LITR 5831 Colonial-Postcolonial Literature                                                        Research Projects 2011

Keaton Patterson

20 November 2011

Research Journal

The Arrows Behind the Olive Branch: Imperialism in American Culture and History

Journal Entry 1: Introduction—American Imperialism

            I am interested in learning more about America’s relationship with imperialism, and why it has been so difficult for this topic to be broached within most discourses concerning American Studies. While especially since the 1960s but even as far back as the late nineteenth century there has been no shortage of decriers of American imperialism, there has nevertheless been a concerted resistance among many of our more conservative citizens to viewing America as an imperialist nation or an empire in the sense we commonly think of England, France, and other European countries that have formerly held colonies. In order to explore the debate over whether or not America is in fact an imperial nation, I will review scholarship centering on aspects of American imperialism, present a historical analysis of the Spanish-American War and the subsequent Filipino Insurrection, give a biographical profile of one of America’s great postcolonial theorists, and analyze cultural products of American literature and film from a postcolonial perspective so as to gauge the American perception of and attitude towards imperialism.   

             Part of the controversy assuredly stems from America’s former status as an English colony. However, I assert it is a false equivalence or outright disingenuous to compare the colonial experience of European American settlers with that of the so-called “Third World.” In non-settler colonies, such as India and various African nations among others, the colonized are inevitably seen as inferior to the colonizers, even as they are told they are subject to the same authority. They are also required to assimilate to the dictates of the colonizers’ foreign culture at the expense of their own. None of these aspects can be attributed to the American colonial experience. While the early Americans certainly lived in colonies, they were always the colonizers and never the colonized. Up until the Revolutionary War, most if not all Americans considered themselves Englishmen, even as they began to identify more with their new home rather than with their motherland. It was a very different experience from having a foreign army invading a native population, although many of the American colonists surely felt that was exactly what was happening when the English warships began pulling into Manhattan harbor.

            Nevertheless, despite the American colonists’ perception that the British government was economically exploiting them and tyrannically oppressing them, the War for Independence was more a secession and a civil war than a fight for liberation. The myth of the Republic’s birth through colonial liberation, however, has remained the dominant motif in the American cultural narrative. As such, I contend that this insincere framing of America’s colonial roots has been instrumental in advancing the nation’s imperialist aspirations from its very founding. Beginning with the conquest of the American West and the Indian Wars it precipitated (for if anyone in America was colonized it was the Indians), America has continually sought to expand its territory and influence through military and cultural domination—in other words, imperialism. However, by invoking its own roots as an “oppressed colony,” America has been able to justify its imperialist endeavors beneath a rhetoric of freedom and democracy that inevitably casts the nation in the role of a benevolent and liberating force. For this reason, America is essentially an “empire in denial.” But it is a strategic denial. Ultimately, America’s imperial power lies in its ability to project liberation while working towards establishing control. It is a form of hypocrisy that allows America to morally justify its imperialism to itself and to the world.                                   

Journal Entry 2: Kaplan’s “‘Left Alone in America’: The Absence of Empire in the Study of American Culture” and Pease’s “New Perspectives on US Culture and Imperialism”[1]

            Amy Kaplan’s and Donald E. Pease’s essays in the collection, Cultures of US Imperialism, trace American imperialism throughout the nation’s history, focusing especially on the ways in which its endeavors are perceived and understood within academic and cultural discourses. First, Kaplan gives an overview of how and why “studies of imperial and postcolonial culture … tend to omit discussions of the United States as an imperial power” (17). Afterwards, Pease examines how the perspectives of cultural critics on American imperialism have changed over time, becoming more aware of its presence and process. What emerges from their research is an analysis of the cultural influences that have served to perpetuate American imperialism while also helping to deny its existence.

            Kaplan contends that

imperialism has been simultaneously formative and disavowed in the foundational discourse of American Studies … [and that] this paradigm has persisted and shifted in the redefinition of empire and culture across different fields. (5)

In other words, early on, American Studies established an epistemological distinction between European-style colonialism and America’s overseas exploits founded on the belief that America’s past colonial experience automatically proves the nation is fundamentally opposed to imperialism. She goes on to state that this view of America as “inherently anti-imperialist” (12) was further reinforced by its struggles against the more obvious totalitarianism of Nazis and Soviets. Thus, through the events of World War II and the Cold War, America became cast as the perennial “good guys” freeing the world from the chains of imperialism. Kaplan goes on to outline how this dominant ideology was employed at home as well as abroad, using cultural and academic avenues to solidify this master narrative among American citizens. In doing so, she effectively illustrates how America’s conquest of the Indians is divorced from the study of imperialism, and how the nation’s acquisition of an overseas empire following the Spanish-American War is written off “as a momentary psychological lapse” (14) instead of being perceived as an episode in the progression of a well-established cultural and political policy of imperialism. Ultimately, in this way, Kaplan views American Studies’ disregard and outright denial of American imperialism as complicit in its propagation.

            Pease’s article picks up on the idea that “United States’ imperial nationalism … depended for its efficacy on a range of cultural technologies … exercised both internally and abroad” (22), and then expands his discussion to illustrate how American critical thought has evolved concerning its perception of imperialism. Pointing out how early versions of the American cultural narrative are often closer to “political mythology rather than history” (24), Pease follows how a number of theoretical developments, particularly starting in the late 1960s with new historicism and multiculturalism, brought this dominant view into debate, first acknowledging the presence of American imperialism, and eventually linking colonialism and imperialism to the contemporary phenomena of globalization. As a result, Pease illustrates a positive progression in America’s understanding of its own imperial culture that not only dispels the pervasive denial that has traditionally typified its study, but that also removes the nation from its ideological pedestal and implants it firmly within the global context.

Journal Entry 3: On the Spanish-American War and Filipino Insurrection—Historical Analysis[2]

            The Spanish-American War of 1898 and its aftermath leading to the Filipino Insurrection (1899-1902) is the prototypical example of American imperialism. In many ways, it set the template for all of America’s imperialist endeavors to follow. In his book, Rebirth of a Nation: The Making of Modern America, 1877-1920, historian Jackson Lears places what came to be known as a “splendid little war” (207) firmly within the context of an ongoing strive towards empire that consumed American culture and politics following the end of the Civil War. According to Lears, salivating jingoists, such as Theodore Roosevelt, William McKinley and John Hay among others, lobbied hard for the declaration of war under the pretense of liberating the colonized and oppressed peoples of Cuba and other territories under Spain’s control. However, it became quickly apparent that there were more material aspirations behind this decision. The economic resources and strategic advantages acquired from Spain’s colonial possessions gave America an empire with holdings in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, including Cuba, Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines. As Lears states, “Imperialists could hardly have asked for a more propitious conflict” (207). Still, while America was caught up in war fever, half a world away in the Philippines, the newly “liberated” Filipinos, who had fought alongside the Americans in expelling the Spanish, were starting to see past the rhetoric and realizing that America’s motives were anything but benevolent.

            Emilio Aguinaldo, the revolutionary Filipino leader and the newly independent nation’s first president, had his original faith in the American’s intentions in driving out the Spanish dispelled soon after their liberation. Despite assurances by President McKinley that America had no aspirations to colonial rule, the Americans refused to give up control of their new possession, leading to an “insurrection” by the Filipinos that would ultimately last three times as long as the war that spawned it. Lears explicitly places the events in the Philippines within the larger context of American imperialism, quickly drawing the connection to America’s conquest of the Indians. For example, he points out how many of the soldiers and commanding officers engaged in the Philippines were veterans from the Indian Wars, which is generally considered to have ended with the 1890 Wounded Knee Massacre. Not only does this connection illustrate the continuum of American imperialism, but it also highlights the undercurrent of white supremacy that pervaded it. The old contention that brutality is all uncivilized “savages” understand was readily invoked to justify the tactics wholesale slaughter that the US forces unleashed against the Filipinos, “such as General Jacob Smith’s order to shoot anyone over [the age of] ten” (210). By the end of the insurrection, tens of thousands of Filipinos had been killed while most American casualties resulted from disease. Filipino independence would not officially come until 1946.

            The history of the Spanish-American War and the Filipino Insurrection is essential to an understanding of American imperialism. Not only is it the first true instance of overseas expansion and colonization by America, it set the standard for America’s imperialist undertakings to this day. Characteristics of America’s exploits in Vietnam, such as the overtly racist attitude adopted towards America’s nonwhite enemies and the indiscriminate killing of anyone even slightly suspected of being part of the opposition, have their roots in these events. As a result, the obvious imperialism of the Spanish-American War and the Filipino Insurrection cannot be dismissed as “a momentary psychological lapse” (Kaplan 14) as some American Studies theorists and historians have tried to describe it. It is, in fact, the pattern of America’s culture of imperialism—one that is still observable in the Middle Eastern conflicts of today.

Journal Entry 4: Edward Said and “Orientalism”[3]

            Edward Said (1935-2003) is without a doubt one of the most formative and influential minds in the field postcolonial studies. He was born in Jerusalem, British Palestine in 1935, and like many postcolonial luminaries, such as Chinua Achebe and Frantz Fanon, the circumstances of Said’s life reflect his intellectual and political endeavors. In fact, he was a living example of the existential paradox inherent in growing up under colonial rule. While closely identifying with his Palestinian heritage, Said was also very much the product of English/American education and culture. This position of liminality within the dialectic of East and West was further complicated after his family fled their homeland, following the establishment of the state of Israel. This event, as well as the ongoing political controversy and struggle surrounding it, would remain an important influence for Said throughout the rest of his life, guiding his analysis of the interplay between culture and politics. Accordingly, his work as an intellectual and literary critic shaped and guided his political activism on behalf of Palestinian statehood (among other causes concerning the rights of oppressed peoples) and vice versa. He steadfastly believed in “socially engaged criticism” (Leitch 1986). Indeed, this emphasis on the connection between culture and politics, and especially the role of literature in effecting, maintaining and resisting the ideological control of oppressive social power structures, is the unifying factor throughout Said’s entire career.                

            After fleeing Palestine, Said attended some of the most elite Western schools in the Middle East, including the American School in Cairo. Eventually making his way to the United States, he became a naturalized citizen and graduated from both Princeton (B.A. 1957) and Harvard University (PhD 1964). His highly influential book, Orientalism, was published in 1979, and soon became recognized as a foundational text of postcolonial criticism. In it, Said contends that the Western world or the “Occident” (i.e., Great Britain, France, and America) constructed the concept of the “Orient” as “one of its deepest and most recurring images of the Other … [one that] has helped to define Europe (or the West) as its contrasting image, idea, personality, experience” (1991). In other words, instead of seeking to truthfully represent or understand the peoples and cultures of the Middle and Far East, the West’s image of the Orient—in academic sciences, such as anthropology, as well as cultural products, such as the novel—constitutes an ethnocentric projection by the West. As a result, the Orient becomes a signifier of negative difference within the Western psyche, defining the West by representing what it is not. Importantly, however, Orientalism is not simply a marker of difference. It defines “a relationship of power, of domination, of varying degrees of complex hegemony” (1994) in which the Occident is always superior.

            Literature of the Western canon is of particular importance for Said in this context. In his view, not only do literary texts (along with other cultural products) serve to depict the West’s conception of the East as fundamentally “Other,” but, by perpetuating and reinforcing the thought system of Orientalism, cultural products such as the novel in effect justify and further the aims of imperialism. At this point, Said’s critical analysis crosses over into the realm of politics, cementing the connection of his academic work to an actual social context. As a result, it is not surprising that the influence of Orientalism extends well beyond the realm of literary studies. The disciplines of history, anthropology, political science, foreign policy and more have been profoundly impacted by Said’s critical theories. It is also telling that Said’s work in both academia and political activism has met with considerable backlash from both the United States and Israeli governments. He often criticized US foreign policy for being imperialist, making him an especially controversial figure after the terrorist attacks of 9/11. However, Said continued to advocate for the peoples of the Middle East and other former colonial areas in whatever cause he judged just.     

            Said would continue to develop his concept of Orientalism throughout his career in other texts, such as Culture and Imperialism and The World, the Text, and the Critic. Until his death in 2003, he would continue to adhere to the belief that cultural and literary theory should be rooted in social reality, providing a venue for the advancement of social justice and offering a mode of resistance for the oppressed peoples of the world. He also made Western academia and art consider their representations of the East from a different point of view by “showing how scholarship is sometimes informed by racism and how intellectuals have been complicit in the administration of imperial power” (Leitch 1988). As a result, Edward Said made postcolonial criticism more than a theory for interpreting literature and culture. He helped develop it into a system of thought with actual political application in the real world.                                                

Selected Bibliography for Edward Said

Joseph Conrad and the Fiction of Autobiography. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1966.

Beginnings: Intention and Method. NY: Columbia UP, 1975.

Orientalism. NY: Vintage Books [Random House], 1979.

The World, the Text, and the Critic. Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1983.

Culture and Imperialism. NY: Vintage Books [Random House], 1994.

Out of Place: A Memoir. NY: Vintage Books [Random House], 2000.

Journal Entry 5: Walt Whitman’s “Passage to India” and the Culture of American Imperialism[4]

            Walt Whitman is the first great American poet, admired for his eloquent yet ribald odes to the physical and spiritual beauty of humanity. Like many intellectual Americans of his time (e.g., Emerson, Thoreau), Whitman studied Hindu sacred texts, and his poetry exhibits many incorporated aspects of Eastern philosophies. He is also remembered for his great love of “the American republic in its illimitable capacity for self-renewal and expansion” (Kaplan 9). When all of these elements come together in Whitman’s poem, “Passage to India,” however, an unsettling if lyrical image emerges that expresses how deeply the culture of imperialism is embedded in the American psyche. Employing an analytical perspective informed by postcolonial theory, I argue that running parallel to the overriding thematic of personal and universal discovery and indeed constituting it to a great extent, “Passage to India” engages in a poetic discourse informed by imperialist and Orientalist thought that places the enterprising Western identity in a position of superiority.

            In celebrating the adventurous, discovering spirit of American exceptionalism (in this context conflated with the human soul), Whitman conveys his metaphorical voyage to India based on “a relationship of power, of dominance, of varying degrees of complex hegemony” (Said 1994) in which the East is depicted as the mysterious Other. Much of Whitman’s fascination with India is indeed due to his associating it with “the myths Asiatic, the primitive fables” that hold some sense of essential knowledge and destiny for him. However, it is also, as Said states, a fascination based on “a relationship … of dominance” as evidenced by some later lines: “Passage to you, your shores, ye aged fierce enigmas! / Passage to you, to mastership of you, ye strangling problems!” This trope is typical of Orientalist thought, and despite the aesthetic value of Whitman’s incredible poetic power, it is nevertheless necessary to acknowledge the elements of ethnocentrism and imperialism that help to constitute that power.

            Furthermore, considering Pease’s assertion that “imperialism … [is] a phase of globalization” (26), it is possible to read the themes in “Passage to India,” not only as prescient, but also as evidence of America’s longstanding dedication to cultural imperialism:

Passage to India!
Lo, soul, seest thou not God's purpose from the first?
The earth to be spann'd, connected by network,
The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in marriage,
The oceans to be cross'd, the distant brought near,
The lands to be welded together.

While this verse envisions an egalitarian, post-racial, and united future for humanity, the Orientalism latent in the invocation of India as metaphysical destination still frames the passage to this ideal future as a one-sided progression in which the West carries out its civilizing mission on a passive and inferior East. Indeed, one of the major concerns over the process of globalization is that the more prosperous nations, especially America, are able to economically and culturally dominate the less powerful ones. What Whitman’s poem suggests is that such an imperialist aim has, for a long time, been a defining feature of American culture.

            Even though Walt Whitman’s poetry is deservedly well-regarded for his lauding of the human—if decidedly American—potential for physical and spiritual self-discovery, in “Passage to India” such an admirable feat is accomplished at the expense of the cultural agency of other people. As a result, it becomes apparent that America’s cultural imperialism of the world is, for Whitman, also an appealing goal.                  

 Journal Entry 6: Apocalypse Now and the Critique of American Imperialism[5]

            Francis Ford Coppola’s anti-Vietnam War film, Apocalypse Now (1979), provides an intriguing example of the critique of American imperialism. By relocating Joseph Conrad’s classic Heart of Darkness within the contemporary historical context of America’s war in Vietnam, Coppola’s film clearly portrays America’s militarism in Asia and around the world as instances of imperialism masked behind the rhetoric of bringing freedom and democracy to the oppressed—a slight reformulation of the civilizing/Christianizing mission of “traditional” European imperialism. However, in this entry I will argue that Apocalypse Now goes further in its critique of America’s specific brand of imperialism. The film perceives the Vietnam War as only the latest manifestation of a pattern (or policy) of American imperialism that goes back at least to the Indian Wars of the late 1800s. Moreover, the film comments on the particular uses of American popular culture in the dual process of reinforcing this imperial mindset among Americans, which is also an attempt to institute a regime of cultural hegemony over the besieged Vietnamese. Lastly, it is important to point out how the film itself complicates and even contradicts its own message of anti-imperialism—much as Chinua Achebe critiqued its source material—by ultimately contributing to the influence of the American culture industry that it critiques.

            While Apocalypse Now is primarily concerned with the imperial turpitude of America’s ventures in Vietnam, it takes time to trace this long-engrained characteristic back over one hundred years. The clearest example is embodied in Robert Duvall’s performance as Lieutenant Colonel Bill Kilgore. As the commander of the 9^th Division of the Air Cavalry—the division led by Custer (also a Lieutenant Colonel) during the Indian Wars—Kilgore and his men make a direct connection between America’s overseas militarism and its conquest of the West that demanded the decimation of the Indian tribes occupying coveted lands. Indeed, it is important to note that American imperialism has its origins in the nation’s methodical annihilation of its native and “savage” inhabitants. The tactics Kilgore employs in the famous “Flight of the Valkyries” scene—flying in with the rising sun and indiscriminately destroying everything in sight—further cements his connection to Custer, as does the old style cavalry hat and ascot he wears.

            However, Kilgore’s overall demeanor in carrying out his attack is so over the top that he is essentially a parody of America’s imperial jingoism and sentimental valorization of the conquering hero. Take, for instance, his reasoning in choosing the point of attack to get Captain Willard (Martin Sheen’s “Marlow” character) onto the river that will lead him to Colonel Kurtz (played by Marlon Brando). “Charlie’s Point,” as the American’s call it, is apparently the best surfing spot in all of war-torn Vietnam, and this point alone is the deciding factor in Kilgore’s decision to attack this heavily fortified VC stronghold. (Interestingly, surfing is a sport that came to America through its arguably imperialist acquisition of Hawaii.) Even before the attack is completed, soldiers are absurdly surfing in between exploding mortar shells, and soon after the victorious Americans transform the battlefield into a beach blanket barbeque party. As Willard says though, “The more they tried to make it just like home, the more they made everybody miss it.” While this seemingly incongruous outcome may certainly be absurd, it illustrates how America’s imperial endeavors are closely associated with the dissemination/imposition of American popular culture throughout the lands it occupies.

            There are numerous instances of American popular culture accompanying military actions in Apocalypse Now. These attempts to Americanize Vietnam demonstrate how, as Edward Said has noted, “cultural forms” influence “the formation of imperial attitudes, references, and experiences” (xii). For example, the USO show that Willard and his companions encounter on their trip up the river is not simply R&R for the soldiers in the shit; it is a strategic operation designed to reinforce the morale and thus fighting spirit of the men. It accomplishes this mission by reminding the men what they are fighting for—here, the particular American “freedom” represented by Playboy bunnies and rock and roll. As the soldiers become rowdier and the show nearly erupts into a riot, it is clear that their sexual excitement (synonymous with morale in the instance) is intended to translate into violence against the enemy. This association is driven home by the cowboys and Indians theme of the bunnies’ skimpy attire. Again recalling America’s long history of imperialism, the USO bunnies’ performance collapses the distinction between sex and violence (two longstanding obsessions defining American masculinity which is associated with national power) while simultaneously reinforcing the boundaries of opposition marked out by the self/other dialectic necessary for the perpetuation of the imperialist mindset.

            In the scenes referred to above, Apocalypse Now indeed depicts America’s overseas military actions in Vietnam as the latest episode in a long legacy of imperialism, and illustrates how its mission is carried out hand-in-hand with the operationalization of American popular culture so as to continuously reinforce the country’s commitment to its imperialist aims. However, the film, produced by a Coppola’s American Zoetrope but underwritten by the corporate behemoth Paramount Pictures, is itself a product of the American culture industry it critiques, and thus it contains many problematic elements that threaten to undermine if not contradict its overt antiwar message and condemnation of American imperialism. According to Amy Kaplan, Apocalypse Now exhibits a willful ignorance of “the film’s complicity with the imperial context that enables its production, at the same time that context is paraded dramatically on the screen” (18). By way of evidence, she offers the facts that Coppola shot his film in the former American colony of the Philippines with the bought help of a dictator who was sympathetic to American “interests.” These examples show how even cultural products ostensibly intended to expose America’s imperial exploits may actually inadvertently engage in the same process, strengthening, rather than weakening, the system it seeks to criticize.

            Furthermore, Coppola’s depiction of the Vietnamese and Vietnam is quite disturbingly similar to Conrad’s representation of Africans and Africa in Heart of Darkness. At first, this parallel of course seems obvious and even natural being that Conrad’s novella is the source material for Apocalypse Now. However, considering Achebe’s scathing indictment of Conrad’s racist/imperialist use of “Africa as setting and backdrop which eliminates the African as human factor … [and] a metaphysical battlefield devoid of all recognizable humanity” (1790), it is not hard to make the assertion that Coppola is utilizing the same troubling narrative trope in his film. While, as in the case of Heart of Darkness, this warranted criticism does not negate the aesthetic and cultural value of Apocalypse Now, it does convey how deeply the influences of imperialism are ingrained in the American cultural unconscious.

            Apocalypse Now is nevertheless an extremely important film in the study of American imperialism. More so even for the inherent contradictions it contains. It is an aesthetic masterpiece bringing to light the ways in which militarism and popular culture have mutually served to perpetuate and carry out American imperialist aims since at least the Indian Wars of the late 1800s, while it simultaneously participates in the same practice. As a result, it portrays the extent to which imperialism has been and still is a defining characteristic of American culture.   

Journal Entry 7: Conclusion—Postcolonial Studies and the Future of American Imperialism[6]

            After researching and collecting the contents of my journal, I have learned that, despite what we are taught in the American educational system or are told through the American culture industry regarding our exemption from the ranks of Western empires, we have engaged in imperialist endeavors throughout our nation’s history—not on an intermittent basis, but as a matter of foreign and domestic policy. Furthermore, the master narrative of American culture does not only reinforce the imperialist mindset, it also obfuscates and justifies acts of imperialism through “an enduring assumption [I would say design] that the American struggle for independence from British colonialism makes US culture inherently anti-imperialist” (Kaplan 12). This stratagem allows America to codify its imperial endeavors as benevolent acts of liberation in the name of freedom and democracy.

            I can utilize this knowledge in my future studies and teachings to more truthfully represent America’s position within global relations, which can only improve the quality of my literary and cultural criticism. Accordingly, this improvement reflects the promise of colonial-postcolonial discourse in advancing a multicultural as well as global perspective within American Studies. By understanding our nation’s responsibility and influence over global relations—that has, in no small part, been cultivated by our imperial past—we can begin to foster a more egalitarian and cosmopolitan mindset for our citizenry. As a result, it may be possible to approach our interactions with foreign nations, as well as with our own diverse population, in such a way as to help build (instead of force) a better world.