Scott & Hebrard’s historical
work on the descendants of Rosalie Vincent is fascinating for many reasons, but
the theme that sticks out most to me is that power (for better and worse) which is inherent in written
language. For example, the notaries held the power over the official assignment
of individuals’ surnames, baptismal records held the power to fill in the gaps
on one’s lineage, and census takers determined the documented race or “colour”
of individuals. These documents and the individuals that wrote them inevitably
scribed the freedom or servitude of people of color. Hence, they not only wrote
the histories of said individuals by influencing the ways they could live their
lives; but because current historians use such documents to frame our
understandings of history, they simultaneously held the power to shape the way
we write about those lives. The power
of the primary resource and their creators, of course, reflects the ideas from last
week’s readings.
In
this book, the power of written language extends beyond the realm of individual
documentation, and perhaps this is most evident in the lives of Rosalie and
Edouard. Even though they were generations apart, they each had a deep tie to
the value of learning and written language. Rosalie’s culture by birth – Pulaar
– placed faith in written language and its protective and/or redemptive
properties. Thus, as Scott & Hebrard detail, Rosalie drew upon this faith,
her understanding of its power, and her resourcefulness throughout her life as
she strived to move herself and her daughter (Elisabeth) closer to documented
freedom. While Rosalie’s understanding derived from her culture, Edouard’s on
the other hand, came from his prestigious schooling scenario. While it took him
many years to find his direction, he eventually used his training to support and
defend the abolition movement in New Orleans. Finally, Edouard used written
language to write his family’s history (even though it is a bit glossier than
the one told by Scott & Hebrard). Again, though, Eduouard’s historical
representation further validates his family’s faith in written language and
last week’s writings on the variations of histories and the imposed silences
(In particular, he focused more so on his own triumphs and tended to silence
those of the women in his family).
The
Epilogue is nearly more exciting than the remainder of the book. Except, in the
case of Marie-Jose, the story is far more tragic. Despite the tragedy,
Marie-Jose’s life is an exemplar of courageous, morally-centered, defiance. In
an amusing twist, the lack of written language (or dedicated resources to
uncovering her history in the concentration camps) created an ambiguousness
about her political courage. Ironically, when her Marie-Jose’s life is compared
to that of her ancestor Rosalie, it becomes apparent that it was almost easier
to cover-up the details of a person’s existence in the more modern time. While
a paper trail had managed to spare Rosalie’s life and bring her closer to
freedom, a similar paper trail brought Marie-Jose to her demise.
No comments:
Post a Comment