Leah Guillory                                                                                                                           

November 22, 2009

             Othello’s Mimicry and Ambivalence

            According to Robert Dale Parker, Shakespeare’s The Tempest “often emerges as the parable of the colonized and the colonizer” in postcolonial studies, often casting Prospero as Colonial Control and Caliban as Colonized Subordinate, “a born devil” (5.1.188). But it seems to me that Othello, despite the fact that the play is not performed during an era of “extensive [English] overseas expansion”, offers lessons in Homi Bhabha’s post-colonial Ambivalence and Mimicry which I argue lead to Othello’s tragic end (Kwame Anthony Appiah 278). I nevertheless argue that reading Othello through Bhabha’s post-colonial theoretical lens in extremely useful considering the fact that Othello  is likened to millions of African-Americans who are among the diasporas of people stolen from their homeland “Taken by the insolent foe / And sold to slavery…“ who mimic to make it (1.3.160-40). W.E. B. Dubois’ points out this universal striving of black people: 

The dogged determination to survive and subsist…the tenacious will to persevere, persist and maybe even prevail. The strivings occur within a whirlwind of white supremacy— that is, as a response to the viscous attacks on black beauty, black intelligence, black moral character, black capability and black possibility. (West, 101)

            To begin, t aking a cue from my Othello playbill advising me in advance that “Shakespeare weaves a bloody tapestry of deception and betrayal and creates one of the most thrilling plays in the world,” I subsequently tremble underneath spellbound silence which I am confined to by the suspense of witnessing Iago’s poisonous possession of Othello’s Ambivalent mind.

            From my seat, I silently plead with Othello, who has not convinced us of his “perfect soul,” to untangle the threads from Iago’s web of lethal lies (1.2.31). I nevertheless resign myself to empathetic rage while the twisted Othello, confined by Iago‘s continuous deceitful spinning, is unable to escape the web of doubt, as a consequence, he kills Desdemona and finally himself. 

            Resentment and sorrow simultaneously weighing me down as I depart the theater troubled with my own Ambivalence, I nevertheless try to reconcile these incompatible emotions, conceding Othello’s belief in Iago which leads him to murder his wife, producing, unsuccessfully, the pity that I’m supposed to feel, if arguably, Othello is a tragic hero. On the other hand, many scholars would readily agree that Othello is in fact a tragic hero, and therefore we do pity him. Be that as it may, I maintain that I am unable to produce the required emotion.

            It is my assertion, therefore, that we should not view Othello’s tragic flaw simply through the standard Aristotelian model by itself, but that we need a second lens from which to view his tragic flaw, a “double consciousness” if you will,  in order that we also consider the multiple complications inherent in the colonial situation; in other words, the mere fact that Othello is a former Black slave who wants to succeed in a society where White men call the shots, even if he is in a position of leadership, assumes that he will inherently suffer from a profound sense of ambivalence given that mimicking means “adopting the colonizer’s language, educational systems, governmental systems, clothing, music and so on” (Parker 253). And anyone familiar with the play would agree that Othello readily adopts all of these apparently assuming that mimicry will make him the same. But the differences are nevertheless apparent.

            To be sure, Othello is Venice’s dark-skinned super-hero who is valued for his toughness who is not accepted into mainstream Venetian society. Desdemona’s father, Brabantio cannot tolerate that fact Desdemona marries Othello of her own will: “Oh thou foul thief, where hast thou stowed my daughter” (1.2.63–4)? He assumes that a black face is “what she feared to look on”—which paints the picture of a daughter who could not possibly fall in love with a black man (1.3.100). Brabantio believes that racially mixed, intimate relationships are evil and if good people enter into them, they do so via witchcraft. Thus, he believes that Desdemona must have been forced into marriage with Othello “corrupted by spells and medicines” (1.3.63). 

I’m immediately reminded of both female heroines in As You Like It and Twelfth Night, Rosiland and Viola who too mimic in order to survive—they, as Othello does, experience their isolation without giving up. In their cases, they endure their ill-fated fortunes through mimicry by changing their identities and becoming men. At the beginning of As You Like It, we see that Rosiland seems to have no power over her life even though she is the usurper, Duke Frederick’s niece; moreover, she’s the daughter of the usurped, who’s been banished. Duke Frederick banishes her out of his court without much of an explanation, simply deeming her a “traitor”—her “father’s daughter” (1.1.54-6). He unsympathetically expresses to her that if she doesn’t leave, she will be killed: “within these days if thou be’st found / so near our public court as twenty miles / Thou diest for it” (1.1.41-3).  It is necessary to see that Rosiland, even though she’s a “heroine of high station” is in an ambivalent predicament, as is Othello, who tells us that he “is of royal siege” although he was sold into slavery. Still, Rosiland possesses no persuasive power what-so-ever over the Duke’s decision to send her away.  He has all the political power over her, and he exercises it, “as [he] likes...”

Twelfth Night’s Viola, in the same way, is in an ambivalent position being lost at sea without a place to call home. But, she cleverly reinvents her identity, mimicking, as the smart servant Cesario in Duke Orsino’s household. Viola, Rosalind and Othello are caught up in a kind of “double bind” where at least two “elements of [their] identities are at odds with one another” (Steele 612). Viola and Rosiland are at once crafty women who must skillfully improvise and mimic men in order to survive.

            In Othello’s case, he too uses his clever and sharp mind in order to exert control over his colonial position essentially becoming a successful man as a result of his own hard work, rather than through birth, overcoming the hindrances of being foreign and Black in a White world, a world where he has found a place. In fact, Michael Neill points out that when Roderigo under Iago’s control thinks no more of Othello other than as as “an extravagant and wheeling stranger / Of here and everywhere/“(1.1.134-35), he insists that “To be a Moor, is to be a fundamentally dislocated creature, a wandering denizen of that un-place known as wilderness…to be a Moor of Venice is to represent a principle of wild disorder…” In spite of this, Othello’s mimicry, his willingness to “remain open and ready for meaningful solidarity with the very people who view his black body as an abomination” takes him from a minor position in Venetian society to a position of leadership authority (West 101). Despite that, Othello’s mimicry prevents him from doubting Iago’s lies. Thus, Othello hands over to Iago the opportunity to incite him to murder. To be precise, the favorable condition that offers Iago the advantage to tempt Othello is the fact that they are in Cyprus which is far away from Venice. Here, Othello becomes vulnerable being away from the place that influences his mimicry. 

            To illustrate, In Act I, while in the Christian city of Venice, we learn that Iago has been passed over for the position of lieutenant, a reality that he refuses to accept:  “ I would not follow him then / I follow him to serve my turn upon him” (1.1.42-4). From his view point, he has been treated unjustly, and he resents that he’s not been promoted on the basis of rank, what he refers to as the “old gradation”—which is “[the] traditional way “step by step seniority but that Cassius on the basis of “letter and affection“—which is to say—“personal influence and favoritism” has been promoted (1.1.38).  Iago’s greater age and longer service is overlooked by Othello, so it follows then that Iago maliciously orchestrates Othello’s downfall and plots to ruin him: 

                        …I hate the Moor…

                        The Moor is of a free and open nature,

                        That thinks men honest that but seem to be so (1.3.387-403).

            After Act I, the play’s action moves from the “highly civilized” Christian surroundings of Venice—which shapes Othello’s mimicry—to the island of Cyprus “…a more threatening milieu” (Hall 29).  This move in location is very important according to Hall, because “it represents a liminal area where apparently secure values may be challenged or overthrown” (29). Liminal means “barely perceptible” or to put it another way, “between what is known and what is unknown”—and although Hall doesn’t say so directly—she apparently assumes that this move from a location built on cultural advancement and sophistication where people are not easily deceived, but who are keenly aware and well- informed, to an isolated location that is situated a long way away from Venice, allows Iago the advantageous conditions to influence Othello’s powers of observation and conscious awareness. Still, Laurence Olivier's Othello, according to Judith Buchanan “wears a large cross around his neck to which he clings in moments of crisis. This symbol of his Christianizing, worn proudly on his chest, indicates his self-conscious and earnest desire to align himself Venetian culture mimicking their beliefs” (179-202). And while In Venice, Othello shows self-confidence as well as his keen awareness of polite habits speaking up for himself to the duke:

                        Most potent, grave, and reverend signors,

                        My very noble and approved good masters:

                        That I have at’en away this old man’s daughter,

                        It is true; true, I have married her.

                        The very head and front of my offending

                        Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in speech,

                        And little blessed with the soft phrase of peace;

                        For since these arms of mine had seven years’ pith,

                        Till now some nine months wasted, they have used

                        Their dearest action in the tented field;

                        And little of this great world can I speak

                        More than pertains to feats of broils and battle,

                        And therefore little shall I grace my cause

                        In speaking for myself.  Yet, by your gracious patience,

                        I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

                        Of my whole course of love--what drugs, what

                              Charms,

                        What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

                        For such proceeding I am charged withal,

                        I won his daughter. (1.3.78-96)

Othello speaking beautiful poetry admits that he married Desdemona, but he denies having used magic to woo her but that Desdemona was moved to love him after hearing his story time and time again.  The duke is persuaded by Othello’s poetic tale, dismissing Brabanzio’s allegations by remarking that Othello’s story would probably win over his own daughter. Desdemona enters and substantiates the Christian values that inform her bond with Othello which she implies is time-honored:

                        And so much duty that my mother showed

                        To you, preferring you before her father,

                        So much I challenge that I may profess

                        Due to the Moor my lord.  (1.3.213-18)

            On the contrary, away from Venice’s “’image of government, of reason, of law…,’“and surrounded by no more than free flowing water, these controlled values become susceptible. (Hall quoting Kernan 30) For that reason, Othello loses conscious awareness of his values and he becomes like the water, nonresistant to the outside force of Iago’s deceptive plan. We even see the water’s attack on the Turkish fleet which a great Cyprus storm destroys. Essentially, Cyprus represents a liminal location—a vulnerable position where shaped and consistent values become runny and excessively thin. Thus because of this liminal location influencing his state of awareness, Othello is “vulnerable to the subtle tactics of …Iago“—and simply because he is unable to keep his refined habits of polite appearances formed, Iago is able to infiltrate his considered and disciplined judgment (Hall 31). Because of this, Othello is not thinking in the same way—which is a from Christian mimicry since being isolated in a liminal place, where his chosen conscious personal view point, is out of proximity with the location that supports it. That is to say, Othello is no longer in Venice, a place that demands, and that he accepts, that he be socially acceptable, good and decent. Again, liminal means below the point of conscious awareness in which something cannot be experienced or felt. Othello cannot experience correct and appropriate, moral behavior, because his conscious awareness is lowered at this particular place in time. Because he is on the Island of Cyprus, he is in close contact with his unchosen unconscious views—views that are not socially acceptable: jealousy, rage, maliciousness and murder. He can no longer mimic the colonizer, and thus he is no longer ambivalent about who he is.

            At this point, I would like to raise some objections that have been inspired by the skeptic in me who feels that I have been ignoring the fact that Othello has committed acts of remarkable bravery and has shown admirable qualities such as great courage and strength of character that he is admired for. It follows then that after the storm destroys the Turkish fleet and Othello declares that the night be dedicated to celebrating the destruction of the enemy, he cautions Cassio to keep a careful watch on Venetian troops in the city; however, Iago tricks Cassio into drinking too much; consequently, when he is provoked by Roderigo, Cassio loses control of himself and fights with him, which is exactly what Iago lays out.  Othello however, consciously aware of the damages of disorder, demotes Cassio for inciting trouble which does not show outstanding qualities of an admirable leader which Othello sees as extremely important. Thus he fires him.

And while it is true that while in Cypress, Othello is at times strict and adamant about being great, I still insist though that he is unable to maintain his mimicking need for excellence, succumbing to his ambivalence which involves bouts of doubt and moods of darkness.

To be sure, Othello is far away from the Christian city’s values which is why he comes to embody all that Iago is—not a champion, but a seriously unpleasant, destructive person because his ambivalence emerges. And should we be surprised that he becomes all that we would never want him to be? That is to say, Venice does pay him to kill. In fact, the point of being on the island of Cypress is to kill the Turks even though the storm has taken care of that. The point is, brutality doesn’t produce great results.

To end, Othello is likened to “others”—that we know today—outsiders within our society who are marginalized—who suffer in the same way that Othello does—from profound sense of  ambivalence and doubt. Othello is not really a Venetian, although he maneuvers as if he is.  True, he’s mimicked and married into the Venetian culture, but up to this point, he’s simply been employed by them, valued for his toughness, not for his resemblance.  He is not a Venetian by birth. He is accepted because he is paid to defend the city as their super-hero and because he is a Christian who shares their common religion. However, he is a stranger from a strange country who is not a social insider. Iago, on the other hand is. And this is precisely why we should pity Othello. We pity Othello not because he realizes too late that Desdemona was true, but because he murders his wife because he believes a liar, the tragic irony being that the liar is Othello himself, who is a mimic.

Works Cited

Buchanan, Judith. Virgin and Ape, Venetian and Infidel: Labellings of Otherness in Oliver   Parker's Othello Hampshire: Macmillan, 2000.

Dash, Irene G. Women's Worlds in Shakespeare's Plays. Newark: University of Delaware

            Press, 1997.

Greenblatt, Stephen. Will in the World. New York: W.W. Norton and Company, 2004.

Hall, Joan Lord. Othello: A Guide To The Play. London: Greenwood Press, 1999.

Parker, Robert Dale. How To Interpret Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008.
Stepto, Robert. From Behind the Veil: A Study of Afro-American Narrative. University of    Illinois Press, 1979

West, Cornel. Democracy Matters. The Penguin Press, 2004

West, Cornel. The Cornel West Reader. Civitas Books, 1999

Williamson, Marilyn L. The Patriarchy of Shakespeare’s Comedies. Detroit: Wayne State          University Press, 1986.

Zweig, Connie and Jeremiah Abrams. Meeting The Shadow: The Hidden Power of the Dark side of Human Nature. New York: Putnam, 1991.