The Falling Sky: Week 2

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Part two of this work seemed to deal a lot more with the ills of white society and the accusations of savagery/lack of civility leveled at the Yanomami and Indigenous people more broadly. I found Kopenawa’s arguments quite leveled and reasonable. He never lashes out at any single person for the violence and pain perpetrated against his people, but rather the societal ideals that led them to be their, the thinking of their ancestors. With the gold miners and poachers, Kopenawa talks about how this is all in the hopes of feeding an economy of people dead set on hoarding possessions. For the Yanomami, they “think it ugly to cling too firmly to the objects we happen to possess,” much like a person, their possessions too retain a certain transience. This is framed in the larger conversation fo the separation of humanity from nature Kopenawa picks up on. For the Yanomami, the forest is filled with their ancestors, they are all created in Omama’s image. This inseparability of man from nature seems to be rooted in he idea of mortality, and since humans, much like all the animals, are mortal, there is no need to hold on to things. The items of the forest will come and go, much like its people.

Kopenawa also focuses a lot on the word in this section of the book. Especially when talking to the white people, he mentions how “I am always searching for other words; words they do not know yet. I want them to be surprised and to open their ears.” Kopenawa demonstrates an understanding of the power fo words to be rooted in their novelty. In their ability to make seen/heard what his audience has yet to hear/see. This also seems to explain his ambivalence to the written word. The spoken word is infinitely alterable, each time a story is told, something can be changed. The written word on the other hand has a permanency. Once it is recorded on the page, its fate is sealed. “Their paper skins do not speak and do not think. They are simply there, inert, with their black drawings and their lies. I much prefer our spoken words! These are the ones I want to hear and that I want to continue to follow.” Not only does Kopenawa see the inert lack of value implicit in the written word, he doesn’t care to listen to them. What his work drills into us is that to be other does not necessarily entail being evil, being other just means being different, not less. He doesn’t paint the white people as lesser because they value the written word, they simply hear the xapiri differently, He just asks that they don’t tell his people they’re wrong for hearing, learning, living, and being in other ways.

The Falling Sky: week 1

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The Falling Sky, at least so far, was a real shift away from the narrative strategies we have encountered so far this semester. I think what i like the most about it, was that Albert waits till the end of the work to justify his role in the production of this work. The foreword does a good job of establishing the connection between Davi and Bruce, but holds short of establishing Bruce’s credentials as a requisite to valorize the work. It felt as though there wasn’t a ‘this is why you need to read this’ section. Especially in Davi’s intro, we see a sort of inversion of the trope in Guaman Poma where instead of coming to the table with a we can both learn something attitude, Davi essentially tells us to shut the fuck up for a second and listen.

Beyond the intro, the actual content of the work was also a shift away from what we’re used to. Although there is only a single narrative voice, there is a certain conversational tone to the work. The text didn’t feel as filtered as Menchú or as discontinuous as Marcos. I think was definitely helped by the candor Davi seems to express throughout his work. He’s not afraid of admitting his struggles and mistakes as well as his successes.

Davi also situates himself within his own world. He makes sure we know he isn’t the end all be all of Yanomami knowledge. In this section, he also remarks about the adaptability of the words of the shamans. How it takes on a life of its own, merely influenced and adapted by the shamans along the way. In a sense, he ties Yanomami futurity to the life of their word., and in giving it itos own life, he immortalizes the Yanomami. On an entirely unrelated note, I found “people of merchandise” an incredibly apt title for colonizers. Our fixation on material goods is never as apparent as when we are confronted with those who are indifferent to material objects.

Fundamentally, it felt as though this was a work to show us how the Yanomami can live without us or our knowledge,  but the inverse cannot be true. It’s a firm rejection of what the western world can offer while affirming the value of Yanomami knowledge and history.

Our Word is Our Weapon: Part 2

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The second of this half of this work was a real shift from the first half. Marcos’ staunchly political takes as a mouthpiece for Indigenous Chiapenses slowly gives way to a more personal form of storytelling. It really was, as we talked about today, seeing him go from a sort of screen to be projected on to. Sort of amorphous nothing that can become anything or anyone.

I also found the way he starts to include somewhat personal anecdotes, and how the people in those stories are given their own distinct and (over time) developed identities. Even the comical Durito evolves as a character through the stories. From some small beetle to a snarky knight-errant. Or Don Antonio, whose wisdom must be shown rather than shared, a secretive old soul. And yet, we get little to nothing about Marcos, he remains, I dont want to say detached, but distant from us.

Given the chronology of these tales, it is also interesting to see Marcos find his authorial voice. All the iterations progressing towards his final sarcastic and dry, albeit still political, voice. Along with this development, we start to get some more of Marcos’ personality. We get the image of a well-meaning, but bumbling man, trying his best to manage his responsibilities to the EZLN and his audience. We get a glimpse into the life of a man stretched paper-thin trying to hold it all together,

On a more uplifting note, this section has a much more jovial tone. We see a Marcos more willing to engage in play and storytelling with his audience. This seems to coincide with a switch  to a more narrative storytelling approach. Particularly when it comes to Durito’s and Don Antonio’s stories, we see more of the author Marcos and perhaps a bit less of his rebel identity. While all the stories are metaphors for the struggles and injustices of the EZLN, they meander, taking diversions to the past along the way. I found it a really cool way to tie in the Indigenous roots of the EZLN into the greater political narrative. Where n the first part, it focuses more on Indigenous maligning and invisibility (in relation to the Mexican state) this section pulls in history to imagine a future. I think most strikingly between one of the commanders and Durito where he reveals that the EZLN will win the fight only it will take a long time, and the commander essentially goes ‘tell me something I didn’t already know.’ It’s a simultaneous recognition of a better future and a signal that there was never any doubting that it could get better. Overall, this section felt a lot more like a book than the first half, the overlap/continuity between stories felt a lot more smooth, and less like communiques from a commander out in the field.

Our Word is Our Weapon (Part 1)

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This text was, i don’t want to say refreshing, but a real shakeup from what we’ve covered so far in the course. The way Marcos writes to different audiences is equally exciting and difficult to read, the unfortunate reality that their very existence as humans deprecated by their government is not enough to warrant attention.

I found the way the text starts really overwhelming, but it almost feels like that’s the point. The way the injustices and constant denigration of the Indigenous people of Chiapas keep coming without time to process the last brings the audience into a tiny glimpse of their lived reality. I found this especially powerful when Marcos gives us a sort of ‘tour’ through Chiapas highlighting the ways in which its people and resources are plundered to the benefit of the wealthy, those of ‘penthouse mexico’

Subcomandante Marcos also makes repeated mention of the role of voice and silence. Given our repeated turn to the question of what an Indigenous voice is, I thought this text did a good job of offering us a possibility. His suggestion of the healing power of the word on page 77, was really interesting. The way he positioned voice and silence as mere tools, counterposing the ways in which it can be used to both harm and heal, give and take life. Also, at the end of the text, unlike Rigoberto, who told her story as the story “of all poor Guatemalans,” Marcos positions his voice as just one of many, part of an echo that grants dignity and respect. He importantly makes clear the multiplicity and sonorous nature of Indigenous voice.

I also liked how the text wasn’t all doom and gloom. While sure, the text deals mainly with the dispossession of Indigenous Chiapenses under neoliberalism, Marcos also finds time to poke fun at the beast. To make a mockery of those deadest on his destruction. I found the list “How to be named man of the year” quite fun. Where it naturally pokes fun at the ways neoliberalism promotes and rewards Indigenous dispossession, it also feels like a ‘I see you’ moment. Where he sort of tells those in power, we’re not oblivious to what you’re doing. You dont operate on a level we don’t understand, you just operate at a level we are unwilling to descend to. It’s a proverbial ‘fuck you’ to those who praise these leaders as men of the year. To the unmarked violence deemed a requisite for succeeding in a neoliberal world. This text was overall very engaging, and I can’t wait to see what part 2 has in store for us.

 

I, Rigoberta Menchú (Part 2)

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Although the second half of this work was a lot harder for me to get through, the resilience of Rigoberta and her community is very powerful. Much like the first half, Rigoberta really drives home the importance of community in standing up to colonial power. Beyond this, though, I really enjoyed the way Rigoberta refused to accept the imposition of Indigeneity as a historical identity. The fight she and her fellow compañera/os undertake to ensure Indigenous futurity, often at the cost of their lives, reveals a community fully invested in undoing the harms of an extractivist capitalist world.

I was particularly struck by the part of the story where Rigoberta talks about her role in the CUC as an organizer. First, she identifies the role of the leader isn’t to sit back and tell others what to do, rather to include themselves in the struggle. Then, she talks about how she is essentially training people to replace her, a tacit acknowledgment that she has accepted the likelihood of her own death. Even as her family is progressively brutalized and murdered by the repressive Guatemalan regime, her dedication to the cause seems to only wane temporarily. Rigoberta’s dedication to continue the fight of her ancestors (which her father, mother, and brother all died for) signals another moment of Indigenous futurity.

Also. the talk of Gender roles at the end of the work was really interesting. The talk between Rigoberta and her mother, where she talks about how, although not formally educated, her mother identifies the harm machismo enacts on both men and women. This conversation was intriguing to read, because it approaches patriarchal power structures from a distinctly non-European lens. Addressing the importance of communication and inclusion in overcoming the barriers these power structures have created for men and women alike. I especially liked when Rigoberta’s mom talks about her relationship with her father, where each is able to endure and overcome things the other might not be able to. At the same time, Rigoberta makes note of the difficulty of deconstructing patriarchal power structures, and how it may never be possible to erase them. However, her refusal to inhabit the rigid gender role assigned to women in Guatemalan society reminds us, as the audience, of Rigoberta’s refusal to take shit from anybody.

Finally, the section where Rigoberta goes into self-imposed exile in Mexico is really weird. Not particularly for the exile itself but because of what she says about the Europeans who had offered to help her. Obviously, we can’t know, but I wonder how much of this is suggested or edited to make Elisabeth Burgos look good. While she is never explicitly mentioned, I sort of got a feeling she was being implied in the gracious benefactors. A way to reinsert herself into the narrative right at the end.

 

 

I, Rigoberta Menchú (Part 1)

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  • This contemporary account of an Indigenous woman navigating the quickly changing landscape of mid-20th century Guatemala was riveting, to say the least. There were plenty of connections to past readings, notably with Guaman Poma de Ayala. I found the part of the Intro where Menchú talks about learning Spanish, not out of a desire to learn the language, but as a means of resistance. Much like Ayala, her use of the language seems to come from a desire to improve the lives of her people. The main difference being that Menchú does not seem to speak to those in power directly, rather it feels as though she uses her voice to garner enough attention so that those in power are forced to notice. On a separate note, I also found it interesting how this work addresses the question we’ve been asking about what it means to be Indigneous. While we must be careful in generalizing, for Menchú and her community, it seems as though Indigeneity has much more to do with a way of life than ancestry. While ancestry certainly plays an integral role in her definition, it seems as though it is more important how an individual chooses to live. Whether or not they respect and live in line with the beliefs of these same ancestors
  • I also found the way the belief systems of Christianity are blended with Indigenous beliefs really interesting. Unlike in other texts where Christianity a is suggested to be a threat to the vitality and identity of Indigenous peoples, Menchú’s account suggests a peaceful co-existence. I found it particularly interesting that she says Catholicism is just another means of expression. Unlike Ayala, who attempts to make Inca religion sound like an ancient offshoot of Christianity, Menchú simply notes the simi,Aristide of the two, noting their complimentary nature. Finally, the role of community is made very evident. Even from birth, a child is bound to and by community. Their obligations to one another arising out of a desire for betterment of the community rather than themselves. This comes across most clearly when Menchú talks about how they don’t want to be like the Ladinos. Even though the ladinos have less struggles and don’t suffer nearly as much as Menchú’s community, their desire for self improvement at any cost flies on the face of the core tenets of their beliefs. Even marriage is presented as a communal work, securing the future of the Indigenous populations from the erasure the government seems so dead set on

Guaman Poma De Ayala: Part 2

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Again, its interesting to see Guaman Poma de Ayala navigate through the work as he seems to recognize the disconnect between his positionality and what he’s asking of the King. While last week I was confused by why he chose to disparage the Spanish, this week it became a bit more obvious that it was to show the imperfections, especially the Idolatry the Indigenous are accused of having, also exist within the Spanish ranks. His appeals to the King are especially interesting when it comes to the people in power because he’s basically giving the King advice on how to colonize and loot better. How the king can change things so he makes more money off the colony, which feels strange but makes sense in the context Poma de Ayala is faced with. In contrast to this, it is also interesting how Guaman Poma de Ayala uses divine endowment against the Spanish, essentially saying, ‘of course Spanish law supersedes Inca law, but not even Spanish law supersedes divine Law, and since God gave us these lands and titles you’re actually not allowed to take those from us.’ It’s a ballsy move to tell your colonizer they can’t take your things, but using their own rules against them is actually pretty iconic. I also feel like Guaman Poma de Ayala does a good Job of playing to the King’s pre-existing fears. He really hammers down on the overreaches of the church, and how the Priests are essentially stealing from the crown by taking on authority only the crown can grant. And beyond that, he goes so far as to claim a lot of these religious figures aren’t good Christians and deserve to be punished or excommunicated. While he certainly has a point, I don’t know that he would be the person the King would listen to on these points, especially since his own status as a ‘true Christian’ can probably be refuted. Even with his own, pretty high status, this feels like a really risky move from a personal point of view. If any of those priests, encomenderos. inspectors, or someone aligned with them sees this letter, he is surely done for. The way he describes the power these people have, not even he would have been able to survive whatever they chose to do. Finally, I enjoyed the way at the beginning of the letter he describes his own position as proximate to nobility and describes his ‘proper lineage’ and then throughout the rest of the letter names positions and who should fill them, and he conveniently fits a lot of the pre-requisites. Obviously we can’t know how intentional this was, but if it was, its a really clever move

Guaman Poma de Ayala: First half

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  • I found this work fun, but disorienting. Given that this work, unlike the Popol Vuh is written for a non-Indigenous audience, I feel Poma de Ayala does a good job of contextualizing a lot of the information he presents, correlating them temporally to events his Spanish audience would have understood. Speaking o audience, however, Poma de Ayala employs a very interesting narrative technique. He first establishes the supremacy of God, the Church, and the King, reiterating his dedication to their authority and presenting himself as a humble servean. While this move is likely to be anticipated in any work from the colonized to the colonizer, its his next move that confuses me. He goes on to attempt to disprove the primacy and idolatry of the Incas, the foundation on which the stripping of Inca power was predicated. His notion that the Incas were descendants of Noah’s and that, although they might have lost the word of GOd, they still worshipped him in their own way. Importantly, Poma de Ayala regularly repeats this claim in the first hundred or so pages, really emphasizing this as the grounding for his request to be granted some of his patrilineal authority back. What’s so confusing to me about this move, is that if he doesn’t get his implied audience, the King, to agree to this premise, his entire argument falls apart. No matter how well-ordered or Christian centric the society is at the time of writing, if he can’t prove a decendance from a Christian origin and that those beliefs were retained he gets nowhere. This, paired with his regular disparaging of Spanish customs and peoples doesn’t seem to pair well with his message. And its not only this, he documents the idolatry and loss of faith quite extensively. While he insists that they still worshiped GOd in their own way, he seems to shoot himself in the foot, as any claim to idolatry would discredit any Inca claim to personal autonomy.
  • On the other hand, Ayala does a good job of drawing or creating connections between Inca and Spanish society, establishing a different, but parallel civility that makes it difficult for the Spanish to level claims of Inca primacy as a foundation for stripping them of their land and power.
  • I was also wondering about gendered power dynamics and how much Ayala may have embellished gender roles in INca society to reflect those of their SPanish colonizers. The systems just seem too similar to me for it to be coincidence

 

Popol Vuh: Part 2

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  • Kinda a carryover from last week, but the Christian references in the work seemed more glaring. The Jaguar house reminded me of Daniel and the Lion’s Den, the fire house of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and then finally, when The Shaper and Framer notice their creations can see more than they should, and take away this vision, it reminded me of Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Eden.
  • One thing I kept wondering through the work was the elision of any detail surrounding the female characters in the work. Their identities are all tied to men in one way or another. Like we spoke about in class last week, it’s difficult to know what, if any, parts of the story were altered by the priests who recorded the work. It makes me hesitant to use this work as a framework for understanding Quiche society, as its reliability is incredibly dubious
  • I also drew similarities in the representation of Hunahpu and Xbalanque with the trickster in Cree storytelling (Weesageechak). Whereby the characters mess around and have fun, but at the same time, this play entails some moral lesson, warning or encouraging their audiences to engage in similar activity
  • Planting is also a big theme in the work. The inseparability of man from nature means everything, including life, is planted (although again this may be a translation thing). Based on this, I was wondering if this is why it is so significant threat Hunahpu and Xbalanque become the sun and the moon, since planting and harvesting is done by moon cycles and the sun provides the growth, idk.
  • There was a part of this section that I was left a bit perplexed by. The 400 boys who tried to kill Zipacna and then were killed themselves become immortalized in the stars, but I guess I’m still confused why they get rewarded, especially to this degree, for what they did. Because as I understand it, they tried to kill someone who helped them, but because, conveniently, he was also super self-involved they get rewarded? I guess I don’t see what an audience is meant to take away from this, but again I also know I’m not the intended audience
  • Finally, I kept picking up on the way immortality is presented in the work. Because for the Lords of Xibalba, who are still very much alive at the end of the work, the twins proverbially ‘kill’ them, by “ruining their reverence” they diminish the mentioning of their name, functionally killing them. In the same vein, when they go to visit their father and Seven Hunahpu (very much dead), they immortalize them by making sure their “name will not be lost”. It seems true immortality is achieved

Popol Vuh: Week 1

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  • One of the most glaring things I noticed throughout the work was the importance of collaboration. Creation as well as destruction are undertaken in groups, who plot and scheme together. Even the animals are encouraged to work together (p. 12). The few characters that work on their own (Seven Macaw and his sons), meet their demise at the hands of  Hunahpu and Xblanque.
  • Predictably, this work also includes a range of moral lessons, ranging from the dangers of boastfulness to the importance of being well-versed in trickery. However, it is interesting to note that the deitic entities aren’t held as stringently to these moral codes, or at least the author doesn’t note any harm befalling them. There was one story, however, that really confused me, or at least I was confused at to what the message behind it was. In Zipacna and the Four Hundred Boys, ZIpacna offers to help the boys build their hut, and then, because of his power or whatever, the boys plot to kill him. He survives the attempt on his life and gets vengeance, but then Zipacna gets killed for this? I didn’t really understand why.
  • Just a small thing I noticed was Hunahpu’s arm being torn off reminded me a lot of Beowulf tearing off Grendel’s arm and then keeping it as a sort of memento.
  • Beyond collaboration, connection also played a key role in the work. I really enjoyed the way that nature and creation are indivisible in the work, how when Zipacna dies, he still makes earthquakes, or when One Hunahpu is killed, he becomes calabashes. Beyond the characters, there is also a linking of worlds, which I found quite intriguing. Unlike heaven and hell in the Christian belief, the underworld and sky world are accessible from earth; admittedly, the passage is described as long and confusing, but there is a direct link between the layers of the world.
  • I also noted the emphasis on aesthetics in the work. Through all the iterations of humans, the Framer and Shaper attempt they make note of mashed faces, fixed gazes, shriveled faces, and withered sticks for limbs. Even the Grandmother in the final story can’t help herself from laughing at her own grandsons because of their “blunt ugliness” and their “paunchy belly and naked bits”. Regardless of who it is, the work is clearly delineates what desirable bodies look like, what bodies worthy of divine creation are meant to, and more importantly not meant to, resemble.