By El Edmeade
2020
Autonomy, as defined by Webster’s Dictionary, is “self-directing freedom and especially moral independence” (“Autonomy”). It is the complex notion that humans have control of their lives, that they can create and drive their own will. We can reflect on autonomy and think about it in relation to hope and optimism. It seems difficult to have one without the other. In the world around us it’s easy to find and absorb the awful parts of human nature, and question if it’s possible to fix it. Do humans, with their complexities and individual situations, have the autonomy to truly change these ugly parts? Can we look at our future with optimism? Through the course of the latter half the semester, we explored several pieces of literature, many discussing or analyzing autonomy in its many forms/realms. One piece, a graphic novel by Safdar Ahmed, touches on mental, emotional, and physical autonomy. Jamaica Kincaid’s “A Small Place” unravels autonomy in a cultural, historical, even political realm. Edouard Glissant’s chapter titled “Errantry, Exile” analyzes a philosophical and abstract sense of autonomy. By exploring autonomy through the eyes of these authors, one can attempt a reflection on the soundness of optimism and hope for human-kind.
Let’s begin with Villawood, by Safdar Ahmed. The author writes about his experience visiting an immigration detention center in Australia. He meets several people who talk about their experiences with the immigration system which, for many, have been overwhelmingly negative. Ahmed states that he gave asylum seekers materials to draw to express their feelings, and what they depicted is a clear reflection of their mental and emotional states. There is art of the violence they are trying to escape from, images of war, blood, death, and imprisonment (Safdar). It is apparent that these people are worrying about escape, what next steps they’ll be able to take to feel secure and safe. They’re expressing their emotions, ones of fear, pain, sadness and depression. Safdar writes, “everywhere there is evidence of anxiety, depression and self-harm.” This detention center is holding people who are struggling with mental and emotional toil, but they are subjected to this toil yet again. They’re being watched, herded around, not granted privacy, and they’re trying to gain some sense of control by harming themselves. These immigrants, trying to seek freedom and security, feel less than human. How can they believe they can bring themselves to a better place, when the people that are supposed to help them hurt them? They are trying to escape the psychological and physical stressors and find their autonomy.
With relation to autonomy as it’s discussed/represented here, it’s hard to see these humans as having true autonomy. They’re physically trapped, held behind fences and walls and watched, treated by guards like they’re less than. They’re burdened with stress, worry about being denied freedom they deserve, and slowly doubting if they even do deserve it. They’re separated from their families and loved ones, scared and depressed. It doesn’t seem like the immigrants Ahmed writes about, nor the reader, can reflect on this reality with hope.
A Small Place was written by Jamaica Kincaid, an Antiguan author and gardener. She writes an essay/novel critiquing her homeland of Antigua, both its present and its past. She chooses to talk about the country’s duality, in a sarcastic, blunt tone. Kincaid first chooses to talk about tourism, Antigua’s main economic resource, saying, “A tourist is an ugly human being” (14). While seemingly harsh, her language is effective in trying to scrutinize the actions of tourists that come to Antigua. These people aren’t inherently “bad”; in fact they could be the most benevolent people in their own “regular lives.” But Kincaid critiques that they’re able to take a break from their own lives, set aside history, and borrow life from somewhere else – something Antiguans don’t have the luxury to do. The “tourist,” as established by Kincaid, blindly views Antigua as free and healed because of its political “autonomy.” She doesn’t stop there though: she also critiques the people of Antigua. Kincaid talks about how Antigua was when she grew up, a place that was under British rule before its independence. There was almost an acceptance of the way things were – one that Kincaid sees the irony in. She talks about present Antigua, “…self ruled, a worse place than what it was when it was dominated by the bad minded English and all the bad minded things they brought with them” (41). Their history, one they couldn’t control, set them up for a rocky foundation. Kincaid subtly pushes questions of autonomy in the final part of the essay, asking if the Antiguan people are complicit in continuing their condition, or if their past leaves them no room for control.
Kincaid delves into many layers of autonomy through the parts of her essay, but she really seems to draw the conclusion that on a historical level, autonomy in the present is often built on the past. As much as the Antiguan people attempt to change politically, try to celebrate themselves, or ignore the past to create their own future, their autonomy is limited because of their history. The powers that be were built against them, and their culture is no longer their own – it was simply transformed and erased. These systems are perpetuated with tourism, a product they depend on, but hurts them in the process. It doesn’t seem like the Antiguan people Jamaica Kincaid writes about, nor the reader, can reflect on this reality with hope, either.
We are brought to our last text, “Errantry, Exile.” Édouard Glissant, a French writer, poet and philosopher from Martinique, delves into the concept of errantry. He discusses its presence in literature, how it exists in an absolute realm, and its permeation in society – especially in regards to autonomy. Glissant notes that “roots make the commonality of errantry and exile, for in both instances roots are lacking” (11). Here, he focuses on how errantry, defined plainly as “the quality… of wandering,” exists only without a tether (“Errantry”). This seems to be a very abstract way of defining this term, as common sense would say that something cannot be free if it is not free. However, Glissant also talks about errantry in a more grounded way: “The tale of errantry is the tale of Relation” (Glissant 18). In this, we can interpret that errantry, movement, freedom – autonomy – is determined by context. Who a person is, what they can do, where they are, is based on those around them, who was there before them. Everything influences everything, in a way, Glissant is saying – and nothing is outside the bounds of what is (or has been). The rebel, the outcast, the privileged; they’re all in a system and connected, and their levels of autonomy are dependent on that system. However, Glissant also mentions how, like Kincaid discusses, errantry[MC1] and autonomy are a luxury for the “tourist,” for one who can choose not to see history and step right over the damage that’s continually snowballing through the present.
It’s easy to perhaps overanalyze the power we have as individuals, some people hyperconscious of their actions/power, others shutting down once their scope is on the big picture. This is in some ways a discussion of fate – and whether we as humans actually have any control over our lives, or if our past will forever determine our present. When we reflect on the past, and think about the present, it’s hard to be hopeful that human nature can fix the present it created – or that it even wants to. There is no true autonomy that can present a true sense of hope. It only exists in the absolute. However, one thing all three authors do mention in this discourse on autonomy is that time places a role. Time only allows the issues regarding autonomy to shift and change. Maybe, for example, the immigrants in the detention center will eventually be given justice: treated like humans, seek refuge, gain freedom. But this can lead to disputing what real justice is. Is simply being given freedom truly enough? We might fix and address one issue, and never quite catch up with another. It seems, therefore, that while “trouble don’t last always,” the kind of trouble will continue to change – and that will happen forever. Perhaps that’s all we can hope for.
Works Cited
Ahmed, Safdar. Villawood. Medium, 2015.
“Autonomy.” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/autonomy. Accessed 11 Dec. 2020.
“Errantry.” Merriam-Webster Dictionary, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/errantry. Accessed 12 Dec. 2020.
Glissant, Édouard. “Errantry, Exile.” Poetics of Relation, translated by Betsy Wing, U of Michigan P, 1997.
Kincaid, Jamaica. A Small Place. Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1988.
