The essays compiled in "The Post-Colonial
Question" collectively delve into the intricate interplay between culture,
politics, and theory. The title itself signals a deep engagement with the
multifaceted dimensions of the "postcolonial." The editors acknowledge
that there have been previous examinations of the term, its historical
underpinnings, and its adequacy as a conceptual framework. This volume,
however, promises fresh and "recombinant" explorations of
postcolonialism, encapsulated in its subtitle: "Common Skies, Divided
Horizons." Regrettably, the robust contestation evoked by this
union—amidst what the editors aptly describe as the "urgent clamor"
stemming from phenomena like famine, poverty, genocide, migration, fervent
religious sentiments, and nationalist identities—largely remains unaddressed,
even overshadowed. Consequently, the essential question at the heart of
"The Post-Colonial Question" remains largely unarticulated.
One reason for this collective hesitancy to confront the
disruptions inherent in postcoloniality stems from the inherent constraints of
converting conference proceedings into edited collections. This particular
volume emerged from a conference held in Naples in May 1993, embodying the
challenges of generating entirely novel or systematically developed insights
under such circumstances. Beyond this structural challenge, the essays reveal
blind spots characteristic of the discursivist and idealist inclinations
prevalent in much pre-established postcolonial criticism.
In formulating this assessment, I draw inspiration, albeit
somewhat paradoxically, from Stuart Hall—a figure of immense influence in
cultural studies, whose intellectual presence has profoundly shaped minority
discourse within and beyond the academic realm. Over nearly three decades of
critical scholarship, Hall has offered invaluable theoretical perspectives
while maintaining a vigilant eye on what the Frankfurt School once referred to
as "critique." Nevertheless, his recent stances on postcolonialism
have grappled with a departure from the potent critical traditions that
previously informed his work. In his essay "When Was 'The Post-Colonial'?
Thinking at the Limit," included in this collection, Hall scrutinizes the
historical, political, and epistemological dimensions of the term
"postcolonial" by juxtaposing diverse critiques of its usage. Serving
as a metacritique, Hall's essay scrutinizes how scholars such as Anne
McClintock, Ella Shohat, and Peter Hulme have conceptualized the politics of
postcolonialism, especially in their impact on disciplinary studies in the
American academic sphere.
While Hall aligns himself with the broadly
"poststructuralist" and "postfoundationalist" impulses
guiding what he deems as the most astute endeavors to understand the
postcolonial as a particular type of "limit" concept, he acknowledges
in the latter part of his essay that, despite the intricacies and crises
explored, there remains a conspicuous absence in the literature—a serious
consideration of the "relationship between postcolonialism and global
capitalism." This significant gap, as Hall contends, has become
"seriously damaging and disabling for everything positive which the
post-colonial paradigm can, and has the ambition to, accomplish" .
However, this acknowledgment on Hall's part is somewhat reluctant, and one of
the most pivotal opportunities overlooked in this very collection pertains to
the omission of what could be termed "materialist" analyses of
postcolonial cultural expressions and practices.
Two notable exceptions to this trend are Catherine Hall's
essay "Histories, Empires, and the Post-Colonial Moment" and Paul
Gilroy's "Route Work: The Black Atlantic and the Politics of Exile".
Even in these more historically attuned discussions, one must ask: do the
politics of exile, post-imperial Britain, and postcolonialism primarily revolve
around identity? While it's undeniable that ideologies regarding the reshaping
of identity are pivotal in constituting the postcolonial, they must surely be
considered within the broader context of material forces. To push this a bit
further, are we now in a realm where consciousness dictates existence? If so,
have we transcended any determining link between global capitalism and
postcolonialism? In that case, the limit, as Hall delineates it, may no longer
be a significant concern. For those who remain skeptical about the assertion
that "globalization" signifies the eclipse of the state-mediated
aspects of capital (and the consequent assumption that, therefore, the
narrative of postcolonialism revolves around the disruptions and upheavals of
modernity without the blunt mechanisms of the capital-labor dynamic on a global
scale), this book may prove unsatisfactory.
At the core of what seems to be an increasingly enigmatic
perception of "third spaces" within both colonial centers and former
colonies—where the "asymmetrical" and "heterotopic"
coordinates of hybridized postcolonial subjectivities are located lies an
age-old contradiction: namely, that the "epistemic violence" of
colonialism was a means and justification for the appropriation of surplus, in
other words, economic exploitation. Any substantial exploration of colonial
modernity (which, after all, imbues meaning in the postcolonial) must grapple
with this enduring tendency, as Marx astutely theorized, of capital to present
itself as the universal form for social processes of valorization and value
extraction. This contrasts with Lawrence Grossberg's essay in the volume,
"The Space of Culture, the Power of Space," where he somewhat perplexingly
contends that "the new order of globalization is built upon an ecumenical
abstract machine" where "what is to be produced is no longer the form
of value (capital) but its substance (money)..." At the close of the
(postcolonial) day, one may wonder if the sun that set on the empire now rises
on a horizon whose divisions appear in anything other than semantic form.
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