Coetzee, in Life and Times of Michael K, provides a portrayal of the dissolution of the state of South Africa and the causes thereof. Throughout the novel, a civil war is occurring, but there is no direct mention of the fighting, only attention is given to the inner causes of the dissolution: the fatalistic nature of a cruel police state with its vast bureaucracy of prisons and prisoners. Michael K’s life and times give a partial picture of the dissolution, and suggests some of the causes of a system that is fated to fall apart.
Michael K is a victim of a state that uses people rather than serves them, a state that relies on maintaining its power at the expense of the disenfranchised. Michael K suffers interrogation, imprisonment, and forced labor even though his only crime is being poor and homeless and having compassion for his mother. Yet Michael K endures not through revolutionary acts, but by his refusal to participate in or be defined by power structures in any way. The power of the state often takes the form of language and Michael K’s resistance often takes the form of silence as when he avoids the interrogations of the medical officer who offers to help him. Furthermore, Michael does not react when he is named by different authorities at various times. At one time, he is called mistakenly “Michael Visagie”, and another time, “Michaels”. By not reacting to the language of the state, Michael does not succumb to their power. To Michael, any state agency is there to hamper his freedom rather than help it. Michael values freedom at least as much as survival.
What is interesting about Life and Times of Michael K is that it offers a perspective on apartheid, but suggests no easy solutions. It does not pit the owners against the workers, the oppressors against the oppressed, or the rulers against the ruled. Michael K is apolitical. The oppressed, instead of offering any help to Michael, are often portrayed as inhumane themselves. At one time, they try to rob Michael K. In a resettlement camp, they offer no help to a stabbing victim. Except for the medical officer, the oppressed are morally indistinguishable from the oppressors. Coetzee provides not only a dim view of those in power but also a statement that one class’s oppression is no better than another’s. Coetzee just may be saying that liberty and equality cannot be achieved by simply a change in who sits in the seat of power. Although Michael K’s resistance is subtle, it illuminates the inherent problems with any political system.
2 comments:
I found lots to be enlightened by, provoked by, and troubled by in your post. I had never before thought of the novel as a representation of the dissolution of the South African (apartheid) state, but your reading of it in this way makes perfect sense. The apocalytic mise-en-scene, the sense of "things falling apart," the desperation in so many of the characters certainly suggest something unraveling and coming to an end. Inevitably, perhaps. The Fall of the Roman Empire. Or closer to home, what's happening right now in the US and elsewhere... In a way, then, the system is its own undoing. I found your point that Coetzee also points to the reasons for this dissoluation to be particularly rich. In a way, then, Coetzee is providing us with an anaylsis of the system, showing not only its inhumanity, but also why, at its roots (its structures) it is doomed to fail. In that sense, he was right--quite prescient. (Certainly, when I left South Africa in 1984, I couldn't imainge apartheid ending in my lifetime--its structural hold on South Africa seemed so pernicious; but, then, I wasn't on track to win the Nobel Prize in Literature!) The connections you make between the personal and the political also got me thinking that Coetzee is also showing how the larger power structures of the apartheid state mirror the inter-personal relations between people, and how both are needed in order for the system to keep going. For me, the troubling part of your post is the end. Yes, I agree that there are problems with any political system and that a simple change in who sits in the seat of power doesn't necessarily change inequitable structures, but, still, I am troubled by the apolitical/ahistorical hint that everyone oppressess everyone else. And, I supposed, my discomfort here prefigures the profound shock I felt when I first read _Disgrace_.
I found lots to be enlightened by, provoked by, and troubled by in your post. I had never before thought of the novel as a representation of the dissolution of the South African (apartheid) state, but your reading of it in this way makes perfect sense. The apocalyptic mise-en-scene, the sense of "things falling apart," the desperation in so many of the characters certainly suggest something unraveling and coming to an end. Inevitably, perhaps. The Fall of the Roman Empire. Or closer to home, what's happening right now in the US and elsewhere... In a way, then, the system is its own undoing. I found your point that Coetzee also points to the reasons for this dissolution to be particularly rich. In a way, then, Coetzee is providing us with an analysis of the system, showing not only its inhumanity, but also why, at its roots (its structures) it is doomed to fail. In that sense, he was right--quite prescient. (Certainly, when I left South Africa in 1984, I couldn't imagine apartheid ending in my lifetime--its structural hold on South Africa seemed so pernicious. But, then, I wasn't on track to win the Nobel Prize in Literature!) The connections you make between the personal and the political got me thinking that Coetzee is also showing how the larger power structures of the apartheid state mirror the inter-personal relations between people, and how both are needed in order for the system to keep going. For me, the troubling part of your post is the end. Yes, I agree that there are problems with any political system and that a simple change in who sits in the seat of power doesn't necessarily change inequitable structures, but, still, I am troubled by the apolitical/ahistorical hint that everyone oppresses everyone else. And, I supposed, my discomfort here prefigures the profound shock I felt when I first read _Disgrace_.
Post a Comment