The “Other”

In our ASTU 100 class this week, we are attempting to analyze a selection of Judith Butler’s complex book Frames of War: When is Life Grievable?. The book can be understood and interpreted in many ways; in fact we have been reviewing it for almost three classes and have yet to come to a conclusion. However, my understanding of her stance is the notion that all lives are vulnerable, especially to lives that we understand as different from our own. This division creates a distinct “us” and “them”, and in order to protect ourselves—however that is defined—we must harm and create distance from others.

As Butler’s work is primarily theoretical, it is difficult to understand exactly how the “other” occurs in society. She provides some examples, such as the in the early 2000s, America’s “war on terror” demonized Middle Eastern terrorist groups. Even so, there is arguably no concrete definition as to who they were exactly fighting against, aside from the abstraction of “terror”. I think a better example of the “other” would be the characterization of Germany or Japan during the Second World War. Propaganda posters from the time epitomize this us versus them dichotomy.

These images are clear evidence of an active attempt to dehumanize the enemy, to create an “other” to rally against. In a sense, this is expected during times of war. Although the images may be shocking now, it is not that surprising that the Allied governments used this tactic of division to rally support for the war. In modern day society, Butler’s notion of division is perhaps more subtle.

When discussing in class, I considered how vague our understanding of “otherness” truly is. Firstly, I doubt we could provide a coherent understanding of who is included in the other. It is arguably up to the individual to decide, or perhaps be told, who “them” includes. Secondly, we have very little knowledge of the places that we do not identify with. For example, in casual conversation, Africa is often referred to as if it is an independent country. In reality, it is enormously culturally, linguistically, and ethnically diverse. I cannot realistically speak to what extent, because I truthfully do not know. Additionally, it is easier for me to classify an “African country” as part of the “other” then for example America, simply because I have a well-versed understanding of American culture.

This confusion of otherness speaks to the complexity of Butler’s argument. I am not American, or, for example Congolese. But does that mean that California is included in my other? Perhaps otherness exists in degrees. Could it be true that a Californian is less “other” to me than a Congolese, but more “other” than someone from Richmond? And what does this mean for my personal vulnerability, in relation to all of these different people? Defining Butler’s “other” is perhaps more complicated than it seems, and demonstrates its complexity when applied to real life discussion and situations.

Work Cited

Butler, Judith. Frames of War: When Is Life Grievable? London: Verso, 2009. Print.

Earlier in term one, our ASTU 100 class studied Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi and Obasan by Joy Kogawa, both which utilized child narration. In my previous post on this topic, I proposed that perhaps these books tell their story through children to offer a sense of authority through objectivity. This vital due to the fact Kogawa and Satrapi are both presenting in a sense counter narratives to events that they may see as misrepresented, or not told holistically.

In Part 1 of my exploration of child narration, I suggested child narrators are beneficial if the author is attempting to present a relatively unknown story within the context of a wider trauma. For example, Obasan is set in World War Two, a topic we learn about extensively in school. Kogawa’s focus on the Japanese Canadian experience of internment is introducing new and unfamiliar information to the master narrative of World War Two. The objectivity and honesty of a child narrator is an effective tool here, as the story requires an innocent and objective testimony.

Currently, our ASTU class is reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Foer. It follows Oskar, an offbeat nine year old who attempts to grapple with the loss of his beloved father on September 11^th in New York City.

Arguably, Foer is not exactly presenting a counter narrative to the events of September 11^th, 2001, but rather exploring its effects upon Oskar, his family, and how he sees the world. Oskar, Nomi and Marji all share a sense of honest victimization. These narrators are not interested in the political or social effects of the events they experienced, but rather they are focused upon the direct effect they have upon their friends and families. Herein lies the power of child narration. They are able to tell a story from a very personal perspective without its importance to the wider narrative being questioned. They gain a sense of authority from the lack of experience and naivety, and their restricted view of the world.

Marji and Nomi’s narratives can be used to offer another perspective to the Real Truth, and question’s its reliability. However, Oskar’s intense search for the Real Truth demonstrates its futility. As Satrapi and Kogawa aspire to add dimension to a master narrative, Foer nearly dismissed the concept of the Real Truth, and instead suggests that individual narratives and loss are of the highest value. This is mirrored in Oskar’s hunt for the key and Mr. Black, and his obsession with concrete facts. Eventually, Oskar ends up with the realization that searching for definite facts is near arbitrary, and shifts his focus to the existing love around him, such as his relationship with his mother.

Essentially, child narrators allow authors to explore concepts from an honest and unbiased perspective. Child understanding of the world is in general limited to what is fundamentally important, such as familial and platonic love. Consequently, they provide authors with a platform in which complicated and sensitive topics can be explored, examined, and more widely understood.