Shooting an Elephant

“In Moulmein, in Lower Burma, I was hated by large numbers of people – the only time in my life that I have been important enough for this to happen to me.”

George Orwell’s 1936 essay, “Shooting an Elephant”, is at its core about the oppressor being oppressed by his own oppression.

Orwell’s narrator is a British police officer in the town of Moulmein, the southern part of present day Myanmar, who must kill an elephant gone wild (from sexual heat). The elephant in its rampage through town kills an Indian “a black Dravidian coolie”, and as the policeman, the narrator is expected to handle the situation, for which he is clearly unprepared. He arms himself and goes in search of the elephant, which he finds in a paddy field. By this time a large number of on-lookers have gathered to watch the British policeman’s showdown with the elephant. He shoots the beast, debilitating it but not killing it, and then proceeds to fire shot upon shot to end the creature. The elephant finally dies after some time, but its death is slow and painful.

The narrator is glad that the elephant trampled and killed the coolie; it legally justifies shooting the elephant, eventhough the elephant is considered to be more valuable than the coolie. The pressure on the narrator to shoot the elephant is not because it killed a human being, nor because it is dangerous and destroying property, instead it comes from the expectant on-lookers. “I often wondered whether any of the others grasped that I had done it solely to avoid looking a fool.” The Burmese people expect the British police officer to take action, he correctly assumes that if he does not, he will lose position, power, privilege and face.

Orwell wrote this essay with a bold honesty, the policeman, like Orwell, is an anti-imperialist, stationed in Moulmein; he is a lone representative of the very institution he despises. Although the policeman’s personal view is anti-imperialist, he also expresses a certain disdain for the native population, as he has been the target of hostility from the people whom he policed. One cannot help but feel sympathy for the policeman; he is a foreigner, a low-level law enforcer of a vast empire that was fairly clueless about the populations it ruled. His loneliness and occupation oppresses him, he cannot relate to the Burmese people beyond their mutual hatred of the British Empire, to him they are not individuals to but a jeering monolithic mass. This view of the Burmese as a large group void of individuals is Orientalist* in nature. Individualism is not purely a Western concept**, yet the view from the west, of the east, does not accord the Easterner any individuality.

Lastly, the oppressor and oppressed relationship this essay reveals is that the oppression goes both ways, it affects both sides; both parties have expectations and presumptions of the other. I was reminded of Antonio Gramsci’s idea that a hegemon governs by the consent of the oppressed, while power may have been attained forcefully, the maintenance of that power and the rules therein are reinforced by the oppressed. The oppressed expect decisive action (amongst other things) from their oppressors, and in so doing hold a certain power over their oppressors.

Orwell’s essay is clearly anti-imperialist, it does not position itself with the oppressor or the oppressed, it does, however, demonstrate the contempt of a Western individual against a massive empire and the massive native population which it subjugated.




*There is much to write about Orientalism, which I will save for future entries.

**The ascetic movement, which took place on the sub-continent, around 500 BCE, was not only a reaction to the exclusivity of Hinduism, it was a movement of individuals who left the Vedic structure for the inward search of truth. To me it doesn’t get more individualistic than this, and of course, two prominent figures to come out of this movement were Buddha and Mahavir.

Strangled

I feel like an old fuddy-duddy when I’m trying to find good contemporary rock-n-roll music to listen to. Everything sounds like it was done better, 20-40 years ago, by musicians who were more innovative than many of the younger musicians of today. In the past few weeks I was craving sounds that would make me feel excited, something that would uplift me in the way good rock-n-roll can. I found the Stranglers again. I had first encountered them when I was a teenager; I would go through my brothers' record and tape collections and there I found Rattus Norvegicus, No More Heroes, and The Raven. I was in love with their sound; it was aggressive, obscene, intelligent, danceable, and so fucking awesome. As a teenager, I didn’t share my interest in the Stranglers with my friends; I figured they’d object to the menacing, sometimes sexist, sometimes vulgar lyrics. I thought the Stranglers were bold and politically incorrect, to me they were really cool. Listening to them now, I love them even more because they have always been underrated and bit under the radar, at least on these shores, and of course, my own nostalgia.

The Stranglers made some amazing music during the mid 70s to mid 80s, and I thank them for giving me melodies in which I can lose myself. I am sharing "Hanging Around" with you, it's from their first record, and it has a great one-minute collision that never fails to uplift me. It is a minute in which I could live forever.