To get everyone thinking about this third level of analysis and how it is connected to the other two, I'm going to post an essay that I wrote in December. My wonderful friend Ash hosted a "Move the Gift" party, a one-night gift economy. Each participant was supposed to think of a value that had been important to them over the past year, write a short essay about that value, then bring a book or other gift that was related to that value. The gift I brought was "The Inheritance of Loss" by Kiran Desai, and this is the essay I wrote about it:
value: decolonization
“To adjoin the instinctual nature does not mean to come undone, change everything from left to right, from black to white, to move the east to west, to act crazy or out of control. It does not mean to lose one's primary socializations, or to become less human. It means quite the opposite. The wild nature has a vast integrity to it… It means to establish territory, to find one's pack, to be in one's body with certainty and pride regardless of the body's gifts and limitations, to speak and act in one's behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw on the innate feminine powers of intuition and sensing, to come into one's cycles, to find what one belongs to, to rise with dignity, to retain as much consciousness as we can.”
(Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves)
The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai is a member of my favorite genre: post-colonial fiction. One reason I love this genre is because it is capable of given voices to disenfranchised peoples, capable of seeing out of the eyes of those who have been colonized, gagged and bound. It is important to me to listen to those who know what it feels like to be colonized, to recognize my own heritage as the descendent of colonizers, to think about the discourses of power and possession and hierarchy that swirl around me and always have, though for a long time I wasn’t able to see them for what they were.
I also love this genre because despite my white skin and European gene pool, I have been colonized too. My brain is a demographic for people who want to control me and use me and take my money, and who are depending on me to socialize my children to defend and entrench the status quo. My body is female in a patriarchal society that tells me to put up, shut up, shrink and whittle. So who better than colonized people—those who have lost their lands and lives and livelihoods to the desperate graspings of colonial ambitions—to teach me to engage in personal, mental, emotional and spiritual decolonization?
“The [colonial] system might be obsessed with purity, but it excelled in defining the flavor of sin. There was a titillation to unearthing the forces of guilt and desire, needling and prodding the results. This Sai had learned. This underneath, and on top a flat creed: cake was better than laddoos, fork spoon knife better than hands, sipping the blood of Christ and consuming a wafer of his body was more civilized than garlanding a phallic symbol with marigolds. English was better than Hindi.”
(Kiran Desai)
We are descended from colonizers. We are colonizers. We are descended from the colonized. We are the colonized. How have we been taught to see ourselves as superior? How have we been taught to hate ourselves? What are the pictures, words, movements, images, lessons that reentrench these ideas about who is right/beautiful/strong/powerful, and who is lacking? When do they tell me I am right and when do they tell me I am wrong? And always, always at the core of these questions, another question: Who is benefiting when I think these ways about myself and others?
“But while the residents were shocked by the violence, they were also often surprised by the mundaneness of it all. Discovered the extent of perversity that the heart is capable of as they sat at home with nothing to do, and found that it was possible, faced with the stench of unimaginable evil, for a human being to grow bored, yawn, be absorbed by the problem of a missing sock, by neighborly irritations, to feel hunger skipping like a little mouse inside a tummy and return, once again, to the pressing matter of what to eat… There they were, the most commonplace of them, those quite mismatched with the larger-than-life questions, caught up in the mythic battles of past vs. present, justice vs. injustice—the most ordinary swept up in extraordinary hatred, because extraordinary hatred was, after all, a commonplace event.”
(Kiran Desai)
So what do we do? How do we decolonize ourselves while still living in a place and time where we are encouraged to ignore and ignore, to pretend we don’t see things, to walk lock-step with our arms folded and nod our heads ceaselessly, to become bored by the enormous violence that is perpetrated all around us and even in our names?
§ Learn good history, preferably told by those whom traditional history has rendered voiceless and powerless.
§ Identify the enemy, and don’t be afraid to say, “you have tried to enslave us for your own benefit.”
§ If you catch yourself hating yourself, ask why. Ask who benefits when you hate yourself. Say no to them.
§ Think about the difference between impulse and intuition. Notice when you do things you have been carefully trained to do.
§ Support indigenous rights and territories; you cannot decolonize your brain if your voice is being used to support those who benefit from oppression.
§ Try new words, written and spoken. See how it feels.
§ Believe that there is something inside you that is capable of steering you in the right directions.
I think that once we’ve really started this process, we won’t be able to stop. There is no going back. Steps are steps; motion leads inevitably to inertia. Maybe we will have times—months, even years—when we will fall back into complicity and worry principally about missing socks and mealtimes, but these times will pass and we will remember who we are and what we are a part of, and we will remember that we want to decolonize ourselves because we want to live in our wildness. We want to summon our intuition, claim our territory, speak with our truest voice, and we want to defend everyone else’s right to do the same.
“Never again could she think there was but one narrative and that this narrative belonged only to herself, that she might create her own mean little happiness and live safely within it.”
(Kiran Desai)