Assignment 2:4, Question 2 | It Takes Time
What is it that makes it so difficult for us to fully understand first contact stories? In this week’s lesson, Erika offers two reasons why we find this so challenging. First, she posits that “the social process of the telling is disconnected from the story and this creates obvious problems for ascribing meaningfulness” (Paterson). This makes a great deal of sense. The way in which a story is told has a profound impact on how it is understood; even if the words remain the same, intonation and intention can completely change their meaning. An excellent example of this phenomenon can be found in the drama exercise that sees students repeat a common phrase like “Who’s at the door?” in as many ways as they can conceive to change the meaning; for a more humorous version, popular YouTuber Brian David Gilbert offers this interpretation. This same principle applies to storytelling. Thus, it is up to the storyteller to define the meaning of the story through its telling, and one way this is accomplished is through the surrounding experience. This process is mentioned in Wickwire’s introduction when she discusses how Harry Robinson would incorporate references to physical evidence of his stories along the river, or add in details such as the moon landing (Robinson Introduction). When these surroundings change, so too does the story – and given there are hundreds of years of distance from the conception of the stories, one can easily see how this issue could compound!
The next reason Erika suggested is that the difficulty in ascribing meaningfulness to first contact stories is “[due to] the extended time of criminal prohibitions against Indigenous peoples telling stories combined with the act of taking all the children between 5-15 away from their families and communities.” When relying on stories that have been passed down through the generations, it is readily apparent that destroying the connection between generations would create difficulties, to say the least. Coupled with the outlawing of the ceremonies of storytelling, this obviously had a devastating effect on the ability to ascribe meaningfulness to first contact stories. Telling stories is one of the best ways to get to know someone, and that extends to understanding culture; conversely, losing stories correlates to a lack of understanding. Legislative acts such as the Potlatch Ban and the lingering effects of the Residential Schools continue to have a horrific impact on our understanding of first contact stories as so much was lost during that period that cannot be regained in its original form.
There are many reasons why our capacity for understanding first contact stories is limited. In her introduction to Harry Robinson’s Living by Stories: A Journey of Landscape and Memory, Wickwire recalls Harry discussing the effect his own death would have on storytelling:
Harry had stressed in 1984 that he was “going to disappear and there will be no more telling stories.” At the time, I assumed that he was referring to the demise of his stories. However, when I re-listened to this comment, I realized that I had missed his point. He perceived his death as a blow to the process of storytelling.
Not only does this give us an insight into how important the storyteller is to the story, it also could be interpreted as revealing another reason why we find it so challenging to find meaningfulness in first contact stories: stories need time to be understood. Harry said something to this effect himself, as Wickwire quotes in her introduction:
So, take a listen to this (points to my recorder) a few times and think about it—to these stories and to what I tell you now. Compare them. See if you can see something more about it. Kind of plain, But it’s pretty hard to tell you for you to know right now. Takes time. Then you will see.
To understand a story, you have to think it over, turn it around, see it from different angles, and take the time to do all this. And your conclusions may change over time; your understanding of the story will evolve. So perhaps it could be concluded that another reason for our challenges with first contact stories is that despite the centuries since their inception, we haven’t taken the time to fully get to know them, to put aside whatever preconceived notions we may bring to the telling of the story and think on them. I find myself drawn to this potential reason, as there remains hope that we can one day find a way to overcome the myriad other challenges inherent in understanding first contact stories, if only we are willing to listen and think.
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Works Cited
BLM Oregon & Washington. “Similkameen River & Pacific Northwest Trail.” Creative Commons. https://search.creativecommons.org/photos/58b1cea6-3bb4-4373-ad69-fbdd832f5adc. Accessed 20 Feb 2021.
brian david gilbert. “the 19 ways you can say ‘ha ha, what’.” YouTube. 19 Mar 2018. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBGW9J3sx1g. Accessed 20 Feb 2021.
Paterson, Erika. “Lesson 2:2 First Stories.” English 372 99C Canadian Studies. https://blogs.ubc.ca/engl372-99c-2020wc/unit-2/lesson-2-2/. Accessed 20 Feb 2021.
Robinson, Harry. “Introduction by Wendy Wickwire.” Living by Stories: A Journey of Landscape and Memory. Talonbooks. 2005. Kindle Edition.
Wente, Jesse. “Canada needs to give Indigenous stories the platform they deserve.” The Globe and Mail. 16 Feb 2017. https://www.theglobeandmail.com/arts/film/canada-needs-to-give-indigenous-stories-the-platform-they-deserve/article34046186/. Accessed 20 Feb 2021.
Your closing paragraph gets right at the main issue, Magda, to “see it from different angles, and take the time.” I believe that is because all societies have culture that informs their stories, even before their creation story is imagined, and to relate to the events in their story accurately we will need to be in their shoes as if we grew up among them—which we may never be able to manage. The thing about the turtles holding up the world I will never appreciate, and Atlas’ shoulders leave me behind too. I have reservations about Genesis as well, so maybe I’m the problem, not the storytellers; and my own jury is still out even on the Big Bang so I seem to have my own lonely little “culture” of skepticism. Oh, I’m also not a Belieber, but that’s probably because I’m still stuck on Buddy Holly. Cheers!
Haha! Thanks, Joe!
You’re exactly right – we all come to issues with our own upbringing dictating how we will initially respond. But knowing what it is that creates our own culture is the first step, whether that be Greek myths or the musical stylings of Buddy Holly! At least by recognizing that we all have our own internal beliefs, we can get that much closer to finding that “common ground” in our stories. 🙂
Cheers,
Magda
Thanks for your thoughtful post, Magdalena.
Your final message reminds me of a bit of Nietzsche’s book “The Gay Science”: “deeds need time, even after they are done, to be seen and heard” (120). I think what you say is true; we need time for events and stories to catch up with us, time to learn how to relate, communicate and love.
Jesse Wente, in the speech you’ve linked, also suggests how stories can be a means to love: “in if Canada truly knew us, it would be harder to hate, easier to love.” If you’ll forgive me for quoting Nietzsche again (as you might guess, I’m reading him right now in another class!), he thinks about how the impulse to knowledge can be a fearful one—a desire to reduce strangeness to the familiar and comfortable. Learning to love, on the other hand, entails “good will,” “hospitality,” “patience” toward “what is strange” (186). In another philosopher’s (Simone Weil’s) words from a book I recently discovered called “Gravity and Grace”: “Belief in the existence of other human beings as such is love” (64). This is just to say that I agree that it’s a hopeful thought that stories and the exchange of them might act as media for recognizing, believing in, the existence of others—in the passing of time.
I also think Wickwire’s transcriptions of Robinson’s speech bring out what you (and Dr. Paterson) say about distance from the situation of the telling. It is so different from ordinary written prose and evokes an individual voice (with all its quirks of intonation, phraseology, etc.) that we’d never know without hearing it . . .
Anyway, thanks again (sorry for the long comment)!
Hi Connor!
Long comments are always appreciated! As are your references to Nietzsche and Weil – I think there is a great deal of philosophy inherent in discussing stories and belief, so it is always a delight to hear from those who have actually studies the works of famous philosophers. 🙂
I definitely agree with you: the manner in which Robinson’s words are transcribed introduces its own tone that contributes so much to the telling of the story. It comes back to that creation of the world of words, and the ways in which stories straddle realities. I find myself constantly on the cusp of feeling as though I understand the nature of these stories, before the explanation in my mind slips through the cracks – but I remain hopeful that with enough time and thought, I’ll find my way to some form of explanation!
Hi Magda,
Nice to read your answer to the same question I answered and see our similar thoughts and findings. I really appreciated your hopeful ending. I am quick to disparage my own education and the ways I was not taught to listen. But I really love that you’re saying, if this is a matter of learning then there is hope that I could still learn.
Your answer also points to the need for an immersion into Indigenous stories/histories/culture, as opposed to one-off experiences.
Thanks for this insight and hope!
Hi Laura!
Thank you, too! It was equally inspiring to read your response. 🙂 I think acknowledging the shortcomings and pitfalls of our own upbringing is absolutely crucial to finding a way forward, so your post was inherently hopeful in its own way (at least to my view)!
Cheers,
Magda