Sunday, July 24, 2011
Patrick Leigh Fermor, "The Traveller's Tree: A Journey Through the Caribbean Islands"
"The local manager, a relation of Raoul's, was a friend of mine. 'It's wonderful stuff,' he said. 'The locals adore it. It keeps them off the rum.' It's true. An increasing number of the inhabitants of Fort-de-France circulate the capital in a permanent state of stone-cold sobriety, their insides awash with this strange brown liquid. The propaganda drive of this firm has been so intensive and so ruthlessly efficient in its execution, that never for a second are the words Coca-Cola out of one's sight. It is on a scale that nobody who has not crossed the Atlantic can hope to grasp. They are printed on almost everything you touch. Everywhere the beaming heroines of these giant advertisements smirk and simper and leer. It becomes the air you breathe, a way of life, an entire civilization- the Coca-Cola age, yoke fellow of the age of the Atomic Bomb.
The bottles, when they are emptied, are sent back to be refilled, but the tin can capsules that seal them are littered everywhere. They clatter against your shoes in the dust and pile up in rusty drifts in the gutters. Bit by bit they will form a metal humus all over the western hemisphere, so that centuries after the bomb has done its work and made way, perhaps for a nobler detritus, archaeologists will be able to put a date to our buried remains with the help of this stratum of small round lids."
-Patrick Leigh Fermor, "The Traveler's Tree: A Journey Through the Caribbean Islands," 1950
Monday, July 18, 2011
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Salmon Rushdie, "The Jaguar Smile: A Nicaraguan Journey"
I asked my well-worn question: "What do you think the government should do, then? Should it try and make peace with the Americans?"
"You said 'Americans'," she reproached me.
"I'm sorry. North Americans. Unitedstatesians. Reaganians. Them."
"It's alright," she forgave me quickly. "When I first came to Europe from Nicaragua, it would shock me to hear the US called 'America.' I wanted to protest, But we are America, not just them. But now I say it too: America, Americans. Europe teaches you a different perspective."
"Yes," I agreed, "it certainly does."
-Salmon Rushdie, "The Jaguar Smile: A Nicaraguan Journey", 1987
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Three Books on Native Americans in the US-Mexican Borderlands, 1700-1900
In the early 18th Century, the Comanche Indians first began to enter the plains and desert regions of what would later become the southeastern United States and northern Mexico. These indigenous peoples quickly adapted to their new home, transforming themselves in a matter of decades into one of the most dominant groups in the region. By the 1800s, the Comanches had become successful traders, exchanging goods and raiding their neighbors for profit as part of the period's international capitalist system. They had also been able to subjugate first Spanish colonists as well as later Mexican and US settlers. By the later 1800s this extension of indigenous power had precipitously declined, but for a period lasting generations the Comanches had successfully wielded enormous power over the area.
This is not the standard story of Native American decimation at the hands of various imperial powers, a story much engrained in US popular historical consciousness. Even those quite sympathetic to the plights of indigenous peoples have often followed an account of their supposed irredeemable march towards socio-cultural doom, what more recent historians of the period have termed “declensionist” narratives (for a classic example of such a declensionist framework see Frederick Jackson Turner's The Significance of the Frontier in American History). Beginning with the late 1970s and the early 1980s, however, historians began to complicate earlier ideas of inevitable indigenous dissolution, even in some cases quite refuting declensionist conclusions. The three works here under review represent very impressive recent contributions to this continuing revisionist project.
Historian Pekka Hämäläinen’s 2008 The Comanche Empire demonstrates the kind of surprising conclusions provided by such different historical frameworks. Hämäläinen’s exciting argument is that the Comanche Indians not only resisted outside pressures, but that they actually were able to implement a “reverse” or “indigenous” imperialism. He begins by portraying the Spanish colonial settlements of southwestern North America as being so harried by Comanche raids as to be willing to submit to a tributary system. While these Bourbon Spanish settlers believed that their “gifts” might have a “civilizing” effect on their Indian advisories, the Comanches successfully maintained a great deal of power over their supposed overlords. In fact, Spanish sources of the period often testify to the superior armaments and political organization which the Comanches wielded over them. And, when the tributary system broke down, the Comanches began to use these Spanish settlements as a source of horses, food, goods, etc. to be raided at will. Indeed, the Spanish were effectively allowed to remain by the Comanches, according the Hämäläinen, merely to serve as a source of trade-able commodities like horses and cloth.
Historian Pekka Hämäläinen’s 2008 The Comanche Empire demonstrates the kind of surprising conclusions provided by such different historical frameworks. Hämäläinen’s exciting argument is that the Comanche Indians not only resisted outside pressures, but that they actually were able to implement a “reverse” or “indigenous” imperialism. He begins by portraying the Spanish colonial settlements of southwestern North America as being so harried by Comanche raids as to be willing to submit to a tributary system. While these Bourbon Spanish settlers believed that their “gifts” might have a “civilizing” effect on their Indian advisories, the Comanches successfully maintained a great deal of power over their supposed overlords. In fact, Spanish sources of the period often testify to the superior armaments and political organization which the Comanches wielded over them. And, when the tributary system broke down, the Comanches began to use these Spanish settlements as a source of horses, food, goods, etc. to be raided at will. Indeed, the Spanish were effectively allowed to remain by the Comanches, according the Hämäläinen, merely to serve as a source of trade-able commodities like horses and cloth.
The Comanche Empire holds similarly shocking material regarding the 19th century, as well. After Mexico had gained its independence, government officials in Mexico City proved unable and unwilling to maintain the earlier tributary system. The Comanches proceeded to use their superior strength to take what had formerly been given, leading to decades of serious fighting and the semi-depopluation of northern Mexico. So great was this prolonged crisis that several Mexican territories, most notably New Mexico and Texas, began to work actively against the central government’s policies. Indeed, these state governments often worked against one another so great was their desperation. And into this breach marched first US nationals looking to trade, and later the US government itself. Thus, the US-Mexican War in many ways was prefigured by the Comanche form of “indigenous” imperialism.
What factors impelled the Comanche subjugation of first the Spanish and later the Mexicans? Hämäläinen provides several possible motivations, from raids as an outlet for ambitious young men to prove themselves, to environmental factors pushing the Comanches to locate ever larger sources of fodder for their huge herds of horses, to the economic incentives of trading stolen goods for foreign manufactured materials. Most importantly, though, was the Comanche conception of goods; if one had a surplus of goods needed by another party, and if that surplus was denied a good faith request, then simply appropriating the products in question held no social stigma. Thus, Comanche raids were not seen as thievery, but rather as a kind of socially sanctified leveling.
Brian Delay’s 2008 War of a Thousand Deserts: Indian Raids and the US-Mexican Border treats with similar material and themes as Hämäläinen’s work, but highlights other rationales behind Comanche raiding. The period upon which Delay most focuses is that following Mexican Independence after peace between the Comanches and the colonists had broken down. The resulting depopulated settlements became a "thousand deserts." Delay highlights feelings of betrayal, and the cyclical and every increasing need for vengeance against the supposed betrayers, as one important source of Comanche violence. While raids produced economic surplus, outlets for social pressure, etc., this historian sees the outsized violence as mainly a cultural byproduct of Comanche rage.
Most helpfully, though, Delay makes the case that raids and warfare should be explained as political events with a history. Rather than simply follow generalized sociological, economic, or ecological theories to explain Comanche and anti-Comanche violence, War of a Thousand Deserts attempts to explain the people and events behind systemic forces. Seemingly an obvious historiographical tactic, but one not often enough employed when discussing indigenous peoples. As difficult as it sometimes is, given the paucity of traditional historical source material, it is nonetheless important to rediscover the political figures behind Indian violence to truley understand the period.
The War of a Thousand Deserts also makes an interesting argument regarding the differing reactions of US and Mexican citizenry to native deprivations. Mexicans living in regions not directly in contact with the border regions often saw Comanches and other indigenous peoples almost as Mexicans that did not know that they were Mexican. Theoretically, and contra contemporaneous US notions of who was "American", all those who were born within "Mexico" were officially "Mexicans." While those who had experienced Indian violence often denigrated the notion, this theory of citizenship did much to limit Mexican counteroffensives. Those from the US, however, held no such compunction and were therefore more amendable to ideas of violent "extermination." Indeed, Delay demonstrates that the "thousand deserts" which northern Mexico had become served to reinforce US racist feelings both of superiority to Mexican inabilities to properly use the land and notions of Indian barbarity.
Finally, Karl Jacoby's 2008 Shadows at Dawn: An Apache Massacre and the Violence of History serves to demonstrate some of the reasons why conclusions like those reached by Delay and Hämäläinen seem so surprising to contemporary readers. Jacoby takes as his subject an 1871 massacre of Apache Indians perpetrated by O'odham Indians, Mexicans, and Americans at a US military installation named Camp Grant. Rather than create a single narrative, Shadows at Dawn presents the same story from four separate viewpoints; those of the perpetrators and the Apaches. This is intended to reinforce the difficulty, or perhaps injustice, traditionally linear history can present in relation to mutually distinct conceptions of the same event. The piece further highlights this theoretical concern with a quite nuanced use of language; the glossary at the back of the book is quite helpful, as Delay attempts to use his informants' languages as much as possible.
Tracing the Camp Grant massacre to the present helps Delay show how the American viewpoint eventually triumphed, and from where later declensionist narratives partially originated. This is of course much to do with power, as the US members of the raiding party successfully shaped the later depictions of this violence through a historical society, newspapers, etc. Shadows at Dawn does depict the continued existence of dissident viewpoints, however, and perhaps even their proliferation in more recent times. Lamentably, however, Delay does not focus more upon the trial of the perpetrators of the Camp Grant massacre. The one point in which at least three viewpoints came together, and perhaps the initial mainstreaming of the US conception of the event, is given but a few pages. Nonetheless, Delay has crafted an outstanding and very original piece.
Taken together, these three works represent an exciting extension of work done in the past few decades upon the southwestern US and northern Mexico in 17th, 18th, and 19th Centuries. This is an almost fractal period of confusion and socio-political reformulation, and one which holds great potential for new historical conceptualizations. As such, a great many interesting works have been coming out of research into this time and place, beginning with works like David Weber's 1982 The Mexican Frontier 1821-1846: The American Southwest Under Mexico right up to more modern works in the "Borderlands" tradition.. The pieces here under review represent an extension of that work into representations of a more forceful, "imperialist" indigenous population; a population yet poorly understood.
Most helpfully, though, Delay makes the case that raids and warfare should be explained as political events with a history. Rather than simply follow generalized sociological, economic, or ecological theories to explain Comanche and anti-Comanche violence, War of a Thousand Deserts attempts to explain the people and events behind systemic forces. Seemingly an obvious historiographical tactic, but one not often enough employed when discussing indigenous peoples. As difficult as it sometimes is, given the paucity of traditional historical source material, it is nonetheless important to rediscover the political figures behind Indian violence to truley understand the period.
The War of a Thousand Deserts also makes an interesting argument regarding the differing reactions of US and Mexican citizenry to native deprivations. Mexicans living in regions not directly in contact with the border regions often saw Comanches and other indigenous peoples almost as Mexicans that did not know that they were Mexican. Theoretically, and contra contemporaneous US notions of who was "American", all those who were born within "Mexico" were officially "Mexicans." While those who had experienced Indian violence often denigrated the notion, this theory of citizenship did much to limit Mexican counteroffensives. Those from the US, however, held no such compunction and were therefore more amendable to ideas of violent "extermination." Indeed, Delay demonstrates that the "thousand deserts" which northern Mexico had become served to reinforce US racist feelings both of superiority to Mexican inabilities to properly use the land and notions of Indian barbarity.
Finally, Karl Jacoby's 2008 Shadows at Dawn: An Apache Massacre and the Violence of History serves to demonstrate some of the reasons why conclusions like those reached by Delay and Hämäläinen seem so surprising to contemporary readers. Jacoby takes as his subject an 1871 massacre of Apache Indians perpetrated by O'odham Indians, Mexicans, and Americans at a US military installation named Camp Grant. Rather than create a single narrative, Shadows at Dawn presents the same story from four separate viewpoints; those of the perpetrators and the Apaches. This is intended to reinforce the difficulty, or perhaps injustice, traditionally linear history can present in relation to mutually distinct conceptions of the same event. The piece further highlights this theoretical concern with a quite nuanced use of language; the glossary at the back of the book is quite helpful, as Delay attempts to use his informants' languages as much as possible.
Tracing the Camp Grant massacre to the present helps Delay show how the American viewpoint eventually triumphed, and from where later declensionist narratives partially originated. This is of course much to do with power, as the US members of the raiding party successfully shaped the later depictions of this violence through a historical society, newspapers, etc. Shadows at Dawn does depict the continued existence of dissident viewpoints, however, and perhaps even their proliferation in more recent times. Lamentably, however, Delay does not focus more upon the trial of the perpetrators of the Camp Grant massacre. The one point in which at least three viewpoints came together, and perhaps the initial mainstreaming of the US conception of the event, is given but a few pages. Nonetheless, Delay has crafted an outstanding and very original piece.
Taken together, these three works represent an exciting extension of work done in the past few decades upon the southwestern US and northern Mexico in 17th, 18th, and 19th Centuries. This is an almost fractal period of confusion and socio-political reformulation, and one which holds great potential for new historical conceptualizations. As such, a great many interesting works have been coming out of research into this time and place, beginning with works like David Weber's 1982 The Mexican Frontier 1821-1846: The American Southwest Under Mexico right up to more modern works in the "Borderlands" tradition.. The pieces here under review represent an extension of that work into representations of a more forceful, "imperialist" indigenous population; a population yet poorly understood.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., "Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death"
So Billy uncorked it with his thumbs. It didn't make a pop. The champagne was dead. So it goes.
Billy looked at the clock on the gas stove. He had an hour to kill before the saucer came. He went into the living room, swinging the bottle like a dinner bell, turned on the television. He came slightly unstuck in time, saw the late movie backwards, then forwards again. It was a movie about American bombers in the Second World War and the gallant men who flew them. Seen backwards by Billy, the story went like this:
American planes, full of holes and wounded men and corpses took off backwards from an airfield in England. Over France, a few German fighter planes flew at them backwards, sucked bullets and shell fragments from some of the planes and crewmen. They did the same for wrecked American bombers on the ground, and those planes flew up backwards to join the formation.
The formation flew backwards over a German city that was in flames. The bombers opened their bomb bay doors, exerted a miraculous magnetism which shrunk the fires, gathered them into cylindrical steel containers, and lifted the containers into the bellies of the planes. The containers were stored neatly in racks. The Germans below had miraculous devices of their own, which were long steel tubes. They used them to suck more fragments from the crewmen and planes. But there were still a few wounded Americans, though, and some of the bombers were in bad repair. Over France, though, German fighters came up again, made everything and everybody as good as new.
When the bombers got back to their base, the steel cylinders were taken from the racks and shipped back to the United States of America, where factories were operating day and night, dismantling the cylinders, seperating the dangerous contents into minerals. Touchingly, it was mainly women who did this work. The minerals were then shipped to specialists in remote areas. It was their business to put them into the ground, to hide them cleverly, so they would never hurt anybody again.
The American fliers turned in their uniforms, became high school kids. And Hitler turned into a baby, Billy Pilgrim supposed. That wasn't in the movie. Billy was extrapolating. Everybody turned into a baby, and all humanity, without exception, conspired biologically to produce two perfect people named Adam and Eve, he supposed.
-Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., "Slaughterhouse-Five, or The Children's Crusade: A Duty-Dance with Death", 1968
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Thomas Henry Huxley, "On Agnosticism and Evolutionary Ethics"
"When I reached intellectual maturity and began to ask myself whether I was an atheist, a theist, or a pantheist; a materialist or an idealist; a Christian or a freethinker; I found that the more I learned and reflected, the less ready was the answer; until, at last, I came to the conclusion that I had neither art nor part with any of these denominations, except the last. The one thing in which most of these good people were agreed was the one thing in which I differed from them. They were quite sure they had attained a certain "gnosis," -had, more or less successfully, solved the problem of existence; while I was quite sure I had not, and had a pretty strong conviction that the problem was insoluble..." - Thomas Henry Huxley, "On Agnosticism and Evolutionary Ethics", 1889
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Hunter S. Thompson, "The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved"
I took the expressway out to the track, driving very fast and jumping my monster car back and forth between lanes, driving with a beer in one hand and my mind so muddled that I almost crushed a Volkswagen full of nuns when I swerved to catch the right exit. There is a slim chance, I thought, that I might be able to catch that ugly Britisher before he checked in.
But Steadman was already in the press box when I got there, a bearded young Englishman wearing a tweed coat and RAF sunglasses. There was nothing particularly odd about him. No facial veins or clumps of bristly warts. I told him about the motel woman's description and he seemed puzzled. "Don't let it bother you," I said. "Just keep in mind for the next few days we're in Louisville, Kentucky. Not London. Not even New York. This is a weird place. You're lucky that mental defective at the motel didn't jerk a pistol out of the cash register and blow a big hole in you." I laughed, but he looked worried.
"Just pretend you're visiting a huge outdoor loony bin," I said. "If the inmates get out of control we'll soak them down with Mace." I showed him the can of "Chemical Billy," resisting the urge to fire it across the room at a rat-faced man typing diligently in the Associated Press section. We were standing at the bar, sipping the management's Scotch and congratulating each other on our sudden, unexplained luck in picking up two sets of fine press credentials. The lady at the desk had been very friendly to him, he said. "I just told her my name and she gave me the whole works."
By mid-afternoon we had everything under control. We had seats looking down on the finish line, color TV and a free bar in press room, and a selection of passes that would take us anywhere from the clubhouse roof to the jockey room. The only thing we lacked was unlimited access to the clubhouse inner sanctum in sections "F&G"...and I felt we needed that, to see the whiskey gentry in action. The governor, a swinish neo-Nazi hack named Louie Nunn, would be in "G," along with Barry Goldwater and Colonel Sanders....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)






