A Land Lacking Definition

Thomas King’s Borders is a unique piece of literature not only for its unique story, but for its intriguing subject matter. Simply writing about borders is a feat in itself because borders are such an odd, intangible, subject. King masterfully manipulates this unease to his advantage, drawing from the readers own preconceptions to define his world. Borders exists in a surreal place, paradoxically elusive and concrete. While we may not be able to see borders, they exist on maps and globes—they literally define our world in a geographical and cartographical sense. King also takes the question of borders to an internal level, dually using the setting to make us question how we see our world and how we define ourselves.

King creates a feeling of ambiguity from the first words of his story, setting the tone for what follows. As the narrator begins, he tells us that he was “twelve, maybe thirteen” when he went to visit Salt Lake City (133). He also is unsure of his age when Laetitia left, citing it as “seven or eight” (133). While this may be a device used to insinuate that these events occurred a long time ago, they also have the effect of causing unease, distrust in the narrator, and confusion in the reader. We do not know if we can take everything at face value.

The next section of the story creates a division between the narrator and his mother, essentially defining the split between the present generation and the past. His mother is still caught up in tradition—as later evidenced through her declaration at customs. When the departure of Laetitia is remembered, we see a conversation wherein the mother criticizes the coffee in Coutts. Laetitia replies, “You’re just angry because I want to see the world” (134). There is a fragmentation of the worlds of these two characters, Laetitia wanting to expand hers and the mother wanting to preserve hers. The suggestion that the coffee is bad because of foul water is also highly suggestive of a deeper meaning, that the sustaining nature of the outside world is tainted. Even in the syntax words there is evidence of this division, when the narrator describes a scene between the mother and Laetitia, “’You can still see the mountain from here,’ my mother told Laetitia in Blackfoot. ‘Lots of mountains in Salt Lake,’ Laetitia told her in English” (135). The mother references the mountain from a back referenced perspective, and speaks in the Blackfoot tongue. Laetitia on the other hand, looks forward to the future, and speaks in English.

Through rhetorical devices such as these, King immerses us in the world of his reader. We contemplate our surroundings and how we define ourselves when presented with the nature of how these characters do the same. It is poignant that the borderland is described in terms of Canadian and American sides, with nothing in between but the duty free shop. There is nothing there except a store that exists as a part of the border—there is no actual substance to the border. This world is much like Anzaldúa’s, a borderland defined by the people within it—who can barely define themselves. The place is ambiguous, almost ethereal in its lack of true substance.

Fragmentation of the Self

In Thomas King’s “Borders,” he recounts the tale of his mother and his trip across the American/Canadian border on the way to visit sister in Salt Lake City. King’s mother refused to identify herself as either Canadian or American, resulting in complications on both sides of the border. Because she considered herself to be “Blackfoot,” neither border would officially recognize her or allow entry (or re-entry). The short story is frustrating to read because the whole ordeal could have been avoided entirely had King’s mother identified herself as Canadian. Why couldn't she just say "Canadian" and have been done with it!? The implications of this identification, however, have deep roots in King’s family’s cultural associations. By saying that she was Canadian, King’s mother would be denying her true heritage.
We have discussed in class the fragmentation of one’s nationality and how this seems to be an idea deeply rooted in Western culture. By knowing exactly where your ancestors are from, you can get an idea of who you are as a person. This breakdown does, however, seem to fall short in many ways. By asserting myself as a quarter this or half that, I am simply illustrating the difficult divisions that exist in our world. Does it mean that I have respectively only inherited a quarter of the luck of the Irish? Am I only a quarter responsible for Germany’s past indiscretions? Can I only make lasagna half as well as I should be able to? It is clear that stereotypes do nothing to bridge the gaps of society. Like Shylock’s great speech in the Merchant of Venice, “If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?” We are all human. Associating ourselves in this way or that way does not move humanity an inch toward progress.
Gloria Anzaldua’s poetry captures this effect quite well. She is neither half Chicana or half Tejana or half lesbian or half feminist or even half man or half woman. She is all of it, bound together into one being, one spirit. To identify solely with one race or another does not give meaning to our lives. It is experience, more so than even the past, that makes us who we are. It is what we contribute to this world and to each other than will define us. Ashes to ashes. In the end, the breaking down borders will be more constructive than erecting them.

America's Borderlands

“Borders” by Thomas King presents an interesting story that takes place almost entirely between the Canadian and American border. A Blackfoot woman and her son are not permitted to cross over into the United States because the mother, out of adamant pride, refuses to declare a nationality other than Blackfoot. Strangely enough, the same thing happens when the two attempt to reenter Canada. Because neither border patrol is able to identify their country of origin they are condemned to stay in the world between both countries which is occupied almost entirely by a duty-free shop. This story fits in perfectly with the overarching theme of identity and personal mapping that has dominated our class discussions. The mother perceives her identity as a member of the Blackfoot nation to supersede the relatively new nations of Canada and America.
Similarities can easily be drawn between this reading and Anzaldúa's Borderlands/La Frontera. Both prominent personalities possess such an unwavering pride in their cultures that they impose them on others. While Anzaldúa aggressively confronts the reader with her Mexican and Indian heritage, King's character tries to browbeat the authorities into accepting her heritage. In both cases, the initial reaction is frustration and discomfort. It is, after all, not so difficult to declare a nationality. It would not negate in any way the fact that the mother is a Blackfoot Indian. The two are not mutually exclusive. When considered in the context of the story, however, her motives become clearer. Her daughter has moved to Salt Lake City, an action that is perceived as an abandonment of family and culture. The mother sets an example for her children. The daughter is awed by her mother's actions and admits that she just might move back home after all.
Another interesting idea that occurs in both, Anzaldúa's and King's texts is that of an in-between-land that does not coincide with either bordering country. It is difficult to imagine that a border has any area to it at all. On maps they are simple lines and math has taught us that lines have no thickness. Anzaldúa's borderland bleeds into both America and Mexico, creating a displaced people who speak bastard languages and are involved in a never ending pilgrimage back and forth across the Rio Grande. King's borderland is much more concrete, though far less inhabited. The reader imagines that the Blackfoot mother and son are stuck in an area of land no more than a mile or so wide. There is no distinct culture to speak of which serves to emphasize their feelings of displacement in even more dramatic terms.

Please check the box

Last Thursday in class we discussed the idea that people who don’t fit neatly into boxes have the ability (and perhaps even the responsibility, as Anzaldua noted), to communicate between different “boxes”; these so-called boxes could include any sorts of labels that society likes to assign like singular specific race, cultural identity, gender, even age-group. In the case of King’s piece, “Borders”, I think of the term “boxes” literally. The mother in the story refuses to choose a side, Canadian or American, as neither truly represents her heritage as a Blackfoot. The situation raises the question of how would you react when you are asked to identify your self as an “either, or”, and neither choice fully explains your history, your heritage, your identity? Do you simply “check” the box that is most similar, even if it’s not truly correct? Do you take the “other” option, if in fact it’s offered, and pencil in your identity?

In the case of “Borders”, the mother refused to assimilate to the standard rules. She refused to allow her dignity to be compromised, and took a stand against an injustice, and forced the “authorities” to recognize her cultural identity. King does a beautiful job of relating such a powerful act of defiance and dignity in such a short story; it is his humor, and the point of view he chooses to use that makes it possible. The little boy, who is the story-teller, includes asides that explain the significance of their trip to Salt Lake City, and the perception he has of the world outside of the reservation—one that he has shaped from seeing glossy brochures and hearing his sister’s stories. He includes characters in the “adventure” that may only remain for two or three lines of the stories but make a lasting impact on the tone and significance of the “stand-off”, as the mother refers to it. The boy offers Stella, the third U.S. Border Patroller to speak with the two, a piece of his sandwich, illustrating his innocence to her role in their detainment. He asks Mel for a hamburger while they are waiting, and forges a relationship with the Duty-free shop employee who so poignantly supports their “struggle” at the end of the story. He talks to one of the media about eating some of the snacks they have spread out for the crew who are covering, and possibly exploiting, the event (there seems to be a trend in where the boy’s mind is at, which is further testament to the innocence of his account, and his needs that every other human being can identify with).

The metaphorical and literal border in this story is a perfect example of what we have been talking about this semester, and King addresses a loaded and extremely significant topic with a light tone and plenty of subtle humor, that makes the piece so enjoyable.

Carrying a Culture on One's Back

One of the biggest things I’ve taken from all of the readings we’ve done thus far is this idea that a person’s individual culture cannot be reduced to a fraction of what it really is by grouping it within the larger context of geographical placement. While a landscape may shape a person’s identity, physical borders in no way restrict cultural identities. With both King and Anzaldua, the greatest barriers to overcome is this idea that a person has to be consolidated into a certain group all the while denying other parts of their identities.

The greatest similarity between King and Anzaldua is this idea of not allowing their specific identities to become compromised in the face of generalizations. Anzaldua’s final poem in Borderlands, “Don’t Give In, Chicanita”, sums up exactly what King’s mother is attempting to do within “Borders.” Dedicated and directed at her “m’ijita”, Anzaldua speaks to her grandmother as the land that was once hers is taken away and along with it, a piece of her cultural identity. Still, Anzaldua pleads with her grandmother by saying, “Don’t give in mi prietita/ tighten your belt, endure./ Your lineage is ancient” (p. 224). Her grandmother’s blood is so rooted in the land that as their land is taken away and stripped of its special culture that Anzaldua sees part of her “m’ijita” getting taken away as well. The place in which her grandmother’s “great-great-grandfather” was buried is no longer hers, indicating that not even one’s lineage is safe from being stripped away.

However, Anzaldua notes that there is one thing that can never be taken away from her or her grandmother when she writes, “But they will never take that pride/ of being mexicana-Chicana-tejana/ nor our Indian woman’s spirit” (p. 224). The preservation of this pride, for Anzaldua and King, is what allows one’s cultural identity to remain intact. As King’s mother was too proud to state a citizenry she felt falsely represented herself, Anzaldua is too proud to merely put herself into an over generalized group. This pride is what keeps their cultures alive for both.

Also, for both, pride seems to be a hereditary distinction that allows King and Anzaldua to carry their cultural identities on their backs at all times. As King writes, “Pride is a good thing to have, you know. Laetitia had a lot of pride, and so did my mother. I figured that someday, I’d have it, too” (p. 142). Anzaldua writes in the poem that one day that she and her grandmother will become a “new species” capable of “carrying the best of all cultures” (p. 225). This idea of carrying one’s culture at all times seems to overcome King’s “Borders”, moving both King and Anzaldua into Anzaldua’s Borderlands.

Bordering the Psyche: The Human Body as the Ultimate Border

In the beginning of Borderlands/La Frontera, Anzaldua defines a border as “a dividing line,” and it “distinguish[es] us from them” (25). We see borders everywhere based on her definition. On the most basic level, the human body, with all of its parts, can be seen as a border. Besides from housing internal organs, the body also contains the individual’s mental processes and soul (for the sake of argument, both will be combined in the term psyche). As a result, the limits of the body can exert an influence on the psyche and understanding. This effect is seen in both King’s “Borders” and Anzaldua’s Borderlands/La Frontera.

In “Borders,” the naïve narrator is a child, and thus is assumed to have a small body. With his small body, there comes a limited understanding of the situation he is in. For example, he is not allowed to declare citizenship on behalf of his mother and himself because he is a “minor” (139). Stella’s disregard for the narrator’s claim stems from the idea that young children (who biologically have smaller bodies than adults) do not have the mature mental capabilities to make a decision or assert a claim. Another instance of the narrator’s “immaturity” is his preoccupation with trivial matters. For example, he repeatedly asks his mother if they’re going to stop at a restaurant. His focus on the trivial shows a simplicity of mind that is often paired with a young body.

In Anzaldua’s Borderlands/La Frontera, the body not only influences understanding, but can also limit it. For example, a woman is treated and acts differently than a man because of their different bodies. “Women are made to feel total failures if they don’t marry and have children,” i.e. if they don’t use their bodies that limit their roles to that of wives and mothers (39). Moreover, feelings of shame that are directed towards the body are soon internalized towards the self. Anzaldua mentions that seeing another Chicana, who shares a similar body, could be an anxious experience because of being “afraid of what we’ll see there [the mirror that the similar body creates]” (80). “Shame” and “low estimation of the self” are bound to be the feelings that stem from this experience; both feelings are facilitated by the appearance of the body to its owner, who harbors a sense of shame towards his or her body.

The body is thus seen to restrict one’s psyche because it imposes physical limitations on it. The only way to “free” the psyche is if to lose one’s body. Obviously, there’s a paradox here. However, the closest to losing one’ body is a self-imposed sensory deprivation state that Anzaldua explains (92). Only then when the border of the body is broken can the psyche roam free.

Borders in Anzeldua and King

Citizenship implies ownership by one country and allegiance to a single people. When a person travels abroad, her behavior represents the country in which she claims citizenship. For the narrator of "Borders" this is problematic; he and his mother are both Blackfoot and Canadian as he tells Stella, the Canadian border officer (King 139). The narrator's mother claims to be neither from the Canadian nor American sides of the border; she is from "Blackfoot side" (King 138). The "Canadian" label was imposed on members of the Blackfoot tribe. Being Native American, the mother is proud of her heritage and neither "Canadian" nor "American" accurately represents her identity or gives justice to the experience of her people. The mother feels that these labels are mutually exclusive: she cannot be both, and she cannot deny her identity as a Blackfoot. The Blackfoot tribe is split into reserves on both sides of the border. Reporters ask the narrator "how it felt to be an Indian without a country" (King 145); however, the Blackfoot tribe has a country—it is just not definable by current political boundaries. This story, like Gloria Anzeldua's Borderlands/La Frontera, asserts that identity transcends political and geographical boundaries.

In her book, Gloria Anzeldua voices two concerns that seem at first to be at cross purposes. She wants to be able to claim her identity as a person who is neither "hispana India negra Espanola ni gabacha" but "mestiza, mulata, half-breed," or someone who is "carrying all five races on [her] back" (Anzeldua 216). Anzeldua wants to be able to use Chicano Texas Spanish, Tex-Mex or the other languages she speaks without having to explain herself, thereby legitimizing the Borderland identity. However, as much as Anzeldua wants to be able to assert this identity, she also strives to assert her inability to be defined. She detests losing her female identity in the masculine plural (Anzeldua 76), and she claims that living "sin fronteras" (Anzeldua 217) is the only way to live not only in the Borderlands, but also the only way to live as a member of the united human race.

The narrator's mother in "Borders" is similar to Anzeldua in that she attempts to assert her identity in terms that are unacceptable by modern political boundaries. Like Anzeldua, the mother demonstrates that identity is not political, but historical, cultural, personal. The mother's identity is the stories about stars that she passes on to her son (King 144) and not some "legal technicality" (King 138) that helps the government keep track of its visitors.

I understand the need for boundaries because governments are designed to allow a reasonable number of people access to limited resources, such as school systems and health care. When I was in elementary school, there was a huge conflict about the rezoning of Anne Arundel County public schools. The zoning boundaries determined access to the best schools which could only accommodate a certain number of students. I see how boundaries can be useful in such situations. Without boundaries, everyone would have gone to the same schools and overcrowding and poor education would have ensued. Without boundaries, there could also not be representative government. Such governments depend on providing services to a certain number of constituents. Boundaries also help protect people on a wider level from individuals wishing to impose harm on a particular group of people; however, it is unsettling that people such as the characters in "Borders" must define themselves inaccurately in order to travel between Canada and the United States. It is also upsetting to read Anzeldua’s account of the pain and alienation that borders cause.