Hybridity

 
The idea of nation is often based on naturalized myths of racial or cultural origin. Asserting such
myths was a very important part of the imperial process and therefore an important feature of
much imperial writing and indeed postcolonial writing. The need for commonality of thought to
encourage resistance became a feature of many of the first postcolonial novels.Chinua
Achebe's Things Fall Apart is an example of a novel dealing with the collective resistance to
imperialism. More recently we have become aware of how problematic such accounts are. The
simple binaries that made up imperial and postcolonial studies have in some way become
redundant with regard to later literature. As Mudrooroo has said of the Aborigine's , they were a
tribe like any other, susceptible to change and influence from outside forces. He says; “the
Aboriginal writer is a Janus-type figure with a face turned to the past and the other to the future
while existing in a postmodern, multi cultural Australia in which he or she must fight for cultural
space”. [1] So in a sense Mudrooroo embraces his hybridised position not as a “badge of failure
or denigration, but as a part of the contestational weave of cultures ”. [2]
 
One of the most disputed terms in postcolonial studies, ‘hybridity' commonly refers to “the
creation of new transcultural forms within the contact zone produced by
colonisation.” [3]Hybridisation takes many forms including cultural,
political and linguistic. Pidgin and Creole are linguistic examples. Within
languages there can also be evidence of ‘linguistic cross breeding' and the
use of loan words from either the language of the coloniser or the
colonised. Examples can be seen in Swahili, Aborigine and Irish. The
coloniser's language cannot escape and one sees the many loan words in
the English language today. In Ireland for example, there are many sayings
and words in English that an English man or woman would not understand.
For example the use of the word ‘amadan' meaning ‘fool'. Labeled
Hiberno-English, it is a typical example of linguistic hybridisation.
 
Robert Young a widely written commentator on imperialism and postcolonialism, has remarked
on the negativity sometimes associated with the term hybridity. He notes how it was  influential
in imperial and colonial discourse in giving damaging reports on the union of different races.
Young would argue that at the turn of the century, ‘hybridity' had become part of a colonialist
discourse of racism.   In Jean Rhys ' Wide Sargasso Sea , to be a Creole or a ‘hybrid'
was essentially negative. They were reported in the book as lazy and the dangers of
such hybrids inevitably reverting to their ‘primitive' traditions is highlighted throughout the
novel. In reading Young alongside Rhys, it becomes easy to see the negative connotations that
the term once had.

However, the crossover inherent in the imperial experience is essentially a two-way process.
According to Ashcroft most postcolonial writing has focused on the hybridised nature of
postcolonial culture as a strength rather than a weakness. It is not a case of the oppressor
obliterating the oppressed or the coloniser silencing the colonised. In practice it stresses the
mutuality of the process. The clash of cultures can impact as much upon the coloniser
as the colonised. In reading Juanita Carberry , the daughter of a settler in the White
Valley region in Kenya, one gets a taste of the hybridised nature of her childhood and
her life. Growing up a Swahili speaker and playing with the wild animals against her
father's wishes, her experience was essentially more African than English. [4] It is
proof that even under the most potent of oppression, that distinctive aspects of the culture of the
oppressed can survive and become an integral part of the new formations which arise. Ashcroft
says how “hybridity and the power it releases may well be seen as the characteristic feature and
contribution of the post-colonial, allowing a means of evading the replication of the binary
categories of the past and developing new anti-monolithic models of cultural exchange and
growth”. [5] 

The term hybridity has been most recently associated with Homi

Bhabha . In his piece entitled ‘Cultural Diversity and Cultural
Differences', Bhaba stresses the interdependence of coloniser and
colonised. Bhabha argues that all cultural systems and statements are
constructed in what he calls the ‘Third Space of Enunciation'. [6] In
accepting this argument, we begin to understand why claims to the
inherent purity and originality of cultures are ‘untenable'. Bhaba urges
us into this space in an effort to open up the notion of an inter national
culture “not based on exoticism or multi-culturalism of the diversity of
cultures, but on the inscription and articulation of culture's hybridity. ”
[7] In bringing this to the next stage, Bhabha hopes that it is in this space “that we will find those
words with which we can speak of Ourselves and Others. And by exploring this ‘Third Space',
we may elude the politics of polarity and emerge as the others of ourselves”. [8] So as
Mudrooroo suggests, embracing the hybridised nature of cultures steers us away from the
problematic binarisms that have until now framed our notions of culture. 
[1] Mudrooroo, Nyoongah. Writing from the Fringe: A Study of Modern Aboriginal Literature.Melbourne: Hyland
House, 1990. p. 24 
[2] ibid. 
[3] Ashcroft,B., G Griffiths and H Tiffin. Post-Colonial Studies: The Key Concepts. London: Routledge, 2003. p.
118 
[4] Carberry, Juanita. Child of Happy Valley. Colonialism through the eyes of a child. 
[5] Ashcroft, Bill., Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin. Eds. The Post-Colonial Reader. London: Routledge, 1995. p.
183 
[6] ibid. p. 209 
[7] ibid. 
[8] ibid. 

 
 This page was written by Elizabeth Laragy. Email me with your comments.
Hybridity and National Identity in Postcolonial Literature   
    

 Every human being, in addition to having their own personal identity, has a sense of who they are in
relation to the larger community--the nation. Postcolonial studies is the attempt to strip away conventional
perspective and examine what that national identity might be for a postcolonial subject. To
read literature from the perspective of postcolonial studies is to seek out--to listen for, that indigenous,
representative voice which can inform the world of the essence of existence as a colonial subject, or as a
postcolonial citizen. Postcolonial authors use their literature and poetry to solidify, through criticism and
celebration, an emerging national identity, which they have taken on the responsibility of representing.
Surely, the reevaluation of national identity is an eventual and essential result of a country gaining
independence from a colonial power, or a country emerging from a fledgling settler colony. However, to
claim to be representative of that entire identity is a huge undertaking for an author trying to convey a
postcolonial message. Each nation, province, island, state, neighborhood and individual is its own unique
amalgamation of history, culture, language and tradition. Only by understanding and embracing the idea
of cultural hybridity when attempting to explore the concept of national identity can any one individual, or
nation, truly hope to understand or communicate the lasting effects of the colonial process. 

Postcolonialism is the continual shedding of the old skin of Western thought and discourse and the
emergence of new self-awareness, critique, and celebration. With this self-awareness comes self-
expression. But how should the inhabitants of a colonial territory, or formerly colonized country or
province see themselves, once they have achieved their independence? With whom will they identify? In
a country like India, prior to 1947, most people identified themselves as Indians, against the identity of
their British oppressors. Theirs was a strong feeling of communal, national identity, fostered by a shared
resentment of the British colonial powers. However, after 1947, after being granted autonomy, India's
populace slowly disintegrated into more and more divided factions, as the "national" identity shrunk, and
people found other, closer groups to identify with. The ambiguous and shifting nature of national identity is
thus integral to a discussion of postcolonial theory, as identification with one group inevitably leads to
differentiation with others. 

In his definitive book about the concept of "nation" and "nationalism," Imagined Communities, Benedict
Anderson says, "In an anthropological spirit, then, I propose the following definition of the nation: it is an
imagined political community--and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign" (Anderson 5). His
work refers to anthropological data, as he maintains that the concept of "nation" is truly a cultural
construct, a man-made artifice. Thus, for Anderson, it is "imagined." Nation, and identity, begins with
one's family and closest friends, and slowly moves out from this center. In our contemporary example,
two residents of the same country may live in completely different geographical climates, having very little
in common with each other. In such a case, one may have a personal identity, and identify with a more
local "nation," yet be part of a political nation as defined by demarcated boundary lines, drawn on a map.
As Anderson says, "All communities larger than primordial villages of face-to-face contact (and perhaps
even these) are imagined" (Anderson 6). 

Children are raised to associate with a nation as representing unity and government. The long-running
Western colonialist perspective of nation seems to be: that simply by drawing lines on a piece of paper
and forming a government within those lines, a cohesive political entity can be created. A perfect example
of this lies in the formation of modern India. Prior to British colonization of India, there existed, in relative
harmony, one of the most diverse and heterogeneous populations on the planet. Communities and culture
gave people their identity. By the time India achieved its independence, however, the British had created
a bureaucracy, boundaries and centralized government, in the likeness of the prototypical Western
nation-state. 

For the inhabitants of India during the colonial years and the time leading to their independence,
embracing a national identity was not a difficult task, for several reasons. The first is that it is easiest for
someone to identify themselves in terms of contrast with another, outside identity. People living in India
prior to 1947 were striving for independence from shared oppression by the British. Thus, no matter what
their cultural background may have been, or their geographical location within the emerging nation of
India, anyone who was not a member of the colonial institution could view themselves as being victimized
by flat institution, and could identify with every other "Indian" in that victimization. Another example could
be a participant in the Negritude movement in Africa, who could celebrate being black only by contrasting
black with white. And yet another example lies with any country, any nation, which is at war with another.
Nationalist sentiment reaches a crescendo during war by differentiating one's own country from that of the
enemy. 

The second reason that it is relatively easy for colonized subjects to adopt and live a national identity lies
in the fact that the very identity adopted by the oppressed has been most likely encouraged by the
oppressor. This touches on the idea of "hegemony," as postulated by Antonio Gramsci. Grarnsci was
interested in the subject of subordination as it existed within a colony or nation. He maintained that
colonial powers would not have been able to maintain their rule over colonized people without the implicit,
if unconscious permission of the colonized subjects. He believed that subordination over long periods
entailed the participation of those subordinated. As Ania Loomba points out in
Colonialism/Postcolonialism, "Gramsci argued that the ruling classes achieve domination not by force or
coercion alone, but also by creating subjects who 'willingly' submit to being ruled" (qtd. in Loomba, 29). 

Colonial authority wanted a subject to feel a sense of national spirit. The British wanted the inhabitants of
their newly-constructed India to embrace the idea of their being "Indian," albeit in a form laid out by the
British. Before the British consolidated their influence into a territory they called India, it was an
immensely varied, heterogeneous mass of different religions, political and cultural beliefs. Having drawn
lines in the sand which defined India, and having instituted a central government, the British expected
Parsi, Kashmiri, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, upper and lower-class/caste to think of themselves as Indian
and to respect the British-established government. The British gave the Indian people a model of "Indian,"
of being a British subject, and expected the population to embrace it, which, in most cases, they did. This
is what Anderson refers to as "mental miscegenation." 

Once a country like India achieved its independence from the British colonial machine, how then were
these people supposed to identify themselves? They were a vast nation of a tremendously varied cultural
history, labeled "Indian' by the very powers they had striven to evict from their country. Only by exploring
the idea of "cultural nationalism" can this phenomenon be at all understood. This line of thinking attributes
national identity not so much to boundaries and political machinations, but, rather, to more elemental
cultural and community-oriented aspects of one's persona. 

Remember that Anderson has defined "nation" as an "imagined political community." We have discussed
why it is "imagined," but why does he consider the nation a "community?" He says, "Finally, it [the nation]
is imagined as a community because, regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail
in each, the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship" (Anderson 7). But, as an
American, does one feel "a deep, horizontal comradeship" for a fellow citizen living in Alaska? Or is there
more fraternity to be found with someone of similar religious belief or ethnic background? This is where
the ambiguity surrounding the concept of "national identity" emerges. As Loomba states, "Perhaps the
connection between postcolonial writing and the nation can be better comprehended by understanding
that the 'nation' itself is a ground of dispute and debate, a site for the competing imaginings of different
ideological and political interests" (Loomba 207). I believe that this "dispute and debate" can be
successfully joined and undertaken only with a knowledge of the work of Homi K. Bhabha, as it relates to
the concept of "cultural hybridity." 

Bhabha put forth his idea of hybridity to explain the very unique sense of identity shared and experienced
individually by members of a former colonized people. He maintains that members of a postcolonial
society have an identity which has been shaped jointly by their own unique cultural and community
history, intertwined with that of the colonial power. Thus, for example, a Parsi in Bombay will have
incorporated into his or her personal and national identity the traditions inherent in being Parsi, being
Muslim, and being an "Indian"--a member of a formerly oppressed society. Bhabha writes, "These
hyphenated, hybridized cultural conditions are also forms of a vernacular cosmopolitanism that emerges
in multicultural societies and explicitly exceeds a particular national location" ("The White Stuff," 23). 

Thus, having illustrated the difficulties inherent in the postcolonial subject's attempt to formulate a new
personal and national identity, we return to the initial, basic point of this discussion: How does a
postcolonial author, playwright or poet provide a reader with a true representation of a particular
postcolonial condition? Who does the author claim to represent? If an author is Indian in origin, does his
writing represent the state of affairs for all Indians living in postcolonial India? The answer to this last
question is transparently "no." The quality of life and historical circumstances vary too widely from town to
town, neighborhood to neighborhood, family to family, and, ultimately, from individual to individual. The
question remains then: is there a way for postcolonial authors to convey their respective messages about
the colonial condition without assuming a definitive "voice," without presuming that they speak for all
members of their respective "nation?" I maintain that there are at least three authors who have
incorporated Bhabha's theory of cultural hybridity into their works, and thus are able to communicate the
postcolonial condition to the rest of the world. These authors are Salman Rushdie, Bapsi Sidhwa and
David Malouf. 
Rushdie's novel, Midnight's Children should be considered the quintessential fictional novel for illustrating
the near insurmountable difficulties inherent in creating a national identity amongst a hugely
heterogeneous postcolonial society. Masterfully employing magical realism and weaving metaphors in
and out of each other on every page, Rushdie very effectively describes postcolonial India's troubled
attempt at forging a national consciousness immediately after achieving their independence from Great
Britain. He describes the shared excitement and nationalist sentiments felt by the population of India as
the day of their independence grew near: 

There was an extra festival on the calendar, a new myth to celebrate, because a nation which had never
previously existed was about to win its freedom, catapulting us into a world which, although it had five
thousand years of history, although it had invented the game of chess and traded with Middle Kingdom
Egypt, was nevertheless quite imaginary; into a mythical land, a country which would never exist except
by the efforts of a phenomenal collective will--except in a dream we all agreed to dream; it was a mass
fantasy shared in varying degrees by Bengali and Punjabi, Madrasi and Jat, and would periodically need
the sanctification and renewal which can only be provided by rituals of blood (Rushdie, 130). 

As the novel progresses, and the populace of India examine their new respective identities, people begin
to narrow those identities, limiting more and more their respective concepts of "nation." Identification as
"Indian" gives way to identification with religious beliefs, ethnic backgrounds and political convictions. And
with each new phase of emerging identity, a new differentiation occurs between one member of Indian
society and another. As these differentiations are further recognized and legitimized, a pattern of
hegemony and violence ensues which threatens to tear the new nation of India apart. 

Bapsi Sidhwa articulates this same theme in her novel, Cracking India. She approaches this same idea of
Indian society pulling itself apart in its quest for a shared, postcolonial, national identity by focusing on
one small neighborhood in the Punjab district. The inhabitants of this small, relatively insular community
hardly notice the differences between one another until India achieves its independence, and is
partitioned into Pakistan and India. As the novel progresses, this happy community is slowly tom apart by
violent instances of racism and religious fanaticism. This is foreshadowed early in the book, during a
conversation between various members of the neighborhood and the outgoing British Inspector General
of the Police. The Inspector General is arguing with Mr. Singh, a Sikh, about what will happen in India
once the British have left: 

"Rivers of blood will flow all right!" he shouts, almost as loudly as Mr. Singh. "Nehru and the Congress will
not have everything their way! They will have to reckon with the Muslim League and Jinnah. If we quit
India today, old chap, you'll bloody fall at each other's throats!" (Sidhwa 71). 

Mr. Singh replies, "Hindu, Muslim, Sikh: we all want the same thing! We want independence!" Essentially,
the message being communicated by both this novel and Rushdie's is that in forging an identity, either on
an individual basis, or as a nation, the stronger one feels about belonging to one group, the more
separated they become from another. This is embracing the exact antithesis of cultural hybridity as
espoused by Bhabha. 

Another unique approach to the use of cultural hybridity in a postcolonial text has been utilized by David
Malouf, in his novel Remembering Babylon. Malouf writes of the formative years of an Australian settler
colony, and he uses a very unique character, that of Gemmy, to illustrate the vast differences between the
settlers and the aboriginals, and, eventually, between the settlers themselves. Gemmy is a white man
who has grown up amongst the aboriginals. He has been away from Western society for so long that he is
unable to communicate competently, or effect legitimate social discourse with the other whites. He comes
to live with a young settler colony, and Malouf uses him to illustrate differences between all members of
this colony. As each member of the colony tries to analyze the differences between themselves and
Gemmy, they come to realize fundamental differences amongst them all. As Mr. Frazer writes in his
logbook, "We must rub our eyes and look again, clear our minds of what we are looking for to see what is
there" (Malouf 130). 

Surely, each member of a postcolonial society would love to encounter one specific voice which could
articulate their particular suffering and oppression under the colonial institution--one voice which would
articulate their own sense of national identity. But exploration of these societies, and the literature
produced by postcolonial authors and poets illustrates that there is a veritable infinite number of differing
circumstances inherent in each postcolonial society, and, consequently, in each piece of literature
produced by postcolonial writers. If one is to read this literature in a way which will shed some light on the
postcolonial condition, one must understand and adopt the theory that we are all walking amalgamations
of our own unique cultures and traditions. We are all always struggling with our own identities, personal
and national. We must understand that there is no "one true voice" representing an easily identifiable
postcolonial condition, but, instead, each author is his or her own voice and must be read as such.