Language as an Instrument of Power in Colonial and Postcolonial Literature

Abstract

This paper examines the use of English language as a tool of power during the colonial and postcolonial times. My area of interest in this study is the Indian subcontinent and its people, culture and languages. The role of English language has been particularly poignant in the Indian subcontinent, as it served to strengthen the power of the British colonizers during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Even decades after the departure of the British, their language still reigns supreme amongst the minds and lives of the people of this part of the world. In this paper I take up sections from various English novels written during the colonial and postcolonial times, and examine how their writers have reflected the social, cultural and political aspects of the learning and teaching of English language in this region. My study shows that mimicry, or copying, is at the heart of the linguistic and cultural dilemma faced by the people of this region. They mimic their former masters in all aspects, and so acquire a hybrid identity which is caught between the two extremes of east and west, local and foreign, self and other. I also show in this paper that in the very attempt of copying the power-related language and culture there is a transformation in the languages and cultures of both the subjects and the rulers. [PUBLICATION ABSTRACT]

Headnote

Abstract

This paper examines the use of English language as a tool of power during the colonial and postcolonial times. My area of interest in this study is the Indian subcontinent and its people, culture and languages. The role of English language has been particularly poignant in the Indian subcontinent, as it served to strengthen the power of the British colonizers during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Even decades after the departure of the British, their language still reigns supreme amongst the minds and lives of the people of this part of the world. In this paper I take up sections from various English novels written during the colonial and postcolonial times, and examine how their writers have reflected the social, cultural and political aspects of the learning and teaching of English language in this region. My study shows that mimicry, or copying, is at the heart of the linguistic and cultural dilemma faced by the people of this region. They mimic their former masters in all aspects, and so acquire a hybrid identity which is caught between the two extremes of east and west, local and foreign, self and other. I also show in this paper that in the very attempt of copying the power-related language and culture there is a transformation in the languages and cultures of both the subjects and the rulers.

Keywords: Language, Power, Colonialism, Self/Other, Mimicry, Hybridity

This paper examines the use of language as an instrument of power in colonial and postcolonial contexts. Language has always played a central role in the political agenda of colonialism, and the role of the English language has been specifically significant in this regard. Serving as the starting point of a self-ordained civilizing mission of the British colonizers, English language has, over the years, encroached more and more upon the indigenous languages of the subject nation, whether they are the African culture or the Indian vernaculars. The most formidable cultural invasion has been in the linguistic sphere of the Indian subcontinent. Even after the departure of the British imperial forces their Englishness has remained behind them, and has gradually become the most awesome reminder of their legacy. The people of the Indian subcontinent are still living with this colonial legacy. As constructions of a line of distinction based on linguistic discrimination, this legacy has continued to reproduce images of 'Self and 'Other', of colonizing languages and cultures and colonized languages and cultures. One is tempted to ask who is this 'Other', which has so often been the subject of many literary and political discourses. The 'Other' is that person who always remains an outsider to the colonial parameters of acceptability. Whenever two people meet on an unequal footing, whether it is the Englishman meeting with the Indian, the white with the black, the wealthy with the poor, the well-fed with the starved, their interaction leads to one of them being 'Othered', depending upon the direction of the power flow. Significantly, the colonial 'Other' is always someone else, one who is understood to feel, think and act differently, and from whom the colonial Self takes pride in being different. The present study is an attempt to explore the role of language in creating the Self/Other dichotomy in the colonial situation, as it is reflected in the literature of this sphere. I specifically examine selections from Daniel Defoe's The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe (1910),Paul Scott's The Raj Quartet (1966) and HanifKureishi'sThe Black Album (1995) to study the use of language in creating power relations and the Self/Other dichotomy within colonial and postcolonial domains.

The real aim of colonialism, writes Ngugi, has been to control the people's wealth: what they produced, how they produced it, and how it was distributed \ This could only be done by first controlling the language of the colonized. Thus, an important area of domination was the mental universe of the colonized, since economic and political control can never be complete and effective without mental control. Mental control can mainly be acquired by first colonizing the language of the subject nation. Colonizing of the language deploys two strategies: the deliberate undervaluing of the indigenous people's language and culture, and the conscious elevation of the colonizer's language. The language of the colonizer becomes associated with power, prestige and success, and carries with it the dual attraction of being the master's mode of communication and of being endowed with the mystery of unintelligibility for the natives. It is here that the struggle for power starts to take hold of the colonized, which is the same power that a translator or interpreter for the white master holds for his more ignorant countrymen. The translator occupies an intermediate position between the colonizer and the colonized, since he shares the attributes of both. The indigenous translator is the colonizing subject, the person who is one of the colonized natives but is also superior to them because of his knowledge of their master's language. He is the one who is less 'Other' than the others. With the passage of time, more and more natives try to cross this threshold of difference and to enter the sphere of this copied identity by learning their master's language.

Homi Bhabha sees this practice of copying and learning the language of the colonial masters as a kind of mimicry of their manners. In 'Of Mimicry and Man' (1984) Bhabha sees mimicry as a form of colonial control generated by the metropolitan colonizer, which operates in conformity with the logic of the panoptical gaze of power, an idea that is further elaborated in Foucault's Discipline and Punish2. The colonizer's position of power leads the colonized to adopt the outward forms and internalize the values and norms of the occupying power. In this sense, mimicry becomes the modus operandi for the colonizer's 'civilizing mission' to transform the colonized culture by making it copy or 'repeat' the colonizer's culture. Precisely because it operates in the affective and ideological spheres, according to what Foucault might describe as the logic of a 'pastoral' regime, in contrast to policies of domination based on brute force, mimicry constitutes for Bhabha 'one of the most elusive and effective strategies of colonial power and knowledge'3.

The idea of mimicry as a colonial strategy is further discussed in Daniel Defoe's The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, especially in the passages dealing with Robinson Crusoe's English lessons to Friday. In Crusoe's lessons to Friday we find signs of the linguistic colonization of the indigenous by the settler. These lessons can be viewed as one of the earliest representations of English linguistic imperialism, in which the master makes it his business to 'teach him everything that was proper to make him useful, handy and helpful' (p. 195), and contain the first seeds of viewing English as the language of mental and social advancement. As Phillipson points out, Crusoe's relationship with Friday reflects the 'racial structure of western society at the heyday of slavery'4. Crusoe's assumption of mastery over Friday and his making Friday learn his language rather than learning Friday's language, is a significant moment in the long history of the global spread of English: Tn a little time I began to speak to him, and teach him to speak to me; and, first, I made him know his name should be Friday, which was the day I saved his life ... I like wise taught him to say master, and then let him know that was to be my name'(p. 102). As Fulton suggests5, in the dialogues between Crusoe and Friday we can observe the process of the construction of Self and Other:

Master: Well, Friday, and what does your nation do with the men they take? Do they carry them away and eat them, as these did?

Friday: Yes, my nation eats man's up too; eat all up. (p. 199)

And in such dialogues, we start to see the relationship not only between the Self and the Other as constructed by colonialism, but also that between these constructions and English. Not only does Friday not get to speak in his own language, but he has been taught very particular, colonizing English words to express his cultural insufficiency and crude beginnings. This idea was expressed more vociferously by Caliban in Shakespeare's The Tempest, when he laments that he had been made to learn Prospero's language which only served to make him lose his own innocence as well: 'You taught me language, and my profit on't / Is I know how to curse' (I. ii. 365-6). Like Friday, Caliban too has been made to mimic a certain prescribed code of the master's tongue.

However, a problem in this mode of mimicry itself arises out of the consequences of the crucial differentiation which the strategy of mimicry requires between being English and being 'Anglicized'. The difference between the two terms sustains the distinction between the colonizer and the colonizing subject, upon whom the colonial control mostly depends. No matter how hard native Indian subjects might try to master the language of their masters, they still remain secondary to the bom Englishmen. In Paul Scott's The Jewel in the Crown, Duleep Kumar, an Indian who is fascinated by the British culture, recounts to his son Hari Kumar his dilemma of learning the English language, which remained tantalizingly out of his reach in spite of his best efforts to copy it in the exact fashion of his masters:

Conversely, when I was your age, it was not only that I spoke English with an even stronger babu accent than I speak it now, but that everything I said, because everything I thought, was in conscious mimicry of the people who rule us. We did not necessarily admit this, but that is what was always in their minds when they listened to us. It amused them mostly. Sometimes it irritated them. It still does. Never they could listen to us and forget that we were a subject, inferior people. The more idiomatic we tried to be the more naïve our thinking seemed, because we were thinking in a foreign language that we had never properly considered in relation to our own. (p. 198)

Here we see the making of the linguistic slave or servant at the hands of the imperial masters, who regard the slightest variation in the language of the mimicking subjects as a proof of their essential Otherness. Thus, one element of the colonial discourse envisions the colonizing subject's potential for reformation and gradual approximation to the elevated condition of the colonizer, while another contradicts this with a conception of the ontological difference (and inferiority) of the subject's learnt Englishness.

At the heart of mimicry, then, is a destabilizing 'ironic compromise ... the desire for a reformed, recognizable Other, as a subject of difference that is almost the same, but not quite'6. This 'not-quite sameness' acts like a distorting mirror which fractures the identity of the colonizing subject, and 'rearticulates its presence in terms of its 'otherness', that which it disavows'7. This idea is further conveyed in Scott's representation of the character of Hari Kumar, the protagonist of the novel. The 'not-quite sameness' of Hari's Englishness makes him enter the unsettled territory of a split identity, since he is neither completely English nor wholly Indian. He lives in that hybridity of existence where even his name gets corrupted (or otherwise) to become Harry Coomer. Thus, we see how the split in the mental identity of the Anglo-Indians is shown in their shifting names. The world of subjectivity is essentially a domain of anonymity, where the code of nomenclature is often defined by a racial collectivity - Blacks, Indians, Natives, and so on. The individuality of a named identity is denied to the subject, as it is denied to animals, and all attempts to acquire it result in a schizophrenic duality which is suffered by Hari Kumar (or Harry Coomer).

This was probably the moment when he began consciously to be critical of his father who spoke English with that appalling sing-song accent, spelled the family name Coomer, and told people to call him David because Duleep was such a mouthful. Duleep had chosen the name Hari for his only surviving child and only son (the son for whom he had prayed and longed and whose life had now been planned down to the last detail) because Hari was so easily pronounced and was really only distinguishable in the spelling from the diminutive of Saxon Harold, who had been King of the English before the Normans came. (p. 194)

Here we see mimicry in all its practical manifestations, where the desire to be counted among the Imperial Self takes the form of naming oneself (or one's children) in a slavish following of the English tradition. Coining an English name for his Indian son, Duleep has unwittingly chosen the name of King Harold who was the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, and who was defeated by William of Normandy in 1066. Thus, Hari has ironically been given the very name that carries within it the ring of the troubled imperial history of England.

The idea of mimicry is brought to a more immediate context by Hanif Kureishi when he explores the practical aspect of the euphoria of adopting an Anglicized lifestyle, especially in the context of the Indians and Pakistanis migrating to England as a haven of European civilization. His novels suggest the dilemma of the disillusioned sons and daughters of the immigrants, who had pursued Hollywood's cinematic portrayal of a Utopian Elsewhere and have landed in an intermediate void between their own cultural background and their cherished English models. In The Black Album, Kureishi explores the hybridity of these latter generations of the Anglicized Indians, who have become the impeccable, finished products of mimicry, only to find out that the Whites would never allow them to discard their Oriental pedigree. Thus, interestingly, the white master's earlier attempts at civilizing the so-called crude Indians are hereby undercut by their penchant for an unpolluted native still immersed in his humble surroundings. As a result, 'authenticity' has become almost a commodity in the neo-colonial era, in so far as the Western consumer often demands that Third World culture, peoples and places be as 'original' and 'unspoilt' as possible, a discourse that is particularly suited to the commercial ideology of tourism. Riaz, the father of Shahid in The Black Album, a travel agent based in Kent, makes his living out of precisely this sort of neo-primitivist longing in his customers. As Shahid observes, there is even danger that in certain instances the 'marginal' will become part of the 'center'; in some circles of the neo-colonial metropolis, he comments, and 'there is nothing more fashionable than outsiders' (p. 145) The same sentimental but coercive demand for the authenticity of the Other is evident even in Shahid's supposedly benevolent friend, Strapper:

'I thought you loved the Asian people.'

'Not when they get too lucking Westernized. You all wanna be just like us now. It's the wrong turnin', (p. 162)

Thus one of the paradoxes of cultural nationalism is that it implicitly depends for its success on the continuing authority of the center. As Derrida cautions, directly oppositional or confrontational modes of decentering the center can simultaneously recenter it8.

The second and more far-reaching effect of the use of language as a colonial strategy is the way in which the indigenous languages and culture are gradually engulfed by the overwhelming presence of the colonizer's language. The apparently benign project of grafting Western knowledge with the Indian languages led to the inevitable construction not only of the Indian otherness, but also of presenting the European culture as the only field of knowledge worth achieving. This liberalism, as Metcalf (1995) points out, was informed by a radical universalism:

Contemporary European, especially British, culture alone represented civilization. No other cultures had any intrinsic validity. There was no such thing as 'Western' civilization; there existed only 'civilization'. Hence the liberal set out, on the basis of this shared humanity, to turn the Indian into an Englishman.9

Thus the apparently humane project of bringing the subject to acquire the language and culture of the master was based on this very desire to 'turn the Indian into an Englishman'. However, seen from a certain perspective, the learning of the colonizer's language might not be such an unworthy a task; rather, instead of considering it a slavish following of one's colonial masters, the learning of this new language is accompanied by a host of merits, the chief of them being able to gain inroads into a new, and often more advanced culture. It cannot be denied that the English language allows for the expression of a wide range of ideas in a more effective way than can be done by the indigenous languages of the local region. Yet the fact remains that just as the indigenous languages of India cannot fully express the ideas of the English culture, similarly, the English language often falls short when it comes to capturing the experiences of the Indian people. The cultural world of the Indian soil cannot be entirely voiced by the English language any more than can the native experiences of the Englishmen be wholly expressed in the Indian vernaculars. The loss of one's language thus becomes tantamount to the loss of one's culture10. This idea is critically examined in E. K. Brathwaite's theory of 'creolization', elaborated most fully in The Development of Creole Society in Jamaica. The expression and preservation of one's cultural heritage is most at risk when the colonizer's language is adopted blindly. The Indian nationalist Bipin Chandra Pal makes a similar point when he observes:

When.. .the European scientist studies the physical features of our land, when he mensurates our fields, trignometrates our altitudes and undulations, investigates our animal, our vegetable or our mineral kingdoms, the records of his study are accepted as true and authoritative. But the study of man belongs altogether to a different plane ... Here also the eye sees, the ear hears, but the real meaning of what is seen or heard is supplied not by the senses but by the understanding, which interprets what is heard in the light of its own peculiar experiences and associations. h

Bhabha has dealt with this problem in 'The Postcolonial and the Postmodern' by responding to Roland Barthes' distinction between the 'sentence' and the 'non-sentence'. Whereas for Barthes the distinction between the two terms is absolute - the non-sentence is what is eternally, splendidly, outside the sentence -, Bhabha introduces a third term, 'outside the sentence', which is a space between the sentence and the non-sentence. This outside-the-sentence supplies the space between the polarities of the sentence and the non-sentence, and allows for the cultural values and the social associations to function within the discourse of the language. This third space, this in-between, is something to which Scott again turns in showing Duleep Kumar's use of the Indian as well as the English language:

Hindi, you see, is spare and beautiful. In it we can think thoughts that have the merit of simplicity and truth. And between each other convey these thoughts in correspondingly spare, simple and truthful images. English is not spare. But it is beautiful. It cannot be called truthfiil because its subtleties are infinite. It is the language of a people who have probably earned their reputation for perfidy and hypocrisy because their language itself is so flexible, so often light-headed with statements which appear to mean one thing one year and quite a different thing the next. (p. 198)

The domain of Hindi is a world unto its own, which undulates with the music of ages of an Indian heritage. The predicament of Duleep is that when he rivets from Hindi to English he remains at home with neither, since in losing his language he has also lost his home, both linguistically and culturally.

This meeting of opposites in the linguistic domain of English and Hindi is viewed from a more literary perspective by Rudyard Kipling. Kipling explores the use of the two languages in the novelistic form, and attempts to determine the impact of Indian vocabulary on the English narrative. As Afear Husain points out, Kipling shows himself to be a 'brilliant translator not only of verbal expressions but also of emotions and cultures. His genius lies in his ability to transfer successfully contextual features of Indian linguistic term'12. Husain shows how Kipling uses a number of literary devices, from collocation and hybridization to phonological transfer, to produce a narrative discourse which is often 'significantly different from Standard British English'13. This deviation is present not only in the speech of the native protagonists, but also in Kipling's own authorial voice, the best example of which can be found in Kim. In Kim Kipling not only fully understands the idioms of the Indian vernaculars and the contexts in which they are used, but is also familiar with the emotions of Indian characters which require such language for their expression. Thus the very language of Kipling's novel shows that the linguistic and stylistic norm is mixed with deviation, which may be understood as the Anglo-Indian propensity to 'quaint reflections, borrowed unconsciously from native foster-mother, and turns of phrase that showed they had been that instant translated from the vernacular' (Kim, p. 172). Kipling sometimes takes Indian words and places them verbatim in his narrative: references such as to the 'almond-curd sweetmeats [balushai we call it]' (p. 179), or the use of untranslated words like murasla, khud and kilta (p. 303) inscribe the multi-dimensional perspective that such a linguistic hybridity entails. This shows the inevitable inclusion of the vernaculars of India in the novelistic discourse, and conversely, the excessive inflection of Standard British English into a distinctive dialect. Already a significant marker of Anglo-Indian cultural difference by the early nineteenth century, this argot had become sufficiently complex by Kipling's time to merit its own lexica. G. C. Whitworth's Anglo-Indian Dictionary, a volume of 370 pages, appeared in 1885, to be followed the next year by Hobson-Jobson: A Glossary of Colloquial Anglo-Indian Words and Phrases. The editors described their project as the explication of words and expressions which 'recur constantly in the daily intercourse of the English in India, either as expressing ideas not really provided for by our mother-tongue, or supposed by the speakers ... to express something not capable of just denotation by any English term'14. This shows that the language of the master and that of the subject have ceased to sit at the opposite ends of a binary division, but have become degrees on a continuum.

A study of the above-given literary texts shows that Anglo-Indian literature has performed the twofold function of recording events that occurred in the age in which it was being written, and of serving as an unfailing touchstone with which to guide our study of the present social, political and literary scene. Thus, the learning of the English language being viewed as a mark of prestige in the days of the Empire which Scott records gets the added edge of mimicry when viewed from the literary theory of Bhabha, and then goes on to adopt a palpable, breathing shape when seen in the figures of the Indian and Pakistani migrants who reach the shores of their imperial masters only to find themselves caught in the quicksand of hybridity. Thus, not only do the characters change their guise in the wake of the ever-changing global scenario, but our eyes too learn to discern in the texts the shades of colours which had hitherto eluded our grasp. The dilemma of migrants, so vividly recorded by Kureishi also shows how language, after a certain extent, becomes redundant and, turns over its head to denote not the gaining of new culture, but the loss of old identity; since for the Anglo-Indians the Englishness of their image has always entailed a grotesquely distorted reflection of their lost homeland. Thus we see how literature not only mirrors the changes in the cultural reception of these languages, but also problematizes and critiques the dominant ideologies that accompanied them. The western civilization that we see in Kureishi's novels is not the same center which we had found in the earlier works such as those of Defoe and Kipling. In Kipling's works such as 'On the City Wall' and Kim we see how the idea of hybridity takes on a reinforced vision. Like his literary compatriots, Kim asks the elementary and agonized question 'Who is Kim?' (p. 166) which runs as a poetic refrain throughout the literature of the period, culminating in Susan Layton's despair as colonial hegemony finally fragments in Scott's The Day of the Scorpion: 'But what am I? What am I? Why - there's nothing to meet all. Nothing. Nothing at all!' (p. 342). Hurree Chander in Kim expresses the impossibility of Kim's predicament in his observation 'You cannot occupy two places ... simultaneously. That is axiomatic' (Kim, p. 299). It is Kim's misfortune that occupying two places at once is precisely what colonial powers have increasingly demanded of their servants. As with 'On the City Wall', the lesson of Kim is that without the intimacy with native culture which Kim's hybridity embodies, security is impossible. Yet hybridity chronically destabilizes the foundational identity upon which colonialism relies for its authority. It is this fracturing of imperial identity and power that is symbolized when Kim dissolves in tears under the stress of his inner conflict, tears which portend the dissolution of imperial agency itself.

However, the use of language as an instrument of power not only affects, or rather hybridizes, the colonized community's actions and thoughts, but also disturbs the language and culture of the colonizer. In 'Signs Taken for Wonders' Bhabha sees a self-defeating corollary in the colonizer's desire to be seen as a model figure to be simulated by the indigenous population. In the very act of having the subject mimic the master's culture and language, the colonizer's authority suffers from an internal fracturing. Thus, as Bhabha points out, colonial discourse is never quite as authoritative and unified as it claims to be, because of the inherent tendency of meanings to slip, owing to the effects of both 'repetition' and difference. Since the 'repetition' of the original can never be identical with the 'original', this process of 'translation' produces a destabilizing 'lack' in that 'original', resulting in an internal slippage in the language of the master. This slippage in the colonial discourse is primarily a consequence of the attempt of 'translation' of particular ideas, narratives and theories from the metropolis, and their hybridization in the course of their rearticulation in a different context in the pursuit of an imperial hegemony overseas15. Thus, what the mother country produces are not its copies but its bastards, that hybrid breed of mutated progeny which scars the identity of the colonizer as well as that of the colonized. It is such a partial and hybrid produce which is more than the mimetic but less than the symbolic, that disturbs the visibility of the colonial presence and makes the recognition of its authority problematic16.

Thus we see how the use of language as a means of gaining control over the colonized people has multiple aspects, causes and effects. The most far-reaching effect is that it questions and challenges the cultural and linguistic values of the colonized people, a phenomenon with which most former colonies of the world are still battling. Furthermore, as the above discussion shows, this power oriented use of language also affects the language and culture of the colonizer, whose own ideas and words, when copied and learnt by the colonized subjects, also bring about a change in the masters' 'original' culture and language. Thus no colonizing mission can remain entirely unaffected and unchanged by this mixture of other cultures and languages within it. Perhaps that is why there have cropped up such a large number of varieties, dialects, accents and even words in English language, turning English into a global force as well as reflecting within its usage the eventful history of its power relations through the ages.

Footnote

'Ngugi, WaThiongo. Decolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Language in African Literature.Zimbabwe Publishing House, Harare, 1986, p. 16

Footnote

2 Foucault, Discipline and Punish: The Birth ofthe Prison trans. Robert Hurley, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1975

3 Bhabha, 'Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse', October 28 Spring, p. 85

Footnote

4Phillipson, Linguistic Imperialism, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992, p. 109, as quoted in Pennycook, p. 10-11

5Fulton, 'Dialogue with the other as potential and peril in Robinson Crusoe', Language and Literature, 1994, as quoted in Pennycook p. 15

Footnote

6 'Of Mimicry and Man', p. 86

7 Ibid., p. 91

Footnote

8 Derrida, Of Gramma tology, p. 302

Footnote

9 Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj,Cambridge, 1995, as quoted in Pennycook, p. 81

Footnote

10 Indeed the British advancement of English language and culture in India has always been based on the firm belief in the superiority of the western knowledge and culture over the Indian ones. Macaulay thus made a sweeping dismissal of Indian literature in the words: 'A single shelf of a good European library is worth the whole native literature of India and Arabia' (Macaulay, 1835, p. 241).

nB.C.Pal, 1958: 8-9, Quoted in Loomba, Colomalism/Postcolonialism, Routledge, New York, 1998, p. 46

Footnote

12 Husain, Afear S. S. The Indianness of Rudyard Kipling: A Study in Stylistics, London, 1983 p.125

13 Ibid, p. 118

Footnote

14 Henry Yule and A. C. Burnell (eds.), Hobson-Jobson: A Glossary of Colloquial Anglo-Indian Words and Phrases (1886), London, Routledge, 1985, pp. xv-xvi

Footnote

15 Bart Moore-Gilbert Writing India, p. 119

16Bhabha, 'Signs Taken for Wonders', p. 34

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