Final Essay

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If we take a look at the ocean as an archive, The Deep by Rivers Solomon, The Water Will Carry Us Home by Gabriella Tesfaye’s, and the rise of Blue Humanities all collectively challenge history by arguing that the memories of the voiceless persist in water itself. This matters because it exposes how our traditional understanding of what history is has always allowed for the erasure of the marginalized. These histories have survived through resilience, collective memory, and cultural expression. History, especially in the West, has traditionally revolved around the documentation of set experiences that enslaved or colonized people have been deliberately excluded from. The Ocean holds a history that has never been written down, making me raise the essential question “Where does their history exist?!” and how do we determine who gets remembered or who gets erased. 

In Rivers Solomon’s “The Deep” we are taken on a journey of imagining a world where history is physically located in the water. Instead of records as proof of a shared history, the Ocean and its selected historian, Yetum, carry the heavy weight of a history rarely told, enslaved people during the Atlantic trade.The quote, “Without answers there is only a hole. A hole where a history should be that takes the shape of an endless longing. We are cavities” (pg.8) gave me chills as it perfectly captures the feeling of how having a history that is denied from or inaccessible to you creates this hollow feeling of nothingness. By looking at the Ocean as an archive we challenge how history is defined while also recognizing the effects of generational trauma. Not only does Solomon argue that history doesn’t have to be written down to be authentic and real, but also that erased histories of people still persist.

🎥@GabrielleTesfaye- Youtube

Similarly, Gabriella Tesfaye’s short film “The Water Will Carry Us Home”, connects African peoples back to a history of their ancestors. The frame above is an image of a scrapbook-like journal where we are physically shown what it looks like to create a history for people who are often erased. In both, water holds their history. This is extremely powerful because to have to create your own history means you are living proof of the aftermath that is this something incredibly uncomfortable, displacement. The scrapbook feel adds to the emotional weight of having to scrap fragments of a history that was silenced. The film also challenges this idea that history must be written to be real by creating a visual representation of ritual and connection to the natural world as part of their history. 

In the article “The Blue Humanities” by John Gillis he brings up an excellent example of why these questions exist, what the rise of Blue Humanities is working to undo. The quote, “All that lay beneath the surface- The Deep -was thought to be an unfathomable abyss, impenetrable and unknowable, a dark dead zone that trapped all that sank below the surface, never revealing its secrets” (pg.5) gives us another explanation as to why the concept of the Ocean as a history has been traditionally ignored. He explains that the Ocean had previously only been studied from a land-centered perspective. Meaning, that traditional archives are not completely accurate. Which also means that if the history of oppressed peoples lives in water, then forgetting to include them in written history is erasure. The Blue Humanities challenges the idea that a history has to be written down to be true because there is no way “a dark dead zone” is ever really “dead”. This can not be true considering, the Ocean is home to thousands of thriving organisms and spices. This again, reaffirms that although it has been ignored, the history of the Ocean exists.

📸@eadem.co- Instagram
📸@eadem.co- Instagram

The images above are of a facial setting mist by one of the most popular brands in the beauty industry. The campaign connects the past erasure with a rescue healing mist told through the story of Mami Wata, a water deity/spirit we discussed in our reading of African mermaids and water spirits readings. I decided to include this finding as it relates to my essay because it’s proof that these histories are not dead. This history hidden in the archive of the Ocean is still being told today.

Works Cited:

“Eadem on Instagram: ‘Repair and Revive with Mami Wata Ultra Calming Mist.’” Instagram, Eadem.co, www.instagram.com/reel/DEiEhuWP3wC/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ. Accessed 19 Dec. 2025. 

Gillis, John R., et al. “The Blue Humanities.” National Endowment for the Humanities, www.neh.gov/humanities/2013/mayjune/feature/the-blue-humanities. Accessed 19 Dec. 2025. 

Solomon, Rivers, et al. The Deep. Saga Press, 2020. 

Tesfaye, Gabrielle. “The Water Will Carry Us Home.” YouTube, youtu.be/dGlhXhIiax8?si=IzsFRoyJuGS_x4Uj. Accessed 19 Dec. 2025. 

The Effects of Mythological Syncretism : Final Essay

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As the human race continues to progress over time in terms of technology and more information is gathered from areas that were previously never seen or documented, it leaves the people with less room for interpretation leading to a decrease in spiritual and emotional connection with the environment through folklore and mythology. While one may believe that in order to achieve a universal connection between cultures, a single, monolithic system or ideal must be created and accepted by all, this very mentality has led to indigenous deities and spiritual figures in general to become altered or in other cases completely eradicated. In the Penguin Book of Mermaids, the topic of diversity as it relates to deities (more specifically merfolk) is discussed and shows how it is human nature to want one solitary answer or spirit to represent a place (like the sea) that is meant to be shapeless, undefined, and in constant movement.

The portrayal of the mermaid has been discussed throughout the course and although almost every depiction includes a common physical characteristic with the half-fish and half-human body, the difference in regards to how mermaids were “used” to convey a message varies significantly from region to region. This opposition to the idea that the mermaid is supposed to be a universal symbol that has the same meaning in every depiction is not only discussed in Cristina Bacchilega and Marie Alohalani Brown’s The Penguin Book of Mermaids, but emphasized in the text when referring to the folklore of the indigenous in the Caroline Islands located in the Western Pacific, “These kind of interactions express an understanding that merfolk and water spirits are part of an animated universe, the powers of which are neither good nor evil but must be respected” (16). It is the actual diversity that is present in merfolk that gives the reader an insight of what the culture believed in spiritually and morally and as it is said, there was not a true definite answer to what certain native tribes from around the globe believed the merfolk to be, but what they were certain of is that they should be honored and respected, just as one were to respect the seas.

John William Waterhouse, A Mermaid (1900).

Variety is needed in literature just as much as it is needed in the environment and although it has been mentioned all throughout the course that the European depiction of the mermaid is what is normally accepted by modern society to be the illustration they are more familiar with, the central idea of their stories tend to incorporate more warnings through the symbolism, “Within a European context, mer-wife plots vary, but at the outset they often hint at or showcase the maidens difference, and they rarely have a happy ending” (Bacchilega and Brown 16). Now as previously mentioned, without diversity as it relates to literature and the environment, the creative tales that personify the elements of nature would essentially have the same central idea and the same message if all of the deities and nymphs from various parts of the globe would have been merged with religious figures.

What is astonishing however is the fact that even in today’s society, the idea that the mermaid has but one depiction – European features with a fish-like tail that is symmetrical – is a concept that is still confusing considering the various indigenous tribes that had their own depiction of the mermaid (tribes in North America, Africa, South America, etc.) which they designed with features similar to them, and of course, nothing like the European depiction of the mermaid. This idea that the majority of people believe that there is a single artistic of the mermaid was proven to be true after the release of the remake of “The Little Mermaid” which was the topic of the 2022 article, “Disney’s Black mermaid is no breakthrough – just look at the literary sub-genre of Black mermaid fiction” where the appearance of the live-action Ariel caused a tremendous amount of controversy (a public outcry that I vividly remember). The mermaid is meant to be dynamic and not supposed to fall under a category or label, but despite the countless variations of mermaids that exist, the film was still met with criticism largely due to the appearance, “The fact that Disney’s portrayal of a nonwhite mermaid is controversial is due to 150 years of whitewashing” (Pressman). Further showcasing the effects that follow when an equal amount of cultural representation in regards to folklore is not respected or practiced in society; other cultures’ mythology ends up being altered to appear vastly different or forgotten over time.

Poster of Mami Wata printed in the 1880’s by the Adolf Friedlander Company in Hamburg

If the paintings included here are analyzed and the historical context behind these are not to be considered, one can already see two distinct differences…differences that completely change the way one can interpret the art if nature is considered. In the Mami Wata “poster” the deity has a combination of a somewhat blank expression, and look that is supposed to display conviction. However, this is not the most significant detail of the painting that sets it apart from the Waterhouse painting. The contrast that is clearly visible is that in the Mami Wata depiction, the deity is embracing the natural; calm and collected as the serpent has traveled all over the body. In comparison, the mermaid in the painting by Waterhouse, the water spirit is facing away from the waters, facing away from nature, and all the while combing her hair. With these distinctions between the two mermaids, this can then be used to demonstrate what could be lost if two cultures are merged which is certain lead to some aspects being lost in translation. While more exposure can result in more people connecting through religion, syncretism does not always have a perfect mixture of native folklore and prominent religions, “In most cases, the driving factors behind covert syncretism are either the intentional preservation or unintentional maintenance of indigenous cultural beliefs or practices that find inaudible expression in mainstream belief practices” (Thinane 2023). Although this is an oversimplification of syncretism that is done discretely, it is still relevant as it relates to the depictions of merfolk.

Folklore is meant to be tailored to a societies specific set of beliefs and traditions which can then make other communities understand what different cultures used to (or continue to) admire, respect, or follow. But when various distinct mythological tales and figures are merged this results in later generations losing touch with the unique stories their ancestors believed in or showed consideration for which will eventually lead to those said stories and spirits being forgotten or altered to the point where they share no resemblance to their original depiction.

Work Cited:

Bacchilega, Cristina, and Marie Alohalani Brown, editors. The Penguin Book of Mermaids. Penguin Books, 2019.

Pressman, Jessica. “Disney’s Black mermaid is no breakthrough – just look at the literary subgenre of Black mermaid fiction.” The Conversation. 2022. https://theconversation.com/disneys-black-mermaid-is-no-breakthrough-just-look-at-the-literary-subgenre-of-black-mermaid-fiction-194435

Thinane, Jonas. “Uncovering Covert Syncretic Holy Water among ANPCs in South Africa.” Religions, vol. 14, no. 9, Sept. 2023. Gale Academic OneFile, dx.doi.org.libproxy.sdsu.edu/10.3390/rel14091139. Accessed 17 Dec. 2025.

Final Essay

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If the ocean could talk, it would tell many interesting stories, secrets and knowledge. To think about all the information humans do not know but yet still feel intrigued into creating and telling stories that connect with the ocean is an advancement that we have seen today. Whether it be fictional or factual, the creation allows humans to feel connected to the ocean without having to be close to the water. The impact that humans have through works of art and literature as a tool of representation has allowed this advancement to flourish. As Steve Mentz has created, Blue Humanities, the intersection of science and humanities, two fields that are filled with different materials but yet wouldn’t be the same without the other. 

The ocean used to be viewed as a tool for travel and/ or for a space to regroup in a relaxed form. While this is still true, the ocean has been greatly appreciated through the arts and humanities. Adding a mind and body in connection to the ocean, almost as if it was a person. John Gills in The Blue Humanities, touches on this stating “ Early modern science knew much more about the heavens than about the oceans; and more attention was paid to extracting the wealth of the seas, namely fish, than to the waters themselves.”(Gills) “Extracing” was the correct word for this, as humans only looked at the ocean as something profitable and beneficial to them. Not paying any mind to the lives in the ocean or the ocean itself. Gills explains that up until the 19th century, “The focus was almost entirely on the ships and the skills of the men who manned them, with the sea itself almost an afterthought.”(Gills) The ocean itself is the foundation for the ships and skills of the men, the men had to have to learn and study the science of the ocean in order to perfect their craft at work. So to think of the ocean as an afterthought was to reject the ocean as what it was— an archive that never stops growing. 

This came to be with the help of Blue Humanities, created by Steve Mentz. So what is Blue Humanities? On one hand we have science, very logical and factual driven, who meets humanities, artistic and full of creation, thus creating Blue Humanities. A question that could bounce from this idea is how can these two fields have anything to do with each other if they are quite the opposite? Perhaps the material is different but in order to connect to others on a level of understanding that produces creation and advancement in our world we need the numbers and empathy. John Gills, writer of article The Blue Humanities, explains this combination through the comparative literature department stating “Comparative literature scholars like Margaret Cohen have shown how sea stories, concerned originally with the mechanics of sailing, came in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries to focus on the ocean itself, turning it into a space within which to imagine modernity.”(Gills) Gills acknowledges the mechanics of sailing that were center focused in comparative literature stories, this is the more logistic and factual side, and how the transition into an imaginative modernity has become what we now see today. When reflecting back on the change in standards, it is important to address what came before so that the past ideas are not lost and abandoned. Past ideas are to be used as a guidance into forming new ways of thinking. 

As an example of creation coming about from this advancement, Gabrielle Tesfaye created a short film titled The Water Will Carry Us Home, in which the story is about a group of female slaves that were thrown overboard on a boat and fall into the hands of mermaids that care for them. Throughout the film, there are images and passages of history of the slaves—perhaps history that was once forgotten or ignored, Tesfaye’s inclusion of this brings light to the real situations that human beings were once in. The slaves being pushed into the ocean to be forgotten was a way to replicate the concealment of history, as anything that is thrown in the ocean will be very hard to retrieve back out, thus being lost. Tesfaye uses her artistic ability to create a video with such detail in order to tell a story, including real images and stories of human beings. This is just what the Blue Humanities promotes, with the connection of science and the humanities as one would not be the same without the other. 

Human connection is very valuable especially when it is created through a human and their emotions towards a remembrance or present state, Bringing back this connection to John Gills he reflects on the symbol of eternity, “It became a symbol of eternity, a comfort to those who, having lost their faith in divine dispensation of everlasting life, came to see in its apparently timeless flows evidence of nature’s immortality and a secular promise of life everlasting.”(Gills) This comfort in faith can be very touching through humans as we crave a connection with something or someone bigger than us. To take away the worries and questions and to bring comfort and answers. The ocean has replicated that sensation for some, it has moved people in a way that they are able to go near a body of water and do some reflection. The serenity that makes humans sane can come from the ocean, which was once viewed as ugly and nonuseful besides for work purposes. The idea of an everlasting life that will continue on after the passing of all of us can bring peace to who we are and how small we are in this world.

Through Steve Mentz creation of Blue Humanities and the open and transformative minds of humans, the ocean has gained a new sense of appreciation. It has become an outlet for many in regards to faith, comfort and artistic creation, all while not removing the science behind the ocean. The Blue Humanities does not remove or take away the factors of both science and art but enhances both of them in order to make sense that on cannot be the same without the other. 

Works Cited

Gillis, John R., et al. “The Blue Humanities.” National Endowment for the Humanities, www.neh.gov/humanities/2013/mayjune/feature/the-blue-humanities. Accessed 15 Dec. 2025. 

Tesfaye, Gabrielle. “The Water Will Carry Us Home.” YouTube, youtu.be/dGlhXhIiax8?si=rcc7BYSc9I-XQHmP. Accessed 15 Dec. 2025. 

Final Paper: The Little Mermaid and the Color Red

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In Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale, The Little Mermaid, we see life from under the sea through the youthful and curious eyes of the little mermaid. Several of her experiences are enhanced through the use of color, descriptive nature, and her connection to nature, such as the one she has with her garden. The little mermaid’s garden is what grounds her in her environment, rooting her existence in her natural world, which also serves as a place for her to find emotional comfort and refuge. The recurring use of the color red throughout Andersen’s story is used as a literary device to flag transformation, danger, and perhaps the most obvious, love. As red is also the color of human blood, the repetitive use of red indicates the little mermaid’s anticipation and desire to join the upper world, and be one with the humans. It is important to look into the use of the color red throughout the story because we are able to better visualize and understand the emotional turmoil and pain that the little mermaid endures, almost always being described right before huge life altering events, marking transformations within her life as she has always known it, towards the unnatural state of being human. 

From the beginning of the story we are introduced to the little mermaid’s living quarters, which naturally included the color red, “In front of the palace was a large garden with bright red and dark blue trees, whose fruit glittered like gold, and whose blossoms were like fiery sparks […]” (Andersen, Pg. 109), the color first being mentioned in yet another pivotal place in the little mermaid’s life, the garden. The little mermaid had a garden where she planted, “[…] red flowers that resembled the sun above […]” (Andersen, Pg. 109), as well as, “[…] a bright red weeping-willow beside the statue […]” (Andersen, Pg. 109), the white marble statue being of a handsome young man, reminiscent of the young human prince that the little mermaid would eventually meet, and fall desperately in love with. One could perceive the sun, not to mention its color, as a sign of her blossoming into her womanhood. Opening herself to lust and desire, which holds symbolic meaning within the marble statue of the man, given that this statue is one of the only items that she claimed, meaning it held a deeper meaning to her. An important thing to note as well is how the red weeping-willow that she had planted beside the statue represents the tears the little mermaid would never be able to shed around her love, the prince, as she was incapable of expressing her emotions through tears, “[…] the mermaid heaved a deep sigh, for tears she had none to shed” (Andersen, Pg. 125), since mermaids were not able to cry. The weeping-willow, besides the garden as a whole, being an outlet for her emotions, frustrations towards her reality of not being a human, and absent ‘tears’ to shed.

While there are several occasions within the story where red marks the beginning, a revelation, or the end of a factor within the little mermaid’s life, there seems to be three main points in which the color red served as a mark for a big change or development within her life. The first occasion being her introduction to her soon to be lover, the young, handsome prince celebrating on a ship on her turf, the sea. When the little mermaid had reached the age of maturity at fifteen, her grandmother allowed her to rise to the surface where she then saw and became enamored by the prince, frightened, yet pulled in by a scenery engulfed in the color red, “She had never seen such fireworks before; large suns were throwing out sparks, beautiful fiery fishes were darting through the blue air, and all these wonders were reflected in the calm sea below” (Andersen, Pg. 114). She had been so entranced by the young prince to the point where, “ […] the little mermaid could not take her eyes off the ship or the handsome prince” (Andersen, Pg. 114), her first introduction to desire, giving into her sexuality, yearning for a being she found attractive at a time where she was now deemed as sexually mature within the context of mermaid society’s standards. This trance had continued till the eventual shipwreck where the prince had almost drowned, and the little mermaid had saved him, bringing him towards the surface where, “The sun rose red and beaming from the water, and seemed to infuse life into the prince’s cheeks” (Andersen, Pg. 115). The color red here signifying the beginning to what will be the start of emotionally tolling circumstances for the little mermaid. 

Secondly, following the little mermaid’s introduction to the young prince was her seed of curiosity, which had been planted and nurtured by the love she had for the prince, was beginning to grow wildly. This yearning and wild curiosity was reflected within her garden post-prince revelation, “Her only consolation was to sit in her little garden and to fling her arm round the beauteous marble statue that was like the prince; but she ceased to tend her flowers, and they grew like a wilderness all over the paths, entwining their longs stems and leaves […]” (Andersen, pg. 116), the wild nature of her garden embodying the current state that she found herself in, anxious and conflicted over a man who she doesn’t even know, yet would go to great lengths to meet, “ I would willingly give all the hundreds of years I may have to live, to be a human being […] and to see the beautiful flowers, and the red sun” (Pg. 118). This wild state of mind that the little mermaid found herself in was fueled not only by the prince, but by other details she had become aware of. While on a search for the prince after an in on his whereabouts on the surface, she saw within the prince’s palace, “In the middle of the principal room, a large fountain threw up its sparkling jets as high as the glass cupola in the ceiling, through which the sun shone down upon the water, and on the beautiful plants flowing in the wide basin that contained it” (Andersen, Pg. 117). The little mermaid seeing the large fountain, the contained plants, and the sun all were the final sign for the little mermaid to give herself the green light to continue onward with the beginning of her transformation into becoming a human. While the little mermaid tended to her own garden below the sea, she also realizes that she is also capable of bringing the life she knows at sea, on land given the details within the prince’s palace that match her life at sea.

Lastly, after much heartbreak, emotional turmoil, the revelation to her that her prince would never truly love her like a different maiden, “She would be the only one that I could love in this world’ but your features are like hers, and you have driven her image out of my soul” (Andersen, Pg. 125), the little mermaid has called off this internal battle she has built within herself, alone, in silence, and had decided to end his life in order to regain back hers back at sea. True to form of the story, in order for the little mermaid to return to her natural state, she must follow the sorceresses advice to use blood of the prince, “[…] warm blood shall besprinkle your feet, they will again close up into a fish’s tail, and you will be a mermaid once more […]” (Andersen, Pg. 128), the same sorceress who had helped her turn into human form. As she approached the prince, “The little mermaid lifted the scarlet curtain of the tent […] She gave the prince one last, dying look, and then jumped overboard, and felt her body dissolving into foam” (Andersen, Pg. 129). As the final selfless act of her love she ended her life, and allowed the prince to carry on his life with a partner who wasn’t her. The scarlet, or red curtain, like the closing curtain at the end of a play on stage, symbolized the end of her life rather than of the princes’. One can see consistently throughout the storyline how Andersen’s use for color helped shine significant moments within the life of the little mermaid. Whether it showed up within small details such as the colors of the flowers within her garden, or the blood from the prince she would need to transform yet again, red served as a beautifully descriptive marker. While the meaning behind the color may not have been consistent within each use in the story, the marker or change, transformation, or death held great power. 

The color red throughout the whole story serves as a clear flag for any change, warnings, or signifiers of death which are added in several parts of the little mermaid’s transformations and changes, ultimately leading to her death. If we take a look at the color red as a whole within the context of the present day, the symbolic meaning behind the color still stands today with a handful of modern adaptations. For example the color red signifying a stop at a cross walk, a stop sign at an intersection while driving, an individual being referred to as a red flag, red as a low battery indicator on smart phones, etc. These meanings have evolved over time through different contexts and with different needs than the ones the little mermaid and other characters would have faced within the time period where they existed within Andersen’s story. Color can provoke emotions, but most importantly can work as a visual aid, especially within literature as was made clear throughout the evolution of the story. In the journal, The Color Red Attracts Attention in an Emotional Context, this point is made clearer and emphasizes how within Andersen’s story, while Andersen may have chosen the color red to signify certain emotions and markers, it simultaneously alerts its readers while representing the little mermaids changes and warnings throughout her own life. As a modern day individual would agree, “The color red is known to influence psychological functioning, having both negative (e.g., blood, fire, danger), and positive (e.g., sex, food) connotations” (Kuniecki, et al.), themes that were prevalent throughout the story, consistently proving that throughout history like in the little mermaid, red holds power. 

The main theme throughout Andersen’s story is the little mermaid undergoing transitions and her desire for not just a man, but a deeply unattainable man that she can not gain access to without enduring pain, and jumping through several hoops to get there. This uphill struggle to love, or in achieving anything as a female character is reminiscent of the female experience today. The little mermaid symbolizes the pain that women, aside from mermaids, endure throughout the course of their lives. For many women the feelings and emotions of pain and suffering, or any others relating to that, are the blueprint for almost any woman’s experience from child birth, menstrual cycles, menopause, etc. To be a woman is to endure pain, yet one endures it without much of a choice, however the little mermaid had a choice and chose to take on the pain that it means to transform into a woman as she spoke with the sorceress, “You will retain the floating gait:no dancer will move so lightly as you, but every step you take will be like treading upon such sharp knives that you would think your blood must flow”(Andersen, Pg. 121), which she would refer to as “sufferings”. The little mermaid endured the same kind of pain human women face, but through a different context, in her case transitioning from the sea to survive on land. Regardless of her physical state of being, the little mermaid still undergoes a different transition turning of age and is finally deemed ready to go out onto the surface of the ocean and explore the world outside of what she already knows. One could assume that she may have entered the stage of her life where a menstrual cycle is now a part of her life. As a woman’s right of passage into womanhood, starting to seek out the possibility of a partner like the prince.

While red can be a signifier of negativities, for the little mermaid it is a factor that fuels her attraction for the young prince. Since red can vary from different types of meanings, “[…] red does not always signal hostility or danger. Among many species (e.g., primates and fish), red is an evolved biological signal of attractiveness” (Kuniecki, et al.), a color that we see surrounding the little mermaid’s desires. This correlation isn’t inherently human, not limiting the little mermaid from experiencing attraction related to the color. One instance of this would be with the white marble statue that she placed within her garden that was surrounded by red flowers as she had planted the red willow beside the figure within her garden. In fact, her desire was intensified by this biological need given that, “In humans, women and men wearing red clothes are regarded by the opposite sex as more desirable” (Kuniecki, et al.). We can see her actions being directly influenced by the color red as the story continues, pushing her closer to the prince, although at the beginning it was for the most part an unrequited love, “The sun rose red and beaming from the water, and seemed to infuse life into the prince’s cheeks, but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed his high polished forehead, and stroked back his wet hair; she fancied he was like the marble statue in her garden, and she kissed him again […]” (Anderson, Pg. 115). As the color red washed over him the little mermaid’s attraction for him grew with the push of her own curiosity regarding who he was and how to save him in that moment. 

The aspect of attraction is clear given her new innate feeling to be desired now as a mature and grown mermaid. The little mermaid is first adorned in a modest and pure manor by her grandmother when she first turned fifteen, “‘Well, now that you are grown up!” said her grandmother […] ‘let me dress you like your sisters.’ And she placed in her hair a wreath of white lilies, every leaf of which was half of a pearl; and the old dame ordered eight large oyster shells to be fastened to the princess’s tail, to denote her high rank” (Andersen, Pg. 113). Considering that color holds symbolic meaning, the grandmother pushed this look of purity, virginity, and innocence, all of which oppose everything that red symbolizes. The little mermaid, true to form, preferred the color red to be adorned in as she endeavored her new journey, pushing the narrative of her preference for lust and to be desired, “Oh! How gladly would she have shaken off all this pomp and laid aside her heavy wreath – the red flowers in her garden adorned her far better – but she could not help herself” (Anderson, Pg. 113). Her contradictory nature is not out of rebellion, but is coming from a perspective of an individual who has now blossomed into her womanhood, and is actively seeking to distance herself from her innocence, moving closer to the next biological step of being ‘deflowered’. Looking through the antiquated lenses of the roles of a woman during the time period like the one the story takes place, a woman’s role is also to be of service to a man and serve as a vessel to bring children into the world. While she was told of her sufferings and what her conditions would be as a woman she asks, “‘But if you take away my voice,’ said the little mermaid, ‘what have I left?’ ‘Your beautiful form,’ said the witch, ‘your buoyant carriage, and your expressive eyes. With these you surely can fool a man’s heart’[…]” (Andersen, Pg. 122). The little mermaid subjected herself to a lifelong pain with what seems like nothing other than the purpose to reproduce with her beautiful carriage of a figure, perfect for reproducing, yet not capable of expressing her own needs. Giving into her own needs had led her to lose her ability to gain her desires on her own terms. 

The story of the little mermaid is a great display of emotion and transition through the creative use of the color red as a literary device, but is also a direct reflection of the female experience. Through our color sensitive lenses while reading the story, the little mermaid serves its readers as a figure of the hardships the female body endures throughout their lifetimes, the same way that she faces pain and emotional hardship. The color red, while it may not hold a consistent symbolic or emotional meaning, is a powerful choice in Andersen’s story as it helps convey the experience the little mermaid goes through to his readers, and will continue to offer them different perspective to view color, nature, and its connection to the natural world not only in a terracentric way, but including the ocean. 

Work Cited:

Kuniecki, Michał et al. “The color red attracts attention in an emotional context. An ERP study.” Frontiers in human neuroscience vol. 9 212. 29 Apr. 2015, doi:10.3389/fnhum.2015.00212.

Bacchilega, Cristina and Marie Alohalani Brown. The Penguin Book of Mermaids. Penguin Books, 2019.

Final Paper: Acknowledge the water!

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(Tesfaye The Water Will Carry Us Home – Official) 

Archives are usually known as a room with walls filled with historically rich books and documents, in other words, inanimate. Now, imagine water being able to hold history. That would be insane because our earth is mainly covered by water, what would that mean for us, humans? It could mean that there is plenty of unknown history surrounding us because no one has bothered to look into the ocean rather than see through it as a passageway to get to another location. Certain cultures use the water as a metaphorical book binder to hold their ancestral stories such as Yoruba culture. The film, The Water Will Carry Us Home directed by Gabrielle Tesfaye portrays the ocean as an archive of enslaved Africans’ memories, visually emphasized in the video still of a woman tossing white roses, and conceptually reinforced by John R. Gillis and The Penguin Book of Mermaids.

Water helps organisms survive, would that be for history, too? Yoruba culture has placed an importance on water to act as a living archive that holds memory of their myths tied in with real historical events such as the drownings of enslaved women, sometimes pregnant, and young girls that were tossed overboard on purpose during the Transatlantic slave trade. This is all shown in The Water Will Carry Us Home as Yemoja is shown discovering drowned African enslaved women and transforming them into mere beings. Yemoja is known as a yoruba water deity of the sea, fertility, and is the origin for life beginning. She provides the framework for Yoruba and other cultures to tie in History to their mythical ancestry. The sea has been around for centuries before us and will continue to be here after us, still encapsulated with the History of enslaved African Americans, that is for sure. This knowledge of having African ancestors throughout the sea isn’t well known to many because of the anglo-washed history fed to us Americans throughout our educational careers. No matter how much their truth keeps getting silenced / erased, it will be able to survive lifetimes and  be easily accessible for connection to their story. Yoruba culture embraces all of nature as capable of holding history. Americans only believe that history is valid if it’s on land and we are able to see it with our own eyes. Which minimizes our perspective of the world and lack of bandwidth to expand our knowledge. 

Water is a living archive to a whole new world of information that isn’t easily disclosed to humans. Allowing for it to be in a pristine condition that isn’t erased by anglo-obsessive historians that only believe their truth. The first step to accepting the ocean as an archive is to acknowledge that the sea exists which John Gillis mentions in his article,“What might be called the second discovery of the sea, beginning in the late eighteenth century and accelerating in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, produced a vast expansion of scientific and humanistic knowledge of the sea as a three-dimensional living thing with a history, geography, and a life all its own”(Gillis et al.). The second step is to respect the ocean while trying to explore its features as much as it allows humans to. While doing so, it will look like another world and make us realise that humans aren’t the only beings on this earth that need water to survive. Water rejuvenates the earth and allows for nature to thrive, “Given that everything we need to survive, in one way or another, depends on water, it is unsurprising that people across place and time have ascribed religious significance to water and developed water symbolism”(Bacchilega and Brown,pg.xv). These authors provide a reasoning as to why cultures assign an importance to water and the positive aura water exudes to humans that leads them to building their History around that! All water holds memory despite it being years and what keeps it alive is not only the earth but humans storytelling, as well. 

Visual media helps the audiences understand what and why the art being shown is important such as the video still I chose from The Water Will Carry Us Home. The still showcases a woman standing on a manmade ledge a few feet in the ocean tossing white roses onto the sea water. The significance behind this simple action is her acknowledgement of her Yoruba enslaved ancestors in the ocean still having their roots be able to envelop the roses she tossed into the water. She is paying tribute to those lost lives that haven’t been acknowledged by mainstream anglo-history on the transatlantic slave trade. Her choice in white roses and clothing reminds the viewers that this ritual isn’t demonic or negative in any form, it’s just a celebration of their memory that continues to live on through the water. Without water, their memory could not live on to show another generation the truth of their ancestors. As long as the sea exists, so will their History. 

Water holds space for memories and histories of life as we once knew it. The film, combined with Gillis’s and Bacchilega/Brown’s writing assist that claim because they acknowledge water is another realm in which we aren’t too familiar with. It is filled with real and metaphorical skeletons of past lives that don’t seem acknowledged on land to the majority of humans that don’t have a cultural connection to the water. If humans broadened their understanding of archives and acknowledged the sea as one, it would broaden their knowledge of the world and their neighbors. 

Works Cited: 

Bacchilega, Cristina, and Marie Alohalani Brown. The Penguin Book of Mermaids. Penguin Books, 2019. 

Gillis, John R., et al. “The Blue Humanities.” National Endowment for the Humanities, www.neh.gov/humanities/2013/mayjune/feature/the-blue-humanities. Accessed 12 Dec. 2025. 

Tesfaye, Gabrielle. “The Water Will Carry Us Home – Official.” YouTube, 24 June 2021, youtu.be/dGlhXhIiax8?si=oKM6G0EAxTSiP-4z. Accessed 13 Dec. 2025. 

Religion & the Environment – Final

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Mermaids have been used throughout literature as a reflection of ourselves, and how we connect with our environment, whether it is to fear or desire it. In the story of “The Day after the Wedding” Undine by Froque explores the idea of who has the privilege of attaining a soul and who doesn’t. The tale along with other mermaid stories such as The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen, have strong tones and themes of Christianity, which entails that humans and their connection to religion somehow makes them more superior than other living beings. There is such a distinctive line between humans and their desire to separate themselves from nature, and religion more specifically Christianity is used to thicken that line, creating a boundary. 

In “The Day after the Wedding” from Undine the story opens up with a light, dreamlike quality. The lovers are entwined in bed, yet there are feelings of distress from Huldbrand as he has experienced a nightmare of spectres disguising themselves as beautiful women. This foreshadowing points towards Uldine and her hybridity, being human-like in her beauty and appearance, but a water spirit by nature. People are enamored by Undine for “the young wife seemed so strange to them yet the same (pg. 102.)” Her other-worldiness is apparent to others, and Undine responds to the people with an overwhelming amount of gratitude. 

Undine is characterized to be a vivacious woman, who is bright, bubbly, and unpredictable. Her emotions flow and are expressed freely similarly to how water moves without restraint. After her marriage with Huldband, importantly a Christian man, she becomes more aware of her unruliness and of social norms. This process of assimilation occurs through Undine’s union with a human man, subduing her original qualities that are representative of natural elements. Strong Christian themes are sprinkled throughout the story, especially when the priest is the first one to greet her “with paternal affection beaming in his face” during the ceremony Undine apologizes to him profusely and “begged him to forgive her for any foolish things she might have said the evening before” asking him to pray for the welfare of her soul (pg. 103). This transaction between the fatherly-like priest and Udine paints her newfound connection with God as one of his new children, atoning for lack of religious connection before. When conforming herself due to the marriage it is shown as she is described to be attentive, quiet and kind throughout the whole day, those who have known her longest expected her capricious spirit to burst through at any moment, but it never came (pg. 103). This transition from her being a free water spirit to becoming an idealized traditional Christian wife is shown as she becomes more bounded to religion. 

Furthermore, religion is especially used to create a boundary between humans and the environment as Udine goes on a long soliloquy expressing her true identity as a spirit. These elemental spirits appear like mortals; they are described as even “more beautiful than human beings”  and even far superior than the human race. Despite being superior  they contain no soul, which is considered to be an evil peculiarity (pg. 105). This idea that these environmental spirits that are well connected to nature not containing a soul, pushes the narrative that humans are superior to the environment because of their involvement with religion, with God. It is not unless an elemental spirit is wedded to a Christian human that they are able to attain a soul, the concept of a soul is to be immortalized for eternity even beyond life on Earth. 

The line drawn by religion between humanity and the environment is thickened when the story continues to unfold. Despite Undine’s assimilation to the human world, marrying a Christian man, subduing her original personality to be more palatable, and going as far as attaining a soul she is still eventually betrayed and cast aside by Huldbrand. Huldbrand ends up falling for Bertalda because of their shared commonality of being human. Even after all of Undine’s efforts of conformity and Christianization, she is monstrified by the people and is accused as a “witch who has intercourse with evil spirits.” The tale is a reflection of religion being used to demonize wildlife despite us being a part of it.

Filling in the Blanks of our Historical Education: The Ocean as an Archive

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Taking a deeper look at Derek Walcott’s poem “The Sea Is History” and Eric Roorda’s “The Ocean Reader: History, Culture, Politics,” we can understand how history is relative to the perspective from which we view it. Both of these literary pieces expose how Western historical education ignores the submerged history of the slave trade, placing written biblical tales on a higher plane than a physical archive of history, such as the ocean.  

Walcott, The Salve Trade, & ‘Biblical’ History 

Walcott beautifully frames the ocean floor as its own cathedral or church of sorts. Throughout the poem, he uses the Old Testament and biblical references to equate the history of the slave trade with written religious History. At the poem’s climax, he finally confronts the irony and reshapes the Ocean into its own sacred place. Fusing the “natural” world with our perception of a divine and holy place.  

In the very first line, Walcott writes, “Strop on these googles,” calling on his readers to look underwater and be witnesses to the concrete history hidden beneath the surface. This reminded me of a quote from David Helvarg we read earlier this semester, “More is known about the dark side of the moon than is known about the depths of the oceans.” Eurocentric education could utilize technology to uncover more about the slave trade, but it seems that when history reveals human flaws, it is often left buried, or rather, submerged. When Walcott uses phrases like “colonnades of coral” and “gothic windows of sea fans”, the imagery invokes us as readers to blend our religious practices, monuments, and architecture with the natural environment of the sea. Where our churches, propped up by columns and decorated with stained-glass windows, are our archive of time past, and people lost. The sea is the same for the history of the Caribbean slave trade. 

“Crusty grouper, onyx-eyed, blinks, weighted by its jewels, like a bald queen.” Perhaps this fish is a perfect metaphor for a decorated pope or priest. An integral part of this sacred, submerged place. “And these groined caves with barnacles pitted like stone are our cathedrals.” The beauty of the sea and all it can create can be just as impressive and awe-inspiring as a human feat, such as the Notre Dame Cathedral. We count the days it took Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but we do not tally how long it took for the caves to become “groined,” just like the ceiling of a church. And when we do discover information about the archaeological wonders that are sea caves, it is not added to our curriculum and spoon-fed to us. Just as the human church holds loss, suffering, and destruction within its history, so does the “sea church”. The sea also holds places like “Gomorrah”, a city of death and despair, destroyed for its sins. “Bones ground by windmills into marl and cornmeal.” The seafloor is a graveyard for more than just fish; the ocean acts as a cemetery for bodies, stories, and memories. There are bodies and items submerged that may never be discovered, but the story of brutality and cover-ups remains the same. Saltwater may erase physical evidence, but humans are the ones who tried to erase history first. When the education system fails to provide the proper setting and context for history, we are left with no concept of our impact off the land. The Middle Passage is taught as a transportation from one landmark to another, but what happened in between foreshadows all that follows on land. We can dig into the sparse historical accounts of the brutal, long journey, but we know that the voices drowned and all the stories silenced by pure fear are lost to history. If we can see the ocean as a physical archive of history, we could unravel the secrets hidden beneath layers of Eurocentric perspectives and written historical education.

As much as Walcott is calling on us to reframe our perspective of the ocean as a museum, literally, he is also calling us to dive into history itself. To determine the truth that lies beyond the surface of the written page. After all, there is heaps more history beyond the Bible and the moral lessons it holds. “And that was JUST Lamentations, it was not History.” This line carries so much weight and really calls us to question everything we think we understand about history. In this line, we are reminded that just because something is written or material does not make it a fact. In many private or Catholic school curricula, it is common for biblical texts to be used as tools for justification, as if they were scientific. The stories of the Bible are taught in a linear timeline that mimics a history class. And even in the history classes, the history of land and more importantly, “holy land” is presented as the cornerstone of catholic education. As much as these biblical stories are riddled with myth, they do carry truths, just like much of the environmental literature we have discussed in this class. I do believe that stories of sea creatures may be just as accurate as stories about turning water into wine. In reading this poem, I began to see the ancient stories of mermaids, sirens, and other hybrid seafolk as a kind of bible. A way to frame oceanic history through human writing. A more accessible or comprehensible way of understanding the environment that takes up over 70% of our globe. If we read these stories as cautionary tales, as we see in the Old Testament, they can also serve as a tool for teaching history. Noticing the myths and natural environment as historical truths or sites is of utmost importance. 

Roorda, The Ocean as an Archive

Oceanic history is also explored in “The Ocean Reader: History, Culture, Politics,” written by Eric Roorda. Our education system reflects the assumptions that we, as land-bound beings, have attached to the sprawling sea. “We need to take concerted action to avoid the devastating consequences of having ignored the Ocean for too long.” The history of the blue marble we inhabit has been taught to us through a “Terracentrism” perspective that presents the Ocean as a backdrop or viewpoint rather than a dynamic part of history. As Roorda says, “The Ocean can’t be plowed, paved, or shaped in ways the eye is able to discern.” We struggle to understand something to have a past and a future when we cannot physically see it change. It begs the question: Do we have to be completely submerged or completely bled dry before we can finally understand the importance of seeing the sea as ever evolving? 

We have spent so much time seeing the ocean as a liminal space between continents on a map. Charted, lined, and named, the ocean has been conceptualized in simple human ways. But in actuality, “there is only one interconnected global Ocean.” It cannot be tamed or tagged, and it does not care about the arbitrary names we assign to it in relation to our borders. What matters is that, as it moves and flows from one end of the globe to another, it carries the material traces of aquatic and human history.

We are in constant connection either with the ocean itself or, at the very least, with the human works it has ignited. As citizens of a place like San Diego, we interact with the ocean more than most people do. This winter has been especially foggy, and the marine layer has come up into the hills. We walk in the salty air, unaware of the distance traveled by the H20 kissing our cheeks. There is a false binary between human culture/creation and nature. We have always been in connection with the sea, whether we are hurting it, preserving it, using it as an escape, or worshipping it as a spiritual space. 

We tend to detach ourselves from the idea of “nature” or the sea. Yes, the sea is uninhabitable to us, and we can’t even comprehend the sheer size of the Pacific, but that doesn’t mean that we are in any way entirely unattached from it. “Humans interact with [the Ocean] in many ways…They use it as a highway, with 100,000 ships at sea right now. They study it, find inspiration in it, play on it, and fight over it.” The ocean has inspired every single text we have read in this class. It has inspired art and music. Its currents and waves have taken us (and our endless goods) from one place to another. In our history classes, teachers have harped on the land wars, the battlegrounds, and continental migrations. If history is shaped by the places humans fight, the things we fear & exploit, and the territory we have mapped, then the ocean is clearly saturated with history. Still, we have failed to view it as such.  

This blind spot in our curriculum is no accident; it is the result of cultural habits and expectations. For the longest time, we have considered “the world and human activity mainly in the context of the land and events that take place on land.” We are meant to love the land we have built in a Country. To see its change as a material accomplishment and tangible “proof” of our greatness. If land is the only place where things can take shape and hold space, it frames the ocean as a place where nothing happens. Yet, “Islands form and expand”, “Undersea earthquakes churn up epochal tsunamis”, and the “most active volcano in the world pours molten rock into the sea.” These events are historical and bear knowledge and lessons, yet they are more often than not viewed as no more than “natural disasters.” The seas in history have been reduced to stepping stones in land-based conflicts, transportation routes, or paths to undiscovered land. Even marine warfare is considered secondary to land-based battles. “The stylebook spelling of ‘ocean’ diminishes it as a geographic reference. To capitalize Ocean is to challenge the conventional wisdom that the seas can be taken for granted. They cannot.” We often see landmarks or nature on land as holding the history of all that has happened here. The National Parks are a perfect example of that. We are taught how the sequoas in Yosemite hold the history of fires ripping through the California redwoods within their bark. At Arches, we hear about how tiny holes in rock faces became arches that dinosaurs walked through. However, we learn about the ocean as if it doesn’t hold memories in the same way. That it cannot testify or tell, that it cannot carry stories. Just because it cannot present us with viable evidence does not mean that it doesn’t remember. It remembers the shipwrecks, fossils, the bottom trawling, the coral growth, and the bodies dumped there. Its architecture, shaped by millions of years of salt and moisture, is invisible to us and therefore unrecognized. It is not a matter of the ocean being boring; it is a matter of it being ignored. 

  Overall, Derek Walcott’s Poem, “The Sea is History,” and Eric Roorda’s “The Ocean Reader: History, Culture, Politics” urge us to view history as more than what is written. To see the sea as a literal and metaphorical holder of “erased histories.” By illustrating the ocean as both sacred and dismal, Walcott challenges harmful Western narratives that silence a time and place in history. Illuminating the fact that cherry-picked colonial historiography dictates U.S. education, ignores essential stories, and promotes a false collective memory of the slave trade. Roorda explains that “The Ocean is changeable, and it has a history.” He argues that to fix this educational flaw, we have to take matters into our own hands and reframe our understanding of the ocean. To see it as an archive and seek out the fascinating history it holds, because this knowledge gap is not just a scientific issue but an ethical one. If we cannot confront the human history that has taken place in the Ocean or even just care to learn about it, then we will continue to teach an incomplete, complicit, and bland history.

Freakshow Mermaids and Sightings: The Science of Racism and Racial Superiority

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The article “the Mermaid” featured in the “Penguin Book of Mermaids”, originally published by the New York Herald in 1842, detailed mermaid sightings from the 18th and 19th century. This article, which was made in response to the sensation of P.T Barnum’s Fiji mermaid, marked a period in which the fascination with mermaids coincided with the conflicting politics of racial superiority, scientific advancement, and imperial colonization. This is seen in the articles juxtaposition of description between two detailed sightings, The “negro” mermaid in 1758 France, and the Asiatic mermaid in 1775, London, as well as the author’s prefatory emphasis on the theory of evolution, for the possibility of mermaids, as de-evolved humans, existing. This is relevant in understanding that the Feejee mermaid hoax, and others like it, were believed because of the United States and Western Europe’s involvement in imperialistic colonization throughout the globe, as well as the enslavement of Black Africans in the south; as a result of the trans-atlantic slave trade. Due to these involvements around the globe, the public was primed to believe in these hoaxes and supposed sightings. The combination of new-fangled science and mythos characterized the close of the Enlightenment and the beginning of the  Romantic era in which this fascination with the freakshow mermaid took place, and western nations capitalized on the public interest of the exotic and oriental to assist in the support for imperialism and subjugation of people of color, by continuing the public’s regard of black and non-white people as backward, and exotic, through the mermaid. 

Two of the mermaids described were living freakshows, unlike Barnum’s Feejee mermaid mummy. In 1758 a black mermaid was “exhibited at the fair of ST. Germain” and is described as such: “It was female, with ugly negro features. The skin was harsh, the ears very large, and the back parts and the tail were covered with scales(p.243).” Besides this physical description, the mermaid was kept and fed in a tank where it swam with “seeming delight(p.243)” despite its being caged.

The second live exhibition described took place in London 1775: “It was therefore an Asiastic mermaid. The description is as follows: –Its face is like that of a young female– its eyes a fine light blue– its nose small and handsome– its mouth small– its lips thin, and the edges of them round like that of the codfish–its teeth are small, regular and white–its chin well shaped, and its neck full …it’s breast are fair and fall …the belly is round and swelling(p.243-244)

The sheer difference in these two descriptions makes a stark comparison between the races of these two creatures, one is black and the other is assumed to be white or asian (from the Aegean sea). Despite both being hybrid creatures, there is a clear preference in regard to beauty, which mirror European beauty standard of whiteness, thinness, and desired sexuality (having small breasts). However, The negro mermaid is described as ‘ugly’ and harsh, where the asiatic mermaid is described as ‘handsome.’ Although both creatures came from the deep, the description of their features clearly maps onto them human ethnicities, and mirrors the societal beliefs that different ethnicities are the result of a species divide. 

Science at the time was motivated, along with global expansion and imperialism, by the difference between races or ethnicities to categorize and validate the subjugation of other humans. Such explanations of racial difference would have come from the understandings of science at the time, such as phrenology and naturalism, which heavily favored whiteness. The connotations of the negro mermaid are also discussed by Vaughn Scribner who states that this article’s descriptions were influenced by the sentiments on biologically supported racial difference: “early modern Europeans concentrated on African women’s supposed ‘sexually and reproductively bound savagery’ – especially notions of their abilities to constantly suckle their various children – in order to ultimately turn to ‘black women as evidence of a cultural inferiority that ultimately became encoded as racial diference(115).” Thus, the author of the Mermaid continues to perpetuate the black mermaid’s sexualized features as vulgar in comparison to the petite and elegant description of the Asiatic mermaid. 

To preface the arrival of the Fiji mermaid in England, where “our citizens and the professors  of natural history especially” would have had the opportunity to verify the existence of “this animal,” the feejee mermaid, The author suggests that the mermaid may be the “connecting link between fish and the human species(241)” in the same fashion that the “ourang outang” was discovered to be the “connecting link between the human and animal race (241).” Although the Theory of evolution would not be published by Charles Darwin until over a decade after this frenzy, scientists at the time were still concerned with ideas of evolution and human and animal history, specifically the divide or ‘missing link’. Vaughn Scribner writes in his book “Merpeople: A Human History”, about freakshows and fantasies, and the scientific and philosophical discussions that framed the obsession with freakshow mermaids during the 18th and 19th century: “As with other creatures they encountered in their global travels, European philosophers utilized various theories – including those of racial, biological, taxonomical and geographic difference – to understand merpeople’s and, by proxy, humans’ place in the natural world.” Naturalism favored the missing link theory, and along with Phrenology, worked to provide context to the biological superiority of white people over people of color.

The juxtaposition of descriptions of the mermaids in “The Mermaid” article, points to a cultural shift in the mermaid’s symbolism in popular culture as no longer strictly a myth, but as a means of discussing racial differences. As ideas about racial superiority expand with the shifting boundaries of race relation in the west, so do views on the wilderness. The insecurities of western society become mapped onto the bodies of its mermaid, just as the needs of an increasingly industrial society become mapped onto the ‘wilderness’. This shift between fear and admiration of nature is discussed by William Cronon in “The Trouble with Wilderness Or, Getting Back to the Wrong Nature.” Cronon discusses this shift in consciousness during the eighteenth century, wherein the wilderness goes from the sidelines of what is considered civilized to the new found call to protect nature from human influence, and keep it in pristine condition:

“As late as the eighteenth century, the most common usage of the word “wilder-ness” in the English language referred to landscapes that generally carried adjectives far different from the ones they attract today. To be a wilderness then was to be “deserted,” “savage,” “desolate,” “barren”-in short, a “waste,” the word’s nearest synonym. Its connotations were anything but positive, and the emotion one was most likely to feel in its presence was “bewilderment” or terror(10).” 

By the nineteenth century however, with the increasingly romantic notions about the preservation of the wilderness, “even as it came to embody the awesome power of the sublime, wilderness was also being tamed-not just by those who were building settlements in its midst but also by those who most celebrated its inhuman beauty(12).” Wilderness, though it came to be valued in all its glory, and preserved within national parks and reserves, still existed as a space experienced and altered by humans and their proximity, thus even within these spaces wilderness is not truly wild. 

This perspective of the wilderness as valuable is included in conversation with the freakshow, negro, and asiatic mermaid, because they represent the divide in what comes to be considered good and bad and ‘other’. A wilderness devoid of humans created a space in which only the wealthy and privileged were able to afford interacting with nature, conveniently after Europeans had colonized and removed indigenous populations to secluded reservations. The exclusivity of wilderness retreats, and reserves, excluded Black and indigenous people of color, and coincided with the way mainstream western society implemented segregation between white and BIPOC communities. The mainstream media influences what is considered valuable, and just as the romantic interest in the sublime declared the wilderness as valuable, it also positioned white mermaids(white women) as more desirable, beautiful, and civilized, in comparison to black mermaids (black women, people of color). Wherein the asiatic mermaid was positively regarded despite being a hybrid creature; it’s supernatural qualities and beauty being emphasized, the negro mermaid was diminished and othered through it’s blackness.

This account of mermaids is a reflection of its time, and the beliefs of mainstream society influenced how non-human creatures were regarded based on desirability, racism, and the limitations of knowledge and science. ‘The Mermaid’ presents a documentation of the social upheaval experienced during the 18th and 19th century, and this article on mermaid sightings in which the race and gender of these mermaids are emphasized was a means of not only sexualizing the female body, but of using the exotic and the supposed vulgarity of African women to uphold racism and white superiority, at the expense of and subjugation of black bodies, viewed by the masses in freakshows as a pass time.

Works Cited:

Bacchilega, Cristina, and Marie Alohalani Brown. “The Mermaid.” The Penguin Book of Mermaids. New York, New York, Penguin Books, 2019, pp. 241-244.

Scribner, Vaughn. “Three: Enlightened Experiments.” Merpeople, Reaktion Books, Limited, 2020.

William Cronon, “The Trouble with Wilderness” (1996)

Mermaids and Borders: The Ocean is a Place Beyond Control

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Preface

In this class, we have always joked about the “Science with a capital S,” or the “History with a capital H,” and, funnily enough, Eric Paul Roorda’s “Ocean with a capital O.” Throughout this essay, I decided to take a queue from Roorda and Steve Mentz by deterritorializating my language and stepping away from the terracentric, and thus, “Ocean” is capitalized as Roorda does in his writings. Ironically enough, Google said that the word was grammatically incorrect. But what does Google know, for it has yet to interact with the environment in the same way that humans do.

Introduction

Humans have long tried to dominate and police the land, and all that dwells on it: this includes people, animals, and even going so far as to draw imaginary lines that create “borders.” These so-called “borders” prohibit people from entering territories, goods from being exchanged, and even languages from being spoken. However, there is one thing that humans will never be able to control: the ocean. The Ocean has prevailed boundaries in a physical and metaphorical sense for generations. You can’t draw lines on constantly moving water, and no matter how hard one might try, there will always be resistance from the ocean. Humans tend to see themselves as separate from nature, even above nature. But the truth is, humans are hybrid beings themselves, just like mermaids. They are neither nature nor non-nature. They are a culmination of all things that nature provided and humans innovated. Eric Paul Roorda’s “Introduction” to The Ocean Reader: Theory, Culture, Politics highlights the concept of terracentrism and the Ocean’s overlooked history; meanwhile, Emilija Škarnulytė’s short film Sirenomelia visually explores the relationship and faded boundaries between human and nature. Human attempts to control and define the Ocean reveal a persistent terracentrism that denies its history and autonomy, as Roorda argues in The Ocean Reader and Škarnulytė illustrates in Sirenomelia. Together, these works suggest that the Ocean—and, by extension, nature—ultimately transcends human boundaries and categorizations, challenging us to reconsider where we draw the line between human and nonhuman worlds and to recognize our limited authority over environments we cannot fully control. 

Terracentrism and the Ocean’s Resistance

Roorda’s introduction to The Ocean Reader critiques terracentrism, the human tendency to privilege land over the sea, despite its equal place in our environment. The central idea behind The Ocean Reader is to claim a spot for the Ocean in the “vast realm of World History” (Roorda 3), as humans have pushed it to be a footnote in the historical record kept by humans. Perhaps it is the fact that the Ocean is so vast that humans cannot conquer it, which makes the Ocean so “undesirable” in the eyes of humans. For generations, humans have refused to see the Ocean as a place, seeing it as a void lacking a history, as Roorda writes in his introduction (1). Additionally, he says, “Because the Ocean can’t be plowed, paved, or shaped in ways the eye is able to discern, [the Ocean] has seemed to be a constant, while the land has changed drastically over the centuries” (1). This points to the disproportionate relationship that modern humans have developed with the land. The language that Roorda uses to describe this relationship is interesting, as well. His choice of words to describe the relationship: plowed, paved, or shaped, is innately industrial. They are things that humans do to the land, but in this case, it just can’t be applied to the Ocean as it is an unchanging, unwavering force. While humans take and colonize and poison it, the land ultimately suffers and receives nothing good in return. However, where the land and sea share similarities in context with the way humans interact with them is greed. The rise of industrialism and capitalism has tainted the land and Ocean with greed, as Roorda writes, “Humans interact with that system in many ways […] They study it, find inspiration in it, play on it, and fight over it” (3). What fuels the human desire to conquer is the same for the land as it is for the Ocean: greed. But, as mentioned before, the Ocean is an unchanging and unwavering force. Its borders against the coastline are politicized because humans cannot govern and colonize the waters as they do with land. Therefore, the Ocean resists human categorization and control, undermining terracentric assumptions.  Roorda’s insistence on recognizing the Ocean as a place with history also challenges the way humans construct narratives of progress. Land-based history often emphasizes conquest, settlement, and industrial development, but the Ocean resists these frameworks. Because it cannot be permanently altered in the same visible ways as land, the Ocean becomes a site of continuity rather than rupture. This continuity is unsettling for the human-centered historical accounts, which rely on evidence of change and domination to mark significance. By positioning the Ocean as a historical actor, Roorda forces readers to reconsider what counts as history and whose stories are included in it. Roorda’s framing of the Ocean as both a site of greed and inspiration highlights its paradoxical role in human life. On one hand, the Ocean is exploited for resources, trade, and power; on the other, it inspires art, exploration, and wonder. This duality reflects the broader tension between human desire to control and the Ocean’s refusal to be controlled. By acknowledging this tension, Roorda invites readers to see the Ocean not as a void but as a dynamic force that shapes human history even as it resists human categorization.

Nature’s Autonomy in Sirenomelia

Mermaid wearing scuba mask in Sirenomelia, Emilija Škarnulytė

In a similar way that details the relationship between humans and nature, Škarnulytė’s short film Sirenomelia visually demonstrates nature’s independence from human intervention through the use of sound, visuals, and the complete lack of human interaction throughout the entire 6-minute film. In her film, viewers are introduced to a lone mermaid venturing through an abandoned submarine base. The film is eerily silent, with only the electronic, artificial “bloops” coming from the submarine. In this post-human world, there is only this singular mermaid, who is, interestingly, wearing a scuba mask: something that one might presume mermaids don’t need to have. This then begs the question: is she not fully mermaid? Was she human before, and did she become something else after years of war and desecration of the land and Oceans? This mermaid is already a hybrid being, but she also represents a blending of two realms: the “human” realm and the “nature” realm. So, beyond being a hybrid being of fish and human, she then represents a further enmeshment of humans being a part of nature. In the post-human realm of Sirenomelia, it is clear that humans no longer have a place in the environment; they came and went, leaving nature to prevail. This mermaid now represents something that came from human intervention, due to the human-like mask she uses instead of purely being a marine creature. Instead of communicating that humans and nature are completely separate entities, Škarnulytė uses her mermaid to communicate that humans were never meant to be separate from nature; they were always a part of it. But, because they were consumed by greed as discussed in the Ocean’s neglect in the historical record and focus on terracentrism, they eventually ceased to exist. Now, hybrid beings like the mermaid govern the Ocean that humans once tried to take control of. What makes this imagery so compelling is the way Škarnulytė positions the mermaid as both a survivor and a product of human failure. The scuba mask becomes a symbol of adaptation, a reminder that even in a post-human world, traces of human technology remain embedded in nature. Yet, rather than signifying dominance, the mask signifies dependence: the mermaid’s survival is tied to a human artifact, but she uses it in a way that transcends its original purpose. This inversion of meaning highlights how human creations, once designed for control, can be reabsorbed into nature’s systems and repurposed for survival. The silence of the film also plays a crucial role in reinforcing the Ocean’s autonomy. By stripping away human voices, dialogue, or even recognizable human sounds, Škarnulytė creates a soundscape that feels alien yet natural. The electronic “bloops” of the submarine are artificial, but they fade into the background, becoming part of the Ocean’s rhythm rather than dominating it. This auditory choice underscores the futility of human attempts to impose order on the Ocean: even the remnants of technology are swallowed by its vastness, transformed into echoes rather than commands. The post-human setting of Sirenomelia dramatizes what happens when greed and terracentrism sever that entanglement: humans disappear, leaving behind hybrid beings who embody the interconnectedness that humans once denied. In this way, Škarnulytė’s film not only critiques human exploitation of the Ocean but also imagines a future where nature reclaims authority, and where survival depends on embracing hybridity rather than resisting it.

Hybridity and Transformation as Challenges to Human Categories

Mermaid swimming to sonor sounds, Sirenomelia, Emilija Škarnulytė

The figure of the mermaid swimming peacefully throughout the submarine base in Sirenomelia embodies hybridity, complicating human attempts to categorize nature, thus reinforcing Roorda’s claim that the ocean resists fixed definitions. The mermaid’s hybrid body in Sirenomelia blurs boundaries between species and environments. Not only is she a half-human, half-fish being, but she is also a blend between the land and ocean that has become overused and exploited by humans. Her purely “nature” body meshed with the pairing of a distinctly human scuba-diving mask communicates the human penetration of the land and environment. Humans are innately nature, but their destruction and greed have left a permanent mark on the land, not now, it has bled onto the hybrid bodies of the mermaids in the post-human environment of Sirenomelia. Her mask presents an image of mutation, which suggests ongoing transformation beyond human control. This shows the futility of humans trying to govern and control the environment—no matter what we do, there are ways nature will prevail. One day, humans will cease to exist, and they will no longer do harm to the environment. Just as Roorda argues that the Ocean cannot be “plowed, paved, or shaped” (1) into human categories, Škarnulytė’s mermaid resists classification as either human or nature; this hybridity destabilizes terracentric assumptions and highlights the Ocean as a space of fluid identities and histories. By foregrounding transformation and hybridity, both texts emphasize that the Ocean is not just a static backdrop before the dynamic force of human authority, but it demands new ways of thinking about boundaries. This hybridity also forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth that humans themselves are hybrid beings. Just like the mermaid, humans are neither fully separate from nature nor entirely outside of it. They are a culmination of what nature provides—air, water, food, ecosystems—and what human innovation creates—technology, infrastructure, and culture. The mermaid’s mask becomes a metaphor for this entanglement: a human artifact fused with a natural body, symbolizing how human existence is always dependent on and intertwined with the environment. In this way, Sirenomelia does not simply depict a fantastical creature, but rather holds up a mirror to humanity, reminding us that our identities are inseparable from the natural world we often claim to dominate. Furthermore, the mermaid’s hybridity destabilizes the very categories humans rely on to assert authority. If she is both human and nature, then the boundary between the two collapses, exposing the artificiality of terracentric assumptions. This collapse demands a new way of thinking about boundaries—one that acknowledges fluidity, transformation, and interconnectedness rather than rigid separation. By presenting hybridity as both a survival strategy and a critique of human greed, Škarnulytė and Roorda together argue that the Ocean is not a passive backdrop but an active force that reshapes human history and identity.

Rethinking Boundaries Between Human and Nature

Together, Roorda and Škarnulytė challenge us to reconsider how we define and separate humans from nature. Humans have a natural tendency to place themselves in a separate category from nature, even going so far as viewing themselves above nature. They position themselves in a way that strips care and respect from the environment in the name of  humans being the “superior species.” But, as Roorda and Škarnulytė point out in their works, humans are just as much nature as they are non-nature. They are hybrid beings, despite their attempts to distance themselves from the environment. As Roorda points out, the ocean is a historical place beyond human shaping, and he decides to deviate from the conventional approach of lowercasing “ocean” to capitalizing “Ocean,” as I have done throughout this essay as well. He writes, “To capitalize Ocean is to challenge the conventional wisdom that the seas can be taken for granted. They cannot” (3–4). By adhering to this approach, humans can attempt to lean back on their vision as “superior” beings and instead lean towards a more ocean-centric approach that invites their hybrid state. Additionally, Škarnulytė’s mermaid complicates definitions of “nature” and “human,” as she is both and takes up space in both environments. Both works highlight the complexities and futility of rigid boundaries, urging recognition of interconnectivity and humility in the face of environments that we cannot dominate. This recognition of hybridity is crucial because it forces us to confront the false binary humans have created between themselves and the environment. By insisting on separation, humans have justified exploitation, pollution, and domination of the natural world. Yet Roorda’s capitalization of “Ocean” and Škarnulytė’s depiction of the mermaid both remind us that humans are not outside of nature but deeply entangled within it. The Ocean, with its vast history and resistance to human shaping, becomes a symbol of continuity that humans cannot erase. The mermaid, with her hybrid body and human-like mask, becomes a symbol of transformation that humans cannot fully define. Both figures destabilize the illusion of superiority and instead invite us to see ourselves as part of a larger, interconnected system.  The act of capitalizing “Ocean” is more than a stylistic choice—it is a political and ethical statement. It demands that readers treat the Ocean as a proper noun, a subject with agency, history, and significance equal to land. In doing so, Roorda challenges terracentric assumptions and insists that the Ocean deserves recognition in the same way humans recognize nations, cities, or landmarks. This shift in language mirrors Škarnulytė’s artistic shift in representation: by centering a mermaid in a post-human world, she forces viewers to acknowledge that categories like “human” and “nature” are porous and unstable. Both choices—capitalization and hybridity—work to dismantle the hierarchies humans have built to elevate themselves above the environment. If humans are hybrid beings, then their survival depends on embracing that hybridity rather than denying it. The Ocean cannot be conquered, and nature cannot be endlessly exploited without consequence. By foregrounding hybridity, Roorda and Škarnulytė remind us that the boundaries we cling to are illusions, and that our future depends on recognizing interconnectivity. In this sense, both works are not only critiques of human arrogance but also invitations to imagine a more sustainable and respectful way of living—one that honors the Ocean as a historical force and embraces hybridity as the truth of human existence.

Conclusion: “We’re all mermaids already…”

Philosopher Timothy Morton once said, “We’re all mermaids already, we just don’t know it yet.” What Morton might be pointing to is the hybrid nature humans have within the environment—they are simultaneously a part of nature, and their own entity as well. They have separated themselves from nature and, by extension, the Ocean by policing the lands and (attempting to) politicize the borders and coastlines of the Ocean, but it resists human control, both conceptually and visually, as shown in Roorda’s theory and Škarnulytė’s artistic short film. These works remind us that human authority is, ultimately, limited, and that by acknowledging the ocean’s autonomy, we may reshape our relationship with nature and the environment. By confronting our attraction towards terracentrism and embracing the ocean’s independence, we open ourselves to the more ethical, sustainable ways of engaging with the world. We may also recognize that we are mermaids—neither wholly separate from nor above nature, but a culmination of what nature provides and what human innovation creates. Recognizing this hybridity forces us to confront our limited authority over environments we cannot fully control and to reimagine our place within the natural world.

Final Essay Project

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The entity of the Ocean is responsible for knowledge, language, and humanity itself being spread across the continents. All land and creatures came from the Ocean, its entire being the life force of earth and its inhabitants. Yet, we have turned our eyes from its being, its presence. In our advancements as society, we have forgotten the waters from which we came from.

  Through the works of Rooda, Mentz, and Walcott, exposes modern humans to the Ocean as the bases for modern human language and the relationship between all humans across the seas. In our reflection, we connect back to our Oceanic and mythical roots that set the foundation for the modern human race. 

The Ocean has never just been a place we name. It is a nation, a state – caring for millions of lifeforms, ecosystems, and knowledge. As Rooda explains to modern audiences an ideology rarely brought to the forefront of our education. “Ocean” being capitalized as one would a “country or continent.” Roorda’s comparison shows modern humans that instead of viewing the Ocean as a “thing” – an object for humans to use – we recognize it for the geographical individuality and statehood sovereignty it possesses. The idea of nationhood in itself is a man made conception only established in a modern age. Before humans had speech – the Ocean sat encasing this Earth. It held the species, the lifeforms, the beginning of human DNA. It was the first of its kind to maintain ownership over its subjects. Calling a state by its individual and capitalized name shows recognition of ownership to that nation, a sign that we as a separate nation respect your right to rule and interact with your nation as you see fit. Modern humans recognize Ocean as a state ruling without our guidance. Ocean takes care of its beings – it is its will. Capitaling Ocean is the beginning of an evolution in human relationship with the Ocean and the rights it contains over itself, not the rights modern humans believe assigned to themselves.

Lack of capitalization “infantilizes” the Ocean in a way. To modern humans, we see it as a resource for our needs, which then becomes exploited by a race of humans, which then needs conservation by those same races of humans. The Ocean does not need us to govern its tides. The Ocean does not need our generation of humans to tell it how to care for its creatures and environment. The Ocean has never needed human influence in how it governs. It has total control on the regulation of its waves, its currents, its foam. For all of documented History, the Ocean is responsible for the carrying of knowledge. It has brought creatures across the globe to new lands, stretching biodiversity and evolution across the Earth. It has carried messages from one country to another. It has exchanged goods, people, technology, all for the benefit of humanity. Ocean decides where it moves. Ocean decides who leaves and who stays within its waters. Ocean is an individual, with its own systems, rules. It is a nation that for too long has been denied the respect it deserves from humans in regards to its name. Rooted in our written language is the disregard for Ocean vocabulary, viewing it as ours instead of itself. What have we done to prove to Ocean it needs our guidance? Ocean chooses which creatures come on land. Ocean chooses who lives and who will pass beneath its deep, dark waters. Ocean is the ruler, we are its subjects. 

This type of language shift is also discussed by Steve Mentz within Blue Humanities. Mentz encourages modern humans to reshape their language in an”offshore” way to reflect our movement and relationship with Ocean. A natural world we have left behind. One word in particular relates greatly to the work of Roorda, the word being Current. “Currents flow.” Currents are the language of the Ocean itself, carrying the knowledge of Humans across landscapes for a Millenia. It was the Currents who first split the land into separate entities in itself. Currents created the divides across Earth. And it was these same currents who brought human relationship back across. Human ideas flow as a current, in the same way currents are the carriers of the flow of ideas. Without currents, Modern humans would have no knowledge, ideas, or identity. We would be isolated and indifferent to the world around us. Humans traveled across currents – drifting to different regions. Families expanded across the tides, the flow of culture spread across millennia. It is Ocean who is responsible for these journeys. It is the Ocean who connects all humanity. Then why do we not have language to reflect it? Why do we place emphasis on land based speech when the Ocean is responsible for everything our societies have ever come to be? Mentz molds audience thinking, not in a way to be superior – but in a way to give respect and gratitude for the one who has always been there. As Roorda made the point – changing our language is not a creation – but a recognition for what has always been there. 

As modern humans, we are so susceptible to claiming the land as the foundation of our history. Our legacies, our creations, our people rest on the shores. For centuries – humans collectively have ignored the sacred knowledge and history hidden beneath the Oceans surface. A wonderful example shown by that of Walcott is as follows – “the white cowries clustered like manacles of the drowned woman,” “me with eyes heavy as anchors who sank without tombs.” Walcott describes to modern humans the very life that used to walk this earth now residing at the bottom of the sea. Human life – so intertwined with the creation of land and nations – now are buried deep within the oceans surface, their bare bones under the security and will of the Oceans tides. How much of a family legacy was lost to the Oceans will? What great minds of scholars now are at home with the currents? What became of those drowned women from the slave ships of Africa – chained to a new life they had no desire for. It was the Ocean that enveloped them, the Ocean that welcomed these lost souls into its deep and secretive depths, concealing them from the land bound man. It is Ocean who brought them to a new life, a path of hope. They did not face suffering at the hands of their brethren, but instead found refuge in something we deem as dangerous. Why is it that this mysterious entity is seen as harmful to human life, yet provides sanctuary for those destined to pass at the hands of one of their own?

Walcott’s connection to the Ocean as the history and connection of all human kind goes beyond Ocean taking ownership of human beings. The Ocean contains the lost architecture we have removed ourselves from – “these groined caves with barnacles pitted like stone are out cathedrals.” We as modern humans look to architecture from a distant past as a way of reconnecting with our ancestors – a time we never had a place in. But what of the Ocean? What of the caves and trenches that have sat for millions of years, once responsible for housing the first species encased in the water. It is these caves and minerals that have seen the creation of earth’s species, have remained within the Ocean away from human eyes – unable to be touched by our selfish hands. When modern humans see historical structure – they see profit. How can they turn this into a resource? These hidden Oceanic treasures remain what they were always meant to be. Remembrance of a far away past – useful in its structure and that alone. These structures do not need to be seen and admired to have importance? Their being itself represents the strength of the Ocean, the devotion it has to keeping its beings alive. 

Humans move across the Ocean, Humans drown in the Ocean, Humans are here because of the Ocean. The Ocean kept alive all living species responsible for the creation of the first humans. Ocean nurtured and loved this genetic material long enough to be passed on to its descendants. In the same way Ocean gave life to humans first ancestors, Ocean accepts the humans that are brought back to it. Just as Walcott described, humans first homes were Ocean. Ocean provided for us and Ocean saved us. Those carted away across its currents brought them to safety beneath its flowing waters. Ocean understands humans better than we understand ourselves. It cannot comprehend why we would want to hurt one another. Why would one human treat another in such a way. Ocean did not allow this. Ocean took its children back, away from the danger, away from the monsters who walked the land. These monsters did not dwell in the sea – no. It is the ones who have wandered too far across the hills, the plains, the landscape – desperate to claim ownership, desperate to have, those who have forgotten Ocean – who have become the most inhuman. 

Why do we choose to look down upon this rich and vast history? Why is it those who choose to study the dark and murky waters seen as choosing “inferior” knowledge to that of land based “superiority?” Because modern humans are selfish. Modern humans are greedy. Humans ignore the very things that reminded them of who they used to be. The Ocean goes ignored and unwanted because it reminds modern humans of a time before ownership. Ocean has been tried, humans have wanted to take parts of Ocean, but Ocean will not let them. The boundaries humans place on their share of lands are interconnected with all other parts of the sea. It is one body, one movement – just as humans used to be. We once sam in these waters as one community. We once were all inside pools of water, drinking, living, simply existing. But then modern humans wanted. Modern humans were no longer satisfied with its giver – Ocean. Ocean was no longer enough, therefore humans wanted to make history elsewhere. They saw themselves as being above Ocean, allowing no room for Oceanic history. But they forgot how easy it is to uncover the truth. They failed to see new generations of humans who would dive back down to the Oceans depths. Modern humans who would recognize the Ocean for what it is and what it has always been. For too long, humans have ignored what has been surrounding us for generations. Our own history, almost destroyed by our ancestors. But no longer will this knowledge be ignored. It is because of writers such as Rooda, Mentz, and Walcott that modern humans no longer sit naive to the problem of Ocean erasure. We give our gratitude and respect to Ocean as the giver of life. We are beginning to change our language to represent the form that first gave life – as if it is the first giver of humans, why should our language not reflect this? The new generations of humans are ready to explore the depths of our humanity, the creation of human history in itself, and to do that, we must start back to where all life began, the first architecture, ecosystems, and species all developed.

The human history existing beneath the Oceans waters has always been present. It has been here since the creation of planet earth and it will continue to be made until Human civilization is no longer present. Rooda, Mentz, and Walcott each, in unique ways, express to modern humans the importance of recognizing the presence of the Ocean as a part of ourselves and human heritage. It is through the Ocean we find ourselves, humans, and what has connected us for millenia. The strong waves, the vast currents, the nutrient filled waters make up every inch of community, connection, and humanity in itself. The first eyes did not open on land. They opened under water.