“In its simple style, Persepolis powerfully alludes to the ordinariness of trauma: one does not need, and in fact should reject, the virtuosic to tell this tale, it suggests.” (Chute, 105)
“Ordinariness of trauma”… wait, what? I came across this line while reading Hillary Chute’s The Texture of Retracing in Mariane Satrapi’s Persepolis and I thinking to myself what an interesting formation of words, two opposing words but when used together can hold a powerful meaning. Relating this thought into our research today on the genre of life narratives, so far we have encountered new forms of autobiographies; blogs and comics. Some case studies include the Salam Pax’s Where is Raed? along with Riverbend; both of which are blogs that chronicled the daily experiences of these individuals during the War in Iraq in 2003. In addition, we also have been analysing Mariane Satrapi’s Persepolis – a graphic narrative illustrating Satrapi’s personal experience growing up during the Iranian revolution. It was through Chute’s examination of Persepolis where I stumbled upon the phrase “ordinariness of trauma” but what does that really mean? Why was this significant to me?
I wanted to explore why this statement had such an impact. I began to dissect the meaning behind “ordinariness of trauma”. First, I defined the terms separately:
Ordinariness – or·di·nar·y (ôr dn- r )
1. Commonly encountered; usual.
a. Of no exceptional ability, degree, or quality; average.
And
n. pl. trau·mas or trau·ma·ta (-m -t )
1. A serious injury or shock to the body, as from violence or an accident.
3. An event or situation that causes great distress and disruption.
So, the gist: how extremely dire situations integrates itself into normalcy. This is exemplified in Salam Pax’s blog on his experience with the war in Iraq (2003), in Riverbend’s blog and her struggles with the war. This idea is also prevalent in Satrapi’s Persepolis, although I have mentioned the effects of war several times, please know that this new concept I am discovering is not limited to war, and this is why…
As I continue down the path of life narratives as a genre, I reflect back to one film I saw a few years ago. Desert Flower, a film based on the life story of Somalian model – Waris Dirie – who is a victim of female genital mutilation (FGM) and this film portrayed her struggles of this traumatic experience and the impact it had. Without spoiling the film, just in brief; FGM is considered a social practice in many parts of the world, and it was not until Dirie’s exposure to western culture, where she was informed that these practices are not “normal” but is recognized as a violation of human rights. Therefore, Dirie produced her film Desert Flower as a way to educate the world on FGM. Just as Pax, Riverbend and Satrapi’s life narratives are used to inform a global audience of their social situations.
From here, I look more deeply into the “ordinariness”, how that is depicted when clearly these are not usual circumstances (at least not where I am from). Joining the two words together (ordinariness + trauma) are extremely difficult to comprehend, especially when I (along with many others) have never personally experienced conflict to the point where it is immersed as a part of daily life. When reading the blogs of Pax, Riverbend, and reading Persepolis and learning of the horror stories and the hardships that they face, but they complement these experiences with very relatable situations such as school, work, traffic etc. With referencing household routines it provides a sense of typical interaction, easing in the tragic stories of wounded or killed civilians, houses being raided by soldiers, or on a “normal day” Riverbend describes it as “[being] up at early morning, did the usual ‘around the house things’, you know- check if the water tank is full, try to determine when the electricity will be off, checked if there was enough cooking gas…”. Trying to understand the depth of three simple words can define how life narratives can humanize some of the most inhumane situations.
I think that by tackling such a powerful phrase of “Ordinariness of Trauma”, really brings out the “big issue” that Chute and even Satrapi wants to address. When I think of this key phrase, the issue of a person recovering from a traumatic situation comes to mind and how after the incidence they strive towards returning to the pre-traumatic state of their ordinary lifestyle. In all truth, to return to that ordinary lifestyle occurs in two ways, one is through long therapy sessions and the other is just forgetting or trying to “pretend” it never happened. Also there are different types of traumas that range from the witnesses of the 9/11 terrorist attack to the survivors at the Boston Marathon bombing to the suffering of the lost of a family/friend in for example a plane crash. Thus, I personally think that there is nothing ordinary about traumas, only except for the fact that we need ordinary in order to see the traumatic effects (Satrapi’s Persepolis)
On the contrary, I think that this “ordinariness of trauma” – bombings and war in the East in these particular contexts – is only shocking to us in the Western World. I might be wrong, and this is only my opinion – but I think we would be more ‘traumatized’ by the incidents that were described in Pax’s blog, Riverbend’s blog and Satrapi’s graphic narrative than they probably were. If someone was to bomb Vancouver right now, we would all be pretty shaken. To them though, in the Eastern world, this might be something that is normal. They, of course, experienced trauma, but this has become part of their daily lives already that it seemed ‘normal’ to them. This type of trauma must be ordinary for the people in that part of the earth, but it is definitely not ordinary in our part of the earth. I just think that since we are not used to witnessing these things around us, the things they had to experience would affect us much more greatly than if it were to happen to them again. This, again, reinforces Pax’s words: “Lucky you,” in which we can assume that he was talking to us, the Western audience.