A Chorus of Marginalized Voices

This essay reviews two books—The Diary of Dukesang Wong: A Voice from Gold Mountain and In/Appropriate: Interviews with Canadian Authors on the Writing of Difference—side by side, as they both concern the micro-histories of under-represented populations and seek to give voice to marginalized people and restore their individuality, humanity, and honour.

The Diary combines Dukesang Wong’s diaries before and after his immigration from China to Canada with editor David McIlwraith’s commentary. McIlwraith divides Wong’s diary into two parts: “The China Diary,” about his life in China, and the “Gold Mountain Diary,” about his life in Canada. Wong lived in late Imperial China and was well educated in the Confucian tradition. His father, a magistrate, was poisoned and died. His father’s “glorious banner,” symbolizing his social status, was taken away, and the family house was seized by local officials (Wong 25). Soon, the family was further dishonoured. When Wong’s mother died by suicide a year later, she was not buried in the family graveyard, but in a common one—a source of shame in Chinese culture. One of Wong’s sisters became a man’s third wife, causing disrespect and disgrace. In his diary, Wong laments that his good days were forever lost. He chose to write a diary to help overcome his sadness and confusion, and the habit lasted over fifty years.

The second half of Wong’s diary serves as the “only primary source” for the perspectives of Chinese workers constructing the Canadian Pacific Railway (McIlwraith in Wong 3), who faced underpayment, racism, exploitation, deprivation, and humiliation. McIlwraith reconstructs part of an 1883 Yale Sentinel article from Pierre Berton’s quotations in The Last Spike (203), sharing the unnamed reporter’s account of Chinese workers “fast disappearing under the ground” due to maltreatment and lack of medication (qtd in Wong 72). Wong tried to use wisdom, empathy, and poetry to help himself and his peers overcome violence and tragedy. The later years of Wong’s diary depict his roles as tailor, teacher, husband, father, and grandfather in a relatively optimistic tone. After more than half a century, Wong’s maternal granddaughter, Wanda Joy Hoe, translated a major part of the diary for a sociology assignment at Simon Fraser University. The seven notebooks containing the handwritten diary were destroyed in a fire in the Wong clan office, as if to confirm McIlwraith’s comment that a “first-person account of the Chinese workers who built railways across the North American continent is not supposed to exist” (4).

In/Appropriate carries out, in the form of interviews between Kim Davids Mandar and Canadian writers of fiction, a collaborative exploration of such important issues as the impact of fiction on social and political reality, the function of artists in society, the connections between arts and politics, racism and anti-Indigeneity, the appropriation of Indigenous cultures and identities, and the (mis)representation of marginalized populations. The book explores these profound topics in a conversational tone.

Both books are phenomenological documentations of marginalized people’s lives and representations of their states of mind, contributing to the re-emergence of the silenced and absent histories of marginalized populations. When discussing social reality, The Diary is more critical in tone and more pessimistic in mood than In/Appropriate. Wong’s difficult life in China and Canada contributed to the profound disappointment evident in his writing. For marginalized workers on the CPR, Canada was a Gold Mountain in their imagination and laborious work in daily reality. In comparison, the contemporary authors interviewed in In/Appropriate to some extent can have their concerns and needs heard and addressed. Today, respect for multiple voices and perspectives has become increasingly widespread and accepted.

Adhering to art’s supposed independence from external factors—art for art’s sake—is a reaction to contemporary social reality, especially in its refusal to connect the arts to political, moral, and didactic realms. As Daniel Heath Justice observes in the introduction to In/Appropriate, the original, late-nineteenth-century practitioners of art for art’s sake in England “were rebelling against the dominant values of their time, but they brought their own biases, cruelties, and limitations to their arts as well” (in Mandar xvi). Or, as Mahak Jain puts it, “Writers don’t live in a void” (in Mandar 16). Art—whether the art of writing, painting, song, or theatre—can never fully escape social realities. Arts-based research provides a methodology for the application of art in the social sciences and humanities. Non-fiction, fiction, and other works of art may not be the driving forces for social change, but they open people’s eyes, provide crucial perspectives, and equip people to think differently about their experiences and the world.

Regarding cultural appropriation, the opinions that appear in In/Appropriate span the full spectrum, from the views of those who deny the very existence of cultural appropriation to the perspectives of its strongest opponents; Waubgeshig Rice, for instance, recommends that white writers stay away from Indigenous cultures so as to avoid reinscribing patterns of dominance and inferiority and “disregard[ing] . . . the diversity amongst Indigenous cultures and nations” (Mandar 135). Overall, contributors to In/Appropriate generally discourage white writers from representing marginalized cultures. The interviewees point out that white writers often represent non-white populations in a stereotypical and one-dimensional way, thus depicting them altogether incorrectly. According to several interviewees, white authors should start by writing from their own perspectives if they really want to write about under-represented populations, both because there are nuances that an outsider may not be able to understand and represent well and because seeking permission from an under-represented community is not realistic. Authors from under-represented populations hold the advantage of writing from an insider’s perspective, and their works are multi-dimensional and representative at the same time. Jael Richardson, for example, visited her father’s birthplace in Portsmouth, Ohio, and then wrote the novel Gutter Child. She comments: “mining that experience of what it’s like to grow up with little choice and little power is a way for me of coping and asking questions and coming to terms with who I am” (in Mandar 10-11). However, authors of colour are not as numerous as white authors in Canadian publishing, where “there still seems to be an unspoken sense of quota” (Ian Williams in Mandar 88). Furthermore, authors from marginalized communities simply write about their personal truths; they do not necessarily represent a whole community, people, or nation.

In her introduction to The Diary of Dukesang Wong, Judy Fong Bates reminds us that people of colour have been marginalized in social activities and forgotten in broader histories (xvii). For some people, this is racism and injustice; for others, it is a consequence of a type of self-centredness on the part of the marginalizer, for whom any opinions and experiences different from their own are gauged and treated according to their needs and understanding of the world. Many mainstream authors and authors from under-represented populations have sought to have their voices heard and their concerns addressed, and the negotiation and confrontation between the two groups demonstrate conflicting viewpoints, ideologies, and social and political interests. As Justice points out, however, the “issue of voice is inextricably connected with that of power and resources” (xv).

Mandar encourages people to accept differences and to reach for “the essential oneness of humanity” (ix). This point of view echoes many scholars’ thinking as a solution to conflicts among people of different identities. However, it takes time to accept that we all partake in this essential oneness. In neither the West nor the East, for example, are children are taught to accept a global common culture; Bates comments that in Canada she was systematically educated in Western history, but was not even introduced to Asian history. Any overlapping or conflicting historical or cultural events are taught differently in different countries. For example, Bates was taught in public schools in Canada that the Second World War lasted six years, but she notes that the duration of the war was eight years according to the Chinese educational system (xix). Wong wrote in his diary in 1879 that he might have dishonoured his traditional Chinese education, as he had the unorthodox thought that Christian teachings are just another way of understanding life. Such long-established, nuanced, and deep-rooted cultural and historical disparities curb the realization of the essential oneness of humanity, and effective efforts should be exerted to break biases, misinformation, and obstacles to the unification of the human species.

This collection marks how the boundaries between fiction and non-fiction are blurring, and many interviewed writers explore anew, and with varied opinions, the common challenge of how truth relates to fiction. Though some fiction is research-based, writers of fiction have the space and flexibility allowed by invention. Yet, while many fiction authors give their writing verisimilitude by basing their stories’ details in reality, Wayne Grady contends that “readers positively want to suspend their disbelief. They want to believe that what they’re reading is reality, and they will believe that fiction is reality even when what they’re reading goes against what they know to be the truth in ‘real life’” (in Mandar 35). Arif Anwar suggests that because non-fiction writers can arrange their material to lead readers in a certain direction, in some ways fiction is a more effective vehicle for truth than non-fiction (in Mandar 68-69). So, while Angie Abdou suggests that fiction is “made up” (in Mandar 94), Chelene Knight comments that “in fiction we hold the assumption that everything is made up, but I don’t think that’s true” (in Mandar 157). Other contributors agree that fiction can contain elements of truth, consist of truths that are pieced together, though some contend that it can accommodate the choice of not including any truth.

Eden Robinson admits that “fiction has less of a social impact than it used to” (in Mandar 152), and she comments that authors should consider the younger generations’ needs and the world’s new social circumstances. In our digitalized and multimodal world, the recreational reading of fiction, non-fiction, and poetry in print is declining (National Endowment for the Arts). Reading now takes varied forms. Regarding the interaction and interconnectedness of writing and society, we should extend our discussion to ask whether traditional writing should adapt to new communication channels, such as online writing platforms and image-based media, and whether traditional authors should cater to contemporary readers’ newly developed reading habits, such as multi-tasking, skimming, and so on (Fitzpatrick). The digital world has also brought to the fore controversies around representation. In the age of social media, Alicia Elliott thinks that “a lot of [writers] are, yes, intimidated, but also aren’t really sure what their responsibilities are” (in Mandar 50).

In light of this situation, authors of fiction and non-fiction collaboratively have to defend a common front line for writing. Grady mentions that “it was Shelley who said that poets are the unacknowledged legislators of mankind” (in Mandar 37). In the Middle Ages, meanwhile, ancient authors were considered superior authorities who could exercise insight that was not only secular but also divine. Now, the urgent issue is to make creative writing more suitable for and representative of the contemporary world, and In/Appropriate begins to address this need. Authors should conscientiously enhance connections between writing and social reality, making writing “more accountable to the communities from which we write and speak” (Cisneros 97).

The influence of writing goes beyond borders, while the drive to write comes from within. Some authors write for personal satisfaction and fulfillment and do not even have their readers in mind when they compose their works. Writing is romanticized as spontaneous, yet also mistrusted as artificial and manipulative. Ultimately, however, writing reflects the writer’s understanding of social and cultural dynamics. “Writing is an act of empathy, and reading is an act of empathy,” according to Ayelet Tsabari (in Mandar 3). By writing from a place of empathy, writers can represent those of another culture in a way that invites in audiences of that culture (4-5). These efforts at representation may not always be satisfactory. “We’re flawed human beings. Our artistic output is also going to be flawed,” observes Abdou (in Mandar 105). Some may think of criticism as censorship, but as Elliott writes: “Everyone is going to make mistakes . . . you have to be humble when you’re writing about a community that’s not yours, and open to criticism, because that’s ultimately going to make you a better writer” (in Mandar 57). Bates observes the (un)intentional misinterpretation and misinformation created by different educational, political, and cultural interest groups. The micro-histories of people and communities and the macro-histories of nations and states are unstable and multivocal. Writers’ representations and reinterpretations of history play an important role in conveying its complexities.

Both The Diary of Dukesang Wong and In/Appropriate explore the interconnectedness of, and interaction between, the word and the world. They also reveal the mistreatment of marginalized populations in Canada. Finally, the books echo Mikhail Bakhtin’s belief in the liberatory power of language and exemplify how authors can initiate, advance, and lead campaigns and projects to write difference and promote respect and equality. In reading and writing stories about under-represented peoples, we have “a role in not maintaining the status quo” (Farzana Doctor in Mandar 124). Others can then “grow beyond those stories” and “emerge stronger” in turn (Amanda Leduc in Mandar 180–81), realizing our abilities and our unique existence.

Works Cited

Berton, Pierre. The Last Spike: The Great Railway, 1881–1885. McClelland and Stewart, 1971.

Cisneros, Josue David. “Free to Move, Free to Stay, Free to Return: Border Rhetorics and a Commitment to Telos.” Communication and Critical/Cultural Studies, vol. 18, no. 1, 2021, pp. 94–101.

Fitzpatrick, Kathleen. “Reading (and Writing) Online, Rather Than on the Decline.” Profession, 2012, pp. 41–52.

National Endowment for the Arts. To Read or Not to Read: A Question of National Consequence. www.arts.gov/impact/research/publications/read-or-not-read-question-national-consequence. Accessed 29 July 2021.