Blue, Black, and White

It feels good to be getting into the theatre again. It’d been a long time (unless I’m forgetting something…) since I’d seen a theatre production, and I really do miss my friendship & involvement with the Theatre department at UH.

Blue, Black, and White is an original play by Donald Molosi, a graduate student here at UCSB, who, now that I look him up online, is apparently a very prominent rising star among young artists from Botswana. I won’t bother sharing a list of his awards and accomplishments here, but they’re easy to find online. The play tells the story of Sir Seretse Khama (1921-1980), first president of independent Botswana. He is known not only for leading the country to independence (in 1966), and to relative prosperity, but also for his then (and still?) extremely controversial marriage to a white woman, Ruth Williams, in 1948, at a time when the formal policies of apartheid were first getting underway in South Africa, and when segregation and the racial attitudes underlying it was very much the norm throughout much of the Western world and its colonies. The play suggests that interracial mixing and equality was much more common, or stronger, in Bechuanaland even before independence than in many other parts of southern Africa, and that after independence, under Sir Seretse, it became even more tolerant (especially in comparison to neighboring South Africa, infamous for its formal Apartheid policies). If this is true, it’s really remarkable.

Tonight’s performance, directed by Haddy Kreie and starring a cast of all UCSB undergraduates, was an ensemble version of the play, previously performed as a one-man show by Molosi himself; the play is still a work in progress, but even as is, it’s really quite well-done, nuanced, multi-layered, powerful and meaningful.

The play is told through multiple layers of storytelling, and each actor plays multiple parts. It is a story of a classroom in Botswana, where the teacher is teaching her students about Sir Seretse Khama; as part of her lessons, she and the students dress up and play parts and act out key moments and events in the life of Sir Seretse. But then, within that “role playing,” there are also sections where Lady Ruth Khama, sitting with some of the Ba-Tswana women, answers their questions and tells them stories, for example, about how she and Sir Seretse met. It is easy to forget sometimes that a given scene is meant to be a memory, a story being told, or that it’s supposed to be the schoolchildren playing parts. But that’s good – all the scenes feel real.

As each actor takes on multiple roles, changing gender and race as well, and often putting on accents, there comes the obvious, unavoidable question of race in the casting. I’d rather not say too much, because it is a very touchy subject, and anything said about it must be phrased very carefully. My apologies if I am not careful enough. But, as the cast, director, and playwright explained, this works for them on multiple levels. One, colorblind casting helps embody the interracial, anti-segregation message of the play. Two, the diverse background of the actors (white, Asian-American, Latina, etc.), even as they play Black Africans, helps, perhaps, subconsciously, highlight the ethnic differences within Botswana – in American discourse, we may see “Black” as a single group, just as we all too often also gloss over the great ethnic & cultural diversity within “white” identity, but, in Botswana, as in most African countries (and elsewhere in the world), there is a strong sense of ethnic, cultural, tribal differences, e.g. between BaTswana, BaKalanga, and BaSarwa (‘ba’ being a prefix in Setswana denoting a people; ‘se’, similarly, is a prefix denoting a language. Thus BaTswana means “the Tswana people,” Setswana, “the Tswana language,” and Botswana, “the Tswana country.” I learned these things today.). Finally, that for the actors, taking on all these different roles helped them to understand and to embody the different racial/ethnic/cultural identities in the story, and in the racial/political issues the play addresses. I suppose in the end, if it’s alright with the great, award-winning Batswana playwright Donald Molosi, who am I to say otherwise?

Speaking of “tribes” or ethnic identities, I thought it very interesting, and valuable, the way that Molosi introduces some criticism into his own narrative, acknowledging the choices he is making, and the presence of alternative narratives. The story he tells is a romantic and nationalistic one, emphasizing the Batswana people and Sir Seretse in particular, elevating him as an individual, as a founding father. The playwright shows his awareness and recognition of the problematic nature of this narrative by having one character, one of the schoolchildren, Frank, frequently ask questions such as “why do we learn only about Sir Seretse? Aren’t there other important people whose stories deserve to be told too?” Frank also says at one point “my uncle says we aren’t to use the word ‘tribe’.” I thought these interjections among the most valuable and powerful critical elements in the play. It is a play about recovering one’s history, one’s identity, and telling the story of one’s own people, of one’s own country. But, even while doing so, it is important to recognize that an alternative story, a counter-narrative, can also be dominating, can also be silencing of other voices, and can also perpetuate discourses (such as the use of the word ‘tribe’, or not, and what connotations it has within your culture, and your own national narrative). The teacher attacks Frank each time, yelling at him and punishing him for challenging her narrative, her curriculum. This kind of forcible enforcement of the curriculum takes place in classrooms all around the world.

Donald says that the public school curriculum in Botswana remains very much a colonial curriculum. It teaches a version of history that is heavily Eurocentric, including, he mentioned, the Russian tsars and the German unification of the 19th century, but nothing, incredibly, about Botswana’s own history. This, I was very surprised by. Not that I know anything much at all about African history, but while places like Hawaii and Okinawa still struggle (to varying degrees) to be allowed to teach their own histories, rather than, or in dialogue with, the national narrative, I had always assumed that independent countries like Botswana – especially countries so newly independent, with such a history of colonization – would have already done away with the colonial curriculum, and might in fact have, arguably, gone too far the other way. How many countries in the world teach the hagiography of their national founder above all else, enshrining him? There are the stories we tell ourselves (and our children) about Washington, Jefferson, and Adams, and there are the stories told about Mao Zedong and about Kim Il-Sung. What stories are told about Kemal Ataturk or Jomo Kenyatta? That Botswana not only does not idolize Sir Seretse in this way, but does not even tell his story – or that of Botswana’s history at all, so we are told – is really surprising. After my engagement with Hawaiian and Okinawan issues in various venues during my time at UH, I did not have to be told, but Donald made it all the more clear, speaking quite explicitly during the talk-back after the show, about the discursive impact on one’s identity, one’s self-worth, one’s worldview, to be taught to associate history with the Other – that only the Other possesses History, and that the Botswanan Self does not possess History (see Edward Said, classic element of Orientalist attitudes of the static, non-developing, ahistorical non-Western Other), or does not possess a History worth knowing, remembering, or retelling. This makes Molosi’s telling of this story all the more important.

As always with these sorts of things, I find that I have a handful of different points or themes I want to touch on, but not necessarily a particularly organized way to bring them up, to lead from one another, or to lead into any kind of conclusion. While the play is less polished than some I have seen in Hawaii – and that’s perfectly okay, as it is, after all, a lab theatre student production, and still a work-in-progress – I think that in some ways, it actually works better than some of the more professional pieces I’ve seen on issues of identity, race, nationalism. Molosi’s play is uplifting and heartening, and does not attack the audience for their beliefs or attitudes, but rather educates them, the key thematic points being well-woven into the story, into the characters, without banging anyone over the head with them, and without any of the characters being one-dimensional stereotypes.

This issue of recovering history is a central one for many indigenous peoples and others struggling with post-colonial situations. I can see, I would love to see, a similar story told for Hawaii, or for other peoples, recovering the history and telling a story that people should be proud of, while at the same time, not really attacking another people, and, being self-critical. Those interjections by Frank were a small part of the entire play, but they were crucial in helping the play acknowledge and portray multiple viewpoints, the subjectivity of any and all versions of history, and the political motivations or biases behind any and every version of history. It is of great importance, of course, that histories be recovered, and that peoples learn stories about their history, and the great figures in their history of whom they can be proud. But it is all too easy to get caught up in myths, to be led to think that questioning the narrative is a betrayal of one’s identity, of one’s community, or that elders and practitioners of the traditional arts are the ultimate authorities on truth. I would love to see a play that tells the story of King Kalakaua or Queen Liliuokalani, whose stories absolutely deserve to be told, but which might contain just a few lines of “But, teacher, what about Kamehameha and Kaahumanu? Aren’t they important too?” or “But, teacher, what about the ali’i adopting Christianity? Isn’t that a betrayal of our gods, of our indigenous culture?” and being shouted down by the teacher who only wants the one version of the narrative to be told and retold. By including this sort of complexity and self-criticism in his play, Molosi makes this work so much more powerful, meaningful, and impactful.

As much as I may miss the more regular opportunities for engagement with Asia-Pacific-American issues in Hawaii, it was a most welcome pleasure tonight to get to learn something about Botswana, to see these same issues, or similar issues, in a very different context. My warmest thanks and congratulations to Donald, Haddy, cast and crew!

Read Full Post »

Deconstructing “Japan” – Amino Yoshihiko

I have not yet found time to read Rethinking Japanese History (CJS, UMich, 2012), Amino Yoshihiko’s 1991 book, newly translated into English by Alan Christy and re-published, though I very much hope to next summer. In the meantime, I’ve just finished reading something much more manageable, but similarly important and impactful – a short 1992 article by Amino entitled “Deconstructing ‘Japan’,” translated into English by Gavan McCormack.

There is a general consensus among historians that Japan did not come into existence as a nation-state in the modern sense of the word until the Meiji period. And that up until then, to one extent or another, in one way or another, no Imperial or shogunal government ever really fully controlled the archipelago. Yet, we still think of it as “Japan,” rather than thinking of the territory controlled by “Japan,” in this or that historical period, as being only some subsection of that.

In the course I TAed last term, I tried to talk about “the archipelago,” rather than talking about “Japan,” but, for me, and I imagine for most of them, it seemed more or less a purely semantic matter. Our fundamental assumptions about Japan, and indeed about history, are hard to shake. We can adopt new phrases, and parrot back ideas taught to us, but to truly adopt those ideas, to truly alter our most fundamental assumptions, to change our attitudes or approaches, is difficult.

Amino questions and problematizes those assumptions, highlighting the geographical limits of what people in the center (the Kinai) thought the geographical extents of “Nihon” were at various times, and emphasizing the various polities that existed, at various times, on the edges of, or beyond, those limits. He emphasizes the idea of “Nihon” or “Yamato,” the Emperor, and the Sun Goddess, all belonging to just one of many peoples, many polities which have existed on the archipelago. Though he does not explicitly make the following comparisons, he is essentially saying that like the various Chinese dynasties expanding outwards, like England expanding northwards, like the United States expanding westward, the territory today controlled by Japan is not (was not), historically, inherently, pre-destinedly “Japanese,” and that, at its core, “Japan” was a much smaller cultural/political entity, originating in the Kinai, which expanded and extended its reach, absorbing other territory, peoples, and culture into it.

When we talk in highly abstract terms, in seminar, about Theoretical approaches to history, about Foucault and Marx and Hegel, about paradigms of knowledge, about questioning and problematizing everything, I find it extremely difficult to find any of it interesting, relevant, or applicable. And I rail against the idea that we should be operating on a theoretical level, rather than engaging with actual historical events, conditions, phenomena, etc. “on the ground.” But, ground theoretical arguments, conceptual arguments, in our understandings of and approaches to specific issues in Japanese history, and you’ve got my rapt attention. Questioning, problematizing, reassessing, what we believe about Japanese history, how we approach it, the assumptions we bring to the table, could not be more important. Debating Theory on a purely abstract level, well, that’s a separate matter.

I now all the more look forward to reading Amino’s book. For now, this article is definitely going in my “important articles” folder, right next to the ones by Arano Yasunori where he argues against the use of the term “sakoku,” and against the idea of Japan ever having been “closed to the outside world.”

Read Full Post »

The Case For World Theatre History

A week or so ago, a colleague pointed out to me a new journal article by theatre scholar Steve Tillis, entitled “The Case Against World Theatre History.”¹ Don’t be fooled – the article really should be called something like “On the Case against World Theatre History,” or “Against the Case against World Theatre History,” as this is precisely what Tillis argues. In the article, he lays out a number of the most common arguments made against “World Theatre History” as a subject for scholarly study, and then rebuts each of them. There is great relevance to this discussion for anyone thinking about “world art history,” “world music history,” or “world history” in general. Why is it that we study history on the global scale, and is it a valid, relevant, and useful pursuit?

This is a fascinating issue, far more intriguing and engaging – and far more relevant to my own interests – than the needlessly dense Theory essays I’m reading right now for my mandatory Historiography seminar. In crafting my response/review for this article, I couldn’t help but to write quite a few pages before I decided I ought to scale it back and focus in, rather than posting pages and pages here on the blog. For that reason – i.e. for the sake of length – I have omitted discussion of “world theatre history” or “world art history” as a subject of undergraduate courses, i.e. as a mode of organizing teaching the subject. Perhaps I will consolidate my thoughts on that matter into another blog post. In the meantime, this post has still ended up quite long, and for that I sincerely apologize. After sitting on it for roughly a week, I figured it was better to just get it out there than to put it off until I felt like refining it down – it might have gotten left for a pretty considerable amount of time had I done that.

So, please try to bear with me as I try to summarize the arguments & rebuttals in this paper, along with my thoughts, regarding “world theatre history” as a subject of research and study.

The stage set for a jingju, or Beijing opera, “The White Snake,” at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, Winter 2010.

First, we have to see what it is Tillis means by “world theatre history.” According to him, it is not simply a matter of describing theatrical traditions in a variety of places around the world. Rather, “world theatre history” in his eyes is about considering the cultural exchanges and connections between traditions from around the world, as well as the slightly more abstract or theoretical-level underlying phenomena of how “theatre,” regardless of culture, functions. In his own words,

["World theatre history"] seeks to investigate and explore the linkages between theatre forms of different world regions … and it seeks to understand how those linkages reveal structures that might have had a widespread effect on theatre: the relationship between theatre forms across the breadth of Eurasia, for example, or the widespread propensity to make use of meta-dramatic figures to supplement the dramatic characters themselves. And it seeks, finally, to analyze whatever interregional trends might be discovered in those links, such as the rising importance of urban forms of theatre (p381).

With this as his working concept, Tillis addresses seven arguments against “world theatre history” – three practical, and four ideological. As you will see, (spoilers!), I agree with Tillis on some of these, and disagree with him on others – as to what constitutes a problem, and as to the solutions or rebuttals he proposes.

(1) The problem of manageability – World history, as the argument goes, is simply not manageable – to address every period in every culture would result in a complete chaos of dissimilar, disconnected, cases and narratives.

Of course, this is not what Tillis is really talking about. Yes, in an undergraduate survey course, one could get into problems of how to fairly cover everything, and to do it in a cohesive way. But, for scholars trying to examine “what is theatre?” from a global perspective, I don’t think this idea of “completeness” or manageability is the problem. The problem comes in how you generalize, something we’ll get to with some of the later arguments.

(2) The second argument that Tillis addresses is the problem of detail. How do we cover all of the history of the theatre of the world without inevitably skipping over really big name individuals or events? Or, rather, how do we skip over subjects generally seen as of extreme significance and get away with it, justifying such omissions in pursuit of the study of the whole?

By way of solution, Tillis offers simply that every level of scale has its merits, that the global scale has its merits too, and that all of that lost detail is still there – to be addressed by other scholars, in other works. It’s not lost. It hasn’t gone anywhere. Still, there are serious dangers in generalizing too broadly, in essentializing cultures, and in ignoring significant counter-examples.

Reading this article, I find myself also thinking about the inevitable choice I will have to make as to my ‘fields’ of study for my PhD qualifying exams. There is a lot of pressure to do “world history,” but, if that “world history” is the same as that which Tillis is talking about here – focusing on the interconnections and broader themes – then that is decidedly not the type of history I am interested in, personally. In theatre, as in art and in history in general – I am interested in color, sound, movement, and stories. I am interested in the vivid ‘world’ of a specific time and place, such as the cities and post-towns of early modern Japan, as composed of the architecture, clothing, systems of social classes, logistics of travel and urban planning, elements of elite and popular culture, and the countless other aspects of that time and place that, when taken altogether, combine to provide some semblance, some hint, of the feeling of actually being there and experiencing it. I am not interested in how “societies” (in general) work, how “regimes” (in general) rise and fall, or how “art” or “theatre” function in some universal, pan-cultural, human sociological or psychological fashion; and I am most certainly not interested in taking historical events or cases as mere examples in arguing some broader point. I’m interested in the specifics, and in putting the specifics first, as interesting and worthy of attention in their own right. So, I think I need to talk to my professors about what exactly a study field in “World History” means, and whether I would be better or worse to focus on something that more specifically, directly, interests me, such as “Early Modern Britain & the Netherlands.”

The Noh stage at the Ôe Nôgakudô in Kyoto.

(3) Tillis’ third argument addresses the supposed problem of the world historian’s reliance on secondary sources, but, frankly, I see no problem with this. Operating on that scale requires one to understand (or at least claim to understand) a very wide range of cultures, events, trends, structures – in the case of theatre and art history, perhaps the most relevant word is “traditions” – and so, of course, one would have to rely on the syntheses produced by other scholars. No one can know enough about every culture, about the complexities of the cultural context in every historical period, nor possess sufficient language skills, to do sufficient research from scratch to understand each of these different traditions well enough to talk about them in a comparative mode – not to mention the inconceivable amount of time it would take. Besides, what use is it, really, to be examining a 17th century playbill or translating an 18th century play, word by word, when your argument concerns kabuki (or jingjiu or Randai) as a whole? The idea that the reliance on secondary sources is problematic seems, to put it plainly, stupid.

The trick is, simply, that the scholar does need to be relying on reliable sources, and to have a good idea what she is talking about. The danger in using secondary sources is that one can get an incomplete or misguided understanding of the subject – but, so long as one reaches out sufficiently to his colleagues, experts in those respective theatre forms, to help guide her to the right sources and the right understandings, the reliance on secondary sources should not be seen as such a problem. Moving on.

At Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, as reconstructed in London today.

Thus, we finish with the practical problems, and move ahead to the ideological ones.

(4) The next issue Tillis presents is the argument of Western dominance – that is, the argument that it is only natural that a treatment of “world history” (or “world theatre history”) would focus chiefly on the European path.

The first ideological argument seeks to justify a Eurocentric approach by appeal to what it takes to be historical fact. Europe, it argues, has been at the centre of history for many centuries – in theatre history and general history alike. To deny this centrality is to deny the facts of history. We can call it the argument of Western dominance. … For many centuries, the argument contends, only the West experienced historical progress. (p384)

Wow. I couldn’t say this more boldly or directly if I tried.

For anyone who has studied (anti-)Orientalist theory, in the vein of Edward Said, the above statement that only the West has history or progress is not only patently absurd, but downright offensive.

I am sorely tempted to hold onto this article to assign to my eventual future students. Sure, the overall argument of the paper – the topic of whether or not we should consider ‘world history’ a valid field of study – along with the theatre focus, might not be perfectly relevant to, for example, a general course in Historiography. But, the paper is decidedly historiographical in its approach, and addresses numerous important points, addressing and refuting arguments for a Eurocentric or Westcentric approach to history, and introducing the reader to the basic concept of Whig History, as well as to the Orientalist idea that only the West has history while the non-West is unchanging, and saying it all boldly, clearly, and directly.

Tillis goes on in this section to talk about the argument that since non-Western art forms tend to remain fairly constant, like animated museum pieces (as we do see, admittedly, to varying extents in Noh, kabuki, etc.), these cannot be so relevant to a history of the evolution/development of theatre. In other words, if Noh and kabuki are relatively unchanging, then all innovation and progress is to be found in the West. This is an argument that we very often see argued, as well, in regard to Modern Art. We can see this at play in Wikipedia’s article on Modern Art. Twentieth-century developments in the non-West (e.g. Nihonga, Guohua, not to mention the countless prominent non-Western modern and postmodern artists, from, for Japan, High Red Center and Gutai, to Murakami Takashi) are ignored at the “global art history” scale to instead devote attention almost exclusively to Impressionism, Post-Impressionism, up through Fluxxus, Warhol, Pollock, Mondrian and the like. A Westcentric mindset as to what constitutes progress, or what is to be defined as “modern art,” imposes itself upon the choice of which artists, artworks, and movements to discuss.

This idea is supported by the assertion that since Western theatre (or art) has been so influential all around the world, and so widely adopted, this justifies focusing on it. Tillis rebuts this, saying that “the notion that we should study Western theatre history because of its current global status is … both politically motivated and breathtakingly teleological. Because it looks at history only as a pathway to the present, it cannot help but offer a deeply skewed vision of the past” (p385). Tillis rejects, of course, these assertions, saying that in fact Western theatre has remained extremely conservative in certain respects as well – note the proscenium stage; the architectural form of the theatres we build and use follows much the same form throughout the Western world that it has for at least 100 years. And opera, to name one example of a Western theatrical form, hasn’t changed much either.

Preview/excerpts from a University of Hawaii performance of Randai, a Sumatran theatre form combining dance and martial arts with dialogue and plot.

(5) The Argument of Western Relevance – A similar, but less biased, argument, argues that we should focus on the West not because it’s inherently better or more important, but because it is more relevant to what the students (whether as performers or as audience) will encounter and experience. Nationalism plays a part in this argument as well, as it is felt there is a need to devote considerable time/attention to American theatre history when teaching in the US, or to British history in Britain, French art history in France, etc.

Tillis rebuts this one quite nicely, as well, writing that even putting aside other arguments as to the relevance, importance, or simple appropriationability of other traditions in developing one’s own art, at the very least, the global perspective is important in allowing performers within the Western tradition to see that tradition from an outside perspective. To not take things for granted, but to recognize and be aware of the artificiality of our assumptions. Assumptions about the shape a stage should take, the structure of a play or of a cast (i.e. how many lead actors, what it means to be lead), about the way the audience ought to behave, and about the way the actors ought to interact with (or ignore) the audience. Rethinking our assumptions helps us understand our own culture in much fuller, more complex, more nuanced ways, and thus helps us to be creative, innovative, inventive with it.

(6) The Argument of Western Inevitability – In short, the argument that all the world has come to perform theatre in a Western way, and that therefore, it’s okay to use Western definitions/conceptions of “theatre.”

It is true that “world theatre history,” like “world art history,” like “world history” in general, all too often rest on Eurocentric definitions of what does and does not count as “theatre” or as “drama” (or as “art”, or countless other descriptors). This results in statements like: “With a few possible exceptions, there is no tradition in Africa of artistic performances which include all the elements which might be demanded in a strict definition of drama – or at least not with the emphases to which we are accustomed” (387).

This makes me wonder if even Western theatre necessarily always contains all the elements which might be demanded of such a strict definition. What is necessary? There is not always music. There is not always a set, or props. Sometimes there aren’t even costumes – see: Naked Boys Singing. (Better yet, don’t.) There is not always a stage. There is not always a curtain. I suppose there must always be performers. But, there need not necessarily be dialogue. There need not necessarily be a plot or narrative.

On page 388 we find another of Tillis’ brilliantly bold and direct statements – a wonderful rewriting of the typical Eurocentric discourse: “At least until recently, [Europe] has been a dependent part of the general development of civilization. Rather than standing astride history like some Colossus, Europe spent numerous centuries playing catch-up with the rest of Eurasia.”

The first part of the Kumi Udui play Nidô Tichiuchi, a theatrical form from Okinawa.

(7) The Argument of the Metanarrative – Tillis ends with the argument against “world theatre history” that

Any totalizing metanarrative [e.g. some attempt to explain or to investigate “theatre” as a whole, regardless of when or where it occurs] will advance one or more particular ideological positions, and in doing so, will distort history to an unacceptable degree. … Such [master or grand] narratives offer totalized versions of history that use a homogenizing process in which a dominant ideology is imposed on any text … thereby eliding its diverse elements. (388)

Tillis concludes by arguing against this idea, that is, arguing for metanarratives, saying they are essential towards avoiding the chaos of disconnected mini-narratives. Of course, this is true. And there is, certainly, some merit to the kinds of investigations that question the effect of an actor on an audience, or what (in general) it means to “perform,” or any number of other, similar, fundamental or basic “performance studies” types of questions. However, in the end, I do believe that the argument about ideological impositions being inevitable is a valid one, and that we must either learn to live with that and be okay with it (as we do in all of our scholarship), or acknowledge the serious flaws with any sort of meta-narrative that claims to understand everything from Shakespeare to Broadway to kathakali to manzai, taishû engeki, and kagura, to Native Hawaiian forms of storytelling, well enough to draw conclusions valid to all of these traditions.

—

What do I have to say myself, in conclusion? I don’t know. There’s just so much here. I think that shifting both the academic discourse and the content of what we teach away from a Westcentric-perspective is of profound importance.

Personally, I am far more interested in the specific case – in kabuki, or Noh, for those things that make those particular artforms particularly interesting. My own scholarship will never address the “big questions” on a global scale, nor those that operate on a particularly fundamental level, nor those on a theoretical one. Some of these questions, many of these questions, are quite valid and of great importance. But I also am very hesitant about arguments that claim to speak for all traditions, all cultures, overlooking the possibility of counter-examples, of difference.

I guess I still stumble, or quibble, on the point of it being world “theatre” history. Sure, if you’re going to restrict your comparative studies to those art forms that match certain criteria – the focus on entertaining an audience, and lack of religious ritual purpose being a key one to my mind – then I suppose you could go and call it “theatre” history. Otherwise, if you’re going to include all sorts of ritual dances, then perhaps you’d be better off calling it “world performance history.” Yet, this still produces problems. Noh, for example, is very widely accepted as a form of “theatre” or “drama,” but is highly ritualistic, with a powerful spiritual component, and even in kabuki, which is absolutely a popular entertainment form, there are many ritual or ceremonial performances, which once may have been thought of as truly being performed ‘for the gods’ yet which are still today associated with bringing good luck, good fortune. And perhaps most problematic, ironically, is modern (Western) experimental theatre and the like. No one would argue that this is not theatre. And yet, it often disturbs, confuses, or thought-provokes rather than entertains, and often lacks discernable plot or characters, as well as, perhaps, costumes or sets. If we are to include this in our definition of “theatre,” but exclude cham dances or kagura performances not meant to be performed in secular contexts, on a stage, for an audience, then how do we define theatre? I guess I’ve set it up for the religious/ritual element, and/or the presence of an audience, to be the key deciding factor. But is this the case? Is this something we can agree upon? How do we define “theatre” in a non-Eurocentric, and culturally sensitive way? How do we approach and study theatre in a globally-minded way, guided not by Eurocentric assumptions? Or, do we not care that we are working based on Western assumptions?

Reading this article has gotten me quite curious, and interested, to go out and read more about contemporary historiographical debates on these subjects. How do we address “theatre history” or “art history”? How do we address “world history”? How should we maybe be doing it better? There are, I am sure, pages and pages and pages of journal articles on these subjects… Perhaps the 2004 issue of Theatre Survey, a special issue focusing on historiography, might prove a good place to start.

—-
1) Tillis, Steve. “The Case against World Theatre History.” New Theatre Quarterly 28:4 (2012). pp379-391.

Read Full Post »

Quick Links – Mary Louise Pratt Edition

It’s time for another Quick Links. Well, sort of. Even in my efforts to keep the description/commentary on each link short, the total blog post still comes up quite long. So, I’ll focus on just two links today, and save the rest for another day.

Classes have started here at my new school, and boy have we hit the ground running. I’m quite accustomed, by now, to having to read upwards of 100 pages (i.e. for example, three journal articles of roughly 30-something pages each) each week, but never before have I been asked to read entire books in such a short period of time. Still, despite my incredible stress over it initially, I’ve found myself having finished all my assigned reading (and then some) for this coming week, just in time to get started on the next set of books.

One book we have been assigned this term is Mary Louise Pratt’s 1992 volume ”Imperial Eyes: Travel Writing and Transculturation”. I won’t get into discussing that book too much here, but, it either cites or coins a good number of terms which have (apparently?) rather entered the jargon of post-colonial discourse, and yet which I have myself never heard of. Transculturation, as seen in the title, is one. Anti-conquest is another. Seeking to figure out what “anti-conquest” is supposed to mean, and finding Pratt’s own explanations woefully unclear, I did what any kid of the Internet age would do – I googled it. And found, quite high up on the list, the first Link I’d like to share with you today.

*I do not know if RDK Herman’s 2009 article “The Aloha State: place names and the anti-conquest of Hawaiʻi” uses the term “anti-conquest” in the same way Pratt intends it, but the meaning of the term in Herman’s usage is much clearer. In this essay, Herman describes efforts in Hawaiʻi to change placenames (especially street names) from names with Anglo origins to names deriving from the Hawaiian language (if not necessarily from the actual Hawaiian name for that place). The article touches upon fascinating concepts about the colonized or decolonized nature of a space, and the powerful role of naming within those processes or discourses. In his usage, the concept of “anti-conquest” comes into play where actions are taken that seem on the surface to be recognizing, acknowledging, honoring the native people and restoring the usage of their language, their culture, into the space, while not truly granting those native people any true power or agency. The Hawaiian street names are assigned by the State or city government, i.e. the colonizing power, which in doing so speaks for the Hawaiians, or makes them seem to be speaking, without actually granting them voice. And, of course, the Hawaiians are not actually given back control of their land, or increased actual political power, but merely this show of Hawaiʻi being made to look and feel a little more Hawaiian.

Herman points out, though, that “anti-conquest is never a conscious process. Colonizers usually perceive it as paying genuine respect to the local culture” (p78), the implication being that they do not realize or recognize the power politics at play, in which the very fact that they are the ones doing these things, rather than the colonized doing it for themselves, marks them as still very much being the ones in power, i.e. still the colonial power, and as not actually giving up any power or agency to the colonized. Theory is not my strong point, and you can take this or leave it as you will – or, feel free to correct me, explaining out either the actual meaning of the term “anti-conquest,” and/or the discursive implications of this case of the Hawaiian placenames. In any case, I do think it a very interesting article, and I plan to hold onto it for if I ever teach a historiography seminar.

I’ve tried to touch upon the key points here, but if you’re interested, please do go and take a look at the whole article. This summary here is only sort of a rough stab at just some of Herman’s points.

—-

Looking into who Mary Louise Pratt (author of Imperial Eyes) is, I came upon a paper she wrote as her “Silver Dialogue” (apparently the great honor of “Silver Professor,” given out by NYU, comes with the obligation to write a single paper to be identified as your “Silver Dialogue“). Largely separate from the subject of post-colonial discourse, and addressing more pressing practical concerns, in this essay, Pratt calls for “a new public idea about language.” In summary, she suggests that US attitudes about multilingualism are terribly misguided, and present serious problems for our country. She calls the US el cementerio de lenguas, “the cemetery of languages,” the place where languages go to die, and goes through a short list of key, prime American “myths” about multilingualism that have helped make America the place it is today – where, even though the vast majority of us have grandparents whose first language was not English, the vast majority of us today do not speak that other language with any degree of fluency. A place where it took something like 9/11 to shock us into realizing (and even then, only some of us) how woefully disconnected we are from understanding our geopolitical place in the world, and lacking the linguistic skills to (paraphrasing slightly) “prevent or anticipate crises and respond adequately when they came” (p2). She then goes on to attack the notion that security concerns are the chief application of, or need for, multilingualism, pointing to broader cultural and societal benefits.

As I made my way through this document, I came to feel that the problem of our language attitudes, and hence language abilities, is far more serious than I might have thought, and more to the point, that the necessary changes are really quite radical and extensive. We need to make a pretty profound change, and it’ll take a lot to make that happen, but if it can somehow be made to come about, wow, what an incredible change for the better it will be.

To summarize, let me quote Pratt’s own summary of her statements:

1. All things being equal, bilingual families usually prefer to stay bilingual. Immigrant families do not simply want to lose their home languages, and they *do* (emphasis added) want to learn English.
2. Americans are not hostile to multilingualism; they are ambivalent, both proud of their multilingual history and committed to English as the lingua franca. …
3. It’s never too early and never too late to learn a language. Second-language learning does not have to begin in early childhood.
4. National security concerns define our language needs too narrowly. We need knowledge and interaction of all kinds. …
5. Monolingualism is a handicap. [We need to make this a widespread attitude.]
6. Local heritage communities must be engaged by our language programs. [Why do we not draw more extensively on native/heritage speakers for our multifarious language needs?]
7. Advanced competence [must become] a key educational goal.
8. We need linguistic pipelines at every level [i.e. a greater focus on the importance of language ability, and guiding students into, and through, effective language programs, beginning in high school or earlier]

This article is a quick and interesting read, though, so I do recommend reading the whole thing and not just taking my summary as the SparkNotes version.

Read Full Post »