Sandra Batres

Blog #4

Running Blindfolded

   The biggest critique in Ellison’s Invisible Man is perhaps how various institutions within society can blind and strip an individual from his identity and put him at odds with his best interest. This is especially the case for black men and women in American society. Minority groups are often used as political pawns, mere numbers filling in the “moral” and legal diverse representation of a college, political party or work environment. Because of this, Ellison addresses a deeply integrated systematic blindness throughout his novel. This blindness from the side of those oppressed comes in the form of hope and for those oppressing reveals itself to be racism. From the oppressors’ side this blindness is not the act of being unaware of skin color but rather being so aware of it that stereotypes and biases prevail, keeping those most likely to suffer from such stereotypes in a box—unable to be other than the color of their skin.  Ellison’s novel portrays the disillusionment of a young black man as he encounters institutions and organizations promising a better future. The narrator comes to realize his blindness that seems to keep him in competition with his people, running in place and reaffirming his invisibility.

This blindness in the novel takes its shape by the act of keeping the narrator going wherever those doing the blindfolding want him to go. Blindness manifests itself in the form of hope for the narrator—it becomes a wheel. On this invisible wheel, the narrator runs in place— he hopes his speech will make a difference, he hopes to please Mr. Norton, he hopes to make Bledsoe happy, he hopes to go back to college; he hopes to make Harlem a better place through the Brotherhood. This blind hope is attached to a dream, a dream of advancement for himself and his people, however, this advancement always seems to be tethered to a direct competition with members of his race. Ellison uses the metaphor of the Battle Royal scene over and over again in different forms throughout the novel to highlight this competition. Bledsoe protecting his power even if it means the hanging of his race, Lucius Brockway protecting his job and Brother Wrestrum becoming angered by the narrator’s interview and growing importance within the Brotherhood, are examples of this competition. There is also Ras the Exhorter’s extreme hatred for white people, putting him at odds with the narrator, the Harlem riot that has people burn their own homes and destroy their own communities in protest and the narrator himself who seems at times competing with others, believing himself superior to other black men because of his education. However, all these men are cogs in the machine, they blindly protect the status quo while working against each other and thus not achieving greater social change. It can be argued that the need for economic security has made them individualists, looking out for themselves, however social change is found in unity and their individualist mentalities separate them further while making them active agents of their people’s dispossession.

It is no wonder that the Brotherhood was initially an attractive prospect to the narrator. It was not only a dream of equality but also one of unity. There is no doubt that Ellison takes a shot at capitalism and its dog eat dog characteristics in his novel. The hope of progress keeps the narrator on a treadmill of sorts, running in place—going absolutely nowhere. This invisible treadmill that he is chained to has a greater meaning historically. Capitalism has often been associated with a treadmill, and the individual, especially one who has no wealthy ancestors and whose people have been historically oppressed, can’t help but feel like a cog in the vast machinery. Perhaps Ellison’s portrayal of the narrator being swayed to believe in the Brotherhood’s efforts was meant to underline capitalism’s direct conflict with democracy, this being that under a Capitalist economic system much of the wealth disproportionately goes to a small number of individuals—thus giving them significant political, environmental and economic power.  Communism is an attractive solution to these contradicting socioeconomic and political systems. In theory, communism aims to have public ownership of the means of production and the narrator wants his people to have the capitalist boot, which replaced the master’s boot, removed from their struggling backs. Bledsoe is the representation of a traitor to his people but also an individualistic capitalist. The men that have wealth in the novel have power. Those at the bottom, fight to keep their livelihoods, fight each other, betray each other (Brother Wrestrum) and burn down their own possessions. So while democracy aims to give a voice to everyone, capitalism works so that only those with the most money have vocal and political power. In this sense, capitalism can work to make individuals at the bottom voiceless, invisible and people killing each other in the belief of survival.

The narrator saw a sense of true equality in the Brotherhood, just like he saw a chance of success in college, however he quickly learns that these institutions and organizations don’t care about him or the people. These institutions don’t see him, the individual, but see a figure, an obedient representative and a mouth piece. College sought to make a puppet out of him, capitalistic society and systematic racism sought to make a competitor out of him and the Brotherhood, sought to make him a second Booker T. Washington. These institutions only want to maintain power or attain power for themselves, and just as Brother Jack stated, “we do not shape our policies to the mistaken and infantile notions of the man on the street. Our job is not to ask them what they think but to tell them” (473). However, in the end Ellison brings back the idea of personal responsibility and social responsibility. While this is very much an individualistic notion it is also a democratic and necessary one for a man that has been nothing but a resource to most. Despite the narrator’s disenfranchised notion of the world, he feels that even an invisible man has an obligation to go back into society, to be a person, a citizen and an individual not only a representation of his race. This is also necessary because even the voiceless and unheard should continue making noise and continue finding ways to fight. They need to remove their blindfolds and proceed towards change, however in order to remove that blindfold, they will most likely need to be deceived and betrayed first.

Sandra Batres

Blog #3

The Invisible Founder

Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man has many reoccurring elements, in particular an emphasis on a societal blindness which in many ways mirrors a religious blindness. The narrator addresses readers in retrospect on how he came to witness this blindness in his younger and more malleable years. An instrument used to ensure this blindness on the young black men and women was the Founder of their college. His presence and formidable force felt throughout the school reinforced authority and discipline. The weight of his promise and dream loomed over the minds of students and all of those who reaped the rewards of such a dream. Throughout the novel readers may slowly come to recognize the Founder as a Christ like figure, a symbol and an invisible man himself—a man who is not really seen but who symbolizes and commands a conformity that weighs heavily on the narrator.

The biggest giveaway to the Founder’s religious cloak is the story of his life and death as told by Reverend Barbee. The story of the Founder’s two resurrections gives him a divine touch—among the rest he is exceptional. The young black students, as well as all of those who look up to him, are asked to faithfully believe in his dream, in his promise. A fragment of his dream that became a realization is the very institution they are privileged to receive an education. The institution is seen as part of the Founder’s prophecy becoming real. A “prophecy” that became real because he is regarded as such, a prophet, “And into this land came a humble prophet, lowly like the humble carpenter of Nazareth, a slave and a son of slaves, knowing only his mother” (118). He traveled around, spreading his message to bring his people together, leading them, as Barbee’s allusion to Moses states, “safe and unharmed across the bottom of the blood-red sea” and out of ignorance, shouting his message when he needed to and whispering it when it was wisest (120). His death is marked by a falling star, and the birth of Jesus is marked by the star of Bethlehem. Barbee proclaims in his speech, “It was as though the very constellations knew our impending sorrow […] For against that great — wide — sweep of sable there came the burst of a single jewel-like star, and I saw it shimmer, and break, and streak down the cheek of that coal-black sky like a reluctant and solitary tear…” (128). Listeners are moved by the Founder’s story and the dramatic manner by which Reverend Barbee retells the tale. It is this religious interpretation of the Founder’s story that holds listeners captive. They are not listening to the story of a simple man with a vision for their race but rather the story of a prophet delivering a message from God about the direction of their race. The story however makes the narrator feel sad, then annoyed and finally guilty of some sort of treachery by his part—as if the Founder’s story and promise are beginning to mean something different and he feels wrong and ashamed about it.

The narrator is justified in feeling differently about the Founder because he has become a symbol representing different things to different people. The Founder represents for the white millionaire trustees “blacks knowing their place” not reaching too high, certainly not at a level above them. With the Founder’s story and the underlying emphasis on his humility, the white trustees can remain good moral Christian men by allowing them to progress in a sense, while at the same time protecting their race and their supremacy over blacks. This is evident when Mr. Norton tells the narrator, “Your people did not know in what direction to turn and, I must confess, many of mine didn’t know in what direction they should turn either. But your great Founder did. He was my friend and I believed in his vision. So much so, that sometimes I don’t know whether it was his vision or mine…” (39). Mr. Norton states this as if the direction of equality to its fullest and truest extent were never an option, as if it were so inconceivable that it was outside of his field of vision. To black students and their parents however, the Founder’s message is one they had to accept for the sake of any progress. It’s easy to conform to this idea if it is the closest thing to freedom of opportunity the other side is willing to accept. White people knew that they had to give something and Black people needed something to hope for, something that would give them a sense of humanity. The blindness of White people is not seeing Black people as humans equal to them and the blindness of Black people is not believing in a better dream or seeing a better way, their perception is limited within the parameters of a white-run-world. So their blindness is not necessarily a blindness to discrimination and unfairness. When the narrator first introduces readers to the Founder, he actually describes his statue,

I see the bronze statue of the college Founder, the cold Father symbol, his hands outstretched in the breathtaking gesture of lifting a veil that flutters in hard, metallic folds above the face of a kneeling slave; and I am standing puzzled, unable to decide whether the veil is really being lifted, or lowered more firmly in place; whether I am witnessing a revelation or a more efficient blinding (36).

The Founder’s symbolic status serves to blind people from the reality of the situation, from the reality of the dream. While they get to go to school, it is an all-Black school and while they work on their education, their opportunities outside of the college will be limited and their intellect and humanity always questioned.

It’s interesting how the Founder’s message could turn the man into such a double symbol. The Founder without a name, is an invisible man himself—his story, told by none other than a reverend named Homer A. Barbee, presenting him as a divine and pious myth rather than the story of a man in need of a compromise for his people. He is made out to be a prophet and his message a divine one, to reinforce order among the people. To continue fighting despite such a revelation is to revolt against God himself. Perhaps this is why the narrator feels a sense of treason and guilt for his doubts on the Founder’s dream and vision. And perhaps this is why Bledsoe presents himself as a humble president in public and reveals his true self in private. Bledsoe knows fiction from reality, knows the power of the Founder’s message/dream/promise on not only Black people but also White people. The message reassures white people that no further fighting will continue and allows black young men and women to believe that they have a shot at progress. Bledsoe knows that the symbol his friend has become has rewarded him personally, so despite not believing in the message he parallels a corrupt priest or disciple—a servant to his prophet in public whilst reaping the rewards of those he knows are blindly following a dream. This leads to the idea that the Founder, whose name we do not know, just like the narrator, is an invisible man—open to interpretation, corruption and mythology. The Founder is loved because he is a means to an end—a symbol of some progress, a symbol of authority and knowing “ones’ place”. He is a man that dared to stand up but not all the way up, he dared to ask for opportunity but stopped short of true equality and strived for the highest elevation no black man in America had ever dreamed, yet died before he reached the mountain summit.

A Writer’s Responsibility

 As writers we have a responsibility to produce work that carries a social conscious when delivering it into the public sphere. We should not only be imaginative, creative, and original but also responsible for what our writing contributes to the greater discourse of ethics, justice and race. Our open forums and public discourse of race, inclusivity and diversity strive to propel accurate and much needed representations of minorities in movies, TV shows and writing. In essence, media and published literary works are highly valuable not only consciously but also subconsciously, infiltrating our minds, both young and old.  The power of representation is significant as we have witnessed in minstrel shows and caricatures of African Americans and Natives. Literature has delivered its’ fair share of negativity, popularizing stereotypes, as the abolitionist book Uncle Tom’s Cabin can attest to. We form or reinforce opinions based on what we see at the movies, on TV and what we read. For this reason, Claudia Rankine insists of writers who ask, “can I write about another’s point of view?” to consider “why and what for, not just if and how?” A writer may wonder why they need to ask this question before writing from the perspective of an ethnically diverse character. To answer this question they only need to look at history and understand the long lasting effects of representation as good intended as they may have seemed. When writing it is important to consider the significance of a representation and the stereotype it might perpetuate. It is also important to consider the individuality of the character that isn’t entirely the person’s race. The character shouldn’t be used as a prop to be discovered by a white character for their own personal growth but rather represented as a human and an individual.

The problem with white authors writing about black or ethnically diverse individuals is what these characters symbolically represent within the text. Characters of color are often used to regale readers with the author’s perspective on the manner of race— to show that they are on the right side of things, which in essence can translate to the real life equivalent of “hey, I have a black friend”. In this sense, the author is telling us two things: that they are indeed aware of the history of oppression and hatred of black and brown bodies but at the same time have taken a narrative and reduced it to a superficial representation meant to convey their own feelings and not to deliver a greater message of racial inequality. So it is not that they don’t see race or that they don’t acknowledge the history but rather the race is used as a prop, a token of their own goodness. A writer can argue that creativity is stifled when we begin “policing” it in this manner and that imagination knows no race but rather desires to tell a story, to which Rankine would argue, “for that unknowable portion of the human mind is also a domain of culture—a place crossed up by culture and history, where the conditions into which we were born have had their effect”. As conscious individuals, writers have a responsibility to develop and portray characters of color as people and not solely as a mass representation of race.

It is not enough to simply be represented in a physical sense or even a historical sense but also necessary to develop the individual. Writers have to consider the reason for that character’s existence in a book—is it to develop this character as a complex individual with ancestors who suffered at the hands of racism or simply to have a one dimensional “black person” to check off a list of diversity? This is what Ellison’s character in the Invisible Man feels as a black man in a society dominated by white figures, “when they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination—indeed, everything and anything except me”(3). And what Hurston describes as the “first day I became colored”. Seeing one’s self singled out and viewed in a particular manner because of the color of your skin is a burden generations strong. The individual does not exist in racism, color and a history of attributions is all that matter. We cannot simply be “behind the writing” or believe that creativity and the imagination drive us blindly, we must be aware of the individuals we are creating through writing and how they resonate with readers and society at large.

I think that it is important to acknowledge that the power of imagination has undeniably produced some of the most impressive works of literature throughout history. Undoubtedly, without literary works we would not have some of the greatest stories ever told—rich in culture, history and understanding of the world that surrounded the author at the time. As writers aware of the real issues in our communities and the world, we have a duty not just to deliver our imagination and conscience to the public but also bring something with a greater message. As creators, we are responsible for representations and our characters. One way to be conscious of our writing is to ask, as Rankine suggests, why we want to write from the perspective of a Hispanic, African American, or Native American?  We need to focus on what our representations bring to the greater discourse of race, not just what our readers will think about our one-dimensional propriety about race.

Sandra Batres

For The Urban Dweller

            As New Yorkers accustomed to living our lives in a routine surrounded by city dwelling we tend to forget our need for nature. Our city, to be fair, has tried to incorporate a sense of nature in our lives, providing us with alternatives—green spaces that serve to shine some much needed green on our concrete jungle. But are these pieces of nature enough for us to experience a sense of enlightenment, faith, rebirth, and perhaps even a sense of escape? Is our “nature”, as city dwellers, the concrete that surrounds us, the buildings, cars, subways and scattered pockets of green? Or am I thinking too narrowly?  Ralph Waldo Emerson would perhaps argue that these pockets of green are not enough for humans and in particular the human soul to transcend to a higher level— to take in the vastness of it all and grow spiritually. Must a person truly, “go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber as from society”, in order to achieve this sense of natural divinity, higher understanding and confidence in self?

In his essay “Nature”, Emerson expresses his desire for people to experience a much required retreat from society. This is to be done in order to appreciate nature and through it gain understanding about ourselves. It is through nature that we find “god” or a divine like source and beauty; the ability to think freely and without influence. Emerson states,

In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the woods, is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the woods, we return to reason and faith.

It is in the solitude of the woods that we are able to see clearly, be reborn into something new, with clear eyes and an unpolluted mind. I agree that we must learn to reflect and see things with our own eyes, experience nature and reflect on the nature of our existence. So while our tiny havens serve to not only beautify our city and provide neighborhoods with plant life and shade, from a “spiritual” perspective they may not be enough. The nature, in our small green spaces is there, however it is a limited and “controlled” version of nature surrounded by an entire city, which some might argue defeats the point.

As a New Yorker that is at times jaded with the city, I must make the case that it would be difficult for many of us to find the time to retreat into the wilderness. As a social human being, I must make the case that it would be difficult to retreat from society. Humans are by nature social creatures, we learn from each other, rely on each other and work best together. I understand the need to elevate oneself and appreciate alone the wonder of it all, but it is through the shared experiences of a community that we grow. By community, I mean those around us, those we work with, friends, family and neighbors. Perhaps this is why as communities we have created such green spaces, though tiny pockets of green, we have built them together because we understand the importance of nature in our lives. We have carved from concrete our nature, though not perfect, to many of us they are an escape, a source of inspiration and a faith in the power of community.