Edna Pontilier: How A Modern Selkie Incarnate Contests Terracentric Epistemology

Ranya Tobin

Professor Pressman

ECL 305

Final Essay 

05/09/2024

Edna Pontilier: How A Modern Selkie Incarnate Contests Terracentric Epistemology

The land exists at the forefront of our minds as the arbiter of our existence. It is where we stake our claim and build our homes—and the law that governs it, governs us, in turn. That is what makes the myth of the Selkie so alluring. The selkie has both a home on land and within the Ocean, granting it the privilege of fluidity, both in physical form and lifestyle; it has the freedom to exist in its truest state, regardless of what the society on land demands. Societal pressures impose on us land-dwelling humans insecurities, inequities, and systemic oppression that selkies and other sea creatures are immune to. The longing to escape the suffocating reality of these demands is encapsulated by the novel The Awakening (1898), by Kate Chopin, with the protagonist Edna Pontilier desperate to break free of 1800s American gender roles. Edna finds her situation unlivable to the degree that she swims into the Ocean with the plan to never return, which is commonly read as her suicide, however, reading Edna as a selkie, and one robbed of her pelt, offers a different interpretation of the ending. If Edna is a selkie, the Ocean is her home, so instead of a tragic suicide, her choice to enter the water is an escape from the man-made institutions of the land that kept her bound to her husband’s house. Through this lens, the ending becomes a beginning. This alternative way of reading the novel’s ending offers a means of circumventing terracentric epistemology by recharacterizing the Ocean as a transformative place that offers new opportunities for existence, rather than the unsurvivable void Western ideas previously believed it to be (see Vast Expanses). Reading The Awakening as a selkie story awakens readers to the limits a terracentric outlook imposes on their imaginations and invites reading beyond the constructed boundaries this paradigm enforces.

A Selkie is a mythical creature with roots stemming from Viking Ballads of 793 AD to Ancient Ireland and the Northern Isles of Scotland (McEntire). The Selkie is traditionally a woman, and most iconic for her thick, beautiful coat of fur. When hooded, selkies roam the sea freely as seals, but when their coats are removed, they become beautiful humans able to tread upon land. These coats exist as a symbol of the woman’s autonomy, as she decides what form she takes. However, this liberty is too easily usurped; Many Selkie stories follow a similar plotline, where a Selkie’s coat is stolen from her by a pirate or leering land-born man and held ransom against her will. Without the pelt, the Selkie is barred from returning to her natural form and is forced to conform to human life as her assailant’s wife. Her existence on land is in service to her captor, as she is obligated to bear him children and keep his house, however, each retelling of the myth gives the seal woman the chance to make a great escape. Their husband is bound to make a mistake, accidentally revealing the location of where he has hidden the coat through a slip of the tongue or a failed hiding spot, and she seizes the opportunity to steal it back and regain her access to the sea. The selkie will always return to the Ocean at the end of these stories, as she is an animal, not meant to exist within the confines of human constructs. Without looking back, she hastily abandons the life she was made to live on land, including the children she was forced to bear, in exchange for her freedom—which she desires above all else.

The Awakening, by Kate Chopin, written in 1898, coincidentally follows the classic Selkie plotline. The story centers around the character Edna Pontillier, a 28 year old housewife in Louisiana, with two young boys and a husband named Léonce Pontellier who is a forty-year-old, wealthy New Orleans businessman. Edna is a victim of the 1898 status quo, where a woman’s only purpose in life and typically only option is to serve a husband and bare him children. Some women happily take to this role, as observed in her friend Adele Ratignolle, but Edna is not one of these women. Edna is different, and something deep within her violently rejects the role that was forced upon her. She feels “an indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, [and] filled her whole being with a vague anguish.” (Chopin 16). Nancy Cassle McEntire’s article, “Supernatural Beings in the Far North: Folklore, Folk Belief, and the Selkie.”, explains the emotions of the Selkie housewives, stating that “[The selkie] often longs for the sea, but she resigns herself to her fate and becomes a dutiful wife and mother.” (McEntire 8). Edna and the Irish Seal Women share each other’s anguish, forced to be wives to husbands they do not love and mothers to children they never wanted to have. They live in despair, wishing to escape the oppression keeping them tethered to their husband’s homes. Edna resents her role as a housewife, knowing she cannot fully be herself when acting within the confines of the gender role imposed on her. Despite feeling a natural maternal affection for her children, she is unable to abandon the desire to exist as her truest self, stating, “I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn’t give myself.” (116). The core of Edna’s being longs to be free; she yearns for independence and the opportunity to explore a life beyond the house she was made to keep and the men she is forced to serve. This is very similar to how a Selkie, no matter how long she remains on land or how much she may care for her children, will always long for the sea above all else. The Awakening also features frequent symbolism of the Ocean as a place of freedom and revitalization, and Edna’s draw to it mirrors the connection between Selkies and their home. Edna ponders how, “the voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.” (39). The novel’s fixation on the Ocean and how it calls to Edna is uncannily similar to what a Selkie would experience in her situation. The Ocean acts as a refuge, warm and inviting like the home Edna did not have on land. It is a space that welcomes her and promises to revitalize her soul. This puts Edna on track to reaching the sea as an inevitable destination.

Understanding Edna’s connection to the mythical Selkie drastically changes the ending of her story. The Awakening ends with Edna deciding to commit suicide by walking into the Ocean and swimming as far as she possibly can until her body eventually gives in to exhaustion—drowning her. By interpreting The Awakening as a selkie story, Edna’s final act is not one of self destruction or a result of an untreated mental health crisis. Instead, if Edna herself is a selkie, this end is not a death, but a return. Before this return, she transforms in a reverse-Selkie fashion; “she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments from her, and for the first time in her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her.” (268). Where a selkie would throw on her hood to return to her seal form before diving in, Edna strips off the clothes she is made to wear within the rules of the human world and enters the water in only her natural, naked body. She goes on to describe that “she felt like some new-born creature, opening its eyes in a familiar world it had never known.” (269). The novel takes care to describe that this is an encompassing transformation of self. Edna is no longer existing within the body governed by stringent societal expectations. She shifts much like her Selkie predecessors into a form with which she can enter a new life. The most curious thing about Edna’s “death” however…is the novel never actually states that she passes away. The final sentence of the novel is “there was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.” (270). This is the final Earthly sensation Edna experiences, but she does not perish within the water—at least, the text never states so. This ending is left up to interpretation, with readers operating under a terracentric lens assuming she dies. This assumption makes apparent the limitations terracentrism imposes on our imaginations. When knowing nothing other than life on land, we neglect to envision life anywhere else. Observing this conclusion through the lens of a Selkie story opens readers to a new paradigm of thought: looking beyond the constructed reality of land-based society and conceptualizing our own reality.   The ending where Edna transforms and escapes into the sea to live out the free existence she was always meant to achieve invites us to picture our own transformations and self-determined existences outside of what land-based society tells us is acceptable or possible. 

This new lens through which The Awakening may be read contrasts the terracentric beliefs that dominate our social consciousness. Terracentrism, as defined in The Ocean Reader, written by Eric Paul Roorda, “refers to people’s tendency to consider the world and human activity mainly in the context of the land and events that take place on land.” (The Ocean Reader, Roorda). Because humans cannot breathe within the water, nor colonize or terraform it, many European-based cultures have mistakenly believed it to have no history or meaning. It is important to understand that terracentric stems from early European culture, as a vast amount of cultures such as the Inuit or religions such as the Yoruba tradition actually worship the Ocean and intertwine their cultural identity and society with it intimately. The rejection of the Ocean’s worth as an archive and our place in it, persisting from early European colonization of the world, ultimately limits us in what we imagine is capable of our existence. Traditional Terracentric values gravely mischaracterize the Ocean as an arbiter of death—a void unwelcome to human life (see Vast Expanses). In this case, the Ocean is devoid of stories, of history. However, reading The Awakening through an Ocean-centric perspective offers readers a new hope; when met with stories that extend into the water, the restrictions we experience on land become arbitrary.  Life is difficult on land; our constructed, land-based society is corrupted with values that are oppressive to not only women, as experienced by Edna, but also minorities, those whose identities are not deemed acceptable by the status quo, and those without wealth. An Ocean-centric point of view allows us to recognize a world outside of these constructed boundaries—a space where life persists and life forms evolve without regulation. In the Ocean, we could be free to transform into our truest self, just as Edna did…which leads us to question why the same can’t be done on land. Steve Mentz’s “Deterritorializing Preface”, a snippet of his greater work, Ocean, emphasizes the opportunities an Ocean-centric perspective can offer us, claiming that “The great waters open up a dynamic environment, fluid, saline, moving, and moved… Watery transformation deterritorializes.” (Ocean xv). Mentz goes on to explain that the Ocean’s ever-changing nature is conducive to humanity’s ability to change, and scuttles the importance of predetermined, “grounded”  reality. When we take inspiration from the flow state of the Ocean, embracing fluidity, we see that change is not only positive, but occurring continuously, and a rigid state of thought inhibits development. This rigid state is what kept life on land unlivable for Edna and others like her, but instead of retreating to the Ocean, we can bring the acceptance the Ocean offers onto the land. 

The Awakening by Kate Chopin was a monumental text of its time, with its ending leaving a lasting, sorrowful impression on its readers. To end the story with a suicide was a powerful choice, insisting to the novel’s readers that the social norm of a woman’s role being defined for her creates an uninhabitable existence for women who desired more. However, The Awakening as a Selkie story offers a peek into the Ocean’s reality, where there are no institutions to abide by the rules of, allowing us to recognize the obtuse nature of terracentric, stagnant ideologies. Edna’s Selkie ending encourages us to transform as we wish and push for a state of change on land that mirrors that of the Ocean. When reflecting with an Ocean-based ideology, the way in which we govern ourselves on land shifts, and we become free mould our society in a way inclusive to all states of being.

Citations: 

Chopin, Kate. The Awakening. Penguin Classics, 2018.

Cristina Bacchilega and Marie Alohalani Brown, “Introduction: The Stories We Tell about Mermaids and Other Water Spirits” (Penguin, ix-xxii)

Mentz, Steve. Ocean, Bloomsbury Academic & Professional, 2020. ProQuest Ebook Central, https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/sdsu/detail.action?docID=6036857.

Nancy Cassell McEntire. “Supernatural Beings in the Far North: Folkore, Folk Belief, and the Selkie.” Scottish Studies (Edinburgh), vol. 35, 2010, pp. 120-, https://doi.org/10.2218/ss.v35.2692.

Rozwadowski, Helen M.. Vast Expanses : A History of the Oceans, Reaktion Books, Limited, 2019. ProQuest Ebook Central,

https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/sdsu/detail.action?docID=5631456.

Week 15: Breaking Away of Terracentric Pressures

The poem “We are Mermaids”, by Stephanie Burt, offers us insight into how the matter of our worth changes when we reevaluate our impact and life choices outside of a terracentric lens. Terracentrism inherently associates worth and status with ownership and visibility, whereas an Ocean-centric view of measuring our worth functions to circumvent the idea of social permanence, as the water is ever moving and fluctuating. The line, “you don’t have to be use- / ful. You are not required / to come up with something to say.”, alleviates the ingrained societal pressure that to be affirmed or seen, you need to provide some sort of profitable contribution. A terracentric view of life argues that simply existing is not only not enough, but actually leaves a net negative impact on the society around you, because you are taking up space, land, and resources. By stepping out of this rigid, constructed reality, and instead looking to the flow state by which the ocean progresses, we can dissociate from the imaginary demands terracentrism places on our worth and feel worthy just being. The poem moves ahead to communicate that even a life spent “benthic or brackish” inherently has worth, as it is still a life of exploration, of persistence. This challenges the terracentric idea that a meaningful life is weighed by the mass you can claim. The land determines your worth by how much of it you own, but the ocean allows you to own your worth alone––as nothing can be owned in the Ocean, since nothing changed in the Ocean stays.

ECL 305’s Lasting Impact

Currently, I am an environmental science major looking forward to a career in field research. Although I am bound for a career in science, I have a passion for literature, and prioritized finding a class where I could exercise this passion for my schedule this semester. On paper, “Literature and the Environment” sounded like a perfect balance of both of my favorite subjects.

I had never expected adding ECL 305 to my schedule would fundamentally change my understanding of and interactions with the natural world for the rest of my academic and professional career.

Knowing what I do now about terracentrism and the human-established boundary-constructions enabling power dynamics with regards to nature that nurtures both a savior complex and ability to dissociate from personal accountability, the fundamentals upon which I will build my future research paradigms have been questioned and reevaluated.

This course has also instilled in me an interest in blue humanities and further exploration into environmental literature. A big takeaway I will leave this course with is an understanding that literature, and the arts in general, is what makes research and movements in science accessible and absorbable to the public. For that reason, I will continue pursuing my passion for literature parallel to my environmental science course and field work with hopes that I might write some pieces one day that leave an impact.

Finally, and arguably most important, ECL 305 has encouraged me to think critically about any “knowns” I am fed: exploring where the information and beliefs I trust in originated from and what supplemental or contentious information there is available to build upon my understanding. I understand now that it is my personal responsibility to educate myself, rather than simply be educated, because there are broader histories that are often ignored when developing curriculum.

I will be forever grateful to this course for broadening my mind and challenging me to think critically in ways I hadn’t yet considered, and will often recall these takeaways when crafting what I will contribute to the world in the future.

Final Essay Thesis Proposal

When reading Edna as a selkie robbed of her pelt, her final act at the conclusion of Kate Chopin’s The Awakening transforms from one of self destruction to, instead, a return to the existence she was always meant to achieve. When Edna is a selkie, the Ocean acts as a means for her, instead of dying a watery death, to escape to something greater than the man-made institutions of the land that kept her bound to her husband’s house—it gifts her the opportunity to transform. This alternative ending circumvents terracentric epistemology by recharacterizing the Ocean as a transformative place that offers new opportunities for existence, rather than the unsurvivable void Western ideas previously believed it to be. Reading The Awakening as a selkie story awakens readers to the limits a terracentric outlook imposes on their imaginations, and begs them to look beyond the constructed boundaries this paradigm enforces.

Week 13: Maman Dlo’s Tales Addressing Sound Pollution

The stories of Ti Jeanne, Ma Dolly, and their relationships with Maman Dlo greatly intrigued me. Both stories have a heavy emphasis on sound, and the way the protagonists navigate it elicits different reactions from Maman Dlo. This reminds me of the issue of sound pollution, and how it is just as ecologically disturbing to biodiversity as other forms of tangible pollution—though many neglect to recognize it. Sound pollution interferes with individuals of a species communicating with one another, disturbs reproductive and migratory patters, and overall chases terrified species out of their home. Maman Dlo’s response to the different girls in her habitat reflects lessons in creating disturbances where you do not belong, and warns readers/listeners to be careful of their impact when visiting ecosystems.

In TI Jeanne’s story, Maman Dlo turns her into a mermaid servant because she heard her singing and splashing in the river. TI Jeanne’s loud singing is an act of irreverence, and her splashing shows a lack of care for the ecosystem she is a guest of. The disturbance of the water and human voice mixing with the cacophony of forest sounds, notably interfering with birdsong, draws the attention of the water deity, who witnesses TI Jeanne’s celebration of her own vanity. Upon being caught, TI Jeanne states “I haven’t hurt anything”, which shows a grave misunderstanding of the impact her play has had. The price for her invasion is a life spent in service to the ecosystem she disturbed—a fair means of making reparations.

Mama Dolly, unlike TI Jeanne, was always careful to be quiet when visiting Mama Dlo’s forest, even before she knew the water deity inhabited the river. She recognizes nature as something greater than herself, something to learn from and appreciate without imposing. For her respect, Maman Dlo welcomes her presence with a gift, and allows the girl in her youth to be a returning visitor.

These stories in combination teach the conduct with which humans should act while in the natural world. Local fear of Mama Dlo’s power incites those who know these tales to be careful not to draw her anger; not to make a sound or a splash. The mantra “leave no trace” comes to mind, as that is the rule all ecologists and visitors to ecosystems are taught before they enter. This is in order to preserve the natural state of the ecosystem and not alter it by leaving “traces” we were there. Mama Dlo enforces the rule of “leave no trace”, as anyone whose presence creates a ruckus in her habitat will have to answer for it.

Short Essay #2: Edna Pontillier, a Selkie Incarnate

Ranya Tobin

Professor Pressman

ECL 305

Midterm Essay #2

04/14/2024

Edna Pontilier, a Selkie Incarnate

Selkies have a certain empathetic charm to them that is unmatched by other creatures of myth. Any woman functioning under the stringent pressures of society can identify with the creature whose bodily rights and independence is often preyed upon and held just out of her reach. Similar to how women may also identify with Edna Pontilier, who is victim to the same pitfalls. Kate Chopin’s The Awakening follows the plotline of a classic selkie story, as Edna’s agency, much like a selkie, is usurped by marriage, and she is forced to deny her inherent nature in order to fit a role she was never made to exist in. Edna’s despair in having to deny herself in order to serve her family, her inability to feel fulfilled in the role society has forced her to exist in, and her inevitable return to the ocean makes her a selkie incarnate, framing her death as less of an act of self destruction, and instead as a means of returning to something greater than the man-made institutions of the land.

A Selkie, or “Seal Woman”, is a mythical creature with roots stemming from Viking Ballads of 793 AD to Ancient Ireland and the Northern Isles of Scotland (McEntire). The Selkie is most iconic for their thick, beautiful coats of fur. When hooded, these women roam the sea freely as seals, but when their coats are removed, they become beautiful, alluring humans able to tread upon land. These coats exist as a symbol of the woman’s autonomy, as she decides what form she takes, whether to sunbathe on the sand or swim with her kin in the ocean; however, this liberty, we find, is too easily usurped. Many Selkie stories follow a similar plotline, where a Selkie’s coat is stolen from her by a pirate or leering land-born man, and held ransom against her will. Without the pelt, the Selkie is barred from returning to her natural form and is forced to conform to human life as her assailant’s wife. Her existence on land is in service to her captor, as she is obligated to bear him children and keep his house, however, each retelling of the myth gives the seal woman the chance to make a great escape. Their husband is bound to make a mistake, accidentally revealing the location of where he has hidden the coat through a slip of the tongue or a not well thought out hiding spot, and she seizes the opportunity to steal it back and regain her access to the sea. The selkie will always return to the Ocean at the end of these stories, as she is an animal, not meant to exist within the confines of human constructs. Without looking back, she hastily abandons the life she was made to live on land, including the children she was forced to bear, in exchange for her freedom—which she desires above all else.

The Awakening, by Kate Chopin, written in 1898, coincidentally follows the classic Selkie plotline. The story centers around the character Edna Pontillier, a housewife in Louisiana, with two young boys and a husband named Léonce Pontellier—a forty-year-old, wealthy New Orleans businessman. Edna is a victim of the 1898 status quo, where a woman’s only purpose in life and typically only option is to serve a husband and bare him children. Some women happily take to this role, as observed in her friend Adele Ratignolle, but Edna is not one of these women. Edna is different, and something deep within her violently rejects the role that was forced upon her. She feels “an indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, [and] filled her whole being with a vague anguish.” (Chopin 16). Nancy Cassle McEntire’s article, “Supernatural Beings in the Far North: Folkore, Folk Belief, and the Selkie.”, explains the emotions of the Selkie housewives, stating that “[The selkie] often longs for the sea, but she resigns herself to her fate and becomes a dutiful wife and mother.” (McEntire 8). Edna and the Irish Seal Women share each others anquish, forced to be wives to husbands they do not love and mothers to children they were never meant to have—always longing for the life they belonged to and not the life they were chained to. They live in despair wishing to escape the oppression keeping them tethered to their husband’s homes. Despite her role as a wife and mother, Edna feels an undeniable duty to her inherent nature as a woman meant to be more than stuck in a house, more than a servant. Though she feels a natural maternal affection for her children, she is unable to abandon her inner nature for them, stating, “I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn’t give myself.” (116). The core of Edna’s being longs to be free; she yearns for independence and the opportunity to explore a life beyond the house she was made to keep and the men she is forced to serve. This is very similar to how a Selkie, no matter how long she remains on land or how much she may care for her children, she will always long for the sea above all else. The Awakening also features frequent symbolism of the Ocean as a place of freedom and revitalization, and Edna’s frequent draw to it mirrors the connection between Selkies and their home. Edna ponders how, “the voice of the sea speaks to the soul. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.” (39). The novel’s fixation on the Ocean and how it calls to Edna is uncannily similar to what a Selkie would experience in her situation. The Ocean acts as a refuge, warm and inviting like the home Edna did not have on land. It is a space that welcomes her and promises to revitalize her soul. This puts Edna on track to reaching the sea as an inevitable destination.

Understanding Edna’s connection to the mythical Selkie, women bound to existences they were never meant to live, drastically changes the ending of her story. The Awakening ends with Edna deciding to commit suicide by walking into the Ocean and swimming as far as she possibly can until her body eventually gives in to exhaustion—drowning her. By interpreting The Awakening as a selkie story, Edna’s final act is not one of self destruction or a result of an untreated mental health crisis. Instead, if Edna herself is a selkie, this end is not a death, but a return. In this final scene, Edna is liberating herself. In a reverse-Selkie fashion, “when she was there beside the sea, absolutely alone, she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments from her, and for the first time in her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her.” (268). Where a selkie would throw on her hood to return to her seal form before diving in, Edna strips off the clothes she is made to wear within the rules of the human world and enters the water in only her natural, naked body. She goes on to describe that “she felt like some new-born creature, opening its eyes in a familiar world it had never known.” (269). The novel takes care to describe that this is an encompassing transformation of self. Edna is no longer existing within the body she once used to tred the land and live in service. She shifts much like her Selkie predecessors into a new form; a form she was always meant to exist in. A form with which she can enter a new life. The most curious thing about Edna’s “death” however…is the novel never actually states that she passes away. The final sentence of the novel is “there was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.” (270). This is the final Earthly sensation Edna experiences, but she does not perish within the water—at least, the text never states so. This ending is left up to interpretation, with readers assuming she dies. However, when observing this conclusion through the lens of a Selkie story, this would be the moment Edna, following her transformation, escapes into the sea and lives out the free existence she was always meant to achieve.  

The Awakening by Kate Chopin was a monumental text of its time, with its ending leaving a lasting, sorrowful impression on its readers. To end the story with a suicide was a powerful choice, insisting to the novel’s readers that the social norm of a woman’s role being defined for her creates an uninhabitable existence for women who desired more. However, The Awakening as a Selkie story offers en ending of hope—promising trapped women that there is somewhere they can be free, somewhere waiting for them, that they do not have to pass through the afterlife to achieve. Edna, and other Selkies like her, are always gifted by their stories with a great escape; an opportunity to transform, shed their societal bounds and embrace themselves, before diving into a new existence that welcomes them with open arms.

Citations:

Chopin, Kate. The Awakening. Penguin Classics, 2018.

Nancy Cassell McEntire. “Supernatural Beings in the Far North: Folkore, Folk Belief, and the Selkie.” Scottish Studies (Edinburgh), vol. 35, 2010, pp. 120-, https://doi.org/10.2218/ss.v35.2692.

Cristina Bacchilega and Marie Alohalani Brown, “Introduction: The Stories We Tell about Mermaids and Other Water Spirits” (Penguin, ix-xxii)

Week 12: How Our Ingrained Beliefs Shape our Perspectives

The Ocean, formerly deemed to be an empty abyss by rampant eurocentrism, is a realm of vast possibilities. It is unfamiliar space to the terracentric human world, and, in our neglect to explore, was gravely misunderstood. The Ocean was regarded by Eurocentric ideals as hell, a harbinger of death and chaos, but Gabrielle Tesfaye’s short film “The Water will carry us home” addresses this historically impressed belief as a misinterpretation. She depicts in her film the stark contrast between negative Eurocentric assertions about the Ocean and the beliefs silenced by the cultures they oppressed. In depicting the Ocean as a refuge, a place where spirits are given new birth, Tesfaye asks us to reevaluate our core beliefs, and decide whether or not they are true to ourselves, or impressed on us by a greater societal injustice.

The depiction of the violent European colonizers, abductors of African people, attempting to murder their victims serves as a representation of the Eurocentric belief of the Ocean being just as violent and deadly as they are. The slave traders threw their victims over the side of the boat, believing they would die by the Ocean’s hand, sinking to the bottom of the void. However, this short film contests this impression, and offers us the vision of the Ocean as a realm of benevolence. Instead of the Ocean drowning the victims and dragging their bodies to the bottom of the sea, Orishas come to save the spirits—turning them into mermaids.

The author states in her description of the film, “Upon crashing in the waves, a phenomena happens when the presence of Yoruba Orishas dwelling in the water saves these spirits.”. To my knowledge, Yoruba religion regards Orishas as spirits born from the spirit world sent to guide humanity and teach them how to live a fulfilling, gracious life on Earth. These Orisha bless the spirits endangered by oppressors with new life as part of the sea. These people were no long able to survive on land; the abducted persons home on land was forever tainted by the villainous institution of slavery. In this story, The Ocean itself becomes a new, safe home thanks to the Orisha’s protection. Their bodies are rebirthed into forms that can survive underwater, so that they may raise their children and live a free existence. In this way, the title “The Ocean will carry us home” is not referencing their past home on land, but a new home within the water.

The Orisha’s intervention contests the Eurocentric paradigm that the Ocean is an unkind, dangerous void. In this story, the Ocean is an expansive entity carrying endless possibilities, including housing spirits meant to bless humans with grace. The Ocean can even serve as a home. In this way, the film asks us to deconstruct the perspectives by which we judge the world around us—who instilled in us these ideas we hold as truth? The only way for us to protect ourselves from the folly of accepting skewed, archaic ideas, pedaled by oppressors is to explore the histories of other cultures and research beyond the paradigm by which we are taught. It is our responsibility to broaden our mindsets and step into the evolved people we could be if we led our discoveries with compassion and the hunger for understanding.

Week 11: Sirenomelia and What We Leave Behind

The short film, “Sirenomelia”, directed and performed by Emilija Skarnulyte, reminded me of our previous explorations as a class of Hans Christian Anderson’s “The Little Mermaid”; though, a much more modern and solemn take. The mermaid’s curiosity to explore a decommissioned NATO base mirrors that of The Little Mermaid’s to assimilate into the human mainland, however, Sirenomelia’s mermaid explores a human construction devoid of our presence, full of bizarre metal structures—their obscurity highlighted by the twisting camera lenses and close-up shots distorting their view. Her conceptualization of human activity is one of aggression and uncertainty, as her contact with human life in this instance is through only the remnants of a military site. The depictions of the base, followed by images of surrounding melting ice structures and seaweed marred by murky water paints a fitting, unattractive image of human life through the eyes of the mermaid. Where The Little Mermaid seeks to be one with humanity, I can imagine Sirenomelia wishes to avoid it at all costs. The film allows us to take a close look at ourselves and the impression we leave on the environment around us through the perspective of a half human creature, a monster, whose emotions we can relate to—as her appearance resembles a piece of ourselves. Watching Sirenomelia explore, we experience the impact of our own presence and empathize with the dread and confusion she must feel. We feel shame for the ugly things we abandon for her to find—if the site was decommissioned, why couldn’t we have deconstructed it too? Why did we leave it there to impose on the environment around it for decades to come, long after its use ran its course?

If we knew Sirenomelia would be visiting, would we have cleaned up after ourselves? Most likely, no. Maybe that is the reason she only visits once we’ve gone.

Week 10: Deterritorialization

For far too long, humans have regarded the ocean as “other”, as “terra incognita”, as a void, obscuring the mas that covers 71% of Earth’s surface from ourselves and shirking the responsibilities of it’s abuse and pillaging off of ourselves as it is not ours to own and therefore not ours to care for. Terracentrism dominates our collective psyche through our language, commonly held beliefs, and areas of scientific study. Steve Mentz’s piece, “Deterritorializing Preface” offers an interesting new shift in our vocabulary, as a means of centering the ocean, which has previously been left wholly ignored, in our research, discussion, and understanding of the world. In this way, we can broaden our perspective that shapes our action in response to environmental crisis from just land occupied by humans to the vast ocean as well. As an environmental science major, I find this criticism of research’s common tongue to be very compelling. This piece not only directs my attention to the common use of terracentric words like “Field” in my natural vocabulary, but also has me question my own motivations and understandings in entering this *current* of study. I had come to understand from William Cronon’s piece “The Trouble With Wilderness” that my pursuit of a degree in environmental science with the intention to serve the environment stemmed from an anthropocentric savior complex; how could I say I want to to save the environment if I am part of the larger issue? Becoming aware of that was a first step to readjusting my view on environmental conservation from “saving” to “making reparations”—to approaching the environment with a deep sense of regret and respect, as to avoid asserting the same control over it that led to it’s deterioration and to give it the space and support to thrive and repair itself. Now, Mentz’s piece offers me seven new ocean-centric words to broaden my understanding even further, as I’ve come to understand that not only was I entering into my career with a damaging anthropocentric outlook, but a terracentric outlook as well. Thanks to these works, I can construct a new paradigm for my approach to environmental sciences that is predominantly structured around respect and understanding, rather than control and self-gratification.

Week 9: The Ocean—Where There is Mystery, There is a Place to Hide From Ourselves

The Article “The Blue Humanities” by John R. Gillis takes the point made in last week’s reading of “The Trouble With Wilderness” by William Cronon a step further—narrowing the human-made idea of “wilderness” to one specific aspect of the environment: The Ocean. In what we observed from Cronon, we learned about how humanity constructed the idea of the untouched “wilderness” in order to blind ourselves to not only our misdeeds (pollution, loss of biodiversity, overconsumption) but our presence in every area of the world. There is no where to hide from ourselves and our wrongdoings, and we comfort ourselves through delusion. Gillis teaches us about the history of human’s perception of the ocean, once being overlooked, to being feared, to being a new place of solace—a new place to hide. Since the ocean, having been believed to be an empty abyss, was vastly unexplored, humanity was able to project their dreams onto and escape into the deep. He states, “Pristine nature, now in short supply in industrialized heartlands, found refuge in the oceans, while the mystery once associated with terra incognita relocated to the deeps.”, explaining the need to escape that affected a vast majority of people, specifically in urbanized environments, who were immediate witnesses to humanity’s destruction of the natural world. As industrialization became more developed, the world as people knew it began to shrink: in cities, as large buildings were raised and city limits expanded, there was less and less world to be found in the common space, and even in nature, as temperate forests were clear-cut to construct these buildings, life that was not polluted by industrial values disappeared. The only piece of the natural world that was left for people to grasp onto was the ocean, so much so “they want about them talismans of nature on their walls, their shelves, their keyrings.” (Paterson-Hamilton), to be kept as reminders of what life is still out there, life beyond the smog and concrete. But even those talismans are part of the grand constructed delusion, as the ecosystems that were reaped in order collect those talismans were forever tainted. In the hands of collectors desperate for comfort that there is still pure life out there, or in the lungs of swimmers desperate to be part of it, or in the literature of Atlantis that plays in the dreams of people who can no longer see the stars, there is hope that not all has been lost to consumption. But it is already too late, and unless those hopes turn into reparations, and we stop running from the reality of our impact, the problem will only worsen with ignorance.