(Here comes Mr. Stade)
In other words, it is a fine addition to the tiny cannon with regards to Guam, and an addition which must be destroyed, critically and discursively.
(The
Good, The Bad, The Ugly, and The Beautiful)
From the beginning, Stade’s immense knowledge of Guam, which is the result of cramming information, gathered quickly like a college student before a test, is overshadowed by his critical lack of knowledge, which is the result of a lack of pension in Guam, or lack of time spend and time served. According to Dirk Ballendorf, the interaction of outside cultures and nations with regards to Guam and all of Micronesia, economically as well as theoretically, has been one of constant exploitation, and this book is no different.
The island of Guam, is used as an ecosystem, by which Stade can flex his theoretical muscle, and test hypothesizes, play on theoretical words and ideas, and all in all create a cubist portrait of the island, which is both unattractive and malformed, and does not fall under the Cubist philosophical argument of several perspectives of a single object, meshed together to create a semi-abstract image, which is ultimately a vision of reality, both in its ugliness as well as its beauty.
But instead he
gives an image has been transmogrified and deformed by his lack of thus
multi-varying perspectives, his lack of that “hint of reality,”
by which Degas said that makes an image real. His refusal to commit to the
island, refusal to go all the way, to make the leap from literary to oral, from
Western to Indigenous, from Cannon to Marginalized, leaves his commissioned work
of Guam, an ugly image, falling far short of the promised, expected and implied
beauty, in that anyone who has seen Guam, or knows Guam from within, would
remark at how incomplete his rendering is.
In short, it is the attempt at totality that gives a cubist image its beauty, but it is the attempted incompleteness, or the acceptance of such which makes this book ugly.
It is not my place however to attack Stade for his wonderful attempt. As
mentioned before, it is good that someone is writing about Guam, which I have
often referred to as, “the bastard son of Micronesia, because it seems no one
is willing to talk about it.” In many anthropological literature of the region
from decades previous, the phrase, “excluding Guam,” or “except for
Guam,” becomes a common mantra, which causes my teeth to cringe. Guam’s
uniqueness as a strictly postcolonial entity, much more complex than its
neighbors, often causes it to be ignored, for grass skirts, topless women and
darker skins.
Stade however does not fall for the prototypical anthropological “last
virgin in paradise” syndrome, by
bypassing Guam for less modernized shores, but spots the plethora of discourse
which is just waiting to be tapped. His inquiries extend a wide spectrum,
ranging from the supposed “corruption” and suicide of former Governor
Ricardo Bordayu to the “15 minutes” of Guam’s’ fame, surrounding the
most stringent anti-choice abortion legislation in the United States. Mixed in,
throughout is history, ethnography, cultural analysis, and other notes made
during his brief visits to Guam.
(Welcome
to Class)
Basic mistakes exist throughout the book, which are caused by his reliance on outside academics and non-Chamorros, for his data (A quick peak at his acknowledgements and bibliography proves this.).
The one which affected me most, was his implication that all the Flores’, or all people who possess the last name Flores on Guam are part of a single strain, a single family. A simple question to any biha, or old woman from the Flores line, will tell you that there are at least three distinct Flores’ lines, two established in the 19th century, from Mexico and Peru, and one from the Philippines in the early 20th century. It is also possible that the lines from Mexico were established via the Philippines.
This is minor, and these missteps are so seemingly incidental to any reader that it would probably not affect Stade’s attempts for grants or funding in the future, but there is one section upon which he crosses the line between history and fiction.
Derrida is right in that Marx is a spectre which we must all deal with. Though must theorists would contend it is Foucault which we must all wrestle with now, Marx was someone Foucault often wrestled with and his ideas persist whether we want them to or not. Anyone brought up in Western theory is taught either to hate Marx or love him, but regardless of whatever your relationship is to him, we are all susceptible to his ideas of class and class warfare.
It is in this vein that occupies much of Stade’s approach to politics on Guam. There are several key terms which he uses over and over, til meaninglessness arrives, leaves and mockery takes its place. His latching and love of italicized words, create a text which is incomplete, and when seen in its completion, in its totality, then it is not only offense, but unforgivable.
But this shall all be gotten to in time, first an examination or the
italicized words which Stade employs, and his incomplete examination of the
lexicon of class terminology on Guam, first in practical and then in historical
use. Throughout the text the following terms are used over and over:
Manakilo’: Literally “those who are high,” used for those of the upper class.
Manakpappa’: Literally, “those who are low,” used for the lower classes.
Manggi Hagatna: “Those from Hagatna,” usually for the upper class.
Manggi
Sengsong: “Those from the village,” from rural areas.