Tuesday, August 28, 2018

Red Ink (2012)

Lopenzina, Drew. Red Ink: Native Americans Picking up the Pen in the Colonial Period. SUNY, 2012. 

Are indigenous peoples, Native Americans included, peoples without literary traditions? This is the drift of the book. And the answer it provides is an exact no.

Not because "in all Mayan languages there is no linguistic or semantic differentiation among the words for painting, drawing, and writing" (p. 43), indicating a history of writing without words; nor because indigenous penmanship is too small to be significant; but because in history colonists often deliberately 'unwitnessed' - "the largely passive decision to maintain a particular narrative structure by keeping undesirable aspects of cultural memory repressed or inactive" (p. 9) - indigenous achievements in order to legitimize conquer and conquest.

"Natives had, in fact, picked up the pen in America for nearly two hundred years" (p. 6).

If 'unscript' is an indigenous way to deconstruct colonialism in Sarah Rivett's Unscripted America: Indigenous Languages and the Origins of a Literary Nation (2017), 'unwitness' in Lopenzina's Red Ink (2012) refers to one colonial strategy that contains indigenous presence by

* destroying every aspect of Native civilization that affronted them (Spanish) (p. 39);
* considering Native writing to be grotesque, devilish script (French) (p. 39);
* acknowledging Native inscriptions as the remnant of a loss civilization rooted in Western systems of knowledge (English) (p. 40).


Covering a colonial period from the 16th until 18th centuries in North America, Lopenzina cites examples to contend not only did Native Americans write, but they produced what Anthropologist James Scott calls 'hidden transcript...that represents a critique of power spoken behind the back of the dominant" (p. 17).

Throughout the 16th until 17th centuries, examples differed from region to region. In Mexico, the Franciscan friar Bernardino de Sahagun (1499-1590) completed "Florentine Codex, a mix of Mexican figure painting, Nahuatl writing, and Spanish translation" (p. 46) with the help of indigenous students and elders . In New France Canada, a Huron man picked up a pencil and reproduced the history Jesuit Paul Le Jeune (1591-1664) shared with him with markings on the ground (p. 51). Birch bark writing, winter counts, painted coats, or Micmac (or Mi'maq in Rivett) "suckerfish writing" were appreciated by the Moravian missionary John Heckewelder (1743-1823) who considered them as "a piece of writing...All Indian nations can do this" (p. 53).

Alphabetical literacy was introduced by the clergy of various denominations. It was much sought after by indigenous peoples for the betterment of community.

(Source: Joseph Johnson's Diary, October 1771, just returned from the sea)

Joseph Johnson (1751-1775) was born a Mohegan. He learned to read and write at Moor's Charity School established  by Eleazar Wheelock (1711-1779), the Founder of Dartmouth College, but did not continue with a missionary career afterwards. Instead, he went on a whaling expedition and partook in a variety of affairs in his community.

In 1773, he launched a project to build a town for Native Americans in New York State and began a series of letter and speech campaign to raise fund. However, just shortly after he migrated to his new home, death found him at the age of 24. The establishment of the Brothertown community, "fully Native owned and operated" (p. 316), was left for others such as his father-in-law Samson Occom (1723-1792) to complete. Not much is left of the original Brothertown nowadays; nevertheless, it once was a vital example of "both indigenous and colonial tradition[s]...syncretically situated within a template of survivance in Native space" (p. 317).

The life of Joseph Johnson is indeed another case of 'Unscripting America'. Instead of fulfilling a missionary role expected of him by his teacher Wheelock, Johnson employed his skills to pursue self-government for his people. He wanted to a Native town in sharp contrast with the praying towns built by colonists for praying Indians.

As much as I admire Lopenzina's Red Ink, the course of reading also brings me mixed feelings.

First, colonial unwitnessing is perhaps too successful since examples of Indian writings are few and scant especially before the 18th century. Many quotes are short and indirect; they stretch the author's inference to such an extent that I don't know if I can agree or not. The basis is thin.

Second, in the book writing examples include land deals, petitions, sermons, journals, letters and complaints. But in most of them I see plea, plea for justice and plea for life. For example, the young chief of the Stockbridge Indians, Hendrick Aupaumut, wrote a petition to Massachusetts on September 2 1783. In his letter, he reminded the colonists of the kindness and honesty of Native Americans in the humble hope that the colonists might:

* "make some Laws that will protect and gard us";
* "appoint a few of our Neighbors...to have power to take care of the little interest of Land We have in this Town;
* "have them [Neighbors] described carefully to examine into all our bargains for land...and see that we hant been cheated";
* allow them to "reserve Power...to do a little Business as Proprietors";
* and last but not least, not sue them "in the law for any future Debts We may hereafter contract" (p. 311).

I don't know. As a historian, I probably should be detached and objective; as indigenous, I feel sad, and I feel mad. Red Ink is now put away. When will red misery end?

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Paiwan Every Day 668: pai

pai, kinemnemanga tiamadju tu kemacu tua ljigim nua kakinan.   Free translation : Now, they decided to take their mother's sewing needle...