Thomas Dion
“A New Story:” Lessons on the Rules of Civility
While preparing for class on
the 21st of
January, I noticed the poem; “A New Story” by Simon J. Ortiz, selected for
discussion was not of the Early American Literature time period. This sparked
immense curiosity as to why Professor White would decide to lead off with a poem
constructed in 1992 and not one from, well, the Early Americas. I did not
initially understand the poem. How could Oritz remain so calm, as he is depicted
in the verses, while listening to a woman fervently digging herself into a pit
of political incorrectness? Although I like to view myself as a pacifist, I am
also foolhardy, and tend to sound off to people in a most uncivil manner when
placed in a disagreeable position. So, why was Mr. Ortiz not following my suit,
when he, in my opinion, has much more the “right” to be brassy, due to his
heritage, than I do? My question was answered and expounded upon coming from a
source I had but all forgotten about, a pamphlet titled
Remarks Concerning
the Savages of North America by the Humanist
champion – Benjamin Franklin.
“A New Story” begins naïvely enough with a woman
looking for an “Indian.” Looking at this term of convenience in a different
light, would an American enjoy being called a Canadian, a Frenchmen, or a
Christian called a Muslim? Probably not, Columbus was incorrect when giving
these people that name and we should all stop using it since we know this or
risk looking very foolish. Furthermore, while watching an interview with Simon
J. Ortiz on the Native American Writers website, he says that “indigenous” is
the word he would much rather use, because “Indian” carries to much negative
weight in society. (I could not agree more). So why did Ortiz in the poem stop
“this woman” from continuing forward? If we allow ourselves to assume that the
cultural practices of the Indigenous tribes of New England can represent the
symbol of all Indigenous tribes; then Ortiz’s politeness and refusal to
interrupt can be interpreted as the first rule of conversation for Indigenous
tribes, observed by Benjamin Franklin, “He[or she] that would speak, rises. The
rest observe a profound silence” (469). Yet, this kind of civility can lead to
confusion of what is on Ortiz’s mind, since his only response to each question
is “Yes.” Yes I hear you? Yes I understand you? Yes, I agree? Which is it? This
may suggest civility beyond letting someone have their turn to speak, but one in
which disputes are avoided causing a negative reaction in understanding what the
other person has on their mind. Luckily for the reader, whatever the confusion
we get from Ortiz lack of dialogue, we gain from paying close attention to “this
woman’s” subtext.
The woman spares no time
informing Ortiz of the rich heritage the town has in celebrating its frontier
roots. One can almost hear the same respectful tone a southerner takes while
expressing their feelings of the Confederate flag as a symbol of “heritage, not
hate” during the intermission at a reenactment of First Manassas; when she says,
“It’s exciting and important, and we have a lot of participation.” Evolving with
this participation is also the eccentric pageantry of how the floats are
designed and casted. No more are the celebrations like the old days of paper
mache Indians and actors, no, this year they will be “authentic” by dressing up
a “real Indian with feathers and paint” to put on the float. One must appreciate
how
authentic this image would look to “this
woman.” (Personally, I am thinking of the time Doc Brown dressed poor Marty
McFly and sent him back to the Wild West, as a reference to how accurate “this
woman’s” perspective of how to dress an “Indian” would be.) Therefore no one
should gasp at her atrocious response of “Oh good” when finding out that there
were more than one “Indian” at the VA hospital. But we do anyways, because it is
both ironic and tragic.
This woman was searching for a “real Indian” and
when she found one, he was in a hospital and she becomes excited. Traditionally
speaking, a hospital stands as a symbol of someone not doing well, or good. In
fact it means the opposite and should have initiated a response of concern, at
bare minimum to find out why he and others were residing at the VA. At this
point of the poem I was ready to ring “this women’s” neck. Then I realized that
her ignorance was represented in her pride of the frontier. Frontier according
to Webster’s New World dictionary can be “any part of a field that is still
incompletely investigated.” It is not this woman’s fault for what happened to
the Indigenous tribes of America; moreover, it is not even her fault for having
what appears to be a shallow conception of the world. This is the result of an
incomplete education stemming from a complex bureaucratic network, where
knowledge slips through cracks like water through a strainer. So what of “this
woman,” is there any hope of leading her into the new world of understanding? Ortiz addresses this directly in the
final fifteen lines of his poem, and the reader should immediately notice that
Ortiz has dropped using quotations for the next woman’s speech. Instead he
addresses us directly, as if the one, who was merely sitting and listening
before, now has something to say. As Ortiz relates to us “the woman” is looking
for an “Indian” once more concerning a celebration for
El Draque.
(He did not say that, I did). Ortiz interrupts her before she can finish
explaining with a resounding, “No.” No, he will not sit and allow his stories to
be swept around a rug of civil silence. It is possible to suspend a conversation
for moments at a time for dialectical conversation instead of a one sided
dialogue, with a day in between answers. And it is possible for the one
previously talking to step back and listen for an extended amount of time. It is
possible, but this would truly be
a new story for us
“Yahoos”…I mean Americans.
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