were
on the verge of extinction and might well have been helped on their way, since, in order
to paint the birds, Audubon first had to kill them.
So they wouldnât move and spoil the sitting.
How will taking photographs of Native artists benefit Native people?
It wasnât a question I would have ever asked. It was a question
â and I understood this part clearly â that came out of a Western
Judeo-Christian sense of responsibility and that contained the unexamined implication
thatthe lives of Native people needed improvement. I knew, without
a doubt, that the pictures I was taking would not change the lives of the people I
photographed any more than the arrivals and departures of, say, anthropologists on
Native reserves had done anything to improve the lives of the people they came to
study.
I teach at a university, so I know all about the enthusiasm for creating
social change through intellectual and artistic activity, especially within what we
ironically call the âhumanities.â And while we have had our fair share of
literary critics who have believed in the potentials of literature â Sir Philip
Sidney, Matthew Arnold, F. R. and Queenie Leavis â it goes without saying, I
think, that, apart from recent feminist and Marxist critics who seek to engage
literature in the enterprise of social and political transformation, the study of
literature, especially in the wake of New Criticism, has not had a sustained political
component.
So I was, in many ways, delighted to see postcolonial studies arrive on
campus, not only because it expanded the canon by insisting that we read, consider, and
teach the literatures of colonized peoples, but because it promised to give Native
people a place at the table. I know that postcolonial studies is not a panacea for much
of anything. I know that it never promised explicitly to make the colonized world a
better place for colonized peoples. It did, however, carry with it the implicit
expectation that, through exposure to new literatures and cultures and challenges to
hegemonic assumptions and power structures, lives would be made better.
At least the lives of the theorists.
But perhaps that was it. Perhaps I was travelling around the country
taking portraits of Native artists because the project promised to make my life better,
to make me feel valuable, to make me feel important.
How will photographing Native artists benefit Native people? You see this
basic kind of question in various guises on the âhuman studyâ portion of
grant applications, and you hear it debated on talk shows and in churches. Politicians
use it as a ploy because they know that political memory is not even short term.
Advertisers transform the question into a glimmering promise that if you buy their
products â deodorants, frozen pizzas, magic beans â your life will improve.
It is the great Western come-on. The North American Con. The Caucasoid Sting.
Actually, Iâm no better. If youâve been paying attention, you
will have noticed that Iâve defined identity politics in a rather narrow and
self-serving fashion.
Appearance.
I want to look Indian so that you will see me as Indian because I want to
be Indian, even though being Indian and looking Indian is more a disadvantage than it is
a luxury.
Just not for me.
Middle-class Indians, such as myself, can, after all, afford the burden of
looking Indian. Thereâs little danger that
weâll
be stuffed into
the trunk of a police cruiser and dropped off on the outskirts of Saskatoon. Not much
chance that
weâll
come before the courts and be incarcerated for a longer
period of time than our non-Indianbrethren. Hardly any risk that
our
children will be taken from us because we are unable to cope with the
potentials of poverty.
That sort of thing happens to those other Indians.
My relatives. My friends.
Just not
on the verge of extinction and might well have been helped on their way, since, in order
to paint the birds, Audubon first had to kill them.
So they wouldnât move and spoil the sitting.
How will taking photographs of Native artists benefit Native people?
It wasnât a question I would have ever asked. It was a question
â and I understood this part clearly â that came out of a Western
Judeo-Christian sense of responsibility and that contained the unexamined implication
thatthe lives of Native people needed improvement. I knew, without
a doubt, that the pictures I was taking would not change the lives of the people I
photographed any more than the arrivals and departures of, say, anthropologists on
Native reserves had done anything to improve the lives of the people they came to
study.
I teach at a university, so I know all about the enthusiasm for creating
social change through intellectual and artistic activity, especially within what we
ironically call the âhumanities.â And while we have had our fair share of
literary critics who have believed in the potentials of literature â Sir Philip
Sidney, Matthew Arnold, F. R. and Queenie Leavis â it goes without saying, I
think, that, apart from recent feminist and Marxist critics who seek to engage
literature in the enterprise of social and political transformation, the study of
literature, especially in the wake of New Criticism, has not had a sustained political
component.
So I was, in many ways, delighted to see postcolonial studies arrive on
campus, not only because it expanded the canon by insisting that we read, consider, and
teach the literatures of colonized peoples, but because it promised to give Native
people a place at the table. I know that postcolonial studies is not a panacea for much
of anything. I know that it never promised explicitly to make the colonized world a
better place for colonized peoples. It did, however, carry with it the implicit
expectation that, through exposure to new literatures and cultures and challenges to
hegemonic assumptions and power structures, lives would be made better.
At least the lives of the theorists.
But perhaps that was it. Perhaps I was travelling around the country
taking portraits of Native artists because the project promised to make my life better,
to make me feel valuable, to make me feel important.
How will photographing Native artists benefit Native people? You see this
basic kind of question in various guises on the âhuman studyâ portion of
grant applications, and you hear it debated on talk shows and in churches. Politicians
use it as a ploy because they know that political memory is not even short term.
Advertisers transform the question into a glimmering promise that if you buy their
products â deodorants, frozen pizzas, magic beans â your life will improve.
It is the great Western come-on. The North American Con. The Caucasoid Sting.
Actually, Iâm no better. If youâve been paying attention, you
will have noticed that Iâve defined identity politics in a rather narrow and
self-serving fashion.
Appearance.
I want to look Indian so that you will see me as Indian because I want to
be Indian, even though being Indian and looking Indian is more a disadvantage than it is
a luxury.
Just not for me.
Middle-class Indians, such as myself, can, after all, afford the burden of
looking Indian. Thereâs little danger that
weâll
be stuffed into
the trunk of a police cruiser and dropped off on the outskirts of Saskatoon. Not much
chance that
weâll
come before the courts and be incarcerated for a longer
period of time than our non-Indianbrethren. Hardly any risk that
our
children will be taken from us because we are unable to cope with the
potentials of poverty.
That sort of thing happens to those other Indians.
My relatives. My friends.
Just not
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