The Bite of Rhetoric

Something which we all seem to come back to in our class discussions is the way Indigenous writers tend to use rhetorical devises, especially sarcasm and irony, in a way which does not detract from the power of the argument at hand. It’s clear that many of these writers possess great wit and intelligence, having learned to use the language of the occupying force against the occupier. They resist going completely into academic-speak—a kind of double-talk designed to really force on the reader just how smart you are—a lot of these writers are using voices which are direct and construct a sense of the writer’s personality. This leaves less room for them to be misunderstood. The standpoint of resistance came through in the past week’s readings especially.

When I read a selection from Vine Deloria Jr’s Custer Died for Your Sins (the book is now on my must-read list and I am awaiting its delivery as I type) I was immediately struck by the humor covering a very thinly veiled frustration and anger. He uses the stories which have been told to him about “the Indians” (some of which have been delivered by the many “Anglos” who have walked into his office claiming a percentage of Indian blood—always an Indian grandmother and always a princess) in order to deconstruct these stereotypes and point out how they can easily be reversed.

Deloria gives an example of what we categorized in class as the 19th century tradition in Indigenous narrative rhetoric. This wasn’t something limited to Indigenous writers—you can see it in almost all memoirs which wind up advocating for some change in the social system, but it is especially apparent in the works by people who are either not white or are not male. There is an attempt made by the speakers to associate themselves in relationship to whiteness, writing with the intent of speaking to white people and advocating for the white man to appreciate their rights. This is not, however, the same as being expected to be treated the same way as a white person or becoming a part of a white-dominant culture. Attempts at outright assimilation were often met with either scorn or mockery.

Deloria writes about 19th century attempts by white missionaries to “clothe” the Indigenous people, and the way in which it shows the ineffectiveness of such assimilation:

“The legend of the Indian was embellished or tarnished according to the need of the intermediates to gain leverage in their struggle to solve problems that never existed outside of their own minds. The classic example, of course, is the old-time missionary box. People were horrified that Indians continued to dress in their traditional garb. Since whites did not wear buck-skin and beads, they equated such dress with savagery. So do-gooders in the East held fantastic clothing drives to supply the Indians with civilized clothes. Soon the boxes of discarded evening gowns, tuxedos, tennis shoes, and uniforms flooded the reservations. Indians were made to dress in these remnants so they could be civilized. Then, realizing the ridiculous picture presented by the reservation people, the neighboring whites made fun of the Indian people for having the presumption to dress like whites.” (10)

On a level which sinks below the surface of Deloria’s comment, I wondered if the situation could be reversed: what would happen if Indigenous people had collected missionary boxes for the settlers, to give them clothes which would be more appropriate for the climates in which they lived? It’s quite possible that even though whites found the sight of Indigenous people in “white” dress amusing, Indigenous communities also found the rituals of whiteness amusing.

So much of Indigenous rhetoric comes across as a means of flipping the master script (or at least flipping the narrative voice or narrative lens which the reader encounters). A powerful example of this occurs in a quote Stromberg analyzes in “Resistance and Mediation,” in which a white woman, attempting to draw a splinter out of a child’s foot with pig fat, is mocked by Indigenous women, who view this remedy as superstition and stupidity. This is almost the exact same reaction that missionaries held towards the beliefs of the tribes which they encountered.

At the end of Chapter One, after having asked for respect towards his culture, or at least decency towards those still living, Deloria asks in the end for a “cultural leave-us-alone agreement, in spirit and in fact” (27). This is not, as some might think, a way of walking away from the problem. This is a solution many groups mulled over in the 1960s and 1970s. Separatism: To be so fed up with what is going on around you that you have no choice but to leave. Or ask the “others” to leave.

This is perhaps one of the best examples of shifting the rhetoric we’ve seen so far. Since the white colonizer wants the Indigenous people away from him, why not make it clear that the Indigenous men, women and children all want the colonizer away from them, too? For some this idea can be an alienating one. The appeal, however, isn’t hard to see. Sometimes those who have been “othered” feel that a particular cultural act should be “our thing” or a space should be reserved “for us” primarily. As a gay man, I feel that there are certain spaces where LGBTQIA+ people should be given priority—such as gay bars, GSAs, GLBT Centers on campuses or in the community, etc. This doesn’t mean cisgender and heterosexual people can’t be there, it just means that they have to realize that this space or this cultural scene, or this text between two hard covers is not created with their interests, desires and perspective inherently in mind. For some, this might be seen as offensive or exclusionary or just unfriendly, but everybody needs somewhere that they can embrace and address what makes them different, to exist in a shared space and time with people just like them, especially if they have been marginalized. This is where Deloria and other writers show the bite of their rhetorical prowess, and where the scholars we’ve read so far show their best work.