Print Friendly and PDF
only search openDemocracy.net

Who are you – identity vortex

Are you more than a confluence of time and space? One poet's reflections on the meaning and role of identity today.

Bathers by Paul Cézanne. Wikimedia Commons.

Just as the child, by sleep already possessed,
Drops in his quiet bed, eager to rest,
But begs you: “Don’t go yet; tell me a story” –*

Mint gyermek, aki már pihenni vágyik
és el is jutott a nyugalmas ágyig
még kérlel, hogy: „Ne menj el, mesélj” –

The ‘tell me a story’ moment in the poem is almost a century ago: 1937. The Hungarian poet, Attila József, wrote this poem to welcome the Nobel Prize-winning German novelist, Thomas Mann, at the Academy of Music in Budapest. The welcoming gesture was, in the end, not performed as planned. The director of public prosecution decided to ban the poet from addressing the novelist with his poem.

Almost a century has passed since state censorship embargoed in Budapest in 1937 one writer greeting another with tools of their trade – words.  

His existence and name forgotten, the state censor is long gone. The poet and the novelist have both become admired, quintessential icons of European culture. Thomas Mann lived long enough to give anti-Nazi speeches on the BBC, only to be a suspected communist by McCarthyism. Attila József, the poet and the hero of our story-telling story, committed suicide the same year, in 1937. 

But… his poem not only remains, but its relevance has been increasing over time.

‘To be or not to be: that is the question’ is part of everyday speech, a quote we might hear in a conversation (and not just in English), without referencing its source: Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Similarly, some of the lines from ‘Welcome to Thomas Mann’ have entered public consciousness in Hungary.

Sit down, please. Let your stirring tale be said.
We are listening to you, glad, like one in bed,
To see to-day, before that sudden night,
A European mid people barbarous, white.*

Foglalj helyet. Kezdd el a mesét szépen.
Mi hallgatunk és lesz, aki csak éppen
néz téged, mert örül, hogy lát ma itt
fehérek közt egy európait.

A European mid people barbarous, white.

This line in particular seems to have acquired an independent life, free from its textual or historical context.

A European mid people barbarous, white.

It encapsulates József’s insight into identity. Historically, a ‘European’ tended to be visualised as ‘white’. Certainly, this would have been the case when József wrote the poem almost a century ago. At the time, ‘European’ and ‘white’ were words taken for granted as a collocation, perhaps even a phraseme, the two words expressing one idea. Yet the poet positions the word ‘European’ and ‘white’ in contrast with each other.

A European mid people barbarous, white.

‘European’ as opposed to ‘white’ (and barbarous). In one short line, the poet disentangles the cultural (European) and the anthropological (white) threads of the identity tapestry. 

He disambiguates and contrasts the ethical and the ethnic dimensions of the concept.

Not quite a century later, the same tapestry is an increasingly contested territory. The complex notion of identity, its real and perceived, manipulated and heartfelt relevance is on the rise. A torrent of molten lava. Sizzling.

The context of the debate is multilayered and seemingly knows no boundaries. At some time or another, be it a conscious or subconscious process, we think about our sense or lack of belonging. We dive into the identity vortex.

Fin de l'histoíre. Zsuzsanna Ardó. All rights reserved.

European identity – a case in point. The vortex in action on a grand scale.

One way of looking at this usually starts by seeing Europe fundamentally as an extended 'family’ of sorts. This ‘family’ would have acquired through its history (not to mention the re/editing, re/writing, rehearsing, interpreting its history, and highlighting different priorities at different times) an overarching narrative. This grand narrative works in a multiplicity of textures, intertwined layers, including history, art, science, politics, psychology, philosophy and religion.

Think of, say, of something we all have: a body. Now think of a European artist most people can readily relate to: Cezanne. Where would Cezanne’s perception of the human body be without Renaissance art? In turn, the Renaissance perceptional swerve builds on Giotto’s work… which, in turn, draws on the Byzantine, Roman and Greek perception of who we are, what we look like and… how we want to be seen. And so it goes. The endless ‘hyperlinks’ of the landscape of the human body in art create an interrelated family of stories with a grand narrative arch.

The (often tragically) shared, complex history and culture offers a form of identity and stories of ‘family’ affiliation. A sense of familiarity with such stories positions us in a certain set of time and space coordinates that can feel meaningful about the past and purposeful about the future. Such an overarching story can provide the comfort of coherence and belonging to some or pain and despair to others, positioned beyond the walls of the story.

This story-telling story is popular; but it’s not the only story.

Narrative twists and turns beyond the popular story of shared dates, history and culture can also include, or even prioritise, shared values, religions, mythologies and symbols in the public and political sphere. These story elements can also act as the driving force of the protagonists of the story – us. Values, socially constructed, can be just as passionately felt as dates and ideas in history: human rights and dignity, democracy, welfare and fair play.

The first story foregrounds the priority of tribes and groups, small and large, and the role of the past in how we see our identity. Whereas the second story foregrounds socially constructed values of the present rather than the tribes and tribulations of the past.

Dichotomy’s dramatic simplicity tends to be seductive – ‘either/or’ simplification of complex issues can be heuristically satisfying. Ever so efficient, but rarely helpful…or even real.

An example of how the two different stories about identity can be seamlessly interwoven in a single, coherent story, rather then segregated in a distinct dichotomy, is Mississippi Goddam

The story-teller, Nina Simone punctuates her tale of belonging

‘Lord have mercy on this land of mine
We all gonna get it in due time
I don't belong here
I don't belong there’

 

with her story of values, in this case, civil rights, including (negotiated) desegregation

‘You don’t have to live next to me
Just give me my equality’

The music industry at the time – in 1964! – boycotted Simone’s piece on identity. But our heroine, rather than committing suicide like our Hungarian poet in 1937, was able to reconstruct her storyline, leaving her country “full of lies” in 1970.

Our story-telling strategies do not stop here. Like Simone in Mississippi Goddam, we can spin a yarn by zooming in and out, shifting the focus between past and the present, between the group and the individual. Still, the history- and the values-oriented stories can share a degree of static quality. They can become, and remain, closed.

Static stories. How do stories evolve, open up new dimensions? How often is the ‘same story’ really the same… or the themes and variations ripple the water in unique ways?

Our story of ‘who we are ’ has the potential to play out as an open-ended rather than a prescribed, closed and therefore static grand narrative. This story can flow out of our experiences. A tale in modulated flux. Then the narrative is not locked at a certain point, neither it is carved in stone of the past, nor etched on the retina of the present. Our story-making/identity can rely on historical, cultural story-building blocks and/or values and symbols to catalyse a sense of identity. But they can then be also modulated by experiences (in the broadest sense of the word) that flow through our life, finetuning our understanding.

In this story-telling mode, each exchange has a potential to adjust the filter we apply in relating to the world.  

 Each experience a moment of

‘Don’t go yet; tell me a story’.

who are you? (identity vortex of time and space)

who are you? was recently set to music by Hayes Biggs and performed by C4: The Choral Composer/Conductor Collective on 10 March 2017 at the Church of the Holy Apostles, Manhattan, NY. Credits: Zsuzsanna Ardó, poem; Hayes Biggs, music; Timothy Brown, conductor; Karen Siegel, Maya Ben-Meir, Rebecca Ehren, Jamie Klenetsky Fay, soloists.

tell me then    
how    
     
tell me    
     
tell me    
how    
by a fluke of accident    
     
a confluence    
yes, in a way    
     
a confluence of time and space
     
hey    
presto    
you come about    
  time and space  
born    
     
locked, looked at and after
  time and space  
in a grid of rituals    
rules    
taboos    
and thereafter    
     
by a culture time and space culture
     
a script    
a script you call your own time and space culture script
     
until    
     
until you realize    
     
albeit    
     
albeit it takes    
perchance    
hesitant, hazy tries    
     
until    
     
until    
     
until… it grows on you finally    
fast    
     
at last    
     
the legacy time and space culture script legacy
the legacy you have taken    
for granted    
loathed and loved    
     
culture, country, roles, gods, class and gender
     
alas    
     
yes    
it’s but a web    
  time and space culture script legacy web
indeed    
a screen    
  time and space culture script legacy web screen
a screen imposed at will    
     
a grid through which you’ve learnt to peer
  time and space culture script legacy web screen grid
hero, villain    
victim, vulture    
of your culture    
your culture you are conditioned    
to call    
your own    
     
both hostage and host    
you stare in a daze    
through your lattice of frames    
  time and space culture script legacy web screen grid frames
the world inside and out there    
     
behold    
     
behold the ‘other’    
so    
     
so different    
     
so different… and yet the same    
so familiar    
     
and    
yet    
     
yet so strange    
     
conditions time and space culture script legacy web screen grid frames imprints blueprints templates
imprints    
blueprints and templates    
you’ve decided    
consciously – or not –    
to adopt    
     
for a while    
     
to belong    
to embrace    
a language    
a practice    
faces    
spaces    
genes    
memes    
traditions    
customs    
  time and space culture script legacy web screen grid frames imprints blueprints template, language practice memes genes
to belong    
to manners and mores    
     
but    
     
not before long    
  time and space culture script legacy web screen grid frames imprints blueprints template, language practice memes genes manners mores prism
you find    
you are more or less both less and more than the grid
your inspiring, binding, blinding prism
     
and the whole caboodle    
the endlessly textured universe    
this boundless tapestry    
  time and space culture script legacy web screen grid frames imprints blueprints template, language practice memes genes manners mores prism universe tapestry
reduced    
reduced to a single thread of filters    
     
a gossamer lace of memory traces:    
     
your identity    
     
so    
tell me now    
     
tell    
me    
     
me    
     
who    
     
am    
     
I    

* Welcome to Thomas Mann, 1937, by Attila József, translated by Vernon Watkins


We encourage anyone to comment, please consult the
oD commenting guidelines if you have any questions.