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From White Supremacism To Black Liberation: Harry S. Truman, Lynching and Racial Justice

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Giovanni B. Corvino     
University of Turin. ORCID: 0000-0002-8191-3500. Email: giovanni.corvino@edu.unito.it

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages 1-16.  https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.06x

First published: June 19, 2022 | Area: Cultural Studies | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Volume 14, Number2, 2022)
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From White Supremacism To Black Liberation: Harry S. Truman, Lynching and Racial Justice

 Abstract

President Truman transitioned from an initially more conservative policy advocated by white supremacists to a more progressive one that promoted a fairer social justice in the United States society, hitherto seldom heard. Through constitutional articles and debates, editorials, institutional records, and speeches in response to some of World War II’s black veteran lynching cases, this paper aims to explore Truman’s civil-political commitment to ending the frequent episodes of racial violence.

Keywords: Harry S. Truman, lynching, Isaac Woodard, Isaiah Nixon, racial violence

Introduction

The presidential administrations of the civil rights era addressed the issue of racial equality through the necessity and political gain afforded by espousing, or fighting, the African American cause (Murphy, 1984). Internal factors such as continuous racial and mob violence, as well as the political influence of majority parties, undermined the promulgation of any civil rights laws that could safeguard the constitutional rights of citizens, regardless of their skin color. Indeed, despite being proposed over 100 times to Congress between 1882 and 1951, the anti-lynching law never won the support of the political majority as it would have impacted the racial status quo upon which the post-XIII Amendment U.S. society was based (Corvino, 2021; Waldrep, 2000).[1]

As evidential from the American presidential historiography, presidential choices regarding civil rights – albeit considered of moral importance – were mostly aimed at not shaking the political equilibrium on which the current administration was established. Even Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal did not really help improve African Americans’ living conditions in the short term (Valocchi, 1994). While blacks did receive economic aid in a time of unprecedented crisis, Roosevelt was careful not to clash with prominent white politicians who did not look favorably on racial integration. Indeed, numerous requests from the NAACP addressed to him were never heeded, for example, the sponsoring of antilynching legislation and involvement in the prosecution of lynching crimes.
The effects of the Great Migration after the 1920s did, however, make the President understand that African Americans would soon become a significant ballot pool. Unquestionably, blacks now lived in more tolerant cities where resistance against their political involvement and ability to vote was becoming much less frequent. Nevertheless, African Americans were reluctant to politically support those who did not “speak out in favor of federal anti-lynching legislation and poll tax repeal bills” (McMahon 2010, p. 101). For this reason and in order to obtain black votes and greater control over the Democratic Party, Roosevelt proposed FBI intervention, regardless of southern conservatives’ support, to resolve all lynching cases, sometimes condemning – even publicly – the brutality of racial violence (McMahon, 2010).

It is in this socio-political context that Harry S. Truman was elected as Roosevelt’s vice president (January 20, 1945 – April 12, 1945). He was considered the best possible moderate choice while the President dealt with his health concerns and at a time when fear loomed over the country’s political future. It was as early as 1911 when Harry Truman wrote a letter to his future wife Bess, expressing his racial prejudices:

I think one man is just as good as another so long as he’s honest and decent and not a nigger or a Chinaman. […] the Lord made a white man from dust, a nigger from mud, then He threw up what was left and it came down a Chinaman […] I am strongly of the opinion Negroes ought to be in Africa, yellow men in Asia and white men in Europe and America (Hampson, 1991).

Despite this, he quickly realized that the voting power of African American communities would change the political landscape in subsequent elections. Almost one million African Americans had migrated to the North between 1941 and 1944, increasing the weight that cities like Chicago or Detroit potentially had in the 1944 presidential elections. Here, blacks could exercise their right to vote, contrary to what had been precluded in the southern states. For this reason and with the aim of confirming his victory in the 1948 presidential election against Republican candidate Thomas Edmund Dewey, Truman promised the NAACP a more concrete commitment to the defense and promotion of civil rights. This was to be accomplished whilst avoiding publicly any open clashes with the white supremacists and thus risking their votes (McCullough, 1992). After achieving his goal, he ultimately distanced himself from previous racial policies and kept his commitment to a fairer society.

Less than a month after his appointment, Truman met NAACP executive secretary Walter White. He assured him that he would support a permanent Fair Employment Practices Committee (FEPC) to fight racial discrimination in the workplace, a commitment he tried to maintain over the following years.

According to many scholars, the decisions taken in that period by President Truman on the advancement of civil rights had an impact on the promotion of social justice which heavily affected the constitutional principles of anti-discrimination, even after the end of the mandate (Juhnke, 1989; Garth, 1999; Sklaroff, 2009). Current historiography however has failed to explain why the lynching of black veterans played a significant role in Truman’s presidential decisions. There are two episodes particularly worthy of importance to understand in more detail how the fight against lynching in small towns became a national event that could undermine the credibility of the U.S. image abroad and consequently Truman’s presidential leadership. Furthermore, these two cases allow us to explore issues related to maintaining the post-abolitionist racial status quo. The extension of black voting eligibility can then be explored in a society where the citizenship rights of those considered racially inferior were not yet fully recognized.
Indeed, the lynchings of Isaac Woodard and Isaiah Nixon, which occurred in 1946 and 1948, are significant not only for the extreme racial violence itself, which expresses the modus operandi of mob violence conveyed by post-colonial racial resentment, but also for the fact that the victims were veterans of World War II with the right to vote. The War did, in fact, change the perception of the African American issue in the U.S. both domestically and internationally. Black soldiers were an essential part of the U.S. Army engaged in war across the world. As Walter White, NAACP executive secretary, clearly explained:

World War II has given to the Negro a sense of kinship with other colored – and also oppressed – peoples of the world [. . .] the struggle of the Negro in the United States is part and parcel of the struggle against imperialism and exploitation in India, China, Burma, Africa, the Philippines, Malaya, the West Indies, and South America (White, 1945, p. 144).

Therefore, the internal anti-racist campaign became intertwined with the anti-colonialist movement that followed the war during this period (Bloom, 2015). The five most prominent black organizations in the United States were now looking at the discrimination they fought for years from an international perspective.[2] As Walter White wrote in 1945: “Allied nations must choose without delay one of two courses […] to revolutionize their racial concepts and practices, to abolish imperialism and grant full equality to all of its people, or else prepare for World War III” (White, 1945, p. 154). Thanks also to the role played by the mass media, racial problems became a topic of international politics linked to decolonization. President Truman soon understood that his country’s international public image was in danger of being damaged by the internal diatribes of conservatives and progressives over civil rights advancement and the condemnation of racial violence. Thus, the international context of World War II and its legacy contributed significantly to Truman’s clear stance in supporting the NAACP’s demands since there was a risk that the black press would compromise U.S. image abroad.

In the light of the above considerations, Isaac Woodard’s and Isaiah Nixon’s cases prove to be of fundamental importance in understanding how the concepts of social justice, due process, and racial fairness changed following presidential intervention in the wide-ranging fight against racial discrimination, both in the courts and in everyday life. Woodard’s and Nixon’s lynching were two examples of extreme mob violence, but they also became representative of prejudice and stereotypes in the courtrooms. By analyzing the impact these cases had in governmental circles, this paper intends to contribute to that literature, which means reconsidering President Truman’s role in changing the political agenda toward African Americans’ civil rights. From 1946, the lynching of Isaac Woodard and the official institution of the President’s Committee on Civil Rights, a turning point took place in the recognition and expansion of citizenship rights for all Americans. The presidential struggle for a society free of racial discrimination was still in its infancy, but it allowed Truman to lay the foundations for a “second Reconstruction” (Goldzwig, 2005, p. 104). This is observable from the stories of cases in which the sheer level of violence had shocked public opinion, such as the little-known death of Isaiah Nixon, occurring in the years where African American lynching had decreased due to presidential intervention via Federal Government and FBI investigation.

Analysis of the two lynching cases cited above has never before been treated together in a paper, allowing us to contribute to filling the academic gap and transitional period between the interest of President Truman in supporting the advancement of civil rights and his desire to guarantee himself a second presidential term with the votes of African Americans, to whom he had promised greater social justice by condemning lynching and furthering prosecution.

Isaac Woodard’s and Isaiah Nixon’s lynching

Isaac Woodard’s and Isaiah Nixon’s cases present similarities and differences that allow us to explore in-depth the influence that the lynching of African Americans had on the political choices made by Truman after his first presidential election. Both Woodward and Nixon were former war veterans who had fought for the honor of the United States during World War II. While Woodard’s lynching occurred in South Carolina in 1946, that of Nixon took place in Georgia two years later. After the end of the nineteenth century, both states had approved laws to sentence lynching perpetrators to up to twenty years in prison if the victim had died during the process. Nevertheless, these laws often resulted in a lack of conviction due to the absence of witness testimony. The sense of solidarity in local communities also compromised the integrity and conduct of investigations by not serving due justice to the victims. From small counties like Montgomery County (Georgia) in the Nixon case to larger counties like Aiken County (South Carolina) in the Woodard case, promoters of lynching enjoyed the support of their fellow citizens. On the other hand, African Americans who knew about or were forced to witness this violence were so terrified of the repercussions their testimony could bring that they preferred to remain silent. As a result, many newspapers found themselves unable to draw satisfactory conclusions to their investigations and ended up rarely allocating any space to incidents of racial violence. The cases of Woodard and Nixon however, unlike many others, did gain wide press attention thanks to the NAACP’s decision to investigate the lynching of these two war veterans. The organization’s intervention led to the Federal Government and President Truman’s involvement and opened the door to resolving lynching-related issues, such as access to a fair trial and the opportunity to vote.

 The first case of the two to which the NAACP devoted itself and requested the FBI presence was that of Isaac Woodard. Originally from South Carolina, Isaac Woodard was a United States Army veteran who, at 23, was drafted to fight in the Pacific Ocean theater of World War II against the Empire of Japan. He received several medals for his service, guaranteeing him an honorable discharge. After his stay in Japan and about to board a bus back home to his family, he asked the bus driver if he could wait a few minutes while he visited the toilet. According to Woodard’s court testimony, this resulted in a small quarrel and some hostility from the driver. The bus eventually departed with no further incident as the driver put in a call to the local police, requesting intervention at the next city. Not long after, Woodard was forced to exit the bus as the driver (falsely) complained about the young war veteran’s behavior, which he said to the police was irascible. As Woodard was removed from the vehicle, the young African American was savagely beaten until he lost his sight.

As Woodward’s case clearly shows, not even African American war veterans were exempt from racial violence. Indeed, the very recognition of their military service had been a source of social tension, often resulting in acts of extreme physical violence just like this.

Since the end of Reconstruction, African American participation in military service had been considered a threat to maintaining the racial status quo. White supremacists wanted to keep blacks in a position of subordination to preserve the antecedent hierarchical dominance of the slavery period but giving such a veteran an honorable discharge would make him a holder of honor equal to that of a white fellow citizen. Many incidents of racial violence, including lynching, served to affirm white superiority and eliminate black social prestige and self-respect.

It took months before Woodward’s case became widely known and thanks to popular black newspapers, The Lighthouse and Informer of South Carolina, the news found its way to well-known radio broadcaster and actor Orson Welles. The case then reached President Truman’s ears after being discussed in all major newspapers and thanks in no small part to NAACP’s nationwide tour with Woodard, publicly exposing the effects of racial violence. According to Frederickson: “Because Woodard was a veteran, because he was maimed, because his attacker was an officer of the law, and because he survived, he became an emblem of what was terribly wrong with the South” (Frederickson, 1997, p. 184).
The National Emergency Committee Against Mob Violence was created in August 1946 on the orders of President Truman in response to the event, in an attempt to shed light on lynching cases in southern states, but it was not enough. Truman requested the intervention of the Justice Department to investigate the Woodard case, following the reluctance of local law enforcement and pressure from the NAACP to find the culprits. However, it did not take many days to find Woodard’s assaulters. Because the violence had taken place at a bus stop and the land was federally owned, not to mention the victim being clothed in military uniform, the case was heard at the U.S. District Court in Columbia.

The trial, much like many others at the time, turned out to be bogus, and the bus driver was the only one to be heard by the judge and jury. No other witnesses were contacted. Sheriff Lynwood Shull was the main accused. He admitted to repeatedly hitting Woodard in the eyes, but only in self-defense, because the African American – according to him – had become short-tempered and disrespectful. According to The Canberra Times: «Shull struck him with a blackjack for answering “Yes” instead of “Yes sir.”» (The Canberra Times, November 7, 1946, p. 1). Despite his confession, the violence inflicted was considered proper by the jury. As a result, Shull was acquitted entirely by the all-white jury after only 15 minutes of confrontation (The Canberra Times, November 7, 1946, p. 1). Still, loud applause ensued in the courtroom following the verdict (Kluger, 2004, p. 298).
Apparently, the resolution of this case was not significantly different from that of other previous ones, so much so that it ended without a conviction. Its great importance was that it took place at a time linking substantial social changes to the consequences of world conflict. The awareness of African American veterans (now conscious of their national importance), the NAACP’s consolidated strength, and the presence of a new president eager to win the next elections made Isaac Woodard – who survived the lynching – the symbolic figure of the black resistance and struggle against racial injustice in those years.

Despite the importance of Woodard’s case in presidential decisions supporting African American civil rights advancement, the incidents of lynching did not cease. Even President Truman’s speeches failed to curb racial violence. Another Afro-American, Isaiah Nixon, was then lynched in Georgia on September 8, 1948. He had voted in the Democratic primary on that very same day (Bernd, 1982; Campney, 2011).

Given the participation of black war veterans in major civil rights advancement organizations, such as the NAACP, the end of World War II led to a rethinking of voting rights. Specifically, the decision made by the Supreme Court in Smith v. Allright (1321 U.S. 649, 1944) was considered unconstitutional as it violated the XIV and XV Amendments. The court ruled that it was unlawful for any state to dispute its authority over elections or allow discrimination to be practiced by parties. Despite this ruling, many southern states did not follow the federal directive, continuing to violate the voting rights of African Americans. In this regard, the 1946 primaries in Georgia were invalidated by the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit (Chapman v. King, 2154 F. 2d 340, 1946), as they violated the Fifteenth Amendment, which condemned the exclusion of voters for reasons related to race or color. Subsequently, African Americans had a better chance of voting in the political elections that followed. However, there were frequent episodes of violent intimidation to curb, if not outright exclude, black political participation, as Isaiah Nixon’s lynching clearly showed.

This was not an isolated case, as the Ku Klux Klan regained strength and support in the South following its peak popularity in the 1920s, when its affiliates numbered about six million. Even though their size had reduced, the clan adopted a new strategy and began perpetrating racial terrorism, especially in rural towns, where white supremacism was stronger. In these places, the network of organizations for the advancement of civil rights could not fully engage in protest and social awareness actions as efficiently as it could in large urban centers where any violence would immediately attract press and law enforcement attention. Thus, the Ku Klux Klan managed to commit lynching in these small towns of few inhabitants, where community silence guaranteed impunity. The death of Elbert Williams, secretary of the NAACP in Tennessee, was one example. The murder was carried out after Williams’ attempt to register black residents of Brownsville (Tennessee) in the electoral roll. The KKK lynched him in June 1940. The lynching of Isaiah Nixon had also taken place in a small town like this (Campney, 2020; Horwitz & Anderson, 2009; Pierce, 2016; Schaefer, 1971; Wood, 1906).

The clan and the white supremacists feared that the hierarchies of racial dominance in the southern states would fall by giving African Americans the opportunity to vote. Racial terrorism relied on politicians’ willingness to stop the African American political rise, and black voting risked undermining the continuation of the racial status quo. For example, during these years, Georgia governor candidate Herman Talmadge was in favor of the use of violence and never hesitated to express it publicly. During an open meeting, Samuel W. Roper, a KKK member, asked him what he thought was the best strategy to adopt in not to allowing blacks to vote. In response, Talmadge, who later became governor of Georgia and then U.S. Senator, wrote unequivocally on a piece of paper one word: “pistols” (as quoted in Quarles, 1999, p. 87).

Despite President Truman’s socio-civil commitment to Woodard’s case, nothing changed. The racial brutality, investigation, and the perpetrator’s confession did not find justice, contrary to what the Constitution supposedly guaranteed. As a result, a presidential policy followed; a clear directive aimed at improving the living conditions of all African Americans on U.S. soil. This led to harsh internal clashes with white supremacists who had voted in favor of Truman during his first election. In December 1946, he established the President’s Committee on Civil Rights “PCCR” with the aim of prosecuting all those “who take the law into their own hands and inflict summary punishment and wreak personal vengeance” (Executive Order 9808, December 5, 1946), violating constitutional laws.

Regarding the lynching of Woodard and others of that period, Truman stated: “I can’t approve of such goings on and I shall never approve it, as long as I am here. […] I am going to try to remedy it and if that ends up in my failure to be reelected, that failure will be for a good cause” (Truman, 1948). A few days after this mission statement, Nixon’s lynching occurred.

U.S. racial violence certainly caught the President’s attention as one of his country’s most serious problems and as something “[…] close to my heart” (David K. Niles Papers, 1945-47) but what strategies did he adopt to face the new political scenarios that threatened to undermine the success of his presidential re-election? Furthermore, how could he reduce lynching cases and at the same time allow African Americans to safely vote and get their official support as a promoter of racial equality?

Truman’s commitment against lynching and in support of black’s rights

The brutal episodes of racial violence involving the two army veterans shook Truman to the point that he cited the cases on many occasions as an example of aggression against members of minority groups. Following these and other reports, he understood that it was necessary to “determine whether and in what respect current law-enforcement measures and the authority and means possessed by federal state and local governments may be strengthened and improved to safeguard the civil rights of the people,” regardless of skin color (Executive Order 9808, December 5, 1946). Consequently, the President required all executive agencies to actively engage in working in conjunction with the PCCR with the aim of enforcing the laws and condemning “the action of individuals who take the law into their own hands and inflict summary punishment and wreak personal vengeance” as had happened for decades in the cases of lynching.
Notwithstanding this significant achievement for African Americans, not all the black press agreed with Truman’s commitment to prosecuting racial violence by establishing a presidential committee. There were many prejudices about his genuine interest in condemning mob violence which also involved white politicians as perpetrators. The Chicago Defender wrote with a hint of irony: “If the committee is not hampered in its inquiry and if its recommendations are not circumvented by a welter of administrative procedures, the results should be far more consequential to us than anything that has happened in the United States since the abolition of slavery” (as quoted in McCoy & Ruetten, 1973, p. 31); this thought was also supported by other major black newspapers such as the Afro-American and the Call – Kansas City.

In the meantime, it is to be considered that the NAACP reached a high level of social influence in most of the United States during those same years. Hundreds of cases, mainly from the South, were reviewed and defended by the NAACP Legal Department, which paid particular attention to the violations of the right to a fair trial, the discrimination against African Americans during jury selection, and the role of law enforcement in attempted lynching cases. The organization mainly worked on cases where blatant violations of constitutional rights occurred, such as Sections 51 and 52 of Title XVIII of the Federal Criminal Code. According to Section 51, conspiracy acts aimed at intimidating or injuring any citizen must be prosecuted, as they are considered crimes. Isaiah Nixon’s lynching incident occurred to intimidate the black community from voting, but above all, the murder of an American citizen took place. As a result, this section was clearly violated. Instead, Section 52 had a double meaning. First of all, it condemned the deprivation of rights guaranteed at the federal level, such as due process, which often did not occur when a court case concerned an African American, as in the case of Isaac Woodard’s appeal. Black citizens were normally excluded from the jury, allowing an all-white jury to decree a verdict that could have been different if there had not been only people in favor of white supremacism and protection of racial hierarchies. By leveraging the violation of these two Sections and, when possible, the Amendments’ violation, the NAACP fought in the courtrooms for an equal society (Niedermeier, 2019; Watson, 1993). [3]

The NAACP also gave more consideration to the media image of the violence, describing lynching as brutally barbaric and far from the civilized modern ideal that the American Nation wanted to show (Wood, 2009). This helped attract international attention as they became renowned for openly denouncing incidents of racial violence (Blaque, 2012; Feimster, 2009).[4] Consequently, the presidential administration could no longer ignore or limit the presence of such racism toward African Americans in the national political space. Furthermore, Isaac Woodard’s lynching was used by the NAACP to nationally denounce the atrocities of racial violence and the federal failure to guarantee constitutional rights for all its citizens, black or white. As a result, action by the presidential administration that was not limited to federal investigations, which often resulted in the acquittal of the accused, was therefore needed.

The President of the United States had to personally express his endorsement in the struggle for the advancement of civil rights if he did not want to lose black votes in the coming elections. Giving a speech to Congress on February 2, 1948, Truman became the first president to turn to the NAACP and strongly support African American civil rights (Sylvia, 1995; Sitkoff, 1971). His President’s Committee on Civil Rights (PCCR) published the first government report in which the oppression of blacks was widely documented, and a civil rights reform was recommended in order to avoid other tragedies like Woodard’s lynching. Indeed, Nixon’s lynching occurred only seven months after the report, corroborating the President’s concerns and suggestions. The latter also submitted statements to the Supreme Court to support desegregation, thus attempting to end lynching (Fagelson, 2018). In addition, he issued executive orders aimed at creating racial equality in the hiring of federal personnel to affirm equal rights for whites and blacks. As quoted by the Chicago Defender, President Truman requested the intervention of the Federal Government in respect of all-American citizens, without any distinction:   

We can no longer afford the luxury of a leisurely attack upon prejudice and discrimination. […] We cannot, any longer, await the growth of a will to action in the slowest state or the most backward community. […] Recent events in the United States and abroad have made us all realize that is more important today than even before to ensure that all Americans enjoy these rights (The Chicago Defender July 05, 1947, p. 1).

With a promise to remove all barriers and difficulties confronting citizens, he asserted that «there is no justifiable reason for discrimination because of ancestry, or religion, or race, or color» (Truman, 1948). Although, contrary to his words, Jim Crow laws were still in force, his contribution to a more inclusive society had been considerable.
Early on, on June 29, 1947, in his speech at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., he argued that racial discrimination was unjustifiable and without valid grounds. The wife of former President Roosevelt and other prominent personalities also attended the event. On that occasion, Truman stated:

Mr. Chairman, Mrs. Roosevelt, Senator Morse, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen: I am happy to be present at the closing session of the 38th Annual Conference of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. […] But we cannot be content with a civil liberties program which emphasizes only the need of protection against the possibility of tyranny by the Government. We cannot stop there. We must keep moving forward, with new concepts of civil rights to safeguard our heritage. The extension of civil rights today means, not protection of the people against the Government, but protection of the people by the Government. […] There is no justifiable reason for discrimination because of ancestry, or religion, or race, or color (Truman, 1947).

With these words, the President condemned incidents of racial violence, school segregation, the lack of work according to skin color, low political participation of African Americans beyond their control, as well as embraced the need for fair trials and black participation in juries. Furthermore, he gave his word that he would do everything possible to ensure these would be upheld under his presidency:

Many of our people still suffer the indignity of insult, the narrowing fear of intimidation, and, I regret to say, the threat of physical injury and mob violence. Prejudice and intolerance in which these evils are rooted still exist. The conscience of our Nation, and the legal machinery which enforces it, have not yet secured each citizen’s full freedom from fear (Truman, 1947).

This was the first time a president had ever attended the NAACP conference, and the civil rights event gained immense publicity. Truman’s speech attracted over 10,000 viewers, coverage on the big four national radio networks, as well as many independent stations and overseas media outlets. The President’s words did not end that day either. The speech was recorded and re-transmitted throughout cinemas for anyone who wanted a second opportunity to listen (Garth, 1999).
Despite these efforts, the discussion did find general agreement in the white population. According to Pauley, the leading international newspapers such as the New York Times and the Washington Post, did not pay particular attention to the event. A complete transcript of the speech was seldom provided, or even commented on (Garth, 1999 p. 233). These newspapers, headed by whites, were sure not to devote any importance to Truman’s words or adversely influence the opinions of its pro-white readers. On the contrary, newspapers headed by African Americans did not hesitate to celebrate such an important event in recognition of civil rights. One of the black historical newspapers, The Kansas City Call, wrote:

Truman so strongly denounced race prejudice and discrimination based upon race, creed, color, and national origin that even his enemies were convinced that the Missourian in the White House had left behind him Missouri’s tradition of second-class citizenship for Negroes (as quoted in O’Reilly, 1995, p. 145).    

In the wake of Truman’s re-election and general Afro-American approval, black anti-colonialists pressed the President to adopt a civil rights defense, exploiting the tension between him and the white supremacists. They relied on the votes that he would receive if there were full socio-political support on his part.
On January 7, 1948, Truman decided to send a special message to Congress, showing the African American population that he would be committed to achieving a more inclusive society if he was re-elected. His committee would request legislation against lynching since other similar cases had occurred after Woodard, which unfortunately had not resulted in justice. Furthermore, it would allow all blacks, including those who lived in the South, to vote without risk of consequences. The President declared:

I recommend that the Congress amend and strengthen the existing provisions of Federal law which safeguard the right to vote and the right to safety and security of person and property. These provisions are the basis for our present civil rights enforcement program. […] A specific Federal measure is needed to deal with the crime of lynching—against which I cannot speak too strongly. It is a principle of our democracy, written into our Constitution, that every person accused of an offense against the law shall have a fair, orderly trial in an impartial court. We have made great progress toward this end, but I regret to say that lynching has not yet finally disappeared from our land. So long as one person walks in fear of lynching, we shall not have achieved equal justice under law. I call upon the Congress to take decisive action against this crime (Truman, 1948).

Truman’s recommendation was based on Title XVIII of the Constitution, which offered protection to all American citizens, regardless of skin color. According to him, this right should also be extended to everyone who lived in the United States, even non-citizens. Furthermore, Title XVIII had a major limitation. It only applied if there was a conspiracy of two or more people to harm the life of another individual. Hence, it had to be extended to incorporate racial violence in which one acted individually, for example, in the event of personal revenge. It followed that section 52 of Title XV also had to change, as it was too general in its form. This section offered protection to people according to their federal rights. Unfortunately, it was often the case that violation of these rights originated from those who were serving to protect, essentially police officers who failed to intervene or intervened in an improper way, standing by the belief that they were doing their job correctly. The lynching cases involving law enforcement were examples of Woodard’s blindness and Nixon’s murder. Hence, the President proposed to establish several principal rights to be protected by this section, explicitly condemning violations and including appeals. Truman publicly denounced the restriction of citizens to vote, even though it was their right, something which had resulted in Isaiah Nixon’s lynching. He expressly referred to acts of intimidation like assault or similar acts of violence, which prevented many African American citizens from being able to vote. Poll taxes were also a subject of debate. At the time, as many as seven states required economic contribution, and many blacks could not afford to spend the little money they had on voting. The President proposed that Congress make the right to vote free from any tax constraint so that the exercise of one’s rights was not subjected to economic power, affirming:

Under the Constitution, the right of all properly qualified citizens to vote is beyond question. […] We need stronger statutory protection of the right to vote. I urge the Congress to enact legislation forbidding interference by public officers or private persons with the right of qualified citizens to participate in primary, special and general elections in which Federal officers are to be chosen. This legislation should extend to elections for state as well as Federal officers insofar as interference with the right to vote results from discriminatory action by public officers based on race, color, or other unreasonable classification (Truman, 1948).

Being governed and controlled by the white majority for centuries, acts of racial discrimination would continue to perpetuate themselves until there was a change in the political sphere. The most effective way to bring about the change desired by blacks and civil rights advocates was the greater political participation of African Americans through voting. Only in this way the social equilibrium could be changed.
The President’s speech aroused a consensus among African Americans. He harshly criticized the lynchings, suggesting increased federal protection, condemning the inability of many to vote, and proposed a series of legislative maneuvers to improve the social conditions of blacks and minorities living in the U.S. With such important promises, Truman secured victory. The NAACP did not hesitate to congratulate him in November 1948, recalling the promises he had made to achieve this victory:

Your triumph, achieved over both the extreme right and extreme left, is a mandate under which you and the new Congress can proceed to carry out the program you outlined so clearly and courageously to the people, including housing, labor legislation, civil liberties inflation, all of which were cavalierly rejected by the 80th Congress. We especially urge you to continue to maintain your forthright position, by giving your full and complete support to your legislative and administrative program for civil rights (Atlanta Daily, 1948, p. 1).  

A few months after this NAACP statement – in July 1948 – Truman desegregated the U.S. armed services by executive order (Lautier, 1948, p. 2). He also created the President’s Committee of Equality of Treatment and Opportunities in the Armed Services to defend all cases of discrimination related to race, color, religion, or national identity reported by black American citizens serving in the army. In the same year, the President asked Congress to create a permanent Fair Employment Practice Committee[5] – FEPC (Collins, 2001; Henderson, 1976; Reed, 1980), initiated by his predecessor Roosevelt, to continue helping African Americans enter industries, companies, and jobs that they otherwise could not get. The House of Representatives approved a permanent Fair Employment Practice Committee two years later, but as expected, the Senate opposed it and won this time too. Regarding racial violence, Southern Democrats still had a strong influence over Congress, so much so that they rejected the request for an anti-lynching law without difficulty.
Overall, these measures had positive results, as in the 1950s, civil rights movements reached a broad social consensus (Aldon, 1999; Blumberg, 1990; Shattuck, 1995), thanks also to the media’s role (McElroy, 2013; Lott, 2017). Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, and Ohio established their own state-level FEPC laws to counter the Senate’s decision (Kersten, 1994).

Conclusions

With proper political support, new economic opportunities, and a more significant Federal Government presence across the territory, lynchings became less frequent during the second half of the twentieth century. On the other hand, death sentences increased in the courts and were rarely successfully appealed. This saw a move from “rough justice” (Pfeifer, 2006) to a false due process, often supported by forced confessions and no respect for FBI investigation (Niedermeier, 2019).
The efforts expressed by Truman simultaneously constituted a political opportunity for a new action movement, which was evident in the Federal Government’s support of the Brown vs. Board of Education case (September 1952 – May 1954) up until the beginning of Eisenhower’s presidential term in 1953 (Dadisma, 1994; Lester, 2004; Ward, 2004). Accordingly, it is undisputed that President Truman contributed significantly to a fairer, equal social justice. He is credited with desegregating the armed forces thanks to the prohibition of discrimination in the civil service that not only allowed blacks to feel part and parcel of the United States by serving in the military, but also provided many of them access to financial gains which would have been hard to come by in states where racial dogmas remained dominant. Truman supported African Americans socially through public speech, political proposals, and new legislative actions, fighting for the abolition of poll taxes, economically desegregating public administration places, and allowing equal employment. Above all, he did everything possible to keep the election promises that led him to victory over the Republicans in 1948.

Unquestionably, the historical period of his presidential term did not play entirely in his favor. After the end of World War II, he had to make crucial decisions whilst trying not to upset the balance of his greatly divided party, where conflicting ideas bounced between progressives and conservatives from the South. He had to do everything in his power to maintain the consensus of the southern conservatives on which his first election was based whilst also satisfying the demands of the progressives, securing their votes for future elections. Truman was initially cautious in seeking a meeting point between the two opposing political thoughts – like Roosevelt towards the end of his term – listening to the demands of African Americans and avoiding clashes with white supremacists. Despite this, his role in advancing civil rights was more significant than his twentieth-century predecessors, especially his support for allowing all citizens to vote, regardless of skin color, while simultaneously fighting to end lynching.
The relationship between lynching and voting access is still being studied and analyzed today and requires further investigation. According to Williams: “Using county-level voter registration data […] southern counties that experienced a higher number of historical lynching have lower voter registration rates of blacks today,” (Williams, 2017, p. 1), but the lynching did not impact political participation of other minority groups or among white Americans. As proof of this criticality, the 2019 Voting Rights Advancement Act aims to provide a broad in-depth review of all voting changes that have occurred nationally in the various jurisdictions to understand whether electoral discrimination measures have historically occurred as denounced by African American historiography.
Already the 2015 version of the Act highlighted blacks’ under-representation in political participation in important government decisions, such as new human rights laws like the federal anti-lynching law. Specifically, the Act denounced the effects that nineteenth- and twentieth-century racial violence still have today in dissuading blacks’ political participation through voting. Cases of lynching such as those of Nixon and Woodard have shaken the black community so much that even today, many African Americans living in those states where there has been a high rate of lynching in the previous two centuries do not participate in voting – and political life in general – for fear of experiencing painful racist experiences. Consequently, the interests and needs of African Americans are not carefully considered today, as the decisions that the current Government makes are based on registered voters, i.e., a white majority.
Therefore, further investigations into the effect that lynching had on black political participation choices are necessary. It can help promote new inclusive policies aimed toward a greater expression of African American thinking and help implement the measures needed to attain a truly equal society. This is what President Truman was aiming for over his two presidential terms.

Notes

[1] This essay defines «lynching» as an act of group or mob racial violence perpetrated by at least two or more people against a single person, often resulting in a murder.

[2] They were the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, the National Urban League, the National Negro Congress, the National Council of Negro Women, and the March on Washington Movement.

[3] Unfortunately, although the organization increased social consensus, it was not ready to assist all the South African American defendants who asked for its help as victims of racial bias or forced confessions following torture. As a result, a greater selection of cases was needed, so much so that the NAACP would only support cases where the accused was a victim of racial prejudice, and on these bases, there was reason to believe that he/she was actually innocent. Moreover, it seems that the organization opted for the decision of not defending those who were potentially guilty of rape, attempted murder, or other crimes by fearing damage to the public image of the NAACP. Aiming at greater political feedback, they could not afford a negative antecedent.

[4] Many newspapers, especially black and southern ones, began reporting lynching cases in great detail and trying not to convey any thought, remaining as loyal as possible to the objective account of what happened. In this regard, the work done by the black journalist Ida B. Wells was fundamental. She used her newspaper “Free Speech” to provide another version of the lynchings stories that were being told. Indeed, she shed light on dozens of cases based on false accusations and racial prejudices. In this way, she raised awareness in the black community in the U.S. and abroad in standing against racial violence.

[5] It was established by President F.D. Roosevelt in 1941 to ban discriminatory employment practices.     

Primary Sources

“Draft of statement by president with reference to the President’s Committee on Civil Rights,” Jan. 7,1947, Box 26, Civil Rights/Negro Affairs File, 1945 – June 1947, David K. Niles Papers.

Harry S. Truman to E. W. [Ernie] Roberts, Aug. 18, 1948, Folder C, Box 306, President’s Secretary’s Files, White House Central Files, HSTL.

Executive Order 9808, “Establishing the President’s Committee on Civil Rights,” Box 26, Civil Rights/Negro Affairs File, 1945-June 1947, David K. Niles Papers.

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Blaque, E. (2012). Black Ink: Writing Black Power with the Words of David Walker, Ida B. Wells, and Malcolm X. Counterpoints, 406, 5-18.

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Blumberg, R. L. (1990). Women in the Civil Rights Movement: Reform or Revolution? Dialectical Anthropology, 15(2), 133–139.

Campney, B. M. S. (2011). ‘A State of Violent Contrasts’: Lynching and the Competing Visions of White Supremacy in Georgia, 1949. The Georgia Historical Quarterly, 95(2), 232–262.

Campney, V. E. (2020). Disordered Households: Reconstruction, Klan Terror, and the Law. In L. T. F. and L. W. (Eds.), Household War: How Americans Lived and Fought the Civil War (pp. 221–247). University of Georgia Press.

Collins, W. J. (2001). Race, Roosevelt, and Wartime Production: Fair Employment in World War II Labor Markets. The American Economic Review, 91(1), 272–286.

Corvino, G. B. (2021). The Meanings of Lynching, A Word that Crossed the World. Elementary Education Online, 20(5), 3292-3297.

Dadisman, M. A. (1994). Still Segregated: The Legacy of ‘Brown.’ Human Rights, 21(2), 12–30.

Fagelson, I. B. (2018). President Truman’s Justice Department and the Fight for Racial Justice in the Supreme Court. Journal of Supreme Court History, 43, 69-82.

Feimster, C. (2009). Southern Horrors: Women and the Politics of Rape and Lynching. Harvard University Press.

Frederickson, K. (1997). “The Slowest State” and “Most Backward Community”: Racial Violence in South Carolina and Federal Civil-Rights Legislation, 1946-1948. The South Carolina Historical Magazine, 98-102.

Garth, P. E. (1999). Harry Truman and the NAACP: A Case Study in Presidential Persuasion on Civil Rights. Rhetoric and Public Affairs, 2(2), 211–41.

Goldzwig, S. R. (2005). Inaugurating the Second Reconstruction: President Truman’s Committee on Civil Rights. In Civil Rights Rhetoric and the American Presidency, James Arnt Aune and Enrique D. Rigsby (Eds.), TexasA&M University Press.

Hampson, R. (October 24, 1991). Truman Revisted: Historian Says Harry Gave ’Em Racism. AP News. Available at https://apnews.com/article/ab0d537a112c3554373a97dff54c0e60

Henderson, A. B. (1976). FEPC and the Southern Railway Case: An Investigation into the Discriminatory Practices of Railroads During World War II. The Journal of Negro History, 61(2), 173–187.

Horwitz, J., and Casey A. (2009). The Civil War And Reconstruction. In J.H. and C.A. (Eds.), Guns, Democracy, and the Insurrectionist Idea (pp. 118–136). University of Michigan Press.

Juhnke, W. E. (1989). President Truman’s Committee on Civil Rights: The Interaction of Politics, Protest, and Presidential Advisory Commission. Presidential Studies Quarterly, 19(3), 593–610.

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Kluger, R. (2004). Simple Justice: The History of Brown v. Board of Education and Black America’s Struggle for Equality. Knopf Press.

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Computer Artist Manuel Felguerez: A Brief Interview on the Pioneering Origins of Geometry Painting

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Reynaldo Thompson & Manuel Felguerez

Reynaldo Thompson (professor researcher) Universidad de Guanajuato. Department of Art and Enterprise. Email: thompson@ugto.mx

Manuel Felguerez (artist) email: museomf@hotmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages  https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.05

First published: June 18, 2022 | Area: Aesthetic Studies | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Volume 14, Number2, 2022)
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Computer Artist Manuel Felguerez: A Brief Interview on the Pioneering Origins of Geometry Painting

Abstract

This interview cum memoir of Manuel Felguerez, by the author, describes the development of two projects in the words of the Mexican artist Manuel Felguerez himself. Felguerez speaks of his experience as a Latin American artist, his encounter with digital technology in the united states and the trajectory of art that his work takes during an intense and experimental period of creativity in the seventies. Felguerez’s explorations were embodied in two books, El espacio multiple (Paz 1988) and “The Aesthetic Machine” La máquina estética (Felguerez y Sasson 1983).   The project involved the use of computers for the composition of incipient new media paintings, sculptures and engravings.  After the project was concluded, the author avoided the use of computers again, and for different reasons. The value of this interview of a pioneering artist in contemporary America lies in the insider’s view of the situation in the art world, the artist’s first-person revealings and confessions and the deep personal life of the artist as an individual.

Keywords: algorithm, computer, geometry painting, sculpture

This interview was taken in 2020, at Felguerez home in Mexico City. Felguerez is always kind enough to respond to your questions and reflect on his artwork. Felguerez started talking as he was asked about the beginnings and well-springs of his first inspiration for creating a work with computers:

“The origin of my artistic work in relation to technology is a bit casual. When I was a teacher at the School of Plastic Arts at the National Autonomous University of Mexico (UNAM), I was assigned the task of teaching thirty hours of class every week.  You could call it a handful, or a plethora. I almost wasted the day at school. One day along with two other teachers I decided to ask the Technical Council for permission to give us ten hours each week, to dedicate just to research.  The Technical Council first said they agreed; however, the next day when we arrived at the school, and despite the Technical Council’s approval, we saw that other professors of the University cooked a scandal, and started demonstrating with banners and signs against this decision of the council. Someone said: “Teacher investigator, teacher aviator”.

The protesting teachers were afraid that this permission for independent research meant that it afforded an escape from teaching activity.  Because of the scale of the protest, the Technical Council retracted and finally cancelled the permit.  But the higher authorities of the University called the Coordination of Humanities and found out about the developments.  The. Committee then called us back and said: “…. look, a University organ that refuses to allow time for research is not worthy of being an organ of the University”.   Since then any teacher who joined the University with an appointment of a full-time position could do research as well.  That was like winning the lottery.

So, we had to make a formal request for the research hours. But then we were questioned, as to what we were going to investigate? I thought about a topic that was in the air; namely, one about the possibility of using the computer as a working instrument, one that is based on the layman’s grand idea that the computer is a device that calculates with a great speed.  Since I was interested in geometry, and mathematics, I set out to apply the possibility of the computer to produce or devise a project on art. I didn’t know what to call it at that time – an abstract artwork? But that was the origin. The project was based on two texts, one was called El espacio multiple (The Multiple Space) written by Octavio Paz in 1988. Following El espacio multiple, I proposed that the real plane does not exist, so that each geometric space could generate itself from a flat square or a relief to ultimately form a sculpture. This meant that if I made a half-circle and lifted it then I made a cone. This way I’m already creating a visual relief but if I grab it at the back and repeat the same or change the direction of accumulation, I could transform the whole geometrical base into other shapes and form a sculpture.

So I started working with the idea.  The first thing that I did was to analyze pictures.  I started a project with an architect friend and tried to solve a simple problem by asking ourselves the basic question of whether an abstract picture naturally has a prevenient top and bottom. We wonder how we know if it is “up” or “down”, and we started to analyze such pictures.  I do not remember if it was Rudolph Arnheim who forwarded a theory that says that in a painting there is a balance and that equilibrium implies a point at the center of the painting and hence each form that is made has a distance from the center and at the same time a relative specific weight. Turning an object into a zone of rays, and putting all the shapes in a box means that you could calculate its speed – the speed of rotation of an object.  If I let the painting move around its supposed gravitational center, it would start by turning in one direction.  As it stops it would tend to weigh more on one side than on the other. In order to find equilibrium, the painting would again start to rotate at a certain speed, oscillating between ends until it reached a kind of rest. That speed could act as a fingerprint. It could indicate my sense of a personal composition (since I initiated the balancing for a certain object in space).  I resolved this question of the speed of rotation in my paintings, and therefore, when I started doing the first experiments with a computer, I did more research to know about the visual trajectories of my personal ways of composing art.  Everything that fell off from a predictive pattern I erased; and everything that coincided I kept.  These patterns were not traces of what I had invented: only a kind of (template) form existed in my previous painting. So already, as if by chance, any random elements that the computer-generated from my interventions were then repeated in my new compositions, and hence it was not totally random.  As I kept searching, I kind of failed in my anticipations – the pre-existing patterns did not necessarily materialize into an aesthetically satisfactory shape but they gave me an idea, of new unknown compositions.  I remember for instance that drawing a circle on the computer was a very odd thing because it was like a collection of hundred lines that had a little peak on each intersection.

When I was doing all those experiments, I also decided to continue to write a book to justify three years of my work.  In the book titled The Aesthetic Machine (1983), on which I worked with Mayer Sasson who was studying distribution grids of electricity for New York City, working as an expert in the American Electric Power company.  He was a director and an expert in programming. And he was the one who gave me the idea of trying to see what happened while applying systems identification, for predictions. Systems analysis consists mostly of reiterations – like if I tried explaining with the example of a comet which approaches earth. Astronomers may observe it for 15 or 20 days, as it could be possible to identify what its behavior will be like in space in the next three hundred years or three thousand years, or even three million years. By extrapolating predictive analysis to my work, I wondered if I could discover what the fate of my artwork would be after 25 years from a given moment. The analysis would allow guessing what would happen to it in the future.  It’s like science fiction.  If I continued designing along that path, I could guess how my paintings would look like in the future. Well, we started to apply the computer’s results. I sent all my proposals from my Harvard computer to Mayer, who received them in New York and processed them and returned the results. One day he finally told me he had already completed writing the program. With my wife, I ??went to number one Broadway, where the offices had a large window of about 30 meters, and was a space full of machines with some people dressed in sky blue. These guys in blue operated the computers: they connected the results of the computer analysis on a plotter, and I began to see drawings like my own, though not exactly as if what I would consciously draw. The images flitted across at a speed of one per second. It produced a brutal emotion that showed that the experiment had somehow been successful. We continued working on that project for a while but we thought that the program had to be optimized. I mean that aesthetically my sensitivity led me to evaluate a drawing each time I ran the computer.  I had the drawings and every day I also corrected, I watched them and graded them for the best options.  I gave the highest grade of ten, then nine, eight and so to break down to zero. The next day I did the same with the options produced by the computer.

Well, since I had all that stuff, I asked myself, now what do I do with this? There I have them, I’m not sure what they meant: more than 4000 possibilities of my paintings in an imaginary parallel universe. If I were a merchant I would have set up something like an original cigar factory. But I was an artist. Well first I said, I have to pass this on as something that genuinely looks like art. As they were geometric drawings I called them ideograms but they were really ideas, but they were ideas for painting or sculpture.  I had to make paintings or sculptures with them.  Right there in Boston I made a ball of squares already with colors and everything, that along with some sculptures and models were going to end up in an exhibition at the Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, in a building designed by Le Corbusier in Harvard. It seemed like the cycle was closed and I had already exhausted a mechanism that was like a puzzle: it was a mechanism with which I could change a square or a circle, or what could also produce infinite possibilities of harmonic color according to my creative prototype of colors.  All I did was use that kind of color that was already mechanized; once the first one was done, it needed nothing more than moving it so the computer could have done it too. But I didn’t get into that anymore. I said, if I grab and throw a 100-meter line by hand and make that the guiding line of my drawing, what will come out of the computer is something with lines like when you make a signature that is only yours, a personal line. Then embracing the options of color, and forms of the compositions produced with lines, I started thinking about musicalizing it. So, I wrote the book and took a decision, I do not know if it was good or bad at the time. I closed the computer and never opened it again. I have not opened it again, because it absorbed me – it was very exciting, it was everything I could hope for, but the beauty of the painting was in the accident. I said to myself that I either go down a path of subjectivity or I stay with the computer. If I keep the computer, then I may become a very famous technician in the field of artistic management of the computer, but life is going to fall away.

To recap, I received the Guggenheim Scholarship for Harvard in 1975. In Mexico I already began the exploration for El Espacio Multiple three years before, in 1971, 1972. I remember that computers were like wardrobes. There was IBM. They had black robes with a little slit to pass punched cards. At that time I learned Fortran 4. It was my language. All that was what I started with. During the seventies, my work was totally geometric. The computer was very much present in that period but from the eighties, I went in another direction. The drawings of that period are in my drawers now. Some of the paintings in my studio are from the seventies, some were converted to sculpture, and some other artworks were exhibited elsewhere in the world, in museums and private collections. I made paintings based on the compositions predicted by the computer, but they were, in a sense, also real paintings. The drawings came out of the computer, but after that, the full modificatory process the computer-generated compositions and artworks emerged like any normal painting.  But this was an era of my works in which little by little I also started changing. It began very simply but I was filling my works with pictorial elements until they no longer knew where they came from.

So here I recount my days in Boston with Mayer Sasson. I gave several interviews in American magazines and my work became very popular at that time.  Here in Mexico, in the Centro Multimedia there is a room that bears my name for this research.  Sometimes some researchers come from other places and countries to ask me about the project. This might mean something was left out, but from my side, it seems that going back to such work meant it was like being resigned to the computer once again. Yet I think of moving forward.

References

Felguérez, M., & Sasson, M. (1983). La máquina estética (Vol. 4). Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico.

Paz, O. (1998). El espacio múltiple.

The Corporality of Trauma and Testimony: Nora Okja Keller’s Comfort Woman

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Khushboo Verma1 & Nagendra Kumar2

1PhD candidate, Department of Humanities & Social Sciences, IIT Roorkee, India. Email Id: kverma@hs.iitr.ac.in

2Professor, Department of Humanities & Social Sciences, IIT Roorkee, India. Email Id: nagendra.kumar@hs.iitr.ac.in

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages  https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.04

First published: June 18, 2022 | Area: Trauma Studies | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Volume 14, Number2, 2022)
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The Corporality of Trauma and Testimony: Nora Okja Keller’s Comfort Woman

Abstract

The history of sexual violence taken into consideration for the present study goes back to the period of Second World War, where hundreds of thousands of young girls, euphemistically called the ‘comfort women’ from different Japanese colonies of the time like Korea, China, Philippines, Indonesia, and Taiwan, were abducted and rounded up by Japanese Imperial Army to provide sexual services to the Japanese soldiers at the military camps before and during the war. The most heinous acts of sexual violence, multiple gang rape, vaginal mutilation, venereal diseases and suicides are manifested in the testimonies and autobiographies of many former comfort women who after fifty years of silence finally found their voices to talk about their ordeal and the trauma they suffered. For the present work, Nora Okja Keller’s Comfort Woman (1997) is studied with a psychoanalytic lens to explore the traumatic history of the real comfort women or the victims of sexual violence. Further, the essay is divided into three other parts where in the first part, the significance of the survivors’ testimonies is investigated through Wendy S. Hesford’s essay “Reading Rape Stories: Material Rhetoric and the Trauma of Representation” (1999). The second part of the paper discusses the rise of trauma theory that has provided novelists with new ways of conceptualising trauma and has shifted attention away from the question of what is remembered of the past to how and why it is remembered charted out by Cathy Caruth’s 1996 published work, Unclaimed Experiences. And the final part is devoted to the transmission of intergenerational trauma as represented in fictional narratives studied through Anne Whitehead’s Trauma Fiction (2004).

Keywords: intergenerational trauma, sexual violence, comfort women, survivors’ testimonies.

“Certain kinds of trauma visited on peoples are so deep, so cruel, that unlike money, unlike vengeance, even unlike justice, or rights, or the goodwill of others, only writers can translate such trauma and turn sorrow into meaning, sharpening the moral imagination.”

Toni Morrison, The Source of Self-Regard: Selected Essays, Speeches, and Meditation.

  1. Introduction

In recent decades, there has been a noticeable surge in the scholarly works from different disciplines like psychology, sociology, and philosophy dealing with the aftermath of traumatic events, the impact of trauma on the survivors and also, the transmission of intergenerational trauma on the subsequent generations. The focus of this paper thus falls upon one such traumatic event which had long been ignored and denied space in the political discourse until the 1990s, the issue of forced sexual enslavement of hundreds of thousands of women, euphemistically called “comfort women”, from different former Japanese colonies like Korea, China, Philippines, Taiwan, Indonesia etc., by the Japanese Imperial Army during and before the Second World War and thereby the silence ensued even after the passage of several decades. The most heinous acts of sexual violence, multiple gang rape, vaginal mutilation, venereal diseases and suicides are manifested in the testimonies and autobiographies of many former “comfort women” who after fifty years of silence finally found their voice to talk about their ordeal and the trauma they suffered. For the present work, Nora Okja Keller’s Comfort Woman (1997) is studied from a psychoanalytic lens to explore the traumatic history of the real comfort women and the victims of sexual violence during armed conflicts. Through the analysis of the novel, selected for the purpose, this paper tries to implicate that the silence of the trauma is not only its manifestation but also becomes an instrument of its transmission to the others, especially the near ones of the survivors. And, it is only when this silence is broken, as can be seen in the novel, that their sufferings are embodied with meanings which subsequently prevent both their re-traumatizing and the further psychological harm to the later generations. So, before we delve deep into the traumatic lives of these “comfort women” and Keller’s portrayal of one such woman, it is important to carve out the most significant works that have been published around the theme of trauma.

In the third chapter of Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920), Sigmund Freud describes a particular pattern inexplicably emerging in the lives of certain individuals from the battlefield (both the returning soldiers and the survivors of war) and their recurring nightmares and repetitive re-enactments of the traumatic past. Freud, in his work, argues that these nightmares are not representational or symbolic as could be misunderstood based upon his previous work of the “Pleasure Principle”, what they are, he says, is repetition. It brings an individual back to the situation of the traumatic past. So, both the nightmare and the awakening because of the nightmare are repetitions, repeating an event; the experience with death outside of the self. The nightmares turn the symbolic into the vehicle. The dream, instead of being the place where fantasy can be turned into symbolism that fulfils an unconscious wish, in this case, it serves the function of bringing back a traumatic encounter that was not fully assimilated or grasped as it first occurred, which is what we define as trauma; an event that breaks through the stimulus barrier of the psyche. Thus, the significant trauma experienced by the survivors of sexual violence during conflicts or genocides is not really manifested in the act of survival itself, rather it manifests much later after the occurrence of the event. Though Freud’s work is mainly associated with psychological studies, it is Cathy Caruth’s pathbreaking work, Unclaimed Experiences, first published in 1996, that has redefined the conceptualizations of the trauma theory which began with Freud’s psychic manifestations. Caruth, using Freud’s work, defines trauma as “a wound inflicted not upon the body but the mind, […] not locatable in the simple violent or original event in an individual’s past, but rather in the way that it is very unassimilated nature- the way it was precisely not known in the first instance- returns to haunt the survivor later on” (Unclaimed Experience 1996, 3-4). It is these delayed re-enactments and the often uncontrolled and destructive repetitiveness without the exposure of the survivor’s traumatic past, that give birth or create a new set of subsequent generations of trauma survivors. There has been a significant amount of research works available that trace the psychological effects of the trauma suffered by the genocide survivors of the Holocaust, but only a few in the literature that map the impact of the trauma of sexual violence and massive rapes committed against these “comfort woman” during the Second World War. Thus, it becomes the central focus of the present study to not only explore what happened to these women but, also to demonstrate what it means to live with such a traumatic past for fifty years in silence.

2. The Significance of Painful Testimony of the Former “Comfort Women”

There is very little testimonial literature available on the said subject because of understandable reasons. But since the first international recognition of the comfort women issue in 1992 and 1993, there are some women who have come forward with their painful testimonies from different countries like Korea, Philippines, Indonesia, Taiwan etc to testify in front of the world and expose the unspeakable truth about the state-sanctioned sexual slavery forced upon them by the Japanese Imperial Army beginning with the colonization until the end of the Second World War. The painful re-emergence of the trauma and traumatic memory at the time of giving testimony is expressed by many former “comfort women” who have confessed of their physical illness during the re-enactment of their ordeal in the act of speaking up: for example, Pak Du-ri explains, “Occasionally I meet visitors who want to hear about my ordeal. After these meetings I frequently suffer from severe headaches. Sometimes they become so bad I have to be hospitalized” (Schellstede 2000, 71); Kim Sook-Duk admits, “I still have nightmares. I then scream to wake myself up. Nowadays, people often come here to interview me about my life as a ‘comfort woman’. I cannot see them as often as I used to. My nightmares become worse after remembering the past at these interviews” (Schellstede 2000, 40); Yi Young-sook tells how when, “Occasionally people come to hear my story of a former ‘comfort woman’. I am reluctant to talk about it because it is my shameful, terrible past. Recollecting such a past is so emotionally draining” (Schellstede 2000, 101) (as quoted in “Nora Okja Keller’s Comfort Woman and the Ethics of Literary Trauma” by Deborah L. Madsen pg. 82).

Thus, these re-enactments and re-emergence of the traumatic memory in the survivors call upon the question of the significance of these testimonies: What is the need for these survivors to go back to that site of trauma and relive those painful experiences? What is the relation between telling and surviving? Also, how are we to make sense of the recollections of events in their testimony that are not without lapses or memory gaps? Analysing the importance of the “comfort women” testimonies, Yoshimi admits, “these testimonies, if we set aside lapses in memory and omissions concealing facts, are extremely important- not only because the information they contain does not exist in written form, but also because these intense experiences sometimes gave rise to strikingly vivid memories, and as the questions are repeated, facts and relationships that can only be narrated by those involved come to light. Only through these women’s testimonies can we discover the stark realities that never appear in military and government documents, reports, or statistics” (Comfort Women 1999, 100). Since the event we are discussing happened to these women almost five decades before their first revelation on the international stage, it is understandable to consider the abbreviations, contradictions and memory lapses reflected in the statement of these survivors as natural and humanly. At the same time, many trauma studies scholars notice that these testimonies serve the needs of both the survivors and the writers who take it upon themselves to painstakingly record the horrendous lives of these “comfort women” at the “comfort stations” as well as their traumatic events, in their both historical or fictional works. Dori Laub, in her exemplary study work on the theme of Testimony analyses the relation between telling and surviving for the Holocaust survivors which can also be applied to the “comfort women” issue. She reveals, “The survivors did not only need to survive so that they could tell their stories; they needed to tell their stories in order to survive. There is, in each survivor, an imperative need to tell and thus to come to know one’s story, unimpeded by ghosts from the past against which one has to protect oneself. One has to know one’s buried truth in order to be able to live one’s life.” (Laub 1995, 63). Laub also emphasizes the importance of the dialogical emergence of truth through these testimonies where the trauma survivors are finally “reclaim[ing] their position as witness” (Laub 1995, 70). It is through the retelling of their traumatic past at the “comfort stations” that these women try to embody their experiences with meaning, of the past that was not earlier understood as “crime” or human rights violations by the women themselves. Also, Wendy S. Hesford, in her essay, “Reading Rape Stories: Material Rhetoric and the Trauma of Representation” warns against the risk of identifying the testimonial narrative or autobiographies of survivors as the absolute truth, but simultaneously finely distinguishes as, “survivor narratives do expose oppressive material conditions, violence, and trauma; give voice to heretofore silent histories; help shape public consciousness about violence against women, and thus alter history’s narrative. Moreover, there is strong evidence that the process of telling one’s story and writing about personal trauma can be essential elements of recovery” (“Reading Rape Stories” 1999, 195). This element of recovery is highly influential when it comes to the act of speaking the unspeakable, the past that is not only broken through their traumatic memories but also which resurfaces in its new manifestations in the survivors much later when the reality of that event has already elapsed. The process of testifying in front of the world, about their horrific past which had been hidden for five decades, thus infuses meaning to their present identity, emboldening their present self away from the demeaning names they had been identified with by the Japanese soldiers at the camps.

3. The Silence around the Screaming Trauma 

Nora Okja Keller’s first novel, Comfort Woman (1997) has been critically appreciated as an exemplary work of Asian American literature which is the first and only book in its significance which deals not only with the powerful portrayal of a “comfort woman” but also brings out the imaginative broken lives of the second generations borne to these women if they may have had. Sandra Cisneros describes the novels as, “A beautiful first novel, lovingly written and lovingly told. Comfort Woman speaks eloquently for everyone who tries to imagine a parent’s past, who tries to piece together a history that involves as much as the dead as it does the living” (Comfort Woman 1997). It is also painfully expressed by many former “comfort women” in their testimonies that because of the atrocities and violence inflicted upon them during the armed conflict, they were unable to bear any children, several women faced vaginal mutilation, multiple abortions, venereal diseases like syphilis and many of them were left with torn bodies and injured wombs. The 83-year-old Park Young-Shim, in an interview, recalls her ordeal at the camp and reveals that she, after returning to her home country, had to undergo a few medical operations including the one where her womb had to be removed because of the indelible wound inside her body. She confesses that she still suffers from heart disease and nervous tension along with the all-encompassing and excruciating body pain. “I still wake up in the middle of the night when I recall the past nightmare,” admits Park. “I cannot die before they apologize to me and other comfort women.” (“Japan Boiled Comfort Woman to Make Soup” n.p).

In an interview with Asianweek in 2002, Nora Okja Keller describes how she stumbled upon the writing of her novel upon experiencing the testimony of a former “comfort woman”, Keum-ja Hwang at a University of Hawaii symposium on Human Rights in 1993, who inspired her to write about the ordeal as well as to pay tribute to the courage of these women to break the silence of fifty years. Her novel stimulates the issues of patriarchy, gendered structural violence, sexuality, colonialism and Japanese imperialism. The predominantly used term “comfort woman” is actually a euphemism used by Japanese soldiers, translated from Japanese ianfu and Korean wianbu, trying to give this whole system a deceptive image of women at the camps simply providing comfort to the wounded soldiers, but in reality, it was one of the most atrocious gendered sexual violence the world has ever seen. So, to use the same misleading and demeaning term for these women could be distasteful as expressed by Suzanne O’ Brien: “I place the terms ‘comfort women’ and ‘comfort station’ in quotation marks on first use to emphasize the fact that these terms themselves played a role in concealing and normalizing the violence used against these women. Many survivors explicitly reject the term ‘comfort woman’ (Translator’s Introduction).  However, Keller notes, “The suffering of the comfort women can represent both the suffering of Korean women and the nation of Korea itself. The term, given to them by the Japanese soldiers is a horrible euphemism; using the term as the title of my novel is meant to underscore the unjust irony” (“Nora Keller and the Silenced Woman: An Interview” 2002). Explaining her difficulty in writing this book, she says:

“But the topic was too big, I couldn’t even find the words to express how horrified I was, much less find the vocabulary to talk about the pain in this woman’s life. But her story took hold of me. I felt so haunted, I began dreaming about images of blood and war and waking with a start. Finally, I realized that the only way to exorcise these dreams and the story from my mind was to write them down. So, I got up one night and began to write bits and pieces of my dreams and the comfort woman’s words.” (Keller, 2002, n.p.).

The theme of silence is pervasive in Keller’s novel which leads to the specific trauma experienced by a “comfort woman” Akiko, which delves deep into her psyche every passing day since her escape from the camp, “slipping [her] into trances” (Comfort Woman 1997, p.2). This trauma, as argued before, not only manifests through the silence for her as a survivor but also transmits onto the second generation, her daughter Beccah, in the novel which shall be discussed in the latter part of the paper. The silencing, however, is not Akiko’s own choice as she says, “I know what I speak for, that is my given name. Soon Hyo, the true voice. The pure tongue. I speak of laying down for a hundred men- each one of them Saja, Death’s Demon soldiers- over and over until I died. I speak of bodies being bought and sold, of bodies that were burned and cut and thrown like garbage to wild dogs by the river” (1997, 195). But this silence is forced upon her by her American Missionary husband, Richard Bradley, who, like the patriarchal society which shames the rape victims and considers them taboo, continually reminds her to: “Put away perversity from your mouth; keep corrupt talk from your lips, or- ye shall be struck down!” (p.195). Extrapolating the value of turning these repressed memories into narration, van der Kolk and van der Hart assert, “Traumatic memories are the unassimilated scraps of overwhelming experiences, which need to be integrated with existing mental schemes, and be transformed into narrative language” (“The Intrusive Past: The Flexibility of Memory and the Engraving of Trauma” 1995, 176).

Although, most of the “comfort women” were forcefully rounded up by the Japanese Imperial Army, but there are instances where some women were sold by their own family members which is also the case of Akiko in the novel. She describes how, after the death of her parents, her sister had to pay for her own dowry to get married to a neighbour as, “they wouldn’t take her without a dowry. How they could buy cattle without any capital, they reasoned” (p.18). So, her sister sold her “like one of the cows” without the knowledge of the Japanese’ real intentions and was told that “the Japanese say there is enough work for anyone in the cities. Girls, even, can learn factory work or serve in restaurants. You will make lots of money” (p.18).

Keller’s novel portrays how the lack of reception of Akiko’s past experiences on her husband’s end re-traumatizes her even more in this familial structure. Richard, failing to let Akiko narrativize her traumatic memory, strikes her down: “Quiet! What if someone hears you speaking like this? The boys, the brothers? What if Beccah hears you? Think of how she would feel, knowing her mother was a prostitute” (p.196). The overt sexualization of an Asian woman by an American Missionary, the reflection of a dominant gendered ideology, has been rightly captured by Keller in the portrayal of Richard as a paedophile whose only intention to marry her is based upon his lust. As Akiko recalls later in the novel, “this is his sin, the sin he fought against and still denies: that he wanted me- a young girl- not for his God but for himself” (p.95). And the only way he could define Akiko’s harrowing past life as a “comfort woman” is as a “prostitute”. Keller, through subtle descriptions, suggests Akiko’s rape by her own Missionary husband, who not only silences her but contributes to aggravating her agony as a raped victim: “When he pushed me into the bed, positioned himself above me, fitting himself between my thighs, I let my mind fly away. For I knew that my body was, and always would be, locked in a cubicle at the camps, trapped under the bodies of innumerable men” (p.106). Due to her repressed trauma, Akiko engulfs herself in various imaginary and mythological spirits, visions, and hallucinations. Keller has beautifully portrayed the inner repressed psyche of a “comfort woman” using poetic language which justly captures the fragmentary, psychedelic, and spiritual world of her mind. Akiko, particularly, becomes obsessed with the spirit of one “comfort woman” called Induk, who “was the Akiko before [her]” in the camp (p.20). Through Induk, she delineates, to the readers, the horrific lives of these women at the ‘comfort stations’. Akiko recalls how, “One night she talked loud and nonstop. In Korean and Japanese, she denounced the soldiers, yelling at them to stop their invasion of her country and her body. Even as they mounted her, she shouted: I am Korea, I am a woman, I am alive, I am seventeen, I had a family just like you do, I am a daughter, I am a sister” (p.20). And this disobedience results into her brutal death: “Just before daybreak, they took her out of her stall and into the woods, where we couldn’t hear her anymore. They brought her back skewered from her vagina to her mouth, like a pig ready for roasting. A lesson they told the rest of us, warning us into silence” (pp. 20-21). Thus, in her representation of Akiko’s traumatic past, Keller maintains a sense of incomprehensibility without appropriating or risking the “truth” of the survivor’s trauma. As Cathy Caruth in her work, “Recapturing the Past”, argues, “The danger of speech, of integration into the narration of memory, may lie not in what cannot understand, but in that it understands too much” (“Recapturing” 1995, 154).

4. The Representation of Intergenerational Trauma

Brave Heart and DeBruyn suggest, specifically about the Holocaust, that there are “far-reaching implications” of trauma and argue that “wherever people are being decimated and destroyed, subsequent generations will suffer” (“The American Indian Holocaust” 1998, 71). In Comfort Woman, Keller captures the same implications that the offspring of “comfort women” survivors would have faced if any. Her novel renders a surreal time-flow between past and present, juxtaposing the narratives of both mother (interwoven with nightmares, myths and madness) and daughter (fraught with confusion and incomprehension) alternatively along with the subtle depiction of the transmission of intergenerational trauma. Through this novel, Keller fills the scholarly gap in writing down the potential traumatic lives of the second generation of the present sexual violence survivors, which is presented not without their own confused identities and helpless conditions. Keller presents some of the most pitiful moments in Beccah’s narratives as the latter tries to protect her mother in every way possible: “At Ala Wai Elementary, where I was enrolled, I was taught that if I was ever in trouble, I should tell my teachers or the police; I learned about 911. But in real life, I knew none of these people would understand, that they might even hurt my mother. I was on my own” (p.5). This hyper consciousness and apprehensive nature towards her mother eventually and gradually destroy her childhood. Initially, Beccah, with her naïve understanding as a young girl, attempts to normalize her mother’s madness saying, “Most of the time my mother seemed normal. Not normal like the moms on TV- the kind that baked cookies, joined the PTA, or who came to weekly soccer games- but normal in that she seemed to know where she was and who I was” (p.2).

However, as the novel progresses, the frightful manifestations of Akiko’s repressed traumatic psyche starts puzzling Beccah’s own psychological state that she, following her mother’s rituals, begins to starve herself for the guardian spirits, drinking “endless bowls of blessed water while my mother chanted and sprinkled the ashes of burnt incense stick on my stinking parts” (p.84). Robin Fivush, in her essay, “The Silenced Self: Constructing Self from Memories Spoken and Unspoken” asserts, “The transfer of silence [of the parents’ traumatic past], in effect creates disability in the second generation to construct a coherent narrative [which…] in turn, may lead to a fragmented sense of self, especially if the trauma occurs early in development before children have a stable self-concept or are able to construct a coherent narrative of a past without adult guidance” (Fivush 2004, 89). Fivush’s concept of a ‘fragmented sense of self’ is further expressed in Beccah’s words when she realizes that, “not only could [she] not trust [her] mother’s stories; [she] could not trust [her] own (p.34). This also echoes one of the most essential characteristics of inherited trauma maintained by Anne Whitehead as she asserts, “Trauma carries the force of a literality which renders it resistant to narrative structures and linear temporalities” (Trauma Fiction 2004, 5). In trying to understand her mother’s traumatic symptomatology, Beccah begins to associate herself more and more with her mother, reversing the role of a child to a nurturer:

Even at ten, I knew that I had become the guardian of her life and she the tenuous sleeper. I trained myself to wake at abrupt snorts, unusual breathing patterns. Part of me was aware of each time she turned over in bed, dreaming dreams like mini-trances where she travelled into worlds and times I could not follow to protect her. The most I could do was wait, holding the blue thread of her life while her spirit tunneled into the darkness of the earth to swim the dark red river toward hell. Each night, I went to the bed praying that I would not let go in my own sleep. And in the morning, before I even opened my eyes, I’d jerk my still clenched, aching hand to my chest, yanking my mother back to me. (p.125)

Akiko’s trauma not only re-visits her through her nightmares and traumatic memories but also gets transmitted onto Beccah through her behaviour and inhibitions. Replicating her mother’s actions, Beccah also scrutinizes her developing body and avoids feminine clothes, wearing only “large, oversize T-shirts, which I pulled toward my knees to flatten my breasts. The kids called me a “mini-moke” because I slunk around the playground rolling my hands into the front of my shirts and slouched over my desk like one of the big, tough boys” (p.83). This incident especially echoes Akiko’s trauma when she tells the readers of how she and her other counterparts at the “comfort stations”, “all tried to walk the same, tie [their] hair the same, keep the same blank looks on [their] faces. To be special there meant only that [they] would be used more, that [they] would die faster” (p.143). Akiko even tries to delay her daughter’s menstruation as she remembers her haunting memory of what it meant to attain puberty at the camps, of being feminine. She recalls “even though I had not yet had my first bleeding, I was auctioned off to the highest bidder. After that it was a free-for-all, and I thought I would never stop bleeding” (p.21). This “over-protectiveness” is also pointed out by Natan where she suggests that it manifests as excessive worrying and restrictions, preventing the child’s exposure to the outside world which could be viewed as threatening (“Second Generation” 1981, 13). Akiko’s disturbing experiences at the camp of sexual imprisonment, living in shame and trauma in silence for decades, being raped by as many as 30-40 soldiers a day, and the physical violence and sadistic experiments performed by the military physicians made her mind spiral into the madness which also begins to reflect in her daughter’s behaviour and activities to a lesser extent. Just like her mother’s intermittent fasting and consuming only spirit food, she also “began to feel the spirits fill [her] body, making [her] stronger, smarter, purer than [her] normal self. Each bite of the food tasted and tested by the Birth Grandmother and the Seven Stars seemed to ripen and bloom in [her] mouth, so that even one grain of rice, one section of orange, one strand of bean sprout, filled [her] to fullness” (p.85). Beccah also starts to envision the same spirits as her mother. She passionately informs her about the visibility of the spirit of Soja, The Death Messenger, to her mother, “He stinks, Mommy, with his bubbling skin, black and green, fermenting with pus! I wanted her to know that I saw him, as clearly as she ever did, and that I knew he was real” (p.44). This inherited trauma can also be seen in the more personal moments of Beccah with her boyfriend Max, where Beccah, after the lovemaking, muses, “My body smelled clean, electric like a rainstorm on the Ko`olaus” but is interrupted suddenly by her mother as she informs, “when I walked through the door, my mother yelled, “Stink poji-cunt!” and charged with a knife” (p.134). It is important to notice that this specific term ‘poji-cunt’ is used by the Japanese soldiers while raping the “comfort women” which still haunts Akiko. Unconscious of her mother’s past as a “comfort woman”, Beccah, vicariously adopts her mother’s trauma, although to a less threatening manner, and begins to perceive her relationship from her mother’s eyes, as she opines later:

I began to watch Max again. I discovered little things- the way he licked his top teeth before he smiled, the way his head lolled as if unanchored by his spine when he played the drums, the way his jaw slackened, then gaped when he slept- that started to bother me. And I begin watching the two of us making love, the way we groped and lunged, as from another’s eyes. As if from my mother’s eyes: When I finally told him it was over, I could not bear to look at him; his face, hovering so close to mine, seemed grotesque. (p.136)

Thus, imbibing her mother’s trauma, Beccah also reconstructs her relationship with Max, in her own eyes, from lovemaking to grotesqueness.

5. Silence Broken

In order to dismantle the further transmission of the parental trauma onto the children, Keller has most beautifully employed a medium of voice; a tape recorder that Akiko uses to break her silence about her horrifying memories as a “comfort woman” in the camps during the Second World War. Akiko manages to record her tapes in the form of singing before her death wherein she reveals the most traumatic violence subjected to her and other young women from different parts of Japanese colonies, she reveals:

Chongsindae: Our brothers and fathers conscripted. The women left to be picked over like fruit to be tasted, and consumed, the pits spit out as Chongsindae, where we rotted under the body of orders, we were beaten and starved. Under the Emperor’s orders, the holes of our bodies were used to bury their excitement. Under Emperor’s orders, we bled again and again until we were thrown into a pit and burned, the ash from our thrashing arms dusting the surface of the river in which we had sometimes been allowed to bathe. Under Emperor’s orders, we could not prepare those in the river for the journey out of hell” (p.93).

And just as the second generations of the Holocaust survivors attempt to preserve the testimonies of their survivor parents by different media “to fill in the gaps in their own memory and identity”, outside the familial structure (“Trauma and Telling” 2016, 29), Beccah also “rummaged through the kitchen cabinets for paper and pen, wanting to write down [her] mother’s song” (p.192). The act of bearing witness to a survivor’s testimony is powerfully played out in the novel where Beccah is shown, not merely listening to the testimony of her mother, but she also partakes in assigning the meaning to Akiko’s heretofore silenced trauma of her past as a “comfort woman”: “Chongsindae. I fit the words into my mouth, syllable by syllable, and flipped through my Korean-English dictionary, sounding out a rough, possible translation: Battalion slave” (p.193). The dual nature of bearing witness by Beccah is further explained by Dori Laub as she says,

“The emergence of the narrative that is being listened to- and heard- is, therefore, the process and the place wherein the cognizance, the “knowing” of the event is given birth to. The listener is, therefore, a party to the creation of knowledge de novo. The testimony to the trauma, thus, includes, its hearer, who, so to speak, the blank screen on which the event comes to be inscribed for the first time” (“Bearing Witness” 1992, 57).

Beccah also finds a scrap of papers inadequate to historicize the testimonial truth of her mother, “needing a bigger canvas”, she strips off the bedsheet, “laid it on the living room floor in front of the speakers, pressed Play on the recorder, and caught [her] mother’s words” (p.192).

It is also interesting to note that Keller has provided Beccah with a profession of a recorder of the lives of the dead, a writer of the obituary, but, as the time comes for her to write her own mother’s obituary, she realizes, “as [she] held a copy of her death certificate in [her] hand, [she] found that [she] did not have the facts for even the most basic, skeletal obituary. And [she] did not know how to start imagining her life” (p.26). Thus, for her discovering the hidden truth about the history of her mother as a “comfort woman”, “listening to her accounts of crimes made against the woman she could remember, so many crimes and so many names” (p.194) also parallels, in Keller’s own words, “the world’s discovery of the stories of comfort women. They will not die unknown and unrecognized, lost in history” (“An Interview” 2003, 155).  Beccah, thus, has a three-fold function to play in the novel, first, she becomes the target of the transmission of an intergenerational trauma visited upon by her mother, second, she becomes an important instrument for witnessing the testimony of a “comfort woman” survivor, in this case, her mother, and third, she is portrayed as a preserver of these memories, probably for the future generations or the world to break the silence around the Comfort Women problematic. And it is only after her mother’s silence is broken through the cassettes that Beccah could break the shackles of her own trauma as she expresses at the end of the novel,

“I opened my mouth to drown, expecting to suck in heavy water, but instead I breathed in ai, clear and blue. Instead of ocean, I swam through sky, higher and higher, until dizzy, with the freedom of light and air” (p.213).

6. Conclusion

Keller, in a way, through her literary imagination in the novel, justifies the significance and representation of the fictional stories of many such “comfort women” and their testimonies. Although, taking the very nature of incomprehensibility and inexpressibility of trauma into consideration, the novel evokes a sense of paradox or contradictions as expressed by Whitehead in her work, Trauma Fiction, as “if trauma comprises an event or experience which overwhelms the individual and resists language or representation, how then can it be narrativized in fiction?” (Introduction to Part I 2004, 3). However, it is only through the ability of novelists like Keller in fictionalizing and symbolizing a trauma narrative that can help create a safe space wherein the experiences of survivors, specifically “comfort women” survivors, “appear to defy understanding and verbalization, that concern existential dimensions of the human condition- especially threatening experiences of vulnerability or mortality- can be explored from multiple perspectives” (“Theorizing Trauma” 2013, 3). Literary trauma narratives often work through this crucial paradox that defines trauma narratives in general, where it becomes a medium through which presenting the unpresentable is attempted, the unspeakable is spoken and which resists the comprehension and remembering is narrated. As Geoffrey Hartman agrees, “literary verbalization, however, still remains a basis for making the wound perceivable and the silence audible” (“Trauma” 2003, 259).

In the novel, Keller depicts that the traumatic memories, which surround and haunt Akiko in her entire life, are unconsciously further transmitted to her daughter as the offspring of a warfare sexual violence survivor, and are only exorcised when this silence is broken through the cassette tapes. This mirrors the second-generation survivor of Bay Area genocide, Deborah A. Miranda’s expressions from her memoir, who while grappling with her own personal trauma, admits, “I thought perhaps the cure was telling. Then I thought the cure was telling the truth. Now in the cool of dawn, I think to myself, maybe it’s each woman telling her truth in a language forced from every knife ever held to her throat, or wielded in self-defence. It’s not about destruction or forgetting, but transformation” (Bad Indians 2012, 118). It is only after Beccah becomes aware of her mother’s traumatic past that she could make sense of the strange world and the otherworldly visions of spirits her mother used to live in. This move from silence to revelation also further helps break the continued chain of the transmission of trauma from one generation to other. And acknowledging the trauma that resides in her and her mother’s life, she effectively attempts to transform what Murray would call, “the traumatic memory into a memory of trauma- one that remembers the trauma and the damage that is caused but can no longer continue to harm the generations that follow” (“Trauma and Telling” 2016, 54).   In singing the names of the women who suffered at the hands of Japanese soldiers and recording the horrific memories of hers and others’ lives as “comfort women” in the Japanese military camps during the Second World War, Keller has shown Akiko to be a very powerful political agent who finally transforms herself into a writer of an almost erased historical truth. This parallels the powerful moments of the real “comfort women” at the time of their testimony who, after a long five decades of silence, finally found the courage and voice to speak about their ordeal in front of the world.

References

Brave Heart, M. Y. H., & DeBruyn, L. M. (1998). The American Indian Holocaust: Healing Historical Unresolved Grief. American Indian and Alaska Native Mental Health Research: Journal of the National Center. 8.2: 56-78.

Caruth, C. (2010). Unclaimed Experiences: Trauma, Narrative and History. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins             University Press.

Caruth, C. (1995). Recapturing the Past: Introduction. Trauma: Explorations in Memory, Baltimore: Johns            Hopkins UP. Vol.151, 151-57.

Felman, S., & Laub. D. (1992). Bearing Witness, or the Vicissitudes of Listening. Testimony: Crisis in Witnessing in Literature, Psychoanalysis, and History. New York: Routledge. 57-74.

Fivush R. (2003). The Silenced Self: Constructing Self from Memories Spoken and Unspoken. In Denise R. Bieke et al. (Eds.), The Self and Memory. New York: Psychology Press, 75-93.

Freud, S. (1920). Beyond the Pleasure Principle. In The Standard Edition of Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud, London: Hogarth. Vol.18, ch.3.

Hartman, G. (2003). Trauma withing the Limits of Literature. European Journal of English Studies 7.3: 257-74.

Jeyathurai, D. (2010). Intergenerational Transmission of Trauma in Nora Okja Keller’s Comfort Woman. Asian Journal of Women’s Studies. 16:3, 62-79, DOI: 10.1080/12259276.2010.11666092

Keller, N. O. (1997). Comfort Woman. USA: Penguin Group.

Keller, N. O. (2002). Asianweek http://www.asianweek.com/2002_04_05/arts_keller.html

Lee, Chang-ree. (1999). A Gesture of Life. New York: Riverhead Books.

Lee, Y. O., & Keller, N. O. (2003). Nora Okja Keller and the Silenced Woman: A Interview. Speech and  Silence: Ethnic Women Writers. London: Oxford University Press. Vol. 28, No.4, 145-165.

Laub, D. (1995). Truth and Testimony: The Process and the Struggle. In Trauma: Explorations in Memory, ed. Cathy Caruth, 61-75. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press.

Madsen, D. L. (2007). Nora Okja Keller’s Comfort Woman and the Ethics of Literary Trauma. Concentric, special issue: Ethics and Ethnicity, ed. Shirley Lim. 33. 2, pp. 81-97.

Miranda, D. A. (2012). Bad Indians: A Tribal Memoir. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Morrison, T. (2019). The Source of Self-Regard: Selected Essays, Speeches, and Meditations. New York: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group.

Murray, J. (2016). Trauma and Telling: Examining the Intergenerational Transmission of Trauma Through Silence. MA Thesis, Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton, FL.

Natan, T. (1981). Second Generation Holocaust Survivors in Psycho-social Research. In Dapim Leheker Tkufat Hashoa. 2: 13–26. (In Hebrew)

O’Brien, S. (1999). Translator’s Introduction. In Comfort Women: Sexual Slavery in the Japanese  Military During World War II by Yoshiaki Yoshimi. New York: Columbia University Press. 1-21. 

Park, T. (1997). A Gift of the Emperor. Duluth: Spinsters Ink.           

Soh, C. S. (2008). The Comfort Women: Sexual Violence and Postcolonial Memory in Korea and Japan. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

Schellstede, S. C. (2000). Comfort Women Speak: Testimony by Sex Slaves of the Japanese Military. New York: Holmes & Meier.

Schönfelder, C. (2013). Theorizing Trauma Romantic and Postmodern Perspectives on Mental   Wounds. In Wounds and Words. Germany: Transcript Verlag. 27-86.

Stetz M., & Oh B. B. C. (2015). Legacies of the Comfort Women of World War II. London and New York: Routledge.

Van der Kolk, B., & Van der hart, O. (1995). The Intrusive Past: The Flexibility of Memory and the Engraving of Trauma. Trauma: Explorations in Memory, ed. Cathy Caruth, Baltimore & London: Johns Hopkins University Press. 158-171.

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Khushboo Verma is a Research Scholar in the Department of Humanities & Social Sciences at IIT   Roorkee, Uttarakhand, India. Her research concentrates on War Crimes Against Women during WWII. Her ORCID is 0000-0002-0288-2647.

Nagendra Kumar is a Full Professor of English in the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, IIT Roorkee, Uttarakhand, India. He specializes in English Language, Literature and Communication Studies. Besides publishing a widely reviewed book he has published research papers in reputed, Scopus and Web of Science indexed journals. He has delivered invited lectures and plenary talks in dozens of FDPs around the country and has successfully conducted around 15 AICTE/TEQIP Sponsored Short Term Courses and Workshops on various aspects of teaching pedagogy, Soft Skills, Communication and Culture. He has been the recipient of Outstanding Teacher Award of IIT Roorkee for the year 2015.

Some Arborescent Motifs in Architectural Reliefs: Augustinian Convent Heritage in Colonial America

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José Armando Pérez Crespo
Universidad de Guanajuato. Orcid: 0000-0002-8122-5097. Email id: armando.perez@ugto.mx .

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages  https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.03

First published: June 18, 2022 | Area: Aesthetic Studies | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Volume 14, Number2, 2022)
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Some Arborescent Motifs in Architectural Reliefs: Augustinian Convent Heritage in Colonial America

Abstract

The present study focuses on specific ornamental pictorial evidence, which has remained hidden for centuries, in a 17th-century convent complex, in Salamanca, Mexico. Thus, this research aims at describing specific contextual periods of the estate of the convent in which it is housed and estimates the influence of grotesque pictorial style and its meaning during the period of Viceroyalty of New Spain. For this purpose, we recognise specific ornaments of the style for a formal compositional analysis and uncover references to some plant species which inspired the cultural iconographic traits of the region in that historical frame. Conceptually, we reviewed the communication of ideas based on the nature of the grottesco (grotesque) aesthetics, and the adoption of this style by Hispanic friars to design the spatial environment of the New Spain convents. I adopt a qualitative methodology to describe five ornamental units, two corresponding to the nave of a temple and three dedicated to its main cloister. We identified ornamental structures that were visually motivated mainly by certain plant species. In short, this study proposes an emerging approach to artistic heritage conservation by unveiling evidence indeterminately lost in time and hidden in the changing architectural needs of an evolving society.

Keywords: pictorial heritage, plant ornament, grotesque, composition.

Introduction

This study reveals the pictorial-mural and ornamental aesthetics of an Augustinian convent complex of the Guanajuato Bajío region, one whose foundation dates back to the 17th century architectures of urban locations in New Spain. The specific building we have in mind is known as the Viceregal Villa de Salamanca. Over time, some murals on the theme of the European grotesque inspiration got erased from the nave of this temple structure. The murals got overlaid with baroque altarpieces that were built in the 18th century, and by other ornamental additions or modifications in the cells’ walls. The latter changes were a result of reparations during a period of changing social tastes.

The objectives of the present study are:

  1. To describe different phases of the heritage building; the origin and the artistic transformation of the primitive Baroque walls, that resulted from the architectural interventions of the Augustinian Convent at Salamanca and the aesthetics that guided the restoration of this colonial art at the end of the 20th
  2. To appreciate the grotesque pictorial expression as a universal artistic style emerging from postures and concepts in plants, and schematic rock art posture, and thoughtful relief ornaments, and thus to understand what meaning these patterns had and how they were transferred to colonial New Spain.
  3. To identify specific ornamental reliefs incorporating plant motifs on the building complex, which, owing to their visible physical orientation help to exemplify the influence of the grotesque.
  4. To analyse the principles of composition in selected paintings and analyse the configuration and formal interrelation in the visual fields.
  5. To demonstrate ornamental patterns as interrelated with the anatomical configurations of plant species and to establish that a study of such patterns may offer a theme for future research in iconographic symbology 

Periods of the religious site

The architectural complex of the Augustinian convent at Salamanca, including the temple of Fray Juan de Sahagún and the major and minor cloisters, was founded in the 17th century. Citing the historian Fray Nicolas Navarrete, art critic De Santiago (2004, p. 195) describes the humble original hermitage, with earthen walls and tiled roof. The building that can now be seen evolves from work begun, as previously stated, in 1642, when Fray Miguel de Guevara, an emerging Prior, was sent in a last-ditch effort to prevent the foreclosure of the destitute house of friars at Salamanca, Mexico.

Figure 1. Interior view of the courtyard of the main Augustinian cloister; note the austerity of the Herrerian style where the wall dominates the space. Today, the Guanajuato Arts Center, is highly influential in Mexico. Photograph by the author (2021).

The Deed of Trust document for the building is preserved at the Historical Archive of Querétaro, an adjacent city. The Deed states the following:

Since 1768, the sculptor Pedro de Rojas is known to have been hired to execute the altarpiece …. the other altarpiece artist from Salamanca, Antonio de Elexalde, el Joven, began the altarpieces on January 7, 1771, who was supported by a team of five officers, and completed his work on August 28, 1782, […] (Ibid, p. 171).

Figure 2. An example of a side altar, that of the Tribuna-Celosía [Tribune-Latticework]; note the churrigueresque style of dynamic and motley ornamentation. The wall behind the altar shows pictorial evidence of plant ornamentation. Photograph by the author (2021).

In accordance with the above, and at the turn of the 21st century, the civil association, which promotes the rescue and conservation of artistic heritage in Mexico, ordered and administered the architectural restoration project of the main cloister of this Augustinian convent and especially of eleven related baroque altarpieces of the temple (Castro Morales, 2000, pp. 14-15). The restoration works freed areas later overlayed by different constructions of the Government, especially offices at the service of society, which had concurrently decreased the custody of the property of Augustinian friars in later years. As described by Rojas (Rojas Garcidueñas, 2014, p. 106):

Almost at the beginning of 1858, the convent suffered the first direct blow of the war… In the following year, the difficulties were already insurmountable, and in 1860, when the war ended with the triumph of the Liberals and when the 1857 Constitution and the Reform Laws came into force, the Augustinian convent was decomissioned.

The building became a state penitentiary with the following activities recommended for inmates:

[…]the convent would be the main penal institution of the State, and its system would be mixed; that is, the prisoners are subjected to complete isolation, without working, and as their behaviour and moral conduct is qualified, join work, they constantly rotate between workshops and remain in complete silence (Ibid, p. 142).

Consequently, necessary architectural modifications were introduced, and the walls of the complex were completed to ensure security and isolation for the prison and to prevent distraction of the inmates.

Figure 3. One of the corridors of the main cloister, used as a State Prison at the end of the 19th century. Common domain photography, consulted in Salamanca En FOTOS [Salamanca In PHOTOGRAPHS] (Hernández Flores, 2020).

Plant Arborescent Designs in Pictorial Art

Natural objects were depicted to communicate ideas and thoughts. Examples date back to antiquity, specifically schematic cave paintings contain elements that were made by contextualising social groups and highlight typologies with anthropomorphic, zoomorphic and ramiform representations for idols (Bernal Monreal & Mateo Saura, 1996, page 188). Bernal Monreal and colleagues describe and designate the ramiform representations as ‘arborescent’ or ‘fir’ representations:

Subject to various interpretations, such representations of plant elements… zoomorphic motifs, repeated a vertical line crossed by multiple horizontal strokes. The position of the latter served to establish various subtypes (In Acosta Martínez, 1983, p. 23).

The history of art reveals different themes related to the presence of formal elements, which contribute to embellishments through mimesis, synthesis or abstraction, and incorporates a circumstantial reality of the human being. Such elements could be ornamental or decorative. Ferrer (2014, p. 37) mentions that: ‘For Focillon, the ornament was the first alphabet of thought in the fight against space, an affirmation to which Maltese would add that it also meant a discourse, that is, the language of action, whereas Clédat suggests that it arose from religious ideas’; in addition, paraphrasing Fernández (2020, p. 2) we may say, that the plant motif ornament of reliefs or paintings was ascribed a symbolic and functional value, in a pleasant manner combining  the spectator in an affective relationship with the architecture, the belongings, the bodies or the objects that the latter adorns. Therefore, religious enclosures could also functionally display pictorial thoughts. The ornaments here studied have undergone in their creation, a period of concealment and then a conditioned exposure. Here we can refer to the meaning of the ornamental concept of the grotesque.

In line with the above, Chastel (1978 and 2000) and Kayser (1981), (2014, p. 34), stated that the grotesque was: ‘One kind of decoration that generated the most controversy among art historians dedicated mainly to the architecture developed between the last decades of the fifteenth century and the seventeenth century […]. The revised ornamental motif is actually part of a Hispanic cultural and artistic transfer in the spaces of viceregal religious architecture of the 16th century. The elements of grotesque, was described as follows González (1996, pp. 77-78):

The thick, smooth, and high walls, barely pierced by windows that shine enough light, never destroy the domain of the massive; they receive the vault that, if it is a barrel vault, joins the wall without marking transitions between the curve of the intrados and the straight line of the supporting panel. There are no dividing imposts or cornices – if anything, some stripes painted with grotesques slightly denote that union.

Thus, the Hispanic friars and master builders searched for design solutions  in indigenous resources and talent, and in this way they fused the labour and sensitivity of new native and totally new architectural programs with what could be carried over as a plastic legacy of the colonial Baroque style.

Methodology

To demonstrate this indigenization of architectural ornaments, a qualitative methodology is applied here to select ornamental units. These pattern motifs are explained, described, and analysed, in the following phases:

  1. Location of pictorial evidence; the first example, located in the ornamental set A-1 and A-2, was identified behind the Tribuna-Celosía [Tribune-Latticework] altar (Figure 2), on the east side of the nave of the temple, considering its visual access through a small and discreet central door, in the second body of the altarpiece (Figures 4 and 5). The remaining ornaments, B, C and D, were discovered during the restoration of the building, in a group of borders of a cell on the north bay, which was on the upper floor of the main cloister. Ornaments B, C, and D were manually traced on translucent paper, following the outline of the plant shapes. For the ornamental set A-1 and A-2, only the photographic record was available due to access limitations.
  2. Digitisation in graphics software of the transfer ornaments, as a tool for descriptive and formal study and for its recovery and preservation in digital media.
  3. Analysis of the principles of composition of the Shapes, in a visual field: pattern, rhythm and balance, movement, tension, proportion, weight and value, and colour, determined in the theoretical material Fundamentos Geométricos Del Diseño y la Pintura Actual [Geometric Fundamentals of Design and Contemporary Painting] by the Master of Visual Arts Edmundo García (2010), see Table I.
  4. The last phase relates to some plant species suitable for the local climate or universal to an iconographic reference as a possible inspiration to represent the ornaments.

Table 1

Principles of composition in Shapes (García Esteves, 2010, pp. 22-45), referred to ornamental units

Pattern The most elementary composition is supported by lines, sometimes one line is enough, as an ordering principle.
Rhythm and balance Object and compositional mass are significant elements. The masses must simultaneously compensate for each other in their various positions and qualities.
Movement This law is fulfilled if the elements arranged in the plane suggest dynamics and action.
Tension Synonym of force behaviour. The shapes of the sign and space build relationships of influence, measurement, and control
Proportion Principle underlying a simple condition: to avoid both equality of two measures and a great difference between them. Proportion is also the relationship between dimensions and between the parts and the whole.
Weight and value The weight of a shape can be distributed in the space-format, acquiring different values that depended on the position occupied.
Colour Colour is the physical phenomenon associated with light; each colour and its range have their own language and meaning, with psychological applications and suggestions for the receiver.

Results

Ornamental set in A-1 and A-2

Examples of pictorial ornaments were found in the wall-internal support of the Tribuna-Celosía [Tribune-Latticework] altarpiece in a satisfactory state of preservation and in the initial aesthetic program of the religious nave, before the New Spain baroque style was implemented (Figures 4 and 5).

Figures 4 and 5. Details of the Tribuna-Celosía [Tribune-Latticework] altarpiece; note the discreet door that communicates visually with the internal wall; and inside, the phytomorphic motifs in vertical ornamental borders. Ornamental set in A-1 and A-2. Photographs by the author (2021).

 Table 2

Ornamental set in A-1 (detail of Figure 5 with a 90° right turn)

Formal analysis:

Pattern: Three pattern variants, 1, 2 and 3 (red boxes), were detected to be acanthus leaf shapes, following a linear arrangement in their general syntax.

Rhythm and balance: The formal patterns are based on acanthus leaves (volute plant). Pattern 1 presents them in alternating positions above and below (yellow ellipse). Pattern 2 keeps them static by maintaining the constant height of the three shapes. Pattern 3 contains two equal and continuous shapes, followed by a longer shape.

Proportion: The shapes present regular height measurements, some of which are repetitive, thereby proportionally exposing a low-contrast system.

Weight: Most plant shapes maintain their visual weight at one end (green lines), and only two have opposite weights (yellow lines).

Colour: The shapes in a grey range suggest balance and resignation.

Suggested plant species:

Acanthus, Acanthus mollis:

‘[…] herbaceous plant with large lobed leaves; a large spike with white flowers grows from its centre in spring. […] It has been used since ancient times in gardening, and the image of its leaves were known widely to have been exhibited on the Corinthian capitals of classical Greece’. (Diez Garretas & Asensi Diez, 2021, p. 88).

 Table 3

Ornamental set in A-2 (detail of Figure 5 with a 90° right turn)

Formal analysis:

Pattern: There are two patterns in the shape of a drop or seed, aligned and wavy, with a constant frequency (line in red).

Rhythm and balance: The detected patterns have a partial outline, with one extremity ending sharply, and alternating up and down (marked in yellow ellipses).

Proportion: The shapes have equal height and length dimensions, without compromising the system of proportionality between elements.

Colour: The shapes in a grey range suggest neutrality and tranquillity.

Suggested iconography:

The sustenance of the drops in the water element can have a symbolic load universally in all societies, as Haba and Rodrigo (1990, p. 272) indicate: ‘The cult of the earth, animals, trees, water… has occurred since the most ancient times’. In the pre-Columbian cosmovision of Mesoamerica, water takes on a relevant position as a generator of life, as Séjourné mentions (1957, p. 149):

Already with the goddess of the waters (Chalchiuhtlicue […]), a close relative of Tlaloc, matter is endowed with the power of salvation, with its vapours rising to the sky to later descend, fertilised by the sun, and create life on earth.

Recurrently, in the process of evangelisation of New Spain, ambivalent religious symbols were used, both by natives and by colonial religious authorities.

Ornament B

Figure 8. Ornament B, appearance of the walls before the intervention; note the ornamental borders with decorative motifs, found under several layers of thermoplastic paint. Photograph by the author (1999).

Table 4

Ornament B (vectorisation from Figure 8)


Formal analysis:

Pattern: determined in the line with smooth undulations and irregular modulation (continuous line in yellow).

Rhythm and balance: The repetitive pattern (in the red box) has a circular mass that breaks and balances the horizontality of the set (circumscribed in green).

Tension: Leaves or branched extensions of the pattern are outlined to the right.

Colour: The white background suggests chastity, and the blue peace.

Suggested flower species:

Rose (in green circle), Sp species, ornamental shrub, with sarmentose stem and complete, cup-shaped, enveloping flower. It originates from temperate and subtropical zones of the northern hemisphere. López (2002) in the words of Yong (2004, pp. 53-54) (2004, pp. 53-54).

Note: The pattern in the yellow box is analysed in Table 6. Physically, the ornament visually invades ornament B.

Ornament C

Figure 10. Ornament C. Photograph by the author (1999).

Table 5

Ornament C (vectorisation from Figure 10)

Formal analysis:

Pattern: The arranged pattern (in red box) is defined with an asymmetric guiding curve executed with a positive stroke, as emphasised by the lower horizontal line.

Balance and weight: The pattern has an imbalance resulting from the mass of floral elements grouped on the left (black ellipse).

Movement: A dynamic is detected in the undulation of the guiding curve, with a greater ascending line.

Colour: The white background suggests purity, and the blue line suggests  hope.

Suggested iconography:

The following religious meaning is taken from the floral species Rose and the rhetoric of its thought, according to Gauding (2009, p. 301): ‘The red rose became over time the symbol of the blood of Christian martyrs and of the Virgin Mary’.

Ornament D

Figure 12. Ornament D. Photograph by the author (1999)

Table 6

Ornament D (vectorisation from Figure 12)

Formal analysis.

Pattern: the elemental composition of the pattern (in red box) is based on the volute of its stroke, with inverted development (black lines).

Rhythm and balance: perceived in handling the aforementioned asymmetric curve.

Dynamic: interrupted when the same pattern is symmetrically opposed.

Tension: the concentric floral ornament works as a sign of visual control (in green circle).

Weight: The pattern contains a floral ornament with five petals, which generates a focal point.

Colour: The white background proposes illumination, and the blue shapes introspection.

Suggested flower species

Pega ropa (in the green circle), Mentzelia hispida, solitary flower with a corolla of five broadly domed, pointed petals up to three centimetres long; suitable for temperate climate, this species is distributed in the local territory (Secretaría del Medio Ambiente y Ordenamiento Territorrial Guanajuato, 2020, p. 202).

Conclusion

The results elucidate that pictorial activities in colonial societies can be linked to two factors. The first factor is the enriching influence of the natural environment. This includes the appropriation of plant species and their ornamental characteristics, starting from the figurative and including the synthesised management of cultural concepts, for communication in architectural spaces. The second factor is the presence of an essential grotesque style with hand-drawn patterns, influenced by classical beauty in the arrangement of spirals or harmonic and symmetric scrolls, with chromatic simplicity, albeit with a strong formal and psychological character. Moreover, the aesthetic experience of the European grotesque ornament, inherited from the viceroyalty, was recreated in the analysis of units and considered elements of universal art. Ultimately, the objects examined in this study open up the possibility of research on reactive sensory emotions, derived from the Mexican cultural imaginary, with adaptations in various universal artistic models.

References

Acosta Martínez, P. (1983). Técnica, estilo, temática y tipología en la pintura rupestre esquemática hispana. Zéphyrus(36), 13-25.

Basañez Ryan, F. (1998). El fenómeno grotesco. DC PAPERS, revista de crítica y teoría de la arquitectura(1), 12-20. Obtenido de https://dialnet.unirioja.es/servlet/articulo?codigo=3984882

Bernal Monreal, J. A., & Mateo Saura, M. Á. (1996). La pintura rupestre esquemática en Murcia : estado de la cuestión. Espacio, Tiempo Y Foerma. SERIE I. Prehistoria Y Arqueología(9), 183-193. doi:https://doi.org/10.5944/etfi.9.1996.4633

Castro Morales, E. (2000). Adopte una Obra de Arte. Patrimonio Recuperado. México: Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes.

De Santiago Silva, J. (2004). El Templo agustino de San Juan de Sahagún en Salamanca. Apoteosis Barroca. México: La Rana.

Diez Garretas, B., & Asensi Diez, R. (2021). Plantas Medicinales En Los Jardínes de Malága. (B. Diez Garretas, Ed.) BOLETÍN de la ACADEMIA MALAGUEÑA de CIENCIAS, XXIII. Obtenido de https://amciencias.com/files/Boletin-2021.pdf#page=88

Fernández Fariña, A. (2020). Ornament es bien. Error Es Bien(0). Obtenido de https://www.academia.edu/48981433/ORNAMENT_ES_BIEN_Almudena_Fern%C3%A1ndez_Fari%C3%B1a_Im%C3%A1genes_Isabel_C%C3%A1ceres_Flores_?from=cover_page

Ferrer Orts, A. (2014). La ornamentación clásica en la creación artística: el grotesque en España. Argos, 31(60-61), 33-51. Obtenido de http://ve.scielo.org/pdf/ag/v31n60-61/art03.pdf

García Esteves, E. (2010). Fundamentos Geométricos del Diseño y la Pintura Actual. México: Trillas.

Gauding, M. (2009). La Biblia de los Signos y de los Símbolos. Madrid: Gaigan Ediciones.

González Galván, M. (1996). El espacio en la arquitectura religiosa virreynal de México. (U. N. México, Ed.) Anales Del Instituto De Investigaciones Estéticas, 9(35), 69-102. doi:https://doi.org/10.22201/iie.18703062e.1966.35.824

Haba Quirós, S., & Rodrigo López, V. (1990). El tema del culto a las aguas y su continuidad en relación con las vías naturales de comunicación. Repositorio Documental GREDOS Zephyrus, 43. Obtenido de https://gredos.usal.es/handle/10366/71448

Hernández Flores, L. F. (2020). Ex convento de San Juan de Sahagún o de San Agustín cuando fue habilitado como penal estatal finales de 1800 principios de 1900. Salamanca En FOTOS. México. Obtenido de https://www.facebook.com/SalamancaEnFotos/posts/3336768523080461

López, C. (2002). Cultivo de Rosas. Origen y evolución del cultivo de rosas. Obtenido de https://www.redalyc.org/pdf/1932/193217832008.pdf

Rojas Garcidueñas, J. (2014). Salamanca. Recuerdos de mi tierra guanajuatense. Edición comentada por Benjamín Arredondo. México: Raíces.

Secretaría del Medio Ambiente y Ordenamiento Territorrial Guanajuato. (2020). Obtenido de Documento Técnico Base Del Inventario de Especies Vegetales Nativas: https://smaot.guanajuato.gob.mx/sitio/upload/biodiversidad/inventario_especies/Documento_Tecnico_Especies_Vegetales_Nativas.pdf

Séjourné, L. (1957). Pensamiento y Religión en el México Antiguo. México: Fondo de Cultura Económica.

Yong, A. (2004). EL CULTIVO DEL ROSAL Y SU PROPAGACIÓN. Cultivos Tropicales. Instituto Nacional de Ciencias Agrícolas, 25(2), 53-67. Obtenido de https://www.redalyc.org/pdf/1932/193217832008.pdf

José Armando Pérez Crespo, PhD in Art Studies, University of Guanajuato (Universidad de Guanajuato – UG), Mexico; Full Professor, Department of Art and Business, Engineering Division, Irapuato-Salamanca Campus. Member of the National System of Researchers (Sistema Nacional de Investigadores – SNI) of the National Council of Science and Technology (Consejo Nacional de Ciencia y Tecnología – CONACYT) in Mexico. An architect by training, he participated in the restoration of the aforementioned heritage building, from 1999 to 2002. Lines of research: Art, Cultural Landscape (Architecture, Art and Design Division, UG), Education.

Intermedial Postmodernism in Art: Concepts and Cultural Practices

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Irina Aleksandrovna Urmina1, Kristina Konstantinovna Onuchina2, Natalia Dmitrievna Irza3, Irina Anatolievna Korsakova4 & Ivan Alexandrovich Chernikov5

1Russian State Social University, Moscow, Russia
2Russian State Social University, Moscow, Russia
3Russian State Social University, Moscow, Russia
4Moscow State Institute of Music named after A.G. Schnittke, Moscow, Russia
5Military Training and Research Center of the Air Force “The Air Force Academy named after Professor N. E. Zhukovsky and Yu. A. Gagarin” (Voronezh) of the Ministry of Defense of the Russian Federation, Russia.

Corresponding author: Irina Aleksandrovna Urmina. Email: n.yushenko@list.ru

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages  https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.02

First published: June 18, 2022 | Area: Aesthetic Studies | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Volume 14, Number2, 2022)
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Intermedial Postmodernism in Art: Concepts and Cultural Practices

Abstract

The study analyzes the existing and developing ideas of and approaches to the study of the multilevel concept of intermediality and its different aspects, forms, and phenomena considering the existing approaches and definitions. The study aims to reveal the capabilities of intermediality as a potential of innovative artistic creation. Research is conducted using sociocultural research methods including a comparative study of the recently proposed typical intermediality models, analysis of descriptive texts about the factually present models of art synthesis, as well as the context pointing to the presence of lack of correspondence between a particular fragment of text (the content of activity) and the real conditions in which activity is carried out. In the framework of an interdisciplinary comparative study, the emergent field of intermediality and its relationship to cultural practices in different spheres, including education, are defined at the qualitative level. The subject field of the study of intermediality as a key concept of modern culture is evaluated and its specific features in art, including music, are identified. The problems of the formation of synthetic media arts as a reflection of the postmodern perception of the world under the new conditions of digital technology, which transforms any creative cultural text into another type of information, usually of a quoted and multiple nature, are presented for discussion. It is proposed to pay special attention to the formation of “intermedial competence” – the ability to understand and interpret the process of the generation of new meaningful content, which occurs within the semantic modalities and communicative registers. The latter is only possible within the framework of the competence-based approach enshrined in the foundations of the universal system of European, including Russian, two-level higher education.

Keywords: Art, intermediality, theatre, communication. 

  1. Introduction

Sociocultural reality in the conditions of the greatly accelerated spread of visual culture determines the specific problems in the formation of a person’s world image. Visual forms, which dominated mass culture throughout the 20th century, have now become basic in the context of the active expansion of the media space created by means of new mass communication media. As a result of the qualitative changes in the ways of influencing mass audiences, a new generation was brought up on the ubiquitous use of modern visual technology, which drastically differs from the traditional social and cultural forms of communication that have existed for centuries but only partially allow to maintain the connection with the experience of previous generations today. Modern mass culture has become almost exclusively visual and categorically offers ready-made images, depriving people of the ability to imagine and independently form individual perceptions of their surroundings. Even W. Benjamin, a German philosopher, cultural theorist, aesthetician, literary critic, essayist, and translator, emphasized the growing nature of the entertainment function of mass culture: “The mass is a matrix from which all traditional behavior toward works of art issues today in a new form. Quantity has been transmuted into quality: the greatly increased mass of participants has produced a change in the mode of participation” [Benjamin 1996: 61]. The philosopher also indicates that the wide availability of works of art leads to the loss of the uniqueness of artwork, and a cult character is replaced by a consumer and commodity character.

The expanding presence of art in public life is undoubtedly due to the development of technical means, the duplication (copying) of works of art, mass production of works of fiction, reproductions of paintings, sculpture, and architecture. The qualitative technical and technological shifts in the digital sphere and the advancement of information and communication technology allow for the reproduction of virtually all forms and types of artistic products in the video and audio format on a mass scale. This list now also includes the phenomenon of virtual reality, which became a logical continuation of the methodological evolution of visual communication through media. The communicative potential of electronic and digital technologies has presented the entire society with new prospects for their use in social and cultural interaction. Thirty years ago, the German poet, writer, playwright, essayist, and translator H. M. Enzensberger wrote:

“The new media are oriented towards action, not contemplation; towards the present, not tradition <…> That does not mean to say that they have no history or that they contribute to the loss of historical consciousness. On the contrary, they make it possible for the first time to record historical material so that it can be reproduced at will. By making this material available for present-day purposes, they make it obvious to anyone using it that the writing of history is always manipulation” [Hans Magnus Enzensberger 1986: 104-105].

The American film critic and theorist B. Nichols writes the following about the works of culture in the age of cybernetic systems: “Instead of reproducing, and altering, our relation to an original work, cybernetic communication simulates, and alters, our relation to our environment and mind” [Bill Nichols 1996: 128]. The very process of simulation and the phenomenon of a hypertrophied model of reality was revealed by French sociologist, cultural scientist, and postmodern philosopher J. Baudrillard in the concept of simulacra, which has become a representative model of modern culture:

“It is no longer a question of imitation, nor duplication, nor even parody. It is a question of substituting the signs of the real for the real <…> A hyperreal henceforth sheltered from the imaginary, and from any distinction between the real and the imaginary, leaving room only for the orbital recurrence of models and for the simulated generation of differences” [Jean Baudrillard 2002: 181].

The phenomenon of art synthesis made its appearance in the earliest periods of art development. In the first half of the 20th century, there emerged an urgent need to create synthetic works that could have a complex effect on the viewer and listener by transferring the properties of one art form to another. For example, the Russian artist and fine art theorist V.V. Kandinsky created several stage compositions including “Green Sound”, “Purple Curtain”, “Black and White”, and “Yellow Sound”, the composition of which was intended to harmoniously combine music, color, plasticity, and word. Kandinsky believed that the combination of the means of various arts “can only be successful if it is not external, but principled. This means that one art must learn from the other how to use its means; it must learn in order to then apply its own means according to the same principle” [Kandinsky 2016: 17]. Russian composer and pianist, teacher, and representative of symbolism in music A.N. Scriabin was the first to use color in the performance of music, introducing a new concept of light music. In the musical poem “Prometheus”, he “sought parallelism – I wanted to strengthen the impression from sound with light”, but this also ceased to satisfy him: “now I am no longer satisfied with this. Now I need light counterpoints… Light goes its own melody, and sound its own…” [Sabaneev 2014: 239].

With the development of the information space, by virtue of the improvement of mass media, the established relationships between the visual and the verbal in public life were distorted in favor of the visual (the so-called visual turn). Art, in general, became part of the daily life and was attributed utilitarian meaning. At the same time, the borders of art were being blurred in structuralism, poststructuralism, postmodernism viewing the world as text and the works of art as “artifacts”, and in the development of constructivism in art. All this gave rise to multidisciplinary research not only on the interaction between particular types of art but also with other sciences and, later on, on the concept of intermediality primarily in the media-technological sense. Research practically split into two branches: technological and semiotic. The former is associated with the concept of “medium” or “media” consistently used as a material concept of “means of communication” or “technical means of publication,” and “communication channel”. The latter refers to the content aspect when media acts like a sign system or a sign code, and the interaction between the sign systems (languages) of different types of art generates the integrity of artistic and aesthetic perception.

In a broad sense, “intermediality” is now understood as a special type of relations emerging between media. The concept itself, however, generally has multiple meanings (in various scientific disciplines, there are no less than ten definitions [Khaminova, Zilberman: 2014: 39]), therefore, both the nature and the mechanism of the interaction of media also vary. For instance, in art, intermediality is the perception and experience of a different type of art, their juxtaposition, providing for a fundamentally creative movement and unpredictability of future states. Contacting media not only merge in a common space, but also influence, modify, and even transform one another (theater as a combination of plastics, action, music, images, etc.). It should be borne in mind that media is, first, a means of communication (a way of transferring information), second, a means of mass information, and third, a certain sign or code system. Then, in the interaction process, that is, in the process of intermediality, there emerges a polyartistic environment, in the space of which cultural codes are born, aesthetically developed, and translated through various cultural codes (for example, in various types of art). Here we would like to emphasize that the concept of intermediality started to appear in the terminological apparatus of such sciences as philosophy, philology, and art history only in the last decade of the 20th century coming to be the intersection of the concepts of “intertextuality” and “interaction of the arts” (interart). Such a split of the term into two separate sections calls for a double comparison with each concept. Intertextuality in literature and art refers to a special principle of citing previous works in a new philosophical and artistic context. The interaction of arts becomes their synthesis, which forms an independent interference environment that contains many different cultural texts.

Thus, by means of the new computer (digital) systems for transferring mass information via telecommunication networks (the Internet media), mass media or the means of mass information carry out the multichannel transmission of all types of information contained in the cultural texts of different types of art. In the postmodern era, the entire world can be viewed as cultural texts, conceptions, motifs, and cliches, which are distinguished into the uniform (homogeneous) and non-uniform (or intermedial, synthetic, heterogeneous) types. From this point of view, creation is a conscious or unconscious reference to its predecessors, hence modern art is reference art.

It is important to mind the fact that the technically electronic media of the last century (which appeared at the same time as print media), i.e. sound recording, radio, cinema, and television, used analog systems. As stated by D. Hesmondhalgh:

“…in analog broadcasting, the main components of communication and cultural expression – words, images, music, other sounds, etc. – were transferred to a continuous medium (radio waves), which in one way or another reproduced the form or appearance of the original performance, image, etc. <…> The radical innovation associated with the development of digital electronic methods of data storage and transmission is that the basic components of cultural expression – words, images, music, etc. – are converted into binary code (sequential series of zeros and ones) which can be read and stored by computers” [Hesmondhalgh 2018: 327-328].

It is believed that intermediality takes a special place in art by virtue of the interpenetration (synthesis) of its different directions reflecting the author’s emotional perception of events expressed in cultural texts. Semantically, however, people only perceive the part of a cultural text (as a reflection of the current worldview) that is stereotyped, recognizable, and does not require interpretation or multi-dimensional decoding of meanings. Therefore, the formation of modern individuals’ “intermedial competence” – the active ability to understand and interpret the process of the generation of new meaningful content, which occurs within the semantic modalities and communicative registers, to use various symbolic systems, scientific and general discursive practices for this purpose – becomes relevant. Effective development of such skills and abilities within the framework of the existing competency-based approach in the institutional system of higher education is a logical continuation of the development of a modern person in the digital age.

  1. Methods

At present, there is a strong conviction of the need for interdisciplinary research in virtually all fields of science, including the humanities. “Accordingly, it has become appropriate to combine different theoretical models to solve certain social science problems. A condition for this combination is the compatibility of the models and not the strict correspondence to the commonly accepted provisions of the general theories that spawned them” [Orlova 2008: 290]. The methodology of intermediality is also based on interdisciplinarity [Tishunina 2001: 149]. The common ground for all classifications of this concept is the ways and forms of media exchange. Since the intermedial process, from a sociocultural perspective, is the communicative exchange of information generated by a person or a group of people and transmitted through different cultural codes, there arises the need for identifying the basic foundations for the study of such a multilevel concept comprising a wide range of humanitarian disciplines (communication theory, sociology of culture, cultural and intercultural studies, philosophy, theory of literature and music, art history, film, theater, etc.). Of primary importance, in this case, is the study of the aforementioned process in the conditions of a dynamic intersection, interpenetration, and interference of these disciplines generating new forms of artistic innovations, which rapidly spread in the virtual space and are with little comprehension used as the carriers of innovative education practices. What can become the primary method for the study of such a phenomenon is comparative analysis, which includes quite a wide array of particular techniques of analysis. However, the intermediality subjected to research today inherited the problematics of the long-known concept of “interaction of the arts”, and at a time when the concept of “cultural text” had become one of the leading ones in the humanities. Nonetheless, the broadened concept of text does not cover the peculiarities of the interaction of the “voices”, “languages”, “codes”, “textual units” of various arts. The more problematic becomes their interdisciplinary qualitative analysis – particular methodological principles of research in literature, the fine arts, music, theater, cinema, etc. have been developing for centuries. Such theoretically substantiated monomediality divides these special areas, which in practice have very successfully merged into new synthetic forms. It remains to select a common methodology for studying these innovations. The heterogeneity of types of individual arts united in new semantic manifestations should be levelled in the general methodological foundations of studying the process of interaction of these arts.

What unites them is the obvious anthropocentricity reflecting in the historical time the centuries-old social and cultural practices of human communities as the reflection of the world image, the reproduction of the present reality in artistic images. It is methodologically possible to determine the basic foundations for the analysis of these practices. Such methodological foundations emerge with the combination of the sociological and cultural-anthropological ways of cognition within the problem field, where it is necessary and possible. The problem field of intermediality research can be defined as the semantic intersection of mutually complementary and compatible sociological and cultural-anthropological concepts. It is also clear that such interdisciplinary research can utilize classic scientific methods:

– the functional method, which allows determining the significance of a specific and stable sociocultural interaction of individual social units for individuals and society;

– the structural method, which allows identifying stable bonds between symbolic objects;

– the semantic method allowing to study and evaluate the symbolic representedness of the content of sociocultural life in iconic and symbolic form;

– the dynamic method, allowing to determine the causes, forms, and driving forces of the occurring sociocultural changes and processes;

– the systemic method, which allows studying such cultural units as traits, patterns, and themes, as well as the possibility of logical links and transitions between them, at the level of theoretical conceptions.

It has to be noted that “at present, there are all conceptual grounds for the integration of sociological and cultural-anthropological knowledge into a common theoretical and methodological model of research that can be called sociocultural. First and foremost, both sciences are logically compatible. They have a common fundamental basis: both the social and cultural dimensions of human coexistence are considered as derivatives of people’s organized interaction and communication” [Orlova 2008: 300]. Particular attention should be paid to the analysis of the dynamic aspects of people’s life together, which are reflected in the processes of their communication and interaction, including in the sphere of art. Time will tell how this will be taken into account in research on intermediality.

  1. Interpretations of the concept of intermediality in art

It can be argued that the digitalization of any creative cultural text transforms it into a different type of information, one of reference and plural nature. What then happens to such a text transformed into a cultural product in the qualitative sense? Let us more closely examine the process of transformation of cultural texts in the intermedial space of art starting from basic definitions.

The concept of intermediality is generally defined in our sign and multimodal culture as the interaction and mediation realized in texts. In essence, all contemporary social, cultural, and educational practices are carried out exactly in the field of intermediality. Without diving too deep into the analysis of historical and theoretical preconditions for the emergence of the phenomenon of intermediality, we will only note that as early as in the 19th century, it was showing itself in the interaction of different types of art, either within one type or crossing its borders and generating various synthetic forms. At present, such synthesis has become an active and commonly occurring phenomenon of artistic culture making use of the latest digital technology. Irina Rajewsky points to the fact that the concept of intermediality has been an umbrella term for different approaches from the very start and each time, intermediality is associated with different attributes and distinguishing characteristics. The specific objectives in different spheres (for instance, in medieval studies, literary studies, sociology, film studies, art studies, etc.) of intermedial research are constantly changing [Rajewsky 2018: 43-63]. As a result, there rises the need for deep additional study of both the methodology and lexical techniques of intermediality.

In art, intermediality presents the perception of another form of art as if from a distance, a kind of figurative empathy involving not only possible communications but also future joint interactions. It is in this exact case that different forms of media exchange come to be. For example, “transformative intermediality – the representation of one medium by another, the transition of an artifact into a different sign system, which it becomes part of, the relationship of manifestations of the same plot in different types of art; ontological intermediality as the ontological dimension of culture based on the inherent commonality of various media that does not rule out their differences (for example, the musicality of poetry, the cinematography of prose); conventional intermediality – the medial diversity of forms of artworks, a special type of interrelations inside text and interactions of cultural codes of different arts; normative intermediality – the same plot is developed in various media and each new era assesses the art of the previous ages differently – new thoughts and feelings arise, requiring new methods (mediums); referential intermediality – the text of one medium referencing the text of another” [Sinelnikova 2017: 808].

Without a doubt, intermediality has been showing itself in art in different forms since the 19th century, since the author of a work presents their unique image of the world with the means of communication available to them [30].

As noted above, not only works of various arts but also the very space of culture can be considered text. The concept of semiosphere or the semiotic space proposed by the Russian literary scholar, culturologist, and semiotician Iu.M. Lotman [9] best describes the conditions necessary for carrying out communication in this space. It is, however, also important to consider the fact that any cultural text or statement in the sphere of art exists within different semiotic (sign) systems, which are the works of literature, art, and culture as a whole. This problem has been analyzed by Iu.M Lotman and many other researchers in works on the semiotics of the space of culture [9; 21]. Essentially, they all rely on the idea of the world as text proposed by structuralists, including the French philosopher, literary scholar, aesthetician, and semiotician R. Barthes [Barthes 2016]. At the same time, the text can also be considered within the framework of discursive practice [10, 11, 21, 30].

  1. Intermediality in music

The English essayist and art historian P. Walter pointed out that “all art constantly aspires towards the condition of music. For while in all other kinds of art it is possible to distinguish the matter from the form, and the understanding can always make this distinction, yet it is the constant effort of art to obliterate it” [Milian 2019: 1].

What can be considered a manifestation of intermediality is ekphrasis as a doubled statement in a cultural text in different semiotic codes. For example, the interaction of literary fiction and music has been a topical subject of communication and creative interaction of composers, writers, musicologists, historians, and literary theorists for centuries. The aesthetic connections between literature and other arts have been discussed since Antiquity, particularly concerning the link between literary works and musical pieces. This discussion concerns the phenomenological musicality of prose associated with the two-fold structure of an artistic text as a correspondence between the material and form, the plot and the composition. According to the Soviet psychologist L.S. Vygotsky, “the very essence of the impact of art on us” resides not in the depiction of events but in the “processing of the perception that comes to us from the events”. An important role in this processing is played by the “plot composition,” “the organization of the writer’s speech itself, their language, the structure, rhythm, and melody of the story” [Vygotsky 2016: 202-203]. What comes as a result of ekphrasis is a strong emotional impact on the listener (an emotional explosion). “The moment of explosion is at the same time the point of a sharp increase in the informativeness of the whole system” [Vygotsky 2016: 135]. This occurs by virtue of the interpenetration through the genre and type borders – in the literal sense, a textual literary work expands its semiotic boundaries at the expense of other art forms. This results in intermediality. Since the problem of ekphrasis is closely linked to the issue of the interaction between literature and other art forms, M.I. Nikola [Nikola 2009: 25-26] alongside fine art, sculpture, and architecture identifies such types of ekphrasis as literary and musical, A.N. Taganov lists the literary, musical, and theatrical types [Taganov 2005: 140-149], and D.V. Tokarev mentions musical, fine art and musical, and cinematography ekphrasis [12: 93-95].

The semiotic principle of the division of arts, which made a particularly strong appearance in the 19th century, draws a distinction between the pictorial and non-pictorial (or expressive) types of art. “Pictorial arts (fine art, sculpture, graphics, photography, literature, theatre, and cinema) use the ‘language of real-life impressions, recreating before the eye or imagination objects and phenomena of the real world as one perceives them in one’s practical experience’. The non-pictorial arts (music, dance, architecture, applied arts, design) diverge from ‘the form of a sensual image that emerges in the experience of a person’s daily life’” [Bochkareva et al. 2012: 5-6]. Different models of transition and interaction form between them inescapably. What we are primarily concerned with is the contemporary aspect of intermediality in music. In this sense, “a vivid example of ekphrasis is the musical “The Phantom of the Opera” based on the novel of the same name by Gaston Leroux, a legendary and world-famous masterpiece by composer Andrew Lloyd Webber, which has not left the stage of the world’s theaters for almost 30 years” [Bigvava 2018: 34].

It is worth disclosing the concept of intertextuality, which was introduced by Iulia Kristeva based on “the discovery first made by M.M. Bakhtin in the theory of literature: any text is constructed as a mosaic of quotations, any text is a product of absorption and transformation of some other text” [Kristeva 2000: 429]. Kristeva operates with the terms “alien word”, “dialogue”, “multivoiced”, “polyphony”, etc., which Bakhtin used in relation to the texts of fiction. R. Barthes [Barthes 2013], specifying the definition of intertext, once again emphasized that in any text (intertext), other texts are inevitably present as fragments of cultural codes, formulas, rhythmic structures, fragments of social idioms, etc., absorbed and mixed in this text from the preceding linguistic culture [Bochkareva et al. 2012: 7].

Various methods for the analysis of literary works (mythological, biographical, comparative-historical, cultural-historical, psychological, formal, structural, sociological, culturological, narratological, semiological, etc.) have been developing in the sphere of literary art as the totality of any and all texts for decades, whereas the problems of analyzing the non-verbal (non-word) artworks remain unresolved to this day. Of most relevance appears to be the method of intermedial analysis, although it cannot be applied to all literary works since, at the very least, it requires defining the categories, levels, and common techniques of analysis universal for the works of different types of art.

Numerous definitions and approaches to the study of the concept of intermediality generate a wide array of intersecting and sometimes contradicting versions of seemingly the same thing. This is especially apparent from the works on the systematization of intermediality research by Lars Elleström [27, 31] who believes that all media are multimodal and intermedial in the sense that they contain a multitude of basic attributes and can only be considered in the general field of other types of mass information means.

Based on the formal method developed in structuralism, narratology, semiotics, communication theory, and interpretation, there are semiotic methods [1, 9, 21], which can be considered intermedial in a broader sense, meaning by that the analysis of relations and forms of interaction of the textual languages of different arts. This was indicated by the Italian scientist, philosopher, specialist in semiotics and medieval aesthetics, cultural theorist, and writer Umberto Eco in his book “Interpretation and Over-interpretation” [26]. The same idea is argued by Patrick Milian, who proposes four intermediate configurations of intermediality as the basis for interpreting the relations between different types of art [Milian 2019]. Milian himself relies on the work of Peter Dayan [Dayan 2011], who states that these relations rest on the fundamental incommensurability between the individual arts: the visual arts can never affect and communicate as music does, music does not come close to poetry, and poetry – to the visual arts. Nevertheless, there is the concept of transposition, which allows the author to represent another kind of art, its, so to speak, environmental peculiarity, which has recognizable signs of measurability and scientific repeatability. Thus, it becomes possible to maintain the existence of truth in art as a whole, to use the iconic features of one type of art in combination with the expressive features of another.

At present day, due to the lack of universal criteria and a terminological system for the study of the concept of intermediality, the search for a universal method for analyzing any work of art remains a topical issue.

“The main problem is that in different arts, the same terms refer to substantially different phenomena: the composition of a painting or a musical piece is not the same as the composition of a literary text. Different types of art arrange artistic time and space differently and use varying means of creating an artistic image. An example of this is the artistic image and the means of creating it in music, fine art, and literary works” [Chukantsova 2009: 140].

Since the artistic image is defined as a way of mastering and transforming reality [16, p.42], it is possible to identify the means used by music, fine art, and literature to the same degree. One of the primary tools in these arts is composition [18; 20; 21], which presents a system consisting of elements or components that are in specially organized relations with each other and can be distinguished by some formal attribute. Compositionally, these elements are the parts of an artwork that can be considered essential for its structure and content and are subdivided into external and internal [16, p. 216–223]. The external components or elements of a literary work can be individual chapters, stanzas, or phrases, stylistically isolated moments, as well as an introduction, conclusion, and epilogue. The internal components include the plot, theme, and individual characters of a literary work in their textual associations. The components or elements of the composition of musical and literary pieces can match or differ in terms of structure. For example, both types of works (cultural texts) are formally divided into parts, yet in music, this division is based on intonation as the foundation of musical thinking and communication. On the other hand, intonation is the unity of sound (the sound shell of a word) and meaning, same as words. The word, however, comprises a limited number of phonemes, whereas musical intonation uses the entire range of sound with different tempos, rhythmic patterns, volume levels, etc. The parts of a work are often marked by theme, motif, and leitmotif. Theme refers to the main idea of an artistic work lying at its basis and developing throughout its course. The motif is the semantic unit of any artistic text, including musical ones. The motif can be represented by a recurring word, phrase, situation, object, idea, image, or character. A leitmotif is a theme or motif that is associatively linked to a certain situation, character, or idea in a musical piece. In music, the leitmotif is a prominent, vivid, melodic phrase used to characterize a certain character, phenomenon, idea, or experience and repeated many times in the course of the plot development, i.e. it takes on the function of the motif of the artistic text. The main distinguishing feature of leitmotif in literary works is continuous reappearance in different qualities: as a word, gesture, action, image, idea, and so on.

It can be argued that multimediality emerging from the interaction of different arts describes the integration of semiotic operations and meaning modalities in a common phenomenal space. At present, such symbiosis has generated a vast space of intermedial artworks, new synthetic media-arts, in which importance is attributed not to the cultural texts themselves but rather their relations that form new meanings.

  1. Discussion. Intermediality in the context of total digitalization

Intermediality “as the interference of the arts, particularly the verbalization of nonverbal art forms within fictional genres, is under serious pressure from the modern technological landscape, the main challenge of which should be considered the digitization of any content (music, video, photos, audio files, etc.)” [Zagidullina 2017: P. 60]. The era of panmediatization has brought about the transformation of both participants in communication in the sphere of art (the creator and the consumer), the channels of communication between them (as a condition for the existence of an artwork itself), and the nature of works of art. Same as many other technological innovations, digitalization generates immediate and delayed effects. The immediate effects can be considered to be the aforementioned transformations of any creative cultural text into another through interference with cultural texts from other art forms and the convergence of polycode structures in the space of an artwork, or even into another art form through changes in the very ways of forming the postmodern image of the world as a set of cultural texts. Finally, interactivity at the moment of communication or interaction between the creator of an artwork and its recipient (today, the consumer of a cultural product). Modern polycoding differs from the already existing accompaniment of text with video, audio, or photographic inclusions (the so-called longreads) because it relies on hybridization based on the possibilities of a protocol as a way to digitally replicate any work of art. Here we refer to the technologies allowing to convey color through sound and emotions through color, to the opportunity of describing a person’s state through musical composition. As an example, the British musician and artist Neil Harbisson who suffers from a disease that only allows him to distinguish the shades of grey, and who has expanded his ability to perceive color and became the world’s first officially recognized cyborg – with an antenna implanted in his skull and dental implants that can allow Harbisson to send messages over the Internet by clicking out Morse code with his teeth. This may be an isolated case, but the mass acceptance of synthetic art is not that far away. Moreover, as soon as digital technology becomes simple enough, art will immediately respond by creating new syncretic forms. As for the delayed effects of digitization, we should pay attention to the rapidly spreading hybrid forms of cultural texts in virtual space (newslore, medialore, journallore, netlore, etc.), new polycode genres (pins, instas, photoshop battles, memes, longreads, etc.), and new forms of language.

Considering the contemporary sphere of musical art, there is the rise of song culture as a polycode literary and musical genre, in which the meaning of a hybrid cultural text is formed through the synthesis of the meaning of the word itself and the image generated by the melody. It is melody and not the word that becomes primary in this synthesis of two arts – the meaning of words in a foreign language can be unclear, or the song itself can be deliberately arranged so that the lyrics are difficult to hear. The technical opportunities are extraordinary – smartphones and headphones allow any person to dive into the world of art “on the go”. Thus, the seeming easiness of perception creates the illusion of the simplicity of creating an artistic work, which results in a greater number of authors writing music and song lyrics and their demonstration on the Internet. Mass cultural practices have already generated the profane culture of the 20th century. Now, we propose to discuss what is to come in the near future.

A. Petho indicates the following: “‘intermediality’ has proved to be one of the most productive terms in the field of humanities, generating an impressive number of publications and theoretical debates. This popularity of intermedial researches was prompted by the incredibly accelerated multiplication of media themselves that called for an adequate theoretical framework mapping the proliferation of media relations. The other factor that propelled ‘intermediality’ to a wider attention was most likely the fact that it emerged on an interdisciplinary basis that made it possible for scholars from a great number of fields (theories of literature, art history, music, communication and cultural studies, philosophy, cinema studies, etc.) to participate in the discourse around questions of intermediality” [Petho 2010: 40]. This statement cannot be argued with since it is relations and not the meaning content of each of the interacting arts that have become the most topical subject of discussion today. The part of a cultural text (in the broad sense) that ends up perceived today is that which is stereotyped and recognizable and does not require interpretation or multidimensional decoding of meanings.

What comes to the fore then is a kind of “intermedial competence” as the ability to understand and interpret the process of generating new meaningful content, which takes place within the semantic modalities and communicative registers, the ability to use different symbolic systems, different disciplines, and general and scientific discursive practices for this purpose. For this ability to be developed, it is not enough to merely use the information and communication opportunities of the digital environment of the virtual space, it also calls for the exchange of knowledge of the entire sphere of culture. The conceptual content of culture, the management of knowledge, and the practical use of the enormous amount of information generated on the World Wide Web are immanent to education, science, creativity, innovation, education, upbringing, and everything that shapes both citizenship and identity of individuals. The rapidly advancing digital technology and intermedial discursive practices have started to play a special role in the development of modern educational and cultural policy and practice. The interactive nature of Internet communication networks, which attracts users looking for obtaining a cultural identity, also reveals the dark side of this activity – the more the users engage in information search, the less they seek social solidarity. The increase of mobility resides in the greater individualization it creates, since people can communicate and interact at distance regardless of their physical location, and individualization entails social passivity. The global nature of this problem is apparent today and manifests in all spheres of human life, including education.

On the Internet, especially in the creative field, a sense of belonging to the creation of something new, or even mutual exchange and cooperation, is formed. However, in reality, this rarely happens due to differences in the basic professional competencies of individuals, even if they have talent. Even in the professional sphere (for example, music), excessive use of network technologies can tear an individual away from active real life with its obligatory resulting interactions and information exchange. Network individualism is clearly manifested in the virtual space, where instead of the expected globalization, people have many changing sets of glocalized connections due to many changing cultural preferences. At the same time, through the Internet, people get access to the public sphere and the opportunity to express their personal opinions, which may not at all correspond to public information and professionally formed media. Thus, bloggers have appeared who consider themselves specialists in any field of everyday activity, and in the field of music – practically professionals. As a result, an imaginary community space is formed, in which the space of information flows replaces real life in the geographical space of places. Against this background, there is an obvious decrease in a person’s sense of social and personal responsibility to others, but real society may not forgive this (an example is cancel culture).

It is the sphere of education as a stable social institution that can use the growing volume of virtual network communications using forms of intermediality to represent reality as a dynamic process in which a person (as a formed personality) is defined in a variety of times and cultural spaces – genres, languages, groups, etc. The dynamics of culture then appear realized in discursive pedagogical practices and creative projects. The globalized virtual context with all its interactive forms is combined with glocalized training programs that consider the cultural and historical heritage, forming general cultural competence. It is already impossible to imagine it without understanding intermediality as a necessary component of the creative process of generating something new. This is especially evident in the field of culture and, in particular, art, when the teacher acts not only as a teacher-methodologist but also as a teacher-technologist, who forms an actively creative person who will continue to need an independent constant search for new knowledge and professional skills. This requires the teacher themself to be fully immersed in the changing context of the socio-cultural environment, as well as to master intermedial technologies in relation to the current life situation in society. In the field of art, various artistic trends, synthetically uniting in multidisciplinarity, have been creating new visual forms for more than a century (Russian modernism is an example). Disciplinary boundaries are being pushed but whether intermediality will become the basis of all humanities outside the realm of art is not yet clear. Discursive practices allow an art teacher, together with students, to form new professional competencies. At the same time, students also manifest the social position of citizens of a particular country. This is the function of the education system in any state – the formation of a general cultural and professional worldview of competent and responsible citizens. Hypothetical global cultural unity is hardly achievable today; rather, intermediality contributes to the expansion of knowledge in the field of culture as a dynamic content basis of social life (considering modern technological and technical achievements). Manifested in the media-technological, cultural-aesthetic, and socio-cultural-communicative trinity, intermediality is in the process of forming a new semiotic system as a result of the interaction of arts. This dynamic also corresponds to the educational process of forming general cultural and professional competencies in the field of art.

  1. Conclusion

Youth as a special socio-demographic group occupies a special place in the reproduction of labor relations, i.e. in the market of the social division of labor. The atmosphere of the simultaneous presence of numerous opportunities and their inaccessibility is further aggravated by the fact that the only social model supported by ideological imperatives in any state (inviolability of private property, the prestige of people of science and education, tolerance, national dignity, etc.) has led the younger generation to strive for greater freedom of action and movement, to become aware of the value of their own private life as greater compared to corporate values in labor, and to seek creative self-realization. The model of success that had been viewed as the only possibility for decades no longer brings satisfaction to individuals. This means that the a priori desired “happiness”, a cultural concept closely related to the concept of “success” in this case, is not achieved. It should be noted here that the basis for modern youth’s self-identification became the orientation on understanding and not cognition and gaining knowledge.

Today, education has become, in the first place, a crucial socializing factor. Self-determination in life is viewed as a person’s active assertion of their position in relation to the social system of values (moral, social, communicative, aesthetic, professional, etc.), which allows them to manifest themselves in various life situations. This is directly associated with the competency-based approach enshrined in the foundations of the universal system of European, including Russian, two-level higher education. The formation, or, more precisely, the design of general cultural and professional competencies has become a demanded result of the educational process in higher education. It is possible that the development of intermedial competence has to become another component of this vital process.

References

Sabaneev L.L. 2014. Vospominaniia o Skriabine [Memories of Skriabin.] Moscow: Klassika XXI.

Sinelnikova L.N. 2017. Rizoma i diskurs intermedialnosti [The rizoma and discourse of intermediality] // Russian Journal of Linguistics, Vol. 21. No. 4.

Taganov A.N. 2005. Kontsept “palimpsest” i palimpsestnye struktury vo frantsuzskoi literature vtoroi poloviny XIX – nachala XX veka [The concept of palimpsest and palimpsest structures in French literature of the second half of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century] // Khudozhestvennoe slovo v prostranstve kultury. Ivanovo.

Tamarchenko N.D.  2014. Teoreticheskaia poetika: poniatiia i opredeleniia (Khrestomatiia) [Theoretical poetics: concepts and definitions (Chrestomathy)] / auth.-comp. Moscow: Russian State Social University.

Tishunina N.V. 2001. Metodologiia intermedialnogo analiza v svete mezhdistsiplinarnykh issledovanii [Methodology of intermedial analysis in the light of interdisciplinary research] // Series “Symposium”, Metodologiia gumanitarnogo znaniia v perspektive XXI veka, Issue 12 / To the 80th Anniversary of Professor Moisei Samoilovich Kagan. Materials of the International Scientific Conference. May 18, 2001, Saint Petersburg. Saint Petersburg: 2001.

Tiupa V.I. 2001. Analitika khudozhestvennogo. [Analytics of the artistic.] Moscow: Labirint: RSSU.

Tokareva? D.V. 2013. “Nevyrazimo vyrazimoe”: ekfrasis i problemy reprezentatsii vizualnogo v khudozhestvennom tekste: sb. statei [“The inexpressibly expressible”: ekphrasis and the problems of representation of the visual in the artistic text: a collection of articles.] / comp and sc. ed. by D.V. Tokareva?. Moscow: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie.

Tomashevskii B.V. 1999. Teoriia literatury. Poetika. [Theory of literature. Poetics.] Moscow: Aspekt-Press.

Uspenskii B.A. 2005. Semiotika iskusstva: poetika kompozitsii. Semiotika ikony. Stati ob iskusstve. [Semiotics of art: poetics of composition. Semiotics of the icon. Articles on art.] Moscow: Languages of Slavic Cultures.

Uspenskii B.A. 2006. Poetika kompozitsii. [Poetics of composition.] Moscow: Akademiia, Saint Petersburg: Azbuka.

Vygotsky L.S. 2016. Psikhologiia iskusstva. [Psychology of Art.] Moscow: Azbuka Publishing House.

Zagidullina M.V. 2017. Intermedialnost v epokhu totalnoi mediatizatsii: kak tekhnologii vliiaiut na literaturu i ee teoriiu. [Intermediality in the age of total mediatization: how technology influences literature and its theory.] / In collection: “Pavermanovskie chteniia. Literatura. Muzyka. Teatr: sb. nauch. tr.”. O.N. Turysheva, ed. Ekaterinburg, Moscow: Kabinetnyi uchenyi. — 2017. Iss.3.

Sentiment Analysis for a Humanist Framework: How Emotions are Recognized and Interpreted in the Age of Social Media

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Rafael Guzman Cabrera
Department of Electrical Engineering, University of Guanajuato, Mexico. Email: guzmanc81@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages  https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.01

First published: June 18, 2022 | Area: Aesthetic Studies | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Volume 14, Number2, 2022)
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Sentiment Analysis for a Humanist Framework: How Emotions are Recognized and Interpreted in the Age of Social Media

Abstract

Language is in constant evolution – this theory has been demonstrated most aptly and comprehensively by Marshall McLuhan. Specialisation in the different areas of knowledge, especially technology, has contributed to this process. Technological advances and the development of so-called intelligent devices allow interaction through voice interfaces, text, or gesture and in its most advanced forms by means of the incorporation of artificial intelligence-generated linguistic communications in human-machine interfaces. In recent years, the ways of communication or watching news have changed, now we do it by means of the internet and through different options of the social networks. We interact with people and react to their communications by means of divergent ways of language formation. It is increasingly common to express opinions through social networks and the internet. So much so that now we know that it is possible to analyse a person’s sentiment from his or her communications of opinion issued in social networks? The question is, can we determine, for example, whether the opinion has a positive or negative emotive charge only by analysing the written or inscribed texts of such formats of communication? This paper presents a brief description of how technological evolution has created an x-factor of language, that is expressed, appropriated and re-used in machine learning modules, artificial intelligence, and automatic sentiment analysis.

Keywords: Artificial intelligence, Language evolution, Sentiment analysis.

  1. Introduction

The evolution of the human language is one of the most important and interesting post-humanist questions about the human ability to think and interact with the world and the environment (Nowak, Komarova, & Niyogi, 2002). The earliest records of language come from the Denisova cave inhabitants of southern Siberia, some 175,000 years ago (Barnard, 2016). We don’t know if they spoke or developed a language or protolanguage. A protolanguage is a language reconstructed on coincidences and common features of a family of original languages. There are several theories about the first stages of protolanguage (Tecumseh and Donald 2010). Generally, four models are recognized for a protolanguage template: lexical, musical, mimetic and gestural. Again, every language, whether spoken or written, evolves to have grammar as a defining feature. Grammar is essentially syntax: the part of language that lies between the sound system that makes up speech (phonology) and the part that carries meaning and is called semantics. Heine and Kuteva (2007) propose a six-stage scheme for the evolution of grammar: nouns, verbs, adjectives and adverbs, pronouns, and demonstratives and finally negations. Their model further suggests that language evolved gradually, and that the lexicon evolved before syntax.  Since the early 1990s, there has been an increasingly productive study of language, with advancements in many different sectors, and an encouraging increase in exchange and interdisciplinary collaboration (Fitch 2005). Currently we normally see the way we interact with other people, in our communications includes not only the older methods of communication that were available to humanity for thousands of years but also forms or signals derived from communications technologies, some of which include communications across formats like social networks or e-mail correspondences. But what kind of technologies did we leave behind to get here? When did we stop using other ways to communicate? Where did postal mail go, and telegrams and faxes that even relatively recently were used on a daily basis?

We have witnessed a technological revolution that has put our reach of technological resources far in advance so that we have changed our way of interacting with others in so many ways. As a consequence of this change there has also been a change in the nature or structure of language (especially inscription); now we can use emoticons or abbreviations that literally say nothing, but we still use them to express ourselves. The paper mode of communications has changed from paper material surfaces or inscribable surfaces to digitally simulated platforms or screens. Surprisingly, we went from talking on mobile phones to writing text messages through social networks in platforms that we now call social media. Yet it also suggests a new medium of communication such as some of those that McLuhan had barely begun to identify (McLuhan 2003). When we actually talk and interact with a person, either in person or by means of using some technological resource, we also perceive their mood or their “sentiment” either by looking at their gestures, expressions, modulation, and tone of voice, or a whole range of other characteristics that we use to express ourselves. The big question is: is it possible to perceive such feelings from a written text-format alone, like a text that incorporates not just words, but extra morphological semantics like those engendered through emoticons, GIFs, memes, visual codes, digits etc, or new sets of phraseology? The rest of this paper tackles the question of the languages in the latest media, specifically social networks, which constrain us to meet and interact with people by looking at the textual equivalent of their emotions and not at their physical bodies. What are the written expressions and resources that help us to identify the feeling of a person through a written expression? This question also leads us to directly understand how a systematic classification and understanding of emotional cues might be undertaken so that machine learning modules can predict these emotions?

  1. Artificial Intelligence

The evolution of technology had a decisive impact on the way we live today, particularly the development of computer hardware. Just 70 years ago, researchers wondered if a machine could ever think for itself. Over time the question was changed to whether it could come to think by being manipulated by physical symbols sensitive to the structure that they had. In those times they managed to understand the great power of systems that were governed by established rules, but what if the systems were automated? Automation could turn a reading process from being an abstract computational system into a real physical system (Fernández-López, 2011). To determine if a machine uses artificial intelligence or to put it in simple words if a machine is intelligent, Alan M. Turing’s proof was taken as a reference (Millican, 2021), which indicates that any recursively computable function can be calculated in a finite time by means of a machine that manipulates simple symbols. This was Turing’s universal machine. A Turing machine is a device that negotiates with symbols on a strip of tape according to a table of intervening rules. Despite its simplicity, a Turing machine can be adapted to simulate the logic of any computer algorithm and is particularly useful in procuring the functions of a central processing unit within a computer. This implies that a symbol manipulating machine should be able to have intelligent consciousness, where positive results could be obtained since these machines could perform a series of cognitively intelligible activities, as for example the solution of algebraic problems, or of arithmetic, or engagement in meaning interpretative human dialogue or games like checkers and chess. Thanks to the emergence of larger hardware memories, we could evolve more efficient and faster machines that could go ahead and engage with human language systems.

For its part Hubert L. Dreyfus, one of the main characters who argued against the fact that a machine could have its own consciousness, published a book in the 1970s where he criticised the modules of machine cognition (or interpretation) and mentioned that the consciousness was reserved to the capabilities and common sense that people possess, Dreyfus didn’t deny that a machine could be made to think, but said that this could be based only on the manipulation of symbols, that is, by means of programs (Su & Luvaanjalba, 2021). In the 80s Jon Searle proposed a thought experiment called ‘the Chinese room’ which posits that a machine is incapable of thinking, since the human mind doesn’t function like a computer program, nor can a computer program behave like a human mind (Tabares Cardona, 2021). The Chinese room consists of a room, isolated from the outside, in which there is a person who doesn’t know the Chinese language but who, through a hole, can receive sheets of paper with texts written in this language, and if inside the room the person has manuals and dictionaries with which he is able to relate the characters to write a response, without having to study the language but applying rules then, for each set of input characters, the person would be capable of issuing an answer without understanding the language. In the same way, a machine will work with inputs and obtain outputs, even if it doesn’t ‘understand’ them. Therefore, a machine that applies rules is incapable of having consciousness, but we humans can also be, retroactively arguing, a Chinese room full of rules.

The main objective of the Chinese room is to deny that the mind is similar to a computer program, demonstrating that a machine can perform an action without understanding what it does and why it does so, since its logic only operates with symbols without understanding the content involved. Such a machine could easily pass the Turing test by pretending that the machine understands the language. Artificial intelligence consists of a simulation of some activities of the nervous system by means of machines: this refers to the fact that some of the processes that are performed in the brain can be analysed as computational processes. An example would be that rule-guided machines wouldn’t have the distractions of goals to be achieved- as it happens to human beings who are always faced with emotional distractions and destinies of their interactions. These destinies may be simple happinesses from a stream of pain or simple tirednesses. The interface between the brain and the computer allows measuring brain activities, processing and creating communication channels with the environment. We can define a system capable of translating aspects of the nervous system into a model of interactions with the virtual world.

  1. Machine Learning

Learning refers to a broad spectrum of situations in which the learner increases his knowledge or skills to accomplish a task. Learning applies inferences to certain information and constructs an appropriate representation of some relevant aspect of reality or some process (Moreno, 1994). A common metaphor around machine learning – within Artificial Intelligence – is to consider problem solving as a type of learning that consists – once a type of problem has been solved – in being able to recognize the problematic situation and react using the learned strategy (Klahr & Kotovsky, 2013). A classic example is the problem of the farmer, who, accompanied by a fox, a goose and a sack of grain must cross a river on a barge in which there is only the and one more, but if he leaves the goose with the fox, the fox will eat it and if he leaves the grain with the goose, the goose will eat it. Here the problem must be recognized, and decisions made that allow everyone to reach the other side of the river. In this sense, we have different classifications or types of learning, we will briefly describe the most used in the state of the art: supervised, unsupervised, and deep learning.

Supervised learning (Nguyen Cong, Rivero Pérez, & Morell, 2015) has the purpose of obtaining a distance metric function, usually represented mathematically as the Mahalanobis distance between two instances and their corresponding classes for a specific application, and based on using information from the training set. Most algorithms that learn a distance function try to solve an optimization problem with constraints. On the other hand, unsupervised learning (Tello & Informáticos, 2007) obtains a model that fits the observations, because there is no a priori knowledge. A usual problem of this type of learning falls on decision-making itself, and whether they are correct or not, for this, grouping techniques with logic are used. Data collected is like other data, and thus can be treated collectively as a group. Clustering is a form of unsupervised classification where, in contrast to the supervised group, the class labels are not known (there are no previously defined classes) and the number of groups may not be known either. Fuzzy clustering is a method frequently used in pattern recognition (Fan, Zhen, & Xie, 2003). In recent years, deep learning has been widely used. It consists of a set of algorithms that attempt to model high-level abstractions using computational architectures. Such structures may support nonlinear and iterative transformations of data expressed in matrix or tensor form. In simple terms, deep learning implies the mastery, transformation, and use of this knowledge to solve real problems (Valenzuela Granados, 2021). Independently of the type of learning, the objective is the same: to have a system that is capable of learning from experience and one that can include the conditions of the environment to successfully perform its task. When we talk about the identification of sentiments in written texts it is important, in this sense, to have instances manually labelled by an expert, that allow machine learning techniques to identify trends, associations, patterns, and collocations in the text that allow associating these features with the type of sentiment labelled in the instance under study.

  1. Social Networks

Currently, microblogging websites have become digital spaces of varied information, where users post information in real-time and opinions are expressed by means of texts that implicitly carry an emotional charge. Statements thus become a positive or negative opinion about people, products, or services. Several companies, organisations and institutions have made use of this type of media to obtain feedback, promote themselves, or to turn the opinion of users into an improvement network (Rani, Gill, & Gulia, 2021). Being able to know the opinions of the users of a product or service will guide the decision-making to achieve an improved sales profile of a company, by identifying areas of opportunity and improvement within it. Twitter in recent years has recorded a growth in the so-called “social panoramas”, used in a transmission system, as well as conversation tools. Twitter is the social network that is currently used for the development of numerous investigations of sentiment analysis (also known as opinion mining), where sentiment analysis is defined as the process of determining opinions based on attitudes, valuations, and emotions about specific topics. In this context, an opinion is a positive or negative evaluation of a product, service, organisation, person, or any other type of entity about which some feeling can be expressed (Cambria, Xing, Thelwall, & Welsch). Due to the importance of sentiment analysis for business and society, it has been extended from computer science to management and social sciences (Coba, Barrera, & Sánchez, 2022). Since, if opinions on the network are successfully collected and analysed, they allow not only to understand and explain many complex social phenomena, but also to predict them. The emotions that users express in Tweets are related to the person’s sentiment, and the polarity (positive, negative, and neutral) is the measure of the emotions expressed in a phrase.  Generally, the polarity goes from negative (-1) to positive (1) through neutral (0), where this last value means that no sentiment or opinion has been expressed.

  1. Sentiment Analysis

Khamphakdee & Seresangtakul (2021) describe sentiment analysis as a task that is responsible for identifying and classifying different points of views and opinions about something without being specific: it can be an object, a person, an activity, etc.  Analysis is based on Natural Language Processing (NLP). The main objective is the analysis of opinions and their classification based on the identified sentiment: positive or negative. There is also the possibility that they don’t exist and would be classified as neutral. The possible applications can be as useful as they would be different. In recent years such analysis has been a very attractive and interesting field of research, creating a classification set that can be performed in the polarity of sentiment as mentioned above added to this can be added a classification of primary sentiments such as joy, sadness, anger, fear, and others. Antonakaki and colleagues (2021) present some techniques used for the review of sentiment analysis, such as those which will help us to automatically determine the emotional polarity in a text with Artificial Intelligence, i.e., develop programs or learning algorithms and knowledge generation capable of learning to solve problems.

The authors in Jiménez-Zafra, Cruz-Díaz, Taboada, & Martín-Valdivia (2021) tell us about the ways of adapting a semantic orientation system to be able to perform the analysis of sentiment in a new language, building support vector machine (SVM) classifiers. We must bear in mind that a classification system, used to find ‘feelings’ in written expressions, based on machine learning, can be trained in any language. Another technique used for sentiment analysis review is Semantic Orientation, which oversees extracting opinions (Appel, Chiclana, Carter, & Fujita, 2021). Appel and colleagues explain that the semantic orientation of a word can become positive when it is shown with praise words, or negative when a criticism-word is identified. Semantics uses a learning technique that doesn’t necessarily need to be supervised since it doesn’t require initial training. This type of unsupervised learning uses different lexical rules in sentiment classification.

There are also 3 levels of classification for sentiment analysis:

  • Document-based
  • Sentence-based
  • Word/phrase-based.

The first level is document-based, where the document is understood in a unique way and the whole document is thus classified according to a feeling for the whole document. The sentence-based level is responsible for classifying each sentence in a document or text: machine learning is generally used to detect subjective sentences. Finally, the word/phrase level is essential since the word is the smallest unit containing meaning in the entire text and is therefore indicative of the most detailed of the levels. In the Sentiment Analysis method, a machine learning approach based on a training and testing, using one set of collections to differentiate between text features (training) and another for classifier accuracy (testing) may be used. Our research has repeatedly used such techniques. Some of the classifiers we have used were Support Vector Machine (SVM), Nayve Bayes (NB) and Maximum Entropy (ME). Nayve Bayes is a classifier commonly used to classify text documents based on a probability model, for estimating the probability of a given group with a text document as input. The Support Vector Machine (SVM) classifier is also proposed for solving problems in pattern recognition. It is a learning model with algorithms that is responsible for data analysis. The two classifiers were top-rated in the machine learning approach to data mining and sentiment classification.

Sentiment analysis starts with the collection of data on a website or social network, mostly by taking advantage of the data that already exists publicly. The data can be classified according to the input of information from such sources as forums, blogs, articles, news, or social networks. For forums, the research is based on publications, and for this data collection is based on the access information of the users since they must be registered to be able to participate in them. A main advantage here is that most of the forums are dedicated to a single topic. Reviews focus a lot on opinions that describe good and bad attributes whether in products or services, such as movies. In social sentiment analysis classification depends a lot on the use of keywords in the texts. To finish with this part of the methodologies implemented to carry out sentiment analysis in texts, I want to refer to two projects in which I had the opportunity to participate. In Sánchez, Cabrera, Carrillo, & Castro (in preprint 2022) we conducted analysis of sentiments, with a methodology that allowed us to identify the polarity of a text in Spanish according to the emotion of its authors: this polarity could be identified with 3 labels: positive, negative, and neutral, and the emotions that could be identified being of 5 kinds: anger, fear, joy, sadness and love.

As the first point of the methodology, use is made of the corpus labeled SemEval 2018 “Task1: Affect in tweets”, first a cleaning process of the tweets is performed, eliminating: emoticons, punctuation signs and special signs to subsequently separate the tweets into words, and using POS (part of speech), we place a label and word lemma (base form of the word). With this information a text classification model is created. This model receives (matches with input signal) an instance and categorizes it as: anger, fear, joy, sadness, or love, corresponding to the emotion that was identified for each instance. This is possible because the training corpus is labelled according to the emotion and can be used to train the system; once the system is trained it can receive new instances and identify the emotion. Once the emotion has been identified, polarity identification is performed, whose objective is to obtain a positive, negative, or neutral classification. This stage is performed through the extraction of the POS tags, here a search is performed for each lemma within the ML-Senticon lexicon, to obtain its respective positive or negative classification. Another research (Guzmán Cabrera & Hernández Farias, 2020) presents an exploration of diverse lexical resources that support the task of sentiment analysis. For the development of the methodology as a first point a series of experiments based only on the content of the tweets was presented in our projects. For this we used five configurations, in each one the pre-processing to be performed was increased, the first of them was without performing any type of pre-processing, the second consisted of tokenizing the text, eliminating empty words, conversion to lowercase and to terms that exceed a frequency threshold. Two approaches to lexical resources were used, the first one was a basic approach based on the creation of lists of terms associated with two polarities: positive and negative. And the other approach labelled a word with a score that reflects its value with respect to a particular aspect. The authors in our group selected a set of fourteen lexical resources divided into two main groups, those that include information strongly related to sentiment and emotions and those in which psycholinguistic information was also considered. It is undoubtedly a very exciting area of explorations and there is much more to write about. The important thing is to show that both the identification of sentiment and polarity can be performed in written texts and that these resources become necessary given the popularity of social networks and the daily posting of opinions on them. Surely language will continue to evolve, and, in a few years, everyone would be discussing some other strategies for performing sentiment identification.

Conclusion

Computational sentiment analysis betokens a process that helps us determine the emotion with which a series of words is defined, and it consists of evaluating attitudes and opinions from word-tokens to obtain information that helps in identifying the reaction of users for a product or service, or by extension any piece of communication. In general, the idea of sentiment analysis was partly elaborated for the development of better products and services, based on the opinions that were found in the different areas of communications. Yet a lot remains to be discovered. But the final take for any interpretative process is to understand how any thinking entity, b it a machine or human arrives at the meaning of texts, what kind of flow chart is really relevant and expedient and how such insights change our notion of interpretation in the academic theoretical literature. What do machines teach us about reading?

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Filming Folktales: The ‘Uncanny’ in Bhaskar Hazarika’s Kothanodi (“The River of Fables”)

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Farddina Hussain
Department of English, Gauhati University, Guwahati, Assam, India. ORCID: 0000-00025232-6358. Email: fardina1ster@gmail.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages 1–10. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne12

First published: June 20, 2022 | AreaNortheast India | LicenseCC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Abstract

The affinity between Assamese literature and cinema has only grown over the years since its inception in 1935; in the history of Assamese cinema, film adaptation had begun with Jyoti Prasad Agarwala’s Joymoti and Padum Baruah’s Gonga Silonir Pakhi. It is no surprise that Bhaskar Hazarika too turned towards the well-known collection of folktales Burhi Air Sadhu by Lakshminath Bezbaroa for the subject of his debut feature film Kothanodi, The River of Fables in 2015. Bezbaroa in the book mentions his views on folktales as markers of cultural identity of Assamese community and wanted his anthology to strengthen the feelings of Assamese nationalism among the people of the land.  The paper proposes to reflect on this take of Bezbaroa on identity and culture, and go ahead to analyse the gaze of Bhaskar Hazarika as an auteur. With two successful feature films to his credit, the filmmaker is known for his depiction of the ‘uncanny’ (Freud) and horror to delve deep into the dark recesses of the mind, and society simultaneously. Whereas Bezbaroa’s folktales have been regarded as bedtime stories for children, the paper would like to argue that the viewing of these tales in the film by young children evokes horror and dismay. The dialectical simulation of images created by the auteur resonates more with the adult minds as he offers the contours of his film-philosophy with an Amazonian cosmology.

Keywords: Assamese Folktales, Multinaturalist Perspectivism, Adaptation, Uncanny

It does not come as a surprise that Bhaskar Hazarika, the noted filmmaker from Assam has adapted four folktales from Sahityarathi Lakshminath Bezbaroa’s Grandma’s Tales for his debut feature Kothanodi in 2015. Adaptations in Assamese cinema has a long history; it had begun with Jyoti Prasad Agarwala’s Joymoti (1935) and has continued ever since through the 1970s and 1980s in films like Padum Baruah’s Gonga Silonir Pakhi (1976) or in Bhabendranth Saikia’s films. Folk elements, short stories and novels have always inspired filmmakers. This paper instead of tracing such a history discusses analytically Bhaskar Hazarika’s ways of adaptation, realism, and the liberty he exercises as an auteur to foreground his film-philosophy. An auteur-filmmaker stands apart from film directors and scriptwriters as a major creative force who is responsible for fundamental cinematic grammar like “camera placements, blocking, lighting, scene length rather than [focusing on] only the plot line or the theme” (Britannica). He would oversee all audio and visual elements of the motion picture and is like the author of the film and not only a scriptwriter. He is the camera-pen, camera-stylo (Britannica). In other words, these features create a distinct personal style and philosophy of the auteur in the film. The director of Kothanodi besides being the scriptwriter is also the creative force behind the film. He is primarily concerned with his vision of the world in cinematic images and is in control of every element of a mise-en-scene. With this, in view, the paper attempts to explore the ways of filming the four Assamese folktales by the auteur and see if his film presents a simulacrum of reality.

Jean Baudrillard in his reference to postmodern culture and representation (Baudrillard, [Simulacra and Simulation], 1988) associated the third type in his list of simulacra to the postmodern age. For him there is a precession of simulacra, that is the representation precedes and determines the real. There is no longer any distinction between reality and its representation, there can only be the simulacra. We’re so bombarded by cliches—television images, fantasies, cinema, social networks—that it is difficult to avoid them and therefore there is no original copy. According to Baudrillard postmodern culture is directed by models and maps and we have forgotten the prior reality that precedes maps. Reality itself is created by following certain maps or models.

The folktales can be regarded as the givens. Bhaskar Hazarika in the film attempts like a painter to clear the givens to dive deep into the recesses of the origin/past and rubs off models, maps and cliches. He has moved away from the simulacra to establish new forms of reality and moves towards the origins, towards the primordial phase. This reiterates Deleuze’s observation in his Francis Bacon: The Logic of Sensation (Deleuze, 1981/2017) when he writes on the ways a painter works:

… the painter does not have to cover a blank surface, but rather would have to empty it out, clear it, clean it. He does not paint in order to reproduce on the canvas an object functioning as a model; he paints on images that are already there, in order to produce a canvas whose functioning will reverse the relations between model and copy. In short, what we have to define are all these “givens” [donnees] that are on the canvas before the painter’s work begins, and determine, among these givens, which are an obstacle, which are a help, or even the effects of a preparatory work (Deleuze, 1981/2017, p. 61).

The themes and models offered by the folktales can be regarded as the givens and Bhaskar Hazarika in an attempt to clear models, maps and cliches has moved away from the simulacra to establish new ways of looking at reality and its representation. He goes deep into the origins and to the pre-model, pre-modern phase. He looks into the recesses of the past and in the folktales and beliefs rooted in the Assamese society to create a visual-philosophical projection of the uncanny and highlights a world of ‘multinaturalist perspectivism’ (2013), as offered by Viveros de Castro in his anthropological study of Amazonian communities.

I

In an interview, quoted in Scroll.in, the director and scriptwriter of Kothanodi, Bhaskar Hazarika informs us of his desperate search for locales untouched by modern lifestyle which finally led him to the river island of Majuli (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending). He decided to carry on with exploring the island as it promised a suitable setting for the thematic concerns of the film. Reaching there with the crew and equipment was not easy as they needed to be ferried to the island. However, despite the logistical constraints, it was a prerequisite for the theme and purpose of the film:

We eventually shot much of the film on the Majuli island, which increased our budget by five-six per cent. We had to hire barges to take our equipment across the river. It was worth it since we could show the island’s full beauty. (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending)

It proved to be a successful move as the island provided an idyllic rural locale for the folktales that explore a cosmology of both human and non-human assemblances and disruptions.

Such specificities of a setting can be necessitated particularly for two reasons: firstly, his adaptation of four tales from Burhi Air Sadhu, the Assamese folktales collated by Lakshminath Bezbaroa and secondly, to explore the pre-modern thought and culture as different from the modern western binary culture. To begin with, as discussed in various essays and books the folktales or Grandma’s Tales represent the cultural heritage of Assam: “It presents Assam as a land where such stories have existed for centuries; where man, nature and the paranormal are in a relationship and not always of the holy kind.” (Ghosh, 2020, p. Assamese Reviews).

Lakshminath Bezbaroa is known as the doyen of Assamese literary and cultural Renaissance and is honoured by the literati of Assam with the title of Sahityarathi, “an epithet which is [used] rather in the epic and heroic vein like the heroes of the Mahabharata and Illiad (Chatterji, 2014, p. Cover).  As noted by Bhaben Barua, “in the annual session of the Society held in 1891 over which Gunabhiram Barua presided, Bezbaroa, in his annual secretarial report, declared that it was one of the aims of the Society to discover the lines along which the Assamese mind (‘asamiya manuhor manasikota’) had evolved since the ancient times. In a later period Bezbaroa engaged himself in the pioneering task of the reconstruction of the past of Assam, that is, of an exposition of the three basic element of Assam’s cultural heritage: (1) the folk tradition, (2) the religious tradition (3) the political history” (Barua, 2014, p. 32). He contributed to the folk tradition by collecting almost 70 Assamese folktales and in 1912 and 1913 published three volumes, namely, Kaka Deuta Nati Lora, Burhi Air Sadhu and Junuka in an attempt to develop Assamese identity, language and culture. However, his quest was for a “cultural synthesis, in which the Assamese people would discover their ‘true voice of feeling’” (Barua, 2014, p. 35)

Folklores are traditional beliefs, customs and stories of a community passed on through generations orally by ‘telling’ them. It is common to all cultures and certain attributes of these tales transcend all cultures.  Folklorists often like to differentiate the notions of myths, legends and folktales. Folktales are generally understood as the stories told at leisure to entertain “fireside tales, winter nights tales, nursery tales, coffee-house tales, sailor yarns, pilgrimage and caravan tales to pass the endless nights and days” (Campbell, 2002, p. 749). However Assamese folktales are called sadhukatha which according to Bezbaroa is a “moral tale or teaching of saints or virtuous people” (Nath, 2011, p. 216) which shows that the elders were concerned about imparting values and advice to the young minds through stories. The stories were told to excite their imagination and also aim at teaching a moral lesson. For him every community has their own set of distinctive folktales which represent the identity, culture and beliefs of the people: “Language and folktales are the bones and brains of a people. The Assamese call their language as maat and their folktales sadhukatha”. He distinguishes sadhukatha as distinct from either Bengali or other tales but at the same time notes the tradition of telling tales orally in other parts of the world like Germany, Norway or France as well as in different parts of India. He shows how German scholars showed the world that “the history of an ancient tale or the history of a word was more valuable than the history of a big war” (qtd. in Nath, 2011, p. 214).

Often considered as bedtime stories for little children and young adults, these folktales serve as parables or an exemplum and a few are generally assumed to be apolitical. Bezbaroa mentions two kinds of tales: one that is didactic like Panchatantra and the other as a means to entertain “by giving full reign to the imagination” (Nath, 2011, p. 214), simultaneously acknowledging how these tales can also be used to understand the community’s knowledge systems. Nevertheless, it has to be mentioned that some Assamese folktales also attempt at exposing larger social issues of the hierarchy of class, caste and gender. This is made possible due to the close involvement of the community in ‘telling stories’. Their participation influences the themes and characterisations of the tales:

Folktales originate, grow, and are circulated among the people, and hence, the issues that affect the people get to be represented in the tales in various ways. In the old age when these tales took shape, the oppression of the kings, the tyranny of the priests and superstition among the people, for instance, were realities with which everyone was acquainted. Consequently, many of our tales voice concern over or present criticism of such issues. (Nath, 2011, p. 17)

The adaptation of these folktales, in that sense, can no longer remain innocent or only didactic in films like Kothanodi. Bhaskar Hazarika in his indebtedness to Bezbaroa has referred to four folktales entitled Champawati, Tejimola, Ou Kuwari (Elephant Apple Princess) and Tawoir Sadhu (“The Story of Tawoi”). The credit section in the film informs of his adaptation of events and characters from the tales in his film. As an auteur, he takes the liberty to re-read the tales and allow a new interpretation of the tales which he thinks may not be liked socially in Assam. His audio-visual medium presents the stories as more complex and darker than Bezbaroa’s tales. The bedtime stories of Bezbaroa’s collection mainly written for young readers no longer remained so in the films. It gets disconcertingly haunting with the filming of a chain of signifiers evoking mystery, disbelief and fear. In this, he is influenced by Japanese horror movies such as Onibaba and Kwaidan (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending). The visuals on screen are matched by eerie music and wailing sounds. Cinema which is considered a movement of images, engages in a philosophy that the director and scriptwriter use to draw on a worldview different from the western binary culture and its anthropocentrism.

II

“This is my cultural heritage and I can take liberties with it. I like stories that are dark and macabre, and I changed the endings – for instance, the original elephant apple story is about a king and his seven queens, one of whom gives birth to the fruit. I made the story about common people” (Ramnath, 2015, p. Trending).

The above statement made by the director and the scriptwriter (auteur) is crucial to understanding his views on adaptation and how he brings in changes by subverting the treatment of theme and characterisation. Unlike most of the reviews which state that the film apart from everything else is bedtime stories, this paper argues that the film, Kothanodi, transforms the bedtime stories of Grandma’s Tales into horror folktales. It follows a sequence of images which are dark, macabre and (what Freud terms as) ‘uncanny’. It presents a chain of signifiers of familiar things in such a way that they appear as strange. The uncanny and the strange for the viewer at first evokes a sense of disbelief and awe as they tend to approach the tales as bedtime stories for children.

Most of the young audience and adults during their childhood have grown up listening to the tales of Champawati or Tejimola. Tejimola had been a popular tale with flat characterisation, for instance, the cruel stepmother, and young daughter in distress similar to the characterisation of the popular fairy-tale Cinderella. But instead of fairy Godmothers and witches with brooms, the folktales of Assam portray stock characters, river-crossings and transformations. Bhaskar Hazarika spoke on the responses of the audience globally to his film and mentioned this aspect:

“There is a certain universality about folk tales, in that every culture in the world has folktale [myth or fairytales]. Some elements are common throughout, for instance the wicked stepmother. In my opinion, audiences around the world, in countries as diverse as South Korea and Sweden, have connected with the film for this reason” (Prabalika, 2015, p. Assamese Film)

One of the adapted tales is Ow-Kuwori (The Elephant Apple Princess). The book, Grandma’s Tales mentions two pregnant queens. The older queen gives birth to a boy while the younger one to an outenga, elephant apple that would follow her everywhere like a child. The beautiful princess hidden inside the fruit would come out while bathing in the river, and one day a prince saw her and fell in love with her. He married her and later on the advice of a beggar woman could manage to get her out of the elephant apple. Bhaskar Hazarika adapts this story with characters from rural societies to address contemporary issues faced by ordinary women and expose social evils like witchcraft. He depicts how society judges women according to their conventional roles and norms. Instead of royalty, his protagonist is a rural woman, a kajee who gives birth to an outenga. Consequently, she is thrown out of her house by her husband as she fails to produce human babies. She walks away with her roll of clothes, crosses the river and starts living in the fringes as an outsider. Due to the outenga that follows her everywhere and also swims across the river to be with her, the villagers mock her and think of her to be a witch, a daini. This highlights the marginalisation and numerous crimes committed against her in rural Assam. The film highlights a socially relevant feminist concern in Assam even today.

The outenga follows her as she leaves her husband’s house, crosses the river and stays with her in the chang ghar. No prince turns up for its rescue. It happens to be a traveller (Adil Hussain) who sympathises with her and tries to solve the mystery of the fruit. As a traveller who had seen distant lands, he tells stories of other unusual incidents: “A woman gave birth to a kitten in Sadiya […] a bird had raised a woman; A girl was hatched out of a duck’s egg one morning.” (Kothanodi) Although he tried his best to explain and find out the truth of the outenga, he had to leave for some time as it disturbed the dyad of the mother and the child outenga. The traveller could rescue the mother only when she expresses her affection and displayed her ability to understand the other’s position. She prepares food for it and discovers one night how the baby comes out of her shell to eat. The child’s externalization is filmed in creepy images showing how the limbs begin to emerge out of the basket at night and reveal herself as a fully grown girl-child; as she begins enjoying her food, the traveller sneaks in and burns the outenga shell liberating the child. Although relieved, the woman continues to live in her house, a chang-ghar indicating a new equilibrium but the end never resolves the issues of social evil. No moral lesson is drawn out of the ending of her story as the camera freezes briefly on her and the child from the back as they keep looking at the way ahead.

Initially, she tries to avoid the rolling outenga that follows her and wanted to leave it on the shore as she quickly crossed the river on a boat. Later, the auteur through the visuals on the screen shows her growing attachment to the point when she starts to communicate and feel its thoughts. Her affinity towards the fruit grows gradually. This feeling of affinity is analogous to Viveros De Castro’s notion of “affinity” (Assy, 2021, YouTube) in which the other is both a trusted friend and also a potential enemy. In this case it is for the fruit that she had to leave her home, husband and live like a freak. The fruit is given a consciousness. The song of the outenga, “Outenga’s Lament” establishes the perspective of a fruit, a non-human object in search of love. It is able to comprehend and feel the human mother’s problems. Here speciesism seems to be in question as the story begins to challenge anthropocentric attributes. The human characters in the film find the outenga weird and see it as a mystery whereas the outenga could understand human language. The initial fear of the mother in seeing the movement of the inanimate object is replaced by a new equilibrium into the mother’s life when she would talk to the outenga, and also take care of it. A woman shunned by her fellow beings is received by the outenga. Instead of the love story of prince and princesses Bhaskar Hazarika constructs his film philosophy in his treatment of the theme. He presents a world inhabited by both human and the non-human, be it fruit, plants or animals. The child outenga is not only unbelievable but also haunting for children and young adults.

The woman walks towards her house in broad daylight and the disruption continues with the movement of an inanimate object for the viewer. It evokes the uncanny for the fruit is a common everyday fruit for the people of Assam and is part of Assamese culinary identity. This familiar fruit has been given a strange attribute that entails mockery and the loss of her home. The village boys tease her as she passes them in silence. The image of the moving outenga is introduced after the expository scene of the Tawoi tale where the father buries new-born infants in his backyard.

Considering the model offered by Todorov, each tale in the film starts at ‘disruption’ and this pattern runs parallelly for all the four folktales chosen by Bhaskar Hazarika. The non-linear plots on the surface seem to be propelled by the social conventions, beliefs, taboos or step-mother archetypes whereas it seems to be determined by the auteur’s principal focalization at disruption and exploration of the uncanniness of the familiar sites and objects. The music and sound in the film add to this intent and the music director Amarnath Hazarika has successfully woven the folk music from the collection of songs by Padma Shri Birendranath Datta and Ramen Choudhury into the fabric of Kothanodi, and the result is a horror folk narrative that grows more intense with sound effects.

Freud’s theory of the uncanny comes from the word unheimlich which is the opposite of the German word heimlich meaning familiar, native, belonging to home (Freud, 1919, p. 2). We generally tend to conclude that “uncanny” is frightening precisely because it “undoubtedly belongs to all that is terrible—to all that arouses dread and creeping horror” (ibid). Freud subverts this notion and argues how it resides in the familiar and shows how an auteur or a storyteller can trick us by shaping the narrative differently out of his realism simultaneously making us believe his social concerns:

The storyteller has this license among many others, that he can select his world of representation so that it either coincides with the realities we are familiar with or departs from them in particulars he pleases [for instance in fairy-tales]. We accept his ruling in every case. (Freud, 1919, p.18)

Hence for Freud a fairy-tale with dragons, witches, curses do not bring uncanniness since we accept its fantastical realm and locale from the very first. Uncanny experience fails in such settings and “The situation alters as soon as the writer pretends to move in the world of common reality”, takes advantage of our credulity and deceives us by “giving us sober truth. And slowly oversteps the bounds of possibility” (ibid.). Bhaskar Hazarika takes this opportunity to play with our imagination by showing us familiar settings, and not taking us to distant magic lands or worlds of prince and princess, in which he slowly moves into the eerie signifiers because horrors issue out of a signifying system and here it is through significant non-human entities, music and cinematography.

By dwelling on the rural pre-modern setting, he populates this space with common characters of the step-mother, the travelling father, the lonely woman, innocent daughters, landlords, priests, village boys, workers in the house of the landlords, secret lovers, fisherman found in every village in Assam. The familiar backyard or the bedroom turns into a site of horror and death. In the Tawoi story, a long shot follows a damp, semi-dark scene with drops of rain pouring on everything possible backed by unnerving music and the wailing of a child reveals infanticide. Here the cinematographer plays with the imaginations of the viewer by alternating long shots and close shots on the face of the father who does the digging to bury his newborn alive. The anxious look and guilt in his eyes is exposed by the camera. The repetition of this scene makes it more horrifying and by the time the mother resists we, as the audience, experience the relief needed right from the beginning as the familiar backyard of the house is used by the father (Kapil Bora) to bury his male babies on the advice of his uncle. As noted in the review by Sankhayan Ghosh “in the story about the married couple who have been sacrificing their new-borns, when it is revealed that the uncle is not an evil man after all and has been their protector all along, it affirms the shamanistic practice that had led to the sacrifice of newborns” (Ghosh, 2020, p. Assamese Reviews). Another scene shows the slimy and muddy heads of the dead babies coming out of the ground at night to reveal their intention of patricide and deceit as they talk to the parents.  The climax is reached in conflict with this belief as the mother resists the burial of the fourth baby who happens to be a girl. The auteur here complicates the ethical question of killing the babies and hence, blurs the borders separating good from evil: the resistance is placed against the bizarre act of infanticide which turns out to be a shamanistic ritual.

Along with the everyday character, the filmmaker takes us to the world of plants and animals like the references to the python that marries Champawati or outenga and supplies them with perspectives as they display the ability to think and communicate. They take up subject positions and are given agencies to not only influence the plot but also the lives of the human characters. They think of themselves as humans in their habitat reiterating what Viveros de Castro explains about the point of view of Amazonian indigenous people:

Perspectivism is the pre-supposition that each living species is human in its own department, human for itself (humano para), or better, that everything is human for itself(todo para si e humano) or anthropogenic. This idea originates in the indegineous cosmogonies, where the primordial form of the being is human. (Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica)

His writings offer the theory of ‘multinaturalist perspectivism’ as opposed to multiculturalism or anthropocentrism. It is a “vision of the world with a strong connection to “multinaturalism”, a category opposed to multiculturalism that assumes the coexistence of different ‘natures’ as in Amazonian cosmology” (ibid.). These “natures include non-human animal perception along with a human one, all of them sharing a common perspective or affinity” (qtd. in Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica). With this notion, de Castro challenges the history of Western science or anthropology which for him has only one species, the human, who produces knowledge of the rest of the sub-species. The discovery of the Multinaturalist perspective leads to the conceptual position of a “non-anthropocentric virtuality about the idea of species” (ibid.). It is a doctrine that can be explicitly elaborated in shamanism and native mythologies that has the potential to imagine “all inter-species differences as a horizontal extension, analogic or metonymic, of intra-species differences”(ibid.). This notion dismantles the vertical hierarchy of the human and man and ceases to appear separate because in this perspective all the species-specific differences appear as modalities of the human. This does not allow humans to feel special or superior. In other words, all have the same essence or culture, but the natures are different. Human has all man and other species and the “form from which all species emerge: each of the species is a finite mode of a humanity as universal substance” (Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica) where every object is a subject with a point of view.

Hence the difference between species is not a difference of culture but of nature due to the experience of the type of body; it is a difference where each species is experienced by others, i.e., “as a body, as a collection of affections that are vulnerable to the senses, of capacities for modifying and being modified by agents of other species. The point of view is in the body…all human share the same culture—human culture” (Bravo, 2013, p. E-Misferica) and the human includes in Amazonian cosmology human beings, plants and animals or even artifacts.

III

As we attune ourselves to our expectations of innocent bedtime stories and become passive receivers, the director acts upon us and seizes the situation to create horror in simple common realities of the village. He tricks our emotions in response to the images of the uncanny and horror unlike most reviews of Kothanodi in trying to see the film as bedtime stories: “The best part of Kothanodi is that in spite of its socially relevant themes, it never loses sight of its primary nature as a bedtime yarn” (Ghosh, 2020, p. Assamese Reviews).  In the story of Champawati, the plot again follows a non-linear pattern and begins with the capturing of the python for the marriage of the second daughter from the forest unlike Champawati’s snake-husband who came to her on his own. The focalization again is not on an equilibrium but on the uncanny. The python is carried to the house and at night, it is fed with ducks by the landlady, the matriarch who in her greed for jewellery has decided to marry off her daughter to a python from the forest. The images move from the dark forest to the bedroom which is transformed into a site of horror and death on the wedding night. The silence of the matriarch at the tragedy of losing her young daughter, who eventually is swallowed by the wild python, and the image of the hand-pulled out of the reptile by dissecting its skin in an extreme close shot is bizarre and does not overtly offer moral lessons on greed and jealousy. The images that linger are of terrible shots of dissection and a gory hand wearing a bangle signifying the loss of jewellery for the matriarch.

            The depiction of terrible matriarchs is epitomised in the story of Tejimola which narrates a torture tale of a step-mother who murders her step-daughter by crushing her limbs and head. When she was alive, the stepmother would make her eat scorpions as punishment for no apparent reason. The story ends with the burial of dead Tejimola the daughter of the traveller in the front courtyard and soon a plant grows out on that spot. The film ends with this scene where the matriarch is terrified to see the growth of the plant, a communion of Tejimola and plant life. It is projected as the ability to be something else which is the idea of metamorphosis in Perspectivism where one develops mutuality and concern but differs in the body. The non-human python of Champawati, the outenga, the dead baby-heads and the plant are given conscious intentionality which gather agency to say and express a point of view echoing the Amazonian worldview as noted by Viveros de Castro in his explanation of his theory of multinaturalist perspectivism. With these images, the film ends without a peaceful balance and, questions of ethics and justice are deferred leaving its receptors unsatisfied and contemplating.

References:

Assy. Bethania. (2021). “Decolonizing Thought with Viveiros de Castro:  Amerindian Perspectivism, Multunaturalism and Shamanic.” Reading Group: Decolonization, Neocolonialism and Human Rights. ILAS Columbia. http://youtu.be/bGSVt9wYJmY

Britannica, T. Editors of Encyclopaedia (2017, December 27). auteur theory. Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/art/auteur-theory.

Barua, Bhaben. (2014) “The Road to Lakshminath Bezbaroa”. Lakshminath   Bezbaroa: The Sahityarathi of Assam. edt. Dr. Maheswar Neog. Gauhati University. pp. 27-35.

Baudrillard, Jean. (1988). “Simulacra and Simulation”. Jean Baudrillard, Selected  Writings, ed. Mark Poster. Stanford; Stanford University Press. pp. 166-184.  https://web.stanford.edu/class/history34q/readings/Baudrillard/Baudrillard_Simulacra.html

Borah, Prabalika M. (2016). “And the River Flows to Tell the Tales: Kothanodi.” The  Hindu. 25 May. https://www.thehindu.com/features/and-the-river-flows-to-tell-the-tales-kothanodi/article8645138.ece

Bravo, Alvaro Fernandez. (2013) “Eduardo Viveiros de Cartro: Some Reflections  on   the Notion of Species in History and Anthropology”. Trans. Frederico Santos de Freitas and Zed Tortorici. Bio/Zoo. (Volume 10) (Issue 1), E-Misferica 10.1  https://hemi.nyu.edu/hemi/en/e-misferica-101/viveiros-de-castro 

Cambell, Joseph. (2002) Folklorist Commentary to the Routledge Classics  Complete  Fairy Rales. Ed. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (2002 edition)

Chatterji, Suniti Kumar. (2014) “Cover” in Lakshminath Bezbaroa: The Sahityarathi f   Assam. Ed. Dr Maheswar Neog. Gauhati University.

Ramnath, Nandini. (2022) “Assamese film Kathanodi is a set of grim tales involving infanticide, witchcraft and possession” Scroll.in 16 September 2015.    Accessed 25    January. https://scroll.in/article/755641/assamese-film-kothanodi-is-a-set-of-grim- tales-involving-infanticide-witchcraft-and-possession

Deleuze, Gilles. (2017) Francis Bacon, The Logic of Sensation, trans. by Daniel W. Smith. Bloomsbury.

Freud, Sigmund. (1919). The Uncanny. First published in Imago, BD. V., 1919. Tr. Alix Strachey. https://web.mit.edu/allanmc/www/freud1.pdf

Ghosh, Sankhayan. (2020) “Kothanodi, on Mubi, Never Loses Sight of its Primary Nature as a Chilling Bedtime Yarn”. 9 July. Film Companion.    Assamese Reviews. https://www.filmcompanion.in/reviews/assamese-review/kothanodi-assamese-folkhorror-mubi-never-loses-sight-of-its-primary-nature-as-a-chilling-bedtime-yarn-bhaskar-hazarika-assamese-movie/

Nath, Sanjeev Kumar. (2011) The World of Assamese Folktales. Bhabani Print & Publications Guwahati.

Farddina Hussain, PhD, is an Associate Professor in the Department of English, Gauhati University, Guwahati, Assam. Her areas of interest include cultural studies, graphic fiction, gender studies and film studies. Several of her research papers on cinema and literature have been published in journals and as book chapters. She has attended workshops and conferences on film studies both in India and abroad.

An Identity Born Out of Shared Grief: The Account of Rambuai in the Contemporary Mizo Literary Texts

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Zothanchhingi Khiangte
Department of English, Bodoland University, Kokrajhar, Assam, India. ORCID: 0000-0001-8225-0326. Email: zothanikhiangte@yahoo.com

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages 1–15. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne11

First published: June 09, 2022 | Area: Northeast India | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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An Identity Born Out of Shared Grief: The Account of Rambuai in the Contemporary Mizo Literary Texts

Abstract:

Anthony David Stephen Smith’s definition of nationalism as a feeling of “intense bond of solidarity”, when applied to contemporary Mizo nationalist consciousness, is a bond born not out of pre-historic kinship but of shared grief and a spiritual anchor in Christianity. The MNF movement for self-determination, which began with half-hearted support from the people spiraled off into the most violent and darkest period in Mizo history known as Rambuai  (1966-1986) which, when translated into English, means ‘troubled land’. The human experience of this period has been a subject of Mizo literature. Three works of fiction— Nunna Kawngthuam Puiah (1989), Silaimu Ngaihawm (2012) and Zorami: A Redemption Song (2015) are among the best literary representations of human suffering in the troubled land. These works will be used as textual bases upon which the role of religion and spirituality in bringing about a reconciliation and healing can be studied. The paper examines how the rambuai memories construct the Mizo identity that relies on forging connections between religion and a heroic cultural past.

Keywords: Rambuai, Mizo, identity, reconciliation, memory

The Mizo National Front was formed in 1961 with sovereignty as its declared objective. The ‘call for independence’ against the Indian government was preceded by the Mautam1 Famine (1960). The MNF declaration has been commonly seen as the culmination of Mizo nationalist sentiment that had been in the making for long (Nibedon, 2013; J.V Hluna and Tochhawng, 2012). The Mizo political consciousness developed since the nineteenth century when the Mizos came into contact with the British Raj. Although the present study aims to focus on how the collective experience of pain during Mizo Movement, as recounted in literary texts, has shaped the Mizo consciousness in contemporary times, it seems pertinent to take a historical detour to arrive at a better understanding of the subject under study.

The British expedition of the Lushai Hills2 was a result of the regular raids conducted by the tribesmen on the plains of Assam and so the objective was to teach the raiders a lesson. It however proved to be a difficult task to bring the people who inhabited the Lushai Hills under control. It took more time than to conquer the subcontinent (Nibedon, 1980, p.171).  Therefore, it was thought wiser to bring in the missionaries who would ‘civilise’ them through religion and thereby enable the British administrator to conquer them culturally and morally (Sajal Nag, “Folk Intellectual Tradition for Resistance: Invention of Traditions and Lushai Counter to Cultural Colonialism in North East India, 1904-1911”, pp.1-2). And since the land was not considered to be economically very lucrative, as is obvious from the report of Major Anthony Gilchrist McCall, the colonial experience in the Lushai Hills was quite different from that in other parts of India. The colonial intent was to be seen as a paternal figure of authority rather than as an invader who must be resisted at all cost. Therefore the image of the white man as a self-sacrificing figure who has come to enlighten the people with his religion and education is more predominant in the Mizo perception of the British Raj. The British policy thathelp must therefore be at a sacrifice, spiritual and financial, the latter at any rate in the beginning, from those who control its destiny” ensured that “control at such cost will be welcomed, not resisted as domination and exploitation” (Mc Call, 1977).

Although the British encounter may not be seen as the catalyst to the Mizo ethno-nationalist consciousness, it did initiate two necessary elements for the act of ‘becoming’ a Mizo and these were- religion and vernacular literature. These, according to Adrian Hastings, are the integral and determinative elements for the construction of nationhood (1997, p.3).   The British annexation of the territories inhabited by the Mizos was soon followed by the arrival of Christian missionaries who synchronized the gospels with education. The two missionaries, JH Lorraine and FW Savidge who arrived in the Lushai Hills on January 11, 1894 formulated the Lushai alphabet  “A Aw B Ch” and made possible the development of vernacular literature. The translation of the gospels in Duhlian dialect, first initiated in 1896, made possible the adoption of a common language for the Mizos, who till then did not have a lingua franca because each clan had a different dialect or language variation. Not only did each clan have different languages but also different sakhua (loosely translated now as religion) and it was only after the adoption of Christianity that it became possible to overcome distinctions made on the basis of clans: “Besides the linguistic barriers, Christianity also overcame the establishment of separate villages and communities based upon clanship divisions. As different families and clans strictly observed particular sakhua, changing one’s sakhua was akin to cutting off one’s identity and risking the wrath of the family deities” (Dingluaia, 2018,p. 246). Thus literature and the new religion became important determinants in fostering a sense of kinship amongst the different clans. However, the nationalist consciousness that was brewing in different parts of India against the British did not quite reach the Mizos because of the fact that Lushai Hills was governed under a different administrative policy as ‘Excluded Area’, which kept the region and its people remain secluded and sequestered.

Therefore, it was not until the twentieth century postcolonial context that the people actually became aware of their distinctive identity- an identity defined by common cultural traditions, folklore and linguistic affinities- different from other communities. Based on such similarities and commonalities, the varied groups of people, who were once at war with each other, decided to come together and carve out a common identity under the nomenclature ‘Mizo’ or ‘Zo-fate’. In fact, the generic name ‘Mizo’ by which the people inhabiting the mountainous regions that later came to be named as Lushai Hills (in 1890-92) are now known was adopted only by the turn of the 20th century. Lushai Hills became named as Mizo Hills District within the state of Assam on 25th April, 1952.3 With a change in the political scenario of the country, there began a growing consciousness amongst the Mizos as to the need to preserve their cultural identity as a group distinct from others. A certain sense of the ‘we’ and ‘them’ was becoming more pronounced when faced with a gradually looming threat to Mizo cultural identity. Mizo language and traditions were steadily being abandoned by the younger generations who were becoming more exposed to other cultural groups. With the objective to safeguard the ethnic identity of the Mizos, the Mizo Cultural Society was formed in 1950 under the leadership of Laldenga, which was rechristened as Mautam Famine Front during the mautam famine and finally became the Mizo National Front.

It may be said that the Mautam Famine of 1960 provided Laldenga and his supporters the opportunity to express the dissatisfaction of the people against the Assam government and gave birth to the Mizo National Front, formed in 1961, with sovereignty as its declared objective. Although the Mizo nationalist uprising,  that began with only half-hearted support from the people, may be seen as a catalyst to the Mizo ‘nationalist becoming’, it lacked the ‘intense bond of solidarity’ Anthony David Stephen Smith identifies as crucial to the spirit of nationalism. It is, in fact, the experience of indescribable pain endured as a result of the uprising which has formed the “bond of solidarity” in the Mizo consciousness.

 K.C Lalvunga, who writes under the pseudonym of Zikpuii Pa, points out the lack of enthusiasm to the nationalist call for sovereignty in his  Nunna Kawng Thuam Puiah (1989) when he narrates that the elders chose not to object too harshly to the idea of sovereignty because they did not want to hurt the sentiments of the young men : “tlangval ho rilru tih nat loh nan independent chu an do tak duh lova…” (p.73) and that there were also some sections of the populace, especially the supporters of Mizo Union, who were ridiculing not only the call for sovereignty but also the very idea of distinct Mizo identity (p.74) but among the youth, a self-consciousness was definitely growing as a result of being “othered” by the dominant Assamese community. The novel Nunna Kawngthuam Puiah (1989) shares instances of the processes of ‘othering’ through the recollections of the protoganist , Chhuanvawra Renthlei, about his college days in Shillong:

“Once during our football match, some Assamese boys, inspite of knowing fully well that we could not speak Assamese, were stubbornly speaking to us in Assamese and gave all the instructions about the match in Assamese. Angered, Thansavunga replied, ‘Stop your bloody Assamese. I can’t understand’… ‘Why can’t you understand Assamese? Don’t you know it is a state language, you bloody fool?’” (p. 49).

Such instances have the potential to ignite deep passions, when repeated over a long time. Sanjoy Hazarika’s account of a young Mizo whose father was a Brigadier in the Indian Army reaffirms this sense of ‘othering’ that was present within the postcolonial Indian context:

When narrating about the Indian Army brigadier musing about his son, Sangliana, “The young man ‘loved’, he said, the idea of a homeland, taking up arms for it, of fighting against India, the juggernaut. Even in his travels to New Delhi and Calcutta and elsewhere in the country, he had felt the sting of discrimination and racial slurs despite being an army officer’s son, his family being part of the elite of their people. That sting continues to be felt by countless others from his state and their region decades later when they are snubbed, teased, abused and the women molested and groped in New Delhi and other parts of the Hindi heartland.” (2018, p.83).

Much as such observations like those of Nirmal Nibedon that “…deep in the Mizo psyche there persisted a sense of unfulfilment, a silent and sincere search for their identity and an effort to bring tremendous latent energy of their people back to a level of dignity and equality they had known before the invaders  [the British] had come” (1980, p.311) cannot be said to be totally untrue, the view that the colonial rulers were seen more as paternal figures also seems to hold much ground, as reflected in statements of prominent Mizo figures like K.C Lalvunga,  “As we look back, we are able to discern more clearly the changes the colonial rule had brought about. It is easy to blame the colonialism but we must remember that colonialism had brought with it a civilizing factor and Mizos are the true beneficiaries” (2013,p.99). However, a sweeping observation of the colonial encounter as being ‘beneficial’ ignores the fact that  the colonial masters, for their administrative convenience, had drawn boundaries where there was none and clubbed together regions which had very different cultural and political structures and historically had never shared affinity, and finally left behind an impossible mess for the new rulers to clear. Having said that, it is also a truism that the ‘pain and humiliation’ that produced the ‘intense bond of solidarity’ among the Mizos— the quintessential of ethno-nationalism— came not from the foreign invader but from their own countrymen. Malsawmi Jacob, in her discussion about her book Zorami(2015) with Jaydeep Sarangi, succinctly states, “the way I see it, the real subordination of the Mizo people was what the Indian Army did to them in the aftermath of the uprising. The deprivation of power and voice was also most acute then. The air raids and Army atrocities were hushed up. The people of Mizoram became voiceless victims. Yes, Zorami has spoken out for the people whose voice was stifled.”4

            The MNF movement for self-determination, which began with half-hearted support from the people had spiraled off into the most violent and darkest period in Mizo history known as Rambuai (1966-1986) which, when translated into English, means ‘troubled land’. This was the period which witnessed the 1966 aerial bombing of Aizawl that remains a blight in the nation’s history. Sanjoy Hazarika gives an account of the aerial bombing:

Four days after the rebel assault erupted on 1 March 1966, fighter jets of the Indian Air Force came screaming over Aizawl…Indian bludgeoning was not wholly unexpected by the MNF. It had believed that there would be retaliation but not the scale of the counter-strike that followed, which smashed and burnt villages, molested and raped women, virtually displaced the district’s entire population, destroyed property and tortured elderly men and youth. The violence was unprecedented in the history of India and its already nascent struggle against the pro-freedom group in Nagaland which had erupted over a decade earlier….The Rambuai had begun in real earnest with a campaign that, fifty years down the line, should make every Indian ashamed of the government and what it did to a civilian population during a time of conflict. (2018, pp. 96-98)

It was this historical catastrophe of the aerial bombing of Aizawl, now the capital city of Mizoram, that Jacob is referring to when she describes the post-bombing scene. Aizawl lay in shambles and those houses that survived the air-raids were burnt down. The experience of distraught citizens who begged for mercy and yet were denied human compassion is lucidly expressed in Zorami:

“His home…escaped the fire and was still standing after the air-raids. The Assam Rifles men came and burned it down. He stood at the door begging them to spare his home, but they pushed him aside and torched it, laughing loudly as the flames rose.” (2015, p.155)

The Mizo District was declared a “disturbed area” by the Government of Assam under the Assam Disturbed Area Act of 1955. Law and order was entrusted to the Indian army and though martial law was not officially declared, the army was armed with the draconian Armed Forces Special Power Act (AFSPA), 19585 and vide Rule 32 of the Defence of India Rules, 1962, they also proclaimed emergency in the area under article 352 of Indian Constitution (V.L Hluna &Tochhawng, 2012, p. xviii). Thus, the juridical order that governed a democracy was no longer valid to a people who were still part of the democratic country. Within the framework of the law is created what Agamben calls a ‘state of exception’ that “gives power to eliminate certain categories of citizens” (2005,p.1).  Agamben’s idea is developed from Carl Schmitt’s conceptualization of sovereign power as possessing the monopoly on the ability to decide on what calls for a state of exception, on what it considers as a threat to its integrity.

 Agamben, in his State of Exception, explains this concept of a “state of exception” under which the juridical order becomes invalid as “the legal form of what cannot have legal form” (p.1).  His idea of modern totalitarianism is significant to an understanding of how the state mechanism works in contemporary politics to wield control: “modern totalitarianism can be defined as the establishment, by means of the state of exception, of a legal civil war that allows for physical elimination not only of political adversaries but of entire categories of citizens who for some reason cannot be integrated into the political system” (p.1). In the face of threats, the ‘state of exception’ is seen as the dominant paradigm of government.  Agamben’s study of the “state of exception” becomes relevant when it comes to the state of affairs in relation to the AFSPA.  Under the “disturbed area” tag, the people of Mizoram became a  “category of citizens” who were governed by a state of exception in the form of the AFSPA : “The AFSPA under which the Army was operating in the Mizo Hills empowered officers to shoot even unto death where it was considered needed, requiring only that due warning be given as deemed necessary” (V.L Hluna & Tochhawng, 2012, p.161).  The people’s pleas for help fell on deaf ears and their sufferings were seen as a necessary consequence. In his reply to the plea against military outrages on innocent Mizo civilians, the Home Minister of India, Y. B. Chavan, in Delhi is reported to have said: “I have to punish my children severely if they behave badly” (Nibedon, 1980, p.118). The horrendous suffering undergone by the people is brushed aside by callous and lackadaisical observations such as “There must have been some amount of psychological suffering and physical torture when the villagers were asked to shift from places where they lived for ages. But of course, this cannot be escaped. Security is far more important than the bodily sufferings of some people” [emphasis is mine] (V. Venkata Rao quoted in Pachuau & Schendel, 2015, p. 308). Unfortunately, “the bodily sufferings of some people” have far reaching consequences that affect beyond the physical to the psychological and has the potential to affect generations.

            With overall responsibility of army operations given to Major General Sanghat Singh, the first battalion of Indian soldiers (the 8th Sikh Bn.) made their way into the Mizo Hills on the 3rd of March, leaving behind a trail of tears and cries of women that rent the air. The 4th of March, the day this battalion entered Kolasib, is reported to have been the single day with the highest incident of rape in the entire history of the hills (Hluna & Tochhawng, 2012, p.163).  It is important to note here that the advance of the troops was marked by ‘rape’ of the enemy women. It is pertinent to distinguish what happened in Mizoram from what happened in other war-torn regions, where rape accompanies atrocities of the armies. In Mizoram, military aggression began with rape and the army posts that surrounded the villages continued to represent sites of sexual aggression (Hluna & Tochhawng, 2012, p. 162) and it was brought to the notice of the Assam Assembly that not even children or pregnant women were spared from the sexual atrocities (Hluna & Tochhawng, 2012, pp.170-71).

Rape as a concomitant of war violence has to do with the demonstration of power to have the desired effect of terror, used as a military strategy. Since the Second World War, the use of rape as a weapon of war had assumed strategic importance. Yasmin Saikia’s statement in the context of Bangladesh War in 1971 can be applied in the NEI context as well, “Raping women in Bangladesh was a rite to assert the power of men’s ability to destroy the vulnerable and make it impossible for a woman to find a whole self after the war. Rape was a tool to destroy women’s link with the past. They were doomed to live without their collective memory; their personal history became a secret that could not be disclosed.” (2011, pp. 60-61).

There can be no clearer example of the sexualized aspect of military conflict than when the advancing human machines are utilized by the state to discipline and punish. Since patriotic honour is often tied with women’s sexual respectability, enemy women are often seen as legitimate targets of rape. The horror of rape has been described in varied ways as an intent to depersonalize the victim (Mertzger, 1976); as an attack that affects the victim’s physical but also psychological and social identity (Weis and Borges, 1973); and as a weapon of terror (Sheffield, 1987).

Though rape as an aspect of militarized conflict is the most painful, it is at the same time the most silenced because “the memories survive only in the private sphere and are dealt with as private matters by the victims’ families and often solely by the victim who hides in ‘shame’ (Saikia, 2011, p. 63). The ordeal of a rape victim, whose suffering is doubled by her need to hide the truth, is seen in Zorami when the narrator tells us that Zorami “kept her mouth shut”, “she never spoke out” because “such a thing is not for telling”. (p.43)  Zorami, who according to the author, is drawn as the ‘prototype’ of all victims who suffered the same kind of fate, “learned to be ashamed. And to keep quiet. So, she did not tell anyone about the bully. Neither did she tell about the dirty man with the dirty touch”.   (p.42)  Therefore, this aspect of terror inhabits the silenced zone of the private sphere and much as it caused psychological injury to the Mizos, it has not been able to share the same space as the other forms of military aggression whose memory has formed the ‘bond of solidarity’ in the Mizo consciousness. In the nationalist “becoming” of Mizoness persists, borrowing Yasmin Saikia’s phrase, “the hierarchy of men’s truth and women’s silences” (2011, p.12).

What has impacted the Mizo consciousness most is the brutal experience of the village re-grouping. The village re-grouping that was carried out in Mizoram and Nagaland was a military strategy that was modeled on colonial counter-insurgency methods of the British in the Boer War in South Africa (1899–1902) and later against communist insurgents from 1948-1960 in the Malay Peninsula to crush a Communist insurgency (Hazarika, 2018, p. 98; Pachuau and Schendel, 2015, p. 306). In Mizoram, it was done in full vengeance with an objective to break the Mizo spirit. According to Joy Pachuau and Schendel, the forced resettlement directly affected 87 per cent of Mizoram’s rural population and 82 per cent of its total population (2015, p. 308).  Margaret Ch. Zama and Vanchiau give the human dimension of what happened:

Horrendous military action was initiated whereby the inhabitants of villages located throughout the length and breadth of Mizoram, were herded overnight with just only a few hours notice, to leave their all except what they could carry, and have their beloved homesteads burnt to the ground before their very eyes” that made even “the elderly [cling] to their doorposts, weeping openly. (2016, p. 68)

Brutalities inflicted on a population become memories not only of the victims but also of those who were tasked with the duty. V.S Jaffa, who had to carry out the village grouping in Mizo Hills as the Addl. District Magistrate, recollects with regret: “The grouping exercise carried out over 1967-70 has left a huge scar in the Mizo psyche. The romance of the Mizo village life disappeared forever” (Nag, 2012, p.12). The feeling of desolation and helplessness is best articulated in a song composed by Suakliana in 1968 titled as “Khaw Sawikhawm hla” which is said to be the saddest song that could make its listeners weep openly when it was aired on the All India Radio, sung by Siampuii Sailo. The poet compares the entire population of Mizoram to a faded cloth and a riakmaw bird, homeless and hungry (Zama &Vanchiau, 2016, p.65).

It is recorded that, as part of the army atrocities, the security forces engaged in different forms of punishments, from putting their prisoners into sacks filled with burning hot chilies, forcing villagers to kneel in confined spaces for endless hours in the scorching sun or rainy nights to tying them to a changel tree (a species of banana plant) to be burnt alive (Hluna &Tochhawng, 2012, p. 162). The Mizos were dispossessed of their rights not only in terms of their citizenship in a democratic nation but as human beings. In the Assam Assembly debates, Gaurishankar Bhattacharyya described the sufferings endured by the Mizos as a result of the re-groupings in metaphors of the Holocaust, referring to the village groupings as ‘concentration camps’6. To be able to comprehend such an experience by the human imagination, according to Mbembe (citing Hannah Arendt), is  never possible “for the very reason that it stands outside of life and death” (2019, p.66) because as Mbembe puts it, “its inhabitants have been divested of political status and reduced to bare life” (p.66) and therefore it is a life with no parallels. And this place, which is created by the state, is “the ultimate expression of sovereignty” by the power invested in it “to dictate who is able to live and who must die” (pp. 66-67).

Sexual violence was the order of the day and as disgusting as it may sound, there are some who, like a certain Major Pritam Singh, indulged in extremities in pursuance of the horrid act and he was known to have kept a list of all his victims (Hluna&Tochhawng, p.163). In her historical narrative, Zorami, Jacob perhaps draws the character of Major Kohli from this figure: “The Major had fallen across the bridge with a forefinger on his revolver trigger. When they searched his pockets, they found a diary among other things” (p.132). When it was suggested that the diary should be preserved as a “memorial of vai (Indian) army’s dirty deeds” (p.133), the leader of the ‘ambush party’, Dina replied that it was better to “wipe it out” (p.133) and so the pages were torn out and burnt. The phrase ‘wipe it out’, when understood in terms of memory, suggests erasure. Given the unwillingness to “preserve” it in memory, and also because, as is pointed out in The Mizo Uprising, “a lot of Literature written before and during the years of Insurgency was burnt either by the soldiers or by the writers themselves…” (Hluna and Tochhawng, 2012, p.xii), it is not surprising when Margaret Ch. Zama and Vanchiau argue that Mizo writers have been ‘reticent’ about memories of the period for subjects of literary works. They imply that it is perhaps because of the pain being so hurtful that it becomes “inexpressible”, quoting Easterine Kire— “In the worst of the war years, the horror has taken us beyond words into silence; the deep silence of inexpressible pain” (2016, p. 66).

Although the memory of the rambuai seems to have imposed what Tom Segev calls a “posthumous identity” (1993, p.11) that has formed part of the cultural memory, the memories are disjointed or sometimes incoherent recollections as survivors try to remember after twenty-five years. They have kept their stories suppressed for so long not only because of fear but also perhaps because they were too raw and painful. Stories of those years are fragmented memories that “cannot be substantiated by written records on most accounts” because “for twenty years, the Mizo people had lived in fear of being branded as rebels, and for twenty years, they refrained from writing diaries, creative outpourings or records of experiences because of the dreaded soldiers who could not read the language were wont to brand them as “MNF documents” (Hluna & Tochhawng, 2012, p. xi). Such experience is dramatized by James Dokhuma in his novel Silai Mu Ngaihawm (2012) when the love letter sent by Sanglura to Ramliani falls into the hands of the Security Forces. Since the Indian soldiers are unable to read and understand the contents in the letter, they immediately brand it as an MNF document which provokes them to escalate their atrocities.

The state commemoration of the aerial bombing of Aizawl on the 5th of March, observed as Zoram Ni (Zoram Day) to commemorate the fateful day on which many innocent lives had been lost, started only since 2008, forty-two years after the attainment of statehood.

The overlapping of forgetting and remembering is what proves to be an obstacle confronting especially women’s dimension in the reconstruction of coherent narratives. When one has for so long been reduced to silence, a sort of being in stasis, one is faced with the difficulty of regaining one’s voice and one’s subjectivity.  One way of looking at the cultural repression of women’s memories might be the fear, not so much as the lack, of empathizing with the victims. This phenomenon is best described in the words of Susan J. Brison when she speaks about the difficulty in recovering from the trauma of “Nazi death camps”: “Intense psychological pressures make it difficult…for others to listen to trauma narratives. Cultural repression of traumatic memories comes not only from an absence of empathy with victims but also out of an active fear of empathizing with those whose terrifying fate forces us to acknowledge that we are not in control of our own” (1999, pp. 48-49).

In Silaimu Ngaihawm, it is the ‘inexpressible’ pain of Ramliani that ultimately leads to her death. She internalizes the pain of losing her beloved who is killed by a bullet fired during an encounter and ironically, that very bullet becomes the only souvenir she has of her beloved. It was as if her grief consumed her whole until she gave up existing. Ramliani thus becomes reduced to an indistinct human form as a result of her inexpressible ‘memory’. The bullet becomes the symbol of pain and it is so deeply entrenched within the Mizo consciousness that it becomes part of the Mizo identity. Although it was the very bullet that killed her beloved, it becomes part of Ramliani and she is made to carry it to her grave. Likewise, the Mizoness that was produced after the Rambuai cannot be seen in isolation from the pain and humiliation suffered by the Mizos as a people. And it was this traumatic experience that left the people with a collective inability to tell their story. In the absence of collective response to the dehumanization experienced, individuals are left with what Rosenblum and Minow call either “too much memory” or “too much forgetting” (2002, pp. 1-13) and for the Mizos, it was the latter that produced, borrowing Paulo Freire’s phrase (and re-used by Sanjoy Hazarika in his introduction to After Decades of Silence (2016) in the Mizo context), a “culture of silence”.

The traumatic experience of the rambuai becomes part of the collective memory which affects not only those who were there to witness but even those who were not there. The idea of traumatic memory extending beyond the victims is not particular to the Mizos. Speaking of the Cherokee relocation, Woodward had recorded, “Alluded to as “the Trail of Tears” by Indians of all the Five Civilized Tribes, the journey west was a tragic event that could not easily be erased from the emigrants or their descendants”  (1982, p.218).

In order to understand the impact of the historical catastrophe undergone by the Mizos, it is important to take into consideration ways in which transgenerational trauma, or what Susan Sontag powerfully calls “the pain of others”, can shape a people’s identity. The phenomenon of what Marianne Hirsch calls “postmemory” (in the context of the children of the Holocaust victims) involves transgenerational transfer of catastrophic collective memories to what has been termed as the “postgeneration” (Hoffman, 2004) or “generation after” (Hirsch, 2012).  Toni Morrison uses the term “rememory” to describe the intergenerational transmission of traumatic experience: “Some things you forget. Other things you never do. . . . Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it’s gone, but the place— the picture of it— stays, and not just in my rememory but out there, in the world. . . . “Can other people see it?” asked Denver. “Oh yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Some day you be walking down the road and you hear something or see something going on. So clear. And you think it’s you thinking it up. A thought picture. But no. It’s when you bump into a rememory that belongs to somebody else.” and the memory belongs as much to the witnesses as to those who came later “Where I was before I came here, that place is real. It’s never going away. Even if the whole farm— every tree and grass blade of it dies. The picture is still there and what’s more, if you go there— you who never was there— if you go there and stand in the place where it was, it will” (2005, p.43).

Sajal Nag in his essay “A Gigantic Panopticon: Counter-Insurgency and Modes of Disciplining and Punishment in Northeast India” (2012) suggests that the contemporary phenomenon of trance-like dances in the church, very prominent among the Mizo women, may be the impact of women’s traumatic memory which has been repressed and unaddressed and in turn, produces an intergenerational transmission of trauma.

In reconstructing Mizo identity post-rambuai, it becomes important to facilitate the process of healing in ways that could help regain the ethno-nationalist pride of being Mizo. While it is agreed that it was the shared experience of pain and the memory of that pain that had been central to forming a collective Mizo identity, it is the ‘imperative to forget’ through spiritual reconciliation that aids in ‘becoming’ Mizo after the troubled years. Two factors play important roles in facilitating the “becoming” of a Mizo – religion, and recovery of the heroic and mythic past. While religion aids in “forgetting” a difficult past, the mythic past offers a form of collective memory that facilitates regaining nationalist pride.

Although celebrating a mythic and heroic past and ignoring “difficult pasts” holds less legitimacy in the contemporary mnemonic landscape (Vinitzky-Seroussi & Teeger, 2010), it is the ability to forget which is considered by Christian Meier to be considered the cultural achievement rather than the act of remembering and that the process of forgetting after civil wars is the only tried-and-tested solution for social peace.7 However, Assman and Shortt  challenge Meier’s “tried-and-tested solution” by questioning the validity of categorizing the two terms- forgetting and remembering- into rigid polarized concepts. For Assman and Shortt, ‘remembering’ or ‘forgetting’ are rarely mutually exclusive practices and therefore more attention must be paid to crossovers such as selective forgetting and partial or transitional remembering because that brings us to two crucial questions: “who profits, who suffers from forgetting? Can a fresh start really be achieved on an equal basis or is the price too high which one group has to pay?” (2012, p.68).

While the emotional charge of the collective memory of pain and humiliation during the rambuai is central to the construction of Mizo identity, the nationalist “becoming” of Mizoness builds its narrative through a masculinist imagination of the cultural past that glorifies masculine traits of a pasaltha.8 In fact, the Mizo National Army (MNA), which consisted of eight battalions were named after legendary heroes of the past: “The first four – Chawngbawla, Khuangchera, Saizahawla and Taitesena – formed the Lion Brigade, which operated in the northern half of Mizoram, and the other four – Joshua, Lalvunga, Vanapa and Zampui Manga – formed the Dagger Brigade, operating in the south” (Camera as Witness 318). The appropriation and glorification of cultural heroes continue to hold in the Mizo ethno-nationalist identity that may be discerned in contemporary politico-religious institutions like the Mizo Zirlai Pawl (MZP), Young Mizo Association (YMA) and the Kohhran Thalai Pawl (KTP) who were formed through missionary initiatives (Hluna, 2009, pp., 400-408) and continue to function as important bodies. The several sections of the YMA and the KTP are named after different pasaltha(s) like Chawngbawla, Taitesena, Vanapa, Khuangchera and so on.

Merged with cultural identity is the religious element. The religious dimension in constructing a new Mizo identity finds its best manifestation in the state anthem of Mizoram “Ro min rel sak ang che” (composed by Rokunga). The song is a prayer to the Christian God addressed as Pathian to guide and protect the people and the land against all enemies. The adoption of Rokunga’s poem as the state anthem not only forges connection with the Christian faith but also with the uprising. It was Rokunga’s poetry that stirred the revolutionary spirit and awakened the Mizos to rise up in defense of Zoram. R.L Thanmawia says that Rokunga was “responsible for the uprising of 1966” (1998, p.125) through his poem “Harh la, harh la” (Awake! Awake!) in which he exhorts the people to be brave and rise up to the call of Zoram (the land of the Mizos).

Forging connections with both the religious and the cultural dimensions, a new Mizo man, who inherits all the traits of the cultural heroes as well as those of the Christian faith, is constructed. This new Mizo man takes birth in one of the most popular literary works published after the rambuai, Nunna Kawngthuam Puiah (1989). In this novel, through the character of Chhuanvawra, K.C Lalvunga has been able to create a sense of masculine dignity and pride in being a Mizo for a generation who was yet to recover from the deepest humiliation as a people. According to Achebe, regaining the lost dignity and pride in his people was the most important role of a writer. The protagonist, Chhuanvawra (the nation’s pride), as the name suggests, is the quintessential of a Mizo man.  In strength of character as well as in intelligence, there is none to surpass Chhuanvawra, even among the vais (the plainsmen). While Chhuanvawra succeeds in becoming an IPS officer, the female protagonist, Ngurthansangi is forced into marriage with Colonel Ranade who sells her into prostitution. It was Chhuanvawra who later rescues her from the “depth of debauchery” (suahsualna khur).  When Chhuanvawra meets Sangi at the hotel where she was trapped as a sex slave, her first reaction was shame: “I am so ashamed. Oh why have you come here, U Chhuan?…I am unclean, I am undeserving of your love” and she repeats “I am no longer worth saving… I am unclean” (pp.176-77).  She is made to feel ashamed although she is a victim against her wishes. Sangi finds healing only when she comes in union with her homeland and God. Chhuanvawra is painted as the most honourable man as he takes Sangi to be his wife and becomes her protector.  The pastor, Pu Lianzuala prays for them at the altar, “Dear God…they have been through a great misfortune…we ask that they may forget these painful memories”. Therefore, healing comes through spiritual reconciliation and through ‘forgetting’.  Going by the observations of Siamkima Khawlhring, one of the first Mizo critics, Nunna Kawngthuam Puiah has been able to fill the Mizo heart with a sense of pride and dignity. Although the novel succeeded in restoring the lost pride and dignity in Mizo men, it failed to do the same when it comes to bequeathing a similar place to women in the reshaping of Mizo identity. While Chhuanvawra is painted as a flawless character, Ngurthansangi’s weakness and vulnerability is intended to remind women’s failings and therefore their need for protection by Mizo men.

The new Mizo Christian religio-ethnic identity is problematic because in it, the gendered paradigm does not find equal space. When the nationalist discourse relies on masculinist ideals and ignores the marginalized narratives, it faces the danger of privileging selective memories while silencing others and this issue is well articulated in Jacob’s re-telling of the rambuai experience from a gendered dimension. Zorami’s story is not only an individual trauma but is representative of the trauma faced by all rape victims during the Mizo conflict. Zorami’s inability to tell about her traumatic rape foregrounds the reason why there is no immediately accessible knowledge of violence: the victim is not allowed to speak of the crime against her. For Zorami, the experience of sexual violence is so traumatic that it is written on her body and she needs to come to terms with that. Zorami’s narrative takes us into the excruciating past, the memory of which is so painful that recalling that cannot but be a ‘bruising experience’,  borrowing the phrase Adichie used when she talked about her experience of writing  Half of a Yellow Sun, in which she recollects the traumatic memory of the Biafran War of 1966. For Adichie, the process is so painful that she “often wondered whether to stop or to scale back” because writing about her people’s experience of the war places a responsibility on her.

Either in the memorialisation of the humiliation endured or in the commemoration of the war heroes of the Mizo Movement, representation of women is markedly absent. As Mary Vanlalthanpuii asserts, “scholars dealing on [the] insurgency focus exclusively on male activities” although “female volunteers in the MNF Movement…fought alongside the men and suffered with the men” (2019,p.5). And despite the gendered nature of atrocities, how far the individual memories of the female victims are allowed to be written in the state sanctified commemoration of the uprising is an uncomfortable question. It is important to remember that “collective memory is an instrument and an objective of power,” which like history, is socially constructed, collectively shared, and selectively exploited. Thus, the politics of memory in contemporary Mizoram should be understood in relation to the social construction of Mizoness post-rambuai. The memory of atrocities and victimization during the troubled years forms the psychological bond which seeks spiritual consolation through religion while the valorization of a culturally “imagined past”, to use Benedict Anderson’s term, provides the ethno-nationalist consciousness. The reconstruction of Mizoness, however, seems to resist gender differentiations. Most of the recent literary works have also avoided to analyse how representational paradigms of Mizoness might be gendered and it might be because of the fear of being seen as divisive. However, to conclude, in the national becoming, recovering the silenced story of women is essential because, as Morrison, concludes in Beloved, “disremembered and unaccounted for, she cannot be lost because no one is looking for her” (p.323).

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding
No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

Acknowledgement
Feature image courtesy:

 Notes:

  1. Cyclical bamboo flowering in Mizoram that causes a boom in rat population. Food grains are attacked and exhausted by the rats, causing famine in the region.
  2. The first Lushai expedition of 1871-72 was led by General Bronlow and Brouchier. See T.H. Lewin (1912).
  3. On 18th April 1952, the Mizo Union leaders met with the Constituent Assembly Advisory Committee under Gopinath Bordoloi, they submitted a memorandum in favour of an autonomous district council with a change in the name of Lushai to the more inclusive Mizo).
  4. In Conversation with Malsawmi Jacob. Jaydeep Sarangi. Writers in Conversation Vol 4. No.1, February 2017. Retrieved December, 2021 from researchgate.net
  5. Armed Forces Powers Act, 1958 empowers security forces to open fire, conduct operations and arrest anyone without warrant in ‘disturbed areas’. See “AFSPA Factsheet: The Act and its Extension in India”. Outlook.8th Dec 2021. outlookindia.com
  6. Assam Assembly Debates, 7 June 1967, Vol II No.16. In Sanjoy Hazarika (2018), Strangers No More, p.103.
  7. 7. Christian Meier (2010), Das Gebot zu vergessen und die Unabweisbarkeit des Erinnerns (The Imperative to Forget and the Inescapability of Remember). Cited in Assman and Shortt, 2018.
  8. The word signifies all qualities that define manhood- being fearless, skilled in hunting and warfare and unflinching on the face of danger and pain. Simply translated, the word pasaltha stands for ‘a braveheart’.

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Hazarika, Sanjoy (2018). Strangers No More: New Narratives from India’s Northeast. New Delhi: Aleph, 2018.

Hirsch, M. and Smith, V. (2002). Feminism and Cultural Memory: An Introduction.  Signs 28 (1), 1-19.

Hirsch, M. (2012). The Generation of Postmemory : Writing and Visual Culture After the Holocaust. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Zothanchhingi Khiangte, PhD, is an Assistant Professor and the former Head of the Department of English, Bodoland University, Kokrajhar, Assam. She is also the Coordinator of the Centre for Women’s Studies of Bodoland University. She has been the Chief Editor of the International Journal of Literature &Cultural studies (Two volumes). Her most recent books are Orality: Quest for Meanings and Revisiting Orality in Northeast India. Four PhD and two MPhil scholars have been awarded their degrees under her guidance.

Kanhailal’s ‘Theatre of the Earth’ as Political Allegory

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Pranjal Sharma Bashishtha1 & Goutam Sarmah2

1Department of Assamese, Gauhati University, Guwahati, Assam, India. ORCID: 0000-0001-8408-7008.  Email: psb@gauhati.ac.in

2Dr. Bhupen Hazarika Centre for Performing Arts, Dibrugarh University, Dibrugarh, Assam, India. ORCID: 0000-0002-6280-654X

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages 1–13. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne10

First published: June 09, 2022 | Area: Northeast India | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Under the Canopy of Sal Trees: A New Vocabulary of Performance in Sukracharya Rabha’s Minimal Theatre

Abstract

Playwright and director, Heisnam Kanhailal (1941-2016) was an eminent theatre personality from Manipur. He began as one of the exponents of the ‘theatre of roots’ movement, like his compatriot, Ratan Thiyam. He was influenced by Badal Sircar’s politically motivated ‘Third Theatre’ in the early 1970s who had introduced him to the ‘Poor Theatre’ of the Polish director, Jerzy Grotowski (1933-99). However, Kanhailal gradually developed his unique concept of theatre, which he later called ‘The Theatre of the Earth’ with which he had tried resist the ideologies like aggressive nationalism, which was found to be rather oppressive. He retained deeper faith in art and restricted his theatre from becoming overtly propagandist by privileging its poetic, allegorical, and ‘transcendental’ appealsThe present paper is an attempt towards critical evaluation of Kanhailal’s ‘Theatre of the Earth’ and to compare his works with that of Grotowski, Sircar, and Thiyam as well as with two contemporary theatre directors from Assam, Gunakar Deva Goswami (b.1969) and Sukracharya Rabha (1977-2018). The paper also takes up his significant plays like Pebet and others in order to closely read his poetics of theatre.

Keywords: Poor theatre, resistance, theatre of rituals, theatre of the earth, the third theatre.

Introduction:

Modern Indian theatre, which was set in motion in the British colonial cities in India in the late eighteenth century, assumed a postcolonial stance in the fifth decade of the twentieth century. Aparna Bhargava Dharwadker (2008) point out that Nabanna, written by Bijon Bhattacharyya in 1943 and staged under the direction of Bijon Bhattacharyya and Shombhu Mitra for the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA) in 1944, was the first postcolonial Indian play. She has regarded Nabanna to be so as it mounted stiff resistance to the British fiscal policies (Dharwadker, pp. 31-32). Earlier, Kiranmoy Raha (2001), in his book on Bengali theatre, brought out its anti-colonial stance while discussing how its first production resisted the European performance ideals (Raha, p. 155, p. 169). Bhattacharyya (2004) described the play in the following words:

As mass movements began in reaction to the imperialist power throughout Asia, India also got dispirited by it…. After ceremonial partition, insubstantial independence came with a curse of destruction…. The writing of Nabanna fell into the first phase of this blood-spattered history. (pp. 26-27; translated from the Bengali by the first author of the present paper).  

Postcolonial Theatre has two distinct features — one of them involves resistant cultural representations, which have become a means of asserting the richness of the indigenous culture by thwarting the dominant colonial cultural ideals, and the second is a tendency for highlighting the contemporary situation with the help of parallelism found in the indigenous histories and mythologies from pre-colonial period. Nabanna and the other productions of the IPTA in the fifth decade of the twentieth century, without doubt, looked for anti-European ideas of performance, but not so seriously. It emphasized content-related matters in the light of the leftist ideology, leaving artistry aside. Several theatre activists broke up with the IPTA towards the end of the decade with objections to this negligence of artistry. They formed individual theatre groups to begin a ‘Group Theatre Movement’ in India. These activists included Bijon Bhattacharyya, Shombhu Mitra, Habib Tanvir, Utpal Dutt, and Arun Mukherjee (Dharwadker, 2008, pp. 85-89). Consequently, the theatre groups began experiments on thematic novelty and artistic originality. A few independent playwrights like Dharamvir Bharti joined them from outside.

Two plays, both written ten years after the first performance of Nabanna, bear early evidence of such experiments. One is Agra Bazaar (“The Bazaar at Agra”; Urdu; 1954) by Habib Tanvir and the other play is Dharamvir Bharti’s Andha Yug (“Blind Age”; Hindi; 1954)). Agra Bazaar takes the audience back to eighteenth-century Agra and critiques the twentieth-century scenario of capitalist coercion on creativity while depicting the poetic achievements of the eighteenth-century Urdu poet, Nazeer Akbarabadi. It exposes the class difference between the elites and the plebeians of old Agra by using two variants of the Urdu language. The elite characters in the play speak the urban variant, whereas the plebeians use the rural one. Later, Tanvir established the ‘Naya Thatre’ group in Chhattisgarh in 1959 and experimented with improvisation and different dialogues to find a more reliable indigenous dramaturgy. Dharamvir Bharti’s Andha Yug is a critique of human violence (expressed during World War II and at the time of the partition of India in 1947) through the use of a mythological story that tells about the futility of violence in the Indian epic, the Mahabharata.

These plays demonstrated that stories from the histories and mythologies of the Indian past could help the playwrights and directors take critical stances against the ills of contemporary India. Plays like Mohan Rakesh’s Ashadh Ka Ek Din (“One Day in Ashadha”; Hindi; 1958) and Lehron Ke Rajhans (“The Swans of the Waves”; Hindi; 1963) Girish Karnad’s Yayati (Kannada; 1961) and Tughlaq (Kannada; 1964) took such experiments forward in the late 60s and the early 70s.

Indian theatre between 1970 and 1990 became so experimental that it seemed as if it had completely severed itself from the earlier tradition indicating the postcolonial epoch of Indian theatre that entered a new phase of theatre movement. Suresh Awasthi (1989) has called this experimentalist theatre the ‘theatre of roots’ (p. 48). Here is what Awasthi says in this regard:

I am taking the risk of giving a label— “theatre of roots”— to the unconventional theatre which has been evolving for some two decades in India as a result of modern theatre’s encounter with tradition. Theatre of roots has finally made its presence felt. It has compelling power, it thrills audiences, and it is receiving institutional recognition. It is deeply rooted in regional theatrical culture, but cuts across linguistic barriers, and has an all-India character in design. Never before during the past century and more has theatre been practiced in such diversified form, and at the same time with such unity in essential theatrical values. (p. 48). 

Erin B. Mee (2008) has observed that the ‘theatre of roots’ movement “challenged colonial culture by reclaiming the aesthetics of performance and by addressing the politics of aesthetics.” (p. 5). The movement determined a new theatre idiom, which has become a means of resisting the colonial theatre framework. For that purpose, it looked for extra-communicative traditional forms and novel visual aesthetics by exploring the ‘roots’ of the Indian people in the indigenous folk, traditional, and classical cultural heritage (Raut, “Indianizing”, p. 7). Thus, the new theatre emerged as a synchronization of modern contents and traditional folk forms. Playwrights and directors adapted forms and elements of folk tales, legends, myths, epics, and history to enhance the potentialities for visual representation. It looked like going back to the past, but it facilitated explorations of the contemporary Indian realities. It also contributed to the construction of an identity of modern Indian theatre. The playwrights and directors of this new experimental theatre included Habib Tanvir, Badal Sirkar, Girish Karnad, B.V. Karanth, K. N. Panicker, and others. This list was enriched from the north-eastern region of India by two legendary figures Manipuri playwrights-cum-directors Heisnam Kanhailal (1941-2016) and Ratan Thiyam (b. 1948).

Kanhailal’s Departure from the ‘Theatre of Roots’ Movement:

The ‘theatre of roots’ movement in modern Indian theatre by and large asserted a kind of ‘Indianness’ (“an all-India character in design”; Awasthi, 1989, p. 48) with its use of elements from the indigenous cultural traditions of India. The movement influenced young Kanhailal, and he began his theatre career as one of its exponents. However, he gradually evolved as a playwright and director with a unique ‘poetically political’ stance. He started to represent the socio-political realities of North-East India, especially Manipur, and more especially his Meitei community. However, he preferred not to be overtly political. He remained truthful to art and began to represent these realities poetically. As a result, his plays became politically resilient and poetically allegorical.

To represent these realities properly, Kanhailal enriched his plays with relevant folk (as in Pebet; 1975), mythological (as in Karna; 1997), and literary (as in Dakghar; 2006) elements. His plays have highlighted the pains and struggles of those communities in the North-East region that have been subjected to repressive nationalist paradigms of post-independent India. He drew attention, especially to the identity crisis of the traditional Meitei community of Manipur, which he belonged to. His plays also uphold the cultural strength and the associated spirit of the community for freedom from all kinds of nationalist oppression. It is evident in the following comment made by him:

I remember my meeting with Eugenio Barba in Calcutta in 1987. He asked me why the Manipuri productions demonstrate so much nationality. He was right, for he did not know that our national culture was fighting a struggle for existence between the dominant forces of a big culture and complicated politics. We do not have the objective of creating a national hullabaloo. But our theatre contains the happiness and sorrows of some people who are fighting for maintaining their identity. (Kanhailal, 2007, p. 30; translated from Hindi by the first author). 

The Formative Influences on the ‘Theatre of the Earth’:

In contrast to the ‘Theatre of Roots’, Kanhailal preferred to call his genre as the ‘Theatre of the Earth’. Three distinct factors played pivotal roles in shaping Kanhailal’s ‘Theatre of the Earth’. First, unlike his contemporaries, such as the Manipur University Professor Lokendra Arambam or the National School of Drama (NSD) product Ratan Thiyam, Kanhailal did not have any institutional affiliation. He was expelled from the NSD as he could not follow Hindi and English, its languages of instruction (Bharucha, 1998, p.  22; Ahuja, 2012, p. 276). He felt “humiliated and angry” (Bharucha, 1998, p. 22). The incident alienated him from mainstream urban theatre and inspired him to discover an alternative (Ahuja, 2012, p. 276). He also became resolute in upholding Manipuri culture to the whole world. The following words summarize the effects of the incident on Kanhailal’s mind and works:

My hopes of becoming a trained theatre activist evaporated when in 1968, I was expelled from the school before the classes began. I was psychologically affected but did not lose hope. I followed the way of self-education in my hometown Imphal. I established [the theatre group] ‘Kalakshetra Manipur’ in July 1969 with the love and assistance of my wife Sabitri and a few unfailing friends. We had the objective of studying, determining, and uplifting the Manipuri culture to such a standard level that would be regarded as the best not only in India but also in the drama scene of the whole world. (Kanhailal, 2007, p. 30; translated from Hindi by the first author). 

Sabitri Heisnam (b. 1946), Kanhailal’s leading actress since 1961 and wife since 1962 (Bharucha, 1998, p. 21) exerted the second significant formative influence on his works. Sabitri Heisnam was a rurally trained accomplished actress even before their first meeting. Yet, it is only in the folk-related productions of their theatre group ‘Kalakshetra Manipur’ (established in 1969) that the best in her came out. They had their own home in 1970 (Bharucha, 21), and after that, they became closer than ever before. She eventually became the body and voice for his folk-based theatre ideas (Ahuja, 2012, p. 276). In the words of Rustom Bharucha (1998),

It is only mandatory that any description of Kanhailal’s theatre should acknowledge the contribution of his wife. Sabitri is the centre of his work. Indeed, it is difficult not to idealize this diminutive, unpretentious, unfailingly cheerful woman, who happens to be one of the greatest actresses that I have ever seen. In her temperament, Sabitri exemplifies the resilience and commonsense of a peasant. And I use the word not in any derogatory sense, but after John Berger, in his viewing of the lives of agricultural communities. (p. 20). 

The third notable formative influence on Kanhailal came from the Polish playwright and director Jerzy Grotowski via the Bengali playwright and director Badal Sircar. Kanhailal met Sircar in a workshop in Imphal in 1973 (Katyal, 2015, p. 171), where Sircar shared his viewpoints about space and physicality in his ‘Third Theatre’ and Grotowski’s ‘Poor Theatre’. He “was very inspired by Badal Sircar’s work, but then he went another way.” (Singh, 1997, p. 22). In-depth discussions on the influences of Grotowski and Sircar on Kanhailal and the distance that Kanhailal maintained from them can make out several important features of the ‘Theatre of the Earth’.

Grotowski, Sircar, and Features of Kanhailal’s ‘Theatre of the Earth’:

The points of similarity and difference between Grotowski and Sircar are striking. Sircar negated any direct impact from Grotowski, but his rejection of the colonial theatre elements— such as the proscenium stage, costumes and make-up, lights, sounds, set property, and others— has a striking similarity with that of the ‘Poor Theatre’ of the Polish playwright and director (Ahuja, 2012, p. 251). According to Grotowski, these elements are not essential but supplementary. It means that theatre can exist without them. Grotowski, therefore, minimized the stage property to highlight the core ingredients of theatre. He held that the living relationship among the actor, audience, and space was the organic power that constituted the life of theatre (Grotowski, 1968, pp. 28-32).

In Grotowski’s ‘Poor Theatre’, the ‘holy actor’ communicates to the audience on a sensory level about his inner self by removing his outer self or ‘life mask’. He compels the audience to get rid of their masks also. Consequently, the actor and the audience confront a new truth, which inspires them to change individually (p. 37). The change is personal and spiritual, though this spirituality is not religious. It uplifts an individual to a higher level of humanity.

Like Grotowski, Sircar felt the need for “a harmonious union of the body with the mind” (Sircar quoted in Katyal, 2015, p. 170). In the 1973 workshop in Manipur, he “[began the morning class] with a series of psycho-physical exercises, not so much for muscle-building as for developing the strength and flexibility of the spinal system.” (p. 172). However, Sircar’s minimization of theatre elements, such as set property, costumes, make-up, and others, was not meant for deciphering the core ingredients of theatre. He had little to do with spirituality. He was interested in the political possibility of theatre, and this he did assert emphatically through overtly leftist subject matters and dialogues.

An actor in the Poor Theatre (“holy actor”) does not play a character in the way the actors of the conventional realistic theatre do. He disregards Stanislavsky’s theory of character-building, which tells of a definite motivation or recalling sense/ emotional memory in a given circumstance. He does not try to represent outer life as it is, nor does he try to manifest real-life actions in his movements. He moves inward: he sacrifices his persona to dissect his inner self and expose it before the audience. Grotowski (1968) puts it in the following words:

But the decisive factor in this process is the actor’s technique of psychic penetration. He must learn to use his role as if it were a surgeon’s scalpel, to dissect himself. It is not a question of portraying himself under certain ‘given circumstances’, or of ‘living’ a part; nor does it entail the distant sort of acting common to epic theatre and based on cold calculation. The important thing is to use the role as a trampoline, an instrument with which study what is hidden behind our everyday mask— the innermost core of our personality— in order to sacrifice it, expose it (p. 37).

Thus, it is like portraying his true deeper self rather than portraying an imaginary character. The sacrifice of his persona is painful, and to reach the self is no doubt a spiritual act. The actor expresses his deeper self through various body movements, gestures, postures, and vocal sounds. These expressions are some psycho-physical acts to communicate some emotion. Thus, finally, one can observe a series of impulsive body movements of the character:

The education of an actor in our theatre is not a matter of teaching him something; we attempt to eliminate his organism’s resistance to this psychic process. The result is freedom from the time-lapse between inner impulse and outer reaction in such a way that the impulse is already an outer reaction. Impulse and action are concurrent: the body vanishes, burns, and the spectator sees only a series of visible impulses. (Grotowski, 1968, p. 16)

Sircar experimented with this approach to ‘holy acting’ in his ‘Third Theatre’ productions, where the actor explored his present-day truth in place of the situation faced by the character. Yet, in his conception of theatre, Sircar stressed more on political content. As a leftist theatre activist, he made theatre more politically motivated after the fashion of Erwin Piscator and Bertolt Brecht.

The unique stance that Kanhailal’s ‘Theatre of the Earth’ maintained compared to Grotowski and Sircar’s theatres is understandable from a close look at Sabitri Heisnam’s way of performance. Kanhailal felt that Sabitri Heisnam’s acting demonstrated her own experience, what she had perceived or realized in her society. Instead of doing any logical cause and effect characterization, she went on to transcend the situation and portray her experience. About the process of her acting Kanhailal said:

Sabitri’s process of acting is a way towards self-discovery, privileging herself over the character— the otherness…. Her way of controlling emotion and self-discovery is worked out by the inner action— a single vital force impregnated with a type of cathartic and psychic process, … [which] reveal[s], say, a Sabitri underneath— her true self. (Kanhailal, 2008, p. 3)

Like Grotowski, Kanhailal regarded the bodily movements of the actor as the core part of his theatre construction: “The idea of resistance in my theatre is incarnated by the body of the actor and represents a collective and communal vision” (p. 3). The inner journey to the self-found expressions in Grotowski and Kanhailal’s theatres through body movements and sounds made in a dream-like or trance-like situation, which is spiritual by nature.

An actor in Kanhailal’s theatre does not follow the conventional way of the ‘Actor-Text-Character’ journey. Rather, he/she takes the ‘Actor-Character-Text’ approach (p. 11). For such an actor, the character is an extended part of the actor’s body and mind. Thus, this process provides more artistic freedom instead of repeating or imitating the superficial day-to-day life. As in the holy actor of Grotowski’s theatre, here also one can observe impulsive body movements in a ‘transcended’ way. Here also, the actor’s body vanishes. The point can be highlighted with the example of the 70-year-old actress Sabitri Devi’s portrayal of the 9-year-old boy Amal’s character in the play Dakghar. Here, the spectators witnessed a journey to Amal’s dream world despite the point that the performer was an elderly lady. (Raut, 2019, p. 139).

A second point is notable here. Grotowski’s is “poor” theatre as it held on to theatre’s essential elements without which theatre could not exist. Kanhailal’s theatre was “poor” due to his financial scarcity in his early career. Therefore, instead of expensive sets and costumes, lights and sounds, and a decorated stage, he started his theatre only with a few actors, their bodies, voices, and minds. He gradually focused on the cultural materials, rituals, lifestyles, and behaviour of his native community and tried to derive his language of communication. Kanhailal also experimented with the actor’s body (p. 137). Besides, like K. N. Panicker, he developed some theatre exercises based on indigenous folk forms of martial art and dance. For example, he took up elements from Thang-Ta, a Manipuri martial art form, and Lai Haraoba, a type of Meitei dance. Thus, the actor’s body became the central element in his theatre experimentation. He even did not prioritize the written text or words of the playwrights (pp. 143-44). The minimization further intensified with influences from the ‘Third Theatre’ and ‘Poor Theatre’.

Thirdly, as in Grotowski’s ‘Poor Theatre’, Kanhailal’s actors also communicate with the audience at the spiritual level. Communication is comparable to the spiritual unification of the devotees in religious or cultural rituals (Raut, 2019, p. 144). Due to this similarity, Kanhailal’s theatre suits the label of ‘a Ritualistic Theatre’. One needs to remember that his spirituality and ritualism were also not religious. Here, the theatres of Grotowski and Kanhailal become closer, but still, Kanhailal’s theatre remains distinguishable for his altruism. His actor is different from that of Grotowski. Grotowski’s actor sacrifices himself to change morally or spiritually, while Kanhailal’s actor wants to induce the change on the societal level. He uses impulsive body movements to raise various socio-political issues (p. 144). Here lies the altruism that is the basis of Kanhailal’s plays.

At this point, a comparison between Badal Sircar and Kanhailal becomes obvious. Sircar’s Third Theatre also wanted change, but this was not a spiritual but social change. His theatre was more politically vibrant, as it hoped for a structured political revolt as per the leftist ideology. It advocated for the liberty of the common masses against all kinds of oppression. It aimed to eradicate illiteracy, poverty, and others in the post-independence scene. In this sense, Kanhailal’s theatre was also political but slightly different. It did not uphold any existing political ideology. It dealt with the same societal issues but suggestively and allegorically. Thus, he was different from both Sircar and Brecht (Kanhailal, 2008, p. 3).

There are more points of difference between the theatres of Sircar and Kanhailal. Like Sircar, Kanhailal rejected the dramatic text, though for a different reason. Sircar took the help of improvisation to enhance the realistic appeal of his productions. Kanhailal preferred to take up folk forms. He noticed that traditional folk theatre forms rarely demanded a written text. These forms were more flexible and mouldable. Therefore, with his anti-colonial and anti-nationalist position, during the early part of his career Kanhailal preferred simple Manipuri folk tales to readymade plays. He found that the Manipuri folk-tales had contemporary significance (Kanhailal, 2008, p. 2). He added additional/ allegorical meanings to these expressive folk tales to raise contemporary social issues. He gave his performance a poetic dimension by using other folk theatre elements, such as sound, movement, mime, dance, song, music, and stylization. The familiarity and the immediacy of these elements helped his Manipuri audience be aware of their crisis in terms of their identity, environment, colonial history and oppressive nationalism.

Thiyam’s ‘Theatre of Roots’ and Kanhailal’s ‘Theatre of the Earth’:

Being the two stalwarts of theatre from Manipur belong to the same period, comparisons between Kanhailal and Ratan Thiyam is quite inevitable. This is also helpful in understanding the similarities and the differences between the two. Thiyam, an exponent of the ‘Theatre of Roots’ movement, has brilliantly delineated a kind of ‘Indianness’ with his plays like Chakravyuha (“Army-Circle Formation”; 1984). The play uses episodes from the Mahabharata and evokes a sense of solidarity among the Indian audience. On the contrary, Kanhailal found the concept of ‘Indianness’ too comprehensively and dominantly ‘nationalist’ to accommodate the regional realities and issues. He, therefore, used episodes from the epic not to evoke a nationalist feeling but to highlight the socio-political issues of his immediate society. Kanhailal (2015) in his interview with Jyotirmoy Prodhani described his distinctiveness from Ratan Thiyam in the following way:

Ratan Thiyam’s plays are fantastic; they make majestic theatrical presence and are superbly spectacular. It is a mindboggling visual treat. But for me theatre is not only about copious extravaganza, it is essentially about the intimate nuances, the raw earthy immediacy of experiences. This is what “Theatre of the Earth” is all about. I strongly believe that theatre is essentially grounded with ideology and a deep-rooted social commitment. (para 2).  

The Legitimacy of Kanhailal’s Relation to ‘the Earth’:

Kanhailal was right to call his theatre the “Theatre of the Earth”, for it was down-to-earth. It was against the elaborate and decorative ‘nationalist’ theatre of his contemporary Manipuri playwright Ratan Thiyam. Kanhailal’s theatre was not ethereal; and it was not about fairies and farishtas. Rather, it was grounded on the ‘earth’. It was real, contemporary, and politically aware. It related the contemporary burning problems of his own people. He connected it to the contemporary North-Eastern, especially Manipuri, socio-political realities and cultural milieu. His theatre was deeply committed to the land and people of his Meitei community, their aspirations, pains, oppression, and frustrations. It took inspiration from their life and culture. According to him, this connection could make sense: “Even the social experiences of the individual and the community are actually solidified through its intimate linkages with the earth’’ (interview with Prodhani, para 1).

It is true that, had Kanhailal been direct while dealing with the bitter realities of the North-East, he could have become more successful in propagating his political ideas. Yet, he preferred to go with allegorical themes. Did it not limit the possibility of his theatre? The point remains that a direct delineation of the political themes would have made his theatre overtly propagandist. Kanhailal was a political playwright but never allowed his work to degenerate into artless propaganda. Theatre was art for him as ‘modern’ poetry is for a modern political poet. It is through art that he tried to raise his voice of resistance.

Elucidating Examples of the Plays of the ‘Theatre of the Earth’:

His Pebet (1975) exposes the ideological dominance of the Brahminical faith. For this purpose, it focuses on the indoctrination of the ethnic people of the Meitei community to Brahminism. The exposition occurs through the use of a Manipuri lullaby. Similarly, his ‘Memoirs of Africa’ (1985) is based on a poem that likens Manipur to the once colonized continent of Africa. Thus, Kanhailal’s theatre is political allegory. It does not make any direct statement on social issues. Sircar’s primary aim was to impart political lessons to the audience, as are the cases with the German playwrights-cum directors like Erwin Piscator and Bertolt Brecht (Kanhailal, “H. Kanhailal and Sabitri” 4). Kanhailal believed in making them aware of their crises and inspiring them to bring in social change. He did so by evoking awareness and not by propagating any established political ideology. His theatre raises the voice and represents the pain and agony of the common masses under ideological oppression. The collective and communal vision gets expressed in his theatre through the actor’s movements and non-verbal sounds. His actor becomes the voice of the oppressed.

Kanhailal (2015) revealed that his Karna (1997) re-interpreted the consequence of Karna in the Mahabharata. Karna was abandoned by Kunti, his mother, soon after he was born. Kanhailal shows Kunti claiming his body after her younger son Arjuna kills him in the Kurukshetra war. However, she does not claim the body out of her motherly feeling. She claims it to save this ‘Aryaputra’ (“Son of the Aryans”) from being cremated by Radha, his non-Aryan (and therefore outcaste) foster mother. The re-interpretation, therefore, highlights the Aryan people’s negligence and oppression of the non-Aryan people. Kanhailal (2015) maintained that he had used this re-interpretation “to raise the question of social segregation and politics of caste and marginalisation.” (n. pag).

The resilient attitude of Kanhailal is reinstated very powerfully in his Draupadi (2000). Inspired by Maheswata Devi’s story, the play demonstrates its female protagonist, Dopdi, played by Sabitri Heisnam, challenging an oppressive army officer, the Senanayak,  by being starkly naked in front of him. Her acting disturbed the audience, but it was also lauded by critics as one of the boldest enactments on the Indian stage. After four years, an incident occurred in Manipur where women came out for public protest against the oppressive Indian army (Hariharan, 2017, p. 18). It is an example of inspiration taken by life from art. In this way, Kanhailal tried to awaken the fighting spirit of the common masses through his plays.

Kanhailal’s Later Experiments:

In the last two decades of his career, Kanhailal did more theatrical experiments. His concept of ‘The Ritual of Suffering’ further enriched his ‘Theatre of the Earth’. He explained the concept in his Theatre for the Ritual of Suffering (1997). It made his theatre more humane, poetic, and ‘transcendental’. Chaman Ahuja (2012) has explicated it in the following way:

All great plays display human misery and exploitation of man by man; it is this experience of suffering that provides one with a sense of sacrifice, or martyrdom, of heroism…. Being a proof of the human spirit, suffering is holy and that is what makes it a healing agency— a catalyst in lifting a finite human being to the higher realm of infinitude. Such being Kanhailal’s aim and assumptions, he regards actor as a medium. The way Sabitri goes into immediate trance is a ritualistic transformation. (p. 277).

Kanhailal’s group, ‘Kalakshetra Manipur’ took up ‘The Nature Lore Project’ in 2005. The project had the objectives of embarking on a new kind of theatre practice with cultural adventure and expedition, doing a collective search for indigenousness, removing racial and linguistic biases, giving up city-centric theatre, and addressing the rural audience (‘Kalakshetra Manipur’ 4). These objectives reflect a clear postcolonial standpoint with a more tuned form of his earlier ideas. These objectives were detectable in his productions like Sati and Dakghar (Kalakshetra Manipur, 3).

The nature-lore project emphasized a kind of community theatre of an ethnic group in a rural or remote environment. It tried to develop a naturalized and ritualized theatre. This theatre tries to find the original power that only live theatre possesses. It abandons the city-based rich conventional theatre tradition and negates ‘method acting’ or realism or the psychological approach of character building. On the contrary, it emphasizes the ‘physical-psychic’ approach of characterization. The actors create the theatre idiom with their instinct and intuition. The identity of a naturalized actor of a particular community reflects through their instinctive and intuitive body expression, which has its base in folk performances. The process of such a performance is thus a ‘renewal of ancestral tradition’ (p. 12). Naturalized actors learned this through their livelihood in a particular geo-ecological system:

For them ethnicity is a way of life and expression of an ancient tradition orally transmitted from generation to generation in case of a specific people live in a specific geo-ecological system. The ethnic identity is thus shaped by the body vocabulary which the people learn and evolve from the ecological system through generations. (p. 11). 

Multilingualism is another feature of this project. Under this project, Kanhailal’s theatre tries to break all the racial and linguistic barriers of various ethnic communities. It does so as it wants to challenge the supremacy of one ‘nationalist’ language and culture over these communities. In this way, the theatre tries to overcome the dominant politics of culture and identity. A real challenge lies in collaborating with artists from different linguistic and cultural backgrounds. Kanhailal solved this problem by accommodating multiple languages together. He reconstructs a conventional text like Dakghar into a multilingual Text. The process creates a language of images, impulsive body movements, and sounds (Kanhailal, 2008, p. 2).

An Analysis of Pebet:       

‘Pebet’ (1975) is a non-verbal play constructed from a Manipuri fireside folk story. It was performed without a dramatic text, i.e., in the same way as Kanhailal performed many of his plays. In it, Pebet, a bird of an almost extinct species, gives birth to her fledglings, nurtures them, and teaches them how to fly. A cunning cat comes to eat them up. The mother bird manipulates the cat and rescues the innocent ones.

This simple storyline of the Manipuri folk tale unfolds some allegorical meaning in Kanhailal’s theatre. It illustrates how the rulers of Delhi dominate the Manipuri people with their divide-and-rule policy. The cat, shown wearing a dhoti and holding a rosary in hand and bells around the neck, stands for the aggression of the Vaisnavite culture over the indigenous ethnic cultures of North East India (especially the Meitei culture of Manipur) (Bharucha, 1998, p. 34). The play has been regarded as “anti-Hindu” and “anti-Indian” (p. 34). The point that the bird is nearly extinct suggests that the traditional culture is under severe threat from Brahminical aggression.

The second author of the present paper had the privilege of watching ‘Pebet’, produced by Manipur Kalakshetra, at Nazira in the Sivasagar district of Assam on 06 February 2005. The play unfolded in a temporary auditorium lit by two halogen lights, but there was almost no stage property except a small platform on one side of the stage. The actors who played the roles of the fledglings wore light brown dresses, meaning that they were birds of the same feathers, i.e., similar sufferers unified by the ‘Ritual of Suffering’.

On the contrary, Mother Pebet, played by Sabitri Heisnam, wore a blue dress. The blue colour of her dress reminds one of Siva, who once drank poison benevolently to become blue-throated. In this light, the mother Pebet’s blue dress suggests centuries of torture on the indigenous communities. Again, the sky and the seas are blue. Therefore, despite her tiny appearance, her blue dress can suggest the grandeur of the indigenous cultures. Against the timidity and vulnerability of the birds are the aggression and violence of the cat. All these qualities found expressions through physical movements and non-verbal sounds. They held the audience spellbound. In December 2021, the authors sat together to study a few YouTube videos on different enactments of the play. The videos gave them the same semiotic suggestions and expressive emotions.

The challenges of the construction process lay in concretizing the dream-like images evoked by the lullaby-like story. The dramaturgy was constructed from point to point. Rhythmic body movements and non-verbal sounds like screams, wailing, hummings, and others added audio-visual splendour to the action. According to Sabitri, her inner journey evoked by the story took the form of dream-like impulsive physical actions and sounds. Sabitri termed the physical manifestation of her inner emotions as psychical. It was reflected even in her breathing pattern (Kanhailal, 2008, p. 8).

Legacies of the ‘Theatre of the Earth’: 

Kanhailal has been a strong influence on the next generation of playwrights and directors of India in general and the North-East in particular. Two such playwrights-cum-directors are Gunakar Dev Goswami and Sukracharyya Rabha from Assam. Dev Goswami, a disciple of Kanhailal, learned to use rare Assamese folk cultural elements, such as folk tales, myths, and historical episodes after the fashion of his Guru. He has also used folk and classical theatrical forms and elements from Oja-Pali, Ankia Bhaona, and others to construct his visual aesthetics, movements, and music. Moreover, like the plays of Kanhailal, his productions like JerengaBiranganaSati, and many others have expressed strong protest against women’s oppression in contemporary society. His production of Santras, based on a Panchatantra story, took inspiration from Kanhailal’s Pebet. Its rigorous physical movements, ups and downs of voice and music, and the allegorical way to deal with a postcolonial subject matter strongly remind one of Kanhailal’s play.

Sukracharya Rabha, who met an untimely demise a few years ago, was one of the most brilliant young playwrights-cum-directors of the region. He recognized Kanhailal as his Guru and tried to grasp the actual essence of his theatre. He arranged the “Under the Sal Tree” theatre festival regularly in a completely natural environment. The productions of his group, Badungduppa, discard all artificial theatre elements, such as lights, sounds, heavy sets, costumes, and make-up. The plays are performed in daylight in front of the audience seated under the Sal Trees. As a talented playwright and director, he also constructed his theatre basically from the folk tales and myths of his community, with all folk actors. Through his theatre he tried to explore the cultural heritage of his own Rabha community. To PoidanRupalimTikharChangkoy, and Madaiah Muchi were some of his well-known productions.

Declaration of Conflicts of Interests
The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest.

Funding
No funding has been received for the publication of this article. It is published free of any charge.

Acknowledgement
Feature image courtesy: Indrakshi Chaudhury.

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Thiyam, Ratan. (1998). Chakravyuha. Calcutta: Seagull Books.

Pranjal Sharma Bashishtha,, a PhD from Gauhati University who did his MA in English (Banaras Hindu University) and in Assamese literature (Gauhati University). He teaches World literature, Assamese Literature, Translations and Critical Theory at Gauhati University Institute of North-East India Studies (GUINES) and at the Department of Assamese at Gauhati University. Besides critical writings, he has published several collections of poems, and short stories in Assamese.

Goutam Sarmah is an MSc in Physics and MA in Performing Arts (Theatre Arts) from Dibrugarh University and has submitted his Ph.D. thesis on Shakespearean plays in Assamese at Dibrugarh University. He teaches Theatre Arts at the Dr. Bhupen Hazarika Centre for Studies in Performing Arts of Dibrugarh University. Besides his research articles, he has published several full-length and one-act plays. He is also an active theatre director and an actor trainer.

Under the Canopy of Sal Trees: A New Vocabulary of Performance in Sukracharya Rabha’s Minimal Theatre

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Namrata Pathak
North-Eastern Hill University, Tura Campus, Meghalaya, India. ORCID id: 0000-0002-1193-6221. Email:

Rupkatha Journal, Vol. 14, Issue 2, April-June, 2022, Pages 1–12. https://doi.org/10.21659/rupkatha.v14n2.ne09

First published: June 09, 2022 | Area: Northeast India | License: CC BY-NC 4.0

(This article is published under Themed Issue on Literature of Northeast India)
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Under the Canopy of Sal Trees: A New Vocabulary of Performance in Sukracharya Rabha’s Minimal Theatre

Abstract

This paper would be structuring and documenting Rabha’s theories of performance which are heavily laced with ecological concerns, and also his penchant for body-centric performances that explore the contact point between man and nature, the given and made, public zones and biospheres. The paper aims to capture the nuances of his unique ensemble called “green theatre,” something that is akin to a search for roots, a drive to cultivate an “intrinsic rural mechanism”, in the words of H. Kanhailal, a renowned theatre exponent and Rabha’s mentor. There is an urge to capture the ebb and flow of country life, humankind’s vital affinity with nature. Rabha fuses lifeworlds, bio-forms, and landscapes. He gives birth to new grammar and vocabulary of “physical theatre” by weaving the synergy of life into the fabric of performance.

Keywords: Sukracharya Rabha, Theatre of the Sal, Badugduppa Kalakendra, Green Theatre, Body, Space, Ecology

Introduction

The act of situating the oeuvre of Sukracharya Rabha (1977-2018) on the map of contemporary theatre practices requires a thorough inspection of the relationship between theatre and nature. Rabha’s attempt at liberating the operations of theatre from the impact of media and its technological strangleholds leads to an interesting re-contouring of dramatic patterns and semiotic principles in regard to the performance text notwithstanding the challenges his unique theatre-aesthetics pose in terms of stage décor, the logic of display and audience-reception. In a world of post-truth, when drama and theatre “rely on the institutions of mass art and the media of mass communication, and examine the rituals of a society in which reality is crucially constructed via its media representation”, Rabha’s conscious dig at the possibilities of digital and electronic reproduction charts out an alternative grammar and vocabulary of theatre: his penchant for ecological balance further enables him to form a close association with nature, a move away from a world ruled by technology (Potter and Gann 2016, 135). Rabha’s theatrical language conjures up local and indigenous elements in favour of a site-specific performance. His plays are staged in the lap of nature and there is a total admonishment of the need for artificial light, sound, stage and technological aids in the mentioned province. Notwithstanding the entanglements and overlaps inherent in the process of representation itself, Rabha’s insistence on drawing a line of demarcation between theatre and media finds an echo in Pavis too. In this regard Pavice maintains:

The task would be an arduous one, however, and we will note only that theatre and media tend to move in opposite directions. Theatre tends towards simplification, minimalism and the fundamental reduction of the direct exchange between actor and audience. The media, on the other hand, tend to become more complicated and sophisticated through technological advances and are, by definition, reproducible and multipliable ad infinitum. Being part of technological, but also cultural and ideological practices, of a process of information and disinformation, the media can easily expand their audience to become accessible to a potentially infinite number of spectators (Pavis 1998, 207).

Sukracharya Rabha, the man behind the innovative Theatre of the Sal festival in Rampur, Goalpara, (Assam) is always seen interrogating the reliance of theatre on mass media and the latter’s nature of repeating and diversifying the ‘ready-made’, ‘immediate’ and ‘served-up’ ingredients of performance (Pavis 1998, 207). In the rural set-up where he performs, Rabha intends to do away with the influence of technology on audience tastes and expectations, not to mention his derision for ‘the artificial’. In his performances there is an urge to capture the ebb and flow of country life, humankind’s vital affinity with nature. Rabha fuses lifeworlds, bio-forms, and landscapes. He gives birth to a new kind of theatre by weaving the synergy of life into the fabric of performance. In his words, “This can be achieved only by aligning the make-believe world of theatre with the world of nature, by borrowing from the latter its music, rhythm, light, silence, darkness…its elements” (In a personal interview with the author). In the grove of Sal trees where Rabha performs, “theatre is a subsidiary of nature; it is a process of reflection that conjoins the external world with the inner sanctum of the soul, but with varying degrees of freedom and imagination” (In a personal interview with the author). His is a move away from mainstream Assamese theatre, which is more of a consumerist spectacle, an urban hodge-podge, “an unwanted noise, a piercing shriek, a cacophony” (In a personal interview with the author). In Rabha’s words:

Amidst the craziness of saleable entertainment, organic traditional media are hardly making sense to the people nowadays. Popular media are now affected by the idea of commerce. This notion of consumerism applies to all…the way processes of de-rooting are emerging in the new world through marketing strategies and consumerism, it is almost impossible for us to look back at the notion of ‘belongingness’ (Baruah 2019, 50).

Towards a Minimalist Theatre

Sukracharjya Rabha’s Badungduppa Kalakendra founded in 1998 in Rampur, Goalpara, creates a performance space out of a lush green Sal grove, leaves, tree trunks, stems, branches and roots. In Badungduppa Kalakendra we are ushered into a world of theatre that is pared down to the core. His is a space of minimal propensities, and it is a kind of theatre that “seeks to reduce its effects, representations and actions to minimum” by dispensing away with exaggerated and excessive modes of presentation, verbal overplay, spectacular visual effects and extraneous layers in the plot (Pavis 1998, 215). Roland Barthes traces the origins of theatrical matter to “atoms of meaning” that can be reduced to “the smallest sign transmitted in time” (Barthes 1964, 258, as cited in Pavis 1998, 214). On one hand we have the distinctiveness of sign and its implications in the constitution of overall meaning, and on the other hand there is a relativity of absorption and segmentation that wholly depends on the changing meanings as per the eclectic reception of the audience. However, Rabha’s conceptualization of minimalist theatre is neither akin to Beckett’s adherence to what is “ontologically unsayable” nor Vinaver’s chamber theatre whose signature styles are “montage, the spaces in between, silence, the unspoken” (Pavis 1998, 215). Rather Rabha’s strategy is to turn the autonomy of ‘the artificial’ (light, sound, and stage) upside down. The stillness of the performance space is occasionally and rarely penetrated by music, that too when there is an extreme necessity, “otherwise a loaded silence pervades the air” (“A Tribute to a Progenitor of New Ideas”, Pathak 2018).

He dispenses away with the proscenium arch by vouching for a rural, idyllic setting— a modest clearing in the middle of a grove. According to Rabha, there is no need for artificial light. He prefers “the intrinsic, regulatory time of nature with the sun as the only source of light” — accordingly “the performance is attuned to a specific time of a day, be it a warm, scorching afternoon or a not so well-lit evening” (“A Tribute to a Progenitor of New Ideas”, Pathak 2018):

There is an occasional play of light and shadow with the canopy of the Sal trees acting as a natural sieve that filters light. The sky acts as the roof on the head. The twitter of a bird, the rustle of the wind-caressed Sal leaves, a clap here and a footfall there—all add to the rhythmic sound that we get to hear, occasionally spiced up by songs with the accompaniment of musical instruments (“A Tribute to a Progenitor of New Ideas”, Pathak 2018).

Rabha’s site-specific performance creates a kind of “displacement through a wedding of artwork to a particular environment” (Crimp 1993, 16-17, as cited in Collins and Nisbet 2012, 103). As an effect, Rabha not only articulates “an exchange between the work of art and the place in which its meanings are defined” but also underlines “its positioning in relation to the political, aesthetic, geographical, and institutional” (Collins and Nisbet 2012, 102).

There is a close affiliation to Japanese theatre, especially in Rabha’s precision and clarity, his employment of pauses, stillness, and silence in his performance. Moreover, the influence of Barong in Balinese is hard to miss in Rabha’s creation of trance-like moments in which a man is momentarily sucked by the instantaneity of the occurrence. Moreover, the fusion of opera with dramatic arts, popularized by Richard Wagner, the preference of shifting tonal centres, chromaticism and Wagner’s concept of Gesamtkunstwerk (“total work of art”) found a way to Rabha’s theatre too.

Community Building and the Theatre of the Sal

Sukracharya Rabha’s theatre resists politico-cultural indoctrination by circumventing the stereotypical and accepted. Deeply entrenched in the community-life of his people, his theatre carries at its heart indigenous philosophy, aesthetics and traditions. Usham Rojio, his close aide who happened to witness the genesis of many of his plays, talks about Rabha’s affiliation to the concept of rasong, which means ‘the being of existence’. By attaching rasong to the precepts of ‘live theatre’ Rabha foregrounds a deep understanding of the ‘lived-world’ or the experiential realm in which he is steeped. In the words of Rojio:

What is important concerning the rich concept of rasong is the safeguarding of the community participation and Nature-Human symbiosis. The insistence on performance as a way of creation and being as opposed to the long-held notion of performance as entertainment has brought forth a movement to seek and articulate the phenomenon of performance in its multiple manifestations and imaginings. The concept of rasong was more of bringing closer the celebration of life to nature. We share the idea that this concept has a close affinity with the concept of noiba in our Meitei tradition… (“Together We Heal: Remembering Sukracharya Rabha (1977-2018)”, Rojio 2020).

Rojio further dwells on an interesting intersection of two cultures, Manipuri and Assamese, and this he does by harping on the Meitei equivalence of noiba. The word noiba translates to ‘movement’, and its philosophical meaning is “embedded in the cultural practices and day to day lived-world” of the Meitei (“Together We Heal: Remembering Sukracharya Rabha (1977-2018)”, Rojio 2020). According to Usham Rojio:

It is believed that just as noiba (movement) of the foetus within the mother’s womb gives her the joyous anticipation of a new life; the Meitei believe that they are immersed in a womb-like Universe, so god and goddess are pleased when they perform dance. Therefore, body movement is life and thus we celebrate life through dancing in Lai Haraoba (“Together We Heal: Remembering Sukracharya Rabha (1977-2018)”, Rojio 2020).

Community participation and a peaceful coexistence with the objects of nature, therefore, form the pulsating life force in both Kanhailal and Rabha’s performances. However, alluding to Rabha’s initiation of and commitment to a huge cultural movement in Rampur, H S Shiva Prakash mentions that,“…he (Rabha) has realized over the years that theatre institutions have to be self-supporting to grow in a desired direction. He had hit upon the idea of setting up small-scale industries in the village. This would ensure jobs for the local people, sustenance for the artists and funding for activities” (Baruah 2019, 91). Rabha maps the aesthetics of rural life in his performances. He also incorporates local ingredients into his theatrical mold by taking resort to folk forms of the Rabha community.

Rampur, near Agia, is a small village, economically backward and far away from nearby urban centres in Goalpara. Even though Rabhas and Bodos chiefly populate this place, the social fabric is multihued because of the ongoing cultural assimilation and harmonious co-existence of micro-communities. In the words of Aparna Sharma, Rabha’s theatre has a deep connection with the Rabha community as his theatrical explorations hinge on a balanced representation of the community’s textile, architecture, music and cultural heritage. Moreover, the ownership of resources like the Sal groves obliquely teaches the practitioners the essence of performance that is efficacious and ritualistic, and that revolves round the everyday tasks and activities of the Rabha community which is chiefly agrarian in nature:

Specific movements were first studied. For instance, how the body moves while working in a rice field flooded with water; or, how does the body traverse distance while climbing a Sal tree; or, indeed, how we rise from a lying position, say when we wake up at dawn…there is an emphasis on the breath that changes in every step with the movement (of the body). Finally, the studied movement was considered for its narrative potential and then applied to theatrical performances (Baruah 2019, 384).

Rabha’s theatre is a consciousness-raising project based on the ethics of harmony, social responsibility and an allegiance to certain forms of community expressions. Moreover, his yearly theatre festival, Under the Sal Tree, attracts audience from all over the world. In Rabha’s words, the practitioners pick up bits and parts from everyday life, from the synchronized vocabulary of rural life and in the process cleanse and purify these forms and constructions to implant them in a new terrain or locale. This transference is an intrinsic part of his theatrical process as “Badungduppa’s attempt is to inherit, interpret and evolve through immediate contexts, mother nature and village life” (Baruah 2019, 152). Such a unique synthesis paves way for an alternative model that maintains a distance from “the ultra-commercial and cheap entertainment gimmicks” (Baruah 2019, 153). Rabha is also against publicity of any sort. In his words, “We have never been anywhere to sell tickets; we have never announced anything loudly. Nor we pasted any banner, poster elsewhere” (Baruah 2019, 153-4). Nevertheless, every year thousands of people from both India and abroad, ranging from scholars, practitioners, theatre exponents to common people, throng Rampur to partake of the spectacle under the Sal trees.

It would not be wrong to say that Rabha envisages theatre as a community exercise, a collective enterprise that takes in its fold the whole village or the entire area. He involves “the whole community— the Rabha community that he belongs to, by giving them back what was their—the theatre” (Baruah 2019, 180). As a performance maker Rabha is adept in creating passageways that help in negotiating, appropriating and admixing multifarious cultural forms. He also slashes the taut line of demarcation between mainstream theatre and regional practices by drawing upon the raw materials and resources of a community’s collective memory. Interestingly, he moulds and chisels these ingredients and segments, oral lores and narratives, through a special act of “concentrating” on “the (bodily), mythical and ritual” axes (Baruah 2019, 182). Rabha explores:

their delicate relationship with nature and finally this relationship underlies how a text is developed. It is this particular attention to break down the text into infinitesimal bits and to blend it with the type of existences mentioned above, and the act of giving it back to the audience with the energy of the soil, and leave the audience susceptible to a performance (to borrow Clifford Geertz’s expression) that is “deep” and “thick”…(Baruah 2019, 182)

Therefore, the performance text is made up of basic units borrowed from the rich repertoire of community life and also, from the narrative of the everyday which, then, undergoes “tangible manifestations of the intangible experience” in the performance space (Baruah 2019, 182-83).

The Performance Space in Badungduppa

On a small mound of earth Rabha created his stage. It is created on the ground level and the use of wood or iron is discouraged. As intended, the audience and the performers stand on the same level as there is no elevation of the proscenium to draw a line of division between the two. The purpose behind this technique is a conscious debunking of the idea of theatre as a mechanism to create illusion and fantasy. Right from the beginning, Rabha makes an effort not to weigh the audience down with tricks to sustain illusion, an unnecessary endeavour as per his theatre tactics. Rabha narrates how the surreal environment of the Sal grove adds a special charm and ambience to his performance. Of course, the sieved light filtering through the canopy of Sal trees and the southern winds whistling and rustling the Sal leaves create natural light and sound. There is, “A sudden dappled light. A sudden flight of an unseen bird. A faint echo of the jili in the distance” that add to, supplant and blend with Rabha’s performances (Baruah 2019, 188). Due to this strange concoction of natural elements there is an infusion of a layered semantics in his performances. Rabha reminiscences:

A narrow path passes through the jungle. There was a small open area on the side. We cleared that area, prepared benches and space for the stage. The idea of a gallery made of bamboo was implemented to preserve the ecological balance and it is in tandem with the idea of theatre close to nature. The gallery benches were thus prepared from bamboo and betel nut trees… The cyclorama was prepared with hay. The wings too (Baruah 2019, 188-89).

Sangeeta Barooh Pisharoty in her article, “Under the Sal Tree, A Unique Theatre Festival that Unites the Villages of Assam” (2017), discusses the ingenious stage arrangement, décor and style of Rabha’s theatre:

Every December, young volunteers gather to erect a mud stage under the Sal trees. The backdrop is delicately arched with a fence of straws. Bamboo planks are placed around the stage in an ascending order to seat the gathering, like in any open air auditorium.

Besides being located inside a forest, what makes the venue unique is that the performers don’t make use of mics or artificial lights – features commonly associated with proscenium theatre.

The actors typically modulate their voices so their dialogues reach the audience. The Sal grove also acts as a natural receptacle for trapping the sound. The background music is played live and the stage is set up in a way use the sun rays filtering through the trees as the natural spotlight (“Under the Sal Tree, A Unique Theatre Festival that Unites the Villages of Assam”, Pisharoty 2017).

Under the Tutelage of Heinsam Kanhailal

In Rabha’s theories of performance which are heavily laced with ecological concerns, there is a penchant for body-centric performance that explores the contact point between man and nature, the given and made, public zones and biospheres. His unique ensemble called “green theatre” is akin to a search for roots. It can be termed as a drive to cultivate an “intrinsic rural mechanism”, in the words of H. Kanhailal, a renowned theatre exponent and Rabha’s mentor. Kanhailal’s Kalakshetra Manipur is situated at the outer-most limits of Imphal, precisely at the foothills of the valley of Manipur. It seems “to have quietly celebrated, over the many years since its inception, this position of silence and liminality as a source of strength, creativity and resilience” (“The Lost Wor(l)dsof Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016). In “Ritual Theatre: Theatre of Transition” (2004), Kanhailal elaborates on his art of performance as such:

Believing in the autonomy of theatre, we swallowed the text and absorbed it into our body instead of speaking out the lines through lip movement, facial and finger gestures. We shattered the whole network of illusion on the stage. We were no longer burdened with the heavy light, costume and make-up. We cleaned the stage as an empty space where we began to unfold the autonomy of theatre…(Krasner 2008, 550)

Kanhailal has been a strong influence on Rabha. The latter’s definition of theatre as an “inward churning of emotions and feelings”, “…a glance at one’s own soul and body” has intersections with his mentor’s theories of performance (In a personal interview with the author). The methodical minimalism culminating in novel experiments by Kanhailal, especially in the late 1970s and early 1980s are noteworthy. Like his mentor who trained the villagers and the market women of the famous Nupi Keithel of Imphal, Rabha too worked with the rustic lot, the villagers of Rampur. Both shunned the Western proscenium and the “spatial politics of the city” for community spaces which are more specifically, sites of interactions for the spectators and actors (“The Lost Wor(l)dsof Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016). In this regard, Kanhailal’s Nupi Lan is noteworthy which, in the words of Rustom Bharucha, is “an open-air production involving approximately 70 working women from the Women’s Bazaar in Imphal” (Bharucha 1992, 66). Also:

The production created, through improvisations with the ‘market women’, simultaneously juxtaposed images of women in the festival of Lai Haraoba (perhaps especially the maibis) and the imas of the market, followed by a theatrical representation of the historical Nupi Lans. Distinctions between spectator and actor were strangely blurred during performance of this theatre event in the open public space of the city (“The Lost Wor(l)dsof Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016).

The aesthetics behind Nupi Lan grew out of his disenchantment with the draconian AFSPA, an Act that is much criticized for catalyzing bloody sagas of communitarian suffering. Without any obvious slant towards any ideology, his performance subtly touches upon the hidden, regulatory political force running at the underbelly of Manipur and the regimes of control of the military on the public spaces. The politico-linguistic domination of the India that Manipur battles every day, and also, a lopsided and partial Meitei nationalism that is raising its head slowly in the state creep into the fabric of Kanhailal’s performance, thereby impregnating it with issues of identity and citizenship. The complexities of resistance movements and the authoritarian position of the Indian state as a “military-legal killing machine” are not to be ignored:

After Nupi Lan, Kanhailal continued his career with similar projects that sought to break down the schism between political theatre and the people it claimed to represent. He worked in a village called Umatheili or the Valley of Durga to produce a play called Sanjennaha (Cowherd) from a community of rural non-actors, followed by a production that emerged from extensive work with the young men and women of the Paitei tribe of Churachandrapur (“The Lost Wor(l)dsof Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016).

The overlaps between Kanhialal’s and Rabha’s theatre are hinted at by Richard Gough when he maintained that the “enchantment” and “bewilderment” that we discern in their art stem from a common place, the magical woods: in Rabha’s case, it is the “Macbeth jungle” (the term was first coined by Rabha’s ally and a famous theatre exponent HS Shiva Prakash) in which “identities are lost and changed”, where there is a “possibility to affect change” (Baruah 2019, 72-74). Richard Gough, artistic director, Centre for Performance Research, Wales, used five words to describe the theatre of Sukracharya Rabha:

Disorientation, Bewilderment, Interruption, Turbulence and Contagion or Infection. These might all seem rather negative concepts but I want to think through the positive implication and provocations that lie behind these words…Three images, so you all see I’m following a sort of classical structure of three acts and five acts but that actually make it eight which is not a good number in some cultures, too symmetrical, too balanced and so to follow the Japanese aesthetics I must add one, another one which will operate as a sort of sub-terranean theme and that is transformation, not just as a theoretical separation but practical realisation with an apparatus to affect change which I am feeling, seeing here (Baruah 2019, 73).

Gough has first-hand experience of watching 20 minutes of Rabha’s performance at Goalpara. In a letter to Kanhailal, he mentions Rabha’s act of mobilizing the village women to participate in the theatre movement— he calls it “the power of women combined with a political edge” (Baruah 2019, 75). :

I like the sense that what is happening here is that we have all been infected, that we have all been contaminated and that we take this disease, so much like Auto’s vision of theatre, that now we take this disease, this viral infection with us to other parts of India and as for me, I will take it back to the UK. But through that it begins to spread and I think that is what I am seeing, I think what I am seeing is the political- with a small ‘p’- a project that is happening here. Your (Kanhailal’s) work needs to be distributed and diffused and needs to find other emanations, other forms of it. I very much enjoyed the production of Sukra. It was very different from your work but he is clearly taking the inspiration (from you) (Baruah 2019, 75).

The power of the collective in Rabha’s theatre lies in the presence of women’s bodies on stage— both Rabha and Kanhailal draw upon women’s embodied resistance, and thus, negotiates the binaries between inner/outer and private/public to propagate progressive notions of femininity. By moving away from the urban metropolis, Rabha reevaluates the “nation-state’s systemic legacy of failure to address issues surrounding women’s “visibility” in civil and political spaces” (Purkayastha 2015, 519). How does a woman utilize theatre space is a matter of concern for both Rabha and Kanhailal. Does this space give a woman a possibility to reassess her representation in history? The village women of Rampur whom Rabha ropes in for his performance can see the emergence of a new logic of retaliation; the structural limitations of patriarchal thoughts are exposed and tampered with. Theatre in this way can be an answer to what the Indian nation-state fails to recognize: women’s labor or granting her “equal access to civil liberty” (Purkayastha 2015, 519).

The Body that Elongates, Constricts, Moves and Stays Still

When the borderlines between the body and its technological mediations are inflected, how do we frame the immediacy of agency in a site-specific performance? If Rabha’s creation of an alternative corporeality hinges on the location and reliance of human conditions on a special spatio-temporal configuration, how do we look at ontological exhaustion” which is aesthetically linked to “the modern or postmodern age of simulations” (McMullan 2001, 167)? Taking account of the proclivities of self-willed bodies that slip away from the director’s hands, and also the bodies-in-performance that are ever “dissolving, redefining or establishing identity”, Paula Cooey draws our attention to “the ambiguity of the body as both site for and artefact of human imagination” (1994: 42, 110). Cooey connects “the phenomenological concept of the lived experience of the body (the body as site) with the body as an agent of its own symbolic creation”, contending that we should keep an eye on how a body is normalized, mediated and reproduced in a historical moment (1994:42). Therefore it is impossible to do way with the “corporeal labour of performance, in terms of the physical discipline which has produced this sign / spectacle” and the body’s sustained engagement with the ever changing norms of perception, truth, and beauty (McMullan 2000, 111).  On stage, a body is more than a material, aesthetic and political sign.

Rabha’s framing of the embodied experience of a community, chiefly his discourse that extends beyond the material limits of a body, can also be read as a commentary on the connections between theatre space and the bodily ‘other’. The systemic assaults on those who are denied entry into mainstream spaces and the larger praxis of life, in Gautam Bhadra’s words, point out the “curious complicity” inherent in perceptual modes of representation and  historiography. This does not deride the body’s vehement resistance to the “signifying economy inscribed upon it” and regimes of political order and ideology by its act of forging webs of instantaneous connections with audience and theatre-environments.

In the plays of Badungduppa, “the body is a prop. A utensil. Something that is elastic, and can be moulded and filled” (Baruah 2019, 236).  The regular long walk of the theatre artists in the early morning to the heart of the groves, hills and rivers is necessary to understand the language of nature, to know its soul. Such expeditions coupled with numerous breathing exercises and meditation, “open the doors of our corporeal frames” to the bounty of nature and help mirror it, which eventually leads to a transcendence “beyond our own selves” (Baruah 2019, 236). Rabha is interested in a state that is reached when “the corporeal frame, of flesh and blood, formed out of cosmological happenings cease to exist and we become a part of nature” (Baruah 2019, 236). Every day after the morning walk, Rabha’s artists and workers practise “yoga, maati-aakhora, Manipuri martial arts, Kalaripayattu of Kerela”, and various European forms to make the body flexible (Baruah 2019, 237). In Badungduppa, more than the expressive potential of words, an extra emphasis is given on the responses and reactions of the body, its gestures, distinctive movements and the embodiment of “each rasa, each emotion, each stimulus” (Baruah 2019, 237). Rabha describes this process as such:

Most significantly, the objective is to make the body capable and strong enough to elicit any kind of reaction or impulse in a way that leaves an impression on the audience. So that we are able to bury in the depths of our minds waves of thoughts, that when mulled upon, are emitted at once as vibrations transferred, transfused, and transmitted to the audience. The more immediate this process, the greater intensity and pervasiveness of the play. The reverse would mean a weak statement of the play conveyed or weak acting performances (Baruah 2019, 237).

Along with the semiotics of the body, body-art and body-painting, certain formulae and symbols are devised for the special purpose of replacing dialogues and at times, these are either used as add-ons or alternatives to dialogues. More than an abundance of words, a meaningful silence pervades which is loaded with layers of signification at a different level. Linguistic assemblages and verbal excess are sacrificed for distinctive bodily gestures and movements— the power of the non-verbal is foregrounded. By resisting the spectacular and gaudy, Rabha’s theories of the body aim at unmasking and denuding the body by stripping off the extraneous, artificial layers. In this regard H S Shiva Prakash makes an apt comparison between Rabha’s practices and his mentor Kanhailal’s style, “The theatre expression that Badungduppa developed was no doubt inspired by Kanhailal’s ‘Theatre of the Earth’, which is an orchestration of the movements of the body, breath, mind and rhythms of nature” (Baruah 2019, 89). However, we can rope in both Sabitri and Kanhailal in this regard who as theatre exponents share and disseminate a common belief that “bodies, when stripped bare of urban affectations (inhibitions that restricted the expression of vulnerability, for example) and sharpened by processes of psychophysical training, could release narratives of collective pain in a way that was unmitigatedly political” (“The Lost Wor(l)ds of Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016). Both of them speak about the role of the body in the cultivation of empathy, it being a resonator that catches “the reverberations of pain” which is not their own (“The Lost Wor(l)ds of Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016). Partly, Sabitri’s adept imitation of the sounds and movements of animals stem from a need to “withdraw from the soul-killing noises of the city” and to know “how to become animal, in order that she may not shrink from encountering the horror of the human body in a state of absolute violation” (“The Lost Wor(l)ds of Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016). Both Sabitri and Kanhailal quip, “How to embody, and not simply express, another’s pain?” (“The Lost Wor(l)ds of Heisnam Kanhailal”, Banerjee 2016). This question takes on a totally different colour in the wake of insurgency and counter-insurgency movements in Manipur when communitarian violence has torn the social fabric of the state. The Indian government’s employment of repressive tools to silence the entire valley is another example of apathy towards the state. However, the expressive potential of the body is highlighted by Kanhailal in an interview with Naveen Kishore and Biren Das Sharma for the Seagull Theatre Quarterly in January, 1996. He states, “The child, I looked at the new born child crying. I noticed that the whole body of the child cries. But actors only use a certain resonator. Actors do this because we are socially and culturally conditioned. […] what we need is the creation of a new body culture…” (Katyal 1997, 46).

Creating New Permutations and Combinations

Evelien Pullens, theatre director and puppeteer from Netherlands, after an intensive workshop in Badungduppa, co-created a play with Rabha named Bijuli in which she explored the possibilities of physical theatre, music and puppetry. She laced the play with images from Western theatre, but the mould given by Rabha to Bijuli was noteworthy, “Sukra showed me how you can express emotions and messages by the body. Body language went hand in hand with the puppets and objects, partly made of natural materials. We used rice bags, leaves, seeds, jute, bamboo and traditional cotton” (Baruah, 2019, 97). Also, her Soul Tree theatre-research-workshop which she did for Netherlands Theatre Embassy is based on a special communication and communion with the trees, like singing from a distance and singing near the trees, calling out commands while climbing trees, “hiding and acting in the middle of the dense green vegetation” (Baruah 2019, 209). The participants explored natural environments like “fields…rocks, hills”, fish ponds too and honed “theatre skills such as timing, group-balance, and action-reaction” (Baruah 2019, 209-210).  The outcome is quite interesting:

In the second half of the workshop we started to extend our research to natural objects in theatre. We mainly focused on leaves, sticks, seeds, vegetables and mud. We concentrated on the world of insects. We started to make them out of natural materials without the use of any glue, pins or other artificial help. So we moved into puppetry as we let the insects come to life (Baruah 2019, 209-210).

Some of the unique experimentations by Badungduppa are carried out in the heart of the forest, amidst the lush Sal trees. It is noteworthy that the grove extends an interesting acoustics to the soundscape of the performance and provides scopes for “disparate aural tones, textures and affects” (Baruah 2019, 385). An optimal place for forging “intimacies with other beings” and life-forms, his theatre has a deep ecological understanding of the physical environment and shared materiality (Arons 2012, 567). The democratizing impulse stems from the belief that to a great extent both the human and the non human are “enmeshed in a dense network of relations” with no “firm, bright boundaries between inside and outside, male and female, life and nonlife, or between and within species” (Arons 2012, 567, 569). Rabha’s act of imagining and imaging permeable world/s of nature in theatrical spaces is noteworthy as this leads to an “open-ended concatenation of interrelations that blur and confound boundaries at practically any level: between species, between the living and the nonliving, between organism and environment” (Morton 2010, 275-76).

References:

Arons, Wendy. (2012). Queer Ecology/Contemporary Plays (QUEER RESEARCH IN PERFORMANCE). Theatre Journal, Vol. 64, No. 4, pp. 565-582.

Banerjee, Trina Nileena. (2016, October 7). “The Lost Wor(l)ds of Heisnam Kanhailal”. Raiot, Retrieved from https://raiot.in/the-lost-of-worlds-of-heisnam-kanhailal/#_ftn1

Baruah, Nilutpal. (2019).  Sal Soul Sukracharya. Goalpara: Badungduppa Publications.

Bharucha, Rustom. (1992). The Theatre of Kanhailal: Pebet and Memoirs of Africa. Calcutta: Seagull Books.

Chaudhuri, Asha Kuthari. (2018, June 14). “Rhythms of the Sal Trees: Sukracharya Rabha”. The    Thumb Print- A Magazine from the East. Retrieved from http://www.thethumbprintmag.com/rhythms-of-the-sal-trees-sukracharjya-rabha/

Collins, Jane and Nisbet, Andrew (Eds.). (2012). Theatre and Performance Design, A Reader in Scenography. London: Routledge.

Cooey, Paula. (1994). Religious Imagination and the Body: A Feminist Analysis. New York and Oxford: Oxford UP.

Katyal, Anjum (Ed.). (1997). Seagull Theatre Quarterly: Theatre in Manipur Today. Calcutta: The Seagull Foundation for the Arts.

Kanhailal, Heisnam. (2008). “Ritual Theatre: Theatre of Transition (2004)”, in Krasner, David  (Ed.). Theatre in Theory 1900-2000: An Anthology (pp. 550). Oxford: Blackwell.

McMullan, Anna. (Fall 2000/Spring 2001). Performance, Technology and the Body in Beckett’s Late   Theatre. Journal of Beckett Studies, Vol. 10, No. 1 and 2, pp. 165- 172.

Morton, Timothy. (March 2010). Guest Column: Queer Ecology. PMLA, Vol. 125, No. 2. pp. 273- 282.

Neveldine, Robert Burns. (1998). Bodies at Risk: Unsafe Limits in Romanticism and Postmodernism. Albany: State University of New York Press.

Pathak, Namrata. (2016, June 2). Personal interview with Sukracharya Rabha.

Pathak, Namrata. (2018, June 15). “A Tribute to a Progenitor of New Ideas”. The Thumb Print-   A Magazine from the East. Retrieved from http://www.thethumbprintmag.com/a-tribute-to-a-progenitor-of-new-ideas-sukracharjya-rabha/

Pavis, Patrice. (2008). Dictionary of the Theatre: Terms, Concepts and Analysis. Toronto and    Buffalo: University of Toronto Press.

Pisharoty, Sangeeta Barooah. (2017, January 10).“Under the Sal Tree, A Unique Theatre Festival that Unites the Villages of Assam”. The Wire. Retrieved from https://thewire.in/culture/sal-tree-unique-theatre-festival-unites-villages-assam

Potter, Keith and Gann, Kayle (Eds.). (2016). The Ashgate Research Companion to Minimalist and Postminimalist Music. London: Routledge.

Purkayastha, Prarthana. (2015). Women in Revolutionary Theatre: IPTA, Labor, and Performance.   Asian Theatre Journal, Vol. 32, No. 2, pp. 518-535.

Rojio, Usham. (2020, June 8). “Together We Heal: Remembering Sukracharya Rabha (1977- 2008)”. Raiot, Retrieved from https://raiot.in/together-we-heal-remembering-sukracharjya-rabha-1977-2018/

Murray R., Eleanor James and Sarah Ann Standing. (2014). Eco Theatre. PAJ: A Journal of  Performance and Art, Vol. 36, No. 1, pp. 35-44 Published by: The MIT Press on behalf of Performing Arts Journal, Inc.

Namrata Pathak is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English at North-Eastern Hill University (NEHU) Tura campus, Meghalaya. An MPhil and PhD from English and Foreign Languages University (formerly, CIEFL), Hyderabad, she is an academic, poet, and a critic. Her latest books are Indira Goswami: Margins and Beyond (2022, Routledge) and an upcoming Reader on Arun Sarma (Sahitya Akademi, 2022). Her debut collection of poems, That’s How Mirai Eats a Pomegranate was brought out in 2018 by Red River. Her poems are included in the Sangam House Monsoon Issue (July, 2019) and anthologies forthcoming from Aleph and other publishing houses.

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