Hey there, Mark! Cross-posted. But re your final line, I'll confess that I was a little paranoid when I posted the VIDA Count that someone might analyze my word count in this thread compared with everyone else's....
Good, solid counterarguments again, Mark. This weekend I'll reconsider some of of the points you raised.
Martin and Jim,
Unsurprisingly, since I'm not a fan of John McWhorter anyway, I am less than enthusiastic about his point of view on this subject. He has a very fine mind, but he seems to be missing a heart sometimes.
I often get the impression that McWhorter's number one priority when he speaks on race is to battle what might be
the main racial injustice that affects him personally--namely, the intolerable notion that anyone might think that he, as a cultured and intellectual Black man at the peak of his career, has anything in common with the lower-class Black men for whom the Black Lives Matter movement is demanding justice: George Floyd, Philando Castile, et al.
I concede that that assuming some sort of kinship based solely on the fact that he's a Black man, too, is racist. But it's disappointing that he doesn't seem to feel any sort of kinship just based on the fact that they are
fellow human beings.
His essays and interviews repeatedly seem to deny these murdered Black men any empathy whatsoever, because he's so busy trying to undermine what he calls the Black Lives Matter movement's portrayal of Black men (and by extension himself) as vulnerable victims in need of protection. McWhorter is wonderfully colorblind in this regard: he doesn't seem to care about the plight of either the Black or the White victims of police violence, except for the purposes of normalizing and trivializing what the police do in lower-class neighborhoods so far from his own that they might as well be hypothetical.
By attempting to demonstrate his lack of racism, McWhorter reveals his classism. It seems he is willing to deny others' victimhood just to avoid being mistaken for a pathetic figure himself. But that's not a good look, either.
In his essay about the Gorman translation debacle, he attacks ridiculous "liberal" arguments that no liberals actually made by applying these to the translation of Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde, etc., and then he actually has the nerve to say 'Watch out for the “Nobody said that” game' (regarding Gorman's relationship to white supremacy).
I found
an article in Medium by Haidee Kotze, a professor of translation studies at Utrecht University in the Netherlands, far more insightful that McWhorter's take. Some snippets (bolding mine, in case people want to jump to the bit that particularly struck me):
Quote:
Deul's critique of the [publisher's] choice [to commission Rijneveld, who has never before translated a book] has been subsequently misinterpreted, so it is worth spending a moment on making clear exactly what it is that she said, to begin with. She highlights the mismatch between the shared lived experiences of the black Gorman and the white Rijneveld, and the lack of experience of Rijneveld (in respect of translation), and even questions why the publisher, Meulenhoff, nevertheless describes Rijneveld as the "dream translator" of Gorman. Deul's point, though, is not principally that the mismatch in backgrounds, and Rijneveld's lack of experience, make them unsuitable as translator. Rather it is that the decision for Rijneveld signals trust in Rijneveld's ability to convey this culturally significant work in another language--trust which is not generally afforded to people of color:
"Whether in fashion, art, work, politics or literature, the merits and
qualities of black people are only sporadically valued--if they are even
even noticed, to begin with. And this is particularly so for black women,
who are systematically marginalised."
Deul's question is why, for this particular text, in this particular context, given its significance, Meulenhoff chose not to opt for a young, black, female, spoken-word artist. Joe Biden's choice of Gorman as reader of her own poem at his inauguration created a particular configuration of cultural value around precisely those qualities. Gorman's visibility, as a young black woman, matters: She is part of the message. The choice of translator, in this case, is similarly part of the message. It's about the opportunity, the space for visibility created by the act of translation, and who gets to occupy that space.
In choosing Rijneveld as translator, the publisher missed an opportunity to carry the importance of this visibility into the Dutch cultural space by giving a black translator the same 'podium' as Gorman represents. In all likelihood, Meulenhoff did not do so purposely. This does not make it any better; perhaps it even makes it worse. The choice may not reflect a conscious, deliberate unwillingness to give voice, space, and visibility to black artists in the Netherlands. But its non-intentionality may perhaps be even more damning: It suggests that the importance of the decision--the possibility, the gravity of what Gorman's poem, and platform, represents--did not even occur to the publisher. Such is the extent of the blindspot. The publisher asked the question: "Is Rijneveld a suitable translator?" rather than "Who would be a suitable (or even the best) translator, for this particular text in this context?"
[...]
The question raised by Deul is not principally about who ‘may’ (who has permission) or even ‘can’ (is able to) write or translate particular experiences. The question is who is, institutionally, given the space to articulate this experience, to participate, to be visible. Who gets to have a seat at the table? A place on the podium? A prize? An interview or column in the newspaper? The exclusions, historically and contemporary, along race and gender lines, among others, are clear. The point is how institutions, like publishers, can work towards more inclusivity.
|
Amen, amen, amen....