Colonialism and the Collective Identity

In my analysis of Orhan Pamuk’s The White Castle, called "Colonialism and the Collective Identity," I wrote that his novel

questions whether any difference lies between the lives of people who come from different societies. Such perceived differences are the basis for Orientalism and Occidentalism. The idea of ‘difference’ instigates the idea of ‘identity,’ or that one person’s qualities are unique and therefore better or worse than another person’s. This novel breaks down the idea of ‘difference,’ and therefore ‘identity,’ by building the relationship between two men caught in a power struggle and identity crisis. In the end the two men exchange lives, demonstrating that the complex differences in their original cultures are also able to be broken down and exchanged. By doing away with ‘identity,’ the novel deconstructs the idea of ‘power’ intrinsic in Orientalism and Occidentalism.

When the two men first meet one another, the narrator says, “The resemblance between myself and the man who entered the room was incredible! It was me there…” intuiting their similarities in personality by their similarities in appearance (22). At first, the narrator believes there is nothing he knows that his companion does not know, saying “as I walked to my look-alike’s house I imagined there was nothing I would be able to teach him. But apparently his knowledge was no greater than mine” (23). The narrator’s reaction may be read as an allegory for the reaction of one country’s initial immersion in the culture of another country. Soon they each begin to use each other’s shortcomings to reassure themselves about their own identities. The narrator says, “it was perhaps only in this way we understood each other: each of us looked down on the other,” describing, in turn, the Orientalism and Occidentalism between countries as well as people (25).

The narrator’s disdain for his ‘other,’ called Hoja, or master, is coupled with a strong curiosity for what his ‘other’ knows. The two men begin to mistrust each other, believing that each knows some truth he is hiding. Their obsession with each other mirrors the obsessive qualities of Orientalism and Occidentalism. The narrator says, “Hoja gradually ceased to use the word ‘teach’: we were going to search together, discover together, progress together” (32). The narrator is comforted by their resemblance, as if intuiting the lack of an important difference which would prove one man better than the other or one country better than the other. Their similarity is simultaneously interpreted as a burden to both men, as Hoja says, “reality has shadows, don’t you see; even the most ordinary ant patiently carries his shadow around on his back like a twin,” claiming that since they have met, they will never again be able to separate (49). Hoja’s thought allegorizes the permanent impact the colonizer makes on the colonized and the colonized makes on the colonizer.

After working on many projects together, the two men sit down each night, face each other, and attempt to discover their identities through the act of writing. Although a slave to Hoja, the narrator feels a sense of power in he and Hoja’s perceived difference, saying, “I knew he didn’t have the courage to write without first hearing my opinion of his ideas,” and “what he really wanted was to learn what ‘they’ thought, those like me, the ‘others’ who had taught me” (54). As each man attempts to discover himself, he ends up only questioning the qualities of the other man. In this way countries also search for their identities. Each man finds it easier to look at the other’s face than his own. By analyzing the fault of other men, Hoja concludes they are all ‘fools.’ Similarly, the narrator criticizes Hoja for his belief that everyone else is a fool. By analyzing others and not himself, each man elevates himself above the others. These perceptions of ‘I’ or ‘us’ as better than ‘them’ are the basis of Orientalism and Occidentalism.

As each man struggles to discover his own identity, his search is continually hampered by the distraction of the other’s identity. This finger pointing outward instead of inward is however, just another form of pointing inward. By accusing one another, the narrator and Hoja are able to finally confess their own guilt without the anxiety of doing so directly. When Hoja says to the narrator, “You are a fool,” he is really saying it to himself (59). The narrator explores this concept of blame, asking, “just as we wrote together, would we also look at ourselves in the mirror together?” comparing the act of writing to looking in the mirror, an act of self discovery (62). He acknowledges that while they outwardly blame one another, they are trying to discover themselves. The narrator goes on to say, “I encouraged him, perhaps because I already sensed then that I would later adopt his manner and his life-story as my own,” and “A person should love the life he has chosen enough to call it his own in the end; and I do. He thought all his brothers were fools,” (63). Hoja begins to love the narrator as he loves himself and to despise the narrator as he despises himself. Similarly, a colonizing country is only able to interpret the qualities of the country it colonizes by referencing its own qualities.

The only way that two men who study one another, attempting to study themselves, can actually benefit from their study and better themselves is by outwardly admitting their own faults. By pointing his finger, each man might subconsciously realize that he is searching for himself, but this search is only helpful to the man who applies it through action to his own betterment. The narrator says, “Hoja should write about his own faults too,” so that Hoja will actually realize that their faults are the same (65). When Hoja begins to admit his own faults, the narrator feels a sense of power over him, saying “he would be the slave and sinner of the house, not I,” and “He could no longer believe in himself, so had begun to seek my approval” (69). Self questioning may be read as the antithesis and destroyer of self confidence. Likewise, the examination of the errors of one’s country and culture may lead to a decline in nationalism and colonialism.

Along with humility, self analysis may bring insecurity and envy. Hoja questions the narrator about his home in Venice, asking, “Do they always live happily like that there?” and the narrator takes pleasure in making him feel jealous by saying, “I was happy!” (79). Their dialogue allegorizes the willingness of one country to fake its good qualities, even happiness, to make another country jealous. Nationalism, Orientalism, and Occidentalism, often become more about hurting the ‘other’ than truly reassuring or bettering the ‘self.’ Just as the two men’s differences trouble them, their similarities are especially unnerving. When Hoja fears he will die of the plague, he forces the narrator to look in the mirror with him, as he had forced the narrator to write while facing him. The narrator says, “I had seen someone I must be; and now I thought he too must be someone like me. The two of us were one person!” and Hoja says, “Now I am like you…I know your fear. I have become you!” (82-83). The fallibility of Hoja’s statement calls attention to the difficulty of truly understanding another person, and therefore one’s self. Two countries may be essentially no different from one another, but their qualities will be difficult to assess from either vantage point of ‘self’ or ‘other.’

The narrator realizes the only differences between he and Hoja are those of experience, and the more they share their experiences, the more alike they become. When Hoja decides they must literally switch lives by dressing as each other and adopting each other’s pasts, the narrator says, “I felt like saying that his too could have been, my life could have been lived like this,” and “I listened in confusion to what ‘I’ would do in my old world,” changing the word ‘he’ to ‘I’ (85). The two men begin to see fewer differences between their lives and cultures, just as countries will begin to break down Orientalism and Occidentalism by sharing experiences. When the narrator tries to escape from Hoja, he is unable to forget him, likening Hoja to his sense of self. He says, “I could almost blame myself for abandoning a man who looked so much like me,” (89). Over time the two men develop a need for each other and a sense of brotherhood, just as countries and cultures do.

Hoja recaptures the narrator, admitting that he needs the narrator’s knowledge. But soon Hoja receives all the credit for their joint efforts to please the sultan who employs Hoja. The narrator says, “It wasn’t that I wished to seize a share in the triumph…I should be by his side, I was Hoja’s very self! I had become separated from my real self and was seeing myself from the outside” and “perhaps what I felt could be called jealousy, but what he didn’t realize was that this was a fraternal feeling” (98, 101). The narrator’s feeling addresses the threat power struggles pose to brotherhood and therefore the threat colonial advantages pose to peace and international unity. The narrator says, “All those years I’d been waiting for the day when he would lose hope and become like me” and “perhaps defeat meant to accept the superiority of others and try to emulate them,” (105). His statements parallel the sentiment of colonized countries who resent their feelings of inferiority and powerlessness.

The sultan’s realization that the narrator has as much to do with Hoja’s discoveries as Hoja has, results in the furthering of the two men’s role reversal. The narrator says, “I went to the palace and he stayed home with his dreams as I used to do,” begining to identify more with Turkey than Italy and to take on the role of Hoja, the master (117). In turn, Hoja wants to travel abroad and live among ‘them.’ When the narrator looks at Hoja he begins to see his former self and youth. When they accompany the sultan to war in Europe, the two men finally completely switch lives, each believing he is literally the other man. The narrator even begins speaking as if he is Hoja. When contemplating the subject of ‘identity,’ the narrator asks, “Of what importance is it who a man is?” concluding, “The important thing is what we have done and will do” (149). The sultan goes on to ask, “was it not the best proof that men everywhere were identical with one another that they could take each other’s place?” implying that the only differences between cultures lie in unshared experiences (151).

The idea that all men are inherently the same contradicts Orientalism and Occidentalism, which like all forms of ‘othering,’ have given way to nationalism and colonialism. The borders between people and countries are not inevitable but created to avoid the settling of differences. Peace may be achieved only through self analysis and shared experience. Not only do the colonized have nothing to gain from being weakened, but the colonizers have nothing to gain from their false sense of security attained through power and separation. The only true security for all peoples may be realized through the understanding that no one is better or worse.