White Man's Country: the Image of Africa in the American Century By
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White Man’s Country: The Image of Africa in the American Century By Aaron John Bady A dissertation submitted in partial satisfaction of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in English in the Graduate Division of the University of California, Berkeley Committee in charge: Professor Bryan Wagner, Chair Professor Donna Jones Professor Scott Saul Professor Michael Watts Fall 2013 Abstract White Men’s Country: The Image of Africa in the American Century By Aaron John Bady Doctor of Philosophy in English University of California, Berkeley Professor Bryan Wagner, Chair It is often taken for granted that “the West’s image of Africa” is a dark and savage jungle, the “white man’s grave” which formed the backdrop for Joseph Conrad’s hyper-canonical Heart of Darkness. In the wake of decolonization and independence, African writers like Chinua Achebe and Ngugi wa Thiong’o provided alternate accounts of the continent, at a moment when doing so was rightly seen to be “The Empire Writes Back.” Yet in the years since then, “going beyond the clichés” has itself become a kind of cliché. In the last decade in particular, the global investment class has taken up the appeal to “Re-brand Africa” with a vengeance. Providing positive images of Africa is not necessarily a radical critique of empire’s enduring legacies, in other words; it can also be an effort to brand and market “Africa” as a product for capital speculation. In White Men’s Country: The Image of Africa in the American Century, I describe how American literary investments in Africa grew, alongside the slow decline of European cultural imperialism. If European writers and artists worked to legitimize violent conquest by represent the continent as “darkest Africa,” the informal American empire of capital created an American counter-narrative, showing Africa to be a brilliant frontier of unbounded future possibility. When this self-consciously American tradition pictured “Africa,” I argue, they turned their gaze away from the equatorial rain forests of West and Central Africa that Joseph Conrad had made famous and instead focused on the Great Rift Valley of present day Kenya and Tanzania. There, they looked for and found a renewed vision of the closing American frontier, a “brightest Africa” of rebirth, redemption, and recovery. My first chapter locates the beginning of this tradition in the United States’ emergence from the Civil War, and in Henry Morton Stanley’s world famous 1872 exploration narrative, How I Found Livingstone. Stanley was born a Welsh orphan—and in his later years, he returned to this identity as a British gentleman—but when he “found” Livingstone, he was pretending to be an American and his narrative pictures Africa by explicit analogy to the American Southwest. Stanley employs the same narratives and images he had used to describe General Hancock’s war on the plains Indians, when he first made his name as a journalist. By omitting the American chapter in Stanley’s career, historians have allowed the British author of Through the Dark Continent and In Darkest Africa to represent the entirety of the Anglo-American exploration tradition. In this chapter, by contrast, I recover how Stanley’s most famous and influential text 1 explored and exploited the fracture between British and American, asserting the imperial destiny of the rising American state as it symbolically rescued the ailing and elderly British. In my second and third chapters, I show how Theodore Roosevelt invented himself, on the American frontier, and then repeated the gesture in Africa, popularizing (if not inventing) inventing the big game safari. Before his 1910 bestseller African Game Trails, the word “safari” had signified the dependence of European explorers on their Arab-African guides and interpreters, but Roosevelt introduced the word into global English by transforming the safari into a globally comprehensible practice of seeing, as well as popularizing the sense of Africa which it presumes: an “Africa” which is open and available to be seen and shot. By focusing on the tourist’s power to see and comprehend, he made the visibility of skin-color the epistemological dividing line between those who actively see and shoot and those who are passively seen and shot. And by adapting the frontier persona he had created in his “Western” memoirs—Hunting Trips of a Ranchman, Ranch Life and the Hunting-Trail, and The Wilderness Hunter—he made Africa a site where Americans could still experience the pleasures of the now-closed Western frontier. In the 1930’s, the safari tradition was divided between the campy fantasy of the Tarzan cinematic franchise—which sought to domesticate, rehabilitate, or render invisible the racialized violence of the Rooseveltian safari—and Ernest Hemingway’s nostalgic “realism,” which sought to mourn the impossibility of Roosevelt in the modern era. In my final chapter, I stage Tarzan against Hemingway as two sides of the same coin, the fantasy which could not find grounding in fact and the reality which had no room for romance. For both, the problem was the non-existence of what Roosevelt took to be his primary aesthetic problem: transforming racialized violence into paternalistic (and patriarchal) love. 2 Acknowledgements It is conventional to use this space to acknowledge those whose assistance, friendship, and love made the work of scholarship possible. In my case, such acknowledgement is necessary: this work would never have been done without the people around me, without the friends, colleagues, and family who I too often neglected in order to finish my dissertation. It has been my great good fortune to have so many people willing to put up with me; I aspire to be a better friend to them in the future, to be worthy of their friendship. And I list these names and express my humble gratitude because to remind myself, now, that friends and loved ones are not the means of doing one’s scholarly work—of getting through the crisis of the moment—but are the end and outcome of the much more important work of being a human being. This project began in Tanzania, when I first felt as Ernest Hemingway did, that “it always seemed stupid to be white in Africa.” Through the measured warmth of my hosts—who treated me simply as a person among people—I began to think about different ways to be a white person in Africa, or at least aspiring to try. To the students, parents, and teachers of Shinda Basic School, to Manasi, and to my fellow wazungu, Noel, Monica, and Anton, may your habari always be mzuri. To Pasian Kimaro, shikamoo one last time, mwalimu. At American University, Chuck Larson took me under his wing, told me I was going to be an Africanist, and made it come true. Dan, Drew, Rika, Angda, Antonio, Kim, Adam, Linzey, Sarah, Richard, David, Roberta, Keith, Jeff, and Marianne made Washington, DC a city I look back to with more fondness than I can sometimes bear to recall. At Berkeley and in Oakland, too many people made the Bay Area a home for me to name, but I’d like to thank Eric for buying the round, Ian, David, Namwali, and Oliver for their valiant efforts in the doomed campaign to get us all jobs, Sam for knowing what my dissertation was about before I did, Scott for making me rise to his expectations, Donna for talking with me about things much more interesting than my dissertation, Bryan, who always reminded me that there are more important things to be than a professor, and kept it all in perspective, and to Gautam, whose care, kindness, and sharp reading made this a dissertation that was worth finishing. Thanks to the unnamed computer thief who helpfully forced me to do a radical re-think of some of my dissertation’s core assumptions, thanks to Sharon and Dan, whose Chromebook got me through the computer-less stretch, and to the many friendly strangers and strange friends who helped put the means of dissertation production back in my hands. To Rachel, Malcolm, and the rest of the wunderkinder at the New Inquiry, for not quite convincing me to quit academia. To Shailja for the hat. Thanks to Zach, Laura, Catherine, Jonathan, Alek, Chris, Amy, and Eliot for making Oakland a sad place to leave, and to Matt, Natalia, Cody, Dan, Ben, Ashley, Monica, Alex, and Ruth for leading the way into the post-graduate world. Thanks to Rohit and Keguro for all the support and good cheer, and to all of you people on twitter—you know who you are—for having an enormous amount of good advice, random knowledge, and welcome distraction. To Liz for the care and belief. To Irene, Gina, and Michelle. To my parents, for putting up with me, and for helping me keep body and soul together. To Lili, my love. i TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction: Darkest Africa, Brightest Africa 1 Chapter 1: Remembering Stanley by Forgetting 27 Chapter 2: Theodore Roosevelt’s Country 79 Chapter 3: Indian Country 122 Chapter 4: After the Safari: Flights into Fantasy 162 ii Introduction: Darkest Africa, Brightest Africa From the vantage point of many in the West, Africa remains a continent of woe – a place stalked by ethnic conflict, corrupt dictatorships, religious strife, war and famine. But today, at last, the flawed mythology that treats Africa as a homogeneous disaster area is being challenged by investors, economists, fund managers, and academics. —Charles Robertson, The Fastest Billion1 In 1975, when Chinua Achebe called Joseph Conrad a “bloody racist” and argued that “the dominant image of Africa in the Western imagination” was the “dark continent” or the “darkest Africa” which was to be found in a novel like Heart of Darkness, his remarks were provocative, controversial, and productive.2 Conrad has hardly been expunged from the canon, of course, hyperbolic comments from cultural conservatives notwithstanding.