Wednesday, July 22, 2009

issue ii: authors in queer american literature - Beth Brant


Having begun to write at the age of 4o in 1981, Beth Brant says that she “had no models for being an Indian lesbian, much less one who wrote. I fumbled and wrote in aloneness” (Brant 945). Brant continues that even though literature at the time lacked inclusion, she “knew there was a community out there and that we were looking for each other. I think the courage of naming ourselves as lesbian is a significant act of love and community” (945). Today, Brant challenges readers when the lack of Native Lesbian literature comes to light: “[I]f you ask why you have not read or heard of these women, ask it to yourself. The answer lies in the twin realms of racism and homophobia. Some of us cannot get published. And this has nothing to do with the excellence of our work. It has to do with who will be courageous enough to see us in all our facets of being. And of course, this has to do with power and who has it and who exercises it over us. We are rarely reviewed in so-called feminist newspapers or journals. So-called progressive papers do not know our names” (946). Seeing silence since she began writing, Brant will never be silenced again and will challenge people in power including social movements.
Brant’s radical and bold voice continues to ring within her literature. Similar to Stein and Cather, Brant changes what dominant language means for the purpose of her writing. Although her writing uses the dominant cultures language, Brant employs language differently. Brant explains, “when I use the enemy’s language to hold onto my strength as a Mohawk lesbian writer, I use it as my own instrument of power in this long, long battle against racism” (U of M). Brant’s writing as well as other Native women’s is what Brant calls “grief filled art” for common themes within are the loss of land, language, religion, people, and children (Brant 946). Brant explains that though these subjects are predominant, “the work is not bitter or mournful. It is testimony. I suggest that Native lesbian writing brings an added dimension to grief and celebration” (Brant 946).
One can see these themes in Brant’s grief filled short story, “A Long Story.” Brant captures a parallel grief between two different families in separate time frames. Beginning with 1890, readers see the pain of a Native, heterosexual woman whose child has been taken from their community; Brant writes, “It has been two days since they came and took the children away....It is good for them, the agent said. It will make them civilized, the agent said. I do not know civilized” (Brant 167). Readers then see a lesbian family’s child, Patricia, taken from them in 1978; Brant writes, “He took her hand and pulled her to the care. The look in his eyes of triumph. It was a contest to him, Patricia the prize. He will teach her to hate us. He will!” (170). Brant’s powerful story and revolutionary voice demonstrates the oppression and cruelty towards families by dominant culture through time.

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