History Through Narrative
Reflection:
In this project students were asked to tell history US through narrative. In other words, we were asked to “let history rise through the stories of the people experiencing it.” My take on the project was to write a short story that is told a year before Christopher Columbus’s arrival on the Bahama islands. The story is about a medicine man, or for a lack of better word “shaman” in the Arawak tribe foreseeing Native American peoples fate for every tribe in the United States. The story flows through the people of the tribe listening to the old mans story telling and their reactions to what the man is saying.
Through this project I learned a lot about how history should be told in the point of view of the people who witnessed the events in history on the contrary to the people who were “leading” history. After doing the research that contributed to my project I learned that I should not see Columbus as a hero. A source that really showed me this was a quote from the book “A peoples history of the united states” by Howard Zinn. “They ... brought us parrots and balls of cotton and spears and many other things, which they exchanged for the glass beads and hawks' bells. They willingly traded everything they owned... . They were well-built, with good bodies and handsome features.... They do not bear arms, and do not know them, for I showed them a sword, they took it by the edge and cut themselves out of ignorance. They have no iron. Their spears are made of cane... . They would make fine servants.... With fifty men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want.” This quote really showed me how the man we view to me a hero actually was a murder.
I feel really confident in the figurative language that was used in my story. One example of this is; “Their attention wandered to the evening calls of jungle birds. They sing over fog and though heavy shadows casted from treetop canopies. It runs along thick vine and rock. Through misty mountain valleys filled with air as thick and sweet as honey. The sound bounces off sea cliffs and through tumbling tides. The songs shoot though the rain and settle upon corpulent humidity are then herd, and remembered, as the music of the jungle. Little did they know these oceans tie them to a larger tragedy.” Knowing I have a strength in figurative language makes me confident I can bring figurative language into my future writings with ease.
This project was challenging to keep it condensed. I have a huge tendency to let my short stories run on into a piece of writing that is not so short. However, I am proud of the condensed final. However, if I had to do this project again I would like to have a specific character. I would bring in a specific character when I describe the little girl who “silently sits oblivious to what horrors are to come to her. She sits with her innocence, gazing at the jungle trees waving with every breath of wind. One day her innocence will be stolen by men who will come in one years time.” I would give this little girl a name and would outline an identity. Giving her an identity would make my story much more connectable and overall better.
With narrative comes characters and with history comes people. People are characters. Historical perspective can be brought to life though narrative because people connect to characters in stories as if they were themselves thus resulting in a more personalized take on the story. For me, reading a book is experiencing a story where as reading exurbs from a textbook is seeing a story through the lens of the leader. One example of a source that I really connected to the characters was Gordons project. He did an amazing job of telling the story of exploring the green river. His writing made me feel as if I was experiencing the events in his story, a key piece of historical writing.
Through this project I learned a lot about how history should be told in the point of view of the people who witnessed the events in history on the contrary to the people who were “leading” history. After doing the research that contributed to my project I learned that I should not see Columbus as a hero. A source that really showed me this was a quote from the book “A peoples history of the united states” by Howard Zinn. “They ... brought us parrots and balls of cotton and spears and many other things, which they exchanged for the glass beads and hawks' bells. They willingly traded everything they owned... . They were well-built, with good bodies and handsome features.... They do not bear arms, and do not know them, for I showed them a sword, they took it by the edge and cut themselves out of ignorance. They have no iron. Their spears are made of cane... . They would make fine servants.... With fifty men we could subjugate them all and make them do whatever we want.” This quote really showed me how the man we view to me a hero actually was a murder.
I feel really confident in the figurative language that was used in my story. One example of this is; “Their attention wandered to the evening calls of jungle birds. They sing over fog and though heavy shadows casted from treetop canopies. It runs along thick vine and rock. Through misty mountain valleys filled with air as thick and sweet as honey. The sound bounces off sea cliffs and through tumbling tides. The songs shoot though the rain and settle upon corpulent humidity are then herd, and remembered, as the music of the jungle. Little did they know these oceans tie them to a larger tragedy.” Knowing I have a strength in figurative language makes me confident I can bring figurative language into my future writings with ease.
This project was challenging to keep it condensed. I have a huge tendency to let my short stories run on into a piece of writing that is not so short. However, I am proud of the condensed final. However, if I had to do this project again I would like to have a specific character. I would bring in a specific character when I describe the little girl who “silently sits oblivious to what horrors are to come to her. She sits with her innocence, gazing at the jungle trees waving with every breath of wind. One day her innocence will be stolen by men who will come in one years time.” I would give this little girl a name and would outline an identity. Giving her an identity would make my story much more connectable and overall better.
With narrative comes characters and with history comes people. People are characters. Historical perspective can be brought to life though narrative because people connect to characters in stories as if they were themselves thus resulting in a more personalized take on the story. For me, reading a book is experiencing a story where as reading exurbs from a textbook is seeing a story through the lens of the leader. One example of a source that I really connected to the characters was Gordons project. He did an amazing job of telling the story of exploring the green river. His writing made me feel as if I was experiencing the events in his story, a key piece of historical writing.
Story:
They know only of Oblivion
One year prior to Christopher Columbus’s arrival on the Bahama Islands. The Arawak people reside in peace not knowing what outlandish fate is about to fall upon their feet.
They sat around a fire that’s brightness brings the night back to day. Their attention on a man with silver hair who’s back is broken with age. Who would have thought to find a place placed so perfectly between the ocean and the sky? He will be gone by the time tragedy will strike. He thinks before concentrating. His eyes, glazed with a blind man’s blue, cast over the sea’s horizon. They say he is magic, that the cresses in his palms map galaxies. That he can speak with the tides and wind. They watch him. The fire’s light bouncing off the sharp angles of their face. They are draped in glass beads and turquoise. Some have vibrant bird feathers weaved into their hair, others trace legends in the sand of jungle beasts and fey. Woman hum ancient lullabies to infants braced at their breasts while some listen to a young man’s flute playing. This is their reality, they know only of peace. All of the Arawaks came to listen to the old man speak.
He starts.
“My people, I have seen the future.”
Pause
“Darkness will be brought with pale faces. It will be carried over water on wooden ships that can catch the wind. These people have ways of meddling with nature. They do not see this land as we do, they do not understand the riches that lay around them without wondering what they are worth. They do not raise their children to see the stars as stories or feel the tides. They are different. They are led by a man of many journeys. He is a leader. Driven by a golden reward that’s weight equals to power.”
The man turns then, to look upon the tribal people. There is compassion in his eyes. His voice is dry and low. It cracks and sizzles as if the air in his lungs is made of smoke that is spiraling towards the night sky from the drift wood fire they surround. A young girl silently sits oblivious to what horrors are to come to her. She sits with her innocence, gazing at the jungle trees waving with every breath of wind. One day her innocence will be stolen by men who will come in one years time.
“These people understand time as figures instead of cycles on the earth. The numbers that track expansion of their village must be higher then the time it takes to expand. I suspect they will be disappointed to see we have life here on the islands they seek. They come with an agenda to use humility as slavery, not only to our island but they will come to destroy all people who inhabit land before they do.”
Their attention wandered to the evening calls of jungle birds. They sing over fog and though heavy shadows casted from treetop canopies. It runs along thick vine and rock. Through misty mountain valleys filled with air as thick and sweet as honey. The sound bounces off sea cliffs and through tumbling tides. The songs shoot though the rain and settle upon corpulent humidity are then herd, and remembered, as the music of the jungle. Little did they know these oceans tie them to a larger tragedy.
“The plan to inhabit will take over humanity.”
The Arawak people exchange shaky eye contact with one another. For a moment the peaceable people change into a nervous blob of fumbling perplexity they reach for friends and family that offer comfort. They shift closer together scooting this way or that like river stones trying to fall into place. Then lean in closer, listening deeper.
“They seek the soil we stand on, they seek to use our moralities like the tools they will use to take cultures apart and reshape them with a different god’s hands.”
His voice shaking now, becoming louder.
‘They will start new villages on our island and every other island native people inhabit, they will be obedient to other men by force from a larger empire. This causes conflict with these people. They, like us, will rebel to the opposing force to win their freedom from this empire. But unlike us, they will win”
Louder.
“They will shape our civilization, they will beat us, shape us, rape us and break us until we become their approved civilized. They will force us to change our faith into theirs. They will again drive us out of our homes with fire and scarce game. They will treat us like the plague they will infect us with. We will always be broken despite the fire water they gift us to fill the wounds in our cultures. Then they will skip over our tragedies in ignorance to proceed living in bliss blinded by red, white, and blue.”
The people are trembling now, clutching one another. The shuffling wakes an infant into whines. A woman falls to her knees, her mouth gaping. Her heart opens to the sky as if she is already offering her spirit to heaven. A wrecking sob escapes from her belly. Her arms hang loosely in defeat by her sides. Only pure horror shows us that the control we believe we have is purely an illusion, and that every moment we teeter on the line of chaos and order.
“After we will be down, covered in the rubble of our own honor they will welcome us into their society.”
Pause, the air buzzed with ecstasy from the woman’s cry.
“They grasp no understanding that we have no want to be welcomed into their type of faith.”
Pause
“The worst part my children”
The chief is now standing, chasing his breath. His body shakes with intensity. His eyes to look deeper into his mind. His voice louder now, like thunder. It breaks though the humidity.
“They will come in the name of their god.”
Pause.
“They know only of oblivion, they act as the blade that will change us into mere legends.”
One year prior to Christopher Columbus’s arrival on the Bahama Islands. The Arawak people reside in peace not knowing what outlandish fate is about to fall upon their feet.
They sat around a fire that’s brightness brings the night back to day. Their attention on a man with silver hair who’s back is broken with age. Who would have thought to find a place placed so perfectly between the ocean and the sky? He will be gone by the time tragedy will strike. He thinks before concentrating. His eyes, glazed with a blind man’s blue, cast over the sea’s horizon. They say he is magic, that the cresses in his palms map galaxies. That he can speak with the tides and wind. They watch him. The fire’s light bouncing off the sharp angles of their face. They are draped in glass beads and turquoise. Some have vibrant bird feathers weaved into their hair, others trace legends in the sand of jungle beasts and fey. Woman hum ancient lullabies to infants braced at their breasts while some listen to a young man’s flute playing. This is their reality, they know only of peace. All of the Arawaks came to listen to the old man speak.
He starts.
“My people, I have seen the future.”
Pause
“Darkness will be brought with pale faces. It will be carried over water on wooden ships that can catch the wind. These people have ways of meddling with nature. They do not see this land as we do, they do not understand the riches that lay around them without wondering what they are worth. They do not raise their children to see the stars as stories or feel the tides. They are different. They are led by a man of many journeys. He is a leader. Driven by a golden reward that’s weight equals to power.”
The man turns then, to look upon the tribal people. There is compassion in his eyes. His voice is dry and low. It cracks and sizzles as if the air in his lungs is made of smoke that is spiraling towards the night sky from the drift wood fire they surround. A young girl silently sits oblivious to what horrors are to come to her. She sits with her innocence, gazing at the jungle trees waving with every breath of wind. One day her innocence will be stolen by men who will come in one years time.
“These people understand time as figures instead of cycles on the earth. The numbers that track expansion of their village must be higher then the time it takes to expand. I suspect they will be disappointed to see we have life here on the islands they seek. They come with an agenda to use humility as slavery, not only to our island but they will come to destroy all people who inhabit land before they do.”
Their attention wandered to the evening calls of jungle birds. They sing over fog and though heavy shadows casted from treetop canopies. It runs along thick vine and rock. Through misty mountain valleys filled with air as thick and sweet as honey. The sound bounces off sea cliffs and through tumbling tides. The songs shoot though the rain and settle upon corpulent humidity are then herd, and remembered, as the music of the jungle. Little did they know these oceans tie them to a larger tragedy.
“The plan to inhabit will take over humanity.”
The Arawak people exchange shaky eye contact with one another. For a moment the peaceable people change into a nervous blob of fumbling perplexity they reach for friends and family that offer comfort. They shift closer together scooting this way or that like river stones trying to fall into place. Then lean in closer, listening deeper.
“They seek the soil we stand on, they seek to use our moralities like the tools they will use to take cultures apart and reshape them with a different god’s hands.”
His voice shaking now, becoming louder.
‘They will start new villages on our island and every other island native people inhabit, they will be obedient to other men by force from a larger empire. This causes conflict with these people. They, like us, will rebel to the opposing force to win their freedom from this empire. But unlike us, they will win”
Louder.
“They will shape our civilization, they will beat us, shape us, rape us and break us until we become their approved civilized. They will force us to change our faith into theirs. They will again drive us out of our homes with fire and scarce game. They will treat us like the plague they will infect us with. We will always be broken despite the fire water they gift us to fill the wounds in our cultures. Then they will skip over our tragedies in ignorance to proceed living in bliss blinded by red, white, and blue.”
The people are trembling now, clutching one another. The shuffling wakes an infant into whines. A woman falls to her knees, her mouth gaping. Her heart opens to the sky as if she is already offering her spirit to heaven. A wrecking sob escapes from her belly. Her arms hang loosely in defeat by her sides. Only pure horror shows us that the control we believe we have is purely an illusion, and that every moment we teeter on the line of chaos and order.
“After we will be down, covered in the rubble of our own honor they will welcome us into their society.”
Pause, the air buzzed with ecstasy from the woman’s cry.
“They grasp no understanding that we have no want to be welcomed into their type of faith.”
Pause
“The worst part my children”
The chief is now standing, chasing his breath. His body shakes with intensity. His eyes to look deeper into his mind. His voice louder now, like thunder. It breaks though the humidity.
“They will come in the name of their god.”
Pause.
“They know only of oblivion, they act as the blade that will change us into mere legends.”