The debate surrounding post-structuralism makes it a
compelling theory for examination. Few areas have faced as much criticism
towards their fundamental principles and methodologies, with some asserting a
lack of "authentic theoretical innovations.In this essay Darkins explores the meaning of
'critique' within the context of post-structuralism, and then delve into its
treatment of 'power' in international politics. He contends despite its
limitations, post-structuralism holds a significant role in interpreting
contemporary international politics.
Before delving further, it is essential to establish a clear
definition of 'post-structuralism'. Originating from US academics, this term
encompasses a body of academic work primarily distinguished by its opposition
to the structuralist movement that emerged in France during the 1950s and
1960s. According to Michael Merlingen, structuralism posited that social
elements only exist within patterned, structured relations within a system,
advocating for an approach to understanding the social world through the
examination of these systems. In contrast, post-structuralists challenge this
theory, rejecting its scientific and positivist aspirations. They often employ
discourse analysis techniques to support their arguments, asserting that
language is paramount, and that words and sentences do not merely reflect or
represent an external reality. Given the central importance post-structuralists
place on language, the concept of 'power' may be better conceived as a representative
phenomenon rather than a concrete, material entity.
Considering that post-structuralists primarily engage in
critiquing existing theories and discourses, it is more accurate to view
post-structuralism in the realm of international politics as a method or
analytical tool. This is especially pertinent because, as this essay will
demonstrate, post-structuralism generally does not aim to present a specific
worldview of its own. In essence, our understanding of post-structuralist
thinking is best derived from examining how they critique other perspectives.
As Foucault asserts, post-structuralist critique "only exists in relation
to something other than itself. With this in mind, this paper will evaluate the
nature and intent of post-structuralist critique, particularly in its
interaction with the concept of 'state sovereignty'.
Foucault once posed a profound question: "Do you know
up to what point you can know?" This query encapsulates the core of
post-structuralism, as it inherently challenges established structures of
knowledge, transforming it into an act of 'critique'. However, within the realm
of post-structuralism, it's important to distinguish between 'critique' and
'criticism'. Judith Butler notes that Foucault viewed 'critique' as a practice
that suspends judgment, offering a new framework of values through this
suspension. In essence, post-structuralists don't aim to pass value judgments;
proposing an alternative action or thought necessitates acceptance of existing
boundaries and principles. Instead, through 'critique', they engage in critical
thinking that problematizes and destabilizes established frameworks, creating
space for new possibilities. Thus, post-structural critique differs from
conventional 'criticism' in that it seeks to challenge rather than replace.
Post-structuralists posit that language is pivotal in
understanding the social world, contending that there exists no reality
external to the language we employ. They draw from Nietzsche, who argued that
what we say about the world is intrinsically linked to our conception of it,
shaped by acquired assumptions and linguistic conventions. For
post-structuralists, all facets of human experience are fundamentally bound to
textuality. Critiquing a text or discourse, to them, is tantamount to
critiquing the world itself.
A significant focus of post-structural critique lies in
identifying binary oppositions and dichotomies. Jacques Derrida posited that
Western thought's very structure stems from such binary distinctions, defining
things largely by what they are not. Post-structuralists contend that these
binaries permeate political life at its core. In the realm of International
Relations, Connolly asserts that our understanding of 'international relations'
today was shaped by the interplay between old and new worldviews. He traces
this to historical contexts, particularly the influence of Christianity, which
often employed processes of 'othering' when encountering deviance from faith.
Post-structuralists suggest that these binaries persist in the modern political
landscape, operating under the banner of the sovereign state.
Post-structuralists employ the genealogical method to
scrutinize pieces of knowledge, interrogating their origins and beneficiaries.
This approach challenges conventional narratives on sovereignty, revealing
vested interests tied to historic political structures. Foucault contends that
this critique plays an ethical role, shedding light on phenomena in
twentieth-century political history, such as state-organized mass atrocities.
Post-structural critique, in this view, holds those in power accountable. The double
reading is another method employed by post-structuralists, involving an
analysis of discourse or theory from two perspectives. The first reading
interprets the subject matter as intended by the author, while the second
scrutinizes its benefits, omissions, and potential biases. This method aims to
expose how stories rely on suppressing internal tensions to maintain a sense of
homogeneity and continuity.
Richard Ashley uses the double reading technique to critique
the sovereign state and the realist paradigm. His first reading treats the
paradigm as a monologue, granting unquestioned dominance to the controlling
sovereign presence. Ashley's second reading transforms the discourse into a
dialogue, exploring how practices in discourse production interact with various
external texts. Through this approach, Ashley aims not to destroy but to
deconstruct the discourse, opening up new possibilities. This deconstructive
process destabilizes the locus of sovereign power, challenging the seemingly
secure foundations of the discourse.
Post-structuralists, in contrast to mainstream positivist
approaches in International Relations, view the production of knowledge as a
multifaceted process with aesthetic, normative, and political dimensions.
Language, for them, is not a neutral medium of communication, but a complex
system of habits, conventions, values, and biases that shape our understanding
of the world. This perspective leads to an intertwining of knowledge and power,
forming a "nexus of knowledge-power," as articulated by Foocau. In
this framework, knowledge and power mutually reinforce and imply each other,
underlining that the production of knowledge is inherently political.
Derrida's concept of deconstruction serves as a pivotal tool
in unraveling the perceived intimate connection between power and knowledge.
Deconstruction identifies elements of instability that challenge the cohesion
of conceptual oppositions. Derrida notably focused on the binary of
'speech/writing', contending that speech is often considered primary and
authentic, while writing is relegated to a derivative status. By advocating for
a generalized understanding of writing, Derrida disrupts the established
hierarchy between speech and writing.
Edkins and Zehfuss extend this notion to the realm of global
politics, particularly the binary of 'sovereign domestic/anarchic
international'. They argue that this dichotomy sets up the international system
for failure when measured against the criteria of a 'sovereign' domestic order.
They envision an alternative interpretation of world politics that transcends
these divisions, fundamentally altering the dynamics of power and challenging
assumptions about shared values and cultures.
Post-structuralists, like Campbell, contend that the
sovereign state relies on discourses of danger to reinforce its power. They
reject the notion that sovereign states have an originary existence prior to
political practice, asserting that they are instead performatively constituted.
This challenges the idea of an inherent and static reality, prompting a
reevaluation of existing theories and discourses in IR.
While Frost suggests that post-structuralists could be
considered "super-realists" due to their concern with power dynamics,
it's essential to note that they fundamentally question the realities presented
by mainstream discourses and theories. Rather than offering concrete ethical
guidelines, post-structuralism introduces the possibility of viewing
international politics from alternative starting points, encouraging critical
thinking beyond traditional paradigms.
In this context of unforeseen political shifts, the
open-mindedness advocated by post-structuralism remains pertinent. While it may
not present explicit theoretical innovations, its methods prompt a
reexamination of established frameworks, offering a valuable perspective in
navigating a rapidly changing global landscape.
In the first chapter of The Capital titled
"Commodities," Marx lays the foundation for his exploration of
societies and their wealth. He starts by examining the concept of commodities,
which serves as a crucial framework for understanding capitalism. Marx defines
a commodity as an object external to us, something that, by its attributes,
fulfills some human need, regardless of whether it caters to basic necessities
or more refined desires.
Essentially, when a worker creates an object (like
fabric, shoes, plastic, or houses) through their labor, it doesn't belong to
them, but rather to the employer. This fundamental fact transforms the object
into merchandise, or in simpler terms, a commodity. The person with wealth and
commodities, according to Marx, represents the bourgeois, while the worker
embodies the proletariat. What's especially significant is that the bourgeois,
by owning the capital, exercises authority over how these commodities are
utilized and exchanged.
Marx goes on to delve into the concepts of use-value and
exchange-value as part of this discussion on commodities.
Marx emphasizes that every useful thing, like iron or
paper, can be evaluated in terms of its quality and quantity. The various ways
things are produced naturally lead to different ways they are used. It's the
task of history to recognize these different uses and the social norms that
judge them.
Use-value, as Marx describes it, arises from the
usefulness of an item. However, this usefulness isn't an abstract concept; it's
tied to the physical characteristics of the commodity. So, whether it's iron,
corn, or a diamond, as long as it's a tangible thing, it possesses a use-value,
meaning it serves a practical purpose. This characteristic of a commodity
exists regardless of how much effort was put into obtaining its useful
qualities.
Importantly, use-values only truly come to life when they
are used or consumed. They form the core of all wealth, regardless of the
specific societal structure. The key takeaway is that the true usefulness, or
use-value, of a commodity can only be understood when the object is part of an
exchange system. Use-value is tightly connected to exchange-value.
Additionally, it's not a matter of fitting neatly into either quality or
quantity; it involves both aspects.
Marx points out an important aspect about exchange-value.
He observes that it might seem like exchange-value is arbitrary and only
relative to specific situations. This means that attributing an inherent value
directly connected to commodities seems contradictory.
The contradiction arises from the fact that
exchange-value cannot be solely determined by the commodity itself. Instead, it
brings about something separate from, yet common to, the commodities being
exchanged. To put it simply, the exchange-values of commodities need to be
expressible in terms of something they all share, indicating a greater or
lesser amount of that common thing. This common factor isn't a natural property
like size or chemical makeup. These properties matter only to the extent that
they affect how useful the commodities are.
The act of exchanging commodities involves a complete
disregard for their specific uses. In this context, one commodity is considered
just as good as another, as long as it's present in enough quantity. Marx is
essentially saying that exchange-value is a way of representing a shared
quality that exists both within and beyond the commodities. This quality
becomes evident only when exchange-value is viewed as a detached concept from
use-value.
Marx highlights a crucial point: a commodity, being the
result of a worker's efforts, inherently carries the essence of human labor
within it. Essentially, it tells us that human labor has been used in its
creation, that human effort is embedded in it.
When Marx talks about human labor-power, he's referring
to the combined labor capacity of society, which is reflected in the total
value of all commodities produced by that society. It's essential to consider
labor-power in terms of what is socially necessary, meaning how society values
and assesses labor.
The value of one commodity compared to another is
determined by the amount of time it takes to produce each. In simpler terms,
the more efficient the production process (higher productivity), the less labor
time is needed, and consequently, the lower the value of the commodity.
Conversely, if production is less efficient (lower productivity), more labor
time is required, resulting in a higher value.
This means that the value of a commodity is directly tied
to the quantity of labor put into it and inversely related to how efficient
that labor is. The value is a measure of both individual labor input and what
society deems necessary for production.
It's crucial to recognize that labor is what gives a
commodity value, but it doesn't determine its usefulness. Usefulness is
determined by the object's practical benefit. Labor creates value, and when a
product serves a purpose, it's considered useful.
The value and utility of a commodity signify the abstract
idea of human labor in general. The actual physical labor invested in creating
an object represents both the specific goal of the product and human labor in
an abstract sense. The expenditure of labor, in terms of the abstract qualities
attributed to human effort, shapes the value within commodities.
Ultimately, the value of a commodity and the collective
human labor it represents are relative to what current society deems necessary
for meeting human needs and desires. This adds depth to our understanding of
the concept of a commodity.
Commodities are products that come into existence through
individual labor before becoming part of the collective society. When we
combine individual labor efforts, we create the overall human labor,
representing the collective effort of society. In terms of practical use, a
commodity seems straightforward: it fulfills human needs and is the result of
human work.
However, what makes a commodity complex and mysterious is
the idea that individual labor takes on a social form. In this social form,
determining and quantifying the value of individual labor becomes a challenge.
Even though individual labor is inherently subjective, the quality of human
labor is assessed objectively, which gives rise to the "enigmatic
character" of the product of labor. The value of labor, both individual
and collective, is affirmed through its social relationships. This social
aspect leads to the fetishism of commodities, where the social nature of the
labor that produces them is the origin of this phenomenon.
Just as the practical value of commodities is realized
through actual exchanges, the social value of individual labor becomes apparent
when the product of labor is involved in exchange. This social aspect blurs the
line between individual and collective labor. The intertwining of the
individual and the social, and consequently the stages of commodity production,
is what creates the mysterious and enigmatic nature of commodities.
Moreover, this intersection between the individual and the
social becomes the focal point of the fetishism of commodities. A commodity
appears mysterious because it presents the social character of human labor as
an objective trait imprinted on the product. This portrayal of the producers'
relation to the total sum of their labor is seen as a social relationship
existing not between themselves, but between the products they create. This is
why products of labor become commodities, appearing as social entities with
both perceivable and imperceptible qualities. This contrast with physical
properties and material relations is what gives rise to the fetishism attached
to commodities.
Commodities are shaped by their inherent social nature and
are influenced by current social trends. What may have been considered useful
in the past may have a different utility today, or may even be entirely
outdated. Human labor also reflects these changes in society, evolving as
society itself does. The proliferation of machinery, for instance, has rendered
much human labor obsolete. Machines like the cotton gin, sewing machines, and
computers have questioned the value of certain individual labors that were
previously socially valued commodities. While the basic concept of a commodity
remains constant, what changes over time is how products are identified and
labeled as commodities. Commodities, in this sense, serve as a critique of
capitalism, acting as markers of what society currently deems valuable. They
reflect the progression of history and the evolving understanding of utility,
both in the past and present.
Feminism,
Ecofeminism and the Maternal Archetype by Lynn M. Stearney examines how
ecofeminist rhetoric employs the maternal archetype as a powerful symbol to
advocate for environmental protection and care. However, relying on motherhood
as a central idea can blend the concepts of womanhood and motherhood,
overlooking the nuanced and socially constructed nature of motherhood. Using a
metaphor that isn't tied to a specific gender might better support both the
environmental and feminist goals of the ecofeminist movement. This analysis
suggests that using archetypal images without thoughtful consideration may hide
other important cultural, ideological, and political perspectives. The idea of
motherhood has been used in the environmental movement to symbolize the
relationship between the Earth and its inhabitants. For example, the popular
slogan "Love your Mother" urges us to care for and nurture the Earth
as if it were our natural caregiver, providing us with food, water, and air.
This connection between the environment and motherhood is especially relevant
in a time when both environmental awareness and the understanding of motherhood
are evolving as part of the current feminist movement. The
merging of the environmental and feminist movements is known as ecofeminism.
This term was coined by Francoise d'Eaubonne to highlight the potential for
women to lead an environmental revolution. A prominent figure in the
ecofeminist movement, Karen J. Warren, broadly defines ecofeminism as a
framework for examining the historical, experiential, symbolic, and theoretical
links between the subjugation of women and the subjugation of nature. This
reimagines feminism and develops a corresponding environmental ethic.
A
key metaphor in ecofeminism is the use of motherhood to depict women's unique
ability to care for and nurture the Earth. This makes motherhood a universal
and foundational concept in ecofeminist rhetoric. However, while archetypes
like motherhood have persuasive power by establishing connections among various
phenomena, they can also be resistant to criticism due to their ability to
simplify and organize our experiences. The strength of the mother archetype
lies in its universal and compelling nature, effectively conveying the need for
an unwavering commitment to protect and sustain the environment. However, Stearney
will argue in this essay, its weakness is that it ties our understanding of
'mother' to our received notions of womanhood, conflating the two. Despite
women's efforts to redefine and value their identities through feminism, the
use of the mother metaphor in ecofeminism can reinforce traditional views of
women primarily as mothers, closely linked to their reproductive capabilities.
Stearney contends that we
should continue searching for a powerful yet gender-neutral symbol that can
inspire and unite the environmental movement. While the mother archetype is
potent, it runs the risk of perpetuating the contemporary patriarchal notion of
motherhood as something natural, boundless, and exploitable. Stearney’s
analysis unfolds in four stages. First, she discusses motherhood as an
archetype and its specific connection to female identity and nature. She compares
the archetypal view of motherhood with feminism's critical perspective on it as
an institution, which emerged in the 1970s. Next, she examines the use of the
maternal archetype in ecofeminist rhetoric and its reliance on an essentialist
view of women as mothers. She explores the consequences of ecofeminism adopting
the maternal archetype for women and the environmental movement. Stearmey argues
that the maternal archetype is detrimental to feminism because it promotes the
idea of "motherhood" as a universal feminine concept, limiting
women's access to other identities. Additionally, linking
"motherhood" with the environmental movement obscures the shared
responsibility of men, women, and children in ensuring the Earth's survival.
Therefore, it seems important to continue seeking a powerful yet gender-neutral
symbol that encourages all Earth's inhabitants to take responsibility for the
environment.
The concept of motherhood is
deeply ingrained in our cultural and historical understanding. It transcends
time periods, societal conditions, and cultural boundaries, making it an
archetype—a symbol that holds universal meaning and influences our beliefs and
actions. However, this idealized view of motherhood can romanticize the
reality, obscuring the historical and ideological factors that have shaped our
current perceptions. In simple terms, "mothering" refers to the daily
care and management of children. This includes the special bond between a
mother and child, as well as the belief that mothers play a crucial role in a
child's development. Our modern understanding of 'motherhood' took root in
Victorian times, emphasizing qualities like nurturing, selflessness, and protection.
It encompasses not only the biological act of giving birth but also the
emotional and selfless aspects of nurturing and safeguarding a child. Bernard
described "The Mother" as someone who embodies qualities like love,
tenderness, self-sacrifice, and a focus on creating a secure environment for
her family.
While we often associate
motherhood with the care and protection of children, this term isn't limited to
that specific relationship. Ruddick, for instance, argues that motherhood is
connected to an ethic of care, involving nurturing and supporting others, which
she calls "maternal thinking." This concept extends beyond biological
ties to encompass various forms of caregiving. As Walker notes, even Buddha
used maternal imagery to convey the idea of boundless and unconditional love
for all beings. While the quality of unconditional love isn't inherently linked
to gender, it's often associated with the feminine role of motherhood.
Motherhood holds a central place in women's identities and is viewed as a
pivotal stage in their personal development. It provides women with a sense of
purpose both in terms of their role and their position in society. Childbearing
is still commonly seen as the primary path to fulfillment and emotional satisfaction
for women, and a fundamental aspect of their female identity. Additionally,
childless women are often judged in relation to their childbearing potential,
either as potential mothers, as those who faced challenges in bearing children,
or as individuals who are perceived as intentionally choosing not to have
children. Plaza emphasizes that a woman's identity is often overshadowed by her
role as a mother, where her existence is primarily defined by her
responsibilities towards her child, whom she must care for and attend to. Thus,
across different cultures, the maternal archetype serves as a potent way to
convey the significance of nurturing relationships and selfless devotion. This
archetype portrays women as naturally inclined toward caregiving and limitless
love and sacrifice. According to this archetype, a woman's primary identity
lies in her role as a mother, tied to her ability to both give birth and
nurture her child's growth. However, it's important to remember that while the
image of motherhood is powerful and familiar, it simplifies and idealizes the
actual experience of raising children.
Over the past thirty years in the
United States, shifts in societal and feminist movements have influenced how
women approach motherhood. Women's roles have expanded due to factors like
later marriage, contraception use, and having fewer children. In 1988, nearly
forty percent of American women in their childbearing years were childless, a
150% increase from 1976. However, there is still limited recognition of childless
women in formal studies, media, and everyday conversations. Feminist movements
have critically examined motherhood, challenging it as a socially constructed
and historically specific experience, rather than a natural instinct for women.
Early feminist thinkers like Simone DeBeauvoir and Betty Friedan questioned the
societal emphasis on motherhood. Friedan, in her book "The Feminine
Mystique," argued for women's autonomy beyond domestic roles. Later
critiques delved into the complexities and ambivalence that mothers experience.
Sociologist Bernice Bernard explored the tensions between the idealized image
of the selfless mother and the challenging realities of motherhood. Adrienne
Rich emphasized the difference between the institutionalized concept of
motherhood and the personal experiences of being a mother. These critiques
sought to separate mothering as a lived experience from the socially
constructed institution of motherhood. Some feminist theorists, like Carol
Gilligan, emphasized women's relational capacities as a source of strength,
emphasizing the influence of social context on these traits. Others, like Kathy
Rudy, stressed the importance of freedom for women to choose whether or not to
have children. In the mid-1980s, a third stage of feminist critique emerged,
aiming to revalue mothering and recognize it as a source of power compatible
with women's increasing economic, social, and political roles. However, a
resurgence of the maternal ideal within feminism and society led to a renewed
focus on the family, sometimes obscuring discussions of power dynamics within
families. In recent years, pronatalism has experienced a resurgence, with a
strong emphasis on the family as a cornerstone of political and social reform.
However, the choice not to have children or to define one's identity beyond
motherhood has received limited attention in this renewed interest in family
values. The tension between viewing motherhood as an enduring archetype and
subjecting it to critique is evident in the ecofeminist movement. References to
"Mother Nature" and "Earth Mother" tap into the enduring
images of motherhood to inspire responsible environmental attitudes and
actions. Ecofeminism uses these maternal images to emphasize women's connection
to the planet, drawing on the ideals of nurturing and caring traditionally
associated with motherhood.
Archetypal metaphors are
powerful symbols that represent universal patterns of experience. They are
consistent across cultures and time periods, serving as widely recognized
symbols. These metaphors are deeply ingrained in human consciousness and draw
on shared human experiences. Motherhood is one such archetype. It represents
the universal concept of nurturing, caring, and protecting. Despite criticisms
from feminists about its potential to enforce societal norms, motherhood
remains a widely upheld feminine ideal. Different cultures may have variations,
but the core idea remains the same. In the context of ecofeminism, the maternal
archetype is particularly significant. It serves two main functions. First, it
draws a parallel between women's role in reproduction and the natural cycles of
the Earth, emphasizing women's deeper connection to the environment. Second, it
reinforces the idea that women possess the necessary qualities, both
psychologically and emotionally, to care for the Earth. This archetype works
persuasively by creating similarities between women's reproductive capacity and
the natural cycles of the Earth. It suggests that women have the innate ability
to nurture, sustain, and protect both human life and the environment. This view
is based on the principle of conventionality, which means that these
associations are learned and form a kind of social contract.
Ecofeminists argue that
women's maternal characteristics, such as compassion and a sense of
responsibility, uniquely position them to lead environmental efforts. They
assert that women's ability to give birth and care for children makes them
particularly attuned to the needs of the Earth. This perspective is central to
ecofeminist activism, where many women are motivated by their roles as mothers
to protect the environment. While the maternal archetype can serve as a
unifying and motivating ideal for environmental responsibility, it's important
to be cautious. Overemphasizing motherhood may downplay the diversity of
women's experiences and roles. It's crucial to recognize that not all women are
mothers, and their value and contributions extend beyond traditional maternal
roles.
The use of the maternal theme
in ecofeminist rhetoric aims to highlight women in their perceived
"natural" roles as mothers. It underscores the psychological traits
associated with the maternal archetype, which is seen as an ideal
representation of femininity. The intention is to inspire a caring and
nurturing approach to environmental activism. However, relying heavily on the
maternal archetype in ecofeminism can unintentionally oversimplify complex
environmental issues, including political, economic, social, and technical
aspects. It may reduce these multifaceted problems to the promotion of a
specific maternal and feminine ethic, potentially overlooking other crucial
factors. This reliance on the maternal archetype also has potential drawbacks.
Firstly, it may not fully consider the social construction of motherhood and
the diverse experiences of mothering. While giving birth is a biological event,
the feelings and experiences associated with motherhood are shaped by societal
norms and values. Additionally, this emphasis on motherhood may overlook the
significant role that men play in human reproduction. Secondly, the ecofeminist
emphasis on women's unique capacity for care and nurturing can inadvertently
reinforce traditional gender stereotypes. It suggests that women's ability to
connect empathetically with the environment is inherently tied to motherhood,
potentially limiting other aspects of female identity.
Thirdly, ecofeminism may
romanticize motherhood while overlooking the substantial physical, emotional,
and psychological labor involved. Just as the work of homemakers and caregivers
was once undervalued and overlooked, the contributions of ecofeminists may face
similar challenges. Fourthly, an overemphasis on the symbolic and metaphorical
dimensions of mothering may have negative consequences for both
environmentalism and feminism. It may lead to an exploitative approach to
environmental issues, akin to how mothers have historically been exploited.
Additionally, it may inadvertently discourage potential environmental activists
by associating environmental protection solely with women. Finally, while
nurturing and caring for the environment is crucial, it is just one aspect of
addressing complex environmental problems. Effective solutions require a
multidisciplinary approach, involving various professionals and activists with
diverse skills and expertise. Environmental responsibility is not limited by
gender, and it encompasses a wide range of technical, political, economic,
social, and ethical considerations. Therefore, it is essential to engage a
broad spectrum of individuals in environmental efforts, rather than confining
this responsibility to individuals with stereotypically maternal traits.
The idea of the archetypal
Mother remains deeply ingrained in our cultural consciousness, often holding
more influence than real individuals who juggle childcare, work, and
environmental activism. While this Mother figure is familiar and potent,
relying on it in ecofeminism may inadvertently sideline feminist principles and
lead to a simplistic view of environmental ethics. Using the Mother archetype
as a metaphor for responsible environmental action is indeed persuasive, as it
taps into our idealized notions of motherhood. However, alternative metaphors
could serve to unite and inspire the ecofeminist movement without promoting a
narrow view of women or oversimplifying complex environmental issues. Although
the ecofeminist endeavor to value women's traditional roles in caregiving and
nurturing is commendable, it's important to recognize that not all women are
mothers, and even among mothers, there's a wide diversity of experiences. It's
crucial to remember that women and men share similarities and differences, and
the capacity to love, nurture, and empathize is a human trait, not confined to
one gender. Therefore, metaphors that don't favor any specific gender may
ultimately prove more effective and unifying for the ecofeminist cause. For
instance, considering the Earth as our "neighborhood," thinking of
humanity as inhabitants of a global "community," or seeing ourselves
as "friends of the earth" are alternative approaches.
While archetypal metaphors can
be powerful rhetorical tools, it's important to recognize that they are shaped
by culture. They can serve positive purposes by aligning with our cultural
values and goals. However, in some cases, they may inadvertently reinforce
unexamined adherence to prevailing value systems. The challenge for ecofeminism
lies in developing a new environmental ethics without compromising existing
feminist principles. This involves using persuasive rhetorical techniques to
rally environmental action while avoiding reinforcement of archetypal images
that uphold patriarchal ideals. For critics of rhetoric, the task is more
intricate—to identify and scrutinize the rhetorical universals that resonate
strongly across diverse contexts, while critically assessing their potential to
obscure and homogenize political, cultural, and ideological interests.
The act of expressing one's thoughts in a non-native
language raises intriguing questions about cultural assimilation and potential
cognitive influences. Some posit that language serves as a conduit for cultural
osmosis, while others contend that it may lead to a form of subtle
indoctrination, as language is often viewed as the vessel of thought. It is
famously suggested in literature that language acquisition can be a
double-edged sword, enabling both enlightenment and, in the case of Caliban,
potential subjugation.
Derretthowever,
arrives at a different conclusion. It is contended that figures like Gandhi
utilized English as a practical tool, akin to his spectacles, employing it for
its pragmatic utility, clarity, directness, and brevity rather than striving
for eloquence. In the realm of Indian literature written in English, the
language is not a mere conduit but assumes an independent existence. The
writers of Indian-English novels, who are sometimes labeled as 'hybrids,' face
challenges in being fully embraced as unequivocal Indians due to lingering
language sensibilities. This categorization can be particularly challenging in
a society where even in an ostensibly caste-averse age, the term is often
deployed in a disparaging manner.
The study sets out to explore an authentically Indian school
of writing that adopts English as its medium, recognizing it as the primary
language of intellectual discourse within India, as well as a global lingua
franca. The Indian-English novelists, as the author contends, are not
outsiders; instead, they emerge as some of the most significant proponents of
their nation's culture. They function as ambassadors or interpreters—whether
this role is consciously assumed or not—endowed with the responsibility of
representing a continent. The author employs a rigorous approach to literary
analysis to illustrate how these authors distinctly embody Indian identity. She
argues that the setting often supersedes the characters in importance,
emphasizing a palpable 'sense of locality.' For instance, R. K. Narayan's
ethereal South Indian town of Malgudi permeates the thoughts and actions of
nearly all his characters.
Moreover, the study delves into the thematic undercurrent of
the returning wanderer, which is emblematic of contemporary Indian fiction,
signifying a particular national zeitgeist. The author posits that the
meticulous and precise use of language, coupled with a unique mode of
interweaving meaning with words, is distinctly Indian. By drawing parallels
between Indian and British portrayals of Indian dance, she highlights a
profound distinction: for Indian writers, the reader's immersion in the dance
is imperative, while for Anglo-Saxon writers, a distant observation suffices.
While the author's literary arguments merit further examination,
her study poses profound questions about the Indian-English novelist's role as
an interpreter of national attitudes for an international audience. For
example, R. K. Narayan's detachment from the fervor of the 'Freedom Movement'
and his depiction of the British as distant, almost impassive figures raises
intriguing implications. The author meticulously explores the relatively
detached stance of many Indian-English novelists towards romantic relationships
or intercultural dynamics, presenting a thorough analysis supported by ample
illustrative material. Margaret Derrett's work in this area represents
pioneering scholarship with promising potential for further exploration.
Cudjoe's intention, as stated in the introduction, is to
meticulously analyze the artistic forms utilized to convey the ideological
content of Caribbean literature. In Part I, titled 'Caribbean resistance: an
historical background', a materialist interpretation of history is applied to
the historical struggle of a people who endured slavery or indentured servitude
in the 'plantation colonies' of the Hispanic, French, and British Caribbean.
The pivotal concept of 'resistance', central to the book's overarching argument,
is defined as encompassing any act or series of acts aimed at liberating a
people from their oppressors, whether they be slave masters or multinational
corporations. Therefore, within Cudjoe's thesis, Caribbean literature is to be
endowed with a comprehensive structural foundation encompassing socio-economic
and political-aesthetic elements.
This structural foundation within the historical continuum,
with revolution as a dominant theme, adheres to a deterministic rationale in a
series of chapters thematically interconnected in Part II. 'The beginning'
traces resistance to foreign dominance back to the Incas' resistance against
the Spanish conquistadors, progressing inexorably through 'The liberation
movement'. This phase encompasses pivotal events such as the French and
American revolutions, which have reverberations in local conflicts, uprisings,
and rebellions within the Caribbean. The narrative culminates with the Cuban
revolution in 1959. In a natural dialectical progression, we then encounter a chapter
titled 'The transition', where representative Caribbean writers—such as Jean
Price Mars, Rene Maran, Claude McKay, and Aime Cesaire, to name a few—are
depicted as exploring themes with a shared aspiration for spiritual
emancipation. The author's primary objective is to harmonize the dialectical
elements in writers' works with the historical events of the Caribbean. In the
chapter 'Towards self-government', V.S. Reid's conservatism in 'New Day' (1949)
faces scrutiny. Conversely, in 'Towards independence', Lamming receives acclaim
for being "the first writer in the British Caribbean to seriously examine
the relationship between them [the colonizer and the colonized] on a
psychological level." Nevertheless, it is in novels like Bertène Juminer's
'Au seuil d'un nouveau cri' (1963), which explores the efficacy of
revolutionary violence in the vein of Fanon, in the chapter 'Smashing the
ties', where a genuine form of 'socio-political realism' is achieved.
Cudjoe contends that such concern within the writer's perspective
is imperative for the restoration of the debased victim of colonial history to
a state of manhood. To illustrate this necessity, the author turns to the
poetry of Nicolas Guillén and the novels of Alejo Carpentier and Wilson Harris,
emphasizing the crucial universality of vision that is needed. The inclusion of
Wilson Harris, who is considered the least politically inclined among
representative Caribbean writers, in this context may raise some curiosity. In
Harris' work, particularly in his treatise 'Tradition and the West Indian
Novel' (1965), from which Cudjoe draws quotes in an attempt to demonstrate
Harris' deep-seated connection to Caribbean history, we encounter a manifesto
stating: "It seems to me vital - in a time when it is so easy to succumb
to fashionable tyrannies or optimisms - to break away from the conception so
many people entertain that literature is an extension of the social order or a
political platform." As of 1965 and continuing into the present, Harris'
work remains a tapestry of impressionistic responses within a surrealist vein,
lacking the dynamism found in the works of his Caribbean counterparts. These
writers, while acknowledging the inherent alienation between the artist and
society as a central challenge of realism, do not attempt to negate this
realism, but rather strive to imbue it with coherence and structure within a
mythology of art intertwined with socio-economic processes.
Furthermore, a notable value judgement in Cudjoe's
assessment is his categorical statement, unsupported by documentary evidence or
footnotes, that Caribbean writers such as John Hearne, Orlando Patterson, and
Derek Walcott endorse an 'anti-democratic and nihilistic Naipaulian tendency'.
Decades since its initial publication, Edward Said's
Orientalism (1979) has emerged as a seminal interdisciplinary work, reshaping
scholarly approaches to cross-cultural studies across various fields. At its
core, the book delves into the intricate interplay between power dynamics and
knowledge production. Said's thesis, asserting that "the Orient" is a
construct originating in the West, serving as a framework for broader Western
endeavors encompassing economic, military, and cultural dominance, retains its
profound relevance. It stands as a linchpin within contemporary critiques
challenging the assumptions and categories of modern knowledge. Said has
further expounded on the political dimension of his argument in extensive
writings concerning the Palestinian question. For those engaged in the critical
examination of knowledge, this work serves as a provocative call to broaden the
scope of their intellectual pursuits.
"Beyond Orientalism," authored by Fred Dallmayr, a
distinguished political theorist with a specialization in continental
philosophy, endeavors to meet this challenge. Dallmayr establishes a connection
between his own body of work and Said's critique of Western representations of
the nonwestern world. Comprising a series of interrelated essays, the book
explores the nexus between Asian philosophical traditions and internal
critiques of the rationalist model that have emerged within the Western
tradition. The initial chapter delves into Tzvetan Todorov's "The Conquest
of America" (1984), while the subsequent eight essays predominantly
scrutinize Indian philosophers or writers whose contributions directly engage
with trends in Indian philosophy. These essays serve as a commendable
introduction to the philosophical musings of several relatively lesser-known
Indian and Japanese thinkers, including Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, J. L. Mehta,
Wilhelm Halbfass, and Kitaro Nishida and the Kyoto School of Buddhist
philosophy. Dallmayr adeptly elucidates these thinkers' philosophical concerns,
the interplay between their texts, and their connections to the writings of
more familiar Western philosophers like Heidegger, Gadamer, Derrida, and
Habermas. Despite being independently written essays, the book remarkably
maintains a cohesive thread, attesting to the author's sustained engagement
with this specific facet of Asian thought.
Nonetheless, while immensely successful, the book doesn't
truly extend Said's political and intellectual project. Said's endeavor
entailed a reevaluation of the terms underpinning cross-cultural intellectual
encounters, rather than merely an invitation to engage with the foreign as the
new. Regrettably, Dallmayr tends to reexamine the contributions of Asian
philosophers to modern epistemology within the confines of the same established
intellectual discourse that lends his book its satisfying coherence—a discourse
largely defined by figures like Gadamer, Derrida, Habermas, and most notably,
Heidegger. It is worth noting that many of the Asian thinkers discussed by
Dallmayr appear to implicitly accept the definitions established by the
dominant epistemological discourse, further underscoring this issue.
Said's seminal work drew attention to the classificatory
paradigms shaping all cross-cultural projects, especially those straddling the
East/West divide, and the power structures underpinning them—from the
eighteenth century to the present day. However, Dallmayr misconstrues Said's
argument by equating Orientalism with a specific historical period
(nineteenth-century colonialism), rather than recognizing it as a set of
enduring power dynamics requiring ongoing scrutiny. Given that Dallmayr
explicitly premises his book on Said's argument, this misinterpretation leads
to theoretical and methodological complications. Additionally, certain classificatory
patterns employed by Dallmayr prove to be particularly problematic. Chief among
them is the selection of authors—not to suggest that these thinkers are
unworthy of consideration. They are undeniably significant. However, it is
striking that none of them seem to be scrutinizing the role of power in the
construction of knowledge, a crucial emphasis in Said's work. Instead, Dallmayr
appears to have chosen philosophers whose work tends to exemplify a pattern
within the Orientalist project: the reconciliation of ostensibly authentic
Eastern modes of thought with ostensibly distinct Western norms. This
impression is further reinforced when Dallmayr approvingly notes
Radhakrishnan's 1936 appointment to an Oxford chair as a sign of the demise of
Orientalism, rather than recognizing it as a potentially insidious
confirmation. Similarly, describing Wilhelm Halbfass as an Indologist who can
act as an "honest broker" for cross-cultural encounters suggests a
certain bias. These stylistic choices reflect a deeper issue in the selection
of authors—a question not just of who is being included, but also of who is
being excluded.
It is disconcerting that Dallmayr makes no reference
whatsoever to Muhammad Iqbal, a Muslim Indian philosopher. Iqbal, who underwent
training in Heidelberg during the 1920s and grappled with the concept of the
self in Islamic thought, would appear to be a fitting candidate for inclusion.
His notable absence underscores the glaring omission of any Muslim thinkers in
Dallmayr's discussions. This oversight contributes to the portrayal of the
Indian tradition as predominantly Hindu, with a smattering of Buddhism. Perhaps
Dallmayr's focus lies solely on what could be deemed authentically Indian
philosophy—those originating organically within the subcontinent. However, this
particular classification of cultural authenticity has been fundamentally
challenged by the Subaltern Studies collective. Comprising notable Indian
writers like Partha Chatterjee and Ranajit Guha, this group has played a pivotal
role in reshaping the terms of the intellectual encounter between India and the
West. It is noteworthy that Dallmayr does not acknowledge their contributions.
While the philosophers that capture Dallmayr's attention appear engrossed in
the epistemological categorization of Eastern (Hindu or Buddhist) vis-à-vis
Western (secular) modes of thinking, the Subaltern project is centered on the
interrogation of historical categories such as caste, race, nation, and
religion. This endeavor involves deconstructing the very categories that once
underpinned the authenticity of India's precolonial past, its customs, and
philosophies. Dallmayr's decision to overlook thinkers whose work expands and
redefines the tradition he seeks to engage with ultimately constrains his own
project. "Beyond Orientalism" stands as a serious and valuable
introduction to the intellectual endeavors of writers deserving of greater
attention in the West. However, if it falls short of being genuinely
post-Orientalist, perhaps this in itself serves as an indication of the
enduring influence of the Orientalist paradigm and the continued relevance of
Said's original critique.
For over ten years now, the concept of the Anthropocene, a
new era defined by human influence on the planet, has moved beyond its original
geological context into various academic fields and popular discourse. While
discussions on this topic have been diverse, spanning sciences to arts and
media, there has been limited effort to critically examine the underlying
assumptions of this concept.
In this Wilke outlines a critique from the standpoint of
gender and race studies, postcolonial perspectives, and the necessity for a
moral framework for global environmental justice. If humans are indeed the
primary drivers of planetary changes, then it falls upon the humanities to
investigate the new paths ahead. The humanities focus on exploring intellectual
creation and challenging dominant narratives, myths, and ideologies, engaging
with essential questions about meaning, value, responsibility, and purpose,
especially in a time of escalating crisis.
To embark on this critical perspective, it is crucial to
recognize that the concept of the Anthropocene presents a substantial challenge
to the core beliefs of Western philosophy, particularly Immanuel Kant's
transcendental philosophy. Kant made a distinction between what we, as humans,
can comprehend and the "thing in itself" (das Ding an sich), which
lies beyond our understanding. Human perception is limited to what we can
directly sense. Kant's emphasis on human subjectivity significantly influenced
how the relationship between humans and the natural world was perceived, often
favoring human existence over non-human existence.
If we accept that there is no direct link between abstract
ideas and actual experiences, we are left with a position akin to a
transcendental anthropocentrism. This implies that objects conform to the human
mind before they can be understood through human cognition. The idea of the
Anthropocene fundamentally challenges this presumption. In this age dominated
by human impact, all interactions between humans and non-humans occur within a
framework of interconnectedness.
In the Anthropocene, there's a need to reconsider how we
relate to nature. The predominant Western approach often centers on visual
observation, like the famous painting "Wanderer above the Sea of Fog"
by Caspar David Friedrich. But can we imagine other ways to connect with nature
beyond just seeing? Is it possible to have a multi-sensory experience of
landscapes that doesn't rely solely on personal perspective?
Carl Gustav Carus, a contemporary of Kant, proposed a
non-visual approach to appreciating landscapes through his concept of
"Erdlebenbildkunst" (earth-life painting). This Romantic painting
style, influenced by Kant's ideas, not only involved accurate observations but
also conveyed an understanding of how each element in the landscape is
interconnected with its surroundings, often through specific uses of light.
More recently, the land art movement offers another way to
explore our relationship with the environment in the Anthropocene. This
involves artists creating art directly from the natural environment, shaping
elements like soil, rocks, and water into new forms. This approach combines
artistic expression with a commitment to sustainability and ethical treatment
of nature. It draws attention to both our connection with nature and our
capacity to alter the landscape, highlighting human influence in this new era.
In the Anthropocene, we're challenging the traditional ideas
of Immanuel Kant, which separated human understanding from the true essence of
things. Instead, we're reimagining non-human reality as intertwined with human
reality, interacting on equal terms.
It's important to recognize that the onset of the
Anthropocene coincided with the age of exploration, driven not by all of
humanity, but specifically by European civilizations seeking valuable
resources. Similarly, the significant increase in carbon emissions in the 18th
and 19th centuries was predominantly the result of European industrialization
and colonization efforts.
The term "Anthropocene" can sometimes mask the
fact that a small portion of the world's population, largely representing
European cultures, played a major role in shaping this new era. This one
civilization's values, economic models, and consumption patterns now dominate
the framework of the Anthropocene.
One critical perspective notably absent from the scientific
discussions on the Anthropocene is the postcolonial viewpoint. This perspective
emphasizes that we're not dealing with universally applicable social, economic,
and cultural structures, but rather specific political, economic, and
discursive systems of power that have profoundly influenced world history. To
truly understand the Anthropocene, we must scrutinize and challenge the
foundational beliefs and ideologies of these regimes.
A robust critique of the Anthropocene requires not only a
postcolonial perspective but also an environmental justice framework that
acknowledges the active role of nature and the environment. Unfortunately,
these aspects have not been thoroughly explored in current discussions of the
Anthropocene. Strengthening our critical framework with postcolonial and
environmental justice perspectives is essential for a more nuanced
understanding of social and cultural dynamics in an age where
interconnectedness and global mobility are paramount.
Recent discussions in environmental humanities caution
against an uncritical celebration of technology as the solution for a
sustainable future in the Anthropocene. They warn against falling into the trap
of believing that humans can manage the Earth system entirely through science
and technology. It's crucial to critically examine the discourse surrounding
the Anthropocene, including its foundations, implications, worldview, and
consequences. This includes questioning the role of humans as geo-engineers and
the potential risks of assuming too much control over nature. In this vision,
nature is no longer seen as an independent force, but rather as something
shaped by a powerful humanity determining the Earth's future.
"The Search for
Africa" is a collection of eighteen essays written by Davidson between
1953 and 1992, each placed in a contemporary context through updated
introductory comments. Throughout these pages, familiar ideological and
interpretative viewpoints from Davidson's previous works reappear. This
positions him as a prominent voice in understanding Africa, having likely
imparted more knowledge about the continent to the West since World War II than
any other commentator, while maintaining the respect of Africans.
Davidson frames the book
against the backdrop of the challenging conditions prevailing in many African
societies towards the end of the 20th century. While he acknowledges more
stable times in Africa's history, characterized by social order and collective
confidence, he traces the descent into the abyss of slavery and colonialism,
the optimism of independence, and the subsequent disillusionment as neocolonial
legacies persist.
The book contends that
solutions to contemporary African problems must come from within the continent
itself. Davidson emphasizes the importance of understanding Africa's history to
derive what he terms "the lessons of internal culture." These lessons
can guide Africans towards a better future, free from the ills of political,
economic, and cultural imperialism, as well as racial prejudice.
The first section of the book,
titled "Claims," highlights the accomplishments of past African
cultures. It depicts Egyptian pharaonic civilization as an African phenomenon
influenced by other African societies. The spread of Islamic culture from
northern Africa and its blending with indigenous communities through extensive
trade networks is also discussed. The essays demonstrate the achievements of
African societies in tropical agriculture, metallurgy, and social organization,
attributed to consultative rule and an effective system of checks and balances.
However, these achievements
were diminished around the 1600s due to the burgeoning slave trade, which
altered Europeans' perceptions of their African neighbors. Respect and
tolerance were replaced with a belief in the inherent inferiority of Africans.
This attitude was further exacerbated during centuries of European
technological advancement, causing the non-material accomplishments of Africans
to be disregarded. Davidson argues that Africa's path forward involves
rediscovering and valuing the successes of indigenous African political
experience and implementing them on a broader scale than the current
nation-states.
The second section of the
book, titled "Antipathies," delves into the colonialist dismantling
of African life and intellect. It scrutinizes the inception of apartheid and
what Davidson labels as "legalized servitude" in South Africa.
Additionally, it explores imperialist oppression in Angola and the Congo.
Davidson's observations in
1969 of the burgeoning pluralism in the colony of Northern Rhodesia serve as a
precursor to the third part of the book, "Sympathies." This section
showcases Davidson's journalistic prowess, particularly in "Voices from
the Front," where he recounts his experiences in guerrilla warfare
alongside his friend Amilcar Cabral, the revolutionary leader later
assassinated by the Portuguese, in the Portuguese colony of Guinea. Davidson's
affinity, both physical and ideological, with the liberation movements active
across Africa at the time is palpable. His narratives of their struggles are
marked by sympathy and emotional resonance.
In the fourth part,
"Debates," the focus shifts to a period closer to the present.
Davidson attributes much of Africa's current turmoil to the enduring legacy of
colonialism, which ingrained autocratic, arbitrary, and oppressive governance,
entrenched privilege, and fostered centralized administration that failed to
acknowledge the diverse cultural tapestry of the population. The decolonization
process and transition to independence were often tumultuous, at times even
culminating in the calculated institutionalization of colonial chaos. This
manifested in unfavorable trade agreements and the creation of crises in food
production, urban development, and industrial investment. In a 1976 essay,
Davidson proposes a remedy to this dire situation—a reinvigoration of African
history after the prolonged period of colonial estrangement. He advocates for a
shift of power from centralized authority to local self-governance, along with
the promotion of regional associations based on traditional ethnic lines.
The book culminates
emphatically in the final section, "Arguments," where Davidson presents
two bold perspectives that encapsulate his overarching agenda. Firstly, he
underscores that the ancient Greeks, renowned for their recognition and respect
of the achievements of pharaonic Egypt, also acknowledged that pharaonic
culture had deep-rooted origins in inner Africa. This alignment of ancient
Greek historical analysis with Davidson's own viewpoint challenges the
longstanding Western bias against attributing value to African civilizations,
if they were acknowledged at all. Secondly, in "The Curse of
Columbus" Davidson contends that Christopher Columbus, celebrated
fervently in the 500th anniversary year, was, in truth, the architect of the
transatlantic slave trade. It was through his endeavors that much of the
Western world ultimately adopted the notion of African inferiority to justify
their enslavement. Davidson regards this readiness of Europeans to accept moral
degradation in exchange for economic gain and political dominion as a grievous
moral failing that should weigh heavily on the Western conscience.
Walker Connor's work, "The National Question in
Marxist-Leninist Theory and Strategy," offers an evaluation of the
enduring interplay between nationalism and Marxist-Leninist theory. The term
"National Question" encompasses a wide array of issues arising from
the presence of distinct nations and nationalities. Connor primarily examines
this within the context of the USSR, Chinese People's Republic, Vietnam,
Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, and Romania.
In the USSR, it has often been asserted that the nationality
question has been resolved, and the Leninist approach has been actively
promoted among various satellite states. Many contemporary Marxist-Leninist
states, akin to the USSR, fall under the multinational category. However, there
are significant distinctions within this framework. China, like the USSR, is
dominated by one primary ethnic group—the Han people, roughly equivalent to the
Russians in this regard. Nevertheless, China's ethnic composition differs
notably. Minorities are predominantly situated in China's inland border
regions, and non-Han communities have historically harbored a traditional
aversion to the Chinese. Additionally, distinct historical circumstances and
events have had profound impacts. Unlike Czarist Russia, China experienced
imperialist aggression and, in certain regions, colonialism. The Chinese
Revolution was considerably more protracted than its Russian counterpart, and
it transitioned from rural to urban centers, making it relatively easier to
align minority nationalities with the goals of the revolution from the outset.
In Yugoslavia, the experience of invasion and conquest,
particularly by the Germans, contributed to a temporary overshadowing of local
hostilities and the formation of anti-fascist fronts, even when these alliances
were not inherently pro-Yugoslavia. Unlike China or the USSR, Yugoslavia lacks
a singularly dominant ethnic group. Instead, it maintains a precarious
coexistence of what Tito termed "the nations of Yugoslavia."
Czechoslovakia similarly grapples with deep internal divisions, and even states
like Romania and Vietnam face challenges posed by significant minority
populations. Communism's achievement has largely been to contain these national
differences within fundamentally national-style states. Nonetheless, the
existing disparities within the so-called communist "bloc" serve as a
testament to the enduring depth of nationalism.
Connor contends that Lenin's initial proposition in his
three-fold strategy for addressing nationalism, which promised all national groups
the right to self-determination prior to assuming power, while also extending
equality to those who choose to remain within the state, met with considerable
success. However, his second and third directives, which advocated for ending
the practical (though not necessarily perceived) right to secession after
taking power, and initiating the protracted process of assimilation through the
dialectical path of territorial autonomy for compact groups, as well as
maintaining the party's distance from all nationalist tendencies, have proven
far less effective. As Djilas has argued, "The problem is primarily that
even though social, and especially political, systems change, nations persist.
That means that the national question in a multinational state can be resolved
at best only for a specific period, in the framework of a specific political
and social structure."
Walker Connor contends that Marx shared with Hegel the
belief that history was progressing through a discernible dialectical pattern,
but he argues that Marx erred in removing from Hegel's theory the notion that
nations are the effective agents of social history, replacing it with the
struggle of social classes. While this assertion is debatable, as the emphasis
on class has undeniably made significant contributions in various domains, it
is also crucial to acknowledge that if Marxist-Leninism has not resolved the
issues of nationalism, credit should be given to several of these states for
effectively managing the complexities of nationalities. The loosening of
stringent central control in Czechoslovakia in 1968, for instance, seemed to
inevitably lead to a resurgence of national differences within the state. It's
plausible that many of these multinational states governed by communist regimes
simply cannot afford the luxury of pluralism as we understand it.
Annie Coombes' book, "Reinventing Africa: Museums,
Material Culture and Popular Imagination in Late Victorian and Edwardian
England," critically examines the evolution of African studies, urging a
shift away from entrenched Eurocentric perspectives. As both institutions and
art councils endeavor to reassess the essence of African studies, questions
inevitably arise about the origins of the prevailing mindset and the role
played by museums and academics in perpetuating, rather than dispelling,
colonial myths.
Coombes' exploration is thorough and meticulous. She
contends that in late Victorian and Edwardian England, African objects were
initially viewed as mere curiosities. However, private merchants, government
bodies, missionary organizations, museums, and academic institutions
purposefully redefined these objects, evaluating them based on their
'Aesthetic' attributes. This reevaluation was part of a deliberate effort to
influence the British middle and working classes, ultimately justifying
behaviors that might otherwise have raised ethical concerns. Coombes further
delves into the contemporaneous materials of this era, providing insight into
the social transformations in England and their impact on various groups with
vested interests in shaping perceptions of Africa and Africans.
Coombes' introductory remarks underscore a critical gap in
the exploration of the relationship between anthropology's public image and
academic discourse during the period of 1890-1913. She emphasizes the
disconnect between the anthropological theories disseminated in public spaces,
particularly through museums, and those produced for circulation within the
burgeoning academic community. Coombes asserts that this disparity complicates
the use of ethnographic collections as indicators of the latest developments in
anthropological thought, emphasizing instead that these collections represent
the convergence of state, institutional, and professional politics and policies
during this period.
To illustrate this point, Coombes commences with the well-known
history of the Benin "punitive expedition" of 1897. She unpacks the
socioeconomic motivations behind the raid and examines early critiques of it,
some of which were published shortly after the expedition. Coombes then turns
her attention to the prized "booty" of the raid—the numerous Benin
bronzes and ivories. Initially, these objects were showered with attention,
with colonial administrators and companies aiming to use them as tangible
evidence of Benin's "savagery," thus justifying their military campaign.
Simultaneously, certain scholars used the art to substantiate the
'degeneration' theory about Benin culture, arguing that the casting techniques
at the time of the raid were inferior to those used for earlier objects. While
some scholars, like Ling-Roth, highlighted the merits of the Benin castings,
others attributed the fineness of the craftsmanship to European intervention or
even an Egyptian origin.
Coombes elucidates how the theory of cultural degeneracy, in
vogue at the time, was imposed on the Benin material to provide additional
"evidence" for the case of cultural decline. This theory posited that
most non-Western civilizations had experienced a cultural zenith at some point,
only to face a steady decline. The abstraction in design elements was
interpreted as an inability to accurately replicate ancient motifs. The Benin
material was thus redefined as a form of "art" and an exemplar of
savagery that only colonialism could rectify. Crucially, the work was labeled
as "degenerate," leading to the endorsement of moral and ethical
views validated by scientific discourse.
In the subsequent sections of the book, Coombes sheds light
on the power of 'Spectacles,' which resembled large-scale world's fair
exhibitions showcasing various parts of the empire, including displays of
African material as trophies. Coombes underscores that these spectacles were
not only racist but also sexist, often portraying women as mere possessions of
their "savage" husbands. Africa underwent a redefinition—from a land
of 'savages' requiring military intervention for redemption to a dark and
enigmatic continent, rife with peculiar rituals and unusual customs. This
revised perception of Africa could, of course, be "improved" with the
assistance of colonial intervention, spurred by both public interest and
private interest groups seeking to capitalize on the growing fascination with
all things African.
Coombes then shifts her focus to the emerging museums of the
time—the Horniman, the Pitt-Rivers, and the Mayer museums. She demonstrates how
these ethnographic institutions increasingly paid attention to what were
previously regarded as mere curiosities. These objects, though not yet
classified as "art," were now considered indicative of the
anthropological viewpoints advocated by the museum directors, such as
degenerationist and diffusionist theories. Rebranded as 'craft,' these African
art objects were once again redefined, this time as educational tools for
illuminating the 'evolution' of cultures.
Coombes delves into a critical examination of the prevailing
perspectives on Africa during a specific period and in a distinct context. She
calls attention to the transformation in societal and moral norms that occurred
during the Edwardian era, challenging established Victorian paradigms. Coombes
emphasizes the shifts in the social and political landscape of African
colonies, brought about in part by the colonial process itself, which led to
new challenges for the British state. These shifts included the emergence of an
educated elite and the rise of small radical presses that voiced demands and
exchanged ideas with West African newspapers. Protests against colonial
administrations were also gaining traction within the colonies, impacting
British society, either directly or indirectly.
While Coombes's work is generally direct and balanced,
occasional confusion arises, particularly in the interchange of the Kuba and
the Luba groups when describing objects in a photograph. This attention to
detail, which Coombes champions throughout the text, should ideally extend to
the accurate representation of material objects.
Coombes also questions the French approach to archaeological
work in Tunis, suggesting that their efforts were driven by a desire to assert
themselves as the discoverers and guardians of Tunisian heritage and history.
She contends that the French saw it as their duty to preserve this historical
memory, considering it neglected by the Tunisian people. However, it's worth
noting that the interests of modern Tunisians may not have aligned with the
preservation of ancient Pagan sites. Coombes also draws a parallel with the
British efforts in India to preserve significant monuments, underscoring the
complexity of colonial endeavors.
One potential critique lies in the hindsight with which we
view historical events. Coombes acknowledges that anthropometry, though
criticized in her work, was a legitimate form of physical study during the
period in question. She suggests that caution and a nuanced perspective might
be warranted when evaluating these practices in their historical context.
Religion, gender, and colonialism are intricately
interwoven, and neglecting this interconnection risks perpetuating the enduring
effects of oppressive colonial rule experienced by women. Their collective work
meticulously exposes the overlapping biases against religion, women, and
non-Western perspectives within the realms of women's studies, religious
studies, and postcolonial studies. With diverse cultural backgrounds, a
multi-religious focus, and a range of theoretical approaches, their collection
forms a rich tapestry that resists any attempt at a singular feminist
postcolonial religious viewpoint.
Despite this diversity, a common thread unites the essays:
the question of whether the subaltern, particularly the subaltern woman within
religious contexts, can find her voice. Drawing from Spivak's influential
query, the authors collectively explore the historical agency and resistance
displayed by subaltern women. Yet, they contend that Western feminist thinkers
often fail to acknowledge this agency—a phenomenon Donaldson terms "the
refusal of subject status to the oppressed." She critiques the
"sanctioned ignorance" within academic feminist discourse regarding
Native American women, advocating for a decolonized reading of both indigenous
and non-native sources to unearth the partial testimonies of native women's
agency.
Kwok's essay hones in on Mary Daly's critique of Chinese
foot-binding, revealing how Western feminist perspectives can sometimes paint a
misleading picture of "white women saving brown women from brown
men." Kwok counters this by demonstrating that patriarky, even in its most
oppressive forms, does not render its victims entirely voiceless and powerless.
She provides historical examples of Chinese women actively resisting
foot-binding, including their collaboration with the Chinese missionary church,
despite its patriarkal structure. Kwok's work challenges First-World feminism,
exposing its tendency towards Orientalism and its oversimplification of
Third-World women's experiences.
Yegenoglu employs Focault's insights to analyze the veiled
body in Islam, revealing that Muslim women's bodies are similarly subject to
the shaping forces of power, just as Western women's bodies are influenced by
societal norms. She dismantles the Western feminist narrative that paints
Eastern women as passive victims in need of liberation, emphasizing that both
contexts involve complex power dynamics. Dube highlights the multifaceted
expression of subaltern voices in the Two-Thirds World, particularly in Africa.
She illustrates how African women have drawn on indigenous religio-cultural
traditions, decimated by colonial Christianization, to empower themselves.
Simultaneously, they have carved out spaces of resistance within the African
Christian church.
Drawing on Patton's research, a parallel situation emerges
for women Sanskritists in India, who have forged a nuanced hybrid space of
postcolonial empowerment and spirituality through their specialized study of
elite texts.
Miriam Cooke and M. Shawn Copeland illuminate a crucial
theme: that religious feminism is far from an "oxymoron". Cooke
scrutinizes the emergence of Islamic feminism, a movement deeply committed to
both religious faith and pro-women activism. This development counters the
prevailing bias in secular Western feminism, which often dismisses the
possibility of advocating for women's rights within patriarchal religious
frameworks. Muslim feminists who choose to adhere to traditional head coverings
or attire in line with Islamic principles are frequently labeled as victims of
patriarchy by Western feminist perspectives. Nevertheless, they persist in
asserting their right to navigate this complex and often conflicting space of
belonging and resistance within Islam.
Copeland bears witness to the potential of religious
feminism in her essay, tracing the historical colonization of black women's
bodies by various sectors of society, both white and black, including within
the black church itself. Through a womanist theological lens, Copeland responds
to the dual oppressions of sexism and racism stemming from slavery, as well as the
misogynistic messages prevalent in rap music and the black film industry. Her
response involves the reclamation of the black sermon as a decolonizing tool,
aimed at reclaiming the black church as a sanctuary for African American
women—a space of empowerment, social change, and hope.
Laura Levitt's examination of Judaism in Napoleonic France
effectively extends the arguments presented in the editors' introductory essay,
underlining the imperative need to analyze the interconnected dynamics of
gender, religion, and colonialism as a unified "trilogy”. This volume,
with its multidisciplinary approach and global perspective, sets a high
standard for future scholarship on this multifaceted subject matter. It
particularly calls on Western white feminists to engage in greater
self-reflection regarding their own biases.
Law and Disorder in the Postcolony is a compilation of
essays brings together an array of international scholars who seek to
comprehend the various manifestations of violence and disorder commonly
observed in postcolonial contexts. In their extensive introduction, Jean and
John Comaroff, distinguished anthropologists from the University of Chicago,
delve into fundamental questions: how should we interpret the prevalent levels
of corruption, violence, and criminality often encountered in postcolonial
nations, where paradoxically, there is a proliferation of litigious activity
and legal discourse? To what degree are these attributes specific to the
postcolony? The subsequent eight contributions, authored by anthropologists,
sociologists, and political scientists, draw from extensive research to examine
these dynamics in locations such as Brazil, Indonesia, and South Africa, among
others. The outcome is a mosaic of insights that shed crucial light on the
postcolony and broader governance themes in an increasingly interconnected
world.
The editors acknowledge the complexities surrounding the
term 'postcolonial,' employing it here primarily to refer to nations in the
southern hemisphere whose colonial legacies were dismantled in recent decades.
Yet, they underscore the significance of studying these countries collectively,
as they believe there is something distinctive in their shared encounters with
law and disorder. The impacts of profound structural adjustments, neoliberal
reforms, and globalization have presented postcolonial nations, still
contending with the vestiges of their colonial histories, with fresh and more
intricate governance challenges. Confronted with privatization and an
increasingly diverse populace, postcolonial states grapple with the imperatives
of neoliberal policies alongside the popular clamor for order. Amid these
transformations, the boundaries between private and public spheres, informal
and formal practices, and legal and illegal activities grow progressively
blurred. For the editors, this portrayal of the postcolony mirrors a global
trajectory, rendering it a critical arena for cutting-edge research and
theoretical advancement.
With this context in mind, numerous essays in the
compilation scrutinize the State's struggle with crime and lawlessness in a
period of sweeping transition. For instance, Peter Geschiere's chapter on the
legal proceedings concerning witchcraft in Cameroon and South Africa delineates
how the State has ventured into new legal territories to quell public
anxieties. The contribution by the Comaroffs also delves into the State's
response to popular apprehensions about crime in South Africa, focusing on
various sites, notably the police force's conspicuous displays of authority
aimed at instilling public confidence. These contributions demonstrate how
these policies have, rather unexpectedly, heightened public concerns about
crime and underscored the State's inefficacy. Both articles exemplify the
unintended repercussions of the State's endeavors to dictate the interpretation
of its actions in nations characterized by diverse local and national cultures.
Several essays, with great finesse, concentrate on the
contentious interpretations of justice in regions marked by uneven state
development. Notably, two pieces centered on Brazil scrutinize the contentious
meanings of crime and human rights in the country's recent tumultuous history.
Teresa Caldeira's chapter offers an insightful examination of how rights have
been mobilized by various social movements across the political spectrum in the
sprawling urban peripheries of the country. Meanwhile, Nancy Scheper-Hughes
highlights the increasingly prevalent and semi-official role of death squads in
dispensing justice and public services. Both essays illuminate how genuine
concerns among the populace regarding security and safety have spurred vastly
different reactions to governance, many of which represent disconcerting
undemocratic trends. These essays, among others, reveal the ways in which
vulnerable populations engage with the very institutions that subject them to
victimization.
