to acknowledge the possibility of a true breakthrough within the unjust economic reality. Blackthorn signals the complexity of neocolonial relations, but addresses them in a superficial way. As Robert J.C. Young puts it, “[n]eocolonialism denotes a continuing economic hegemony that means that the postcolonial state remains in a situation of dependence on its former masters, and that the former masters continue to act in a colonialist manner towards formerly colonized states” (2001:45). However, there are other phenomena that can be described as examples of neocolonialism. Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin observe that this term “has been […] widely used to refer to any and all forms of control of the ex-colonies”: “it has been argued by some that the new élites brought to power by independence, and often educated and trained by the colonial powers, were unrepresentative of the people and even acted as unwitting or even willing […] agents for the former colonial rulers” (1998:163). The form of injustice portrayed in Blackthorn results directly from the rise into power of the class of owners, and the film’s greatest ambivalence has to do with the fact that it almost leaves out this class. By focusing on the character of a corrupt Spanish engineer, a “conquistador”—as the eponymous American hero calls him during their first conversation—the film misidentifies the source of social evil. The intervention undertaken by Blackthorn in the concluding part of the film ultimately confirms the impossibility of a radical change of the system.

Blackthorn does put forth a solution to neocolonial injustice: the enfranchisement of the groups that have experienced oppression and exploitation, especially the poor and the indigenous, through ownership. This is a utopian idea insofar as it finds an easy way out of a very complex situation, disregarding a variety of interconnected factors that have led to the solidification of an unjust system. A utopian belief results from anger and anxiety as much as from naivety, and the film conveys the irony of emotions that underlie such longings. Blackthorn implies that the enfranchisement of the underprivileged depends on the concessions which those who enjoy the privileges are ready do make. While ownership appears to be as tangible a social fact as it only can be, it also substantiates a powerful social fantasy. And sometimes the fantasy—the promise, the prospect—suffices to satisfy the people. In Blackthorn, the victims of economic injustice are allowed to entertain such a fantasy, without actually effecting any changes in the social system that sustains the existing forms of exploitation. No matter how strongly they cling to the illusion, they are bound to face the crude facts of life again sooner rather than later.

Blackthorn is a variation on the story of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. It’s the year 1927; Butch Cassidy (Sam Shepard), now an elderly man, lives in Bolivia under the name James Blackthorn and makes his living from breeding horses. He has been planning on going back to the United States and moving in with his nephew—who is likely enough to be his son—therefore he sells all his horses and collects his savings from the bank. On the way from the town to his house in the mountains, he is attacked by a man who wants to take away his horse, and although he fights back and defeats the assailant, he loses the horse and the money. The assailant is a Spaniard by the name of Eduardo Apadaca (Eduardo Noriega); he confesses to Blackthorn that he has stolen money from a powerful owner of tin mines and promises to compensate Blackthorn for his loss if he helps him recover the money Eduardo had hidden in the mine. After collecting the money, they have to run away because a posse has been sent after the Spaniard. Blackthorn and Apadaca decide to split up, and the former, after an exhausting ride through the salt flats, gets to a town where he is recognized by an American named Mackinley (Stephen Rea), once a Pinkerton agent and now an honorary consul in a godforsaken Bolivian town. When Blackthorn has convalesced, Mackinley helps him leave the town and later, having learnt about his collaboration with Apadaca, informs him that the ownership of the mine has been granted to the Indian miners after their rebellion against the cruel owner, and it is they who have been robbed. Blackthorn rides off in search of the Spaniard, and when he catches up with him he shoots him in the leg, chases away his horse and leaves him immobile, in this way enabling the miners in the posse not only to regain their money, but also to execute justice themselves.

The reconstruction of the historical context in Blackthorn attests that its makers have aimed to achieve at least a degree of historical accuracy. Waltraud Q. Morales writes that “[s]ince the Spanish conquest, mineral wealth has been the backbone of the Bolivian economy and a critical determinant of social class and political power” (2003:91). The mid-nineteenth century marks a revival of Bolivian silver mining, the industry that boomed in the 1870s, but came to an abrupt end around 1895 as a result of a drastic global decrease of silver prices. The class of the oligarchs who had controlled silver mining was replaced by a new oligarchy that emerged in the course of “the transition into the next Bolivian mining Bonanza—the tin empires of the 20th century” (Morales, 2003:91). Morales writes that “[t]he period of 1900 to 1927 saw a meteoric rise in world tin prices” (2003:92). The Bolivian production of tin became dominated by three huge holdings, owned by José Avelinio Aramayo, Simón Patiño and Mauricio Hochschild, respectively. The most powerful of the three was Patiño whose “extensive holdings represented nearly 50 percent of all of Bolivian tin production” (Morales, 2003:92). Morales thus describes Patiño’s style of life and entrepreneurial attitude:

Patiño was quite the cosmopolitan bon vivant. He maintained luxury suites in the best hotels in Paris and New York. The sweaty and dirty work—both in and out of the mines—he relegated to the tough, under-paid Bolivian miners and to his managers. In the name of Patiño Mines, his administrators would cavalierly dictate political and economic policy to Bolivian governments—and get away with it. (2003:93)

Interestingly, Patiño’s name is mentioned on several occasions in Blackthorn, but the tin baron does not appear on screen in person, thus becoming the film’s haunting presence, a trace of what it omits. With regard to the evocation of the historical circumstances in Blackthorn, it is important to add that the decade preceding the year when the film’s action is set witnessed a series of strikes in Patiño’s and other owners’ mines. The strikes often had violent outcomes because the miners acted with utmost determination and repeatedly threatened to use dynamite against the mine administrators. There were occasions when the troops intervened and pacified the rebellious workers (Alexander, 2005:20-21). No such incident has been visually represented in Blackthorn; the film only includes a narrated account of how the miners’ rebellion led to what purports to be a radical change of their status.

Mateo Gil’s film concentrates on the evolving relationship between Blackthorn and Apadaca: from the former’s initial distrust toward and irritation with the latter, through their brief friendship, to their final hostile confrontation. At the beginning, the Spaniard tries to elicit the American man’s pity, and he is convincing when he begs, therefore Blackthorn enters the deal proposed by Apadaca and regarding Blackthorn’s compensation for the loss of his money. There is an implication that Blackthorn actually feels that Apadaca’s theft of Patiño’s money was an act of justice. When he hears the mining baron’s name, he responds to it by saying, “I know snakes, no matter what hole they crawl out of.” He then begins to look at the Spaniard with a hint of admiration, as proven by the following exchange which takes place as the two protagonists are approaching the mine to recover the hidden money:

Blackthorn: ‘How much money did you steal, Eduardo?

Apadaca: ‘Not much, just enough to…’

Blackthorn: ‘Nobody steals ‘not much’ from the richest man on the continent. How much did you steal?

Apadaca: ‘10.000 pounds sterling.’

Blackthorn increasingly enjoys the company of a sidekick, who has a charming impertinence about him and, at the same time, knows who makes the decisions. There is a nocturnal scene, following their departure from Blackthorn’s place, during which they have a conversation before going to sleep and share personal details, a sign that a bond between the two man has been formed. The ride with Apadaca brings back Blackthorn’s memories of his outlaw days. The American hero even experiences a kind of rejuvenation in his company. When the two men stop by a rock amidst the salt flats to talk about the way of evading the posse, Blackthorn speaks insouciantly about the prospect of death, and it’s not because his age has made him indifferent to such a threat, but rather as a result of a rekindled youthful bravura.

The first suggestion of Apadaca’s dishonesty are his actions after the attack of two Indian women on Blackthorn’s house: in its course, the American man gets wounded and his Indian mistress Yana dies. The two attackers get killed, too. While Blackthorn is staying in bed, overwhelmed by pain and fever, Apadaca removes the dead bodies and throws all three into a nearby stream. Later on, as the two men are riding off, Blackthorn sees a grave in his yard and thanks Apadaca for burying Yana. Needless to say, there is no grave there, only a stretch of freshly ruffled earth and a wooden cross. Apadaca then brings up Yana’s death in a conversation which Blackthorn refuses to continue; the Spaniard expresses his sympathy and says, “I wanted to say. All that happened about Yana and…,” to which his companion replies, “I knew the risks as well as you, going in. There’s nothing to say.” In retrospect, Apadaca’s allusion to Blackthorn’s loss turns out to be a sheer act of manipulation. He has been lying from the beginning, but this particular situation shows his complete lack of scruples. In the later part of the film, when Mackinley tells Blackthorn about the circumstances under which Patiño gave over the ownership of his mine to the workers, he points out the Spaniard’s role in the whole affair: he did support the miners’ claim. It is possible that he already had ill intentions then. Mackinley cannot help feeling sorry for the Indian miners: “Poor fools, they trusted a Spaniard.” It is interesting to notice that the entire emotional aspect of the injustice that has been done to the miners has been conveyed through the reactions of the two American characters in the film.

The film portrays Apadaca as an heir to the legacy of Spanish colonizers. The initial irony, expressed through Blackthorn’s allusions to the Spaniard’s noble origin—on one occasion, he calls him “a conquistador,” and on another he says: “Never rode with a gentleman before. Never hoped that I would”—helps usher in a serious tone by immediately defining the situation in recognizable historical terms. The theft of money from the Indians is a rather embarrassing manifestation of the colonizer’s greed, best reflected in the following part of Blackthorn’s last conversation with Apadaca:

Apadaca: ‘It [the mine] had different owners. Owners anyway.’

Blackthorn: ‘You never did see the difference, did you?’

Apadaca: ‘For the Indians? For a bunch of miners? For them? And what about me?’

The Spaniard speaks about ownership as if it were morally flawed by definition and he naturally deserved to be exculpated. His words resound with extreme egoism combined with a conviction of racial superiority. The responsibility for all the wrongs of the colonial rule falls onto Apadaca, and his crime is the proof of downright moral degradation. For Mackinley and Blackthorn, the Spaniard’s lack of scruples is simply unimaginable; the former says to the latter, “In my day the outlaws would have robbed banks. And the Union Pacific! They would never have stolen from the mining families.” Apadaca’s immorality signifies the utter bankruptcy of colonialism.

The motif of the chase inverts the paradigm of power relations within the colonial regime. The placement of the colonizer in the role of the fugitive, and of the colonized in the role of his pursuers, metaphorizes the necessity of a thorough reorganization of the social structure of the former colony. However, the film essentially depicts a change that has taken place in the sphere of social symbols, leaving open the question whether it will lead to a noticeable and lasting reconfiguration of the real relations of power. The film’s greatest ambivalence has to do with the fact that it almost completely leaves out the class of owners. This is a crucial omission because it is this class that decides about the extent of the enfranchisement of the underprivileged. As a matter of fact, the granting of ownership right to the miners is an experiment of sorts which is not costly—the resources of the mine have been running out—and which can bring about a desired effect in quenching the miners’ rebellious spirit. The only risk that this experiment entails is that the illusory right will allow the Indians to believe that they are in a position to demand real rights.

Through a juxtaposition with Apadaca, Blackthorn emerges as a character who takes on an interventionist role. On the whole, the convention of the Western provides a formula for the unfolding of the interventionist scenario. At the beginning, the film evokes the familiar image of an aging man who is a former gunman and has lived a peaceful life until the time comes when, unexpectedly, he finds himself in a situation that forces him to reach for his weapon once more. An interesting twist in the portrayal of the aging Western hero in Blackthorn is that, for a better part of the film, he undertakes certain actions because of his ignorance of a widely discussed event. Blackthorn’s unwitting participation in the crime which he equates with moral degeneration lends further moral force to his interventionist activity in the closing part of the film. By righting the wrong he shares the blame for, he achieves a form of self-redemption. The logic behind such a plot development brings to mind the savior trope in contemporary American cinema. This trope is particularly salient in films that depict different ways and circumstances in which white characters work toward the improvement of the condition of African Americans, but the savior formula can be easily extended onto a variety of international contexts with the aim of showing the positive, decisive role the Americans have played in liberating oppressed communities on a global scale. Hernán Vera and Andrew M. Gordon describe a dialectical narrative mechanism behind white savior films which, on the one hand, offer “a means to celebrate whiteness, to teach what it is like to be white and to enjoy the privilege of being white,” while on the other, serve as “social therapeutic devices to help us cope with the unjust social divide by denying or obscuring white privilege and the practices on which it depends” (2003:10). Matthew W. Hughey discusses the ambivalent ideological implications of white savior films:

Given the diverse locations in which white savior resonates, the anxious allure of saviorism has saturated our contemporary logic. This trope is so widespread that varied intercultural and interracial relations are often guided by a logic that racializes and separates people into those who are redeemers (whites) and those who are redeemed or in need of redemption (nonwhites). Such imposing patronage enables an interpretation of nonwhite characters and culture as essentially broken, marginalized, and pathological, while whites can emerge as messianic characters that easily fix the nonwhite pariah with their superior moral and mental abilities. (2014:2)

Admittedly, in Blackthorn, this kind of message is reinforced by the associations generated by Sam Shepard’s screen persona as a quintessential Western hero. It is not accidental that most of the reviewers of the film concentrated on Shepard’s performance, treating the historically specific setting as one of the variable sceneries for a unique cinematic enactment.

Blackthorn and Mackinley function as spokesmen for the enfranchised Indian miners. Mackinley tells Blackthorn about the change of ownership in the mine: “The miners rebelled against the owners. Overdue wages, murders... The usual... There was a huge battle. A lot of miners were killed. Then justice stepped in and, this country is full of surprises, they decided in favor of the miners. They awarded ownership of the mine to the surviving families... The mine was almost empty.” Blackthorn reacts to this revelation with utmost bewilderment, realizing that Apadaca acted just despicably. It appears that Mackinley can only feel less angry if he makes Blackthorn feel guiltier: “You were better off dead, Cassidy. And I hope you soon will be. I’ll drink until I forget this. But for you all the liquor in this shitty world wouldn’t be enough.” Mackinley and Blackthorn complement each other insofar as the former talks a lot, but is incapable of taking any meaningful action, whereas the latter speaks as much as he needs to, but acts quickly and effectually. Such complementariness helps define the two American characters as men who have been destined to defend the moral order despite their withdrawn attitudes. They may not have achieved much in their lives, but they have retained a strong sense of justice; in a way, the lack of achievement underlies their disinterested motivation.

Symptomatically, the film creates the impression of the two American characters’ utter detachment from their country of origin, thus precluding their identification as agents of American policies. In a conversation with Apadaca, Blackthorn explains that he decided to leave the United States because the country changed so much that he could not see any room for himself any longer and chose to go to Bolivia because—literally—it was “far away from everything”:

Blackthorn: ‘Of course things were different back then. There was room for everybody. Then the railroad came in, and the ranchers. Everything changed. It turned into a kind of a war. We ended up on the losing end of the stick.’

Apadaca: ‘And why Bolivia?’

Blackthorn: ‘It was far, far away.’

Apadaca: ‘Far away from what?’

Blackthorn: ‘Everything.’

In turn, Mackinley holds a public office, maintained by the U.S. government, but he thinks of his position as a form of banishment, “I’m what they call an honorary consul. 89 dollars a month. A one-bedroom house with a bed too small for my taste. I just greet the few North Americans that show up around here. Gold diggers, people buying wool, drunkards, an occasional runaway. Not many people. The last one came by two winters past.” Blackthorn thus completely glosses over the role the Americans and people of other western nationalities played in the development of the Bolivian mining industry during the first three decades of the twentieth century. As a matter of fact, it is British companies that contributed in instrumental ways to the distribution of Bolivian mineral products on international markets, but American entrepreneurs also sought their chance in Bolivia. Alexander writes that, “All of the Big Three tin mining firms involved extensive foreign investment. The largest amount of this came from Great Britain, much of the rest coming from the United States. Bolivian tin was shipped to Great Britain for refining” (2005:9).

For a film that apparently advocates the struggle for enfranchisement, Blackthorn noticeably limits the role of the enfranchised ones in the plot. The conflict in which the life of “the people” is at stake is enacted here by those who do not belong among “the people.” The miners do not have a true leader who would not only be one of the driving forces behind the film’s action, but also—literally and symbolically—would speak for his people. In fact, the miners hardly ever talk in the film. There is a scene in which one of the miners who have formed the posse (Luis Aduviri) catches up with Apadaca and, assuming that he is too weak to defend himself, he starts to talk about his unforgivable betrayal. As it turns out, they were friends once, but Apadaca ruined everything, or perhaps he had been acting deceptively from the beginning. The point is that this scene, instead of articulating the miners’ concerns and feelings, reduces the problem of exploitation to a personal grudge. It is worth comparing briefly Blackthorn with an acclaimed Spanish production Even the Rain (dir. Icíar Bollaín, 2010), which also uses the Bolivian setting and deals with the issue of exploitation. A Spanish film crew comes to Bolivia to shoot a series of scenes for a film about Christopher Columbus and the beginning of the conquest of Mexico. They employ a group of local indigenous people to play the Indians in the film and offer them minimum wages. Among the hired locals there is a man named Daniel (Juan Carlos Aduviri) who becomes a self-appointed spokesman for the whole group and demands better working conditions and—no less importantly—respect from the Europeans. Initially irritated by Daniel’s insubordination, the filmmakers begin to show concern about his situation and the miserable life conditions of the people whom he represents, and gradually it dawns on them that they have unknowingly been a part of a global distribution of privilege and injustice. The whole cruelty of the system becomes apparent to them when a riot breaks out in the town in reaction to the announcement of the privatization of water supply, which will inevitably lead to the increase of the price of water. Even the Rain ends on a very pessimistic note as it suggests that nothing is going to change: the Spaniards go home, the Bolivian poor are left to themselves. In the light of the crude facts of disfranchisement shown in Even the Rain, the promise of enfranchisement envisaged in Blackthorn reveals its utopian nature. It is also very symptomatic that Blackthorn ascribes a moral and emotional force—which in Even the Rain is embodied by an indigenous character—to an American hero. Blackthorn conveys a populist message that Deus-ex-machina solutions to the most serious social problems really exist.

Despite the narrowing down of the miners’ presence in the film, one can point out a few scenes that attest to their empowerment. One such scene is the attack of two Indian women on Blackthorn’s place. This is a puzzling event—for Blackthorn and the viewer alike—because the situation in the mine has not been explained yet. In other words, the reason for the women’s aggression remains unknown at this point in the plot. Another sign of the empowerment of the miners is a series of the shots of the posse, especially the most spectacular ones, showing the ride through the salt flats. Again, at this point in the film, the viewer still doesn’t know about the change of ownership in the mine. One is likely to assume that the men in the posse are gunmen who have been hired by the mine owner to do a predictable job. Blackthorn actually wonders at their determination, “They must be very well paid. I’ve never seen anybody take so much punishment.” Since the pursuers are Indians, the suggestion is that the indigene simply play by the rules of powerful white men. The delayed revelation of what happened in the mine is key for keeping up narrative tension, but it results in placing the Indians in roles which—for a good part of the film—appear unnatural: aggressors and mercenaries. From this, we can perhaps infer that the enfranchisement of the Indians is not a fully natural thing, either.

The last scene that proves the empowerment of the miners takes place at the end of the film: accompanied by the soldiers, who have embarked on a search after Blackthorn, the miners find the wounded Spaniard and regain their money. The soldiers’ presence is of crucial importance as it suggests a new union of classes and a new standard of the protection of the underprivileged. One of the Indians proudly and happily raises the sack with the money and, interestingly, hands it over to a woman who has ridden with the posse. He then exchanges looks with the officer in command of the pursuit, signaling to him that everything is in order and, possibly, craving recognition in the soldier’s eyes. The union of the miners and the soldiers is a utopian course of development, and the paths of the two groups diverge immediately because the latter have not completed their mission. They are more eager to catch a legendary American bandit than an anonymous Spanish fraud. In one of the closing scenes, the officer in charge of the soldiers approaches Mackinley, who has come with them, and tells him that he is taking away his horse as a punishment for helping Blackthorn. In all likelihood, the consul will perish in the mountains. Therefore, as the film ends, the drama of a white man resounds with a much greater force than the presumed victory of the Indians.

In his discussion of The Magnificent Seven (dir. John Sturges, 1960), Richard Slotkin thus interprets the film’s ending, “The Americans can help this world but they literally have no interest in it. They are not hewers of wood and drawers of water. They are professionals. Their retention of this difference signals not only their continuing loneliness but their maintenance of the power and superiority of the killer elite” (1993:485). Slotkin concludes that,

By restoring the gunfighters to America and leaving Mexico to the Mexicans, the movie evades the question that is most dramatically posed in the Seven’s final attack on the village: What is the real relation of American power to peasant society in that moment of the conflict when the Americans cannot simply leave Mexico but must choose between the acceptance of defeat and the renewed exercise of power? Sturges goes out of his way to show that, in the crisis, the peasants are helpless, dependent on the violent incursion of the American outside—dependent on the chivalric caritas of men who owe them nothing, except perhaps contempt. (1993:485, original italics)

The ending of Blackthorn is as deceptively positive as that of The Magnificent Seven. A better future of the miners is illusory. The American savior has succeeded only in restoring the status quo to which the privileged class has already conceded. This is the class that engineers social change at its will. Blackthorn’s most disturbing implication—whether intended is a different matter—is that neocolonial policies are characterized by a degree of sophistication that helps perpetuate inequality and injustice, and concomitantly sustain the appearances of change.

Works Cited

Alexander, Robert J. With the collaboration of Eldon M. Parker. 2005. A History of Organized Labor in Bolivia. Westport, Conn., and London: Praeger.

Ashcroft, Bill – Griffiths, Gareth – Tiffin, Helen. 1998. Key Concepts in Post-Colonial Studies. London and New York: Routledge.

Blackthorn. 2011. Dir. Mateo Gil.

Hughey, Matthew W. 2014. The White Savior Film: Content, Critics, and Consumption. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

Miller, Cynthia J. – Van Riper, A. Bowdoin. 2014. “Introduction.” Miller, Cynthia J. – Van Riper, A. Bowdoin (eds.). 2014. International Westerns: Re-Locating the Frontier. Lanham: Scarecrow Press. xi-xviii.

Morales, Waltraud Q. 2003. A Brief History of Bolivia. New York: Facts on File.

Paryz, Marek. 2017. “A Map of Longings: Utopian Underpinnings of Contemporary Transnational Westerns.” Studia Filmoznawcze, 38. 137-155.

Slotkin, Richard. 1993. Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth-Century America. New York: HaperPerennial.

Vera, Hernán – Gordon, Andrew M. 2003. Screen Saviors: Hollywood Fictions of Whiteness. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield.

Wessels, Chelsea. 2015. “An Imperfect Genre: Rethinking Politics in Latin American Westerns.” Higgins, MaryEllen – Keresztesi, Rita – Oscherwitz, Dayna (eds.). 2015. The Western in the Global South. New York and London: Routledge. 183-197.

Young, Robert J.C. 2001. Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing.

BORDERLANDS AND HUMOROUS TRANSGRESSIONS IN MACHETE (2010) AND MACHETE KILLS (2013)

ZSÓFIA ANNA TÓTH

My paper aims to investigate how concepts of the borderlands as well as (trans)nationalities are negotiated and contested in Machete (2010) and Machete Kills (2013). These films rather vividly present the violent expressions of intrapersonal, interpersonal as well as national and transnational conflicts and debates about home(s), borders, borderlands and badlands, identities assumed or forced together with their intended meanings and associations. The Machete films daringly show the transgressive ideas and actions of the greatest and largest minority of the US (Daniels 2006, 93) in their fight to articulate their definitions and conceptions of the above terms and to fend off the “terms” of the dominant culture. According to Nicolás Kanellos, “with Hispanics forecast to become one quarter of the population by mid-century and a majority in the most populous and powerful states of California, Florida, Illinois, New York, and Texas,” they have a great potential to change “the identity of the United States in the world of tomorrow” (2006, 149). These films, even though being (desperately) violent, present these concerns and issues with a great amount of humanity and humor.

Even though at first sight, the Machete films seem to be rather “wacky-zany,” overtly violent and absurd trash films, they are actually very clever films treating serious social and cultural issues as well as being politically very outspoken defending the rights of the people of Hispanic origin. Additionally, writer-director Robert Rodriguez, managed to create a story (because the two films and the announced third part are a continuous sequence of events not entirely being separate films) that treats very current, urgent and serious issues in a humorous way, almost carrying the delivery to the point of, or rather beyond, the absurd. Rodriguez, in his rendering of the Latino/a issue and the fight of cultures over identities, borders and borderlands creating transcultural and transnational continuities as well as “transnational diaspora communities” (Taubenfeld 2010, 495), lives up to the expectations of a true humorist, as Nancy Walker defined, as an example: that a humorist has to be able to recognize and understand the incongruities of life while also being able to convey in a unique and articulate way the intellectual processing of these absurdities (1988, 5-6). This is exactly that happens in the Machete films as Rodriguez manages to present, in a rather unique and hybrid way, the absurdities of the Latino/a-Mestizo/a-Chicano/a existence, fight and survival in the borderlands. Rodriguez is able to see the incongruities, ambiguities, complexities and multiplicity, and deliver them in a visually as well as rhetorically striking manner that actually help in accepting those absurdities of the Latino/a existence while also treating the issues in an incongruous way. Additionally, Rodriguez is also able to distance himself from a very personal issue, see it objectively, then, by giving it a twist in its presentation he summons a unique vision; and through this distantiation he manages to evoke a humorous approach to an actually painful experience and create a singular reality in his films. As Walker also opines, “[m]ost humor theorists agree that the creation of humor requires the ability to “stand apart” from the reality of one’s own existence and to view that existence with detachment and objectivity. The ultimate logic of that detachment is the creation of a separate reality” (Walker 1988, 23). Thus, as a true humorist (as defined by Walker), Rodriguez is capable of rising above his own reality, see the events objectively, understand his and the others’ existence while creating alternative realities and present all this in a concise way. These films are also extremely subversive and they realize the triumph of the “unofficial,” the “uncontrol” as well as the underdogs, which are again important aspects of humor:

Further, Douglas refers to the subversive power of humor: Whatever the joke, however remote its subject, the telling of it is potentially subversive. Since its form consists of a victorious tilting of uncontrol against control, it is an image of the levelling of hierarchy, the triumph of intimacy over formality, of unofficial values over official ones. (98) (Walker 1988, 25)

Additionally, a real humorist has to be brave, intelligent, perceptive, having real insight, must not be awed, what is more, has to be irreverent and disrespectful; yet the criticism always has to be articulated and presented with great self-command and discipline (Walker 1988, 23-26) – again, this all applies to Rodriguez and his Machete films: “There must be courage; there must be no awe. There must be criticism, for humor, to my mind, is encapsulated in criticism. There must be a disciplined eye and a wild mind. There must be a magnificent disregard of your reader […]” (Dorothy Parker 12 quoted in Walker 1988, 23). Rodriguez does exactly this with the Machete story since while it takes a wild mind as well as bravery to “pull off” such irreverence and even disrespect to invent such ideas that are presented in these films (e.g.: escaping from a hospital while hanging Tarzan-like on the intestines of a dead human or shooting a Catholic church into pieces while Schubert’s Ave Maria is sang, which is followed by the crucifixion of the priest in full view etc.), the execution of the storytelling and performance that is carried out are done with precision, concentration and professionalism. The “crazyness” of these films is an art in itself.

Mary Douglas is also cited by Nancy Walker discussing that the humorist’s ability to stand apart and see things objectively grants him/her certain superiority combined with a privileged position due to having a fascinating insight because s/he will draw attention to the problems, incongruities and absurdities that the others do not see or do not want to or dare to see. Hence, the humorist even appears to be a visionary and a prophet because s/he – through high intellectual processing and a logical capability of understanding causes and consequences, not turning a blind eye to something that does not bode well – can foretell, in an acceptable manner for most people, what will happen in the future. Thus, the humorous offerings of alternative realities and the questioning of the existing and commonly-accepted reality seem to be magical abilities while they are actually the result of intelligence, logic, the ability to see incongruities and the bravery to point them out. Rodriguez turns out to be such a “minor mystic” himself with these films:

Because the humorist adopts at least the stance of superiority, claiming the freedom to point out incongruity or absurdity in a world that others are accustomed to accepting on its own terms, he or she works from a position of privileged insight. Mary Douglas suggests that the figure of the joker in many cultures occupies the position of a "minor mystic," having "apparent access to other reality than that mediated by the relevant structure... His jokes expose the inadequacy of realist structurings of experience" (108) (Walker 1988, 25).

This all is extraordinarily true about Rodriguez’ 2010 Machete film since some aspects and parts of what is happening and is said in the story became a reality by/in 2016; and especially, some parts of the 2010 film – for example John McLaughlin’s campaign video – could have been Donald Trump’s campaign video six years later, even if in 2010, it seemed to be only a joke. In John McLaughlin’s campaign video, we can see worms and cockroaches in parallel with (supposedly) Mexican immigrants and workers caught by policemen and an electrified border fence is shut while the following narration goes in a very authoritative, threatening, deep male voice:

The infestation has begun. Parasites have crossed our borders and are sickening our country, leeching off our system, destroying us from the inside. But state senator John McLaughlin has a plan of attack. He will fight to keep illegal immigrants out. He supports an electrified border fence. No amnesty for parasites. John McLaughlin wants to protect you from the invaders. Vote to reelect state senator John McLaughlin. (Rodriguez, 2010, 11-12 mins)

Yet in Machete (2010) at the same time, McLaughlin’s advisor argues (when trying to convince Machete to kill the Senator) that McLauglin wants to send all Mexicans back to Mexico but before that he wants to make them build a wall without paying for it and adds:  “what the Senator fails to understand is that this state runs on illegal labor, thrives on it, keeps the costs down, keeps the wheels turning. We bust that up and we are fucked.” (Rodriguez, 2010, 17-18 mins) So, both sides of the coin are presented, even if in an unusual manner. However, in Machete Kills (2013), the wall is already built: a heavily guarded, thick and tall concrete wall separates the two countries. Yet, when Machete and Mendez have to return to the USA at any price in a short period of time, they manage to get through (actually under) it with the help of a tunnel system.  This is when Mendez tells to Machete: “We built the tunnels when they built the wall.” (Rodriguez, 2013, 55 min) Hence, there is a constant, unchecked movement between the two countries throughout the whole second film.

The problem of how to handle the Latino/a issue is debated several times because these people are treated as something/somebody abject, something/somebody you cannot live with but cannot live without either thus making White Americans uncomfortable. This discomfort arises out of the fact that you live in intimate proximity with them and you rely on them in your basic necessities, yet, you loath them as an Other. The paradoxes lying under all this are pointed out twice in the 2010 film, by some unexpected actors: a group of bodyguards. The first is articulated after Machete is let in the home of the enemy just because he claims to be the new gardener: “Have you ever noticed how you let a Mexican into your home just because he has got gardening tools? I mean, no questions asked, you just let them right in.” (Rodriguez, 2010, 54 min) The second “revelatory comment” by one of the bodyguards is the following: “You know, I’ve been thinking. We let these people into our homes, watch our kids, park our cars, but we do not let them into our country. Does it make any sense to you?” (Rodriguez, 2010:1h 11min-1h 12 min) The ending is also ironic exactly because of these paradoxes since during the big final battle, the Latinos/as win, yet, they forgive the Senator and help him survive with the help of “Mexican gardener clothes” and a bullet-proof west; still this is exactly that causes his demise because the Vigilantes do not recognize him during the night, they only see “his Mexican disguise” and they shoot him. Actually, this gesture of accepting everyone into the bunch exists on the level of the filmmaking as well, since in both films, among the actors, you can find the most prominent Latino/Latina actors and actresses, yet, not only those who are of Latin-American origin but, as an example: Antonio Banderas, who is Spanish originally (“the possible relative of evil conquistadores”) or we could name Lady Gaga and Robert De Niro – both of whom are Italian-Americans – or even Charlie Sheen could be mentioned (after his disgraceful fall in Hollywood) who is credited under his original name: Carlos Estevez etc. This idea of inclusivity is a result of divergent thinking and the vague as well as undetermined spaces that all arise out of the borderlands experience and the Mestizo/a Consciousness: “This inclusive attitude crystallizes in the new Mestiza’s tolerance for contradictions and ambiguity […]” (Manzanas and Sánchez 2010, 587). Kanellos also adds that Hispanics, in general, are able to understand other cultures and “to see the United States from the double perspective of insider as well as outsider” exactly because they always remember what it is like to be “the Other” or “from the other side of the tracks,” which also gives them the ability to humanize the system (2006, 150).

Thus, the Machete films manage to handle rather painful, disturbing or distressing issues and often even tragic events with a lot of humor and humanity. Even if being humorous in general, the Machete story compellingly and quite accurately treats the serious issues, debates and fights of Latinos/as trying to reclaim their identities and land/home creating a trans-and multicultural, transnational borderland experience as well as disapora that include continuity and distinctiveness at the same time. Quite at the beginning of the first film, we get a rather striking example of the desperate fight on the border between the USA and Mexico, when the Vigilantes concretely hunt for Latin-American, mostly Mexican and illegal, immigrants during the night. We precisely watch as they catch a young couple, and the leader of the Vigilantes shoots the pregnant woman rather quickly. When Senator McLaugling protests that “Jesus, Von, can’t you see she’s with child?”; Von replies: “If it’s born here, it gets to be a citizen […]. I know most people don’t like us, they call us vigilantes; but it’s really about vigilance. Somebody has got to keep watch on this great nation of ours; otherwise, Texas will become Mexico once again. Who’s gonna stop them, Senator?” Then, the Senator grabs a gun and says: “I,” then adds, “Welcome to America” and shoots the young man too. (Rodriguez, 2010:10-11 mins) Two important facts are mentioned by the leader of the Vigilantes: that Texas was actually Mexico (this is what they try to prevent to happen again), and the other one is: if the baby of the woman (who is shot immediately on the spot) is born on US soil, it will become automatically a US citizen just like any of them (that they do not want). Thus two important American historical events and pieces of legislation are referred to: first, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo in 1848 that ended the Mexican-American War, thus making Texas entirely and finally part of the US (with this Rodriguez realizes Saldívar’s argument and wish to “counter historical amnesia by restoring […] the buried reality of south Texas history” (Saldívar 1991, 67 quoted in Manzanas and Sánchez 2010, 583)); and second, “the Supreme Court decision of Wong Kim Ark v. U.S. in 1898, which determined that persons born on soil under US sovereignty were guaranteed constitutional rights to citizenship” (Lee 2006, 177). Hence, despite the several horraneous events, the often absurd and irrealistic happenings and features (e.g.: Machete never dies whatever happens to him) and often gory violence as well as the even more frequently ridiculous occurrences, the Machete films are also witness to serious background research, a mature consideration of the issues treated in the films and real social as well as political awareness and comments.

Another twist of Rodriguez’s story is that even though it seems to be rather macho and the protagonist is Machete, the legend and mythic hero, the female characters of the films have very important roles and lines, which ally them with Anzaldúa’s New Mestiza Consciousness. Rodriguez seems to apply Chicana feminist discourse in his Machete films (which also makes it a Chicano/a feminist discourse) since this discourse “place[s] the Chicana, as speaking subject, at the center of intellectual discourse (García 1997)” (Téllez 2005, 49). The female characters are all acting and speaking subjects and agents of their own and other people’s destinies. For example, Miss San Antonio (who is actually a secret (double) agent (turning out to be rather an antagonist as well as) being very professional in all fields of life) gives the following speech at the beauty pageant that she actually wins:

I believe in the word, equality, […] a woman’s right to choose. […] World peace? Why not? But if we really want to talk about world peace, we have to start tearing down that wall that separates us from Mexico. That wall only enables us to ignore the violence and injustice that is occuring down there. Thus making world peace nothing but a beauty pageant pop dream. God Bless Texas. (Rodriguez, 2013: 15-16 mins)

Her character, her speech and the unveiling of the “ugly” side of beauty pageants as well as the women running for the crown probably all pay tribute to Miss Congeniality (2000). However, what is more important is that such strong female characters were created in these films. What is more, with the help of and based on  intersectionality, the interconnections of gender, class, race, ethnicity, nationality, sexual orientation etc. are all taken into consideration and new, complex kinds of subjectivities are offered by a Chicana feminist discourse (Flores 2000, 695 cited in Téllez 2005, 50). This is again realized in the films through the various female characters. Michelle Téllez also adds that it is generally considered still valid that even current Chicana/o scholars and activists are directly connected to the struggles and legacy of the movements of the 60s and 70s, what is more, they have to use the past (and not to forget it) to help the work today (2005, 55) especially in understanding their very existence and living their lives on both sides of the border at the same time (2005, 62) because as Anzaldúa has stated “[t]he U.S.-Mexican border es una herida abierta” (Anzaldúa 1999, 25 quoted in Téllez 2005, 61). The borderland, and consequently, the identity of the people living in it (whether literally or symbolically) is a constantly aching would because it cannot close and heal, thus, the identity struggles of these people cannot be solved until a solution is found to heal it. According to Anzaldúa, a possibility is the acceptance of the borderlands culture as a third identity formation for these very people of mixed roots, heritage and (split) identities (Anzaldúa 1999, 25 quoted in Téllez 2005, 62). Téllez also highlights Manuel Luis Martinez’s warnings about the difference between the border and the borderlands: “within Chicana/o studies and the postructuralist/postcolonial realm, borderlands criticism has transformed the site of the border into a symbolic place where a purely discursive form of “opposition” to the U.S.-Mexico borderlands has emerged” (2005, 64). As Ana Maria Manzanas and Jesús Benito Sánchez argue (based on José David Saldívar and Amy Kaplan), the borderlands, in fact, have replaced the frontier, and the borderlands cannot be reduced to something singular that can be controlled or contained, thus making this new concept “multidimensional and transterritorial” (Kaplan 1993, 16 quoted in Manzanas and Sánchez 2010, 576) as well as “multidirectional and hybrid,” hence the borderland experience is that of “irreducible instability and heteroglossia” (Saldívar 1997, xiii quoted in Manzanas and Sánchez 2010, 576). Another term (that of Bruce-Novoa) is also evoked by Manzanas and Sánchez: “inter-space” even if not concretely for the borderlands experience but to describe this complex identity construction of people of various origins: this inter-space is “substantiated in a complex identity process which participates of the two cultural elements without fully becoming one or the other” (2010, 584). Michelle Téllez also adds that, for her, Gloria Anzaldúa’s concept of mestizaje, and living the mestiza consciousness and experience was that helped her most in defining herself and forming her identity (2005, 65). Being a nueva mestiza helped her in embracing her borderlands experience and it empowered her to understand herself within the tensions of la frontera and come to terms with herself (Téllez 2005, 66).

In Rodriguez’s films, the actual leader of the underground network is Shé (probably a comic reference to Ché Guevara), who is, in fact Luz, the taco truck owner incognito. Nicolás Kanellos discusses in his study on the Hispanic background of the US how often it occurred in reality that a woman was a great leader in a strike or a movement and how active Hispanic women actually were in organizations too (2006, 146-148). “Another important result of the convention was a highlighting of the role Hispanic women, who had been leaders in organizing the Congress and the convention; not only were a high percentage of Hispanic women working outside of the home, but they were also leaders in the labor struggle” (Kanellos 2006, 147). Luz is exactly depicted and performed in this light and spirit being a good leader of her people following in the footsteps of her real-life predecessors such as Emma Tenayuca or Dolores Huerta etc. Most of the intellectual debates about being Latino/Latina as well as the Mestizo/Mestiza consciousness are articulated by and between these women, especially Luz, who embraces her identity in the Anzaldúan sense, and the evil traitor, who betrays her own blood (in her eyes), Agent Sartana. As one of their conversation attests:

Why do you pretend to come here just for coffee? / I am not pretending. I actually like my coffee cheap and greasy. / I can refuse service to anyone. That’s the American way. / Yeah, when they are citizens. Got your papers? / Same as the last time you checked, and the time before that, and the time before that. Got yours? / Same as the last time you checked. / You think what you do is right? Taking your brothers and sisters in; deporting them back to their personal hells? / That’s the law. / There are many laws. […] Who is Shé? I hear she runs an underground network. / How the hell would I know? I just make tacos and sell them to the workers of this world. It fills their bellies with something other than hate. / Funny, sounds like something Shé would say. (Rodriguez, 2010:14-15 mins)

Sartana is convinced that she is Americanized, “Whitened” (an interesting fact is that “In 2000 somewhat more than half of Latinos identified themselves as white” (Mauk and Oakland, 2005, 96)) and fully-accepted/integrated, serving her state, believing in the Great White American myths and ethos; for example, she explains to Machete how she worked her way up, but he points it out to her that her job is still to take out the trash being an immigrant customs officer and agent specializing in Latinos/as – also ironically referring to himself: “I started working on the night shift taking out the trash but I worked my way up […] now I am special agent in charge of investigations. / […] You are still taking out the trash” (Rodriguez, 2010:43 min). She tries to ignore and refuse her origins and roots (but actually liking Luz’s coffee and taco as an unconscious alliance with them) while she tries to believe in her absolute assimilation. (It is very similar to Monster’s Ball (2001), in which the racist and White supremacist prison guard actually loves chocolate ice cream – and one of the most striking sings of his conversion or rather acceptance of who he actually is – is, when he falls in love with an African-American woman and performs cunnilingus on her.)

Yet, by the end of the story, Sartana also embraces her identity and origins in the Anzaldúan sense and joins the underground network. She even gives a fiery pep talk to the Latino workers and makes them go into war, and fight in the big final battle of the film by saying “We did not cross the border, the border crossed us” (Rodriguez, 2010:1h 23 mins). Eventually, the Latinos/Latinas (and some White allies) win the battle – men and women (all of them competent warriors) join together in the fight for the same cause – and the symbolic closing image of them is standing with mostly machetes (as well as guns and gardening tools that can be used as weapons) in their hands raised high above their heads. This also refers to Gloria Anzaldúa’s famous words in Borderlands/La Frontera: “This land was Mexican once / was Indian always / and is. / And will be again” (1987, 3). The Machete films suggest this too since they visually prove how Mestizos/Mestizas win and slowly but steadily outnumber everybody else, and even if not being purely Indian, but of mixed blood/race, Latinos/as (or Hispanics) still resemble Native Americans the most among all the people in the US; and by growing in number, they symbolically take back the land that was taken away from them, and indirectly, they claim the land back for Indigenous/Native/First Nations/Indian peoples as well. Another interesting factor of the first film is that the big final battle closes with the duel of Machete (Danny Trejo) and Torrez (Steven Seagal), one of the great antagonists. In spite of his name (Torrez) and supposed nationality as well as role within the story (a Mexican “ex-federale”), he does not have racial markers and is obviously not Mexican or a mestizo. Additionally, he wears an Eastern martial arts costume-like uniform and uses a type of sword that is again used by experts of such Eastern martial arts. He is also accompanied by an Asian woman all the time (all of which do not really make sense in a film about Latino/a issues at first). Additionally, it is also well-known as in intertextual as well as extratextual reference that Steven Seagal, even though being a White American, was trained in a Japanese martial art and made his fortune in filmmaking out of it. This all might point to a symbolic fight within the film between the two fastest-growing minorities within in the US (after the fight against Whites) since by now, the second fastest-growing minority are the Asians (Mauk and Oakland 2005, 92) and they are also viewed as the “model minority” (Mauk and Oakland 2005, 95), but the Latinos also win against them at the end of the film: the machete wins against the samurai sword symbolically; which seems to be in accordance with census results: “the Latino population [is] the fastest growing in the nation. Today Latinos are a larger minority group than African Americans […]” (Mauk and Oakland 2005, 96).

In these films, apart from the fight at and over the border and the borderlands, which is really presented, as Anzaldúa suggested: “a duel of oppressor and oppressed; locked in mortal combat” (1987, 78) – as can witnessed in the various violent scenes. The double and even multiple consciousness/es, components of identities and languages are also elaborated on and employed in accordance with the “new mestiza consciousness, una conciencia de mujer,” in the Borderlands because this consciousness belongs to the borderlands specifically (Anzaldúa 1987, 77) as the films are bilingual (even if this consciousness is actually multilingual also including the ancient and lost Indigenous languages and cultures). In the meantime, there are also references to the various cultural roots of Mestizo/Mestiza existence such as the Indigenous or the Latino meaning Spanish, then, Mexican etc. for example, with the “unorthodox curing/medical techniques” of circling an egg above the sick person, then breaking it under his bed, then, he wakes up absolutely cured and well in the morning etc. The characters also switch codes and juggle cultures just like Anzaldúa or Sandra Cisneros: “I am in all cultures at the same time, alma entre dos mundos, tres, cuatro […] Estoy norteada por todas las voces que me hablan simultáneamente.” (Anzaldúa 1987, 77) They accept that they belong to all of the cultures that are in their lineage and they do not have to choose between them or prefer one over the other. They are all of these cultures that are simultaneously operating in their minds and running in their blood. Another specific attribute of the Machete films is the tolerance of all kinds of unusual, out of the ordinary, or even “weird” factors or occurrences, additionally, ambiguity is something not to be shunned and destroyed or “turned to normal” but accepted and tolerated as a fact of life and a part of existence. Plurality is their mode of existence and they manage to live with it and not to strive for a unified and simplified, single identity and cultural consciousness. This all is again the result of the Mestiza/Mestizo existence and consciousness: “The new mestiza copes by developing a tolerance for contradictions, a tolerance for ambiguity ... She learns to be an Indian in Mexican culture, to be Mexican from an Anglo point of view… She learns to juggle cultures ... She has a plural personality, she operates in a pluralistic mode” (Anzaldúa 1987, 79). In the Machete films, there is really a “coming together of two” [at least two but rather more and multiple] “self-consistent but habitually incompatible frames of reference” causing a clash of cultures, values, views of life etc., which is again interesting from the point of view of humor since Arthur Koestler (also a theorist of humor), termed this experience as “bisociation” (Anzaldúa 1987, 97) when discussing the functioning of humor. Hence, the Machete films doubly have the bisociative functions, once, as a cultural clash, and twice in the form of humor.

Additionally, the Crossroads as a concept mentioned by Anzaldúa are also present in these films; since “[a]s a mestiza I have no country […]; yet all countries are mine. […] I am cultureless […]; yet I am cultured […]” (Anzaldúa 1987, 80-81). They actually have more countries, cultures, legacies, roots and languages exactly because of their borderlands existence and mestizo/a consciousness. In addition, she as well as the artists of these films are participating in creating a new culture, new symbols and new meanings because they are the “product[s] of crossbreeding” that can persevere “under a variety of conditions;” and just like the corn (again so atavistically, originally as well as symbolically American) “[they] hold[s] tight to the earth – [they] will survive the crossroads” (Anzaldúa, 1987, 81). As Anzaldúa suggests, “To survive the Borderlands / you must live sin fronteras / be a crossroads” (1987, 195): in order to survive you have to live without borders and you have to live across borders, and you yourself have to become the crossroads that lead everywhere. Actually, the Mestizos/Mestizas of Rodriguez’s films are much rather not simply at the crossroads but they are the crossroads in their multicultural, multilingual hybridity, which actually redefines what it means to be an American, and it is in accordance with other Latino/Latina artists’ stance namely, Aurora Levins Morales’s lines in Child of the Americas such as:

I am a child of the Americas. / […] a child of many diaspora, born into this continent at a crossroads. / […] I am not African. Africa is in me, but I cannot return. / I am not taína. Taíno is in me, but there is no way back. / I am not European. Europe lives in me, but I have no home there. / I am new. History made me. My first language was spanglish. / I was born at the crossroads / And I am whole. (1995, 79)

Or Marc Anthony, in his performance video of Vivir mi Vida, when trying to define who he is, he claims similarly to Morales’ and Rodriguez’s message: “soy las calles de Nueva York y Puerto Rico” (Anthony, 2013:36sec) – I am the streets of New York and Puerto Rico at the same time, and while the video is shot in the streets literally, he is actually encompassing the streets in himself symbolically and tries to explain how all the people who touch his life somehow make him up as a human being and contribute to his art. And when he gets to the point of shouting “mi gente” (my people) (Anthony, 2013:3min 50sec) – but throughout the whole music video – all kinds of people are shown: White, African-American, Asian-American, Latinos/Latinas, old, young, children, men, women, everybody; because they are all the people of America, a mixture of everything and they are having fun together in a very typically American, even though very cosmopolitan an international, setting: the streets of New York. Hence, in our current days, Anzaldúa’s New Mestizo/Mestiza Consciousness seems to be really played out at the crossroads, on the streets, on the screens, on the pages and in the soundtracks likewise; an excellent example of which are the Machete films.

Works cited

Anthony, Marc. 2013. “Vivir mi Vida” Album 3.0. Written by Marc Anthony, Nadir Khayat, Bilal Hajji, Achraf Jannusi, Alexander Papaconstantinou, Bjoern Djupstroem, Sam Debi. Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Ole Media Management Lp. Video on YouTube: Access: 5 July, 2018. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YXnjy5YlDwk

Anzaldúa, Gloria. 1987. Borderlands – La Frontera. The New Mestiza. San Francisco: Aunt Lute Books.

Daniels, Roger. 2006. “Immigration to the United States in the twentieth century” Bigsby, Christopher (ed.). 2006. The Cambridge Companion to Modern American Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 73-95.

Forster, Marc (dir.). 2001. Monster’s Ball. Written by Milo Addica and Will Rokos. Lee Daniels Entertainment and Lions Gate Films.

Kanellos Nicolás. 2006. “The Hispanic background of the United States” Bigsby, Christopher (ed.). 2006. The Cambridge Companion to Modern American Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 135-152.

Lee, James Kyung-Jin. 2006. “Asian Americans” Bigsby, Christopher (ed.). 2006. The Cambridge Companion to Modern American Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 174-193.

Levins Morales, Aurora. 1995. “Child of the Americas” Santiago, Roberto (ed.). Boricuas. Influential Puerto Rican Writings – An Anthology. New York: One World, The Random House Publishing Group. 79.

Manzanas, Ana Maria and Jesús Benito Sánchez. “Borderlands: Ethnicity, Multiculturalism, and Hybridity” Lauter, Paul (ed.). 2010. A Companion to American Literature and Culture. Malden: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 576-592.

Mauk, David and John Oakland. 2005. American Civilization. An Introduction. London and New York: Routledge.

Petrie, Donald. 2000. Miss Congeniality. Written by Marc Lawrence et al. Castle Rock Entertainment.

Rodriguez, Robert (dir). 2013. Machete Kills. Written by Kyle Ward and Robert Rodriguez. AR Films and Aldamisa Entertainment.

Rodriguez, Robert and Ethan Maniquis (dirs). 2010. Machete. Written by Robert Rodriguez and Álvaro Rodríguez. Overnight Films and Troublemaker Studios.

Taubenfeld, Aviva. 2010. “Constructions of “Ethnicity” and “Diasporas”” Lauter, Paul (ed.). 2010. A Companion to American Literature and Culture. Malden: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. 493-507.

Téllez, Michelle. 2005. “Doing Research at the Borderlands: Notes from a Chicana Feminist Ethnographer” Chicana/Latina Studies, Vol. 4, No. 2 (Spring), 46-70.

Walker, Nancy A. 1988. „A Very Serious Thing”: Women’s Humor and American Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

STRANGERS TO OURSELVES: A MULTI-DISCIPLINARY APPROACH TO UNCOVERING THE OTHER WITHIN

DOMINIQUE REY

Throughout history the subject of the “other” has been a source of fear, mystery, and curiosity that has influenced the development of cultural and political structures, as well as notions of identity and belonging. Speculation on the other has given rise to many streams of human thought and imagination, ranging from the phantasmagoric religious iconography of Hieronymus Bosch, or Simone de Beauvoir’s definition of female otherness, to Emmanuel Lévinas’ phenomenological unpacking of the other. This paper examines how through an artistic practice, I have attempted to explore and engage with the subject of the other from varying perspectives and artistic approaches.

My work as an artist focuses on individuals and groups of people on the periphery of dominant culture and I enter their contexts to work from a position of inclusion that approaches, as closely as possible, the residing dynamics of social and psychological forces. In these projects, I immerse myself in the world I am using as material, whether that means living with exotic dancers for the series Selling Venus/Vénus au miroir, or traveling all over the world in Les Filles de la Croix, a ten-year project on a disappearing order of nuns. For this reason, Julia Kristeva’s book “Strangers to Ourselves” acts as an important parallel for exploring notions of the other. In this work, Kristeva examines the outsider within society, as well as a deep sense of being we all have of being strangers to ourselves. She asks: “To worry or to smile, such is the choice when we are assailed by the strange; our decision depends on how familiar we are with our own ghosts.” (1991:191). I believe the stranger we perceive in the world is a reflection of the depths within the self that are beyond our reach.

“Kendall, 2 years/Selling Venus”, colour photograph, 76 x 61 cm, 2003

From 2003 to 2011 my artwork was focused primarily on an intensive practice of embedding myself in female subcultures that defied conventional female roles in society. Selling Venus/Vénus au miroir originated in a striptease club in Osaka, Japan and took me to the Crazy Horse in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. Using photography and video, I recorded back-room rituals of beautification to explore the female gaze as it divides inwardly and outwardly in the frame of a make-up mirror.  This work investigated the process of subjectivity as it simultaneously coalesces and fragments in gesture and ritual, calling attention to the performative acts of self-transformation that women enact every day. During this time, I was a witness to an extreme form of constructed identity, a mask making ritual that conjured both temptress and warrior, as well as stranger. In this world, any sense of belonging or control is illusory, the power asserted by the dancers’ sexuality is at the mercy of the audience, who without warning can and does banish them, foreigners in their own land.

Following this work, I created Les Filles de la Croix, a multidisciplinary artwork that proposed to unveil the hidden and profound lives of a disappearing order of nuns. One might assume a diametrically opposed world to that of the striptease dancers, however, whether it is by choice or circumstance, in both instances these communities of women live their lives on the margins of society. The extended communities the nuns serve are the poor, the vulnerable, the sick, and the destitute, thereby both their life and work is with the other. By observing their ways of being over a ten-year period, what resonated most deeply was a quality of slowness and presence unlike anything I had experienced. I wanted my artwork to directly respond to this by evoking an atmosphere where stillness and temporality became tangible; a meditation on the texture of slowness, the nature of listening, and the relationship between attention and time.

“La Plata/Les Filles de la Croix”, colour photograph, 61 x 92 cm, 2009

I collaborated with Les Filles de la Croix in the creation of this project in Canada, Brazil, Argentina, and France where I painted portraits of the nuns, conducted one on one interviews, and photographed and videotaped the physical spaces in which they have spent most of their lives. My ongoing artistic concerns were further developed by allowing me to create stages for female subjects that counter those that gender, race, and class stereotypes have relegated them to, specifically as foot soldiers of a patriarchal religion. By making vows of chastity, obedience, and poverty, these women wilfully cast themselves into the role of the other, and yet, having made that choice consciously, it becomes an empowered space of being, rooted in compassion and mutuality.

Living with the other, with the foreigner, confronts us with the possibility or not of being an other. It is not simply—humanistically—a matter of our being able to accept the other, but of being in his place, and this means to imagine and make oneself other for oneself […] Being alienated from myself, as painful as that may be, provides me with that exquisite distance within which perverse pleasure begins, as well as the possibility of my imagining and thinking, the impetus of my culture. (Kristeva 1991, 13-14)

As these two bodies of work demonstrate, in my artistic practice I have been fascinated by the representation and embodiment of the other. I endeavoured to work with both communities of women from a place that Bracha L. Ettinger terms “besideness” and “wit(h)nessing” (2006). Because of the stigma attached to the women I worked with, I was intent on subverting the audience’s expectations, and bring forth a more profound/expansive portrait of these women without attempting to contain or label it. Forms of representation that would be hinged on interconnectedness rather than objectification. At the conclusion of this work, I felt compelled to turn the gaze inward and discover for myself (explore and confront) the unconscious other within.

Notwithstanding the sensitivity that I endeavoured to bring to my collaboration with both communities of women, my position behind the lens created a separation that could not be overcome. At a certain point, it became relevant to question the source of my curiosity. How did I see myself linked to these women, and how was their experience of otherness, of being strangers, also true to me? This analysis led to a series of performances where I would be both subject and object in an attempt to uncover these questions.

The performance group The Abzurbs, of which I was a founding member, also informed this new trajectory. During the period of time that I developed Selling Venus/Vénus au miroir and Les Filles de la Croix, I was also a member of a collaborative group of artists, musicians, and bouffons that merged burlesque, performance, music, and visual art, evoking the grotesque through absurd and purposeless play. In this uncensored space of creation, we gave complete license for the abject to emerge and disrupt the everyday. We aimed at creating an artistic experience where the divide between performer and public were erased, and within that frame give ourselves permission to delve into the unknown. Consistent throughout was the creation of personas where we imagined and re-imagined ourselves, upsetting any sense of fixed identity. Via these guises our performances focused on the creation of impermanent structures as forms of spectacle using tensile materials to generate spaces in flux that were responsive and interactive.  These mutable architectures became open ended spaces where the other was invited to dwell and play.

This visual language, specifically the construction of transgressive personas, became a strategy for exploring the stranger within in a new body of work I developed titled Erlking. The name is derived from the German “Erlkönig”, a fable of a malevolent creature that awaits the unsuspecting traveler in the depths of the wilderness, calling her to her fate.  My central query was a speculation on dislodging the split of the self and the other. Kristeva writes “our self […] shows itself to be a strange land of borders and othernesses ceaselessly constructed and deconstructed” (1991, 191). In keeping with this image, I would perambulate in the world of the “Erlking” as both the traveler and the hunter, the self and the other. The personas that emerged took form in unpredictable fashions, it was only during my performance of them that I discovered their voices and singularities. These ritualistic actions were supported by an assortment of props and masks precariously assembled in the moment. Through these acts of self-transformation, the personas evoked in Erlking were unfettered by the weight of the familiar and free to inhabit, albeit temporarily, ambiguous subjectivities.

“Winter Green/Erlking”, colour photograph, 61 x 92 cm, 2011

The site for these performances were desolate landscapes, including abandoned gold mines, frozen lakes, and barren woods. These remote locations were in keeping with the deep recesses of nature where the “Erlking” is said to reside and thereby analogous to the internal space of the other. To arrive at these places, the voyage itself played a vital part, as it was the conduit through which a new persona would take root before hurling itself into the psychological and physical strain of the performance itself. Pushing my body to its extreme physical and emotional limit was a tactic in this work for inviting the other within to speak through unintended acts, symptoms, and slips. Without a doubt, there were elements of the comic and foolhardy in these attempts. My research into the self as other was from the start an elusive space to apprehend, yet I felt driven to delve into this paradox: is it possible for the self to embrace the other?

To varying extremes, each performance was a building up of strength and determination in order to engage in a practice of what I consider a figurative disembowelment; a kind of unpacking of parts, that is both liberating and intensely terrifying. The revisioning of the self as other, what is an endlessly morphing and mutable identity, is impossible to apprehend. Therefore, in many ways my attempt to shift the field of the self was by pretending. How else does one do anything for the first time but to pretend, until the pretense becomes a practice, and finally an embodied experience in which former binaries and conventions are firmly abandoned for the unchartered ground of what Angela Carter calls “a centre that does not hold” (1993:117). Perhaps this could be described as a sense of equilibrium through knowing that the self is in a constant state of disequilibrium. By encountering some of my own radical alterities and neither devising to merge, circumscribe or repress them, I was given a glimpse of the stranger within.

In the body of work that ensued, I was curious to take the personas created in Erlking and push them to further extremes. In reference to Vladimir Nabokov’s “The Real Life of Sebastien Knight”, a novel that plays on identity and deception, Kristeva writes “For the polyphonic mastery of writing consists in ceaselessly doing and undoing a jigsaw puzzle piece by piece” (1991:33). This constitutes in language what I attempted to experience and make discernable in the following body of work. Taking the photographic archive of the Erlking performances, I minutely deconstructed each image by hand, rendering a pile of colour images into a cacophony of cut pieces. These fragments of ceaseless shapes and sizes were then reconstituted into collaged assemblages. What had formerly manifested as transgressive bodies in the Erlking performances coalesced anew into hybridized bodies through contrapuntal visual collisions. Titled Strangers to Ourselves after Kristeva, the use of collage in this context gave me immense latitude to reconfigure the self in its metaphysical wholeness, giving equal weight to the intuitive gesture within a conceptually rigorous framework. I endeavoured to keep this process fluid by not fixing the collage to paper while documenting photographically the shifting subjectivities as they surfaced and disappeared.

“Untitled #1/Strangers to Ourselves”, Digital print, 152 x 130 cm, 2013

The method used to document the collages exaggerated the shadow play between the heterogeneous photographic parts as their overlapping edges lifted off the ground of the paper, creating the impression of three-dimensionality within a two-dimensional plane. Paradoxically merging and pulling apart these hybrid forms and the fantastical environments they find themselves in. Ultimately the impression of cohesion is only that, these beings evade our gaze and defy our desire to define them, as Kristeva writes of the indefinable Sebastien Knight: “He is nocturnal, this Knight who has eluded the family of observers and leaves others and himself with only tattered memories. A disseminated oneself” (1991, 34).

This idea of disseminated oneself is approached from a very different angle in the two video works Self as Other and Funambule. Conceptually related but visually contrasting, these videos delve further into my investigation of the representation of the other using contemporary dance as the expressive form.

In Self as Other we follow the incremental decline of a male and female dancer whose prolonged embrace becomes torturous. Through an intersubjective framework, the borderlands of gender and sexuality are at play in this video. Merging or collapsing, stilled yet erratic, the movement, or non-movement in this case, of a male and female dancer closely intertwined, is intended to express the internal conflict of the self and the other. According to Jacques Lacan, the self is a series of unstable tensions in which any sense of a stable self is an illusion (2006). In this work, I propose the following: if one is aware of one’s unstable self, is it possible to understand this instability as a constant and necessary condition of the self? In other words, that the self can only be true to its nature through the state of instability?

To explore this question I used the medium of dance to test notions of balance and imbalance. Whereas it had been essential to put my own body at stake in the Erlking performances, this new work required that I collaborate with artists whose entire practice is devoted to the honing, control and expressivity of their bodies. What fissures might manifest, when these highly trained bodies were pushed to their limits?

“Self as Other”, video, length 11:20, 2015

Featured in Self as Other are choreographer and dancer Peter Quanz and dancer Kristin Haight. Dressed minimally with flesh toned underwear, their direction was to hold a difficult balancing pose with their bodies hinged one onto the other for as long as possible. Playing between the languages of photography & video, this piece intends to portray the ambiguity of the male and female dancers' bodies. This was achieved by filming the piece from six different angles simultaneously, with the majority of the vantage points tightly trained on their bodies in a manner that superimposed and confused one from the other. The length of the final edited video is true to the actual duration of the pose itself (10:42), in order to viscerally convey the pain endured by the two performers as the clock slowly ticks by. What is perceived is the degeneration of the dancers’ self-control, from the slight shaking of their bodies, to their laboured breathing, and finally ending with their bodies crumpling in on themselves as the relentless force of gravity breaks all vestiges of control.

These two beings are inter-dependent yet clearly in conflict with one another. Lit dramatically to create a strong chiaroscuro effect, their bodies become mixed, making it visually perplexing to separate one from the other, until half way through the video a glimpse is revealed of the overall composition before fading back into more disordered fragments. They are closely connected, yet their backs are turned to one another and their gaze is fixed towards opposite unknown horizons, as though oblivious to the other’s presence, and yet their entire experience is linked to the other’s.

In her writing, Kristeva demarcates a requisite terrain of disorientation and imbalance that must be shared by two people if they are to, in any real way, understand the position of the other and the instability one feels when one is dislodged from familiar and stable ground.

Those who have never lost the slightest root seem to you unable to understand any word liable to temper their point of view. So, when one is oneself uprooted, what is the point of talking to those who think they have their own feet on their own soil? The ear is receptive to conflicts only if the body loses its footing. A certain imbalance is necessary, a swaying over some abyss, for a conflict to be heard. (Kristeva 1991, 17)

Consequently, the experience of difference, of the other, is explicitly realised in this coming together of a male and female body. It is a struggle that is mutually shared and endured, a reconciliation of difference that can be perceived as failing, as both bodies fail in the end, or contrarily, to have succeeded simply by having been attempted. It depends on the viewer’s perspective.

In his letter to Georges Izambard, Arthur Rimbaud wrote: “Je est un autre” [I is another] (2003, 571). This statement questions the borderland between the self and the other, between identity and alterity. Rimbaud’s paradoxical use of language simultaneously upends and reasserts the split of the self and the other. With this diaphanous notion of selfhood in mind, the video Funambule recasts the hunter and the traveler from the “Erlkönig” folktale as one being whirling around this interstitial space.

(“Funambule”, video, length 7:17, 2017)

The French term for a tight rope walker, Funambule is a solo for a female dancer that moves between the open expanses of the grasslands to the dark shadows of a cedar grove, luring us to the heart of the forest.  For this piece, contemporary dancer Arlo Reva embodies both the traveler from the “Erlking” story as well as the malevolent creature that beckons the traveler to the depths of the forest. While rehearsing this piece, we developed a physical language for both characters. The traveler is portrayed by a female character wearing a camouflage dress whose movements devolve from carefree, to more and more reckless and out of control, whereas the hunter is a jester of sorts whose uncanny silhouette is disquieting. The absurdity of the hunter’s movements is belied by the gravitas of her persona. As the crescendo of this frenzied encounter escalates and spins out of the field of view, the victor in this dogged struggle, between the self and the other, remains ambiguous. Within this narrative framework, Funambule intends to express the siren call of the stranger within, and as one attempts this path of self-discovery, the obstacles encountered may lead to liberation, or adversely to madness, and death. “Split identity, kaleidoscope of identities: can we be a saga for ourselves without being considered mad or fake?” (Kristeva, 1991:14). Like the video Self as Other, this union is doomed to fail as long as the self and the other are perceived as separate.

In “Strangers to Ourselves” Kristeva examines the perception and the experience of the foreigner, first through a general analysis, followed by a historical, literary, and philosophical survey, ending with Freud’s uncanny strange, at which point the gaze turns inward at the stranger within. Kristeva posits that a reconciliation with one’s own strangeness presents a generative path for our being with the other. She writes:

And when we flee from or struggle against the foreigner, we are fighting our unconscious—that improper facet of our impossible own and proper. Delicately, analytically, Freud does not speak of foreigners: he teaches us how to detect foreignness in ourselves. That is perhaps the only way not to hound it outside of us. (1991, 191)

If, as argued earlier, the instability of the self is the only constant, that it is borderless, and beyond constraints, one could conceive that the fractured or indeterminate self is the determining factor of the self and by virtue of this re-definition, could allow for a re-imagining in which the split is synonymous with the whole. Kristeva suggests, “Freud brings us the courage to call ourselves disintegrated in order not to integrate foreigners and even less so to hunt them down, but rather to welcome them to that uncanny strangeness, which is as much theirs as it is ours” (1991, 191-192).

Throughout my artistic practice, I have endeavoured to uncover the other and the ways in which the other embodies our repressed fears and longings. The Erlking work and the projects that have arisen from it, stem from a desire to dive into the unconscious where I and the other become mixed, disordered, divested and dislodged. Kristeva describes the conditions for which a meeting between the self and the other are possible. “By recognizing our uncanny strangeness we shall neither suffer from it nor enjoy it from the outside. The foreigner is within me, hence we are all foreigners. If I am a foreigner, there are no foreigners” (1991, 192). In these words, I recognize my innate curiosity of the psychic territory of the other that continues to compel me towards deeper investigations of extreme expressions of selfhood as both a strategy for celebrating alterity and as a metaphor of the vast continuum of potentialities that exist within each of us.

Works Cited

Carter, Angela. 1993. Nights at the Circus. New York: Penguin.

Ettinger, Bracha L. 2006. The Matrixial Borderspace (Theory Out of Bounds). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Freud, Sigmund. 2003. The Uncanny. Transl. David McLintock, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books.

Kristeva, Julia. 1991. Strangers to Ourselves. Transl. Leon S. Roudiez, New York: Columbia University Press.

Lacan, Jacques. 2006. Écrits. Trans. Alan Sheridan, New York: W. W. Norton & Company.

Rimbaud, Arthur. 2003. Rimbaud Complete, Volume 1. Trans. Wyatt Mason, New York: Modern Library.

WARHAFTIGE HISTORIA DER WILDEN MENSCHFRESSER LEUTERR: DISCOVERING THE AMERICAS IN EARLY MODERN HUNGARY

ILDIKÓ SZ. KRISTÓF

Based on my recent archival explorations, I will discuss the appearance of the Brasilian travelogue of a German soldier, Hans Staden (c. 1525 c. 1576) in the early modern Kingdom of Hungary. Entitled Warhaftige Historia und beschreibung eyner Landschaft der Wilden, Nacketen, Grimmigen Menschfresser-Leuthen in der Newenwelt America gelegen (True history and description of the land of the wild, naked, grim man-eating people located in the new world of America), it was first published in 1557 in Marburg (Staden, 1557, 1981 and 2007).

This travel narrative transmitted cultural stereotypes of the known and the alien, the savage and the civilized, the pious and the barbarous, the story both created and transgressed certain cultural as well as philological borders, characteristic of the age. The story of Hans Staden and its Central European/Hungarian reception forms part of a cultural repertoire, a broader inventory of the textual and visual “othering” of the New World in that region (Sz. Kristóf, 2012a, 2012b, 2014a, 2016a and 2017). The reception of its history constitutes an excellent example of how historical philology can unveil very early transnational contexts (Sz. Kristóf, Forthcoming).

The exact circumstances of how the geographical-ethnographical knowledge on early America and its inhabitants crossed several cultural/linguistic borders and found its way into East Central Europe/Hungary are still poorly known. The aim of this essay is to introduce two local contexts that seem crucial in the spreading of such knowledge from the 17th century onwards. One such example was a Catholic/Jesuit one, and the other a Protestant account; the background for both of them having been constituted by the rich merchant cities in the central and eastern part of Northern Hungary (Sz. Kristóf, 2012b, 2014a and Forthcoming).

During the 17th century a considerable stock of knowledge about the New World appeared not only in geographical works (i.e. learned/scholarly literature) but also in almanacs published in Hungary. The existence of abundant information on the plants, animals and indigenous inhabitants of America (as a whole) in the various prints of the period allows for an ethnological-anthropological philology, sometimes even a historical anthropology of the contemporary concepts and representations of the Other. Fig. 1 shows a woodcut from the book of Hermannus Fabronius Mosemann, Neue Summarische Welt Historia, printed in Schmalkalden, 1612 (Fabronius, 1612, 28). This is a book which one of our almanac-makers, a German-Hungarian (Zipser) astronomer David Frölich (1595-1648) surely read and relied on between the 1620s-1640s (Sz. Kristóf, Forthcoming). This Welt Historia (world history) conveyed the dream of “Eldorado” in its narratives about America. The small verse that one finds underneath the human figure says: “America bey grossem Guth / Solch nackent Leut auffziehen thut / Die Wasser fliessen da von Gold / Hispania das mit Schiffen holt.” (America in her abundance of goods / Could dress such naked people / The waters flow there with gold / Spain carries it away with ships). Judging from his outfit and attires, however, this figure is not an “Americaner in Peru” (an inhabitant of Peru) as the text says, but a Brasilian native rather, an indigenous Brasilian, most probably a Tupinamba. In the following I will discuss the reasons why one can think so.

Fig. 1.

The stock knowledge relating to non-European lands and peoples accessible in early modern Hungary has not yet been studied as profoundly as it should be. My own research in this field has been limited mainly to the western hemisphere, this could be confirmed and justified as a legitimate choice by various world maps originating in the 17th century. Fig. 2 shows one such map from the geographical work of Petrus Bertius, Tabularum geographicarum contractarum libri (published in Amsterdam in 1616) which distinguishes the two hemispheres in an explicit, visible manner (Bertius, 1616). I refer to this particular work and map, because they too could have been used by David Frölich, the above-mentioned German-Hungarian almanac-maker and astronomer living and active in the northeastern merchant towns of the early modern kingdom of Hungary. By studying a good number of geography books relating to the “other” parts of the world – especially the so-called “New World” –, I was able explore how the native inhabitants of the latter, i.e. the Native Americans, Inuits, and also the aboriginal people of the Pacific world (Australia and the islands) were represented (throughout the next century) in Hungary (as for the latter, see Sz. Kristóf, 2013, 2014b, 2016b). This work of archival exploration constitutes the background and the textual-figural context for what will then follow here on the story of Hans Staden, as well as that of the Tupinamba people appearing in Hungary. I have specifically examined works of geography and natural history that were available in Hungary between the late 16th and early 19th century, and since those works were frequently illustrated, I managed to establish a rich collection of the contemporary representations of non-European indigenous people. The images to which I refer in the current study come from that collection of mine.

Fig. 2

We now arrive at the question of the relations between the history of ethnology/anthropology and the history of prints – especially that of almanacs in the early modern Kingdom of Hungary. According to my research, a series of Catholic, as well as Protestant almanacs, published by the printing presses of Northern Hungary during the 17th century, contain a remarkable pre-ethnological /pre-anthropological discourse. It should be noted that “Pre-” in this context means that this discourse and those representations emerged before the disciplinarization and the institutionalization of anthropology as a science in the late 18th century. The almanacs in question were printed all over the northwestern and northeastern merchant towns in Upper Hungary, for example in Nagyszombat (Trnava or Tirnau), Lőcse (Levoča or Leutscha), Bártfa (Bardejov or Bartfeld) etc (Sz. Kristóf, 2014a and Forthcoming). The geographical-ethnographical discourse that they conveyed was already kind of a systematizing, “scientific” ethnology and anthropology, but it was a particular, baroque and Christian kind.

The almanacs contained various, more or less detailed texts about, among other things, the indigenous inhabitants of the New World. They conveyed a mélange of actual and imaginary knowledge about the distant western “other”, such as the aboriginal peoples of North-, Middle-, and South-America, the Northern Polar regions, as well as the enormous and mysterious region called Terra Australis incognita which included the Southern Polar area. Not only do the discoursive, philological and book-historical contexts in which the texts were embedded reveal much about the particular procedures of their compilation and elaboration, but also about the practice of the almanac-makers/publishers themselves (for the Catholics see Sz. Kristóf, 2014a and for the Protestants, Sz. Kristóf, Forthcoming). The almanacs published in early modern Hungary provide a valuable insight into their own making as a certain kind of textual, and physical, (re-)arrangement of various texts and images, since they tell us about the sources that the almanac-makers relied upon, as well as about the aspects of their selection. As Roger Chartier, the excellent French cultural historian once said, a good historical philology can not only reveal the textual/discursive practices of the past, but it can throw light upon the cultural history of knowledge itself (Chartier, 1996).

Let me now make a brief philological survey of the appearance of America in the early modern almanacs in Hungary. According to my exploration, at least two textual traditions, that is, two considerable written and printed stock of texts, existed about America in the 17th and the 18th centuries and both have found their way into the almanacs. There was a massive Catholic – and most of all, Jesuit – textual tradition, or discourse, on the one hand, created especially by the Jesuits of the town of Nagyszombat (Trnava/Tirnau) which took its origins mainly in the various accounts of the missionaries of the order (Sz. Kristóf, 2012b and 2014a). On the other hand, there was a seemingly not so massive nor abundant, but still popular and widespread Protestant discourse (in both its Lutheran and Calvinist manifestations) which emerged from the printing houses of the Protestant merchant towns of Northeast Hungary (Sz. Kristóf, Forthcoming). Although there were similarities – borrowings, adoptions, even parallels – between the two (i.e. similarities in the textual/narrative ways and the philological contexts of speaking about America), it is remarkable that they, as a whole, did not entirely overlap or match one another. This is exactly to what my findings about the reception of the story of Hans Staden, i.e. the reception of Brasil and its indigenous people in 17th century Hungary, testify.

As I mentioned in the beginning, Staden’s Brasilian travelogue was printed for the first time in 1557 in Marburg, Hessen, along with with the travel account of the French Protestant pastor, Jean de Léry (1536-1613), entitled Histoire d’un voyage faict en la terre du Brésil, autrement dite Amérique and published twenty one years later in 1578 in La Rochelle, France (Léry, 1586a). Staden’s text belongs to the first ethnographical depictions of the Tupinamba people living at that time along the Brasilian coast and is a dark, cannibalistic representation of the indigenous people America. Fig. 3 is one of the woodcuts with which the first edition of Warhaftige Historia was illustrated (Staden, 2007, iii) and which depicts the Tupinamba as crude, rough man-eaters. However, Staden’s travelogue also depicted the local nature and life-forms of America, therefore its European readers could find certain plants and animals of the Brasilian coast described in it and some were even illustrated in the attached engravings, which were most peculiar to European eyes. Fig. 4 shows for example a tatu (or, armadillo) (Staden, 2007, vii). In the same manner, the readers could find descriptions and images of the “remarkable” customs and crafts of the “Indians”, such as, for example, a detailed explanation of how the latter prepare the manioc flour. We know that Hans Staden fell into the captivity of the Tupinamba around 1550, and that he lived together with them for some nine months, until a French ship arrived and rescued him (a ransom had to be paid for him to the Tupinamba). Staden represented himself in his account as a hero – that is to say, as a civilized, smart European who found himself suddenly in an alien world. He was a German Lutheran from Hessen, as he proudly recounted, whose escape from being killed and eaten by the Tupinamba was possible through his thanking God on one hand (a point he greatly stressed), but also his personal prudence, wisdom and skills (which he emphasized immediately after the power of Providence). He was smart enough once, as he boasted, to cure the disease of a Tupinamba chief, which helped him to gain respect among those “unintelligent savages”. We may add that only Staden’s version of the story is known, that of the Tupinamba has not been recorded (Staden, 1981 and 2007).

Fig. 3.

Fig. 4.

As for the travelogue of Reverend Jean de Léry, the French preacher, one can say that the almost contemporary description of the Tupinamba “Indians” differed in some respects from Staden’s view, but remained similar in others. Fig. 5 shows for example one of the illustrations of Léry’s account depicting the “barbaric” way of life of the Tupinamba (Léry, 1586a). There was also a focus on cannibalism in this case, but as a Calvinist pastor Léry drew a more positive, promising, sometimes almost idealized picture of the Brasilian natives. He placed them in Paradise, that is, the imagined, Christian, “earthly paradise”, in his writing, and a similar depiction was conveyed in the illustrations attached to the work. Fig. 6 shows one such innocent Indian family living in almost sacred ignorance and simplicity (Léry, 1596, 90).  As with Staden’s work, Léry’s account provided a description of plants and animals from the indigenous flora and fauna of Brasil, and they both also enabled European readers to learn about the “amazing” and “remarkable” customs of the “Indians” as well. Léry’s account in particular, for example, was richly illustrated with engravings of the “simple” Tupinamba living in “paradise”. As for the historical context of his transatlantic voyage, Reverend Léry traveled to South-America (the region around the Bay of Rio de Janeiro) in 1557. He was one of the thirteen Calvinists sent there from Geneva by Jean Calvin (1509-1564) himself in order to propagate their religion and to be able to practice it there without difficulty (Lestringant, 2004, 77-128); on the importance of the travelogue of Jean de Léry for early modern European cultural anthropology, the philosophy of the “other” and the cultural practice of “othering,” see the work of De Certeau (1975).

Fig. 5.

Fig. 6.

This concludes the survey of the Protestant forms of knowledge of America available in early modern Hungary, let us now see the Catholic ones. In one of my earlier studies, I examined the series of almanacs published in the printing house of the Jesuit academy of Nagyszombat (Trnava/Tirnau) (Sz. Kristóf, 2014a), edited and issued in Latin from 1676 into the first half of the 18th century (until about 1745), which contain a whole series of scientific texts. Essays of cosmography, geography, natural history etc are to be found in them, entitled dissertationes in Latin: Fig. 7 and 8 show two of them (Calendarium tyrnaviense 1689 and 1709). These dissertations were written by Martinus Szentiványi (1633-1705), a Hungarian-Slovak scholar and member of the Jesuit order who compiled, elaborated and published the almanacs from 1676 to 1709. Though Szentiványi died in 1705, there were also posthumus publications of his works (Sz. Kristóf, 2014b). These scientific texts contain a good number of references to and information on America, Hans Staden’s Wahrhafftige Historia is, however, not to be found among them. It was not mentioned in the Nagyszombat/Trnava almanacs themselves either, nor in the works from which their geographical and ethnographical contents have been compiled. The knowledge about the New World that the Jesuit almanacs contained and conveyed originated rather in the various accounts of the order’s missionaries, available in the library of the academy of Nagyszombat/Trnava. According to my research, the works of José de Acosta (1539-1600), José de Anquieta (1534-1597) and Juan Eusebio Nieremberg (1595-1658) were the principal sources that Martinus Szentiványi relied upon in his dissertations – and no, or almost no description of America came from Protestant authors (Sz. Kristóf, 2014b). Geographica Globi Terraquei Synopsis, one of the most important schoolbooks in the Jesuit curriculum of the Nagyszombat/Trnava academy during the 18th century does not contain, nor does it even mention Staden’s Wahrhafftige Historia or the Brasilian travelogue of Jean de Léry. The latter was however, referred to in rare cases by certain Jesuit authors, but only to describe the “barbarian manners” of the indigenous people of Brasil. The lack of references does not mean that there was no interest for America/Brasil among the Nagyszombat/Trnava Jesuits though, nor that the Jesuit almanacs described the ethnography of America entirely differently than the Protestant ones.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

I am currently working on a late 16th century colligatum preserved from the ancient library of the Jesuits of Nagyszombat/Trnava, which contains, among other things, the account of Jean de Léry about the Tupinamba people. This copy is full of marginal notes and remarks: various users, academics, and unknown students from the 17th century left their traces in it. Though the identity of the users is, for the most part, unknown, their remarks relate to specific elements of the culture and way of life of the Tupinamba: some accompany the details of their material culture, others those of their religion, and other aspects of their indigenous way of life – and reveal an explicit interest in Tupinamba culture. Their authors were most probably related to the missionary practice and its instruction, of which the Jesuit academy of Nagyszombat/Trnava was one of the centres in East-Central Europe during the 17th century until the 1770s (Sz. Kristóf, forthcoming). Certain parallelisms and correspondences can be found indeed between the Catholic/Jesuit and the Protestant discourses about America in early modern Hungary, nevertheless the general impression is that they developed rather separately from one another. The stock of texts about the New World found among other prints and in our almanacs, apparently diverged during the 17th century. And this is exactly to what the uses, the re-uses, and the elaboration of Hans Staden’s Wahrhafftige Historia in Hungary testify.

According to my recent findings, the so-called Schreibkalender of David Frölich – Fig. 9 shows the title page of the edition of 1640 - contains Staden’s Tupinamba story in an abbreviated form. The German-speaking almanac for the year 1640, printed in Wroclaw (Breslau or Boroszlo), contain the first part of Wahrhafftige Historia, without, however, any illustration. Fig. 10 shows how the text was inserted into the almanac with a subtitle “Kurze historische Beschreibung der Newen Welt / wo dieselbe gelegen / wenn sie erfunden / und was sich darinnen bey der Menschenfressern mit einem Deutschen zugetragen” (Brief historical depiction of the New World / where is it to be found / when was it discovered / and what happened there with a German among the man-eaters). This copy can be found in the special collections of the National Széchényi Library, Budapest.

Fig. 9.

Fig. 10.

Let us see finally how David Frölich could have possibly got the idea of inserting this particular account of the New World in his Schreibkalender? As his German-speaking series of almanacs from the period 1620-1641 suggests, Frölich – as was the case of the Jesuits of Nagyszombat/Trnava – had a greater project to publish geographical and early, or pre- ethnographical, texts in his almanacs. As a colleague of mine, the literary historian Ágnes Dukkon has pinpointed, Frölich’s series of Schreibkalender belonged to the so-called “historical almanacs” (historischen Kalender) of the early modern period (Dukkon, 2000 and 2013). However, as the 1646 edition states, Frölich wanted to transform his almanacs expressis verbis into a “Weltspiegel”, i.e. a “Mirror for the World”, which would enclose the geography, ethnography, natural history etc of the entire globe (Frölich, 1646). Frölich was an accurate, precise editor, as he cited the whole series of authors – geographers, cartographers, etc – upon whose works he had relied for his Weltspiegel project. According to my findings, this series includes authors like Gerhard Mercator (1512-1594), Giovanni Botero (cca. 1544-1617), as well as Hermannus Fabronius Mosemann and Petrus Bertius whom I mentioned in the very beginning of this talk (Frölich, 1631). It is worth noting that the latter two authors referred indeed to Hans Staden’s Wahrafftige Historia in their geographical works in a longish and detailed manner (Fabronius, 1612, 49).

In my opinion, the two geographies could have served as either primary or secondary sources for Frölich, probably legitimizing the use of Staden’s Wahrafftige Historia for him as a reliable description of America. I have to call attention however to the fact that the two geographies contained only extracts, that is, shorter paragraphs of Staden’s Tupinamba account, and that they were rather dry, meticulously elaborated scholarly texts. This could perhaps explain why Frölich did not include any of those secondary texts, privileging the Staden’s original (in an abbreviated form, as mentioned earlier) in his almanac.

To what conclusion would all this lead? I do not know – and we will perhaps never learn – which edition of Staden’s Wahrhafftige Historia Frölich used for his almanac. I have been able to identify (and consult) two different editions so far in the Hungarian rare-book collections. Fig. 11 shows a copy from the ancient Jesuit collection of the University Library, Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest, which is an edition made by the famous Flemish artist, Theodor de Bry (1528-1598), printed in 1592 in Frankfurt and which belonged to the ancient library of the Jesuit academy in Nagyszombat/Trnava (Americae Tertia Pars). Fig. 12 shows the second edition of Wahrhafftige Historia from 1602, Frankfurt (Brancaforte – Vogt, 2014), which can now be found in the rare-book collection of the National Széchényi Library, Budapest, and once belonged to the library of the Jesuit college in Innsbruck, Austria. (The handwritten note in the upper right corner of the title page says in Latin that it was once inscribed in the catalogue of the books of “Collegii Societatis Jesu Oeniponti”.) The presence of Staden’s Wahrhafftige Historia in East-Central Europe is well testified to by these two copies.

Fig. 11.

Fig. 12.

What can however be safely stated is that Staden’s description of Brasil had an important place in the world geography of David Frölich. It fulfilled an important part, a structural function, in his “Mirror of the World” project as it stood for the New World, the American continent. The geographies of Bertius and Fabronius might also have provided a number of ideas for Frölich about the particular geographical “system of world” that he used, the division of the latter as well as its parts, elements and attributes. Let me mention one example here: Frölich’s German-speaking almanacs published between the 1620s and 1641 contained geographical-ethnographical texts about the so-called “Nortländer”, i.e. the ”Northen lands” as well as other, seemingly systematically arranged and structurally conceived parts of the world. Such was greater Russia (Russland), the Near- East (der Nahe Osten) or, for that matter, the Mediterranien. Fig. 13 shows a map of the “Northern lands” from the geography of Bertius. The cartographical depiction, the division and structure of the region and its various parts are very similar to the way in which Frölich himself described “the Northern lands” in his almanacs with the intention of providing a “Mirror of the World”.

Fig. 13.

These two textual and representational traditions of America in 17th century Hungary would thus offer important insights not only into the specific methods of early modern almanac-making as such, but also into the main characteristics of contemporary geography, ethnography, historical anthropology and even the sociology of knowledge.

Works Cited

Americae Tertia Pars. Memorabile provinciae Brasiliae historiam continens. 1592. Francofurti. Theodor de Bry. (Copy of the University Library of Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest).

Bertius, Petrus. 1616. Tabularum geographicarum contractarum libri. Amsterdam. (Copy of the University Library of Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest)

Brancaforte, Elio – Vogt, Lisa. 2014. “The Travelling Illustrations of Sixteenth-Century Travel Narratives” Publications of the Modern Language Association, Vol. 129. No 3. May. 365-398.

Chartier, Roger. 1996. Culture écrite et société. L’ordre des livres (xive –xviiie siècle). Paris: Albin Michel.

Davis, Surekha. 2016. Renaissance Ethnography and the Invention of the Human: New Worlds, Maps and Monsters. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

De Certeau, Michel. 1975. “Ethno-graphie: l'oralité ou l'espace de l'autre” In: De Certeau, Michel. Écriture de l’histoire. Paris: Gallimard. 215-248.

Dissertatio curiosa miscellanea. De Rerum memorabilium Orbis terrestris Deperditione ac Desitione. 1689. In: Calendarium Tyrnaviense, Ad Annum Christi, M. DC. LXXXIX. …Ex Calculis peritissimi et celeberrimi astronomi Andreae Argoli. Tyrnaviae. Typis Academicis excusum per Joannem Christophorum Beck. (Copy of the University Library of Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest)

Dissertatio philologa de homine. 1709. In: Calendarium Tyrnaviense [Titlepage missing]. (Copy of the University Library of Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest)

Dukkon, Ágnes. 2000. “Historische deutschsprachige Kalender in Regionen von Ungarn im 17. Jahrhundert.” In: Blome, Astrid (ed.). Zeitung, Zeitschrift, Intelligenzblatt und Kalender. Beiträge zur historischen Presseforschung. Edition Lumière. 237-244.

----. 2013.”Die Erbschaft des Späthumanismus. Der gelehrte Kalenderverfasser David Frölich (1595-1648).” In: Wien, Ulrich A. - Brandt, Juliane – Balogh, F. András (eds.). Radikale Reformation: Die Unitarier in Siebenbürgen. Wien: Böhlau Verlag. 341-353.

Fabronius (Mosemann), Hermann. 1612. Neue Summarische Welt Historia. Schmalkalden (Wolfgang Ketzel). (Copy of the University Library of Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest)

Frölich, David. 1631. “Fernere Beschreibung der Mitnächtigen Lander vnd Völcker.” In: Frölich, David: SchreibCalender, Breßlaw. Georg Baumann. (Copy of the National Széchényi Library, Budapest)

----. 1640. SchreibCalender / auff das Jahr nach Christi Geburt 1640. Zu Breslaw druckts Georg Baumann. (Copy of the National Széchényi Library, Budapest)

----. Welt-Spiegel, oder Historischer Kalender, auffs Jahr nach Christi Geburth M. DC. XLVI. Breßlau, 1646. RMK III. 1663. (Károly Szabó: Régi Magyar Könyvtár, Nationalbibliothek Széchényi, Budapest).

Léry, Jean de. 1586a. Historia navigationis in Brasiliam, qvae et America dicitvr. Evstathius Vignon. (Copy of the University Library of Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest).

----. 1586b. Historia navigationis in Brasiliam, qvae et America dicitvr. Evstathius Vignon. (Colligatum, titlepage missing, copy of the University Library of Loránd Eötvös University, Budapest).

Lestringant, Frank. 2004. Le Huguenot et le sauvage. L’Amérique et la controverse coloniale en France, au temps des guerres de religion (1555-1589). Genève: Droz.

Staden, Hans. 1557. Warhaftige Historia und beschreibung eyner Landschaft der Wilden Nacketen, Grimmigen Menschfresser-Leuthen in der Newenwelt America gelegen. Marburg.

----. s.d. [1602]. Warhafftige Historia vnnd beschreibung einer Landtschafft der Wilden / Nacketen / Grimmingen Menschfresser Leuthen / in der Newen Welt Amerika gelegen. Mit einer Vorrede D. Joh. Dryandri … Ordinarÿ Professoris Medici zu Marpurgb. Gedr. zu Franckfurdt a. M. durch Weygandt Han. (Copy of the National Széchényi Library, Budapest)

----. 1981. Zwei Reisen nach Brasilien 1548-1555. Nachwort und Erläuterungen von Karl Fouquet. 4. Auflage. Marburg an der Lahn: Trautvetter & Fisher Nachf.

----. 2007. Warhaftige Historia. Zwei Reisen nach Brasilien (1548-1555). História de duas viagens ao Brasil. Kritische Ausgabe/edição crítica von Franz Obermeier. Kiel: Westensee-Verlag (Fontes Americanae 1).

Sz. Kristóf, Ildikó. 2012a. “The Uses of Demonology. European Missionaries and Native Americans in the American Southwest (17-18th Centuries).” In: Szőnyi, György E. – Maczelka, Csaba (eds.). Centers and Peripheries in European Renaissance Culture. Essays by East-central European Mellon Fellows. Szeged: JATEPress. 161-182

----. 2012b. “Missionaries, Monsters, and the Demon Show. Diabolized Representations of American Indians in Jesuit Libraries of 17th and 18th Century Upper Hungary.” In: Kérchy, Anna – Zittlau, Andrea (eds.): Exploring the Cultural History of Continental European Freak Shows and ‘Enfreakment.’ Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 38-73.

----. 2013. “Domesticating Nature, Appropriating Hierarchy: The Representation of European and Non-European Peoples in an Early-Nineteenth-Century Schoolbook of Natural History.”  In: Demski, Dagnosław - Sz. Kristóf, Ildikó - Baranieczka-Olsewska, Kamila (eds.). Competing Eyes. Visual Encounters with Alterity in Central and Eastern Europe. Budapest: L’Harmattan. 40-66.

----. 2014a. “Local Access to Global Knowledge: Historia naturalis and Anthropology at the Jesuit University of Nagyszombat (Trnava), as Transmitted in its Almanacs (1676–1709)" In: Almási, Gábor (ed.): A Divided Hungary in Europe, vol. 1: Study Tours and Intellectual-Religious Relationships. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 201-228.

----. 2014b. “The Representation of the Australian Aborigines in Text and Picture: Dr. Med. Pál Almási Balogh (1794-1863) and the Birth of the Science of Anthropology in Central Europe/Hungary.” Caiana Revista academica de Historia del Arte y Cultura Visual de Centro Argentino de Investigadores de Arte (CAIA) (Buenos Aires), No 5, Segundo semestre, dossier special: Csúri, Piroska - García Ferrari, Mercedes (eds.). “Ciencia y Cultura Visual”. 126-140.

----. 2016a. “Indi legendi & scribendi usum mirantur.” Egy kulturális sztereotípia múltjáról és régi magyarországi előfordulásáról. In: Nyerges, Judit – Verók, Attila – Zvara, Edina (eds.). MONOKgraphia. Tanulmányok Monok István 60. születésnapjára. Budapest: Kossuth Kiadó. 435-446.

----. 2016b. “’Terepmunka’ a Terepmunka kora előtt: Dobosy Mihály, a grönlandi inuitok és az etnológia (antropológia) születése a 19. század eleji Magyarországon.” Ethno-lore  XXXII. 1-23.

----. 2017. “Anthropologie dans le calendrier: la représentation des curiosités de la nature et des peuples exotiques dans les calendriers de Nagyszombat (Trnavia), 1676-1773.” In: Madl, Claire – Monok, István (eds.). Ex oriente amicitia. Mélanges offerts à Frédéric Barbier à l’occasion de son 65e anniversaire. Budapest: MTA Könyvtár és Információs Központ, 87-113.

----. Forthcoming. “Amerika und seine UreinwohnerInnen in den ungarischen Kalendern des 17. Jahrhunderts: David Frölich vs. die Jesuiten.” In Herbst, Klaus-Dieter (ed.). Die Erfindung des Schreibkalenders im Jahre 1540 und ihre Folgen: Die deutschsprachigen Schreibkalender und ihre Autoren in den Ländern in Mittel-, Ost- und Ostmittel-Europa von 1540 bis 1850. Jena.

A JESUIT FROM CENTRAL EUROPE IN PARAGUAY: THE ROLE OF FERENC LIMP IN THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST GUARANÍ INDIANS

DÓRA BABARCZI

Changing borders between countries caused political and social conflicts in South America as early as the mid-18th century. Diplomats of Spain and Portugal were keen on justifying and strengthening their legal rights over the seemingly inexhaustible natural and social resources of the continent. One of their means was to reinstate the Treaty of Tordesillas which had fallen in disuse a long time ago as it had determined the dividing line between the South-American colonies somewhere which is today in Eastern Brazil. Colonists, soldiers and priests of the Portuguese Crown, however, reached a lot farther to the West to this line. In the Treaty of Limits signed in January 1750 in Madrid the ‘uti possidetis’ principle was adopted, meaning that both parties could hold their territories, with only two exceptions. One of them was the colony of Sacramento, founded some decades ago by the Portuguese in the La Plata estuary, which became the center of smuggling as the ships carrying silver from the Bolivian mines to Europe passed nearby. According to the Treaty of Madrid, this colony was to be evacuated and the fort and lands passed to the Spanish. In return, the Portuguese were supposed to receive seven Guaraní villages lying on the Eastern banks of the Uruguay River which belonged to the Jesuit Province of Paraguay. Francisco de Solano in many of his papers discussed the reasons and considerations of the Spanish Government regarding this question, as an example see Solano, 1991.

The Paraguay Province of the Society of Jesus occupied the vast lands that today belong to the states of Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay. The Province was itself a state within a state, as the Fathers governed both the spiritual and the everyday life of Natives with their own rules and access to its territories was strictly forbidden to European colonists. The activities of the Jesuits in this Province, especially during the years that followed the Treaty of Limits, namely the ‘Guaraní War’ and the expulsion of Jesuits are probably the most debated questions in the historiography of the Order. From the general works I would suggest Armani’s monograph ‘Città di Dio e città del Sole’ to get an insight to this topic. The Treaty was also hastily reflected upon and heavily discussed by the contemporary audience, preeminent philosopher Voltaire amongst them. The number of papers is so immense that it is impossible to list here even a small part of it. I will mention here only one author, who based his observations mainly on analyzing financial statistics of the Order, which was quite a unique approach at that time. Dauril Alden, Professor of the University of Washington, published impressively elaborated works on the history of the Society in the Portuguese colonies (see Alden, 1968, and Alden, 1998). I must agree with him when he states that expelling the Jesuits from the overseas provinces was the consequence of economic considerations, namely that royal and local authorities and private colonists needed labor force for their plantations which they thought could be satisfied by the workforce of the inhabitants of the Jesuit missions. These villages, especially in the La Plata region, had extensive lands on which they successfully cultivated various crops, as well as had herds of cattle with several thousands of animals. In addition, the Order was exempt from paying tithes and taxes which gave them unfair advantages on the market, according to the opinion of merchants at that time.

Two Royal Commissioners from both parties, the Marquis of Valdelirios (1751-1759) and Gomes Freire de Andrade (who was also governor of Rio de Janeiro between 1733 and 1763) were in charge of having the edict executed, for Spain and for Portugal, respectively. This process required several activities to be performed: their geographers had to measure the lands and determine the exact frontier line between the colonies belonging to Spain and Portugal, and also to secure the physical control upon the territory with the help of their troops. The first incident between the inhabitants and the soldiers took place in March 1753, when the united Spanish and Portuguese commissions reached the farm of San Miguel where the Guaraní refused to let them pass through their lands. The chief commissioners decided to take the lands by force and sent an army of around 4000 soldiers led by Gomes Freire de Andrade and the Governor of Buenos Aires, José Andoanegui, but the campaign ended without success. The second campaign of the allied forces virtually eliminated their adversaries at Caaybaté in February 1756, killing almost all the Guaraní militants, including the leader of the revolt. In May, all the former Jesuit missions were under control of the secular authorities.

The General of the Society of Jesus, Ignazio Visconti (1751-1755) made every effort to avoid open conflict with the Portuguese and Spanish Courts, therefore in his instructions of July 1751 directed to the Provincial of Paraguay and to the Superior of the Guaraní Missions he ordered that all their subjects must assist the work of the Royal Commissioners. He also sent his Comisario General, Lope Luis Altamirano to Paraguay with the purpose of coordinating and completing the task of evacuating the seven missions. Altamirano, upon his arrival to Buenos Aires, sent out several circulars to the Priests residing in the Guaraní Missions, ordering them to search for new locations on the western banks of the Uruguay River and evacuate the villages as soon as possible, otherwise they risked the penalty of excommunication. His repeated demands and threats were in vain, as the Fathers, including the Procurator of the missions, Giacomo Passino (1752-1762), were convinced that the Treaty will be revoked soon. Although Altamirano was often condemned by Jesuit historians as traitor, in reality he was the one who judged the situation correctly and saw that opposition to the royal decrees could jeopardize the reputation of his Order, and on the long term might even lead to more serious repercussions against them.

Bien creo, que le será a V. R.a sensible esta separación: pero creo tambien, que le será mucho mas sensible el gran deshonor, que se imprimirá immortalmente en la fama de la Compañía... (Letter of Father Luis Altamirano to Father Ferenc Limp, Buenos Aires, 11 April 1752)

This menace became reality soon. When the Marquis of Pombal, Prime Minister of Portugal for almost 3 decades, decided to expel all the members of the Society from the territories of Portugal in 1759 he claimed his reason was the Jesuits’ armed rebellion against the royal troops in Paraguay. The campaign against the Jesuits continued with their expulsion from many other European countries including Spain in 1767, and ended with their complete suppression in 1773. For a general overview on the expulsion of the Society from Spain, see the chapter written by Teófanes Egido in the work on the History of the Church in Spain (Egido, 1979). A short introduction to the activities and suppression of the Order in the Spanish overseas territories, from the perspective of the Order, can be studied in the work of Father Ángel Santos Hernández, 1992. This process strongly affected the Fathers coming from Eastern and Mid-Europe who served in the overseas territories as rectors, priests, missionaries, or even geographers, astronomers and mathematicians. Some researchers are engaged solely in the reconstruction of the bibliography of these Mid-European Jesuits.  The various aspects of their work overseas are discussed in a collection of essays edited by Karl Kohut and María Cristina Torales Pacheco in 2007. One of these Jesuits was Ferenc Limp, born in 1696 in the city of Mosonmagyaróvár (now in Hungary), who, after completing the trainings in Austria and Spain shipped off to Paraguay in 1727. He worked as a missionary in several villages (Concepción, Santo Ángel and Candelaria), and in the years of 1752-1753 he directed the mission of San Lorenzo, one of the seven villages involved in the territorial exchange.

We don’t know much about his life, especially about his early years in Paraguay: Dénes Balázs only gave us a short summary on it in 1991 (Balázs, 1991). For basic bibliographical details see the Catalogue of Father Hugo Storni (Storni, 1980:163). One of his letters dated January 1, 1731 was, however, known by researchers for a long while, since it appeared in a collection of letters sent by Jesuit Fathers from their overseas missions (see Stöcklein, 1755:113-115.) In the Archives of Simancas there are many sources referring to the Guaraní War and the subsequent years, with emphasis on the role the Jesuits. These documents were published in Brazil, in the annual journal of the Library of Rio de Janeiro (documents mentioning Father Limp can be found in the 1930’ volume) and also by Father Pablo Pastells in Spain, along with many other pieces, in his voluminous collection on the history of his Order in Paraguay (Pastells, 1949). In his compilation published in Spain, Javier Bravo collected a large number of sources related to the expulsion of the Jesuits from the Spanish territories (see Bravo, 1872). The collection of Stöcklein, Pastells and Bravo contain records related to Father Limp, but none of these reports or letters were written by the Father himself.

Although this period is well-documented and thus thoroughly investigated in historiography, the sources related to people of Hungarian origin visiting, or settling in the overseas territories in the 18th century are not really recorded and assessed by Hungarian researchers. Considering this, and the fact that original manuscript copies from Father Limp were unknown so far, my aim with this paper would be to draw attention to the documents found in the Archives of the Real Academia de la Historia in Madrid. The file in question (‘legajo’) containing the letters of Father Limp bears the not so promising title ‘Jesuitas – Indiferente’. The collection of 27 letters dated between 30 May 1752 and 27 September 1753 consists of 24 missives from Father Limp to Luis Altamirano, representative of the Superior General of the Society, and three of the Commissary’s responses, all written in Spanish. Since in file number 116 the sequence of the documents are incidental and the pages are not numbered, in this paper I’m going to cite the letters by giving the place, the date and the sender’s name. The letters of Father Limp contain some information regarding the evacuation process which can be compared with the chain of events reconstructed by Jesuit historian Father Guillermo Kratz. Kratz in his voluminous work on the Treaty of Madrid used several documents of the Archives of Rome, Lisbon and Simancas (Kratz, 1954). The letters proved that Father Limp, who was appointed by Altamirano as his assistant in this mandate, contributed strongly to fulfill the mission and to complete the transfer of people and goods to Spanish territories, as both were well aware that this event of historical importance can strongly affect the future of the Society of Jesus.

Reading these letters it becomes obvious that Father Limp was also aware how delicate this issue was, but as spiritual leader he was also responsible for his flock’s salvation. Although he acknowledged that the evacuation of the seven missions must be executed, he always highlighted the difficulties he encountered during this process. In several of his letters he mentioned how the most practical or even financial difficulties could put off the whole process. In one of his first letters on his topic he claimed that the inhabitants of San Lorenzo had much to lose, as the village owned plantations of 20 000 yerba mate shrubs, immense lands of corn and a herd of 50 000 cows. In February 1753 he asked Altamirano to consider as donations the support the new village of San Lorenzo received: 300 cows from Apostoles, 500 cows from Santa Rosa, and 80 horses from 4 other villages. In February he reported that one of his fellow missionaries, Father Ferder (who was also of Hungarian origin) sent him five rolls of fabrics, 187 knives, 4000 needles, 5 packs of glass beads, small crosses and rods. He considered this as great help, because, he claimed, the village had been already indebted for 3000 pesos to the Office of the Jesuit Procurator in Buenos Aires.

Tambien doy parte á V. R. que el P. Ferder en nombre de V. R. me remitio 4 piezas de bayeta y una de pañete, 187 cuchillos, 4000 de agujas, 5 mazos de avalorios, de Cruzes y zarzillos seis papeles y una medallitas; portanto ruego á V. R. se sirva dezirme si todo esto viene de limosna, que V. R. haze á este pueblo por sus atrassos y daños que ha padecido y padecerá por esta mudanza, y en esta suposicion le doy á V. R. las gracias, D.s N.o S.r selo pague á V. R. Peró si lo sobredicho se ha de pagar este pueblo, se hallará con nuevos trabajos; porque el pueblo no tiene necessidad desta ropa y por otra parte se hallará mas largado de deudas, como constará á V. R. que este pueblo deve al oficio de Buenos Aeres 3000 pesos, y assi no será mas, que aflicto addere aflicionem. (Ferenc Limp To Luis Altamirano, San Lorenzo, 23 February 1753)

By October 1752, the colleague of Father Limp, Father Jaime Mascaró found a new place for San Lorenzo on the Western banks of the Uruguay River, measured and parceled the lands out with the help of the men from San Lorenzo. By the beginning of next year almost all of the inhabitants moved to the new village and all their movables were also transferred. Yet he claimed that the transfer of the rest of the villages could not be performed so easily, as the people of the seven villages would not move unless an army came to defeat them. Altamirano acknowledged his efforts in February 1753 when he charged Father Limp with the task of evacuating the inhabitants of the seven missions. Altamirano described the severity of the situation by mentioning that the name and fame of the Province of Paraguay and even of the Society of Jesus would be jeopardized if the process of evacuation is not completed. Moreover, the Guaraní people most probably will lose all their lands and villages and even their life if they resist:

…encuentro en V. R.a todas las calidades, que se necessitan p.a tan ardua empressa, de Religiosidad, capacidad, entegridad, eficacia, y zelo: por lo que le señalo p.a que lo que en mis manos oy está parado; en las de V. R.a tome curso, y como assi lo espero. Quanto servicio hará V. R.a a D.s N. S.r a N.ra Comp.a y beneficio alos pobres Indios, ejecutando su mudanza, ni yo sabré explicar á V. R.a, ni V. R.a con su mucha capacidad, podra comprehender bastantem.te. Ello es certissimo, que si los Indios no se reducen presto a obedecer, y ejecutar su mudanza; N.ra Comp.a pierde todo su honor, esta Prov.cia su estimacion, y los pobres Indios con sus tierras, y Pueblos, que (suceda lo que sucediere) irremediablem.te han de dexar; perderan sus haziendas, muchos sus vidas, y no pocos la Fe. (Luis Altamirano to Ferenc Limp, Yapeyú, 27 February 1753)

In a letter to Altamirano dated 16th March 1753, Limp was begging to be relieved of the responsibility of being his substitute, because, he stated, he didn’t have the strength and ability to fulfill this role, moreover the Royal Commissioners would not trust him because he was not Spanish but a foreigner. It remains uncertain, however, how long was he responsible for supervising the territorial exchange of all the seven missions.

Tambien le supliqué á V. R. en la dicha mia, paraque me aliviasse para no Correr con las vezes de V. R. en su Ausencia por no tener fuerzas, ni caudal para tanto, y como tambien soy estrangero, los Señores Comissarios con razon pudieran dudar de mi lealdad; portanto buelvo á suplicar á V. R. paraque sus vezes se sirva poner en las manos del P. Balda, quien como es Español y tambien conocido delos Señores Comissarios, no podran tener este reparo acerca deel. (Ferenc Limp to Luis Altamirano, San Lorenzo, 16 March 1753)

He often reflected on the emotional state of his flock who were unwilling to leave the lands of the community not only because it was wealthy, but because they felt it was their homeland. Attached to a letter to Altamirano on 10th April 1753 Father Limp sent over the translation of a solemn declaration written by the inhabitants of San Miguel which was to be sent to the Royal Commissioner of Spain, Captain Echevarria. It is not known, however, if it ever reached its addressee. The senders declared themselves as faithful vassals of the King of Spain, and being so, always ready to fulfill any order coming from him, but they could not believe that the king really wanted them to leave their beautiful houses, stone-built churches and flourishing plantations. They pleaded with the King of Spain for allowing them to stay in their villages after taking into consideration the facts. They declared that they would rather die than to leave their homes.

Bien nos consta y lo confessamos tambien que somos vasallos del Rey N.o S.r, y como tales estamos promptos siempre para executar sus Ordenes Reales; peró no podemos persuadirnos que sea la voluntad del Rey N.o S.r, que dexemos nuestros bienes y tierras... [...] ...portanto suplicamos á Su Señoria se sirva dezir al Rey nuestro Señor, que si nos obliga á dexar nuestros bienes y tierras, que hemos de perdernos todos... (The Corregidor, Cabildo, Mestre de Campo and Cacique of San Miguel, San Miguel, 3 March 1753)

In his letter referred above, Father Limp emphasized the fact that the Guaraní people would not leave their land, unless they are compelled to do so by armed forces.

Tambien va un translado de una carta delos indios de S. Miguel, que avian escrito al S.r Comissario Echavarria, y paraque entienda V.a R.a su contenido, se tradusco en la lengua Castellana; peró me advierte el P. Balda, que los indios de S. Miguel (como ellos álomenos lo dicen) varias cartas avian escrito al S.r Comissario Echavarria; peró como no savemos, ni podemos creer álos indios, si todas se entregaron ó quales, con razon dudamos tambien desta inclusa delos indios, si se aya entregado al S.r Comissario Echavarria. […] Poraca no ay novedad especial, sino que los indios persisten de no querer dexar sus bienes y tierras y mientras no vean que viene un numero crescido y bien armado de soldados contra ellos, no han de mudar su parecer. (Ferenc Limp to Luis Altamirano, San Lorenzo, 10 April 1753)

In his letter written in May 1753 Father Limp alluded to the fact that many of his fellow missionaries were not willing to proceed with the evacuation because of their “weakness or for other reasons”.

Tambien ruego á V. R. conceda licencia al P. Superior de poder disponer acerca delos PP. Compañeros que estan en los 7 pueblos dela mudanza; porque no todos sirven igualmente para la dicha mudanza ya por sus achaques, ya por otros motivos que puede aver. (Ferenc Limp to Luis Altamirano, San Lorenzo, 10 May 1753)

On 8th of June he reported to the Father Commissary that the conference of the Fathers from the seven missions took place in Candelaria, and the participants unanimously decided that there was no point in trying to persuade the Guaraní to leave their lands as the previous attempts led to a riot. On the other hand, as Father Limp remarked, the missionaries would not let the Portuguese take their villages either, as they would rather protect their people. From the letters written by the other Fathers of the Seven Missions (see the Anais, the collection of Bravo and Pastells, passim) it becomes obvious that there were Jesuits who actively participated in this riot, not only by giving instructions to the Guaraní militants but even with producing gunpowder and building cannons of wood and leather. To what extent Father Limp participated in this process remains unclear.

Conforme al orden de V. R. mi P. Comissario, se hizo en la Candelaria la consulta, ála qual assistieron el P. Superior, P. Valenchana, P. Fina, P. Lazaro Garzia, P. Sanna, P Valdiviesso y yo, y todos yuzgamos que en consideracion delos nuevos alborotos y gravissimos daños que se avian de seguir desta assalto, que en consciencia no se puede tocarles mas álos indios el punto dela mudanza; proque si delos assaltos passados que hemos dado álos indios con todo el empeño y eficacia como bien lo consta á V. R. paraque se mudassen, no hemos podido conseguir otra cosa, sino unos alborotos y tan perjuiziales que hasta aora los sentimos y lloramos, aora si aviamos de dar este ultimo assalto álos indios para la mudanza, tengolo por cierto que avian de seguir alborotos de mucho peores consequencias…[…] Álo que V. R. me pregunta acerca delos 6 pueblos, si se quieren entregar álos Portugueses, conforme selo escribio á V. R. el P. Superior, digo que pregunté álos PP. delos sobredichos pueblos, y me dixeron, que de ningunas maneras quieren entregarse sus indios álos Portugueses. (Ferenc Limp to Luis Altamirano, San Lorenzo, 8 June 1753)

In his last letter dated 27 September 1753, addressed to Visitator Alonso Fernandez, Limp summarized the events of the past year. He mentioned that several circulars were sent out by the Commissary which obliged the Fathers to stop administering the Sacraments and to leave the area immediately. He read the letters out loud to the villagers several times so that they understand it thoroughly, but in vain. By that time the Guaraní were in open revolt and, as Father Limp stated, if an army came to defeat them the Jesuits residing in the missions would have been killed.

Los indios destos 6 pueblos ya se alzaron con el govierno delos pueblos y cada dia se ponen mas atrevidos, mas desvergonzados, y no se fian de nosotros, portanto digo, que si los indios en la guerra salen vencidos, nos han de matar á todos. (Ferenc Limp to Father Alonso Fernández, San Lorenzo, 27 September 1753)

It is known for certain that Father Limp remained in the territory of the seven villages during the ‘Guaraní War’. In the investigation proposed by Governor José Andoanegui and conducted by the Spanish authorities in 1756 all the Jesuits, including Father Limp, were charged as instigators and active participants of the riot (documents published on this topic can be found in Garcia, 1930, Bravo, 1872 and in Pastells, 1949, passim). At the end of the trial based on the contradictory evidence of some of the Guaraní leaders everybody was cleared of the charges and could remain in the missions, relocated to Spanish territories. The Treaty of Madrid was in fact revoked by the Treaty of Pardo in 1761, but the seven missions had been demolished by that time. Father Limp was expelled from Paraguay during the 1768 anti-Jesuit campaign, which affected all members of the Society working overseas. He did not live to see his homeland again since, after a long journey from the provinces to Europe, he died in Cádiz in 1769. Obviously, I could only give here a short introduction of his missionary work. That Father Limp played such an important role in the Guaraní War went unrecognized up until the discovery of the letters discussed above. His activities can also be assessed as part of the extensive and highly influential missionary work of his Order. The Society undoubtedly introduced a special type of administrative system to their lands which was distinctly different from anything that described the royal government. To compile the full biography of Father Limp and evaluate his activity in Paraguay could be a subject of further research.

Works Cited

Alden, Dauril. 1968. Royal Government in Colonial Brazil. Berkeley/Los Angeles: University of California.

Alden, Dauril. 1998. The Making of an Enterprise: The Society of Jesus in Portugal, Its Empire, and Beyond, 1540-1750. Stanford: Stanford University.

Armani, Alberto. 1977. Città di Dio e città del Sole. Lo „Stato” gesuita dei Guarani (1609–1768). Rome: Studium.

Balázs, Dénes. 1991. “Adalékok a dél-amerikai magyar utazók munkásságához. II. rész [Additional details on the activities of the Hungarian travellers in South America. Part 2]” Földrajzi Múzeumi Tanulmányok, 9, 31-42.

Bravo, Francisco Javier (ed.). 1872. Colección de documentos relativos á la expulsión de los jesuitas de la República Argentina y del Paraguay en el Reinado de Carlos III. Madrid: Establecimiento Tipográfico de José María Pérez.

Egido, Teófanes. 1979. “La expulsion de los jesuitas de España” Mestre Sachis, Antonio (ed.) 1979. Historia de la Iglesia en España. Tom. IV. La Iglesia en la España de los siglos XVII. y XVIII., Madrid: Católica. 745-792.

Garcia, Rodolpho (ed.). 1930. Anais da Biblioteca Nacional de Rio de Janeiro, vol. 52. Rio de Janeiro: Ministério da Educação e Saúde.

Hernández, Ángel Santos. 1992. Los Jesuitas en América. Madrid: Mafre.

Kohut, Karl – Torales Pacheco, María Cristina (eds.). 2007. Desde los confines de los imperios ibéricos: los jesuitas de habla alemana en las misiones americanas. Madrid: Iberoamericana.

Kratz, Guillermo. 1954. El Tratado Hispano-Portugués de Límites de 1750 y sus consecuencias. Estudio sobre la abolición de la Compañía de Jesús, Rome: IHSI.

Pastells, Pablo – Mateos, Francisco. 1949. Historia de la Compañía de Jesús en la Provincia del Paraguay. Vol. VIII. Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas – Instituto Santo Toribio de Mogrovejo.

Solano, Francisco de. 1991. “Contactos Hispanoportugueses en América a lo largo de la frontera brasileña (1500-1800)”. Solano, Francisco de – Bernabéu, Salvador (eds.). 1991. Estudios (nuevos y viejos) sobre la Frontera. Madrid: Revista de Indias, 187-215.

Storni, Hugo. 1980. Catalogo de los Jesuitas de la Provincia del Paraguay (Cuenca del Plata) 1585 – 1768. Rome: IHSI.

Stöcklein, Joseph. 1755. Der Neue Welt-Bott mit allerhand nachrichten deren Missionarien Soc. Iesu. Vol 32., Letter nr 637. Ferenc Limp to Father István Raab, Concepción, 01 January 1731.  Wien: Kalivoda. 113-115.

URBAN CREATIVITY PRACTICES IN SÃO PAULO

KATA MURÁNYI

Concepts such as the creative city have started to become a more widely used form in the mid-1990s (e.g. Landry: The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators, 1994) - along with other concepts like creative economy, creative industries etc. - and reached its boom after the millennium (e.g. Florida: The rise of the creative class, 2002). Although the world economic crisis has shaped the importance of the phenomena, and shifted it to a more IT driven term namely smart city, urban creativity practices have still a lot to offer and research. As urban creativity is a more complex concept, is able to analyze and give a wider and deeper understanding of development, authenticity and political-economic-social issues in the city. The term urban creativity covers not only practices of street art, murals or public art, but also the transformation of old warehouse into creative hubs, the usage of public space in a creative way, the rendering of bike paths, as well as allowing questions and thinking critically towards the city, how is to live and experiment for locals, in which way common and public space can be used etc. These initiatives are mostly deprive from communities with a strong request to fulfill a specific need. In this paper I discuss how city development is shaped and being influenced by urban creativity, what urban creativity practices are to be observed in São Paulo, and how the city of São Paulo is being involved in the Portuguese-speaking countries and their so called Lusophone identity. Furthermore I observe if this identity and the historical-cultural background appears in any ways in the urban creativity practices. I examine how specific bottom-up initiatives address various problems in society; I assess the best practices of urban creativity and how current problems and solutions arise in a contemporary metropolis.  The research is based on a study trip where a number of interviews were conducted with representatives active in innovative creative economy organizations, routinely providing solutions to the needs of people in urban public spaces.

1. The Portuguese-speaking World

The Portuguese-speaking world, also known as the Lusophone world, is a concept that can only be understood within the complexity of the Portuguese Empire, the first global empire and its colonial system (see Image 1). Over centuries –starting with the occupations of Ceuta and lasted until the hand-over of Macao in 1999–, Portugal’s global empire used and distributed the natural and human resources of the colonies. Among these areas of four continent a commercial triangle was established (2016), with its center in Portugal, that had functioned as a melting pot of diverse Lusophone territories and cultures. The Portuguese Empire spanned four main areas: the mainland and its adjacent islands (Madeira and Azores), Africa (Angola, Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau and Mozambique), Brazil and Asia (Portuguese India, Macau and Timor). Over the decades it was an issue for the motherland to strengthen the notion of a Lusophone space, which was greatly formed by the press, “thus allowing it to attain greater vividness than through language and culture alone, it also created the conditions for the eventual independence of colonial territories, such as Brazil (1822)” (Cunha, 2012:215).

Image 1: Portuguese Empire in 1783. (Source: http://what-when-how.com/western-colonialism/empire-portuguese-western-colonialism/, 2018

After Brazil's declaration of independence (1822), the mainland's aim was to consolidate its areas in Africa and to keep its territories of Portuguese India and East Timor in Asia. The foreign policy of Salazar’s New State (Estado Novo) is determined by the colonial objectives (Szilágyi, 2015). On April 25, 1974, the Captains’ movement, also known as the “Carnation Revolution”, overthrew the dictatorial regime (Salgó, 1990). After that, with the independence of the colonies and the new left-liberal political system, the previous international isolation began to dissolve. Portugal opened to European and Atlantic countries, and started to form strong partnerships with the former colonial countries based on common interests and values as well as language and cultural heritage, which means that enhancing Lusophony became a major issue in foreign policies. Besides the common historical-cultural background, language and literature, the Lusophone system has also other forms to express this identity, such as architecture, cinema, design, theatre, gastronomy, music, fine arts, applied arts etc. (Sieber, 2002). Portugal still maintains its leading and mediative role within the Portuguese Speaking Countries. As a result of this –maintaining power through “soft powers”, a concept used by Nye (2008)–  institutes and organizations were established, such as CPLP, Community of Portuguese Speaking Countries (Comunidade dos Países de Língua Portuguesa) in 1996, as well as the Camões Institute (Instituto Camões) in 1992, the Oriental Museum and Foundation (Museu e Fundação Oriente) or the Gulbenkian Foundation (Fundação Gulbenkian), with the aim to promote Lusophone cultures in the world through culture and Portuguese language (Murányi, 2016). This cooperation is also contributing to the Lusophone cosmopolitanism, which allows the free flow of people, goods and cultures within the Portuguese speaking territories (Cunha, 2012).

Brazil experienced a dictatorial regime between 1937 and 1945: the New State (Estado Novo) and later a military regime from 1965 on over 20 years. In regard to broadcasting media as a source of culture, language, interest and knowledge, Cunha states that the organization of the Portuguese-speaking world “was founded on cultural, historical, political, economic and human ties and includes a potential market of 300 million consumers and producers of media” (2012:216).

According to the above written, Lusophone identity can appear apart the classical forms of culture in the creative and cultural industries, in a broader form the creative economy with a strong urban factor. These forms I discuss in the upcoming section.

2. Creative Economy and City

The theory of creative economy and the creative industries are a relatively new field of science, with extremely diverse approaches and explanations. Despite its novelty, creative economies and industries give regions a competitive advantage due to the effects of globalization and increased accumulation of knowledge society; as a result, concentrations of information and innovation can be found.

2.1. The Concept of Creative Economy

At the end of the 1980s, with the decline of heavy industry and the development of the information technology, not only the structure of the society has been transformed but also multinational corporations emerged, although local experiences can mean significant competitive advantage (Farkas, 2002). Especially after the global economic crisis, creativity in economy was valued as a given response to the uncertain situation. 2009 was the official year of creativity and innovation of the European Union. According to the United Nations, creativity from the point of view of economy can be derived from human resources. These appearances are developed in the areas of arts, science and economics (United Nations, 2008). Individual creativity itself is an attribute that we can interpret in large measure. This appears in the system of creative industries and creative economy as the basic property of being human, as an activity of economy that creates value, as the background of culture and arts (Ságvári, 2005).

One of the approaches of creativity states that without social recognition and without space, creative production cannot exist. Howkins's (2002) claim that using the creative adjective for a person creating something new should be added to Csíkszentmihályi's (2008) explanation. A product or service is considered to be creative, whether it will be accepted by the field and the domain. Social experts determine (i.e., influential institutions and/or people) what the individual idea may be in the cultural environment. In this respect, the creativity of someone's production is a common product determined by the cultural environment and social actors. According to Kao (1999), individual creativity is a factor that increases the usefulness of knowledge. Since the expression of cultural economy is needed in order to be consummated by the expression of creative economy (Scott, 1997), cultural services and products are pieces of cultural economy. To summarize the characteristics of the creative industries: include among others the cultural industries; have a creative value and include the arts, in addition to economic ability; create and distribute products and services produced and consumed by society; begin (first input) as creativity and intellectual capital. These criteria were used by choosing the interviewees.

2.2. The Place and the Creative Class

Because of the criterias mentioned above (e.g., information, innovation, networks, concentrations of informal relations and knowledge), the ideal place for creative economic activities are large cities (Florida, 2002). Florida (2002) argues that the real competitive advantage for cities lies in the creative society that uses information and knowledge as tools, and in which creative industries stand in the cross-section. In his book The Rise of the Creative Class (2002) Florida points out that the driving force of creativity is knowledge and information, and, as thus, innovation can be produced. He argues that local values have been reevaluated, and the success lies beyond the realization of creative cities, whose cornerstones are the 3 T’s: namely technology, talent and tolerance. Technology refers to economic-technological development, talent stands for the quality of available human resources, and tolerance signifies the inclusive socio-cultural environment. The economic importance of cultural and creative activities and their relation toward the level of urban development and competitivity are some of the aspects where urban creativity can be examined (Costa et al., 2009).

In the context of the international project Accommodating Creative Knowledge (ACRE), between 2006 and 2010 in 13 European large cities the factors of establishment of creative activities were investigated (Musterd et al., 2007). The factors are: Dependence of the Road  - recognition of cultural history and education (Boschma and Martin, 2007); decision making political-economical functions (Eckert et al., 2010); Agglomerate Theory - such as clusters for regional development (Scott, 2000) and competitiveness (Porter, 2000); Theories of Localization - existence of raw materials, adequate labor, infrastructure, etc. (Lengyel and Rechnitzer, 2004); Configuration Function Factors - human resources, knowledge society, networks, environment, quality of life etc.; and Individual Factors - social networks, experiences, organizational links (Bontje et al., 2011). According to the ACRE project the creative economy can be divided into sectors. The parties to this are the creative and cultural industries with the intensive knowledge base. The recent study assumes that the above mentioned elements are essential for the creation of a creative city like São Paulo.

3. About the Research

3.1. Methodology

The fieldwork was carried out in São Paulo in 2016. Interviews were held with leading figures from projects regarding creative economy. The semi-structured interviews were led in English and/or Portuguese languages. In total, eleven exploratory interviews were completed. The interviews were recorded and processed. In the research the urban creativity aspects of the Portuguese-speaking countries are investigated and questioned to explore whether, in addition to the common language, there exists a common Lusophone identity and if so, whether it can be seen in urban creativity methods and added to the creation of the creative city model. As thus, the study also researches city and governmental policies and the tolerance factor, which could be crucial for dynamics in the city (Florida, 2002), as well as the identity of a common language as background. Following the structure and analysis of the conducted interviews, the aim of the research is to make an empirical structure in the Lusophone world, and map innovative and creative spaces and the characteristics of the chosen city. Previously a research was conducted in Lisbon, Portugal, and those results and the related comparative study of the two cities, Lisbon and São Paulo, forms part of a following article.

The field research employs semi-structured interviews, focusing on companies, organizations, actors, policy makers (of models of creative economy and creative city), and incentives and venues (which currently or operated or operated at some point in one of the cities). Field researchers also collected and researched the literature (situation of creative economy and creative industries; regulations and examples to enhance variety of urban creativity; population and characteristics of the city). Through the interviews various questions were asked (e.g.  How is Brazil involved in the Lusophone system?  What is urban creativity and how it is structured? How does historical background influence urban creativity? What is the role of political decision makers in urban creativity? What kind of influence urban creativity has on economy, tourism, international relations, image of the city? etc.). In the table below (see Table 1) the interviewees are listed.

Table 1: List of interviewees São Paulo (Source: by the author, 2018)

3.2. Urban creativity in São Paulo

The city São Paulo is the capital of the state São Paulo (see Image 2), it is the commercial and financial capital of South America. It was founded in 1554, when Jesuits priests decided it shall be a good and secure place to evangelize and teach Indian tribes, and rich in fresh water, in between the Anhangabaú and Tamanduateí rivers. Population of the city São Paulo is 11.253.503 (census 2010) the Metropolitan Region of São Paulo has 21.1 million inhabitants in 2014 (IBGE, 23-01-2018). It has a density of 7.398,26 habitants/km², and is the most populated city in Brazil, and in the Southern and Western Hemisphere. It has the highest GDP in Brazil, and has the largest economy in Latin America. The GDP per capita in 2015 is 17.085 USD (IBGE, 23-01-2018). São Paulo is the most multicultural city in Brazil, the biggest communities are Portuguese, Bolivian, Japanese, Italian, Spanish (SINCRE 2015). Neighbourhoods like Liberdade (Japanese) or Mooca (Italian) are famous for the promotion and influence of their immigrant background. The city has approximately 14 million visitors per year, their 83.9% are from Brazil, and only 16.1% come from outside of the country (SPTuris 2015). The city has 115 cultural centers, 140 theaters, 158 museums, 53 malls, which provide a great variety in terms of leisure and culture (São Paulo: Cidade do Mundo, 2017).

Image 2: Map of the city São Paulo within the state (Source: http://geosampa.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/PaginasPublica, 2018)

For São Paulo states the same what is valid to whole Brazil, the ambivalence of privileged and unprivileged places with incidence of environmental urban risks, mainly in the most precarious urban areas.” (Brasil em números, 2015:85).

In the city of São Paulo, marginalized communities have a strong demand for urbanism and urbanization. The desire for urbanism has a great influence on urban culture, for instance guerilla planting (see Image 3). There exists a lack of canalization and green space and a large demand for community spaces for locals to congregate. In most cases implementation is hindered by bureaucracy and politics. Another barrier is the mixture of different nations and cultures, where a homogenous group demanding their shared needs and values be met does not exist.

Hand urbanism is brutal in São Paulo, like the aggressively protected private property (e.g., barbed-wire fence, high walls), density of population, extremely high number of cars, low quality of public transportation, gross and narrow pavements, and problems of distinguishing between public and private property. In this environment, urban activism is becoming wider spread, where a group of people (both specialists and non-specialists) are seeking new forms of occupying public space, executing micro-transformation on the street scale and macro-transformation on the scale of public policies. Urban creativity is to create and explore freely in the city. The aim is to create a tolerant territory and to understand how to deal with conflicts. According to the interviewees, examples for creativity practices in São Paulo, the following categories are to setup (see Table 2):

● Cultural Institutes (e.g. MASP; Sala São Paulo; SESC Pompeia; Praça das Artes; Tomie Ohtake Institute; Galeria Choque Cultural; Vila Itororó; RedBull Station; Afro Brasil Museum; Mario de Andrade Library);

● Parts of the City and Developments (e.g. Minhocão; Largo da Batata - A cidade precisa de você; Vila Madalena; Mooca; Praça Roosevelt; Vale Anhangabaú; Vila Itororó; Parque Ibirapuera);

● Street Festivals, Events and Interventions (e.g.Minhocão; Largo da Batata - A cidade precisa de você; Avenida Paulista; Virada Cultural; Afro Transcendence Festival; Casa Rodante; Carnival; Projeto Imargem);

● Urban Phenomena (e.g. occupying public space; hip-hop communities; bike paths; the word and the habit of gambiarra, which is a sort of technical improvisation; street art initiatives);

● Educational Projects (e.g. School to the City, City to the School Project; City in the Night Seminar);

● Makerspace (e.g. RedBull Station; FabLab Livre SP).

Also important to mention two legal initiatives which foster the spread of urban creativity. One is the Lei Rouanet, which is a law to encourage cultural investments and help firms and citizens to finance cultural projects, by the deduction of a certain percentage of their income taxes. The projects must be approved by Brazilian Ministry of Culture (www.cultura.gov.br, 23-01-2018). The other law is the Lei Cidade Limpa, according to which since 2006 is prohibited to advertise in outside posters. Since the inauguration of this law street art projects have more space and representation in the city (www9.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/cidadelimpa/conheca_lei/conheca_lei.html, 23-01-2018).

Image 3: Urban creativity in form of guerilla gardening in front of Gallery Choque Cultural, Vila Madalena, São Paulo Source: Photo by the author, 2016

The interviewees explain the environment and the case of urban creativity in the city, as well the issue of identity in São Paulo. In some cases urban creativity derived from illegal and underground activities:

“What is urban creativity to survive? Skating for instance, but if you made any graffiti, it was a crime. So for me urban creativity has a strong relation with crime.” (Ricardo Ruiz)

“São Paulo does not have an identity. [...] Mapping the identities, as public policies can value them. Culture today passes through urbanism, which some fifteen years ago did not happen.” (Carlos Calil)

There is no significant pilot project in terms of urban creativity financed by public authorities. As the interviewees underline, there is a lack of common ideology and network required in order to articulate needs to the political decision makers. Since there is a deep crisis in the political issues (i.e., impeachment) there is a lack of leading figures who serve the public and stand for the locals’ needs. On the other hand, the project Cidade Limpa in 2006 was a new law, which forbids outdoor ads in the city. This allowed for massive creativity in street art:

The recent mayor (Fernando Haddad until January 1st 2017 - the author) was an important figure and supporter of urban art, he got his own spray can and made his own piece. The state has the duty to support financially the project, but they don't do it. That is why many private initiatives came out. Some months ago I gave classes of street art for elderly people, which was financed by Toyota. I am afraid of the new major, who is a real business man. (Alex Romano)

Romano’s prediction came true. In 2017 the new mayor had street art works erased and urban creativity is not promoted any longer.

Table 2: Urban Creativity examples in São Paulo reported by the interviewees

(Source: Pictures by the author, 2017)

Urban creativity is connected to values like redistribution, revalorization, reposition, gentrification of certain areas etc. which can serve the locals and their benefits: “Redistribution of the wealth is cruel. If you get people think creatively, critically, using the city as a medium, that kind of experiment is a possibility to change the oligopolies and provide access to the more. There are also good examples like start-ups.” (Ricardo Ruiz)

Although interviewees agree on the existence of influence of urban creativity on economy or tourism, they have doubts on the intensity. São Paulo is strong in street art and gives internationally renowned artists like Os Gemeos, “the city is still not exploited for tourism, but there are graffiti tours.” (Alex Romano)

Moreover, “the Virada Festival happens in an area which was forgotten for many years. Now it brings visibility and tourism, there is nothing like this, not even in Rio de Janeiro. It doesn’t exclude the periferias, is neither elitist nor discriminative.” (Carlos Calil) There are areas of the city, like Vila Madalena, which have recently became popular due to the visibility of “creativity", and are going through a strong gentrification process. Also city center provides a great scale of different activities, cultural experiences, spaces of culture. While the interviewees argue if São Paulo can be considered a creative city, they all agree that the city has very strong energies: “In my opinion São Paulo is a creative city with intense energy, includes also violent and strong fights. The city has many problems and that is why we are in a war of transformation, which means many deaths and political violence. We use creativity in a strong way.” (Baixo Ribeiro)

Most of the interviewees connect Lusophone cultures to the Portuguese times, which era does not have that positive consideration. Some of them correlate the brutality of colonization with the recent urban issues like the favelas and the violent culture (e.g. crimes, drugs etc.). Even today many jokes exist of the Portuguese, whereas they are seen and showed as imbecile. Although the majority of the interviewees do not find a direct link between Lusophone identity and urban creativity, in an indirect way it does exist. Examples are the Afro-Brazilian culture and heritage, the recent connections to African territories like Angola, architectural traces but mostly in other states like Bahía, gastronomical influence etc. Due whole Brazil is a great melting pot of different cultures, it is hard to observe a direct trace to the Lusophone world in terms of urban creativity.

4. Conclusion

The Lusophone space is mostly described as a virtual territory shaped by common language and culture. As language and culture are prior "soft power" elements to maintain common interests and affinities, and identity, the question is if there are recognizable traces in urban creativity which reflect on the common Lusophone history or cultural details and if there any common strategies in promoting urban creativity in the examined cities. Although in São Paulo different criteria towards the establishment of creative class and creative city, such as Florida’s 3T (talent, tolerance, technology) or ACRE factors (dependence of the road, clusters, localization, configuration and individual factors) are fulfilled, the strategic promotion of urban creativity still lacks by political decision makers. Urban creativity projects are based on private organizations and locals gathered in communities. This is a rather bottom-up process, and urban creativity is more related to urban development because of the needs of the locals. There are some projects (like FabLab) run by city hall, but there is no comprehensive strategy.

In São Paulo creativity derives from a very strong need and desire for a better quality of life, for more friendly environments, and for urbanism in general. This brutal urbanism (e.g., the lack of legislation, high criminal incidences) give a solid base from which urban activism can grow. Urban creativity includes cultural institutes, urban development projects and the transformation of special neighborhoods, street festivals and activities as well as educational programs, makerspaces and urban phenomena. For instance street art still works as a medium of the periphery and resistance, and as a tool of social projects in the communities. On the other hand, since the ban of outdoor advertisements there is more space for street artists to create.

There are certain areas which were recently gentrificated, although these attempts often fail (see Sala São Paulo in Cracolândia) and redistribution of wealth is still problematic. The city is still not exploited for tourism, but there are attempts to realize it. Opinions regarding a creative city image is more fragmented, likely due to a strong urban energy need. This fragmentation is also to be seen in the connection to the Lusophone world and this identity, which is hard to detect in the urban scale, also due to the mixture of several cultures and not only Portuguese. One of the strongest manifestation of the Lusophone background is the Afro-Brazilian culture in terms of religion, rituals, gastronomy etc. A future aim of the research is to extend the interviews to other Portuguese speaking countries, and establish a comparative study of the different methods, examples, and financing systems of urban creativity in order to better describe and understand the Lusophone space and their characteristics.

Supported by the ÚNKP-18-3-IV New National Excellence Program of the Ministry of Human Capacities

Works Cited

Bontje, Marco, Musterd, Sako, Kovács, Zoltán, Murie, Alan. 2011. "Pathways toward European Creative-Knowledge City-Regions" Urban Geography. 32. 1. 80-104.

Boschma, Ron, Martin, Ron. 2007. "Editorial: Constructing an evolutionary economic geography" Journal of Economic Geography, 7. 5. 537-548.

Brazilian Ministry of Culture. Access date: November 12th, 2017. Available at: www.cultura.gov.br

Costa, Pedro, Seixas, João, Roldão, Ana. 2009. From ‘Creative Cities’ to ‘Urban Creativity’? Creativity and Governance in the Contemporary City. Centro de Estudos sobre a Mudança Socioeconómica, ISCTE, Instituto Universitário de Lisboa. Lisboa: Dinâmia.

Cunha, Isabel Ferin. 2012. "The Portuguese Postcolonial Migration System: A Qualitative Approach" Cogo, Denise, ElHajji, Mohammed, Huertas, Amparo (eds.) 2012. Diásporas, migrações, tecnologias da comunicação e identidades transnacionais. Institut de la Comunicació (InCom-UAB) Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. 213-229. Access date: March 20th, 2016. Available at: http://incom.uab.cat/diasporas/download/diaporas_migraciones_tic_identidades_11.pdf

Csíkszentmihályi Mihály. 2008. Kreativitás. A flow és a felfedezés, avagy a találékonyság pszichológiája. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó.

Eckert, Denis, Murie, Alan, Musterd, Sako. 2010.  "Pathways in Europe" Musterd, Sako, Murie, Alan. (eds.) 2010. Making Competitive Cities. Chichester: Wiley, Blackwell. 35-42.

Farkas János. 2002. Információs- vagy tudástársadalom? Budapest: Aula Kiadó.

Florida, Richard. 2002. The rise of the creative class: And how it’s transforming work, leisure, community and everyday life. New York: Basic Books.

Howkins, John. 2002.  Az alkotás gazdagít. Bátorítás kreatív embereknek. Budapest: HVG Kiadó.

Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatísticas (IBGE) (2015): Brasil em números. Vol. 23., Rio de Janeiro. Access date: November 12th, 2017. Available at: https://biblioteca.ibge.gov.br/visualizacao/periodicos/2/bn_2015_v23.pdf

Kao, John. 1999. Ötletgyár avagy a kreatív szervezet. Budapest: SHL Hungary Kft.

Landry, C.harles. 2000. The Creative City: A Toolkit for Urban Innovators. London: Earthscan.

Lengyel Imre, Rechnitzer János. 2004. Regionális gazdaságtan. Budapest, Pécs: Dialóg Campus Kiadó.

Map of Portuguese Empire. Access date: January 23rd, 2018. Available at: http://what-when-how.com/western-colonialism/empire-portuguese-western-colonialism/

Map of São Paulo, Geosampa. Access date: December 1st, 2017. Available at: geosampa.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/PaginasPublica

Murányi Kata. 2016. "A gyarmati háborúk migrációjának hatása a portugál kultúrára a kreatív városok korában" Mediterrán Világ - Társadalomtudományi folyóirat. 2016. 37-38; 110-121.

Musterd, Sako, Bontje, Marco, Chapain, Caroline,  Kovács, Zoltán,  Murie, Alan. 2007. Accommodating Creative Knowledge. A literature review from a European perspective. ACRE report 1. – AMIDSt. Amsterdam: University of Amsterdam. Acess date: April 8th, 2016. Available at: http://dare.uva.nl/document/2/60607

Nye, Joseph Samuel Jr. 2008. The powers to lead. New York: Oxford University Press.

Observatório de Turismo e Eventos da SPTuris. 2017. São Paulo: Cidade do mundo.Dados e fatos do setor de negócios, eventos, viagens e turismo na capital paulista. Access date: November 12th, 2017. Available at: http://www.observatoriodoturismo.com.br/pdf/DADOS_E_FATOS.pdf

Porter, Michael Eeugene. 2000. "Location, competition and economic development: local clusters in a global economy" Economic Development Quarterly. 14. 1. 15-34.

Prefeitura de São Paulo. Access date: November 12th, 2017. Available at: www9.prefeitura.sp.gov.br/cidadelimpa/conheca_lei/conheca_lei.html

Salgó László. 1990. "Az utolsó gyarmatbirodalom összeomlása" Salgó László (ed.).1990. A gyarmati rendszer története 1956-1975. Budapest:Eötvös Lóránd Tudományegyetem, Bölcsészettudományi Kar, Tankönyvkiadó. 1990. II. 214-220.

São Paulo Turismo. Access date: November 12th, 2017. Available at: spturis.com

Ságvári Bence. 2005. A kreatív gazdaság elméletéről. Budapest: Elte-Ithaka.

Scott, Allen J. 1997. "The cultural economy of cities" International Journal of Urban and Regional Research. 21. (2).323-339.

Scott, Allen J. 2000. The cultural economy of cities: essays on the geography of image-producing industries. London: Sage.

SINCRE (Sistema Nacional de Cadastro e Registro de Estrangeiros), Access date: November 12th, 2017. Available at: http://www.observatoriodoturismo.com.br/pdf/COMUNIDADES_ESTRANGEIRAS.pdf

Szilágyi István. 2015. Portugália a huszadik században. Budapest: L'Harmattan Kiadó.

United Nations, Creative Economy Report, 2008. Acces date: March 16th, 2016. Available at: http://unctad.org/en/docs/ditc20082cer_en.pdf

INDIAN DIASPORA IN THE WORLD: THE CARIBBEAN REGION

ÉVA EMESE SZALAI

“All diasporas are unhappy, but every diaspora is unhappy in its own way.”

Vijay Mishra Literature of the Indian Diaspora – Theorizing the Diasporic Imaginary

1. Introduction: Indian diaspora in the world

The term “Indians” refers to people originated from the Indian subcontinent, and not to the “indians” as Native-Americans in North and South America. Today, the Indian diaspora is spread all across the globe, however, it is hard to estimate their exact number due to various factors. According to the Indian Ministry of Foreign Affairs there are about 28.5 million (MEA, 2015.) Indians living abroad (as on January 2015), while the report of UN Department of Economic and Social Affairs from 2015 estimates about 16 million (UN, 2015). The reason for this dispersion is the definition of the term 'overseas Indians', and who is counted to be 'Indian' in the diaspora.

There are three main categories to divide overseas Indians. First, Non-resident Indians (NRI), which is mainly a legal status to regulate taxation. Members of this group have Indian citizenship but live and/or work abroad for an indefinite time period. This definition is quite a new phenomenon: it originates from the time after World War II, and later was settled in the Income Tax Act (1961) and Foreign Exchange Regulation Act of 1973 (Mohta and Sinha, 2007:1110). People with NRI status are found in Southeastern Asia, developed countries (USA, Canada, UK), and in the Gulf region in greatest numbers. To the second group belong the Persons of Indian Origin (PIO) (Mohta and Sinha, 2007:1112). Members of this group are foreign citizens who hold Indian passport, or whose parents / grandparents / great-grandparents were born and now residents in India, or who is spouse of a citizen of India or a PIO. As we can see, this grouping is the widest definition of who is counted as of Indian origin. The third group is called Stateless Persons of Indian Origins (SPIO) (Mohta and Sinha, 2007:1113). They are the so-called 'stateless' people who cannot prove their Indian origin with any documentation. Therefore they cannot obtain Indian citizenship and many times their host country refuses to accept them as its own citizens. Nowadays, these cases are limited mostly to the territories of Sri Lanka and Myanmar.

If we want to define legally the term 'Indian', we have to look at Part II of the Indian Constitution entitled 'Citizenship'. One basic aspect of the Constitution is that rights to citizenship in India are not fundamental rights, and not constitutionally recognized. Furthermore, in India “citizenship is applied to only natural persons and connotes a legal status that determines civil and political rights within the context of domestic law” (Ashesh and Thiruvengadam, 2017:11). However, nationality can be applied to either natural persons or juristic persons and determines the civic rights of a person in the context of international law (Ashesh and Thiruvengadam, 2017:12). Unfortunately, since colonial times ended and India gained her independence from the British Empire in 1947, the question of citizenship has remained an unsolved question. According to Niraja Jayal (Ashesh and Thiruvengadam, 2017:15) Indian citizenship has changed from ius soli to ius sanguinis, although it has been disfavoring Muslims, Tamils, other minorities while Hindus enjoy most benefits of this concept. At this point it is shown how tight the relation is between citizenship law and Hindu nationalism. At the time of the partition of India citizenship became a tool of exclusion and a way to exclude certain group of people (in this case Muslims). Though digging deeper into nationalist ideas is not subject of this paper, it is a key factor in Indian politics which can affect foreign policy as well.

The question of citizenship (and dual citizenship) is an important factor in case of India and other host countries where the ratio of PIO is decisive (e.g.: Trinidad and Tobago 40%, Guyana 43%, Suriname 27%) and can seriously affect both countries' policies. There are various examples of high-ranked Indian-origin politicians: Kamla Persad-Bissessar, 1st female president of Trinidad and Tobago (2010-2015), Basdeo Panday, 5th prime minister of Trinidad and Tobago (1995-2001), Chedi Jaggan, 4th President of Guyana (1992-1997), Bharrat Jagdeo, 7th President of Guyana, Ashwin Adhin, Vice President of Suriname (2015-), Ramsewak Shankar, 4th President of Suriname (1988-1990).

2. Relationships between India and the Diaspora

On March 11th, 2011 Shri M. Hamid Ansari, vice-president of India, held on the annual meeting of Indian diplomats. He called the attention to India's growing influence in world politics since by 2050 India will become the world 2nd largest power (Ansari, 2011:29.). India's new foreign policy has evolved since the beginning of the 2000s. The goal of Indian Foreign Affairs Journal (IFAJ), published by the Association of Indian Diplomats, is to provide a forum and platform for those diplomats, statesmen, researchers where they can share their point of view, exchange ideas and experience, demonstrate research conclusions, discussing issues which affect India's foreign and security policy. The topics of IFAJ reflect India's actual interests and concerns such as neighborhood issues, India's role in world economy, India-US and India-China relations, international organizations (Commonwealth, EU, UN), multilateral partnerships (BRICS, ASEAN, APEC, etc.), role and situation of the Indian diaspora, foreign and security policies. However, since President N. Modi came into power, India's foreign policy is becoming rather proactive, putting more emphasis and attention to her fields of interest. Nowadays, neighborhood and regional policy (Pakistan, Sri Lanka, ASEAN, SAARC, Pacific partnership) jumped in to first place, then come India's relation with the great powers (USA, Russia, China), Indian Ocean Outreach (Sri Lanka, Mauritius, Seychelles).

India's relation with her diaspora community has been through an evolution, cooperations on cultural, political and social fields have been built up. In 2004, the Ministry of Overseas Indian Affairs was established and dedicated to manage all matters relating to the Indian diaspora. It has four functional service divisions: Diaspora Services, Financial, Emigration and Management Services. Each year on January 9th the Ministry sponsors the Pravasi Bharatiya Divas (Non-Resident Indian Day) as a commemoration of Mahatma Gandhi's return to India from South Africa in 1915. The main theme of the program differs from year to year, so does the venue. Chief guest of the event in 2012 was Ms Kamla Persad-Bissessar, PM of Trinidad and Tobago.

In 2006, the concept of Overseas Citizen of India (OCI) was launched. Most people mistakenly believes that cardholders will be automatically granted with rights. However, OCI cardholders have no rights to vote, hold government employment, or acquire agricultural properties in India. Main purpose of the introduction of OCI card is to provide easy and visa-free travel to India. Another possibility is the Know India Programme, a three-week orientation program for diaspora youth so they can get familiar with India better. It also serves as a unique forum for students and young professionals of Indian origin to share and exchange ideas, views and develop closer bonds with India.

It is an undoubted fact that diaspora communities mean not only social-political-cultural bond with the mother country, and they represent a strong economic factor as well. According to World Bank reports, India has maintained her rank as top remittance-receiving country in the past ten years:

Top remittances-receiving countries (US$ billions)

From the data collection of the Pew Research Center it turns out that in 2016 India received 2 million USD as remittance, while from the USA India received 10.5 billion USD, and about 25 billion USD from the Gulf region.[20] It is surprising though that in case of Guyana no data was found about sent or received remittances to and from India. Guyana’s major remittance sender is the USA with 188 million USD, then Canada with 63 million USD. It even received 3 million USD from Trinidad and Tobago.[21]

3. Indians of the Caribbean: Trinidad and Tobago, and British Guyana

Both India and Latin America developed in the new economic geography. After Japan and China, India arrived as a 'latecomer' into the region, however, the Caribbean's Indian diaspora communities have their potential enhancing economic contact with their neighborhood as well. Today's pattern of the Indian diaspora worldwide is the result of hundreds of years' of migration, such as colonization, globalization, and labor force. Therefore, there are “old” and “new” diaspora countries (MOIA, 2001): Malaysia, Mauritius, Fiji, Caribbean islands and South Africa are counted as old diaspora countries. After the abolition of slavery, mass migration started to that region with indentured labor contracts. Among the so-called new diaspora countries we find USA, UK, Canada, Australia, or New Zealand, where highly-qualified professionals migrated. Another subgroup is the Gulf countries: in the 1970s uneducated or semi-professional workers moved there and have worked in the oil industry since then.

The Caribbean region is a melting pot of all kind of nations, religions, culture and traditions. India and all the colors cannot be missing from this either. The following table shows the number of Indians imported to the Caribbean between 1838-1917 (Brij and Reeves, 2006:306):

The chart shows the two most populous country with Indian minority is Trinidad and British Guyana. Moreover, both countries are members of the British Commonwealth and this also provides a common platform to compare their Indian-descent population. In the next part of this paper I will focus on only these two countries.

The first Indians arrived in Trinidad and Tobago (Brij and Reeves, 2006) 1845, mostly from Kolkata, later from Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. They were indentured workers which was a very similar status to slavery (it was banned by that time). The reason for they chose migration was the dry season in Northern India which resulted severe lack of food, famine, and poverty. As a result of Britih dominance and unfair tax system, Indian peasants cannot afford to buy or even hire a piece of land to cultivate so they had to leave the county in order to survive. Indian craftsmen could not sell their products due to the cheap British commodities. 85% of those who left India were Hindus, 14% Muslims, and less than 1% Christians. Most of them never moved back to India, even after their contract finished. Since the 1920s situation of Indians started to change and develop: more and more families moved to bigger cities, and started to learn English. In the 1980s the economic boom stopped and many Indians who worked in the oil industry before moved to North America (USA, Canada).

Another important change of the 1970s was the change in family structure. While before, since the 1920s, the extended family pattern was dominant (with the oldest male's dominance as a figure of authority), from the 1970s it shifted to the nuclear family system. Although it conserved some aspects from the older family structure, values and hierarchy went through gradual changes. For instance, authority was based on age, education and socio-economic status, arranged marriages took into account the consent of the future couple, and the formal teaching of English also determined changes in family structure. By the 1970s, English replaced Bhojpuri language as the primal channel of communication. Bilingualism and 'multiple orientation' became more often among Indian families.

At the time the first Indian indentured laborers arrived in Trinidad, they were considered as outsiders, aliens. Nowadays, their integration achieved that they are essential parts of society, especially regarding Basdeo Panday as the first prime minister of Trinidad of Indian descent. Viranjini Munasinghe in his book 'Callaloo or Tossed Salad?' (Munansinghe, 2001.) studies the history and ethnography of the Indian Community in Trinidad. She argues that although most of Indian immigrants arrived from the same region of North East India, they were not a homogenous group. Their difference in language, cast, or religion developed into relatively homogenous group by nowadays. Development of a common language, Bhojpuri, religious divisions between Hindus and Muslims and cast differences came to a lesser extent which helped to develop the Indo-Trinidadian identity (Caswell) Indo-Trinidadians are committed and loyal to the nation of Trinidad, but at the same time they are proud of their Indian roots. These two identities are not exclusive or contradictory for them. The largest ethnic group in Trinidad is the population of Indian origin and this implies close bilateral relations with India. Several bilateral agreements have been signed, and cooperation in diverse areas (e.g. education, culture, technology) have been concluded (MEA, 2016.) There is potential for growth of bilateral trades in textiles, energy, machinery, pharmaceuticals, IT, music and film.

The situation of Indians of British Guyana is different those of in Trinidad. Although British Guyana (Brij and Reeves, 2006) is situated on mainland South America, it is considered to be part of the Caribbean due to their shared historic bonds. Colonized by the British and some territories by the Dutch in the 16th and 17th century, Guyana became a flourishing agricultural land as the Dutch made it habitable by building out a system of dams, drains, canals and ditches. In 1814 all the Dutch colonies (Essequibo, Barbice, Demerara) were seized under British rule until 1966. Dutch and British territories were under separate administration until 1831 when all colonies were united under the name British Guyana.

Among Guyana's ethnicities we find Africans, East Indians, and Amerindians in largest number. Guyana never became a mature slave society, and when emancipation came in the 1830s freed Africans were able to buy lands and create their own villages. Tension between the planters and free African workers grew and plantations could not handle the lack of labor, therefore, indentured Indian labor was introduced. Later, tension would grow (and still present even nowadays) between Indians and Africans, as the two most numerous minority groups. Indian indenture in Guyana lasted over 75 years. Workers came from Uttar Pradesh and western Bihar, and a few percent from contemporary Tamil Nadu. Desperate people migrated to the plantation colonies to escape from famine, diseases, poverty, and the caste-system. Young males were chasing the hope of a new life, letting behind huge family debts which were inherited from generations to generations. Young girls were trying to escape from arranged marriages, or the sati tradition. Sati means that after the death of the husband, the widowed wife would have to die as well. Since mortality rate was high among young males, their wives chose to escape and find a new life. The Indo-Guyanese universe was based on 'Ramayana', a mythical imagination of their 'homeland'. Memories from the real India was full of recent traumas, a terminal break with families, even children, and poverty. Ramayana is the narrative of triumphal returning from exile, and redemption, while Lord Rama's wife, Sita, is the personification of Indian womanhood. Moreover, an inclusive Hinduism emerged in British Guyana and Trinidad and admission for the lower casts was also possible.

Indian plantation workers combined passive and active resistance: on plantation Leonora the tradition of militancy was born in 1869. Workers rose to protest against low wages, and poor living circumstances, and violence spread on other plantations as well. Unprecedented solidarity emerged between Hindus and Muslims due to the difficulties of reclaiming land. As a result, many more Indians remained in rural environment than in Trinidad. This sense of community among Indians gave power to the formation of a new middle class (established by the 1920s) which focus was on rice cultivation, cattle farming, Western education and commerce. They were aided by the Canadian Presbyterian Mission (started in Trinidad in 1868 exclusively among Indians) which encouraged the conservation of Hindu traditions (wearing dhoti and sari, use of the Hindi language, singing of bhajans, etc.), and also Canadian missionaries were expected to speak Hindi so they could teach the Bible and narrate Christian stories in Hindi. The Canadian Mission established primary schools on the plantations which offered basic education to Indian boys, and later since 1933 for Indian girls as well. The situation of women was ambiguous and tenuous. During the establishment of indentureship the ratio of women to men was 40 to 100, and it did not change considerably until the 1920s when the ratio changed to 84 to 100 in villages and 76 to 100 in the plantations. Women who travelled and sought freedom in Trinidad could not find it due to patriarchal family structures, the tension between Muslims and Hindus, and lack of financial stability. Marriages were still pre-arranged, and the newly-wed women become 'properties' of the husband's family which worked as an economic corporate unit. The ideal of Sita as in the 'Ramayana' did not help them to escape, it rather preserved their place in the community. V.S. Naipaul, the famous Trinidad-born writer says that joint family “protects and imprisons.”

The official economy, based on sugar, rice, forestry, bauxite, and gold, is nowadays becoming more and more dominated by drug-based activities as Guyana is a key-location to drug transport from Colombia and Brazil to North America. Corruption reaches the highest levels in the state and government. Another problem in Guyana is racial bigotry between Africans and Indians: Africans dominate the army and police force however, Indians have the numbers to win elections. Africans believe that they cannot win in free and fair elections. Another grave problem is the decline in education standards since the 1970s. Most of the young people do not see a future in Guyana and those who can will leave or have left the country already. Destruction of the Amazon rainforest, climate change, droughts and floods, political and economic instability are striking the country. Power-sharing between Africans and Indians is urgent and inescapable, furthermore, the promotion of anti-corruption and anti-drug economic and political structure is essential for a peaceful cohabitation.

4. Who Are We? Where Are We From? Where Are We Going?

Indian foreign policy has been based on the concept that “we are all Indians”, they have the same roots and same origins, and the common past which is India. But, is it enough that 'we are all Indians'? (emphasis added). Indians migrated to all parts of the world, from different social, religious and economic background, and had different aims why they wanted to settle down elsewhere. Motivation of those who were forced and had to leave are not equal to those who won a scholarship or a well-paid job in a developed country. If we look at the case of Trinidad and British Guyana, the difference is huge between the two Indian diasporas, not mentioning those in the UK or in the Gulf countries.

After India gained independence the policy of non-interference was set up, Nehru's view about the Indian diaspora was similar: India cannot fight for their rights, and will not intervene in other states' inner issues. With India's rising economic and military power this implication has changed drastically. Modi's government and proactive outreach towards the diaspora has entered a new level. If a person is Indian it is enough to get help from the Indian government, “the color of the passport does not matter” (Aiyar, 2017). However, too much interference into local politics of another country might cause some crucial and uncomfortable moments for both sides. Often those who migrated into the 'old' diaspora countries chose to stay and never returned to India. Their sorrow and pain for the loss of homeland overwrote the magic of the 'new world' and their new home. They are stuck in the nostalgic memory of the past and idealized India, and they did not feel comfortable with the new land since it was already someone else's home. In the 'new' diaspora countries it might be easier to reconnect with the roots and India since migration to these countries has been continuous in the past 70-75 years. The feeling of 'rootlessness' and the sense of 'lost' in the world has become part of life in the diaspora communities, however, at the same time they are precious milestones on the journey of who are we? Where are we from? And where are we going?

Works Cited

Aiyar, G. 2017. Is India's diaspora policy a double-edged sword? Access date: January 11th, 2018. Available at: http://www.thehindu.com/thread/politics-and-policy/article17012930.ece

Ansari, M.H. 2011. “The challenges to Indian diplomacy in the 21st century” Indian Foreign Affairs Journal. Access date: January 19th, 2018. Available at: http://associationdiplomats.org/Publications/ifaj/Vol6/6.1/Annual%20Lecture%202011.pdf

Ashesh, A. and Thiruvengadam, A. 2017. Report on Citizenship Law: India. Access date: January 10th, 2018. Available at: http://cadmus.eui.eu/bitstream/handle/1814/47124/GLOBALCIT_CR_2017_12.pdf

Brij, V. and Reeves, Peter et al. 2006a. “Guyana” The Encyclopedia of the Indian Diaspora. University of Hawaii Press.

Brij, V. and Reeves, Peter et al. 2006b. “Trinidad and Tobago” The Encyclopedia of the Indian Diaspora. University of Hawaii Press.

Caswell, M. The Indian Community in Trinidad: An Interview with Viranjini Munansinghe. Access date: January 25th, 2018. Available at: https://asiasociety.org/indian-community-trinidad-interview-viranjini-munasinghe

“Migration and Remittances Factbook 2008” The World Bank. Access date: January 21st, 2018. Available at:http://documents.worldbank.org/curated/en/743291468137112462/pdf/429130PUB0Migr101OFFICIAL0USE0ONLY1.pdf

“Migration and Remittances Factbook 2011” The World Bank. Access date: January 21st, 2018. Available at: https://siteresources.worldbank.org/INTLAC/Resources/Factbook2011-Ebook.pdf 13

“Migration and Remittances Factbook 2016” The World Bank. Access date: January 19th, 2018. Available at:

https://siteresources.worldbank.org/INTPROSPECTS/Resources/334934-1199807908806/4549025-1450455807487/Factbookpart1.pdf

Ministry of External Affairs (MEA). 2015. Population of Overseas Indians. Access date: January 20th, 2018. Available at:  http://www.mea.gov.in/images/pdf/3-population-overseas-indian.pdf

Ministry of External Affairs (MEA). 2016. India – Trinidad and Tobago Relations. Access date: January 17th, 2018. Available at: https://www.mea.gov.in/Portal/ForeignRelation/Trinidad_and_Tobago_18_02_2016.pdf

Ministry of Overseas Indian Affairs (MOIA). 2001. Report of the High Level Committee on the Indian Diaspora. Access date: February 7th, 2018. Available at: https://www.mea.gov.in/images/pdf/1-executive-summary.pdf

Mishra, V. 2007. Literature of the Indian Diaspora – Theorizing the Diasporic Imaginary. Routledge.

Munansinghe, V. 2001. Callaloo or Tossed Salad? Ithaka: Cornell University Press.

Pew Research Center. 2016a. Remittances Flows Worldwide in 2016: India – Incoming Remittances. Access date: January 19th, 2018. Available at: http://www.pewglobal.org/interactives/remittance-map/

Pew Research Center. 2016b. Remittances Flows Worldwide in 2016: Guyana – Incoming Remittances. Access date: January 19th, 2018. Available at: http://www.pewglobal.org/interactives/remittance-map/

Sinha, A. and Mohta, M. (ed.). 2007. Indian Foreign Policy: Challenges and Opportunities. New Delhi: Foreign Service Institute.

UN Department of Economic and Social Affairs (UN). 2015. International Migration Report 2015. Access date: January 1st, 2018. Available at: http://www.un.org/en/development/desa/population/migration/publications/migrationreport/docs/MigrationReport2015_Highlights.pdf

Further websites

Indian Foreign Affairs Journal (IFAJ):

http://associationdiplomats.org/Publications/ifaj/Download.htm

Know India Programme: http://www.kip.gov.in

Overseas Indian Affairs: http://www.mea.gov.in/overseas-indian-affairs.htm

Abbreviations

IFAJ – Indian Foreign Affairs Journal

MEA – Ministry of External Affairs

MOIA – Ministry of Overseas Indian Affairs

UN – United Nations

TRANSNATIONALISM AND RESISTANCE: THE BORDER AT THE 49TH PARALLEL, THE VIETNAM RESISTER, THEN AND NOW

MARY ANN STEGGLES

In 2016, I was very fortunate to receive a Canada Council Jean A. Chalmers Grant for the Crafts. The purpose was to provide the funds necessary to establish the impact of Vietnam War resister migrants on the history of Canadian ceramics. I have used the term ‘resister’ as it was defined by Jessica Squires in her book, Building Sanctuary: The Movement to Support Vietnam War Resisters in Canada, 1965-73. That definition is "any American immigrant who came to Canada to avoid complicity in, or out of opposition to, their government's actions in Vietnam” (2014: x). By using such a broad definition, it allowed me to include the women who accompanied the men, both draft dodgers, and military deserters. But there were others also. A good example, is a Quaker who completed his alternative service by teaching at a Quaker boy’s school in Iowa. Afterwards, having no obligation to serve in any military capacity, the young man and his wife decided that they preferred to live in a non-militaristic country and chose to come to Canada. Of the 117 participants in my research project, there were others with similar stories. Throughout the personal interviews and e-mail correspondence, I was able to develop a better sense of the complex nature of these individuals and their changing attitudes towards the concept of home. This paper analyzes the data collected in my earlier study in order to demonstrate that the Vietnam era migrants do, indeed, meet the definition of a transnational migrant, a person who moved from one country to another but who continues participating in social relationships that embed them in more than one country. In other words, those young people who migrated to Canada because of the Vietnam War still continue to hold various ties with the United States.

Beth and Peter Powning “imagined going in canoes to a place electricity would never find them, building log cabins, setting trap lines, hunting, planting gardens in riverside clearings” (1995:8). Powning recalls, “The Vietnam War was present in our lives like an inevitable disease. Young men spent their creativity avoiding or sabotaging the draft – feigning injury or illness, mailing pumpkins to draft boards. The future had no shape. Peter and I wanted to migrate, like the birds” (1999:5). Moreover, migrate they did. The couple purchased 250 acres with an abandoned farmhouse plus a cluster of buildings, a barn, and a row of Canadian maples at the end of a long lane just outside Sussex, New Brunswick (1999:8).

The Powning’s optimism and their search for a peaceful abode away from the social unrest in the United States is representative of the tens of thousands of young Americans, men and women, who crossed the 49th parallel into Canada from the mid-1960s through the 1970s. Wayne Cardinalli remembers the era well when he states:

I participated in the early marches on Washington to protest the war. Those were years of hope that we could stop the violence. Then came all those events that broke the bubble of innocence. John and Bobby Kennedy, and Martin Luther King were assassinated one after another in such a short period of time. There was no time to catch your breath. There were the Kent State killings and the women and children killed at My Lai. It was all too much. Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix overdosed and this added to a feeling of hopelessness. The last straw for me was when U.S. troops invaded Cambodia. It was at that point I decided that there might be better places to live (2017).

Feelings such as those of Cardinalli, were exacerbated by evening news reports showing the bombardment of a small, underdeveloped Asian country by the most powerful nation in the world. The young men who did not want to be complicit in the US war in Vietnam believed they had only two practical options: federal prosecution with five years in a federal prison or go to Canada (Jones, 2017).

Those that chose to come to Canada brought their social and political values with them. These included the environment, human rights and nuclear weapons. By the time they crossed the Canadian border, many had already abandoned conventional Western thought embracing, instead, the spirituality of the East and psychedelic drugs to find meaning for their existence (Konoff, 2016). They arrived in Canada believing that the values that they held so dear – equality, justice, and hospitality – were also those shared by the Canadian government and Canadians in general. Those core principles were, to these young people, the antithesis to those of the United States (Hardwick, 2010; Roszak, 1969). When Walter Ostrom left the United States for Canada, he could hardly believe his luck. He had been hired to teach at one of the hippest art schools in North American, NSCAD, and he would be living in Canada, “the land of Pierre Trudeau, a friend of Castro and draft dodgers leading a nation of peace-niks" (2017).

Several scholars have examined how an immigrant’s identity, citizenship, and their concept of home changes over time (Hardwick, 2010). The late Susan Hardwick, an expert in human geography at the University of Oregon, suggests that the migrant’s identity is shaped by events in the country they are leaving and the reception they experience in the host country (87). Susan Weaver compared the reception of back-to-the-landers, many of whom were Vietnam resisters, on Cape Breton Island with the Gulf Islands of Lasqueti, Denman, and Hornby in British Columbia (2013). Her findings conclude that a small number of newcomers dispersed amongst a much more significant population receive a more genuine welcome (67, 73). Weaver maintains that this is because there was no fear amongst the locals that their lifestyle would be impacted in any way by the newcomers (67, 73). If the new settlers needed advice, the older residents on Cape Breton were happy to help (76). In contrast, the sheer numbers of incomers and summer visitors felt like an invasion to the established residents on the West Coast (23). The reception that the youth encountered was less than harmonious ranging from one of mistrust, disregard or all-out hostility (81). The disdain for the newcomers' nude swimming, long hair, use of drugs, squatting, disregard for personal property, and debates over land use and logging were part of an underlying fear that the young people would threaten their entire way of life (81). All of this had an impact on the Vietnam era settlers and their feeling of belonging and ‘place’. In contrast, John Gower's 1986 Master’s degree thesis, The Impact of Alternative Ideology on Landscape: The Back-to-the-Land Movement in the Slocan Valley reveals that those who settled in that isolated region of British Columbia received a much more hospitable reception even though their numbers were relatively large (1986:82). The long-term residents, such as the Dukhobors, the Argenta Quakers, and the Japanese-Canadians who returned after being interned in the area during World War II, "recognised in each other's words and actions echoes of their own beliefs" (Gower, 82).  They offered the new settlers advice, helped them when help was needed and brought food and firewood when the newcomers stock was depleted (Gower, 82; Rodgers, 2014, 65-84). Canadian historian, Kathleen Rodgers asserts that the Vietnam era resisters worked hard to develop a sense of belonging in Canada because “returning to the United States was an unappealing option” (29).

It was fortuitous for the American migrants that the Canadian economy was experiencing a boom at the same time that the number of young people demanding university degrees was significantly increasing. This meant an expansion of universities and colleges across Canada. Because there were too few Canadians with advanced degrees to fill these academic positions, those immigrants with advanced university degrees were highly desirable. Information on the education of the participants in my 2016 study indicates that at the time of their application for landed immigrant status, one young man was studying for his PhD, twenty-two had undergraduate degrees while twenty-four had Masters’ degrees.

It has been approximately fifty years since these idealistic-youth immigrated to Canada. Of the 117 persons in my study, more than 60% chose British Columbia as their destination of choice. Renee Kasinsky, writing in 1976, believed that it was the natural beauty and the mild climate that attracted the young people (12). A large number said they were also drawn to like-minded individuals residing in British Columbia who wanted to live in harmony with the earth and who respected and encouraged craft production. For those seeking such a lifestyle, the creation of handmade ceramics “was linked to a countercultural politics of anti-commercialism and a rejection of mass production” (Wilson, 2012, 87). There were also other reasons that these particular young people were drawn to the Gulf Islands and the interior of British Columbia. Initially, many needed to get as far away from the RCMP as they could, and both were ideal locations (Carr, 2015; Gower, 45, 61). The land was isolated and reasonably priced, and government bureaucracy was limited (Carr, 2013, 21-22; Gower, 75). They learned how to build houses, often using found materials. They restored derelict buildings, planted gardens, and raised animals all the while, making pottery, organising food coops, theatre groups and home schooling for their children. Many choose to live in a pre-industrial state without modern conveniences such as electricity, running water or flush toilets (Gower, 75). They built studios and kilns, organised sales and local craft markets. Nancy Janovicek, in her studies of counterculture youth, reminds us that the simple, self-sustaining existence sought by those settling in the rural areas was a rejection of American militaristic, capitalistic, and suburban values (2013: 10). The alternative lifestyles chosen by the young people, often with a chainsaw as the only modern convenience, were demanding. For those who did hold on, who stayed the course, they earned the respect and acceptance of many of the established members of the community.

Those who obtained teaching positions were welcomed into Canada. Under the leadership of the American migrants, new programmes and curriculums were designed and new degree options established. Indeed, the presence of these young Americans in Canadian universities and colleges had a profound impact on the development of the university and college degrees and programmes in ceramics, a move away from the British diploma system to the American model of a four-year degree (Steggles, 2017). The influx still resonates today. Unlike those resisters who chose to set up their own studios and who were part of the back to the land movement, those who took up teaching positions had privileges others didn’t. Studios were provided as were the use of all kilns and materials. They were also eligible for substantial federal and provincial grants and their art practice and the number of exhibitions of their work grew. A few received the highest recognition that Canada could bestow on an artist, the Saidye Bronfman Award which later became the Governors-General Award for Visual and Media Arts and the Order of Canada. Most are retired, but many still work in their studios preparing work for exhibition or working on public or private commissions.

The individuals in my study now range in age from 65 to 83 years. When they migrated to Canada, there were only five ways to communicate with their family: face-to-face meetings inside Canada, messages through friends, letters, the telegraph or the telephone. Early on, most maintained close connections with friends and family and had an interest in US politics. As time passed, their interest in some former friends and US politics began to wane. The majority said they were busy making a living, establishing an art practice, raising children, and settling into a new life. Their interest in American politics continued to decline, rather dramatically over the decades, until Barack Obama became the Democratic candidate for President in 2008. A number of those with dual citizenship said they contributed to Obama's campaign because his values resonated with theirs. A few said they felt invigorated when Obama was elected President. A small number still vote in US elections; it is unclear how many voted earlier. Today, most use the social media platform, Facebook, as well as Facetime or Skype to communicate with friends, family, and colleagues. Many continue to watch American news channels.

Their ability or willingness to travel to the United States varied over the decades. Many of those who received a pardon under Present Carter’s 1977 Amnesty Proclamation, began travelling to the United States if finances allowed. As the decades passed and friends and family died, the number of trips across the border decreased. There are several reasons for this. Their experiences crossing the border at the 49th parallel are often vastly different from the assumptions made by Matthews and Satzewich where “returning home for American transnationals in Canada is often no more difficult than taking a Sunday drive” (167). Many say they experienced harassment by US Customs and Border Protection agents. One participant said: "These are ex-military. They look at the screen, and it shows my Selective Service status and that I was living in Canada during the time of the Vietnam War. It automatically makes them hostile” (Painter, 2017). Others cite rising passport costs, increasing health concerns as well as costly health care premiums for travel as some of the reasons they no longer go to the United States. A few, however, winter in either Florida or Arizona. Almost without exception, those who have dual citizenship use their Canadian passport when travelling abroad due to a rise in un-American feelings.

The timing of my research, 2016, encountered heightened feelings of anti-Americanism amongst many of my subjects. Since the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States, eleven individuals have renounced or applied to renounce their US citizenship. An additional twenty-three state that they would like to shed their US citizenship but the high cost imposed by the State Department (currently $2350 US) means it is not financially feasible. One said that she wanted to renounce her US citizenship, but the feelings of her parents against it prevented her. Today, many of the participants in my study say they are embarrassed to be called an American.

My findings are that each of the 117 participants in my 2016 study demonstrates one or more transnational behaviours. Many still maintain a dual nationality and travel, albeit less now, to the United States. A few vote or continue to contribute to particular political parties or individual campaigns. They regularly communicate with those friends and family who are still alive and attend professional development workshops, exhibitions, and various social events in the United States. They read newspapers, either print or in digital form, or both, and watch US news on television. They can keep informed on United States politics if they choose. They have contributed to bringing America's culture in the form of university ceramic programmes to Canada. Some moved to Canada where their ancestors had established lives. Indeed, out of the 117 individuals, 95.9% or 106 persons, remained in Canada, a higher percentage than other studies. They do not refer to themselves as ‘transnationals’. Indeed, most are probably not aware of the term or the theories. What is known is that after fifty years, these migrants unequivocally call Canada ‘home’.

Works Cited

Carr, Diane. “Recollections and Reflections: 1970-1985 John Pagett (ed.). 2013. Back to the Land. Victoria: Art Gallery of Greater Victoria. 21-87.

Carr, Diane. Conversations with the author, October 2015.

Cardinalli, Wayne. Conversations with the author, September, 2017.

Gower, John. 1986. “The Impact of Alternative Ideology on Landscape: The Back-to-the-Land Movement in the Slocan Valley” (M.A. Thesis, Carleton University, ON).

Hardwick, Susan. 2010. “Fuzzy Transnationals? American Settlement, Identity, and Belonging in Canada”. American Review of Canadian Studies. Vol. 40, no. 1. 86-103

Janovicek, Nancy. “Rural Countercultures” John Pagett (ed.). 2013. Back to the Land. Victoria: Art Gallery of Greater Victoria. 9-21.

Jones, Joseph. E-mail correspondence with the author, 2 November 2017.

Kasinsky, Renee G. 1976. Refugees from Militarism: Draft-Age Americans in Canada. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books.

Konoff, Ken. E-mail correspondence with the author, 28 March 2017.

Matthews, Kim and Vic Satzewich. “The Invisible Transnationals? Americans in Canada” Satzewich, V and Lloyd Wong (eds.). 2006. Transational Identities and Practices in Canada. Vancouver and Toronto: UBC Press. 164-179.

Ostrom, Walter. E-mail correspondence with the author, 5 March 2017.

Painter, Roger. Conversations with the author, 28 May, 2017.

Powning, Beth. 2014. Home: Chronicle of a North Country Life. Frederiction, NB: Goose Lane Editions.

Rodgers, Kathleen. 2014. Welcome to Resisterville: American Dissidents in British Columbia. Vancouver: UBC Press.

Roszak, Theodore. 1969. The Making of a Counter Culture: Reflections on the Technocratic Society and Its Youthful Opposition. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Squires, Jessica. 2014. Building Sanctuary: The Movement to Support Vietnam War Resisters in Canada, 1965-73. Vancouver: UBC Press.

Steggles, Mary Ann. Just Across the Border: Opportunity! Vietnam-Era Resisters Change the Landscape of Canadian Ceramics. Lantin, Martina (ed.). 2017. Studio Potter. vol. 45., no. 2. 55-59.

Weaver, Sharon. 2013. “Making Place on the Canadian Periphery: Back-to-the-Land on the Gulf Islands and Cape Breton” (Ph.D. Thesis, University of Guelph, ON).

Wilson, Jeremy. (1999). Talk and Log: Wilderness Politics in British Columbia, 1965-1999. Vancouver, British Columbia: University of British Columbia Press.

HOME(S), BORDERS, AND TRANSGRESSIONS – THE STORY TOLD BY INSCRIPTION ROCK

ANDREA KÖKÉNY

El Morro National Monument is located on an ancient east-west trail in western New Mexico. The main feature of this National Monument is a great sandstone promontory with a pool of water at its base. As a shaded oasis in the western U.S. desert, it has been at the crossroads of different cultures, different peoples, and different periods in history, and has seen many explorers, home-seekers, and travelers who left signatures, names, dates, and stories of their treks on it. The Spanish explorers called it El Morro (The Headland). The Zuñi Indians call it "A'ts'ina" (Place of writings on the rock), and Americans call it Inscription Rock.

In my paper I propose to discuss what these inscriptions reveal about the history of the borderland region and the constant interaction of the people who migrated through it. Atop the promontory we can find the remains of an Ancestral Pueblo settlement from over seven hundred years ago. Between 1250 and 1350, about 1500 people lived here. They were most probably attracted by the permanent pool of water formed from rain and melted snow, which was the only water source for more than fifty miles. The location was also strategic because of the nearly impenetrable bluff.

The sacred Pueblo ruins at the site offer great insight into the culture of the Zuñis and their ancestors. The Puebloan culture developed about two thousand years ago. It consisted of skilled farmers and master builders, whose earliest structures were pit houses built mostly underground. Eventually, these pueblos evolved into above ground multi storied towns the people constructed. They used flat sedimentary rocks piled one on top of another and cemented with clay. The A’ts’ina ruins that archeologists unearthed in the 1950s demonstrate the advanced building skills of these ancestral Puebloans. Until its abandonment near 1400, this 200 by 300-foot pueblo above El Morro could house between one thousand to one thousand and five hundred Puebloans in the almost nine hundred interconnecting rooms that surrounded the open courtyard. We can still see today the square and circular underground kivas where the Zuñi ancestors performed religious ceremonies to bring rain and abundant crops, which traditionally consisted of corn, beans, and squash. As skilled farmers, they grew crops in fields the people irrigated with the rainwater collected in cisterns atop the mesa. They also irrigated their fields with the water from the pool located at the bottom of the headland, which they reached by using still evident hand and toe steps etched into the face of the cliff.

A'ts’ina was the easternmost of six large towns into which the people of the El Morro Valley gathered for defense, but at the end of the 14th century they gradually abandoned it for lower altitudes and new centers in the Zuñi pueblos the Spanish encountered in the 16th century (Gutiérrez, 1991: xx–xxix; Weber–deBuys, 2017:101). Although the Ancestral Puebloans abandoned A’ts’ina long before the Spanish arrived, they left behind many petroglyphs that in 1605 inspired the Spanish conquistador, Don Juan de Oñate, to record his stay at El Estanque de Peñol, which is Spanish for „pool at the great rock.” His name was the first of hundreds of Spanish inscriptions carved at El Morro, most of which include the standard phrase pasó por aquí or passed through here, followed by the traveler’s name and date of passage.

It was on September 21, 1595, that Oñate was awarded a contract by King Philip II of Spain to lead and expedition to and settle New Mexico. Spreading Catholicism was a primary objective, but many colonists enlisted in hopes of finding a new source of silver. After many delays they set out on their journey in early 1598. Oñate forded the Rio Grande at the famous crossing point of El Paso del Norte, which he discovered in May 1598, after making a formal declaration of possession of New Mexico on April 30 of that year. In July 1598, he established the headquarters of the New Mexico colony at San Juan pueblo, and thus extended the Camino Real by more than six hundred miles (Hammond, 1979:24-26; Simmons, 1991:58-61, 84-87, Gutiérrez, 1991:48-49; Weber, 1992:77-78). Oñate gradually explored the surrounding area and solidified his position. In 1601, he undertook a large expedition east to the Great Plains region of central North America. The expedition party included a hundred and thirty Spanish soldiers and twelve Franciscan priests, and a retinue of a hundred and thirty Indian soldiers and servants. They journeyed across the plains eastward as far as present-day Texas and Oklahoma (Bolton, 1916:250-267; Hammond, 1979:26-27; Gutiérrez, 1991:54). Oñate’s next major expedition went to the west, from New Mexico to the lower valley of the Colorado River. The party of about three dozen men set out from the Rio Grande valley in October 1604. They traveled by way of Zuñi and Hopi pueblos to the Colorado River, and descended the river to its mouth in the Gulf of California in January 1605, before returning to New Mexico along the same route. The purpose of the expedition may have been to locate a port by which New Mexico could be supplied, as an alternative to the long and laborious overland route from New Spain (Bolton, 1916:268-280; Hammond, 1979:27-28; Weber, 1992:82). Oñate and his party probably passed by El Morro on their way to the west, but it was only in 1605, on their return trip from the Gulf of California – which he thought was the Pacific Ocean and which Spaniards of his time called the South Sea –, that Oñate carved the oldest European inscription that remains on El Morro: "Paso por aq[u]i el adelantado don ju/an oñate del descubrimiento de la mar del sur a 16 de Abril del 1605." In English it means: “There passed this way the Adelantado Don Juan de Oñate, from the discovery of the South Sea, on the 16th of April, 1605.” (Weber, 1992:82-83; Weber – deBuys, 2017:97).

Thereafter many Spaniards passed that way and inscribed their names on the walls of El Morro. It is important to explain the name and to point out that a morro is not merely a bluff. The term suggests a headland, especially a rock promontory that marks a coastline for sailors – a navigational aid, as El Morro aided navigation of the land. On November 8, 1692, when Diego de Vargas, the Spanish Governor of New Mexico passed by on an expedition to draw the Ácomas, Zuñis and Hopis back into the Spanish fold following the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, he noted in his journal that he had come to „this place of El Morro […] a very large, extended peñol – i. e. a big rock –, at the foot of which is a hollow like an inverted cupola in which rainwater collects.” (Gutiérrez, 1991:143-144; Weber – deBuys, 2017:97-98). Vargas stopped at the sight and decided to leave his own inscription on the rock: ”Aqui estuvo de General Don Diego de Vargas, quien consuisto a nuestra Santa Fe y a la Real Corona todo el Nuevo Mexico a su costa Ano de 1692.” In English: “Here was the General Don Diego de Vargas, who conquered for our Holy Faith, and for the Royal Crown, all the New Mexico, at his expense, Year of 1692.” (Weber, 1992:137-138; Weber – deBuys, 2017:98).

The most important causes of the Pueblo Revolt of 1680 were rooted in the Spanish imperial policies that were to incorporate the Native American communities in the Spanish colonial system. Franciscan missions were established to convert the Native population to Catholicism and integrate them into the imperial economic and social system. The Pueblos were forced to provide tribute to the colonists in the form of labor and taxes. The encomienda system restricted the Natives’ access to fertile farmlands and water supplies while the missions were an assault on their traditional religion. All this caused unrest among the Native communities and led to the outbreak of the Pueblo Revolt in 1680. They believed that once the Spanish were killed or expelled, the ancient Pueblo gods would reward them with health and prosperity. The Puebloans pillaged the Spanish settlements, killed more than four hundred people including twenty-one missionaries, and thus forced the Spanish to retreat – at least temporarily (Gutiérrez, 1991:130-140; Weber, 1992:134-136). The Spanish wanted to return to New Mexico in order to counterweight the French advances into the Mississippi valley that intensified in the mid-1680s, and to create a defensive frontier against the increasingly aggressive nomadic Indians on their northern borders (Meinig, 1986:194; Weber, 1992:148-152; Gutiérrez: 1991:146-148). However, it was only thirteen years after the Pueblo Revolt that Spaniards could gradually reestablish their control over the region with the leadership of Governor Diego de Vargas. The struggle for independence took a heavy toll on the Pueblo communities. Many of them died or fled. The Zuñis, who occupied six villages in the middle of the 16th century when the Spanish first appeared in New Mexico, were reduced to a single village (Halona). Partly because of the revolt, partly because of the declining population, the Spaniards had to ease their control over the territory. The encomienda system was not reestablished, labor and tax demands were reduced, and the Franciscan missionaries did not try to oppress the Pueblo religious practices completely (Gutiérrez, 1991:156-160; Weber, 1992:139-141).

The area around El Morro was also abandoned, but Spaniards, missionaries as well as military officers and their families who passed by, continued to inscribe their names on the rock, the last dated 1774. Then, for the rest of the Spanish colonial era, nobody did. There are no traces of any new inscriptions during the period of Mexican control (1821–1846) either. Thus, when Anglo Americans arrived on the scene –their first inscription “O. R.” is dated March 19, 1836–, the Spanish inscriptions on El Morro appeared as vestiges of a bygone era (Simpson, 1852:106; Weber – deBuys, 2017:98). The year of 1836 marked the birth of the Texas Republic, and the Lone Star state was admitted to the Union in 1845. The Mexican government never acknowledged the independence of Texas or its annexation to the United States of America, which led to the U.S. – Mexican War of 1846–1848. In the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, signed on February 2, 1848, Mexico had to give up not only Texas, but also what is known today as the American Southwest, including New Mexico (Israel, 1967:733-751; Kökény, 2001). It was not much after the ratification of the Peace Treaty that New Mexico Territory was organized (in 1850) and thus integrated administratively and politically into the United States of America. It included most of the present-day states of Arizona and New Mexico, as well as part of Colorado. (Meinig, 1993: 456) In the second half of the 19th century the majority of European-descended residents in New Mexico were ethnic Mexicans, many of whom had deep roots in the area from early Spanish colonial times, and Anglo Americans were in minority, just like the different Native American tribes. The population was a little more than sixty thousand in 1850, and had reached only about two hundred thousand by 1900. The American Congress admitted New Mexico into the Union as the 47th state on January 6, 1912.

There were changes in government, but Inscription Rock was still at the crossroads of different cultures and different peoples. Although El Morro derives its fame from Spanish inscriptions, the first detailed account of the site came from an American army officer. After the United States acquired New Mexico at the end of the U.S. – Mexican War in 1848, the U.S. Army Corps of Topographical engineers began to explore the region. It was Lieutenant James H. Simpson, a topographical engineer for the US Army, who began surveying the Zuñi and Navajo territory (Goetzmann, 1991:239-244). He and his party visited El Morro on September 17 and 18, 1849, on the home leg of their expedition into Navajo country. As Simpson explained in his journal, a Mr. Lewis – who traded with Navajos in the area and knew the territory – met him along the trail and “offered his services as guide to a rock upon the face of which were […] half an acre of inscriptions, many of them very beautiful, and upon its summit some ruins of a very extraordinary character” (Simpson, 1852:98).

Lieutenant Simpson did not hear about El Morro before, but he accepted Lewis’ invitation to take a side trip to see it. Richard Kern, the expedition’s artist, and William Bird, Simpson’s personal assistant accompanied them. At the end of their first day, Simpson described El Morro in his journal: “We came to a quadrangular mass of sandstone rock, of a pearly whitish aspect, from two hundred to two hundred and fifty feet in height, and strikingly peculiar on account of its massive character and the Egyptian style of its natural buttresses and domes.” (Simpson, 1852:99). He also gave an account of how the small party explored the bluff as well as the ruins atop, and how they pictured the community that had lived there before.

These ruins present, in plan, a rectangle two hundred and six by three hundred and seven feet, the sides conforming to the four cardinal points. The apartments seem to have been chiefly upon the contour of the rectangle. […] There appear to have been two ranges of rooms on the north side, and two on the west […] (Simpson, 1852:101).

What could have possessed the occupants of these villages to perch themselves so high up, and in such inaccessible localities, I cannot conceive, unless it were, as it probably was, from motives of security and defence (Simpson, 1852:102).

The explorers marveled at the ruins and the rock as well. They spent hours taking notes and copying the symbols, signatures, and dates carved in the sandstone. “It will be noticed that the greater portion of these inscriptions are in Spanish, with some little sprinkling of what appeared to be an attempt at Latin, and the remainder in hieroglyphics, doubtless of Indian origin,” Simpson remarked. (Simpson: 1852: 100) When they were done with making facsimiles, Kern also inscribed their names in the rock: “Lt. J. H. Simpson, U.S.A., and R. H. Kern, artist, visited and copied these inscriptions, September 17th 18th, 1849” (Simpson, 1852:103). Kern’s most valuable images, however, were not on the rock but on his drawing pad. He drew the outline of the ruins atop the rock, recorded some forty inscriptions, and sketched views of El Morro from the north and south. And he did all that in two days. Working meticulously, his drawings of what he called “written rocks” remain irreplaceable. They provide information about many inscriptions that have since faded from the soft sandstone or have been destroyed (Weber – deBuys, 2017:103).

From El Morro, Simpson returned to Santa Fe and Fort Marcy to continue his duties as chief of Topographical Engineers of the Department of New Mexico. In the first months of 1850 he completed his journal of the Navajo expedition, and the American government published it later that year (Simpson, 1852). The publication brought El Morro to the attention of the American public, and many people thought that it was Simpson and his party who discovered the place. Simpson’s Journal included the first visual representations of El Morro in print. Lithographs of Kern’s drawings of the inscriptions, together with their English translations, appeared on ten plates in the document, which also reproduced Kern’s views of El Morro and the ruins and potsherds atop it (Simpson, 1852: Plate 60-67, 73, 74). Subsequent government explorers who visited El Morro did not see any point in taking detailed notes of the place and duplicating the work of Simpson and Kern. Many of them, however, inscribed their own names. The former was the case with Amiel Weeks Whipple, who when exploring the 35th parallel route in 1854, made only a short reference to Inscription Rock in his journal. He marveled at the sandstone promontory, then noted that Simpson had described it “minutely”, and that “little remains to be added” to his observations about the pueblo ruins atop the rock (Whipple, 1941:133-135; Goetzmann, 1991:287-289; Weber – deBuys, 2017:105).

Other visitors in the 1850s often took note of the emotional impact of El Morro and its inscriptions, and then carved their own names and stories in the rock. So did members of the Union Pacific railroad surveying teams in the 1860s, and many-many pioneers who passed by El Morro while heading west. They all added another layer of history to the site. In a way, Inscription Rock has become a history book. In the 1870s, the main east-west route through New Mexico shifted from Zuñi and El Morro to the north side of the Zuñi Mountains. In 1892, Charles Lummis, one of the great promoters of the Southwest, in his book, Some Strange Corners of Our Country, estimated that only a few hundred Anglo Americans had seen El Morro. He was impressed by the site and pronounced it “the most precious cliff, historically, possessed by any nation on earth.” (Weber – deBuys, 2017:107). He urged the American government to take measures to protect Inscription Rock. Then, on June 8, 1906, Theodore Roosevelt, signed the Antiquities Act, which gave American Presidents the authority to create national monuments from federal lands to protect significant natural, cultural, or scientific features. El Morro National Monument was created as a 160-acre reservation on December 8, 1906 to preserve the history of the area. As the proclamation creating the monument stated: “The rocks known as El Morro and Inscription Rock … are of the greatest historical value and it appears that the public good would be promoted by setting aside said rocks as a national monument.” (Lee, 1970:73, 88-89). The public good has definitely been promoted by protecting the site and today El Morro still remains one of the iconic places of the American Southwest.

* * *

In the closing part of my paper I would like to pay tribute to two iconic figures of the history profession: David J. Weber and Ádám Anderle. The two professors never met, but they knew each other’s works and shared the same vision and gave the same kind of inspiration to generations of students and scholars.  I had the honor to be the student of both of them. David Weber was born in the east coast, in Buffalo, New York, in 1940. Ádám Anderle was born in the southwestern part of Hungary, in Kozármisleny, in 1943. David Weber studied social sciences, and was thinking about majoring in music, but a course in the History of Latin America led him in a different direction. His professor, Marvin D. Bernstein suggested that he should pursue a degree Latin American history. He chose the University of New Mexico, and earned a master's degree in 1964 and a doctorate in 1967, and started to specialize in the history of the Spanish borderlands. Ádám Anderle was also inspired by one of his professors, Tibor Wittman, who introduced him to the history of Spain and Spanish absolutism, and through them to Latin American history. He earned his master’s degree in History and Literature in 1966, and his doctorate in 1967. In 1976 David Weber accepted a position at Southern Methodist University, in Dallas, Texas, where he became the founder of the Clements Center for Southwest Studies in 1997. Ádám Anderle directed the Department of Medieval and Early Modern History in Szeged for ten years, and then founded the Department of Hispanic Studies in 1993. Both of them were recognized for their merits by the Spanish government with the Order of Isabella the Catholic – David Weber in 2002, Ádám Anderle in 2008. Both of them were outstanding scholars, who published numerous books and articles, and who established a “school” at their respective universities which developed to be a thriving forum for research, dialogue and scholarship and where they taught students to think in comparative perspectives and broad contexts. David Weber had his summer home in Ramah, New Mexico, right by the Zuñi Mountains and Inscription Rock. Ádám Anderle never visited the place, but knew a lot about it. Neither of them inscribed their name in the rock or in stone, but their legacy will live on.

This research was supported by the project nr. EFOP-3.6.2-16-2017-00007, titled Aspects on the development of intelligent, sustainable and inclusive society: social, technological, innovation networks in employment and digital economy. The project has been supported by the European Union, co-financed by the European Social Fund and the budget of Hungary.

Works Cited

Bolton, Herbert Eugene. 1916. (ed.) Spanish Exploration in the Southwest, 1542-1706. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons.

Goetzmann, William H. 1991. Army Exploration in the American West, 1803–1863. Austin: Texas State Historical Association.

Gutiérrez, Ramón A. 1991. When Jesus Came, the Corn Mothers Went Away. Marriage, Sexuality, and Power in New Mexico, 1500-1846. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

Hammond, George P. 1979. “The Search for the Fabulous in the Settlement of the Southwest” Weber, David J. (ed.) New Spain’s Far Northern Frontier. Essays on Spain in the American West, 1540-1821. Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press. 20-33.

Israel, Fred L. 1967. (ed.): Major Peace Treaties of Modern History, 1648-1967. Vol. II. New York: Chelsea House Publishers. “Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo” 733-751.

Kökény, Andrea. (transl. and ed.) 2001. „Békeszerződés az Amerikai Egyesült Államok és a Mexikói Köztársaság között” Documenta Historica 52. Szeged, 2001

Lee, Ronald F. 1970. The Antiquities Act of 1906. Washington, D.C.: Office of History and Historic Architecture, Eastern Service Center, Department of the Interior, National Park Service.

McNitt, Frank. 1964. Navaho Expedition: Journal of a Military Reconnaissance from Santa Fe, New Mexico to the Navajo Country, Made in 1849 by Lieutenant James H. Simpson. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

Meinig, Donald W. The Shaping of America. A Geographical Perspective on Five Hundred Years of History. Vol. 1, Atlantic America, 1492-1800. New Haven and London, 1986, 194.

Meinig, Donald William. 1993. The Shaping of America. A Geographical Perspective on 500 Years of History. Vol. 2, Continental America, 1800-1867. New Haven and London.

Simmons, Marc. 1991. The Last Conquistador: Juan de Oñate and the Settling of the Far Southwest. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

Simpson, James H. 1852. Journal of a Military Reconnaissance from Santa Fé, New Mexico to the Navajo Country, Made with the Troops under Command of Brevet Lieutenant Colonel John M. Washington, Chief of Ninth Military Department, and Governor of New Mexico, in 1849 by James H. Simpson, A. M. Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo and Co.

Weber, David J. 1982. The Mexican Frontier, 1821-1846. The American Southwest under Mexico. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.

Weber, David J. 1992. The Spanish Frontier in North America. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.

Weber, David J. – deBuys, William. 2017. First Impressions. A Reader’s Journey to Iconic Places of the American Southwest. New Haven and London: Yale University Press.

Whipple, Amiel Weeks. 1941. A Pathfinder in the Southwest; the Itinerary of Lieutenant A. W. Whipple during his Explorations for a Railway Route from Fort Smith to Los Angeles in the Years 1853-1854. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press.

THE DREAMERS’ INVISIBLE BORDER

ANNA BARTNIK

The problem of Dreamers has recently been a widely discussed  issue in the United States.[22] It drew American society’s attention and provoked social tension. It also led human rights,  immigrant rights activists, as well as the group of Dreamers itself, on the streets. In Washington and other American cities, marches and protests, aiming to politicize the issue and force the federal government to solve the problem, were organized. The Dreamers’ issue is complex because it goes beyond basic political controversies. It is also a question of responsibility and human dignity. It raises moral questions as well. Considering the problem of Dreamers, it seems that there is no political consensus on it. American Congress has been paralyzed on the issue for almost twenty years. Legislative propositions aiming to find a solution were introduced in Congress for the first time in 2001. Alike the first one, also other similar projects never passed the legislation process and none became law. President Barack Obama believed, that the Dreamers deserve legalization of their stay in the United States. However, without congressional decision he had limited options. Using his power he was able to introduce the DACA (the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) program, that guaranteed only a temporary protection. Donald Trump expressed his opinion on the problem of Dreamers during the presidential campaign of 2016. He declared, that he would end the problem on “day one” of his presidency. Since September 2017 the DACA program has been phased out in its current form. It should definitely be ended by March 2020, unless Congress enacts legislation changing the current status of Dreamers. Current sentiments of American administration do not favor immigrants. Stronger immigration enforcement puts them in constant fear of deportation. Therefore, their fate is more uncertain now, that it had ever been before.

This article aims to present the complex problem of the Dreamers’ status in American society. It shows a legal background of the problem as well as the stance of American society on the issue. As Dreamers are undocumented immigrants, it answers a question who are unauthorized immigrants in the United States. It also discusses actions taken by American presidents to deal with the problem of that particular group of residents.

Undocumented immigrants in the USA

The United States is a nation of immigrants. As a society and a state created and shaped by “hordes” of arriving foreigners, it deals with the problem of illegal immigration every day (Ruarc & Sivaprasad Wadhia, 2012). This issue is present in public debates as well as private talks. During presidential campaigns candidates’ stance on immigration becomes one of the most important questions. Answers to such questions are important as they shape voters’ support or the lack of it. Minority groups, that are numerous like Hispanics, become more and more significant. Their political influence grows along with the number of their members who are eligible to vote. Unauthorized immigrants in the USA brought to public debates not only the problem of their presence within American borders, but also raised questions on labels (Bartnik, 2016). American society has long been living under the regime of political correctness. According to the rule it is necessary to avoid situations, behavior or words that might be considered offensive. Calling someone “an illegal immigrant” became unpopular because it was not politically correct and criminalized a person not his/her behavior. American administration started to use the term of “an undocumented immigrant” and “an unauthorized immigrant” instead of “illegal immigrant/alien” that was used before. Recently the media report, that after a long time of developing the idea of political correctness, current polls show, that Americans are tired with hiding behind euphemisms. The Cato Institute points that:  “nearly three-fourths (71%) of Americans believe, that political correctness has done more to silence important discussions our society needs to have”. “58% of Americans also believe the political climate today prevents them from saying things they believe” (Ekins, 2017). Opinion on immigration polarized American political scene as well as society. Polls show that the division among members of the society run mostly between generations. Overall attitude toward immigration is rather constant and not so unfriendly as some could expect. Only after dramatic accidents as terrorist attacks, American citizens tend to favor more hard line policy toward foreigners. After some time their emotions stabilize and general attitudes toward immigrants are more or less the same as before. The data confirm, that the vast majority of ordinary Americans is more pragmatic and they “support smart solutions to immigration reform and reject mass deportation. They support a pathway to citizenship for people who are part of our communities, learn English, pay back taxes, and so forth, and they reject tearing these families apart. (…) These polls illustrate that the ideological extremism of the hard right is well outside the mainstream pragmatism of the American people” (Wolgin & Kelley, 2011). Closer research on American attitudes toward immigration shows, that they expect their borders to be safe and tight, and to deal with foreigners already residing in the USA. According to one of the most recent polls conducted by the Public Religion Research Institute (PRRI), there is a quite substantial generational difference in views on immigration. Among young adults, age 18 to 29, more than two-thirds (68%) believed that immigrants strengthen the country. Less than one in five (19%) was afraid that American traditional values were endangered by newcomers. Among elders, age 65 or more, only 36% saw positive influence that strengthens American society. Almost half (44%) of them said, that immigrants coming to the USA are a threat. Additional 12% of seniors had no opinion on this issue (Cooper, et al., 2016).

Any dispute on undocumented immigrants in the USA should start from the definition. There are different factors that define several types of foreigners illegally living in the country. Generally saying, unauthorized immigrants in the USA are foreign nationals who entered American territory without the permission of the United States government or who continue living in the country even if the authority to be here, had expired. Both situations mean violation of American immigration law and threaten such immigrants with deportation, any time when foreigners’ unauthorized status is revealed. Today, the United States is well known for its hard line immigration policy, but only a century ago immigration to the United States was almost unrestricted (besides the exclusion of Chinese nationals) and there were no illegal immigrants. Since the 20’s of the twentieth century situation has changed. Up to now, the USA has developed an immigration policy that is characterized by strict inland enforcement, a growing number of border patrol agents and heavy immigration control.

The Pew Research Center reported, that in 2015 there were estimated 11 million unauthorized immigrants living in the United States. They were usually young - 68% of them were 16 to 44 years old. Men were merely half of the total number of the unauthorized population living in the USA. The top sending countries were Mexico (56% of the total number of undocumented immigrants in the USA came from the southern neighbor’s territory), Guatemala (7%), El Salvador (4%) and Honduras (3%) (Migration Policy Institute, 2015). It meant that over 70% of that population were citizens of Mexico and Central America only. Although Mexico still leads ranks, the number of illegal immigrants declined between 2009 and 2015. The most surprising data were gathered in 2013. For the first time in history Mexican net migration dropped to zero. It is believed it was caused not only by the slow recover of the American economy after the recession (2007-2009) but also stricter immigration enforcement played an important role. The USA became less attractive and safe for unauthorized immigrants (Gonzalez-Barrera, 2015).

American Policy Toward Dreamers

The above mentioned estimates also encompass a group of people who belong to a very special population of unauthorized immigrants living in the USA – the Dreamers. Since Barack Obama’s presidency, they have become the focal point of many immigration debates. The Dreamers are unauthorized immigrants already living in the USA, who were brought to the country illegally at a young age. The name of the group is derived from a piece of legislation proposed to solve the problem of their immigration status. The Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act (the DREAM Act) was first introduced in 2001. According to Migration Policy Institute, if passed, it would allow more than 2.1 million unauthorized children and adults under 35 to apply for legal status in the USA (Xu & Yoshikawa, 2013). Under the project these individuals who meet certain requirements will have an opportunity to legalize their stay in the USA. The bill introduced to Congress required that a person must have entered the USA before the age of 16 and must have been present in the United States for at least five consecutive years prior to enactment of the bill. He or she must have graduated American high school or have obtained a GED, or have been accepted into an institution of higher education. Additional provisions required that an applicant must be between the ages of 12 and 35 at the time of application and of good moral character. This proposition induced a vivid discussion.

Opponents of the proposed legislation alarmed that it introduced an amnesty for undocumented immigrants. Moreover, they warned public opinion that the Dreamers were going to be a financial burden for American taxpayers. Considering the fact, that education in the USA has always been very expensive, for the significant part of American society this argument sounded alarming, that people staying in the country illegally would be eligible for public benefits. Selene Salas argue, that there was no such threat and it was only a myth. Citing the White House officials she points: “undocumented youth adjusting to lawful permanent resident status are only eligible for federal student loans (which must be paid back), and federal work-study programs, where they must work for any benefit they receive” (Salas, 2015). Other arguments appealed to fears that enacting the DREAM act would become an incentive for the next immigrants to come, as well as, that it would take away some opportunities for American-citizen students. Prevailing attitudes towards the Dreamers, however, were quite positive. A significant part American voters believed they should not be punished for their parents’ decisions. The support for the project in Congress was also growing. Although the first DREAM act introduced in 2001 failed, the number of co-sponsors increased from 18 to 209 (in the Senate and 200 in the House of Representatives) in 2017 (Congress.gov, 2017). During the next few years the project of the DREAM Act was introduced in Congress several times. Between 2001 and 2006, however, it was unsuccessfully proceeded. Due to the Republican majority (in control of Congress) and the lack of their support for the idea of adjusting the Dreamers’ immigration status, the proposed law did not pass. When the Democratic party took control over federal legislative body in 2007, the project was introduced again, and was rejected again. A similar situation occurred three years later. In 2010 however, it passed the House (216:198) and was rejected in the Senate by a narrow margin 55 (yeahs):41(nays). Only five votes short of the 60 needed to be considered for final passage (CNN, 2010). President Barack Obama, who supported the legislation, called this failure “incredibly disappointing”, but at the same time he confirmed, that the fight was not over. CNN reported that he was supported by Democratic legislators. Senator Barbara Boxer from California said: "my message to these young people is 'never fear,' we're not going anywhere. We're going to continue to fight because this is the right thing to do." Oponent Republicans like Jeff Session from Alabama asserted that: "if we pass this amnesty, we will signal to the world that we're not serious about the enforcement of our laws or our borders" (CNN, 2010).

A debate on the 2010 DREAM Act revealed other controversies connected with proposed provisions. Many argued that solutions proposed in the act were a military tactic. The act stated that the pathway to citizenship can lead (among other possibilities) through the military service. More profound analysis of the requirements provided by this legislation says that this is, in many cases, the only possible way for the Dreamers to legalize their status. First of all, it is important to remember that among “dreamers - students” there is a significant number of those who do not have English proficiency at a level necessary to gain access into a higher education institution. Second, as Dreamers are not entitled to any form of financial, federal based, support like student scholarships, it may happen that they cannot afford to cover tuition. Considering these arguments, military offer, that can provide all these benefits seems attractive. But there is a contradiction between the rules described in the act and military rules. The act says about a two-year option (to serve in the military) that opens the pathway to American citizenship for Dreamers. Unfortunately, military contract is eight years. Proponents also underlined positive aspects and beneficial effects of the proposed legislation. Legalized status of Dreamers lets them live “normal” life, what simply mean economic gains. By buying houses and starting their own business the DREAM Act beneficiaries will contribute to the American economy. Finally, graduating universities, they will be able to find better paid jobs and provide more taxable income.

It’s been years since the first proposition of the DREAM act was proposed in Congress. President Barack Obama after another failure of the project, emotionally commented the issue (Valencia, 2010):

I get letters from kids all across the country -- came here when they were five, came here when they were eight; their parents were undocumented.  The kids didn’t know -- kids are going to school like any other American kid, they’re growing up, they’re playing football, they’re going to class, they’re dreaming about college.  And suddenly they come to 18, 19 years old and they realize even though I feel American, I am an American, the law doesn’t recognize me as an American.  I’m willing to serve my country, I’m willing to fight for this country, I want to go to college and better myself -- and I’m at risk of deportation.

And it is heartbreaking.  That can’t be who we are, to have kids -- our kids, classmates of our children -- who are suddenly under this shadow of fear through no fault of their own. They didn’t break a law -- they were kids.

The president was disappointed with the idleness of Congress in the case of Dreamers. In 2012 Barack Obama decided to use his power and proposed a new program called the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program. Explaining his decision he appealed to American society for support (The American Presidency Project, 2012):

Put yourself in their shoes. Imagine you’ve done everything right your entire life, studied hard, worked hard, maybe even graduated at the top of your class, only to suddenly face the threat of deportation to a country that you know nothing about, with a language that you may not even speak.

The DACA program provided a temporary protected status. The Dreamers who attended the program were protected from deportation, and gained work authorization, but they had to meet certain requirements. First, they had to be under thirty-one on June 15, 2012 (it was the date when the program was announced). Then, it was expected that they had been brought to the USA before they turned sixteen and had lived in the country since June 15, 2007. They were required to be physically present in the USA and to have no criminal record. While announcing the program, it was also confirmed, that deferred action “confers no substantive right, immigration status or a pathway to citizenship” (Wong, 2017). The program was a compromise between the idea of the DREAM act to grant the Dreamers a citizenship and the defiance of the members of congress to that idea. It was also disappointing for the unauthorized Dreamers. The status offered by the DACA program was only temporary and did not provide any pathway to citizenship. Some of them were also concerned about the circumstances of the situation. They were afraid to reveal their immigration status and were not sure what can happen in future when the program will expire. They were also tired and frustrated by living secret lives as adults. Since Plyler v. Doe ruling (1982), under American law children living in the USA regardless of their immigration status, have had right to public education. The point was, that the right terminated with high school graduation. The 1996 Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act was trying to limit state financial aid to unauthorized students at public colleges and universities, but it did not explicitly prohibit it. As the federal legislation failed to solve the problem of Dreamers, states started to deal with it on their own. In June 2001 Texas was the first state to pass legislation allowing in-state tuition for unauthorized students. The most recent one was the Real Hope Act enacted in 2014 in Washington. According to the law students domiciled in the state of Washington may receive aid regardless of immigration status (National Conference of State Legislatures, 2015).

Friendly state educational policy resulted in a growing number of undocumented students at state colleges and universities. What they had to do (in some states) while applying to a post-secondary school was to sign an affidavit promising to seek legal immigration at the earliest opportunity (Shelepov, n.d.). According to Chin and Juhn’s study, the passage of the state law did not predict a significant increase in undocumented immigrants’ college enrollments overall. The study showed, that there was an exception. Mexican men, between 22 and 24, a group that traditionally has a high rate of unauthorized members, attended college at higher rates after passage of the state laws (Chin & Juhn, 2010).  However, when they finished college, they were not able to work legally and they could be a subject to deportation as they were still undocumented immigrants. Xu Zhao i Hirokazu Yoshikawa point, that the situation of Dreamers was even more hopeless. As “children of unauthorized immigrant parents who are unauthorized themselves have no path to legalize their immigrant status independently. Because they have lived in the United States illegally, employers cannot sponsor them to obtain work visas” (Xu & Yoshikawa, 2013).

As time passed, the year 2017 proved that the Dreamers’ fears were not groundless. In January Donald Trump took over the office of the president of the United States. During the presidential campaign, he shared his feelings about illegal immigrants and commented on the fate of Dreamers. He vowed to overturn DACA on “day one” of his presidency. In February 2017, at the press conference, he declared: “We are gonna deal with Daca with heart. The Daca situation is a very difficult thing for me, as I love these kids, I love kids. I have kids and grandkids, and I find it very, very hard doing what the law says exactly to do and, you know, the law is rough” (Siddiqui, 2017). In August 2017 the media reported that President Trump was ready to announce phasing out of the DACA program in its current form. At first officials from the White House did not confirm the news. But at the beginning of September Donald Trump himself announced phasing out the program by 5 March 2018. The President declared that new applications will no longer be accepted, while those currently in the program will all lose their status by March 2020, with the first permits expiring in March 2018 – unless Congress passes legislation allowing the young immigrants to stay. In a written statement issued shortly after attorney general Jeff Sessions announced the policy, Trump said “I do not favor punishing children, most of whom are now adults, for the actions of their parents. But we must also recognize that we are nation of opportunity because we are a nation of laws” (Siddiqui (a), 2017). With this decision nearly 800,000 young Dreamers lost their belief in a happy end. The program that protected them from deportation and allowed to live “normal” life was terminated. Since then, their existence in the USA was threatened by a significant possibility of sudden removal.

Although President Trump declared that he advised the Department of Homeland Security not to treat the DACA recipients as enforcement priority category, unless they commit crime, are gang members or are engaged in any criminal activity, his words did not calm the Dreamers down. Unfortunately for Dreamers, journalists obtained a document that was provided to members of Congress after the Trump administration announced its decision to end DACA. It said: The Department of Homeland Security urges DACA enrollees to use the time remaining on their work authorizations to prepare for and arrange their departure from the United States — including proactively seeking travel documentation — or to apply for other immigration benefits for which they may be eligible”. One of the officials also added: “once DACA expires, they are in this country illegally. And once that expires, we expect them to no longer remain in our country illegally” (Vega, et al., 2017). Even before the announcement of the termination of the DACA program the media reported about deportations of undocumented immigrants with valid removal protection under the DACA. What is more important, they did not commit any crime that would justify their deportation. In October 2017 the first lawsuit was filed by Juan Manuel Montes. He was the first Dreamer who claimed being wrongly deported by immigration agents (Gomez, 2017). The Dreamers frustration pushed them to the streets and they were not alone in their disagreement. According to the survey conducted by Politico and Morning Consult, almost 8 out of 10 American voters supported DACA and its benefits for young undocumented immigrants.

In public debates, it is still always underlined how valuable part of American society are the Dreamers. Their education is a key factor, but also the fact, that in comparison to immigrants entering American labor force, the Dreamers are fully assimilated. Their identity is more American than native. In an open letter nearly 400 U.S. executives, including Mark Zuckerberg from Facebook and Jeff Bezos from Amazon, urged Trump to retain protections (Choudhury, 2017). There is also another reason to worry after Donald Trump’s decision. If Congress does not enact a proper legislation securing Dreamers stay in the USA, they will have to face all consequences connected with delivering their personal data to immigration agents while applying for DACA status. Cecilia Muñoz, who was a director of Barack Obama’s domestic policy council, commented: “it would not be easy, but nor would it be impossible, for ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) to get hold of this data” (Pilkington, 2017). Now, American immigration agents have complete information on a numerous group of unauthorized immigrants living in the USA. Having in mind that contemporary immigration policy in the USA favors strong enforcement and aims to remove as many as possible undocumented immigrants, such data may become dangerous if Congress fails again with a new DREAM Act (The most recent version was introduced in July 2017) or any other new project.

A Short Profile of Dreamers

According to different sources there are estimated 1.1 million to 2 million of unauthorized immigrants who are eligible to benefit DACA program (Krogstad, 2017) (Wong, 2017). The data of the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services say there are about 788,000 unauthorized immigrants whose requests for DACA status were accepted. Other data also say they are an active part of the Amerian labor force. Nine-tenths of Dreamers have jobs and their average hourly earnings increased from 10.29$ to 17.46$ after attending DACA (Glum, 2017).

The New York Times reported that more than a quarter of DACA recipients lived in California. From 2012, when the program started to March 2017, 28% of initial acceptances were for unauthorized immigrants living in this state. In the first year of the program - 14% lived in the Los Angeles metro area. Although the Dreamers live in every state, they predominantly reside in California and Texas. These two states are home to about 350,000 out of nearly 800,000 DACA recipients. Vermont has the lowest number of Dreamers – only 42. The biggest Dreamers’ share of total state population is in California – 0.57%, Texas – 0,45%, Nevada – 0,44 and Illinois – 0,4%. (U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services, 2017)  Hispanics are the largest minority group living in the USA. Considering this fact, it is not surprising that among DACA recipients a vast majority is Latino. Among them, 79% are of Mexican origin. Both unauthorized immigrants from Mexico and El Salvador, if eligible, were the most likely to apply for the program. 84% of Mexicans and 83% of Salvadorans applied in 2016 (Parlapiano & Yourish, 2017). The average age of entry was 6 years old, while the most common was about 3. According to an analysis by the Migration Policy Institute, immigrant workers who are eligible for DACA have higher-skilled, higher-paying jobs than undocumented immigrants who are ineligible (Capps, et al., 2017). Dreamers are also less likely to be incarcerated than native-born Americans with the same age and the level of education. The native-born incarceration rate is 14 percent higher than the Dreamer incarceration rate, while DACA-ineligible illegal immigrants and legal immigrants have the lowest rates of all (Landgrave & Nowrasteh, 2017).

Summary

Dreamers have always been present in American society, but their presence was not salient until it became a political problem. The problem of Dreamers became a well known issue during the presidency of Barack Obama, who was trying to find a solution and introduce Dreamers to American society. His successor, Donald Trump used Dreamers to achieve goals he had declared before he won the presidential race in 2016. In October 2017 American president issued a list of demands including funding for a wall on the Mexico border and a crackdown on admittance of children from Central America, as its first move in negotiations for a deal to allow Dreamers to stay in the USA legally. The Dreamers’ fate is still unclear. Democrats condemned Trumps proposition calling it “immoral” and “far beyond what is reasonable”. However, the Guardian reports that:

Congressional Democratic leaders had been optimistic about striking a deal. After a dinner with the president last month, Senate minority leader Chuck Schumer and House minority leader Nancy Pelosi said they had agreed to consider bolstering immigration enforcement as part of a deal to codify the Daca program and give Dreamers legal status. (Gambino & Holpuch, 2017)

According to supporters of the DACA program, its elimination will mean economic burden. The CATO Institute has estimated that over the next ten years DACA beneficiaries will contribute $512 billion to the US GDP (Lozano, 2017). The report released by the Center for American Progress aded that “it would also cost employers $3.4 billion in turnover costs to replace lost workers and reduce contributions to Medicare and Social Security by $24.6 billion over 10 years (Nanez & Gomez, 2017).

It is worth to note that the problem of Dreamers is multidimensional. The Dreamers’ invisible border pushes their lives into a legal limbo. They are adults who were grown up in the United States. They were attending American schools, they have American friends, they are fluent in English. Many of them are also well educated and graduated American universities. They live “normal” life in America until they reach their invisible border, a “glass ceiling”. It happens when they graduate and try to start their professional career. They cannot be hired legally, as according to American immigration law, they are undocumented immigrants. Moreover, any time their immigration status is revealed, they immediately become deportable. When it happens, it becomes a personal trauma, different that the one experienced by typical illegal immigrants. The Dreamers are separated from their families and friends living in the USA and are deported to countries they don’t know. The media report that many of them were not aware of their immigration status. In most such cases the first time when they found out that they were illegal immigrants was when they were trying to look for a job or were apprehended by the police. Eileen Truax says: „the struggle of undocumented youth, the Dreamers, is fundamentally a matter of human rights. Theirs is a struggle for civil rights, for recognition of one’s personal dignity, and for one’s place in the world” (Truax, 2015).

Works Cited

"Profile of the Unauthorized Population: United States", Migration Policy Institute. Access date: December, 3rd , 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2kkIQRC

“Data Set: Form I-821D Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals”, U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. Access date: December, 10th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2bhRSdj

“Procedural vote on DREAM Act fails in Senate”, CNN Politics. Access date: December, 6th, 2017. Available at: http://cnn.it/2jZ8mYM

“Remarks on Immigration Reform and an Exchange With Reporters”, The American Presidency Project. Access date: December, 6th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2nFegU5

“Tuition Benefits for Immigrants”, National Conference of State Legislatures. Access date: December, 8th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2tkfySw

Bartnik, Anna. (2016). “Illegal, undocumented or unauthorized - a  few reflections on unauthorized population in the United States”, Bartnik, Anna; Małek, Agnieszka (eds.). 2016. Visegrad Studies on Americas. Past and Present. Krakow: Ksiegarnia Akademicka. 67-78.

Capps, Randy; Flix, Michael; Zond, Jie. (August 2017). “Profile of the Unauthorized Population: United States”, Migration Policy Institute. Access date: December, 9th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2zs1TPf

Chin, Aimee; Juhn, Chinhui. (2010). “Does Reducing College Costs Improve Educational Outcomes For Undocumented Immigrants? Evidence From State Laws Permitting Undocumented Immigrants to Pay In-state Tuition at State Colleges and Universities”, Working Paper 15932, National Bureau of Economic Research. Access date: December, 8th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2A5bjxC

Chozick, Amy. 2016. "Trump Appears to Soften on Deporting Thousands of Young Immigrants", The New York Times Online. Access date: November, 18th, 2017.

Available at: http://nyti.ms/2iv5XVH

Cooper, Betsy; Cox, Daniel; Lienesch, Rachel; Jones, Robert P. (03.29.2016). “How Americans View Immigrants, and What They Want from Immigration Reform: Findings from the 2015 American Values Atlas”, Public Religion Research Institute. Access date: December, 5th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2jS7vZX

Ekins, Emily. (10.31.2017). “The State of Free Speech and Tolerance in America”, Cato Institute. Access date: December, 4th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2z6Oqwd

Gambino, Lauren; Holpuch, Amanda. (10.09.2017). “Trump demands Congress fund border wall as price for keeping Dreamers”, the Guardian. Access date: December, 10th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2yzaqQL

Glum, Julia. (08.30.2017). “DACA by the Numbers: 15 Facts About the Youth Immigration Program Trump Could Soon Shut Down”, Newsweek. Access date: December, 9th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2wVfrma

Gomez, Alan. (10.19.2017). “First DREAMer who says Trump border agents wrongly deported him drops lawsuit”, USA Today. Access date: December, 9th, 2017. Available at: https://usat.ly/2xSiIn9

Gonzalez-Barrera, Ana. (11.19.2015). “More Mexicans Leaving Than Coming to the U.S.”, Pew Research Center. Access date: December, 3rd , 2017. Available at: http://pewrsr.ch/1S6KhIM

H.R.3440 - Dream Act of 2017. (07.26.2017). Congress.gov. Access date: December, 5th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2iz74mt

Krogstad, Jens Manuel. (09.01.2017). “DACA has shielded nearly 790,000 young unauthorized immigrants from deportation”, Pew Research Center. Access date: December, 8th, 2017. Available at: http://pewrsr.ch/2wtNSNw

Landgrave, Michelangelo; Nowrasteh, Alex. (08.30.2017). “The DREAMer Incarceration Rate”, Cato Institute. Access date: December, 9th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2jCM67v

Lozano, Monica. (09.08.2017). “Why Congress Must Protect Dreamers”, the Aspen Institute. Access date: December, 10th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2gCXmj0

Nanez, Dianna; Gomez, Laura. (09.03.2017). “10 things to know about 800K DACA recipients, 'dreamers' and Trump”, azcentral.com. Access date: December, 10th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2yXyyvB

Parlapiano, Alicia; Yourish, Karen. (05.09.2017). “A Typical ‘Dreamer’ Lives in Los Angeles, Is From Mexico and Came to the U.S. at 6 Years Old”, the New York Time. Access date: December, 9th, 2017. Available at: http://nyti.ms/2xaOn2g

Pilkington, Ed. (09.05.2017). “Dreamers' new risk after Daca: US could use their personal data to target them”, the Guardian. Access date: December, 10th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2xLVn2F

Ruark, Eric A.; Sivaprasad Wadhia, Shoba. (2012). “Use of the Term <Illegal Alien>”, Gans, Judith; Replogle, Elaine M.; Tichenor, Daniel J. (eds.). 2012. “Debates on U.S. Immigration”. Los Angeles: SAGE. 529-542.

Salas, Selene. (2015). “The Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act”, Gabriel Guteirrez (ed.). 2015. Latinos and Latinas at Risk: Issues in Education, Health, Community, and Justice. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO. 230-241.

Shelepov, Jovita. (n.d.). “Higher Education for Unauthorized Students: The Continuing Debate”. Access date: December, 8th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2BizAob

Siddiqui(a), Sabrina. (05.09.2017). “Trump ends 'Dreamers' program, leaving fate of 800,000 uncertain”, The Guardian. Access date: December, 9th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2x7hBz5

Siddiqui, Sabrina. (08.31.2017). “Donald Trump to end 'Dreamers' immigration program, report says”, The Guardian. Access date: December, 9th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2wlVYJy

Truax, Eileen. (2015). “Dreamers: An Immigrant Generation's Fight for Their American Dream”. Oston: Beacon Press.

Valencia, Stephanie. (2010). “President Obama on Obstruction of the DREAM Act: "Maybe My Biggest Disappointment" of Last Weeks”, The White House. Access date: December, 6th, 2017. Available at: http://bit.ly/2iXhH6Z

Wolgin, Philip E.; Kelley, Angela Maria. (12.15.2011). “Americans Are Talking but Why Aren't Candidates Listening?”, American Progress. Access date: December, 5th, 2017. Available at: http://ampr.gs/2fVQiRr

Wong, Tom K. (2017). “The Politics of Immigration: Partisanship, Demographic Change, and American National Identity”. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 105.

Zhao, Xu; Yoshikawa, Hirokazu. (2013). “Parent and Child Citizenship Status And Youth Development in the United States”, Grigorenko, Elena L. (ed.). 2013. “U.S. Immigration and Education: Cultural and Policy Issues Across the Lifespan”. New York: Springer Publishing Company. 68.

THE FORBIDDEN FRUIT

IS CUBA ISOLATED?

TAMÁS RÓZSÁS

1. Deceptive Isolation

“Imagined as within sight, but seen as beyond reach,” (Pérez 2008, 1) Cuba has occupied a special place in the imagination of Americans since the nineteenth century. The island country unambiguously lies within the sphere of influence of the United States. During the early twentieth century, Cuba was freed from Spanish rule and, under the Platt Amendment, became a virtual U.S. protectorate (Cohen 2003, 107). The Platt Amendment, passed by the U.S. Congress and approved by the Cuban constitutional convention in 1901, had a strong impact on Cuba’s political development. It limited Cuba’s sovereignty in the fields of foreign affairs and international financial matters, and also granted the United States the right to intervene in Cuba for the “preservation of Cuban independence” and the adequate “protection of life, property, and individual liberty” (Sweig 2012, 11-12). Until the United States abrogated it in 1934 (Staten 2003, 62), the Platt Amendment provided basis for frequent American military intervention in Cuba (Sweig 2012, 12-14).

Cuba remained under American influence prior, during, and after World War II. However, rampant corruption and street violence during the Grau government of 1944-1948 and during the Batista dictatorship afterwards (Staten 2003, 65-69) led to the triumph of Fidel Castro’s revolution in 1959. Shortly after the victory of his revolution in 1959 and his subsequent visit to the United States, the Americans started to do everything to overthrow Castro including the support of the landing of a Cuban emigrant commando in southern Cuba, in hope of sparking a widespread anti-Castro uprising (Szilágyi 2013, 96). Facing that the Americans wanted to overthrow him, Castro realized that he needs the Cuban communists to stabilize his power, and declared himself a socialist one day before the Bay of Pigs invasion while attending the funeral services of those killed in the preliminary air strikes designed to cripple Cuba’s air force (Sweig 2012, 41-43). The Soviets saw an opportunity and they half convinced half scammed Castro into installing Soviet missiles to Cuba (Anderle 2004, 126-129). Kennedy showed determination and the crisis was resolved with the Soviets agreeing to withdraw their weapons (Schulzinger 1998, 266-269).

The United States had first implemented a partial trade embargo in 1960 in response to successive nationalization of U.S. property and business within Cuba. By 1962 the embargo became complete banning all trade with the island and investment in the country. In early 1963, Americans were also prohibited from traveling to Cuba directly from the United States (Sweig 2012, 88-89). Following the announcement of the new Cuba policy of the Obama administration in December 2014, some changes have been implemented, some restrictions were eased, but the embargo in general remained in place (Chase 2017). The United States have been trying to isolate Cuba in the past decades using its military might and economic power in its close environment. But can Cuba be isolated? If we look at the map on Figure 1, we can see that while using valuable resources and eroding part of American goodwill in the region, Cuba can be isolated in theory, the costs are too high. Adding that Cuba is no longer a military threat to the United States, it also does not make sense.

Figure 1. The central location of Cuba

Author’s own edition using the file LocationCuba.svg from Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository.

2. Geographic Embeddedness

Cuba is part of Latin America, a huge world region of over thirty countries and nearly 600 million people. Five topographic regions can be identified in the region, (1) the Andes, (2) Amazon and Orinoco, (3) Guiana Highlands, (4) the Pampas and Patagonia, and (5) Mexico, Central America, and the Caribbean (Blouet & Blouet 2015, 17). The Caribbean Sea is a large reservoir of warm water and the weather of the region is determined and unified by the northeast trade winds (Blouet & Blouet 2015, 26). Hurricanes are also common in the Caribbean from June through November and they are so devastating that a direct hurricane hit in the Caribbean islands can cripple a country. It is difficult to restore services without outside help (Blouet & Blouet 2015 12, 182-183) so that Caribbean geography does not allow for complete isolation of any country.

The island nature of the Caribbean is significant also in another sense. Having no place to hide, indigenous populations were vulnerable to demographic destruction by Europeans and Native Americans were virtually eradicated in the region. The Caribbean island realm is, therefore, a world of introduced peoples, plants and animals (Blouet & Blouet 2015, 181-182). In other words natural geography of the Caribbean does not support isolation. Regarding human geography, Cuba is part of one of the world’s most coherent culture region, Latin America. The region portrays a series of common characteristics that provide a foundation of cultural unity. Language is one of such characteristics, religion, political and social institutions are others. There are also commonalities in political and social institutions. For example, legal systems are based on a system of civil law practiced in Spain and Portugal and based on the Napoleonic Code which is quite distinct from the systems of common law in force in countries with British colonial experience, such as the United States or Canada.

Shared social values and attitudes manifest themselves in many ways. Some characteristic examples are compadrazco, the role of godparents, machismo and marianismo in relation to the stereotypical role of men and women in family and society, or clientelism in business and public life (Kent, 2006, 8-9). Cuba is part of the Caribbean, a region that forms a bridge between North and South America because of the varied colonial experiences of the countries of the region. Official languages of countries in the region is shown on Figure 2. below. As we can see, Spanish is clearly the dominant language but there are also English, French, and Dutch speaking countries and territories in the Caribbean.

Figure 2. Official languages in the Caribbean

Author’s own edition using the file LocationCuba.svg from Wikimedia Commons, the free media repository.

The Caribbean islands can be divided into five colonial zones, U.S., Hispanic, British, French, and Dutch (Blouet & Blouet 2015, 185). However, these zones are not separated by location but they together form a distinct cultural region characterized by its heterogeneity. After winning the Spanish-American war in 1898, the United States became the dominant power in the region. One consequence was an expansive immigration from Hispanic Caribbean to the United States during the 20th century. Today, some 3,5 million people of Puerto Rican descent, about 1 million of Cuban descent, and nearly 750 thousand of Dominican descent live in the United States (Kent 2006, 55).

As we can see, Latin America is a culturally coherent world region and the many similar island and coastal countries of the Caribbean also has strong cultural ties so that the cultural aspects of human geography do not play for Cuba’s isolation either.

The Hispanic Caribbean has nearly 20 million inhabitants. Sugar remains an important export crop, but tourism, tropical fruits, textile manufacture and assembly, pharmaceuticals, and offshore data processing are also significant in their exports (Kent 2006, 55). Although the Castro revolution has changed the Cuban society and economy in a great extent, social and economic development of the countries of Hispanic Caribbean are similar (Kent 2006, 62-65). Small plants of light industry serving local needs can be found on many islands. Large plants are mainly sugar refineries and plants refining bauxite to alumina (in Jamaica). Most islands have their own manufacturing plants for rum and other liquors and some islands have transshipment terminals and oil refineries for crude oil coming from the Middle East. State owned pharmaceutical and steel industries of Cuba are also significant (Blouet & Blouet 2015, 192-193).

Caribbean islands are heavily trade dependent and except for Cuba, the United States is a major partner (Blouet & Blouet, 2015, 193). Although Cuba is not indispensable to the economy of its closer or wider region, it is in the middle of busy trade routes and would be a prime location for logistical hubs, transshipment stations or light manufacturing so that economic geography of the region is also against Cuba’s isolation. A look at the volume of exports to Cuba from several countries also reflects this. Trade with Cuba grows dynamically. Even if we separate trade with Venezuela, a major trade partner and political ally of Cuba in the region, the volume of exports to Cuba has more than doubled in the first fifteen years of the 21st century (Sablik 2015, 17).

3. Political Connections

One goal of the economic embargo against Cuba is political isolation. Cuba may have few allies in the region but the country is not and has never been isolated in political sense either. First, frequent talks between the United States and Cuba continued on direct and indirect diplomatic channels and also through informal mediators such as Nobel laureate writer Gabriel García Márquez, an old friend of Fidel Castro from the start of Castro’s power (LeoGrande & Kornbluh 2014, 287-292), while there were also intense official talks between the two countries (Franklin 1997, 340-349). Additionally, about 1.9 million people of Cuban ancestry lives in the United States with about two thirds of them living in Florida. Nine out of ten Cuban Americans have relatives in Cuba so that family and economic relations are strong (Szarka 2013). Despite all the effort, Cuba is not isolated from the United States.

But Cuba is not isolated from the rest of Latin America either. One paramount example is the case of the Summit of the Americas held in Cartagena, Colombia in 2012, where the Latin Americans gave an ultimatum to president Obama, demanding that Cuba be invited to the next summit or they would not attend (Feinberg 2016, 4-6). The European Union, which imposed diplomatic sanctions on Cuba in 2003 for arresting 75 dissidents, human rights activists, and independent journalists in Havana, has also launched a new high-level dialogue recently. With an eye on full normalization of relations and the creation of a new framework for cooperation, the dialogue covers social, civil, and political rights issues and includes the resume of development assistance (Sweig 2012, 252-255). In a broader perspective, Cuban foreign policy lost both its constraining parameters and its freedom of action with the end of the Cold War and the collapse of the Soviet Union. It gained a new justification for a clearly ideological direction as a historically legitimate nationalist resistance to U.S. hegemony and leadership of a perceived wider popular resistance to globalization (Kapcia 2011, 194).

4. Ethnic Connections

Cuba also have significant goodwill in many countries in Africa as it provided them with military and economic assistance during the Cold War. There are also ethnic ties to Africa. Cuba, as part of Hispanic Caribbean, was a major New World hub in the slave trade of the 15th to 19th centuries. Europeans also arrived in vast numbers while infectious diseases introduced by Europeans and later Africans decimated native peoples. The composition of population has changed radically during the European conquest and colonial era and migrations during the 19th century also affected the population of the region (Kent 2006, 67-90,154-178). The ethnic composition of Cuba also reflects this history. The indigenous people of Cuba were either wiped out by disease and Spanish brutality or absorbed through intermarriage in the late 1400s and 1500s. The ethnic makeup of the island toady is 51 percent mulatto (mix of European and African), 37 percent European, 11 percent African, and 1 percent Chinese (Staten 2003, 4, 11).

When Christopher Columbus reached the island of Cuba in 1492, the indigenous population of the island numbered about 112 000 with about 92 000 sub-Tainos, 10 000 Tainos, and 10 000 Ciboney. The indigenous population was decimated by the Spanish and displaced by the emerging colonial, Criollo (Cuban-born Spaniards) and African cultures. Beyond a few words and some foods, the indigenous native cultures did not leave a lasting impression on the emerging colonial and Criollo cultures. As a result, the main sources of Cuba’s present population and culture are Spain and Africa (Cordero 2000, 1-6). The conquerors lived on the forced labor of indigenous people who were forced to work in mines, agricultural estates, and as household servants. Displacement, malnutrition, disease, and harsh labor conditions almost annihilated the Ciboney and Arawaks by 1542. By 1555, the native population was estimated at 3000 (Cordero 2000, 6). Like Hernán Cortés, conqueror of Mexico, they were most likely motivated by their unpaid debt with their cruelty not coming from cold, calculated greed, but of a much more complicated mix of shame, righteous indignation, and frantic urgency of accumulating debt (Graeber 2012, 316-318).

The first African slaves arrived in Cuba with the explorers and they were later imported to replace the rapidly disappearing natives in copper mines and sugar plantations. Unlike British and Dutch, the Latin American colonists co-habitated with the natives and African slaves producing the first mestizos and mulattoes. The 18th century brought about changes in world affairs leading to dramatic changes in the demography and culture of the Cuban population as well. Cuba started to trade with England and North America so that sugar production started to increase as well as the number of slaves working on sugar plants. When the slave rebellion broke out in Haiti in 1791, Cuba was ready to step in and emerge as the world’s major sugar producer. Sugar production was based on slave labor so that African slaves were imported in great numbers. By 1825, the black population in Cuba was greater than the white population.

Under Cuban law, African slaves were also able to buy their freedom and their owners released some. As a result, Cuba also had a large population of free blacks and mulattoes. In 1774, the composition of Cuban population was 56.4 percent European, 19,9 percent free Africans and mulattoes, and 23,7 percent African slaves. Slavery was abolished in Cuba in 1886. By that time, sugar production became more mechanized and plantation owners were better off by employing free Africans. An influx of cheap labor from China and India also decreased dependency on slave labor (Cordero 2000, 8-12).

Shaped by the individual history of each country, ethnic composition varies by country in a great extend in Latin America. Brazil, another main destination of slave trade, has a composition similar to Cuba while there are virtually no Africans in Argentina. Other countries, such as Guatemala, preserved the native component in their population at a great extent or the natives mixed with Europeans like in Mexico, Chile, Honduras, or Panama (Kent 2006, 170). But why is ethnic profile important in relation to Cuba’s isolation? First, Cuba’s ethnic profile shows that the country is at the crossroad of history and geopolitics. As a result, Cuba cannot be disconnected. Beyond being and integral part of the Caribbean and Latin America, high proportion of people of African descent also makes Cuba a credible advocate of African developing countries in world politics. Ethnic profile and its variations also shows the many interactions that have happened in the past in the region. It is also a sing of the high probability of future interactions. Finally, similarities of the ethnic profile of some countries and similarities of the paths of development of the ethnic profile of most countries also provide a basis for cultural connectedness we will discuss in the next section.

5. Cultural Connections

Cuba has a strong cultural projection around the world especially if we also consider the size of the country. In the 1950s, the last decade before the Castro revolution, Cuban culture was highly intertwined with American culture. American cultural influence was strong in Cuba but Cubans also affected American culture especially in the fields of music and dancing. These cultural ties between the two countries also proved impossible to break even by the strong nationalism of the Castro regime and the economic embargo maintained by the United States (Sweig 2012, 33-35). However, Havana also had its dark side. Casinos and many hotels were owned or partially owned by organized crime from the United States and casinos regularly payed off corrupt Cuban government officials (Staten 2003, 81-82). No wonder Castro immediately tried to turn over the socioeconomic status quo to benefit Cuba’s rural and urban poor and to uproot Cubans, who could threaten the revolution’s effort of national rejuvenation by turning to the United States. As a result, many Cubans, including middle-class professionals and technocrats, left the country and settled in the United States, mostly in Miami (Sweig 2012, 47). One of their reasons was to stay close together and close to Cuba with the hope to return soon. That hope has faded over the decades, but these groups of exiled Cuban Americans have effectively provided a bridge head for both further Cuban emigrants and Cuban culture in the United States.

There are also other factors working for Cuba’s cultural connectedness. Even though every country in the region has people of different ethnicities and heritages, Spanish, the mother tongue for two-thirds of the inhabitants, is dominant in the region (Blouet & Blouet 2015, 108-109; Kent 2006, 15) and it also has a strong presence in the United States. For example, almost a third of Texans and Californians, and more than four out of ten people in New Mexico were Hispanic at the turn of the millennia (Kent 2006, 383, Table 20.2), and their numbers are growing. Speaking the same language as almost everyone else in the neighboring countries and many in the United States renders cultural isolation impossible in the age of communication satellites, electronic mass media and the internet. Cultural similarities do not stop at languages. Regarding religion, for example, Catholicism is dominant in Latin America with 69 percent of all Latin Americans declaring themselves Catholic even after their share has decreased from historical highs (Pew Research Center 2014). The majority of Cubans, 51.7 percent, also declares themselves Catholic despite decades of communist state propaganda against religion (Pew Research Center 2012).

Religion is an important cultural factor in Latin America as in no other world region did European colonizers so effectively impose Christianity, and more specifically Catholicism, than in Latin America. Religion also left an almost ubiquitous stamp on the urban geography of nearly every town in Latin America as the Roman Catholic Church is always adjacent to each town’s central plaza, regardless of the size of the town or city (Kent 2006, 293-294). On the other hand, Catholicism in Latin America differs from Catholicism of the Old World because the church let indigenous and African customs and beliefs influence local varieties of Catholicism to convert indigenous population and African slaves more easily. Consequently, the practice of the Roman Catholic religion has been modified resulting in a syncretic Catholicism. African religious influences are strongest in Brazil, but they are also present in the Caribbean. In the Hispanic Caribbean, which includes Cuba, the spiritual practice of Santeria is a manifestation of African cultural traditions (Kent 2006, 20). Santeria’s roots are part in the Yoruba religion native to Nigeria, part in Catholicism, and it has millions of followers spread across the United States, the Caribbean, Central, and South America. Santeria’s origins are in Cuba, where Yoruba slaves first met with Catholicism in 1517 (Nuñez 1993). The spread of Santeria, and more generally, the syncretic nature of Latin American Catholicism, also provides a bridge for cultural interchange between Cuba and its environment. However, Santeria is not the single phenomenon connecting the Hispanic Caribbean. Similarities can also be found in the external expressions of culture such as music, carnivals, or cuisine (Stanford & Hanna 2012). Food is one of the best evidence of cultural connectedness. We can find many similarities not only between cuisines of the Caribbean countries but also throughout the whole Latin America despite the size and variety of the region (Gutierrez 2013; Peláez 2014).

Cuba is thus culturally connected to its close environment and wide region including the United States. Connection means interaction in which Cuba is also able to project its culture and maintain a visible presence in the region despite all efforts of isolation. Common language and spiritual attitude, the Catholicism intertwined with African and indigenous heritage and spiritual practices, provide the means for understanding on a deeper level. However, as Cuba researcher Julia Sweig notes, “Arguably, Cuban music is the most easily recognized cultural product from the island today, in all of its diversity and distinctive character” (Sweig 2012, 255). But why Cuban music enjoys such worldwide popularity? The origins of Cuban music are rooted in many parts of the world. In his book about the dance and music, Cuban American salsa instructor Alex Sosa describes the evolution of Cuban son, the country dance that evolved into salsa in the cities and spread to the United States with musicians leaving Cuba after the revolution (Sosa,2011, 19-21). The map on Figure 3 is based on his description.

Figure 3. Tracing the origins of salsa music and dance

Author’s own edition based on (Sosa, 2011, 19-21).

As we can see on the map above, Cuban music evolved from the mix of European and African sources through interactions with their new environment in the Caribbean and Middle America. No wonder it resonates with many ears in the New World and Old World alike. For those who have never experienced socialism, Cuba’s image of a rebel spirit may also add to the appeal of the music. Being at the crossroads of history exposed to multiple influences from all around the world also has its advantages. As a result of all these interactions, Cuba is not only an inseparable part of its own region but also connected with many parts of the world, especially Europe and Africa, on a deep cultural and human level. These connections assure that the island country cannot really be isolated and once it finds the way to cross the barriers of its socialist past, it may become one of the most interesting and lively economic and cultural hubs of the Americas.

6. Conclusion

Castro’s measures after the victory of his revolution, with nationalizing American assets among them, triggered the introduction of a commercial, economic and financial embargo against the country from the United States. On the other hand, standing up against Cuba’s mighty neighbor won the sympathy of many, including Novel laureate writer Gabriel García Márquez. A longtime friend of Fidel Castro, García Márquez compares him to Simon Bolivar and José Martí writing, “His vision of Latin America in the future is the same as that of Bolivar and Martí, an integral and autonomous community capable of influencing the destiny of the world” (Skierka 2004, 366-367).

Due to its proximity and dominance in the region, the United States can effectively, even if not totally, isolate Cuba in an economic sense. However, Cuba is deeply embedded into the Caribbean and the wider region of Latin America on multiple levels. Its location and geography provide Cuba with a great potential to become a logistic and cultural hub of the region. Active foreign policy, economic and political rationality, and at least in some cases sympathy for the country assures that Cuba cannot be completely isolated in political terms either. History also helps Cuba against isolation. Its ethnic composition, Spanish as its official language, and cultural connectedness all work for Cuba to be an integral part of its region. Finally, with the collapse of the Soviet Union, Cuba is no longer a threat to the security of the United States either. In other words, even though neither Cuba nor the United States may be ready for an era after the embargo, the days of the embargo as well as all efforts of isolation are numbered.

Works Cited

Anderle, Á., 2004. Kuba története [The history of Cuba]. Budapest: Akkord Kiadó.

Blouet, B. W. & Blouet, O. M. Eds., 2015. Latin America and the Caribbean: A systematic and regional survey. Hoboken: Wiley Blackwell.

Chase, S., 2017. A Definition of the U.S. Embargo Against Cuba. [Online]

Available at: http://cubajournal.co/a-definition-of-the-u-s-embargo-against-cuba/

[Accessed 21 October 2017].

Cohen, S. B., 2003. Geopolitics of the World System. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield.

Cordero, M., 2000. The United States and Cuba: Past, Present & Future, Miami: University of Miami.

Feinberg, R., 2016. Open for Business: Building the New Cuban Economy. Washington: Brookings Institution Press.

Franklin, J., 1997. Cuba and the United States: A Chronological History. Melbourne: Ocean Press.

Graeber, D., 2012. Debt: The First 5,000 Years. NY: Melville House.

Gutierrez, S. A., 2013. Latin American Street Food: The Best Flavors of Markets, Beaches, and Roadside Stands from Mexico to Argentina. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press.

Kapcia, A., 2011. Defying Expectations: The External Profile and Activism of the Cuban Revolution. In: G. L. Gardini & P. Lambert, Eds. Latin American Foreign Policies: Between Ideology and Pragmatism. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 179-195.

Kent, R. B., 2006. Latin America: Regions and People. New York: The Guilford Press.

LeoGrande, W. M. & Kornbluh, P., 2014. Back Channel to Cuba: The Hidden History of Negotiations Bteween Washington and Havana. Chapel Hill: The University of Carolina Press.

Nuñez, L. M., 1993. Santeria: A Practical Guide to Afro-Caribbean Magic. Thomson, Conn.:Spring Publications.

Peláez, A. S., 2014. The Cuban Table: A Celebration of Food, Flavors, and History. New York: St. Martin's Press.

Pérez, L. A., 2008. Cuba in the American imagination: metaphor and the imperial ethos. Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press.

Pew Research Center, 2012. Catholics in Mexico and Cuba. [Online]

Available at: http://www.pewforum.org/2012/03/01/catholics-in-mexico-and-cuba/

[Accessed 11 November 2017].

Pew Research Center, 2014. Religion in Latin America: Widespread Change in a Historically Catholic Region. [Online]

Available at: http://www.pewforum.org/2014/11/13/religion-in-latin-america/

[Accessed 11 November 2017].

Sablik, T., 2015. “Trading with Cuba: As U.S.-Cuban Relations Begin to Thaw, Agricultural Exports from Southern States May Provide a Hint of What Future Trade Will Look Like.” Econ Focus, 19(3), 16-19.

Schulzinger, R. D., 1998. U.S. Diplomacy Since 1900. 4 ed. New York: Oxford University Press.

Skierka, V., 2004. Fidel Castro: A biography. Cambridge: Polity Press.

Sosa, A., 2011. The 7 Spiritual Steps of Dancing Salsa. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform.

Stanford, E. & Hanna, N., 2012. The Caribbean. Washington, DC: National Geographic Society.

Staten, C. L., 2003. The History of Cuba. New York: St. Martin's Griffin.

Sweig, J. E., 2012. Cuba: What everyone needs to know. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Szarka, E., 2013. “A floridai kubai közösség hatása az Egyesült Államok Kuba-politikájára és az elmúlt húsz év amerikai elnökválasztásaira”. Kül-Világ, X(1), 39-59.

Szilágyi, I., 2013. Geopolitika (Geopolitics). Pécs: Publikon Kiadó.

BETWEEN EMIGRATION AND IMMIGRATION: CHANGING TRENDS AND POLICIES IN CHILE

BÉLA SOLTÉSZ

The First Shift: From Immigration to Emigration

The history of Chile is a history of immigration. With the exception of the Mapuche and other indigenous nations, every Chilean is a descendant of immigrants. Until the War of Independence broke out in 1810, the arrival and settlement of subjects of the Spanish crown was regular, giving rise to a significant Creole and Mestizo population. The colonial census of 1778 (which only covered the area between the present cities of Chañaral and Vegas de Itata) found 190,919 Whites, 20,651 Mestizos, 22,568 Indigenous and 25,508 Blacks, a total of 259,646 inhabitants. Compared to other regions of colonial Latin America, therefore, the Captaincy General of Chile was one of the areas with the highest share of white/Creole population (Jáuregui [1784] 1982:132).

European immigration, nonetheless, was heterogeneous from the start. Among Peninsulars, for example, a high percentage of ethnic Basques was a notable feature. The 'father of the Chilean nation', Bernardo O'Higgins, was of Irish ancestry (his father, Ambrosio O'Higgins had arrived to South America in 1756 and climbed up on the colonial ladder of hierarchy until becoming Viceroy of Peru in 1796). A Breton immigrant arriving to Chile in the early 1700s, Guillaume Pinochet, was the ancestor of the country's infamous 20th century military leader, Augusto Pinochet. And right after the national independence, in 1821, the first consul sent by the Kingdom of Sardinia to Chile arrived to Santiago: he was Pedro Alessandri, the ancestor of two later presidents of Chile, Arturo Alessandri Palma and Jorge Alessandri Rodríguez (Jocelyn – Holt, 2004).

The 'golden era' of immigration to Chile was, however, the period between the mid-19th and the mid-20th century. The mining industry attracted British subjects to the country, while the Occupation of Araucanía (1861–1883) ended with the dispossession of the indigenous Mapuche, and the distribution of their ancestral lands to newly arrived colonist families, mostly from German-speaking regions of Europe  (Bengoa, 2002). A large Croatian immigration wave also arrived to Chile, as a consequence of the Dalmatian phylloxera pest in the late 19th century, and most Croatians settled around the Strait of Magellan in the south, and the region of Atacama in the north. Palestinian and Eastern European Jewish immigration is also worth mentioning: one of the richest businessmen of Chile, Leonardo Farkas, is the son of Hungarian-speaking Jewish immigrants from Transylvania who arrived to South America in 1939 (Soltész, 2011).

Following World War II, the historical period of massive immigration to Chile came to its end. Pull factors weakened as the country's economic performance was rather poor. On the other hand, Western Europe experienced decades of dynamic economic growth, thus push factors diminished and migration flows dried up. Another former sending region, Eastern Europe saw new state socialist regimes applying restrictions for emigration. It was only Spain and Portugal where right-wing authoritarian Franco and Salazar regimes, respectively, could neither provide a sufficient economic growth nor restrict the emigration of the population. As a consequence, while Western and Eastern European emigration to Latin America –including Chile– practically stopped in the 1950s, Spanish and Portuguese emigration continued until the 1970s (Solimano – Tokman, 2008).

The so-called 'immigration era' in Chile came to its end with the Pinochet coup. Between 1970 and 1973, the democratically elected communist government of Salvador Allende received the support of a minor, yet strategically important influx of leftist intellectuals who moved to Chile in order to participate in the state building project of the Popular Unity. Following the coup d'état of general Pinochet on 11 September 1973, the military junta started to restrict immigration (fearing the infiltration of leftist agents), leading to the adoption of the Immigration Law (Law No. 1,094 of 1975) which regulated the entrance, stay and expulsion of foreigners, focusing mainly on security (Solimano – Tokman, 2008). Due to increasing political oppression, however, a significant number of Chileans were forced into exile. The "Pinochet scholarship", as forced emigration was sarcastically called, created large Chilean communities in countries which had granted them political asylum: in Sweden, Canada, Venezuela and France, among others. This, coupled with emigration of a non-political nature (mostly limitrophe migration to Argentina's Patagonian territories), gave birth to a Chilean diaspora slightly above 500,000 by the time the dictatorship came to its end (Norambuena, 2008).

In the 1990s, a lot of exiled Chileans returned to the country (and this was, indeed, fostered by policies of preferential loans and other financial incentives), nonetheless, the Chilean diaspora kept on growing. The First Register of Chileans Abroad, issued by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Statistical Institute of Chile in 2005, found 849,000 Chilean citizens living abroad. Of this population, 478,000 were Chilean-born, while 371,000 were born in other countries to Chilean parents. The recently published Second Register of Chileans Abroad, however, counted 1,037,000 Chilean citizens residing abroad, which is a significant increase. 42.4% of this population resides in Argentina, followed by the United States (13.4%), Spain (10.2%), Sweden (5.4%), Canada (4.1%), Australia (3.6%), Brazil (2.5%), Venezuela (2.3%), France (2.2%) and Germany (1.9%) (Registro de Chilenos en el Exterior, 2005 and 2018).

Following the transition to democracy, the Chilean Foreign Service implemented several programmes with the objective of rebuilding and maintaining ties with the diaspora. Chilean embassies often organize cultural events, information days, and many opportunities exist to return to Chile for a study visit or for investing in the country. A special initiative is the "Government on the Terrain" (Gobierno en Terreno) programme which provides the opportunity for Chileans abroad to launch procedures related to their social insurance, civil registry and other issues in the framework of consular days, without having to travel to Chile (Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Chile, 2017). Another achievement is that Chilean citizens living abroad received the right to vote on presidential elections (suspended by the Pinochet regime and debated ever since), being able to participate in the elections of 2017 (Gamboa – Morales, 2016).

2. The Second Shift: From Emigration to Immigration

During the Pinochet era, the 'immigration memory' of Chilean society was disrupted. For the generation growing up after the democratic transition, people with immigrant background were not a part of daily life. The word 'immigrant' for younger Chileans in the 1990s was identified with the generation of their grandparents, while in the generation of their parents many 'emigrants' or even 'exiled' existed. The 'new immigration', starting with the 2000s, was therefore understood as something new, and not as a continuation of a previous social phenomenon that had affected most Chilean families some decades ago (Dehays, 2017). But until the turn of the millennium, Chile did not experience a significant influx of immigrants, and not even Santiago –despite its large size– had the ambiance of a global city. Rapid economic growth, however, started to attract many labour migrants to the country, mostly from its northern neighbours –Peru and Bolivia– followed by others, arriving from Colombia, Venezuela and Haiti. On a smaller scale, Argentines and Europeans –mostly Spaniards– also arrived to Chile, either as independent job seekers, intra-company expatriates of students (Dehays, 2017).

Based on the newly issued residence permits, the top five immigrant nationalities (yearly inflow data) are all Latin American. The most populous group is that of Peruvian citizens: while in 2011 around 15,000 arrived to Chile, by 2016 this number climbed up to 40,000. The second largest group is the Colombians: in 2011, 5,000 entered the country, while in 2016, 35,000 arrived. On the third place, Bolivian citizens show a similar dynamics (5,000 arrivals in 2011, 20,000 in 2016). On the fourth and fifth place, respectively, two new groups have appeared – the Haitians and the Venezuelans. While in 2011 neither of the two was present in the inflow statistics with more than 1,000 arrivals, in 2016 it was 23,000 newcomers entering Chile from each country (Silva Dittborn – Ballesteros Valdés, 2017). Comparing 2011 with 2016, it can be said that the number of yearly arrivals from these five countries climbed from 26,000 to 141,000 within five years. And while the increase of the number of newly issued residence permits does not necessarily mean that these people are still in Chile (there is an important trend of circular migration, especially among Peruvians and Bolivians), the dimensions of the inflow are clearly changing.  Furthermore, preliminary data for 2017 suggest that last year the number of Haitians entering Chile kept on rising, possibly being well over 50,000 (Kiernan – Dube, 2018).

The total number of immigrants in Chile is estimated around 500,000. Their territorial distribution is nonetheless very uneven: two thirds live in the Santiago Metropolitan Region, and another 10-15% in the mining region of the Far North (Silva Dittborn – Ballesteros Valdés, 2017). Concerning the immigrant population of Santiago, male labour migrants from Peru, Bolivia and Haiti usually work on constructions, while female Peruvian immigrants are predominantly working as domestic employees. The 'Peruvian maid' (nana peruana) has become a usual participant of the life of Santiago's higher middle class: thanks to their work, female family members are relieved from the duties of domestic work. Colombians are usually employed in the catering industry, and Venezuelans (who tend to be higher skilled than the groups listed above, as many of them are middle-class professionals who left Venezuela due to the economic hardships faced under Nicolás Maduro's regime) find their way in the financial sector or in trade (Dehays, 2017).

As many new immigrants have a distinct ethnic character to the average Chilean, their presence is very visible. While not en masse, hate crimes and manifestations of everyday xenophobia are present in Chile. A complex problem of racial prejudices had already existed in the country before the arrival of non-white immigrants (mostly directed against the indigenous Mapuche), and Andean indigenous immigrants (from Peru and Bolivia) encountered many facets of these attitudes. Black Haitians and black (or Mulatto) Colombians are also victims of discrimination and racism. 'Immigration' itself is an ethnicized concept in Chile: the word inmigrante is generally used for Latin Americans (of colour), while Europeans or North Americans are called 'foreigner' (extranjero) (Dehays, 2017). A generalized assumption is that 'foreigners', if high skilled, are good for the country's development. Several government development agencies, such as Start-up Chile and CORFO, actively look out to attract highly skilled foreigners to the country through the Visa Tech instrument, introduced in 2017, which provides preferential visa administration for holders of certain university degrees or for intra-company expatriates. 'Immigrants', on the other hand, are still subject to the 1975 Immigration Law (Sandoval Ducoing, 2017).

3. Immigration and the 2017 Presidential Election Campaign

Over the past decade, immigration has emerged as a discussed social issue in Chile. A survey by CEP Chile, taken in early 2017, showed that according to 41 percent of Chileans, the arrival of immigrants increased crime, which means a 6 point increase from the last poll in 2003. (This is, however, not reflected by official statistics.) Also, while migrants are seen by Chilean economists as vital for an ageing country with a falling fertility rate (the number of working age Chileans for every person in retirement age is expected to fall from 7.6 in 2000 to 3.6 in 2030), in the aforementioned survey only one-third of the respondents agreed that immigrants were good for the economy (Kiernan-Dube, 2018).

Public discussions on immigration arrived to the political arena. In November and December of 2017, presidential elections were held in Chile, and although immigration was not the most important topic (the reform of social welfare systems was by far the most discussed issue), it was undoubtedly included in the top ten. There was only one common point in the diverging positions of the candidates: that the Immigration Law from Pinochet's time was not suitable for the country any more, as it does not regulate migration for study and work purposes, so at present all citizens of Latin American countries can enter Chile without a visa. However, as immigration administration is extremely lengthy and bureaucratic, it may take up to one year until a newcomer receives a working visa from the Chilean authorities. Until then, most of them work illegally, causing serious wage tensions between immigrants and Chilean workers (Doña Reveco, 2018).

There have been several attempts to create a new legislative framework for immigration since the transition to democracy. President Eduardo Frei already launched a regularization process in 1998, granting temporary visas and/or residency permits to approximately 40,000 undocumented immigrants, mostly from Peru and Bolivia (Varas, 2013). After the turn of the millennium, governments of the centre-left Concertación alliance had several short term, isolated attempts to tackle urgent problems - such as providing free access to health-care for pregnant immigrant women - yet the overall legal framework remained unchanged. This approach, labelled as the “policy of no policy,” (Doña Reveco, 2018), led to a situation where a very conservative and outdated Immigration Law coexisted with a "patchwork" of more progressive government directives. However, as the latter were not approved by the Congress, any new government can easily withdraw them.

President Michelle Bachelet, during her first term (2006-2010), as well as her second term (2014-2018) actively expanded the range of services available for immigrants, yet her attempt to replace the 1975 law ultimately failed. Between her two terms, centre-right president Piñera's first administration (2010-14) did not change substantially the outlines of Chilean migration policy. During Bachelet's second term, however, the growing number of arrivals called for a profound reform. Also, an increasingly arbitrary local management of immigration-related issues (dubbed by Doña Reveco as a “state of mind policy”, because with the lack of a national legal framework, municipal officers decide on the housing and social benefit access of immigrants, and many things actually depend on their good or bad disposition) became unacceptable for immigrants, as well as for human rights advocates.

In 2014, Bachelet promised to develop and pass a new Migration Law, with a focus on legal residency, social inclusion, protection of human-trafficking victims, and the development dimension of migration. Still, other reforms or reform attempts, such as rewriting the Constitution, partially nationalizing private retirement funds and reforming the education system squeezed out the topic of migration from the legislative mainstream. It was only in August 2017 that the government finally sent a law proposal to the Congress. It did not include most of the original, progressive proposals, and it could not be discussed and adopted before the presidential election and the end of Bachelet's mandate (Doña Reveco, 2018).

This deadlock is a clear sign of the profound disagreement in the political arena in all immigration-related issues, and differences among the main political actors became even more pronounced in the campaign period before the presidential elections of November-December 2017. The Jesuit Migrant Service of Chile collected the positions on immigration outlined in the programmes and in public statements of the candidates (García, 2017). Based on these, radical left-wing Beatriz Sánchez and Christian democrat Carolina Goic had the most inclusive and integration-based principles: according to their promises, all immigrants would have been entitled to many social services regardless of the legality of their stay: health care, housing and schooling. They would also have offered amnesty to immigrants residing in Chile without valid permits. The centre-left Alejandro Guillier described more cautious plans, in which social issues did not arise. Had he won, a differentiated visa regime and an Immigration Office with a wide would have been created, and he would have supported amnesty as well.

Former president and leading candidate Sebastián Piñera, who finally won the presidential election in the second round, considered only the participation of immigrant children in education, while he objected to provide undocumented migrants with social benefits, not to mention amnesty. But he still held a more moderate position than the radical right-wing traditionalist José Antonio Kast, who called for a review of bilateral agreements with the sending countries, and an increase in the number of expulsions. It is believed that the support of Kast's hardliner voters was crucial in Piñera's victory in the second round (García, 2017).

An important momentum was the last TV debate between the two remaining candidates of the second round, Piñera and Guillier, entirely dedicated to the issue of migration. In this debate, held on 11 December 2017, Piñera said that "if at some point migration would jeopardize the development of the country, or cause it any harm, of course we should establish regulations". He also added that "we want to open the doors to what does good to Chile. To those who come to comply with our laws, to work, to collaborate in our development, to integrate into our society and, of course, to build a new life. But we are going to close the doors to those who come to harm us. To those who come to bring crime, drug trafficking, organized gangs and human trafficking" (cited by Montes, 2017).

In the beginning of his second term, therefore, Piñera suggested to implement a selective immigration policy regime (contrary to the left-wing narrative centred on solidarity, acceptance and the historical memory of the Chilean emigration and/or exile). And while his stance is by no means extreme - at least if compared to current discourses heard in Europe and in the United States - it is quite unusual in Latin America. Most of the countries of the region are emigrant-sending, and not immigrant-receiving countries, and in regional and global disputes on migration, Latin American governments typically focus on the human rights aspects of migration, and on the mitigation of entry conditions. Thus, if Piñera's immigration policy will take a restrictive, selective turn, it is likely to trigger serious conflicts between Chile and the rest of the continent.

4. External Determinants of the Migration Policy during the Piñera Government

Chile had been, until now, a very active – and migrant-friendly – member of regional and global discussions on the issue, just like many other Latin American countries. The failure of the International Convention on the Protection of the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families (ICRMW) did not relieve the Latin American countries of their desire to interpret migration as a human rights and development issue, rather than a threat to security, as the governments of many European countries and the United States would do. Within the Mercosur trade and political cooperation bloc, for example, the rights of free movement, settlement and employment were guaranteed to the citizens of all Member States. Also, during the annual meetings of the South American Migration Conferences (CSM), a forum for coordinating the migration policy of all South American countries, the participants adopted several declarations in order to draw the attention to the development dimension of migration. For Latin American countries, migrant remittances (the money sent home by migrants) which ensures millions of families' livelihood throughout the region, is of paramount importance. In the work of the CSM, Chile has been very committed since the beginning: Santiago was the venue of the high-level conference three times. Similarly, Chilean participation has been active in the expert and consultative phase of the United Nations' Global Compact for Safe, Orderly and Regular Migration (GCM) - until now (Conferencia Suramericana sobre Migraciones, 2016).

With the election of Sebastián Piñera as president of Chile, the text of the new Migration Law (signed by Michelle Bachelet, but still not voted by the Chilean Congress), will be thoroughly revised. Whether it will overwritten by a new doctrine, is still unknown. If, in line with Piñera's campaign explicit and implicit promises, Chile actually imposes a visa requirement on several Latin American countries from where a large number of migrants arrive, it is likely that the countries concerned will also impose similar measures on Chilean citizens, on the basis of reciprocity. This could be especially sensitive to the relations with Peru, which have improved quite a lot in recent years. Traditionally hostile Peru (which had cited Chile to the International Court of Justice in a maritime border dispute), has recently made important symbolical gestures to Chile since the election of the pragmatic centre-right president Pedro Pablo Kuczynski in 2016. In 2017, for example, the two countries held a joint cabinet meeting in Lima, for the first time in two hundred years of their statehood. Peru and Chile are also the founding members of the Pacific Alliance, an international organization with the purpose of developing trade between the Latin American states concerned, as well as with Asian countries (Buendía, 2017).

In addition to the short and medium-term foreign policy risks, it is also questionable whether a more restrictive migration policy can be implemented at all in a country with such geographic features. Far-right presidential candidate José Antonio Kast called for building physical barriers along Chile's borders, especially in the North (Santiago Times, 2017). However, the 4,270-km long country has a land border of 7,800 kilometres, and although more than half of it runs on the top of the mountain range of the Andes, the remainder is almost as long as the 3,200-kilometer long United States - Mexico border line. Chile is therefore incapable of building any fence or border control system that would actually retain immigrants from entering: a visa requirement policy would possibly bring an increase in the number of illegal border crossings instead.

An 'easy victory' could nonetheless be the restriction on the entry of Haitians. As most of them arrive by plane, their arrival is better monitored and easier to control. (Even if many of them do not arrive directly from Haiti: many Haitians originally moved to Brazil, but the country’s economic hardships pushed some immigrants to move further to Chile.) Imposing visa requirements on Haitians would perhaps decrease the perceived 'lack of governability' of inflows among right-wing voters, yet it would not solve all the other (structural) issues related to the obsolete Immigration Law (Kiernan-Dube, 2018).

5. Conclusion and Prospects

Chile definitely turned to be an 'immigration country' once again, despite the fact that numerically, its emigrant stock is still much larger that the stock of its immigrants. The topic of immigration is, however, much higher ranked on the political agenda than the topic of emigration, and furthermore, it is understood in a quite reduced way, usually encompassing only a few immigrant nationalities and leaving out many others. There seems to be a voter demand in Chile, which can support Piñera’s government to strengthen the control on immigration (of these nationalities), interpreted in his discourse as a possible security threat. The new Chilean leadership is nevertheless facing a dilemma: in a country with an intermediate migration status (where the emigrant and the immigrant population are both significant), and in an 'emigrant-friendly' regional political context, could it be able to create 'regulated' migratory conditions without becoming restrictive, and thus engage in conflicts with its neighbours?

The new administration has a number of possible paths to choose from. Besides the possible entry restrictions on those who arrive by plane, limitations on immigrants' access to certain social services and regular expulsions are probable means for a tighter immigration control. However, going against the overall logic of restrictions, the new president plans to maintain the free access to basic education for all migrant children. Also, Piñera has stated that he will create further incentives for skilled immigration, by facilitating the recognition of foreign diplomas and by expanding the Visa Tech instrument.

Based on the internal and external determinants for the future of Chilean migration policy, therefore, a system of differentiated residence and work permits could be a more fruitful path than trying to tighten entry conditions. If an acceptable policy mix is found, it can be instructive for the countries of Europe and North America as well. Chile's shifting migration policy is a worthwhile case to study, in order to see if there can be immigration rules that do not ignore basic human rights, the development impacts of migration on the countries of origin, and the real labour market needs of the host country.

Works Cited

Bengoa, José. 2002. Historia de un conflicto: el estado y los mapuches en el siglo XX. Santiago de Chile: Planeta/Ariel.

Buendía, Percy Q. 2017. "Cita histórica Perú-Chile se inaugura hoy en Lima" El Peruano, 7 July 2017. Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: http://www.elperuano.com.pe/noticia-cita-historica-peruchile-se-inaugura-hoy-lima-57360.aspx

Conferencia Suramericana sobre Migraciones, 2000-2015. 2016. Publicación producida por la Oficina Regional para América del Sur de la Organización Internacional para las Migraciones (OIM). Buenos Aires: OIM.

Dehays, Jorge. 2017. Interview of Béla Soltész with Jorge Dehays. Department of Sociology, University of Chile, Santiago de Chile, 31 October 2017.

Doña Reveco, Cristián. 2018. "Amid Record Numbers of Arrivals, Chile Turns Rightward on Immigration" Migration Policy Institute. 17 January, 2018. Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: https://www.migrationpolicy.org/article/amid-record-numbers-arrivals-chile-turns-rightward-immigration

Gamboa, Ricardo – Morales, Mauricio. 2016. "Chile's 2015 Electoral Reform: Changing the Rules of the Game" Latin American Politics and Society, 58, 126-144.

García, Magdalena. 2017. "Candidatos y migración: Sus visiones". Duna, 17 November 2017. Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: http://www.duna.cl/especial-elecciones/2017/11/17/candidatos-y-migracion-sus-visiones/

Jáuregui, Agustín de. [1784] 1982. Relación y documentos del gobierno del Virrey de Perú (1780-1784). Madrid: Instituto Gonzalo Fernández de Oviedo.

Jocelyn-Holt, Alfredo. 2004. Historia general de Chile. Santiago de Chile: Editorial Sudamericana.

Kiernan, Paul – Dube, Ryan. 2018. "As U.S. Slows Immigration, One Latin American Nation Embraces It" The Wall Street Journal. 21 January, 2018. Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: https://www.wsj.com/articles/as-u-s-slows-immigration-one-latin-american-nation-embraces-it-1516539600?mod=e2tw

Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Chile. 2017. "Gobierno en Terreno atiende a chilenos en la Patagonia Argentina" Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Chile, 26 April, 2017. Access date: February 2nd, 2018. Available at: https://minrel.gob.cl/gobierno-en-terreno-atiende-a-chilenos-en-la-patagonia-argentina/minrel/2017-04-26/095017.html

Montes, Rocío. 2017. "Piñera y Guillier enfrentan su postura sobre inmigración en el último debate en Chile" El País, 13 December 2017. Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: https://elpais.com/internacional/2017/12/12/actualidad/1513118579_978856.html

Norambuena, Carmen. 2008. "El exilio chileno: río profundo de la cultura iberoamericana" Sociohistórica: Cuadernos del CISH, 23-24. Access date: February 2nd, 2018. Available at: http://www.fuentesmemoria.fahce.unlp.edu.ar/art_revistas/pr.4382/pr.4382.pdf

Registro de Chilenos en el Exterior. 2005 (1st Register), 2018 (2nd Register). Santiago: Instituto Nacional de Estadística – Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores, Dirección para la Comunidad de Chilenos en el Exterior (DICOEX). Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: http://www.registrodechilenos.cl/

Sandoval Ducoing, Rodrigo. 2017. "Una Política Migratoria para un Chile Cohesionado" Cabieses, Báltica – Bernales, Margarita – McIntyre, Ana María (eds.) La Migración Internacional como Determinante Social de la Salud en Chile: Evidencia y Propuestas para Políticas Públicas, 39-49. Santiago: Universidad del Desarrollo.

Santiago Times. 2017. "Presidential Candidate José Antonio Kast Wants to Reconstruct Chile". Santiago Times, September 14, 2017. Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: http://santiagotimes.cl/2017/09/14/presidential-candidate-jose-antonio-kast-wants-to-reconstruct-chile/

Silva Dittborn, Claudia – Ballesteros Valdés, Victor. 2017. "Población migrante en Chile" Departamento de Extranjería y Migración (DEM) del Ministerio del Interior, September 2017. Access date: February 2nd, 2018. Available at: http://www.extranjeria.gob.cl/media/2017/09/RM_PoblacionMigranteChile.pdf

Solimano, Andrés – Tokman, Víctor. 2008. "Migraciones internacionales en un contexto de crecimiento económico: El caso de Chile" Solimano, Andrés (ed.). Migraciones internacionales en América Latina: Booms, crisis y desarrollo. Mexico, D. F. and Santiago de Chile: Fondo de Cultura Económica.

Soltész, Béla. 2011. "A dél-amerikai horvát emigráció" South-East Europe: International Relations Quarterly, 1/2011. Access date: February 4th, 2018. Available at: http://www.southeast-europe.org/pdf/5/DKE_05_M_M_SB.pdf

Varas, Augusto (ed.). 2013. La Democracia frente al poder. Chile 1990-2010. Santiago de Chile: Catalonia.

THE NORTH AFRICAN FRONTIER IN U.S. HISTORY (?) HISTORICAL ASPECTS OF THE AMERICAN BARBARY CAPTIVITY NARRATIVES, 1788–1829

ZSOLT PALOTÁS

1. Introduction

Indian Captivity Narrative is a well-known literary genre in early American literature. Works which presented the life of the Natives, and the American pioneers’ interactions with them in the so-called Western Frontier overshadowed the captivity stories about the “North African Frontier of the U.S.” in many ways. The captivity of sailors, merchants and soldiers in the Barbary, basically North Africa or the Western Maghreb, was a central theme in several works not only in Europe, but also in North America. The present essay describes the main features of the Barbary Captivity Narrative genre, and presents the historical aspects of some selected accounts and their impacts on American literature. The paper’s time frame is between 1788, the publication of the first edition of James Leander Cathcart’s (1767–1843) account and 1829, the first publication of Viletta Laranda’s work.

There were three different periods, namely the Algerian captivity (1785–1796), the Tripolitan War (1801–1805) and the period between the 1810s and 1820s when American sailors, merchants and soldiers were captured by Muslims in the Mediterranean. First, this paper examines the events of the Algerian period through the accounts of John Foss (?–1800) and Cathcart (1799; 1899). The examination of two narratives of the Tripolitan War, namely the memoir of Doctor Jonathan Cowdery (1767–1852) and William Ray (1771–1826) is the next objective (1806; 1808). Last, but not least, the essay presents two Saharan captivity tales of shipwreck survivors, namely the James Riley’s (1777–1840) and Judah Paddock’s (1767–1823) accounts (1817; 1818).

2. Historiography

Between the 16th and the early 19th century several Christian slaves/captives, redemption priests, travellers and diplomats wrote memoirs and reports about the Ottoman Regency of Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli and the Kingdom of Morocco, its inhabitants as well as about Muslim piracy or corsairing. Several U.S. captives also wrote an account about their imprisonment in the Barbary and these accounts were published and republished over the years. In the 19th century, American publishers issued over a hundred American Barbary captivity editions. For example, Cathcart’s account was published by his daughter, Jane Bancker Newkirk as The Captives: Eleven Years a Prisoner in Algiers (1899). The most well-known American Barbary Captivity Narrative was written by Riley who was a captive in Western Sahara, Morocco in 1815. Riley’s account, entitled Loss of the American Brig Commerce (1817) sold nearly a million copies in more than twenty editions (Ratcliffe, 2007).

American researchers have thoroughly examined the relations between the United States and the North African States in the first years of the young Republic. Researchers have primarily paid attention to the captivity of American merchants and sailors in Algiers and to the so-called Barbary Wars, namely the above mentioned Tripolitan War and the War against Algiers (1815–1816). For example, in the first years of 21th century Frank Lambert (2005), Joshua London (2005) and Frederick Leiner (2006) published their monographs on these conflicts. There are two classic works about the political and military relations between the Maghreb and the U.S. Gardner Weld Allen’s monograph, Our Navy and the Barbary Corsairs was published in 1905. For those who wish to learn more about the diplomatic relations between the United States and the Maghreb during the 18–19th century in general, The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with the Barbary Powers, written by Ray Watkins Irwin, remains a standard (1931). A number of secondary works discuss American captivity in the Barbary. For example, Henry G. Barnby’s monograph, The Prisoners of Algiers is one of the best accounts of the captivity and the redemption of American prisoners in Algiers (1966). Furthermore, Gary E. Wilson’s essay, American Hostages in Moslem Nations discusses American captivity and its impact on the foreign and domestic policy of the United States (1982). In addition, Paul Baepler’s anthology, entitled White Slaves, African Masters contains nine American captivity accounts and has an excellent introduction about Americans captivity in the Barbary (1999). Furthermore, Daniel E. Williams’ work, Liberty’s Captives, an anthology of seventeen little-known narratives was published between 1779 and 1818, not only about the Barbary but also about North America, the West Indies and England (2006).

3. Frontier and Borderland in the Mediterranean and in North America

Frontier was originally understood as the edge of a society. In case of the United States and its 19th-century westward expansion, frontier was also the edge of civilization, a place where civilized society encountered the wilderness, the savage, the unknown (Turner, 1920). Later, Frederick Jackson Turner himself and many other historians of the 1980s (New Western History) modified the original frontier thesis. Andrea Kökény summed it up saying that “The focus shifted to the encounter of cultures and to their mutual interactions […]” (2007:10). The traditional concept of the frontier stands in contrast with the borderland –mainly the Southwest of North America, Mexico– in U.S. history, because borderland is an area where the two societies meet and overlap (Darling, 2012:54–55).

The Mediterranean is often seen as the frontier between Christian and Muslim societies. This frontier was not the edge of civilization but according to Daniel Power as cited by Linda Darling, “a fortified boundary line running through dense populations” (2012:55 op cit 1999:2, 4–8). The focus is on the differences between the two, their opposition or enmity, but this difference does not separate the opposing regions as Andrew Hess pointed it out in his essay, published in 1968.

Geography, it is true, aided the Habsburgs in the defense of Spain, but this did not mean that the geographical division between Europe and Africa formed an impenetrable boundary. The western frontier between Muslim and Christian, throughout most of the sixteenth century, was, rather, a fluid area including Islamic communities in south eastern Spain and Spanish forts on the coast of the Maghrib [Maghreb] (Hess, 1968:7).

North Africa, the “Forgotten Frontier” in the 16th century, as the American scholar called it in his monograph of 1978, is also a special mixture of the frontier and the borderland in early U.S. history. American sailors, merchants and soldiers met Islam in this region. This interaction and connection determined to some extent the foreign and domestic policy of the early Republic and also had an important impact on early American literature.

4. The Captivity Narrative Genre in the Mediterranean and in North America

What exactly is Captivity Narrative? Captivity narratives are first-person nonfictional accounts written by people who have survived experiences of being taken captive – most typically writings about white Americans about experiences of captivity among Native Americans, at least in the U.S. In this subject, one can consult András Tarnóc’s monograph, entitled in English Violence and Redemption: Indian Captivity Narrative as the Cornerstone of American Origin Myth (2015). Another important subgenre is the Barbary Captivity Narrative, which contains the earliest responses of white American writers to encounters with the Muslim world. In addition, Derounian Stodola determined several subgenres, such as Slave Narrative, Spiritual Autobiography, Hostage Account, Prisoner of War (POW) Story, Indian Boarding School Autobiography, Convent Captivity Narrative, and even UFO Abduction Story (2008:716). The Barbary Captivity Narratives involved tales of “civilized,” or European hostages forced to survive in the Maghreb States. It is important to point out that the Barbary Captivity Narratives were popular in the Mediterranean prior to Mary Rowlandson’s (1635–1711) 1682 publication The Sovereignty and Goodness of God. One example for this statement is Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra’s (1547–1616), Spanish soldier and writer who was present at the battle of Lepanto in 1571 and was a slave at Algiers between 1575 and 1580 masterpiece, Don Quixote, published in two volumes in 1604/1605 and in 1615.

[…] and so I passed my life in that bagnio [slave prison], with other gentlemen of quality, who expected their ransom ; and through hunger and nakedness might, as it did often, afflict us, yet nothing gave us such affliction, as to the other Christian slaves: he [Muslim master] one day would hang one then impale another, cut off the ears of a third ; and this upon such slight occasions, that often the Turks would own, that he did it only for the pleasure of doing it, and because he was naturally an enemy to mankind (Cervantes Saavedra, 1947:329).

In addition, the Barbary Captivity Narrative genre had also a history of popularity amongst Western Europeans, especially the British writers, as, for, example Nabil Matar, Professor of the University of Minnesota pointed out in several of his publications (2001; 2014). One of the most important collections of narratives was published in 2001 by Daniel J. Vitkus, Professor at the University of California. The Piracy, Slavery, and Redemption counts the harrowing experiences of Englishmen abducted by the Barbary pirates of North Africa in Early Modern Times (Vitkus, 2001). Both Native American and Barbary Captivity Narratives served to support imperialistic ventures and reinforced the belief that one culture was superior over the other (Roberts, 2017:1). The roots of Barbary captivity stories held religious traditions and through that, a way of seeing the Muslim world in a way that, according to Baepler, “like Native American captivity accounts, Barbary captivity narratives predictably emphasized the victimization of the Christian and the inhumanity of the non-Christian” (2004:220).

However, captivity within the Muslim States of North Africa was of a different nature than Native American captivity where religious conversion or becoming a renegade was more feared than death. The latter mostly focused on a more physical form of captivity. It is a fact that the most successful Muslim corsairs were mainly Christian renegades. For example, John Ward (viz. Yusuf) was English and Jan Janszoon (viz. Murat Reis) was Dutch by origin (Lloyd, 1981; Krieken, 1993). Among the American prisoners of Tripoli we can also find a captive who “turned turk”. William Ray reported in his narrative that John Wilson quartermaster “had turned traitor, and given the enemy all the assistance in his power. […] put on the turban, and confirmed his apostasy” (Ray, 1808:94, 98). Furthermore, Native Americans were often considered savage and not civilized, whereas in the Maghreb, urban, permanent settlements were established by the Muslims (e.g. Algiers, Tunis and Salé). The captives were able to observe these cities and their inhabitants (Roberts, 2017:7).

5. Slavery in the Maghreb and in the United States

Slavery and bondage or captivity was a pivotal and sensitive point in the relations between Christian Europe and the Barbary States or États barbaresques that is North Africa. Piracy and corsairing when Muslims or Christians pillaged one another’s coastal towns and captured one another’s subjects on the high seas, flourished in the Mediterranean in the 16–17th century. This was the Golden Age of Muslim as well as Christian piracy. The most feared Christian corsairs were the members of the Order of St John of Malta in Europe (Earle, 1970:97–191). Sir Robert Lambert Playfair (1828–1899) who was British consul at Algiers between 1867 and 1897 also pointed this out in his work entitled The Scourge of Christendom. (1884) The British orientalist, Stanley Lane-Poole (1854–1931) also came to a similar conclusion in his monograph.

Nothing was safe from their attacks; not a vessel ran the gauntlet of the Barbary Coast in her passage from Spain to Italy without many a heart quaking within her. The “Scourge of Christendom” had begun, which was to keep all the nations of Europe in perpetual alarm for three centuries. The Algerine [Algerian] Corsairs were masters of the sea, and they made their mastery felt by all who dared to cross their path […] (Lane-Poole, 1890:56).

However, Mediterranean corsairing was of a different nature than simply piracy or banditry on the high seas. The former was an equivalent term with the English privateer. According to the Concise English Dictionary, a privateer is an “armed vessel owned & officered by private persons holding commission from government (letters of marque) & authorized to use it against hostile nation esp. in capture of merchant shipping” (Hayward–Sparkes, 1988:953). Furthermore, it is important to distinguish Mediterranean bondage from other forms of enslavement, in particular, from the Atlantic chattel slavery. The institution of slavery, as it is well-known, was established at the very beginning of Antiquity. However, the concept of slavery which derived from the Latin sclavus, that is, a Slavic prisoner, spread only in the Early Middle Ages. For this category there was no or just little chance of liberation (Hayward–Sparkes, 1988:1178-1179).

Contrary to this, the duration of captivity was generally limited since detainees had the chance of being redeemed or exchanged with other prisoners. Captives were not expected – at least in theory – to work, whereas slaves were owned in prospect of their capacity to work. Members of the Redemption orders (Trinitarians and Mercedarians), diplomats of Western European states and consuls used their influence and acted in order to promote the liberation of Christians in North Africa. American colonial ships fell into the hands of the Muslims early in the 17th century. The first such case occurred in 1625 when a colonial merchant vessel was captured by Muslim pirates (Wilson, 1982:123). American merchants were protected by the British in the colonial period. First, the Royal Navy forced the Barbary States to sign peace treaties, for example, in 1662 and in 1751, etc. Second, a special protection letter, the so-called Mediterranean Pass or Passport was issued for the English traders thanks to these treaties (Stein, 2015).

One of the consequences of the independence of the Thirteen Colonies in 1783 was that the American merchant vessels became defenceless against the attacks of the pirates not only in the Mediterranean, but also in the Caribbean. The British monarchy was not interested in protecting the American or any other new-comer merchants in the Mediterranean because of economic considerations. The English nobleman, John Baker Holroyd, first Earl of Sheffield (1735–1821) clearly remarked this attitude in his pamphlet, entitled Observations on the Commerce of the American States, published in 1784.

It is not probable the American State will have a very free trade in the Mediterranean; it will not be the interest of any of the great maritime powers to protect them from the Barbary States. […] That the Barbary States a. [are] advantageous to the maritime powers in [is] certain (Sheffield, 1784:204-205).

The Betsey was the first American ship which was captured by Moroccan pirates in 1784. The Kingdom of Morocco, which maintained good relationships with the U.S. quickly set the Americans free. A more serious problem was that a conflict evolved with Algiers. The merchant ships of Maria and Dauphin were captured in 1785 (Irwin, 1932:28-37; Allen, 1905:13-14). Hundreds of Americans lived in captivity in Algiers between 1785 and 1796. This was the period of the so-called “undeclared” or even “forgotten” war with Algiers (Wilson, 1982).

According to some sources, the lives of the American captives were miserable in captivity. In early modern times, as we mentioned it above several Christians wrote memoirs and reports about North Africa and Muslim piracy. The suffering of the Christian slaves in the Barbary was a popular cliché in Europe. The best example for this statement is the Redemption Father, Pierre Dan’s (?–1649) work, Histoire de la Barbarie, published in 1646.

The Barbary corsairs are the plague of nature, the pest of humankind, the tyrants of common liberty, the executioners of universal innocence, who incessantly harm by cruelties unknown to the rest of men and which further surpasses that of tigers and lions born in their country (Dan, 1646:4).

In the Mediterranean, after the Muslim or Christian corsairs captured people, they were mostly taken to one of the major slave markets. The most famous Muslim slave market was in Algiers. An ordinary day at the market began with the inspection of the captured Christians and later was followed by the auction in the afternoon. During the examination, the Muslims looked at the hands and teeth of the half-naked people from which they determined what kind of work they could do (Earle, 1970:76). After a thorough inspection of the slaves, the auction began. In his memoir, Emanuel d’Aranda (1614–1694?), Flemish nobleman and traveller who was captured by Algerian corsairs in 1640 described his own auction in Algiers: “Then they made us all sit down, and this old auctioneer took the first in the line by the arm, walking three or four times round the market with him, crying Arrache, arrache, which means who will offer more” (1662:13-14).

However, a number of sources also mentioned the humanity of the North Africans. According to the Virginia Journal, Muhammad III, Sultan of Morocco (ruled 1757–1790)

did not consider them [the American captives] as Slaves, and that they were at Liberty to go about the Country without Molestation, but that they must not attempt an Escape from his Dominions, until some Person appeared to release them (Virginia Journal, October 13, 1785).

At the same time, a great number of black slaves worked in chain in the southern states of the United States. A number of American writers drew a parallel between the life of the American captives in Africa and the life of the black slaves in North America. William Eaton (1764–1811), American consul in Tunis between 1799 and 1804, for example bitterly remarked to his wife in 1799 that the white Christian slaves were treated better in Tunis by the Muslim “barbarians” than the African slaves in the United States.

Indeed truth and justice demand from me the confession that Christian slaves among the barbarians of Africa are treated with more humanity than the African slaves among the professing Christian of civilized America; and yet here sensibility bleeds at every pore for the wretches whom fate has doomed to slavery (Prentiss, 1813:154).

Modern scholars have also analysed how Barbary captivity influenced early American perceptions of slavery. For example, Gerald R. McMurtry investigated how Riley’s account altered Abraham Lincoln’s (1809–1865) view of the institution of slavery in America (1934; Miranda, 2012:12; Baepler 1999:4; Baepler, 2004:217). According to McMurtry, “the book is filled with anti-slavery sentiment, not from the political but the moral side of the question. It is likely that Lincoln was especially impressed with the paragraph which describes the slave market” (1934:136).

They next found fault with my shins, which had been very sore and they examined every bone to see if all was right in its place, with the same circumspection that a jockey would use who was about buying a horse, while we, poor trembling wretches, strove with all possible care and anxiety to hide every fault and infirmity in us, occasioned by our dreadful calamities and cruel sufferings (Riley, 1817:107).

Later, concerning to American slavery, Riley also wrote that

[…] free countrymen still hold a million and a half, nearly, of the human species, in the most cruel bonds of slavery, many of whom are kept at hard labour and smarting under the savage lash of inhuman mercenary drivers, and in many instances enduring besides the miseries of hunger, thirst, imprisonment, cold, nakedness, and even tortures. […] I myself have witnessed such scenes in different parts of my own country, and the bare recollection now chills my blood with horror (1817:531–532).

6. Fictional and Historical Barbary Captivity Narratives in American Literature

The Barbary Captivity Narrative genre, as it was noted before, flourished in the early 1800s in North America. Within the main genre, three sub-variants are known, namely urban captivity tales of captured sailors, Saharan captivity tales of shipwreck survivors, and histories and commentaries of the Barbary States. Christine Sears estimates that a total of seven hundred American men were held captive by the Barbary States between 1776 and 1830 (2012:3; Miranda, 2012:7). First, a great number of women experienced slavery in North Africa during the 16th and 19th centuries. On this subject, Khalid Bekkaoui’s monograph is very useful, which contains women captivity narratives between 1735 and 1830. According to Bekkaoui, the first female Barbary captivity autobiography, entitled Miraculous and Remarkable Events of Twelve Years Slavery, of a Woman, Called Maria ter Meetelen… was published in Dutch in the mid-eighteenth century (2011:28).

In addition, the first three decades of the 19th century saw a sudden boom in female Barbary Captivity Narratives in America: The Captivity and Sufferings of Mary Velnet (1804), History of the Captivity and Sufferings of Mrs. Maria Martin (1806), An Authentic Narrative of the Shipwreck and Sufferings of Mrs. Eliza Bradley (1820), and Neapolitan Captive: Interesting Narrative of the Captivity and Sufferings of Miss Viletta Laranda, a Native of Naples (1830) (Bekkaoui, 2011:28). However, contemporary critics, such as Baepler and Bekkaoui, have categorized these accounts as fictitious because of the absence of any historical record concerning the captivity as well as because of the fact that their stories are considered plagiarism (Baepler, 1999:18, 247; Bekkaoui, 2011:28). For example, the most popular urban captivity narrative, A History of the Captivity and Sufferings of Mrs Maria Martin, was a plagiarized account of an earlier urban captivity narrative. The Saharan captivity narrative of Eliza Bradley was almost certainly a plagiarized version of Riley’s account (Miranda, 2012:11).

In 1784 Moroccans, and in 1785 Algerians, as noted before, captured American ships. Later the Algerians also attacked American vessels, for example, the Polly brig in 1793, and took several Americans into slavery to Algiers. We know that at least two of the prisoners, Foss and Cathcart wrote captivity accounts of their imprisonment. Among other things, Foss, who was one of the passengers on the Polly brig, mentioned that he met several Americans in Algiers after he arrived in the city.

When we arrived there [prison Bilic, Algiers], we found several other Americans, who landed a little before us, and they informed us that the Corsairs had captured ten sail of American vessels, and that their Captains and crews were chiefly in the same prison. […] on Friday, all the slaves work in the mountains but on other days only a part of them work there. They have commonly a part of the captives work in the marine (Foss, 1798:17).

For the next three years, Foss suffered the “galling chains of Slavery”. In his narrative he implored his countrymen not to forget “the hardships – the sufferings – the agonizing tortures, which our fellow-citizens had to endure while groaning under all the horror of Mahometan vassalage” (Sears, 2012:2-3; Foss, 1798:4).

The federal government of the United States was powerless in the first years of the Algerian crisis. The captives petitioned Congress to alleviate their situation but with little success. Cathcart, another captive reproachfully asked his fellow countrymen about this issue in his writing.

[…] why are we left the victims of arbitrary power and barbarous despotism, in a strange land far distant from all our connections, miserable exiles from the country for which we have fought, forgotten by our co[n]temporaries who formerly used to animate us all our expedition with tales of liberty? (Cathcart, 1899:144)

During the Tripolitan War, a number of narratives were written, which were related to the loss of the Philadelphia frigate in 1803 and the American captivity in Tripoli between 1803 and 1805. On October 31, 1803 the Philadelphia frigate ran aground during the American blockade against Tripoli and shortly after it, she was captured by the Tripolitans. William Bainbridge (1774–1833) the captain of the frigate, and the crew of the ship, 307 sailors and soldiers, became prisoners of war (Allen, 1905:138-157; Irwin, 1932:134-135). Several of the U.S. hostages, for example, Doctor Jonathan Cowdery, William Ray and Elijah Shaw wrote narratives of their imprisonment. The former served as one of the Philadelphia’s doctors and, as an officer, was accorded preferential treatment, what is more he was the Tripolitan pasha’s physician at this time.

November 1. […] Our dwelling was furnished in a plain style and we were supplied with fresh provisions that were tolerably good. We were allowed to go to the front door, and to walk on the terrace or top of the house, which commanded a handsome prospect of the harbour, the sea, the town, the palace, and the adjoining country. […] Feb. 6. – The Bashaw [Yusuf Karamanli, ruled: 1795–1832] sent for me to come to his room in the castle. He shook hands with me, received me with much politeness, and requested me to pay every attention to his family as a physician (Cowdery, 1806:163, 167).

Ray and the majority of the prisoners, in contrast, lived together in miserable conditions in prison. Furthermore, Ray’s work was used to question the practice of slave holding in the American Republic.

We had nothing to keep us from the cold, damp earth, but a thin, tattered sail-cloth; the floor of the prison was very uneven, planted with hard pebbles, and as we had nothing but a shirt to soften our beds, and nothing but the ground for a pillow, and very much crouded in the bargain, the clouds of night shed no salutary repose. […] The Doctor [Jonathan Cowdery] does not think it worth mentioning, that almost the whole crew were suffering intolerably, by hunger and nakedness […] (Ray, 1808:192-193).

In April 2016, Tobias Auböck, gave a presentation at EAAS (European Association for American Studies) conference in Constanta, Romania about the different interpretations and views of the events in Tripoli and publishe a paper entitled Two Versions of the Truth: Class and Perspective in Early Captivity Narratives on this issue. Here, the two most well-known Saharan captivity narratives were Riley’s and Archibald Robbins’ (1792–1865) works (1817; 1815). While the two titles resemble each other, one was not plagiarizing the other. They were on board of the Commerce brig when it foundered on the coast of North Africa in 1815. Riley and Robbins were held captive in the Sahara, redeemed by the English consul in Morocco, William Willshire (1790–1851) and both men returned to the United States in 1816 (Miranda, 2012:75). Another Saharan captivity narrative is Judah Paddock’s work which, according to Baepler, is the strongest critique of U.S. slavery that appears in any captivity narrative. In 1800, Paddock’s ship the Oswego struck a reef and later the crew was discovered by “a body of wild Arabs” and carried into bondage (Baepler, 2004:234). Paddock’s master, Ahmed, was extremely well informed about enslaving practices in the United States.

[…] they [blacks] are men that you Christian dogs have taken from the Guinea country, a climate that suits them best, and you were going there to get more of them, and are worse that the Arabs, who enslave you only when it is God’s will to send you on our coast (Paddock, 1818:111-112).

Later, he called Paddock and his men lazy, poor, thievish, stupid, dependent, genetically inferior, immoral for trading slaves, and immoral for selling weapons. In addition, Baepler came to the conclusion that the plight of Paddock and his crew was made more difficult because of the ongoing practice of slavery in the United States (2004:238).

7. Conclusion

In conclusion, the inhabitants of the Barbary States had an important and indirect influence on early American literature. As Baepler said, “the figure of the white slave in Africa not only produced a mirror image of the black slave in America, but it also rationalized and critiqued slavery in the United States and produced some of the first and longest-lasting images of Africans for an American audience” (1999:51). First, the American Barbary Captivity Narrative was a significant work in and for early American literature. Second, these narratives reveal some of the earliest impressions Americans had of Africa. Third, the genre not only presented American life in captivity, but it also revealed a certain criticism about the institution of slavery in North America.

The present essay supported by the UNKP-17-4 New National Excellence Program of the Ministry of Human Capacities. I would like to thank Andrea Kökény, senior assistant professor of the University of Szeged for her insightful and invaluable remarks on this work.

Works Cited

Primary Sources

Aranda, Emanuel d’ 1662. Relation de la Captivité & Liberté du sieur Emanuel d’Aranda, jadis esclave à Alger... Bruxelles: Chez Jean Mommartm à l’Enseigne de l’Imprimerie.

Cathcart, James Leander. 1899. The Captives: Eleven Years a Prisoner in Algiers. Newkirk, Jane Bancker Cathcart (ed.). 1st edition in 1788, La Porte, IN: Herald Print.

Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de. 1947. Don Quixote. Vol. 1, London – New York, NY: J. M. Dent & Sons, E. P. Dutton & Co. Inc.

Cowdery, Jonathan. 1806. American Captives in Tripoli; or Dr. Cowdery’s Journal in Miniature. Kept During his Late Captivity in Tripoli. Boston, MA: Belcher & Armstrong.

Dan, Pierre. 1646. Histoire de la Barbarie et de ses corsaires, des royaumes, et des villes d’Alger, de Tunis, de Salé, & de Tripoly… Paris: Chez Pierre Rocolet.

Foss, John. 1798. A Journal, of the Captivity and Sufferings of John Foss, several years prisoner in Algiers... Newburyport, MA: Angier March, Middle-Stre.

Larand, Viletta. 1830. Neapolitan Captive: Interesting Narrative of the Captivity and Sufferings of Miss Viletta Laranda… 1st edition in 1829, New York, NY: Charles c. Henderson.

Paddock, Judah. 1818. Narrative of the Shipwreck of Oswego, on the Coast of South Barbary, and of the Sufferings of the Master and the Crew While in Bondage among the Arabs… London: Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown.

Prentiss, Charles. 1813. The Life of the Late Gen. William Eaton; Several Years an Officer in the United States’ Army, Consul at the Regency of Tunis on the Coast of Barbary… Brookfield, MA: E. Merriam & Co.

Ray, William. 1808. Horrors of Slavery: or, the American Tars in Tripoli: Containing an Account of the Loss and Capture of the United States Frigate Philadelphia… Troy, NY: Oliver Lyon.

Riley, James. 1817. An Authentic Narrative of the Loss of the American brig Commerce: Wrecked on the Western Cost of Africa, in the Month of August, 1815… New York, NY: James Riley.

Robbins, Archibald. 1815. Journal Comprising an Account of the Loss of the Brig Commerce, of Hartford, (Con.)… Hartford, CT: Andrus & Judd.

Sheffield, John. 1784. Observations on the Commerce of the American States. Dublin: P. Byrne.

Virginia Journal, Alexandria, Virginia

Secondary Literature

Allen, Gardner Weld. 1905. Our Navy and the Barbary Corsairs. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin and Company.

Auböck, Tobias. 2016. “Two Versions of the Truth: Class and Perspective in Early Captivity Narratives” Angles: French Perspectives on the Anglophone World. Access date: November 2nd, 2017. Available at: http://angles.saesfrance.org/index.php?id=824

Baepler, Paul Michel. 1999. White Slaves, African Masters: An Anthology of American Barbary Captivity Narratives. London – Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

Baepler, Paul Michel. 2004. “The Barbary Captivity Narrative in American Culture” Early American Literature, 39. (2), 217-246.

Barnby, Henry George. 1966. The Prisoners of Algiers: An Account of the Forgotten American–Algerian War 1785–1797. London – New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Bekkaoui, Khalid. 2011. White Women Captives in North Africa: Narratives of Enslavement, 1735–1830. Basingstoke – New York, NY: Palgrave MacMillan.

Darling, Linda T. 2012. “The Mediterranean as a Borderland” Review of Middle East Studies, 46. (1), 54-63.

Derounian-Stodola, Kathryn Zabelle. 2008. “Captivity, Liberty, and Early American Consciousness” Early American Literature, 43. (3), 715-724.

Earle, Peter. 1970. Corsairs of Malta and Barbary. London: Sidgwick and Jackson.

Hayward, Arthur L. – Sparkes, John P. 1988. The Concise English Dictionary: Including Words and Phrases Current among the English-speaking Peoples of the World, together with many Technical and Scientific Terms in Common Use. Poole: Dorset New Orchard.

Hess, Andrew C. 1968. “The Moriscos: An Ottoman Fifth Column in Sixteenth-Century Spain” The American Historical Review, 74. (1), 1-25.

Hess, Andrew C. 1978. The Forgotten Frontier: A History of the Sixteenth-Century Ibero-African Frontier. London – Chicago, IL: The University of Chicago Press.

Irwin, Ray Watkins. 1931. The Diplomatic Relations of the United States with the Barbary Powers, 1776–1816. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press.

Kökény, Andrea. 2007. Angol-amerikaiak Texasban, 1821–1845. Doktori értekezés, Szeged: SZTE BTK.

Krieken, Gérard van. 1993. “Renégats néerlandais en Afrique du Nord aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles” Cahiers de Tunisie, 46. (165), 49–63.

Lambert, Frank. 2005. The Barbary Wars: American Independence in the Atlantic World. New York, NY: Hill and Wang.

Lane-Poole, Stanley. 1890. The Barbary Corsairs. New York, NY: G. P. Putnam’s Sons.

Lloyd, Christopher. 1981: English Corsairs on the Barbary Coast. London: Collins.

Leiner, Frederick. 2006. The End of Barbary Terror: America’s 1815 War against the Pirates of North Africa. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

London, Joshua. 2005. Victory in Tripoli: How America’s War with the Barbary Pirates established the U.S. Navy and built a Nation. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley.

Matar, Nabil. 2001. “English Accounts of Captivity in North Africa and the Middle East: 1577–1625” Renaissance Quarterly, 54. (2), 553-572.

Matar, Nabil. 2014. British Captives from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, 1563–1760. Leiden – Boston, MA: Brill.

McMurtry, R. Gerald. 1934. “The Influence of Riley’s Narrative upon Abraham Lincoln” Indiana Magazine of History, 2. (2), 133-138.

Miranda, Paul. 2012. Captive in Barbary: The Stereotyping of Arabs, Turks, and Islam in Early American Society, 1785–1850. BA dissertation, Newark, DE: University of Delaware.

Playfair, Robert Lambert. 1884. The Scourge of Christendom: Annals of British Relations with Algiers Prior to the French Conquest. London: Smith, Elder, & Co.

Power, Daniel. 1999. “Introduction” Power, Daniel – Standen, Naomi (eds.). 1999. Frontiers in Question: Eurasian Borderlands, 700–1700. Basingstoke, MA: Macmillan. 1-12.

Ratcliffe, Donald J. 2007. “Selling Captain Riley, 1816–1859: How did His ‘Narrative’ Become So Well Known?” Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society, 117. 177-209.

Roberts, Amanda. 2017. “National Anxiety and Religion: Transitional Captivity Narratives from the Post-Revolutionary United States” Access date: November 2nd, 2017. Available at: https://www.twu.edu/media/documents/history-government/National-Anxiety-and-Religion-Ibid-Volume-9-Spring-2016.pdf

Sears, Christine E. 2012. American Slaves and African Masters: Algiers and the Western Sahara, 1776–1820. New York, NY: Palgrave MacMillan.

Stein, Tristan. 2015. “Passes and Protection in the Making of British Mediterranean” Journal of British Studies, 54. 602-631.

Tarnóc, András. 2015. Erőszak és megváltás: Az indián fogságnapló mint az amerikai eredetmitosz sarokköve. Eger: EKF Líceum Kiadó.

Turner, Frederick Jackson. 1920. “The Significance of the Frontier in American History” Turner, Frederick Jackson. 1920. The Frontier in American History. New York, NY: Henry Holt & Co. 1-38.

Vitkus, Daniel (ed.). 2001. Piracy, Slavery and Redemption: Barbary Captive Narratives from Early Modern England. Chichester – New York, NY: Columbia University Press.

Williams, Daniel E. – Christina Riley et al. (eds.). 2006. Liberty’s Captives: Narratives of Confinement in the Print Culture of the Early Republic. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press.

Wilson, Gary E. 1982. “American Hostages in Moslem Nations, 1784–1796: The Public Response” Journal of the Early Republic, 2. (2), 123-141.

TRANSGRESSING STRATEGIC BORDERS: SOVIET-AMERICAN NUCLEAR SPYING IN 1945

ZOLTÁN CORA

Studies have mushroomed recently concerning what role the atomic bomb played in generating the Cold War and what strategies and methods various intelligence agencies employed in order to outstrip the other. This paper examines how Soviet atomic espionage, competing with the Americans, obtained the secret which made the atomic bomb the verging point of the “incubator phase” of the Cold War, especially focusing on spying on Julius Robert Oppenheimer and Niels Bohr, two key figures in the Manhattan Project. In order to prove the importance of the role espionage played in this period, I investigate several contemporary documents of the Soviet secret service (NKVD [Narodnyy Kommissariat Vnutrennikh Del] People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs). The NKVD worked with immense precision to obtain information about essential aspects of American, Canadian and British nuclear research, including the ratios and methods of the enrichment of uranium. Soviet nuclear spying also focused on the elaborate analysis and evaluation of information. The activity of Igor Kurchatov’s think tank was carefully combined with direct spying activities. It is argued that the interrogation of Niels Bohr was prepared by Kurchatov himself at the Leningrad Institute of Physics and Technology, with a view to capitalising on the idealistic perspective of scientists working on the Manhattan Project.

Military uses of nuclear energy began to be researched from the early 1940s, but as a strategic weapon, the belligerents could only potentially use it at the end of the war. With the defeat of Nazi Germany, only the USA and the Soviet Union remained as potential candidates for nurturing nuclear research. Among these, the Manhattan Project proved its unquestioned importance in creating the first atomic bomb in the history of humankind. Harry S. Truman’s consequent decision of using it against Japan was an essential turn in the “antagonistic cooperation” (Fischer, 1992: 9-110; Gaddis, 1997: 1-85). Therefore, the White House also compelled the Kremlin to enhance its ongoing atomic research and strengthen its military intelligence activities regarding the atomic secret.

The Soviet leaders perceived the real potential of the bomb, yet both Vyacheslav Molotov and Josip Stalin attributed relatively little significance to the new weapon. At the same time, the Soviets desperately needed information proper via a number of different ways of espionage. A properly planned action in November 1945 managed to acquire the missing pieces of information for the creation of the bomb through a successful interrogation of the famous Danish physicist, Niels Bohr, who was part of the crew working on the Manhattan Project. The mission was planned and directed by Lavrenty Beria as Secretary of USSR NKVD and Igor Kurchatov as scientific referent. Its success was shown by Beria’s Cover Memo to Stalin (Beria’s Cover Memo to Stalin on Niels Bohr, 06-06-2018) as well as by a short but remarkable evaluation of Kurchatov:

BOHR gave a categorical answer to the question about the use of methods for obtaining uranium 235 in the USA, which completely satisfied the correspondent member of the Academy of Science Prof. [Isaak Konstantinovich] KIKOIN, who put this question. [...] Niels BOHR made an important remark dealing with the effectiveness of using uranium in the atomic bomb. This remark must undergo a theoretical analysis, which should be the task of Professors [Lev Davidovich] LANDAU, [A.B.] MIGDAL, and [Isaak I.] POMERANCHUK. […] (Kurchatov’s Evaluation of Niels Bohr’s Questioning, 06-06-2018)[23]

However, when examining the spying activity of the NKVD in the USA during the war, it is also worth looking at how espionage fitted in the correlative system of the nuclear question and into the first phase of the Cold War, the so-called “antagonistic cooperation”. The hardly or latently perceived disagreement among the allies surfaced at the end of and shortly after the war, thus transforming their cooperation into an antagonistic one. The increasingly diverging socio-economic, political and military interests of the USA and the Soviet Union led to the formation and stabilization of buffer zones in the early post-war years, effectively contributing to the division of Europe into a Western and an Eastern half (Gaddis, 1997: 1-85). Moreover, this antagonism was also rooted in ideological determination and motivation. After the war, US governments regarded themselves as expansionists of liberal democracy, while Soviet leaders envisioned a socialist world revolution according to the Leninist way to communism.

Furthermore, espionage targeting nuclear secrets was not only influenced by military-political factors, but by ideological and moral motivations as well. Nevertheless, as for experimental nuclear tests, the Soviet government’s political and military steps were relatively belated. They recognised the importance of the new weapon, and the technological preconditions of building a bomb were also given, yet Soviet leaders decided to postpone the development of nuclear weapons. The primary reason for this was the system-specific, belated political chain of reactions that originated from Russian historical tradition (Lukacs, 1966: passim).

In addition to this, economic performance also influenced the quality and quantity of the production of nuclear arsenals. In this respect, the USA and the Soviet Union had different potentials. The USA emerged as the leading post-war global economic power with virtually inexhaustible resources for research and development (Kennedy, 1988: 357-367). Post-war US governments could drastically increase their strategic potential by relying on air and naval supremacy (thalassocratic rule) which was a de facto precondition of deploying a bomb. What is more, so that their landed forces and positions could be reinforced, successive American governments gradually transformed their initially informal influence on those countries which belonged to the American ‘interest zone’ into more formal and contrived forms (Kennedy, 1988: 357-358). On the contrary, the infrastructure and the economy of the Soviet Union suffered significant losses during the war. They had to return to the planned economic management dismissed in 1928 in spite of the substantial international financial and material support, especially from the USA. This economic turn favoured the development of heavy industry at the expense of agricultural and light industrial production. It also led to irretrievable structural damages to the Soviet economy. Nonetheless, the Soviet government allocated the necessary financial and material resources to nuclear research within the new strategic weapons development program, even if the actual development of a bomb was postponed (Zubok, 1999: 39-61).

However, the research into the military use of nuclear energy did not start with Cold War bipolarisation, but in the early 1940s. Though the professionalization of the US army did not reach the level of European armies, especially the German, French and British ones, yet President Roosevelt decided to finance the development of an atomic bomb, partly because of the danger inherent in Nazi expansionism. The presidential premonition was also backed by news of parallel Nazi nuclear research. In addition to this, in one of this letters addressed to the president, Albert Einstein also called attention to the problem (Winkler, 2000: 18-19). The realisation of the Manhattan Project was enhanced by a number of factors in the USA. American elite research universities not only competed with their European counterparts, but they also disposed over vast financial resources, thus providing a more than solid basis for scientific research and laboratory work. Moreover, a further advantage of these institutions was that they lay at a great distance from any global war zone. Finally, fleeing from Nazi occupation, many European scientists strengthened the already impressive American think tank (Gaddis, 1997: 88-92, 96-99).

The above mentioned factors led to the rapid development of theoretical and applied nuclear research. With the cooperation of Julius Robert Oppenheimer, who led the research in the Los Alamos Laboratory, and Enrico Fermi, the first nuclear reactor was completed in 1942 (Kimball Smith – Weiner, 1980: 221-223). What is more, the first atomic bomb was detonated three years later, in July, 1945. Then, two committees were called forth to discuss the possible use of the new weapon against Japan. The weapon’s immense destructive power gave a strategic advantage to its owner. The British and the French governments considered the atomic bomb a relatively cheap means to maintain their status as great powers. However, it seemed an unreal assessment even for most French and British contemporaries regarding the high level of financial and intellectual capital needed to produce the bomb (Gaddis, 1997: 103). Consequently, the Truman Administration definitely enjoyed this advantage in nuclear development.

At the same time, using the bomb against Japan was still questionable. The military commission, led by the Secretary of War, Henry Stimson, and the Secretary of State, James F. Byrnes, voted for deploying the bomb, while the social committee, including numerous scientists, opted for the opposite evaluation. According to Albert Einstein, who participated in the work of the commission, the demonstration effect of an atomic bomb exploded in an uninhabited island would be sufficient to enforce the Japanese capitulation (Kennedy, 1988: 365, 370). Eventually, Truman accepted the military argumentation that led to the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. However, I think Gaddis convincingly argues that the United States would have had other means to force the Japanese to accept surrender. The Americans could have relied on an unlimited submarine warfare against Japan combined with massive bombardments of the main island with B-29 strategic bombers (1997: 103). Nonetheless, Truman also intended to show Stalin that the new weapon was no longer an unattainable strategic advantage for the US government., while, in fact, the production of a nuclear arsenal became one of the fundamental characteristics of Soviet-American rivalry (Kennedy, 1988: 357-372).

Yet, the Americans could not ultimately maintain this strategic advantage in the late 1940s, because, on the one hand, Soviet nuclear research had already begun, and Soviet military intelligence had started to fill the “white spots” in Soviet scientific research, primarly by spying on nuclear secrets of other countries on the other. In his famous work, Winston Churchill remarked that Truman informed Stalin about the existence of the bomb during the Potsdam Conference (July 17 – August 2, 1945), and Stalin was not aware of the bomb (Churchill, 1989: 646-654). However, Georgy K. Zhukov, the Supreme Military Commander of the Red Army and of the Soviet Occupation Zone in Germany (SMAD), who also participated in the conference, later claimed that Stalin did not even shake a bit when hearing the news, but on returning to Moscow, he immediately ordered to accelerate nuclear research (Zsukov, 1976: 56-57).

Nevertheless, Stalin’s mandate was not the first step in Soviet nuclear research, because the Leningrad Institute of Physics and Technology had been conducting nuclear research for years, which was at that time further enhanced under political pressure. The Kremlin also decided to include nuclear development in the directing body of the Political Committee. Therefore, three offices were established. Lavrenty Beria was elected as the leader of the nuclear program on August 7, 1945, who was at the same time the General Commissar of the State Security of the USSR. On the one hand, die-hard Stalinist Vyacheslav Molotov was not prepared and dynamic enough to lead the nuclear program, and on the other hand, Beria had far better organising skills and was highly experienced in intelligence operations, so eventually the latter was chosen (Holloway, 1994: 88-89). Andrei Sakharov and Georgy M. Malenkov became the leaders of the other two offices (development of jet planes and radar technology). Sakharov was later promoted as the leading scientist of the Soviet thermonuclear program.

The fact that the political coordination of espionage and nuclear research was so closely wired shows how essential the issue was for Josef Stalin himself. Furthermore, as David Holloway points out, Stalin also provided unlimited financial and material support for Igor V. Kurchatov, the scientific director of Soviet nuclear research (1994: 90). However, the realisation of the Soviet atomic bomb was hindered by political and historical factors specifically characteristic of the Soviet political system. Kurchatov admitted that within this international political ambience, the pieces of information obtained by military intelligence played a key role. Kurchatov’s remark was also echoed by Molotov: “It was a very good intelligence operation by our Chekists. […] They neatly stole just what we needed” (Gaddis, 1997: 94). The United States and the Soviet Union also engaged in an economic war in addition to the unfolding ideological, political and military struggle. The Soviets were lagging behind the Americans regarding their economic resources and scientific infrastructure; therefore, they were sorely in need of gaining nuclear secrets (Holloway, 1994: 91).

Alas, as the efficiency and range of the bomb increased, so did its usability decrease. A potential nuclear war seemed to result in a negative-sum game. Gaddis claims that unless the atomic bomb had been created in 1945, nuclear researchers would have arrived at the same conclusion about the limited applicability of the weapon (1997: 94). Because of these considerations, several international conferences convened to discuss the international control of nuclear energy. In July, 1945, Truman thought that the United States, Great Britain and Canada, the three countries that kept the manufacturing secrets of the bomb, would not uncover their secret until the application of nuclear energy could be somehow restricted. However, in September, 1945, they dismissed this idea, as the Soviet Union could not accept the Anglo-Saxon monopoly (Gaddis, 1997: 94-96). Consequently, on 15 November 1945, at a summit in Washington, Truman, British PM, Clement Attlee, and Canadian PM, Mackenzie King issued a tripartite declaration recognizing the impossibility of defence against the atomic bomb or keeping a national monopoly over atomic weapons or science, and calling for the United Nations to create a commission to establish international exchange of scientific information. This policy led to the unsuccessful UN talks over the Baruch and Gromyko plans for international control. Later, in the spring of 1946, Dean Acheson (as chairman of a special committee to prepare a plan for the international control of atomic energy) and David E. Lilienthal (President of the Atomic Energy Commission) presented the Acheson-Lilienthal report to the UN (A Report on the International Control of Atomic Energy, 06-06-2018). It was later modified by Bernard Baruch, American millionaire and presidential advisor, who invested his wealth into nuclear energy business. The modified proposal still maintained US nuclear monopoly nonetheless and thus was dismissed by the Soviet ambassador to the US, Andrei Gromyko (Gerber, 1982: 69-96). The closure of the diplomatic channels also prompted other means to gain information.

The diplomatic blind alley urged the Soviets to hasten their nuclear program, focusing on technological information in particular which could be acquired by way of espionage and information about potential locations of uranium ore as a vital component of the atomic bomb. The mining of uranium in Far Eastern deposits were highly unreliable due to the geopolitical instability of the region: in 1945 it was still uncertain whether China would emerge as a democratic or as a communist country from the civil war. The only alternative was to seek out uranium in Europe. During the military occupation of Germany, NKVD agents found uranium in the German side of the Harz Mountains. Consequently, the local mines were immediately put under direct NKVD control (Sudoplatov et al., 1994: 198-99).

Furthermore, Stalin personally met Kurchatov on January 25, 1946 to discuss that the Soviet bomb must be produced quickly. Stalin said that it is “not worth spending time and effort on small-scale work, rather, it is necessary to conduct the work broadly, on a Russian scale, and [...] in this regard, utmost assistance will be provided” (Gaddis, 1997: 95). At the same time, Stalin emphasised that Kurchatov should personally verify the information gained through espionage, because disinformation was a general modus operandi in military intelligence (Gaddis, 1997: 95-96). Kurchatov had to evaluate every report, and he had to digest those pieces of information that were essential for the Soviet nuclear program.

Soviet nuclear espionage in the USA and Great Britain dates back to the 1930s. In the US the main sources were the American Communist Party and those leftish intellectuals who sympathised with communism. Though the latter group of people comprised only a marginal section of American society, especially compared to the democratic majority, yet they meant invaluable sources of information for the NKVD. The Soviets primarily targeted academics and researchers. In the late 1930s and during the war US military intelligence considered Nazi Germany and the German military intelligence (Amtsgruppe Ausland Abwehr) as the main enemy with regard to the Manhattan Project. So, they often disregarded and underestimated the performance of Soviet spies.

The NKVD also set out to recruit students and scholars at Cambridge University in the UK. The news that London and Washington were working on a common nuclear program to develop an atomic bomb was first doubtfully received by Stalin. The Soviet Premier only changed his opinion upon a mere coincidence in April, 1942. Georgy Florov, Soviet physicist, who was browsing Western scientific periodicals for his current research, discovered that all of a sudden all news pertaining to nuclear physics disappeared. Florov sent a letter to Stalin informing the Premier about this finding (Chadwell Williams, 1987: 58-59). Interestingly enough, Stalin, who was renowned for his paranoid personality, rather believed to a subjective yet cunning evaluation than to some previous scientific reports (Holloway, 1994: 92-95).

The unofficial line of Soviet foreign policy unfolded its activities through the Executive Committee of the Comintern. What is more, this office contributed to all activities of espionage in general and also coordinated Soviet intelligence across the globe. The Soviets managed to gain the most vital pieces of information which they needed; therefore, in my opinion, their espionage can be described as multilayered, professional and multifactorial. It was multilayered because intelligence extended both to civil service and research. Moreover, it was utterly professional because American counter-intelligence could not prevent the leaking of information to the Soviet Union. Furthermore, Soviet espionage was multifactorial, as it was also enforced by the unofficial line of Soviet foreign policy through the Comintern. Therefore, the Soviets could calculate their steps by strategically vital timing when planning various covert operations and spying activities.

At the same time, the official line of Soviet foreign policy, particularly in 1945 prior to the interrogation of Niels Bohr and in the final evaluation of the information by Igor Kurchatov, introduced a new style of negotiations which showed a more cooperative attitude. For instance, in the September 1945 London conference of foreign secretaries, Molotov, previously known for his galling negotiating style, began with a convincing invective and thus tried to cover the Soviet Union’s relative or perceived comparative weakness in nuclear research. The Soviets intended to present the issue of the atomic bomb as less significant, at least until they managed to create their own nuclear arsenal.

What is more, Stalin discovered ‘loopholes’ in nuclear diplomacy sooner than Western leaders, probably because of the more adamant moral commitments and greater qualms of Washington leaders, and due to the Americans’ lack of experience in intimidation. In the beginning, Truman showed uncertainty as for the diplomatic and military use of the atomic bomb (Gaddis, 1997: 95-97). Soviet espionage also used the internationally prevailing ‘democratic atmosphere’ among the allies to its advantage. The NKVD exploited leading nuclear physicists’ dedication to internationally disseminating nuclear discoveries. It can also be surmised from the ‘interrogation of Niels Bohr’ and the evaluation of the results by Kurchatov in November, 1945 (The Interrogation of Niels Bohr, 06-06-2018; Kurchatov’s Evaluation of Niels Bohr’s Questioning, 06-06-2018).

In order to understand how Soviet espionage was actually construed, it is worth examining a few key documents, each presenting important aspects of Soviet atomic spying. First, the tendency of Soviet espionage related to nuclear research is well-reflected by Boris Merkulov’s (USSR’s People’s Commissar for State Security) report to Lavrenty Beria (USSR People’s Commissar for Internal Affairs):

In accordance with your instruction of 29 September 1944, NKGB USSR continues measures for obtaining more detailed information on the state of work on the [problem of uranium] and its development abroad. [...] In the period 1942-1943 important data on the start of work in the [USA] on this problem was received from our foreign agent network using the contacts of Comrade Zarubin and Kheifitz in their execution of important tasks in line with the executive committee of the Comintern. [...] In 1942 one of the leaders of scientific work on [uranium] in the USA, Professor Oppenheimer while being an unlisted (nglastny) member of the apparatus of [Comrade Browder] informed us about the beginning of work. [...] On the request of Comrade Kheifitz, confirmed by [Comrade Browder,] he provided cooperation in access to research for several of our tested sources including a relative of [Comrade Browder]. [...] Due to implications of the operational situation in the [USA,] dissolution of the [Comintern] and explanations of Comrades Zarubin and Kheifitz on the Mironov affair it is expedient to immediately sever contacts of leaders and activists of the [American Communist Party] with scientists and specialists engaged in work on [uranium]. […] (Letter from Boris Merkulov, 06-06-2018)[24]

It is interesting that Merkulov mentioned Oppenheimer among the co-operators. It is one of the underlying questions of Soviet atomic spying whether the Soviets managed to establish a contact in the Manhattan Project itself, and if Julius Robert Oppenheimer, one of the leading scientists of the project, had been a Soviet spy. In relation to this issue, several analytical remarks should be considered.

The letter should be read in the context of Soviet intelligence operations in the United States during World War II. Jerrold and Leona Schecter claim that Oppenheimer’s long time membership in the Communist Party of the United States was made secret in 1942 because he was being enlisted as a Soviet asset of intelligence by the Communist Underground to facilitate the obtaining of vital nuclear secrets (2002: 80-81). It is unquestionable that Oppenheimer was registered in the American Communist Party and was also enlisted by the Comintern. As the FBI continuously observed both Manhattan Project participants and the members of the Communist Party of the USA, and Stalin accepted Roosevelt’s plea to dissolve the Comintern in 1943, the NKVD was forced to revitalise its intelligence channels in the USA. Merkulov’s letter addresses that problem, too.

Gregory Kheifitz was operative agent under cover as the Soviet vice consul in San Francisco from 1941 to 1944. Though Kheifitz was later recalled to Moscow, it did not happen because of being unable to perform the set task in the document or of inactivity. Rather, he was supposed to participate in the activity of a group led by the resident, Vasily Zarubin, who was presumably also working for the Japanese and the Nazis (Schecter and Schecter, 2002: 81-82). The charges were, however, dismissed against both of them. The latter case was uncovered by the so-called Mironov affair (also named in the Merkulov’s letter). Lieutenant-colonel Vasily Dimitrovich Mironov, a Soviet military intelligence officer serving in Washington D.C., sent an anonymous letter to President J. Edgar Hoover on August 7, 1943 about Soviet spying in the US, in which he disclosed Zarubin’s and Kheifitz’s intelligence activities (Benson and Warner, 1996: 51-53). The document was registered as “Anonymous Letter” by the FBI. However, as Pavel Sudoplatov notes in his memoir, it was also Mironov, who in another anonymous letter informed Stalin that Kheifitz and Zarubin were probably spying for the Japanese and the Nazis simultaneously. According to Sudoplatov, that is why they were recalled to Moscow (1994: 196-197).

Nevertheless, the NKVD handled the matter very seriously and refused to confirm the story or to present Mironov’s letter to Stalin personally, at the same time blaming Sudoplatov for leaking the secret. That is why the Soviets misinformed the Americans referring to Kheifitz’s “inactivity” and removed Sudoplatov as the leader of atomic espionage during this critical period of World War II. According to the Schecters, Kheifitz was later “cleared of the charges against him, promoted and given a medal. He was chief of section of Department S, atomic espionage, until he fell victim to the anti-semitic purge of 1947” (2002: 81).

In addition to this, the Soviets knew that they needed to construct their own bomb and Beria severed all contacts with the American sources in 1946. I think it can be explained by the circumstance that the interrogation of Niels Bohr was utterly successful and the NKVD obtained the necessary technological information, which were evaluated by Kurchatov positively, including the enrichment ratios of uranium and the type of modulator they needed in the nuclear reactor (Kurchatov’s Evaluation of Niels Bohr’s Questioning, 06-06-2018). However, the question still remains why the NKVD wished to enlist Oppenheimer in 1944 if he had already been working for the Soviets since 1942? The Schecters state that it is because Oppenheimer was never officially recruited as a Soviet agent. Oppenheimer was rather a facilitator. This is also reinforced by the letter from Merkulov to Beria describing his role in detail and which “provided cooperation in access to research for several of our tested sources including a relative of [Comrade Browder]” (2002: 315-317).

Therefore, the Soviets rather referred to Oppenheimer and other scientists employed in the Manhattan Project as ‘wartime allies’ to help the construction of the Soviet atomic bomb before the Nazis. In line with that, the NKVD intended to recruit Oppenheimer after the activities of Kheifitz and Zarubin were revealed, but their contacts were severed when Earl Browder and the Communist underground could no longer work with Kheifitz and Zarubin. When the Comintern was dissolved in 1943, the NKVD was searching for a new way to contact Oppenheimer. Perhaps, this is the problem Merkulov was trying to point out to Beria in his letter. If there is documentary testimony or other evidence to support the supposition in the Merkulov letter that Oppenheimer cooperated with the Soviets, then under US law Oppenheimer was a spy. I think this was precisely the reason why the Soviets insisted that Oppenheimer was a wartime ally, because they knew that if materials leaked to them by Oppenheimer were to be disclosed, then he would have been found guilty of espionage and subsequently persecuted. Therefore, the Soviets decided to protect Oppenheimer’s reputation.

The Oppenheimer files are still classified in the General Archive of the Russian Federation (GARF), in the Soviet Intelligence Archive and the Presidential Archives. No publication of notable nuclear research documents of 1944 and 1945 appeared with regard to this topic. Nevertheless, Oppenheimer appears as an unlisted member of the American Communist Party in a Soviet document (January 7, 1946) (The State of Work in the Utilization of Atomic Energy in Capitalist Countries, 2000). What is more, President Putin admitted in Larry King Live at the CNN (September 8, 2000) that many American scientists were enlisted as co-operators by the Soviet military intelligence (Interview with CNNs Larry King Live, September 8, 2000, 06-06-2018). Putin obviously did not name any of them.

Furthermore, Gregg Herken raises the question whether it is enough to substantiate treason only on the basis of a single and semantically unambiguous document (Merkulov’s letter), unconfirmed allusions to Oppenheimer’s membership in a communist organisation and referring to unpublished Soviet sources (2002: 177-194). Herken argues that in order to understand the context, one must focus on Kheifitz, since he was the source of Merkulov’s information. Kheifitz was discharged from service earlier as part of the anti-Semitic purge advocated by Stalin (Schecter and Schecter, 2002: 82). That is why he was later ‘distrusted’ as well.

What is more, Allan Weinstein and Alexander Vassiliev cite a KGB document which discloses that the Kremlin’s spy masters were ‘unhappy’ with the performance of Zarubin and Kheifitz (1999: 116, 148, 184). The authors claim that “[t]he fact that station chief Grigory Heifetz was recalled to Moscow in 1944 because of his failure to bring any of ‘Enormoz’s’ scientists into the fold suggests, however, that Oppenheimer never agreed to become a source of information for the Soviets, as some recent writers asserted” (1999: 184). In addition to this, Weinstein and Vassiliev argue that the best evidence, although it is always difficult to prove the negative, that Oppenheimer could not have been a spy is that in that case the NKVD would have possessed every bit of information in time to construct an atomic bomb simultaneously with the Americans (1999: 162). On the contrary, the blueprints of Fat Man and other substantial nuclear secrets were transmitted to the Kremlin later during the war by two identified Soviet agents, Ted Hall and Klaus Fuchs (Chadwell Williams, 1987).

In his book, Hayden Peake also claims that it is up to semantics whether one calls Oppenheimer a spy or not, because it depends on whether one accepts that the antecedent of the “he” in the 4th paragraph of Merkulov’s letter is Oppenheimer or not. If Oppenheimer provided “cooperation in access to the research” of “tested sources” to a person he knew to be a Soviet agent or officer, then it promotes Oppenheimer a knowing NKVD source (Peake, 2000: 35-40). According to Peake, it was consistent with contemporary NKVD practices and comes as no surprise in the Merkulov letter. It is also the case with the “Mironov Affair”: severing the links between the CPUSA and the NKVD was also in line with NKVD policy after obtaining the necessary information regarding a given subject and to consolidate their operations. The “Mironov Affair” was also a factor in the decision (Peake, 2000: 38-39). Peake claims that “Mironov was a deranged NKGB officer, so much so that even in Stalin’s NKGB he was not shot immediately, but put in a mental hospital. When he was recalled he wrote a letter to Stalin. Whether he mentioned the letter to the FBI is doubtful since he was not summarily executed. Likewise he apparently didn’t mention giving up other Soviet assets since they were not disturbed. But he must have mentioned some charges against his boss (Zarubin), either in the letter or interrogation, in the States or Moscow, since the latter was recalled” (2000: 38-39).

Similarly to the Oppenheimer case, many thought that Bohr was an active Soviet spy. Even Sudoplatov believed that Enrico Fermi and Niels Bohr were cooperating with the NKVD (Sudoplatov et al., 1994: 194-195). What is more, Niels Bohr was a perfect choice: he returned to Europe, the FBI did not survey him anymore, and the Danish scientist participated in the Manhattan Project, so he could supply first-hand information. I think that without the unfolding of relevant GARF documents, one cannot substantiate such a claim for Oppenheimer, Fermi, and Bohr, so at this point it is rather ambiguous whom one calls a spy. The arguments analysed thus far rather suggest that these scientists were either unaware of the intentions of the interviewers or their contacts, or they truly believed in the peaceful exploitation of nuclear energy and the international dissemination of nuclear research. Either way, the Soviets profited from them to a great extent.

Consequently, it can be argued that the diplomatic behavioural patterns of the Soviet Union and the United States prevailed at the beginning of the new era, but the ambience that induced these principles in the interwar period did not exist anymore. Accordingly, both the Americans and the Soviets, the latter in particular, tried to underestimate the significance of the atomic bomb at the end of World War II. Moreover, they did not attribute overall strategic importance to it (Gaddis, 1997: 94-96). At the same time, however, the NKVD launched meticulous operations to acquire vital information to nuclear research, including the ratios and methods of enrichment of uranium, not only in the United States, but also in Europe.

At the beginning of this process, the initial hardships of the Soviets to catch up with the Americans were greatly enhanced by those pieces of information that they gathered from NKVD sources, which were furthered by the combination of the efforts of the Janus-faced game of Soviet foreign policy and the relevant organisations (military intelligence, research institutions, Political Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, etc.). However, the democratic atmosphere of Western diplomacy and politics, as well as the humanistic scholarly attitude to the dissemination of knowledge also contributed to the success of Soviet atomic spying. The Soviets were capable of very precisely assessing the strategic advantage of the nuclear monopoly of the United States. With the help of a highly cautious but nonetheless efficacious policy, the Soviet military intelligence made all conceivable effort to extort vital information to achieve nuclear parity and moderate their strategic disadvantage in the foreseeable confrontational period of the Cold War.

Works cited

“Beria’s Cover Memo to Stalin on Niels Bohr,” November 28, 1945, History and Public Policy Program Digital Archive, State Archive of the Russian Federation (in the following: HPDA GARF). Transl. by Mark H. Doctoroff. CWIHP Bulletin No. 4, Fall 1994, “Soviet Espionage and the Bomb.” URL: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/111837. Access: 06.06.2018.

“Kurchatov’s Evaluation of Niels Bohr’s Questioning,” November 28, 1945, HPDA GARF. Transl. by Mark H. Doctoroff. CWIHP Bulletin No. 4, Fall 1994, “Soviet Espionage and the Bomb.” URL: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/111838 Access: 06.06.2018.

“Letter from Boris Merkulov (USSR Commissar for State Security) to Lavrenty Beria (USSR People’s Commissar for Internal Affairs),” October 02, 1944, HPDA GARF, Reproduced from Schecter, Jerrold L. and Leona P. 2002. Sacred Secrets: How Soviet Intelligence Operations Changed American History. Washington DC: Brassey’s, 315-317.

“The Acheson-Lilienthal Report on the International Control of Atomic Energy. Prepared for the Secretary of State’s Committee on Atomic Energy.” Washington D.C. March 16, 1946. URL: http://fissilematerials.org/library/ach46.pdf Access: 06.06.2018.

“The Interrogation of Niels Bohr,” November 28, 1945, HPDA GARF. Transl. by Mark H. Doctoroff. CWIHP Bulletin No. 4, Fall 1994, “Soviet Espionage and the Bomb.”

URL: http://digitalarchive.wilsoncenter.org/document/111839 Access: 06.06.2018.

“The State of Work in the Utilization of Atomic Energy in Capitalist Countries.” 2000. In: Atomic Project in the USSR. Vol. II, 1938-1954. Moscow: Ministry of Atomic Energy of Russia.

Benson, Robert Louis and Michael Warner (eds.). 1996. VENONA Soviet Espionage and the American Response 1919-1957. Washington: NSA, CIA.

Chadwell Williams, Robert. 1987. Klaus Fuchs: Atom Spy. Cambridge: Mass., Harvard University Press.

Churchill, Winston. 1989. A második világháború. Vol. 2, Budapest: Európa Könyvkiadó.

Fischer, Ferenc. 1992. A megosztott világ. A Kelet-Nyugat, Észak-Dél nemzetközi kapcsolatok fő vonásai /1945-1989/. Budapest: Dialóg Campus Kiadó.

Gaddis, John Lewis. 1997. We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Gerber, Larry S.1982. “The Baruch Plan and the Origins of the Cold War” Diplomatic History, 6 (4), 69-96.

Herken, Gregg. 2002. Brotherhood of the Bomb: The Tangled Lives and Loyalties of Robert Oppenheimer, Ernest Lawrence and Edward Teller. New York: Henry Holt and Company.

Holloway, David. 1994. Stalin and the Bomb: The Soviet Union and Atomic Energy, 1939-1954. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Kennedy, Paul. 1988. The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers. London: Unwin Hyman.

Kimball Smith, Alice – Charler Weiner (eds.). 1980. Robert Oppenheimer. Letters and Recollections. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

Interview with CNNs Larry King Live, September 8, 2000. URL: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OY_hnDgELts

Access: 06.06.2018

Lukacs, John. 1966. A New History of the Cold War. New York: Anchor Books.

Peake, Hayden. 2000. The Private Life of Kim Philby: The Moscow Years. New York: Fromm International.

Schecter, Jerrold L. and Leona P. 2002. Sacred Secrets: How Soviet Intelligence Operations Changed American History. Washington DC: Brassey’s.

Sudoplatov, Pavel, Anatoly Sudoplatov, Jerrold L. Schecter and Leona P. Schecter. 1994. Special Tasks: The Memoirs of an Unwanted Witness – A Soviet Spymaster. Boston: Little, Brown.

Weinstein, Allan and Alexander Vassiliev. 1999. The Haunted Wood: Soviet Espionage in America—the Stalin Era. New York: Random House.

Williams, Robert Chadwell. 1987. Klaus Fuchs: Atom Spy. Cambridge: Mass., Harvard University Press.

Winkler, Allan M. 2000. The Cold War. A History in Documents. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Zubok, Vladislav M. 1999. “Stalin and the Nuclear Age” John Lewis Gaddis, Philip Gordon, Ernest May, and Jonathan Rosenberg (eds.). 1999. Cold War Statesmen Confront the Bomb. Nuclear Diplomacy since 1945. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 39-61.

Zsukov, Georgij K. 1976. Emlékek, gondolatok. [Transl. by Galsai Pongráczné et al.], vol. II, Budapest: Kossuth – Zrínyi.

CONTRIBUTORS

Dóra Babarczi. Born in 1978, studied History of the Modern Era and History of the Church, PhD in History. Research field: Hungarian Jesuits in South America in the 18th century.

Anna Bartnik earned her Ph.D. from the Institute of Political Science of the Jagiellonian University in Cracow, Poland. Since then she has been working as an assistant professor at the Institute of American Studies and Polish Diaspora of the Jagiellonian University. Her research contains studies on American immigration law, Hispanic immigrants in the USA and local government in the United States. She also published a book Latino immigrants in the United States after World War II. Cubans, Mexicans and Puerto Ricans.

Enikő Bollobás is Professor of American Literature at Eötvös Loránd University, Budapest. She has published seven books on American literature, including monographs on the poets Charles Olson and Emily Dickinson, and histories of American literature. Her numerous essays have come out in Hungarian and international scholarly journals, among them, American Quarterly, Emily Dickinson Journal, Journal of Pragmatics, Paideuma, Language and Style, and Word and Image.

Zoltán Cora is a Senior Assistant Professor at the Faculty of Arts, University of Szeged, Hungary. His main areas of research are 19th–20th-century European history, international relations, British and Hungarian political and social history, especially in the interwar period (1918-1939), as well as classical and modern aesthetics with a focus on the sublime. His publications include edited volumes, book chapters on these topics and articles published in Comparativ. Zeitschrift für Globalgeschichte und vergleichende Gesellschaftsforschung, Aetas, Múltunk, Századok, Social History, and other journals. He participates in the Comparative History Project organised by the Central European University, Pasts Inc.. Also, he received several research grants (BKVGE Berlin, ESSE Bursary London British Library, Erdős Pál Junior Research Fellowship, Magyary István Board of Trustees). In 2011 he defended his PhD dissertation entitled “A szociálpolitika válaszútjai Magyarországon: A mintakövetés lehetőségei és kényszerei (1938-1950)” [Hungarian social policy at crossroads: possibilities and necessities of pattern finding (1938-1950)]. He is currently working on the publication of his PhD dissertation as a monograph.

Sanja Čukić lectures Business English Language at the Faculty of Business and Law, University Union-Nikola Tesla, in Belgrade. Her fields of interest include language education, culture and literary studies. She has attended a number of international conferences and published several papers. She is a PhD student at the Faculty of Philosophy in Novi Sad.

Aleksandra Izgarjan is full professor, University of Novi Sad. She teaches courses in American Literature and American studies at the English Department. She has published three books and more than thirty articles in the field of literature and gender studies. Her latest publication are Approaches to Metaphor: Cognitive, Translation and Literary Studies Perspective and “Metaphors in futures research.” Futures, Vol 84, 2016. She was a guest lecturer at New York University, Howard University and University of Alabama at Tuscaloosa, USA and participated in postgraduate programs at the University of Illinois at Chicago, USA and Democracy and Diversity program in Krakow, Poland. She is the president of the Association for American Studies in South East Europe and vice-president of Serbian Association for Anglo-American Studies.

Anna Kérchy is Associate Professor of English Literature at the University of Szeged, Hungary. Her research interests include gender and body studies, the post-semiotics of the embodied subject, intermedial cultural representations, children’s/YA literature and cultures, the Victorian and postmodern fantastic imagination. She has authored three monographs: Alice in Transmedia Wonderland: Curiouser and Curiouser New Forms of a Children’s Classic (2016); Body-Texts in the Novels of Angela Carter (2008); and Essays in Feminist Aesthetics and Narratology (2018). She (co)edited several essay collections inclusing Postmodern Reinterpretations of Fairy Tales, What Constitutes the Fantastic?, Exploring the Cultural History of Continental European Freak Shows, Posthumanism in Fantastic Fiction, and an EJES special issue on Feminist Interventions into Intermedial Studies.

Ágnes Zsófia Kovács is associate professor at the Department of American Studies, University of Szeged, Hungary. Her areas of academic interest and teaching include late 19th-c. early 20th-c. American fiction and contemporary American fiction, versions of literary Modernism and Postmodernism, popular fiction, multicultural American identity prose, and theories of American Studies. Her current research into travel writing involves re-reading texts by Edith Wharton and Henry James as travel accounts. She has published two books, The Function of the Imagination in the Writings of Henry James (Mellen, 2006) and Literature in Context (Jate Press, 2010).

Andrea Kökény is Senior Assistant Professor of History at the Department of Modern World History and Mediterranean Studies at the University of Szeged. Her fields of research and teaching include modern European history and world history, and U.S. history from colonial to modern times, with a special interest in 19th century westward expansion, and the formulation of American identity.

Eszter Enikő Mohácsi received her doctoral degree last year at Korea University in Seoul, one of the most prestigious universities in South Korea, where she majored in Comparative Literature and Comparative Culture. In her dissertation, she analyzed and compared an African-American, a Hungarian and a South Korean novel, concentrating on their representation of collective trauma through the narrative mode of magical realism. Before that, she graduated from ELTE as a philologist and teacher of English and Hungarian Language and Literature, respectively. She has recently given a presentation on the trauma of the Korean War in Korean literature at the 8th “Közel s Távol” Conference on Orientalism, and has published papers both on Hwang Sok-yong and Toni Morrison. Currently, she teaches English at Karinthy Frigyes Bilingual Secondary School in Budapest.

Kata Murányi is a PhD candidate at the Doctoral School of Earth Sciences, Institute of Geography, Faculty of Sciences, University of Pécs, Hungary. As a participant in the Geopolitics Doctoral Program, she seeks to examine the creative economy of Portuguese speaking countries, focusing on the creative city and urban creativity elements from the perspective of a common lusophone identity. In fall of 2016, she travelled to Brazil as part of a field trip study in which she worked with City of Knowledge of the University of São Paulo, a research group. In addition, she assessed and analyzed methods and best practices regarding urban creativity.

Zsolt Palotás is a Volunteer Teaching Fellow and a Researcher at the Institute of History at the University of Szeged. He has defended his PhD dissertation in History, entitled “Beys, Corsairs and Diplomats: Relations of the Regency of Tunis with the Wester European States and the United States, 1605–1830” in February, 2017. His research topic is the History of the Mediterranean Sea, Malta and Ottoman North Africa in Early Modern Times, with a special emphasis on the relations between the United States of America and the Maghreb, especially the Regency of Tunis in the 18–19th century.

Marek Paryz is Associate Professor and Chair of the Section of American Literature at the Institute of English Studies, University of Warsaw, Poland. He is the chief editor of the Polish Journal for American Studies and senior editor for literature and culture of the European Journal of American Studies. He is the author of The Postcolonial and Imperial Experience in American Transcendentalism (Palgrave 2012) and co-editor of The Post-2000 Film Western: Contexts, Transnationality, Hybridity (Palgrave 2015). His current research focuses on American and transnational film Westerns.

Dominique Rey. Using immersive methodologies, Rey’s assemblages, sculptures, and videos distil her experiences of working with specific, culturally marginalized subjects and figures. Her art has been exhibited across Canada, the United States, and Europe, and appears in numerous collections, including the National Gallery of Canada, the Winnipeg Art Gallery, the Province of Manitoba, and the Wedge Collection. A selection of awards and grants include the Canada Council for the Arts, the Manitoba Arts Council, the Winnipeg Arts Council, the Elizabeth Greenshields Foundation, and La Fondation Ricard. She holds a MFA in Photography from Bard College (NY) and a MFA in New Media from the Transart Institute (Berlin). Dominique Rey was awarded the Canada Council for the Arts International Artist Residency at La Cité Internationale des Arts, Paris in 2016. She is an Assistant Professor in the School of Art at the University of Manitoba.

Tamás Rózsás is PhD student in the geopolitical doctorate program of the Doctorate School of Earth Sciences of the University of Pécs. He earned his Master’s degrees in electrical engineering from the Technical University of Budapest, in economics from the Budapest University of Economics, and in resource planning and management in international defense from the Naval Postgraduate School in the United States. He gained work experience in various roles in the military, government, and industry, and now he also works on the social responsibility program of the Central Bank of Hungary as an expert within the Directorate for Education.

Béla Soltész (Budapest, 1981) holds a PhD in International Relations by the Corvinus University of Budapest and an MA in Spanish and Portuguese Studies by the Eötvös Loránd University of Budapest. He spent exchange semesters in Spain, Chile and Mexico. His area of study is the comparative analysis of Latin American and Central/Eastern European social and political processes, most importantly migration. Author of two travel books on Latin America, he is currently the deputy project manager of a research project on youth migration, led by the Hungarian Central Statistical Office, and external lecturer at Eötvös Loránd University, Institute of Political and International Studies, teaching the courses of Latin American Studies and International Development.

Dr. Mary Ann Steggles is Professor of Art History at the School of Art, University of Manitoba. Her areas of expertise are the politics of the public monument, ceramic history, and the Vietnam era. She received a Canada Council grant (2016) to research the impact of the Vietnam era resisters in Canada on Canadian ceramic history. Her work has been internationally published.

Ildikó Sz. Kristóf, CSc (PhD) is Senior Research Fellow at the Institute of Ethnology, Research Centre for the Humanities, Hungarian Academy of Sciences in Budapest, Hungary. Having pursued her studies in Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest and the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris, France, she teaches history and cultural anthropology in the universities of Budapest and Szeged, Hungary. Her research interests include the history of ethnography and cultural anthropology, the history of the representation of non-European peoples in Europe, and the history of early and modern travel and communication.

Éva Emese Szalai. I finished my MA studies in Szeged where Professor Anderle encouraged me to investigate the relations between the two emerging regions, India and Latin America. This became the core of my doctoral thesis and research at the Corvinus University of Budapest.

Mónika Szente-Varga. Ph.D in History (University of Szeged, 2005), Habilitation in History (University of Szeged, 2014). Place of work: Faculty of International and European Studies, National University of Public Service, Budapest, Hungary. Fields of interest: Modern History of Latin America and the Iberian Peninsula, Hungarian Minorities and Image of Hungary in the Spanish speaking world.

Zsófia Anna Tóth received her PhD in British and American literature and culture from the University of Szeged and is currently a junior assistant professor at the Department of American Studies, Institute of English and American Studies, University of Szeged. Her general research interests are film studies, cultural studies, gender studies, literary theory, humor theories, English and American literature, and American cinema. Her main research field is the representation of female aggression and violence in American literature and film. Her current research field is women’s humor, especially the work(s) of Mae West.

Eva-Maria Trinkaus is a doctoral candidate at the University of Graz. She graduated from the University of Graz with a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree in English and American Studies. In her Master’s Thesis, she analyzed Cristina García’s novels in the context of Inter-American Studies. Her current dissertation research focuses on the aspects of food, body, and place in literatures of the Americas. Eva-Maria Trinkaus is currently teaching and doing research as a Fulbright Associate at Bowling Green State University, USA.

Megjegyzések

[←1]

http://bit.ly/campos-cidade

[←2]

Russian Futurists announced in their 1913 manifesto, “We’ve ceased to regard word-construction and word pronunciation according to grammatical rule, having begun to see in letters only directions of speech. We shook syntax loose” (qtd by Nancy Perloff, Explodity 57).

[←3]

http://bit.ly/campos-lygia

[←4]

http://bit.ly/campos-luxo

[←5]

http://bit.ly/campos-pluvial

[←6]

http://bit.ly/campos-opulsar

[←7]

Mocsáry Béláné Fáy. 1899. India és Ceylon: Úti jegyzetek [India and Ceylon: Travel Notes]. Budapest:

Athenaeum.

---. 1901. Keleti utazás: Egyiptom, Szentföld, India, Ceylon [Oriental Journey: Egypt, the Holy Land, India, Ceylon]. Budapest: Athenaeum.

---. 1901. “Keleti utazásom emlékeiből” [Memories of My Oriental Journey] Magyar Szalon, 357-82.

---. 1902. Útazásom Éjszak-Amerika Nyugati Partvidékein [My Journey on the West Coast of North America]. Budapest: Fritz Ármin.

[←8]

Sándor Bihary (Diófás, today Nucet, Romania, 1855 – Budapest, 1906). He studied in Vienna and Paris, and was one of the founders of the art colony and workshop in Szolnok, Hungary.

[←9]

(1842-1927). Politician, member of the positivist circle of advisers to President Díaz, called los científicos, governor of Mexico City.

[←10]

The First Empire was the short-lived reign of Agustín I in Mexico between 1821 and 1823. The Second Empire existed in the period 1863-1867, the monarch being Maximilian of Habsburg (1864-1867).

[←11]

The Volunteer Corps consisted of 6,000 people, of which about 1,000 were Hungarians (Tardy 1990:145-171).

[←12]

See Jancsó, 2011.

[←13]

Horti, originally called Hirth, was an applied arts designer, born in 1865. He won a gold medal for his carpets and furniture at the Paris Exposition Universelle in 1900, and the Grand Prix at the first International Exhibition of Modern Decorative Art at Turin in 1902. He was in charge of the design and installation of the Hungarian display at the St. Louis International Exposition (1904). Driven by the idea of finding the place of origin of the Hungarians, he planned a study trip including American and Asian countries. He travelled from New York via Cuba and arrived in Veracruz in July, 1906. Then, after almost five months, he finally returned to San Francisco in December 1906. The Mexican decorative motifs reminded him of Hungarian folk art, and he assumed an erroneous kinship between ancient Hungarians and the Tarascan/Purépecha cultures in Mexico, based on common Hunnic ancestors. To prove his hypothesis, he collected a lot of those motifs, making drawings and paintings, or in case of complete objects, plaster moulds. He also bought original objects. While on his journey, he died of yellow fever in 1907 in Bombay. His collections were taken to Hungary, where they were partly donated and partly sold to ministries, museums, and schools, with the largest share acquired by the Museum of Applied Arts in Budapest (Horváth 1991:200-204).

[←14]

(1875-1941). His later works make up some of the most spectacular details of the building that was originally meant to be the Mexican National Theatre but which is actually known as the Palace of Fine Arts, and is one of the most photographed buildings in the Mexican capital. Maróti designed the group of female allegorical figures of Music, Song, Tragedy, and Dance that crowns the principle dome of the building. Inside, he designed the stained-glass ceiling of the auditorium with the theme of Apollo and the nine Muses, and the 55m^2 art nouveau mosaic over the proscenium arch that runs around the stage-curtain.  All three contributions were executed in Budapest under the hands of Miksa Róth and shipped to Mexico in 1910. Maróti also made the first design of the glass stage-curtain, displaying a Mexican landscape with plants and volcanoes. For more, see Szente-Varga 2010a:139-152; 2010b: 147-157 and 2002:112-113.

[←15]

Monor, 1856-Berlin, 1925.

[←16]

Source of translation: Venkovits 2014:109-110.

[←17]

A Hungarian speciality; fried dough.

[←18]

For more on Bánó, see Jancsó (2017: 59-80) and Venkovits (2016).

[←19]

Some parts of this article have been published in my earlier article “A Map of Longings: Utopian Underpinnings of Contemporary Transnational Westerns.” 2017. Studia Filmoznawcze, 38. 137-155.

[←20]

Pew Research Center. 2016a. Remittances Flows Worldwide in 2016: India – Incoming Remittances. Access date: January 19th, 2018. Available at:

http://www.pewglobal.org/interactives/remittance-map/

[←21]

Pew Research Center. 2016b. Remittances Flows Worldwide in 2016: Guyana – Incoming Remittances. Access date: January 19th, 2018. Available at:

http://www.pewglobal.org/interactives/remittance-map/

[←22]

This article was completed in December 2017 at the heart of the hot dispute between President Donald Trump and Congress over the future of Dreamers and the wall. President expected the acceptance of expenditures connected with the wall project in exchange for his retreat from decision on the termination of the Dreamers’ temporary legal status. As of the first days of January 2018, there were no signals of possible compromise. The legal temporary status for the first group of almost 800,000 of Dreamers expires in March 2018.

[←23]

Isaak Konstantinovich Kikoin (1908-1984): Soviet physicist and a member of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR. Kurchatov and Kikoin were the founding fathers of the Kurchatov Atomic Energy Institute, which played a vital role in developing the first Soviet nuclear reactor in 1946. It also contributed to further Soviet nuclear research and development, eventually leading to the first atomic bomb test in 1949. Lev Davidovich Landau (1908-1968): Soviet nuclear physicist. He worked at the Institute of Physical Problems from 1935, and his research focused on experiments with helium. Landau won the Nobel Prize in 1962. Arkady Denisovich Migdal (1911-1991): Soviet physicist, an expert of quantum theory. Isaac Jacobevich Pomeranchuk (1913-1966): Soviet physicist, a researcher at the Institute of Theoretical and Experimental Physics.

[←24]

Vasily M. Zarubin: NKGB agent, posed as a New York citizen, maintained active relations with the American Communist Party. Grigory Kheifitz: NKGB agent, served as a coordinator between the Executive Committee of the Comintern and the Soviet spies in the USA. Julius Robert Oppenheimer (1904-1967): American nuclear physicist, the director of the Manhattan Project between 1943 and 1945 in the Los Alamos Laboratory, later president of the Atomic Energy Commission of the USA between 1946 and 1952. Oppenheimer belonged to those scientists who opposed the development of thermonuclear weapons. That is why he was eventually dismissed from US thermonuclear research after 1953. In 1963 he won the Enrico Fermi Prize. On page 1, signed acknowledgement of L. Beria “Received” signed by Merkulov on 3 October 1944. The original document was typed with blank underlined sections. The missing information was written in later by hand. This security measure made sensitive information available only to “need to know” officials and was a standard Soviet security practice.

Table of Contents

Introduction | Réka M. Cristian, Zoltán Dragon and András Lénárt

Writing on the Margins of Sound and Sight: Augusto de Campos and Transnational Poetic Traditions | Enikő Bollobás

Borderlands in Sandra Cisneros’s Short Story Collections The House on Mango Street and Woman Hollering Creek | Aleksandra Izgarjan and Sanja Čukić

“Black Is Beautiful”: Black Atlantic Experience and the Black Female Body in Toni Morrison’s God Help the Child (2015) | Ágnes Zsófia Kovács

Transgressing the Uncanny: Representations of the Unfamiliar Home in Cristina García’s The Agüero Sisters | Eva-Maria Trinkaus

Boundaries, Bridges, Becomings: Interspecies Politics in Contemporary Performance Arts | Anna Kérchy

Possibilities of Being at Home on American Soil: the Concept of Home in Toni Morrison’s Novels | Eszter Enikő Mohácsi

Images of Mexico in the Texts of Two Female Travellers at the Beginning of the 20th Century | Mónika Szente-Varga

Butch Cassidy in Bolivia: The Dissolution of Colonial Hierarchies and the Strengthening of Neocolonial Power Relations as Presented in Mateo Gil’s Film Blackthorn (2011) | Marek Paryz

Borderlands and Humorous Transgressions in Machete (2010) and Machete Kills (2013) | Zsófia Anna Tóth

Strangers to Ourselves: A Multi-Disciplinary Approach to Uncovering the Other Within | Dominique Rey

Warhaftige Historia der Wilden Menschfresser Leuterr: Discovering the Americas in Early Modern Hungary | Ildikó Sz. Kristóf

A Jesuit from Central Europe in Paraguay: The Role of Ferenc Limp in the Campaign Against Guaraní Indians | Dóra Babarczi

Urban Creativity Practices in São Paulo | Kata Murányi

Indian Diaspora in the World: The Caribbean Region | Éva Emese Szalai

Transnationalism and Resistance: The Border at the 49th Parallel, the Vietnam Resister, Then and Now | Mary Ann Steggles

Home(s), Borders, and Transgressions – The Story Told by Inscription Rock | Andrea Kökény

The Dreamers’ invisible border | Anna Bartnik

The Forbidden FruitIs Cuba isolated? | Tamás Rózsás

Between Emigration and Immigration: Changing Trends and Policies in Chile | Béla Soltész

The North African Frontier in U.S. History (?) Historical Aspects of the American Barbary Captivity Narratives, 1788–1829 | Zsolt Palotás

Transgressing Strategic Borders: Soviet-American Nuclear Spying in 1945 | Zoltán Cora

Contributors