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Socialist Planning in Mali

By Nathanaël Micolod

“Independence is worth what are worth or what want its leaders”. In his novel “African leaders facing their people” then-Minister of Development of newly-independent Mali Seydou Badian Kouyaté suggested that leaders, above all, determined the future of African countries after independence. In 1961, Modibo Keïta became the first President of Mali, promising socialist development. Yet despite the promises and hopes that accompanied independence, the socialist experiment in Mali was short-lived, as a coup deposed Keïta in 1968, changing the economic direction of the country. This essay will examine how this came to be, studying how the slave trade and colonialism affected the future prospects of Mali after independence and the goals of independence leaders, the strategies employed by the new government, and critically look at their effectiveness, exploring the causes behind the failure of socialist planning. The essay concludes that this derives less from the worth of Mali’s leaders than in the government setting for itself overly ambitious goals, significant economic constraints inherited in part from the colonial era which hampered successful planning, and the lack of popular concertation and control over policy.
As a result of rising demand for raw materials at home, as well the high potential for investments and new markets for goods, Europe began between the 1870s and 1900s its “scramble for Africa.” By the 19th century’s end, French Sudan (present-day Mali) was under direct French colonial administration, linking the other French colonies of Senegal and Algeria. While France’s stated goal in Africa was the assimilation of the colonies into its whole, in practice French rule was repressive, with a heavily centralized administration led by white local elites (Mamdani 1996). Nevertheless, French colonial rule of Mali quickly proved unattractive to the French, as the administrative costs of running the colony exceeded the profits the colonial government could extract, particularly because of its large swathes of inhabitable territory and paucity of natural resources. As the trans-Saharan trade ended and West African coasts prospered, the French colonial government continued passively to rule over French Sudan, with little attempt in developing the area (Suret-Canale et al. 1976). In the 1950s, with independence movements prospering around the world, French Sudan attempted a short-lived alliance with its more prosperous neighbor Senegal — the resulting Mali Federation, formed in September 1959, successfully bargained for independence with the French and gained its formal independence on July 1960, before coming apart in September of that year, with Modibo Keïta becoming the first president of Mali. To Keïta, the main objectives of African leaders was to “resolve problems of subsistence, of living conditions, of the struggle against illiteracy, and especially of giving back to African man his confidence in himself, and forever ridding him of the inferiority complex which colonialism has created in him” (Speech in Bouaké, Ivory Coast 1962). To achieve this objective, the Union Soudanaise-RDA (the ruling and only party in the country) assembled an extraordinary congress in September 1960 and unanimously voted to lead the country towards a socialist path to development.
While socialist planning was meant ultimately to improve the conditions of the poorest and working classes, there was an understanding that certain objectives, such as economic independence, were to take priority in the short-term. As stated in the Malian Five-Year Plan: “The ultimate objective of the planning of our economy is the improvement of the standard of living of the population. However, the investible surplus realized through the implementation of planning cannot be totally divested for that particular purpose: a great portion of this surplus must be divested to exports and investment.”
Attempts at a socialist path to development, such as the Malian Five Year Plan of 1961-1966, overall failed to produce the results planners had hoped for. The new government mobilized its resources, creating thirty-six new state enterprises, with the goal for them to eventually grow large enough so as not to require foreign capital and guarantee Mali’s economic independence on the global stage. The government established a new rural network of cooperatives, created its own national currency, and established a treasury for foreign exchange control. Nevertheless, despite the “prerequisites” to successful socialist development being established, development failed in practice, which dissuaded further planning attempts after 1966 until the coup that would depose Keïta and the US-RDA in 1968. As the new government that overthrew Keïta would put it: “The first Five-Year Plan […] has resulted in an unmitigated failure, despite some commendable realizations in the industrial sector and some spectacular realizations in the field of infra-structure[…]. The inefficiency of the productive sector, the low level at which modern enterprises have been operating, and the absence of a taxation system adapted to the rural world have both prevented the realization of an export output sufficient to cover imports and of a surplus revenue that would have allowed to cover the ever-increasing recurrent administrative costs. Consequently, a point of equilibrium could be reached only be reached by resorting to an inflationary currency circulation and by external indebtedness” (Programme Triennal De Redressement Économique Et Financier 1972).

Several explanations may be given for the failure of socialist planning in Mali during this period. Mali was first of all an especially poor country, with a GNP about three times lower than its neighbor Senegal, and such limited resources proved quite constraining to Mali’s socialist experiment. In their study of economic development in Tanzania, Gerald K. Helleiner (1972) proposed a distinction between “basic” and “self-imposed” economic constraints. Whereas “basic” constraints represent the endowments a state planner is provided with (the stock, present and future of the factors of production — land, labor and capital), “self-imposed” constraints the political, social or economic rules imposed by socialism. Mali experienced several “basic” economic constraints. Its distance from the sea, and particularly its limited infrastructure (owing to the scarce attempts by the French colonial government to develop such infrastructure) made the transport of goods for imports and exports much more costly. Mali also lacked the infrastructure necessary to produce energy domestically, leading to dependence on entirely imported oil and other sources of energy. The country was poor in natural resources, fertile soils and water sources; it also faced high population growth, social heterogeneity, lack of human capital (skills and knowledge in most sectors of the sectors of its economy), and finally an overall lack of financial resources and savings (Martin 1976). All of these conditions combined to create a particularly difficult backdrop for successful planning.
The Malian Five-Year Plan relied on increasing output in agriculture to raise domestic income, but the production of its main cash-crop, groundnuts, only continued to fall over the period of the Five-Year Plan. Climate conditions, while a part of it, do not fully justify the overall failure of agricultural production. Peasants resisted attempts at the collectivization of agriculture, refusing to participate in programs such as the “Groupements ruraux de production et de secours mutuel.” The government failed to provide sufficient incentives for peasants to participate in government programs, and this alongside the worsening of peasant conditions after the Plan led to growing distrust for socialism (Jones 1972). The Malian socialist experiment struggled with insufficient popular support, as despite some enthusiasm in the early years following independence the lack of popular consultation or popular control quickly encouraged distrust of the government and socialism.

Planning also struggled from seeking both growth and development. As scholar William Jones put it: “The politicians saw the primary purpose of the socialist option as structural change — having the state take over the commanding heights of the economy and probably a good deal more. The planners expected to have both structural transformation and fast economic growth. Indeed, far from expecting the structural transformation to impose economic costs on society, they thought it would start paying its way immediately and provide a surplus to finance other investments” (1969). However, the attainment of growth and development, besides being somewhat antithetical, were hampered by the basic economic constraints listed earlier, and the economic costs of structural changes could not be shouldered by state enterprises as they failed to create the profits planners had hoped for.
The inability of state enterprises to produce as per expectations created inflationary pressures. As public investments rose, so did administrative costs rise as well as transfers to public corporations. By 1962, Mali shouldered a 4.6 billion Malian Franc (MF) deficit in its balance-of-payment. While administrative costs skyrocketed, employment in administration saw only small increases and little improvement in its ability to manage its public sector. Public corporations continued to receive subventions even as they failed to produce the profits planners had hoped for, preventing economic development rather than enabling it (Crespo et al. 1966). The monetary system was forced to continue to sustain a failing public sector, doubling the amount of money in circulation and overall doubling the price of goods and services in the country. The country’s struggling domestic market required the importation of many consumer goods; and as importation failed to keep up with domestic demands, causing rising prices on the black market, the government was forced to rely on foreign debt, approximating 110 billion MF by the end of 1968.
The planning process itself it also at fault in the failure of socialist planning in Mali. Preliminary drafts of the Five-Year Plan drawn in 1959 lacked any serious statistical foundations, which only became available in 1961; this caused discrepancies between the goals of the Plan and how feasible such goals were to attain, particularly as the amount of public expenditure which had been supported by the French colonial administration had been greatly underestimated. The planners, ignoring the country’s basic economic constraints, hoped for a whopping 8.3% annual growth, exceeding all other countries in the world at the time. However, the planning staff was both insufficiently funded and insufficiently manned to comprehensively manage state enterprises (Gaud 1967), and lacked the power to enforce its authority as several investments occurred without the Ministry of Planning’s consent (Crespo 1966).

However, these economic factors do not explain what prevented planners from changing course while they had time to do so. Scholar Claude Meillassoux (1970) proposes that the answer lies in the socio-political composition of Malian society. The “Parti Soudanais Progressiste” (PSP) was a political party created in 1945, largely composed of the traditional aristocracy which had begun to form before the colonization of Mali by France. Receiving significant pushback from the US-RDA, which had been gaining momentum through the acquisition notably of the merchant class’ support, the PSP eventually adhered to the US-RDA. However, despite restrictions on foreign activity initially favoring the merchants, the socialist policies of the new government soon challenged the merchants. The creation of the Malian Franc (which restricted trading operations by the merchants), the strict regulation of foreign trade, and the state holding a quasi-monopoly in both foreign and domestic trade led the merchants to become the primary opposition group to Keïta’s regime.
Meanwhile, a new bureaucratic class developed, monopolizing political power; however, the challenge of the merchant class required the consolidation of this political power by seizing economy power as well. This was done through the development of an extensive public sector “under the label of ‘socialism,’ which provided [the bureaucratic class] with a convenient ideology to bring the economy under their control” (Mefflassoux 1970). This created a situation where undermining expenses in the public sector would go directly against the interests and power of the bureaucratic class — instead of reorganizing the public sector in an attempt to make it more profitable, it tended to further create state corporations. As the largest employer in the country, it had control over the distribution of profits, using this to consolidate their position of power. Rather than radically change the conditions of the peasantry following the end of colonial rule, the peasantry found itself exploited again by the new bureaucratic class, which held interests which differed from its own — a situation enabled by the lack of popular participation or control in the policies of its new government.

In conclusion, the failure of socialist planning in Mali may be attributed to a variety of factors. Economic constraints and poor planning led to inefficient public sectors, setting the country on a path to rising inflation and foreign debt. While resources might have been reallocated or reorganized to avoid this outcome, the lack of avenues for popular participation enabled the new bureaucratic class to maintain the status quo and defend its economic and political power instead of improving the peasantry’s living conditions, using socialism as a label to pursue their own interests while stripping it of its substance and promise.

Works Cited

Crespo, Alberto Sánchez et al. “Trois Expériences Africaines De Développement: Le Mali, La Guinée Et Le Ghana”. Desarrollo Económico, vol 5, no. 20, 1966, p. 577. JSTOR.
Gaud, Michel. Les Premières Expériences De Planification En Afrique Noire. Éditions Cujas, 1967.
Helleiner, G. K. “Socialism And Economic Development In Tanzania”. The Journal Of Development Studies, vol 8, no. 2, 1972, pp. 183-204. Informa UK Limited.
Jones, William I. “The Kéïta Decade: Economics Of The Coup”. Africa Report, 1969.
Jones, William I. “The Mise And Demise Of Socialist Institutions In Rural Mali”. Geneva-Africa, 1972.
Mamdani, Mahmood. Citizen And Subject. University Press, 1996.
Martin, Guy. “Socialism, Economic Development And Planning In Mali, 1960-1968”. Canadian Journal Of African Studies / Revue Canadienne Des Études Africaines, vol 10, no. 1, 1976, p. 23. JSTOR.
Mefflassoux, Claude. “A Class Analysis Of The Bureaucratic Process In Mali”. The Journal Of Development Studies, vol 6, no. 2, 1970, pp. 97-110. Informa UK Limited.
“Programme Triennal De Redressement Économique Et Financier”. Les Plans de Développement d’Afrique Noire. Ediafric, 1972
Suret-Canale, Jean, and Till Gottheiner. French Colonialism In Tropical Africa, 1900-1945. Heinemann, 1976.

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Promoting an Equitable Postcolonial Future for Palestine and Israel: The Role of the BDS Movement

By: Ahmed El-Halabi

Introduction

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is an ongoing dispute that’s been going on since the end of World War II and is one of the longest conflicts to happen around the world. Despite numerous attempts to establish peace in the region, the conflict isn’t going anywhere, and it’s hard to see when it could end. Despite the deployment of the oldest peacekeeping operation by the United Nations in 1948 and the United States’ attempt to organize peace, a lasting solution has not been found. The seriousness of the situation, rooted in over 2000 years of history and disputed land control, makes it a challenging issue to resolve. Both Jews and Arab Muslims claim historical rights to the territory, furthering the conflict from any sort of peace.

This essay will explore the idea of postcolonialism and how the BDS movement can be analyzed in promoting a more equitable and authentic postcolonial future for Palestine and Israel. This essay examines the Palestine-Israel conflict through the lens of postcolonialism, utilizing Orientalism and postcolonialism theories from authors Edward Said and Frantz Fanon’s works, “Orientalism” and “The Wretched of the Earth”. By applying these concepts, the essay seeks to evaluate the effectiveness of the BDS movement in promoting a more equitable and authentic postcolonial future for Palestine and Israel. To achieve this, the essay analyzes the movement’s success in raising global awareness, challenging Israel’s legitimacy, and fostering communication and cooperation between Palestinian and Israeli activists.

Understanding Post-Colonialism

Postcolonialism emerged in response to the long-lasting effects of colonialism, seeking to examine and mitigate its influence on modern society. Through Edward Said’s book, “Orientalism,” he supports this claim that postcolonialism emerged as a necessary response to the ongoing effects of colonialism (Said, 1978, p. 3). Postcolonialism challenges colonialism’s entrenched influence and aims to amplify the voices of those marginalized and oppressed by it. While analyzing how colonialism imposed Western values and systems of governance, leading to the subordination and exclusion of native cultures and knowledge systems. Said highlights the importance of examining the ways in which colonialism has influenced cultures, communities, and power structures, and the need to challenge the pervasive influence of colonialism on contemporary society (Said, 1978, p. 2). Overall, it is a vital area of research that aims to challenge and undermine the persistent legacy of colonialism and promote a more equitable society. He emphasizes the significance of challenging the dominant narratives and viewpoints that colonialism produced in addition to pointing out that colonialism produced unequal power arrangements between colonizers and colonized people. (Said, 1978, p. 8).

Said’s work emphasizes the importance of recognizing and amplifying the voices of those who have been marginalized and oppressed by colonialism (Said, 1978, p. 5). Said’s work remains a critical intervention into ongoing discussions around postcolonialism, highlighting the effects of colonialism on countries and cultures while questioning the ongoing legacy of colonialism. We may work towards a more equal society by recognizing these impacts and providing an outlet for minority views to be heard. (Said, 1978, p. 13).

Brief History of Palestine and Israel

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a protracted and intricate disagreement over who has governmental and territorial control over Palestine. When Jewish immigration to Palestine expanded in the early 20th century, tensions within Arab populations began (BBC News, 2021). Following Israel’s declaration of independence in 1948, thousands of Palestinian refugees were uprooted because of the Arab-Israeli War (BBC News, 2021). Despite several attempts at negotiation and ceasefires, the conflict has lasted for decades without ending. The establishment of a Palestinian state, the rights of Palestinian refugees, and the status of Jerusalem are the primary issues at the center of the conflict (BBC News, 2021). Palestinians contend that Israel’s continuous occupation of Palestinian areas violates international law and prevents them from being independent and exercising their right to self-determination (Amnesty International, 2021). As a result, this has caused suffering for both Palestinians and Israelis, with numerous displacements of civilians. The international community has called for peaceful resolutions to the conflict, specifically, proposing a two-state solution that would establish a Palestinian state alongside Israel (United Nations, 2021). However, achieving this peace agreement remains a challenge.

Israelis and Palestinians are living in fear and insecurity in the area as a result of the prolonged conflict. The conflict has also had wider geopolitical repercussions due to regional and international countries getting involved and using it to further their own objectives. Numerous efforts have been undertaken to promote dialogue and understanding between Israelis and Palestinians, despite the challenges and complexity of the situation. Individual activists, movements, and non-governmental organizations have all worked to improve rapprochement and peace, typically through initiatives that emphasize forging connections between the two communities and fostering mutual respect. Despite the slow progress, these initiatives have demonstrated that a peaceful resolution to the issue is still possible.

Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) Movement

In reaction to the traditional diplomatic and negotiating methods’ failure to end the ongoing conflict between Palestine and Israel, the BDS movement was born in 2005. The movement’s proponents contend that Israel’s treatment of the Palestinians constitutes a violation of international law and human rights and that the international community must hold Israel accountable. Some people have opposed and criticized the BDS movement, claiming that it unfairly targets Israel and has antisemitic undertones. However, supporters of the movement insist that it is an acceptable, peaceful method of protest and that critiquing Israeli policies need not always be antisemitic.

Overview of postcolonial theory and its Application to Palestine and Israel

The postcolonial theory offers an insightful lens through which to analyze the conflict between Palestine and Israel, given its focus on the legacy of colonialism and its impacts on societies and cultures. By examining the historical context of the Zionist settlement in Palestine, a postcolonial framework can help understand the ways in which the conflict has been shaped by power dynamics and the imposition of Western values and beliefs on the region. Frantz Fanon’s “The Wretched of the Earth” provides important insights into the impacts of colonialism on societies and cultures. Fanon notes that “The colonial world is a world divided into compartments” and “The colonial world is a Manichean world.” (Fanon, 1961, p. 2) This division perpetuates unequal power relations, with the settler’s world being a “world without spaciousness.” (Fanon, 1961, p. 3) Furthermore, Fanon argues that the violence of colonialism is a central aspect of the conflict, stating that “The violence which has ruled over the ordering of the colonial world…that same violence will be claimed and taken over by the native at the moment when deciding to embody history in his own person, he surges into the forbidden quarters.” (Fanon, 1961, p. 35) Thus, a postcolonial framework can help raise awareness about the complex historical and cultural factors that underlie the Palestine-Israel conflict and work towards a more just and equitable resolution. Furthermore, postcolonial theory can highlight how the continued influence of colonialism on the conflict reinforces unequal power relations and perpetuates injustices against Palestinians. Through postcolonial theory, activists can raise awareness about the complex historical and cultural factors that underlie the conflict and work towards a more just and fair resolution.

Significance of the BDS movement

The Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS) movement has gained widespread attention as a movement advocating for Palestinian rights. According to the BDS National Committee, the movement’s goals include “ending Israel’s occupation and colonization of all Arab lands,” “recognizing the fundamental rights of the Arab-Palestinian citizens of Israel,” and “respecting, protecting and promoting the rights of Palestinian refugees to return to their homes and properties” (BDS National Committee, n.d.). These objectives have created much discussion among scholars, who have also examined the movement’s nonviolent strategies, including as boycotts and divestments, and their effects on Israeli society and politics as well as on how the world perceives Israel (Human Rights Watch, 2021).

The BDS movement’s founding principles are founded on the fundamental rights of the Palestinian people and seek to address the conflict’s underlying causes. The three guiding principles are listed on the website of the BDS National Committee as ending the Israeli occupation of Palestinian territories, recognizing the fundamental rights of Arab-Palestinian Israeli citizens, and respecting, promoting, and defending the rights of Palestinian refugees to return to their homes and property (BDS National Committee, n.d.). Scholars have debated the movement’s demands extensively, looking at its nonviolent strategies like boycotts, divestments, and sanctions as well as how they have affected Israeli politics and society as well as how the rest of the world views the conflict.

The BDS movement has faced allegations of anti-Semitic views and bias against Israel, leading to controversy and debate (Human Rights Watch, 2021). However, the movement continues to advocate for Palestinian rights and pressuring Israel to change its policies. Similarly, Amnesty International (2021) acknowledges the criticism but emphasizes that the movement’s three core principles reflect the longstanding grievances of the Palestinian people and seek to address the root causes of the conflict. While supporters of the BDS movement argue that sanctions, boycotts, and divestment are required to address the injustice of the Palestinian people, those opposed assert that the movement is biased and unfairly targets Israeli citizens and businesses (Middle East Monitor, 2021). The BDS movement continues to play a vital role in the conflict for Palestinian rights despite the controversies.

Israeli violations of international law in the occupied Palestinian territories

Israeli violations of international law have had a profound impact on Palestinian communities, particularly those living in the occupied territories. The construction of Israeli settlements on Palestinian land has led to the displacement of thousands of Palestinians from their homes, while the demolition of Palestinian homes and infrastructure has left many without access to basic services such as water and electricity. Sources, Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have harshly criticized Israel’s occupation of Palestinian territory for violating both international law and human rights. The establishment of Israeli settlements on Palestinian land is viewed as a violation of the Fourth Geneva Convention, which prevents an occupying army from moving its own population into the territory it occupies (Amnesty International, 2022). The demolition of their homes and infrastructure has left a large number of Palestinians homeless and cut off from necessities, such as water and electricity. (Human Rights Watch, 2021). The excessive force, which included the use of live ammunition, used to suppress Palestinian protesters has resulted in many deaths and injuries (Amnesty International, 2022). As a result, this has contributed to a culture of fear and insecurity in Palestinian communities. These policies have also had a significant economic impact, with restrictions on movement and trade making it difficult for Palestinians to access employment and essential goods and services.

In response, the BDS movement has been successful in putting Israel under pressure economically and politically to cease its occupation of Palestinian areas and offer Palestinians equal rights. The movement has also been successful in establishing communication and cooperation amongst activists on all sides of the conflict as well as raising awareness of the predicament of Palestinians. The BDS movement has remained active and expanded despite opposition and criticism from people and groups all around the world. The movement acts as a reminder that regular people can alter the world and make governments responsible for their deeds.

Implications for the future

The BDS movement has the potential to be a tremendous tool for the goal of justice and equality in Palestine and Israel. Nevertheless, it faces several challenges, including opposition from pro-Israel organizations and nations as well as sanctions that would have an impact on both Israelis and Palestinians. Because of this, it will be crucial to continuously evaluate and analyze the movement’s methods and objectives to guarantee sure it stays significant, effective, and based on the concepts of justice and equality. The BDS movement must serve as a beginning to a solution. This issue could be resolved by granting Palestine and Israel equal recognition. However, Israel must accomplish this without breaking any international laws.

The BDS movement has the potential to be a tremendous tool for the goal of justice and equality in Palestine and Israel. Nevertheless, it faces several challenges, including opposition from pro-Israel organizations and nations as well as sanctions that would have an impact on both Israelis and Palestinians. Because of this, it will be crucial to continuously evaluate and analyze the movement’s methods and objectives to guarantee sure it stays significant, effective, and based on the concepts of justice and equality. The BDS movement must serve as a beginning to a solution. This issue could be resolved by granting Palestine and Israel equal recognition. However, Israel must accomplish this without breaking any international laws.

Conclusion

It is important to acknowledge that the struggle for justice and equality requires a multifaceted approach that considers issues such as colonialism, nationalism, and power dynamics. The BDS movement is just one tool in this struggle, and it is not without limitations and challenges. Through continued analysis, dialogue, and collaboration, we can work towards a future that is more equitable and just for all people in the region. It is crucial to approach this issue with empathy, respect, and a willingness to listen and learn from all perspectives. The BDS movement has been successful in raising global awareness about the ongoing conflict between Palestine and Israel. The movement’s nonviolent tactics of boycotts have drawn attention to the human rights violations committed by the Israeli government against the Palestinian people, including the displacement of Palestinians, the construction of unjust settlements, and the restriction of movement. The movement has helped to educate people around the world about the history of the conflict, including the ongoing impact of colonialism and the struggle for Palestinian self-determination. The BDS movement has provided a platform for Palestinian and Israeli activists to come together and work towards a common goal of promoting human rights and justice. Although building alliances across political and social divides is difficult, the BDS movement has created a platform where Palestinian and Israeli activists can come together to talk and work towards common goals. This has the potential to create understanding and build bridges between the two groups.

By applying Orientalism and postcolonialism theories from Edward Said and Frantz Fanon’s works, “Orientalism” and “The Wretched of the Earth,” this essay has examined the effectiveness of the BDS movement in challenging Israel’s legitimacy while using communication and cooperation between Palestinian and Israeli activists. Although there have been criticisms of the BDS movement, it remains a vital initiative in promoting peaceful resolutions to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict by holding Israel accountable for violating international law and human rights. Ultimately, a peaceful resolution to the conflict is still possible, and individual activists, movements, and non-governmental organizations can help foster mutual respect and understanding between Israelis and Palestinians.

Bibliography:

Amnesty International. 2021. “Israel and Occupied Palestinian Territories 2020.” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.amnesty.org/en/countries/middle-east-and-north-africa/israel-and- occupied-palestinian-territories/report-israel-and-occupied-palestinian-territories/.

Amnesty International. 2015. “Israel: The Occupied Palestinian Territories and Israel.” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.amnesty.org/en/countries/middle-east-and-north- africa/israel-and-occupied-palestinian-territories/report-israel-and-occupied-palestinian- territories/.

Amnesty International. 2021. “Palestine: Everything You Need to Know about the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) Movement.” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.amnesty.org/en/what-we-do/campaigns/demand-dignity/palestine- everything-you-need-to-know-about-the-boycott-divestment-and-sanctions-bds- movement/.

BBC News. “Israel ramps up demolition of Palestinian homes in Jerusalem.” PBS NewsHour, July 23, 2019. https://www.pbs.org/newshour/world/israel-ramps-up-demolition-of-palestinian-homes-in-jerusalem.

BBC News. 2021. “Israel-Palestinian Conflict: What You Need to Know.” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-11107739.

BDS National Committee. n.d. “What is BDS?” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://bdsmovement.net/what-is-bds.

Said, Edward W. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books, 2003, 1-28.

Fanon, Frantz. The Wretched of the Earth. New York: Grove Press, 1963, 1-35.

Human Rights Watch. 2021. “Boycotts, Divestment, and Sanctions (BDS).” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.hrw.org/tag/boycotts-divestment-and-sanctions-bds.

If Americans Knew. “History of the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict.” If Americans Knew. Accessed April 27, 2023. https://ifamericansknew.org/history/.

Middle East Monitor. 2021. “BDS Movement.” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.middleeastmonitor.com/bds-movement/.

Schulman, Joshua. “BDS Movement Highlights Need to Restore Civil Discourse on Campuses.” Inside Higher Ed, April 1, 2016. https://www.insidehighered.com/views/2016/04/01/bds-movement-highlights-need-restore-civil-discourse-campuses-essay.

United Nations. 2021. “The Question of Palestine.” Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.un.org/en/sections/issues-depth/question-palestine/.

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Gift of Ganja: A Screenplay Exploring Cannabis Studies in British India

by Kaitlyn Dang

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Ungovernable Histories: Transness and Healing the Scar

By Newton Wainscott

Note

When discussing gender identity and transgender issues contemporarily, it is crucial to note that many of the discussed pre and postcolonial identities considered here do not fall neatly within modern Western conceptions of what it means to be transgender. While I will be using the terms ‘transgender’ and ‘gender identity’ within this essay, the purpose is to make these concepts both brief and easily comprehensible to those unfamiliar with more detailed verbiage, not to retrofit these cultural identities into the more cut and dry terms typically used in the present. ‘Trans’, as used within this essay, stands to mean any individual who does not wholly identify with their assigned gender at birth (oft referred to as biological sex, which will not be used here due to the term’s various conceptual shortcomings).

Introduction

In contemporary society, particularly within the past few decades, there exists a seemingly paradoxical phenomenon where both landmark transgender protections and general transphobic actions have simultaneously increased, with both sides of this conflict being perpetuated by the state. This essay seeks to consider how this directly results from the legacies of colonial ideology transitioning into the present-day politics of state transgender recognition, drawing evidence primarily from the areas of Pakistan, India, and Iran. By examining contemporary steps towards transgender rights in these areas, it becomes clear that many of these state-administered actions (and inactions) echo Western ideology that was transferred to these areas during the colonial period. This case study provides a more concrete way of understanding Ann Stoler’s broader conceptual points about colonial entailments, specifically in that contemporary trans politics act as “refashioned… opaque and oblique reworkings” (Stoler 2016: 5) of prior colonial views of gender recognition. The state continues its coloniality when dealing with transgender people in a frantic attempt to rationalize, define, and categorize those who threaten and lie outside of the invisible lines of government recognition.

Histories and Contempo-realities

Many Westerners, when discussing present transgender issues in areas like Asia and the Middle East, assume that these areas are hostile to and entirely unsafe for transgender individuals. Despite this pervasive idea, it is important to note that Iran, India, and Pakistan often have more progressive legislation than many places in the United States. To understand why this misconception is so common, the colonial past must be examined and understood. Before diving into the impacts of direct colonialism, Iran must be discussed regarding Western proximity and interaction. Often, Muslim countries carry a stigma that labels Islamic areas and practitioners as homo and transphobic. However, during the Qajar dynasty in Iran, the gender binary was completely nonexistent, only coming into play through the nation’s eventual relationship with the West. In past Persian literature, homosexuality was often written about and accepted, so long as one was performing their outward religious duties. “What changed gender construction and desire in Iran,” Gichki writes, “was the Westernization of the society.” Iran shifted into a “European nation-state” (Gichki 2020: 34), quickly passing various regulations outlawing homosexual behavior and other ‘socially unacceptable’ actions – the supposedly homo- and transphobic Islamic state was almost entirely created from colonial constructions of morality rather than the tenants of Islam, as many Westerners who fall into a commonly-held ethnocentric misconception believe.

In Pakistan and India, colonialism operated in a significantly more direct fashion regarding an established instance of nonbinary or “third gender” groups. Hijras (referred to as Khawaja Saras in Pakistan), are a Hindu group typically comprised of intersex and transgender people concentrated primarily in South Asia and have existed for around two thousand years. Hijras have been historically recognized and accepted, a fact particularly documented during the Mughal Empire, and around three million Hijras exist in India today (Harvard 2018). Hijra culture involves a unique guru-chela kinship system, where the Guru acts as a parental figure towards a younger Hijra, referred to as the chela. Contemporarily, the Guru is expected to provide food, shelter, and guidance to the chela, who often begs on the street and shares the profit with their teacher. In some instances, Hijras can also receive income by performing at bhadhais – “auspicious occasion[s] like childbirth or marriage” (Gichki 2020: 32) – but are almost completely excluded from the broader job market and many other facets of public life due to their gender identity.

One might question how Hijras transitioned from being highly respected members of Hindu society capable of attaining prominent positions of authority to being scorned by the same members of the community that once revered them. The legal beginning of this cultural transition begins with Part 11 of the Criminal Tribes Act (CTA) of 1871, when Britain was still in direct control of India and what would become Pakistan. This act attempted to ban the presence and public existence of Hijras, “prohibit[ing]… being seen from a public street or place – while performing or wearing women’s clothes” (Gichki 2020: 34). It is important to note that as opposed to the moral concerns driving social change in Iran, Britain passed this act because “gender and gender behaviors were germane to [direct] colonial control, in which Hijras were considered as ungovernable” (Gichki 2020: 34). To draw a brief parallel, this almost two-hundred-year-old bill closely mirrors contemporary articles being proposed across the United States. A recent Tennessee bill, successfully passed in early March of 2023, states that “male or female impersonators” are no longer allowed to “engage in adult cabaret performance[s]” on public property or in the presence of minors (Restrepo 2023). The parallels between these two laws could not be more evident – states have a continuous vested interest in controlling narratives of gender where the interest exists due to the legacies of classical Western thought and thus colonialism. The persistent concept of ‘ungovernable’ bodies and subgroups represents what Ann Stoler calls “colonial entailments,” or continuities that “may lose their visible and indefinable presence in the vocabulary… of current concerns” (Stoler 2016: 4). While in many respects, transgender people have generally become more accepted in the present as members of society and citizens, the various anti-trans bills floating around in the United States (and globally) prove that many of these colonial ways of thinking are still insidiously present. The colonial entailment of the ‘ungovernable body’ will be elaborated on in the next section, particularly regarding the “assertation that the present is the site of colonial practices… and that some populations are still subject to instantiations of those practices” (Stoler 2016: 25).

Continuity and ‘Change’

In present day Iran and postcolonial Pakistan and India, state interest has mostly shifted from condemnation into a form of legislation portrayed as beneficial to the communities it legislates, which is occasionally the case. In 2018, Pakistan passed an act allowing for the recognition of five different types of identity expression, paying homage to South Asian perceptions of gender. Yet, Pakistan’s act simultaneously has an entire section discouraging begging practices; Gichki states that “this aims specifically at the [aforementioned] guru-chela kinship practice” (2020: 32) that is key to Hijra culture. The act also provides no relief for the income disparity and job discrimination this subculture must deal with as a result. Also, the five gender options outlined by the act, while more progressive and culture-bound than similar moves seen in the United States, are not clearly defined, rendering individuals unable to understand how to define themselves according to the state. What does it matter if one is recognized if this recognition continuously leads to a culture of exclusion through “new forms of categorizations and gender subordination” (Gichki 2020: 32)?  The state, while still paying some cultural homage to the complexity of gender identity in South Asia, seeks to create “‘normal narrative[s]’ of… ‘non-normal identity’” (Draz 2017: 373) in order to ‘know/understand’ its citizens. There exists an extremely colonial, pervasive idea that trans individuals, hijras, or anyone experiencing a disidentification with their assigned gender at birth (AGAB) can be who they are, so long as we, the state, can recognize you according to our arbitrary categorizations. This idea of the ‘normal narrative’ goes directly back to the fight against the ‘ungovernable’ and ‘criminal’ body as outlined by the CTA of 1871; Pakistan’s act thus continues this conflict whilst simultaneously rewriting transgender and Hijra history, as if these forms of subjugation have not occurred before – albeit in different forms than one may expect. Stoler further explains this concept of disidentification with the past, stating that “not recognizing these colonial genealogies… may have as much to do with what the connectivities between past and present are expected to look like” (2016: 6). As such, one with little or no familiarity with past struggles of gender identity may easily overlook the darker sides of legislation oft portrayed as beneficial to the community. Even transgender people in the West, though familiar with their own struggle, are unable to recognize and/or identify with these continuous colonial entailments – “those who are privileged by the current arrangement [of gender recognition/classification] do not have to question whether the state is “getting them right” or the processes through which that rightness is secured” (Draz 2017: 376).

To carry these ideas over to India, an act was passed in 2019 that was explicitly focused on eliminating various forms of discrimination socially and in the workplace. Despite the positives, this bill has also fallen short in terms of appropriate problem-solving, recognition, and representation. India’s act specifically targets the monetary discrimination that goes unaccounted for in Pakistan, but still does nothing to change the material reality of their Hijra population. In fact, the terms ‘Hijra’ and ‘transgender’ are used interchangeably, which disregards the idea that the term Hijra “does not only encompass a gender identity, but is associated with particular traditions, linguistic and religious practices” (Gichki 2020: 32) that the word ‘transgender’ is unable to aptly describe. Significantly, the bill also promises appropriate gender recognition without requiring surgery, yet anyone applying to change their gender on their identification must have a physical examination conducted prior to this change. Not only is this contradictory to the wording of the bill, but it also forces transgender individuals to medically transition – the exams exist for the sole purpose of state recognition, relying entirely on the power and knowledge of the state to decide whether one’s body abides by the arbitrary rules and societal standards that the state itself imposes. The state must first recognize the body to further their categorization of the individual as one, the other, or the other other and so on. Stoler writes that colonial histories and present entailments place significant emphasis on distinguishing the “us from a distant them” in space and in time (2016: 25); in this case the ‘them’ exists as a difficult to recognize and thus threatening ‘other’.

To further develop Stoler’s thought and how it relates to these required medical exams to receive recognition, a brief discussion of the interplay between time and desire becomes necessary. Draz, when discussing medical transition and the process by which to receive it, asks a striking and important question: “Does realness reside in the length of time a desire exists?” (Draz 2017: 374). The ‘born this way’ narrative that modern states utilize to classify transgender individuals, Hijras, or any other anomalous group says yes – there exists this concrete connection between realness, or legitimacy, and time that must be adhered to if one aims for official recognition. This narrative relies on this temporality being entirely linear, as a process that transitions smoothly between long-term recognition of one’s ‘transness’ into non-surgical forms of treatment (hormones, social transition, etc.), then into surgical forms of treatment, mandated examination, and finally culminating in a changing ID marker or name. Therefore, traditional and pre-colonial identities are not just subjected to historical oversight but are also forced into participation in the erasure and replacement of their histories (through required medical transition and the disregard for how these histories impact their identities) to achieve state recognition and protection.

The ‘born this way’ narrative can also be recognized and analyzed in Iran, despite the lack of direct colonialism that occurred in the country. Still, the omnipresent influence of this manner of Western thought exchange rears its head in a similar fashion. Iran exists as an exceptional Islamic nation in that transgender people are widely accepted and excepted to medically transition, having the second highest global rate of transition surgeries (Gichki 2020: 33). However, this current societal acceptance does not stem from the same intentions held in pre-Westernized Iraq, originating instead from a collective cultural idea of the “sick transsexual” (Gichki 2020: 33) rather than a genuine state and public validation – both reiterating the idea of being ‘born this way’ whilst simultaneously painting gender variance as illness. As in India, medical transition (encompassing surgical and non-surgical transition) in Iraq requires “a series of bureaucratic process[es] in order to be certified as ‘official’ transgender” (Gichki 2020: 33). In Iraq, this certification is crucial due to the strict gender segregation that makes up much of public life. Due to the physical separation of male and female identities, this also leaves little room for those with nonbinary and ‘third-gender’ identities to exist.

This medicalized idea of what it means to disidentify with one’s birth gender opposes precolonial ideas found in genderless 19th century Iraq as well as historical third-gender options in Pakistan and India, only serving to further the contemporary ‘post’-colonial state’s continuous need to organize, classify, and control by bringing colonial entailments into the present. While some may wish to physically or medically transition, and this should be promoted and made an open option to any of the aforementioned groups, the forceful methods employed currently are both invasive and contrary to the pre-colonial origins of culturally bound ideas of gender, like Hijras. The ‘born this way’ narrative that underlies present state moves of categorization and recognition is one that engages directly with the impacts of the colonial and Westernized past and the criminalization of colonized bodies, allowing internalized colonial conceptions of gender to continue.

Conclusion

Gender identity and transness exist as some of the most contentious points in the modern political sphere yet are rarely observed by the wider public as extensions of a colonial past. The spread of the idea that colonial entailments continue to permeate every sphere of current life is threatening to many, particularly those who have a vested interest in preserving the ‘status quo.’ While this essay points out many of the major colonial flaws in postcolonial states’ approach towards transgender rights, recognition, and agency, this is only a minute segment of the vast number of colonial entailments that continue to impact transness and a right to gender identification globally, from former colonizers to the formerly colonized. As such, there exists no one solution – to generalize would be to fall into the same fatuous misconceptions that plague and guide trans politics today. Instead, a method that can lead to true trans agency and liberation involves a look inward, to understand how all members of society participate willingly or otherwise in these processes of state classification. The aforementioned implications of the division between ‘us’ and ‘them’ in the context of gender identity clearly play out through dynamics that move further than transness, particularly as seen in the dichotomies between the colonizer and colonized, and the implications that has regarding white and nonwhite populations (Draz 2017: 380). True individual agency is necessary, but most importantly, a form of radical self-recognition and the local, decolonial forces contributing to said identification is necessary as well. By creating collective solutions to issues of identity in our own communities, we can begin to work towards curing the wound created by “duress as a form of power…slash[ing] a scar across a social fabric” (Stoler 2016: 8).

Bibliography

Draz, Marie. 2017. “Born This Way? Time and the Coloniality of Gender.” The Journal of Speculative Philosophy 31, no. 3: 372-384. https://doi.org/10.5325/jspecphil.31.3.0372

Gichki, Mahso. 2020. “Deconstructing Transgender Identities in Pakistan, India, and Iran in Colonial and Post-colonial Context.” Development 63: 31-37. https://doi.org/10.1057/s41301-020-00243-3

Restrepo, Manuela López. 2023. “The anti-drag bills sweeping the U.S. are straight from history’s playbook.” NPR, March 6, 2023. https://www.npr.org/2023/03/06/1161452175/anti-drag-show-bill-tennessee-trans-rights-minor-care-anti-lgbtq-laws

Harvard University. 2018. Religion and Public Life at Harvard Divinity School. n.d.“The Third Gender and Hijras.” https://rpl.hds.harvard.edu/religion-context/case-studies/gender/third-gender-and-hijras.

Stoler, Ann Laura. 2016. Duress: Imperial Durabilities in Our Times. Durham: Duke University Press.

IMAGE: Biswas, Soutik. “How Britain Tried to ‘Erase’ India’s Third Gender.” BBC News. BBC, May 31, 2019. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-asia-india-48442934.

Categories
Journal

A Recursive History: Recursivity in the Control of the Movements of People in the United States

By: Samuel Loyack

The structure and status of the United States today can be seen in many modes as a continued progression of colonial ideas and practices. One particular mode this can be examined through is of the immigration policies and stances the US has held and enacted throughout its history. A recent case this can be associated with is the Trump administration’s installment of a travel ban upon seven countries in 2017, and of the same administration’s proposition of constructing a border wall between the US and Mexico. In this essay, these cases are examined and critically analyzed through a postcolonial lens. Through this analysis, these cases become exemplary of the legacy of colonial ideas within US history. Parallels can be realized between the fundamental ideas that guided this administration’s policies and of the previous policies held by the US, and to ideologies stemming from colonial era Europe as well. The dynamic that exists within US immigration policies, the fundamental that guide them, and the technologies that uphold them are recursive in nature. This nature can be observed from the policies of recent administrations to the major policies enacted in the past. In drawing these connections to past cases such as the Chinese Exclusion Act and the Immigration Act of 1924, this recent case can be analyzed through postcolonial ideas of recursion, continuity and technologies of rule to identify this as a case of past colonialism existing in the current postcolonial US.

            One of the first policies former president Donald Trump signed into effect during his tenure, was an executive order that effectively banned travel to the US from seven countries for ninety days. Referred to as “Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States,” executive order 13769, was signed as an act that would prohibit entry into the US from countries that displayed a threat to the US government and citizens. This executive order was also followed by a series of orders and proclamations that served to revise the initial act, as well as to put in place extra measures that restricted travel, increased vetting, and set in place additional guidelines that further restricted visa applications. The policies that followed the initial executive order were placed upon sixteen countries, including the seven initially cited in the original order (Trump 2017: 3).

            Following the enactment, the travel bans and additional measures set in place became subject to considerable criticism. The countries cited in the original act included Iran, Iraq, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen. These countries were selected due to various reasons, including lack of compliance, insufficient documentation of emigration, and previous presence of terrorism (Gerstein et al. 2018: 1). Ultimately, this travel ban labeled immigrants from these countries as potentially threatening to the US. Interestingly, the Department of Homeland Security reported a total of 47 countries as posing a risk, as measured using the same factors used to select the countries effected by the travel ban (Trump 2017: 3). These guidelines and the specific peoples they effected would prove problematic in nature, as this suggests that the order subjectively selected countries for application of these new standards. Equally interesting, all of the effected countries were predominantly Muslim countries, further suggesting an element of discrimination on the basis of religion (Panduranga et al.: 1). In summary, this order served as yet another example of the US government imposing discriminatory restrictions upon the movements of people.

Another example in the history of US immigration policies this may be comparable to is the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. This act is noted as being one of the first laws in the US to restrict immigration into the US on the basis of race. Similar to the Trump travel ban, this act served to restrict the immigration of Chinese migrants into the US for ten years. Additionally, this act was followed by multiple other policies that served to either revise or increase the restrictions and guidelines of the original law. These laws specifically hindering the immigration of Chinese peoples were not revoked until the 1940’s. Furthermore, while this act was not imposed to address foreign threats to the US that the Trump travel ban was designed to confront, it was founded upon a similar discriminatory foundation. The Chinese Exclusion Acts were enacted as a solution to economic competition, but were also largely influenced by the racist ideology of this period. Ratification of the act ultimately served to reinforce and amplify this racist ideology (Unite States Department of State: 1). The discriminatory foundation of both immigration policies enacted by the US can be attributed to the colonial ideas and practices that preceded this era, and serves as a prominent example of the recursivity of the colonial past, and the continued utilization of differences in the US today.

Examination of this case requires observation through a postcolonial lens, in which the structure and dynamic of the postcolonial world today is critically assessed as a reflection of colonialisms legacy. Through this lens, elements of the contemporary world can be understood as a consequence of colonialism, as the cultural, political, and economic status of the colonizing and colonized nations can be reviewed following each nation’s respective standing in the colonial era.

In the domain of postcolonial theory, anthropologist Ann Stoler refers to the idea of recursion as a means to analyze the colonial legacies. Stoler’s idea of recursion explores how colonial ideas continue to be experienced in new forms indicating no distinct finality to certain elements recognized in the colonial past. Stoler ultimately identifies this recursivity as “histories that fold back on themselves and, in that refolding, reveal new surfaces, and new planes” (Stoler 2016: 26).

In the case of the travel bans signed by Trump in 2017, the dynamic of implementing strict new immigration standards upon certain groups of people further elaborates the recursion of establishing differences for the sake of control. In this instance, control is being issued upon the movements of people. The use of difference as a means for cultivating control stems from the idea of colonial difference, an idea that is recognized by anthropologist Partha Chatterjee as essential to colonial governance (Chatterjee 1994: 32). Used for justifying colonial practices and establishing colonial governance, European colonialism developed distinctions between the colonizers and the colonized. These distinctions would evolve to encompass the separation and discriminations of people’s today, particularly in the US.

Through this lens, this case becomes exemplary of the recursivity of colonial history. Similar to colonial practices, the travel ban assigns these restrictions to a particular region through discriminatory measures. These measures are reflective of the colonial practices of the past, effectively establishing distinctions between groups to assert the notion that certain groups are not fit for specific liberties. The discriminatory aspects of this recent case present this parallel, however it also exhibits elements that differentiate this case from other comparisons to the past. With this modern travel ban, the establishment of these subjective immigration guidelines is founded to address alleged issues that are more relevant to the contemporary state of the US. Set in place to counter the threat of terrorism, this applies new standards to immigration into the US that reflect colonial ideas. Ultimately, the orders initiating the travel ban pose a case of the recursivity of colonial difference in US history. This dynamic is founded upon past principles of control through difference, while enacting these principles through a different mode of discrimination under a more novel purpose. Thus, this executive action presents a modern case of US histories refolding in the present in new forms.

Further examination of these executive orders and of other immigration legislation championed by Trump, reveals additional colonial continuities that have evolved and been imposed in the postcolonial US. The continuities can be observed in the development of walls and the use of quotas to govern colonial spaces. These processes can be recognized as colonial technologies of rule with roots that can be traced back to the colonial era and have persisted into the postcolonial.

Essential to the development of colonial authority and governance, colonial technologies of rule encompassed the variety of systems designed and implemented to control colonized people and spaces. These systems of control often resulted in establishing a hierarchy of difference between the colonial powers and the colonized that served to benefit the interests of the colonizers politically and economically. Both the construction of walls and borders, and the implementation of quota systems in the colonial era have served as colonial technologies of control for the purpose of regulating the movement of individuals in colonial territories.

The use of quotas as a tool for regulating the colonized can be seen in various instances of the colonial past. This technology served several interests of the colonial powers while exploiting and upholding their authority over the colonized. Economically, quotas were used to extract and regulate the economic potential of imports and exports of the colony (Colonial Tariffs and Quotas 2008: 97). Quotas were also used to maintain and govern the local populations. This system would manage the population movement within and emigration out of the colony. Utilization of this technology for both interests could be witnessed in West African colonies of Gambia and Nigeria. Implementation of quotas through this purpose can be observed within modern-day US immigration policy and within US policies that preceded it.

As discussed earlier, the Executive Order initiating the travel ban was followed and edited by a series of additional orders and proclamations. The acts that followed adjusted the original list of countries under the effect of the order. Nine of these eleven countries effected were predominantly Muslim. The revisions also included new measures that increased the vetting process and suspended certain visa applications from the countries cited (Trump 2017: 1). The effects to visa applications entailed the immediate suspension upon immigrant applications of those applying as family members to previous visa recipients. This change to the application process provides a glimpse at the differential treatment exercised upon certain groups within a process established as a non-discriminatory quota system. This system processes applicants on the basis of familial ties, value to the US workforce, and for refugee status. These guidelines effectively categorize the applicants, and each category is granted a percentage of the annual allocation of visas. The process in place today replaced the original quota system for immigration established by the Immigration Act of 1924. A system found to very discriminative as it significantly favored Western European applicants (United States Department of State: 1).

Both the current and past measures that have dictated immigration to the US can be viewed as an evolved form of the quota systems developed in the colonial era. The process enacted in 1924 presents strong parallels to the quotas that existed previously. Each system was founded upon inequitable guidelines that served discriminatory interests. The current system, however, is a more advanced model to that of its postcolonial and colonial predecessor. This model seeks to remove discrimination from the process and develop measures to help those in crisis, while still putting the economic interests of the US first. Nevertheless, the case presented by the previous administration’s leadership displays how leadership can jeopardize the integrity of the system. Regardless, this current case shares a structure to the colonial quotas used as a technology of control. This further establishes the recursive nature of the Trump immigration policies, and additionally provides insight to the continuities of colonial technologies of rule that exist in the present.

Another colonial technology of rule was the construction of walls and borders. Establishment of walls in the forms of fences, barricades, or property demarcation was common practice in the colonial area. Walls were effectively used to organize the structure of colonies and extend control over the local people, and have had a significant effect on territories in the postcolonial. Development of the physical and intangible walls in colonial territories permitted the colonial powers to pursue their economic interests, further cultivate the hierarchy of difference, and restrict the movement of the peoples inside and outside of the walls. The effect of walls and borders on the local populations was substantial. Colonial powers have established these enforced divisions through consideration of only their interests. This has resulted in cases like in Africa in which borders were drawn that authoritatively divided local populations (Heath 2010: 1). Complete displacement of indigenous populations has also been seen as a result. The latter effect was particularly evident as a result of the prominent use of wall building by European settlers in America.

Original settlers in North America utilized wall building to serve multiple colonial interests. One interests this technology of rule proved necessary for was the establishment of land ownership in these territories. North America was considered an unoccupied plot of land available for settlement. Settlers imposed this will on the land, ultimately structuring permanent settlements for settlers and the European colonial powers. Wall building proved critical for pushing the indigenous populations away from settlements as well (Philbrick 2006: 130). This interest and its effect were amplified as wall building and further incentivization of land ownership led to the expansion of settlements into distinct colonies, and further along developed the colonies into a new imperial nation. The construction of walls is deeply rooted in the colonial past of America as it critically served as a technology to impose authority and encourage European ideologies and expansion. In the present, this technology of rule still persists and was particularly evident among the immigration policies of the previous Trump administration.

During his presidential term, Trump led a notable campaign to begin construction of a substantial wall along the US-Mexico border. This wall was proposed as a solution to undocumented immigration at the border, an issue Trump centered his campaign around. After failure to pass legislature of this plan through Congress, in 2019, Trump exercised his authority over national emergency funds to initiate the project. This funding oversaw the construction of wall towering over 455 miles of the border (Trump White House 2021: 1). While significant progress was achieved, the project was not completed, as the more recently elected administration ended the project in 2021.

Analyzing this recent case and the use of walls or borders in the colonial past offer further insight into the historical recursion and continuities within the postcolonial US. Through a recursive lens, the use of walls as a technology of rule can be observed to refold into the present from the colonial past. This technology originally implemented to establish territory and the subsequent authority over peoples has evolved to address the issues upon the contemporary postcolonial. In this example, the Trump administration utilizes this colonial technology of rule to further impose authority over the movements people to a scale previously not observed.

In conclusion, multiple aspects of the Trump administration’s institutionalization of impositions upon immigration into the US can be observed and understood as a case of the colonial past existing in the colonial present. In this case, we observe the recursivity of banning travel on a discriminatory basis. Trump’s travel ban illuminates this recursivity as its parallels with prior colonial justifications is applied to the contemporary discussion of terrorist threats within immigration. This case also illuminates the continuities of technologies of power pivotal to the exitance of colonies and their authority. Examination unveils the influence these systems had over creating hierarchies of difference and promoting the interests of past and present authorities. Scrutinization of this case through a postcolonial lens ultimately brings attention to the recursion of this history, the colonial technologies of rule they utilize, and its reinforcement of the colonial will to amplify perceived differences under a notion of progress. By continuing to assess the world of the past and present, we can continue to uncover the incomplete narratives and persistent exploitative technologies from the colonial as we seek to decolonize these relationships.

Citations

Chatterjee, Partha. “Chapter Two. The Colonial State” In The Nation and Its Fragments:

Colonial and Postcolonial Histories, 14-34. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994. https://doi.org/10.1515/9780691201429-003

“Chinese Immigration and the Chinese Exclusion Acts.” U.S. Department of State. U.S. Department of State. Accessed April 27, 2023. https://history.state.gov/milestones/1866-1898/chinese-immigration.

Colonial tariffs and quotas, The Round Table. (1937)  28:109, 92-

109, DOI: 10.1080/00358533708450906

E.O. 13769 of Jan 27, 2017

E.O. 13780 Mar 6, 2017

E.O. 13815 of Oct 24, 2017

Gerstein, Josh, and Jeremy C.F. Lin. “Why These 7 Countries Are Listed on Trump’s Travel Ban.” POLITICO. Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.politico.com/interactives/2018/trump-travel-ban-supreme-court-decision-countries-map/.

 “How the United States Immigration System Works.” American Immigration Council, April 11, 2022. https://www.americanimmigrationcouncil.org/research/how-united-states-immigration-system-works#:~:text=Each%20year%2C%2055%2C000%20visas%20are,in%20the%20previous%20five%20years.

“Immigration.” National Archives and Records Administration. National Archives and Records Administration. Accessed April 27, 2023. https://trumpwhitehouse.archives.gov/issues/immigration/.

Panduranga, Harsha, Faiza Patel, and Michael Price. “Extreme Vetting and the Muslim Ban.”

Brennan Center for Justice, October 2, 2017. https://www.brennancenter.org/our-work/research-reports/extreme-vetting-and-muslim-ban.

Philbrick, Nathaniel. Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War. Penguin Books, 2007.

Stoler, Ann Laura. Duress: Imperial Durabilities in Our Times. Durham: Duke University Press,

2016.

“The Immigration Act of 1924 (The Johnson-Reed Act).” U.S. Department of State. U.S. Department of State. Accessed April 27, 2023. https://history.state.gov/milestones/1921-1936/immigration-act#:~:text=The%20Immigration%20Act%20of%201924%20limited%20the%20number%20of%20immigrants,of%20the%201890%20national%20census.

Categories
Journal

Colonial Past in the Present: U.S Food System and African American Culture

by: Jenny Huang

Introduction

            The United States food system is plagued with inequalities and inequities that affect African American food culture and societal issues. These inequalities contribute to high rates of food insecurity, health issues, and discriminatory practices. Furthermore, the foundation of the United States was built on the oppression and exploitation of workers; the food system is no different in that it falls victim to a capitalistic society that places value on profits over the well-being of individuals. The marginalization of African Americans in America’s food system is a case of the past in the present; while colonialism is seen as a thing of the past, its effects can still be observed today shaping society and contributing to existing inequalities.

Historical Context

            The Columbian Exchange from the colonial era contributes to and sets the foundation for a capitalistic food system that disproportionately affects African Americans. The Columbian Exchange was the transfer of diseases, ideas, food crops, and populations between the New World and Old World following Christopher Columbus’ voyage to the Americas in 1492 (Nunn and Qian 2010:163). An important aspect of the Columbian Exchange was the transfer of food, which enhanced and influenced different cultures in both the Old and New World. Africa was introduced to new crops from the Americas, such as maize, potatoes, cassava, sweet potatoes, squashes, and tomatoes (McNeill 2023). Food crops from Africa that were transferred to the Americas consisted of coffee beans, sugar cane, rice, watermelon, yams, sorghum, millets, and okra (McNeill 2023). The Columbian Exchange was the beginning of the establishment of crops and plantations in the Americas, which required a need for labor and subsequently lead to the transport of slaves from Africa to provide such labor. It was through this exchange that European empires imposed capitalism and colonialism on the New World with the goal of extracting profits (Constance 2019:82). The practice of commodifying crops during the Columbian Exchange continues to manifest in the modern day, in which agricultural corporations grow crops such as corn, soybeans, etc. at high volumes at the expense of the environment and workers.

The Atlantic Slave Trade was pivotal in the forced migration of Africans to the Americas. The beginning of the practice was based on the justification that slaves were non-Christians.  Later on, the practice was justified by defining superior and inferior races (Wilson 1957: 410). The development of a superior and inferior race cemented the idea and social construction of race. By making Africans seem less than human, it justified the Atlantic Slave Trade, which consisted of inhumane practices, from poor conditions during transport and on plantations in the Americas to the separation of families and overall, loss of humanity and dignity. Between the years 1501 and 1867, approximately 13 million African people were forcibly taken from their homes, placed onto European and American ships, and trafficked across the Atlantic Ocean. The men were given little space, locked spoon-ways together, naked, and forced to lie in urine, feces, blood, and mucus, with limited fresh air (Equal Justice Initiative 2022). Alexander Falconbridge, a British surgeon who was involved in the slave trade, accounts that the slaves didn’t have much room and compares their situation to being in a coffin, in which they were uncomfortable and couldn’t move with ease. On the voyage, a form of resistance was the refusal of food. Alexander Falconbridge (1788) commented:

“Upon the Negroes refusing to take sustenance, I have seen coals of fire, flowing hot, put on a shovel, and placed so near their lips, as to scorch and burn them. And this has been accompanied with threats, of forcing them to swallow the coals, if they any longer persisted in refusing to eat.”

Mustakeem continues to describe the horrors of the Atlantic Slave Trade in his book, Slavery at Sea, in which he deciphers the deeper implications of the colonial practice:

“Much more than simply hollowed wooden structures, slave ships evolved to become physical and economic symbols of technology, power, and authority transcending geographical boundaries…The aggressive management of slaves took different forms at sea…this history of racialized terror and confinement of black people with uninhibited economical potential and exploit in carceral spaces found its deepest roots in the bowels of slavery at sea” (Mustakeem 2016:190).

This trauma from the past transcends time and is embedded in the victim’s psyche. As shown by Jamaica Kincaid’s piece from A Small Place:

“But nothing can erase my rage–not an apology, not a large sum of money, not the death of the criminal–for this wrong can never be made right, and only the impossible can make me still: can a way be found to make what happened not have happened?”

In her piece, she conveys emotions that embody the anger and frustration with the practices of colonialism, which treated slaves like capital, and still to this day, the wrong has not been made right:

“Well, it’s because we, for as long as we have known you, were capital, like bales of cotton and sacks of sugar, and you were the commanding, cruel capitalists, and the memory of this is so strong, the experience so recent, that we can’t quite bring ourselves to embrace this idea that you think so much of.”

Plantations that developed in the southern parts of North America relied on the labor of black slaves. The reliance on black slaves and an established hierarchy resulted in a deep social divide between rich white and poor black communities, which is a consequence of the past that permeates American societies today, even after the abolishment of slavery in 1865. Segregation that took place thereafter reinforced the social divide between black and white communities. Gradually, African American communities in the Americas drew on a combination of African tradition, encounters with European culture, and experiences in the New World to create new identities. The newly developed identities would “prove to be a great enrichment of cultural life and would contribute to the global culture of modern times” (Hardy 2020).

In the Americas, African culture began to shape into the African American culture we know today. It was during the colonial era that a culture was created from a combination of African, European, and Native American food, spices, and methods of cooking. In some cases, slaves had the opportunity to tend to their own gardens and to grow their own food. But the freedom to shape their cuisine was carefully control by what slave owners allowed the enslaved to grow, procure, cook and eat (Miller 2013:19). Food such as pork, meal, and molasses arosed to create the stereotype of soul food. Pigs were easy to raise, corn grew easily throughout the colonies, and molasses was a byproduct of sugar and thus, these foods became staples to enslaved communities. It was stated in Hog and Hominy:

“Many of the traditions that shaped African American eating habits originated in West African cultures. For example, the southern African American tradition of eating dishes like grits and hot water cornbread can be traced back to West Africans, who regularly ate porridges such as kneeling, made first with millet and other indigenous grains and, after the 1600s, with corn that Portuguese slave traders introduced from the Americas.” (Opie 2008:18).

Cooking was a way for slaves to maintain a sense of identity; they maintained an African tradition of one-pot meals that contained starches, and stews of leafy greens that was seasoned with either smoked or pickled ingredients. In order to escape the dullness of a slave diet, creativity and originality was needed to enhance foods such as corn and pounds of pork (Harris 2011:100).

            After the end of slavery, policies and structures began to form that contribute to modern-day inequalities and injustices. This conveys that the mechanisms of colonialism are manifesting themselves in the present day. Although colonialism is in the “past,” it continues to shape the present. Stoler conveys in her piece, Duress:

“Colonial pasts, the narratives recounted about them, the unspoken distinctions they continue to “cure,” the affective charges they reactivate, and the implicit “lessons” they are mobilized to impart are sometimes so ineffably threaded through the fabric of contemporary life forms they seem indiscernible as distinct effects, as if everywhere and nowhere at all” (Stoler 2016:5).

The systematic oppression, racialized structures, and policies in the U.S are all a remnant of the colonial era in which practices of colonialism dehumanized and devalued African American lives and culture. Jim Crow laws, gentrification, discrimination, sharecropping, and redlining are all examples that impact the inequalities African Americans experience. Discriminatory policies continue to affect African Americans and hinder social mobility in the modern day. America’s food system is one way in which colonialism is manifesting itself in the post-colonial era.

U.S Food System

Racism and structural oppression is ingrained in our current society causing communities of color to experience economic disparities that contribute to food injustice. Societal dilemmas such as poverty, homelessness, frail educational infrastructures, mass incarceration, gentrification, pollution, and health disparities reflect the shortcomings of capitalism and the remaining legacy of institutional racism” (Sbicca 2018:341). Since the nineteenth century, U.S agriculture has consolidated small farms into larger agribusiness corporations, and to aid in the process, the U.S. government created loans and subsidies so that farmers could pay for agricultural technology. However, U.S. government loan programs were discriminatory as exhibited by the class action lawsuit against the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Pigford v. Glickman.  The lawsuit showcased unfair distribution of loans based on race; African American farmers were misinformed about government programs, denied loans, and given inadequate or randomly reduced loans (Alkon 2019:353). Furthermore, practices such as redlining continue to reinforce structural inequalities. Redlining refers to the practice of public and private entities refusing to provide services to neighborhoods because of their racial and ethnic makeup. After World War II, private loans were made available to whites, allowing them to fix up existing housing stock or move to newly constructed suburbs. In this way, whites could build up wealth; however, these loans were denied to African Americans, who became part of increasingly segregated communities (Alkon 2019:351). Discriminatory practices have left African American communities vulnerable to disparities in the food system. The U.S food system is currently plagued with food insecurity, lack of food sovereignty, increased obesity, and environmental degradation (Hatanaka 2019:16).

The shortcomings of the food system in the U.S. disproportionately affects different races and ethnicities. Influenced by factors such as poverty, unemployment, and lack of household assets, African American communities face hunger at a higher rate than other communities. Discriminatory politics and practices have led African Americans to be more likely to live in poverty and more likely to face unemployment (Hake, Engelhard, and Dewey 2022). Studies have shown that black children are more likely to experience hunger than children of other races. Furthermore, while the U.S has a poverty rate of 11.4%, within the Black community, the poverty rate is 19.5% (Hake, Engelhard, and Dewey 2022). African American communities have access to fewer opportunities and financial resources. This can be attributed to past events and structures that continue to disproportionately affect African American communities.

Case Study

Washington D.C, the capital city of the United States, is a case study that represents the inequality African Americans face in the food system. The majority of the city’s poor and working-class Black residents live in wards 7 and 8 (Reese and Garth 2020:38). A history of discrimination exhibits that access to capital has been a significant barrier to entrepreneurship for black people. For instance, hucksters, a vital part of the community, referred to a person who grew food and sold it at markets from stalls or on the street from wagons. Regulations were implemented in 1853 requiring a license and other requirements. Although mobile food entrepreneurs played an important role in the community, city ordinances and concerns for public health and safety led to the establishment of requirements that became barriers to opening and upkeeping a food truck. For example, meeting the requirements for a food truck accrued up to $28,276 (Reese and Garth 2020:38). It exemplifies segregation in the city based on race, income, and ethnicity. The policies that create barriers for African American communities continue to be a remnant of the past in which the dominant white culture sets the standards and seems to know what is best and safe for society; however, in that pursuit, it alienates and fails to incorporate the humanity, needs, and dignity of marginalized groups.

            A group that sought to return dignity and humanity back to African American communities in the U.S. was the Black Panther Party. In Black Food Matters, it was stated:

“The Panthers organized oppressed communities, offering tangible survival strategies for a people under siege, with food as a primary tool of liberation. Food and land have always been central to Black freedom struggles, but the Black Panthers were among the first to frame the peculiar relationship between race, advanced capitalism, food access, and health outcomes in the urban core” (Reese and Garth 2020:89).

The Black Panther Party created “survival programs” such as free food programs that aimed to reclaim their narrative by providing for African American communities themselves. The party faced repression, racism, and backlash from the government, which exemplifies the ongoing racialized systems that suppress marginalized communities. The silencing and reframing of the legacy of the Black Panther Party reflects the ideas from Silencing the Past, in which Trouillot discusses the relationship between history and power and how the production of historical narratives involves the uneven contribution of competing groups (Trouillot 1995:xix). The dominant culture framed the Black Panther Party as violent and highly politicized. The party recognized that the government was not supporting black communities, noticed that hunger was a way of oppressing black communities, and sought to feed the hungry. The framework the Black Panther Party created is still being implemented in food justice initiatives.

Appropriation of Black Food Culture

Culinary and agricultural knowledge of Black people, some of which have been stolen and underappreciated, was essential to the economic development of the United States, and supported the global economic dominance of European countries for centuries (Reese and Garth 2020:17). In Trouillot’s piece, Silencing the Past, he asserts the ways in which history and knowledge are shaped through power relations. In this case, the dominant narrative portrays African American culture as primitive and lesser than others. The dominant culture creates a negative narrative of Black culture, characterizing it as unhealthy and inferior. Furthermore, African American cooks and their culinary expertise have been omitted from the history of American food. African American communities have been cultivating, processing, and preparing traditions that form the basis of American cuisines, but their voice and formal acknowledgment have been erased. For example, the concept of Southern food omits the contributions of African American culture. The appropriation of food entails that members of a dominant or privileged group in a society adopt or lay claim to the production of and profit from Black food culture. Today, the appropriation of Black culture goes to show how the past of vulnerable groups continues to be silenced when there’s a lack of acknowledgment of the origins of foods being created and prepared. An example of the appropriation of food is barbecue. Barbecue is one of the most overlooked racialized cuisines in the United States (Reese and Garth 2020:208). The method of cooking surrounding barbecue can be attributed to Native Americans and the slave-based diet of African Americans during the late eighteenth into the nineteenth century. Barbecue has since been adopted by white Americans and propelled into mainstream society. The erasure of African American contribution and culture in the current mainstream American food culture reflects the continuation of “silencing the past” and the reinforcement of power relations in the modern day.

Conclusion

Through European and American influence, colonialism continues to erupt in the present causing disparities and inequalities that impact marginalized communities in society. Additionally, oppressive and restrictive systems of food distribution have hampered and limited food access and threatened African American food culture. The remaining question is: what does a decolonized food system look like?

Food movements in the past disregarded the injustices experienced by marginalized communities and focused on access to local and organic food among consumers. Currently, the food justice movement factors in the role of race, income, and class play in the current food system. Food justice materialized as an effort through which activists advocate for more just and fair allocation of opportunities and resources through the development of community-based food systems and social policies that focus on supporting marginalized communities. By working from the bottom up, food justice reflects a decolonized future in which the past is no longer silenced and the effects of colonialism are eliminated.

Bibliography

Equal Justice Initiative, “The Transatlantic Slave Trade.” 2022.

Falconbridge, Alexander. An Account of the Slave Trade on the Coast of Africa, By Alexander Falconbridge, Late Surgeon in the African Trade. 1788. Available through: Adam Matthew, Marlborough, Empire Online, http://www.empire.amdigital.co.uk/Documents/Details/An Account of the Slave Trade on the Coast of Africa

Hake, Monica, Emily Engelhard, and Adam Dewey. “Map the Meal Gap – Feeding America.” Feeding America, 2022. https://www.feedingamerica.org/hunger-in-america/black-communities.         

Hardy, Will. “Riches & Misery: the Consequences of the Atlantic Slave Trade.” Riches & Misery: The consequences of the atlantic slave trade. Open Learn, September 25, 2020. https://www.open.edu/openlearn/history-the-arts/history/riches-misery-the-consequences-the-atlantic-slave-trade.

Harris, Jessica B. “In Sorrow’s Kitchen.” Essay. In High on the Hog, 89–109. New York, NY: Bloomsbury, 2011.

Kincaid, Jamaica. A Small Place. London, UK: Daunt Books, 2018.

Konefal, Jason, and Maki Hatanaka. Twenty Lessons in the Sociology of Food and Agriculture. New York, NY: Oxford University Press, 2019.

McNeill, J.. “Columbian Exchange.” Encyclopedia Britannica, April 6, 2023. https://www.britannica.com/event/Columbian-exchange.

Miller, Adrian. “West Africa: The Culinary Source.” Essay. In Soul Food: The Surprising Story of an American Cuisine, One Plate at a Time, 11–28. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 2013.

Mustakeem, Sowande’ M. “Epilogue: The Frankenstein of Slavery: A Meditation on Memory.” Essay. In Slavery at Sea: Terror, Sex, and Sickness in the Middle Passage, 190–91. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 2016.

Nunn, Nathan, and Nancy Qian. “The Columbian Exchange: A History of Disease, Food, and Ideas.” Scholars at Harvard, 2010. https://scholar.harvard.edu/files/nunn/files/nunn_qian_jep_2010.pdf.

Opie, Frederick Douglass. “Adding to My Bread and Greens: Enslaved Cookery in British Colonial America.” Essay. In Hog and Hominy: Soul Food from Africa to America, 17–30. New York, NY: Columbia University Press, 2010.

Reese, Ashanté M., and Hanna Garth. Black Food Matters: Racial Justice in the Wake of Food Justice. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 2020.

Stoler, Ann Laura. “Critical Incisions On Concept Work and Colonial Recursions.” Essay. In Duress: Colonial Durabilities in Our Times, 3–36. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2016.

Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. “Preface.” Essay. In Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History, xvii-30. Boston , MA: Beacon Press, 1997.

Wilson, Ruth Danenhower. “Justifications of Slavery, Past and Present.” The Phylon Quarterly 18, no. 4 (1957): 407–12. https://doi.org/10.2307/273281.

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Journal

Scotland as Colonized and Colonizer

What Scotland’s Dual Experience as Colonized and Colonizer Tells Us About Residuals of Colonialism, Scotland’s Current Push for Independence, and the Application of Postcolonial and Decolonial Theory

By: Katelin Harmon

With a growing push to deconstruct the colonial past providing reparations where necessary, filling education gaps, and allowing the subaltern to speak, Scotland emerges as a case study that has been affected by both sides of colonialism (Chakravorty). Scotland has played roles as both colonized and colonizer and aided in colonization as they themselves were being colonized, creating a complicated loss of their own language and culture while simultaneously doing the same across the globe. This paper examines Scotland’s role as both colonized and colonizer from the 13th century to the present day to more completely understand Scotland’s place within the European Union and the likelihood of a second independence movement. Understanding Scotland’s place in contemporary society in contrast with its brutal history is formidable in nature but essential to further our collective understanding and application of postcolonial and decolonial thought. I will address why residues of colonialism persist in Scottish life today, what Scotland may look like through a decolonial and postcolonial lens, and whether a decolonial or postcolonial approach would best benefit Scotland when dealing with the pursuit of independence from the European Union as well as considering how to educate its citizens as a means to recognize Scotland’s past as a colonizer. 

Scotland as Colonized: A History of British Colonization 

Scotland has always been colonized, even as a colonizer. During the medieval period, in the early 13th and 14th centuries, Scotland was at odds with England as it began to cross geographic boundaries, treating Scottish land as feudal territory (Solly 2020). William Wallace, a prominent Scottish freedom fighter, became a popular image associated with the movement as a “blue paint-covered kilt wearer (Solly 2020).” Wallace experienced a period of great successes and calamitous shortcomings as the Scottish leader after winning a decisive battle at the Stirling Bridge in 1297 and shortly after suffering a devastating defeat at the Battle of Falkirk (Solly 2020). Such a great defeat caused William Wallace to abandon the Scots, he was eventually captured by the English and executed. Robert Bruce stepped up following Wallace’s death by seizing power after the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314 and eventually securing Scotland’s independence by 1328 (Solly 2020). A second war for independence followed Bruce’s death, but it quickly ended when the English got involved in the Hundred Year’s War with France (Solly 2020). 

In 1603, Scotland’s independence was questioned again when childless Queen Elizabeth I of England died, leaving no direct successor to the throne. Her distant cousin James I, previously known as James VI of Scotland, took over the throne uniting England, Ireland, and Scotland under one Monarch (Solly 2020). Throughout James and his son Charles I, rule, civil war, and rebellion ran rampant due to the oppressive nature of their kingships (Solly 2020). During this period of unrest, Scotland went out on its own pursuit to try its hand yet again at establishing a previously-failed colony known as Nova Scotia, located in the Isthmus of Darien (Solly 2020). The opportunities in Nova Scotia were promising, as the widely successful Spanish conquistadors had planted colonies close by (Hopper 2014). The famous William Paterson, known for founding the Bank of England, developed a plan that would work to connect the East and West, allowing Scotland to have control over the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans (Johnson, n.d.). The people of Scotland were also convinced; about half of the available cash, equivalent to 500,000 pounds, in Scotland was raised for the project (Hopper 2014). However, the Scottish attempt to colonize failed as Nova Scotia was riddled with disease and crop failure and fell into what would become known as the Darien Disaster (Hopper 2014). Only one of the original sixteen ships that sailed to Darien returned, and all of the money that was put towards the colonial scheme had been squandered, making it evident to Scots that they were in economic shambles (Hopper 2014). Without means of supporting themselves, the Scottish people decided to enter a Union with England, dissolving their own parliament and becoming one political entity (Solly 2020). 

England quickly began to display its ownership over Scotland in the 18th and 19th centuries viewing Scottish people as uncivilized and in need of modernization as England began to industrialize (Britannica, 2023). Scots faced forced removal from their land in the Highlands of Scotland as those living there were considered old-fashioned and out of touch (Stewart 2017). This period was known as the Highland Clearances, in which the Scottish people were not only disposed of their land but, in many ways, their culture as well. The English acted swiftly to dissolve the clan system and use the land for sheep farms (Encyclopedia Britannica, 2023). The clan system posed a specific threat to England as the Scottish people continued to follow orders from their clan chief and were not allegiant to the king. In 1725 the process was not moving as England had planned and took it upon themselves to begin occupying parts of Scotland and the Highlands to remind Scots who held sovereign power. Naturally, the Scots felt betrayed by their government and pushed to employ a series of militant rebellions for the return to Scotland to be self-governed and free from any English influence. The Scots formed a small army of 6,000, the Jacobites, and faced the British redcoats up until 1745, when they inevitably lost to the powerful British army. Over 1,000 Jacobites were killed, several were taken to London as prisoners, and highlanders were still being forced out of their homes to relocate to the coast; some were not as lucky to relocate and became indentured servants after the war (Stewart 2017). The continued struggle for independence is a product of the long arms, weak fingers dichotomy and shows that colonization is never truly complete and that there will always be pushback from forcing new institutions and positions of power upon a body of people that don’t consent. 

Scotland as Colonizer

It is important to note that during the entirety of Scotland being colonized and their sovereignty as a kingdom being violated numerous times, they were an active colonizing force. They cannot be made out to be merely a victim of colonialism. Scots initially thrived as colonizers throughout the 16th century up until the beginning of the 18th century; they worked to establish various empires across the globe, each providing them access to new resources and riches. In the process of dismantling existing power structures as Scots worked to force their ideology, European diseases wreaked havoc on native colonized populations. William Patterson, who spearheaded the Darien Scheme and founded the Bank of England, promoted an especially damaging ideology of forced globalization, stating, “Trade will increase, and money will beget money, and the trading world shall need no more want work for their hands, but will rather want hands for their work (Hopper 2014).” Scotland’s drive for empire-building did not end after the Union of 1707, as they eagerly joined England in their pursuit of colonizing the new world. A disproportionate number of Scots participated as soldiers, merchants, agents, and sailors in aiding Britain’s colonial pursuits (Boyd 2017). They aided in forcing China to take opium, as well as suppressing the rights of indigenous people in Canada and Australia (Cameron, 2022). Additionally, Scots fought in two World Wars for the British Empire; it was not until the withering of the empire post-1945 that there was a collective revival of interest in Scottish identity and independence (Cameron 2022). Much of Scotland’s and the EU’s modern economic success can be attributed to their historical success as a dominant colonizing force. Today they consistently take the second ‘rank’ among the UK’s four nations in terms of GDP, and most people live positive, fulfilling lives with little economic struggle in comparison to other previously colonized countries (Barker 2021).

Contemporary Independence Movement

The first independence referendum occurred in 2014 and was described as a “once-in-a-generation opportunity” with an 84.6% turnout (BBC News 2022). Scots viewed much of their economic well-being to be at stake, with fears stemming from creating their own welfare system and what trade ties would be broken; these apprehensions went unanswered from the Scottish parliament at the time, likely because there were no other countries that had pulled out of the EU prior to the first referendum (East Dunbartonshire Council 2014). The UK decided to allow the Scottish parliament to hold an election on independence likely because they did not believe parliament would win the independence vote (BBC News 2022).” The official vote came out to 55.3% of citizens voting no and 44.7% voting yes (UK Parliament 2016).

Shortly after the first referendum came to a close, discussions of Brexit arose. The United Kingdom officially withdrew from the European Union in 2020, but the referendum was first formally announced in 2017 to leave the union officially (BBC 2020; Sandford 2020). Brexit caused the EU to lose some of its relevance, cutting off the fifth largest economy in the world; it additionally served as a wake-up call to many Scottish citizens, with a new poll held in 2019 showing that 62% of Scots favor a second referendum (BBC News 2022). Professor Alf Baird, who taught at Edinburgh Napier University up until 2016, states in his work that “Brexit proved that the Scottish nation is treated more or less as a colony. (Baird, n.d.)” This language is a strong choice considering the role that Scotland played as a colonizer across the globe and has not done much to recognize its racist, colonial past. Statues, street names, and buildings pay homage to slavery, colonialism, and racism. In the center of Edinburgh stands Lord Melville, a slavery profiteer and facilitator of a patronage network that allowed Scotland citizens to take Indian jobs (Boyd 2017).

Nevertheless, Scotland is not an independent nation in any capacity, as evidence shows that Scots are continuously put on the back burner. The Scottish people are told they are “union equals” but have virtually no voting power within Westminster; their 9 percent is outvoted most of the time (Baird, n.d.). Even though the EU is relatively prosperous, half of the Scottish nation is living in or close to poverty despite Scotland being such a resource-rich nation as a result of England extracting resources from Scotland, paying Scottish workers low wages, and selling their products at a much higher cost to natives (Baird, n.d.).

 Baird, like many other Scottish people, viewed the Supreme Court case that decided Scotland could not legally hold a second referendum to reinforce its colonial status. Professor Baird follows closely with Coulthard’s call for the complete removal of the old recognition systems that perpetuate these one-way dynamics, in this case, favoring those in the EU that hold more voting power and call for a push for new systems that are mutually affirming. Modern-day Scotland reflects what Coulthard describes as a settler-colonial relationship in which “power has been structured into a relatively secure or sedimented set of hierarchical social relations” that systematically dispossess persons of “lands and self-determining authority (Coulthard 2015, 5).” Scotland has been the subject of population displacement in the past through more direct means, such as the Highland Clearances. Yet, this inability to govern their own land is a much less direct form of a settler-colonial relationship. As Coulthard describes, it can be easy for Scots to not entirely recognize their place within the EU as a colonial relationship as they are not being coerced into a power dynamic but have “rather endured an asymmetrical exchange of mediated forms of state recognition and accommodation” that has become the standard (Coulthard 2015, 10).

Another less-discussed way in which England maintains its grip on Scotland, suggested by Professor Alf Baird, is occupation from the “mother country (Baird, n.d.).” English people make up the largest in-migration to Scotland of any ethnic group. Most English people migrating to Scotland are associated with the professional and managerial class and are looking for jobs. These jobs are typically some of the highest paying in Scotland. They are advertised in the London Press with the only language requirement being English, further contributing to the decline of Scottish Gaelic. This is a clear representation of a higher value being placed on English values and heritage, and in a colonial environment, only the values of the colonizer are sovereign. In this case, Baird points out that there are truly only two options for the people of Scotland. Option one is securing “independence, which is decolonization and liberalization from oppression,” along with recovery of the native language, culture, and sovereignty (Baird, n.d.). Option two is what Baird views to be Scotland’s current trajectory in which cultural assimilation and oppression continue until the native language and culture perish, creating a homogenous social, cultural, and political entity.

Indyref2 and Potential for Success

The Scottish National Party (SNP) began pushing for independence once again in 2019, this time largely as a response to the Brexit referendum. The supreme court case denying Scotland’s autonomy to hold its independence movement highlighted how little Scottish citizens have in their own self-determination. This has fueled plans for an SNP party conference next year to discuss a sort of “de facto referendum” to agree on details of an independence plan. In the meantime, the SNP is continuing to work on, in the words of former parliament member Nicola Sturgeon, a “major campaign in defense of Scottish democracy (BBC News 2022). 

The next general election in 2025 is said to be an independence vote solely. However, many Scots are skeptical of the potential for success of a second independence movement and hold some of the same reservations that they did in 2014. A recent switch in power as Sturgeon resigned, too much of the country’s shock, has temporarily shifted union attention as finance secretary Kate Forbes, health secretary Humza Yousaf, and former community safety minister Ash Regan are all in the running to replace her (Carrell, Brooks, and Adu 2023). Nevertheless, the conversation of independence has not left Scottish politics as the three front runners believe they could lead Scotland to independence. If Scotland were to achieve independence, it would not likely be with Westminister’s approval. Scottish leaders would need to be clear on issues like currency and pension in order to be secure in an independence vote, as a lack of direction on some of these issues leave Scots hesitant to support the independence movement since they rely heavily on the decision-making power of the EU and their trade ties. 

Should Scotland Take a Postcolonial or Decolonial Approach?

The Encyclopedia Britannica defines postcolonialism as: “ the historical period or state of affairs representing the aftermath of Western colonialism; the term can also be used to describe the concurrent project to reclaim and rethink the history and agency of people subordinated under various forms of imperialism (Ivison 2022).” Postcolonial theory is used in hopes of a possible future of overcoming colonialism and “investigating the various trajectories of modernity(Ivison 2022).” Brexit highlighted the question of Scottish independence and its identity within the EU. Yet, some scholars are instead offering an alternative way of thinking about Scottish independence and believe that independence should not be achieved without Scotland confronting its very imperial past. It was very easy for Scotland to emphasize their past as a victim while suppressing its deeply flawed past as a strong colonial force up until 1707 and their collusion with the British Empire to colonize other parts of the world (Cameron 2022). As Scots readily bought into the union values of military power, racial superiority, Presbyterianism, and the British pretense of free trade, they eagerly helped England build empires that also benefited them (Cameron 2022). They profited from free labor without blinking an eye, owning 32 percent of slaves and 30 percent of slave estates in Jamaica. Today Scottish people are said only to be vaguely conscious of these links. With no equivalent to the International Slavery Museum in Liverpool, the “Scottish consciousness often feels totally removed from the violence that divided the world into rich and poor. (Boyd 2017)”

In an effort to address its colonial past, the Edinburgh city council launched a review to consider ways to acknowledge its historical connections with slavery and colonialism. This call to action has not gone without academic controversy, as a plaque was placed in St Andrew’s Square underneath a statue portraying Henry Dundas, a man who directly delayed the abolition of slavery. Additionally, universities such as Glasglow are looking into a form of reparations (Cameron 2022). Glasgow benefited greatly from the profits of slave traders and has, in recent years, “set up a £20m fund to engage in joint research with the University of West Indies (Cameron 2022).” These are steps to looking at Scotland through a postcolonial lens but are merely at the academic level, not directly contributing to Scottish citizens’ knowledge base of their past. Even though everyone can walk by and read plaques, without other methods of education and awareness, it is easy to continue to turn a blind eye to how Scotland established the success that it has today. Important steps Scotland can take to continue to push for increased awareness and education of Scotland’s past not only as colonized but as colonizer to facilitate understanding of just how important the opportunity for independence is. Working through Scotland’s colonial past in terms of postcoloniality should begin by spreading information and education, perhaps by continuing to place plaques at the foot of buildings, banks, and university buildings that benefited from stolen money and resources. This should not be where recognition of the past ends. The Scottish government should consider what reparations could look like and how education on their imperial past can be implemented into the education system, creating an enlightened body of Scots that will likely be more skeptical of indyref2, what independence means for Scotland, and native’s sovereignty that they violated hundreds of years prior. As Coulthard implies, Scots should consider going a step further by destroying old systems of recognition (statues) that perpetuate one-way dynamics. Scots should not give up on the prospect of independence but rather try to implement a critical lens into the current dialogue surrounding indyref2 and future independence movements that promote critical thinking and dialogue and do not reinforce traditional power dynamics (Coulthard 2014, 3). The Scottish government should acknowledge how they actively took away from other countries’ sovereignty, and the subsequently ironic opportunity for independent Scotland is now experiencing, even if the hope of success is in many ways up in the air.

Decoloniality separates itself from postcolonialism and postcolonial theory as decolonialism urges us to “re-learn the knowledge that has been pushed aside, forgotten, buried or discredited by the forces of modernity, settler-colonialism, and racial capitalism (William & Mary, n.d.).” Decoloniality is meant to reveal how modernity is “built on the backs of others” and that “modernity racializes, erases, and/or objectifies” and is not meant to be a singular method of restoration or reparation (William & Mary, n.d.). Professor Alf Baird discusses in his article “Scotlands Colonial Status” the first option for Scotland to begin to decolonize following independence from the European Union. Decolonial thinking in Scotland differs from other places in unworking Scotland’s own colonial past and the past in which Scots were suppressed, losing much of their own culture and sense of identity working to “extricate oneself from linkages between rationality/modernity” in both spaces as colonized and colonizer (Quijano 2007, 177). Steps for decolonization in an independent Scotland would look like addressing the formation of modern colonial order, identifying decolonial trajectories at work in Scotland and globally, and recognizing processes of re-emergence and re-existence. In this process of decolonization and introduction to decolonial thinking, Scots would likely initially grapple with questions suggested by Escobar, like: “How do we recreate and re-communalize our worlds? How do we develop forms of knowing that do not take words and beings and things out of the flow of life (Escobar 2018, 200)?” 

A decolonial Scotland is not at the forefront of many citizen’s minds but it opens up the option to consider Scotland as colonial and colonized through postcolonial theory but also to choose from a variety of various cultural orientations depending on how deep ties to English or Scottish culture may be for Scottish people residing in Scotland (Quijano 2007, 178). With decolonial consideration, Scots earn the “freedom to produce, criticize, change, and exchange culture and society (Quijano 2007, 178).” Scots’ current ties to their culture are rooted in the older generation of Scottish people; a beginning of decolonial thinking and learning of their language and culture would allow Scots to choose how they view independence and what culture, whether that be English or Scottish, they want to align themselves with. Quijano takes an even more radical approach, and the Scots also have this opportunity as identifying with one culture may be challenging but undoing colonialism and understanding why they have been subjected to forms of power is important to begin to understand the decolonial option. A decolonial lens applied would give the Scottish people the freedom of choice whether to remain a part of the EU or not, whether to govern themselves, and what pieces of culture they decide to reclaim. 

Ultimately I think that the application of a postcolonial lens could best fit Scotland’s current situation with the opportunity for independence. Postcolonial thinking provides for possible futures of overcoming colonialism but also acknowledges why aspects of it may linger. Education and understanding of why systems are the ways they can combat areas in society where colonialism is still present.  Separate from the prospect of independence, it will be especially important for Scotland to reckon with its racist and colonial past as awareness by universities is being spread and nongovernmental programs work to provide reparations to those affected negatively by colonialization will eventually trickle down to the knowledge of all Scottish citizens. The Scottish education system can get ahead of this by creating an all-encompassing curriculum that makes it explicit to Scottish learners at all levels how imperialism and colonialism have contributed to the loss of Scottish culture and the culture of other groups across the globe. Also, understanding that Scotland is responsible for much of the world’s colonialism as well will allow students to see the residues of colonialism and better understand how to address their Scottish heritage and place as citizens of the world. Leaders of indyref2 now and in the future could benefit from conversations on colonialism to get a better view of what they want the movement to achieve and how to address Scotland’s imperialistic past. In the meantime, Scots can look to confront their colonial past while dissecting what their relationship to the European Union means, how Scotland might have looked if it were not made to be a union with England, and what designs can be made for a pluriverse in which Scots can live in a sovereign nation, and consider Scotland as well as England’s roots in modernity, capitalism, and state domination.

References

Baird, Alf. n.d. “Scotland’s Colonial Status.” Salvo. Accessed April 24, 2023. https://salvo.scot/scotlands-colonial-status/.

Barker, Dan. 2021. “Survey finds that half of Scots feel ‘broadly positive’ – but where is Scotland’s ‘least happy’ city?” The Scotsman. https://www.scotsman.com/news/people/glasgow-is-least-happy-city-in-scotland-survey-finds-3463531.

BBC. 2020. “Brexit: What you need to know about the UK leaving the EU.” BBC. https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-politics-32810887.

BBC News. 2022. “Scottish independence: Will there be a second referendum?” BBC. https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-scotland-scotland-politics-50813510.

Boyd, Cat. 2017. “Cat Boyd: It’s about time Scotland confronted its own racist, colonial past.” The National. https://www.thenational.scot/politics/15486882.cat-boyd-its-about-time-scotland-confronted-its-own-racist-colonial-past/.

Cameron, Fraser. 2022. “Scotland must lead in confronting its imperial past.” Sceptical Scot. https://sceptical.scot/2022/01/scotland-must-lead-in-confronting-its-imperial-past/.

Carrell, Severin, Libby Brooks, and Aletha Adu. 2023. “Who will replace Nicola Sturgeon? Scottish leadership runners and riders.” The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2023/feb/15/who-will-replace-nicola-sturgeon-scottish-leadership-john-swinney-kate-forbes-humza-yousaf.

Coulthard, Glen S. 2015. “Red Skin, White Masks: Rejecting the ColonialPolitics of Recognition.” Minnesota Scholarship Online, (August), 25. 10.5749/minnesota/9780816679645.001.0001.

East Dunbartonshire Council. 2014. “Scottish Independence Referendum 2014.” East Dunbartonshire Council. https://www.eastdunbarton.gov.uk/council/elections-voting/scottish-independence-referendum-2014.

Encyclopedia Britannica. 2023. “Highland Clearances | Scottish history | Britannica.” Encyclopedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/event/Highland-Clearances.

Escobar, Arturo. 2018. Designs for the Pluriverse: Radical Interdependence, Autonomy, and the Making of Worlds. N.p.: Duke University Press.

Hopper, Tristin. 2014. “Why Scotland is part of Great Britain: Disastrous 17th century colony in Panama behind union with England.” National Post. https://nationalpost.com/news/why-scotland-is-part-of-great-britain-disastrous-17th-century-colony-in-panama-behind-union.

Morris, Rosalind C., ed. 2010. Can the Subaltern Speak? Reflections on the History of an Idea. N.p.: Columbia University Press.

Solly, Meilan. 2020. “A Not-So-Brief History of Scottish Independence.” Smithsonian Magazine. https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/brief-history-scottish-independence-180973928/.

Stewart, Terry. 2017. “The Highland Clearances.” Historic UK. https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofScotland/The-Highland-Clearances/.

UK Parliament. 2016. “Act of Union 1707: Contemporary context.” UK Parliament. https://www.parliament.uk/about/living-heritage/evolutionofparliament/legislativescrutiny/act-of-union-1707/contemporary-context/.

Categories
Journal

The Legacy of Colonialism in Institutional Archives

by Saisha Dhar

I. Institutional Archives

For over a century, Harvard University has housed a vast collection of cultural artifacts in its museums, with many of these sacred objects being of Native American origination. The controversy surrounding Harvard’s possession of these artifacts has resurfaced in recent years, particularly in light of a lawsuit filed by the Muscogee (Creek) Nation and other tribes against Harvard over the repatriation of human remains and funerary objects (Federal Register 2022). In addition, a report that was leaked to Harvard’s student newspaper in 2022 revealed that the university’s collections also include the human remains of 19 enslaved individuals who were likely of African descent, as well as the remains of 7,000 people of Indigenous descent (Brockell 2022). These remains, taken and used in medical research without consent, raise questions about the complex and troubling history of Harvard’s acquisition and curation of these materials. Many other institutions in the United States similarly hold these types of materials, with the University of Pennsylvania’s anthropology museum having held the skulls of 55 enslaved people from Cuba and the United States (Bostock 2021). This is a striking representation of institutional racism, as these institutions, dedicated to promoting knowledge and justice, held these remains without the consent of communities of origin.

Indigenous artifacts are of great value – each has its own cultural significance and meaning within the context of the tribe or community from which it originated. Some artifacts may be considered so sacred and spiritually significant that they should only be handled by certain individuals within the tribe, while others may be used in traditional ceremonies or festivals. However, Harvard has used these for its own purposes. The artifacts have been studied by archaeologists, anthropologists, and historians to gain insights into the cultures and traditions of the Native American tribes from which they originated. Human remains from Indigenous individuals were used for anatomical research and teaching in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and the remains of people from African descent who were likely enslaved were also used for anatomical study and dissection (Isselbacher 2021). The possession and use of these remains without consent is a deeply troubling legacy of colonialism and racism in the United States.

Harvard has engaged in some repatriation efforts in recent years. In 2016, after a lengthy legal battle, Harvard returned 12,000 pages of sacred texts and other cultural materials to the Hopi Tribe in Arizona and the Navajo Nation in New Mexico. The materials had been taken from the tribes by J. Walter Fewkes, a researcher affiliated with Harvard’s Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology. However, repatriation efforts have been limited and slow-moving. Additionally, 6,372 of the 6,586 nominally “unidentifiable” individuals that remain in the Peabody’s collection are of known geographical origin; instead, the Peabody has labeled these ancestors as ‘culturally unidentifiable,’ shifting the burden to tribes to prove affiliation, and hindering the process of repatriation.

An institution such as Harvard, that publicly promotes human rights and accountability, still holding these remains and artifacts without appropriate repatriation is a direct violation of those values, and is an example of how institutions in the United States still engage in colonial practice. Through engaging with the postcolonial theorists Anibal Quijano and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak in this paper, I’d like to explore how this issue is a case of the colonial past in the present, and the complex considerations about archival records and silence that come into play when dealing with repatriation.

II. The Colonial Legacy in Institutions

To begin with, universities and institutions do not exist in an abstract academic place. They are established on land, and especially in the North American context, on Native American lands that were often gained through violent means. Therefore, many institutions have had a colonial foundation from the start. The institutions holding, exploiting, and appropriating Native American artifacts is a clear extension of this history of colonialism.

There is a strong perpetuation of cultural hegemony in universities, as they prioritize the dominance of a particular (Western) culture over others. This hegemony is not only developed in the institutions themselves, but it also spreads outside their physical boundaries as institutions hold a large sphere of influence in our society, over values, norms, ideas, expectations, worldviews, and behavior. But what a university has the most influence over, and is often created to foster, is knowledge – society believes that whatever a university promotes and values must be “rational” and rooted in factual knowledge. This is problematic because in many cases, the knowledge universities share, and the methods through which they share it, is inherently colonial.

This idea mirrors Anibal Quijano’s postcolonial discourse, in that he writes colonial “repression fell, above all, over the modes of knowing, of producing knowledge, of producing perspectives, images and systems of images, symbols” (Quijano 2007: 169). Harvard holding Native American remains and artifacts “to create knowledge” instead creates a power structure of knowledge distribution, in which there is a superiority-inferiority relationship of Harvard researchers and professors, often white and not of Indigenous background, “studying” the colonized peoples.

Archives are meant to be a source of knowledge, as they provide an opportunity for researchers to examine original documents and artifacts that may not be available in any other format. However, the way our current institutional archive is structured is active act of colonialism and a demonstration of Quijano’s “coloniality of power”, as there has been a system of hierarchy solidified through this (Quijano 2007: 171). It is very unlikely that there are Indigenous people holding the remains of their colonizers in museums, for example. Access to these archives is problematic as well – they are not easily accessible to the general public, and may only be open to scholars or individuals with specific credentials – why should only a few be able to access history? This creates barriers to entry, and further marginalizes oppressed groups. Even in repatriation efforts, there is limited representation and insight from Indigenous people, meaning that the decisions of management and preservation are still made by the colonial people in power. Thus, this case study, and many other institutional archival practices in general, is a continuing legacy of colonialism.

III. The Conflict of the Archive

Quijano’s analysis helps demonstrate that institutions, and the repositories of “knowledge” within them, are inherently colonial spaces, with institutions in power holding the stories of the people below.

However, archives, as collections of historical documents and materials, may hold much value as well. By preserving records, society can learn about past events and their significance, to make informed decisions about the future. By examining primary source material, researchers can also gain insight into the social, political, and economic conditions of the past, and use that knowledge to inform their work. This can help promote a sense of shared history and identity, an important aspect of building strong communities. Archives can also preserve our collective cultural heritage, by ensuring that materials are not lost for future generations. So, should archives exist to hold cultural materials that might otherwise disappear or not be known about, such as the Native American artifacts that Harvard holds?

I’d like to bring in my own experience as a learner and researcher at a university. I’ve used the Duke University Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library to access the portfolio “The North American Indian” by American photographer Edward Curtis (Curtis 1930). This photographic collection was an expansive project Curtis undertook to document the Native American culture before it completely vanished due to white expansion and a rapidly decreasing population. In this collection, Curtis often manufactured scenes to make the Native Americans appear more “primitive” and traditional, making them display their skin or recreate a private cultural gathering. Although Curtis carried out this project under the pretense of wanting to preserve Native American history, I used this record to understand how a white photographer exerted his power over Native Americans through violent means of photography. Thus, this archive being accessible in the university I attend allowed me to criticize this project using postcolonial theory (although I am inherently doing it from an institutional perspective) and also gain some insight into Native American culture and history. Without an archive like this available to me, I would not be able to conduct this analysis.

Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak’s subaltern scholarship engages with the idea of the archive in many ways. Spivak categorizes the “subaltern” as those socially and politically marginalized groups whose voices are often excluded from mainstream discourse, and she seeks to challenge the dominant narratives that have historically excluded or misrepresented them. Spivak says “the subaltern cannot speak”, so must always be represented by others (Spivak 1988: 104). She would argue that Indigenous groups do not have direct access to their own means of widespread representation, such as media or education, that would allow them to express their own experiences and culture, so they can only be heard or represented by others who do not fully understand or accurately convey their experiences. Spivak views archives, such as Harvard holding Native American artifacts, as an example that the stories of marginalized groups are not told through their own voices, but are rather curated by others, who often have their own interests and agendas – the archive is always a “selectively constituted and constructed representation of the past”. Archival collections are created by those who hold power and privilege, such as political leaders or wealthy individuals who have choices about what materials to collect and preserve. This can lead to the exclusion of some materials, and the inclusion of others that portray marginalized groups in a negative or stereotypical way.

Furthermore, the “archive fever of the bourgeois” not only includes collecting, but also “interpreting.” Researchers and scholars bring their own biases to the process of understanding and representing materials in archives, which can result in a selective portrayal of marginalized voices as their experiences are filtered through the lens of the dominant culture. Although archives can be a means of understanding the past, the resulting representations of subaltern experiences are therefore incomplete and distorted, further continuing the legacy of colonial practice.

Essentialism is the idea that there is a fixed, unchanging essence or identity that defines a particular group or individual. It has been criticized for perpetuating stereotypes and limiting the diversity of subaltern groups, however, Spivak develops the concept of “strategic essentialism,” in which subaltern groups can use essentialist language and ideas to create a sense of solidarity and identity (Mambrol 2016). In the case of Indigenous groups, the use of essentialist claims can be a way to gain recognition, strengthen a collective, and assert rights. Archives and the distribution of knowledge can play a role in this process, by emphasizing the importance of preserving and recognizing Native American culture and providing evidence of their unique histories and cultures. However, this strategy can also lead to further appropriation and marginalization if Indigenous groups are seen inferior groups that “need” recognition from a superior societal group such as an institution. By needing archives to validate their identity, it reinforces the idea that Indigenous knowledge and culture are somehow subordinate to Western culture. Spivak recognizes, too, that essentialist claims about identity can be limiting, as they homogenize and do not account for the diversity of experience within such groups.

By engaging with Spivak, we have entered a conflict of the archive: it can allow for some recognition and preservation of culture, but misrepresent the subaltern voice and thus is an extension of colonial legacy.

IV. Entering the Postcolonial “Archive”

Current repatriation practices include procedures for negotiating and consulting with communities of origin, some collaborative agreements in which there could be joint ownership or management of artifacts, as well as shared decision-making about their use and display. However, these processes are slow and bureaucratic, with delays and barriers that perpetuate power balances between institutions and communities of origin. Additionally, there is often a lack of funding or infrastructure for communities to manage and interpret their own cultural heritage once it is repatriated, which may lead to the loss of history.

The analysis through this paper brings up the question: will the repatriation of artifacts and remains lead to archival silence and loss of history for already oppressed groups?

Since in our current societal structure, institutions are the main producers and distributors of knowledge, it may be so. In order to preserve history through the voice of the subaltern itself, Spivak believes that “the representation of the subaltern must be undertaken in terms of a radical deconstruction of the metonymies by which the West has tried to name, describe, and contain them.”

‘Repatriation’ is limited to the return of physical artifacts. If Harvard were to return all artifacts and remains, that alone would not address the broader systemic issues that had led to their removal from communities in the first place. In many cases, it will be a tokenistic and superficial gesture of recognition, to promote the image of the institution itself. So, we must radically change who history is recorded by, and who it is held by, in order to achieve an “archive” that is free from deep-rooted colonial legacy, and restore dignity and agency of the subaltern.

By engaging with Quijano, we’ve learned that the colonizer (or institution) is the producer of knowledge and hegemony. With Spivak, we’ve seen that the subaltern voice is misrepresented and oppressed in this knowledge. Thus, institutional archives are not neutral spaces. They are shaped by the interests and values of those who create them and the contexts in which they are produced, often racist and colonial. Harvard and other institutions in the United States still holding onto a collection of Indigenous and enslaved peoples remains and cultural artifacts is a direct extension of colonial legacy. The archival record is not an objective reflection of history, but rather a constructed narrative that reflects the power dynamics and perspectives of those who are privileged, perpetuating the subjugation, exploitation, and colonization of the subaltern.

Works Cited

Aníbal Quijano (2007) COLONIALITY AND MODERNITY/RATIONALITY , Cultural Studies, 21:2-3, 168-178

Bostock, Bill. “A Pennsylvania Museum Apologized for Collecting the Skulls of Black Americans, Saying It Will Return the Remains to Their Communities.” Insider. Insider, April 13, 2021. https://www.insider.com/penn-museum-sorry-collecting-black-skulls-promises-return-burial-2021-4.

Brockell, Gillian. “Harvard Has Remains of 7,000 Native Americans and Enslaved People, Leaked Report Says.” The Washington Post. WP Company, June 2, 2022. https://www.washingtonpost.com/history/2022/06/02/harvard-human-remains-indigenous-enslaved/.

“The Federal Register.” Federal Register :: Request Access. Accessed April 27, 2023. https://www.federalregister.gov/documents/2022/12/15/2022-27181/notice-of-inventory-completion-peabody-museum-of-archaeology-and-ethnology-harvard-university.

Isselbacher, Juliet. “Repatriating Native American Remains.” Harvard Magazine, August 13, 2021. https://www.harvardmagazine.com/2021/09/jhj-peobody-museum-native-american-remains.

Mambrol, Nasrullah. “Strategic Essentialism.” Literary Theory and Criticism, December 15, 2018. https://literariness.org/2016/04/09/strategic-essentialism/.

Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. Can the Subaltern Speak? Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1988.

Categories
Journal

Problematising Colour-Blind Race Ideology in Australia – and Seeking Promise in Pluriversal First Nations Ontological Designs

by Lucien Noël

‘There is no Other, but multitudes of others who are all others for different reasons, in spite of totalizing narratives, including that of capital’ – Michel-Rolph Trouillot, 2016

In Designs for the Pluriverse (2018), Arturo Escobar argues that “the contemporary crisis is the result of deeply entrenched ways of being, knowing, and doing”, and that “to reclaim design for other world-making purposes requires creating a new, effective awareness of design’s embeddedness in this history” (p.19). Colour-blind race ideology is centred on the belief that one’s race or ethnicity should not influence how they are treated in society. In Australia, a colour-blind race ideology has extended Western liberal concepts of multiculturalism through its implementation within government legislation and practice. Whilst this ideology attempts to value humanism and inclusivity in practice, its establishment within a capitalist and neoliberal framework ignores the racial origins of pre-existent power dynamics, as well as deeply colonial histories which continue to implicate marginalised groups today. With Escobar’s statement in mind, I will begin by critically analysing the practical implementations of a colour-blind ideology in its ostensible management of First Nations issues and peoples in Australia, with particular focus on how their designs contribute to the Yolngu peoples’ struggles for a systemic acknowledgement of their autonomy in northeast Arnhem Land, and the inability of current legislation to adequately address and deal with First Nations cases of domestic violence. These examples will demonstrate why racial equality can only be achieved through an effective implementation of a politics of recognition. I will then explore First Nations ways of being currently taking place at a local level that can provide designs for a such a politics in Australia. Extractive capitalist and neoliberal frameworks continue to exacerbate colonially entrenched dynamics of power. As such, we must turn to these enduring ontological designs centred on pluralistic modes of governance and a politics of recognition that extends beyond the human.

Problematising Colour-Blind Race Ideology

A conceptualisation of multiculturalism as non-racialism has been ideologically inscribed as a mainstream Australian consciousness. This has been done through colour-blind repressions of race that perpetuate a dominance of whiteness within governing systems and institutions. A colour-blind ideology is premised on disregarding the racial origins of historical facts, which allows racism to be viewed abstractly and isolated from its formative nature in the construction of Australian nationalism (Annamma et al. 2017, p.151; Jayasuriya 2002, p.42). In the context of resolving First Nations domestic violence, this has meant strategies have been implemented without understanding historical perspectives of colonisation, assimilationism and dispossession. For example, the WA Best Practice Model for Victims of Domestic Violence was written on normative notions of equality that do not acknowledge the deeply imbued nature of racism in the lived realities of First Nations people (Hovane 2007, p.1). These inscriptions go unnoticed because the people who subscribe to the colour-blind race ideology position themselves as racially enlightened, despite reproducing their power in a colonial government within a system of white supremacy (Annamma et al. 2017, p.154). Consequently, institutional constructions of multiculturalism in Australia are highly problematic because they are not established on a politics of recognition but rather a politics of exclusion, where wilful ignorance is favoured to maintain a culturally homogenised notion of mainstream Australian nationalism. Whiteness thus becomes the unspoken norm and the standard to which other groups are compared, making it near impossible for First Nations communities to establish their own protocols in dealing with problems such as domestic violence through government-led practices. Like other tools of white supremacy, this conception of multiculturalism positions itself as one that supports the marginalised whilst simultaneously suppressing them in practice (Annamma et al. 2017, p.152). As such, colour-blind concepts of nonrecognition are inadequate to deal with Australia’s undeniable divisions based on race, cultural diversity, and economic disparity because they discreetly perpetuate racial inequality by assuming a culturally homogenous nationalism based on whiteness.

A politics of non-recognition is further problematised when we observe how the present Australian policy rhetoric towards First Nations issues has been established with a commitment to mainstreaming and ‘closing the gap’. Although some of these policies are well-intentioned, they attempt at remedying diverse and complex First Nations issues through highly generalised processes that assess their success by comparing them to an undifferentiated mainstream of whiteness (Morphy 2013, p.185). After persistent and resilient First Nations activism in the late 1960s, the Commonwealth’s Aboriginal Land Rights Act (ALRA) was passed in 1976 in the Northern Territory.However, despite a dominant rhetoric of self-determination, the recognition of First Nations autonomy was never explicitly acknowledged or articulated, with Morphy (2013) stating that the ALRA was implemented primarily to reform First Nations forms of sociality so that they fit the mould of a mainstreamed notion of ‘Australian’ individualism (p.181). For example, the infrastructure of local Yolngu enterprises was consequently removed and replaced by government support in the form of grants and welfare payments (Morphy, 2013, p.182). A similar rhetoric is embedded in more recent examples of First Nations issues, where policies that have aimed to ‘close the gap’ on First Nations disadvantage have involved employment in the mining industry, encouraging previously autonomous First Nations communities to participate with a colonially-embedded capitalist economy. Such practices ignore and devalue the autonomy of First Nations peoples because it sees their assimilation into the state’s construction of a typical Australian way of life as a fundamental process in achieving equality.

Implications of a Colour-Blind Ideology on First Nations Communities

Observing a First Nations domestic violence context further highlights how a politics of nonrecognition has all-encompassing effects on First Nations communities and their abilities to create meaningful protocols to manage their issues. The 2015 ‘Not Now, Not Ever Report’ presented in Queensland resulted in changes to state-wide domestic violence policies and practices, which ultimately concluded that bystanders have a “moral and ethical obligation to act” (Special Taskforce on Domestic and Family Violence, quoted in Ponzio 2017, p.54-55) when they witness domestic violence, despite the risk of getting harmed themselves. However, such a policy fails to acknowledge the complex social factors and relationships within First Nations communities that may prevent individuals from intervening. Factors include the pressures of living in close-knit communities and spatially isolated areas, as well as having to respect the different levels of authority as members of kinship-based relationships. There is also the concern that speaking up could contribute to perpetuating negative stereotypes of First Nations peoples and undermine their desire for individual and community solidarity (Ponzio 2017, p.56). We can thus observe that a politics of non-recognition is highly ineffective in managing First Nations issues because they fail to see their complexities and their exacerbation through state legislation and (in)action.

Australia’s political rhetoric of non-recognition diminishes First Nations autonomy because it denies that national governing systems are established upon logics of differentiation in which all racialised peoples are considered subjects of the state. In 1967, the Australian government introduced an ‘indigenous identifier’ in the census, wherein the sociocultural and demographic characteristics of First Nations peoples could be compared with the larger ‘national’ population. Such distinctions have become integral aspects of Western democracy, but it has diluted the heterogeneous and geographically dispersed populations of FN peoples by forming a singular Indigenous population (Morphy 2013, p.182). For example, the normalisation of family violence in First Nations communities has led to generalised protocols that ignore the diverse circumstances of First Nations incidents, ignoring how First Nations women who speak out about being victims of violence can be punished by the community through victim blaming and dehumanisation (Ponzio 2017, p.66). In a Yolngu land rights context, legislation in 2013 was focused on developing centralised communities in the form of ‘growth towns’, where the government controlled where residents lived as well as the terms and conditions of rent (Morphy 2013, p.182). Here we see a complete disregard of First Nations autonomy and their connections to Country by treating them as subjects of the state that can be freely moved according to government agendas. Their autonomy is never addressed at an institutional level because (a) they are intentionally diminished within colour-blind and exclusionist race ideologies, and (b) because members of state and federal institutions see them as a threat to the social, political and economic advantages that people in positions of power have maintained over other citizens and especially First Nations people. It is imperative that we contextualise these practices as extensions of First Nations displacement onto missions and reserves during the initial stages of invasion. Such impositions not only continue to systemically undermine the autonomy of these groups but attempts to diminish it entirely.

The functioning of current institutional and governmental designs in Australia relies on ignoring diverse First Nations articulations of autonomy within settler-colonial systems. Since the early 20th century, First Nations peoples have mobilised as a singular race, which has allowed them to make distinct political claims as custodians of the land (Ang 2001, p.111). The extent to which Australian governments have acknowledged this collective mobilisation as a commitment to First Nations solidarity has varied significantly, instead often leading to homogenised notions of Indigeneity. This ignores how oppressions and histories of First Nations peoples take on very complex and entangled forms within their lived realities which cannot be addressed in policy with collective representations of a national Indigeneity. Current legislation ignores that due to their own diversity which entails social, cultural, and demographic variation, and because of the implications brought upon them by colonialism and dispossession, First Nations peoples have faced major difficulties in articulating themselves as autonomous societies within the state (Morphy 2013, 185). How does one revitalise the knowledges of a particular clan or nation group when colonialism destroys communities and creates infinite implications, spanning from the dispossession and displacement of First Nations peoples from their lands to their attempted ethnocide through forced assimilation? At a government level, this may include funding local services run by community members or revitalising the Yolngu ‘two-way learning’ education system that was abolished under John Howard’s government in 2008, which implemented Yolngu knowledges, law, and language within local schools to parallel the Western curriculum (Morphy 2013, p.181-183). However, it is possible that the answers may not be found within institutions like the federal government, with its origins and agendas implicating what Tony Fry (1999, as cited in Escobar, 2018) describes as the “defuturing effects” of modern design (p.16). Such firmly established colonial designs perpetuate unsustainable systemic conditions that eliminate possible futures. Instead, it is important to examine community-led First Nations articulations of autonomy that are providing decolonial cultural frameworks from the bottom-up.

Relative Autonomy and Local Universes

Yolngu articulations of relative autonomy allows for interactions between cultural groups whilst ensuring they remain self-determined. Despite institutional pressures, the Yolngu have maintained a relative autonomy, in which they acknowledge their encapsulation within the state but are also highly committed in developing relationships with non-Yolngu Australians, valuing what Morphy (2013) describes as ‘a mutual recognition of and respect for difference’ (p.176). This has enabled them to engage with parts of the wider society without compromising their core aspects of living, being, and becoming. Their practices emphasise the parallels between their own cultural practices and other ways of living and doing, which has allowed their hunter-gatherer subsistence economy to be transformed to supplement a larger mixed economy between the Yolngu and the settler-colonial state. The new positioning of the Yolngu economy has subsequently contributed to the development of local land management and associated ranger programs who also coordinate cultural and environmental tourism within the area (Morphy 2013, p.184). Although these programs are underpinned by the hunter-gatherer economy, the Yolngu acknowledge the importance of the programs to the wider regional economy and their cruciality in developing relationships between themselves and external groups without compromising their knowledges or presence on Country. Yolngu interactions place importance in a relative autonomy that recognises and embraces the co-existence of different knowledges, demonstrating that First Nations groups who share similar modes of governance are already well-aligned with a politics of recognition and pluralistic ways of being.

Such examples of relative autonomy are already contributing to what Escobar (2018) describes as an emergent “ontological-political field” (p.4) that goes beyond Western-centric constructions of dualisms, providing alternative ways of seeing grounded in relationality. In fact, a “pluriverse of socionatural configurations” (Escobar, 2018, p.4) has been foundational to the knowledges that have governed First Nations groups in Australia since time immemorial. Such a pluriverse considers the land as a spiritual entity which designs relationships for all life. Through this way of seeing, relations between people and the land become the template designs for society and social relations (Graham, 1999, p.109). Hokari’s (2011, p.97) understanding of Gurindji ontological designs acquired through his time living with them in the region now known as the Victoria River area of the Northern Territory is particularly helpful:

“The world is not an object to be maintained. Instead, people can exist because the world is alive and keeps its morality, and the world exists because people are alive and keep their morality: the world maintains you as you maintain the world.”

This way of seeing is entirely conscious of what Escobar explains as the “double movement of ontological designing”, where in designing our world, “our world designs us back” (2018, p.4). Neoliberalism and capitalism function through an active ignorance of its design implications, which creates an illusion of equal opportunity whilst perpetuating the deeply entrenched nature of colonial power dynamics and socioeconomic status. The creation of the individuated self within these designs has not only disconnected social relations in which people have sought security through identities founded on ownership, but they have been instrumental in perpetuating imposing ways of being that treat alternative knowledges as Other (Graham, 1999, p.110). In contrast, Gurindji knowledges see the self as highly relationised and part of integral to webs of interconnected knowledges without an epistemic centre (Hokari, 2011, p.104-105). The maintenance of this web of knowledge is grounded in shared cultural exchanges with different communities and your relating to sacred sites specific to the land you are from. Both practices are grounded not only in the relationised nature of the self, but also the relationised nature of knowledge, which is “created anywhere”, with one’s mobility bringing it “everywhere in all directions” (Hokari, 2011, p.106). Whilst the federal institutions that continue to govern Australia have cultivated increasingly individualised citizens, persisting First Nations systems of relative autonomy can provide promising alternative ontologies that are grounded in the relational nature of truth.

Towards Alternate Futures

Without a politics of recognition, equality is impossible. Without equality, multiculturalism is impossible. Current Australian political rhetoric shows us that racial equality is an elusive ideal. Government institutions have actively evaded discussions on race and its cruciality in the formation of Australia as a nation, recognising minority groups only when they assimilate into the dominant white culture; the state’s desire for cultural homogeneity is discreetly continued under the subterfuge of a misconceptualised sense of multiculturalism; assimilationist agendas continue to exacerbate the lived realities of First Nations peoples and pressure communities to diminish their autonomy by attempting to absorb them into an unspoken mainstream of whiteness. A critical analysis of these processes highlights that an implementation of a politics of recognition in this country requires significant systemic reform. However, it seems an auspicious moment to think that federal governing systems will embrace decolonial ways of being, because they would actively subvert the state’s unmitigated authority. With this in mind, it is imperative that we, as people, connect with our own lineages and knowledges in ways that do not impose and rather help cultivate more pluralistic designs for knowing, doing and being. Yolngu values of relative autonomy and the Gurindji’s recognition of inherent difference provide enduring examples of how a politics of recognition can function in practice, emphasising how autonomy can be maintained within a coexistence of different knowledges. It is important to note that these knowledges are by no means centred on the concept of utopia and are rather grounded within the constant negotiation of different needs emerging from sociocultural, economic, and spiritual diversity. As Graham (1999) aptly states, “[T]here never was and there never will be a paradise – neither an Indigenous one, a religious or moral one, a worker’s, futuristic, technological or even a physical one” (109) but speculating designs of a society that acknowledges the necessity of compromise, as well as the interconnectedness of all life, is a promising one, especially in attempting to untie the colonially entangled nature of current inequality in Australia. As we have learned, this is only possible if difference is addressed, and the inherent nature of diversity is accepted. George Rrurrambu Burarrwanga of the Papunya-originated Warumpi Band (1985) may not have stated it any clearer:

Blackfella, whitefella
It doesn’t matter what your colour
As long as you a real fella
As long as you a true fella
All the people of different races
With different lives in different places
It doesn’t matter what your name is
We got to have lots of changes
We need more brothers if we’re to make it
We need more sisters if we’re to save it

…Are you the one who’s gonna stand up and be counted?
Are you the one who’s gonna be there when we shout it?
Are you the one who’s always ready with a helping hand?
Are you the one who understands this family plan?

Bibliography
Ang, I., and Stratton, J. (2001). Multiculturalism in Crisis: The New Politics of Race and National Identity in Australia. In On Not Speaking Chinese, 105–121. Routledge.

Annamma, A., Jackson, D., & Morrison, D. (2017). Conceptualizing color-evasiveness: using dis/ability critical race theory to expand a color-blind racial ideology in education and society, Race Ethnicity and Education, 20:2, 147-162, DOI:10.1080/13613324.2016.1248837

Escobar, A. (2018). Designs for the Pluriverse: Radical Interdependence, Autonomy, and the Making of Worlds. Duke University Press. https://doi.org/10.1515/9780822371816

Graham, M. (1999). Some Thoughts about the Philosophical Underpinnings of Aboriginal Worldviews. Worldviews: Global Religions, Culture, and Ecology, 3(2), 105–118.

Hokari, M. (2011). Gurindji Journey: A Japanese Historian in the Outback. University of NSW Press.

Hovane, V. (2007). White Privilege and the Fiction of Colour Blindness: Implications for Best Practice Standards for Aboriginal Victims of Family Violence, Australian Domestic and Family Violence. Clearinghouse

Jayasuriya, L. (2002). “Understanding Australian Racism.” The Australian universities’
review 45
, no. 1: 40–44.

Morphy, F., Morphy, H. (2013). “Anthropological Theory and Government Policy in Australia’s Northern Territory: The Hegemony of the ‘Mainstream.’” American Anthropologist 115, no. 2: 174–187.

Ponzio, G. (2017). “Silence and Inaction.” An anthropology of the unspeakable: Family violence in Aboriginal Australian communities: 50-67.

Warumpi Band (1985). “Blackfella/Whitefella” [Recorded by Warumpi Band]. On Big Name, No Blankets [Album]. Powderworks.

Categories
Journal

Chocolate and Children: A Colonial Trade Unveiled

By Jaylon Crisp

Introduction

In today’s world economy, more than 45% of the world’s supply of cocoa used in chocolate products comes from Côte d’Ivoire, also known as the Ivory Coast, with about 70% sourced from the associated West African region. However, out of the estimated 100 billion in revenue made by the chocolate industry, the producers of Ivory Coast only receive around 4% of the capital gains. The average paid cocoa worker only receives the equivalent of $0.78 for a day’s work (Collins 2022). Despite the efforts of the Ivorian government, a combination of lobbying, government corruption, and outsourcing to other cocoa producers, allows the chocolate industry to make maximum profits at the expense of the cocoa workers. To compensate for the decreasing returns, cocoa farmers turn to one of the most questionable forms of labor: children.

Child laborers are often a mix of orphans, the children of other cocoa workers, or slaves sold to plantations. With little to no compensation, Ivorian kids face long work hours and, in some circumstances, dangerous work conditions (Busquet et al. 2021). At the surface level, it may seem that the Ivorian families and farmers are to blame for allowing such a heavily taboo practice in their work. However, to understand why child labor is so common in the West African cocoa industry, one must understand the bigger picture that Ivory Coast is a part of, from the colonial past of chocolate to the globalizing market of the 1950’s and beyond. Once the power dynamics of the Ivory Coast are better understood, then it may be more clear why the farmers make so little and child labour is so common.

Historical Background: Slavery, the Colonial Transition, and a Postcolonial Market

Originally, cocoa trees were once only native to South America, but during the 19th century, cocoa trees were first introduced to West Africa with Portuguese plantation owners bringing the plant to the islands of Principe and São Tomé. These islands would be the origins of the cocoa suppliers we know today. Plantation owners forced many Africans into legal forms of slavery, forcing the slaves into living in small huts on the islands. In 1876, the cocoa plant was brought to mainland Ghana, a neighboring country to the Ivory Coast. (Saripalli 2021). During the colonial period of Ghana, the country was inhabited not only by the British colonists, but German missionaries and entrepreneurs as well.  The cocoa plants initially thrived in the hot tropical weather, and the beginning of a new colonial trade empire began. In the following years, cocoa production would establish a booming cocoa trade akin to the one established in South America, leading to the spread of cocoa throughout the coastal West African countries.

As the main cocoa producing country shifted from Ghana to the Ivory Coast in the 1920’s,  eurocentric-origin chocolate confectionary companies became exponentially richer due to more availability of cocoa, along with the colonists that ran the trade. Like other colonized nations though, the indigenous laborers of the Ivory Coast made considerably lower wages than the middle men and chocolate manufacturers of the trade operation. During the mid-20th century, the postcolonial wave would strike the shores of West Africa, eventually leading to the independence of the Ivory Coast in 1960. Along with this freedom came the liberation of the colonial cocoa plantations, now mostly under the control of the Ivorian citizens (Ludlow 2012). Futures were looking hopeful for the African nation, as a new government established a communal-style tenure system to cocoa production, a model which would lead to Ivorian farmers earning a much larger sum from their harvests. As the country shifted from colonial to postcolonial, so too did the power dynamics that controlled the cocoa market. Power went from the colonial master of the nation to the ruling Ivorian elite, which established the communal tribe tenure farming system mentioned previously. While farms in these tribes have no legal papers documenting what land or plantations they owned, ownership of plantations and of land plots were usually agreed upon collaboratively by farmers and landowners. The Ivorian government encouraged expansion and increased production, converting forests into more arable land. (Anti-Slavery International 2004) Unfortunately, the boone of wealth would only be temporary, as more change was soon to follow.

The death of traditional colonialism would soon mark the birth of neoliberalism. The end of colonial rule in West Africa would also mark the economic shift towards a globalized capitalist market. Empires of rule were replaced by chocolate company giants such as Mars, Cadbury, Nestle, and others (Food Empowerment Project 2022). Once tapped into the globalized market, these companies naturally chipped away the price of cocoa with competitive pricings and economic/political manipulation, making the raw cocoa product increasingly unsustainable for the nation. The depreciating market, combined with aging trees and decreasing land availability for production, would force the Ivorian government back into trade relations with similar dynamics of those during the colonial era. Expansion ceased in the 1980’s, but the consequences were still much apparent. The Ivory Coast was struggling to match production quotas to meet the needs of the country. All the while, chocolate companies hid their suppliers of cocoa in favor of a consumer-friendly image for a seemingly innocent product. As the chocolate companies we’re familiar with today achieved unprecedented growth, the source of their success continued to struggle economically and politically. The result was a weak supporting infrastructure, impoverished cocoa workers, a rising market for child-trafficking, children working in cocoa plantations rather than attending school, and an inherited invisibility (at least until the last 20 years or so) to the public sectors of consumers.

Similar to Rolph Trouiott’s ideas of a subjective past and historicity, the narrative of chocolate to consumers has historically left out the details of the laborers who made the product possible (Trouillot 1995). It is often understood that Africa is inherently poor and without a history. A common trend for many antiquated products, chocolate companies adopt the facade of a sanitized reputation, burying the truth behind flashy advertisement campaigns. Once again, the subaltern voices are silenced in favor of the protection of eurocentric interests. 

In the perspective of Michelle Murphy, the people of Ivory Coast are forced to carry the colonial burden from 150 years ago (Murphy 2017). The cocoa farmers do not have a choice either, as cocoa production is essential for most smallholder families to make a living in the generational struggle of chocolate. Unlike the chemicals that accumulate in the physical body of the subaltern people in Murphy’s case study, the cocoa tree has accumulated in the economic structure of the Ivory Coast. And like the chemicals accumulated inside us, it is unlikely that the Ivory Coast will ever  be able to abandon their cocoa, as it is their most stable link between them and the modern global market that supports their income flow Ivorian citizens have become reliant on.

Contemporary Ivorian Dynamics: Economic and Sociocultural

While sentiments on child labour understand that the practice is morally wrong in more developed countries like the US, the sociocultural dynamics of Ivorian Families are not the same as others. As mentioned previously, child laborers range from trafficked children, orphans, and children of cocoa workers. However, a large portion of child laborers fall into the familial category, especially for the small-holders farms that are family-owned. Child workers are often recruited by close or extended family members, a practice that is considered normal in the culture developed by decades of cocoa. A scholarly article from Milande Busquet et al. reveals that under the Sustainable Livliehood Approach of understanding the child labour in Ivory Coast plantations, a narrative is formed in which child labor becomes a commodity for the child, the community and the family. (Milande et. al 2021). With information collected from small-holder farmers in both Ghana and the Ivory Coast, the ethnographic researchers observed the communal tribal culture interconnected to the idea of land and property ownership. Tribal communities run plots of land through sharecropping-like systems, with each family responsible for a section of land. Children are included in this community and are viewed culturally as potential human and social capital. As cocoa is often the primary source of income for many families, children are often expected by the community to work under the adults to learn the craft of harvesting and processing the raw cocoa rather than going to school. The job is often seen as the child’s link to being a part of the community with work often being viewed as an internship, as well as a chore. The work prepares the children for their futures of harvesting cocoa, learning practical information while also helping the family in collections and processing.

It should be emphasized that many of the interviewed cocoa workers felt the children would be better learning a more traditionally academic education. However, due to poor infrastructure and unreliable education sources, parents often find themselves convinced that the children are better off staying with family and helping with work, a guaranteed certainty that will always be available for them. Under this perspective, child labor becomes a negative consequence of the resulting poverty from a struggling, unstable government resulting from the abuse of Western ideals. This approach to understanding resembles more closely the Global Value Chains perspective also discussed in the article(Milande et al. 2021). With both perspectives, we can understand the work of children in the family is an improvised form of cutting corners, supervising the children, teaching practical skills, and helping the family. While this may seem like a wholesome spin on child labor, one should remember that the only reason for the need to improvise these values is because large companies refuse to pay families livable wages that only adults need to perform to meet quotas. Additionally, while the larger portion of child laborers are from families, a portion of the children are still orphans or trafficked into the work, in which the values mentioned do not apply. They do not have the supervision of the family to look after them.

Fig. 1: The visual flow chart examining the modern dynamics in which cocoa movies from farmers to companies (Anti-Slavery International 2004). Notice the several pathways in which cocoa can reach its final destination.

In addition to sociocultural dynamics in the Ivory Coast, the economic dynamics of trade are also helpful in understanding the systems of exploitation in play. Raw product goes through many middlemen, such as pisteurs, traitants, and cooperatives before being sold to exporters. With such a complex system of trade, it becomes clear how farmers can often become exploited in price. The blame of the complexity is partially due to  the liberalization of the cocoa market in 1999 (Anti-Slavery International 2004). 

The Modern Struggle: Issues that Remain, and the Modern Trade Dynamics

The year 2000 marked the release of Slavery: A Global Investigation, a documentary which explores modern forms of forced labor, including the Ivorian children (Woods and Blewett 2000). The documentary exposed the truth about the labor crisis in West Africa, revealing the desperateness of the workers and the children accessory to the operation. With the truth of chocolate exposed, the public became outraged with the associated companies. Boycotts and protests ensued, marking one of the first times in which the Western world was critiquing its own practices. 

To quell the disapproval of child labour, in 2001, the chocolate industry collaborated together to announce the Harkin-Engel protocol, an anti-child labour initiative to eliminate all chocolate sourced from cocoa plantations using children workers by the year 2005. While the initiative was first very promising to the future of the chocolate industry, once fallen out of the news’ proverbial eye, companies became lax in their procedures. The deadline to end unethically sourced chocolate was missed, extended, and missed again. Eventually, the chocolate companies reformed their directive, aiming to reduce unethically sourced cocoa by only 70%. While the Harkin-Engel protocol failed to meet their initiatives time and time again, the chocolate paraded the minimal changes they did make with large press reports to maintain the facade that change is occurring. The project continues to be a major failure, with little to no enforcement of the rules by the industry and virtually zero legal action against those who disobeyed the ethical sourcing protocols (Siegel and Whoriskey 2019). As of 2023, the Harkin-Engel protocol still has yet to cut child labor by 70%.

The Ivory Coast along with Ghana, the two largest cocoa producers in West Africa currently,  have recently taken another approach to increase financial gains in the country. Both countries implemented the Living Income Differential (LID) premium into their trade systems with manufacturing exporters (Collins 2022). The labor premiums charge an extra $400 for every ton exported from the countries. The $400 premium price was decided by both collaborating governments to request the bare minimum to allow for livable wages in the cocoa trade. While the premium laws provide promise for a better future, chocolate companies have already found loopholes around the requirements to pay more. By buying cocoa from a middle-man agency inside the countries rather than directly from the farmers and producers, the large companies are not required to pay LID premiums. Additionally, chocolate companies can displace LID premiums by dodging the origins differential, a premium based on provenance and inspected quality of the cocoa beans, qualities that can be very easily manipulated. The Ivory Coast and Ghana continue to attempt the enforcement of LID, with more West African countries accepting the premium to create a standard charge in Africa. Additionally, boycotts and manipulating the supply of cocoa in circulation have also been used as rebellious acts to persuade the stubborn chocolate companies to accept the premium as an industry standard.

Even as the systems of colonial rule recede into the past, the persistence of power dynamics and the abuse of the Ivory Coast continues into the present. Borrowing ideas from Ann Stoler about non-linearity of history, an analysis of the history of cocoa production highlights the uncanny similarities of labor sources and economic trends of modern day (Stoler 2016). The establishment of new laws, governments, and freedoms only become overshadowed with remaining colonial dynamics. The recursiveness of control, or lack of, remains, even with countries like the Ivory Coast and Ghana as a free nation.

Conclusions

The practice of child labor is best understood as an unfortunate byproduct of a nation perpetually performing the same service as their colonial ancestors. Restrained by the practice of neoliberalism and a global market, the people of Ivory Coast and West Africa experience poverty by forces outside their control, despite growing the base product for one of the world’s most popular sweets. However, there is a sociocultural aspect for child child laborers in the familial category which work due to their families believing it’s more beneficial for them and the community. This introduces a perspective where child labor in this category lies in a gray area, where neither outcome is completely favorable due to the instability of the Ivory Coast.

Regardless of any events during the creation of the West African cocoa empire and beyond, the only reason the plant was grown in Africa was because colonists saw the opportunity as a great way to maximize profits at the expense of the exploitation of Africa’s land and its people. The damage from the unforgiving plague of colonialism leaves the region with open wounds that postcolonial theory has only recently attempted to fix, albeit with heavy resistance with the companies implicated. Pushback for change continues today with big chocolate companies, as values are placed not in people, but money.

In my own opinion, the Ivory Coast will never be able to fully decolonize, as the countries’ infrastructure is essentially made on foundations of past colonizers’ intent. It’s plausible for the nation and other cocoa-associated West African nations to decolonize politics and development of the countries, but for a country like the Ivory Coast which primary sources of income are based off colonial systems, it’s hard to imagine a transition to a decolonial-based source of capital without endangering the people of the nation. It truly speaks volumes that even the country’s name is colonial in language and their main export isn’t even native to their country. In true decolonial theory, the Ivory Coast would become radically different from the raw cocoa producer observed today, if even possible at all. The only solution to such a substantial problem is to acknowledge the history, mend the damage, and most importantly, act against the companies feigning innocence. Once these actions are taken, maybe West Africa will decrease child labor.

Bibliography:

  1. Collins, Tim. 2022. “Ivory Coast battles chocolate companies to improve farmers’ lives.” Aljazeera, Dec. 8, 2022. https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2022/12/22/ivory-coast-battles-chocolate-companies-to-improve-farmers-lives#:~:text=Ivory%20Coast%20produces%20around%2045,to%20the%20World%20Economic%20Forum
  2. Busquet, Milande, Niels Bosma, Harry Hummels. 2021. “A multidimensional perspective on child labor in the value chain: The case of the cocoa value chain in West Africa”. World Development 146, Oct. 2021, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.worlddev.2021.105601.
  3. Saripalli, Krishi. 2021. “Cadbury, Cocoa, and Colonialism in West Africa.” Brown Political Review. Jan. 4, 2021. https://brownpoliticalreview.org/2021/01/cadburycocoacolonialism/ 
  4. Ludlow, Helen. 2012. “Ghana, cocoa, colonialism and globalisation: introducing historiography.” Yesterday and Today 8, 01-21. Apr. 27, 2012. http://www.scielo.org.za/scielo.php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S2223-03862012000200002&lng=en&tlng=en.
  5. 2004. “The Cocoa Industry in West Africa: A history of exploitation.” Anti-Slavery International. n.d., 2004. https://www.antislavery.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/1_cocoa_report_2004.pdf
  6. 2022. “Child Labor and Slavery in the Chocolate Inudustry.” Food Empowerment Project. Jan. 2022. https://foodispower.org/human-labor-slavery/slavery-chocolate/ 
  7. Trouillot, Michel-Rolph. 1995. ”The Power in the Story.”  Silencing the Past : Power and the Production of History. 1-30. Boston, Mass. :Beacon Press
  8. Murphy, Michelle. 2017. “Alterlife and Decolonial Chemical Relations.” Cultural Anthropology 32 (4). 494-503. http://orcid.org/0000-0001-5173-1717 
  9. Siegel, Rachel, and Peter Whoriskey. 2019. “Hershey, Nestle and Mars Won’t Promise Their Chocolate Is Free of Child Labor.” The Washington Post. WP Company, June 5, 2019. https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2019/business/hershey-nestle-mars-chocolate-child-labor-west-africa/.
  10. Stoler, Ann. 2016. “Critical Incisions.” Duress: Imperial Durabilities in our Time. 3-36. Durham, NC: Duke Press.
  11. Woods, Brian and Kate Blewett. 2000. Slavery: A Global Investigation.