Art in an Age of Counterrevolution, 1815-1848, Research Paper Example

Horatio Greenough’s “The Rescue” (1853) is a testament to the mentality shaped by the frontier (Drinnon 119). The statue depicts a great, noble frontiersman towering over his half-naked Indian foe: the white man holds back the Indian’s arms, rendering him immobile (119). The Indian clutches a tomahawk, that emblem of savagery, but as the white man restrains him he will be unable to use it on the white woman and child in the background (119). The white man is depicted as having complete mastery over the situation, even to the point of evincing a kind of compassion for the Native American (Boime 527). And to the left of the white man crouches his dog, loyally awaiting his command (Drinnon 120). The whole thing is, to put it mildly, an incredibly racist celebration of the advance of white settlement at the expense of Native American peoples. Greenough’s own words were as blatant and offensive as his sculpture: his stated aim was to display Native American ferocity, white supremacy, and the advance of white civilization across North American soil (120). As noxious as these sentiments are to many modern minds, they were all too commonplace in contemporary (white) American discourse in Greenough’s time: indeed, they pervaded contemporary captivity literature (120). However, as Fryd explained, Greenough’s sculpture reverses the standard trope of the image of captivity: here, it is the ‘savage’ Native American who is held captive (17). The truly surprising thing is that even in Greenough’s time, the statue managed to spark controversy for its blatant racism (17). Many decades later, in 1939, a joint resolution came before the House, proposing to grind the statue into dust (17). The resolution denounced the frontier past as barbaric—on the part of whites—and cited the offensiveness of the statue to Native American citizens (17). The resolution was not passed, but continued pressure from Native American groups finally resulted in the statue’s removal—along with Luigi Persico’s similarly offensive and racist Discovery of America (17).

Today, there are nineteen federally-recognized tribes in Southern California: Barona Band of Mission Indians; Cahuilla Band of Mission Indians; Campo Kumeyaay Nation; Chemehuevi Indian Tribe; Ewiiaapayp Band of Kumeyaay Indians; Inaja-Cosmit Band of Indians; Jamul Indian Village—A Kumeyaay Nation; La Jolla Band of Luiseño Indians; La Poast Band of Mission Indians; Los Coyotes Band of Mission Indians; Manzanita Band of the Kumeyaay Nation; Mesa Grande Band of Mission Indians; Pala Band of Cupeño Indians; Pauma Band of Mission Indians; Rincon Band of Luiseño Indians; San Pasqual Band of Diegueño Mission Indians of California; Santa Ysabel Band of Diegueño Indians; Sycuan Band of the Kumeyaay Nation, and Viejas Band of Kumeyaay Indians (Kumeyaay.info). The San Pasqual Band of Diegueño Mission Indians of California are Kumeyaay, the original inhabitants of the area around San Diego (Jackson and Castillo 74, Sanpasqualtribe.com para. 1). The ancestral territory of the San Pasqual Band was the Santa Ysabel Creek valley: today, Highway 78 runs through this area (Sanpasqualtribe.com para. 1). In 1769, the Portola-Serra expedition established the mission of San Diego de Alcala in the region, an event accompanied by much plundering of Kumeyaay food stores by the Spaniards, as well as the rape of Kumeyaay women (Jackson and Castillo 74, Sanpasqualtribe.com para. 1). The Kumeyaay fought back in 1769 and 1775, believing the Franciscans to be dangerous shamans of great power; sadly, they were defeated, and many were displaced or absorbed into the mission, as was the case with the San Pasqual Band (Jackson and Castillo 74, Sanpasqualtribe.com para. 1). Mexico’s independence set in motion the secularization of the missions, which finally allowed the Kumeyaay to return to the San Pasqual Valley in 1833, under governor Jose Figueroa (Sanpasqualtribe.com paras. 2-3). Figueroa created three pueblos for the Kumeyaay in the region; of these, only San Pasqual survives to the present (paras. 3-4). Today, there is a small reservation nearby (paras. 19-21).

The second episode of PBS’s “We Shall Remain: America Through Native Eyes” is titled “Tecumseh’s Vision”: it tells the story of the great pan-Indian resistance movement led by Tecumseh and his brother Tenskwatawa, of the Shawnee nation. The episode covers the essential points of the lives of Tecumseh and Tenskwatawa in a compelling fashion. Tecumseh was a charismatic, natural leader: a skilled hunter, he came of age not long after the American Revolution. His younger brother Lalawethika was an unlikely prophet: an alcoholic and an abusive husband, he became a changed man after an experience that brought him close to death. He returned with a vision: the Shawnee and other Native peoples must reject European ways, and unite against their common foe, the United States. The grievances that the Native Americans had against the United States were very informative, especially in light of the text How They See Us: land loss; the factory system of trade, which promoted Native American dependence and further land loss, and the ravages of alcoholism and disease. Tenskwatawa’s vision was a sophisticated and insightful response to these great ills: what he and Tecumseh were seeking for Native peoples was freedom, the very thing that the United States has always professed to be built on. As the extract from Singh explains, through Hollywood American culture has long glorified the hero who is willing to use violence against tyranny. It is indeed ironic that in the case of Tecumseh and Tenskwatawa, it was the United States itself that was the source of tyranny against Native Americans. And in this vein, the behavior of the Anglo-Americans demonstrated the racism and the hypocrisy of the American system, as Verissimo explained: the Bill of Rights is indeed a document of liberty, but American history is checkered with a legacy of tremendous racism towards blacks and Native Americans, thus the hypocrisy. What Tecumseh and Tenskwatawa were engaged in was the attempt to secure those essential rights for themselves and their people: the freedom to live on their traditional lands.

Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address reflects on the outbreak of the Civil War, and the conditions that obtained prior to it: an America in which one out of every eight people was an African-American slave. He offers some profound reflections on the evils of slavery, speculating that perhaps the war is the working of divine providence towards its abolishment. Finally, he ends with a stirring call for charity and healing. There is an interesting parallel with the Second Inaugural Address of William “Bill” Jefferson Clinton: Clinton, too, reflected on the injustices and inequalities upon which America was built. In particular, he singled out the divisions caused by race, and the prejudices encountered by successive waves of immigrants. Clinton rightly recognized, as did Lincoln, that these evils threaten to divide the nation: America cannot be a nation of liberty so long as that liberty is denied to people on the basis of “race” or nationality. In something of the spirit of the inaugural addresses of these two great American presidents, I now proffer my own: ‘My fellow citizens, it has often been remarked that this country was founded as a nation of liberty. Though this has become a truism in our national discourse, it must not blind us to the darker realities that have also plagued our history, and that still afflict our body politic and national life today. For America was founded on an unequal promise of liberty, a promise which was denied to enslaved African-Americans, to displaced Native Americans, to women, and to LGBT. And yet, the great impulse of liberty could not be denied: over generations, women and men of every color, creed, and sexual orientation gave their all to extend the domain of liberty, to secure the promise of natural and inalienable rights for all. Today, that great work goes on, in the struggles against homophobia, male privilege, white privilege, and corporatist oligarchy. But these ills can be overcome, as surely as past ills have been: with heroic struggle. Let us embrace each other in a spirit of camaraderie that knows no bounds, as we press forward into the future in search of the promise of liberty.

The year was 1864. As the Civil War raged, white settlers in Colorado became increasingly paranoid about the presence of the indigenous Cheyenne people: it was a time of intense conflict between whites and Native Americans as well, and the settlers began to fear that the Cheyenne might follow the example of their “Sioux” (Dakota) allies (Henretta, Edwards, and Self 514). Increasingly, white Coloradoans came to the conclusion that the best defense was a strong offense: in their minds, only a preemptive military campaign could avert the supposed Cheyenne menace (514). At this juncture, a local militia leader named John M. Chivington stepped forward to volunteer for the task of killing Cheyenne (514). In May of that year, Chivington launched an attack on a Cheyenne village, despite the fact that this village was at peace with the United States (514). In response, another Cheyenne chief, Black Kettle, opted for surrender rather than warfare: Black Kettle’s band gave up their weapons and made peace (Henretta et al. 514-515, Smith 10). But Chivington was not to be deterred: on November 29^th, 1864, he attacked Black Kettle’s band at Sand Creek, slaughtering Black Kettle himself and many women and children, including infants (Henretta et al. 514). The parallels with the My Lai massacre are obvious: 2^nd Lt. William L. Calley and the soldiers of C Company were in My Lai to search for Vietcong (VC) (Dunnigan and Nofi 233). Although the area was known for VC activity, there were no VC at My Lai. But as with the Cheyenne at Sand Creek, the fact that there were no enemy combatants at My Lai did not spare the inhabitants from a terrible massacre, ordered by Calley: between 150 and 400 civilians were killed, and as at Sand Creek many were women, children, and infants—as well as old men (233). When Calley’s superiors learned of the event, they covered it up (233). However, it is to the credit of many of Calley’s soldiers that they defied his orders, refusing to take part in the terrible slaughter, and many attempted to report the atrocities to inform the world (233).

Fifteen military interventions by the United States since 1890: Chile, 1891; Haiti, 1891; Dominican Republic, 1903-1904; Korea, 1904-1905; Cuba, 1912; Panama, 1912; Honduras, 1912; Nicaragua, 1912-1933; Turkey, 1922; China, 1922-1927; Iran, 1953; Guatemala, 1954; Indonesia, 1965; Chile, 1973, and El Salvador, 1981-1992 (Office of the Americas). The U.S. intervention in Iran in 1953 stands out as an episode of tremendous significance: from 1951, Iran’s new democratically-elected Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh sought to nationalize Iran’s oil, at the expense of the imperialist Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC) (Farrokh n.p., Gasiriowski and Byrne 1-2). Mosaddegh and his Popular Movement were attempting to institutionalize a democratic, constitutionally-led government in Iran, and as such, there were free political parties and free elections (Gasiorowski and Byrne 4-5). Mosaddegh targeted the AIOC because it was indeed an instrument of imperialism: the AIOC controlled Iran’s oil industry, and effectively intervened in its politics (5-6). However, Mosaddegh’s regime engendered fierce opposition from the Left and the Right, and the latter faction succeeded in appealing to the interests of the United States and Britain (5). For their part, the British were active against Mosaddegh from the start, trying to recruit the shah to the effort to destabilize his regime (6). In 1952, Mosaddegh responded by severing relations with Britain, and Britain seized the occasion to argue to the United States that Mosaddegh was turning towards the Soviet Union (Farrokh n.p.). In response, the CIA under Allen Dulles began working with British intelligence to dislodge Mosaddegh (n.p.). The result was Operation Ajax. Although the plot initially failed, Mosaddegh still lost the support of Ayatollah Kashani, which forced him to turn towards the left—and the Soviet Union (n.p.). Using organized pseudo-Communist and pro-shah mobs, respectively, the CIA undermined Mosaddegh’s regime and ultimately secured its downfall, reinstating the shah (Farrokh n.p.).

 In 1941, baseball scout Joe Cambria signed Roberto Ortiz to the Washington Senators, also known as the Washington Nationals (Deveaux 145). However, at the time professional baseball was deeply segregated, with the color line dividing teams by race. The fact that Cambria signed so many Cubans to the Senators was therefore of considerable significance, inasmuch as many of these Cubans were of mixed ancestry (Snyder 71-72). Color was reckoned very differently in Cuba, where admixture between “races” was far more common and long-standing: although Cuba was by no means free of all racism, in that country one was far more likely to be categorized in terms of one’s own particular physical appearance (72). The fact that Ortiz and other players spoke Spanish, as well as the fact that they had at least some Castilian Spanish heritage, meant that they generally bent the color line in ambiguous ways, rather than breaking it clearly: in fact, many of the Cuban players were passed off as being white (71). Nonetheless, the Cuban players were subjected to considerable racism, in the form of harassment and heckling: the white players race-baited and insulted the Cuban players (71-72). During their historic 1944 season, the St. Louis Browns disgraced themselves with especially vocal and obnoxious racism, heckling the Cuban players on the Washington Senators on the basis of their alleged African heritage (72). This led to a now-famous incident in which the insults escalated further: when the Browns’ Tom Turner threatened with violence one of the Senators’ Cuban players, Mike Guerra, Roberto Ortiz decided he’d had enough (72). He accepted the challenge on behalf of his teammate, brawling with Turner (72). Ortiz emerged with a broken thumb, but he won the fight (72). With his thumb broken Ortiz had to wait for several weeks before he could resume play, but he had gained something important: the solidarity of his teammates (Burgos 158). This incident demonstrates the significance of race and racism in all aspects of American life during the period, including sports.

The most interesting thing I discovered was an exhibit in the National Museum of the American Indian, titled “A Song for the Horse Nation.” This exhibit examines the rise of equestrian cultures in Native American societies: how Native American peoples first encountered the horse with the Spanish, and subsequently began to adopt it. Despite the Spaniards’ best efforts, Native peoples began to acquire horses from the 17^th century on. In particular, the exhibit highlights the seminal importance of the Pueblo Revolt of 1680, wherein the Pueblo expelled the Spaniards from New Mexico and acquired many hundreds of horses in the process (“Pueblo Revolt”). The Pueblos successfully traded some horses to other Native American groups, and soon horses became an important asset in fighting the Spanish (“Spread”). The exhibit also explains how horse trading intersected with gun trading on the Great Plains in the 18^th century, so that Plains tribes began to acquire both horses and guns (“Guns on Horseback”). And horses revolutionized Native cultures: hunting, warfare, and travel all became much easier with the acquisition of horses (“Impact”). In particular, hunting for buffalo became much easier. This exhibit really brought home for me the fact that Native American cultures were adjusting to the frontier as well: they too were transformed by it, as surely were whites. Both inhabited frontier worlds. In light of that, I found John Brown’s article, which likens the Global War on Terror (GWOT) to the ‘Indian Wars’ especially illuminating: from the us-vs.-them mentality to the scope and scale of the war, and the portrayal of the enemy as merciless savages, the GWOT is indeed a good parallel for America’s wars against the Native Americans. Like Thomas Jefferson and Andrew Jackson, President George W. Bush favored a militaristic, aggressive approach to the ‘savage’ enemy. And as with America in frontier times, contemporary America represents itself as the standard-bearer of freedom, liberty, and civilization. Viewed thusly, the rampant hubris, imperialism and braggadocio of the GWOT becomes manifest.

The 1790 census was a relatively humble beginning: it was concerned primarily with heads of families, though other free people and slaves were also tallied (Thorndale and Dollarhide xiii). The result, according to the Census Office, was 3,929,214 (54). Only 24 population centers had 2,500 inhabitants or more, and the mean center of population was Kent County, MD (Census.gov “1790 to 1990”, “Population”). The 1890 census was far larger and far more interesting: it yielded a figure of 62,979,766 in total population, with 1,351 population centers with 2,500 inhabitants or more, and a mean center of population in Decatur County, IN (Census.gov “1790 to 1990”, “Population”). The 2010 Census obtained some very interesting results: a total population of 308,745,538, with an increase of 9.7 percent in the resident population since the year 2000 (Census.gov “Population Counts”). Some ethnic-specific changes are also noteworthy: the Hispanic population, for example, has grown by 43.0% since 2000, while the white population has grown by 5.7% and the black population by 12.3% (Census.gov “2010”). In terms of population differences between the states, a fascinating contrast obtained between the state with the largest population—California, at 37,253,956—and Wyoming, the state with the smallest, at 563,626 (“Population Counts”). Texas made the largest absolute gains in population, with 4,293,741 new residents, while Nevada made the largest gains by percentage, with 35.1% more residents (“Population Counts”). It seems clear that the United States is gaining population in both the South and the West: these are the main areas of population growth, either due to natural reproduction or immigration (“Population Counts”). Over time, the United States may well come to focus upon these regions far more, in terms of economic activity and the impact of politics. Certainly they are already quite significant, but they may yet become more so. The Northeast and Midwest are also growing (“Population Counts”). Thus, it appears that a more populous United States will be the result in the future, with larger cities.

Why study history? For me, the quotes by Joyce Appleby et al. 1, Robert Burgoyne, Film 120, and Gary Nash are some of the best responses. I’ll comment here upon Joyce Appleby et al. 1, because it demonstrates an important point about the stories we tell. What Appleby et al. recognize is that there was a time when American history was synonymous with a single narrative: a single, great national story that was presumed to speak for all, or at least everyone who mattered. Of course, this national story was necessarily exclusive and discriminatory, inasmuch as it was really history as told by white males in positions of power. Thus, there was no real emphasis on alternate narratives of American history: the history of American labor; the history of American women; the history of African-Americans, Native Americans, Asian-Americans, etc. All of these narratives are of very considerable and quite equal importance, because they are the stories of human beings. It is indeed refreshing to see a new emphasis on these alternate narratives in modern America, because the more that we discover how truly rich and multivariate history really is, the better we understand it. There is great beauty and value in diversity: in being able to appreciate and respect the human worth of other human beings, and honor their stories and their legacies. Of course, the Appleby quote also gets to the heart of the matter in another way: by exposing the great lie of the conventional narrative of American history. With an understanding of alternate discourses and narratives of history comes a new awakening, and one can see how elites have crafted the standard narrative of American history with their own embedded discourses of power. Elites have told the story of American history because, to borrow the truism, the winners write the history books. Understanding this, it could not be more important to be skeptical of the conventional, standard narrative of American history. Thus, a knowledge of alternate histories can provide a key to intellectual and mental awareness and emancipation.

How are we, contemporary Americans, to consider Geronimo? Certainly the Bedonkohe was an adversary of the United States, but does this make him a terrorist? On the one hand, there is a very good case that the United States military is carrying on the legacy of the ‘Indian Wars’, with references to enemy territory as ‘Indian Country’ and likening Middle Easterners to ‘Injuns’. The language of the GWOT, certainly, and the ridiculous and inane remarks made by the U.S. Army Captain Robert P. McGovern make it clear that in modern terms, Geronimo would be seen as something like a terrorist: after all, he was a ‘savage’ who was bent on stopping the whites from bringing their civilization into the wilderness! Of course, such an equivocation of Geronimo with the status of ‘terrorist’ would miss a crucial fact: namely, that he was fighting to preserve his homeland, his people, and their way of life. From this alone one must ask: if Geronimo was still a terrorist, then what does that make the Mexican and American armies who hunted (literally) his people? Perhaps a better way to understand Geronimo is as a sort of freedom fighter or homeland security operative for his people. And indeed, Geronimo fought constantly against first the Mexicans, and then the Americans. To be sure, then, these descriptions—homeland security operative, freedom fighter—have many elements of the truth, but do they really do the man justice? After all, were not the Apaches a warrior culture? Did they not raid their neighbors? Perhaps the world is seldom, if ever, so simple as a matter of good vs. evil, or black vs. white (to use the conventional color scheme). Our romantic ideals tend to run aground on the shores of reality: no hero is without flaw, and few villains are without redeeming characteristics. For my part, I argue that instead of either vilifying or romanticizing Geronimo, we should understand him as he was: a man of his times, possessed of a great deal of courage, resolve, fortitude, and intelligence, a resourceful and intrepid man who fought for what he believed in to the best of his ability. In that sense, he may truly be called heroic.

Works Cited

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Burgos, Adrian. Playing America’s Game: Baseball, Latinos, and the Color Line. Berkeley and Los Angeles, CA: University of California Press, 2007. Print.

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