Summary of arts of the contact zone

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Pratt, Mary Louise. Arts of the contact zone. In Ways of Reading, An Anthology for Writers. Boston, MA, Bedford/St. Martin's. 6th ed., 2002. 0312258976. pp. 605-623
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08/23/2010
MARY LOUISE PRATT

M ARY LOUISE PRATT (b. 1948) grw up in Listowel, Ontario, a srruzll Canadian farm town. She got her B.A. at the University of Toronto and her Ph.D. from Stanford University, where she is now a professor in the depart­ ments of comparative literature and Spanish and Portuguese. At Stanford, she was one of the cofounders of the nw freshman culture program, a controversial series of required courses that replaced the old Western civilization core courses. The course she is particularly associated with is called "Europe and the Ameri­ cas"; it brings together European representations of the Americas with indige­ nous American texts. As you might guess from the essay that follows, the nw program at Stanford expands the range of countries, languages, cultures, and texts that are seen as a necessary introduction to the world; it also, however, re­ vises the very idea of culture that many of us take for granted-particularly the idea that culture, at its best, expresses common values in acommon language.

Pratt is the author ofToward a Speech Act Theory of Literary Discourse (1977) and coauthor of Women, Culture, and Politics in Latin America (1990), the textbook Linguistics for Students of Literature (1980), Amor Brujo: The Images and Culture of Love in the Andes (1990), and Imperial Eyes: Studies in Travel Writing and Transculturation (1992). The essay that follows was revised to seroe as the introduction to Imperial Eyes, which is par­ ticularly about European travel writing in the eighteenth and nineteenth

604

Contact Zone 605

)UISE ~T

up in Listowel, Ontario, a small at the University of Toronto and is now a professor in the depart­ nd Portuguese. At Stanford, she culture program, a controversial /lfestern civilization core courses. 5 called "Europe and the Ameri­ ns of the Americas with indige­ I the essay tlult follows, the new :ntries, languages, cultures, and a the world; it also, however, re­ Ike for granted-particularly the alues in a common language. t Theory of Literary Discourse 1d Politics in Latin America s of Literature (1980), Amor 1e Andes (1990), and Imperial lturation (1992). The essay tlult to Imperial Eyes, which is par­ the eighteenth and nineteenth

centuries, when Europe was "discovering" Africa and the Americas. It argues tlult travel writing produced "the rest of the world" for European readers. It didn't "report" on Africa or South America; it produced an "Africa" or an "America" for European consumption. Travel writing produced places tlult could be thought of as barren, empty, undeveloped, inconceivable, needful of European influence and control, ready to serve European industrial, intellectual, and com­ mercial interests. The reports of travelers or, later, scientists and anthropologists are part of a more general process by which the emerging industrial nations took possession of new territory.

The European understanding of Peru, for example, came through European accounts, not from attempts to understand or elicit responses from Andeans, Pe­ ruvian natives. When such a response was delivered, when an Andean, Guaman Poma, wrote to King Philip 1II of Spain, his letter was unreadable. Pratt is inter­ ested in just those moments of contact between peoples and cultures. She is inter­ ested in how King Philip read (or failed to read) a letter from Peru, but also in how someone like Guaman Poma prepared himself to write to the king of Spain. To fix these moments, she makes use of a phrase she coined, the "contact zone," which, she says,

I use to refer to the space of colonial encounters, the space in which peoples geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other and establish ongoing relations, usually involving conditions ofcoercion, radical inequality, and intractable conflict. ... By using the term "contact," I aim to foreground the interactive, im­ provisational dimensions of colonial encounters so easily ignored or suppressed by diffusionist accounts of conquest and domination. A "contact" perspective emplulsizes how subjects are constituted in and by their relations to each other. It treats the relations among coloniz­ ers and colonized, or travelers and "travelees," not in terms of sepa­ rateness or apartheid, but in terms of copresence, interaction, inter­ locking understandings and practices.

Like Adrienne Rich's "When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-Vision" (and, for that matter, Clifford Geertz's "Deep Play"), "Arts of the Contact Zone" was first written as a lecture. It was delivered as a keynote address at the second Mod­ ern Language Association Literacy Conference, held in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in 1990.

Arts of the Contact Zone

Whenever the subject of literacy comes up, what often pops first into my mind is a conversation I overheard eight years ago between my son Sam and his best friend, Willie, aged six and seven, respectively: "Why don't you trade me Many Trails for Carl Yats ... Yesits ... Ya-strum­

i I

--606 MARY LOUISE PRAIT scrum." "That's not how you say it, dummy, it's Carl Yes ... Yes ... oh, I don't know." Sam and Willie had just discovered baseball cards. Many Trails was their decoding, with the help of first-grade English phonics, of the name Manny Trillo. The name they were quite rightly stumped on was Carl Yastremski. That was the first time I remembered seeing them put their incipient literacy to their own use, and I was of course thrilled.

Sam and Willie learned a lot about phonics that year by trying to deci­ pher surnames on baseball cards, and a lot about cities, states, heights, weights, places of birth, stages of life. In the years that followed, I watched Sam apply his arithmetic skills to working out batting averages and sub­ tracting retirement years from rookie years; I watched him develop senses of patterning and order by arranging and rearranging his cards for hours on end, and aesthetic judgment by comparing different photos, different series, layouts, and color schemes. American geography and history took shape in his mind through baseball cards. Much of his social life revolved around trading them, and he learned about exchange, fairness, trust, the importance of processes as opposed to results, what it means to get cheated, taken advantage of, even robbed. Baseball cards were the me­ dium of his economic life too. Nowhere better to learn the power and arbi­ trariness of money, the absolute divorce between use value and exchange value, notions of long- and short-term investment, the possibility of per­ sonal values that are independent of market values.

Baseball cards meant baseball card shows, where there was much to be learned about adult worlds as well. And baseball cards opened the door to baseball books, shelves and shelves of encyclopedias, magazines, histo­ ries, biographies, novels, books of jokes, anecdotes, cartoons, even poems. Sam learned the history of American racism and the struggle against it through baseball; he saw the Depression and two world wars from behind home plate. He learned the meaning of commodified labor, what it means for one's body and talents to be owned and dispensed by another. He knows something about Japan, Taiwan, Cuba, and Central America and how men and boys do things there. Through the history and experience of baseball stadiums he thought about architecture, light, wind, topography, mete9rology, the dynamics of public space. He learned the meaning of ex­ pertise, of knowing about something well enough that you can start a'con­ versation with a stranger and feel sure of holding your own. Even with an adult--especially with an adult. Throughout his preadolescent years, baseball history was Sam's luminous point of contact with grown-ups, his lifeline to caring. And, of course, all this time he was also playing baseball, struggling his way through the stages of the local Uttle League system, lucky enough to be a pretty good player, loving the game and coming to know deeply his strengths and weaknesses.

Uteracy began for Sam with the newly pronounceable names on the picture cards and brought him what has been easily the broadest, most varied, most enduring, and most integrated experience of his thirteen-year

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607MARY LOUISE PRA IT Arts of the Contact Zone

y, it's Carl Yes ... Yes ... oh, :overed baseball cards. Many : first-grade English phonics, were quite rightly stumped

,t time I remembered seeing .vn use, and I was of course

cs that year by trying to deci­ about cities, states, heights,

'ears that followed, I watched ut batting averages and sub­ watched him develop senses lrl'anging his cards for hours 19 different photos, different geography and history took

lch of his social life revolved exchange, fairness, trust, the lUltS, what it means to get 3aseball cards were the me­ . to learn the power and arbi­ 'een use value and exchange ment, the possibility of per­ alues. where there was much to be >all cards opened the door to :lopedias, magazines, histo­ :lotes, cartoons, even poems. and the struggle against it

wo world wars from behind odified labor, what it means

dispensed by another. He i, and Central America and le history and experience of re, light, wind, topography, ! learned the meaning of ex­ Igh that you can start a con­ ing your own. Even with an t his preadolescent years, :ontact with grown-ups, his e was also playing baseball, local Little League system, 19 the game and coming to

onounceable names on the 1 easily the broadest, most lerience of his thirteen-year

life. Like many parents, I was delighted to see schooling give Sam the tools with which to find and open all these doors. At the same time I found it unforgivable that schooling itself gave him nothing remotely as meaningful to do, let alone anything that would actually take him beyond the referential, masculinist ethos of baseball and its lore .

However, I was not invited here to speak as a parent, nor as an expert on literacy. I was asked to speak as an MLA [Modem Language Associa­ tion] member working in the elite academy. In that capacity my contribu­ tion is undoubtedly supposed to be abstract, irrelevant, and anchored out­ side the real world. I wouldn't dream of disappointing anyone. I propose immediately to head back several centuries to a text that has a few points in common with baseball cards and raises thoughts about what Tony Sarmiento, in his comments to the conference, called new visions of liter­ acy. In 1908 a Peruvianist named Richard Pietschmann was exploring in the Danish Royal Archive in Copenhagen and came across a manuscript. It was dated in the city of Cuzco in Peru, in the year 1613, some forty years after the final fall of the Inca empire to the Spanish and signed with an un­ mistakably Andean indigenous name: Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala. Written in a mixture of Quechua and ungrammatical, expressive Spanish, the manuscript was a letter addressed by an unknown but apparently lit­ erate Andean to King Philip III of Spain. What stunned Pietschmann was that the letter was twelve hundred pages long. There were almost eight hundred pages of written text and four hundred of captioned line draw­ ings. It was titled The First New Chronicle and Good Government. No one knew (or knows) how the manuscript got to the library in Copenhagen or how long it had been there. No one, it appeared, had ever bothered to read it or figured out how. Quechua was not thought of as a written lan­ guage in 1908, nor Andean culture as a literate culture.

Pietschmann prepared a paper on his find, which he presented in Lon­ don in 1912, a year after the rediscovery of Machu Picchu by Hiram Bingham. Reception, by an international congress of Americanists, was apparently confused. It took twenty-five years for a facsimile edition of the work to appear in Paris. It was not till the late 1970s, as positivist read­ ing habits gave way to interpretive studies and colonial elitisms to post­ colonial pluralisms, that Western scholars found ways of reading Guaman Poma's New Chronicle and Good Government as the extraordinary intercul­ tural tour de force that it was. The letter got there, only 350 years too late, a miracle and a terrible tragedy.

I propose to say a few more words about this erstwhile unreadable text, in order to layout some thoughts about writing and literacy in what I like to call the contact zones. I use this term to refer to social spaces where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of highly asymmetrical relations of power, such as colonialism, slavery, or their aftermaths as they are lived out in many parts of the world today. Eventually I will use the term to reconsider the models of community that many of us rely on in teaching and theorizing and that are under

608 MARY loUISE PRA'IT

challenge today. But first a little more about Guaman Poma's giant letter to Philip III.

Insofar as anything is known about him at all, Guaman Poma exempli­ fied the sociocultural complexities produced by conquest and empire. He was an indigenous Andean who claimed noble Inca descent and who had adopted (at least in some sense) Christianity. He may have worked in the Spanish colonial administration as an interpreter, scribe, or assistant to a Spanish tax collector-as a mediator, in short. He says he learned to write from his half brother, a mestizo whose Spanish father had given him ac­ cess to religious education.

Guaman Poma's letter to the king is written in two languages (Spanish and Quechua) and two parts. The first is called the Nueva cor6nica, "New Chronicle." The title is important. The chronicle of course was the main writing apparatus through which the Spanish presented their American conquests to themselves. It constituted one of the main official discourses. In writing a "new chronicle," Guaman Poma took over the official Spanish genre for his own ends. Those ends were, roughly, to construct a new pic­ ture of the world, a picture of a Christian world with Andean rather than European peoples at the center of it-Cuzco, not Jerusalem. In the New Chronicle Guaman Poma begins by rewriting the Christian history of the world from Adam and Eve (Fig. 1 [po 609]), incorporating the Amerindi­ ans into it as offspring of one of the sons of Noah. He identifies five ages of Christian history that he links in parallel with the five ages of canonical Andean history-separate but equal trajectories that diverge with Noah and reintersect not with Columbus but with Saint Bartholomew, claimed to have preceded Columbus in the Americas. In a couple of hundred pages, Guaman Poma constructs a veritable encyclopedia of Inca and pre­ Inca history, customs, laws, social forms, public offices, and dynastic lead­ ers. The depictions resemble European manners and customs description, but also reproduce the meticulous detail with which knowledge in Inca society was stored on quipus and in the oral memories of elders.

Guaman Poma's New Chronicle is an instance of what I have proposed to call an autoethnographic text, by which I mean a text in which people un­ dertake to describe themselves in ways that engage with representations others have made of them. Thus if ethnographic texts are those in which European metropolitan subjects represent to themselves their others (usu­ ally their conquered others), autoethnographic texts are representations that the so-defined others construct in response to or in dialogue with those texts. Autoethnographic texts are not, then, what are usually thought of as autochthonous forms of expression or self-representation (as the Andean quipus were). Rather they involve a selective collaboration with and ap­ propriation of idioms of the metropolis or the conqueror. These are merged or infiltrated to varying degrees with indigenous idioms to create self-representations intended to intervene in metropolitan modes of un­ derstanding. Autoethnographic works are often addressed to both metro­ politan audiences and the speaker's own community. Their reception is

609Arts Contact ZoneMARY LoUISE PRArr

1t Guaman Poma's giant letter

at all, Guaman Poma exempli­ ,d by conquest and empire. He )ble Inca descent and who had y. He may have worked in the preter, scribe, or assistant to a )rt. He says he learned to write mish father had given him ac­

tten in two languages (Spanish llled the Nueva coronica, "New onicle of course was the main ush presented their American of the main official discourses. a took over the official Spanish )ughly, to construct a new pic­ IOrld with Andean rather than co, not Jerusalem. In the New 19 the Christian history of the I, incorporating the Amerindi­ f Noah. He identifies five ages with the five ages of canonical tones that diverge with Noah h Saint Bartholomew, claimed leas. In a couple of hundred , encyclopedia of Inca and pre­ lblic offices, and dynastic lead­ mers and customs description, lith which knowledge in Inca memories of elders. tance of what I have proposed ean a text in which people un­ t engage with representations aphic texts are those in which ) themselves their others (usu­ phic texts are representations lse to or in dialogue with those what are usually thought of as :epresentation (as the Andean ve collaboration with and ap­ or the conqueror. These are th indigenous idioms to create n metropolitan modes of un­ .ften addressed to both metro­ ommunity. Their reception is

thus highly indeterminate. Such texts often constitute a marginalized group's point of entry into the dominant circuits of print culture. It is in­ teresting to think, for example, of American slave autobiography in its au­ toethnographic dimensions, which in some respects distinguish it from Euramerican autobiographical tradition. The concept might help explain why some of the earliest published writing by Chlcanas took the form of folkloric manners and customs sketches written in English and published in English-language newspapers or folklore magazines (see Trevino). Au­ toethnographlc representation often involves concrete collaborations be­ tween people, as between literate ex-slaves and abolitionist intellectuals, or between Guaman Poma and the Inca elders who were his informants. Often, as in Guaman Poma, it involves more than one language. In recent decades autoethnography, critique, and resistance have reconnected with writing in a contemporary creation of the contact zone, the testimonio.

Guaman Poma's New Chronicle ends with a revisionist account of the Spanish conquest, whlch, he argues, should have been a peaceful

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Figure 1. Adam and Eve

610 MARy LOUISE PRAll

encounter of equals with the potential for benefiting both, but for the mindless greed of the Spanish. He parodies Spanish history. Following contact with the Incas, he writes, "In all Castille, there was a great commo­ tion. All day and at night in their dreams the Spaniards were saying, 'Yn­ dias, yndias, oro, plata, oro, plata del Pim'" ("Indies, Indies, gold, silver, gold, silver from Peru") (Fig. 2). The Spanish, he writes, brought nothing of value to share with the Andeans, nothing "but armor and guns con la codicia de oro, plata oro y plata, yndias, a las Yndias, Piru" ("with the lust for gold, silver, gold and silver, Indies, the Indies, Peru") (372). I quote these words as an example of a conquered subject using the conqueror's language to construct a parodic, oppositional representation of the con­ queror's own speech. Guaman Poma mirrors back to the Spanish (in their language, which is alien to him) an image of themselves that they often suppress and will therefore surely recognize. Such are the dynamics of language, writing, and representation in contact zones.

The second half of the epistle continues the critique. It is titled Buen go­ bierno y justicia, "Good Government and Justice," and combines a descrip-

Figure 2. Conquista. Meeting of Spaniard and Inca. The Inca says in Quechua, "You eat this gold?" Spaniard replies in Spanish, "We eat this gold."

611MARy LOUISE PRATI Arts Contact Zone

r benefiting both, but for the es Spanish history. Following tille, there was a great commo­ le Spaniards were saying, 'Yn­ " ("Indies, Indies, gold, silver, sh, he writes, brought nothing Lg "but armor and guns con la is Yndias, Pire" ("with the lust e Indies, Peru") (372). I quote . subject using the conqueror's ,nal representation of the con­ rs back to the Spanish (in their of themselves that they often

ize. Such are the dynamics of :ltact zones. the critique. It i~titled Buen go­ ,tice," and combines a descrip-

Inca. The Inca says in Quechua, panish, ''We eat this gold."

tion of colonial society in the Andean region with a pa~~ionate denunciat;ion of Spanish exploitation and abuse. (These, at the time he was writing, were decimating the population of the Andes at a genocidal rate. In fact, the po­ tentialloss of the labor force became a main cause for reform of the system.) Guaman Poma's most implacable hostility is invoked by the clergy, fol­ lowed by the dreaded corregidores, or colonial overseers (Fig. 3). He also praises good works, Christian habits, and just men where he finds them, and offers at length his views as to what constitutes" good government and justice." The Indies, he argues, should be administered through a collabora­ tion of Inca and Spanish elites. The epistle ends with an imaginary question­ and-answer session in which, in a reversal of hierarchy, the king is depicted asking Guaman Poma questions about how to reform the empire-a dia­ logue imagined across the many lines that divide the Andean scribe from the imperial monarch, and in which the subordinated subject single­ handedly gives himself authority in the colonizer's language and verbal repertoire. In a way, it worked-this extraordinary text did get written­ but in a way it did not, for the letter never reached its addressee.

Figure 3. Corregidor de minas. Catalog of Spanish abuses of indigenous labor force.

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612

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MARY LOUISE PRAIT

To grasp the import of Guaman Poma's project, one needs to keep in mind that the Incas had no system of writing. Their huge empire is said to be the only known instance of a full-blown bureaucratic state society built and administered without writing. Guaman Poma constructs his text by appropriating and adapting pieces of the representational repertoire of the invaders. He does not simply imitate or reproduce it; he selects and adapts it along Andean lines to express (bilingually, mind you) Andean interests and aspirations. Ethnographers have used the term transcultura­ tion to describe processes whereby members of subordinated or marginal groups select and invent from materials transmitted by a dominant or metropolitan culture. The term, originally coined by Cuban sociologist Fernando Ortiz in the 1940s, aimed to replace overly reductive concepts of acculturation and assimilation used to characterize culture under con­ quest. While subordinate peoples do not usually control what emanates from the dominant culture,they do determine to varying extents what gets absorbed into their own and what it gets used for. Transculturation, like autoethnography, is a phenomenon of the contact zone.

As scholars have realized only relatively recently, the transcultural character of Guaman Poma's text is intricately apparent in its visual as well as its written component. The genre of the four hundred line draw­ ings is European-there seems to have been no tradition of representa­ tional drawing among the Incas-but in their execution they deploy specifically Andean systems of spatial symbolism that express Andean values and aspirations. l

In figure 1, for instance, Adam is depicted on the left-hand side below the sun, while Eve is on the right-hand side below the moon, and slightly lower than Adam. The two are divided by the diagonal of Adam's digging stick. In Andean spatial symbolism, the diagonal descending from the sun marks the basic line of power and authority dividing upper from lower, male from female, dominant from subordinate. In figure 2, the Inca appears in the same position as Adam, with the Spaniard opposite, and the two at the same height. In figure 3, depicting Spanish abuses of power, the sym­ bolic pattern is reversed. The Spaniard is in a high position indicating dom­ inance, but on the "wrong" (right-hand) side. The diagonals of his lance and that of the servant doing the flogging mark out a line of illegitimate, though real, power. The Andean figures continue to occupy the left-hand side of the picture, but clearly as victims. Guaman Poma wrote that the Spanish con­ quest had produced "un mundo al reves," "a world in reverse."

In sum, Guaman Poma's text is truly a product of the contact zone. If one thinks of cultures, or literatures, as discrete, coherently structured, mono­ lingual edifices, Guaman Poma's text, and indeed any autoethnographic work, appears anomalous or chaotic-as it apparently did to the European scholars Pietschmann spoke to in 1912. If one does not think of cultures this way, then Guaman Poma's text is simply heterogeneous, as the Andean re­ gion was itself and remains today. Such a text is heterogeneous on the re­ ception end as well as the production end: it will read very differently to people in different positions in the contact zone. Because it deploys

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The idea of the contact zone is intended in part to contrast with ideas of community that underlie much of the thinking about language, com­ munication, and culture that gets done in the academy. A couple of years

MARy LoUISE PRATT Arts Contact Zone 613

project, one needs to keep in ~. Their huge empire is said to mreaucratic state society built 1 Poma constructs his text by Iresentational repertoire of the reproduce it; he selects and lingually, mind you) Andean ve used the term transcultura­ 5 of subordinated or marginal ~ansmitted by a dominant or coined by Cuban sociologist e overly reductive concepts of uacterize culture under con­ sually control what emanates nine to varying extents what ~ts used for. Tr~culturation, 1e contact zone. !ly recently, the transcultural ltely apparent in its visual as f the four hundred line draw­ m no tradition of representa­ their execution they deploy

nbolism that express Andean

~d on the left-hand side below below the moon, and slightly

le diagonal of Adam's digging ;onal descendirlg from the sun y dividirlg upper from lower, teo In figure 2, the Inca appears niard opposite, and the two at ish abuses of power, the sym­ · high position irldicatirlg dom­ · The diagonals of his lance and ut a line of illegitimate, though )Ccupy the left-hand side of the la wrote that the Spanish con­ vorld irl reverse." )duct of the contact zone. Ifone · coherently structured, mono­ irldeed any autoethnographic pparently did to the European ~ does not think of cultures tlUs

European and Andean systems of meaning making, the letter necessarily means differently to bilingual Spanish-Quechua speakers and to monolin­ gual speakers in either language; the drawings mean differently to mono­ cultural readers, Spanish or Andean, and to bicultural readers respondirlg to the Andean symbolic structures embodied in European genres.

In the Andes in the early 1600s there existed a literate public with con­ siderable intercultural competence and degrees of bilirlgualism. Unfortu­ nately, such a community did not exist in the Spanish court with which Guaman Poma was trying to make contact. It is interesting to note that in the same year Guaman Poma sent off his letter, a text by another Peruvian was adopted in official circles in Spain as the canonical Christian mediation

I, between the Spanish conquest and Inca history. It was another huge ency­ clopedic work, titled the Royal Commentaries of the Incas, written, tellingly,

I

I, I by a mestizo, Inca Garcilaso de la Vega. Like the mestizo half brother who

taught Guaman Poma to read and write, Inca Garcilaso was the son of an Inca princess and a Spanish official, and had lived in Spain since he was sev­

i enteen. Though he too spoke Quechua, his book is written in eloquent, stan­ dard Spanish, without illustrations. While Guaman Poma's life's work sat somewhere unread, the Royal Commentaries was edited and reedited in Spain and the New World, a mediation that coded the Andean past and present irl ways thought unthreatenmg to colonial hierarchy.2 The textual hierarchy persists; the Royal Commentaries today remains a staple item on Ph.D. readirlg lists irl Spanish, while the New Chronicle and Good Government, despite the ready availability of several fine editions, is not. However, though Guaman Poma's text did not reach its destination, the transcultural currents of expression it exemplifies continued to evolve in the Andes, as they still do, less in wri.ting than in storytelling, ritual, song, dance-drama, painting and sculpture, dress, textile art, forms of governance, religious be­ lief, and many other vernacular art forms. All express the effects of long­ term contact and irltractable, unequal conflict.

Autoethnography, transculturation, critique, collaboration, bilingual­ ism, mediation, parody, denundation, irnagmary dialogue, vernacular ex­ pression-these are some of the literate arts of the contact zone. Miscom­ prehension, incomprehension, dead letters, unread masterpieces, absolute heterogeneity of meanmg-these are some of the perils of writing in the contact zone. They all live among us today in the transnationalized me­ tropolis of the United States and are becoming more widely visible, more pressirlg, and, like Guaman Poma's text, more decipherable to those who once would have ignored them irl defense of a stable, centered sense of knowledge and reality.

Contact and Community

614

r MARY LoUISE Purr

ago, thinking about the linguistic theories I knew, I tried to make sense of a utopian quality that often seemed to characterize social analyses of lan­ guage by the academy. Languages were seen as living in "speech commu­ nities/' and these tended to be theorized as discrete, self-defined, coherent entities, held together by a homogeneous competence or grammar shared identically and equally among all the members. This abstract idea of the speech community seemed to reflect, among other things, the utopian way modem nations conceive of themselves as what Benedict Anderson calls "imagined communities."l In a book of that title, Anderson observes that with the possible exception of what he calls "primordial villages," human communities exist as imagined entities in which people "will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them or even hear of them, yet in the mind of each lives the image of their communion." "Communities are distinguished," he goes on to say, "not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined" (15; emphasis mine). Anderson proposes three features that characterize the style in which the modem nation is imagined. First, it is imagined as limited, by "finite, if elastic, boundaries"; second, it is imagined as sovereign; and, third, it is imagined asjratemal, "a deep, horizontal comradeship" for which millions of people are prepared "not so much to kill as willingly to die" (15). As the image suggests, the nation-community is embodied metonymically in the finite, sovereign, fraternal figure of the citizen-soldier.

Anderson argues that European bourgeoisies were distinguished by their ability to "achieve solidarity on an essentially imagined basis" (74) on a scale far greater than that of elites of other times and places. Writ­ ing and literacy playa central role in this argument. Anderson mruntains, as have others, that the main instrument that made bourgeois nation­ building projects possible was print capitalism. The commercial circula­ tion of books in the various European vernaculars, he argues, was what first created the invisible networks that would eventually constitute the literate elites and those they ruled as nations. (Estimates are that 180 mil­ lion books were put into circulation in Europe between the years 1500 and 1600 alone.)

Now obviously this style of imagining of modem nations, as Anderson describes it, is strongly utopian, embodying values like equality, frater­ nity, liberty, which the societies often profess but systematically fail to re­ alize. The prototype of the modem nation as imagined community was, it seemed to me, mirrored in ways people thought about language and the speech community. Many commentators have pointed out how modem views of language as code and competence assume a unified and homoge­ neous social world in which language exists as a shared patrimony-as a device, precisely, for imagining community. An image of a universally shared literacy is also part of the picture. The prototypical manifestation of language is generally taken to be the speech of individual adult native speakers face-ta-face (as in Saussure's famous diagram) in monolingual, even monodialectal situations-in short, the most homogeneous case

615 MARy LOUISE PRArr

[ knew, I tried to make sense of racterize social analyses of lan­ an as living in "speech commu­ discrete, self-defined, coherent

:ompetence or grammar shared nbers. This abstract idea of the ong other things, the utopian 'es as what Benedict Anderson )f that title, Anderson observes he calls "primordial villages," ies in which people "will never them or even hear of them, yet Lr communion." "Communities )t by their falsity/genuineness, (15; emphasis mine). Anderson the style in which the modem 1S limited, by "finite, if elastic, reign; and, third, it is imagined p" for which millions of people 19ly to die" (15). As the image ed metonymically in the finite, dier. ~eoisies were distinguished by ssentially imagined basis" (74) f other times and places. Writ­ .rgument. Anderson maintains, : that made bourgeois nation­ ilism. 'The commercial circula­ naculars, he argues, was what 'ould eventually constitute the ns. (Estimates are that 180 mil­ urope between the years 1500

If modem nations, as Anderson ng values like equality, frater­ !ss but systematically fail to re­ 1S imagined community was, it lOUght about language and the lave pointed out how modem assume a unified and homoge­ ts as a shared patrimony-as a ty. An image of a universally The prototypical manifestation eech of individual adult native lOllS diagram) in monolingual, the most homogeneous· case

Arts Con tact Zone

linguistically and socially. The same goes for written cQQJmunication. Now one could certainly imagine a theory that assumed different things­ that argued, for instance, that the most revealing speech situation for un­ derstanding language was one involving a gathering of people each of whom spoke two languages and understood a third and held only one language in common with any of the others. It depends on what workings of language you want to see or want to see first, on what you choose to de­ fine as normative.

In keeping with autonomous, fraternal models of community, analyses of language use commonly assume that principles of cooperation and shared understanding are normally in effect. Descriptions of interactions between people in conversation, classrooms, medical and bureaucratic set­ tings, readily take it for granted that the situation is governed by a single set of rules or norms shared by all participants. The analysis focuses then on how those rules produce or fail to produce an orderly, coherent ex­ change. Models involving games and moves are often used to describe interactions. Despite whatever conflicts or systematic social differences might be in play, it is assumed that all participants are engaged in the same game and that the game is the same for all players. Often it is. But of course it often is not, as, for example, when speakers are from different classes or cultures, or one party is exerCising authority and another is sub­ mitting to it or questioning it. Last year one of my children moved to a new elementary school that had more open classrooms and more flexible curricula than the conventional school he started out in. A few days into the term, we asked him what it was like at the new school. "Well," he said, "they're a lot nicer, and they have a lot less rules. But know why they're nicer?" "Why?" I asked. "So you'll obey all the rules they don't have," he replied. This is a very coherent analysis with considerable elegance and explanatory power, but probably not the one his teacher would have given.

When linguistic (or literate) interaction is described in terms of orderli­ ness, games, moves, or scripts, usually only legitimate moves are actually named as part of the system, where legitimacy is defined from the point of view of the party in authority-regardless of what other parties might see themselves as doing. Teacher-pupil language, for example, tends to be de­ scribed almost entirely from the point of view of the teacher and teaching, not from the point of view of pupils and pupiling (the word doesn't even exist, though the thing certainly does). If a classroom is analyzed as a so­ cial world unified and homogenized with respect to the teacher, whatever students do other than what the teacher specifies is invisible or anomalous to the analysis. This can be true in practice as well. On several occasions my fourth grader, the one busy obeying all the rules they didn't have, was given writing assignments that took the form of answering a series of questions to build up a paragraph. These questions often asked him to identify with the interests of those in power over him-parents, teachers, doctors, public authorities. He invariably sought ways to resist or subvert

616 MARy LOUISE PRATT -------,~.--.---,-----

these assignments. One assignment, for instance, called for imagining"a helpful invention." The students were asked to write single-sentence re­ sponses to the following questions:

What kind of invention would help you? How would it help you? Why would you need it? What would it look like? Would other people be able to use it also? What would be an invention to help your teacher? What would be an invention to help your parents?

Manuel's reply read as follows:

A grate adventchin

Some inventchins are GRATE!!!!!!!!!!! My inventchin would be a shot that would put every thing you learn at school in your brain. It would help me by letting me graduate right now!! I would need it because it would let me play with my friends, go on vacachin and, do fun a lot more. It would look like a regular shot. Ather peaple would use to. This inventchin would help my teacher parents get away from a lot of work. I think a shot like this would be GRATE!

Despite the spelling, the assignment received the usual star to indicate the task had been fulfilled in an acceptable way. No recognition was available, however, of the humor, the attempt to be critical or contestatory, to par­ ody the structures of authority. On that score, Manuel's luck was only slightly better than Guaman Poma's. What is the place of unsolicited op­ positional discourse, parody, resistance, critique in the imagined class­ room community? Are teachers supposed to feel that their teaching has been most successful when they have eliminated such things and unified the social world, probably in their own image? Who wins when we do that? Who loses?

Such questions may be hypothetical, because in the United States in the 1990s, many teachers find themselves less and less able to do that even if they want to. The composition of the national collectivity is changing and so are the styles, as Anderson put it, in which it is being imagined. In the 1980s in many nation-states, imagfued national syntheses that had re­ tained hegemonic force began to dissolve. Internal social groups with his­ tories and lifeways different from the official ones began insisting on those histories and lifeways as part of their citizenship, as the very mode of their membership in the national collectivity. In their dialogues with dominant institutions, many groups began asserting a rhetoric of belonging that made demands beyond those of representation and basic rights granted from above. In universities we started to hear, JlI don't just want you to let me be here, I want to belong here; this institution should belong to me as much as it does to anyone else." Institutions have responded with, among

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617 Arts Contact ZoneMARY LoUISE PRATI -----.--~.--

ce, called for imagining "a o write single-sentence re-

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nventchin would be a 1m at school in 'your raduate right now!! I ,y with my friends, go Llld look like a regular lVentchin would help If work. I think a shot

:he usual star to indicate the o recognition was available, ical or contestatory, to par­ re, Manuel's luck was only the place of unsolicited op­ que in the imagined c1ass­ feel that their teaching has

,ted such things and unified ~e? Who wins when we do

luse in the United States in and less able to do that even )nal collectivity is changing -hich it is being imagined. In tional syntheses that had re­ ernal social groups with his­ mes began insisting on those ip, as the very mode of their eir dialogues with dominant t rhetoric of belonging that ion and basic rights granted , "I don't just want you to let ltion should belong to me as lave responded with, among

other things, rhetorics of diversity arid multicu1turalism whose iMport at this moment is up for grabs across the ideological spectrum.

These shifts are being lived out by everyone working in education today, and everyone is challenged by them in one way or another. Those of us committed to educational democracy are particularly challenged as that notion finds itself besieged on the public agenda. Many of those who govern us display, openly, their interest in a quiescent, ignorant, manipu­ lable electorate. Even as an ideal, the concept of an enlightened citizenry seems to have disappeared from the national imagination. A couple of years ago the university where I work went through an intense and wrenching debate over a narrowly defined Western-culture requirement that had been instituted there in 1980. It kept boiling down to a debate over the ideas of national patrimony, cultural citizenship, and imagined community. In the end, the requirement was transformed into a much more broadly defined course called Cultures, Ideas, Values.4 In the context of the change, a new course was designed that centered on the Americas and the multiple cultural histories (including European ones) that have in­ tersected here. As you can imagine, the course attracted a very diverse student body. The classroom functioned not like a homogeneous commu­ nity or a horizontal alliance but like a contact zone. Every single text we read stood in specific historical relationships to the students in the class, but the range and variety of historical relationships in play were enor­ mous. Everybody had a stake in nearly everything we read, but the range and kind of stakes varied widely.

It was the most exciting teaching we had ever done, and also the hard­ est. We were struck, for example, at how anomalous the formal lecture be­ came in a contact zone (who can forget Atahuallpa throwing down the Bible because it would not speak to him?). The lecturer's traditional (imag­ ined) task-unifying the world in the class's eyes by means of a mono­ logue that rings equally coherent, revealing, and true for all, forging an ad hoc community, homogeneous with respect to one's own words-this task became not only impossible but anomalous and unimaginable. In­ stead, one had to work in the knowledge that whatever one said was going to be systematically received in radically heterogeneous ways that we were neither able nor entitled to prescribe.

The very nature of the course put ideas and identities on the line. AU the students in the class had the experience, for example, of hearing their culture discussed and objectified in ways that horrified them; all the stu­ dents saw their roots traced back to legacies of both glory and shame; all the students experienced face-to-face the ignorance and incomprehension, and occasionally the hostility, of others. In the absence of community val­ ues and the hope of synthesis, it was easy to forget the positives; the fact, for instance, that kinds of marginalization once taken for granted were gone. Virtually every student was having the experience of seeing the world described with him or her in it. Along with rage, incomprehension, and pain, there were exhilarating moments of wonder and revelation,

618 MARY LOUISE PRATf

mutual understanding, and new wisdom-the joys of the contact zone. The sufferings and revelations were, at different moments to be sure, ex­ perienced by every student. No one was excluded, and no one was safe.

The fact that no one was safe made all of us involved in the course ap­ preciate the importance of what we came to call "safe houses." We used the term to refer to social and intellectual spaces where groups can consti­ tute themselves as horizontal, homogeneous, sovereign communities with high degrees of trust, shared understandings, temporary protection from legacies of oppression. This is why, as we realized, multicultural curricula should not seek to replace ethnic or women's studies, for example. Where there are legacies of subordination, groups need places for healing and mutual recognition, safe houses in which to construct shared understand­ ings, know ledges, claims on the world that they can then bring into the contact zone.

Meanwhile, our job in the Americas course remains to figure out how to make that crossroads the best site for learning that it can be. We are looking for the pedagogical arts of the contact zone. These will include, we are sure, exercises in storytelling and in identifying with the ideas, inter­ ests, histories, and attitudes of others; experiments in transculturation and collaborative work and in the arts of critique, parody, and comparison (including unseemly comparisons between elite and vernacular cultural forms); the redemption of the oral; ways for people to engage with sup­ pressed aspects of history (including their own histories), ways to move into and out of rhetorics of authenticity; ground rules for communication across lines of difference and hierarchy that go beyond politeness but maintain mutual respect; a systematic approach to the all-important con­ cept of cultural mediation. These arts were in play in every room at the ex­ traordinary Pittsburgh conference on literacy. I learned a lot about them there, and I am thankful.

Adorno, Rolena. Guaman Poma de Ayala: Writing and Resistance in Colonial Peru. Austin: U of Texas P, 1986.

Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origins and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 1984.

Garcilaso de la Vega, El Inca. Royal Commentaries of the Incas. 1613. Austin: U of Texas P, 1966.

Guaman Porna de Ayala, Felipe. El primer nueva cor6nica y burn gobierno. Manuscript. Ed. John Murra and Rolena Adorno. Mexico: Siglo XXI, 1980.

Pratt, Mary Louise. "Linguistic Utopias." The Linguistics of Writing. Ed. Nigel Fabb et al. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1987. 48-66.

Treviiio, Gloria. "Cultural Ambivalence in Early Chicano Prose Fiction." Diss. Stan­ ford U, 1985.

1For an introduction in English to these and other aspects of Guaman Porna's work, see RoIena Adorno. Adorno and Mercedes Lopez-Baralt pioneered the study of Andean symbolic systems in Guarnan Porna.

• • •

MARy LOUISE PRAIT Arts Contact Zone 619

le joys of the contact zone. ent moments to be sure, ex­ ded, and no one was safe. IS involved in the course ap­ call"safe houses." We used :es where groups can consti­ sovereign communities with , temporary protection from ized, multicultural curricula studies, for example. Where leed places for healing and onstruct shared understand­ hey can then bring into the

.e remains to figure out how ning that it can'be. We are zone. These will include, we tifying with the ideas, inter­ lents in transculturation and le, parody, and comparison ·lite and vernacular cultural people to engage with sup­

>\Tn histories), ways to move nd rules for communication t go beyond politeness but 1m to the all-important con­ llay in every room at the ex­ '. I learned a lot about them

Ii and Resistance in Colonial Peru.

~tions on the Origins and Spread of

!S of the Incas. 1613. Austin: U of

Tonica y buen gobierno. Manuscript. [,1980. g-uistics of Writing. Ed. Nigel Fabb

:hicano Prose Fiction." Diss. Stan-

aspects of Guaman Poma's work,

lIt-~'far from clear that the Royal Commentaries was as be;Ugn as the Spanish seemed to assume. The book certainly played a role in maintaining the identity and aspirations of indigenous elites in the Andes. In the mid-eighteenth century, a new edition of the Royal Commentaries was suppressed by Spanish authorities because its preface included a prophecy by Sir Walter Raleigh that the English would invade Peru and restore the Inca monarchy.

3The discussion of community here is summarized from my essay "Linguistic Utopias."

4For information about this program and the contents of courses taught in it, write Program in Cultures, Ideas, Values (CIV), Stanford Univ., Stanford, CA 94305.

QUESTIONS FOR A SECOND READING

L Perhaps the most interesting question "Arts of the Contact Zone" raises for its readers is how to put together the pieces: the examples from Pratt's children, the discussion of Guaman Poma and the New Chronicle and Good Government, the brief history of European literacy, and the discussion of curriculum reform at Stanford. The terms that run through the sections are, among others, these: "contact," "community," "autoethnography," "transculturation." As you reread, mark those passages you might use to trace the general argument that cuts across these examples.

2. This essay was originally delivered as a lecture. Before you read her essay again, create a set of notes on what you remember as important, relevant, or worthwhile. Imagine yourself as part of her audience. Then reread the essay. Where would you want to interrupt her? What questions could you ask her that might make "Arts of the Contact Zone" more accessible to you?

3. This is an essay about reading and writing and teaching and leaming, about the "literate arts" and the "pedagogical arts" of the contact zone. Surely the composition class, the first-year college English dass, can be imagined as a contact zone. And it seems in the spirit of Pratt's essay to identify (as a student) with Guarnan Poma. As you reread, think about how and where this essay might be said to speak directly to you about your education as a reader and writer in a contact zone.

4. There are some difficult terms in this essay: "autochthonous," "au­ toethnography," "transculturation." The last two are defined in the text; the first you will have to look up. (We did.) In some ways, the slipperiest of the key words in the essay is "culture." At one point Pratt says,

H one thinks of cultures, or literatures, as discrete, coherently struc­ tured, monolingual edifices, Guaman Poma's text, and indeed any au­ toethnographic work, appears anomalous or chaotic-as it apparently did to the European scholars Pietschmann spoke to in 1912.1£ one does not think of cultures this way, then Guaman Poma's text is simply het­

lit pioneered the study of Andean erogeneous, as the Andean region was itseH and remains today. Such a text is heterogeneous on the reception end as well as the production

620 MARy LOUISE PMIT

end: it will read very differently to people in different positions in the contact zone. (p. 612)

If one thinks of cultures as "coherently structured, monolingual edifices," the text appears one way; if one thinks otherwise the text is "simply het­ erogeneous." What might it mean to make this shift in the way one thinks of culture? Can you do it-that is, can you read the New Chronicle from both points of view, make the two points of view work in your own imag­ ining? Can you, for example, think of a group that you participate in as a "community"? Then can you think of it as a "contact zone"? Which one seems "natural" to you? WhaJ does Pratt assume to be the dominant point of view now, for her readers?

As you reread, not only do you want to get a sense of how to explain these two attitudes toward culture, but you need to practice shifting your point of view from one to the other. Think, from inside the position of each, of the things you would be expected to say about Poma's text, Manuel's invention; and your classroom.

ASSIGNMENTS FOR WRITING

Here, briefly, are two descriptions of the writing one might find or ex­ pect in the "contact zone." They serve as an introduction to the three writ­ ing assignments.

Autoethnography, transculturation, critique, collaboration, bilingual­ ism, mediation, parody, denunciation, imaginary dialogue, vernacular expression-these are some of the literate arts of the contact zone. Mis­ comprehension, incomprehension, dead letters, unread masterpieces, absolute heterogeneity of meaning-these are some of the perils of writing in the contact zone. They all live among us today in the transnationalized metropolis of the United States and are becoming more widely visible, more pressing, and, like Guaman Poma's text, more decipherable to those who once would have ignored them in de­ fense of a stable, centered sense of knowledge and reality. (p. 613)

We are looking for the pedagOgical arts of the contact zone. These will include, we are sure, exercises in storytelling and in identifying with the ideas, interests, histories, and attitudes of others; experiments in transculturation and collaborative work and in the arts of critique, par­ ody, and comparison (including unseemly comparisons between elite and vernacular cultural forms); the redemption of the oral; ways for people to engage with suppressed aspects of history (including their own histories), ways to move into and out of rhetorics of authenticity; ground rules for communication across lines of difference and hierar­ chy that go beyond politeness but maintain mutual respect; a system­ atic approach to the all-important concept of cultural mediation. (p. 618)

1. One way of working with Pratt's essay, of extending its project, would be to conduct your own local inventory of writing from the contact zone. You might do this on your own or in teams with others from your class. You will want to gather several similar documents, your "archive," be­ fore you make your final selection. Think about how to make that choice.

Ar

2.

621Arts Contact ZoneMARy LOUISE PRAIT

:>llaboration, bilingual­ y dialogue, vernacular f the contact zone. Mis­ , unread masterpieces, some of the perils of

nong us today in the Ites and are becoming Guaman Porna's text,

ve ignored them in de- Id reality. (p. 613)

ontact zone. These will ,nd in identifying with others; experiments in he arts of critique, par­ lpariSOns between elite 1 of the oral; ways for tistory (including their letorics of authenticity; : difference and hierar­ ltual respect; a system­ tural mediation. (p. 618)

!xtending its project, would iting from the contact zone. .vith others from your class. Iments, your "archive," be­ ut how to make that choice.

like to work with and present it carefully and in detail (perhaps in even greater detail than Pratt's presentation of the New Chronicle). You might imagine that you are presenting this, to someone who would not have seen it and would not know how to read it, at least not as an example of the literate arts of the contact zone.

2. Another way of extending the project of Pratt's essay would be to write your own autoeilinography. It should not be too hard to locate a setting or context in which you are the "other"-the one who speaks from outside rather than inside the dominant discourse. Pratt says that the position of the outsider is marked not only by differences of language and ways of thinking and speaking but also by differences in power, authority, status. In a sense, she argues, the only way those in power can understand you is in their terms. These are terms you will need to use to tell your story, but your goal is to describe your position in ways that IIengage with represen­ tations others have made of [you]" without giving 4t or giving up or dis­ appearing in their already formed sense of who you are.

This is an interesting challenge. One of the things that will make the writing difficult is that the autoeilinographic or transcultural text calls upon skills not usually valued in American classrooms: bilingualism, parody, denunciation, imaginary dialogue, vernacular expression, story­ telling, unseemly comparisons of high and low cultural forms-these are some of the terms Pratt offers. These do not fit easily with the tra­ ditional genres of the writing class (essay, term paper, summary, report) or its traditional values (unity, consistency, sincerity, clarity, correctness, decorum).

I

"

ifferent positions in the

ured, monolingual edifices," wise the text is "simply het­ s shift in the way one thinks 'ead the New Chronicle from lew work in your own imag­ ) that you participate in as a "contact zone"? Which one

me to be the dominant point

:et a sense of how to explain eed to practice shifting your from inside the position of to say about Poma's text,

ING

vriting one might find or ex­ ,traduction to the three writ-

What makes one document stand out as representative? Here are' fWo ways you might organize your search:

a. You could look for historical documents. A local historical society might have documents written by Native Americans ("Indians") to the white settlers. There may be documents written by slaves to masters or to northern whites explaining their experience with slavery. There may be documents by women (like suffragettes) trying to negotiate for public positions and rights. There may be documents from any of a number of racial or ethnic groups-Hispanic, Jewish, Irish, Italian, Polish, Swedish-trying to explain their positions to the mainstream culture. There may, perhaps at union halls, be documents written by workers to owners. Your own sense of the heritage of your area should direct your search.

b. Or you could look for contemporary documents in the print that is around you, things that you might otherwise overlook. Pratt refers to one of the characteristic genres of the Hispanic community, the "testi­ mania." You could look at the writing of any marginalized group, par­ ticularly writing intended, at least in part, to represent the experience of outsiders to the dominant culture (or to be in dialogue with that cul­ ture or to respond to that culture). These documents, if we follow Pratt's example, would encompass the work of young children or stu­ dents, including college students.

Once you have completed your inventory, choose a document you would

622 MARY loUISE PRATT

You will probably need to take this essay (or whatever it should be called) through several drafts. It might be best to begin as Pratt's student, using her description as a preliminary guide. Once you get a sense of your own project, you may find that you have terms or examples to add to her list of the literate arts of the contact zone.

3. Citing Benedict Anderson and what he calls "imagined communities," Pratt argues that our idea of community is "strongly utopian, embodying values like equality, fraternity, liberty, which the societies often profess but systematically fail to realize." Against this utopian vision of commu­ nity, Pratt argues that we need to develop ways of understanding (even noticing) social and intellectual spaces that are not homogeneous, unified; we need to develop ways of understanding and valuing difference.

Think of a community of which you are a member, a community that is important to you. And think about the utopian terms you are given to name and describe this community. Think, then, about this group in Pratt's terms--as a "contact zone." How would you name and describe this social space? Write an essay in which you present these alternate points of view on a single sodal group. You will need to present this dis­ cussion fully, so that someone who is not part of your group can follow what you say, and you should take time to think about the consequences (for you, for your group) of this shift in point of view, in terms.

MAKING CONNECI'IONS

1. In "The Photographic Essay: Four Case Studies" (p. 510), W. J. T. Mitchell is concerned with the ways both words and images take possession of their subjects. And, in his account, there is a political dimension to this. It is a matter of the rich looking at and describing the poor in Let Us Now Praise Famous Men, of colonial power and the colonized in The Colonial Harem and After the Last Sky. (It is harder to name the victims and agents of appropriation in Camera Lucida. It would be worth your time to read that section carefully to see what terms Barthes offers.) In Pratt's terms in "Arts of the Contact Zone," both the photos and the texts represent mo­ ments of contact between persons of different cultures and unequal status.